Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quackity is an idiot.

It takes real balls to admit that to himself.

Because only an idiot would put himself in this kind of position. Hiding in a rundown apartment in the lower district, looking through the curtains every two seconds in case a certain piglin hybrid comes ripping his door off its hinges.

He brought this onto himself, there’s no excuse. At least he can admit to that, even though it pains him almost as much as it pained him to admit he was an idiot.

He’s done some really dumb things over the years, stealing from dangerous men to feed himself, then joining the mafia of said dangerous men, then staying in the mafia knowing the wings hidden under his shirt would be his death if he was ever found out. Yes! He’s done many dumb things over the span of his measly 18 years of existence, but he likes to think it was all for his survival. He was a dirty street orphan hell bent on living, he didn’t have many options back then. But this! Making an enemy out of the syndicate? Nothing comes close!

He lets go of the ratty green cloth he calls a curtain after checking, for the thousands time that day, for any strange persons waiting outside.

The curtain fits the rest of his apartment, with its cracked walls, suspicious mold spreading on his ceiling from the moisture stuck within, and its mismatched furniture gathered from different dumpsters across the city. His sick green couch with its two protruding springs he’s learnt to avoid with his eyes closed sits in the middle of his room, doubling as a not so comfortable bed. The threadbare blankets placed in a circle to look like a nest.

It’s a pathetic little thing for an equally pathetic little man.

And yet…

It’s the only thing he’s proud of.

In all his years of living, he’s never owned anything. Not even his own life, but this, this little hovel is all his. He owns every chipped plate, every squeaky door hinge and every cracked window held by duct tape. Even the small mice that roam his apartment at night are his, which is why he refuses to put out any poison for them.

Which is why he didn’t abandon it when “The Blade” of all people spotted him one lazy afternoon when he was returning from his nightshift at the old gas station.

He shouldn’t have been spotted Goddammit! He wore a basic outfit under the trusty puffer coat he thrifted on one of his few lucky days. The brown of it had faded to a yellowish cumin color, but it did wonders against the frigid night air when paired with his old navy blue beanie.

There was nothing worth notice about his look aside from bandage he used to hide the ugly scar cleaving half his face. The one he received curtesy of the Blade himself, back when the mafia leader had been insistent on “caving his face in” before trying to spill his guts. With an axe of all things!

But that was a lifetime ago, when Alexis was a different man, a pathetic lackey with nothing to himself and only orders from Jschlatt giving him a sense of purpose in his sad existence.

He was a different man with a different life, and he just wanted to put it all behind him and go back to his rodent friends in his tiny apartment but The Blade (who the fuck adds an article to his title?) saw him and called out to him, and Quackity ran like fucking hell, navigating the dark alleyways and shady streets like a pro after living the past year of his life here.

Lady luck was on his side that day, and he escaped.

But he’s been extremely anxious and paranoid ever since. Because he lived in one of the poorest districts for a reason, not even mafias, whether it be his old one or any other, bothered with these parts of town. At most they would send one of their lower men to do their bidding, not the mafia prince himself.

Which means he was here for a personal reason, and considering how their last meeting went-

“Wait! No! Please! -“

“Are you scared Quackity?”

“Listen to me! I didn’t d- “

” I got a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your teeth”

There can only be ONE reason for him here, and Quackity is just so tired. He can’t miss work, skipping even a day means his boss will assume he just died and hire a replacement. But he’s not keen on crossing paths with a vengeance driven mafia prince that already left a very prominent mark on his face.

That leaves him with only one option: taking a different route to and from work every single day, while being on high alert for any suspicious people following him. And THEN when he’s finally home at sunrise he needs to keep looking out the window, terrified out of his mind that someone followed him. It’s a shitty system with shitty consequences, but he doesn’t have many options, he never did.

He’s been at it for a week now and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore, the sleepless nights and constant stress are catching up to him. If the Blade Techno! A child with golden hair and eyes of crystal once told him what the monster’s name doesn’t kill him, his own nerves will. The dark almost purplish bags under his eyes can testify to it. He hasn’t risked unbinding his wings even in his sleep, just in case he had to escape his apartment at night.

“The Syndicate has a thing for avians Q, I’m doing those little birds a favor by ending their miserable existence” Jschlatt had once explained, laughing as he twirled a bright blue primary between his fingers.

“Ok! You’re good big Q, you’re fine” he breathes out, shaking his head to get rid of the memory, “we’re just gonna have a nice bowl of cereal and have a little nap. Just a nice little nap”

He gets to his comfy (not really) couch and settles himself in for some rest, he only has a couple of hours before he has to get dressed and leave for work. He hopes his graveyard shift doesn’t become a literal graveyard shift tonight. As he spreads his throw blanket across his legs, he feels a shudder run through his body at the feeling of eyes staring at him. He looks around the one room apartment with nowhere for anything to hide, the sad sight has him curling in on himself. There’s nothing here, he’s all alone, like he should be, like he’s always been.

“Maybe my paranoia is getting out of hand” he laments, leaning back and settling in for some overdue rest. Oblivious to red eyes staring through the key whole.

“I can’t wait to send Phil another gift” Jschlatt laughs, canines glinting in the florescent yellow light.

“Boss- I” Quackity tries, attempting to argue for the first time since Jschlatt finished training him

“What is it?” Jschlatt grumbles, “don’t tell me you’re soft for the little bastard”

“What?!! NO! NO!” the raven quickly refutes, shaking his head so hard it makes his neck ache, “of course not boss, it’s just that- well. The kid is Philza’s son. Maybe, I don’t know- well”

Smack!

The smaller man is thrown to the ground by the sheer strength behind the slap, his check throbbing red and head spinning from when it hits the ground with a loud thunk.

Fair enough. He deserved that.

Calloused fingers roughly grab his face and forcefully raise it till he’s on his knees and eye to eye with a furious ram hybrid.

“I thought I trained you not to waste my time” Jschlatt spits, “you do as I say, and I say we’re going to cut off the little freak’s wings and send them to Philza as a gift and all YOU have to do is make sure the twerp doesn’t escape until my guy shows up with the scissors. Understand?” he shakes his lackey harder until he gets a firm nod and then promptly drops him at his feet. Watching in utter disgust as the teen (he was only 17 back then) picks himself to leave the room.

“Do you want me to send yours” Jschlatt voice turns echoey

“Wh- what?” Quackity starts to shake, dread filling him. Something is wrong, he can’t tell what.

“I said, do you want me to send him your wings instead Quackity?”

“I. I- I don’t have wings. What are you saying?” he swallows heavily, a lump clogging his throat with fear.

“Yes you doooo” Jschlatt, now with glowing red eyes and face melting off the bones sings, “and I’m going to cut your pretty little wings off” the now grotesque looking creature laughs.

Nonononononononoononononono. Something is wrong. What’s going on? His wings? Who told him? Help!! Somebody! Anybody! Help! Please!

He wakes up gasping, hands clutching at his chest, feeling his pounding heartbeat through his ribcage

“it was a nightmare” he gasps, breath stuttering, “It was just a nightmare”

He left before Jschlatt found out. He left the whole thing behind him. He’s safe.

For now, a small voice whispers.

It takes him fifteen minutes to root himself back in reality, the constant ache in his back a grounding force to his frantic mind. Finally, when he has more control over his breathing he manages to look around him and immediately notices the lack of light.

“Shit! I’m gonna be late!” he curses, jumping off the couch and pulling his single coat on, “Fuck! I need to take my shortcut now! Fuck!” he continues to panic. But he hasn’t seen any sign of the ‘Syndicate’ this week, he should be safe taking the usual short route through the dark alley, he concludes as he pulls his dirty sneaker on. If he doesn’t make it in time he’ll get his wage cut at best, and fired at worst. His empty fridge makes it clear that he can’t afford either option.

It takes him another full five minutes to find his keys and finally run out the door, rushing to his less than minimum wage job.

The narrow pathway he takes through the buildings is as dark and empty as he’s always known it, a single flickering florescent light bulb, on the verge of burnout is the only source of light.

Light on. Light off. Light on. Light off.

The flickering is so fast; it makes him dizzy.

Whenever it switches on, the crisscrossing wires overhead throw tall shadows on the dirty pavement, similar to reaching hands. when it switches off it throws him into absolute darkness in an instant, not allowing his eyes to adjust fast enough before it flicks back on again. It gets Quackity to run faster, rushing to get back into open space again.

His must’ve used up all his luck the past week.

Light on, he’s running alone.

Lights off, complete darkness.

Lights on, a rat scrambles in front of him.

Lights off, there’s the sound of tin crashing to his side.

Lights on, ruby red eyes are staring at him.

Lights off, rough hands grab at him.

Lights on, Pink hair, big hands, red eyes.

He screams as loud as he can.

“Easy, easy. You’re okay”

Lights off, a sweet smelling cloth covering his mouth.

His screams are muffled, but he tries. God! Please! He lived this long, what a pathetic ending to the pathetic life of a pathetic man.

“Get the car, I got him”

Lights on? What happened to all the lights? There’s no more lights.

Quackity drifts, tears drying at the side of his eyes

Chapter Text

The kid is small; he looks so tiny. Backed up in the corner of his small room (his cell). It can’t be comfortable with the way his wings are pressed into the damp walls. They’re still tiny white things covered in downy feathers, a sign of his young age.

Quackity’s own appendages twitch in sympathy from where he keeps them hidden, even he still has half his wings covered in down, but he thinks it’s because of his horrible nutrition, not a sign of age, or is it? He has no idea. He can’t even be a proper hybrid. He shakes himself out of his self-deprecating thoughts.

Despite his clear fear, the kid hisses the minute Quackity walks in, baring his teeth and glaring with all the might of a twelve-year-old. There are bruises across his skin, those, as well as the swollen eye tell Quackity all he needs to know about the hospitality the kid has seen so far, very similar to Quackity’s when he first got here. But Quackity never had a dangerous blood thirsty family looking for him, he had no one.

“Hey there”, he crouches down to the kid’s level, trying to keep eye contact with the terrified hatchling, “Do you want to get out of that cold corner and come sit by the mattress?”

The stained thing looks disgusting, but so does the floor. Besides, when Jschlatt first caught him he slept on some newspapers, this is objectively way better. (But Jschlatt wasn’t sharpening his knife to cut off his wings, which is objectively way worse)

The kid only hisses, which FAIR.

“Okay, we can stay here too, I have a nice warm stew for you if you want” he tries, pointing at the metal tray by the door. He’d kept it there in case the kid tried to attack him first, “I really hope you don’t have any allergies, can’t have THAT on my resume” he jokes, laughing awkwardly. 

As if it mattered whether or not he killed the kid, as far as he knows, the only reason he’s still alive is because Jschlatt is waiting for someone.

Quackity shudders at the reminder of what’s to come in a couple of days, his hidden wings try to cover him in fear, but halt, restricted by the tight bindings thankfully.

“You’re only going to kill me afterwards, what does it matter?” the kid finally speaks, and unfortunately he seems smart.

“You don’t know that” Quackity lies, “maybe your dad will negotiate something right?”

“I know what you want to do bitch! The others told me”

Quackity visibly winces at that. He knows the others don’t have a single ounce of empathy combined, but to paint such a gruesome picture for a child. Well, looking at the kids bruises, he should’ve expected it.

“Are you- are you scared?” would Quackity be scared if they ever found out? If he was the one behind closed doors waiting for the inevitable snip snip of scissors?

“FUCK YOU!” the kid hollers, “I AM THE BIGGEST MAN ALIVE BITCH!!!! YOU’LL ALL REGRET THE DAY YOU CROSSED THE WIFE HAVER!”

Quackity finds himself speechless for a second, simply gaping at the child. Until the absurdity of the whole situation hits him, and he breaks down laughing against his will. He can’t help it, it’s too funny, the kid is clearly shaking with fear and yet...

And yet he is so brave.

Quackity is both amazed and envious at the same time.

But judging by the angry look he’s receiving, with all the might of a vengeful puppy, the kid isn’t seeing like that.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Quackity soothes, “I’m not laughing at you! I swear!”

“You better not you wrongon”

“I’m not! Promise! You are very strong!” he replies truthfully.

“And you better not fucking forget it bitch!”

“How about this” he negotiates “even the ‘biggest man’ needs food to stay strong and fight the bad guys, how about you try my beef stew?”

“Like I’d fall for that dumb trick bitch! It’s poisoned and you’ll only give me the antidote when I spill my family secrets”

Okay? What the hell? Quackity really forgot the kid comes from a mafia family, did his family teach him these things? Did he learn them on his own? If it were Quackity he wouldn’t have considered the possibility of poison when provided with a hot meal, free food was always good. He doesn’t bother thinking more about it, instead he carries the tray over to the kid, and grabs the spoon.

The blonde is watching him apprehensively, eyes tracking his every movement. So Quackity slowly raises the spoon with it’s small portion of food and promptly plops it in his mouth. Chewing the small pieces of meat slowly and audibly swallowing. Afterwards he makes a point of opening his mouth to show the kid that it’s empty.

The hatchling gets the memo, and just as slowly as Quackity acted, takes the spoon and tries a little bit of the food. He pauses, looking at the small Mafioso, to see his reaction. When he’s satisfied with whatever he sees, the kid snatches the plate into his corner and shovels the rest of the food faster than humanly possible.

Right, they’ve been holding the kid for the past two days, did anyone bother bringing him anything?

Clank!

The now empty metal bowl crashes into the wall behind Quackity, shaking him out of his thoughts.

The kid is back to glaring at him, ice blue eyes slit into daggers, observing.

“Well we didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate you not throwing it at my head”

He really can’t hold any of this behavior against him, he remembers how he was at twelve.

Hell even now, Quackity is pretty sure he’d be a mess.

“You want some more? I only know how to make three meals but I like to think my stew is –um- how do I say out of this world without sounding like a showoff?” he laughs, not expecting a reply.

It comes as a shock when he hears a small whisper from the side.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, giving the kid his most encouraging smile.

“I said pog, the word you’re looking for is Pog” the hatchling mumbles, looking away from the other man, face half buried in his knees, “and yeah, I want more” he adds.

“Yeah, we can do that. Give me a minute to go refill the plate” he amends, rushing out the cell.

He rushes back to his room and scoops out the last of the remaining stew from the bottom of the pot, ignoring his own rumbling stomach and runs back to the kid.

When he sets the plate in front of him, the hatchling refuses to eat, looking at Quackity intently until the other’s lightbulb pings and he hurries to eat a single spoonful of the food, which seems to satisfy him.

When the kid is done, instead of throwing it at the wall like before, he slams it on the ground, silently daring Quackity to make a comment.

Progress.

“I’ll be back tonight with dinner; you want anything in particular kid?”

“Don’t call me a kid BITCH! I’m a man!”

“Ah yes, my apologies Mr. Biggest Man Alive”

“Humph” the kid pouts adorably, though in his head he probably thinks he’s being terrifying, “I’ll have chicken nuggets and the biggest soda” he demands haughtily, as expected of the littlest mafia prince.

Quackity shudders at what will happen to them if The Angel of Death gets his hands on them, the mere sight of the split lip will have their collective guts hanging over every pole in the city, like Christmas decoration. He can’t even imagine what sending the hatchlings wings would result in.

But he can’t do anything.

Only what his boss demands of him. He belongs to Jschlatt and his only purpose is to obey.

“Will do oh Biggest Man Alive” he salutes as he leaves with the dishes, ignoring the small fluttering bird in his chest chirping at him, demanding he stay with the hatchling.

The next time he sees the kid, he’s holding a trey with a Macdonald’s meal, complete with a small ice-cream cup and a little toy.

He shouldn’t be spending his own money on feeding their prisoner, but-

The kid is still in his corner, curled up into a small ball, eyeing the door warily. When Quackity enters, the kid looks relieved, shoulders drooping into a more relaxed position.

“Back so soon bitch?”

What a lovely greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a mafia prince.

“It’s been four hours kid, time to eat up. And look, I managed to get you a small toy too”

“the others didn’t bother with a feeding schedule. What are you gonna do? Fatten me up and then eat me Hansel and Gretel style?”

Despite his words, the kid is eying the trey with hunger in his eyes. Quackity curses every wrong turn and cruel push that landed him in this situation. The kid had been starved in the short amount of time he’s been here, and considering what awaits him in the future, this shouldn’t be the thing he obsesses over.

“I can always take it back?” Quackity shrugs

“Hand it over bitch” the little gremlin snaps. For someone under their mercy, the kid knows how to piss others off. It’s oddly endearing to Quackity, had it been anyone else, the results would have been different.

“You’re either fearless or brainless Mr. Big Man” he laughs, handing the trey over.

They sit in companiable silence, Tommy shoving the nuggets and fries in his mouth while Quackity fiddles with his old phone. It’s an outdated model, can’t handle answering a call and sending a message at the same time without shutting off. Still has buttons, two of which need to be pressed extra hard to work, but it has a snake game that Quackity has become really good at.

“Let me try” the kid startles him from behind, it’s so sudden Quackity sends the snake clashing into its own tail and ending the game.

“Boohoo, you lost! My turn!” the kid demands, reaching for his phone with greasy hands.

“What? Hands off gremlin!” he demands, trying to keep his phone out of reach. It must be something he said, because the kid backs off immediately, wings curling into themselves and eyes suspiciously moist. And Quackity knows, he knows he can’t be a softy in a mafia of all things, that it could only get him killed. But it’s just a nestling, and Quackity is pathetic and bad and worthless, but he doesn’t want to hurt a child.

“fucking fine! We’ll play in turns” he concedes, huffing in annoyance. And No! he is not relieved at the triumphant smile he receives from the kid.

Time flies by quickly, the two avians mushed together on the dirty mattress, taking turns taunting each other at every loss and trying to distract the other when they start doing well on their turn.

It’s ……fun. It makes Quackity want to cry.

The kid nods off on his shoulder somewhere around midnight, so he gently lies the kid down, making sure he doesn’t wake him on accident, and then leaves the small room.

Tomorrow at noon, Jschlatt’s will arrive with his special scissors and cut those downy little wings off, and Quackity will have to live with that.

He will only ever be Jschlatt’s lackey, that’s all he’s ever known.

He has nothing to himself, not even a name.

“Did you get him?” a childish voice asks

“Yes, he’s in the backseat”

“Let me see! Let me see! Move bitch!”

“No, you have to go with Wilbur. Dad wants to meet your friend first”

“No fair! He’s MINE! I saw him first!”

“No one is taking him from you, and he’s not yours until dad approves. Go with Wilbur before you make us change our mind”

“Was I that easy to replace gremlin? I feel betrayed’

“Fuck off you clingy bitch! He’s mine! Don’t try to kill him again!”

“No promises runt”

His eyes are glued shut so he can’t look at who’s talking, but two of those voices are familiar, he should be happy with one and be afraid of the other, the third is unfamiliar but it gets on his nerves for some reason. If he can just open one eye dammit! But it’s useless, not a single muscle in his body is responding.

He hears a car door opening, then feels cold wind against his face. Huh, he’s in a car?

He’s being lifted and held against warm surface now, it feels so nice to be held. He tries to move closer to the warmth, trying to hide his face from the freezing wind, but it’s useless with how paralyzed his body is at the moment. But the warmth is merciful and senses his plight, holding him tighter and rumbling a soft sound that eases the panic at the back of his head.

Chapter Text

There’s a swaying motion, and a slight shift in the atmosphere, like he moved from one place to the other. The sense of brightness that was behind his eyelid a moment before disappears, going to dark.

Meaning he was moved from the outside to the inside.

There’s a gentle touch on his face, moving it away from its hiding spot and pulling at the tape there until cool air hits the spot.

“I really did a number on you” the gruff voice remarks, and it makes something inside him squirm. He knows he need to hide his face, he shouldn’t let this person- ESPECIALLY THIS PERSON- near his face, but the fog isn’t letting up.

“Can’t believe you got Tommy, and now me. Fuck, Phil is not gonna be happy”

“Why won’t I be happy?”

“Shit! Phil, warn a guy”

“You were distracted mate; I have nothing to do with this. So, that him?”

“Yeah. This is the guy Tommy told us about”

“Let’s hope he’s not as slippery this time”

“Brah. First Tommy and now you”

“I’m just saying, I don’t see what’s so special about the little mouse”

Rough fingers grab his cheek and pull it away from where it was being inspected just a second ago.

“You really went all out mate, can’t believe he’s still alive” the voice chuckles

Quackity feels humiliation for some reason, he can’t figure out what’s happening.

“Yeah well he did. Thankfully”

“We don’t know if we should be thankful yet son, he IS one of Jschlatt’s. Got to talk to him first. Bring him to my office, he should be starting to wake up soon”

There’s moving and shifting, then he’s being seated on a hard surface, a course rope tying his wrists behind his back, the rope around his wrists is the only thing keeping him from toppling over. The panicked voice from before comes back tenfold, screaming at him to move and run.

Prey run. Predator. Trap. Run.

Then there is a strong alcoholic smell invading his senses, it rips him from La La Land and back into the conscious realm instantly. His eyes fly open, looking around frantically, trying to make sense of what’s happening. He’s gasping for breath, like he just ran a marathon, what the hell?

The same hand from before grabs his face tightly and holds it still, until terrified milky and golden eyes are staring into freezing blue.

“Sorry for the abrupt awakening, but can’t waste the day sleeping now can we? Early bird and what not”

Even in his disoriented state, Quackity knows the man is not apologetic in the least, if the sadistic smile is any indication.  His mind starts to catch up to his situation and he can feel his blood freezing in his veins.

He’s looking at the Angel of Death himself. The only man whose mere name made Jschlatt shudder and scream in anger, sometimes taking out his anger on whoever was nearby (Quackity most of the time). The man that earned the title Angel of Death by dedicating his life to robbing others of theirs.

He was attacked last night, he let his guard down and now he’s being held by the Syndicate.

He’d be lucky if they just killed him.

Prey small. Predator big. Be small.

He tries to shrink in on himself, but there’s nowhere to hide from piercing blue.

“Ah, your clarity is coming back. I’ll admit that’s the fastest anyone shook off my sedative, how interesting”

Quackity doesn’t dare speak, he lived with the mafia long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, and when the boss was speaking, it was always.

“and smart too, I’m starting to get how you’ve slipped my radar” his teeth glint dangerously in the overhead light, “Would you like something to drink? I refuse to untie you but I’m sure Techno would be willing to help. I’ve been told that particular drug used on you can suck the moisture from one’s throat”

Quackity might be more aware now, but not nearly enough to start with the mind games of a sociopathic mafia leader.

He meekly shakes his head in answer, not trusting his voice. He doesn’t want their water, especially if The Blade will be helping him drink it.

“That won’t do” the man tuts “I can’t let you thirst in good conscious. Tech” he ushers, and suddenly there’s a cool glass of water held in front of his face, a plain straw placed for his convenience, “now drink” the man commands.

And Quackity knows an order when he hears one, so he obliges, sipping slowly at the water. The monster before him was right, his throat is parched and it takes all his willpower not to gulp the water in one go, instead he drinks just enough to (he thinks) satisfy the mafia man and then he lets go of the straw. Cheeks burning in humiliation.

“I’m sure you want some more, but I won’t force you” Philza fucking Minecraft waves off, and the cup disappears from his line of sight.

He’s finally allowed to look at his surroundings and is shocked to notice the lack of chains and cell bars, he’s in a huge office with burgundy curtains and floor to ceiling windows. Philza leans his back against a big mahogany desk with clearly priceless artifacts lying at every corner in the room.

The only comfort Quackity has is in the expensive carpet underneath his wooden chair, it means there might not be any need to spill blood at the moment, not unless they’re willing to ruin a perfectly nice rug. At least Jschlatt never did, he used to take care of each and every piece of furniture he paid for or stole, he loved them more than anything and would limit the torture to specific areas. So Quackity is going off of that experience, and hopefully it’s accurate.

Predator is not Ram.

Shush!! Shut up! Not now!

“Let’s get introductions out of the way, even if we already know each other, I’d rather we have a semblance of friendliness”

The ropes around his wrist and ankles mock the statement in their silence, and Quackity refuses to comment.

“My name is Philza, but please call me Phil. And that, behind you, is my son Technoblade” The Blade moves into his line of vision, grunting at the introduction. They stare at their hostage expectantly and he has no other choice, swallowing heavily at the cotton feel of his mouth.

“I –cough- I’m Quackity, p…pleasure to meet you sir”

“Oh no need for formalities, not after what you so graciously did” the man exclaims jovially, opening his arms and flaring large midnight black wings behind him, feathers bigger than Quackity’s head rattling against each other.

Alarm bells blare in his head, because that is definitely sarcasm, the man is pissed! His avian mind is screeching in fear at the threating display, and Quackity has to swallow back an aching chirp trying to escape his throat.

Even his screwed up instincts are cowering at the display. Fuck!

“Care to explain?” Phil asks, tone low and dangerous, freezing glaciers boring into terrified amber and white.

“I…I stopped working for Jschlatt a year ago, I swear! I ran away after” he glances at Techno and then back at the other danger, “whatever he did, I’m no longer- “

“We know you’re not with Manberg anymore” Phil laughs manically, and there’s a meaning behind the way he laughs, but Quackity is too terrified to analyze, “that’s not why you’re here” the man stalks closer to his poor prey, bending till they’re eye to eye, “you’re here because my son, Tommy, has imprinted on you” he spits angrily.

The whole world grinds to a halt, Quackity thinks his brain must’ve stopped working because

What?

“I’m guessing you didn’t realize that huh?” Technoblade asks in his usual monotone, but the raven can almost swear he detects a smidge of amusement in those eyes.

Philza looks on the verge of having an aneurism at his son’s revelation, eye twitching and fangs on display. He takes a deep breath and visibly controls himself, wings fluffing and then smoothing over, before focusing back on his prey

“You had my son imprint, and you didn’t even realize it?”

“I…. I what is…. imprint?” he asks meekly

If it were any different situation, Quackity would fall on his ass laughing at the shocked look he receives from both. But seeing as his life is on the line, he just curses his stupidity.

“Bruh, you can’t be serious”

“Figures Jschlatt would only hire morons” the crow hybrid sighs, “do you even know why your boss made it a point to find avian hybrids and cut off their wings? Why he sent me the dismembered wings of EVERY AVIAN HE GOT HIS FILTHY HANDS ON?” he screams the last question, picking one of the items at his desk (a ceramic ashtray with intricate details, clearly old and well taken care of. Most definitely priceless and stolen from a museum) and throws it at the wall, breathing hardly as it shatters and sends shards everywhere.

There goes his last hope, the man is nothing like Jschlatt, he might actually get tortured here on the expensive rug.

“I. I.”

“Answer child” the man hisses, grabbing his face, uncaring of the way his talons dig into the others face.

One talon is dangerously close to his remaining functional eye, it brings tears to Quackity’s eyes. He doesn’t want to lose another eye, please.

“I…I just thought…. thought- he wanted to taunt you?”

“Braaaaaaaaaah” Techno exclaims, “you had no idea what your own leader was having you do?”

“I…I…”

“my dear Quackity, what kind of hybrid are you?”

Shitshitshitshitshit. Ok calm down Q, you’ve used this lie on Jschlatt and his men a thousand times.

“I’m just a normal human” he whispers meekly

“That would explain why he’s clueless” Techno remarks.

“and Jschlatt kept you?” the crow hybrid raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I was just a lackey” he explains, swallowing the lump in his throat, and forcing his voice to come put clear.

 “And yet you had my son imprint on you” the man states coldly, “it doesn’t matter if you understand the significance. Ignorance is as much of a sin as maliciousness.” The irony of a mafia leader preaching about sin is not lost on Quackity, but he’d rather bite is tongue off before pointing it out. “I will be giving you the highest honor of repenting for your sins” the man lets go of his face, eyes critical in their observation, “as of today you work for the Syndicate, and my sons are the only ones with access to you, you will only obey them and if you fail, well, we can always change the scene from this lovely office to somewhere more down to earth”

The threat is as clear as day, and Quackity can feel his heart thumping loud and frantic in his ears.

“Techno, take our new hire to his room and get him settled. I’m sure Tommy would like to have access to his new toy before his patience runs out”

Everything about that statement makes Quackity want to cry, he’s lost again, everything he worked so hard for is just gone. He’s back to being a door matt to the mafia despite practically living on the street to get away from it all.

“there, there birdie, you’d think I’ve sentenced you to death with how you’re reacting” Phil croons mockingly, gently wiping away the falling tears, “you should be grateful I allowed you to live after what Jschlatt did to my son”

“I just want to live alone, I swear I’m not getting involved in any mafia please” he begs

“Oh you sweet naïve little thing” Philza smiles, “you don’t have a choice, either you belong to us or you belong to Lady Death”

Chapter Text

“Oh you sweet naïve little thing” Philza smiles, “you don’t have a choice, either you belong to us or you belong to Lady Death”

A strangled chirp gets stuck in his throat, he’s terrified like never before, not even when he worked under Jschlatt and acted as his punching bag on most days. Not when most of his tasks meant carrying a bucket and a mop and cleaning the leftovers from one of the Ram Mafia’s sessions!  He knows the danger that is The Angel of Death, the horrors that he’s inflicted on countless people.

Whenever Jschlatt would send him one of his gifts, Philza would ALWAYs retaliate. Only veteran members of the mafia were able to handle the remains left in their territory as payback. The remains of people that were once identifiable faces, of people walking down the halls with puffed out chests and loaded guns. Quackity was once given a hazmat suit and sent to collect a pile of said remains. He promptly lost all the contents of his stomach at the first sight.

The image of mangled flesh and torn off faces still haunts him to this day. He thinks he saw a face (what he thinks was a face) with torn out eyes, lying next to ripped mouth stuffed with eyes. The men he’d been sent with to clean up hadn’t mocked him or ridiculed his ‘softness’ like they normally would, they just shook their heads and turned their faces, looking green themselves despite having done this before.

Jschlatt, thankfully, never asked him to go again. It was once of the few and rare moments of sympathy he gave Quackity in his few years of servitude.

“Let’s go, I can feel Tommy radiating anger from here” Techno grunts, picking Quackity up with one hand and throwing him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Phil just watches him with the look of a predator, his gaze passing through him and striking the frantic little bird in his chest.

Techno takes him down a long hallway, walls covered in oil paintings that clearly belong as artifacts in a museum instead of interior decoration in the Syndicate’s family home. He wants to dig his fingers into Techno’s shirt for stability. But his hands are still tied behind his back, and even if he could, the man, unknowingly, has his palm on Quackity’s bound wings, he doesn’t want to risk questions about his lumpy jacket.

“He’s still alive?” a voice sneers ahead, and Quackity can’t see whoever it is from his position, but he thinks he has an idea.

“Yup, dad said he’ll be Tommy’s new playmate” Techno replies, but there’s a hint of teasing behind it.

“Fucking WHAT?! Not only are we keeping one of Jschlatt’s dogs, but we’re giving him access to Tommy? The same Tommy those bastards almost killed” the person is beyond furious.

“Tommy imprinted, don’t want to make him upset” Techno grunts, shrugging the shoulder Quackity is settled on like there isn’t a living breathing person there! The bastard.

“He’ll be more upset when this dog backstabs him! If we kill him now Tommy can get over it later”

“Dad made his decision Wilbur” Techno growls and if the suggestion to have him killed wasn’t terrifying, the growling of a massive brute with tusks that can pierce a bulldozer certainly is, “and you would risk screwing with Tommy’s instincts?”

“Fuck NO! But-”

“Wilbur” the piglin hybrid snaps, “I’m with dad on this one, don’t forget the reason you still have a younger brother in the first place. If you try anything you’ll answer to me, clear?”

Utter silence that stretches on.

“Answer me”

Please answer him, Quackity can’t handle the constant thrum of Predator. Hide. Hide.

“yes” the person named Wilbur manages through clenched teeth.

Techno chuffs in approval, and moves past his brother to continue on his route, Quackity gets the chance to look at his new enemy and he feels another wave of fear course through him. Because Wilbur is in fact Siren, another Piglin hybrid, but without the clear features of one.

Despite being techno’s twin, Siren was no match to the pure strength his brother had. But what he lacked in strength, he made up for in pure sadism. He was infamous for his mind games and silver tongue, hence the nickname Siren. He was obsessed with manipulation and, oddly enough, explosives.

And Quackity has made an enemy of him without even trying.

He feels like crying all over again, he thought he was done jumping through hoops to live, will it never end?

When he’s finally let down, it’s in a small room with the most basic furniture he’s ever seen. A small bed and simple wooden desk and chair. All plain items that match plain walls. Still it’s better than anywhere he’s ever stayed. Cleaner too.

Fuck, that’s sad.

“it’s a good room” Techno grunts, untying his wrists. And he’s right, because Quackity is a prisoner, he’s not supposed to be in a room with a door and a bed and what appears to be an adjacent bathroom. He knows from Jschlatt that he’s supposed to be somewhere far far worse, but he can’t bring himself to feel grateful.

“Good for whoever owns it then” Quackity mumbles miserably, because as nice and clean as the room is, he owns nothing here. He owned the torn up couch and leaky sink, he owned the broken fridge and patched up curtains, and he loved every minute of it.

Now he’s back here with nothing to his name, and shadows in every corner, just waiting to strike him down.

A thumb brushes along his scarred check, shocking him out of his thoughts. When did he stand in front of him? Ruby red eyes inspect his scar and milky eye, contemplating something. The raven wants to hide in shame but the arm holding his face prevents it.

“Does it hurt?”

The question startles him, he feels anger rise suddenly, temper flaring.

“You- what do you want? You want to laugh and mock me? You’re upset you weren’t there to enjoy my pain?” he yells.

Techno stays silent, looking almost regretful. And Quackity can’t tell where this courage came from, he should shut his mouth before it’s ripped off his face.

“Go take a shower, Tommy will be here any minute to take you out, try to look presentable” he says at last, “I’ll buy you an hour, be ready by then” and then exits. Leaving Quackity standing by himself in his new cell.

Back to where he started so long ago.

He finally breaks down sobbing.

He allows himself a good cry, a solid fifteen-minute cry with gasping breathes and constant rocking. When he manages to pull himself together he wipes his face with dirty sleeves and picks himself off the floor.

“You’ve got this Quackity” he tells himself, “just try to be useful and survive, just like before”.

“I’ll tell you what kid, you work for me and I’ll let this whole thing go. No one has stolen from me and been given a chance of redemption.”

A fifteen-year-old Quackity shakes at the feet of the ram hybrid. It was just an apple.

“Be useful, and I won’t have a reason to kill you”

He’s done this before, he can do it all again. He WILL survive. The first step is to make a list of everything he has. He’s still in the same ratty outfit he was wearing; a navy blue beanie, ratty converses, ripped jeans, old green shirt and his trusty puffer jacket hiding the suspicious lump on his back.

When Technoblade asked him to look presentable, he probably meant his cloths too. So that means there should be something else to wear here. OK? He still has forty-five minutes, he can do this. The room is small, so there’s not many places to look. The desk only holds a notebook and a couple of pencils, the bed is bare and the bathroom only has soap and a bottle of shampoo. Ok. Don’t panic.

The bed!

Right! Look under it!

AHA! Right there is a wooden chest. The room would look cramped if the box was left in the open, with barely space to walk. Quackity should’ve considered looking here first, but his birdbrain was too busy screeching with fear.

Whatever. He’s got this.

The only thing that matters is that the chest has multiple changes of cloths. Thank God!

He picks out a white blouse and a pair of black slacks. Since he’s too skinny to keep any pair of pants pulled up, he makes use of the suspenders at the bottom of the chest, with that, he’s left with a classical mafia attire.

Jschlatt never bothered with dressing him up, he had to be useful and nothing more. A suit would give the illusion that he was of worth, and Jschlatt wasn’t interested in that.

It takes a lot of maneuvering to finish his bath, since he doesn’t want the water touching his wings. Even though his feathers are filthy and could use cleaning, he can’t risk it. He barley has half an hour left, he can’t get his wings wet and struggle with drying them off. If he washed them, they’d absorb the water and then he’d have to explain the wet patch on his back. Yeah, no thanks.

Techno, if anything, is honest with his assessment of time.

True to his word, after an hour precisely, Tommy almost knocks down his door getting to him. Quackity is decent and in the process of putting on a new pair of white shoes that matches the rest of the new wardrobe. The only thing he kept from his old outfit was his filthy bindings, for obvious reasons, and the jacket. The few minutes of freedom under the shower allowed for blood to circulate his forgotten appendages, which meant reduced numbness, which lead to renewed pain. Great.

“Big Q! You’re here!” the kid screams, launching full force at the startled avian, knocking the breath out of his lungs and pinning him to the ground on his already hurting wings. He thinks he should be mad at the audacity, or scared knowing who his family is, but all he feels is an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight of the kid, the feeling washes over him, chasing away all the nerves and anxiety collected over the day.

“Good to see you too Mr. Big man” he greets from his new spot on the floor, daring to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug, mindful of his wings. The hug feels right, it settles something primal inside him.

“I missed you” the kid chirps excitedly from his spot on the other’s chest, the kid’s mood turns somber all of a sudden, lifting a hand slowly, and ever so gently tracing the ugly scar. He sees the unasked question in soft blue eyes and smiles sadly.

“it doesn’t hurt anymore”

“That bitch had no right” the kid argues, “it was because of m- “

“because I made the bad choice of working with bad people. I got hurt, I can only blame myself Tommy”

“We’re bad people too” the kid whispers, and Quackity can’t bring himself to argue. Tommy doesn’t like liars. “But I’ll never let you get hurt Big Q, I won’t lose you this time” the kid declares, like taking an oath.

“Listen to me! I didn’t d- “

” I got a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your teeth”

“TECHNO STOP! DON’T HURT HIM! TECH- “

Quackity really wants to believe him, but he remembers what happened last time. The kid, bless his heart, tried to save him. It didn’t work back then, and it’s not going to work now. It’s only a matter of time before they see the extent of his uselessness and decide to dispose of him. Regardless of the imprint, whatever that is.

“Let’s go to my room, I had dad put you next to my room so we can play all we want” the nestling pulls his arm. Getting him to stand up and dragging him to the room next to his cell, behind the golden door is a huge room that could double as an arcade. The room is bigger than his old apartment, with a large bed and every luxury imaginable.

“Come on, what do you want to play? I finished all of these games so I can beat you at any of them!”

“Tommy, I really don’t think- “

“Oh what’s this, you brought your new friend here?” Wilbur strolls into the room casually, steps smooth and face indifferent, which tells Quackity that it’s all just a front. He’s mad.

“Leave Bitch! This is me and Big Q time!” Tommy demands, downy wings puffing up in agitation.

“Don’t be like that Tommyyyy, you know what dad says about sharing right? I just want to meet your toy” the bastard is good at achieving maximum irritation with the least words needed. As expected of Siren.

“Fuck off! He’s mine! And Techno warned me about you, told me you’re up to no good! So leave!” the kid starts to shove a now shell shocked Wilbur out his room.

“Wait! Techno said what? Hold on!  Tommy I- “he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, Tommy slamming the door right into the bastard’s face.

“Good riddance” Tommy huffs, and honestly Quackity couldn’t agree more, “now, where were we?”

Tommy may not be able to save him at the end of the day, but perhaps he can buy him some time. Quackity ignores the sense of pride raising in his chest, but it’s hard not to when he feels nothing but fondness towards the little chick.

Chapter Text

After the lovely display that is a flabbergasted Wilbur, he thinks he owes the kid at least one round of games.

Or a little more.

Tommy pushes him towards different games every two minutes, his hyperactive brain losing interest in whatever game they’re playing and demanding another stimulus fast. It could be that he sees Quackity struggling and, as an act of mercy, decides to change to an easier game. Quackity can do nothing but try to keep up. At one point the kid pulls out a board game called ‘Monopoly’ and loses it when Quackity tells him he’s never played it before.

It’s not like there was much entertainment on the streets, or later on working for Jschlatt. How on earth could he learn what any of these games were?

When he says as much to the nestling, he gets wide teary eyes that make him want to beat himself up.

“I’m sure the biggest man alive is also a great teacher” he offers as a distraction, and he’s right.

That sentence lifts up the mood immediately, Tommy puffing his chest and flaring his fluffy wings.

“FUCK YEAH! SIT YOUR ASS DOWN! I’m the fucking best teacher ever! Call me professor wife haver” he demands, and there’s the Tommy Quackity is so fond of.

They spend God knows how long playing the game, and Quackity is taught the most important rule of all:

It’s not Monopoly, unless you cheat your ass off.

He thinks this might be his favorite game, just for that.

At some point, when there is NO money left in the bank for them to steal, Tommy declares himself the winner on virtue of being the bigger man, and Quackity agrees readily, wanting nothing more than to make the kid happy. The chick drags him to his bed, where the blankets are assorted into a circular pile a proper nest.

Something about it makes the bird in is chest trill with joy. His hindbrain fuzzes a little at the move despite not knowing the reason. Whatever, not the first time his birdbrain reacted strangely to Tommy.

They sit in the middle of the pile, Tommy slouching against Quackity, practically draped over him. An hour later, Quackity is holding a pen and paper, writing different terms in Spanish and pronouncing them slowly for the kid and correcting his pronunciation when he repeats them.

“Hijo de puta” he writes down

“and that means?”

“son of a bitch, so be careful who you piss off”

“Guess Wilbur’s new nickname bitch” the gremlin smiles mischievously and Quackity breaks down laughing, pleased and vindicated at the same time.

“What a lovely lesson” an amused voice cuts through their laughter. And just like that, the bubble is popped. His instincts are screeching again at the sight of the crow hybrid with his immaculate emerald suit and glossy wings, he holds back a frightened chirp, terrified beyond measure.

It’s been happening a lot lately, him having to curb his bird sounds. It was never that big of a deal when he was with Jschlatt, but ever since he’s been dragged here, it’s been proving a challenge.

“Dad! Guess what? I know ten new swear words, I’m smart as fuck, tell him Big Q!”

Oh to have the ground swallow him whole, he swallows hard and refuses to even breath in the presence of the Angel. Tommy frowns, but before he can comment Philza speaks as if he didn’t notice the tense atmosphere.

“I believe you sunshine, I came here to get you for dinner, you want to bring your friend with you?”

“You usually send someone to get me” its stated like a question, and Tommy seems suspicious.

“I was passing through the hall” Philza dismisses with a shake of his hand, eyes boring into Quackity and flickering between the blankets and the two people on them.

“then let’s go! I’m starving, come on Q!”

“I…I’m good Toms” he chokes when sharp eyes shift to him for using that nickname, “I meant Tommy, I’m not hungry”

“What? No! I want us to have a family dinner” for all the kid is cute, he has the social intelligence of a chipmunk. Where the fuck does Quackity fit in a family dinner?

“No, please Tommy. I’m not hungry, I’ll just stay in the room next door and feel free to get me whenever you want” There! He’s made it clear he doesn’t consider himself more than an amusing pet for the kid. Stop looking into my soul Mr. Angel of Death!

“Don’t be ridiculous” Philza smiles coyly, “from what Techno told me there was nothing in your fridge, and I know it’s been a while since you got here. Let’s go, wouldn’t want to upset Tommy now would we?”

Oh god! The threat is clear as day. He forgot his purpose was to keep Tommy happy!

“Of course not!” he shakes his head frantically, “I’m grateful sir, really but- “

“Move” the man commands coolly and Quackity shudders, bound wings twitching painfully in fear.

If the Syndicate doesn’t kill him, then his racing heart will.

“Yes sir” he stutters, getting up and following them, trying to stay one step behind. But Tommy isn’t having it, holding onto his arm and pulling him until they’re all walking side to side, Tommy acting as a barrier between Quackity and his predator right now.

“And I beat Big Q, but then I let him beat me afterwards, don’t want him to feel left out you know, I’m just a big man like that” Tommy was rambling, pulling and shoving his new friend to emphasize his story and try to get his input. But Quackity can’t risk even talking lest his vocals decide to make a very nonhuman sound.

“Sounds like you had some fun” Philza comments softly, giving all his attention to his son.

The dining room he’s lead to is just as ridiculously luxurious as the rest of the house, with candles and chandeliers. It looks like it came out of one of those old magazines his mother made scrap books out of, thinking the one thing holding them back was the lack of a vision board. The Blade and Siren are already seated, the first one casually flipping through his book while the latter tries to burn a hole through Quackity’s head, staring pointedly at where Tommy is holding his hand.

“Techno, please no reading at the dinner table. Wilbur, no plotting murder at the table” Philza warns his sons in a typically parental fashion.

“Big Q you’re sitting with me” Tommy declares, continuing to pull and drag Quackity as he sees fit, seating him on the chair right next to him. Wilbur glares harder at the display of favoritism and Quackity curls more into himself, sensing the danger he’s in.

“Tommy” Wilbur grits, “are you sure you don’t want to spend this time with your family? I’m sure your dog wants to get settled”

“Don’t be a bitch, Q is flock” he states distractedly, too busy urging Quackity to bring his chair even closer to him.

Wilbur splutters at the declaration, Techno shrugs and sets his book aside while Philza smiles tightly.

Quackity feels the blood drain from his face, heart stilling with fear. No doubt they all think he taught Tommy to say that in an attempt to spare his life. They probably think he’s taunting them.

“Tommy, that’s a big word. How about we stick to friend?” he tries to remedy the situation.

“Yeah Tommy, it is a big word” Wilbur grits out, eyes blazing with anger

They realize their mistake far too late when Tommy has tears streaming down his face

“You don’t want to be my flock?” he whispers dejectedly

This time instead of Wilbur’s murder look, it’s Philza’s and Techno’s.

“Nononoononononoo that’s not what I meant. I swear Toms. Pinky swear. I just don’t want you to feel obligated with me. If me being flock is what makes you happy I’ll fucking chirp” he rambles desperately

The tears are gone almost instantaneously and Quackity now has a lap full of feathers and happy avian.

The fucking trickster.

“You hear that dad? He’s my flock” Tommy beams proudly

“Bruh, I don’t think you realize what you just did” Techno comments, flipping his long pink braid over his shoulder, eyes alighting with amusement. There must be a deeper meaning behind it, no doubt. Because Philza is smiling mischievously while Wilbur looks, if possible, angrier than before. What the hell! They’re the ones that almost set him on fire for saying he’s not flock. What do they want from him?

“You don’t seriously believe he has no idea. The dog worked for Jschlatt, he can act” Wilbur hisses.

There is definitely something more to this.

And can Wilbur please use any other insult? Dog is such an insensitive insult.

“As far as I’m concerned, Tommy initiated the imprint and then asked for his consent with the rest of his flock as witnesses. Whether Quackity realizes what he agreed on or not is not important” Philza explains, ushering for the maids to bring in the food.

“Wait. What?” that’s not what he agreed on. He just didn’t want the kid to cry and sick his insane family on him.

“Don’t stress it, there’s more to the whole thing than that. Imprint or not, you’re still Tommy’s” Techno adds as vaguely as possible.

“Tommy can try to make this official, but he’s missing a few elements” Philza adds, eyes alight with mischief.

Lovely Quackity thinks.

He wants to ask more questions, try to understand WHAT he just agreed to and why the main mafia heads are amused. But he doesn’t dare, he really doesn’t want to get on their bad side or GOD FORBID, initiate conversation.

Tommy returns to his seat and Quackity is back into full view of the predators.

The bird flutters anxiously in his chest.

“Why are you still wearing that jacket?” Techno asks.

Fuck. Quackity didn’t think it’d be a big deal. Even if his wings are bound tightly, there’s still a small lump underneath that’s not quite right. He can’t risk it.

“um, I’m cold?” he offers, and way to sound convincing Quackity! You should really get an Oscar for the shittiest performance of the year!

“Cold?” techno asks disbelieving, and Quackity can’t blame him.

“Let him be Techno” Philza interrupts, “you all had your comfort items at one point”

Oh. Philza thinks he’s holding onto the jacket for comfort. He wouldn’t be wrong technically.

Dinner is another stressful affair all together, despite his hunger he barely manages a bite of his appetizer and two bites of the main course, his stomach knotting itself too much for him to eat. He just can’t.

Philza seems to disagree, and decides that Quackity has no choice in the matter.

“Now mate, it won’t do for you to get sick and ruin all the fun right” he chides

“I’m just not hungry” he grits out, wings shaking in their bonds at the disapproving tone, his bird brain is screeching in fear.

Predator mad! Predator angry! Hide under table! Hide!

He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. No matter how tempting, he won’t hide under the table.

“I see” he clicks his tongue, but the sound is more than a simple click. It must be an avian thing because it drives his instincts crazy with fear. On second thought, maybe hiding under the table isn’t such a bad idea.

Mad. Upset. Bad.

“Here mate, you’ll have to force yourself to eat some more” he chides, taking Quackity’s plate and adding some meat and vegetables to it. Despite the nice gesture and the bird suddenly cooing at the attention (what the fuck you dumb chicken! Make up your mind), Quackity can tell when he’s being threatened.

Force yourself to eat some more, or I will force you.

So he does, swallowing piece after piece of flavorless food. The food probably tastes amazing, no doubt made by culinary artists from the looks of it, but it feels like dirt on his tongue. Anxiety and stress churning heavily in his gut, the glare he’s been receiving since the meal started, from The Siren of all people, doesn’t make things easier.

Philza nods approvingly and resumes is meal, chatting with his children about one topic or the other. Honestly, they could be discussing their business plans and Quackity wouldn’t pay attention, too busy mixing the food and ripping it into tiny pieces to make it look like he ate more than he actually did. He doesn’t want to piss off The Angel of Death, but he doesn’t want to puke on the really nice, really expensive table either.

The maids come and pick up the dishes, placing a simple dessert in front of them. It’s just a slice of cheesecake with a drizzle of red sauce, plated artistically with what appears to be edible flowers. It looks delicious, but to Quackity it looks like a raw heart, because no way can he stomach that with his nerves. Luckily though, his short time with Tommy has taught him about the little gremlin’s sweet tooth, and he knows he’ll be saved in

3. 2. 1.

“Hey Q! you don’t like sweets do you? You said so back then” he doesn’t have to elaborate on when then really was, they all have an idea if the dark looks are anything to go by, but Quackity knows how to deescalate.

“You’re pretty smart Toms, good memory. I don’t like sweets, here you go” he slides the slice off his plate and unto the child’s, smiling at the brightening eyes and triumphant laugh he receives. He feels eyes on him, so he avoids raising his head and instead focuses all his attention on the clear glass of water, taking small sips and looking anywhere other than the seated men.

“I’m a bit curious Tommy”, Quackity flinches, he can’t help it whenever he hears Techno’s gruff voice, “how’d you know Quackity doesn’t like sweets”

“I said he told me, weren’t you listening?!” the kid huffs, licking his fork and diving back into his dessert.

“I just wanted the whole story” Technoblade explains, “were you eating desserts and he told you? Did you find a bag of sugar and just talk about it…?”

Quackity has no idea why one of the deadliest men on the planet is so interested in such a dull story, but he feels uncomfortable with the questions. The entire evening has been them saying cryptic statements and Quackity blinking owlishly at them all.

“Oh! Quackity would buy me fast food and one time he got this meal that came with two WHOLE muffins” the child spreads his arms when he says whole, as if he’s never had a muffin before, or he didn’t come from one of the richest families on earth that could buy him an endless supply of those stale cheap muffins.

“Quackity only had a bite of his muffin and gave me the rest, said he didn’t like sweets, so I’m doing him a favor by eating this” he points at his second slice of cheesecake proudly.

“I fucking knew it!” Wilbur’s chair topples to the ground with how fast he stands, slamming his hands on the table and causing every glass to shake, he’s snarling at Quackity, eyes blazing scornfully, “you fucker did all this on purpose, you gave him food and then- “

“Wilbur” Philza hisses, and Quackity almost faints at the sound. Mad. Angry. Hide. Hide.

He stops himself from chirping, just barely.

Get it together Quackity. You can’t chirp. Do not fucking chirp.

“Dad! You know how much- “

“Sit” Philza orders and Wilbur obeys instantly, righting his chair and seating himself, clearly angry but obedient nonetheless, “now, there’s no need to get upset, I’m sure Tommy appreciated the extra muffin, right Quackity?”

Holy shit. Holy shit, he’s talking to him now! And he’s waiting for an answer. An answer Quackity doesn’t have, because WHY are they upset he gave him an extra muffin? Of all the things they should be pissed off about, he’d think sharing a muffin was the last on the list. Was it because he had taken a bite out? Is that it? They didn’t want one of theirs getting Quackity’s germs?

“I said right Quackity?”

Fuck he didn’t answer and now he’s pissed them off.

“I swear it was only a tiny bite, just a nibble, the muffin was mostly intact” he rushes out.

They all stare at him strangely, expect for Tommy who’s still focused on dessert.

“Mate, you think the issue is with the bite you took?” Philza sounds perplexed, which, not fair. It’s Quackity’s turn, okay?

“You really are clueless, aren’t you?” Technoblade huffs, and Philza smiles.

“you don’t actually buy it!” Wilbur screeches and receives a condescending hush for his efforts.

“No mate, we don’t have an issue with sharing food, right boys?”

“Nope” Techno smirks and Wilbur gaps like a fish, ‘Dad what are you- “

“Here, you can have a bite of mine” He smirks dangerously and it makes Quackity’s head fuzzy, the mafia boss takes a knife and slices a bit of his cheesecake of, rising to reach Quackity’s empty plate and slide the cut piece onto it.

He can’t object, or argue, this feels too important and critical to argue against. The bird in his chest is oddly quiet, as if in anticipation.

“Go ahead, give it a try” Phil urges, “I’m sure you’ll like it more than some mass produced muffin” he teases.

“um- yeah, yeah. I… sure” he stutters, shakily lifting the fork.

Everyone is staring at him, waiting with bated breath for him to do- something? It’s strange and unsettling, but he makes the choice to just fuck it. And shoves the bite into his mouth, chewing slowly because the cake is rich and creamy, and like Philza said, a million times better than the stale muffin he would spoil himself with every once in a while. He swallows heavily and Wilbur, who was still the entire time actually throws his napkin to the side in rage.

“What the actual FUCK dad!” Wilbur seethes, his eyes are oddly split, like his instincts rose to the top.

Techno on the other hand has dilated pupils, and so does Phil. Tommy is cackling like a madman, hitting Quackity on the back like he just won a million dollars.

He just ate a piece of cake, there’s not much to it, why is the bird in his chest fluttering madly and urging him to chirp and trill needily.

“Well, that proves that you have no idea what you did to Tommy, this is truly unexpected” Phil concludes, swirling the wine in his glass, “No need to throw a tantrum Wil, it’s not like he’s an avian” he laughs at the idea and Quackity’s heart stops.

Is this significant to avians?

“I…. I…. um-that is” he shudders at the smirk and curious tilt of the head Phil gives him.

“What is it mate?”

“It’s j-just…. If I were an avian, which I’m NOT! Why would that- “

“But you’re not, are you?” Techno asks, eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

“NO!” he screams, “absolutely not!” he shakes his head furiously, making himself dizzy.

“Wow there. No need to unscrew your head.” Phil laughs, “there’s different meaning to it depending on what you are, and there’s no point in you knowing any of it”

Tommy laughs, trying to smother his laugh in both palms. It should scare Quackity, but it only makes the kid more endearing. He’d spent time with the child in a less than ideal situation, the only smiles he saw were forced ones or ones tinted with fear, it was nice to see a genuine laugh, even if it was a bit secretive and odd.

“Why are you laughing gremlin?” Wilbur asks, still pissed off for some reason, but trying to curb it.

“I know something you doooooon’t” he singsongs.

“Oh?” Philza indulges, “Is it important?”

“SUPER!” he nods.

“As long as it doesn’t affect me, you can keep it” Techno finishes, going back to his dessert.

The reply makes Tommy laugh harder, and Wilbur frowns.

“Tommy please, I can’t handle any more surprises” he groans.

“Is it going to be a secret for long?” Philza goes along with the joke, jaw resting on the palm of his hand, “you’re not one for patience nestling”

“Nope.” He replies, popping the p, looking at Quackity and winking of all things

Quackity just wants this dinner to be over.

Chapter Text

Tommy only stops snickering when Philza tells him he can’t have Quackity sleeping in his room, the statement makes the kid practically throw a tantrum and then pout endlessly, trying desperately to argue against it.

Philza’s response is to make it clear that ‘If you try to sneak him into your room, I’ll have to punish him’ while Wilbur keeps glaring daggers at Quackity. Seriously, you’d think he’d get tired by now.

Honestly, Quackity wasn’t aware sleepovers were even an option, and he’s glad Philza vetoed it early on. The last thing he needs is to give them another reason to behead him.

Baby bird? Chick not with us?

Fuck off you stupid bird.

When the dessert is cleared, Techno offers to take Quackity back to his room, a wonderfully horrid idea! And Tommy, sweet amazing gorgeous Tommy stops his pouting session and starts screaming at the top of his voice. He even uses a couple of the new words Quackity taught him, which earns him a raised eyebrow from Philza.

Fucking hell Tommy, talk about tact

“AND ANOTHER THING BITCH! HE IS MINE!”

Isn’t that sweet…. in a morbidly fascinating way?

“Now Tommy, that’s not how we speak to family” Philza tuts, “plus, you’re staying in the nest tonight, while your friend gets settled in”

“FUCK OFF!” Tommy screeches, anger reaching new heights.

“Tommy” the man warns, his voice doesn’t rise, but there is a change, a timber that makes his voice echo. It gives Quackity goosebumps and has him swallowing hard, desperately holding back a chirp of fear.

Tommy seems to be facing the same issue, he’s suddenly quiet and meek, gone is the strong and fierce personality, in its place is a small helpless chick with wide eyes and defensive posture.

“I’m sorry Tommy” Philza coos softly, nothing left of the terrifying demeanor from before “I don’t like using your instincts against you, but you need to learn. No disrespecting flock. Techno will take Quackity back to his room and you’re going to spend the night in my nest”

“But Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad” the kid whines petulantly, seemingly shaking off the after effects of whatever that was while Quackity is still getting his breathing under control.

“No buts Tommy, neither Techno nor Wilbur are allowed to hurt your friend. They know they’ll be punished otherwise”

Techno shrugs at the statement, seemingly agreeing. While Wilbur clenches his teeth and glares pointedly at the outsider.

“Yeah Tommy” Wilbur says through grit teeth, “for now, we’re not allowed to hurt the dog”

“Wilbur” Techno warns, sensing his brother’s motives.  Is it twin thing?

“What?” Wilbur downs what’s left of his whine in one gulp, like he’s taking a fucking shot or something, “I’m just saying the truth, the dog is allowed to live. Nothing about the possibility of putting it down later” he snarls “ya know, like one does to rabid dogs”.

“Wilbur. Careful” Techno warns again.

“Eventually he’ll run out of tricks” Wilbur pushes on, heedless of the warnings, “all dogs do”

“Enough Wilbur” Techno growls, “Bitch!” Tommy adds his two cents.

Which… valid.

“And his rabies will show up, so maybe just consider filing its fucking canines! I’m not asking for much!”

“Wilbur!” Techno yells, “fuck off” Tommy snarls.

“and then WHEN HE FINALLY BITES I CAN PUT IT DOWN MYS- “

“Stop saying DOG!” Quackity finally screeches back. He slams his hands on the table, and rises up to glare at his opponent, “you wanna insult me? Fucking fine! Big deal! Look at me! I’m so big and scary! Threatening an already caged bird! What are you? five?”

“Big Q” Tommy whispers urgently, but Quackity is too far gone at the moment.

He is breathing heavily after that outburst, chest heaving with anger. Wilbur stares hatefully at him, mouth opening to retort, but Quackity is not done! Oh no! Not by a long shot!

“If you’re gonna fuck up, then fuck up right” Jschlatt had told him once, “you’re gonna get the same beating either way, so might as well make it count”

Well, look at him taking Jschlatt’s advice, he’s already in deep shit as it is.

“Listen here, I was raised on the streets, then Jschlatt dragged me into his mafia as a lackey. I have been a punching bag and door matt all my life! I’ve had every asshole under the sun come at me! But, I have NEVER been called a dog! Because I am not a fucking dog! Call me a spineless piece of shit. Or a bug. Or mutated chicken. Or even bottom feeder. Even street kids can come up with a better insult! What the actual fuck?! Do not call me dog or I SWEAR on my life I will fucking bite you and give you the rabid dog you want.”

He ends his rant with a huff, and plops back down in his chair, crossing his arms and glowering at the now shell shocked piglin.

The room is silent, all eyes staring at Quackity.

“FUCK YEAH”

Chick proud.

What the hell you stupid bird!

Wilbur is looking at him with such burning hate, it makes the bird knock itself against his ribcage. But what’s done is done. He’s so tired, and everything is stressful.

He feels like a string pulled taught and could just snap any second now.

“My, My” Philza who has been silent up until now claps his hands slowly, as if he just finished a play. “I forgot the hormonal mess that is teenagers” he laughs, as if an outsider didn’t just threaten to but his son on the dinner table.

“Dad!” Wilbur turns to his father, Bambi eyes in full effect, “You see what I mean now? That’s only part of who he really is!”

The fucking bitch! Of course Siren would use his manipulative skills on his own family! How could Quackity forget?

“Oh I see many things songbird” Philza chortles, eyes dark.

“Fucking bitch! You started this!” Tommy is quick to jump to his defense, downy feathers puffed with rage.

“Wilbur! I told you to stop multiple times” Techno adds, standing to his full height, and showing his monstrous physique. The man is so terrifying he can pull off bubblegum pink hair and still look menacing.

“How fucking dare you?” Wilbur shouts back, “you’re siding with him over your own brother?”

“I’m not siding with anyone- ““Bitch stop starting shit, you’ve been nothing but spiteful sinc-“ “Tommy is a kid! I get why he’s confused. But you? Techno-“ “There is nothing confusing about-“ “Just stop going after him- “

It’s a full out screaming match, and Quackity is stuck in the middle. The wind in his sails is gone now, and he’s back to his deflated self. They’re fighting on whether he gets to live!

He looks around him for a spot to hide, bound wings shaking with fear, and he catches Philza’s eyes.

The man has a calculating look as he studies him, raising an eyebrow when Quackity notices his look.

“Enough” the man finally says, his voice back into that echoed tone that makes Quackity want to lay on the ground and be one with the carpet. He swallows back a scared chirp, but just barley.

They all fall silent, eyes turned to their leader.

“Sit down” he commands, and like one, they all sit back on their chairs, awaiting further instruction.

“Wilbur” the man calls, and Wilbur visibly shakes at the attention, “I’m being gentle with you, because I know how your instincts tormented you back then. But there’s only so much patience I can give”

“Dad! He- “

“Do NOT talk back”, Wilbur closes his mouth with a click, and bares his neck in submission, “never undermine my command. When I say you’re not allowed to hurt him, that also means you don’t threaten him. Especially not on my dinner table, understood?”

Wilbur nods quickly.

“Next time, there will be a punishment. And. You are not allowed to call him dog”

Wilbur looks sourly at his father, but nods all the same.

“Tommy” Philza turns his attention to his youngest, the kid looks up at his dad, “you don’t put anyone, and I mean anyone ahead of family.”

“but Quackity is- “

“No” he hisses, “he’s not. Even if you think he is, that doesn’t give you the right to disrespect flock. I get that your instincts adopted him into flock, but be that as it may, we don’t get rid of family because we got someone new.”

“Sorry Wilbitch” Tommy looks down at his lap, seeming thoroughly chastised.

“Techno” the last of his sons gives Philza his full attention, like a soldier ready for war, “Don’t lie to yourself son, I can see your bias even if you hide it well. And while it’s clear you’d never be biased against your family, your duty will always be to your sounder before anyone else”

Techno doesn’t argue, he doesn’t agree or refute anything.

“And you” Philza turns to the third avian in the room, Icey blues chilling his bones, “no biting any of my kids” he says lips quirking up with a smile, eyes lighting up.

Wilbur splutters in indignation, Techno chuffs with a smile, Tommy full on cackles, and Quackity..

Quackity is too shocked to react in any way.

This is it? He screamed and yelled and made a scene. But all he gets is a warning? There’s no way he would’ve gotten away with his actions if it were Jschlatt.

Huh.

Leader? Sir? Protect us?

Great. More bullshit to confuse the dumb bird.

“Tommy, go bring one of your stuffed toys and meet me in the nest. Wilbur, go help Nikki and blow some steam off. Techno, take our guest back to his room” Philza instructs, officially ending the shit show that was dinner.

Techno grabs him by the arm, pulling him to his feet in one swift move.

They leave the dining room together, hopefully Quackity can hide in the (nonexistent) safety of the small room, maybe even sleep for an hour if he’s lucky.

Maybe if he prays hard enough, he’ll wake up and this will all be a nightmare.

A man can hope.

It’s by the forth turn that Quackity notices they’re taking a different path from the one Philza lead him through earlier.

“Um…big guy?” Quackity stutters, “you sure we’re going the right way”

“I’m not taking you to your room” Technoblade grunts.

“oh. Yeah. Cool. Cool. That’s fine……. Um…why?”

“Are you always this jittery? What happened to the human that just threatened to bite a piglin hybrid?”

“to be fair, I would’ve said that regardless of his kind, piglin, sheep, whatever. Equality and what not” Quackity tries to joke, his nerves on edge from being alone with the Blade. He feels phantom pains across his face, his scar acting up from the stress.

He’s silent the rest of the walk, up until he’s lead through a big door and taken outside.

“here we are”

Quackity looks around him, shocked at the place he was lead to.

They’re outside the compound, in what seems to be a small garden. It’s gorgeous to say the least. High trees, a small bird bath, flowers lining the edges. Its beauty, however, doesn’t distract him from the high walls surrounding the space, stone structures so high Quackity could never hope to see beyond them.

“this is my space. Just mine” Techno explains, “there’s a wider area up front, and by the back. But this one is to the side of the house, a hidden nook. Dad gave it to me when I was a kid. I’m a brute piglin, so I needed my own ‘territory’, until my instincts settled in”

It seems like something important, Techno puts an emphasis on the words brute and territory for some reason, but Quackity has no idea what he means. Techno leads him to a wooden bench in the middle of the area, and seats them both.

“Wilbur and Tommy aren’t allowed in here, only dad is, since he is the leader of the sounder. If they get too much, and I know they can be too much even to me, you have my permission to come here all you want”

Oh.

That’s…. nice actually.

Safe place?

“Why?” he dares to ask. Techno runs a hand through long locks, exhaling slowly. If it were anyone else, Quackity would say awkward, but this was The Blade, with a stupid article in his name.

“I’m….sor- look, I…” Quackity takes it back, the man is for sure socially awkward. To think he blinded Quackity in one eye. Techno takes a deep breath, seemingly uncertain.

“Here” he opts to say, pushing a small velvet box in the teens hands. when Quackity does nothing, he makes an urgent sound, “I know dad wants me to be objective, and I am. This is different. Just. Look”

Quackity inspects the box for a minute, secretly enjoying the man’s obvious impatience, he takes his time opening it, and when its contents are finally in the open, he barely holds himself back from dropping it.

Inside it, lies a golden watch, a very familiar golden watch. A beautiful shiny gold watch he treasured for the longest time, that made his days a little bit brighter. He had to part ways with it a year ago, right around when Techno stuck an axe in his face.

It’s even shinier than he remembers, glittering gorgeously even in the dark. The small rhinestones that were decorating it are now replaced by something shinier, could it be real diamonds?

No!

Impossible!

“Tommy told me about your little treasure, what you had to do to save him that day.” Techno’s voice is its usual monotone one, but Quackity can detect the emotions hiding within, “You saved my sounder that day, and it cost you.” His eyes flicker to the scar, and back to the watch, “Had to look through every pawn shop in town, took me forever, and Tommy wasn’t much help finding it. I swear we bought like ten watches before we found the real one” he jokes and Quackity feels the first genuine smile tug at his lips.

He picks up the watch gently, holding it close to his heart, his chest expanding with unbridled joy.

Happy. Our hoard. Back. Back.

“Thanks” he whispers, still focused on his treasure.

“I owe you, so, if you need anything, so long as it doesn’t go against Dad’s direct orders, don’t hesitate”

It’s a nice promise, the clause about disobeying his father renders the promises useless, but it’s still a nice promise. Quackity appreciates it nonetheless.

Techno takes him back to his room, their journey this time isn’t as tense, Quackity’s bird is calm, even happy! The fear is still there, but it’s muted by another feeling that Quackity can’t identify. It’s nice and makes him hopeful.

When he walks into his room, there’s a bright red blanket lying on top. When he holds it, he can smell Tommy. It’s one of Tommy’s personal blankets, soaked with his scent.

The kid probably snuck it in while Quackity was with Techno.

It makes the bird trill with joy for some odd reason, cooing about Baby bird. Part of nest. Baby ours. Smell. Smell.

And Quackity is too tired to understand what it means, he’s never managed to. All he cares about is the chance of getting some rest after an agonizingly long day.

He places his shiny watch by his pillow and wraps himself up in the red blanket, forgoing the white one that came with the room. The minute is head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, somehow feeling calm in enemy territory.

It’s a shame Wilbur chooses that night to unleash a dog in his room.

Chapter Text

Quackity can feel a breath on his face, a warm panting breath right above him. Something wet drips on his face. Fuck. Does his room leak now? He can’t tell Jschlatt about it, the man will only punch him for whining like a bitch.

Fucking hell.

He wakes up gradually, whatever is dripping on is face is slimy. Yuck. Oh God. He’ll need to wake up extra early in the morning to take a shower, the water dripping is definitely filthy. And Jschlatt will surely yell at him if he smells bad.

The sound of panting is annoying too

Who the hell is breathing in his ear? Really, he deserves just one night of rest before……

Wait.

Panting?

Weird.

His brain slowly starts to reboot, sensing something strange.

The bird in his chest starts flapping its wings, frightened and anxious at the same time.

Quackity peels his eyes open, but barley, forcing is body to shift, so he can face whatever is above him.

His half asleep mind registers a slimy tongue, a furry body, and….

CANINES!

It’s a DOG!

IT’S A DOG!

EAT US! DOG EAT US! DOG KILL! RUN!

He screeches so loud, it scrapes his throat.

There’s a dog above him!! OH GOD! HE’S GONNA DIE!

Small feet running down an alley. The sound of barking right after him. The strays here are vicious. And they’re hungry like everything else on these streets. They can smell his fear. A young Quackity twists around another corner, running as fast as his feet can carry him. He has no other choice.

He scrambles from the blankets and falls face first into the floor, scrambling away on all four, he looks around panicking.

“BARK!”

THEY’RE HERE! THEY’RE CATCHING UP! HE NEEDS TO HIDE! HELP! HELP!

“Bark!”

HE’S GOING TO DIE! WHAT KIND OF ALLEY IS THIS?! HELP! SOMEONE!

NO PLEASE! PLEASE!

He looks around him desperately, he needs to climb up, the dogs won’t catch him if he’s high. He looks up.

There!

There’s a fan!

He jumps onto a desk, (what a strange thing to find in an alley,) and JUMPS so he’s holding on to the fan. He barley manages to pull himself up when the dog barks again.

He clings to the rod with both his hands and his legs, trembling violently.

From here he can see the dog better and HOLY SHIT! That is NOT a dog! It’s a beast.

It’s huge, with huge canines and huge claws and huge everything. It could bite Quackity’s head off with ease. It can use his spine as a toothpick!

Apparently it doesn’t like his new spot, and makes it clear by letting out a series of barks in complaint. Running around in circles beneath him.

Quackity wants to yell, but he’s hiding. He needs to be quiet.

Hush. Hush. It might find us. We can’t fly away. Hush. Hush.

The beast stands on its hind legs and literally REACHES for Quackity, barking to get his attention, and Quackity can’t make a sound. He’s stuck here In an alley? With Jschlatt? Where?

HELP! WHO CAN HELP?

FLOCK? TREASURE?

Yes. Yes. Someone gave him treasure… right? Protector? Who? But where’s baby? What if baby comes?

“QUACKITY?” he hears protector yell. Then protector is breaking down a door, “I heard you scream! What is- Steve?”

Technoblade, gun pulled out, stares at the beast, and Quackity wants to scream for him to run away and save himself while also running TO him and saving Quackity, at the same time.

“Steve how’d you get in here?”

IS HE TALKING TO THE BEAST? Quackity wants to call out to him, but he needs to be still.

Hush. Hush. Quiet.

Protector looks around the room, searching for something. When he can’t find it, he starts sniffing audibly, as if following a scent, he raises his head slightly, still focused on his sense of smell and finally spots Quackity. Quackity who is sitting on top of the fan, arms wrapped around the metal rod holding the fan to the ceiling.

“Fucking hell! How’d you get up there?” Techno asks flabbergasted, “Get down! Those things aren’t meant to hold much weight! You’ll fall and break your back”

Really? He’s more concerned with Quackity’s climbing skills than the actual behemoth in the room? Priorities anyone?

Protector isn’t protecting.

Quackity would yell if he wasn’t frozen with fear, alas, the only movement he’s capable of is trembling in fear.

“Quackity! What happened? Why did you scream? And why are you up there?”

If Quackity didn’t know any better, he’d assume he heard a hint of concern.

“And how the fuck did my dog get here?”

Oh. The monster is Technoblade’s pet. In retrospect, it’s a very fitting pet to a man such as Technoblade, Quackity just wishes it wasn’t demonstrating its suitability by pouncing on him. He wants to cry! The man that took out half is face has a pet that wants to eat him in his sleep.

He doesn’t know why he’s more hurt than scared in this situation, but he is. His chest aches with something unfamiliar, and it sucks.

Techno looks alarmed all of a sudden, staring at Quackity with shock written all over.

“Wait! Are you crying? Holy shit! Wait! Um... here, tell me what’s wrong! What is it?”

Crying? He’s crying? Quackity lifts one of his hands slowly, while the other grips the metal rod harder, and touches his face, sensing the wet liquid on his cheeks.

Huh.  Would you look at that? He’s crying.

The furry beast barks and Quackity forgets everything, a very tiny peep escaping his throat as he curls into himself, hiding his face in the crook of his arm.

Hush. Monster. Hide. Prey hide. Protector?

“Oh! OH! FUCKING HELL! Wilbur you bitch” Techno cusses up a storm, screaming the last one out the door, then focusing back on what’s happening in the room. “Steve, come here” Techno signals to the monster, and the it lunges at protector!

“Techno Run!” he cries at last.

Beast hurt protector?

“Down” Techno commands and the beast…. sits down? “Lie down” he commands again, and the beast actually gets down on the floor, “it’s okay Quackity, he’s trained, he won’t hurt you”

Yeah right! It won’t hurt Techno maybe, no, Techno is a large man who can rip a bear into two with his bare hands, Quackity is the size of a snack in comparison.

“Let me rephrase, I won’t let him hurt you” he says it in such a way, Quackity really wants to believe him. He looks at Techno seriously, his shaking less violent than before, eyes questioning, “you have my word as my sounder’s protector” he makes a weird cuffing sound after that, and the bird behind his fragile ribs chirps softly, asking Quackity to trust protector.

Techno stands beneath the fan, in view of the teen stuck to it, arms open and ready to catch him should he jump. The beast, Steve, stays in the same spot Techno left him at, right by the door, fluffy tail wagging.

“I’ll catch you, promise” he chuffs again, and it’s so strange the way it soothes his wired nerves. He makes eye contact with Techno and nods in determination. Techno nods back, an unspoken message between them. Just as Quackity starts letting go, readying himself to the drop, they get interrupted by a loud screech.

Both startle and look to the door, where a frazzled Tommy is standing. He looks like he’s traveled through a hail storm, is eyes wide and furious, hair mussed up and pajama haggard.

“WHY THE FUCK WAS QUACKITY SCREAMING?!” he shrieks out, an inhuman sound tinging the words.

“Did you run from the nest room all the way here?”

Techno asks the dumbest questions in the worst times possible, it’s settled.

“THAT DOESN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION!” the kid screeches, pupils paper thin. The nestling looks around and sees the furry beast still laying on the floor, and starts connecting dots, Quackity can see the wheel turning in his head and

“YOU BROUGHT STEVE IN HERE TO SCARE QUACKITY?” he bellows.

Never mind, he didn’t connect shit.

“What?” Techno splutters, “why the fuck would I do that? Tommy I would never-”

Tommy doesn’t hear him, instead he brandishes tiny claws and physically attacks his brother, hissing and cussing like a rabid Chihuahua.

“hey! No. no. Tommy stop! Think with your kid brain not the bird brain”

“Tommy please stop” Quackity tries from his spot, this is painful to watch.

“Tommy” Philza runs into the room and quickly unlatches Tommy from the bigger piglin hybrid. The nestling keeps reaching for his brother, angry bird noises the only way he can communicate. Philza makes a cooing sound that soothes Quackity but does nothing to the struggling hatchling.

“What the fuck happened?” he asks his eldest son pining his son to his chest, letting out small coos that affect Quackity more than Tommy. Oh god. Is he going to fall asleep in his place, “we heard a scream and Tommy ran out of the nest, I tried to hold him back, but he was so lost in his instincts, I didn’t want him to hurt himself”

“he thinks I siked Steve at Quackity”, Tommy lets out an ear piercing screech when he hears Techno’s voice.

“Did you?” Phil asks, humming a small tune in throat that finally gets the chic to lessen his struggling.

“what? Fuck no dad! I came here and saw Quackity sitting on a fan- no clue HOW- and Steve was trying to play with him”

Philza looks up to Quackity, eyes analytical and he can tell the minute something clicks.

“Your twin”

“that’s what I thought too”

“I’ll deal with Wilbur, get the little one down. How is the fan holding his weight?”

“I was about to do that before you barged in” Techno grumbles, “come on Q” he calls up to the stuck bird. At the call, Tommy renews his struggles all over again, clawing at thin air in hopes of reaching his brother. Quackity is scared he’ll hurt himself before landing anything on the piglin.

“just pull him under” Techno snaps at last, “I’m barely holding back my own brute with everything going on”

Whatever that means seems to greatly affect Philza, because he grabs Tommy by the scruff of his neck, a strange hold that paralyzes the chick. It’s terrifying how fast the kid stops moving, eyes wide and still full of rage, and teeth bared. If Quackity didn’t know Philza would burn the word and dance on its ashes before hurting his son, he would’ve thought Tommy dead.

Whatever Philza has done to his son, it’s only stopped him physically. The minute Techno calls for Quackity again, the kid let’s out a strange guttural growl from his chest. It makes everyone pause, and Quackity’s hidden feathers ruffle and push against their bindings, that he THANKFULLY didn’t take off before going to bed. Even if it’s painful, it’s preferable to having them torn out by that beast of a dog, or its owners.

“Tommy hush” Philza scolds, “that is your brother”

Instead of calming down, Tommy makes that sound again, only louder and fiercer. Quackity can’t blame him fully, the kid had a front row seat to what his brother was willing to do to Quackity.

“TECHNO STOP! WAIT!”

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD”

“TECHNO I’M SAFE! LISTEN TO ME!”

“Fucking hell, can’t believe a human is at the center of all this” Philza snaps, there’s something bitter in his tone, like he’s fed up. And Quackity remembers how he needs to be useful. He’s only been here for a day and he’s done the opposite of being useful, he’s a burden. He feels his eyes tearing up against his will, because burdens don’t get to live, they’re only disposed of.

“Quackity” Techno ignores the limp chick in his dad’s arms, “I don’t know how long that fan will last, but you need to get down now. Jump” he motions with his arms held open, ready to catch him. Quackity considers his options, they think the fan can’t hold his weight because he’s human, however, since he’s in fact an avian, his hollow bones make him far lighter than the average person. Meaning he still has time before the fan falls. He can stay here away from them for a little bit more, maybe if he’s lucky they’ll ignore him and leave.

On the other hand, Philza and Technoblade are clearly losing patience, and Quackity doesn’t want to deal with a punishment on top of his really shitty night.

“Little thing” Philza’s honey tone interrupts his thoughts, “I’m really tired, jump on your own and risk braking your legs or I’m turning the fan on and watching what happens. Your choice”

Okay. There’s that option as well. Very unfavorable in Quackity’s opinion. And by the renewed hisses and screeches from Tommy, he agrees. Just as Quackity is getting ready to jump away from Techno and onto the bed instead, a sharp whistle cuts through the air and Quackity blacks out for a solid minute. When he opens his eyes again, he’s in Techno’s arms, lying completely still as maroon eyes bore into him.

“Braaaaaaah, when I said I’d catch you, I didn’t mean literally fall on your back like that, I thought you fainted” he says as he sets Quackity on shaky feet, slowly so he doesn’t lose balance, “and how many layers are you wearing?”

What does that have to do with anything?

Unless… he felt the lump through his thin night shirt. As quick as he can on wobbly feet, he backs into a corner, back flat against the wall, hiding his back from sight. Something like hurt flashes across blood red eyes, but it’s preferable to the look of sick joy that would come at seeing his wings. Anything is preferable to that.

“Ok” Philza huffs, “this has been a stressful night, Techno take Steve to your room, Quackity try to get some sleep, I’ll lock your door from the outside so no thing and no one can get inside till morning, as for me” he hitches a completely limp and silent Tommy higher in his arms, “I’m taking Tommy to the nest and then having a word with another disobedient nestling”

“what happened to Tommy” he can’t help but ask, the kid is completely silent, still awake, but unlike before, he can’t even let out a peep.

Philza wouldn’t hurt his own son. NO! he wouldn’t…. right?

“Easy little birdy” Philza chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice, clearly saying ‘know your place’. When Quackity does nothing but try to become one with the wall behind him, Philza takes pity on his soul, “the whistle I just made forces fledglings to calm down and submit, and since he’s my fledgling, the effect takes longer to shake off, he’s fine”

Oh……...

OH!

HE BLACKED OUT AND FELL INTO TECHNO’S ARMS BECAUSE OF THAT! He just managed to shake it off faster. That’s not ideal, that’s the opposite of ideal. It’s another thing he’ll have to watch out for apparently, because even other avians can elicit a reaction from him.

Fuck!

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

“come on Steve” Techno motions for his dog to follow him as they leave, sparing Quackity a final look, full of something he can’t put his finger on, Philza right behind him.

When they’re all out of his room, he hears the distinct ‘click’ of a lock turning, meaning he’s locked in here until morning comes and his warden allows him to leave.

Finally, in the darkness of his cell, Quackity finally lets go and allows himself to cry his heart out. The room is quickly filled with loud wails and hiccupping sobs.

It’s one of the worst meltdowns he’s ever had, right up there with the time he lost his mother and then time Jschlatt locked him in a dark cell for a week.

His chest hurts with the force of each sob, his whole frame shaking violently.

He’s going to die, he’s going to die if he stays here, and he’s going to die if he tries to get out. All his life, he’s only ever tried to stay away from trouble, keep a low profile and just make it to the next day, and yet, he keeps finding himself neck deep in these situations. He never asked for any of this!

The unfairness of it all almost breaks him, the weight of it pushing him to the ground until he’s lying down and hugging his knees.

He must have either blacked out or fainted at some point, since the next time he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of sunlight filtering through his window. The clock by the door says it’s six in the morning, probably too early for anyone to come and release him for the day.

Probably for the best, since he feels like absolute garbage. When he tries to sit up, a stabbing pain in his back sends him keeling over.  His wings are on FIRE! He’s used to them hurting, but never like this. The pain is beyond intense, he can barely breath.

He stays still, curled up on the cold floor until he can take deep breathes without the risk of screaming.

Is it because he’s kept them bound for so long? Before seeing Techno in the lower district, he’d made sure to let his wings loose in the safety of his own home, he TRIED to care for them, even if he didn’t know how. But now it’s been who knows how long since they’ve seen the light. His wings hurt on a good day, he can’t afford to make it worse.

He crawls to the door on all four, and listens. There’s no sound on the outside, further solidifying his theory. He has some time before someone comes to get him, he needs to try fixing his wings! If they come and find him incapacitated, there will be questions he can’t answer.

The teen crawls back to the wall, and slowly takes his shirt off, careful not to move his wings more than he has to. The shirt falls to the ground, followed by the dirty fabrics of his bindings.

Something is wrong.

Even if Quackity is a moron when it comes to his nature, even HE can tell when things are this bad. Just as he finishes untying the bindings, a handful of feathers falls to the ground.

Cold dread rises in his chest, this is bad. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s never lost so many feathers at once. Dirty yellow wings move without his permission sending pain through his back as feathers continue to fall around him.

“Holy shit!” a voice exclaims behind him, and Quackity can’t help the terrified chirp that escapes him.

Because right there, holding the door open with one hand, and a shiny golden key with the other, is none other than Tommy.

Sweet, loudmouthed, mafia prince Tommy.

Tommy who has a clear view of his wings.

Quackity feels like crying all over again.

Chapter Text

Quackity can’t sleep that night. He’s exhausted, and yet his mind refuses to let him rest.

Chick scared. Chick hurt. Chick sad.

Fuck! Even the annoying bird in his chest keeps nagging him, reminding him of Tommy. Tomorrow the man Jschlatt was talking about will show up with the fucking scissors. He wasn’t supposed to arrive here for another couple of days, but apparently, when he found out the wings belonged to the little mafia prince, he dropped everything to arrive as early as possible.

Quackity has never met the guy, he doesn’t even know his name.

All he knows is this:

The man is a dog hybrid of some kind, and Quackity hates dogs. His time living on the street taught him to be wary of their teeth.

He knows that Jschlatt trusts him with getting the wings off every one of his victim’s back with the least damage possible to the appendages.

He knows the man is sadistic. From what he’s heard, the man doesn’t bother with a sedative during any of his ‘procedures’, enjoying the agonized screams far too much. Even the other mafia goons are unsettled by his presence, they’re antsy and irritable whenever he shows up.

And Tommy will be given to him tomorrow at noon.

Fuck.

His chest squeezes with pain. He can’t handle the thought, he really can’t.

None of the other avians that Jschlatt caught and subjected to the clipping process ever survived.

It’s not the blood loss, Quackity knows. There’s something about the loss of wings that just…. ends them. Like they can’t stand the thought of existing without them. (Quackity shudders at the thought of losing his own) Jschlatt’s man made a point of keeping them stable and alive after the operation, and yet, none of them made it past the two-day mark.

They’d exist as a husk of themselves for two days at most, with Quackity being tasked with cleaning and feeding them, until they’d just…. Die… quietly, sadly, but never peacefully. There was nothing peaceful about the look on their face.

He can’t stand the thought of Tommy being like that. Staring numbly at Quackity, refusing to eat, speak or even blink. Tommy can’t be like that, Quackity may have known him for only a day, but he can’t picture him as anything less than the hurricane he so naturally is.

Baby bird sad. Baby bird scared.

Fucking hell.

What should he do.

He shoves his face into the pillow to muffle his frustrated scream.

God dammit!

Quackity tries to shut off his mind and messes with the pillow and blankets around him, changing their places and turning them this way and that so he’s less agitated (make it look like a nest). The room Jschlatt assigned him is the same one from when he was first dragged here, although, it has been significantly updated since then. Instead of the newspapers he would sleep on, he now has a rickety old bed with a thin mattress to sleep on, he has a small chest to fit all his clothes and random knickknacks that he’s gathered over his time of servitude in the Manberg.

A lightbulb lights up in his head. Maybe he can help the kid get comfortable, if Quackity is this anxious, he can’t even begin to imagine what the kid is going through.

Quackity picks up his two threadbare blankets and single pillow, throwing them into a pile by the door. He then rushes to the chest and pulls out his favorite trinkets.

They’re trash basically, but Quackity’s bird coos at his treasure. A shiny bottle cap, a rounded piece of glass that glitters nicely in the light, an old pen that doesn’t write but is spray painted a nice golden color and finally, his most precious piece; an actual golden watch made of REAL GOLD he managed to nick off some poor sucker and then hide it from Jschlatt. Of all his treasures, this watch is the shiniest, he’s refused to sell it off despite needing the money. Jschlatt never paid him enough, and he wasn’t allowed to dine with the rest of the men, so he needed to make his own food every day. He’s been desperate many times in his life, and yet he’s always kept the watch. It was so shiny and pretty, simply holding it made his instincts trill and chirp in happiness, and anything that made him the tinniest bit happy was worth going to bed hungry in his opinion.

He carries his treasure to the pile and wraps it up in the blanket, making sure it’s secure before taking it to the cell at the end of the hallway. He hates leaving his room at night, since they never bothered giving him another room since he got here, he was still technically in the ‘prison area’ of the compound. The part where the weak prisoners, the ones not worth much trouble, were kept in. Since Jschlatt didn’t bother with this area much, no money was spent on ‘renovations’. Most of the lights were burnt, the walls were striped of any paint, and the ceiling was always dripping filthy water onto the ground below. The whole place reeked at all times, and Quackity wasn’t allowed to complain unless he wanted to sleep outside. But Tommy is at the end of the hall, and Quackity needs to be there.

He makes it to Tommy’s cell and knocks gently to make sure the kid is awake.

“FUCK OFF YOU SPINELESS BITCH” is the answer the greets him and Quackity laughs at the spunk that’s still there… for now.

How is Quackity more anxious than Tommy? What the hell?

“It’s me Biggest man alive, can I come in?”

“The fuck? There’s no way you’re here to feed me again”

Quackity laughs again at the incredulous tone and decides to enter, even if he’s not given permission.

“good to see you awake” he chooses to say in lieu of an answer.

“yeah whatever” the kid sniffs, he’s back to his spot in the corner, forgoing the mattress. The sight makes something twinge in his chest, the bird chirping sadly.

“Just thought you’d be awake now, so we might as well hang out”

“What’s your deal bitch?” Tommy asks suspiciously, “you’re not supposed to be nice”

Quackity doesn’t know how to answer, what should he say? Even he doesn’t know what’s gone over him! Why he’s acting and feeling this way. He…. Why is this so hard?

He hesitates for a long moment and then he makes up his mind. He stomps his way to the mattress and plops himself down, depositing his bundle on the side and patting the seat beside him.

“come on Mr. Wife haver, I have something to show you” he urges.

Tommy gets up slowly, eyes cautious but curious at the same time, when he’s finally seated beside the older teen, he makes a questioning noise.

“I hate what’s happening” he finally admits, voice choked with the truth of it all, “I swear, if I could do anything I would”

Tommy stares at him for a long moment, eyes filled with fire. It makes Quackity pause, and picture what they would look like devoid of anything, just empty of any comprehension and life.

He refuses to consider it and instead focuses on the pile by his side. Ruffling through them to find his hidden treasure.

“Thought I’d bring you something, it makes me less anxious” he picks up his sorted items and hold them out to the nestling like an offering. Tommy’s eyes widen at the sight of his shiny things, eyes zeroing in on the watch; the shiniest of them all.

“You can’t keep them” he’s quick to explain, “this just me sharing”. It feels important to explain, because the treasure is hishishishis.

Tommy rolls his eyes at the explanation, “of course I won’t keep them, I know not to mess with someone’s hoard” he says matter of factly, “Techno made sure to teach me”.

Hoard? Quackity doesn’t think he’s heard that term before. But it’s fitting in an odd way. Makes the bird hum in approval.

Gently, like the items are the most expensive diamonds in the land and not a bunch of trash (excluding the watch), Tommy lifts his ‘hoard’ and inspects them, eyes dilating slightly at the way it shines.

He lets out a small “peep” that Quackity somehow knows means happy.

The nestling approves of his hoard.

What an amazing feeling.

They stay seated like that, Tommy staring at the hoard and chirping here and there, while Quackity enjoys the company. At some point, Tommy returns his hoard and drifts closer to the blankets and pillow. With his pupils still dilated, he starts messing with them, changing their position and shuffling them until they’re in a crude circle, similar to the one Quackity made not ten minutes ago in his own room.

“these are your blankets” Tommy says, making the realization that these were not just any random rags he found.

“Yeah” Quackity admits, “we don’t have much to spare, and I figured you’d be cold”

“They smell like you” Tommy pushes, eyes searching Quackity for something.

“I…... sorry?” he offers, “I didn’t have time to wash them”

“Don’t! that’s not what I meant” since when did twelve year olds have such intense eyes?

“You don’t get it do you?” Tommy huffs, seemingly exasperated.

“Hey! I’m not a mind reader kid- sorry. Biggest man alive”

That finally gets a smile out of the kid, he scooches closer to Quackity until they’re side to side in the circle.

They stay like that until finally, Quackity feels the heavy pull of sleep, his mind allowing him to relax at last.

He should probably avoid sleeping next to a prisoner, even if Tommy is a child, who knows what a scared and terrified child is capable of doing? But Quackity doesn’t even entertain the thought.

For some reason, he knows Tommy won’t try anything.

Flock. Baby.

OURS

He wakes up the minute his internal clock rings, informing him that Jschlatt expects coffee at his desk in ten minutes and if it’s not just right, it’ll be dumped on his head.

He jumps out of bed, trying to make his clothes and hair just a little bit presentable. Tommy wakes up at the sudden movement, hair and feathers tousled from sleep, and Quackity would coo at the adorable site, but there’s no time! He needs to run and run fast!

“Hey Big Q” Tommy calls to him.

Even though Quackity is running late, something gets him to stop and he turns to look at the kid.

“about what you said yesterday” the kid starts, seemingly reluctant, “I get it now, we’re the same. The only difference is that you have a little more time”

Quackity doesn’t understand the full meaning of the sentence, but something about it makes his heart stop.

He can hear his heart break, shattering into a thousand pieces. Each shard digging into a soft spot in his organs and TEARING at him.

Quackity can’t find it in him to reply, simply turns and runs out the room. He doesn’t know if he’s running towards Jschlatt or AWAY from Tommy.

The day goes horribly wrong afterwards, the coffee is too hot for Jschlatt’s taste so it ends up being poured on his head. Jschlatt is extra pissy since he’s waiting on his man to bring the scissors while also arranging for the process of getting the clipped wings to The Syndicate without getting caught.

The Syndicate, on the other hand, has taken great offense to the kidnapping of their little prince, and both The Blade AND The Angel of Death have taken to the streets personally. They haven’t stuck to killing Jschlatt’s men like they normally would have, no! They’ve gone as far as finding Jschlatt’s favorite bar and burning it to the ground, killing everyone inside. From servers to random customers, no one was left alive.

They’re clearly on a killing spree and no one is safe.

When Quackity hears the news he almost shits his pants. This is a level of anger they’ve never dealt with, if they send the kids wings, the whole city will be ashes by midnight. The Syndicate has yet to find the headquarters, but with the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time.

“Boss….” Quackity tries, because he really needs to. Jschlatt is blinded by his sense of superiority and can’t see anything else. This is all a disaster.

“If you suggest I let go of the kid one more time Quackity, I’m breaking both your legs and having you mop the whole floor with the shirt on your back” Jschlatt growls warningly. Quackity would normally obey and keep his mouth shut, but there is nothing normal about what’s happening.

“Is it really worth it Boss?” he pushes onward, “they found out the bar you like to go to, it’s only a matter of- gah!” he gets cut off by Jschlatt fingers around his throat, cutting the air off his lungs.

Fuck. He really pushed it. Fuckfuckfuck. He can’t breathe.

“for your information, I had planned on sending him another pair of wings before we managed to catch the kid!” he smiles maniacally, and Quackity is suddenly faced with the possibility of dealing with an unstable Ram hybrid “I saw it as a sign! I can FINALLY BEAT THAT PRETENTIOUS PRICK AT THIS GAME” he screams and slams Quackity in the ground, his head bouncing off the floor with the strength of the impact, “it was a sign!” the man is still smiling widely, eyes crazed, “I am better than Philza! I am better than everyone! And when Dream comes here tonight, you’re going to fucking help him strap the kid and you’re going to stand there and watch” spit flies out of his mouth when he speaks. He looks like a madman, so different from the composed business man he usually appears as.

His foot slams into Quackity’s stomach, knocking the wind out of his lungs, “Do you understand you useless rat?” he emphasizes his question by pressing the heel of his boot into the already bruised stomach.

“ye- yes sir” Quackity manages to choke out.

“Good. Now SCRAM!” Jschlatt yells and Quackity ignores the pain coursing through his body and the dark spots dancing in his vision, and literally runs out the room.

Oh god! This is bad! This is so fucking bad! What is he going to do? The man’s name is Dream and he’s coming today and Quackity not only has to live with losing Tommy, but also hurting him directly.

No!

He CAN’T do it.

Our baby hurt? We hurt baby? No!

He’ll never hurt Tommy.

He would rather die-

He pauses at the thought.

He would…… rather die? He can’t hurt Tommy! Oh GOD! He can’t go through with this no matter what.

Tommy. Tommy is a baby bird. He’s small and fierce and funny. He shouldn’t be anything else.

How could Quackity hurt him?

Blood drips into his eye, blinding him momentarily.

Shit! He’s injured, probably from slamming his head against the tile floors. He needs to hold in the bleeding before it drips to the floor and Jschlatt gets another excuse to beat him up. His arms pat the pockets in search of a tissue to stave off the bleeding.

Instead of the soft texture of a tissue, he’s met with the cold feel of steel. He pulls out the item for inspection and finds himself staring at his most prized possession. The watch glints beautifully in his palm, but for the very first time, it brings him no joy.

It’s lost its metaphorical shine, and now it’s just another expensive piece of jewelry he might as well sell.

Wait! Yes! That’s it! He knows what he needs to do.

If death is more preferable than what Jschlatt has planned, then at least Quackity can choose the terms.

He’ll knock on Death’s door on his own before its Angel comes knocking on his.

Chapter Text

“Holy shit”

“T…Tommy! Oh God! Tommy! Please”

“Holy fucking shit” the kid says again, this time louder.

“Tommy please, please, please, I can explain” Quackity rushes to say, his heart hammering in his chest.

“HOLY FUCKING SH-mmmmph” his loud cry is muffled by Quackity’s hand, the avian having leaped across the room to reach him. Quackity peeks outside the room and finds no one there, thankfully! Quickly, he slams the door shut and drags Tommy inside, one palm still covering the kids mouth. While Tommy, on his end, decides that licking his palm is the best way to go.

If Quackity wasn’t certain of his eminent death, he would’ve found it adorable and just so Tommy like.

He twists the child so they’re standing face to face, one hand digging into small a small shoulder, while the other keeps a firm grip around the kids mouth, muffling any potential screams.

“Tommy, if I remove my hand, you need to promise me you’re not going to scream. Ok?” Quackity demands seriously, heterochromatic eyes boring into azure ones.

“Mammph” is Tommy’s intelligent response, and Quackity takes a chance, because he literally has no other choice.

“I’ll take that as a yes and trust you” he prays he’s doing the right decision as he removes his palm slowly, ignoring the spit dripping from his fingers, all while eyeing Tommy nervously. On his side, the kid is stock still, eyes wide and frame tense.

Even when his mouth is uncovered, the kid doesn’t budge.

“ok, ok” Quackity raises his hands slowly, as if he’s calming a wild animal, “I know you have questions, and I will answer them, but please Tommy, I am begging you” his voice waivers, “I- I’m begging you Tommy, if you really care about me, you can’t tell a soul” his voice trembles with the effort not to cry. He gets down on his knees, fingers clasped together like a prayer. At the sight, Tommy breaks from his frozen stance, and gasps in indignation, “I am begging you Tommy, I’ll do anything, but you can’t tell anyone” this is it. If Tommy refuses and chooses to tell them either way, there’s nothing he can do. He’s in the belly of the beast, there’s nowhere to run and no place to hide.

He’s at the kid’s mercy.

“Big Q never get on your knees for anyone” the kid hisses immediately, taking great offence for the wrong reason apparently. Tommy drops down next to the older teen, “seriously, you’re not allowed to grovel” he chastises. Quackity doesn’t know what to say back, does the kid not know he’s a property now, has always been one when it comes to these big mafia heads?

“Just… let’s figure it out.” Blue eyes fill with indecision, a storm hidden beneath frozen ice, “Dad let me come here early to unlock the door, but I’m pretty sure he’ll send someone after me. It’s just that…Seeing them is... it just threw me off. But we’re good. We are A-OKAY Big Q!”

It’s sweet how the hatchling is trying to comfort him first, it eases some of his nerves. But someone is supposed to get here soon, and they most definitely will NOT be as sweet.

Dear God! Quackity eyes the pile of feathers around him and feels like crying. What is he going to do? He’s screwed!! Will Philza cut his wings off by noon? Or will he wait till the nest day? Will he torture him like one of the many Manberg men he sent in piles of unidentifiable flesh? Will he settle for only his wings? Or will he aim for every other limb and body part?

“Big Q!” the kid screams in his ear so loud it makes Quackity jump in shock, his eardrum aching at the volume.

“Tommy! What the fuck you gremlin?!”

“I’ve been calling your name for a solid minute! Focus!”

Ok, he can do this! He can do this! Let’s go! At least the kid has his back.

Baby bird sweet. Cute. Help us.

“Now, first question, why the fuck are your wings falling off” the kid whisper yells, eyes filled with fear.

“that’s… that’s your first question? Not ‘hey big Q, why do you have two feathery appendages on your back?’”

The kid glares at him, looking insulted at the mock question. An odd expression considering the circumstances.

“Really? You think I’m as dumb as my dad and brothers?” he deadpans

And that…

That is the last thing Quackity expected to hear.

“What?” he dares to ask, because no way Tommy is implying something, right?

“I know something you doooooon’t” he’d crowed last night at the dinner table. Did he mean...? NO! NO WAY!

Was he was admitting he knew?!! Right there to his face?!

“I get it now, we’re the same. The only difference is that you have a little more time”

“Big Q, I’ve known all along” Tommy says it like a simple fact, like he’s teaching a toddler that two plus two is four, or he’s telling a preschooler that B comes after A in the alphabet. And Quackity, the preschooler in this situation, cannot wrap his head around what he’s hearing.

He hears the words, but the words just won’t make sense.

“What?” he asks again like a broken record.

“Quackity” there’s concern in the kid’s voice, “You’re not really subtle about it, you showed me your hoard! There was a shiny bottle cap there, so I know you didn’t keep it for its value. Also I created a flock imprint, that kind is the strongest around other avians or piglins. The strength of the imprint depends on the kind of hybrid and the situation, but there’s no way it would’ve happened on a human” he explains, “Dad thinks the stress got me to imprint this strongly to you, but I know what I felt” he huffs, affronted. Then he blushes and looks away, pout firmly in place “Um…. Also… um, you, kinda, sorta, chirp in your sleep” he confesses, “but I’m still smarter than dad and the twins, OK?”

“what?” he really can’t think of another thing to say right now, there is so much to process, and his brain is lagging. He can’t- how? Why? Tommy knew all along? There were different types of imprints? He fucking chirps in his sleep?!

That day he took his hoard and blankets to Tommy’s cell, he exposed himself without meaning to. Years of hiding, and a little hatchling figures it out!

“Big man, you need to focus, right now your feathers are falling like leaves in fall, I’m no expert but that’s not normal”

“it’s… not?”

“I... don’t think so?” it comes off as more of a question than a statement, “Fucking dammit! I really should’ve paid more attention when dad talked about these things” Tommy moans, “But he’s sooooooooooo boring”

“Tommy” Quackity whispers earnestly, but there must be something in his voice for Tommy to suddenly be on high alert, “I don’t know what to do” he confesses.

He’s the adult here, and he’s on the verge of a panic attack in front of a child! He’s so pathetic! Jschlatt was right.

Tommy seems to be struggling as well, studying his face and trying to come up with something.

“Ok, well- um, we’ll start easy, what do you WANT to do?”

And isn’t that the million-dollar question?! Because Quackity has never thought of what he wanted, he’s only ever tried to survive, and even that has been a struggle his entire life.

“I…. I…” he can’t say, because now that he thinks about it, he wants so many things. He wants to go back to his tiny apartment where he owns everything, he wants to have a job and buy food with his own money, he wants to be able to sit with Tommy without his family breathing down his neck, he wants to chat with Techno and not flinch at every move the piglin makes, he wants Wilbur to stop trying to maim him at every turn, he wants Philza to be something other than the scary monster he comes off as, (he wants him as flock), he wants to stop being afraid, just for a little while. Just for a second if possible.

But he can’t have any of these things, he’s not that optimistic.

“Big Q, Dad is gonna send someone to get us any minute now, help me out here. What do you want?”

“I need to hide my wings” he finally says, “I don’t want anyone to find out”

Because more than anything, he wants to live.

“Ok, but... are you sure. I never told them anything because they were being bitches, and …um” he flushes, “I kind of wanted you to myself for a while, but- but with this” he gestures to the pile of feathers, “they might be able to help, it’s not a molt! Because Dad doesn’t lose nearly as many feathers, and not like this!”

“Please no, don’t make me” Quackity goes back to begging, “you’ll have me all you want Tommy! But no one can know about this!”

“I don’t knooooow” Tommy hesitates, eyeing the pile of feathers again.

He wants to hug the nestling, comfort him. Because he knows Tommy only wants what’s best for him.

“Techno took out half my face! Wilbur unleashed a dog at me while I was sleeping, and your dad made it very clear he doesn’t like me.” Quackity spits, he sees the way the kid flinches, and it makes his gut churn with guilt, but he can’t stop now. His life depends on it, “They won’t help me Tommy, do you understand? But you will, won’t you?” he puts as much sugar in his voice, waiting with baited breath for the kid to reply, “you promised me. Remember?”

It’s a low blow, manipulating a child. But desperate times and however the saying goes.

“Ok ok, fuck man, I’m too young for this shit” the kid doesn’t disappoint. Quackity feels a pang of guilt at dragging the kid through this, but he doesn’t have a choice. He never does!

“The Syndicate has a thing for avians Q, I’m doing those little birds a favor by ending their miserable existence” Jschlatt had said it once, and the man may have been many things, but he was never a liar. Whatever the Syndicate did to avians, Quackity wanted no part of it

“Now! If you really wanna stay hidden, then ya better think of a place to hide those feathers” the kid points to the pile, still were they left it, a guilty admittance to their secret. Quackity moves to get up, to actually do something, but a horrible pain rips straight through his back, sending him crashing back to the ground.

Somehow in his panic, the adrenaline rush masked the debilitating pain from before, but now that he’s settled, it’s back with a vengeance.

Tommy chirps in distress, kneeling next to him and bending till they’re eye to eye. He feels like crying, and by the alarmed look on the kids face, he sees it too.

“Big Q” he calls out to him, “what is it? What’s happening? What do I do? Fuck fuck”

Quackity really wants to reassure the kid, but he doesn’t know how. The pain in his wings is all consuming, they feel like they’re on fire! Hot molten lava pouring on them while also a stabbing pain that just won’t stop. He feels hot flashes of pain, his body convulsing with it.

“Ok! You’re hurt!” Tommy appears to be talking to more himself more than his fallen friend, “Dad or someone is coming soon, and we can’t let them know! Think Tommy! Think” the kid pulls at his hair, eyes wide.

Quackity wants to chirp in reassurance, but he doesn’t think he can even open his mouth without screaming.

 “I’ve got this!” he jumps up and grabs the pillow off the bed. He then runs to the fallen feathers, as he rips a small hole in its side with his baby claws and proceeds to stuff the feathers inside the pillow casing. He makes sure to pick up every single one and then makes a full sweep of the room, making sure he didn’t forget any. When he’s done, he throws the pillow onto the bed and then runs back to Quackity, grabbing him by the arm, struggling to get him up.

Quackity holds back a scream at the unbearable pain that keeps getting worse with every movement.

“We need to get you under the blanket big Q” Tommy explains, tugging at Quackity with all the might of a baby bird trying to save flock from an unknown danger, “we’ll figure shit out later”

It’s an agonizingly slow process getting to the bed but when he’s finally laying down, Tommy throws the bright red blanket from before on top of him, effectively hiding his wings from view.

“Ok, we just… we need to know WHY your fucking wings are falling like bitches in a black Friday stampede. We can do that right? And the pain, you’re hurt!” Tommy keeps letting out distressed chirps between sentences, clearly struggling to hold it in.

“I’m fine’ Quackity rasps out between wheezing breathes, “it’s only bad when I move”

“well fucking fantastic” Tommy mocks sarcastically, “if it’s only when you move, all we need is put you in a full body cast! Easy peasy! No one will suspect a thing”

“there you go! See what happens when we put our heads together”

“don’t” Tommy warns, voice shaky with fear, “we can’t joke right now! What do we do?”

“pain meds” Quackity says finally, voice barely a whisper, “just…. If there are any pain meds, I can take some until we figure out what’s going on. I’ll be able to act normally”

“Is the pain getting to your head?? I don’t know where they keep the fucking drugs” Tommy’s voice goes all high and pitchy with distress, shackled by the thought that he can’t help his flock.

“that’s ok” Quackity forces out between pants, cold sweat on his brow. It’s not ok, he’s doomed unless he can act normal in front of these hounds, “It’s going to be ok”

When Quackity was still living on the streets, he remembers passing one of those big TV stores, the ones that had multiple screens behind the store glass, each one showing a different channel. There was a documentary about orcas showing, that he couldn’t get his eyes off. He remembers they were also called killer whales, big beautiful but dangerous beasts. The documentary had no problem showing the reason they were named as such. The screen showed a happy seal, lying on a huge slab of ice in the middle of the water, doing its seal things. When all of a sudden the camera panned to the black and white monsters swimming in a straight line towards it. When they got near their prey, they dove under the water, and the poor seal’s fate was sealed in that minute.

It couldn’t jump into the water to escape because they would catch it, and it couldn’t stay were it was because the ice was nothing in the face of a raging sea monster like the killer whale. Even though it was a simple animal, Quackity could sense its helpless fear and he felt his heart ache, one prey to the other.

It was a sitting duck, awaiting the predator. Then, in less than a second, the ice shattered from beneath it and the large beast was grabbing it with dagger like teeth, the orca then proceeded to slam it repeatedly over solid ground as the powerless thing screamed in agony, knowing there would be no saving grace for it. The narrator explained how killer whales hunted for fun, how they liked to play with their prey for as long as possible before bestowing their greatest mercy,

Killing it.

His childish brain couldn’t understand why orcas were such ‘meanies’. How could they torture the poor seal like that? What kind of monster played with another being’s life for FUN?

He misses that old naïve Quackity sometimes. The one that couldn’t believe the world was this cruel. That Quackity is long gone now.

This Quackity has seen the real world, and he’s seen how cruel it can be first hand.

Right now, Quackity feels like that seal, stuck on a slab of ice, knowing the whales are beneath the surface, and any second now, they’ll break the ice from under his feet to sink their fangs into his soft flesh.

As if to support his thought, there’s a knock on the door.

Crack, goes the ice.

“Hey, Tommy and his friend, it’s me” Wilbur calls out.

Crack, goes the ice a second time.

“Dad sent me to get you both”

Crack. The freezing water rushes up to meet him.

“I’m coming in”

The handle on the door twist ever so slowly.

Tommy lets out a panicked chirp, and Quackity barley holds back from letting out his own.

The door opens, revealing a clearly angry Wilbur.

Crack, goes the ice. Big pearly fangs surround him on all sides.

Here comes the killer whale.

Chapter Text

Of all the people Quackity expected at his door, Wilbur was not one of them. In fact, if he were to make a list of every person that might come knocking on his door, he would put THE GODDAMN PPRESIDENT before the Siren, aka Wilbur. It hasn’t even been 24 hours since he unleashed a polar bear-disguised as a dog in his room, and he’s already back for round two?!

A terrified chirp escapes him without his consent, at the sound of it Tommy jumps up in alarm and his pupils slit, a feral look similar to the one from last night appears on his face.

“Tommy? Did you just chirp in fear? Wh- Tommy! I’m not…” the bastard sounds hut and confused, having, TAHNKFULLY, mistaken Quackity’s chirp for Tommy.

How is this his morning?

Tommy, the absolute legend! His favorite person in the whole world, catches on quickly, and makes use of it.

“Fucking stay outside then bitch!”

“Tommy. Sweet heart! Angel, darling, why would you be afraid of me?” Siren begs, sounding shattered. Honestly, if Quackity hadn’t been tormented by the bastard, he would’ve felt pity. “I would never ever hurt you! Please! Can I come in? Dad sent me, I’m not going to hurt your friend, and I’m definitely not going to hurt YOU”

“You sure about that? Did you bring a dog off the streets this time? Since Steve didn’t do what you hoped for?”

It’s clear to Quackity that Tommy is just buying time, time for what, neither of them know.

“Is that what this is all about?” the waiver in his voice is so odd, especially knowing just how evil the bastard really is. The Siren’s reputation as manipulative psychopath precedes him, so his groveling is completely out of character.

(At least the character Quackity is aware of).

“I’m sorry Tommy, look I swear I have nothing on me, Dad made it clear and I already have a long month ahead of me Ok?  I’m not dumb enough to get on dad’s bad side twice in one day.” The man tries to joke, “Tommy, please, I would never hurt you”

It dawns on Quackity that the man is still speaking on the assumption that Tommy was the one to chirp in fear, he really thinks his own brother would be afraid of him. His brother Tommy, the one that has everything and everyone belonging to the syndicate wrapped around his finger like a string.

The piglin seems to run out of patience at last, done with groveling at the door for his baby brother’s mercy.

“Tommy, I’m coming in” the man announces at last, throwing the door open.

Tommy, the feral child that he is, runs across the room and immediately starts shoving his older brother out the door, using all the power of a baby bird against a fully grown piglin hybrid.

“Tommy-wha- hey! Calm down”, the man flails against the ‘outrageous’ attack from the twelve-year-old.

“Get the fuck out!” the hatchling rages in return

“Not before I do what dad sent me-ouch! Did you just BITE me?!” the man shrieks, but not from pain. The feral avian in question keeps his teeth clamped on a certain bastard’s forearm, refusing to budge until aforementioned bastard shakes him like an unruly pup.

If Wilbur wants to, he can easily rip his brother off him, but chooses not to.

“what the actual fuck! Dad punished me ok? I have a long fucking month ahead of me! Why the scared chirps? And then the biting”

“cause you’re a bitch”

Smart answer, simple and to the point. Quackity approves.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but dad wanted me to get you two for breakfast”

The man manages to pry his brother off him slowly, making sure not to be rough with it. He then strides past the hatchling and into the room, looking anywhere but the two avians. He’s clearly uncomfortable, probably forced to come here. It’s clear by the way it takes him a full minute to finally set his eyes on the bed and when he does, Quackity can see the clogs start spinning.

“Why do you look like death?” he finally asks.

Motherfucker.

If Quackity could move without the horrors of hell unleashing on his back, he would chuck a pillow at the bastards face, preferably a pillow full of bricks. And knives.

For maximum effect.

But seeing as he can’t, he lays completely still, letting the anger boil within.

Predator. Bad. Hate. Mean.

At least the bird brain agrees this time.

Unlike with Techno and Philza.

“Oh Gee! Whatever could it be? Well maybeeee it’s because a certain bitch unleashed a dog in his room” Tommy says sarcastically, running back to stand between the bastard and Quackity.

Baby sweet. Protect us. Flock.

The birdbrain seems to be also getting overly attached to the nestling, not that Quackity will hold it against them. He’s already pretty attached himself.

“Dad said he didn’t get hurt, he said Steve was, and I quote, ‘an absolute sweetheart’” he says the word with utter disgust, face twisting at the taste of it.

“I know you wanted Steve to maul Big Q! But joke’s on you bitch, Steve is a big man and he knows to respect other big men” the words pull a sour expression from the bully in the room. It makes him glare and grit his teeth, yellow eyes shining in the morning light.

“Okay, that doesn’t explain WHY your pet- I mean friend, is on the doors of death”

“because- wilbitch” Tommy starts, then he hesitates, a strange gleam in his eyes, “he pulled a muscle when he was running last night.”

“A pulled muscle did this” Wilbur deadpans, paranoia rearing its ugly head.

“Multiple pulled muscles” Tommy amends, and fuck, he might as well take off the blanket and expose Quackity right now if that’s the best excuse he’s got.

“Right” Wilbur hums, suspicion clear as day, “whatever, Dad sent me to get you two for breakfast” he says again, eyes gleaming with something unknown. There’s something calculating about the way he eyes the bedridden hostage.

“Is that really all he sent you here for?” Tommy smirks, and the evil smile is so strange on the round cherub face, that Quackity thinks he’s hallucinating for a second.

The sound of grinding teeth answers the question, and Tommy smiles wider, expression smug.

“no” he grounds out, “he also sent me to say…shmfff?” he whispers the last word so it’s not even audible.

“what’s that? I couldn’t hear you” Tommy mocks, placing a hand by his ear, “speak up Wilbitch, it’s not a secret”

“I said” Wilbur’s teeth will break with how hard he clenches them, “I’m sorry”

“that’s what I thought” did somebody teach Tommy the art of pissing others off? or is it a natural thing for mafia princes? “but apology not accepted”

“What? Fuck that! I don’t care, dad didn’t say you had to accept it”

“I know dad gave you a lean punishment” Tommy taunts with a shit-eating grin.

“LEAN? There was nothing lean about it”

“it’s lean considering! And that was only because he thought Quackity wasn’t hurt, I wonder what he’ll do now” Tommy hums, tapping his chin in thought.

“Fucking hell! You said it’s a pulled muscle, take him to Ponk or something”

“Naaaaah, Quackity is afraid of doctors. Don’t you dare use that information to unleash a doctor in his room your sick bastard.” The kid warns, “So I won’t take him to Ponk”

“SO? What do you want?” Wilbur grounds out

“Easy! You get us painkillers, and Quackity and I are willing to put the whoooole thing behind us”

Did Quackity ever say how much he fucking loves that kid? Because he fucking LOVES that kid!

“A… are you blackmailing me?”

“I’m doing business, get us some painkillers and Dad doesn’t have to up your punishment. I heard he took away your hoard for 2 weeks and banned you from any field work. You think he’d ban you from the nest?” Tommy muses

“He wouldn’t”

“I mean, you DID go against him and Techno”

“For everyone’s own good!” he gnashes his teeth, “for your OWN good. I did it for all of you!”

“Bla Bla bla” Tommy drawls, “dad is still going to up your punishment. You think he’ll put you on dungeon cleaning duty? He put you on field cleaning duty, so that’s not far off” the kid smiles wide, innocent face betraying the dark words.

“FUCKING FINE” Wilbur throws his hands up, “I’ll get you enough pain meds to knock out an elephant, but don’t you dare screw me over” Wilbur extends a handshake to the child.

“DEAL” Tommy shakes the proffered hand, wings flapping with clear pride.

“I should’ve listened to Dad and never taught you to blackmail” Wilbur grumbles, but there’s a hint of fondness in his words. Apparently happy his own brother manipulated him. (did he? Did the Siren actually lose to such a tactic? Did he let the kid win?)

These people are insane.

Wilbur nods and exists the room fast, sprinting towards his destination, while Tommy runs back to Quackity’s side, holding his hand gently.

“Don’t worry big Q, Wilbur has the good stuff! It’ll buy us time”

Quackity uses all his energy to shake his head in agreement, and then lies as still as possible not to aggravate his wings more.

He’s only been here for two days, if things keep going this way, he won’t make it till the end of the week. Tommy keeps trilling these small tunes that ease his mind and Quackity allows for a single chirp to escape, enjoying the way blue eyes brighten.

Wilbur comes back faster than either of them expected, he must’ve run the whole way if his ruffled hair is anything to go by. In his hand is small medicinal bottle, no label to be seen.

“this” he shakes the bottle at them, right after closing the door behind him, “is the heavy shit, you can walk off a bullet wound with this. But it takes at least ten minutes to fully take effect and the drugs are gone from your system in three hours’ tops. Take more than two in one day and you might go comatose.

Wilbur grabs his brothers hand gently and places the bottle of pills in the small hand.

“it’s still being tested by our team so I have no clue if there’s any side effects”

“couldn’t you get us any… I don’t know, normal shit?” Tommy hisses.

“Ponk keeps count of everything, I can’t take a fucking Tylenol pill without him figuring it out and telling Dad! This is just a test drug, I kept a sample and haven’t used it, so you’re in fucking luck” Wilbur huffs, “be grateful you little shit” there’s no malice in his tone, he’s grumpy t most.

“you kept it in case you did something stupid”

“Easy Tommy, don’t forget I’m the one that taught you your observational skills.” Wilbur says cryptically, eying the still bed ridden avian from the side of his eyes, “I don’t know what you’re hiding, but figure out a better lie than pulled muscle.”

“what- it is a p- “

“save it” Wilbur raises his hand, “If I didn’t think it had to do with my harmless prank, I would’ve told dad. But like you already said, can’t have him extending my punishment”

Quackity trembles beneath the blanket, consciously aware of the looming danger.

“whatever” Tommy pouts, “just fuck off”

Wilbur crouches down in front of his brother, eyes soft. He slowly bumps his forehead against the hatchling, letting out a series of chuffs. Tommy, who has been on edge the whole time, relaxes his posture and leans slightly towards his older brother.

“I will always have your back Tommy, even when you don’t want me to”

Tommy puffs his wings at the confession but otherwise remains silent.

With that out of the way, Wilbur picks himself up and eyes Quackity one last time, eyes calculating and gleaming with suspicion, then turns away.

“I’ll buy you some time, but dad still expects you at breakfast” he throws over his shoulder before he finally exits.

This is the only mercy they have, and Quackity won’t waste it.

The drugs are strong. That’s the only word Quackity can think of after downing one of them. Just ten minutes after swallowing the small red pill, the pain just… disappears, like it was never there. Even the constant discomfort that he’s always felt in his wings from before is gone. 

He is as numb as can be.

“You good big Q?” Tommy asks hesitantly, eying his flock warily, searching for any signs of pain.

“I am better than ok” he laughs in relief, and Tommy, sensing his emotions smiles brightly.

“Fuck yeah!” the nestling cheers, wings fluttering with joy.

Quackity refuses to ruin his happiness by saying that this is temporary, that they’ve just numbed the pain. They still don’t know why his wings are shedding the way they are, or if it will have any other effects. They used a goddamn experimental drug, and they don’t know what THAT’S going to be like.

There are so many questions marks over their head still, but for now, they have some time.

Quackity has Tommy standing by the door on lookout, making sure no more visitors barge in as he gets ready for breakfast.

Wilbur had a strange look in his eyes, one that told Quackity the piglin was not done with him yet.

Tommy chirps sadly, a small little thing that has Quackity alert. He looks over to the nestling, to see what’s wrong, and notices how the child is eying the dirty rag he’s been using to bind his wings.

“Big Q” the kids start, obviously reluctant, “are you sure about this? Dad can help, he knows all about avians-”

“Tommy!” he snaps, guilt eating at him when the kid flinches. But the suggestion isn’t just a bad one, it’s deadly!

“I’m sorry Toms, I’m sorry. It’s just that…. This is what I need okay? This is how I managed to stay alive for so long, you can’t back out now, okay? You said we’re flock” someday, when he’s not as stressed and scared, he’ll let himself feel guilty over the obvious manipulation tactic he’s using against a child.

Someday.

Tommy forces himself to give one firm nod, eyes still boring into his disheveled wings and the feathers falling to the ground from the binding process.

When they’re finally done, Tommy helps him shove the fallen feathers into the pillow case, to join the rest. And then they’re off to breakfast, both doing their best to hide their anxiety from the other.

The day keeps getting worse from there on, first Philza grills them about arriving late to breakfast, but Wilbur defends them. Saying he was at fault, that he told them to be ready in fifty minutes instead of five. Philza smiles amusedly, something dark shining in his eyes, but he lets it pass, humoring his son.

After that, Quackity discovers one of the drugs side effects is nausea, which is lovely! (note the sarcasm) The minute the food arrives, he feels his stomach do a back flip and absolutely refuses to take a single bite of his food. Techno rises an eyebrow when the meal is halfway through and all Quackity has done is take small sips of his water.

Quackity avoids his eyes, using a fork to mess with the food a bit, try to make it seem eaten. It’s a shame really, because he’s barely eaten anything since he got here, his stomach is twisting on itself with hunger, but the nausea makes sure he can’t have single bite out of the clearly delicious food.

He almost has a heart attack when Philza rips a piece of his OWN toast and places it on his plate, not even bothering to say anything. The act, similar to the time Philza gave him part of his cheesecake, sends his birdbrain fluttering with something happy and weird.

The toast is easy on the stomach, thankfully. Wilbur chokes on air again, glaring furiously at his plate, but says nothing otherwise. Techno makes a strange chuffing sound, but says nothing either. There is so much tension in the air, Quackity feels like choking, he gets why Wilbur, Tommy, and himself are stressed. But Philza and Technoblade seem to have something on their mind as well. Techno in particular seems nervous, looking between Wilbur and Quackity from time to time.

Is every meal with these people going to be full of stress?

Philza gives a mysterious smile every now and then, when Wilbur stabs his pancake hard enough to shake the table, Philza doesn’t admonish him, simply tuts a small ‘patience son’ and continues his meal.

At one-point Tommy pales drastically and literally flings himself off his chair, thudding painfully against the floor. Quackity jumps to his aid and even Philza, the ice glacier that he is, seems shocked by his youngest son’s behavior.

Tommy gets up, laughing nervously and saying something about a shadow seeming like a bug or whatever, but after they’re back in their seats, Quackity sees him shoving a small yellow feather in his pocket.

Oh dear god.

By the time breakfast is over, Quackity’s nerves are worn out.

He waits to be dismissed so he can hide in a hovel away from all the psychos, but unfortunately it never comes, instead, Philza claps his hands once, gaining everyone’s attention.

“I was hoping I would have some time getting to know our guest before jumping to this phase, however due to the impatience of some” he side-eyes the tall brunette, “and my own personal interests, I’ve had to rush the process”

“Dad- “Techno starts, only to be shushed like a child by his father

“hush Techno, we’ve already spoken about this. Quackity, I would like to invite you for a cup of tea in my personal room”

Okay?

That was not wat he had been expecting. If anything, he had thought they’d announce he overstayed his welcome and be done with him.

A tea party with a mafia lord wasn’t really on his bingo card.

Wilbur smiles, a smug and pleased smile that tells Quackity there’s more to this than simple tea, Techno shakes his head in disappointment, giving his twin a furious look.

Tommy on the other hand seems just as confused as he is, meaning he won’t be of any help later.

“Wilbur, don’t start celebrating. This can go one of two ways and you know it” Philza admonishes softly, not even looking at his son.

“You heard the old man Wil” Techno teases, but there’s an edge to his voice, something sharp enough to cut steel.

“I know” Wilbur snickers, “but I also KNOW I’m right”

“You’re still grounded and you have to go help with the field cleanups, the one this afternoon, remember?” Techno sneers, aiming to wipe the smug smile off is brothers face.

Wilbur, master of manipulation that he is, smiles even wider.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right dear brother!” he exclaims with fake cheer, “in the afternoon. The time that comes after noon. I hope I hear some good news before then!”

There’s a code there, one that Quackity doesn’t understand, but from where he’s sitting, it seems Wilbur has won the word duel, because Techno looks one second away from full on throttling his brother.

“I really hope this Cain instinct stops today” Philza sighs into his tea cup, “now, if we’re all done, you can go back to your chores and Tommy and his friend can go back to whatever they want.”

Fucking finally! This disaster of a breakfast is done! Maybe he can speak with Technoblade and try to figure out what ‘tea time in Philza’s personal room” means. Quackity pushes his chair back, getting ready to leave when Tommy does the unthinkable.

“actually dad” the nestling calls out, he’s full on fidgeting, eyes occasionally turning to Quackity with barely concealed worry, “I wanted to….”

“Tommy” Quackity rushes to stop him, he has a feeling he knows what this is and it won’t end well, “your dad is a busy man, let’s go”

“I’m never too busy for my flock Quackity, quiet down” it’s a gentle scold, Jschlatt would’ve had him bleeding on the floor for doing far less, but the way the bird droops miserably at being admonished is strange. His chest aches at disappointing the man! What the hell?

“right” Tommy gives his friend an apologetic look before turning back to his dad, and Quackity feels unbidden tears rise. Tommy wouldn’t betray him right? His chick is the sweetest chick on earth; he wouldn’t willingly send Quackity to the grave!

“what is it hatchling” Philza encourages softly, giving a little warble for comfort.

“I just wanted to ask…..um”

Quackity hears his own heart thudding wildly! Tommy is sweet! His little bird is flock! He wouldn’t out him.

Please God!

Philza lets out another soothing warble, and Tommy’s shoulder drop slightly.

“what does it mean for an avian with down feathers to start shedding his wings suddenly?”

The second the words leave his mouth; Tommy is in his father’s arms getting checked frantically!! The man is frantic with worry, looking over his son.

Quackity holds his breath, far too scared to speak. Techno follows his father’s lead and starts checking his youngest brother over, while Wilbur stands to the side, eyes boring into Quackity of all people, but instead of the hateful scowl, there’s something contemplative.

“what the fuck! Get the fuck off” Tommy protests, “what the hell is wrong with you”

“Tommy” Philza lets out a sharp click, silencing the boy in his arms, “are you shedding feathers?”

“What? No!”

Techno and Philza stare at him a second longer than set him down slowly, like he might shatter.

“Tommy, this is serious, if you’re losing feathers you need to tell us! This isn’t molting season and you’re still too young” Techno warns

“HOW THE FUCK WOULD I EVEN HIDE IT” the kid screeches, “dad preens my wings every fucking day”

“then WHY would you ask that?” Techno snaps.

Wilbur stares between Tommy and Quackity, eyes widening slightly.

“I… I...”

Philza lets out another click that has Quackity slapping a palm over his mouth lest he releases a loud chirp. He misses the look of horror on Wilbur’s face at spotting the action.

“I saw it in a dream” Tommy stutters, struggling with the lie.

“a dream?” Philza asks doubtfully.

“yes. Aha, that’s right, more like a fucking nightmare, I saw myself back there, ya know? but I saw my feathers falling everywhere” Tommy rambles.

Quackity admires the quick thinking, using his most traumatic event as a cover means his father won’t look into it, too busy focused on comforting his son, “I just wanted to know if that thing could happen, I know you molt, but you don’t have down feathers and shit” Tommy finishes off, audibly gulping.

“oh angel” Philza croons a soft heartbroken sound, “I’m sorry you had a nightmare, but you don’t have to worry, I would NEVER let you get to that point. There’s nothing to be afraid of”

“why-what point?” Tommy pushes, not willing to let it go.

“it doesn’t matter” Philza deflects, “your father is here, and so are your brothers, we would never let it get that bad”

“what would you not let get that bad?” Tommy pushes gain, getting impatient, “dad, what is it?”

Philza sighs at the stubbornness, but waves his hand

“it’s a sign of death” Philza huffs, “that’s why you should ALWAYS tell us if you feel anything, and in mean ANYTHNG different with your wings okay?”

Tommy pales drastically, breath stuttering at the revelation.

“Death?” he whispers meekly, breathing faster.

Quackity reels back at the words, as if he was struck.

Death? He’s dying?

Philza lets out a series of calming sounds, easing Tommy’s nerves, it works on Quackity too and has him relax his posture, once again failing to notice the wide eyed stare he’s receiving from Wilbur.

“it happens when a small bird is living in very bad conditions, adult avians are meant to find the bird by following the trail of feathers. Honestly, I don’t know why I panicked” Philza laughs, “if god forbid this happened, you’d be paralyzed with pain” he shakes his head, ‘there’s no way you’d manage to hide it” he bops his sons nose gently, smiling at the cross-eyes look.

“Yup! You’re right. Absolutely no way! Nada! Not one way” he laughs, “this big man can have infinite wives but can’t hide shit from your master detective mafia eyes” both Techno and Philza laugh at the kid’s antics, finding his behavior cute.

Wilbur whispers a quiet ‘fuck’ under his breath that no one hears.

“I’ll just take Big Q to play with me now” Tommy proclaims, smile so forced it probably hurts. The hatchling grabs his playmate’s hand and practically sprints out the room, dragging the teen behind him.

Philza laughs fondly at his youngest antics. After living for so many decades, his children never cease to make his life brighter.

Speaking of his children, Philza turns to his twin troublemakers. Techno is looking at the door where Tommy just left, eyes alight with amusement but hiding a deep resentment, one no doubt aimed at Philza for his decision. Wilbur on the other hand seems pale as a ghost, he’s staring in horror at the place their guest was standing at. Strange, Philza had assumed Wilbur would be soaking in his ‘win’.

“Wilbur, are you alright mate?”

His question breaks him out of his stupor, but it doesn’t take away from the paleness of his skin. Is he still upset with his brother? They’ve been fighting nonstop since the new guest arrived. Hopefully they’ll stop after today, he won’t tolerate a rift in his flock, even if the reason is a sweet little human that has his instincts raising their head.

It’s such a strange feeling. To think a human has drawn out such a response, not just for him, but from the eldest twin as well.

Last night he’d had the sudden urge to grab the little human and bring him to his nest. He’d been so offended by the thought he couldn’t bring himself to sleep, and then there was a loud scream and both he and Tommy were thrown head first into Wilbur’s schemes.

It’s like his world has shifted just a little bit to the right ever since the little human arrived, and he can’t wrap his head around it.

But it doesn’t matter, soon, everything will go back to normal.

Maybe even better than normal.

Chapter Text

“Quackity” Tommy begs, and Quackity knows he’s begging from that pleading note and teary eyes. So he squares his shoulders and sets his face into a deep scowl in preparation.

They had hidden in Quackity’s room after the bombshell news at breakfast, closing the door and huddling on the tiny bed.

“No Tommy!”

“But-Dad said- “

“Your dad doesn’t know shit! Look! I’m fine” he gestures to his seemingly unharmed body.

“That’s because Wilby gave you enough drugs to knockout an elephant” Tommy growls, literally growls. It’s not as terrifying as his older brothers shaking growls. Honestly, he’s seen puppies with a more terrifying demeanor, but it’s still a growl nonetheless.

He tries not to feel hurt, Tommy is a child after all, and he’s just concerned. But the kid is not meant to stand AGAINST Quackity.

They’re flock

“I promise you Tommy, I’ll figure it out. As far as we know, my two options are getting killed by whatever this is, or getting killed by your family”

“Dad won’t kill you! No one will! I won’t lose you! You’re flock!  You’re mine!” The nestling is a second away from throwing a full blown tantrum, and Quackity doesn’t have the nerves for it.

Quackity mirrors the frustration, huffing at the childish tantrum. They’re fighting over the possibility of him surviving! Quackity grabs the smaller hand roughly and places it onto his face, right were the scar is.

“Feel it” he orders the wide eyed child, “feel how deep that scar is, I had to stich it myself. It took months to heal, I have no idea how I survived, but somehow, by some miracle I did. Despite your family’s best efforts! You want them to finish what they started Tommy? Is that what this is?”

There’s a weird buzzing in his ears, his body feels two sizes two small, breath heaving in his chest.

There’s something ugly inside him, broken and hurt, he never noticed it before, but his time here makes it more and more apparent. Whatever it is has big roots coiling in his hurt, digging into the crevices of his chest.

"Please don’t die" Tommy tearfully begs, hand still at the scar, but eyes downcast.

Just like that, all his anger leaves him in a whoosh of air.

In its place is deep sense of self hatred for snapping this badly at the kid.

The teen thinks for a second, tries to come up with something to say, to alleviate the fear, but nothing comes out.

Thankfully, a knock on the door saves him from responding, so without thinking he calls for the person to enter.

"Hope I'm not interrupting something" Wilbur teases, eyeing the way Tommy's hand covers the ugly scar.

The two avians wait for the piglin to start his taunting, but when nothing happens they stare at him in suspicion.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The brunette splutters.

"You're being tame" Tommy accuses, letting go of Quackity in favor of pointing at his brother with clear judgement.

"The fuckin disrespect" Wilbur rubs his eyes in mock frustration, "I try to be a homicidal maniac and everybody yells at me. I try to be the best, most amazing and caring-"

"Being dramatic Wilbitch?"

"And kindest brother and host the word has ever seen, and I'm met with suspicion"

"YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING GOOD! WE'RE JUST SURPRISED YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING NEFARIOUS… yet" Tommy adds as an afterthought.

"My own brother" Wilbur poses dramatically, had thrown back, one hand covering his eyes while the other clutches his chest, "the betrayal tastes of bitter poison, the cruelest poison of them all"

"I swear you should've gone into theater instead of the crime business" the kid rolls his eyes, but despite his words, everyone can see the way he's holding back a smile, and failing.

It's such an interesting sight, of course Tommy can’t see the way his family is going to kill the intruder. All he’s known is their love.

And they DO love him, of that there is no doubt.

"I just came to fetch the little bird"

Wait.

Pause.

The nickname is new! It sends alarm bells ringing in Quackity’s head. Sure, Philza called him little bird, but it took a whole ass fight to stop the piglin hybrid from calling him 'dog'.

What gives?

"Helloooooo! You there? I said we need to go. Dad is waiting, so get up. You can leave the jacket if you want, it’s not cold were he’s taking you" the suggestion said so casually, it has Quackity gripping the edges of the jacket with both hands, afraid it's going to be ripped off of him.

Brown eyes look at him, calculating, analyzing.

"Easy little one, I won’t take your jacket. Just a suggestion" be placates, "I…… mmm, are you-? Fuck. I know you’re not!” he mumbles to himself, “Never mind, doesn’t matter. Ready to go?"

"You're being fucking weird"

Did Quackity ever say how much he loves Tommy? He doesn’t think he says it enough. Bless him for saying what they were all thinking.

If today is the last day of Quackity’s life, he’s glad he had Tommy in it. His little ray of sunshine.

It forces a small giggle out of him, and when Wilbur doesn’t take offense, he full on laughs.

"Hardy har har" the brunette deadpans, "glad I'm quality entertainment"

Despite his words, they can all tell he's joking by the twinkle in his eyes, and upturn of his lips.

Is this the real Wilbur? Was he replaced by some shapeshifter? Is Quackity dreaming?

Whoever he is, Quackity wishes he had met him earlier, before all this.

Before the dog fiasco.

Before his inevitable doom.

The thought sobers him up within seconds. Whatever is happening today, it will probably end badly for him. Even if it doesn’t, his aching wings and deteriorating health will.

He pulls out the bottle of pills from under the pillow, quickly downing the painkiller dry. Its effects only last three hours, so by his estimation the first pill is about to wear off. Better safe than sorry if he’s meeting the head of The Syndicate.

He feels eyes boring in his side and looks up to see Wilbur glaring daggers at him, more specifically, his mouth.

"I told you, no more than two pills a day" he grits out.

"This is only the second" he counters, not understanding what the problem is.

"I said no more than two, meaning the maximum should be two. The second should only be taken in dire circumstances, not as candy"

"Okay, big deal." Quackity shrugs one shoulder, "why are you so mad? If anything, you should be happy if it kills me"

He must've said the wrong thing, because the next thing he knows, the bottle is being snatched out of his hands and shoved into the piglin's trench coat.

It happens so fast he barley has time to blink.

"Hey! We had a deal!" Tommy argues, shoving his brother with all his might, "what the fuck?!"

"Your friend obviously doesn’t care about his own safety, so I’m stepping in."

The explanation halts Tommy's attack, freezing him in place. The kid looks meekly between his brother and Quackity, biting his lips fearfully.

"Let's just go meet dad" Wilbur sighs, gently prying his frozen brother off him.

Quackity eyes the nestling warily, confused at the sudden silence.

Still, he gets up and straightens his shirt. He can walk to his execution with some pride.

"Tommy, we- I… I'll be back" it's the most he can say in front of their audience.

Don’t screw me over. He begs silently.

As if the entire day wasn’t weird enough, the whole trip, Wilbur keeps trying to say something only to backtrack at the last second and change the topic to something random. When they're finally in front of the dark oak door, Wilbur grabs him by the shoulder and turns him so they’re facing each other.

"I'll do you this favor, I'm not sure of the reason I'm doing this, but I won’t forgive myself if my suspicions are right" the words are heavy, his stare even heavier.

"What?"

“You have to survive this! You belong to Tommy, and dad made his claim, so has Techno in an unofficial manner. So show it”

“what the fuck?” Quackity hisses when ling fingers did into his shoulders harshly.

“Just make sure he realizes you’re his” Wilbur pleads, “there’s only one way for this afternoon to end bad, and that’s if you made it look like you belonged to your previous owner”

He doesn't wait for a reply, opening the door and shoving the avian through it. Philza, who has been seated at his office with a newspaper, looks up at the sound of a door shutting close, now with a full view of a cowering Quackity.

“Hello little bird”, the smooth voice greets him. A shiver runs down his spine, the bird in his head shaking in the corner of his mind.

Flock? Predator?

Quackity can sense its confusion at the man’s presence, and he wishes he could berate it, tell it the crow hybrid is dangerous, there’s nothing flock-like about him.

But it’s hard.

The man is an oddity, he’ll threaten Quackity and then calm him in the same breath. Ever since the man slid that piece of cheesecake on his plate, Quackity has been struggling with seeing him as simply ‘psychopathic murderer that kidnapped me to entertain his child’, even going as far as seeing him as someone he can run TO when he’s scared.

“Are you ready for our afternoon together?”

Does he have a choice?

The man laughs, canines flashing in the overhead light.

“I suppose you don’t, but it would be rude not to ask”

Oh. It takes him a full minute to realize he had said that out loud. The drug must have taken off some of his inhibitions. He feels his heartbeat racing at the thought. The drug was supposed to keep him safe for the time being, why on earth is it turning against him. Quackity clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with fear.

“There’s a little shrike underneath the terrified songbird exterior you always have on”, Philza laughs amused, “I can’t wait to meet it. But we need to settle a few things first” Philza rounds the table in big steps, gliding across the room so they're now face to face.

“settle...?” Quackity dares to ask fingers twisting the edge of his coat.

“Why yes little bird”, his voice is like molasses, thick and sweet but dark all the same, it pulls Quackity in like a fly and sticks him to its surface. “I was really hoping we’d have more time, get to know each other a bit. But Wilbur made me rush things slightly, I can’t let the tensions keep risings, my flock’s wellbeing matters to me, you see”, Philza wraps an arm around his shoulders, dragging him along his side.

They exit the room and take a different route from the one that brought him here.

“I know as a human you don’t have much of an understanding, but let’s call this a test. Make sure you’re aware of who you belong to”

“I- I don’t-”

“be careful to every word you say little bird” Philza warns, cruel smile firmly in place, “this is very important mate. Life and death, yeah?” the tone is teasing, but Quackity sees the seriousness of the statement.

His scar aches.

He just nods dutifully, and tries to keep up with the man’s long strides.

Ever since he got here, Quackity has been confined to one side of the compound. He’s been lead from one room to the other, but always within the same general area. This time, Philza leads him down an unfamiliar route. For a while, it’s only fancy wallpaper and even fancier decorations, but with every door they pass, the scene changes slightly from fifteenth century castle into a more modern, clean look.

How big is this place?!

“I had my inhibitions about putting work and home in the same place” Philza converses idly, as if he’s making small talk about the weather, “but what better place to keep an eye on my kids than here? My men know not to disturb me in the family suite, and I know I can keep things running smoothly just down the hall. What do you think little birdy”?

“I- yes sir” Quackity nods dutifully, practically shaking in his boots.

So they’re in entering the work area now. His feather twist under their bandages, trying to cocoon the frightened bird.

“We’re back to sir now?” Philza tuts, an odd click echoing and Quackity feels something lodge in his throat. Something that shouldn’t come out no matter what.

He swallows it down, but with great difficulty, eyes focused on his shoes now.

“if everything goes to plan, we’ll work on that fiery personality of yours. Can’t have you shaking all the time now can we?”

What on earth does that mean? They plan to keep him? Or do they want to kill him? What plan?

“I… am I …” he struggles a couple of times, not knowing what to say.

“Don’t worry you pretty little head” Philza smiles, the same dark glint from before shadowing his eyes, “you just do as I say, yeah? You’re not someone else’s’ are you?”

Someone else’s? what is it with the cryptic talk?

Quackity doesn’t understand a thing the man is saying, but he’s lived long enough to know when to nod and when to shake no in the hopes of staying alive. And it’s clear to him that the man wants him to nod.

So he complies. A simple nod without meeting blue eyes.

Philza lets out a soft coo, it makes the once shaking bird in his head puff its chest and flutter around happily.

Happy. Pleased. We did good.

Okay, seems like he did well. May God help him with whatever he just agreed to. With the dilated pupils boring into him, it seems like something heavy.

Philza leads him down some stairs, then up another set, and then down again.

He won’t be able to leave on his own he realizes, which is probably the whole point. Eventually they’re walking down a sterile white corridor, white doors are at either side of him, the small rectangular windows are covered with metal chains so he can’t make the shapes within.

Still, it’s possible to see shadows moving within, that realization, along with the deadly quiet around them, tells Quackity the rooms are soundproof.

He….

He knows why a mafia boss like Philza would have soundproof rooms.

For the same reason Jschlatt made soundproof rooms.

They’re meant for torture.

And Philza is taking Quackity down there like they’re meant to be strolling through.

Quackity halts in his movements, unable to keep moving any further.

Philza is going to torture him.

That’s the only reasonable conclusion. He managed to get Quackity down here on his own. He didn’t have to drag him here, or get any of his men hold him down.

No. he just ordered Quackity to walk down here on his own two feet, and Quackity willfully obeyed. He didn’t even consider the possibility of walking to his death. Or begging for his life. He just meekly nodded his head and followed the man.

The man in question has stopped walking as well, noticing his companion still frozen in place.

“what is it little bird?” he coos, “get over here”

And Quackity must look the epitome of pathetic, must BE the optimum of pathetic, because all he can do is hunch his shoulders and frantically shake his head.

He can’t beg for his life, or for mercy. He’s too busy biting his lower lip, stopping any of the scared trills from leaving his mouth.

Flock hurt us? Bad flock? We bad?

He can’t…

Oh god…

What is he going….

Philza cocks an eyebrow at the shaking mess before a look of realization dawns his face.

“Ah I see” he chuckles, “you realized where we are”

Quackity nods, trembling more at what’s to come. Because he knows! He knows! Everybody knows what happens when you mess with Philza, many of his foes took their own lives before The Syndicate caught them, because they knew that death is far far better than whatever was in store.

Philza lets out a comforting coo, and in a sick twist of fate, it works. His trembling lessens a bit. He hates himself for it.

“it’s okay little bird, I didn’t bring you here to play with YOU”

His smile is nothing but sickly sweet, the finest honey, his eyes nothing but a dark abyss.

Quackity shakes his head, trying to convey his confusion without opening his mouth.

“Have you heard of the carrot and the stick?” the smile turns sharp, something dangerous in azure blue eyes.

Quackity hunches in on himself, tries to make himself a smaller target in the face of the massive predator.

Philza approaches him with slow smooth moves, the clicking of his dress shoes the only sound in the TORTURE section of the compound.

A clawed finger raises his chin, so he’s no longer staring at his shoes.

Frigid ice bores into heterochromatic seas.

“everything about you has been confusing” He muses, “for a human you sure know how to rile us up” he chortles humorlessly. His talon runs over the scar, tapping his check along the way.

“Even though you understand what might happen, I think you’d do well with a reminder. I have no intention of harming you” there’s something like disbelief in his voice, like he himself can’t believe what he’s saying. “I have no intention of letting anyone harm you either, and I know that two of my sons feel the same way. So I just have to make sure you don’t MAKE me hurt you”

“Every punishment you receive here is your fault” Jschlatt had sneered after one of their many training sessions, “start behaving right, and I’ll stop having to teach you better. You’re stating to make my knuckles hurt”

“Come along little bird” Philza pats his cheek twice, a gentle tap to get his attention.

Quackity can do nothing but obey, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. He looks behind him every few steps, trying to estimate how far he would really get if he started running.

“Just make sure he realizes you’re his” Wilbur pleaded, “there’s only one way for this afternoon to end bad, and that’s if you made it look like you belonged to your previous owner”

Quackity shudders at the flashback, but- but just this once maybe?

The teen forces himself to take a step closer to Philza.

He belongs to him, right? So he should stay close.

There’s a trill of approval from the older hybrid, thankfully.

Maybe Wilbur wasn’t pulling his leg after all.

Finally, they stop at a door in the middle. It’s no different from the rest of the doors, identical to all of the rest.

One of the men standing guard bows down to Philza, as if the avian was a king gracing them with his presence. The guard pulls out a key, unlocks the door and slowly eases it open.

Whatever Quackity had in mind, this was NOT it.

Chained to the wall, legs crumbled beneath him, arms straining above him, blood dripping from multiple wound, is one of Jschlatt’s men.

The man is filthy, his wounds are infected, greasy hair covers his face, but it does nothing to hide the gruesome sight that is his face.

Quackity finds it hard to breath at the sight, because while he didn’t get along with any of Jschlatt’s men, he wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

Quackity tries to take a step back, but massive dark wings stop him.

Philza wraps an arm around his shoulder, holds him tight enough for talons to dig into his shoulders despite the padding of his thick brown jacket.

“I thought I’d give you a look at our handiwork” he laughs softly, “I had one of our new recruits practice on this one, so not MY handiwork necessarily, but still. My men need practice after all”

Philza pulls him back, his wing still extended behind Quackity, pulling him closer to the Mafioso’s side.

“Gauged his eyes out, cut off his tongue. You know, the standard.” He points to different body parts and explains in detail what they did.

Quackity feels like he’s the one being tortured with every word.

The older avian then drags him to another door, again, another guard opens the door, to reveal a more horrifying site.

Again, he recognizes the man chained to the wall, this one by his legs so he’s hanging upside down. With his position, hair can’t fall into his face and hide the gruesome sight before them.

It’s a thing of nightmares, and Quackity will be haunted for the rest of his (clearly short) life.

“this one was the work of my more seasoned men, but I’m the one that suggested hanging him upside down. Why hide such a pretty face?” his laugh is so soft, it contrasts so strongly with his words. And sends Quackity spiraling.

Quackity can’t speak if he tried to, there’s a lump in his throat that just won’t budge.

He wants to plead with Philza, beg him for…something? Hide in his wings of all things! Because he can’t! Oh god he can’t! And his tormentor doesn’t care.

Philza repeats the process multiple times, taking him towards different doors and showing him the gruesome sight behind it. Every single one being one of Jschlatt’s men. Philza doesn’t seem to take any joy in his fear, but that doesn’t stop him from going into the gory details of the torture.

Quackity gets to the point where he’s frozen with fear, breath hitching with barely held back sobs. His shaking has gotten so bad, Philza decides to take pity on him.

He pulls him into a one sided hug, rubbing his arms up and down while the wing remains wrapped around him.

“I know” he coos, like he’s speaking to a child, “but I just need you to understand, and hopefully you’ll never have to see these things again. All those bugs belonged to Jschlatt, so I had to do that. But you don’t belong to him, you’re not one of his bugs. So there’s nothing to fear, you belong to me right?”

Belong? Flock? Flock? Hurt?

The hold on his arm tightens in warning, “answer me little bird” Philza warns coldly, and Quackity can only nod his head frantically, tears flying at the jerky movement.

“Now that we’re done with the stick, let’s go have the carrot. Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Life really likes to fuck with Wilbur.

He might argue he’s life’s favorite bitch with how much it screws him.

Techno might say he’s being dramatic, but Wilbur will huff and rant about how he’s merely stating the truth. (Him quoting hamlet while doing so might make his argument less persuasive, but…. It’s Hamlet Techno. Fuck off!)

When he laments his poor luck to his father, the unsympathetic man simply laughs and ruffles his hair.

“We’ve done our share of the devil’s work mate, life has a bit of a grudge” he winks in his own special way and goes back to gouging out the eyes of some poor bastard. (His dad has a thing for ripping out eyes, but Wilbur has a thing for cutting out tongues so he’s in no place to judge)

But even if he killed a couple of hundred people, life really has no right screwing him over the way it does. If anything, he’s the byproduct of life’s bitchiness.

If life didn’t want him to become this ‘Big Bad Monster’ then it really shouldn’t have started him off the way it did; a small piglin hybrid with no sounder.

His early memories are of a dirty room in a dirty orphanage with dirty kids. Thankfully, even though he was born a piglin hybrid, his features weren’t as noticeable. The workers at the orphanage weren’t kind, but they weren’t cruel either. By that he means they didn’t want him dead, thankfully.

They would have him hide his tail, and would warn him about telling anyone of his hybrid status, because piglin hybrids were rare for a reason…… very few were allowed to exist.

Avians, sirens, piglins and a handful of other hybrid were hunted down when they were very young out of fear, the old lady at the orphanage explained. Since these hybrids had the longest life spans, the strongest bodies, and were more likely to follow instinct before logic, others feared them. A result of that fear was that certain groups would hunt them down using any and every dirty trick they had to ensure their extinction. These hunts wiped out the majority of the strongest hybrids, but it lead to them fighting back.

She talks about a dark time when hybrids would hunt hybrids. When the ‘monsters’ showed WHY they deserved that title.

Wilbur didn’t care about any of that though, he was six! What did it matter if a small group of the surviving hybrids banded together and took out hundreds of thousands of people?

Booooooring.

If anything, it sounds fair. If they were going to be treated like dangerous monsters, it’s only fair they act like it.

Of course, Wilbur didn’t say that. No! he knew she saw him as a sweet child, and he couldn’t risk losing that. The only reason they hadn’t sold him or killed him themselves is because they thought he was just an innocent little baby. The fucking idiots.

So he let his eyes tear up (a trick he’d mastered early on) and made his lips tremble.

“Oh that’s so horrible” his voice waivered, “they should’ve been kinder, showed people how good they were, not kill others”

Really Wilbur was destined for theater, he was a fucking natural!

(he may have shown early signs of apathy and sadism, but he likes to think of it as talent)

The old lady had nodded in agreement, lamenting the loss of so many innocent lives.

Pu-lease, Wilbur barley held himself from rolling his eyes at the idiocracy. So they also went after women and children. Big fucking deal. The women encouraged their men to kill other hybrids simply for the way they were born, and the kids would’ve been raised by these mothers to do the same. If they didn’t want to be killed, maybe they shouldn’t have been so dumb.

Either way, Wilbur didn’t care, the only thing he DID care about was the empty feeling in his chest, the one that screamed sounder.

Sounder!

Where is sounder?

No one at the orphanage fit that gaping hole, and he couldn’t force himself to accept any of them either. He didn’t hate them. Not really.

But he didn’t care for them either.

Sure they were nice, they fed him and clothed him and could have sold him to one of those bastards that hunted ‘dangerous hybrids’ at a young age, but they didn’t. And he knows he should be grateful, but he also knows that they don’t really CARE about him.

They care for the cute kid he pretends to be. The one that helped them make cookies, not the one that burnt down the kitchen and made it look like a candle toppling over caused it. The one that cried during the sad parts of bedtime stories, not the kid that pinned bugs down and tore their limbs off slowly behind the orphanage building.

So no! He didn’t care for them because he knew that they couldn’t care less about him.

They weren’t sounder or anything close to sounder, they were an audience for Wilbur’s stellar performance, pretending to be fucking human of all things.

Families came and left, all were interested in Wilbur, but Wilbur wasn’t interested in any of them. The workers explained that Wilbur was the old hag’s grandchild and not up for adoption. They couldn’t risk him ending up with a cruel family and throwing out all the effort put into keeping him alive. Wilbur went along with it.

None of these families made the aching hole in his chest go away, they felt wrong.

Eventually he talked to the old hag about it, asked her if he’ll ever have a family like the rest of the kids that got adopted. Asked her why he always felt achingly empty.

She’d seemed confused, not understanding what he was going through. At first she thought he was feeling lonely or jealous from the other kids.

But Wilbur insisted that wasn’t the case, he didn’t care for the company of the other kids so how could he be lonely? And none of the kids that got adopted had anything he wanted so how could he be jealous?

The hag looked into it eventually, searching through musty old books, and what she found made so much sense it hurt. How could she run an orphanage if she didn’t know the most basic information about raising different hybrids?

Because according to the book, piglin children NEEDED sounder. Sounder meant safety, protection, security. From birth, piglin hybrids understood on a deep subconscious level the need for the group. When they looked into what constituted as sounder, the old hag looked as if she’d bit into rotting flesh. Her face twisted in such an ugly way it made the lines in her face dig deeper into her saggy skin.

Humans aged far too fast compared to every other hybrid, it made Wilbur wonder what the point of them existing even was.

The old hag had explained that according to the book, Wilbur could only create sounder bonds with hybrids at the same wavelength as his instincts. Hybrids that understood his keens and whines without having him explain, hybrids that understood the importance of sharing food and blankets.

Understood that not everyone deserves to live, that burning bugs with magnifying glasses was fun….

According to the book, piglins and avians were in the same category, a piglin hybrid can pass as flock to an avian, and an avian could pass as Souder to a piglin.

The only problem was that both were despised (read feared) during that time, and it would be impossible for Wilbur to find one.

Even if there was a possibility, if the people at the orphanage found out how much he wanted to fill that ache, they’d fucking stab him in the back. Kill him in his sleep, or put poison his morning eggs. No! Wilbur had to be smart about this.

With the hag still watching him, Wilbur made his eyes all big and watery, then proclaimed that:

“I would NEVER leave you guys for some monster” he’d spat the last word in fake disgust, “you’re my family” he’d lied so well.

Really, he deserved an award.

The people at the orphanage had cooed and awed at little Wilbur, the old hag had wiped a small tear, (the fucking idiot) and said that Wilbur would have to do with a human sounder.

He had nodded eagerly, while on the inside he wanted nothing more than scratch her eyes out at the insult!

A human sounder? Really? Did she think she could fill that gaping hole in his chest? Her? The gall! Just how full of herself was she?

If she really wanted what was best for him, she would’ve helped him find sounder. Not forced him, a child, to ignore his instincts!!

If Wilbur got out of here, he was going to kill her. He swore on his tail!

At the end of the day, he couldn’t keep his word. It was Philza that got to her. He’d been looking high ND low for avians and piglin hybrids, giving insane cash to anyone with a lead.

Funny enough, the only thing that overpowered people’s hate for another being, is their love for cash.

One of the workers at the orphanage had spilled his secret to Philza for a hefty sum, and when the man came to collect his child, the old hag had the nerve to try and stop him.

“We don’t have what you’re looking for” she’d stood between Wilbur and the avian, “Wilbur, go to your room darling, I’ll handle this”

Bless her heart, she really thought Wilbur would walk away from sounder? Family? Caretaker? And listen to her?

Wilbur merely side stepped her, grabbing Philza’s hand with both of his.

It felt right!

It felt like home!

This was sounder.

He heard the old hag yelling something or the other, but he didn’t care. Not when he knew, felt, the importance of this man. Philza kneeled down to his level, eyes scanning the small child and taking everything in.

Finally, he made a soft trilling sound that meant home and Wilbur could do-nothing but jump into open arms, chuffing home. Home. Home.

The old hag’s voice was ruining the moment, but Philza had fixed it with the sound of a gunshot.

Wilbur didn’t bother looking back, he was home.

That was over fifty years ago, a lifetime for humans, but a moment in time for hybrids like Wilbur and Philza.

Philza already had Techno, so when they found out they were the same age, Wilbur was quick to proclaim them twins! And would refuse any arguments.

Techno was sounder! And life was finally good.

That’s not to say shit didn’t keep happening.

He’d had his issues with family and managing the family business, and then with the salmon hybrid Philza refuses to mention.

Then they had to bring Tommy home, and boy was that a shit show. (But sounder was worth it)

All the while Jschlatt was sending cut off avian wings to his dad to drive him into instinct madness.

But through it all, Wilbur was the perfect (if a bit arsonist) child.

He handled everything life threw at him, and laughed the whole time.

Then Tommy was taken, and Wilbur couldn’t find him.

His instincts went haywire, so his dad and brother decided to lock him in the den instead of let him look for Tommy.

“you’re too unstable”

“You can’t focus”

“I don’t want to lose you son”

“Wilbur, this is for the best”

Yeah right!

He raged and screamed his lungs out. Cussing out his father and brother. Fighting helplessly against the cuffs until he’s too tired to raise his head.

The he sobbed.

Because he hated life.

It brought him into this world alone, with no one. He had to struggle alone until sounder found him, and now life wants to take sounder away.

He feels he has the right to be as angry as he wants.

But then Tommy is back.

He’s back but his safe return is tainted by the child’s cheeping. His midnight calls for flock that isn’t there.

Because they weren’t the ones to save Tommy. No! the honor goes to one of Jschlatt’s men! One of the goons that took his brother in the first place!

At least Techno gave the man a thank you gift to express just how grateful they truly are.

(Techno glares at him when he says it, something like shame in his face. He’s always been too soft)

At first Philza cuddles his youngest son, they all try to distract him from the imprint. Because it’s a passing imprint, nothing serious. So long as it’s not being reignited and Tommy isn’t in contact with the bastard that tricked his brother in the first place, then the imprint should fade on its own. Plus, Tommy already has his flock surrounding him, it shouldn’t take more than a week for the imprint to break.

.

.

.

It’s over a month later when they come to the horrifying realization that the imprint won’t be breaking anytime soon.

Turns out it’s not a passing imprint, the one most common with outsiders.

It’s a flock imprint.

Tommy made a flock imprint on one of Jschlatt’s men.

The rage he’d buried during his imprisonment in the den (shut up Techno! He was chained!! Of course it counts as imprisonment) comes back tenfold.

How? It’s not possible! Jschlatt most definitely did something! They fooled his little brother into a flock imprint! His innocent baby brother! It was all a setup!

Techno and Philza fret around their youngest, because it must be truly upsetting for young chick like Tommy to be away from a newly formed bond. They consider breaking it, but they have no idea what the consequences might be to someone as young.

If they can prove to Tommy that the man is not flock, then is instincts will reject the bastard on their own. A safe clean cut.

They ask around, wonder why such an imprint happened in the first place.

Eventually they conclude that it has something to do with young age and a stressful situation.

At NO point do they even consider the possibly of the fucking goon being a piglin or an avian.

Why on earth would Jschlatt keep one alive if that were the case?

Wilbur looks up ways to break the imprint without possibly affecting Tommy, while Techno and Philza oppose him AGAIN and try to find the filthy dog.

They don’t even know if the bastard is alive after Techno cleaved his face like a watermelon, and yet his family is taking that risk.

Much later, because the bastard can hide well, they find him and Tommy is happy, Techno is happy, and Philza is… well nobody really understood Philza, but Wilbur knows how cruel his father can be, and he’s not even close to it when it comes to the filthy dog in their home.

There is someone dangerous in his sounder and nobody cares.

His instincts rage!

Life insists on him not having a sounder and he’ll be dead before he lets sounder go.

Because that’s all that’s ever mattered.

Sure, he’s a fucking maniac on a good day. He’s piglin enough to admit it, but he has lines that he’d never cross.

He would never allow harm to come to sounder.

But also…

He would NEVER harm a young avian or piglin himself.

That’s never going to happen.

Right?

“Technoooooo” Wilbur whines obnoxiously, throwing himself right on top of his brother.

Techno, to his credit doesn’t even flinch. The wall of a man removes his glasses and sets them gently on the side table, followed by his worn out copy of “peace and war”. (fucking nerd)

“the fuck did you do?” he grunts down at his twin.

“rude” Wilbur exclaims, getting off his brother and sitting more comfortably on the big plush couch, “why do you assume the worst in me? I am an angle”

“You’re in the library, you’re pouting like a child, and you let your hair be a mess” a large scarred palm runs through his wild locks, trying to smooth down the unruly mess, “so, what did you do?”

“Nothiiiiiiiiiing” he whines, tilting his head into the scarred palm, chasing his sounders gentle touch, “it’s just- “

“here we go” techno snorts

“Fuck off!” he grumbles, scooting closer to his brother trying to hide in his side.

“I’m listening”

“you know I’m not like- evil or shit right?” he whispers.

“Wilbur, we run a mafia. We are the embodiment of evil” techno huffs, still fussing with his unruly curls, his instincts demanding he groom sounder.

“I know that! I just…. I’m not like Jschlatt right?” his question can be barely heard by average ears. Thankfully, Techno doesn’t have average ears.

“What brought this on?”

“I… I would never hurt an avian right? That’s not something I would do, or let anyone do…. right?”

“I- that’s the strangest question you’ve ever made in our decades of living together”

“Please” Wilbur begs, “just answer”

“You would never knowingly harm an avian Wilbur. I can vouch for you”

Wilbur doesn’t seem appeased, the opposite actually.

“What about unknowingly? Would I do it?”

“Wilbur, is there something you want to share?”

Wilbur opens his mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again. He does a poor imitation of a fish; hesitance clear in his eyes. Techno for his part is patient, he’ll be whatever his brother needs.

“Ok, I… have my suspicion but I need you help. I beg you Techno, I just need you to help me look through Quackity’s room for something”

“Wilbur, let him- “

“Please protector” Wilbur whines, “I think I fucked up”

Chapter Text

After the horror movie that was the torture chambers, Quackity had no idea what was going to happen.

You don’t flaunt those nightmare inducing terrors and then do something mellow, like say….

Have a fucking tea party!

Quackity forgets who he’s dealing with exactly sometimes.

Because Philza chooses to do just that.

Right after terrifying the shit out of Quackity, making sure he never gets a night of rest for as long as he may live, Philza leads him to his private room, seating him at a small glass table plated with all sorts finger foods and small treats.

The shift in atmosphere from torture dungeon to tea room is enough to give Quackity whiplash.

Unlike the sterile white in the torture section of the compound, this room is overflowing with colors and artistic designs. The main color is gold however, gold chandeliers, gold candles sticks, gold everything! Every piece of furniture has a gold outlining.

The paintings seem old and worth a fortune, like every other piece of art in this place is, however the ones in this room seem... more?  There is literally jewels and pearls spilling out of a golden vase sat by the window.

A string of pearls hangs over at the frame of a painting. An old ashtray with emeralds of different shapes sits on an antique dresser, and Quackity can see the glimmer of emeralds within.

His eyes hurt with the sensory overload.

There’s too much everywhere, like a treasure room.

Like a hoard.

He couldn’t possibly get a solid look at every precious stone and priceless item in the room. It would take days to look at everything in the room, maybe more.

He remembers his mother reading him a bedtime story once, the story had a dragon living inside a cave, up on top of a mountain. Within the cave there was a huge pile of treasures that the dragon protected. Adventurers from all over the land would try to slay the dragon to get to the treasures hidden deep within and all would meet a fiery end.

The analogy makes too much sense in Quackity’s head. Philza fits the role of the dragon so well, with his sharp teeth and bigger than the sky aura. If dragon hybrids were a thing, Philza would not just be one, he would most definitely be the strongest among them.

“What do you think of my little cove?” Philza asks, the silkiness in his voice makes the little bird in his chest croon, wishing the man would speak for hours. He doesn’t think he’d mind.

Wait!

He was asked a question?

Quackity takes a minute to register the words, his brain must have turned into a soup for some reason, and it’s taking actual effort to string a complete sentence without chirping. Philza waits patiently, filling the silence with the sound of pouring tea.

“shiny” Quackity blurts out, not able to come up with something else, something less…. stupid.

Philza must feel the same, because when Quackity looks up from the steaming cup of tea he sees a- for lack of better word- baffled Philza staring back.

“well, you have interesting answers for a human” he finally settles on, shaking his head. There’s that familiar glint in his eyes that Quackity can’t quite understand. He knows he’s seen it before, but he just- dammit! He can’t put his finger on it, “human responses don’t point out the shine I guess”

“human responses?”

The medication probably broke his filter; he can’t keep spouting shit randomly like this.

But there’s tea, and the room is shiny, everything is so pretty.

The bird trills happily in the back of his head. The poor thing must’ve had one hell of a roller coaster today!

Philza hums in response, busy adding sugar into both their cups. Quackity didn’t tell him how he likes his tea, but it’s not like he’ll know if asked. He’s lived all his life using tea bags, sometimes used ones he dug up from the trash, not this fancy kind with the floral scent, served in a glass kettle and crystal cups.

“You see, humans have a tendency to see the mess, the clutter” he says the word with something like disgust in his voice, “or the price tags, their first impression isn’t how shiny it is. Ah, this brings back memories, I haven’t had a human in here for decades”

Quackity doesn’t answer, the second pill he took right before meeting Philza must have some serious side effects, because he’s far too mesmerized by the golden spoon stirring the milk in the tea.

It’s so damn shiny.

He shakes his head roughly, trying to get rid of the birdbrain effect. But it’s so damn hard, the room is just… there’s so many pretty things.

It makes Quackity burn with shame at the small watch hidden in his pocket.

Is that all he has? All he’ll ever have?

The bird inside droops at the realization.

The self-deprecating thoughts are broken at the sound of a clink, the golden spoon placed on a crystal plate on the side.

“If our little chat goes well, I’ll let you pick three things from this room” Philza says it so casually, Quackity KNOWS there’s something hidden behind that gesture.

The bane of his existence that is the birdbrain practically melts into puddle at the promise. A warm feeling swells in his chest, and latches onto the image of something shiny, nice, hoard, flock gift, flock flock flock flock flock flock.

“You won’t understand the significance of course” Philza scoffs bitterly, “but they’re all worth a fortune. Some of the things in this room can’t be measured with monetary value, rather with souls” the ice in his eyes gets, if possible, colder.

He’s tired of all the hidden meanings, especially when he sucks at reading what’s right in front of him, never mind what’s hidden.

“Avian thing?” he dares to ask.

“Avian thing” Philza smirks, “what a cute way to describe something so ingrained in a person’s being”

Shit. He offended him.

“Don’t fret little bird” Philza coos, “giving you part of my hoard means I no longer see you as an outsider. It’s both a formality so my sounder acknowledges you AND for my instincts to claim you”

The teen almost spits out the tea he’d just sipped at the word ‘claim’.

Claim?

“Just make sure he realizes you’re his” Wilbur pleaded, “there’s only one way for this afternoon to end bad, and that’s if you made it look like you belonged to your previous owner”

 Claim! If he wants to live, he’ll need to be officially claimed.

“The…. The food thing” Quackity stutters, because he needs to make sense of everything. He can’t keep the blindfold on if he’s walking on the edge of a cliff.

Philza keeps the cool smile, but his eyes keep getting darker. Quackity shudders at the expression, and the glint of –that thing! That look! What is it?

“Getting impatient? No matter, we can chat a bit. It’s easier to demonstrate however” Philza picks up a pink cookie? it’s something fancy for sure and Quackity doesn’t know what its name is. “if I were to throw this at you, how would you describe my action?”

Quackity thinks for a second, trying to figure out the trick. He can’t find a hidden meaning, so he hazards a guess.

“I’d say… you threw food at me”

Philza nods approvingly, “correct, now if I were to place this macron on your plate, how would you describe THAT?”

Again, Quackity mulls it over but answers the same way.

“that you gave me food”

Philza nods again, smiling a little. The bird puffs its chest with pride.

“Now” Philza holds up a small knife and cuts the little ‘macron’, (is that what he called it?) in half, eating one half and holding out the other half for Quackity.

The teen takes it slowly, looking between the small piece and the man’s expectant stare.

He lifts the small piece and takes a small bite, pleased with the way it practically melts in his mouth.

“how would you describe what just happened?” dilated eyes stare into his very soul.

“I…. I would say…um… you gave me… your food?”

He gets a pleased trill in response and has to swallow back a happy trill of his own.

“Correct” he laughs, “the same food, depending on how it was delivered holds different meaning. And who is giving and who is receiving, makes all the difference in the world”

That… makes so much sense actually.

But it doesn’t explain what the meaning is!

“When I give you, a mere human or any incompatible hybrid, my food, I’m staking a claim. You are mine to do as I please with, and by extension my family” Philza pauses to sip from his tea, not a care in the world as he reveals the very being of his instincts, “when I simply give someone like you food, it means I gave you a favor and thus you owe me.” Philza places another macron, this one a pastel purple in front of the young avian.

The delicate sweet mocks him in its silence.

The bird trills sweetly, practically exposing its belly to the beast.

He takes a couple of deep breathes, trying to pull himself together before he starts trilling in real life.

“and” exhale, “and what if it was done between two avians?”

Maybe if the drug wasn’t messing with his head, he wouldn’t have risked exposing himself this way. But that is a maybe he’ll never get to explore.

In the heat of the moment, Quackity failed to reign himself.

Philza studies his companion for a long minute, eyes glaring at the space over his shoulders, like he’s trying to spot something but can’t. his glare deepens, frustrated by what he cannot see.

“Why? Has there been such a case that you know of?” the tone is clipped, dangerous.

Quackity, exhausted and drugged as he is, doesn’t shake his head in denial.

Simply stays quite, eyeing the man with apprehension.

“Answer child” Philza orders. An oppressive aura falls onto room, making it hard for the teen to breath.

Huh.

How strange.

“Quackity, obey” Philza orders again, full on seething now, “has there been a scenario where one avian gave another one food in front of you?”

Quackity can do nothing but curl into himself, shaking in fear. He should lie, he HAS to lie, but the birdbrain rages at the thought, it won’t let him shake his head no. He refuses to meet the other’s eyes, instead focusing on the trembling fists in his lap.

When Philza sets his cup down with a loud clink, Quackity flinches hard enough to pull something.

“Let me rephrase little bird” Philza almost growls, “and before I do, remember who you belong to. Was there a young avian being held by Jschlatt? Did that young avian interact with any of the adult avians Jschlatt would hunt down and dismember?”

Does Philza know?

He can’t know! Right?

Quackity swallows hard.

The mafia boss is steering the conversation into a very specific direction, but Quackity is blind to it.

He doesn’t know what way to go, how to proceed.

“I see”

The temperature in the room drops by multiple degrees.

“Maybe I can refresh your memory little bird” smoothly, like a shark cutting the water’s surface, Philza rises from his seat and heads to the antique dresser at the very back of the room.

“I just need you to answer one simple question for me”. Philza opens the upper drawer, he pulls out a big velvet box, it’s a deep maroon color, similar to the ones meant to hold jewelry, only bigger. The box is clearly well cared for, and by the way Philza holds it so carefully, whatever is inside must be invaluable.

The first time Quackity got here, Philza shattered a priceless antique in a fit of anger, so for him to carry the box in such a way means whatever is inside Is worth more than life probably.

Philza sets the box in front of him, then unlatches the metal clutch on the side. When it’s finally open, and Quackity has clear view of what’s inside, he can feel his insides twist with

UNPARALLELED FEAR.

“wh…. What is this” he chokes out, swallowing the bile in his throat. His shaky hands grip his pant legs, nails digging into the fabric.

“I think you know” Philza whispers coldly.

Quackity stares at the glass encasing 10 different kinds of feathers, each from a different avian, Quackity knows these are from avians and not some normal birds, because he recognizes a couple of them from his time with Jschlatt. He was not allowed interact with any of the avians Jschlatt captured before the clipping, but Quackity remembers spotting them in hallways, as they were being dragged to their unfortunate fate.

There are ten beautiful beautiful feathers, each a different color. But that’s not all. No! if it were just that, his life would’ve been easy. Two of these feathers are very very familiar feathers. A downy little white one, that he recognizes as belonging to Tommy, and right next to it….

Cleaned and preserved in the glass is a golden feather. Even if it’s shinier than any he’s ever seen, he KNOWS whose feather that it. He has hundreds like it hidden beneath the filthy bindings, even if they’re not as well cared for. He has more than a few stuffed into a pillow in the room they gave him.

It’s his feather.

“I…I….” he can’t speak; this is not what he had in mind.

Why does Phil have one of his feathers? How did he get it?

Did Quackity forget to hide one of his loose feathers?

Did one of the maids find it and give it to Philza?

Oh god!

He’s going to die!

Quackity can’t take his eyes off the feather, his death sentence lies in that soft little thing.

“I see your eye got caught on this precious little thing” there’s something like tar in his voice, sticky and thick and ready to swallow him whole, Quackity only shakes in fear. He’s going to die…. is this what this was all about?

Was he toying with him the entire time?

Was this one of his sick games?

“Please, I…. please….” he chokes, he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Mercy? Forgiveness? Sympathy?

Philza shushes him softly, eyes hungry at the thought of. something? Quackity doesn’t know what! what is this?

“So you know who this belongs to” Philza smiles wide, but it’s not like any of his previous smiles. This one is dripping with something dark and all consuming. “you do don’t you?”

And Quackity has no idea what to say to that, because if he didn’t know who it belonged to, how on earth did he get?

Philza laughs a relieved laugh, like a man that just heard his incurable disease is suddenly gone, or the captain of a drowning ship spotting land! It’s loud and cackling and a little bit on the maniac side.

“I knew I’d get it!” he manages between loud laughs, “I told that bastard Jschlatt I’d find out”

Jschlatt?

Jschlatt has something to do with this? How?

What is Quackity missing for God’s sake?!

“Jschlatt you bastard, I bet you’re rolling in your grave” Philza laughs, wiping away a tear.

“Jschlatt? Why- how? I mean” Quackity is on the verge of a panic attack, and he can’t handle it. Can he please go back to two minutes earlier when he was stuffing his face with cookies? Or better yet, to a couple of days ago when he was sitting in his shitty apartment, only concern being what he’d have for dinner.

The air is frigid all of a sudden, it’s painful to breath it in.

“Oh? you really are an oblivious little thing” Philza coos, still high on his happiness, “the spineless little ram would send me a feather of whoever he got his hands on before sending me the amputated wings exactly a week later. He needed to make sure he got me as angry as possible, just sending the wings wasn’t enough. He would ‘give me a chance’ to save whoever he got his hands on, only to laugh at my failure. But this” his law clinks against the glass protecting his feather, “this particular feather is special. You know why?”

Quackity shakes his head, he can do nothing but listen.

Listen and try to wrap his head around these words.

Philza returns to the drawer from before and pulls out an identical box to the one on the table, he opens it fast, slamming the whole thing in front of Quackity. Inside it, incased in glass like the rest, are a dozen feathers, only these ones are all the same, they’re all Quackity’s feathers. Small fluffy things frozen in time inside their incasing.

Philza has his feathers.

And Jschlatt….

Jschlatt was the one to….

“this feather belongs to a baby bird my dear Quackity, all the others were for adult avians, but this- just a little chick. Jschlatt taunted me with it for years, always sending me one of these golden gems, making sure I know what he had.

What I didn’t!

What was rightfully mine was being kept from me” he spits out, his smile wiped out and replaced by an ugly snarl.

Quackity wants to cry.

Jschlatt knew. He knew all along. He was doomed from the start.

You’re like me, you just have more time. Tommy had once said, and Quackity only now understands how true the statement was.

Philza is now speaking about him to him.

“The last feather he sent was paired with a simple message, ‘no more waiting’, he was getting ready to send me the baby’s wings. But then he caught Tommy, and sent me his feather instead. And then, well, you know the rest”

Oh.

He never had a chance.

Had tommy not been caught, he would’ve been killed.

But had Tommy not been caught, Quackity would not be here waiting to be killed either.

“Jschlatt- Jschlatt was going to send you those wings?” Quackity asks, his voice wavering, barley audile over the sound of his own heartbeat and rushing blood.

“Yes, he certainly was. But then he probably got distracted by my poor little baby” he explains, “and then when I asked, when I finally had him in his place, he just wouldn’t spill” Philza rages, fists clenching so hard he sees blood dripping between his fingers, “nothing I did, and believe me when I say I did A LOT, would get him to spill. He refused to tell me were the little thing was and eventually, well… I got carried away with my fun” Philza rolls his eyes, like he’s talking about braking a vase and not

Not…

Not torturing a man to death.

“But now you’re here, and you know! You must know!” Philza motions for him to just speak.

And Quackity…

He’s still trying to wrap his head around what had happened really.

He can’t!

He absolutely can’t.

His mind refuses to make sense of it al.

“I… I swear… I don’t”

His breathing is all wrong. Ragged and short, he can’t take a full breath to save his life.

“Don’t. You. Dare” Philza warns, “you cannot be protecting Jschlatt’s plans! Not after everything!”

Quackity keeps shaking his head furiously, something wet failing down his cheeks.

He can’t. he can’t.

He’s going to die.

He was always going to die.

“Quackity” Philza shoves the table between them to the side, indifferent to the way it tips over and crashes with everything on it.

The now hyperventilating avian can’t hear the glass shattering over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

“I thought I made it clear that Jschlatt doesn’t own you” Philza roughly grabs him by the arms and pulls him off the chair, “seems I haven’t made it clear” he drags the younger avian behind him, even when Quackity can’t get his legs beneath him, too weak to stand on his own, Philza keeps dragging till they reach the door.

Taloned fingers grab his chin in a tight hold and lift it, forcing him to look up, up, up.

“Look at what I have up there, little bird” Philza hisses in his ear, having crouched down to his crumpled form, “look at your last owner and tell me where your loyalty is”

It takes a minute for his gaze to stop swimming and finally focus, and when it does, Quackity wishes he’d gone blind.

He hadn’t noticed it when they first came in, too busy being enamored with all the shiny and pretty things. He hadn’t even looked up.

Over the door, hung like some kind of sick trophy, is a set of ram horns.

A very familiar set of ram horns.

.

.

.

.

.

.

This is his breaking point.

In his weakest moment, after days, maybe years of struggling, Quackity lets out the loudest chirp he’s ever made.

Philza lets go of him as if he were burned.

The door is ripped open.

A heaving Wilbur falls through the door, holding in one hand a bunch of golden feathers and in the other a ripped pillow.

Techno rushes in the room, literally jumping over his brother, eyes wild with fury.

Tommy runs after Techno, tear falling down his face.

And a dam inside Quackity's mind breaks.

Chapter Text

The room falls dead silent.

Not a single sound other than the muffled chirps behind Quackity’s palms.

Wilbur is still on the floor, arms reaching out to his father. One hand holds a torn pillow filled with dirty gold feathers, the other has a fistful of the same feathers on display. From his position on the ground, Quackity can see some of his torn up feathers spill out onto the ground. They’re ugly and mangled and filthy, an eyesore if there’s ever been one, but they’re his. And Wilbur knows it, and Techno, the brute behind Quackity, knows it as well. Tommy as always known it.

And now Philza does as well.

Techno, the mammoth that he is, is practically a statue, pupils dilated in such a way that the red of them is barely a bloody rim around the black of his pupil. He’s breathing heavily, probably from running all the way here.

Eager to finish him off?

Tommy is shaking were he stands, tearful eyes jumping from his family to the avian on the ground. Guilt etched into his very core. And Quackity KNOWS what he’s guilty of, and it hurts like nothing he’s ever felt.

His chick turned him in.

But Phil…

Phil is quiet.

Deathly quiet.

A dangerous kind of quiet.

A black thundering cloud hangs over their heads.

There’s something like electricity in it, a charged cloud ready to spit lightning and thunder on everyone. Turn the quiet into a raging hurricane in a split second.

Quackity still has both hands slapped on his mouth, nails digging into his face so hard he feels a drop of blood sliding down his cheek. Frantic chirps keep leaving his chest, and he’s helpless to stop them. All he can do is press his hands tighter over his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle them.

Maybe they can’t hear it.

Maybe the chirps are in his head.

That’s a thing right? He’s hallucinating!

Probably.

Or dreaming. Yes! That has to be it!

Frigid blues meet dark brown and milky white.

All hope of getting away with the chirps goes flying out the window, just like Quackity’s survival chances.

The icy gaze of the mafia boss travels all over Quackity and lands on his puffy worn jacket, a pinched look comes over his face. He hasn’t taken off the rah he calls a coat since he first got here, no matter the temperature. They assumed it was for comfort, but the gig is up. They all know it.

 “Jacket off!” he demands calmly, voice freezing cold, with no room for debate. Quackity shakes his head in refusal, he can’t. This can’t be how it ends. Is this where his struggle has lead him? Trapped like a mouse in glue while being surrounded by cats?

You were always doomed to fail!

A sound suspiciously similar to Jschlatt laughs in his ear. And he loathes to admit it, but the voice is right. Jschlatt had known all along, Tommy had known all along, why on earth did he think he could hide it from these men?

Quackity shakes harder, his chirps coming out faster and louder behind clasped fingers. He can do nothing but shake his head, refusing as much as he can.

He doesn’t know WHY he’s still resisting. Logically speaking, he knows he’s been found out. The feathers in Wilbur’s hands, the knowing glint in Techno’s eyes, the loud chirps slipping between his fingers, and the guilt on Tommy’s face.

Despite everything going on, and the panic in his chest, he can’t overlook the pain from that betrayal. The guilty look on the little nestlings face hurts in ways he could never imagine.

Tommy betrayed him.

His flock left him.

At the thought, a sharp peep forces itself out, high and shaky. It’s followed by more frantic chirps that he just CAN’T STOP!

Flock. Sorry. Sorry. Tommy peeps at him, lips wobbling with held back sobs.

“Quackity, the jacket please” Philza asks again, his tone commanding, and that echo feature from before that demands he listen. The man stands slowly from where he’s fell over a moment ago, after the shock of Quackity chirping the first time.

The man starts approaching him slowly, Quackity tries to shuffle backwards using his legs only, like a pathetic worm (“you’re a useless worm! Be happy I kept you” Jschlatt yells). The muffled chirps get higher with fear, Quackity looks around, trying to find a way out.

A large arm wraps around his middle from behind, thick fingers wrap around both his hands, easily holding them both as if he were a child. His hands are pulled away from his mouth and he shrieks so loud he thinks glass might shatter.

The avian flails desperately, trying to get out of the iron hold, but he has a better chance escaping iron cuffs than Technoblade’s hold. Because this is Technoblade, no doubt. Even through the fear, he can identify the callused hands, capable of both gently holding him and cruelly striking him.

“Easy, easy” Techno rumbles, his voice passes through his chest and through Quackity’s back, shaking he avian slightly with its timber.

“Hold him there mate” Phil is now at their side, claws reaching for Quackity’s jacket. The avian screeches louder and resumes his fights, all the while his chirps haven’t stopped.

“Dad” a small childish voice pleads somewhere in the room.

“We’ll talk later mate” Phil replies with a clipped tone, “I assure you we’ll talk, but not now. Wilbur take your brother outside”

“No stop” Tommy yells. A small arm clutches onto Quackity’s side, griping tightly, “just- “

“Tommy, mate, this really isn’t the time. And I’m not exactly pleased with you at the moment”

“Dad, please just- “

“Tommy sunshine, let’s go.” Wilbur urges somewhere, “dad and Techno can handle it”

“promise you won’t hurt him” Tommy demands through his tears,

“Tommy” Wilbur gasps, and the other two stiffen noticeably, “You know they would never hurt a fledgling”

“I know that! He doesn’t! so just…. Techno promised me, it’s your turn”

“Mate” Philza coos

“Promise! Say it out loud or I’m not leaving him with you”

Philza’s eyes sharpen at the order. His night dark wings rattle in warning.

“You knew from the beginning Tommy. I can tell that much, and yet you hid it from us”, the man speaks in a matter of fact tone, but the disappointment is heavy. Tommy hunches in on himself with shame, but his fingers remain clasped in Quackity’s sleeve, refusing to budge.

“Wilbur, take your brother. Seems he forgot exactly what each one’s role was in this family”

“No! Fuck off!” Tommy screeches helplessly, as Wilbur slowly removes Tommy’s fingers from Quackity’s clothes, one by one. Ignoring his brother’s yells and, when those fail, the subsequent pleas. Eventually Tommy is being carried out of the room, voice getting louder the farther he gets.

It feels like a horror scene, and Quackity can’t help but let out a mournful coo at losing the kid.

“Techno, let’s get that jacket off”, Philza orders, letting out a series of calming trills, but Quackity shakes so hard he might have pulled something. Techno gives out an approving chuff behind him. Arms shift him so he’s chest to chest with the large piglin, his back in full view of the mafia leader.

Quackity pushes his captured arms towards his chest, so they won’t be able to remove the jacket. But they don’t seem concerned at all?

“Easy birdie, easy” Technoblade buries his face in his raven hair, his beanie having fell off sometime during the whole thing. The piglin hybrid chuffs soothingly into his hair, but it doesn’t calm down his nerves like it would’ve any other time. Because everything in him is screaming, crying out for help.

His chirps, if possible, get louder.

Help! Danger! Help!

He feels his chest ache with all the chirping, his throat feels raw, he wouldn’t be surprised if he starts spitting blood any minute now.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay” Techno keeps muttering useless reassurances, and Quackity keeps thrashing helplessly in his arms. At some point his chirps starts mixing in with sobs and pleas.

“please no no no no no no, please- chirp- no- hic- please”

From the side of his eye he can see Philza brandishing a sharp claw and hooking it to the collar of his jacket, and slowly, like a hot knife through butter, he slices the back of the jacket in one smooth swoop.

Quackity throws his whole body weight backwards, hoping if he falls back on the floor, he’ll cover his back from prying eyes. Techno senses his muscles tensing, and tightens his hold at the last second. He pulls him back into his lap, his face mashed into his shoulder.

“Fuck mate, my talon almost went through your back” Philza hisses, a hand grabs his neck and presses his face into a broad neck. More chuffs into his hair, hot air blowing over his face.

Philza’s coos, and Quackity ignores him in favor of screeching as loud as he can.

Help. Help. Danger. Help.

Fledging calm. Calm. A voice chirps at him, but Quackity refuses to believe it. He’s going to die!

They’ll hang his wings right next to Jschlatt’s horns.

He feels as the talon tears through his shirt now, just as smoothly as it did with jacket.

The arms trapping him tighten all of sudden, chocking the chirp halfway.

“Fucking hell mate”

“Is that a fucking binder? Fucking hell! He might as well cut off his wings” Techno grounds out.

At the last two words, Quackity renews his fighting, screaming at the top of his lungs, literally biting Techno’s shoulder as hard as he can, trying discreetly to wrench his hands out of the iron grip.

“Calm birdie, calm” Techno tries again, but Quackity is deaf to it all.

He can’t think beyond the alarm bells ringing in his head, and the knowledge of his impending doom.

“Pleasepleaseplease” he begs incoherently, barely able to breathe through his hiccupping sobs and frantic chirps. Occasionally biting the shoulder in front of him. (Was Techno breastfed cement as a child? He feels like biting into concrete!)

There’s a firm grip on the back of his neck, two fingers push into a small spot there, pressing gently into the bundle of nerves there, and all motor moves halt. He’s still aware of everything around him, his chirps are still coming out, albeit at a slower and calmer pace. But otherwise, he’s practically paralyzed.

“Fuck, did you-?” Techno whispers, fingers absently running through dark sweaty locks.

“I have to cut the binder off, can’t risk nicking a blood feather, if he has any”

“You’re not seriously still doubting his nature? No after you just- “

“I have to see” Philza bites out, “I have to see with my own eyes”. The man resumes his task from before now that Quackity can’t struggle, breath held. A sharp claw cuts each piece of the binder very carefully, barely touching the cloth, not going deeper than the absolute minimum required to cut it. With each tether cut, Quackity can feel his wings become a little looser, slowly falling away from his back were they had been practically GLUED for the past days.

He feels the final ribbon cut, and his wings fully unfurl. Philza pulls out the cut ribbons, now having Quackity’s back on full display. The chest he’s plastered on stops breathing, the avian behind him takes a sharp inhale.

“Fuck” the curse is whispered, and at no point in his life did Quackity imagine Philza sounding like that. Like a man who’s been defeated. “Hatchling, what have you done to yourself?” he whispers brokenly.

Quackity didn’t think he had much left to break, since he first started living on the streets, there was always something inside him getting broken, there shouldn’t have been anything left. But he’s wrong. The question, with that note of horror breaks something new inside him.

He wails.

What had he done to himself?

What had HE done?

He just tried to survive!

That’s all he EVER did!

“Dad” Techno’s voice shakes, “can we- is this- we can fix it right?”

A large palm cradles Quackity’s head, hiding it in the crook of Techno’s neck so his wails are muffled by a white collared shirt.

Quackity chirps miserably, still limp in his captors hold, and tired all of a sudden. His fighting has exhausted him.

A soft coo answers him; it calms down some of his nerves forcefully.

Now that he’s drained, he can’t fight his instincts off as much.

“How was he able to move?” Philza asks his son, “the pain should have been crippling”

“Wilbur gave him one of the new test drugs to numb the pain” Techno explains quickly, “apparently Tommy blackmailed him based on the little one’s request”

“He did what?” Wilbur hisses

“that’s what he told me on the way here, and the chick” he nudges the limp avian in his arms, “already took two”

“You lot will be the death of me, and it doesn’t seem like the new one will be any better” Philza huffs, “we can fix this, most of his feathers are still intact, so it probably hasn’t been a day since his forced molt started. Unfortunately,” a scarred fingers rubs over his cheek, wiping the blood from before, “we can’t risk giving any more painkillers, not unless we want to send him into cardiac arrest”

Quackity can hear every word, but it’s like listening under water, it’s all garbled and nothing really makes sense. At some point he’s closed his eyes and just…. He’ll open them. Just, give him a second. Maybe five minutes.

“But it can be fixed?”

“I won’t allow for anything else” Philza answers “Take him to the nest room, I’ll need to bring some things. Send an alert for everyone to stay AWAY from the family wing, for their own safety.”

Quackity feels his captor nod, and the world lurches as he’s being lifted. His head is still lying on a broad shoulder, he feels so small and pathetic and helpless to do anything.

His whole body jostles with each pounding step, meaning the person holding him running, and running fast. His stomach curdles and boils, heat rises up his throat and his mouth waters in a very familiar way. He knows what going to happen before it does.

Note for the future, (if he even HAS a future left): macrons coming out taste nothing like the way going in.

“Braaaaaah!!!” his captor splutters in disgust.

Ha! Take that! He might not remember WHO’S holding him at the moment, but he knows he shouldn’t like him.

“I get that you have every right to be pissed at us, but could we hold back on the vengeance until we get this mess sorted” the voice sighs, and the movement starts again, “You’ll have a lifetime to get back at us”

A door opens then shuts, and he’s getting placed onto something so very soft. It should be illegal for something to be this soft, his miserable chirps are interrupted by a pleased little trill. The person with him chuckles fondly, and a large hands removes some of the hair from his face.

He grumbles when the hand pulls away and starts taking off the cut up shirt and jacket from him.

Why was his top cut up?

Weird.

That’s bad right? He thinks it’s bad, but for the life of him he can’t remember why.

“We both need to change tops, Philza will kill me if I get your sick in the bed” the voice grumbles.

Hmm. That’s good. Suffer!

“Too late mate, already saw it”

“Yeah well deal with it, he threw up halfway here” the arms remove his shoes and socks, sending a chill down his spine.

“Means less painkillers in his system then, it’ll start wearing off any minute now”

“You sure we can’t give him anything?” there’s the sound of snipping, and he feels half his pants get cut up, leaving him in DIY shorts apparently.

“I’m sure. Your brothers screwed him over by giving him those pills, we need to work fast”

A different set of arms from the one that carried him here wrap around him, one under his knee and another around his shoulders. He’s being lifted from the soft surface and moved somewhere else. He lets out a mournful warble; he really liked the soft place, why wasn’t he allowed there?

Fucking meanies!

A reassuring coo answers him, and it settles some of his nerves.

“don’t worry mate, you’ll be staying in the nest for a very long time. We just need to sort out those lovely wings first”

He’ll stay in the nest? A long time?

That sounds nice.

Wherever he’s taken, it’s hot and humid. He wrinkles his nose in displeasure, the heat makes the blood in his wings move faster, and slowly, there’s is an uncomfortable itching in his body. Like ants roaming every inch of is body, and occasionally biting. He squirms irritably at the feeling, cheeping miserably for help.

“Oh I know little bird, I know” the one holding him coos, “I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse from here, this was bad feeling was meant to keep you safe. When hatchlings undergo great stress for a prolonged time they go through a forced molt, it’s meant to be painful and paralyzing. Forcing your instincts to the forefront so you can call for flock and safety”

Sounds lame in Quackity’s opinion.

“of course you” he gets booped in the nose, “still fought against it, figures all my kids would be shit heads” the voice laughs.

“Rude” the voice from before grunts.

Quackity feels himself getting shifted, so he’s ow being carries differently. Now he’s being held chest to chest with someone, his chin hoked in then person’s shoulder. Slowly he feels himself getting lowered, his bare feet (he could’ve sworn he was wearing shoes, right? There’s a distant memory of shoes) touch warm water, but it doesn’t stop with his feet, it’s then his ankles, then his calves, then his thighs.

OH, he’s being submerged in water, and so is whoever is holding him.

The hot water makes his blood run faster, and with it the uncomfortable sensation from before worsens, and starts bordering on painful.

He whines loudly, why are they hurting him? Did he do something?

“Oh shush mate, I know, I know. But we need to clean all the shit from your wings, or we can’t preen them properly. With all the stuff stuck in your feathers, your oil glands must be clogged.”

Quackity doesn’t understand all these long sentence, he knows he’s in pain and that the voice (flock?) isn’t helping.

Why isn’t it helping? Did he do something wrong? Is this a punishment?

Jschlatt would do that when he was first training him.

He feels his wings getting submerged now, his feathers soaking up the water and getting heavy in the process.

“How are his wings getting soaked, your wings don’t do that! Neither do Tommy’s?”

“My wings are protected with a sheen of oil, that’s the difference. His oil glands stopped working a while ago from lack of care, so he doesn’t have that protective layer. Once we’re done cleaning, there’s a bottle of oil I brought to the nest, you’ll have to help me”

“Brah, how long had he been binding them for?”

“Probably years” a thumb smoothes over his scar, “self-preservation. But I felt it, I felt it from the very start and did nothing. I knew my attachment didn’t make sense, and yet- “

So many words, so much noise. But no helping with the pain.

Quackity hisses when a flare of white hot pain flares through his wings, making them twitch involuntary.

“Shit, it’s wearing off faster than I thought. Techno, I’ll need to hold him still, so he doesn’t breathe in any water. Get the brush and start cleaning between the feathers.” Quackity digs his nails in the shirt under his fingers and pulls, he thrashes against the hold, maybe if he gets out of the water the pain will stop?

The arms around him hold him still, pressing him firmly against his captor.

This has to be Jschlatt! Is this another training session? What did he fuck up? what did he do?

Another set of arms holds one of his wings, gently unfurling the appendage from where it was curled up. Something prickly starts rubbing against the feathers, his wings feel like a live wire.

Oh god it hurts! Even though whatever it is, is being extra gentle and slow, it still hurts like hell!

He tries to escape again, but he can barely move, he can’t even make sense of what’s going on around him with the fog surrounding his mind.

“P-pleas... I’m sorry” he tries, Jschlatt always wanted him to beg, maybe he’ll be done with the punishment sooner if he starts begging, “I’m sorry! –chirp- I’ll do whatever Jschlatt, please! Anything!” he begs incoherently.

Instead of a condescending laugh like he expects, he receives loud growls from strange voices. The surface he’s lying on rumbles with something threatening.

“I wish you hadn’t killed that bastard” the voice from the side snarls.

“Hush birdy, I’m not mad at you. We just need to get through the hurt for it to get better” the voice is all high and pitchy, lie it’s talking to a child with a scraped knee.

And honestly, Quackity does NOT appreciate it. He calls out miserably, loud cheeps.

Help! Help! Hurt! Hurt!

Another avian answers him with

Here! Flock. Here! safe! Chick! Fledgling! Safe!

“Techno, I’m going to have to ask you to stop being so slow and gentle”

“What? Dad, he’s already in- “

“yes, exactly. He’s already in a lot of pain. And it’s only going to get worse. So we need to finish this part as fast as possible so the worst of it passes in the soft nest and not in a ceramic tub. Okay?”

There’s a long pause and then

“This is worse than Tommy’s adoption. Sure we had to kill a couple of families, but at least he was too young to remember any of it”

“Less grumbling, more cleaning”

“Fine, sorry birdie. I promise I’m not enjoying this”

” I got a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your teeth”

Quackity feels his wings getting pinned against something cold, the movement brings back a wave of hurt and he screams loudly. But it doesn’t stop the person, fingers card roughly between his feathers, lathering soap and hot water. A coarse material then rubs at his already tender wings going back and forth, forcing the blood to move faster between the muscles. Quackity screams again, louder this time, shrieking in pain at the rough treatment.

“Keep going mate, this is nothing compared to what’s coming next.”

“That’s not very encouraging old man”

Quackity screeches, begging the hands to stop.

“Please. Please. I’m sorry. Anything. I’ll be good. I learned my lesson. Please” none of his usual pleas that worked on Jschlatt have an effect. He keeps getting ignored and the hands keep scrubbing at his wings.

“I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE! WHATEVER IT IS, I’LL DO BETTER! PLEASE” he keeps screaming, headless of the stream of reassurances and soothing warbles coming his way. He can’t sense anything beyond the debilitating pain.

Fingers brush through his hair soothingly, someone places a gentle kiss on his forehead and croons in his ear.

Still it’s all lost on him. If only the pain would stop, so he could enjoy the gentle ministrations!

“just a few more minutes and we’ll be all nice and warm in the nest. Doesn’t that sound nice?” whoever is holding him croons.

You know what sounds nicer? Getting into the nest now and stopping his misery!

The pain reaches a new UNGODLY level and Quackity starts full on sobbing, chest heaving with stuttered breathes. If he wasn’t being held firmly right now, he thinks he would’ve let himself drown just to stop this torture.

“Oh nestling” the one holding him croons, “It’s okay. ‘m never letting you get hurt ever again. Just bear with us.”

“please” he whispers brokenly, no longer able to raise his voice.

“Don’t worry, you’re ours now. I won’t let this happen again” the voice whispers, “I’m keeping you, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change it”

The possessive words are the last thing he manages to hear before darkness finally takes over.

Chapter Text

It takes 54 minutes for Quackity to sneak out the compound, finish the ‘to-do list’ and sneak back in. He’s out of breath when he enters his musty room, as if he ran a (very high stake) marathon.

And just in time too. The second he has his breathing under control, his phone vibrates with the sound of an incoming call.

The raven answers without even looking, already knowing the caller.

“Yeah boss”

“Go mop the medical room, Dream doesn’t like to work in filthy places” Jschlatt orders, voice clipped.

“On it”

“Don’t waste any time”

After living here for so long, Quackity always has a routine for when he leaves the compound without permission, and through trial and error he’s figured out that he has a 50 to 55-minute window, at noon, to do whatever he wants before Jschlatt summons him for his daily tasks.

None of the other men here have to go through that, they’re all free to leave whenever they want. Jschlatt doesn’t care what they do in their free time, so long as they answer when he calls. He had planned on asking for more freedom at one point, back when Jschlatt was in a good mood.

But the man hasn’t been in a good mood in months, and Quackity would like to keep his teeth inside his mouth, so he hasn’t dared to ask.

He hides the bags under some cloths and blankets, arranging it so it looks like a pile of dirty laundry, and nothing suspicious.

Then he runs to get the cleaning supplies, make the cutting room extra clean for this Dream guy. You know, to make up for the disappointment later on.

The idea sends an unexpected thrill down his spine. Sure, the fear is still there, but it’s drowned out by excitement, a mischievous side wanting to cause trouble. He’s doing this because he wants to. He’s not forced to do this, there’s no one threatening him to do this, and it’s not for survival, if anything it’s the opposite.

He can’t remember the last time he did anything because he wanted to, and not because he had to.

The bird in his head sings.

Flock. Protect. Love. Baby. Ours.

At least his instincts are onboard this time around. They’re not screeching at him, or demanding he change his mind. The compatibility between what he wants and what his instincts demand brings a sense of relief he’s rarely ever felt.

His knees are on the verge of bleeding by the time he’s done scrubbing the white tiles, making sure the room is spotless. From experience, he knows Jschlatt will come in and check on his work, and the man has never held back on the criticism. If he doesn’t like it, Quackity will have to start all over, and he really doesn’t have the time today, not if he wants to stick to the plan. He can’t afford for anything to go wrong today.

He needs to be out and far away before anybody notices anything. He can do this.

When Jschlatt comes by, he takes a thorough look at the room, just like Quackity anticipated. He circles the cutting table, and tugs the restraints, humming in approval.

“Good, this is good. Will Philza finally break at the sight of his own son’s wings, I wonder?” the man muses, eyes far off in a daydream.

Quackity shudders at the sadistic look, for the past couple of months the man has become more and more volatile. It’s caused Quackity more than his fair share of beatings, so much that he ran out of bandages and bruise cream. If today fails, there’s no telling what’s going to happen to him.

Maybe he should recons- NO!

His chick Tommy needs him; he refuses to compromise on the child’s life.

He’ll have to risk it, and face the consequences. (No matter how painful)

“Will this be my assistant for today?” a syrupy voice drawls behind them. Quackity whips his head around, fear and shock mixing at the sudden appearance.

The man is silent, he didn’t even sense him before he spoke. (A hunter)

As if the man’s appearance wasn’t creepy enough, he’s wearing a porcelain mask with a crude smiley face drawn on the front. Everything about him is meant to intimidate, strike fear, his mere presence has the bird shrieking, and demanding they run.

“Ah, Dream, good to see you” Jschlatt greets, not disturbed in the least by the man.

“Well, I admit I wasn’t interested in your previous contract, one can only do so much clipping before they get bored. But when you said it was sweet little Tommy, I just knew I had to come here”

“You’re a fucking creep Dream, you know that?” Jschlatt huffs

“Whatever do you mean? Can’t I be excited to finally meet MY TOMMY”

The bird forgets its earlier fear from the man and screeches indignantly.

Fucking bitch!

Ours! Chick ours! Flock! Flock!

“You didn’t answer me; will this be my assistant for today’s fun?”

“Dream meet Quackity, Quackity this creep is Dream. He’s been doing all the clippings for us since before you got here. You do whatever he says, and I mean whatever he says. I expect you to be on your best behavior”

“Y... yea boss”

“You haven’t been very obedient recently, maybe we’ll do a training session after this”

Oh if only he knew.

“It’s lovely meeting you Quackity, we’re going to have so much fuuuuuuuuuuuuun”

Quackity visibly shudders, eyes wide with fear.

He’s learned how threats work over the years, there’s no one formula for it, threats come in many forms. Quackity is an expert on the topic, and this is most definitely a hidden threat.

It doesn’t help that the man is a dog hybrid, half of a being Quackity abhors.

“Dream” Jschlatt growls, a hint of a warning.

“What? All I’m saying is that I KNOW this little fella and I are going to get along like a hunting party. We’re going to be so close you and I, right?”

“Enough already, I have shit to do, and you have to get your stuff for today, or were you planning on using your teeth?”

“I do like a hands on approach, especially with something so precious” the man sighs dreamily, ‘but no, my little toys are just as fun” he laughs manically.

“I… I need to go clean the cells” Quackity lies, “and mop the floor”

“what? You haven’t already?”
“I was really busy boss and I- “

“Save it. Just go” he orders

And Quackity has never felt more relief, he sprints outside the room, eager to put as much space between him and the Dream guy.

“I’ll be waitiiiiiiiiing” Dream’s calls after him, his farewell follows the teen as he runs back to his room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

His knees hit the ground with a loud thud, and his hands scratch at his chest, trying to unhook the invisible chain now squeezing the air from his lungs. For about five minutes, there’s only the sound of Quackity’s loud gasps and his hands scrambling for…. Something and failing.

When he has control back, and can take a full breath without chocking, he runs to the corner of his room.

The bastard at the pawn shop had him undersell his precious watch, taking full advantage of his obvious desperation. But that’s fine, he got what he needed and that’s what matters, next time he’ll steal an even shinier watch. (if there ever is a next time)

He carries the back full of oranges, garlic, onion, cinnamon sticks, limes and ginger and sets it by the door. He lifts the happy meal, thankfully still warm despite the wait, and balances it on the bag of produce. Next is the large empty trash bad and flimsy carryall he thrifted, big enough to fit a baby avian.

He’s got this!

He can’t back down now.

The short trip to Tommy’s cell is even shorter when he runs, they have twenty minutes for the shifts to change, there’s a very small window where Quackity can slip by, pretending to throw out the garbage. It’s his ONLY chance. Their only chance.

He enters the cell to see Tommy by the corner, eyes more hollow than usual.

Of course they are stupid. Today’s his execution.

The kid doesn’t look up when Quackity walks in, and it would have broken his heart if he didn’t know his plans.

“hey kid” he whispers, even if he knows there’s no one nearby, his nerves refuse to risk it. They have to be extra careful. What he’s doing is insane, “you wanna get out of here?”

His nestling looks up then, eyes wide with shock but filled to the brim with hope. It brings a toothy smile to Quackity’s face.

Yeah. This is worth it.

“You mean-?”

Quackity shushes him quickly, too scared to expose himself, but nods all the same.

“we have enough time to enjoy our little meal and then we need to be very sneaky, okay?” he smiles conspiringly. Instead of cheer or smile, like Quackity had thought, the nestling bursts into tears.

“wh- Tommy? What is it?” he fumbles, baffled at the waterworks.

“I knew you wouldn’t let them do it! I knew it” the kid sobs.

And oh. Isn’t that a sad predicament. The child gave him more credit than he deserved.

“let’s just eat our food together, we need all the energy we can get”

(And should something bad happen, I want our last memory to be something nice.)

Tommy nods, wiping away his not and tears with the back of his sleeve. The kid digs into his meal, spouting about his brothers and his dad between bites, and how they’re never going to let him leave the house after this. He’s ability to talk and eat so rapidly is fascinating, he’s swallowing the chicken nuggets whole and slurping down his soda in minutes, all the while keeping up the conversation. Quackity is afraid he’ll choke but doesn’t discourage him, they need to be fast.

Sure he could’ve avoided any possible delays by forgoing the meal altogether- but……

But it’s worth it.

He’s just taken a bite of his muffin when he notices Tommy has already finished his meal, eager for them to start moving. Without even processing it, he offers his muffin to the nestling.

Tommy looks between the muffin and the teen, eyes shining with something strange and foreign.

“I don’t think you know what you’re offering” Tommy hums.

“I’m offering you my muffin, I’m not a fan of sweets. Once we get out of here, you can take all my desserts” he jokes.

Tommy eyes the muffin, eyes tracing the spot missing a bite.

“You got yourself a deal Big Q” he laughs, quick to snatch the muffin and stuff his face in it.

“yeah whatever you want gremlin” Quackity sighs fondly.

“just so you know, no takebacks. You gave me that muffin” it’s a weird way to phrase it, especially since the kid already ate the sweet. It’s not like there’s anything left to take back. Maybe he’s talking about the promise to give him his desserts. Honestly, if they both make it out of this, Quackity will dedicate his life to giving Tommy all the sweets his little heart desires.

“come on, I have the trash barrel at the end of the corridor, you’ll need to get into this trash bag”

“The fuck?! Big Q, big Q, big Q” the child tuts, “you want the biggest man alive to hide in a trash bag? that you will then place in a trash bin? What will the ladies think of me?”

“Trash barrel” Quackity corrects, like it matters. “the barrel is clean, don’t worry, and I’ll put this bag of limes and stuff with you, they don’t smell bad”

“huh? What’s up with the fruits and stuff?”

“a precaution” he says, and doesn’t bother explaining.

Thankfully, Tommy doesn’t argue further, he allows Quackity to put him in the black trash bag and then carry him into the barrel along with the carryall they will have to use later on.  Quickly, Quackity covers the chick with the produce from the bag and then closes the lid, sending a silent prayer to the heavens they both make it out.

He keeps his steps steady, taking note of the empty corridors. The shifts are changing, most people are outside the compound, and the ones that are still here don’t spare him a look. It’s just the pathetic lackey Jschlatt keeps for random shit.

The back door is in sight; he just has to walk out. Just keep walking, don’t freak out. You’re not doing anything suspicious. Just taking out the trash.

“Oh, little puppet” a familiar voice coos condescendingly, “so good to see you again”

Red blood turns into white ice, a single drop of sweat slides down his neck. Fuck, he had a feeling the man would follow him. Dogs had a thing for tormenting him, the stray dogs wanted nothing more than to snack on him back when he lived in the streets, and Dream, the dog hybrid seems to want the same. He wasn’t even a decent meal, too thin and boney to fill any belly. He had a feeling Dream would be similar to his animal counterpart and set his eyes on tormenting him.

He considers ignoring Dream, but from their little interaction before, he knows it won’t end well. The man is a sadistic freak. Quackity can’t afford to piss him off.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d say hello, we will be working together very closely, no?”

“I’ll do whatever the Boss wants”

“Awwwwwwww, that’s no fun. He can’t have you all to himself like that, maybe after Tommy I’ll ask for a bonus, we can have some fun, you and I?”

The fuck?

“There’s something innocent about you, that’s always been my favorite you know?”

Quackity feels his hackles rising, with every step the man nears him, with every taunt, he can feel something simmer inside him. Wanting to tear the man’s eyes out.

Tommy shuffles slightly in the barrel, but Quackity shakes the barrel slightly to mask it, makes it seem like a twitch.

“You can leave the trash now, and come help me with my toy- “

The man cuts himself off on a violent cough, he then covers were his nose is supposed to be with a calloused palm. It takes everything for Quackity not to fall down laughing and keep a neutral face.

Score.

Seems Dream got a hound’s sense of smell as part of his hybrid status.

He feels like patting himself on the back, honestly, he wouldn’t have survived on the streets if he wasn’t a little smart.

“The fuck is that disgusting smell?!” Dream growls between coughs.

“smell? Oh! Smell! It’s the trash of course. Picked up the spoiled food from the kitchen, can’t have it stinking the whole place”

“Fucking hell, it stinks”

“You want me to keep it here or..?”

“Whatever, just get it out. Fucking hell, I need a bath. It’s sticking to my clothes”

“as you wish” Quackity nods seriously, cheering like a maniac on the inside.

Success. Bitch. (his inner voice is starting to sound a lot like Tommy)

The minute he’s outside the compound, he’s quick to turn the corner so the cameras won’t catch him and opens the barrel.

“Come on Toms, grab the carryall, it’s big enough for you to-“ he cuts himself at the sight of a pale Tommy. The hatchling is visibly shaking, eyes filled with fear. “Toms?”

“That- that was...?” the kid peeps, trying to say something, but he’s unable to get the words out between quivering lips. And Quackity really wishes he had time to explore, and sooth whatever anxiety’s the kid has, but he doesn’t. Something tells him Dream didn’t forget about him, and the man is probably waiting for him to get back. He needs to move fast.

“Come on Toms, snap out of it” he pulls the kid out by his arm, shaking him when he’s on solid ground.

“But, that was… Dream is...”

Fuck. They know each other? That explains so much, and brings up so many more questions.

For another time.

“We’re not there anymore. And if we don’t want to go BACK there, we’ll need to move NOW. I called a taxi, it’ll meet us down the street, it’s a fifteen-minute walk. But you need to get into that bag.”

“but I just got out of that trash bag, why should I go into that one?”

Quackity forces himself to take a deep breath, they’re wasting so much time, and he shouldn’t snap.

“Because” he grinds out, “these streets are crawling with Jschlatt’s men, AND I can’t risk even the cab driver recognizing you and selling us back to Jschlatt”

Tommy hesitates but finally, FINALLY, complies, getting into the bag and letting Quackity zip it halfway through.

“Can I at least hold your hoard?” the kid whispers.

“I’d let you if I had any left” Quackity is quick to reply, hauling the bag and praying the straps don’t break. It’s a struggle getting to the meeting place with the cab (the very expensive cab, his wallet whispers). It’s not that Tommy is heavy, because he’s not, he’s a child and an avian on top of that, meaning hollow and light bones. But Quackity has never been particularly strong, and years of malnutrition have made it even worse, but he pushes on. For Tommy!!!

andtopissoffthebitchDreambecuasehowdarehesayTommyishisthatmotherfuckingbitch

the car comes into a sight, pale yellow with washed out stripes. He had to talk with the man over the phone, and promise a backload of money to get him even THIS close into Manberg territory. And even then, the man had grouched and bitched the whole time. Hoping to squeeze more juice out of Quackity. Eventually, he had to send half the amount as deposit.

Fucking greedy bastard.

He doesn’t have a solid plan. They’ll get to the district twice over and figure out where to go from there. Maybe he can steal a phone and call the kid’s family? Who knows? What matters is getting AWAY from here.

“Hey, you Rick?” the man in the taxi asks, and Quackity’s hackles rise immediately. That doesn’t sound like the man he spoke with on the phone. Yes, he used the fake name Quackity used, but the voice is lower, not nearly as nasally as the one he had spoken to.

“Who the fuck are you?” he growls, taking a step back.

“hey, easy, easy.” The man steps out of the car slowly, and fuck he’s huge! He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a clearly muscular build. He has GREEN hair, and scars everywhere, a black mask covering his mouth and nose. Even in old sweats and a stained T-shirt, he still looks dangerous.

“Look, Becks decided to bail out, he’s too scared to come here, so he talked to me. Asked me if I want to make a quick buck. Now, you wanna do this or what? If it wasn’t for the money, I wouldn’t be here either?”

“Why the fuck would that bastard bail out without telling me? I already sent him half”

“Gee, I wonder why a guy would take the money and run away before finishing his half of the deal? What a headscratcher that is?” the sarcasm is so heavy, he feels his cheeks redden with humiliation. Ok, so he might’ve forgotten scum balls were a thing. So what? The guy didn’t have to be a smart ass about it.

“I ain’t got all day kid, you want the ride or what? I’m doin’ it for half the agreed upon price already”

Quackity stares at the man, then takes a minute to consider his options. Jschlatt, or worse, Dream might have noticed both him and Tommy missing by now. He needs to get out or both him and Tommy will be on the cutting table. He’s screwed.

“Ok. Fine. But I’m not paying a nickel more” (because he doesn’t have a nickel left), “you take us to the district twice over, and I’m not paying you till we get there”

“whatever” the man shrugs, “let’s go. Don’t want any Manberg men coming for me and my cab”

The minute they’re both in the car, the greenette in the driver seat, and Quackity in the backseat with the bag right beside him, the man steps on the gas. He’s grateful for the speed the man uses, in less than an hour they’re in the neighboring district, another hour and they’re at their destination.

“ok, you can stop here. I’ll get out”

The man doesn’t stop. Why isn’t he stopping?

“Hey fucker! You hear me? I said stop” he smacks the back of the chair to get the man’s attention, but the fucker doesn’t even flinch. He swerves the car so hard Quackity slams into the adjacent window, and the bag holding Tommy tumbles to the ground. The man steps harder on the gas, taking harsh turns that make Quackity dizzy. The teen tries reaching for the door, fingers reaching helplessly for the door handle, while the other hand grips the handle of the bag.

Lock.

The sound of the doors locking sends a chill down his bones.

The car swerves harder and Quackity slams into the door again, face plastered to the window. He can hear Tommy taking in a sharp breath but THANFULLY staying quite.

“What do you want you fucking fuck face!” Quackity screeches, more scared than angry.

Was this one of Jschllatt’s men? is this the beginning of his punishment?

“I’ll pay you whatever you want, please” he begs, desperation and panic settling in.

Before he even finishes his sentence, the man steps on the breaks hard, and Quackity slams into the driver seat so hard he bounces back and falls on the cab floor.

A door opens, and Quackity can’t gather his bearings before the door beside him opens and a large hand grabs him and throws him outside. Gravel digs into his cheek and palms, tearing at his knees from the force of the fall, and then he hears the automatic locks of a car and following beep.

Oh no! nonononononoonononononononononononono.

Tommy is still in there! He’s locked in the car! Oh god he screwed them both.

A kick lands harshly on his side, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

Ok. They’re getting straight to the torture apparently. At least Jschllatt’s training gave him high pain tolerance.

“Get up” the driver orders coldly, “the Blade has a few questions for you”

The blade? Isn’t that…?

Tommy’s brother?

He hears the crunch of gravel with the thud of heavy metal boots. A pair of very infamous metal boots. The blood good was known for incorporating medieval attire with his suits, and Quackity… Quackity is about to get a first row seat to the Piglin’s infamy. The long pink hair, decorated with gold clips, the shining tusks that can crush a skull with their force, the looming stature that makes the driver from before look short, the pointed ears with too many gold earrings and one emerald jewel, and most importantly, a golden axe bigger than Quackity’s head, with a handle taller than his body, probably weighing more than him too.

Quackity struggles to his knees, looking up up up to meet red eyes boring down on him, the pupils are paper thin, sharp needles aiming to penetrate his frantically beating heart.

The breath that was knocked out a minute ago, returns in a sharp gasp and refuses to leave. Firmly stuck in his lungs, like it’s hiding from The Blade.

Distantly, he can see other cars and armed men, but none of some scream danger like the BEAST that is The Blade.

“why do you smell like my brother?” the man growls lowly. Tusks bared with the promise of pain.

“l... look... I can explain...” he stutters, falling backward on his behind and scrambling backwards, trying to put some distance.

“Boss, let’s just ask him about the layout of the- “

“shut it Sam” the piglin snarls, killer intent still zeroed in on the teen, “why” one step closer, “is” step “my’ step “brother’s” step “scent” step “over” step, “you?” he’s back to standing over Quackity. One step closer and his metal boots will be digging in his ribs.

Run. Predator. Run. scared. Help. Help. Flock?

“listen, we c-can talk. I’m not- “

“what’s your name?”

“If you would just open the cab- “

“answer before I cut off your arms”

“Quackity” he yelps, ‘my name’s Quackity”

“You have my brother’s scent all over you, my kidnapped brother”

“I know! But please, if you’d just let me- “

“Techno?” a small childish voice calls somewhere, muffled by a barrier of some sort. Distantly, he recalls a small chick locked behind glass windows, but his fear makes all his attention zero in on the predator.

“Wait! Blade!” the driver calls somewhere, the sound of keys jingling and feet running back towards a place he distantly knows. (a yellow cab and a small nestling)

“I will end you”

“Techno! Stop! Please” the childish voice calls louder this time, seeming closer.

Ruby red eyes start to glow a bright bloody red. The man’s eyes glaze over.

“Wait! No! Please! -“ Quackity begs

A golden axe rises high, catching the sun’s light and gleaming with promise.

“Are you scared Quackity?”

“Listen to me! I didn’t d- “

” I got a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your teeth”

“TECHNO STOP! DON’T HURT HIM! TECH- “

The axe falls with a swift swish, cutting through the air and aiming to cleave his skull into two. A body with green hair slams into his attacker, sending the axe’s angle just a little off.

White pain runs up his face, and red paints his vision. It falls in heavy rivulets down his face and he can’t stop the soundless scream that leaves his throat. Both his arms clutch at the injury, feeling the blood slip between clenched fingers.

“He saved me!! He saved me! Stop! Techno! Stop!”

He manages to raise his single eye. (ONLY ONE! ONE EYE!!) and sees The Blade on the ground, cradling a shaking nestling in his arms, the man with green hair trying to rip the axe from the Piglin’s hold.

Tommy holds his brother like a lifeline, even with his distraught screeches, Quackity can see how he leans into his brother, how he lets out small trills meant for flock. Family. Brother.

The pain in his face can’t cover for the pain in his chest. Aching at the thought of being flockless. Of never being anything to Tommy. He looks back, one palm still firmly presses again his injury and looks for an escape route.

Predator. Run. Hide. Hide.

There! The cab they came in! The keys are still in the door. Without another thought, Quackity runs up to it, quickly pulling out the keys and then starting the engine.

“wait! Quackity” nestling cries.

Nestling is with his flock, a flock that wants you dead.

Run!

He steps on the gas and makes a break for it, ignoring the screams and yells.

Later, he’ll question why the men on standby didn’t start shooting at him, they could’ve easily ended him right then and there. But that’s for later, and Quackity is only focused on surviving at the moment.

Chapter Text

Quackity stays suspended in darkness for a very long time. he clings on to the darkness like a child with its favorite blanket, grasping onto it with all his might, searching for comfort and safety. Whenever the darkness slips from his fingers, there is pain and fear and noise. There’s green and pink in his vision, sometimes brown and yellow. There is a feeling of wrongness that is overwhelming his lizard brain, telling him everything is bad and nasty. Like his body is old milk that was left in the dessert sun all day. It’s gross and awful.

So he grabs the darkness tight, clutches it close to his chest and curls his whole frame around it so it can’t be stolen.

And yet, despite all is efforts, a hand always tears the darkness away from him, shoves him unceremoniously out of the void and back into his body, so he wakes up gasping, reaching for something he doesn’t know, begging for comfort.

Right on time, Quackity feels something tugging the darkness out of his hands, removing his fingers one by one from his comfort blanky. He clenches it harder, tries to pull it out of the intruder’s reach, but his muscles lock, refusing to give more than a gentle tug.

“Come on mate, I need you up for this”

A voice cuts through the silence of the void, once his senses start coming back that means pain will soon follow.

He chirps desperately, thrashing when his body starts to flare with pain.

The hurt comes like rain, slowly at first and then all at once. His body spasms with the suddenness of it all, and high screeches cut the air

Hurt. Hurt. Help. His mind screams.

Here. Flock. Safe. Something replies back. He doesn’t think anyone has ever replied back before the darkness and hurt, but now there is.

Help. Help. Pain. He tries again.

Flock. Safe. Protector. A low voice chuffs back.

But it’s lying!! Why is it lying? He’s not safe, he’s hurt. He’s dying. If there was a protector, he wouldn’t be hurting.

He doesn’t have a protector though.

Wait. An image of a gold watch with shiny stones flashes behind shut eyes.

A distant memory of pink and a silent promise of “I will protect you” echoes in his mind. Yes! Yes! He has a protector! But, if so… then why is he I so much pain?

Did protector leave?

“why do you bother existing? You have nothing to live for, if you were to die right now, the only beings that would care are the stray dogs munching on your body” Jschlatt had laughed once, sipping at his whiskey. He liked to have small chats with Quackity after each of his training sessions, in Quackity’s opinion, the chats were worse than the beatings.

Nobody cares about him, right?

Not even protector.

He lets out a broken warble, packing it with all the hurt in his chest.

Alone.  Hurt. Abandoned. He cries

“Fucking hell mate!” someone hisses. The world flips and turns behind closed eyes, the cold surface he was on shifts to something far warmer and solid. Hot air fans across his hair, a loud

Chuff chuff chuff

Hums next to his ear.

While it doesn’t lessen the pain, it still soothes some of the panic.

Protector. Help. Safe. Protector. He warbles desperately. He knows without a shadow of doubt that this is protector. He came back! He’s here! The raven struggles to make himself move, clutch on to protector and beg for safety. But his body is unresponsive, it’s like tugging at a mountain, a foolish and helpless attempt by a small fly.

He warbles needy for protector, because words are hard and slippery. He can’t move his tongue, so his throat will have to do. Protector is good. Protector will understand.

“You’re going to freak out when you’re back” protector huffs, but he moves Quackity gently, allowing the avian to bury his face in something warm. There’s a soft thud. Thud. Thud. Under his ears, he focuses on that instead of the pounding pain in his body in general, and in his back in specific.

“Awwwww, Wil take a picture. We have to add it to the album”

“way ahead of you old man!”

“Fucking hell Phil. Control your spawn, don’t encourage it”

Caretaker, (That is caretaker. he has a caretaker? Right? He thinks he does) laughs.

“Oh mate, you’ll need these pictures when then chick is out of the sauce”

“Will he change that much?” Quackity chirps at protector’s sad tone, trying to trill in comfort but the ever present pain in his body stops him.

“Hopefully what we’re doing will speed up the adjustment for later” the tint of possessiveness in caretaker’s voice is off putting, but Quackity gets easily distracted when gentle fingers touch the ball of twisted nerves on his back.

“Easy mate, we have to preen your wings in sections. You keep passing out on us” the touch is insistent, keeps poking and prodding at him. On one hand, the feeling of ants crawling on his back lessens with every prod, but on the other hand, it’s always followed by a stabbing pain that rises above the constant ache he’s been suffering from.

He calls for the darkness, feels it at the tip of his fingers, almost in hand.

“Nah mate, you’ll have to stay with us a little bit more” cool fingers pull one of his eyelids open, light shines in his retina and almost blinds him. He chirps angrily when the darkness slips from his fingers.

Sleep. Rest. Help.

“Oh little bird” caretaker coos, “I know you’re tired. But the whole point of your illness was to attract flock. Your instincts need to recognize us for you to get better”

He sounds like a parent explaining to his child why he needs to drink that icky medicine, only the icky medicine is Quackity’s suffering.

So he’ll throw a tantrum if he so pleases. Thank you very much.

He rubs his face non too gently in the warm surface in front of him, huffing in frustration.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.

Fingers run through his hair, scratching behind his ears just right. It’s nice and soothing, makes the flares of pain more manageable.

“Easy birdie. You’re okay.” Protector chuffs.

“hey old man, you’re not just doing this to speed up his recovery. You’re trying to- “

“I was never subtle with my methods Wilbur. You of all people should know that”

“Tommy won’t be happy though”

“leave your little brother to me, and you mister” the hands at his back halt for a second, “are still grounded. Don’t think this mess changes anything” the fingers go back to fixing the itches and pangs on his back.

“What? How is that fair?! You’re thinking about my punishment instead of focusing on the new bird n our sounder”

“the new bird you unleashed a dog on despite my orders? That bird?”

There’s a heavy silence in the room, everything halts for a minute. The fingers at his back stop, and the hands in his hair pause. The atmosphere is uncomfortable, even for his half-conscious mind. But it’s a welcome distraction. It’s just enough for Quackity to hold on to the darkness once again without anyone noticing and stopping him.

“fucking fine, I’ll go meet Nikki and finish the cleanup”

“Great choice Wil”

A door opens and closes somewhere. Faintly Quackity considers analyzing everything he’s heard, but he’s too busy falling back into sleep’s sweet embrace. Ha! Take that!

“Now where were w- AH shit! he’s gone again” is the last thing he hears followed by the sensation of rumbling from protector’s chest.

He revels in the sense of victory as he fades out.

This goes on for a while.

He’s forcibly woken up by either green or pink, sometimes both. Sometimes there’s brown, standing to the side, but not always. They’ll do something about his back that makes him squirm and chirp irritably or stuff his mouth with something doughy and sweet like honey. No matter how he chips or complains they don’t stop. They cuddle and sooth and make all sorts of comforting sounds, but they never stop.

The good news however is that the pain lessens with every time. It slowly shifts from an agonizing all-consuming torment to a more manageable pain and eventually to a dull ache that he can ignore when given something shiny. When that happens he takes advantage of his flocks’ attention and chirps happily.

But flock is missing something, he calls for it, but never gets an answer back.

“Once you’re better I’ll have the whole flock here” caretaker promises him one time, when he’s stubbornly calling for the missing piece, “you’ll spend all the time you want with them, it’s not like you’re going anywhere anytime soon”

Quackity can’t make sense of the words, his mind too fuzzy to work properly, so he keeps calling until caretaker distracts him with something shiny.

They’ve been doing that a lot too, draping shiny things over him or handing him the softest blankets in the world. Some part of him raises alarm bells, asking about the price tag and what this ‘kindness’ will cost him, but the overwhelming majority of his brain sings its gratitude and bumps the head of whoever is handing him the gift.

His flock is generous!

He has the best flock ever! And not because he’s never had one before. Even if he met other flock, he knows his is the best!

He falls into a routine of sleep, wake, eat, preen and have gold draped over him.  It’s nice, he could do without the constant pain, but that’s practically gone the last time he wakes up. The fog surrounding his thoughts is confusing, but he doesn’t care much for it.

Until it lifts that is.

He wakes up with a clear head for the first time in God knows how long. He wants to chirp on reflex, since that’s all he’s been doing for the past eternity it feels. But he manages to swallow it. He can’t chirp, he can’t! He knows that much.

Where is he?

What happened to him?

Slowly, he gets up from his curled up position and looks around him, tries to figure shit out. He’s in a huge room, the floor covered in huge pillows and blankets. He can’t even see the floor! It’s just clouds of softness, he has the ungodly urge to bury himself under one of the large duvets that puff out, roll himself like a burrito.

Nest. Safe.

Wait. He’s in a nest? What nest? How?

He looks down o himself and notices he’s wearing the fuzziest nightgown known to man. It’s even better than the puffed out duvet and a small part of him decides he’s never giving it back! It’s his now and everyone needs to deal with it.

He keeps looking from one side to the next, eyes studying everything to find clues on his whereabouts and what exactly happened.

His eyes finally settle on a big lump at the side of the nest, right by the door. The lump rises and falls slowly, like it’s breathing. He cocks his head to the side and squints, trying to make sense of the picture.

Hmmmm.

Big lump. Slow rise and fall. Long pink hair attached to lump. Big arms capable of snapping his neck connected to big lump……

Pink hair.

Breathing.

Large frame………

FUCKING SHIT!

He slaps both hands over his mouth to avoid squeaking out loud.

That’s Technoblade! He is in a nest with Technoblade. He is with a sleeping Technoblade in the Syndicate nest! Technoblade is blocking the only exit of said nest!

Oh and did he mention?

HE IS IN A FUCKING NEST WITH TECHNOBLADE!

A familiar phantom pain flares, his white eye twitches with it. He shouldn’t be this close to the piglin! Why was he here?

The sight of THE BLADE breaks the damn, and memories come flooding back.

Right.

He was found out.

But he’s alive?

And he’s in the nest?

And his wings were out and-

Fuck! His wings!

He immediately turns his head to look back, and right there, on full fucking display, are a pair of GOLD wings.

Not pale, or dirty, or matted.

No!

The pair on his back are clean, and shiny and beautifully straightened. He can’t help but compare them to Philza’s wings when he first saw them. the envy he felt at seeing the sleek and straight feathers, that are now so similar to his.

But the most noticeable change of all is the lack of hurt.

Not just the unusual agony he was dealing with the last time he was coherent, but the constant ache and crawling ants sensation he’s had forever. The always existing torment he’s had to live with since his mom last held him is now gone.

He’s learned to live with that agony, every waking minute of every day, because he can’t remember what his mom did to make it stop. Still, the pain was good; it meant his wings were still there, so he learnt to live with it.

But now the pain is gone.

His wings don’t hurt; he can’t feel anything.

“Oh hey, you’re up birdie”. Technoblade is up, he’s seated right across from him. When did he wake up? And how did he move across the room without Quackity noticing.

“Hey, you with me? Or are you still lost in the sauce?”

What? The sauce? Quackity’s mind is struggling to comprehend everything. He’s kind of still stuck on his wings not hurting.

“Huh?”

Let it not be said that Quackity is a poet with words.

“Cool, ok. You’re out of your instincts” the man seems oddly nervous, “that’s good. That’s cool. I’ll call for the old man. Maybe get some breakfast?”

“huh?”

A MASTER OF THE ALPHABET! TRULY!

“Ok. Yeah. You’re probably tired. But that’s cool. Um… I’ll get you some clothes and stuff, we had to put you in a nightgown. The only thing we could put you in without looking. We don’t want to make it weird for you”

Make it weird for him? The guy they kidnapped? Threatened? Blinded? Almost killed on multiple occasions?

Getting him dressed while he’s out of it is where they draw the line?

Mafias have some really skewed morals.

There’s something ugly in his chest. It’s slimy and gooey, reminds him of spoiled milk only thicker and more rancid. He can feel it bubble up with every breath he takes.

Technoblade must be getting concerned with the lack of response from the avian.

“I’ll call Philza, maybe you’re still out of it and there’s a tell”

“What is it mate?”

Ah, speak of the devil. Literally.

Philza opens the door and steps inside the nest, his strides confident and stable despite the lumpy and puffy material of the nest. If Quackity tried to walk here, he’d fall on his face so many times, he’d give up and resort to crawling on all fours. Philza strides like a cougar with its eyes set on prey.

“He woke up just now, I think he’s finally out of his instincts but he’s not responding” Techno explains, shifting to the side so his father can sit in his place.

“let me see” the mafia boss plops right in front of the teen, leaning in to look into heterochromatic eyes, “I see, he’s back in the land of the living, but the poor thing is terrified” Philza coos softly, like reassuring a child.

But now that his instincts aren’t at the forefront, Quackity refuses the urge to lean in and chirp needy for the man. Instead he looks back at his wings, out on display for the whole worlds to see. Tries to make sure they’re actually there and that everyone can see them.

The gold feathers are a clear target for his predators, he can’t fold them back, the thick material of the nightgown makes it impossible for them to curl into themselves and hold them against his back. He’s forced to keep them open. As if the gown was made with the intention of displaying small wings.

“You must be feeling relieved” Philza hums, eyeing the golden feather with dark eyes, “they were a mess, I can’t imagine the pain you were going through, even before you went into the forced molt”

“Pain? Molt?” he whispers, trying to wrap his head around it. Yes, he went through a forced molt, something about stress. But most of his feathers are still there, and they’re no longer shedding. So something must have happened. And the pain that has been his life time companion isn’t there either.

Why isn’t it there? It should hurt!

“Yeah” Philza nods, holding Quackity’s face with gentle hands, careful not to nick his cheek with the long talons, “once we showed your instincts you’re with flock, we managed to stop the forced molt and then take proper care of those pretty feathers. A pair of gold wings to add to my flock, the irony of having two piglins and a gold avian in one flock” Philza chuckled in amusement, eye getting darker. “Both piglins and avians value gold above all else, and look at you”

At the mention of his wings, Quackity goes back to staring at the foreign appendages.

His mind refuses to relate these limbs to the ones he owns. They’re not his! That’s not what they look like! That’s not what they feel like!!! It’s all wrong!

Without consciously thinking about it, Quackity raises one arm and reaches for the wings. Slowly touching a feather and flinching at the odd sensations.

Philza coos again, encouraging him. “See? Aren’t they pretty?”

Quackity doesn’t register the question, too busy feeling wrong! Just WRONG!

Without any conscious thought, suddenly, and with one swift move, the teen grabs a fistful of feathers and yanks HARD, ripping put a bunch of the pristine gold things.

Technoblade lets out an alarmed snort while Philza squawks in horror.

Quackity can’t be bothered with them, because right then, the pain he’s so used to is back. Yes! Those are his wings. The hurt is familiar, he knows it. That’s good.

He reaches out again to repeat the action but is stopped by an iron grip around his wrist. The grip is attached to a very angry Philza.

The Mafioso yanks on his wrist, pulling him into a firm chest and wrapping his arms around him in a way that has his hands squeezed to his chest, and his wings on display for the man. It’s similar to the way he was held in that tea room.

“what the fuck mate” Philza hisses “you want to explain yourself?” he makes a string of clicks that fill Quackity with shame.

The younger avian looks up and meets iceberg eyes. He cowers at the angry tone, and tries to curl into himself, look as harmless as possible.

“answer me” the man commands lowly, the odd echo in his voice.

“they… they’re supposed to hurt” is all her can say with a clogged throat. How does he explain the need to hurt his wings? That the pain HAS to bet there for them to be real? How does he explain to a proud avian that the sight of his wings out only brags panic?

Philza’s wings are always out, they’re just as famous as the man himself.

“supposed to hurt?” understanding dawns on his captor’s face, and instantly his eyes shift from cold glaciers to cool rivers. “Oh hatchling” the man croons softly, “they’re not supposed to hurt. Did you always have them like that? Were you always in pain?”

Quackity can’t find it in him to lie, even though the truth brings shame to him. So he doesn’t respond, only looks away. Which is the same as confessing.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. We can fix this” the man comforts. Running his talons through dark strands, “Techno, go get me the wing mittens. They’re in the chest by the window, under the brushes and wing oil, I have them in the blue bag”

“On it”.

He hears rummaging and then a triumphant “AHA” from the piglin hybrid

The arms restraining his movement shift and then pass him into the waiting arms of protector The Blade. He thrashes against the hold instinctively until Philza makes a disapproving click that has him freezing like a deer in headlights.

“none of that nestling” Philza tuts, holding a pair of fuzzy clothes. They remind him of socks, only bigger and shaped more to fit…. Wings! Oh fuck they want to put those on his wings?

(ok, so maybe the name wing mittens should have clued him in. But he just woke up in a nest with the most dangerous hybrids on earth. He has the right to be a little slow)

He tries to slip out of the Piglin’s hold, but gets a warning grunt for his troubles, and falls limp against his will. What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

“There you go” Philza hums condescendingly, like speaking to a toddler. He pulls the individual mittens over each of his wings, taking care not to bend any of the now clean fathers during the process. When he’s done, Quackity can feel him pulling drawstrings at the base of his wings, securing the mittens in a way they can’t slip off. The mittens are tied in the only spot that is literally impossible for Quackity to reach in any way, so he has no hope of taking the items off by himself.

Fucking hell. Was there a book on how to capture avians? And did these people write it?

“See? isn’t that so much better? Now your wings can stay out and you won’t need to pull out any of your nice little feathers?”

Why the fuck is he being talked to like an infant? And what does he mean by ‘need to pull out any feathers’ doesn’t he mean ‘able to pull out any feathers’? because the need is definitely there, so long as the pain isn’t.

“please” he finds himself begging. He’s not sure what he’s begging for, but he knows Philza won’t give it.

And just as he expected, Philza merely sighs and shakes his head.

“There will be a transition period, but you’ll get through” the man only says, unwavering.

Transition? To what?

“the wings don’t change anything, please. I’ll leave and I won’t tell anyone and. and..” he starts to hyperventilate

“The Syndicate has a thing for avians Q, I’m doing those little birds a favor by ending their miserable existence”

“I’ll leave and you won’t see me again” in his attempt at bargaining, he must’ve said the wrong thing, because next thing he knows, there’s a terrifying rumble from the piglin holding him, and Philza’s eyes slit into thin shards of glass, ready to cut him.

“I don’t think you really understand what’s happening” Philza croons, a hint of danger under his tone, “the wings change everything. I had plans for you from the very start. When Tommy first told us about you. But the minute I saw you, I knew you’d never be allowed anywhere else. I struggled with it, why I was latching onto a human.” He spits out the word like it’s personally offended him, “I tried everything, I looked at it from every angle, but I couldn’t figure out why every night my instincts demanded I have you in the nest. They insisted that I had two chicks when I could only see one” Quackity shakes his head in rebuttal, none of this makes sense. “I kept treating you like a simple human with slight potential, hoping my instincts would start catching up, but it got worse. And then Wilbur sent Steve” he pauses to take a shallow reach, something dark lacing his stare, “and I had never feely more anger at my own son. Wilbur has done many things; he is a child after all. Barely over half a century, he has many years to learn better. What’s a murder to a growing child? So I had never been really cross with him before. Until” a finger curls around one of his strands, curling it softly. Only Quackity notices the way a single hair gets cut when touching the edge of a black talon, “until he tried to have Steve maul your little body. I was furious. And I was even more furious because I was furious. Do you understand?” he doesn’t wait for Quackity to reply, “why was I getting angry at my own son for a stranger? A human?” the fingers leave his hair and grab his chin, forcing him to meet blue eyes, “the only possibility I hadn’t considered, was that you were a little bird. My thoughtless nickname wasn’t so thoughtless after all” he chuckles dryly, canines glinting in the dark room.

“what happens to me now?” Quackity dares to ask, because it doesn’t seem like he’s going to be placed on a cutting board anytime soon. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s something else entirely.

“Isn’t out obvious hatchling?” Philza smiles darkly, “You’re family. And we’ll take good care of you” Philza grabs his hand and places something cold and metal inside. He looks down and sees his watch, with even more jewels added to it. it’s ticking sounds like the twist of a key.

Quackity can hear the metaphorical lock twisting, his freedom back in the hands of someone else with him helpless to fight.

It’s feels worse than the first time.

Chapter Text

Quackity looks between the golden watch and the man in front of him, eyes slowly shifting between the ice blue of deadly eyes and gold yellow of his treasure. He can’t help but rub his thumb over the cold metal, feeling the small bumps were the jewels, both old and new, rise. He knows they’re more than last time, because the night Techno gave it to him, he was so happy he spent the night tracing his little hoard and memorizing very detail.

His little hoard is probably worth a fortune now, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

There’s probably a meaning behind the added riches, the piglin holding him tightens his grip slightly and the avian staring through his soul are enough of an indication. Even if he couldn’t look at the two predators, he would still be able to tell from the happy feeling coming off his inner bird.

He can sense the little traitor chirping excitedly and fluttering its wings with joy,

Flock. Hoard. Flock.

Yes, the feathered rat is very loud, but he’s no longer under the influence of whatever mojo they put him under. And he has enough will power to shove the dumb thing in a mental box and throw it to the back.

“See? You’re okay and everything is fine” Philza coos, noticing his attachment to the gifted treasure.

Everything is fine? For who exactly? Because everything feels very NOT fine for Quackity.

It’s such a dumb thing to say. Probably the dumbest thing to say right after family.

A mafia boss with thousands of lives under his claws, a mafia boss that had killed his previous jailor, is telling him they’re family.

He’s had family before, a woman with kind eyes and a soft voice. That was family.

He remembers not enough food and cold nights with family, but he also remembers gentle touches and soft lullabies. Family is not sharp claws, or fear or pain.

He doesn’t remember any of that in family. So Philza is lying.

This is his prison cell and these are his jailors, even if they found a way to mess with the dumb feather ball in his hindbrain. He didn’t survive this long by being naïve.

Everything is NOT fine.

This is the opposite of fine.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asks, because that’s always what he’s done before. Ask what he needs to do to stay alive and then try to avoid the wrath of whoever targeted him at the time. From stray dogs to disgruntled shop owners to mafia bosses, that has always been his game plan.

“Oh nestling, you don’t have to do anything. Just let us take care of you”

What he hears is that he’s not allowed to even breath without permission. He has to figure it out on his own. Fuck!

Jschlatt was far kinder than this, he made the rules very clear and explained what would happen if he failed to obey. But these men aren’t Jschlatt.

A pair of decapitated horns hands in Philza’s treasure room.

“I can leave. I’ll hide my wings and nobody will know anything and – “he tries again, repeating the same offer helplessly. But the avian makes one of those sharp clicks that shuts him up.

“enough nonsense nestling” the man tuts, “there’s nothing to deny or hide. The papers are already done.”

Wait. What? 

“papers?”

“that was fast”

Both he and Techno speak at the same time.

“Yes, well I have my connections. And yes little bird, papers. To the world you are now officially part of the Minecraft family” he smiles wide, “of course I had to make it that you’ve always been part of the flock, don’t want anybody getting any ideas that you’re expendable now do we?” his chuckle is tinted with something dark.

He’s not saying that-? That is not possible. Of course not. That’s ridiculous.

“Welcome Home Alexis” the man claps once, smiling with a full set of sharp teeth.

“How? My name- nobody has ever” he’s hasn’t used his name in years, going only by different titles Every once in a while until he settled on Quackity. As far as any source is concerned, he died years ago, shortly after his mother went missing and he took to living on the streets. He couldn’t risk going into then foster system and having the world finding out about his feathery appendages.

“It took plenty of digging, but once you give my men the right incentive they can be very productive” the man laughs again, and Quackity can guess what kind of incentive the blonde is talking about. The image of men hanging upside down with blood pooling under them flashes through his mind.

A small fearful chirp escapes against his will and he’s quick to clap one hand over his mouth, the other still holding onto the watch. Techno makes small comforting chuffs into his hair while Philza cups one hand over his check.

“Baby bird you don’t have to be afraid” Philza cards sharp nails through his hair, “if I had known how old you were, I wouldn’t have shown you those things. I only let Techno and Will go down after they fully matured.” Ah, so he knows what brought out that chirp at least.

“I was ready way before my tasks grew to their full size” Techno huffs indignantly.

“I have those rules for a reason, and due to unfortunate circumstances” sharp nails drift down to his cheek, so his face is now being held gently, “I unintentionally broke those rules” there is such heavy disapproval in the avians tone that Quackity feels the strange urge to apologize.

HIM? He feels like HE needs to apologize for being traumatized?  

“I’m eighteen…. I... I’m an adult” he blurts out. Both predators’ sharp eyes focus on him, giving him their full attention, “I-I can’t be taken into any family, I’m already grown. And I’m eighteen so I’m an adult” he repeats.

“Aren’t you precious?” Philza smiles condescendingly, “However, the phrase adult, even by those monkey’s standards, might be a bit of a reach for you” there’s something hidden in those words and by God is Quackity sick and tired of the hidden meanings with these people.

“I AM” he explodes at last. His unbound wings smack the person behind him when they flail uncontrollably, too caught up in his anger.

The piglin holding him has the audacity to merely laugh at the act instead of doing normal thing and smacking the shit out of him or attempt to rip them off.

“At least we can count on your wings to tell us how you feel”

What is wrong with them? he just screamed, his wings are on full display, one of his wings smacked Technoblade in the face!! And they’re just smiling!! Like all of this is normal!

Ironically, his words only manage to make him even angrier and force his feathers puff out in agitation.

“We managed to find your birth certificate, it’s a little interesting since we found two actually.” Philza explains, “the frost one was when you were three years old and then a year later the certificate was amended to make you seem two years older than you were”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your mother was a very clever woman” he smiles, he boops Quackity’s nose with a feather like touch, “by law every child needs to be medically examined at the age of three, or the government dogs will come knocking, since she delivered you at home she could make the argument that you were born a different year than when you actually were.”

So... his mom changed his birth certificate... to make him…... two-

Two-?

Years… Older?

Realization begins to dawn on the raven, his eyes widen at the picture being painted in front of him.

“Yes, you were raised by a very start woman indeed” the Mafioso coos, “it’s no wonder you managed to survive for so long on your own. But not to fear, we’re here now”.

He makes a series of trills that tell Quackity the man is very pleased. It’s a high level of approval that has the bird melting into a gooey puddle of happiness.

Flock. Happy. Flock.

The haze from before starts rising, trying to take over his conscious thoughts and pull him into the comfort of his instincts, but the mention of his mom, however, makes something ugly rise in his soul and push the haze off. He hears a high pitch chirp that he knows means anger, and It takes him a minute to realize it’s him making the noise.

It’s not like he can stop it though. His wings flutter angrily and he pulls his face away from the bastard, when he feels the arms tighten around him he throws the gold watch at his capturers face, and proceeds to lets out even louder clicks and high shrill notes to express his anger all the while struggling to get out of the iron hold.

He hears Philza ask Techno the let him go-

‘we don’t want him to pull a muscle Tech, easy- ‘

And then he’s free.

He backs himself until he’s plastered to a cold wall, with the two predators in front of him.

“You- you- you” he keeps trying to say something but he can’t. It won’t come out. He’s angry, and he’s scared and he’s almost panicking. “you- gasp, ya-gasp, y-gasp” he can feel his breath quickening, he’s on the verge of a panic attack in an unfamiliar nest, the bird in his head is calling for the two predators before him while his logic is asking him to put as much space between them as possible.

There’s a soft chitter somewhere and he feels himself calming down. Then there’s a melodious twitter and his breathing is evening out.

“Easy little bird” caregiver soothes, “flock is here”

Yes. Why was he upset? Flock is here. He’s okay.

“Come here little bird” caregiver calls, followed by another series of chirps that turn his mind into goo.

Yes. Caregiver is here. Flock will make it better. Flock is-

Flock?

the world screeches into a halt. His gooey mind solidifies and turns into ice.

What flock? He doesn’t have a flock!

“Fuck- stop it!” he screams in horror, “get out of my head!” he yells

Philza, to his credit, actually drops the sickly sweet smile and adopt a mildly annoyed one.

“Honestly little bird, you’re too stubborn for your own good” he chirps again, only this time it’s a reprimand, and Quackity feels unbidden shame take over. He shakes his head furiously to get rid of it, but it still weighs heavily in his chest.

“she- shawl” he manages to slur through the haze, “stop”

He can sense the haze from before starting to take over, and in a desperate last ditch effort, he brings his hand up to his mouth and bites HARD.

The metallic taste of blood, paired with the sharp pain, snaps him out of it and lifts the rest of the instinct fog from his mind.

Philza lets out a distressed chip and a pink figure rushes to his side but Quackity is faster, and barley dodges the hold aiming for his middle. He stumbles over pillows and lumpy blankets on the floor, crawling to the next wall and slamming his back against it.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” he yells, don’t use that bird abra cadabra on me!”

“Bird abra-cad-? Quackity that’s how caregivers calm nestlings, this is normal” Philza sighs disappointedly, “come now nestle- “

“No!! fuck off! Fuck you! Fuck you both! And fuck your bullshit mind control chirps!”

“This is what’s best- “Techno starts

“FUCKING SHUT UP!” Quackity screams, “Don’t you dare tell me it’s for my best! NO! Fuck you!” he screams. The anger shuts the bird in his head, the anger stops him from rushing towards them and begging for comfort. The anger makes him loose his survival instincts and actually speak what’s on his mind. “Me losing my eye wasn’t for my best! Me being dragged here wasn’t for my best! Me being threatened every fucking minute of every fucking day since I’ve got here WAS NOT FOR MY FUCKING BEST!” he screams.

“Little bird that’s enough” Philza huffs, like he’s dealing with a child insisting on having too much cookies and not a breathing living person he’s been toying with for his child’s entertainment.

 “No no no no no no NO!” he screams, voice shaking with held back tears, “you can’t do that! One day you want me dead and try to kill me and the next day you want me to believe you see me as- as what exactly? I don’t know what you’re saying! You don’t get to do this! And you don’t get to put me in that stupid headspace whenever you want!”

“Your mother failed to explain how your instincts work- “

“Don’t you fucking dare bring my mother into this!” Quackity hisses, voice raw with anger, “you don’t get to blame her for what you did!”

“No one is saying anything bad about her” Philza backtracks immediately.

“No one gets to say anything at all! Let me leave! Just let me leave and leave me the fuck alone!” he yells past the lump in his throat, “I don’t want anything to do with you” 

The bird panics at his sentence, raging against his mind for such a demand.

No. flock. Stay. Stay. It chirps desperately, but Quackity uses his anger to drown it out.

“Quackity?” a pitiful voice calls from the side, they all turn their heads to the now open door, seeing a tearful Tommy standing. Behind him stands Wilbur, looking awkward and out of place.

“Tommy wanted to see his friend and I agreed, since he was better last time…” the man explains weakly.

“Quackity? You want to leave?” Tommy asks tearfully, “I- I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t want to tell. Please stay” the kid begs between sobs, clearly on the verge of panic.

Philza stands and rushes to his youngest son’s side, “easy now no one is leaving, he’s just a little scared. Why don’t you go with Wilbur and we’ll get this all sorted?”

“Fuck off!” Quackity screams, “I am leaving!! I will leave! I fucking hate you all”. He should stop, he thinks distantly, he’s too angry to think straight. But sue him, it’s been a rough couple of years and this is first time nothing is making sense. He’s always dealt with the fear, that’s always been a constant. But the confusion of being treated kindly by his tormentors is different.

“I’m sorryyyy” Tommy sobs, reaching out for the other avian, only to be held back by his dad.

“No you’re fucking not!” suddenly all his anger is being directed at the smallest blonde, even though he knows he shouldn’t! Tommy is sweet and kind and funny. Tommy is only a child…. but he wouldn’t be in this whole mess if it weren’t for Tommy. The youngest avian betrayed him.

“Quackity, I know you’re mad. But Tommy didn’t have a choice” Techno starts, approaching the huddled avian slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal.

“FUCK YOU BOTH! I WAS UNDER JSCHLATTS SHOE! I KNEW I WOULD DIE IF I RELEASED HIM AND I DID IT” he wails, his throat bare from screaming, “I didn’t ask him to risk shit! I just asked him to stay quiet and he didn’t!” he breaks down after a particularly painful sob.

“I- I- “Tommy hiccups, small shoulders hitching with every gasping breath. The child only being held up by his father.

“This is a lot of screaming for kids who hadn’t had breakfast yet” Philza finally comments.

“This is not how I thought it would go” Wilbur adds.

“Quackity” Techno whispers, “I know accepting a new flock is hard, but ya- “

“Flock?? Every person in this room has tried to kill me at one point” he screams, “except for Tommy who did far far worse in my opinion”

Tommy lets out a heartbroken sob and a choked “Big Q”

“Either let me go or kill me!” he wails, “I am done!!”

“Quackity please” Tommy sobs.

“Fuck off all of you!”

Screeeeeeech.

A high shrill sound cuts through the air and silences them all.

Everyone turns to a bristling Philza who is now carrying his youngest son.

“Enough of this. No one is killing any one, no one is fucking off, and no one is leaving”

Very word is a striking blade against their shields.

“Quackity, seeing as you’re unstable at the moment, you will not be left alone at any point, I advise you start getting used to these facts” he follows his statement with a series of clicks that stops any argument, “However I will give you some space, choose on person to stay with you right now while the rest leave for a couple of hours. And No! you don’t get to say no one, choose or I will”

Quackity’s breath hitches, tears still running down his face.

He gets to pick one person to stay and the rest will leave?

Ok. He can do that.

“Wilbur stays” he whispers.

“Quackity-“, Techno begins to object.

“everyone heard him, Wilbur be a dear and watch over him” Philza orders, leaving the room with a still sobbing Tommy in his arms.

Chapter Text

Wilbur continues to be a terrible sight to Quackity’s poor eyes.

For that reason, and that reason only, he chooses to block his sight by hiding strategically placing himself under a pile of blankets and pillows.

Yes, he was the one making the decision of having WILBUR stay, but it’s not like his other options were any better. Wilbur was a psychopath, but at least he was an honest psychopath. From the minute Quackity got dragged here, the mad piglin has been the only one to act exactly as expected.

He made it clear that he hated the younger avian and proceeded to act accordingly. His cruelty is familiar.

But clearly Quackity has jinxed it, because the man is acting…. different.

“Quackityyyyyyyyyyyyyyy” the brunette whines obscenely, “Techno and Phil won’t be back for hours, you can’t spend the entire time buried under a mountain of blankets”

Well fuck you! Quackity can do whatever he wants. The only thing Philza said was to not leave the nest, if he decides to burry himself under a mountain of blankets and refuse to interact with the psychotic baby sister they left behind, then that is his business.

“Come on, you’re a child. Shouldn’t children demand constant stimuli for their metal development or some other shit”

Is the bastard quoting a parenting book at him? The fuck?

“I got cards” the man sings, “we can play a couple of games”

Right. Play with Wilbur. The man that snuck a dog in his bedroom with the hope of getting him mauled. Right after the two other men, one that threatened to disfigure him and the other that managed to disfigure him, left the nest room.

This is his life now.

“We can play go fish? Or or or maid?” Wilbur needles, “I know you played monopoly with Tommy, I can get that? Yeah?”

Quackity will give it to him, the bastard has been at it for at least thirty minutes now, nagging his prisoner to come out from under the blankets to play. You’d think he’d get bored by now.

The raven shifts into a more comfortable position and wraps the duvet tighter around him, making sure nothing shows.

“Ya know” Wilbur stars again, this time here’s a hint of something conspiring in his tone, “we can make a deeeeeaaaaal” he singsongs.

A deal?

What kind of deal?

“We can play for something, If I win you have to give Tommy a chance to explain himself but if you win I will answer any and I mean ANY question you have and I won’t tell anybody I gave you the answer”

That…. That is great deal actually.

That is an amazing deal.

If he loses he’ll just have to listen to Tommy come up with excuses, and if he wins he can get information on how to escape. Wilbur could still choose to screw him over, but there’s no ACTUAL risk in the whole thing.

He can’t help but peek out and peer at the piglin with his one good eye.

Wilbur seems disappointed at the lack of response until he notices the golden eye peeking from under the puffy duvet. The second they make eye contact he lights up with mischief and shakes a box of card in his direction.

“We have a deal?” he prompts.

He can still say no, be as spiteful as he can. Wilbur is a psychopath who’s always looking for trouble…. still….

The man is honest, and hasn’t lied to him once.

Quackity can take the risk.

“I don’t know any of the games you talked about, I’m at a disadvantage” he complains just for the heck of it.

“That’s fair, we can do best two out of three, yeah? This way you have a chance of familiarizing yourself from the first round” Wilbur shrugs distractedly, eyes focused on shuffling the cards.

That seems like a good plan, he’d double his already low chances.

It’s a gamble, and Quackity has more to win than lose, he has no reason to refuse. The raven pulls himself into a seated position and pushes the excessive blankets and pillows off him so he’s now in full view.

“best two out of three”, he nods “what’s the game?”

“We can start with something easy like crazy eights, we’ll leave the more complex ones for later yeah?”, the other explains starting to distribute the cards.

“There won’t be a later” he hisses back.

Because there won’t. This is a onetime thing. He needs information if he plans on escaping.

“I’m sure there’s something I can offer you then” Wilbur smiles, crossing his legs and fanning himself with his cards, careless to Quackity’s stare.

Thirty minutes in, and Quackity has, begrudgingly, a new favorite hobby.

Though he hates to admit it, Wilbur is a good teacher, he explains how crazy eights work and then proceeds to decimate him in every round.

Quackity should’ve stopped playing after the second round, they were playing best two out of three after all. But he really wanted to win at least one round and wipe the smug look off of that bastards face. (He might’ve gotten carried away too, but it’s not like he was having fun or anything. No. that’s ridiculous.)

“You win” Quackity grits out, throwing his pile of cards on the mattress. And it IS a pile, Wilbur really humiliated him on the last round. You’d think the guy trying to make ‘friends’ with him would at least give him a pity win.

“What? Really? I couldn’t tell” Wilbur honest to God, giggles, “tsk, tsk my dear Quackity, we can always go double or nothing”

“Huh?” Quackity questions.

“And we can try another game, maybe crazy eights just isn’t your thing”

“Or maybe you just want to humiliate me”

“Who? Me?” the man gasps dramatically, “Dad has you wearing a shirt with a cartoon duck, teaching you poker is a game of men” Wilbur snickers, “after all, you’re the person insisting you’re an adult”

“What can I even bet?” Quackity grumbles, cheeks reddened at the reminder of his humiliating position.

“Here’s a thought, if you win I answer anything you want without telling the old man, AND I get you another shirt, something less... cartoony” fuck this bitch, and fuck his ability to come up with great deals.

Now that he’s reminded of the humiliating outfit he was given, it’s all he can think about.

“And what if you win?”

“If you lose” fuck that bitch in his dumb fucking face, “then you have to play monopoly with me and Tommy”

“This whole thing is to get me and Tommy talking? I thought you wanted me to stay away from him”

“I wanted to cut off Techno’s hair and make a Rapunzel wig out of it when I was twenty, I then had to walk out of the ordeal with a black eye. My decisions aren’t always…. the best”

“The fuck?”

“Techno was twenty also, and couldn’t control his instincts. Piglin hybrids are really protective of their hair, especially brutes. I was going through a rebellious phase, you’ll hit one soon but for different reasons” he rambles, going back to shuffling the cards.

“I have no idea what you’re saying” but apparently Techno has no issue beating up his own twin.

“Oh don’t give me that look. Techno felt like shit for weeks afterwards, and dad made sure I understood how it was all my fault”

“He still hit you”

“Dad took away my guitar and I was grounded for a month” Wilbur huffs, “Techno had to go to do yoga with some weird ass instructor to- and I quote, ‘control the voices’. I feel like he got the shorter end of the stick. Anyway, when it comes to instincts we get a free pass, dad gets it” he gives Quackity a meaningful glance at that.

Quackity gives the man his meanest glare, and considering he’s never glared much in his life, he doesn’t come off as very menacing.

“Get it? because Techno was lost in the sauce when the you know what happened “Wilbur needlessly babbles, “and it’s not like we think it’s okay but we know what instincts can do and shit”

“I will only be hearing Tommy out, I never agreed to Technoblade”

“right right, I don’t give a fuck but I just- “

“just what? Want to tell me how to react and how to feel? Should I forgive and forget? Ignore everything and just be part of your family?” Quackity snarls, “Techno gets to maul my face for instincts and you get to send a dog to maul my face for instincts and I should be fine and play house with you all, is that it?”

“I wasn’t under any instincts when I snuck Steve in your room, I just used it as an excuse” the man chuckles, still shuffling the cards absentmindedly.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You’re worse than Tommy I swear” the man sighs, “I’m trying to hint at some shit and you’re acting like a fucking canary”

At the blank look on Quackity’s face the man literally blows a raspberry, like a child.

“Quackity, I am the LAST person that will ask you to behave” then man waves his arms dramatically, “dad went on a raid without telling me last month so I blew a car. Was I grounded? Yes. Would I do it again? Yes”

“I’m not you” the raven whispers, “I can’t get away with these things”

“The fuck you can’t” Wilbur snorts, “unlike me, you have a reason. I’m just naturally charming and my chaos is endearing. But you, our dear little gold nugget, have every reason to wreck dad’s expensive paintings. The only thing they’ll stop you from is getting hurt on purpose or leaving the compound”

“I don’t believe you”

“Believe what you will, but I have never lied” the man smiles slyly, “I made it very clear I hated you, I made it clear that I wanted you dead. When I changed my mind I gave you serious advice to survive dad’s interrogation. I have never deceived you My Dear Q”

“Why do you want me to break shit?”

“I don’t want you to break shit per say” the man drawls, “I want you to let loose. Get some of that anger out, maybe scream or yell. Kill a couple of lackeys if you feel like it, and when you’re done, when you’ve let it all out and you feel empty and numb, know that we’ll still be there”

“I won’t forgive you” Quackity whispers brokenly, “you’re all objects of my worst nightmares”

“You say that, but we’ll be here regardless” the man smiles, holding out the shuffled cards to his sort-of-maybe willing capture. “I’ll teach you Poker now, maybe I’ll take you to one of the casinos in the future. Give you a feel of the softer business”

And it’s not forgiveness, but it’s something. Wilbur has been his number one enemy since he got here, but he’s been the most predictable. He’s done everything he said he would and acted exactly as he said. It’s not trust, per say, but it’s something less sharp.

So Quackity reaches out and takes the cards.

And just like that, Wilbur introduces him to his new favorite game. At some point he brings a box full of small peanut bags and they start using those as chips. Quackity even manages to win two rounds. TWO! Wilbur laughs in delight and congratulates him, pride shining in his eyes.

He then proceeds to annihilate him at every other round.

When Quackity has run out of peanut bags they end the game, and the avian is barley holding back a smile. Afterwards, Wilbur throws a couple of bags his way as ‘a participation trophy’ kind of gift, he takes them without arguing and shoves a fistful of peanuts in his mouth, desperate to hide his smile.

“Guess I don’t have much luck, I remember how Jschlatt would lose so much money at the casinos”, he remembers because it would hurt for days afterwards. The man had made sure to take his anger out on him, calling him bad luck. He’s glad Wilbur never played against Jschlatt, Quackity doesn’t think he would’ve survived the beatings.

Wilbur’s face darkens for barely a second before changing back to that careless smile “I will teach you myself my dear Q, unlike that slimy goat, you have the best teacher in the world. Your teacher will show you a foul proof way to win”

“I thought it was mostly luck, you can’t teach that”

“Oh no no no no no, that is what a loser would say. You” he points, “will learn to cheat” 

Quackity blinks dumbly for a solid minute. Staring at the finger in his face until he hears a click  go off in his mind.

“Wait!” he yells in outrage, “were you cheating the whole time?”

“The agreement was for me to win, no-one said anything about winning fairly” Wilbur laughs shamelessly.

“That’s still so wrong” he huffs, munching angrily on a couple of peanuts.

“Life is very wrong and I’m teaching you how to win at it”

“that’s bullshit, I’m never playing with you ever again”

“Awwwwww, but little Q,” the man pouts, “I’ll make it up to you”

“I don’t want peanuts”

“None of that, since I won you still have to hear Tommy out and actually play a round of monopoly with me and the kid. If he stays pouting like that I might do something drastic” the man whispers the last part, probably talking to himself.

“I agreed to two things, I never said I’d forgive him”

“Blah” the man waves off handily, “I’m not concerned. You’re you.”

He says it like it means anything, but Quackity won’t waste his time arguing. He’ll listen to the kid, play a round of monopoly and then go back to ignoring the traitor. That’ll prove to them all.

“But since I am truly magnanimous I will offer you your prize chicken nugget”

Insulting nickname aside, huh?

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ll even do you one better, since I am a merciful angel, you get to ask two questions and I will answer to the best of my knowledge”

“And you won’t lie”

“On my life” the man makes a show of crossing his heart, “but ask quickly, I think Techno will be here any minute”

Oh shit. Ok. No pressure. What does he ask, what does he ask?

“tic tok birdie, hurry before he gets here”

Fucking bitch.

“What does an avian feeding another avian it’s food mean?” he blurts out.

Oh. Did he really ask that?

“Did you really ask that? You could’ve asked for any piece of information and you chose that?”

“I- shut up! You all keep evading that question and I’m tired of it” the avian defends, feathers puffing out in anger.

“It’s not that difficult. We’re all very in sync with our instincts. Have you seen a baby bird get fed?” he prompts, eyes glimmering.

What does that have to do wit-

Wait. A baby bird? Fed? He’s seen the way a mother rips food and-

Wait a GODDAMN MIUNUTE.

He feels his face turn red with the utter humiliation of it. Wilbur guffaws at his expression, slapping his knees repeatedly.

“You should be thankful our instincts settle with simply handing over the food instead of doing it literally like a bird” he laughs harder, taking gasping breathes between laughs.

“So it’s like a parent child thing?”

“Yup, just look at the way birds act and you’ll probably figure out half of it.”

Hm. That seems simple enough.

“Ok, next question” at this he takes a deep breath, knowing fully well the ridiculousness of his attempt.

“Hit me baby bird”

“How do I get out of here?”

To his credit, Wilbur doesn’t fall on his back laughing, he simply smirks and lets out a couple of chuckles. Like some super villain on a kid’s TV show.

“That’s a bold move”

“You said I get two questions, that was the deal”

“I also said I don’t play fair”

“you said you’d always be honest” Quackity counters.

“sigh, fine chicken nugget, I’ll tell you” the man beckons him closer.

Quackity doesn’t move an inch.

“I have to whisper it, come here”

Fucking bitch. Quackity scooches closer to the psychopath, leaning in to listen better.

“there is only one way for you to leave” he whispers, “and no other. The way you can leave this place is if you- “he makes a dumb pause like the dumb person he is, “TO LEARN HOW TO FLY!” he screams finally, right in Quackity’s ear, ripping out his poor eardrum.

“FUCKING FUCK!” Quackity yells, clutching his ear in pain, “the fuck was that for?”

“I literally just told you the only two things you can’t do, and you go ahead and ask me how to do one of them. If I tell dad he’ll have you chained to the nest”

“n- no! please”

“Relax, I won’t do it. But I meant what I said. The only way you’re allowed to leave freely is if you start flying and that won’t be happening any time soon” he throws a bag of peanuts at Quackity’s head and smiles when it smacks him straight in the face.

“I told you I’d always be honest with you, so let me tell you this. Before you can fly, there is not a chance in hell you can leave the front door without one of us right there by your side. I will personally chain you to the nest should you try”

And pop goes the bubble.

So the only way Quackity can leave is if he can fly.

Ok. He can work with that.

How do birds learn how to fly?

Chapter Text

Just as Wilbur had said, Technoblade arrives shortly after their little chat.

In that time, Quackity has gone back to hiding under the blanket and ignoring the physical manifestation of everything wrong in the world, called Wilbur.

“Is that really how he’s been spending his time?” Techno asks when he spots the avian burrito in the corner.

“Oh it was horrible Techno!!!” Wilbur wails dramatically, “I offered him so many things to do, I even gave him clues on how to escape but he wouldn’t budge, I had to sit here and be –gasp- BORED!”

“Wilbur” the pinkette growls warning

“I kid my dear twin, I would never give our little duckling any ideas on escaping, no matter how entertaining it might be” Wilbur pauses foe one second, seemingly in though, then adds, “or how it would make me his favorite”

“This is not the time for jokes” the piglin brute gnashes his words.

“Pffffffffff, stop being such aa grouch you’ll scare the child” Wilbur mocks, “we don’t wanna fuck with his mental health now do we? Or, you know, give me any kind of trauma that will haunt him for the rest of his life”

Yes. A mafia prince preaching about mental health. To another mafia prince that maimed him.

This is his life.

But he knows the jab was for his own sake, and appreciated it, even if it was Wilbur.

“Wilbur” Techno growls louder, eyes narrowing.

“Come now dear twin, you aren’t actually scared he’s going to run away are you?”

“I’m scared of what he might resort to in a fit of desperation”

Can they not speak as if he’s not there? Seriously?

“Blaaaaa” the 50 something year old man literally blows a raspberry at his brother, “you worry too much for that to happen. You don’t even trust him with your own twin?”

The man doesn’t deny the statement, he simply rolls his eyes and mutters something close to “Steve”.

The pinkette focuses his attention on the teen wrapped tightly in his blanket, only the top half of his face peeking through. The minute his eyes land on their captive, the red ruby’s soft noticeably, his face relaxes from the previous glower to something more gentle.

“I don’t know what he told you, but it’s best to wipe it clean from your memory. It’s never good, you won’t be going anywhere unsafe.”

What a nice subtle way of saying ‘Roll over and accept your fate’

“Right, cuz you’re definitely safer” Quackity fires back, once he’s said it he can’t help but wince at the broken expression the brute piglin dons.

Fucking hell!! He shouldn’t feel bad at hurting his protector captor.

“You… have every right to be upset with me, I understand” the man mumbles, “and I’ll apologize as many times as you want, even through your anger I won’t go anywhere, and neither will you”

Another wave of unbridled anger takes over him and Quackity finds himself hissing like a wet cat at a man thrice his size.

“Fucking leave me alone, I don’t want anything to do with you” he yells, if he had any fur it’d be bristling, but he was cursed with damn wings wrapped in fucking wing mittens that spread under his blanket and make him look like soaked marshmallow instead of anything slightly intimidating.

“You say that, but in a room full of blankets you still chose mine” the man sighs.

EXCUSE ME!!!!

The fuck is that supposed to mean????!!!!

Yes, this particular blanket happened to smell more like protector the large oaf, but that wasn’t on purpose.

Of course not.

It just happened to be the best blanket in the nest for some inexplicable reason.

“Techy, my brother from another mother, you’re not meant to call him out on it, he’ll get embarrassed” the psycho of the room chides.

“I’m not embarrassed!” Quackity denies, “and it’s not yours!! It’s mine now!”

The brute raises an eyebrow at the chick, he opens his mouth about to say something but thinks better of it and closes his mouth with a loud click. Behind him Wilbur nods approvingly.

Whatever.

He’ll take it as a win despite the knowing look the piglin twins are giving him.

He won ok?

“If you want I can scent it for you”

.

.

.

The man can’t shut his mouth, can he?! He can’t let him soak in his win for one minute?!

“I’m fine” he spits, “and so is my new blanket”

The idea of the blanket getting more of that protector scent is horrible. Not comforting at all. No!

Protector?

Shut up feathered rat that lives in the back of my head.

“Don’t worry” Wilbur buts in, “we can steal some of his blankets from his room if that one loses his scent, ya know, just to annoy him. No other reason”

Fuck them all!! If he wasn’t warm right now he’s chuck the stupid blanket at their faces. But he knows he’d look even more childish. AND, he would lose his new possession, so no thank you.

Instead he wraps himself tighter in HIS blanket and covers his head.

They keep talking, but Quackity is not interested. As far as he’s concerned, he won the argument and he has a new blanket out of it.

A sound in the back of his head urges him to be afraid, both these piglins are far more dangerous than anything he’s ever dealt with in his life. He should be shaking with fear, and maybe, on some level he is.

He knows he’s afraid, his heart clenches painfully in his chest whenever he reflects on the situation he’s in.

But it’s like he can’t bring himself to fully grasp it.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening, nor does he want to at this point.

His worst nightmare, the one of having his wings exposed, has already happened.

And yet he’s not dead. His wings are still attached to his back, he’s in a soft nest instead of chained up in some torture basement. (one that Philza made sure he knew existed)

As far a he knows, he should’ve been dead the minute the bandages were taken off his back, but he’s now living on borrowed time.

Borrowed time that will run out eventually.

“-ling, duckling come on” a voice cuts through his thoughts at the same time his blanket armor is being pulled away from him.

Stubbornly, the avian bites the end of the blanket, and hold tight with both hands. It’s HIS blanket, and no one can tell him elsewise.

“Techno stop pulling, you’ll rip hiss teeth out”

Ah, so the brute is the blanket thief. It doesn’t matter that it belonged to the piglin first, Quackity owns it now. And he’s not letting go.

“I’m not going to take it, but dad wants us him in the gardens. Said the sun will be good for him”

“Losing a tooth is not a prerequisite for leaving the nest” Wilbur chastises, and whoa! What has his life come to?

“Ugh fine” Techno huffs, the blankets are released and Quackity is quick to wrap himself again, even tighter this time.

VICTORY!

Take that!

Wait-

He feels arms wrap around him and then he’s being lifted.

Ok, he’s still keeping HIS fluffy armor so it still counts as a win.

“If dad asks, this was your idea” Techno grumbles.

“I’m already in hot water, might as well” Quackity can picture Wilbur shrugging carelessly, “since you’re already holding him, try to get your scent on his wittwe bwankey, don’t want him to throw a fit when the smell fades”

Long fingers invade his space and ruffle his hair.

Quackity does the normal thing and bites them, smirking in satisfaction at the pained yelp.

“He bit you?!” Techno asks shocked.

“I’ll get him a teether or some shit” the other man whines.

In his self-imposed constraint, Quackity his body shake in sync with his captor’s breathy chuckles.

“I’m taking him to dad, get Ponk to look at that if it’s bleeding”

“What do I even tell him, my new baby brother felt puckish and I was on the menu?”

“There you go” Techno laughs, walking away from his brother and towards the head of the psycho family apparently.

It takes them shorter than expected to reach ‘the gardens’, Quackity can tell by the natural sunlight filtering through his fuzzy defense.

“ah excellent, you’re he- huh?” Philza hums, he sounds confused, “is there a reason the chick is trapped so?”

“he did it himself old man”

“really” Philza asks dubiously, “with your favorite pink- “

“Like I said, he did it himself, and if you try to take it he’ll use his teeth. Be glad he’s on his second set of teeth only, had he already grown his fangs, Wilbur would’ve lost a finger”

“ah, he bit Wilbur did he? How precious” the man keeps the low tone, but the amused note in his voice is clear as day.

“Precious? Really? I hope he bites you” techno fires back.

Bite Philza? The thought paints a horrifically funny picture in his head.

Maybe he should.

“I hope so too” the man replies, but it doesn’t sound teasing, it’s almost…. Wishful?

Never mind, he’s not going to do it. maybe the man thinks it’s a bonding thing.

“Come here chick” the Mafioso calls sweetly, (what a strange sentence), “our last tea break didn’t go according to plan, let’s give it another shot”

Quackity feels himself being shifted in his warm cocoon until he’s being seated. The blanket while still wrapped around his body in a protective barrier, falls off his head. The sunlight blinds him for a second, and he has to release an arm to rub at his hurt retina for a second.

When he can see again, he wishes he couldn’t.

In front of him, is a very familiar sight. A round glass table, covered in finger food and fancy treats, opposite him is a smiling Philza in all his glory, sitting prim and proper.

It’s almost an exact replica of the tea set from THAT day.

However, there are some slight differences. Whereas before he was seated in a room representing the physical embodiment of wealth, now they’re in a small garden. He immediately recognizes the huge trees standing proudly in front of higher walls, the colorful flower beds, the ceramic birdbath to the side.

This is Techno’s garden; he remembers being allowed in here.

“this is my space. Just mine” Techno explains, “there’s a wider area up front, and by the back. But this one is to the side of the house, a hidden nook. Dad gave it to me when I was a kid. I’m a brute piglin, so I needed my own ‘territory’, until my instincts settled in”

“Wilbur and Tommy aren’t allowed in here, only dad is, since he is the leader of the sounder. If they get too much, and I know they can be too much even to me, you have my permission to come here all you want”

The second difference is Philza himself. Before, when they had done this, the man was impossible to read, only allowing certain emotions to shine through his mask when necessary, now he presents a soft smile with equally soft eyes.

“We didn’t get to finish our tea last time, so I thought a redo was in order”

He hears the bird in the back of his head trill with happiness, and to his utter humiliation, he hears his actual voice trill, albeit it comes out croaked and awkward.

Philza’s eyes practically glow with delight, and Quackity, like the adult he truly is wraps the blanket around his head and hides strategically retreats.

“Oh, birdy. There’s nothing to hide from” the man coos.

The blanket is pried from his hands so that heterochromatic meets icy blue.

“There you are” he chirps encouragingly, “my sweet duckling”

Heat rises unbidden to soft cheeks and all of a sudden he feels shy!

Fucking shy!!!!

He literally just bit Wilbur, why is he acting like an insecure toddler now?

The last time he saw Philza he was accused of throwing a tantrum, and given a metaphorical slap on the wrist.

“I’m not yours and I’m not sweet” he hisses venomously.

“You are definitely mine” the man grins, flashing a pair of razor sharp teeth.

The younger avian can’t find a way to refute the claim so he settles on glaring as hard as he can. Take that! That should show him.

Of course, the effect is ruined when the man merely chuckles and boops him on the nose.

“How on earth did I mistake you for a human? That childish pout should’ve been a dead giveaway”

There goes his manly glare.

Fucking Philza. With his fucking smirk, and his fucking gold shiny pretty hair, and his fucking big safe caretaker wings and his fucking gold spoon stirring sugar into a pretty cup and-

Wait.

He recognizes that spoon.

Treasure.

Our spoon.

Ours.

He finds himself chirping loudly once again, his control over his instincts diminished despite his best efforts.

“Yes, yes” the man hums, setting the steaming cup in front of the younger, and making sure to place the spoon on the tea plate beside it. “I haven’t forgotten our promise; the spoon is yours. And so is anything else you desire” he adds as an afterthought.

“I’m not you” the raven had whispered, “I can’t get away with these things”

“The fuck you can’t” Wilbur had snorted.

 He can almost see mini Wilbur in a stupid red suit and fake horns sitting on his shoulder, just whispering thoughts into his head.

Hmm.

Taking Wilbur’s advice shouldn’t be an option though, right?

Meanwhile, Philza carries a one sided conversation pretty well, he doesn’t allow for any awkwardness to settle in and he doesn’t broach any heavy topics.

It’s all lighthearted commentary and stories about raising his kids in such changing times, and each one of my chicks needed a special approach and Techno might have been the most bloodthirsty, but it was Wilbur that was the most difficult.

Yes, very normal conversation.

Then again the man probably carried one sided conversations a lot, seeing as some of his listeners had their mouths taped shut.

Was Philza the kind of man that taped mouths shut? He once heard Jschllatt’s men talking about sewn mouths and staples….

He’s seen the man’s handiwork; he wouldn’t put it past him really.

Quackity suddenly catches himself munching on a cookie absent mildly, he eyes the cookie and notices how a part has been cut off.

Wait.

Huh?

Oh.

OH.

While he was listening to the man in a daze, too busy staring at his pretty stupid spoon, the man had been placing little treats in his hand.

He notices how the blonde takes a small round pastry with a strawberry glaze, cuts off the smallest bit off, and eats it himself, then proceeds to place it swiftly next to Quackity’s hand, all the while keeping his low drabble on how Wilbur is really the sweetheart of the family, he just has a few unhealthy habits.

How many has Quackity eaten so far?

Was he really so far gone in his instincts, or has he grown used to the thought of letting Philza feed him?

What’s even more insulting is how the man hadn’t even considered the possibility of Quackity refusing, He simply carries on like the younger avian will let him do as he pleases.

Shockingly, he’s somewhat right.

Quackity could’ve been handed poison by the man and he would’ve eaten it without another thought.

“Go through your rebellious phase” tiny demon Wilbur crows on his shoulder, “Technoblade is excused for splitting your face in two, but you can’t say no to a cookie?”

Wasn’t Philza that said he was his son? That lying scary (caretaker, please, caretaker) monster!

Suddenly, as if possessed, Quackity chucks the half eaten cookie to the side, grabs the glass tea kettle, worth thousands probably, and smashes it to the ground.

Philza stops talking, his indifferent mask back up, and looks between the now broken pot and the teen.

“Mate, if you wanted a different drink you could’ve just said so” the man chides.

What? That’s it?

Quackity doesn’t know much about china and different valuables, but even his peasant ass can tell the tea pot was invaluable.

It was probably worth both his kidneys on the black market, and yet Philza is more concerned with his choice of drink???

What?

Quackity grabs the teacup in front of him and smashes it just as he did the teapot, he looks to Philza expectantly.

Waiting for the shoe to drop, for the man to grab him by the hair and shove his face into the shards. Teach him a lesson. Show him his worth. Be like Jschlatt.

Instead, all he gets is a-

“How about hot chocolate? Tommy isn’t a fan of tea either, but a sweet beverage can get the little brat to sit still.”

“No!” Quackity screams, “that not it!” he pulls at his hair.

“No? how about a nice lemonade, it’s sunny enough for it to be refreshing.”

“FUCKING NO!” Quackity screams back.

Now? Will he get hit now? Is this what breaks the visage?

He sees the man’s eyebrow tick, and hope laced with trepidation rises in his chest.

This is it, the man is clearly annoyed.

“You will not have any coffee mate, you’re way too young for that”

WHAT.THE.EVER.LOVING.FUCK? The raven deflates instantly. He thinks he wants coffee? Is that it?

That’s all the reaction he’s getting?

He throws his arms in the air, his wrapped wings flap behind him hard enough to strain and drop his blanket-turned into a cape- off his back. His anger warrants a full body reaction.

The mafia boss pays him no mind, typing something one his phone.

“Someone will be here shortly to clean up the mess and hand you a cup of hot chocolate, if you want something else you need to say so now”

“NO!” he screams back, “I’m leaving” he decides suddenly. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he is! That’s it!

Just watch him!

He jumps to the side, planning on running a fast as possible to put some distance, but like an idiot jumps right on the shards of glass.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

He doesn’t get to yelp in pain before the sound cuts through his chest ad freezes him on spot. His muscles lock with fear, his blood runs cold, and he feels his heart beating two times it’s speed.

Okay. So he managed to make him angry at least.

Now what?

One hand goes under his knees and another behind his back, then he’s lifted off the glass in a strong hold.

Angry caretaker.

Still.

Still.

Don’t move.

He whimpers against his will, small pleading tweets cutting through the air.

“This is my turn to say no” the man snaps, a hint of something more in his tone, “You fucked up this time. You can’t plead your way out of it”

What did he do?

But more importantly, what should he do?

Will he be taken to the dungeon? Strapped upside down? Will his wing be cut off?

He sees the men Philza paraded the last time he was invited to tea, but instead of different faces on those ripped up bodies, he sees his own.

His time is up.

It’s…. almost a relief.

It will hurt, but he always knew it would. It’s a fact he’s accepted long ago.

Silent tears fall down unbidden, he doesn’t bother pleading with the man.

Philza carries him swiftly inside, bypassing over ten different guards, all who stand straighter at the sight of their leader striding past them without so much as an acknowledgement.

He hears the sound of a door being kicked open and then

“Ponk, leave everything and come here” Philza orders.

Quackity gets set at the side of a white cot, he looks around the room, taking note of the sterile walls and white cabinets.

An infirmary?

Jschlatt had one, but it doubled as a torture room sometimes. So it wasn’t very clean, or well stocked. Unlike this one.

A man who is clearly a doctor approaches him, the first thing Quackity clocks on is the kind smile.

He smiles with his eyes, and kneels down in front of the teen.

“What do we have here big boss?”

“His legs” Philza replies curtly, he doesn’t have to add anything else, two words is all he can bother with.

“oh, that’s a nasty cut, can I touch? I need to get a closer inspection”

“Go ahead” Philza nods, posture tense.

Ponk nods, but doesn’t touch his feet, instead he looks to Quackity with a silent question in his eyes.

He can’t be really asking Quackity for permission as well! That’s not possible!

But the doctor doesn’t move, he keeps waiting for-

For permission.

Quackity nods numbly, a small dip in the head. Philza pulls out a silk napkin from his suit and rubs the drying tears, being gentle on the scarred side. As if it still hurts.

Instantly, the doctor reaches for his foot and lifts it up to his face, looking closely at the bleeding cuts. He then repeats the process with the other one, making sure to use minimal touches and nothing more.

No unnecessary physical contact.

“Thankfully there’s nothing stuck in them, we’ll just put a little disinfectant and have it wrapped up nice. Try to stay off your feet today. Your avian nature paired with some protein should speed up your recovery”

The doctor talks directly to his patient, but raises his voice enough for Philza to hear.

Is every person affiliated with the Syndicate this strange?

Philza, from his end, doesn’t seem insulted by the autonomy given to his new possession.

He only tenses when the doctor makes any form of physical contact, looking between the doctor and Quackity for a sign of…. something? His eyebrow twitches when the disinfectant hits the fresh wounds and Quackity can’t help but whimper. But otherwise, he stays put.

“There we go”, Ponk sets the bandages aside, “all done” 

“Thank you Ponk, it’s always a pleasure seeing you at work”

“ahaha” the man laughs bashfully, “Hopefully once your son is settled I’ll get to check his vaccines and do a full checkup”

“Of course, I saw your bag by the door, were you heading somewhere?”

Ponk looks between Quackity, still seated on the cot and his employer frowning, “there was a shootout, Sam just called. Injuries and whatnot, they need me there”

“Was it-” Philza doesn’t continue the question, clearly hiding something from prying ears.

“The same ones, I’m having the staff meet me there, bullet wounds are a finicky thing”

Bullet wounds? The man was heading to a battle scene, but decide to put it on hold to put band aids on a prisoner’s feet?

Does the syndicate not have its priorities in check?

“Go, I’ll meet you there shortly” Philza orders, “Get Sapnap to bring the medical supplies if need be”

At least that means their tea time is up.

“I just need to have a quick word with a reckless child”

Never mind, he’s fucked.

Chapter Text

Great, he’s now stuck in an infirmary with an angry mafia boss. Plenty of scalpels and scissors at the man’s disposal.

Disposable sheets perfect for avoiding bloody messes, and just enough medical supplies to make sure he doesn’t bleed out too soon.

He won’t beg for mercy, no matter what.

He always knew it would come to this, so at least he’s not shocked.

White sterile beds, his wings on display and an angry mafia boss in front of him.

In his head it was a different mafia boss, one with less wings and more horns (horns that are now placed on display like some sick trophy).

But this is expected, his borrowed time has finally come to an end.

“Do you know why I’m mad?” Philza asks.

So he’s resorting to humiliation first? The wait is part of the torture; he’s come to learn.

Gee, after breaking a couple of priceless artifacts and then trying to storm off without being excused, Quackity wonders what it could be?

“The only thing they’ll stop you from is getting hurt on purpose or leaving the compound” is basically what Wilbur said, but right now Quackity finds it hard to believe. No, right from the beginning he’s found it impossible to believe. They can lie however much they want, but he’s smarter than that.

“Don’t be rude, answer” the man commands, eyes narrowing in challenge, daring Quackity to disobey.

“I broke the pot?” and multiple other things, but maybe he shouldn’t specify.

Philza raises an eyebrow, and that’s all Quackity needs to know he’s fucked up even more. Could Philza get on with his punishment already? Please! The suspense is making his wings shake with fearful anticipation.

“Think again”

Not the answer he was looking for.

“I raised my voice?” he tries again. Sure, he got away with yelling before, but maybe this was different.

“Again” the flat tone is far more terrifying than an enraged one.

“I- I……”

“I feel like we’ve had a similar conversation before, little duck. Answer”

“I… tried to get up without permission?”

“Quackity” the man snaps, finally out of patience, “you know very well that’s not the right answer, you’re not daft child!”

He’s all out of ideas, except for what Wilbur told him but he refuses to say it.

Because it’s not true!!!

It is NOT!

Long fingers, more suited for guns than gentle touches, grab his face.

“Chick, I have all the time in the world, answer”

Quackity shakes his head as much as he can with the grip on his face.

For a split second, the teen thinks he sees sadness flashing in glacier blues, but it’s gone before he can look again.

“You just need to admit your mistake, that’s all.”

Quackity squeezes his eyes shut until reds and blues shine behind his retina.

He won’t say it.

It’s not true, he’ll just humiliate himself.

“Chick, I can put everything off, lock us both in the nest until I get my answer. There is NOTHING on this damned earth I won’t do for my flock. Answer.”

“Please…” Quackity begs, he doesn’t know what he’s begging for.

For Philza to let him go? To just punish him and be done with it? For this nightmare to be over? For his wings to go back to hurting?

“Please what Quackity? What do you want little one?” Philza coos, like silky venom, his words drip into helpless ears.

“I don’t- I can’t- please-“ Quackity hiccups

His face is released from the painful grip from before and instead arms warp around his shoulder, even with his eyes closed, he knows his surrounding has darkened when the red behind his eyelids turns to pitch black.

Slowly, he opens his eyes to find himself cocooned on all sides by a dome of feathers.

The mafia leader had sat beside him at some point and took him in his arms, wrapping massive dark wings around them in a feathery shield.

Against his will, a small series of tweets escape him.

He’ll never stop being shocked at how helpless he is at controlling instincts since he never struggled with it before meeting the Syndicate.

“Okay, we can stop now. Just a little break, but it’s not over. I won’t stay with you since other matters demand my immediate attention” he brushes his fingers through raven locks, untangling some of the hair on his way, ever so gently so as not to pull or cause pain. “You will stay in the nest with Wilbur and Tommy, he will keep an eye on you two, we can continue with this conversation when I’m back”

Quackity can’t see much in the protective suffocating hold, so he doesn’t acknowledge anything being said. Simply listens and stays still. Tries to pull himself together from the near breakdown earlier.

Eyes too busy being mesmerized with the large feathers.

The two little dust brooms on his back aren’t even a third of the size of Philza’s wings. He thinks he should be jealous, or ashamed… something negative.

But all he feels is awe.

“I’ll help you this time” Philza whispers in his hair, “your mistake was getting hurt. I won’t repeat myself duckling, you have every right to be angry with us but no creature, living or dead has the right to harm you or take you away from us, not even you.”

The teen refuses to reply, opting to burying his face in the older avians shoulder.

“Let’s get you back into the nest” Philza sighs, picking him up all over again and taking the not so familiar route to the nest room. The younger avian tries to look past the feathers to memorize any open doors or possible escape routes only to get a gentle head-butt for his trouble.

“Don’t” Philza smiles, an emotion similar to pride shining in his eyes, “you’re far too stubborn but you’re not as sneaky as you think you are”

“None of you knew I was an avian until I slipped, I think I’m sneaky enough” he retorts pettily, slapping a hand on his mouth after realizing what he’d just said.

Philza throws his head back, laughing heartily.

“There’s my little shrike” he says when he’s managed to calm down, “but beware, the only reason that worked was because we were being idiots and working against our every instinct, it won’t work again.”

We’ll see about that.

A door opens and he chirps needily all of a sudden.

“Yes, you’re back in the nest” Philza coos.

“You guys are done already?” Wilbur asks from the side, eyes fixated on his phone.

“I need to you to keep an eye on him, there’s been an incident. Bring Tommy too, I want you all together while Techno and I take a look”

“yeah yeah mother hen, I’ve got it-  what the fuck happened to his feet?”

“He stepped on glass he personally broke when trying to escape”

Traitor!

“He fucking WHAT?”

“Have fun you two” Philza sings and then drops his charge unceremoniously into a fluffy mountain of pillows, leaving Quackity to deal with a fuming piglin.

“Care to fucking explain?”

Quackity huffs and looks for the nearest blanket to steal, his eyes settle on a bright blue one in the corner, clearly old and well loved. Wilbur follows his line of sight and blanks.

“No! don’t even think about it” he scrambles in the blankets’ direction, arms reaching out.

Too bad Quackity is closer and as such, able to snatch it up and wrap it around him before the piglin hybrid has even crossed the room.

“That’s my blanket! I’m not even a protector!” he tugs at Quackity’s new blanket and earns a small nip for his efforts.

“No biting! Are we going to need to train you?!” Wilbur whines.

Whatever. Quackity has gotten TWO blankets in one day, sucks for everyone else. He hides his smile when Wilbur literally screams at the ceiling.

So far, he doesn’t have much of a plan, asides from:

A-Try to escape

B- be a menace whenever possible

C- don’t fall for the mind games

A solid (if vague) plan in his opinion.

The following days are, simply put, boring.

Wilbur tries cashing in his debts and forcing Quackity to actually talk to Tommy, but Quackity explained that they never agreed on WHEN he would fulfill his end of the deal, so Wilbur can’t force him.

“Why the fuck are you using my own lessons against me? Do none of my younger siblings respect me?”

Tommy had looked shattered at his refusal, but Quackity stood firm.

(even when he felt his own heart squeeze with guilt)

He’s mad at ALL of them. But he never cared for them like he did Tommy.

Tommy… Tommy doesn’t push back like the others, he doesn’t force himself onto their prisoner or demands his time and attention.

Sometimes, when he’s up at night, huddled in a corner under both stolen blankets,

He’ll wish Tommy would.

The men in the corridors seem more frantic with each passing day, Philza will talk in codes sometimes so Quackity doesn’t understand him.

Wilbur plays cards with him whenever he can. Philza doesn’t bring up the glass incident despite saying he would, too tense from something happening outside the walls.

Yet the boredom persists, with no change in sight.

He’d give his left wing for anything to happen!

“I’m taking the hatchling to the casino” Wilbur declares with the tact of a one eyed walrus learning the piano.

He should’ve wished for an escape opportunity instead.

Understandably, everyone in the room falls silent at the sudden announcement.

Wilbur on his end, goes back to eating as if what he said is law and not a suggestion.

He didn’t even consult Quackity before making that decision. Really?

“Wil, my pyromaniac hellhound, could you repeat that one more time?” Philza smiles with the patience of a man that raised said pyromaniac hellhound.

So that’s were Wilbur’s creativity with nicknames comes from. That’s kind of sweet in an insane and morbidly fascinating way. Wait! How come Quackity only gets chick or hatchling?

And why is he even upset that he doesn’t get a cooler nickname from the older avian?

“I decided that Quackity should go to the casino, get a look at the softer side of the family business” Wilbur explains through a mouth full of mashed potatoes.

“I see. You’ve decided?”

“Come on daaaaaaaaad, I’ll take Sam and everything.”

“it’s not safe” the oldest avian replies, something more in his tone, something unsaid.

“I get that, but he’s been cooped up here for God knows how long. At least make an effort to make it seem less prison-like”

“He can go to my garden” Techno fires back, clearly opposed to the plan.

“Even prisoners get an hour a day in the yard, don’t think you’re being generous” Wilbur shoots back, a hint of poison in his words.

“My garden is not like a prison yard” Techno growls, protective of his private nook’s reputation.

“It is if the prison is fancy enough! Think about it, he doesn’t get to choose his food, or when to go outside, or where to sleep, or anything. I’m with you on the whole not getting involved in the family business until he’s older, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a look”

“You know we’re not keeping him as a prisoner Will” Philza sighs, cutting through his steak, a very rare slice, a little rare and it might bleed, “this is just necessary until- “

“until what?” Wilbur interrupts, “he’s pushing back but not in a way that benefits him, I bet if I were to give him something he’s allergic to right now, he’d eat it without making any complaints. Because he wouldn’t if Jschlatt still had him”

Quackity notices the way everyone in the room twitches at the mention of his previous owner boss. And then like one, all but Wilbur turn to him, eyes questioning.

“Do you- um- have any allergies” Techno asks, a bit nervous.

Quackity can say no, be spared the whole heartbroken reaction. But he’s gone through enough shit to know that anything he says can and will come back to bite him in the ass.

“I… I can’t eat celery….um…or ham” he finally admits, shifting nervously, “it’s a pretty uncommon allergy so- um yeah”

“what? Since when? I saw your medical record” Techno exclaims.

“I paid a sketchy doctor to forge that for me, there was a job I was hoping to get in but they needed a clean bill of health” he explains to his stupefied audience.

“I see” Philza hums “you’ve made your case Wilbur. You can have 2 hours to take him to the casino but Sam drives and I will be timing, unless of course Quackity decides he doesn’t want to go”

Techno seems to perk up, despite his neutral expression, (Quackity can tell from the way he straightens in his chair) and looks to the teen.

Probably hoping he’d say no.

Quackity could refuse, and keep ignoring them all, he can do it just to spite Wilbur…. but

But the idea of seeing the outside world, and a casino at that! He’s been (begrudgingly) having a lot of fun playing cards with Wilbur while betting on dumb things like peanuts and marshmallows.

The idea of going to a place dedicated solely to these games is……

Exciting.

He doesn’t think he’s EVER been excited to go somewhere just for fun.

Play it cool Quackity, play it cool.

“Whatever” he grumbles, stuffing a piece of broccoli in his mouth.

Nailed it.

“Playing hard to get, I like that” Wilbur smirks, “But I speak emo, he means fuck yes”

……………………………………………………………….

This is heaven!

The casino is heaven.

There’s no better way of explaining it. Everything is painted gold and shiny.

So many bright lights it looks like daytime inside, and Quackity remembers just how dark it is outside since Techno threw a fit when he found out they were leaving at midnight.

“How on earth will he taste the real gambling experience at 12 in the afternoon, be real Techno”

The place is crowded, everyone is either holding chips or a pile of cash, running around frantic.

The sounds, the lights, the everything, it’s just so right.

Click.

A camera sound shutters to his side. When he looks towards it, there’s Wilbur with his phone pulled out and aimed at his face.

“Look at that smile, I need to rub it in Techno’s face”

Smile?

“You looked like a kid seeing Santa, it was adorable.” He continues teasingly, showing Quackity the screen. Staring back at him is an awe filled Quackity, stars gleaming in his eyes.

Yikes, that’s embarrassing.

“Where do you want to go first, we already lost time on the drive here so we need to be fast”

“Wait! Our time started from the car?”

Sam, (the same creeper that saved him from Techno’s ire last time) had driven slowly.

That’s not fair!

“Yup, be glad they didn’t start from when we put our clothes on- wait, they might have. You never know” Wilbur rambles, “let’s just make the most out of our time. Sam” he calls a green haired creeper hybrid, “Quackity might try to escape, make sure he stays in your sight”

Nobody can say Wilbur isn’t painfully honest. Read: blunt.

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Quackity mutters sarcastically.

“I’m not treating you like an idiot so don’t treat me like one either. We both know the first chance you get at bolting you’re going to take it”

“So why bring me here?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself emo chicken little”

“chicken little?”

“I’ll get you the movie or something, now move. First stop: Roulette”

Not so fun fact: betting on money instead of peanuts is a thousand times more nerve racking. Wilbur keeps dragging him from one spot to the next, explaining the rules quickly and then placing a huge sum of money in his hands.

He almost has a heart attack when Wilbur bets five thousand dollars on Quackity’s hand and then promptly loses it all.

He’s about to start hyperventilating when Wilbur laughs loud and joyous.

“You were so close, I bet you’ll be a damned professional in a few months” he explains to a bewildered avian.

“Professional” he asks incredulously, “I just cost you five thousand dollars” his voice hitches with the addmition, when he says it out loud, he feels the urge to throw himself against a wall or something.

“Hey, spicy Tweety” fuck him and his weird ass nicknames, “this was the first time you’ve ever played Black Jack. At no point did I expect you to win”

“Then why did you bet on me??”

“How else would you get a feel for the real gambling experience?”

“You threw away five thousand dollars for an experience?!” he’s heard of spoiled kids before, but to throw away this amount of money in less than an hour. Quackity would’ve been able to live off this much for six months at least, so long as he stretched it right.

“I don’t throw away money; I use it in whatever way I find beneficial to my interests. You don’t have to understand”

“I think I’m going to be sick” Quackity complains, the mere thought of losing this much money gives him a stomach ache.

“Wilbur, we still have fifteen minutes” Sam interrupts “Not counting the time for ten drive back”

“Ugh, if I take him back like this dad will lose it and Techno wins” Wilbur whines, “come here, I know how we can fix this”

Wilbur drags him towards another table, this one seems more familiar.

“You’ve played poker before” the brunette shoves him into a seat between two burley men, “just have fun, don’t think about anything else” he then proceeds to place TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS worth of chips on the table!

“Don’t panic, there’s a minimum entry requirement on this table, and since it’s my money I can do what I want” Wilbur shushes, anticipating the objections.

“That’s not very comforting, that’s still a lot of money”

“Just play like I taught you, if you win you’ll make it back twice over, if you lose, you learn to play better”

He’s going to lose, he’ll throw away a total of over fifteen thousand dollars in less than two hours, he’s never even seen that amount of money, let alone lost it.

He watches nervously as the cards are distributed.

“Pretend you’re playing against me, your scar gives you a fierce look, use it” the brunette whispers.

Ok, he can do this.

Ten thousand dollars on the line and the fear of disappointing make him scowl and clutch his cards tighter.

If he can’t win, he’ll sure as hell make it difficult for someone else.

He won.

“FUCK YEAH! THAT’S MY SOUNDER” Wilbur cheers from behind, whooping at his victory.

Sam smiles proudly and claps slowly for him, they make quite the sight in the crowded area.

He would be embarrassed by the attention, but….

He actually won.

The dealer in the red vest congratulates him, as he shoves a pile of chips (his winnings!) towards him.

He actually won!

A camera shutters. A flash goes off, and Quackity knows It’s Wilbur taking a picture of his wide smile. Because yes! He’s smiling, a big toothy smile that makes his cheeks hurt.

“I won!” he tells his companions.

“You did Quackity” Sam smiles.

It makes something warm light up in his chest.

“FUCK YEAH YOU DID!” Wilbur crows “BECAUSE I AM THE BEST TEACHER AND YOU ARE THE BEST STUDENT”

The compliment makes blood rush to his face, but it doesn’t stop him from smiling.

“Not to interrupt this memorable moment, but we’ve stayed past your curfew, we need to head out”

“Don’t be such a Karen Sam, look at how happy he is! Don’t you think dad will overlook the curfew?”

Sam doesn’t deign them with an answer, simply looking at Wilbur with a deadpan face.

Yeah, Philza isn’t one to overlook anything.

“Spoil sport, come on Q, lets cash your winnings and go rub it in my twins face” he gathers the chips and together head to the desk upfront.

However, Quackity seems to have run out of luck for one night.

The woman is in the middle of counting their earning when a gunshot blasts through the air.

Everybody starts screaming and running around wildly, Quackity gets pulled towards a strong chest. He struggles against the hold, his mitten covered wings pinned between his body and the strangers.

“Easy” Sam’s voice mutters in his ear, the creeper crouching down to the ground.

“Keep an eye on him, if anything happens it’s your head” Wilbur growls from the side. The piglin looks angry-

No cross that, the piglin looks homicidal. His usually fluffy and curly hair looks pointed at the edges, his liquid gold eyes are now a burning amber, and his canines flash in the overhead lights.

“Wilbur, I was tasked with both of your safety” Sam starts to object, his gun pulled to the front while his other arm moves Quackity behind him, squeezing him against the table to make himself a shield.

Wilbur pulls out his own gun in lieu of an answer and runs in the direction of the gunshot.

“WILBUR!” Sam yells, while Quackity lets out a series of distresses  cheeps.

Flock! Hurt? Danger!

They lose the man in the sea of people and suddenly there’s more gunshots.

“GODDAMIT!” Sam screams, “Can one of Philza’s kids just listen for once?”

Quackity would feel bad for him, but he probably chose this line of work, whereas Quackity did not.

Also he’s being smooshed against the table, which isn’t very comfortable.

“Fucking hell. Philza is going to end me if I bring back only one of his kids” he hears Sam mutter, which, rude. But maybe he can be smart and use the scenario to his advantage.

“You can go after him; I’ll wait behind the desk”

Despite wearing a mask on the lower half of his face, the ‘are you shitting me’ look is projected clearly.

“Don’t be smart with me”

Worth a shot.

Suddenly he’s hefted in a firearm carry and Sam sprints outside the casino doors, frigid air smacks him in the face, the sudden shift from light to dark almost blinds him. When he can see again, he’s being shoved inside the dark car they arrived in and locked inside. He looks out the darkened window to an apologetic Sam.

‘I’m sorry’ the man mouths and then runs back inside the casino doors.

Fucking hell! What is it with Sam and locking him in cars? The teen tries the door just in case, and as expected, nothing. He smacks at the window, looks through the dashboard and can only find mints and napkins. How can a mafia car not have any guns stashed inside?

“FUCK!”

What? He’s frustrated. He gets to curse loudly.

“FUCK MAFIA SHIT! FUCK THESE WINGS! AND FUCK YOU JSCHLATT! I HOPE YOU’RE ROTTING IN HELL YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

Okay, where did that come from?

“FUCK YOU WILBUR! WHY DID YOU HAAVE TO BRING ME HERE? FUCK WHOEVER SHOT THAT GUN”

He keeps cursing until he’s out of breath, and his screams turn into sobs.

For the first time in his life, he cries not of fear, but anger. His chest heaves with each sob and loud wracking breath.

“FUCK! FUCKING! FUCK!”

He slams his hands against the windows to no avail, it’s like it’s made of titanium.

“I” bang “AM” bang “FUCKING” bang “DONE” he smashes his fists helplessly against the window between each word.

CLANK.

Something hits the window right were his face is, it makes the teen flinch so hard he falls back onto his back.

“what was that?” he whispers. He knows that sound, he knows it!

CLANK

That’s a bullet, someone is shooting at the car, he ducks down to the car floor, huddling in the middle.

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

A series of shots later, but none make it past the metal.

Think Quackity! Think!

Okay, so he knows he’s getting shot at. The gun has a silencer so it doesn’t attract attention. And the car is bulletproof. There are still gunshot sounds from the casino, so Wilbur and Sam are still busy with a different shooter.

Think.

Silencer means they don’t want to draw attention, bullet proof car means he has a chance at seeing the shooter. The man is probably enemies with the Syndicate, if he can tell Wilbur what he looks like he’d be safe from future attacks. He should get a look, just sit up and peek through the window. That’s all.

He can do that.

He just needs his body to get the memo and stop shaking so damn hard.

Just. Get. Up.

Move. Move. Move.

Just a little.

He can do this.

Ever so slowly, he pushes off the ground until he can see through the window,

and comes eye to eye with a man in a black mask.

He can’t think. He can’t move. He can’t even blink.

The danger! Danger! Hide! Predator! man raises his hand very slowly, (or is the time moving slow? He can’t tell) and shows the item in his hand to Quackity, his mask twisting around the mouth area to form a grotesque smile.

Is that-?

No!

NO!

It can’t be!

And then he’s gone.

He thinks the man had simply walked away, but Quackity can’t tell. It’s as if his brain stuttered to a halt and refused to process anything after that smile.

He doesn’t move for a while afterwards, still refusing to blink, even when his eyes start to hurt, even when he can see a clearly outraged Wilbur walking towards the car followed by an even angrier Sam.

“I fucking had it Sam”

“You did NOT. The security captured the shooter and had to stop you from killing him before we can interrogate him. You should’ve stayed with us”

“You left him alone in the car! You don’t get to talk”

“Had his brother not stormed off on his own, I wouldn’t have!”

“Oh for fuck’s sa- Quackity?” Wilbur calls out to him, now with clear view of the frozen avian. He can only imagine the image he makes.

Pressed against the window, eyes wide with fair, completely still.

Wilbur runs towards the car, yanking the door open.

When was the car unlocked?

The teen falls out like a marionette with the strings cut off, both his brain and birdbrain scream at his body to move, but it’s pointless. He is completely limp as Wilbur gathers him in his arms, sitting on the pavement with the limp bird against his chest.

“Quackity? Hey! Chicken nugget? What happened? Sam! Sam he’s not moving Sam! Sam! What do I do?” Wilbur calls, it’s the first time Quackity has heard the man sound so afraid.

Another pair of arms grab him, two fingers touch his pulse, then open his eyelids to shine a bright light inside.

This finally does something, and he can squint against the painful shine of it.

“He’s frozen in fear. But no injuries, thankfully” the last word is said like a prayer.

“You left him like this?”

“I would never” Sam denies vehemently, “he was angry, not- not this”

“What? You mean something happened while we were inside?”

“Get in the car Wilbur, your father will know what to do, the men will grab the security footage. I think we’ve all had enough fun for one night”

Chapter Text

Quackity, thankfully, has managed to break the frozen spell, only managing a twitch of his fingers. But it’s still progress, for a second he thought he had become paralyzed for the rest of his life. The small movement is painful with the sore muscles. He just wishes he could speak too, try to tell a frantic Wilbur he’s okay. The piglin keeps muttering nonsense, rocking them both, his eyes glazed over and distant, as if he’s seeing something else. It’s another level of terrifying, one that needs to stop NOW.

Alas, he remains mute the entire ride.

Flock?

Comfort flock.

I can’t even move you stupid bird!

Sam steps on the gas, breaking every speed limit in the district, zooming past cars and running multiple red lights.

The only time he uses the breaks is when he’s finally reached the compound, hitting them so hard the tires screech and Quackity smells burnt rubber.

Philza must’ve received news of their arrival. Or maybe it’s because they were late. (Perhaps it’s just one of his creepy talents, just knowing when something bad has happened, that would be a helpful skill for a mafia boss). The car isn’t even parked yet when a furious avian marches towards the door, his dress shoes clicking audibly on the stone paved driveway.

Behind Philza, a visibly angry Techno follows, looming behind his father, pink locks out of their neat braid.

“Dad” Wilbur calls, relief evident in his sound. The piglin throws the door open, reaching one arm out to his family like a drowning man.

Techno grabs the still avian from his brother, setting him on his feet slowly, keeping him from swaying with his grip, eyes searching for any injury.

“What happened?” the older avian grabs his own son, repeating what Techno was doing, searching his son over for any misplaced hair.

“Dad! Stop! Stop” Wilbur bats his dad’s hands away, ‘I’m fine, it’s Quackity. Something’s wrong, he can’t talk and he can hardly move”

Philza nods in understanding, seemingly knowing what’s wrong.

“Technoblade, take the hatchling to my office, Wilbur come here hellhound” he wraps an arms around his shoulder and ushers him inside only pausing to throw a glance at the greenette exiting the car, giving a small nod.

Like the obedient soldier he is, Sam follows.

Once behind fortified mahogany doors, Quackity sits on the leather couch at the end of the room, eyes firmly on his feet. His arms, still shaky and painfully sore from tensing so had when he was frozen, rub at his throat, hoping some sound comes out.

Wilbur sits beside him, not touching, but eyes flickering between his form and that of his father nervously.  Techno stands beside his father, eying them both.

His eyes shine, the ruby red even darker than normal, pupils slit.

Protector angry.

Thanks birdbrain, it’s not like he could’ve figured ‘that’ out.

“Sam, brief” Philza says from his seat behind the desk, his eyes bore into the creeper hybrid but Quackity has the feeling his attention is really on them.

Sam, to his credit, takes a mere five minutes to debrief on the most important facts, recounting everything from arriving, to teaching Quackity the games, to staying past their curfew, down to how they came back and found the younger avian frozen in fear, unable to even blink.

“So you admit to keeping them past heir curfew?” it’s said with such a calm tone, it makes Quackity shudder. This isn’t the calm of a lake, but that of a poisonous cup waiting to be sipped.

“Yes” Sam nods, unafraid. He still stands firm, refusing to even lower his gaze.

“Dad, it was my fault” Wilbur tries to cut in, his voice quavering.

“I’ll get back to you Wilbur” Philza cuts him off, eyes of steel glued to the creeper hybrid, “explain why you felt the need to disobey me”

Quackity raises his head at last, looking at the creeper’s profile, unrelenting in the face of doom.

He opens his mouth, trying to get something out, but feels the words, like sharp pebbles, getting stuck before they can reach his mouth. He can’t even get a loud breath out, only open his mouth and frown in frustration at the lack of sound.

He has to defend Sam! The man has saved him twice now, he needs to say something. Get Philza to show some mercy or he’ll never forgive himself for as long as they let him live.

“Dad please” Wilbur whispers to his side, understanding what it means to be on his dad’s bad side.

“No. I take full responsibility of keeping them past the curfew set. However, I refuse the claim that I disobeyed” Sam proclaims.

“Oh?” Philza raises an eyebrow, it’s a miracle Sam has gotten this far. Right? Or is Sam different? He’s heard stories of Philza beheading his own men should they look his way wrong, but here Sam is, talking back.

“My job was to look after their best interest, as I always have. I believed it was in Quackity’s best interest to remain a while longer, and I believed it to be the right call”

“You really don’t regret it” Philza challenges, his fangs glinting with his smile.

Technoblade visibly tenses, clenching his fists.

“I’d be lying if I said I did” Sam nods.

“Staying late proved to be a danger, my children almost died” the smile is chilling.

Just start begging for your life Sam! What’s wrong with you?!

“The shooter waited until we had reached the door to initiate his plan, they weren’t operating on a specific timeframe, but rather on our movement. Leaving earlier would’ve held the same results”

Technoblade bares his teeth at those words. Philza seems calm still, if not for the creek of the table’s wood were he is grasping the edge.

“Sam, are you aware of what you’re saying??”

“I am. The target of tonight’s attack was Quackity, the whole plan was to separate us so they may have access to him”

Would anyone like to add any MORE bombshells for tonight? Really, Quackity has already warmed up earlier when the bastard-

Nope. Not going there. No.

“That’s fucking ridiculous. There’s no proof!” Techno snarls, “you’re just trying to make excuses for your incompetence”

Philza raises a hand, silencing his own son.

Wilbur audibly swallows at the new revelation, scooching closer to Quackity.

“That’s a bold claim, none of the shootings so far have indicated such, how are you sure?”

“I don’t know about the other cases, but I know what I saw. The man waited until we were exiting to shoot at the air, normally I would’ve grabbed both Quackity and Wilbur then exited. But Wilbur ran straight ahead into the commotion. It must have messed with their plan, they surely expected me to run after Wilbur since he was in a more dangerous situation, but I didn’t. Instead I chose to secure Quackity and rush back inside.”

“Sam, you’re saying-” Wilbur starts.

“I believe the man had accomplices waiting for the gunshot as a signal, the security would be distracted and as I rushed outside with both your sons I would not be enough to keep them safe, a few men would follow behind and kill me then have access to your sons”

Quackity feels the need to correct the “your sons” statement, but he’s smart enough now not to speak with such revelations.

Also, there’s the tiny detail of not being able to make a peep.

“How’d you know they were after Quackity and not Wilbur” Techno challenges.

“Because the only reason Quackity would be as terrified as he was, was if he was approached by one of them. Why bother heading outside and looking for him if Wilbur was their target”

“This is my fault” Wilbur whispers horrifies, “this is the second time I almost get one of them killed”

Wilbur has that far off look back in his eyes, it’s disconcerting. Should he alert Philza?

Maybe waive his hands?

“This is all an interesting theory, but a few things don’t add up, first, how are you so sure? And second, their trip was spontaneous, no outsider should’ve known Quackity and Wilbur would be at the casino, so how am I to believe you?”

One thing about Philza is that he is thorough.

“Take a look at the security footage, all of it. I’m willing to bet my life there will be clips of the man speaking with other armed men, one of which later approached Quackity outside the casino. As for the second issue, I’ll say it again. I’ve said it a year ago when Tommy was taken and I’ll say it today, someone on the inside is a mole” Sam is too dignified to spit the last word, but Quackity has a feeling if he could, he would.

“That again? We almost tore the organization trying to prove your mole theory last time” Techno snarls, “get over it and admit you fucked up”

“No” Philza mutters, silencing everyone, “last time we looked into our other factions, we didn’t look here”

“Dad! You’re not serious, we didn’t look here because everyone in the compound has proven their loyalty! I wouldn’t let something like this slip”

Philza doesn’t reply, merely looks at the two sitting on the couch with a deep frown.

“You’re actually considering this nonsense?” Techno growls

“Investigate those claims, I’ll have a few choice words with Sam if they’re disproven”

“You know they will be” Techno huffs indignantly, “a mole would have done far more damage than random shootouts”

“Conduct your investigation thoroughly and objectively”, the blonde ignores his son’s words, “I don’t want the ego of a protector, only the actions of one”

Fucking ouch.

That’s a little harsh.

Techno huffs, blowing out a steam, but wisely chooses to remain silent. Nodding his assent with gritted teeth.

“Would anyone like to add something? I will have all the information shortly, but I would rather hear it from the people present”

It’s a clear invitation for both Wilbur and Quackity.

Speak now, or be interrogated later.

“Quackity?” the man urges, this time softly, eyes losing their harsh edge, now replaced with care.

Quackity can’t speak, he merely shakes his head, eyes pleading.

“I see, it hasn’t been broken yet. That’s ok, you’ll be fine after a night’s rest nestling. No need to worry” the man coos, “I won’t push you, you’ve already been through enough. Tomorrow, after some rest. But you will speak to me child, I’m afraid I can’t keep letting you get away like this”

Quackity shakes his head again, head far too heavy for his shoulders. There’s too much. Too much. Too much.

Everything is too much.

He wants it to stop.

“Wilbur?” he man turns to his son, same worry and care.

Unlike Quackity, Wilbur breaks.

“I- it was all my fault” Wilbur cries, “I keep fucking up! I took him to the casino, and I insisted we stay late, and I left Quackity and Sam, I ignored them both! Then I got angry at Sam when he pulled me off the man! And I didn’t know what to do when Quackity wasn’t moving! And I took Tommy to the cinema! -”

“Sam, you’re excused” Philza snaps at the creeper, quickly rising from his seat and rushing to his son.

The creeper nods once and practically runs outside. All the while Wilbur keeps up his spiel.

“-And I’m the one that left Tommy alone in that bathroom! And I’m he one that let him get taken! And Quackity could have died! _”

“Will” Techno calls softly, “you’re spiraling”

“And I let the dog attack him! And I couldn’t help you find Tommy! I am a horrible sounder! I am the worst! I should JUST DI- “

Philza grabs his son and pulls him into his arms, stopping him from completing that line of thought.

“Hush now” Philza soothes, tucking the brunette’s head under his chin, “Hush, I love your dramatic speeches, but not when it’s used to torment you Will”

Quackity looks at them with wide eyes, this is a scene he shouldn’t be privy to. Wilbur is practically a child in his dad’s arms, sobbing and clinging to him.

He should feel like an intruder, but he’s too busy feeling concerned.

This-?

He’s heard Philza say Tommy was taken under Wilbur’s nose, and that’s why he’s been so upset at him, but he never related it to how the piglin was actually feeling.

Flock sad?

Flock angry?

Help flock?

How on earth would he do ‘that ’birdbrain?

Help flock?

He hesitates for a second, then slowly, cautiously, as if Wilbur were a bomb, moves closer to the pair, laying a hand on the other’s arm.

Wilbur doesn’t seem to notice, too busy burying his face in his father’s neck, but Philza does, smiling tenderly at him.

“This nightmare will end soon, and you will have the freedom to make as many mistakes as you want” the avian extends a wing so it wraps behind Quackity.

It feels like he’s not only talking to Wilbur.

“I need to check on Tommy, or I won’t sleep tonight, and neither will the voices” Techno grumbles, giving them all one last look then heading to the door.

“I’ll take everyone to the nest, meet us there with Toms” Philza calls back.

“The nest? All of us?”

“Move” the man chuckles, sounding tired for the first time, “it’s not just for your sake”

…………………

The nest is as annoyingly comforting as it’s always been, the minute he’s seated on the soft padding, his fluttering heart slows down, his shoulders un-tense and his next breath comes easier.

It shouldn’t.

He’s not meant to feel safe in the heart of the Syndicate’s territory.

But that’s how it is.

Maybe for tonight, he won’t think about it.

“Better hatchling?” dark talons run through his hair, their owner seeming to sense his mood. He refuses to answer, he can’t speak.

He shouldn’t.

The bird brain is starting to take over, and he doesn’t trust it not to screw him over.

The claws in his hair move down to the damned mittens on his back, taking the stupid things off his wings.

He relaxes against his will. He knows this part, the minute the mittens come off, the small itches and tiny discomforts from bent feathers will be gone thanks to swift hands. His birdbrain will coo and chirp, melting like ice-cream in August, and once he’s done the mittens go back on.

So far, only Philza has touched his wings. The mafia boss, as expected, doesn’t even ask. He checks on his wings at least three times a day, and makes sure to preen them at least twice.

He shakes his head, trying to object; he really doesn’t want to be touched right now.

He keeps craving the pain in his wings, he can’t get used to the feeling of pain free appendages.

(What will he do when there’s no one left to preen them anymore?)

“Hush now, it’ll be a minute” like every time he’s objected so far, he’s ignored.

“You’ll get used to the pampering nestling”

He doesn’t want to!

He needs to get out.

But there’s no possible way, he’s seen a glimpse of their real force, he can’t go to the bathroom without someone setting up a timer by the door to make sure he hasn’t drowned.

Without wanting to, he thinks of the man he saw today. Of what he held in his arm.

It was hard to even comprehend the sight at first, but his soul knew.

The minute heterochromatic eyes laid on that-

Fuck!

Fucking fuck!

He has to leave. He has to see it with his own eyes.

The man is waiting for him on the outside, probably with a gun, but if it means Quackity gets answers after so many years of nothing but questions, maybe he can die happily.

“All done nestling”

He has to get out.

The only way he can.

.

.

.

It takes two days for things to go back to “relative” normalcy. Relative being the key word.

Technoblade is angrier than normal, whenever Quackity catches him, he’s either in deep thought or marching somewhere with a mean scowl on his face. He refuses to have dinner with them, according to Philza he’s far too busy with everything happening.

Quackity doesn’t bother asking for explanations, just tries to keep all attention off of him.

It’s not like he misses Techno or anything like that. That’s ridiculous.

The golden watch in his pocket mocks him.

Wilbur distances himself slightly. It’s not noticeable, he still jokes and plays poker with him, but he stops bugging him about talking with Tommy and fulfilling his lost bet. Tommy sticks to looking mournfully at him, hiding behind his dad or one of his siblings when they’re close, he no longer sits near him at the table.

He should be relieved, but he finds himself increasingly broken hearted.

He wants to hug Tommy, fuss over his untamed curls, and teach him new curse words in Spanish. Every time they’ve had dinner so far, he’s unable to stomach the desserts because he can’t share it with a certain gremlin.

But more terrifying then all is Philza himself, the man continues to act normally. Nothing changes, but his eyes get darker, his smiles never reach his eyes. Whenever Quackity sits with him, there’s a calculating look.

The man has yet to ask about THAT day, despite knowing Quackity is hiding something. He’s asked him only once, and then changed the subject when Quackity almost cried.

He gives Quackity space, probably hoping either his own investigation will find the answers for him, OR, Quackity will come clean himself.

Both very unlikely.

That tale is wiped from the records, he looked himself a lifetime ago.

“Can I finally lose the mittens” he asks Philza on the third day of the odd tension.

“What brought this on?” Philza is busy looking over some papers, his captor stuck on the couch. So far he’s still forbidden from being ALONE.

“How long do I have to keep them?” he deflects

“Until I’m sure you won’t rip out any feathers child” the man tuts, eyes still focused on the papers, “I understand that there needs to be a bit of trust, but your wings have yet to heal properly, we can’t delay the process”

“I haven’t tried to rip out any feathers for days” he tries to bargain.

“I’ve seen the way your fingers twitch and your eyes glare at your covered wings” the man doesn’t miss a beat, destroying every argument without even glancing his way.

He feels his anger starting to boil over, this is pointless, but he can’t ask Technoblade, the piglin has been nothing but angry since that day. Wilbur has been weird, not angry weird or conspiring weird, just distant, so Quackity doesn’t want to involve him.

(he bets he could’ve convinced him, but considering were his plan is heading and the guilt Wilbur already carries, he would rather not)

The last person is out of the question, nope! No way! Not a chance.

He’d sooner call Philza dad!

“I could easily smack my back against the wall” he challenges.

And fuck, that was the wrong thing to say apparently.

He finally has what he asked for; Philza’s sole attention.

Icy blues bore into the hatchling’s soul, making him feel smaller on the large couch.

“I. I was joking?” he tracks back, trying to defuse the nuclear bomb that is an angry Philza.

“Hatchling, I have been nothing but patient with you, kindly note that I have little patience left”

“What happens when there’s no more patience?” he dares to ask, voice meek. Is he being threatened? That sounded like a threat, will Philza finally snap and act like Jschlatt the mafia leader he is.

The question breaks some of the tension in the man’s posture.

He sighs in defeat, deflating instantly, as if his anger was never there.

“Nothing bad I’m afraid”

The statement is as strange as the bitter smile on his face, and the knowing look in his eyes.

“However if you try slamming your back to a wall I’ll have you locked in the very fluffy nest were no hard surface is available, how about that?”

Not the answer he was looking for.

“So only you have access to my wings?” he asks at last, surrendering to his fate.

Yet again, his thoughtless statement gets a powerful reaction. The man’s eyes widen, his broken smile from before turn into a gape.

“I- that’s not what this is about”

The world must be ending, because he keeps forcing these reactions out of a man that can peel his skin off with just his talons, as if he were a goddamned tangerine.

There seems to be an internal battle going on, and Quackity hasn’t lost ALL his preservation skills to comment on it0

“While you are my hatchling, that doesn’t mean you have no right to your own body, that was never my- It has nothing to do with your autonomy and-sigh- OKAY, how about we make a deal? You will only have your wings out in the nest when others are with you, just as a start, we can move up from there. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” he almost jumps out of his seat. While not ideal, this is an improvement. he just needs to be patient, he’s been patient for years now, patient with hunger, with pain, with cold, with the hole in his chest from that day so many years ago, he can be patient for a little longer.

“I don’t know why you’re being insistent on this all of a sudden” Philza cuts his thoughts, “but I know that I can’t push at the moment, will you promise me it has nothing to do with getting yourself hurt?”

Answering would be admitting that he has other plans hidden, but denying would be pointless with someone like the blonde.

“I promise” he takes his chances and answers truthfully.

No, he has no intention of hurting himself, that’s not the MAIN purpose of his plan, but it might be a slight side effect should he fail. A possibility he won’t mull over with the image from that day still in his head.

This time, Philza graces him with an actual smile, eyes soft, similar to when he looks at To-

Halt! No more going through that line of thought.

The rest of his afternoon is spent in pleasant silence, Philza hands him one of the books on his shelf and gets back to work, the sound of shuffling papers the only thing in the room.

It’s a shame neither notice the small blinking light at the bottom of the couch.

Chapter Text

True to his words, Philza lets him take off the wing mittens that night. It’s very hard not to immediately start ripping out feathers left and right. He considers excusing himself to the bathroom and pulling out just a couple, a little bit so Philza won’t notice.

Who’s he kidding?

Knowing the older avian, he probably counted every individual feather to ensure his property hasn’t been damaged.

Jschlatt was like that, made sure only he could hurt him.

But Philza doesn’t act like Jschlatt.

So he grits his teeth, clenches his fists till his nails make small crescent imprints in his palms, and shoves the urge to rip the feathers deep deep down.

Absently, he’s aware of eyes on him. So he tries his best not to slip.

When Philza asks if he’s okay, he fakes a cheery smile and nods tersely.

He needs to prove he can keep them out, so he can be trusted.

Otherwise the plan won’t work,

He won’t be able to leave.

And he’ll never confront the man that-

Breath. Just breath. He has something to focus on now.

Breath Quackity.

He managed to find a small window to escape from Jschlatt once upon a time, while hiding a little hatchling with him. With enough work, he’ll leave here as well.

This he won’t have the burden of a child with him, so that should make things easier.

He feels his heart twinge in disappointment instead of relief, he won’t have a hatchling with him this time.

He’ll just shove all of these confusing emotions deep down with the rest, perfectly healthy. He will also shove down the need to make his wings bleed or kiss all his chances of escape goodbye.

It won’t be easy, but he’ll do it.

In the morning, Philza checks his wings under the pretense of preening. But Quackity knows better, he’s taking far longer than usual, sifting through the feathers slowly to make sure nothing is amiss.

“Good job hatchling” the man praises, satisfied with his check, “I know this was hard for you, so I truly am proud”

Quackity ignores the way his heart flutters, the warmth spreading in his chest means nothing.

He’s just happy his plan is going smoothly.

Caretaker happy?

Praise us?

Proud?

Shut up bird brain.

“So I can keep the mittens off?” he asks hopefully

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves hatchling, I know you’re doing your best, but that doesn’t mean we can be hasty. We’ll take it slow for a little bit and then see where we go from there”

The fuck? That’s going to take forever!

But it’s not like he has much of a choice.

“What can I do to speed it up?”

He mentally slaps himself. That wasn’t suspicious at all!

“What’s so bad about the mittens?” Philza counters, “If they’re uncomfortable, I can have a new batch made in an hour”

“That’s not it” he can only imagine the embarrassing patterns Philza might pick, Wilbur has admitted that his fits are made ridiculous in an effort to loosen him up, make him laugh. It’s been humiliating and thank god Wilbur has taken to bringing him spare outfits.

“Then please explain”

He considers lying for a solid minute, then remembers WHO he’s taking to and zips his mouth. He’s have better luck deceiving a lie detector machine, the ones shown in the action movies Wilbur showed him. The teen settles for shaking his head.

Philza sighs in disappointment, but thankfully doesn’t push.

It’s another thing in the ‘explain later’ pile they’ve amassed.

Later at dinner, Philza shares his “progress” with the others. It’s mortifying, the way Wilbur claps his hands and whistles, and Techno chuffs proudly. Even Tommy smiles in secret but says nothing.

It’s beyond embarrassing.

He wants to bury himself. So he managed a night without submitting to the temptation of causing just a tiny bit of pain to his feathery appendages. Big deal.

(Like Tommy, he hides the smile)

Afterwards, the air becomes a little less tense. Philza and Techno continue to have hushed conversations behind closed doors. Men run down hallways with guns pulled out and phones pressed to their cheeks. Tommy and he continue to keep a little bit of distance between them, only taking glances when the other isn’t looking. Wilbur continues to have that faraway look in his eyes whenever another shootout is reported.

But……

Techno smiles his way more now and he catches himself smiling back twice. Philza praises him every time he’s left without the wing mittens and no feathers are pulled out. Tommy finally starts sitting beside him on the dinner table even if they’re still not talking. Wilbur goes back to teaching him new games, going as far as to teach him chess. Which leads to them finding out they both suck equally at the strategic game, so they can finally compete fairly at something.

So things aren’t better, but they’re a little less bad.

And that.

Is.

The Worse.

Because he’s getting distracted. He needs to focus dammit!

He catches himself forgetting about the mittens in favor of watching Wilbur and Techno play a game called Minecraft on the big screen in the living room.

It’s a spur of the moment thing, Wilbur is taunting Technoblade. When the brute chuffs and looms over his twin, their father warns them not to break anything. Tommy suggests they settle it virtually. One thing leads to another, and suddenly Quackity is sitting on a big white couch, watching two mafia princes cuss each other out on a video game. Tommy cheers from the side while their father is busy in a meeting elsewhere.

It’s such a domestic scene, Quackity feels pained ripping himself out of the illusion.

This isn’t meant for him.

This was never for him.

He needs to remember that, and stop getting pulled into their mind games. When the bubble pops, it will hurt less if he’s prepared.

Besides, he still needs his plan to work.

That hole from years ago is still in his chest, bleeding slowly.

His plan needs him to earn their trust, get the stupid mittens off and them remain unattended for just ten minutes.

That’s all he needs, but there’s no way the stars will align long enough.

Is what he thinks.

The stars align in such a way, he thinks someone planned this for a second.

He wakes up with only a sleeping Tommy in the nest. His internal clock tells him it’s a little past midnight, the other three flock members are missing. So far this has never happened, he’s never been alone without ‘adult’ supervision. Since he slept with the mittens off, his wings are still free. All he needs to do is just slowly walk out the door before the twins or their dad comes back.

Quackity tiptoes to the door, very careful not to wake up the little nestling buried under the pillows

He twists the handle ever so slowly and-

FUCKING LOCKED!

He’s such an idiot! Why did he think they might have forgotten?

The raven groans into his hands, watching his hope break behind closed lids. What are the odds that he might get this opportunity again?

Very null!

Damn Philza and his rightfully placed paranoia. He made sure nothing entered the nest under his watchful eye, multiple times now Quackity had snuck a pin or a small piece of wire to pick the lock, only to be softly chastised by the man and have his items confiscated.

It’s hopeless.

He sinks to his knees, face still buried in his hands.

So be it. he’ll stay here, sinking in his misery. You know what? He’ll be a living door stop, they can open the door and trip on his miserable little frame.

Take that.

Click.

If not for the dead silence, he wouldn’t have heard the lock twisting behind him and then proceeding it, a gentle knock.

What’s this? Did they come back already?

The door doesn’t open, no more sound comes from the outside.

Quackity feels hope rising, but squishes it down. Slowly, he twists the handle again. This time, the door squeaks open.

Who?

Is this a test? Will he walk out to see Philza waiting to tell him he failed?

That’s very likely, Jschlatt used to do it. put him in impossible situations and then punish him for making the wrong decision.

But what if it’s Sam?

The creeper has saved him on multiple occasions now, defying his bosses in the process.

If it’s Sam, then he shouldn’t waste this chance.

Creeping outside proves no one is waiting for him, the possibility of this being Sam becomes more likely and his hopes rise.

He has two options now, either sneak outside the compound

Or…

Or try the other way.

The syndicate will never let him go. He still remembers how he was brought her weeks ago.

So…. the plan it is.

There’s only one place he knows of that has enough altitude, and it just so happens that only two people are allowed there. Quickly, he sprints towards Technoblade’s private gardens. Along the way, he barely manages to hide behind a plant or one of the massive decorative pieces littering the hallway before he crashes into a group of guards. They all seem nervous, speed walking together, eyes looking around for something.

Could he have been caught already?

The fear makes him run faster, abandoning all other thoughts.

It’s only when he’s reached the garden, finally away from any guards, that the sound comes. It’s a terrifying shriek.

It echoes behind him, resonating down the hallways behind him and striking him in his soul. The chill that comes with it almost freezes him.

That’s the shriek of an angry Philza.

He must’ve only now gotten to the nest.

Fuck.

So what where the guards looking for before?

Doesn’t matter. No time to lose.

It’s only a matter of time before the real search begins. The teen runs to the nearest tree, he remembers the first time Techno brought him here. The trees’ height immediately caught his attention, and now he’s here with only one chance. He can’t lose it.

The bark is too wide for him to wrap his arms around, so he has to rely on the small grooves with sharp edges to pull himself up. His heart pounds, thumping against his ribcage.

Faster.

Faster.

Hurry.

He can feel the dangerous avian coming closer, maybe it’s a figment of his imagination, but his soul tugs in one direction, as if it knows who’s coming.

Was the tree always this tall? He didn’t think it’d be this tall when he was at the bottom.

Calm Quackity. Calm. You can do this.

So far, they’ve explained most of their instincts by referencing their animal counterpart.

If the only way to leave is through flight, then he has to fly.

And how do birds fly?

They’re thrown off high altitudes, and let their wings do the rest.

This is it. He can do it.

No fear!

Maybe just a little bit of fear.

He finally reaches the topmost branch, whole body shaking like a leaf. The look from up here is dizzying, everything is so small. Even the air feels thin, maybe that’s his fear speaking.

Breath.

Breath Quackity.

He can’t get his wheezing under control, barely able to take in a full intake of air. Is he hyperventelatinf from the effort or the fear? The fear of falling or the fear of a furious avian.

His soul tugs harder, making him almost stumble and fall before he’s ready.

Philza must be near.

Is he imagining it?

The sound of that heart wrenching screech echoes again, cutting the frigid night air and making him shudder hard enough for the branch he’s on to shake.

He gasps for breath, but his lungs refuse to cooperate.

It’s now or never.

A figure appears through the entrance.

Quackity jumps, his wings snap open.

The world freezes.

The clock stops ticking.

Philza is looking at him, eyes horrorstricken.

His wings are stretched to their max.

Then the bird in his head screams.

We can’t fly!

WE CAN’T FLY!

CANNOT FLY!

WE WILL DIE!

He messed up.

The world unfreezes.

The clock starts ticking again.

He freefalls to his death, gravity pulling him down down down.

He helplessly surrenders, his wings flap uselessly until the muscles strain painfully. He doesn’t bother screaming, what good is it?

This is how it ends. Of all the dangerous situations he’s put himself in, of all the dangerous people he’s had the misfortune of being associated with, he managed to be the one to end his own life.

It’s almost funny.

Not Jschlatt that had tormented him for years, or Techno who had cleaved his face in two. Not Wilbur with his ploys or Philza with his cold smiles.

No, Quackity’s life is ending at his own hand.

The night sky looks beautiful tonight, no cloud in sight to block the twinkling stars or the full moon.

When was the last time he went star gazing? He forgot how lovely the moon looks.

Something warps around him. Gravity is rudely stopped. The free fall ends and his back almost snaps in two with the suddenness of it.

What?

The moon is gone. Only darkness. The cold air is replaced by warmth.

He twists his head to look at his surroundings. Instead of the ground rushing to meet him, it’s getting further away. He’s flying?

He’s…?

“You’re safe” someone whispers in his air.

Caretaker.

The teen feels relief so overwhelming it brings tears to his eyes, without thinking he wraps his arms around his savior’s neck, peeping like a newborn hatchling. Caretakers chirps back, and Quackity falls to his instincts.

Seems like this night won’t mark his death after all.

Chapter Text

Quackity keeps cheeping until his throat is hoarse, then cheeps some more. Caretaker warbles and chirps and coos to settle him but it doesn’t work. He cradles him in his arms and walks around in circles, until the haze lifts off. Once it does, he seats him on the ground, grabs his shoulders. Seems like his patience has run out at last.

“Look at me” Philza commands with the authority of a general.

Quackity shudders at the tone, his entire body still aflame from where Philza was holding him before. He peels his eyes away from the floor to meet icy glaciers.

“Explain”

It’ one word, but it has the authority of heavens wrapped into it.

Explain.

What’s to explain?

Why he jumped off a tree? What gave him the idea in the first place? Where he got the audacity to leave the nest without permission? How he even left the nest? Why he was willing to risk death in his crazy attempt?

“I… I don’t- “he stutters out, trying to come with an excuse. He can’t explain, there’s too much.

“Do. Not” the mafia-head snaps, his voice doesn’t rise, he doesn’t growl, but it’s terrifying none the less. Men like Philza have learnt the art of threatening with minimal actions. Philza probably created that art himself.

And it’s all too much.

He almost died!

Correction.

He almost killed himself.

And he thought he was fine with it but he’s not.

He doesn’t want to die.

But everything is wrong and nothing makes sense.

He wasn’t supposed to show is wings and now they’re always out instead of bound. The idea of flying shouldn’t have even been a possibility but he almost DIED trying to do just that!

And now his caretaker is mad. And it’s all his fault.

What if he doesn’t have a flock after this?

But he shouldn’t care.

He doesn’t want a flock.

Will he be lonely again?

With no nest?

Two firm arms wrap around him, he feels himself being pulled against something solid, green over takes his vision.

The green darkens and belatley he realizes it’s a shirt, and it’s darkening from the tears he keeps shedding onto it.

He’s crying into a green shirt.

Caretaker’s green shirt.

Another thing to note is that Philza is speaking. He takes a full minute to realize he’s speaking to HIM in a gentle tone, words he couldn’t decipher. Trying to get his words heard over Quackity’s fast paced warbles and chirps.

“Hush now. You’re not going anywhere. I already told you, I will never let you go, no matter what”

He hates how the morbid promise calms down his anxiety and helps him get his breathing under control.

Philza doesn’t stop brushing warm fingers in his hair, it feels like an eternity before Quackity gets a grip on himself. The blonde doesn’t push him away when he’s done, he doesn’t sneer in disgust at the spot his shirt got soaked. He keeps holding him, looking expectantly in his eyes.

The younger decides that pulling away is a big NO, and instead he shoves his face harder against the chest, cheek mushed uncomfortably against the wet spot. He didn’t bring his blanket with him, so Philza will have to act as a substitute. Quackity didn’t make the rules (yes he did), he just obeys them, (no he doesn’t).

As If reading his mind, Philza hums a soft tone, fingers skillfully straightening crooked feathers and smoothing down the fluffy downs.

“Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere”

You’re not getting away from answering this time, is what the teen hears. So far Philza has let him get away without explanations to his tantrums or actions, putting a pin in his questioning whenever Quackity became upset. Something tells him this won’t be the case now.

Does he confess? Just tell him he heard the door unlock and couldn’t help himself? Lie and say he couldn’t help himself when he’d been thinking about it for days? But, that would mean exposing whoever did open the door and pinning all the blame on them.

What if it was Sam? Maybe the greenette wanted to give him a shot at escaping, and now they were going to kill him? The creeper’s already in hot water from that day.

Quackity doesn’t want to be the reason Sam is killed, he likes Sam.

Without his permission, tears stream down his face in another wave of shame. Philza takes to rocking him like a child, shushing his whimpers and miserable tweets.

“Chick, one thing at a time. We agreed we’d move in baby steps with your healing”. Is that what they had agreed to that day? Not the wing thing? “Tell me how you got out of the nest” the man demands again when hiccupping sobs have turned into soft sniffles.

“I-hic…I” he can’t bring himself to say it, he needs to think of something quick, “I picked the lock” e settles on saying at last.

The hold he’s in tightens to an almost painful degree, the teen chokes on the heavy aura.

“Quackity, I have cameras in every nook and cranny in this country, you think I don’t know what happened?”

Wait! What?

So he was being tested? He failed the test?

He raises a hand and pulls at his hair, trying to tear it out. But Philza grabs his arm and pulls it away.

“I’ll ask again hatchling” the man repeats, voice cold as ice, “how did you get out of the nest”

“Someone unlocked the door” he finally whispers, his voice shaking.

“And you didn’t find this suspicious at all? You immediately took the chance to run?”

“If it was Sam, please don’t- “

“It was not Sam” his words are molten lava, quite but deadly. “You think Sam would actually do this? Work against me?”

“I- “what can he say. The truth is yes, for some odd reason he thought Sam would help him.

Piercing blue narrows in clear distaste, but the silence pertains.

Quackity knows he fucked up even more, which is saying Something since he literally launched himself off a 60-foot something tree moments ago.

“One thing at a time” he hears the man whisper, probably to himself, before scooping the teen up with one arm and pulling out his phone with the other.

Quackity doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the monstrous strength The Syndicate possess. He can see how Techno can kick a wall down if he so pleased, but Philza and Wilbur are deceptively lean, it throws his mind in for a loop whenever they easily demonstrate their power so carelessly.

From his angle he can barely glimpse what Philza is typing, but the word ‘Sam’ is written a few times.

Quackity fucked up BIG time.

“Please don’t hurt Sam.” He begs “you said he wouldn’t betray you, what would I know?” he wings ruffle with stress, the already skewed feathers pinch the delicate skin.

“Easy hatchling, I know Sam would never betray me, and even if he had gone insane and done it, he’s on a mission 5 hours away. This is different”

So it definitely wasn’t Sam, for some odd reason, Quackity feels disappointed.

He should be happy; Sam’s innocence means his safety.

How strange.

Ever since he’s arrived here. Quackity has no idea WHY he feels and acts certain ways.

“So he’s safe right?” he asks, just to make sure.

Which is another strike against him apparently, because Philza’s pupils turn into razor sharp slits and he lets out an agitated chirp.

“I’d urge you to consider of your own predicament hatchling, had Sam been anyone else I would have him skinned because of your words”

He nods meekly at the chastise, at some point when he was falling to his doom, his survival instincts kicked back in.

He keeps his silence all the way to the nest room, where Wilbur is doing his best at digging a ditch by walking back and forth at top speed. When the brunette spots them, he leaves his digging efforts and runs towards his father.

“What happened? I heard Dad’s screech of fucking doom and had to keep Tommy inside before he tried anything”

“Inside” the man snaps, something dark tinging his voice.

Wilbur seems to realize this as well and closes his mouth with loud a click, scrambling to get inside the room before his dad.

Once inside the man settles Quackity in the middle of the nest, taking a seat behind the teen to preen his feathers.

The air feels thick; it makes breathing a chore. But Quackity is adamant on staying quite, it seems everything he’s done today has been a mistake.

Like the rest of his existence.

Deft fingers brush through ruffled feathers, taking the pain and discomfort, replacing it with relief.

But no contentment.

He would take the pain in his wings over the suffocating feeling of an upset Philza.

Tommy sits to the side, eyeing his dad with worry. It’s clear he has a thousand questions, but chooses to hold his tongue. Wilbur nervously rearranges parts of the nest. Gathering pillows on one side then changing the arrangement two seconds later.

A nervous tick perhaps?

“Tommy, come here”

Philza’s voice cuts through the silence like a bullet, Quackity shifts, ready to make space for the younger avian, until an iron grip pulls him back into his spot.

Don’t move.

The man preens his son’s wings, quickly and methodically, taking deep breaths between each section of feathers.

It seems to calm him down slightly.

“Wilbur! Tommy! I don’t want a word” the man starts.

So no one is allowed to defend him. Great.

It seems everyone got the same idea, because all eyes turn to him.

Philza walk around him so they’re now seated face to face.

“I am doing my best at being calm and rational little hatchling. I’ll ask again. Explain”

“I…. what can I- “

“Start by telling me why you tried to jump off that tree in the first place”

He hears a gasp and a feels the burn of eyes to his side, but doesn’t turn.

“Hatchling, I have been more patient than I have ever been. I have been burning with questions that you refuse to answer, but this- no more. Answer”

There it is.

The hint of something more.

He’s been curious as to why Philza hasn’t used it as much as he could. Perhaps out of mercy.

Whatever the reason, seems like he’s run out.

A cloud descends on his mind; his nerves feel like a live wire.

Fucking hell!

Obey.

Submit.

Apologize.

The bird is besides itself trying to appease its caretaker.

Quackity shakes his head violently, trying to stop the haze from taking over.

“Enough”

He freezes, his vision tunneling.

“I had let you get away multiple times; I didn’t want to stress you more than needed. But this hasn’t stopped you from hurting yourself, so no more child. Explain”

“I wanted to fly” he finally chokes out.

“what?” Philza asks incredulously

“fuck” Wilbur whispers to the side, barley loud enough to be heard.

Shit. This is why he didn’t try to trick Wilbur or make a stupid bet.

“Wilbur” Philza hisses, “did you have any idea about this?”

Wilbur doesn’t brush it off, he doesn’t laugh nervously, or make some sarcastic comment to deflect.

He looks miserable.

“It’s my fault”

“What?!” Tommy yells.

“No” Quackity denies vehemently, this is exactly what he was afraid of.

“I told him the only way to leave was if he learnt to fly, I put that idea in his head” the brunette barrels on, headless of Quackity’s objections.

“It was MY idea” he tries to object

“You could’ve died!” Tommy chokes tearfully, jumping at Quackity and clinging like a baby koala.

“I fucked up dad, again! Like I always do-”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it was my idea and- “

“Please don’t die Quackity, please, I’m sorry I was bad. Please- “

“I should’ve known he was impressionable, but I just don’t think- “

“I was FULLY aware of the risk-”

“I’ll be good Quackity, I promise- “

SCREEEEEEECH

As one, they all freeze, their words stuck in their throats and eyes focused on the caretaker.

“So much stress for one day” the avian sighs, “Everything is on hold, first things first, Quackity, start from the top”

Quackity clamps his mouth shut, stubbornly looking at his crossed legs.

“No” Philza says, that something else in his tone, the something that has his instincts screeching at him, urging him to grovel for forgiveness.

His eyes forcibly turn back to caretaker, this time with shame.

“I can force you to speak. I could’ve forced you to speak at any moment, but I didn’t. I have been patient with you, but you almost killed yourself” he screeches the last two words, making everyone flinch, “speak”.

“I- I- I’m tired of waiting for you to hurt me” he finally screams out, “I’m so fucking tired of just waiting and waiting, hoping for you to at least give me a punch!”

There’s a sad little chirp from the little body strapped to his chest, and Quackity helplessly chirps back.

“I-gasp- I- you”

“Breath hatchling”

“No! Fuck off!” he glares as the man raises his hand, he unlatches the hatchling from his body and stands up, “that’s what I meant! I just told you to fuck off and you didn’t do anything!!” he yells, blood boiling.

“What do you want me to do?”. He’s so matter of fact about it, just listening.

“Hit me? Rip my hair out! Starve me! Lock me in a dark room for days! Threaten me! Hurt me! Anything! For fucks sake anything! Anything other than torturing me with waiting! Please” he ignores the way his voice cracks and cheeks become wet.

He’s probably cried more in one day than his whole life.

“You want us to hurt you?” Wilbur asks incredulously

“I want you to act the way I expect it! The way you always have!” he rebuts, still shouting, “from the very start, you have been nothing but dangerous. The first time I met Techno he cleaved my face in two! You terrify me! You made sure I saw that you were worse than Jschlatt! Wilbur made it clear he wanted me dead and actually went for it! Even…” his breath shudders, “even Tommy, I trusted him, I thought he was safe”

Tommy sniffles, holding back his sobs.

“You wanted me dead! You’re like Jschlatt and I survived years with Jschlatt, but now you see my wings and you don’t act like Jschlatt. But you hurt me and you said you’ll hurt me, but now you’re not. And I’m always scared! Once Jschlatt corrected me, I could sleep. Because I knew it was over, but here it’s NEVER over. It doesn’t even start for me to end it. Jschlatt would’ve cut my wings off, but you’re not! You clean them and you take the pain away! And I HATE that! They always hurt and now they don’t and that’s not normal. Nothing is normal and every time I try to make things normal you stop me” he just says very thought that has been on his mind for the past weeks, Philza can decipher his meaning. He doesn’t care anymore.

“And to you, normal is being hurt” it’s not a question, Philza seems to be finally catching on.

“YES!” he stomps at the soft floor, “YES! YES! YES! I have to be hurt or I’m dead, and I don’t have a single bruise despite being here for days. I’m not even hungry anymore! And I’m always supposed to be hungry!” he gasps between sobs, forcing his words out in semi coherent setences.

“Oh hatchling” it’s the most broken hearted sound Philza has ever made.

Gentle hands hold him by the shoulders, immediately he struggles against the arms, he doesn’t want any more coddling. Wasn’t he clear about it? The teen grunts and pushes. When he’s pulled against a firm chest, he yells in frustration and shoves as hard as he can. Slamming his fist against the other.

“Just fucking get it over with!”

“How could I possibly punish you for my own shortcomings?” the blonde warbles sadly.

Quackity has given up on words by now and proceeds to make several frustrated noises, still struggling to be let go. Then everything goes dark, only a pair of blue gems visible.

He stops struggling, his birdbrain chirping miserably.

Safe?

Caretaker?

Help.

Quackity is being seated on something soft, his ear is pressed again a thumping surface.

It’s the same Go-to-position Philza uses to calm him. Unfortunately, it always works.

“This is on me, all of it” caretaker whispers sadly, “I keep treating you like your siblings, expecting you to understand without explaining.”

That’s not what he wanted, because he knows what’s expected. Everyone else is the problem.

“There’s a room next to Wilbur’s, we finished setting it up before I invited you to tea in my hoard room”

What? What does that have to do with anything?

“It was meant to be yours. From the first day you came here, I knew I had to have you in my flock. But I didn’t understand this urge, it was the same as when I first saw Techno, Wil and our favorite little gremlin. But I thought you were human, a fragile little thing with the lifespan of a candle. To us, humans aren’t worth attaching ourselves to, one second they’re here and the next they’re gone. I thought I had gone soft and foolishly punished you for it. I didn’t merely wish you were an avian, I wished you were anything with a little more time. You could have been a slime and I would’ve still claimed you hatchling”

“But I…” I’m not worth anything, I’m useless and stupid and this makes no sense.

“I had many avians walk through my doors, I make sure to help any avian or piglin in a tight spot so our kind doesn’t go instinct. I do not, however, consider each one flock. That would be very impractical” he chuckles softly, “But you are different. I just had to have you. You can set your price hatchling, demand anything of us as penance for our actions, and I will do whatever you ask for, within reason. No hurting yourself, and no trying to run away. I would usually add a clause about hurting flock, but knowing you as I do now, I don’t have to”

“What happens when I mess up?” he hiccups, wiping his tears with a pajama sleeve.

“We can set up a system, maybe you’ll be grounded or something similar, always non-physical punishments. I don’t hurt my flock”

“But that- you’re not making sense” he huffs.

“Yes, I know. This is all new and strange, and your caution has kept you alive so far, but all I’m asking is giving us a chance. Just a little, I’ll prove we’re worth it. How about we pretend normal doesn’t exit ok? Just for a little while. We’ll make a new normal.”

That sounds too confusing for his tired brain. It sounds like a recipe for disaster even.

A thumb wipes the wetness on his cheeks, he can’t help but lean into the hand, chasing the warm touch.

“We’ll move at your pace, baby steps. Ok?”

But what about his mom? He can’t find her if he’s here.

“Your mom? Have you been looking for her all this time?”

Huh. Why does he keep slipping and saying his thoughts out loud? This has been happening far too often.

“Hatchling, do you think your mother is alive?”

“No”

“then wh- “

He can share this, it’s not normal. But for flock, he’ll pretend normal doesn’t exist.

“I used to think she just left and got lost, but I know she’s dead now”

“How?”

“That day… the man outside the car…. He showed me Mom’s feather”

Chapter Text

The sun shines bright, the sky is clear.

Birds sing above him.

There’s a small pool with tiny ducks in front of him.

The peace is strange, it feels wrong.

It’s almost cartoony, the way a fairy tale starts before everything goes horribly wrong.

He shakes his head, trying to physically throw the idea out his mind. He promised Philza he’s TRY to be happy here and stop waiting for them to hurt him for no reason. He can at least do that.

‘Quack’ his new pets call.

Here, in Techno’s private garden, staring at the newly installed pond with 5 small duckling swimming around. A part of him wants to seek out a dark corner to hide, to wait it all out.

But he promised Phil he’d try.

Give them a chance to show him a new normal.

It’s been a week and no one has tried anything yet. No ‘AHA! You’ve been tricked’, no dogs unleashed in his sleep, or rough hands ripping out his feathers, no cruel words meant to break his spirit.

They’re just like before, but somehow …. different.

They’ll ask him if he wants to go somewhere instead of just ordering him to follow, they ask if he wants this or that for dinner, ask if he wants to watch a movie, if he wants to join them for a game or just sit in the sun.

While some things are obligatory, like eating and preening, they take the time to explain it’s for his health and try to give him choices like WHAT he can have for dinner and who gets to preen him.

So he’s still doing the same things as before, but with a different attitude.

Sam is also gone. He’s no longer in the compound. When Quackity noticed he was distraught, begging Philza not to kill the creeper because of him.

Philza quickly explained that Sam was just relocated somewhere else, to help with the shootout cases, and that he’ll be back when his services were needed in the compound.

Something smelt fishy. While it is impossible to tell when Philza is lying, Quackity hadn’t forgotten how upset the older avian was at mentioning Sam in their last ‘incident’. But he knew better than to push it, they would never hurt him, but that didn’t mean the same thing for the creeper.

Another thing is the ducks.

Five cute ducks just for him, given as a gift from Technoblade after a midnight hangout.

He had noticed Techno missing lately, when he’d asked the others they’d brushed him off, citing that business was a little hectic. As if he forgot about the shootouts and the bastard with his mother’s wings. But it’s not like he could do anything, Philza had promised to look into his mother’s fate and find her killer, all Quackity had to do was relax and leave everything to his new flock. Despite his desire to help, he knew he’d only be getting in the way. He might as well have been an opossum hybrid playing dead at the mere sight of a single feather, he doesn’t know what he’s do faced with his moth-

Images of torn out wings, placed in a gift box to be sent to his caregiver flash in his mind.

Lifeless eyes and hollowed cheeks.

No! he’d rather stay here and be a coward, put some trust in Philza until he can wrap his head around everything that’s going on.

He always knew, deep down, that she was gone. But she promised she’d be back on that day. And silly Quackity, wanted to believe her.

(He forgot about her habit of making promises she couldn’t keep)

He’ll deal with that problem later, right now one of his flock members has been avoiding him… or too busy for him. His inner bird is upset, and Quackity is too tired to suppress it.

So he decides to ambush Techno at last, and if that fails, he’ll have to raid the brute’s closet to make up for the now scentless blanket. His instincts have been begging him to least steal a fresh piece of clothing, or one of his shiny earrings as a token of their flock bond.

(The blanket had lost his scent, and they never sat close at meal time before the brute was running off, like a wolf on a hunt, they’ve left him no choice)

Could Tommy be suffering like him?

Embarrassingly enough, he has to explain his plans to Philza to be even allowed out of the nest past midnight, let alone allowed back into to the place he last chucked himself off sky high in a desperate attempt to fly.

Because where else would Techno be hiding?

When he arrives to the garden, Techno is sitting by the flower beds with his back to him.

Quackity takes a minute to survey the area, it’s as beautiful as he remembers, with flower beds, a bird bath, tall walls but no tall trees.

Wait! No tall trees?!

The trees have all been cut in half! They’re half their size now, their tops completely gone!

And the one he’d used last time in his Wright brother’s experiment was gone, only a tree stump remaining in its place.

Did they cut them because of what he did?

What kind of question is that? Of course they did!

Is that why Techno has been avoiding him?

Was Techno mad at him? Because he was the reason his trees were cut down?

Without even noticing, he lets out a small mournful peep calling to his protector.

Upset. Mad? Hurt?

At the sound, Techno jumps into action, like a warrior ready for battle.

“Quackity? What is it? Are you hurt? Why are you here? Did someone try to do something?”

The man descends on the avian, inspecting him for bruises or injuries, while also looking around for any danger.

“No! No! I’m fine” he tries to reassure, holding back another sad peep.

Techno gives him a deadpan stare, and raises an eyebrow.

Ok, rude!

“The trees” Quackity points, directing the brute’s attention away from his face and back to the real problem, “they took them from you”

He doesn’t know why he phrases it like that. Why he doesn’t act normal and say ‘oh no, the trees were cut’. Who is ‘they’?

But it feels like the right thing to say. This place belongs to Technoblade, his protector. It’s sacred, and he once said nothing is allowed to enter or leave without the piglin’s permission, so for the trees to be chopped like this….

They took from him.

It feels so wrong thinking that someone took from a brute because of Quackity. It’s not fair, and the fact that this happened here, in this place, makes it worse! Maybe it’s an instinct thing?

“Oh”

The brute shrugs carelessly, picking himself up from his previous crouch and goes back to his seat on a stone slab, this time facing the teen.

“Come here” he pats the space beside him.

The avian hesitates for a second, before shuffling to the seat offered.

Quackity already told Philza his humiliating propose for the night, might as well get on with it.

The brute chuffs when he takes a seat and then scoots closer to his protector.

In Quackity’s defense, it’s fuck’o clock past midnight, and the large pinkette radiated heat like a furnace.

(maybe he should’ve brought his blanket with him, tried to get some of the scent back)

“Nobody took from me, I used my own axe and did this myself” the piglin explains, leaning down to pick a small yellow flower, caressing the petals gently.

“WHAT? Why?” Quackity can’t help but raise his voice at the absurdity.

“I had my reasons” Techno keeps up the nonchalant tone, still focused on the flower.

“It’s my fault right? You cut your tees to half their size because of what I did” the teen whispers.

“I cut my trees to half their size because my instincts refused keeping something harmful to sounder”

“But…. But…”

They’re not harmful! Quackity was the one that acted like an idiot! Techno shouldn’t punish himself for this!

“If I thought you’d try it again, I would have ripped the trees from the roots out” he chuffs soothingly, noticing his dilemma, “once you can fly, I’ll let them grow back to their full size, we have many years to come”

It’s a nice promise, staying here until he learns to fly. Using this very garden as a practice spot years into the future.

“What if I’m not here by then?”

He asks more out of habit then any real need for answers.

“You will” Techno replies calmly; not demanding or threatening, just matter of fact. Like he knows what he says is the truth and Quackity is the delusional one.

He doesn’t feel like fighting about it. Techno might be right after all.

At some point the promise of years in this compound stopped sounding like a threat.

“You could have just kept them, I promised to behave” he argues, changing the subject.

“It’s not about you behaving, my instincts would be terrified. The idea of a protector overlooking possible danger to sounder is torture. I’d be ripping my hair out with stress. The only other option would’ve have been banning you from coming here on your own, and I refuse to take back my invite. This can still be your save haven, just a little less shade for some time”

Quackity feels like crying.

Flock cares. Flock loves us.

“Ok” he settles on, feeling his throat close up with emotion, “so ‘no take backs’ is part of your policy, I can respect that” his chuckles come out a little wet.

“I wish I could take back a few things” the man admits with a somber air.

The scar on Quackity’s face flares with phantom pain for half a second.

“Don’t we all?”

It’s all he can give for now, but it’s more than he believed he could a few days ago.

“Could you do me a favor duckling?”

Quackity jumps a little at the serious tone.

“Y- Yeah! I guess”

The pinkette reaches into his pocket and pulls out- his watch?

“Oh.  you found it” Quackity whispers shamefully.

“Yes, stumbled upon it”, neither point out how it was purposefully misplaced, “could you keep it on you at all times? it would mean a lot to me”

“I….” it’s a strange ask, “I have a room for myself now, with drawers that lock and stuff. I can keep it there if you want?”

The new room has been set up right next to Tommy’s, and while he hasn’t been allowed to sleep outside the nest yet, he can still spend time there.

Techno gives him a pained look, “I would really rather you keep it on you. But if you don’t want to I’ll understand”

And damn it all to hell, even with his monotone voice, Quackity can tell he’s hurt.

“I mean I don’t mind; you gave it to me right? So... yeah, I’ll keep it on me” he might as well, it’s his after all.

“Quackity I mean it, please keep it on you at all times”

Ok? Coming off a little intense.

“Is it a hybrid thing?”

“Something like that. Please” he’s practically begging now, a sight unbefitting a hybrid that can rip a man’s head off with his bare hands.

“I promise” Quackity settles on, extending his hand towards the watch.

The sight is very similar to his first night here, when Techno first brought him to this place. One his hoard is safely back in his grasp, he lets out a pleased chirrup. It seems like whenever he gets his watch back it gets more additions, it’s probably worth a fortune now.

But more importantly, it shines so beautifully.

They sit in silence for some time, it’s late and cold, so Quackity can’t be blamed for leaning against the bigger hybrid.

He doesn’t notice he’s about to drift off until he’s being jolted awake by a soft rumbling.

Is that…

Is Techno purring?!!!

Ok, cool. Totally normal, he’s just going to scoot away in like a couple of minutes.

Just give him a minute.

Damn! That feels nice!

Never mind, he’s sticking to Techno, the piglin can deal with it, he can handle the consequences of being warm and comfortable. The avian buries his face in the piglin’s side, chasing the warmth and soothing vibrations.

The purring gets louder, but not in a bothersome way. Fuck white noise, he needs a tape of this right here.

“How do you feel about pets, not dogs of course, but other ones? Maybe something smaller?” the piglin asks, his voice distorted from the purring.

Quackity considers ignoring him and drifting into la la land, but this seems important.

“Always wanted ducks when I was a kid” he mumbles back sleepily, “Mom promised she’d get me five if we ever lived somewhere with a garden, they’d be my friends”

He feels a smile pull on his cheeks, back then he wasn’t allowed to interact with the other kids, for fear of exposing his nature, so his mother did what she always did and made a promise of a better future for him, one with five ducks to befriend.

“I’m sure she meant it”

Maybe. Maybe she just wanted to give her child hope. He doesn’t remember much from back then, he remembers feeling hungry, he remembers a kind smile, he remembers dark auburn hair and beautiful wings.

He remembers promises of ducks, and cakes and a comfy bed.

A promise to be back ‘before you know my little treasure’.

These were good memories regardless of what happened next.

He drifts off, dreaming of a small house faraway, with small ducks quacking in a crystal clear pond, and woman with her back to him cooking a full meal on the stove. A sweet voice calling to him, telling him she’s back.

It’s a nice dream.

Just two days later, Techno is showing him the latest addition to his garden.

A small pond with five tiny ducks, just for him.

No one is allowed to feed them or touch them without Quackity’s explicit permission, he says.

Quackity cries.

So here he is today, staring into the pond, throwing nuts and dried fruits to his new ducklings, in Techno’s private garden.

A new normal.

He hopes he doesn’t regret it.

So far he’s been back to good terms with everyone, but things are still a little awkward with Tommy.

He’s working on it, even asked the kid this morning to get the monopoly board ready for tomorrow. He’s been sleeping on the lost bet with Wilbur for a while now.

The interaction was painful, but if he wants to be comfortable her, he needs to speak with Tommy.

The large Tommy-sized hole in his heart is getting painful now that he’s not busy being angry or afraid all the time.

(He still cries and shakes with fear sometimes, lashes out other times. But it’s less now, more manageable)

So he wants the gremlin back, regardless of what happened.

But now the new dilemma is, does he have the right to do that?

Ignore the kid for days, lash out at every corner, then try to make amends when he feels like it?

“Can we have a talk?” he’d cornered the kid that day after breakfast.

“Yeah sure! What’s up Big Q- um, Quackity?”

Fuck that hurt a little. They’re Big Q and gremlin/wife haver.

“I... I wanna talk about that day” rip the bandage off, make it hurt less.

“Oh, I know Wilbur forced you into this. It’s cool. I’ll tell him we talked. You don’t have to” the kid is quick to brush off.

He gives a wide but clearly fake smile, then tries to move past the teen.

Apparently removing the bandage means throwing salt over a still open wound.

“No! Tommy I-“ he hesitates when the smile drops off the hatchling’s face, “it’s not just about the bet”

“If it’s about dad then I can let you- “

“it’s not about Philza either!” He yells, if he doesn’t say it now, it will drag on.

“I…. how about a game? We play a game of monopoly? or snake? I… I think I can ask Philza for a phone with the game on it?”

“You mean it?” the little fledgling sounds so hopeful, Quackity wants to hug him.

“Yes, I want to kick your ass at monopoly.”

The genuine smile he gets from the blonde makes his heart sore. Maybe this can work.

The kid then frowns, opens his mouth, hesitates, and then:

“Wilbur said I’d be your killer if I didn’t help them” the kid stutters out before starting to take a step back, seemingly afraid of what Quackity might reply.

“He was right, I was just scared” he shrugs, “just get the board ready, maybe we can come up with names for my new ducks”

They can continue this conversation in the kid’s room over some board games.

“I hope he doesn’t pick any stupid names, I’m weak when it Comes to his puppy dog eyes” he tells the duckling by his feet.

“Quack” the duckling seemingly agrees.

“you’re right, I’ll distract him. Or you’ll be stuck with something like wife haver 6000” he laughs, lightly petting the small downy feathers.

“Quack”

“Agreed. We’ll find out soon enough. You be good now, I’ll be back in a bit with your new names” he coos, picking himself up from the pond side and heading to the hatchlings room. His fingers thumb at the golden watch in his pocket, taking comfort in the cold metal.

His mother may have not kept all her promises, but once upon a time she promised him five ducklings to play with. He likes to think she had a role in it.

She might be looking out for him, even now, as smoke rises from the side of the compound and gunshots ring through the air.

Chapter Text

There’s smoke coming out the side of the compound, ribbons of grey staining the once blue sky.

Gunshots ring through the air as explosions shake the ground beneath his feet.

What the hell is going on?

Attack. Danger. Flock.

Great, the bird is panicking as well. At least they agree in catastrophes.

Fucking good that does.

Another explosion almost knocks him off his feet.

Shit! That was closer!

What does he do? Where does he go?

Flock. Protect.

That’s ‘one’ idea.

‘Or we could run’. A small treacherous voice whispers in the back of his mind, ‘look, you have the perfect distraction, just run outside and don’t look back’

Maybe one day, when he finally believes in his heart that he’s safe, the thought of running away at the first opportunity will stop.

But until then, Quackity has to forcefully push the idea away.

And run where smartass?? To mom’s killer? Away from flock?

His chances are better off with flock the Syndicate.

“Philza will know what to do” he decides, nodding to himself, running inside the compound. He can’t stay in the garden, waiting for whoever is attacking them to find him The ducklings are safer in the garden than in an exploding building, no one will pay them any mind if they get here.

(The man with the mask. His mother’s feather in his hand. The promise of death.)

He runs down the corridor, heading for Philza’s office, whoever is attacking couldn’t possibly reach the inner most section of the compound so easily.  It would take an army to get there, he’s learnt, and far more to get to the nest and bedrooms.

The layout was made with the flock’s safety as priority. Moreover, you couldn’t get to the most important parts of the compound unless you were intimately familiar with the layout. Maybe he should head to the nest first-

No! Protector and Caregiver are better than the nest.

He has to find them.

The intensity of the thought shocks him.

The old Quackity would scoff at how weak the new Quackity is, running to these predators for protection and comfort, like a child with a scraped knee. But the old Quackity belonged to Jschlatt, this one, he’s decided, belonged to the Syndicate.

There’s the sound of more gunshots and screams to his left, closer than it should be.

Impossible. Are they here already?

The raven dives around the corner, crouching behind a potted plant.

Fucking hell! What’s going on?

It could be a coupe, that’s not unheard of. In many instances, internal battles lead to different ‘management’, so to speak, but who in their fucking mind would dare lead a coupe against PHILZA?! The man’s own mother was probably too terrified to ground him as a child.

He sits still until the gunshots die down for a minute before getting up and running back down the hall.

Philza’s office is just up ahead, one twist and he’ll be there. Just around the corner. His wings flutter behind him, trying to get him there faster.

He skids to a halt, wings flaring out to break his sprint.

Right there, were Philza’s office used to be, is a giant hole in the wall.

Rubble and flames engulf the entire hallway. There’s a hand sticking out from beneath a crumbled wall, blood pooling around it.

Caregiver?

No! NO!

Philza would never be dea-

He can’t even say it.

Calm down. Calm down. Breathe.

The arm lacks the dark talons and scars, so that means Caregiver isn’t here. So where…...?

Think! He almost rips his hair out in his panic.

This is Philza, the man that drove Jschlatt insane, and eventually into his grave.

Maybe he’s not here.

Yes! That’s it, that why they’re being attacked today, these men were emboldened by Philza’s absence.

That’s a pretty big explosion, it could take out the boogey man, Jschllatt’s voice taunts sinisterly in his head, not even your big bad savior could survive something like that.

Go back to hell Jschlatt! He needs to focus.

Ok, so adding the part about the giant explosion before Quackity even came across the scene.

Think Quackity think.

The bird is practically shrieking in his head, very close to collapsing on itself with anxiety, but Quackity uses all his mind power to silence it and concentrate.

No one is here, so either whoever did this left, or the explosives were set off remotely.

Both terrible options.

Chick!! Hatchling!

YES! How could Quackity miss this?!

The attackers must be near the center of the compound! Heading towards their youngest flock member!

Run Quackity!

Save the hatchling!

The teen starts running as fast as he can, heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Think Quackity! Think!

Techno could be fighting off the people shooting, but he’s not sure. Philza is missing, which could mean anything. But Wilbur was in his room this morning. He’ll protect Tommy. So all Quackity has to do is find them and figure it out from there. Wilbur will know were Phil is, and Techno too. Where is the brute in all of this?

Run fucking faster!

Could they have left?

Did they leave Quackity?

The raven flies down the corridors, twisting and turning down the well memorized path.

The farther down he goes, the cleaner and less trampled the halls get.

Which is good news, the attackers must have not reached this place yet.

Just one more turn and he’s there.

“Tommy?” he calls.

“Quackity?” Tommy calls back, his voice tearful.

Bad sign.

“Tommy!” he calls again, running in the voice’s direction, past the nest room, past Tommy’s bedroom and his own.

“Quackity!” Tommy yells back louder, this time hopeful, “Quackity hurry!”

“I’m here! I’m here” he calls back, chirping at the end of each word. His instincts going haywire with all the stress.

Flock. Comfort. Hatchling here.

He takes the turn and right there! That’s Tommy, kneeling on the ground.

“oh” it feels like the air was punched out of his stomach.

Yes. Tommy is there, and so is Wilbur.

Wilbur who is holding his bleeding stomach with one hand and a gun with the other. Eyes clenched shut, breathing heavily through his teeth. By his side sits a terrified Tommy, holding onto his brother like a lifeline, and around them lie at least three corpses, all in different stages of manglement.

“Wilbur! Fucking hell! What happened?” he snaps out of his trance and runs to their side. He helplessly raises his hands, not knowing what to do with them. What CAN he do? He’s dealt with injuries before, but those were nameless thugs and goons working for Jschlatt. This is Wilbur, his flock, this is different.

“Thank God you’re safe!” the piglin chuffs with effort, clearly in pain, but still pulling Quackity into a one sided hug.

“Forget about me” the teen pulls out of the hug, now with a full view of the gaping wound.

“It’s okay hatchlings” Wilbur chuffs again, grunting in effort as he straightens up.

“It’s not!” Tommy sobs, “we got back stabbed! It was an ambush and Wilbur got shot!”

“Fuck” Quackity whispers,

Seems like Sam was right after all. There are traitors, the question is, just how many are there?

“Techno made a list of the traitors, he needed to make sure he got them all before eliminating the rats” Wilbur gasps out, “but seems like they caught on, and decided to take their chance”

A list? Not just a few then? A whole list? And they’ve managed to wreak havoc on the compound.

“They came for me” Tommy sobs, “and Wilbur heard me- “

“Wilbur saved you like a good brother would, let’s focus now” Quackity interrupts, “we have to find Ponk, he’ll save him”

“No” Wilbur hisses, “my composition gives me durability, I won’t bleed to death anytime soon”

“Tell that shit to Ponk!” he can’t help how he snaps back, his fear getting the best of him.

“And how will you do that with traitors at every corner? Even I don’t know how many there are”

Could he TRY to be positive? Some of them are on the verge of a panic attack!

“we’ll…um... hide you in the closet! Yes! And then I’ll go find Ponk and bring him back” he nods resolutely, that’s a great plan, the best plan. He deserves a pat on the back for the greatest plan ever.

“The fuck you are” Wilbur bites out, eyes filled with rage, “there are people trying to walk through the front door, Techno went over there to fight them off. Until he- gasp- gets back, who knows how many treacherous bastards are roaming inside like goddamned roaches” Wilbur pauses to cough.

“Stop wasting your breath” Quackity argues, “my plan- “

“will get us all killed”, Wilbur bites back, getting frustrated.

“Wilbur?” Tommy whispers fearfully

“I can’t move fast enough, they shot me in my leg and gut. It’s not me they’re after, take Tommy and run. Go to dad’s hoard room. Lock the door. It can withstand a nuclear bomb”

“Great, then you’re coming with us and we can all be safe”

“You’d risk Tommy”

“Don’t use me as an excuse” Tommy juts in, rightfully upset.

“Stop wasting time” the man snaps, struggling to stand up. The avians rise with him, alarmed at his movement.

“The fuck are you doing? Sit down” Quackity says firmly.

“Wilbur, we’re not leaving you” Tommy adds.

“Any minute now, one of those roaches will get here, drooling at the sight of two avian nestlings. So go, and protect each other, I’ll stay and hold them off”

“But- “Quackity whispers, torn.

“have a little faith, you think I’d let a measly bullet get me?”

“Wilbur- I can’t- “Tommy argues back

“Trust me and trust Techno, he’s probably ripped off all their heads by now, just go and be careful. Don’t trust anybody else!”

Quackity stares into golden eyes, set in determination. He nods once, finally coming to an understanding. Wilbur nods back, something like pride shining in his eyes.

The teen takes a hold of Tommy’s wrist and starts running, pulling the youngest flock member with him

“Quackity! No! we can’t leave him”

“Trust him, we’ll only be in the way”

“he was hurt! He can’t- “

“He can’t fight if he’s too focused on protecting us! Both of us, Tommy!”

The last phrase seems to finally hit the mark, making it clear that not only was Tommy going to die if they stayed behind, but so was Quackity. They had a responsibility towards each other as well as the rest of the flock.

It’s purely manipulative on Quackity’s side, but Tommy doesn’t need to know that so long as he lives.

“I’ll fucking tap dance on his grave if he dies” Tommy jokes, but it comes out as half a sob.

“and I’ll break his favorite guitar” the raven agrees.

Quackity spares a forced smile at the kid and keeps running, despite the bird shrieking for flock, calling for the member left behind.

If only the world could stop falling apart for just one second! One little second so he can catch his breath.

The door leading to the stairs is up ahead, they manage to stumble past it and shut it closed just as another round of gunfire starts up.

Please God! If you’re listening, let it be far from Wilbur.

Or better yet, let only Wilbur be the one shooting.

“we need to block the door” Tommy stutters, trembling all over.

Quackity looks around frantically, there’s nothing but stairs. Stairs with wooden planks…. That could work.

He remembers hearing that adrenaline can give someone super human strength, seems like it’s time to find out.

Quackity bends down, jamming his nails in the small space between the plank and the edge of the stair and starts pulling, he doesn’t stop, even when he feels his nails breaking at the base he keeps pulling until it rips out. Tommy grabs him before the momentum sends him down the stairs.

Swiftly, with all his might he shoves the plank beneath the door, jamming it there so no one can open it after them. He looks away from the bloody prints and focuses on the hatchling with him, forgoing using any words and grabbing the thin wrist again, chirping urgently and stumbling two steps at a time in the hoard room’s direction.

Tommy chirps back, filled with equal fear.

They get to the bottom and head to the hoard room immediately, even though he remembers Techno telling him there’s a secret passage here, one that leads outside, Wilbur was firm in his order. The safest place after flock, is in the hoard room.

“Quackity” someone calls behind him as he sprints towards his destination, he ignores it and keeps running.

“Quackity!” the voice calls again, “Tommy! Wait! That’s not safe!”

“Sapnap?” Tommy calls from where he’s being pulled with Quackity, “Big Q hold up! It’s Sapnap!”

He can’t! Wilbur said they had to go to the hoard room, so they’re going to the hoard room. Tommy, in response, digs his feet in the ground.

Finally, he stops, looking behind him. Yes, he remembers Sapnap, a raven with sharp teeth and dark hair, always helping Ponk with one thing or the other.

PONK!

Could he be near? Could they help Wilbur?

“Fucking hell you run fast” the man pants once he reaches them.

“Sapnap! Holy shit am I glad to see you” Tommy sniffles, “is dad with you?”

“there’s no time to talk, the bastards have overrun the place, we need to get you out!”

“Out where?” Quackity panics, “We can’t! I have to get to the hoard room!” he dismisses, tugging at Tommy’s hand.

“No! nonoononono! Are you serious? There’s probably someone waiting there for you! Your dad is outside; everyone’s priority is getting his youngest sons OUT, not further in” Sapnap shakes his head furiously.

“Dad’s outside?” Tommy sounds so hopeful, and Quackity can’t blame him. Philza can fix this, this nightmare can be over.

“Yup!” Sapnap nods, smiling cheerfully, “so is Techno! Let’s go”

The youngest avian let’s out a small chirrup, starting to follow Sapnap without question.

“Wait! What about Wilbur?” Quackity halts their walk, jumping in front of them and spreading his arms out.

Tommy’s bubble bursts, a frown marring his face.

“That’s right! We have to go get Wilbur!” the kid’s face falls with guilt, but Quackity can’t blame him. The little bird keeps screaming for Caregiver, the overwhelming feeling to find Philza and let him deal with it is all consuming.

But Quackity has never had a caregiver before, so he can shove that instinct to the side for a minute.

Something like annoyance flashes on Sapnap’s face, but it’s gone before Quackity can make sure.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, I have strict instructions to get you two out first and then proceed with the evacuation plan” Sapnap tuts, “the traitors have overrun the compound, and there’s too many explosions being set off, we can’t even sit down for a minute”

“He’s just upstairs! We just have to go get him!” Quackity argues, huffing in frustration.

“And I have orders” Sapnap argues back fiercely, “the faster I get you two out, the faster I can get back to save anyone left”

Tommy and Quackity exchange glances, both clearly hesitant but wanting the other to make a move.

“My head will be on the line” Sapnap adds when they don’t move.

Logically Quackity should be the one to take control, as the older and only flock member available at the moment…. but Tommy has known these people for longer. He’s never dealt with Sapnap for more than a couple of minutes. And when he did, someone was there with him, either Ponk or Phil or anyone else...

This whole situation is uncharted territory for him.

“And dad’s outside?” Tommy asks again.

“Yes” the man replies, some impatience seeping into his tone, “no offense but we’re sitting ducks waiting to be shot”

Tommy squares his shoulders and starts moving closer to Sapnap, leaving Quackity with no other choice but to follow them. it makes something churn in his stomach, an uneasy feeling rising with each step they take away from the hoard room and it’s promised safety.

Disobey flock? Flock? Bad!

Not to mention the bird is going bat shit crazy on him for going against Wilbur’s command.

They should be in the hoard room. Behind a titanium level door, impossible to penetrate by anyone other than flock.

But Tommy is following Sapnap looking at Quackity every few steps, to make sure he’s still there, as they head in a very specific direction supposed to take them outside.

“Why didn’t you bring anyone with you? They could help us” Quackity whispers when Sapnap keeps looking around for any interruptions.

“I have worked here more than most, I won’t trust anybody until my mission is done, or Philza will have my head” Sapnap whispers without looking back.

Ok, so Sapnap is saying Philza trusts him more than anybody else at the moment……

But….

That doesn’t make sense. He’s seen people Philza trusts, like Ponk and Sam.

Sapnap doesn’t fit the bill.

The uneasy feeling grows tenfold.

There’s the crackling of a radio coming from Sapnap’s side, too low for anyone to hear, but Quackity manages to hear one word.

His feathers ruffle behind him, pinfeathers standing in alarm.

It’s not the word itself that freaks him out, the simple ‘outside’ muttered in a hushed tone, no.

What freaks him out is that voice, he’s only ever crossed the owner of that voice once, but once is all he needs.

The slimy voice belonging to a certain hound hybrid with a creepy mask and a taste for lime green tops.

That is Dream’s voice. Fucking hell! They’re walking into Dream’s hands!!!!!!

RUN! RUN! CALL HELP! DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!

How could Quackity be so stupid? he’s leading Tommy to the man of his nightmares. Tommy who doesn’t seem to have noticed, still trailing behind the traitor.

“Was Techno with Philza?” Quackity ventures to ask, eyes subtly looking around for a way out. He tugs at Tommy’s blouse gently, gaining the child’s attention.

His wide eyes and pale face must convey his message, because Tommy hesitates, looks at Sapnap’s back and then Quackity’s face, eyebrow quirked.

When the older avian nods, Tommy pales visibly.

“huh? Oh yeah, right outside” Sapnap replies, clearly distracted.

“Oh?” Quackity hums, starting to retreat ever so slowly with Tommy behind his back. Techno would never stand idly as his sounder faced danger, and now that he thinks about it, neither would Philza. He might’ve believed it if it was only him in danger, but Tommy is here too.

He’s such an idiot!

Easy, easy, just move away slowly. Once you get the chance, run to the hoard room.

Keep a barrier between Tommy and Sapnap at all times, he thinks, standing in front of the small chick.

How the fuck did it get here?

“Great, I can’t wait to get this nightmare over with” Quackity lies, chocking halfway through the sentence. Tommy unconsciously digs his nails in his shirt, burying his face in his feathers where Quackity can feel the slight tremors.

Just take a few more steps back and start running, the man has a gun, if he takes Quackity down Tommy will still have a shot at escaping.

Anything is better than Tommy falling into Dream’s hands.

One step, Tommy stumbles behind him, but stays glued to his back.

Sapnap is looking at his phone, sending a message, and moving forward still.

Second and third step back, make sure he’s not making a sound.

Tommy’s shaking is getting worse.

A fourth step back and-

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Sapnap still has his back to them, still focused on his phone, but he sees them nonetheless.

Tommy lets out a terrified chirp, muffled in golden wings.

“Philza didn’t send you… did he?” Quackity whispers, the words almost whimper.

“Dream warned me you were smart” he chuckles, turning around to face them, smirk on full display.

Tommy’s breath hitches audibly at the name, Quackity squeezes the small hand clutched to him, while Sapnap lifts his gun, aiming straight at his head.

“How about we keep moving, Dream had strict instructions on who to take with me if it came down to choosing”

“He hasn’t given up on Tommy” Quackity’s voice shakes in tandem with the hatchling behind him.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re becoming a fan favorite as well, but all in good time, there’s no one here, I can easily shoot you and take the kid, but I’d rather not. Dream has plans for both of you, I’m just the delivery guy”

“Is it really worth it? Philza’s rage” the last word comes out as a prayer, because no matter how Philza treats him, at no point did Quackity forget just how dangerous the man was.

Witnessing the avian’s rage is like witnessing a natural disaster, you can never get over it really. And Quackity has seen too many mutilated corpses that even amnesia wouldn’t fix it. He believes his very soul now recognizes the predator for who he really is.

“Once Dream has you, there will be NO Philza.” Sapnap laughs, “so fucking move”

Quackity swallows audibly and squeezes the small hand twice in a silent signal.

The scar flares in pain, he remembers the last time he put himself between Tommy and Dream, between Tommy and potential danger.

The constant pain, the crippling fear, living like a rat in the sewage to hide from both the Syndicate and Jschlatt.

Getting dragged back into a mafia without a choice in the matter.

All for a small hatchling his instincts deemed family.

Now, faced with the same situation from a year ago, Quackity can say with all honesty.

He would do it all over again.

“TOMMY RUN TO THE HOARD ROOM! NOW” he screams, throwing the child’s grip off of him as he runs towards the danger.

Sapnap’s wide eyes are all he sees before hell breaks.

It’s a blur afterwards, he reckons Sapnap shot at his leg, because something hits him midthigh and almost makes him stumble. He remembers Sapnap’s snarl, he may have bitten the dumb bitch a couple of times, he also may have lost some feathers as aforementioned dumb bitch tried to get him off him.

All Quackity knows for sure, is that he refused to let the man up for as long as he could, anything to give Tommy more time.

“The fuck! Are you fucking rabid” Sapnap howls when a particular bite draws blood.

“TOMMY RUN” Quackity opts to keep yelling between pained chirps and vengeful bites, just in case the hatchling refused to obey.

Something grabs him by the neck and pulls him off Sapnap, he struggles against the hold, scratching at the hold and aiming kicks at the bitch still on the ground.

“George! What took you so long?” he hears Sapnap sigh, scooting away from the avian.

“You’re so incompetent” his captor sighs, right before something hard hits him in the back of the head. He’s familiar with guns enough to recognize the hit, darkness taking over his vision.

“They’re fucking slippery” Sapnap sounds like he’s under water now.

“You let the other escape” is the last thing he hears before he falls unconscious.

That’s good.

Even if he never wakes up, he can be at peace knowing Tommy is safe.

Chapter Text

If Quackity had a nickel for every time he’s been kidnapped by an avian-obsessed-mafia-psycho with a penchant for mutilating his captors to death, he would have two (maybe three if Jschlatt was counted) nickels. Which isn’t much, but fucking hell is it more than any other person on the face of this wretched planet might get!

By now, he should be used to waking up in weird places, with no idea how he got there. Alas, perhaps more practice is required. If he survives this, he’ll ask Philza for some tips, the man seems like nothing could faze him. Then again, who in their right mind would kidnap Philza? Who would dare look at that predator with anything but fear and respect?

The pain in the side of his head tells him exactly how he lost conciseness this time.

What brutes! At least Philza was nice with it… well, niche-ish. Sure he was threatened immediately after, but the man had class.

Getting him drugged is objectively far better than whacking him until he’s knocked out, objectively speaking.

Sapnap is a fucking bitch!

Wait! Sapnap, right? The person that attacked him? His memory is a bit hazy, he could’ve sworn there was someone else there too. Maybe? Probably. No! he’s like, ninety percent sure there was someone else.

A guy with a G?

Geoffrey? Gerald?

Fucking hell how hard did they hit him?! And why is it dark? Did he even open his eyes?

The heaviness in is eyelids is answer enough.

Fuck! Did the bitch use a sledge hammer or something? He must have had a part of memory knocked out along with his conscious.

He exhales loudly through his nose, trying to calm down his racing heart. Panicking won’t help him right now, no matter how tempting. (By God is it tempting, he earned at least a fifteen-minute freak out, all things considered)

Opening his eyes is as difficult as he imagines, the bitches might as well have used gorilla glue instead of blindfolds. It takes a minute for his sight to adjust to the dim light, and when it does he hopes what he’s seeing is a hallucination. He genuinely hoped he’d open his eyes to the sight of the nest.

A small part of him hoped he’d open his eyes to the sight of his ratty couch and rodent infested apartment.

To be fair, it’s not the worst thing he’s woken up to in his life. Somedays, Jschlatt would be really mad, his lessons would be extra painful and by the time Quackity woke up, the men would have thrown him in any dark corner or closet nearby. You know, to make sure his blood didn’t get everywhere.

Seems whoever these people are, they had some similar ideas.

The room can only be described as an old moldy basement, slash abandoned warehouse.

Walls stripped bare, mold creeping along the edges, cold floor that feels wet with how humid the place is. The itch in his nose and the burn in his eyes tells him how dusty the place is. Also, the drip-drip-drip from somewhere to the left might push his already fragile sanity off the edge.

Damn! Even Phil kept his torture chambers sterilized.

Stop!

Really? Is he that biased? Comparing torture rooms? Fucking hell, get it together Q.

First and foremost, he should try to piece his memory back.

There was a bomb, Phil wasn’t there, neither was Techno.

Wilbur was-

He almost chirps in panic at the memory

Flock hurt! Flock hurt!

Wilbur was hurt, but he still gave him and Tommy time to run, time they foolishly wasted trusting that fucking bastard!

Bad flock!

Thank you dumb feathery rat in his head, he needed a moral boost.

He looks around again, this time, taking in the rest of the room and his person.

He’s left untied, his wings out in the open. There are no windows in sight, a dim light casts itself from the single lightbulb in the corner. Some light seeps from beneath the metal door at the far right of the room, a door with no handle even, meant to be open from the outside only.

So there’s only one way out, and Quackity has zero chances of securing it.

Great.

Now what? Is there even any hope for him?

He thinks Tommy made it. Unless the last words he heard were a hallucination, then Tommy is supposed to have made it to the safe room. So he’s already screwed, being on bad terms with whoever took him, there won’t be any mercy to spare.

Would Philza come for him, he wonders.

Caregiver?

Would Techno?

Protector?

Why would they? Even if his captors meant to keep him alive for some reason, for them to have broken into the heart of the Syndicate proves that they’re more than prepared for a retaliation. Coming here for one pathetic chick would be a death sentence for everyone involved.

Also, Tommy isn’t here, their actual chick, the one they chose to care for. It’s just Quackity in this dark pit of existence, and regardless of whatever fond feelings they might have for him, it’s hardly worth risking one’s life.

The compound was wrecked, Wilbur was hurt if not dead.

Countless people have died, and Philza is probably on a war path.

Where would Quackity fall on the Syndicate’s list of priorities? Pretty fucking low if he had to guess.

The teen drags himself towards the closest corner, curling into a pathetic ball and using his wings as a shield from the outside world. It’s not very effective. Philza’s wings were bigger, with silky midnight feathers that could absorb the sun. Quackity’s wings are patchy small things, with fluffy down the color of dandelions.

The color of Wilbur’s favorite sweater, the one probably drenched in blood by now.

He just hopes they take care of his ducklings when he’s gone. They deserve to be safe and well fed, their only fault was being cursed by his rotten luck.

Would Techno let such a precious gift perish?

The Brute piglin always put so much care in everything he gave Quackity, the watch was the fir-

Watch?

Quackity frantically pats himself down, he swears he had it on him! He promised protector he’d never let it go!

When his hands reach his breast pocket, he sighs in relief at the small lump he feels. Right there, under the stupid blue wool vest Wilbur had insisted he wear, in his left breast pocket, right above his heart, is his hoard.

He doesn’t know if these people noticed it in the first place, or chose to ignore it. Either way he’s grateful.

When he was with Jschlatt, part of his job was helping the other men bury the corpses after a mission. Some of the corpses had no faces, and could only be recognized by their possessions or tattoos.

“Hey look, this one has a cheesy skull tattoo” one of Jschlatt’s lackeys said, kicking slightly at one of the bodies, “that’s Lenny alright, don’t know another moron that would get something so stupid”

If nothing else, at least if they come for his body, they’ll know he held onto the last thing he had.

His depressing musings come to a halt at the sound of the metal door screeching open, quickly he looks up to see kidnapper.

And almost chokes on air rushing out of his lungs.

A porcelain mask with a crudely drawn mask.

Dream.

Despite knowing Dream was behind the whole thing earlier with Sapnap, he’d hoped it was a mistake, a hallucination. Maybe even another man named Dream.

The instinctual part of him that is TERRIFIED of hounds starts screeching with fear. He can feel his heart start beating, but damn it, he refuses to let it show.

Is he’s going down, he’ll take a page from Wilbur’s book and be as annoying as possible.

“Hellooo little ducking” the man sing-songs, with his words, something cold and heavy settles in the raven’s stomach.

Ok, so maybe he’s not ready to be annoying immediately, give him a minute, he’s got this.

Glaring counts right?

Yes, he’ll glare.

HA! Take that!

His wings hurt with how hard they tense at the mere sight of the man.

Jschllatt’s wing guy.

“Oh myyyy, little chick sharpened his little claws” the man tuts mockingly, “I’m so hurt I might have to pluck your eyes out to save my own feelings”, the hound hybrid practically skips towards him. Clearly relishing the shivers wracking the avians body.

“Won’t get you Tommy though”, was that a good retort? He thinks it was. The part of him that’s not shitting himself in fear cringes at the way his voice shakes.

Regardless, it seems to have hit something, because despite not having a view of Dream’s face, Quackity can feel the air get heavier with blood lust.

“Do you really want to go there you roach?” the man asks with faux clam, stepping closer to the downed bird.

“I’m ju-cough- just saying what we all know” he pushes on. If Wilbur is dead, he’s probably looking up from his throne in hell and laughing….. or cursing him for getting caught after his sacrifice.

He hopes it’s the former, means they can play poker in hell at least.

 “You just had to make things difficult” Dream tuts, “kept ruining my fun” the bastard drags his finger along down feathers, reveling in the way his throat bobs with heavy swallows.

“But I have you now” he whispers. Quackity can imagine the real smile is similar to the one drawn on porcelain mask. Wide and eerie.

Unnatural.

“Why?” he can’t help but ask, shaking his feathers to get rid of the nasty feeling the hound left on them.

His question makes the mad man cackle like a psychopath, clutching his stomach.

“Why?” he asks incredulously, “why?” he repeats between laughs, “You have been a thorn in my side for YEARS! Without even knowing WHY?”

The man twirls around, waving a scalpel he’s pulled of nowhere!

He looks like a maestro directing an invisible crew.

“What? Before Jschlatt, I hadn’t even met you” Quackity argues, confused. He would’ve remembered meeting someone like Dream. The streets were cruel, and forgetting a potential predator is a sure way to get your head bit off, sometimes literally.

Dream is insane, but surely he’s not that insane. Is he hallucinating or something?

Why is he even bothering with being defensive? Jschlatt taught him to be quiet…... but Philza taught him to fight back.

 “No, my sweet treat”, Quackity shudders at the food analogy, “you’re right about that. We only ever met once before, on the day you stole what was mine”, Dreams’ tone remains carefree despite his words.

Ok, so how on earth did Quackity make his man’s life hell?

“It’s just that your mother isn’t here for me to blame her, so I have to blame her spawn for carrying her legacy”

Wait.

His…. mother?

The man? The mask in the casino? His mother’s feather?

No!

It can’t be!

Something heavy settles over his chest, it makes his heartstrings pull with each breath. He didn’t make the connection when he first woke up, he’s such an idiot!

“Dream…. Dream are you… did- did-” he stumbles on his words, knees shaking with the effort of standing up. He can barely stand straight with the vertigo, using the wall as support. His vision swims slightly, but he forces his eyes to zero in on the- on his-

“Did. Did. Did you” the man mocks, “did you what? What are you going to ask me? Did I kill her? Did I kill your mother? Did I clip her pretty wings? Did I pluck the pretty navy and golden feathers from her lifeless body and make a nice pillow? Did I give a long and painful death? Did I get drunk on te taste of her blood?”

“Dream-” the avian chokes out against the hot magma rising within, he can feel his insides cooking with each word, rage overwhelming him. In return, the maniac laughs some more, clearly having fun.

“What is it chick? Is mama bird a sensitive topic?”

Quackity can barely see straight, either from the hit on his head, or the outrage within. In a fit of anger, he shoves himself forward, pushing himself off the wall, having every intention of biting the man’s throat out. His bird suddenly has an appetite for blood. The man is quick to deflect the move and shove his elbow in his back mid jump, right between his wings.

The breath leaves his lungs the second he slams against the floor, but he pushes through it.

The downed bird makes a great job imitating a worm, sliding his body closer to Dream, still baring his teeth.

The man- his mother-

“What did you do to her?”

The dog hybrid crouches down, grabbing the avians face with one hand and lifting it so they’re looking at each other, while he slowly raises his other arm, and takes the mask off. As far as faces goes, his is ordinary. Quackity was expecting that of a monster, but gets and average face instead. The smile however, it’s exactly how Quackity envisioned, taking over half his face, filled with self-satisfaction.

Channeling his inner Wilbur again, Quackity uses everything in him to spit in the fucker’s face.

The man stares down at his captive, rolling his eyes while wiping the spit off with his sleeve. Then promptly drops his face to the ground and stands up.

Sneakers pat pat across the tile until Dream is standing to his side, then without warning, Quackity is being kicked across the room. Body slamming against the floor again.

“You seem to forget your position” the man drawls, “then again, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”

A sound not unlike a sob escapes him before he muffles it with his sleeve.

“She was a real bitch” Dream carries on, walking around his fallen victim.

“What- cough-  did you do?” the avian struggles, barely managing a word with how his lungs scream for air.

“I always wanted a bird of my own you know, when the fight against ‘dangerous hybrids’ started, no one thought to look at the hound hybrids” he laughs, “we were exempt from their prejudice. Believed to be well meaning creatures and darlings at heart. Piglins, sirens, avians” at this he receives another solid kick to the gut, “even creepers were being hunted down. But hounds didn’t have that honor.” He spits out the last word with such offense it sounds like a curse. Like the idea of not being hunted down is an insult to his existence.

“I thought, why? Are my kind not powerful enough? Are we not dangerous enough? Was it matter of instincts like they claimed? But that didn’t make sense. I’ve always been driven to shed blood, I’ve always liked murder as much as the next person, so why was I seen as weak by society?”

The man is officially insane, there’s no way he’s throwing a pity party over not being hunted down like the rest of their kind.

That had nothing to do with his mother. What was he rambling about?

“So, to prove to the world that I am worthy, I started hunting the so called ‘predators’ down, trying to figure it out for myself. But there was something so beautiful about the ways avians screamed. It was addicting” Quackity feels himself getting sick at the way the man’s eyes sparkle, “I just had to do it more, and then I heard about Philza.” he says the man’s name like a prayer, “He was the real predator, if every avian turned like him, then I would understand why people feared them so much. So I started a new game. I was the one that convinced Jschlatt to start collecting the little things.  Try to get the oldest avian alive and his enemy to lose himself to his rage, so I could see his real colors. Let me have a taste of that danger that everyone feared. The instincts that set these creatures apart from me”

Holy shit.

The entire time, every avian, every pair of wings cut off…

“But he was strong, nothing fazed him. So I thought, why don’t I send him something small? We all like cute little things, so why not send cute little wings? But damn was it hard to find one, I looked everywhere, just for one avian child, but nothing! It’s like those oversized chickens are born into adulthood”

His mother…and how she hid him, refusing to let anyone even look at him…

“Get to the point” Quackity croaks out, and is rewarded by another kick to his gut, he hears something crack but doesn’t bother panicking. He’s past the point of fearing physical pain.

“Patience, I should have let your mother live a little more, maybe she would’ve taught you some manners” the hound clicks his tongue then proceeds to shove a dirty rag in his mouth, Quackity is quick spit it out, once he can breathe again, he’ll need to cuss the bitch out.

“When I got my hands on a pretty bird with dark hair and starry wings, I had a feeling she was hiding something. Looked into her, and apparently she had a six-year-old child. What were the odds?! A gift for little old me! But she wouldn’t talk...  tried everything to get her to share her little find, but she just wouldn’t budge. Nothing I did got her to spill and eventually I got bored.  Thought ‘Oh how hard could finding a little brat be’, apparently very. Had I known, I wouldn’t have- well, it doesn’t matter. We all lose ourselves in the anger. She hid you well, no matter where I looked there was no 6-year-old in sight. I was furious! Wished I could bring her back to life, only to torture her all over again.”

The raven can’t stop the tears at the retelling. She suffered, because of him.

“But then I found Tommy, and he was perfect.”

Quackity’s world stops.

Tommy?

“And Tommy was so good! Small and naïve, easy to manipulate. I had barely been able to sink my claws a little before Philza showed up and stole him from me.” He steps on Quackity’s face, stomping his foot repeatedly until blood is dripping into his eyes, obscuring his sight”

“Then fate brought him back to me, when Jschlatt called and told me he had my stolen bird, I dropped everything and came running. Imagine my surprise when I met a carbon copy of the woman I had met so long ago” he sighs dreamily, “the minute I saw you, it was like looking into the past. I wondered whether you’d scream as prettily as she once did”

Rough arms grab his hair and pull him up, ripping some strands right from the scalp.

“I was so happy. Both little birds that got away were now in my hands, Jschlatt had you both and was handing you over just like that. Everything was right in this world, everything was as it should be... but you” clawed hands grab his throat, then other hand points the scalpel at his eye, “You had to be as stupid and hardheaded as your WHORE of a mother and ruin everything. AGAIN!” he drags the scalpel along his cheek, right across the scar, pressing just hard enough to make him bleed. Droplets mix with the blood already pouring from the wound on his head.

He can feel the wound burn, his whole face flaring with both actual and phantom pains.

“Oh what a serious scar, whoever did it must truly hate you child” the bastard cackles.

The phrase hurts more than the scalpel cutting his face open, because no matter how many times Techno apologizes, there’s still a part of him that’s afraid. Afraid that whatever drove protector Techno to hurt him in the first place might come back.

The evidence that he is easy to kill plastered on his face for all to see.

“You shouldn’t have bothered saving Tommy, taking his place so chivalrously. This is the second time you’ve bothered, and where has it gotten you?”

The man laughs hysterically, like a man in a comedy show. Without pause, he throws Quackity to the ground, smile getting wider at the pained groan coming from the young avian.

“It’s confusing to me really, you risked everything to save Tommy a year ago and all you got was an axe to the face, so when faced with the same predicament as last year, hmm let me see” the man taps his chin in mock thought, “your choice was…. to do the exact same thing? Am I right?”

“I’m never letting you hurt Tommy” Quackity croaks, “deal with I- ARGH”

Another kick, this one in the chest. He feels something warm pouring from his mouth, either blood or saliva, his eyes scrunch involuntarily against then pain. The shoe that was in his ribs is now slamming against his head repeatedly.

It feels like forever before the kicks stop, when it does, his ears are ringing and he can barely hear what the man is saying.

“No brains and no survivor skills, how are you the same species as Philza?”

It’s almost creepy how the man says his caregivers name, with awe and jealousy, “you realize they’re not coming for you. Had you left Tommy for me, they would have surely tried looking for him, right? You would still be their little pet for a couple of weeks more, until they got bored that is. But you decided to be a self-sacrificing idiot. Emphasis on the idiot”

Quackity would like to point out how the man holding him is a greedy idiot that keeps getting outsmarted by said ‘self-sacrificing idiot’, but he’s too busy making sure oxygen goes IN his lungs.

He’ll get to it though, as soon as his poor lungs stop collapsing on themselves.

“Poor Quackity, always the rescuer never the rescued” the green bitch laughs.

Fuck it, he’s already in too much pain to care right now.

There is NOTHING left for him to lose.

“Poor- cough- Dream” he gasps between words, eyes still clenched shut from the pain, “always the prey never the predator”

There’s a low growl and them pain explodes against his back, his wings flail against it but can barley react.

“I’ve been keeping your wings for last, but you can’t seem to behave” at least his voice lost that amused and smug tone, even if it means a world of pain for Quackity.

His only regret is that he brought his watch with him, it’s too precious to get broken. He’d previously thought it was a good thing to keep on him, should anyone want to identify his body, but by the looks of it, there won’t be much left to identify. Maybe if he had left it back there, Tommy would have found comfort in his hoard.

But he didn’t, and his watch is doomed to be broken alongside him.

“Just keep the watch. Please, it means you see me as sounder and that- that means a lot”

‘I’m sorry Techno’

The pain becomes an entirely new level of unbearable.

If he goes to heaven he’ll see his mom, and if he goes to hell he’ll see Wilbur.

That’s his only comfort.

Chapter Text

If anyone had asked Quackity what his favourite sound was a few months ago, he'd say it was the sound of the ceiling fan starting. It was loud and grating, but it made him happy. Back then he lived in a rundown apartment were the electricity was come and go. He didn't dare mess with the already screwed up wiring, too afraid he'd set fire to the whole place on accident.

Sometimes, in the hell weather of August, his fan would start on its own, and he would take a nice nap without having to sweat a bucket.

But if you asked him now what his favourite sound was, he'd say it was the click clack of Philza’s dress shoes against the compound’s hardwood floor. 

The sound, previously, was a harbinger of doom. Whenever he heard it, it meant Death was fast approaching.

Don’t get him wrong, Quackity respects Death, in the same way a dog respects its owner. He’s spent far too much of his life surrounded by her to have the right to shun her as unwanted or even try to turn his back on her. But just like a dog (and God does he LOATHE comparing himself to a dog of all things), Quackity refuses to bite the hand of his owner, and he is acutely aware of Death’s hold on his leash.

Philza owns him too, but not in the same way Death does. The Mafia head courts Death, gifts her presents in abundance, so it makes sense for Death to give him Quackity in return. It’s a terrifying but beautiful relationship in a way.

The leash on his neck has always been short, and at no point did he question who was on the other end of said leash.

Philza’s shoes remind him of Lady Death, always have. The slow click clack of his shoes, always paced, like the man is taking a stroll with his lover. Never in a hurry, but never slow enough to delay the plans he has for his “awaiting guests”.

In the past, the sound of the man’s shoes would cause Quackity’s heart rate to pick up and his blood to turn ice cold in frigid veins. Now, he would give anything for that sound. No matter what it brought with it.

Dream and his lackeys all wear sneakers or a variation of, at most he’ll hear a squeak against the tile or a soft pat pat. Sometimes there will be a hurried stomp outside his prison door, but that’s it.

Nothing elegant enough for a stroll with Lady Death.

They wear combat cloths, fit for fighting. None of the pressed suits and starched shirts that Philza wears at all times. Sure, Jschlatt wore suits and combed his hair, went even as far as to polish his horns, but after a couple of hours and with enough alcohol in his system, the suits would be crumbled beyond recognition and his entire appearance would be a mess. It’s a testament to how low Quackity has fallen to find these things about Philza admirable. 

If Caregiver comes for him, Quackity is going to grab a fistful of the man’s blouse and scrunch it hard. See if he can make a crease at least, maybe the world might come to an end.

Someone laughs hysterically in his room, loud breathless huffs. 

Strange, he remembers being alone.

Maybe the blood loss is starting to affect him, or the lack of food and water.

It could he his oddly bent wing, twisted into an odd shape, hurting like hell.

Or the torn out feathers littering the floor around him.

After the impromptu torture, he was left alone with the promise of more to come. He doesn’t know how long ago that was.

An hour? A day?

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and that’s enough to tell him he’s in bad shape. Very bad shape.

Even when Jschlatt was training him, and throwing him in solitary, he made a system to keep track of time. His internal clock was so accurate; it was one of the few things he liked about himself.

Now, when he thinks of how long he’s been in here, he draws a blank.

How hard did Dream hit him?

The laughs turn into choked sobs.

Seriously, whoever is with him needs to get a grip.

Drip drop drip drop

Not to mention the fucking water dripping from some godforsaken corner of his prison!!!

He just wants someone to walk with dress shoes across hard tile, even if it wasn’t Philza, he’ll take the lie over the fucking silence and STUPID WATER DRIPPING!

Wait-

Quackity’s bones creek painfully as he pushes himself up, his abdomen strains. Probably a broken rib, but sine he can still breathe that means no punctured lungs…right?

He’ll think about it later, right now he has to focus.

When he’s finally upright, he manages to pull out his treasure.

Instantly, Quackity presses the cold metal against his ringing ear, praying it hasn’t broken yet.

One breath, 

Two breaths

“Tick tock”

He breathes a sigh of relief, almost sobbing.

It still works.

Thank God.

The ticking is a balm on his bruising soul.

The ticks of the arms sound like the tap of certain dress shoes. It almost matches the pace enough for Quackity to imagine it.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend the ticks are the sound of Philza walking all the way from the compound to this hellhole.

What’s that?

He’s still not here yet? Well of course not silly, it takes some time to walk all the way from there to here.

But listen! Listen!

Tick 

Tock 

Tick 

Tock

He’s walking here, he’ll get here eventually.

A pained smile tugs at his lips and Quackity hums in content.

He considers hiding the watch, Techno would be upset if he came and found his gift broken or stolen, especially after he made Quackity promise to keep it safe and on him at all times.

But….

Just give him a couple of minutes of listening to Philza’s footsteps.

Just a little.

He thinks he’s earned a few minutes of self-delusion.

He spends an eternity just sitting there, he thinks a couple of hours have passed with him still curled around his hoard.

He’s too enamoured by the watch to hear the door creak open, he doesn’t notice the figure slinking in and practically skipping towards him, until an arm snatches his most prized possession right from under his nose.

No! Please! He falls over himself in shock.

“What’s this? Are you hiding your toys from me?” Dreams mock pouts, inspecting his precious treasure.

“Give it back!” Quackity tries to growl, but it comes out more of a broken whimper. The bastard gives him a solid kick for his trouble, eyes still focused on the small trinket.

“It’s not nice to hide things from your friends Quackity, you need to learn to share” he tuts, as if scolding a child.

“You’ve taken everything from me, just let me keep this one” the raven begs helplessly.

“No” Dream hums, lifting the watch to inspect it on eye level, “not everything, not yet”

“Take anything else” Quackity croaks 

“I don’t think I will. Oh, George is going to love this” the man laughs, an odd kettle like wheeze.

“You CAN’T” he screams, voice breaking halfway. Dream grabs him by the throat, the eerie smile of the mask the only thing in his view now. 

“Do all you chickens think only your opinion matters? Learn to give a little Alexis. No one likes a greedy prick. How about you go preen your wings for the last time, so we can make sure Philza’s gift is all nice and clean” he laughs again, like a madman.

One small golden wing shudders and curls into itself, while the other remains limp. His captor drops him unceremoniously to the ground.

“George will probably send his thanks for the lovely gift, or not. Bye now”

Then room descends into darkness once again, and Quackity doesn’t bother opening his eyes.

Would his wings reach Philza before Philza reaches him?

Would Philza even try reaching him?

He can’t find it in him to care.

It’s only a few hours later that a couple of Dreams goons march in, dragging his motionless body to god knows where. He doesn’t bother fighting back, it’s over.

They go down dark corridors, taking twists and turns Quackity doesn’t bother memorizing. Even if he did escape, if by some miracle his beaten and tired body complied, how would he face Techno with his gift now stolen? He couldn’t Tommy or Wilbur, or even his hoard.

He lost his both flocks and now he’s going to lose his wings.

Seems like an appropriate end.

They throw him face down on a metal table, the same kind they used on the avians before him. On his stomach with his wings on full display, ready to be strapped, and easy for clipping. The world spins, but the blotch of green in his periphery tells him exactly what’s about to happen.

Something in him laughs at the irony, he always thought it would be Jschlatt, then he thought it would be Philza. It never crossed his mind once that the same man that had plucked his Mother’s feathers would be the one to the same to him.

“Tie him up, I don’t plan on wasting any anaesthetic on this one” the green ghoul orders, a hand grabs his arms, ready to comply.

It’s when the first strap is about to go around his waist that they’re interrupted.

Quite rudely, in Quackity’s opinion.

“DREAM!!!” George comes screaming into the room, shoving the doors hard enough for them to slam against the opposite wall.

“George, this has better be good-”

Smack!

George slaps him hard enough to knock him to the ground, and actually make Quackity blink out of his blood-loss induced haze.

The fuck?

The man that was about to strap him down seems to think the same, leaving the strap but not letting go of Quackity.

“What the fuck George!!!!” the hound snarls, rubbing at his covered cheek. Seems the mask doesn’t offer much protection.

“DO NOT!! Do you have any idea what you gave me?!” George shrieks.

“What the hell are you talking about????” Dream snarls back, pushing himself off the ground to glare down at his companion? Partner in crime?

“Are you trying to pin the whole shit on me? Make it seem like the whole thing was MY idea??” George goes on, holding himself back from slapping the man again.

“For fucks sake George! Say something that makes sense or get the fuck out!”

“Fucking hell” George whispers, seeming in shock, “don’t tell me you don’t know” the brunette clutches his hair in tight fist, practically ripping it out.

“Make sense! I can’t read your mind” Dream seems to grow frustrated by each passing second.

Quackity licks his chapped lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty he is, and how much everything hurts. Suddenly hyper aware of his situation. Like a curtain has been removed.

“You’re not that stupid! This!” at that, George shoves something gold and shiny into Dreams chest, “why the fuck would you hand that to me?!”

“The stupid watch?! Is this what it’s all about? If you didn’t want it, you could’ve just said so!”

George’s face reddens, similar to a tomato. 

“This” he spits, “is not a watch” 

Dream’s body language shows confusion, turning between the watch and the brunette.

Even Quackity, pinned to the cold metal table wants to argue. Excuse you, he knows his hoard.

“Explain” 

“That is a tracker” George grinds out.

Wait! What? No it’s not. 

That doesn’t make sense.

Quackity almost falls off the table if not for the damned brutes holding him down, the pain in his body, particularly his broken wing, ignored in favour of the revelations.

A tracker? That…. That is totally on brand with Techno. He even suspects it was Philza’s or Wilbur’s idea.

Hell, he wouldn’t put it past Tommy even.

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He didn’t question Techno when he'd insisted he keep the watch on him at all times, just thought it had something to do with his instincts. But a tracker?

They know where he is?

Does that mean they might come?

Is that possible? Why would they put a tracker in his hoard unless they were?

“The fuck you mean a tracker? Did you get into the mushroom stash again?” Dream hisses 

“I was removing the diamonds and jewels, since there’s no way I can sell this whole without being found out. And guess what I fucking found? A goddamned tracker! You could take it out of the country and it would still be sensing a signal. You could take it into outer space and it would still give off a signal, this isn’t an amateur kind. I don’t know how long it’s been working for, but I’m not keeping it” 

“Did you know?!” the question is directed towards him this time, the air getting heavy.

He keeps falling on the receiving end of Dream’s wrath for things he has no control of, the arms holding him down tighten painfully, cutting off his blood flow, but Quackity is too busy processing the tracker part still.

“Did you fucking know? What am I saying? Of course you knew! I should’ve burned you alive the first chance I got!” the hound hybrid howls.

“This isn’t the time; we have to move. The Syndicate is probably on its way right now; they might even be waiting outside with how long it’s been.” George seems to adapt quickly, focusing on survival first.

Dream on the other hand-

“I’m not going anywhere until I kill this fucking bastard and end his cursed lineage” Dream snarls, stalking towards Quackity with murderous intent.

“Do whatever you fucking want, I’m not staying here to get slaughtered!” George throws his hands up before running out of the room.

The men who had previously been holding him seem to have the same idea, letting him go in favour of running out after George. The idea of facing Philza and his sons sending even the bravest amongst them scurrying.

The teen shuffles off the surgical table and falls to the ground, knocking the side table to the ground in his attempt to crawl away from the looming danger.

His broken wing screams at him, almost crippling him with the lava hot pain.

He slams into the ground, metal tools and random glass shattering around him.

“You keep fucking up my plans! You keep getting in my way! Everything about you is cursed!” If Dream wasn’t wearing a mask, he would’ve probably been frothing at the mouth.

Also, Quackity would like to point out that Dream is the one following Quackity and screwing his life for no good reason, but he’s just so fucking tired. He was ready to give up a minute ago, before he found out he had a fucking TRACKER on him. Between the blood loss, probable concussion, broken ribs, and overall zero out of ten kidnapping experience he is tired.

Even crawling away is exhausting, his arms feeling like lead.

But he has five ducklings waiting for him.

He has to move.

Something heavy falls on top of him, halting his escape attempt.

A hand descends on his wings, pulling out a fistful of feathers. Quackity screeches so loud, it sounds foreign in his ears.

How in God’s name did he pull out his feathers before? This is hell! If he survives this, he’ll apologize to Philza! He’ll never pull out a feather again, even the ones that itch! His mangled wings burn!

“You and your mother and everything that has to do with any of you! I can’t stand you anymore!” Dream pulls out another fistful of feathers. Quackity reaches out blindly, trying to grab anything for leverage. His fingers make contact with something cold and sharp, blindly, he wraps his fingers around it and slashes at it assailant.

Dream screams out loud, falling off the avian.

Quackity takes advantage to drag himself away. When he looks back to see what happened, it’s to the sight of the damned mask breaking, a piece of it falling to the ground. He looks to his hand and sees what he’d grabbed in his haste; a pair of metal scissors, the kinds used to cut off wings.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Dreams screams, holding onto his face.

There’s a splotch of red in his periphery but Quackity chooses to focus on scooting even further away.

“I’m going to rip your wings off if it’s the last thing I do!” the rest of the mask falls off, crumbling in pieces to the ground. Dream still holds half his face, staunching off the bleeding with one hand, while the other clenches at his side. 

Underneath the mask, and despite the morbid site of blood dripping onto a green hoodie, Quackity can’t help but notice just how ‘average’ Dream looks.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, maybe a monster with protruding fangs, or a deformed beast. Something scary? But Dream looks like an everyday Joe, if he came across him in the street he wouldn’t blink twice.

Quackity has been in close proximity to people like Philza and Jschlatt, people whose mere presence screamed danger. Maybe Quackity is just biased but it’s like

“You’re just…normal” 

Oops, did he say that out loud? 

Probably not the smartest thing to say to a psychopath with an inferiority complex, but Quackity can blame the concussion.

“I am not normal! I was never normal! I’ll fucking rip your wings out and we’ll see how normal I am!”

Yup. Pressed the wrong button. Quackity tightens the hold on the scissors, getting ready for round two when

“You sure about that?”

The world stops.

Dream pales.

And Quackity…

“Techno!” Quackity sobs in relief, chirping helplessly.

He doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating or not, he’s too afraid to look. So he doesn’t, opting to close his eyes. He wants to believe this is real, he can’t afford being disappointed.

Dream replies with something high pitched, but Quackity can’t make sense of it. He hugs the scissors like a stuffed animal, curling into himself as tight as possible. Sobs shaking his entire frame.

Protector.

Protector.

Protector is here.

He chirps and chirrs, calling for Technoblade over and over.

Calling for flock.

Come here! Here! Here!

He hears the beautiful sound of dress shoes clacking against hardwood floors, unusually fast paced compared to what Quackity remembers. The sound gets louder and louder until it stops.

Slender fingers run through his hair, sharp talon scratch softly behind his ear. 

He scrunches his eyes tighter, the feeling is familiar, and only one person ever did this for him.

“Now now hatchling, let you brother focus. I’m here for you”.

He’s dreaming. No he dies and this is purgatory. It’s not real.

He tightens his hold on the scissors until his hands sting.

A chiding coo shocks him into opening his eyes. His mind could never come up with that sound! That’s not possible.

Caregiver? 

“Yes”, the blurry figure whispers, “yes it’s caregiver. I’m here hatchling”

He uses the last of his energy to let go of the scissors and launch himself at the head of his flock, digging his bleeding fingers in the surely pristine suit, bawling his eyes out.

He’ll ruin the suit with blood and tears. Good.

“Hush now, I’m here” Caregiver coos, pulling him against a firm chest, ever so gentle with th way he holds him.

“You’re -chirp- here” he chokes out, shoving himself closer to Caregiver.

There’s the sound of something breaking somewhere, followed by a muffled scream, but he couldn’t turn around even if he wanted to, not with the way Philza is holding him.

“You’re okay hatchling, you’re okay” Philza soothes, rubbing his back. His fingers pause around his wings, the hold tightens for a second but relaxes at the first pained flinch from the teen.

“Oh hatchling, what did they do?”

Quackity doesn’t know what exactly he’s referring to, so he settles for blubbering like an idiot.

“The watch, I- they- sob- you really came-sob-and your footsteps” taloned fingers run through his hair again, pausing at the dried blood and tender bump.

“You’re not making much sense hatchling, but that’s okay. I’m here, and I’m never letting you go. Never again”

 “Dad! What do you want me to do with him” Protector calls from somewhere? 

Quackity perks up, trying to turn his head but Philza stops him, and the hand holding his neck shoves his face into a firm shoulder. 

“Put him with the rest of his friends, make sure none of these vermin try ending their lives. I have plans” the shift between the tone he uses for Quackity and the one he uses now would cause whiplash to anyone, but Quackity is too busy basking in the feeling of flock.

“This is the one responsible for everything, even back with Tommy” Techno adds another nail in Dreams coffin, as if he had any chance of survival, “and the one outside had parts of the watch on him”

It’s amazing how much anger can be conveyed in such a monotone voice.

“I’ll be sure to repay each and every single one for their generosity, right after we put your brother back in the nest”

Quackity doesn’t care about all of that, the promise of going home sounds amazing.

Chapter Text

His chick is tired.

He is so tired and Philza feels molten fury eat at him from the inside.

His chick is so young, so small. And yet, he hasn’t been able to rest from before he fell (was forcibly taken) into his care.

From their first interaction, Philza admits to being less than an ideal caregiver.

Yes, he didn’t know he had an avian on his hands, but he should’ve figured it out. The way his instincts went haywire the very second he laid eyes on the hatchling’s prone form, his sudden possessiveness, going as far as to scold his own son Wilbur for harassing the child, it should have set off his alarms.

Even if he ignored his instincts, the fact that his youngest created a flock bond with what looked like a human, should’ve been clue enough.

He knows why he refused the idea now, after much reflection and a call with his wife.

His pride has always been a dangerous flaw as Kristen has warned him for decades now.

In his defense, when you’re one of the strongest beings alive, everything outside your family becomes dull and predictable. Most problems are a mere bullet away from being dealt with, so he doesn’t bother as much as he used to.

Being as ‘ancient’, like Wilbur keeps reminding him, as he is, means he’s gained a great deal of knowledge. He knows what to say to get people to obey him, but he’s strong enough to convince them with other means.

His age doesn’t mean he doesn’t fuck up astronomically every once in a while though, as the arrival of his new chick has highlighted.

Quackity is too soft.

While his other children can be cruel and merciless to outsiders, his duckling is gentle and fragile. A chick that fell out of the nest far too early to survive on its own. So maybe ‘soft’ is the wrong word to use, he’s bruised and in pain, so any wrong touch makes him hurt.

When he first looked for him, he didn’t care to find more than the basic information. Just enough to understand who he was bringing into his house. But when the wings showed up (such small and downy little things, torn and bleeding from mistreatment) he had them make a more thorough investigation.

The more he learned, the angrier he became.

He made a vow to find every soul responsible for his chick’s pain in the past and make them pay. He would make sure his duckling stayed safe and sound.

What he didn’t account for was how damaged his newest child really was.

All his children have needed a special kind of attention. Techno had the voices so Philza needed to train him into controlling the damning screeches and not the other way around. Wilbur was a pathological liar and enjoyed inflicting pain a little too much so Philza guided him on when and how to best use his skills, making sure his hellion didn’t think he could get away with anything behind his back. And sweet little Tommy was always angry, just wanting to throw punches everywhere to prove himself, headless of the consequences. So Philza indulged him when he could and focused his attention elsewhere when he couldn’t, making sure his son understood he had all of them at his beck and call.

While he loved them all equally, he couldn’t treat them the same. Their behaviour was a result of the years from ‘before’; matters he couldn’t change.

But they were never ‘damaged’. Just some odd quirks that made them his children. He had to work with it and love them all the same, and encouraging them to be themselves in an ideal environment.

Quackity wasn’t like that.

He couldn’t afford to be himself. He was broken and his sharp edges had been filed down by years of surviving instead of living.

It confuses him.

The meek character and the hunched shoulders. When he first met him, Philza noted how light his steps were. Sometimes even Techno, the ultimate hunter, wouldn’t notice him walking into a room. He’d thought the supposed human was trying to sneak around. Turns out it was just Quackity taking as little space as possible, trying to make sure he wasn’t noticed because being notice meant being hurt.

Philza began getting attached before the wings showed up. He made the decision to keep the little thing despite the pain a human’s short lifespan would bring to the flock. His instincts would trill at the sight of his hatchling. Offering the hatchling food made him feel like a provider rather than an owner, and protecting him from his own son was confusing but right in every sense of the word.

There were tiny bursts of anger and sharp teeth bared between long episodes of fear, and those made Philza’s head perk with interest. There was something dangerous hiding deep down, but the rubble of a life torn down kept it smothered in the dark.

The there were the wings and the world made sense, and

Dear God! What had Philza done?

“Philza how could you?” Kristen admonished over the phone, “If I weren’t dealing with a coupe right now I would come back and slap you over the head”

Philza then tried to bond with the hatchling, give him food and treasures, cocoon him in his feathers, groom his tiny wings and keep him in the nest. Appeal to his instincts as he’d done with his brothers.

But the child wasn’t completely lying when he said he was a human. He may not be human in nature, but he is one in mind. Too many years disguising as something he’s not has affected him.

He doesn’t know what the chirps mean, even when his instincts force him into acting. He flinches at any sudden move, even though their treasures should be a clear indication that they would never hurt him. He seeks them out without knowing, but stays just one step away, eyes searching for the nearest exit.

Philza almost loses the child more than once before finally noticing just how bad it is.

So, despite being late, he does as any parent should, and adapts to his child’s needs. He makes deals and small bargains, he talks instead of chirps, and it makes the tiniest bit of difference. Even half a step forward is still moving forward.

It’s still not enough.

He underestimates just how small his child is and how large his broken heart is. He’s even more innocent than Tommy and more hurt than any child should be. So for the first time in a very long time, Philza feels scared of his own strength. It dawns on him when he’s fixing a stray downy feather, that he can crush the little ones bones with just the smallest hint of pressure and he wouldn’t know until it was too late, because Quackity doesn’t complain or fight or whine. He takes abuse like its normal, expected even.

If Philza was a less selfish man, he would contact one of the few flocks he knows, the ones that live in safe homes and have normal suburban lives, and have them look after Quackity. Alas, Philza isn’t very good with giving up what is rightfully his.

He’ll have to be the better option for Quackity.

He wants to take the time to be gentle with his chick, prove to him that there is nothing to fear.

But someone is threatening his family again, meddling in places no living being has the right to. The anger and bloodlust come back in waves, familiar to a killing machine like Philza.

It’s a few weeks worth of messes and he kills far too many incompetent idiots before he gets any results but he gets there.

Amazing what people can accomplish when faced with death as the only response to failure.

He finds the hideout of none other than Dream Wastaken. The man who’s been tormenting his child enough to earn a lifetime of pain as payback. Had his informants not assured him of the scum’s hound status, Philza would’ve sworn he was a rat hybrid.

Honestly, Philza can’t be blamed for overlooking the pathetic thing, his methods were just so…. Pitiful. He’s manipulative, sure, but he manipulated Jschlatt. The man was a drunk ninety percent of the time, the only reason he evaded Philza’s talons for so long was that he hired too many people and killed anyone that left a trail. By the time his men wiped out ten hideouts, Jschlatt had hired twice the amount of men and killed off anyone that had a lead. So manipulating that isn’t much of a brag. This Dream fellow’s entire biography consisted of attacking weaklings and hiding behind others to drive attention away from him. The idea that he’s managed to lay hands on not one, but two of his chicks is just proof that Philza has been too soft for too long.

Fifty years of trying to be a family man and putting his children first has surely dulled his knife if it means someone so small managed to do so much damage under his nose. He prioritized teaching his children how to hold a gun and put down his own as a result. And now his children are paying the price of his negligence.

They find the hideout and Philza instructs his eldest son to keep watch over his siblings so he can introduce himself to Dream. Unfortunately, the rat scrambles fast. By the time Philza is has gotten rid of all the roaches, the rat is gone. He gets a call telling him his own nest is in flames. The compound is a wreck, his first son is half feral with protective rage, his second is injured after trying to protect his siblings, his youngest is inconsolable and trapped in the hoard room and his fourth is missing. Snatched from the nest by a flea ridden rodent.

A sin worth setting the world on fire.

Philza thirsts for blood.

There are only five safe houses the rat can take and Philza doesn’t think he has the patience to go through all of them. His instincts are going mad, demanding he kill everyone in sight. If he sets the city aflame, will the rat come out?

Ah, but what of his chick? He’ll play with matches after, he definitely will.

If his small chick were to die, he will wipe out the city of all its inhabitants, kill the children first and then move on to the rest.

No one gets to see the sun rise on a world missing one of his children. No mother gets to put her child to sleep when he cannot. No being gets to embrace their loved one when he could not hide his duckling in his wings.

Thankfully Techno, his brilliant hunter, has already thought of everything. Too young to bear the full responsibility of a protector, yet excelling at it as he does everything.

“I put a tracker in the watch, I know where he is”

What a smart child he has!

It takes too long to get to the infested rat hole, even longer to map out the place so they can make a swift beeline to his hatchling.

But it’s worth it.

He lets his son take the lead, allowing him to blow off some of that feral rage, cool down the voices before he meets his brother. Not that Philza doesn’t want to rip a man (or a thousand) in half. But he can wait, they’ll have enough toys to take back, and he’ll have his fun then.

Right now he wants nothing more than his son, safe in his arms. He can sharpen his knife later.

Techno has the rat pinned, and Philza has his chick.

His poor little chick, with a broken wing, blood coated feathers scattered around him, and too many injuries to tell where most of the bleeding is coming from. His mind, which has been filled with the sound of a roaring fire ever since his son was first harmed, turns silent instantly.

Not the good silent, not the calm silent.

It’s the silence after the flames have burnt down the entire forest and nothing lives to tell the tale.

He’d gone too soft, and now he shoulders the blame for his chick’s shed blood.

“Caregiver” his hatchling cheeps and Philza gathers him into his arms, careful of every wince and ache.

“I’ve got you hatchling, and I’m never letting you go ever again” he vows. A promise to both his chick and himself.

His chick buries himself deeper into his arms, and if Philza could, he’d hide his nestling between his ribs. Make sure no one can touch him ever again.

“Sir” Ponk calls out from his place by the door, too smart to approach two killers reuniting with their flock, “may I approach?”

Philza buries his face into his son’s hair, breathing in the distinct Dahlia scent beneath the sweat and blood. He forces his ears to listen to the wheezy breathing, a broken rib probably, but breathing all the same. Allows his baser instincts to acknowledge the survival of his little one.

It takes him a while to ground himself, when he does, he nods for the man to come forward.

Ponk walks carefully, not slowly, but carefully. He makes sure each movement is clear and intentional so as not to set either of them off.

“I can’t set the wing here. We need a sterile workplace for that, but I need to stop the bleeding and make an initial assessment.”

This is why Philza has kept Ponk for as long as he has, the man is a different breed of smart, he’s obedient enough to get along with and smart enough hat will only push when it comes to saving their lives.

“It’s too risky for me to give him any pain medication before running a blood test. If they injected him with something he could easily overdose and go into shock” the man is now pulling out his medical supplies from the emergency kit, his hands in clear view for him. By now Techno is probably wrapping everything up, getting the rodents in the vans and killing off any stragglers.

“I can keep him still” Philza hums, still breathing in his hatchlings faint scent.

“I’m not worried about him”, the doctor raises a single eyebrow. Don’t rip my throat out if your kid cries.

Again, the man is smart… but annoying.

Despite the warning, the minute he starts lifting his son's shirt, Quackity lets out a pitiful wine that has Philza’s pupils slitting into razors.

Ponk backs off instantly, raising his hands to show only a piece of gauze and some tweezers.

“Ponk, have I ever lost control of my instincts?” he asks coldly, keeping a firm smile on his face.

“With all due respect, I’m not willing to bet on your control until your kid is less- like this” he gestures with the gauze at the broken form of his son.

“I have control, the faster you look him over the faster we can be somewhere else” it’s a thinly veiled threat, not a common thing between them.

“Just know that I can’t help him later if you break my arm…or my neck” the doctor huffs, going back to lifting the back of the mangles shirt.

“You won’t be there to help if he bleeds out”, the Mafioso warns with a smile.

“He won’t bleed out,” the man moves on to examining the wings and pressing gently over certain areas, ignoring the whines and miserable chirps from his patient, “He’ll make a full recovery and start taking lessons on how to torment you from Wilbur, and you’ll come to me to prescribe sedatives to knock them out and pain medication for your headache.”

Again, he proves to be far too smart for Philza, using the perfect distraction. There are only a handful of people outside his flock that Philza is willing to indulge and Ponk is one of them. The problem is that he knows it.

“You don’t have to sound excited” he chides softly, running his fingers through greasy hair, cooing softly at the pained whines.

“I’m actually looking forward to it” the doctor chuckles, beginning the painful process of wrapping the wounds.

“Sapnap was one of the traitors, he was always by your side” it’s not an accusation, he knows Ponk, trusts him with his life and that of his family. The only reason Wilbur is alive is because the man led a small team to fight off the attackers and secure his son, proceeding to perform a risky operation in the back of a van until Techno got to them. But Philza didn’t interact with Sapnap, he knew he was the son of none other than Badboyhalo, a demon hybrid he’d done business with before plenty of times. There shouldn’t have been a risk, it’s why he was allowed to work with Ponk in the first place.

“I didn’t believe it at first, his father swore his eternal loyalty to you after all. And he was always so sweet, but what do I know?” the man huffs. Focusing on wrapping his son’s chest with bindings, probably to make sure the broken rib doesn’t end up puncturing a lung.

“You want to kill him yourself?” he offers, because he doesn’t know how to comfort someone like Ponk. The man is a brilliant doctor, no one comes close. But he takes the ‘no harm to others’ oath too seriously. So much that Philza had to bring another medical team to heal his prisoners after every torture session while keeping Ponk and his team for his men and flock. He knows he must have been hurt by the revelation of Sapnap being a traitor, he’d always been a bit of a bleeding heart.

“Thank you for the generous offer, but I’ll leave the whole revenge thing for you. You and your kids would probably admonish me for being too fast”

His son is now squirming in his arms, openly sobbing, the real pain starting to settle in as the adrenaline goes away. Ponk’s prodding, no matter how gentle, is making things worse.

His chick chirps louder, calling for him to fix it and Philza keeps reminding himself that an upset chick is better than a dead one.

He can’t crumble.

“Dad” his hatchling sobs, “help me”

Fuck it, he’s crumbling like a tower of cards in a hurricane.

“I’m done, the bastards did enough first aid to keep him alive long enough for their sick plans. I don’t have much else to do. We can go now.” Ponk rambles, now suddenly a foot away from him.

Did he mention that this man is smart enough to keep alive for a long time?

Only Ponk and Techno are allowed to ride with him to the new compound.

He stays with Quackity long enough for the blood test to confirm he can be sedated and then he’s getting kicked out of the operating room.

“Check on Wilbur and Tommy” Ponk shoos him off, “Make sure your troublemaker isn’t ripping his stiches, I’ll give this one to you all patched up and ready to be coddled in a bit”

Philza, against his primal instincts, complies.

He can’t risk Ponk’s hands shaking from his presence when holding a scalpel or setting a wing. It takes half his energy to take the first step away from his injured son, like he’s moving in quicksand.

Outside the clinic, he notes that Technoblade isn’t there, the warrior brute is most likely keeping busy with their new toys now that all of his sounder is accounted for, while Sam is now making a final sweep over the hideouts to make sure no one slipped past them.

He walks down bare halls that have yet to be furnished to his taste, until he reaches the metal door at the end, behind it is a dark room, it’s supposed to be their temporary nest\den until they have to move across the country to their main home. This place will do until his wife has washed the blood off her hands and comes to join them. Still, the room smells wrong.

There are only two distinct smells across the clean and new sheets, belonging to the chick and piglin slumbering in the middle of the nest. It’s not enough, it needs to have all their scents. They couldn’t salvage much from the old compound, and until he has them all together, the nest won’t be much of a comfort for his kids. The smell of laundry detergent isn’t much help for a flock that’s had to be uprooted in such extreme circumstances. The dark bags under Tommy’s eyes are proof.

“Dad?” Tommy mumbles, followed by soft calling cheeps.

Philza answers with his own coo, running sharp talons through blond curls. His chick settles into the motion, tilting his head to get more scratches, more like a cat than a bird with the motion.

Then, seemingly remembering their situation, tenses and snaps to attention, looking at his father with wide terrified eyes. Quickly noting the still missing member of their flock probably.

“You’re back!” he yells, waking his brother who also sits up, albeit more slowly. Careful of the pulling his stitches.

“Why isn’t Quackity with you?” Wilbur croaks out, anger seeping into his voice.

Philza knows it’s not anger at him; Wilbur has carried the burden of losing both his siblings when he was there followed shortly by being confined against his will as his father and brother went out to find them.

“Relax, he’s safe now” he soothes, letting out a soothing warble.

“Where is he? I have to see him!” his little hellion screams, throwing off his blanket to try to sprint outside, find him on his own. Philza easily grabs him and pulls him down into his arms.

“He has a few injuries, so Ponk is fixing those up. It’s also safe to run a few tests to make sure the vermin didn’t give him anything” he explains, headless of his son’s struggles. Might as well be holding a baby kitten.

“Than we can see him” Wilbur argues, shucking off the blanket in tight controlled moves, his injury probably flaring.

“Once he’s cleared, I’m bringing him here. Wilbur you’re not allowed outside the nest until the stiches are out, Tommy keep your brother company so he doesn’t run off and do something stupid” Philza tuts. He really can’t handle one of his kids getting hurt now. He swears he is one paper cut away from going on a murder spree in town, set off a bomb or two just to get some release.

It’s not like he won’t do it anyway, but such acts are meant to be pleasant, not mindless violence.

“How is he? You’re being vague on purpose” Wilbur snaps, flinching when he jerks and pulls at his wound.

The Mafioso sighs, sometimes he forgets just how impatient his sons can be. Despite being adopted, somehow Wilbur has inherited his stubbornness.

“He’s not good, his wings took a nasty hit but-“ he raises an arm, already knowing the questions about to come, “he still has wings” he smiles at the double sigh of relief.

“Ponk kicked me out so he can work uninterrupted, so neither of you can go now. Once he’s cleared, I’ll be bringing him here and you can fuss all you want. I’ll be counting on you to take care of him”

“He’s really ok?” the tears in his youngest voice brings a smile to his face.

“He’s alive” he corrects, “but he will be okay. Like I said, he’ll need his brothers to look after him”

“I’m going to be the best brother ever!” Tommy cheers. Wilbur, on the other hand, narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“We both know you’re enough of a mother hen old man, what aren’t you telling us?”

Ah, what a smart child he has, Philza wishes he’d learn to be tiny bit subtle and try to hold his cards every once in a while. Something for the future perhaps.

“I might be a little busy” he answers, trying to hide the anger in his voice. The son in his arms shivers slightly. Perhaps he should’ve had more control of his tone?

“Why?” Wilbur whispers. Sensing the shift in his dad.

“Make the nest extra cozy, I’ll have Techno send my jacket and his cloak. Your brother needs all of our scents when he gets here”

“Dad, don’t change the subject” Wilbur pleads, “Are you going somewhere?”

“Dad?” Tommy whispers, looking up at him with doe eyes. The little rascal has no right looking like that whilst also being capable of setting a gas station on fire for ‘character development dad! I can’t be the only one that’s not an arsonist in the family’.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’ll be a little busy cleaning up so I’m counting on you”

Only one of his sons believes him while the other swallows hard, having an idea of what his father means by cleaning up. Though Philza knows no one knows just how thorough this cleanup will be. Maybe Kristin, she’s seen him the last time, but no one else has lived to tell the tale.

He spends some time soothing his children’s nerves, assuring them that their newest brother is alive and well, skirting around the nasty details, fretting over the eldest pains and his youngest woos.

He gives his eldest his pain medications and smiles through the clear hesitation in brown eyes.

“This isn’t negotiable darling” he offers the pill again.

“At least until Quackity’s here” Wilbur argues, “I’ll take them after”

“He’ll be here when you wake up” Philza smiles.

“I’m not in pain” the piglin tries again.

He needs to learn to lie better, something else for Philza to teach him in the future. The creases around his eyes prove the pain is bordering on torture. Gut wounds are a nasty thing, if it weren’t for a piglin’s naturally thicker skin, his child would be dead.

Hold that anger. Cut open the rat’s gut, pull the insides out carefully, make sure he stays awake for the whole thing.

“The question isn’t whether you’ll take them darling, it’s whether you’ll take them as a pill or a needle” Wilbur should know better than to hide his pain in front of his Caregiver.

Thankfully, Wilbur stops arguing and reaches for the pill without any more fuss.

His hardheaded child tries his hardest to fight against the sedative effect but fails. His youngest crawls over and covers his older brother with a ratty old blanket they salvaged from the old nest, trilling softly for his flock.

“Keep and eye on him, I’ll be back” he instructs.

He mulls over the difficulty of being a parent, this method would probably terrify his newest hatchling. Hopefully Kristen will keep him in check and help smooth things over as he rights some of the wrongs in this world.

He finds Techno standing outside Ponk’s door, tinkering with a very familiar watch, seemingly busy.

Philza knows his son better.

“Putting more trackers in?” he lightly asks, sitting beside him on the plastic chair.

He should buy something more comfortable to keep here. But that seems like a bad omen, he doesn’t want to sit here in the future.

“Not yet, just trying to put back some of the emeralds”, the pinkette grunts, still focused on the watch.

“I think I can have some more shipped by tonight, wouldn’t hurt to give him something shinier to hold.”

Techno smiles but doesn’t look away from his task.

“Don’t bother, I don’t think it can fit anymore. But maybe a nice brooch, I’ll carve it out of bones”

“What a lovely idea, bones can last a very long time, but if we dip it in gold, it will last even longer” he hums thoughtfully, “decided on who’s going to be lucky enough to donate?”

“Not yet, I was thinking the dog, but the idea of having any part of him near the chick disturbs me”, he makes a good point.

“Correct, besides, I was waiting for that healer Kristin sent to show up, I plan on keeping the arrogant thing for a while, years even”

“Maybe the hell hound?”

“Badboyhalo has begged for him back, offered his own life in return, and I don’t want to cut ties with him yet”

“We can give him back, but not all of him” the piglin blows off a pink strand of hair from his eyesight.

“Ah, that’s a thought. Femurs are wide enough to carve easily too. Why not make it a project? Give the chick a gift from every single one. A ring, a brooch, maybe a couple of nice earrings. It would be a fun DIY type of thing”

“I’m assuming we don’t tell him”

“Oh hatchling of course not, not until he’s a little older. It’ll be a nice little secret between us two, Quackity is a bit too soft”

“Will he always be like that?”

“Maybe, he could stay like this forever or he can become even more rebellious than both your brothers combined. We’ll care for him either way”

“What am I supposed to do now?” the piglin growls, finally moving his eyes to look at his father, the anger finally showing despite having ripped apart a fair deal of insects.

“We will make sure this never happens again”

“How dad? We almost lost two of our sounder in one year”

“That’s my fault, it seems a mere few decades of leaving people to their own devices has turned them bold. I’ve been rather kind”

“How do we fix it? How do we make them really fear us?”

How do we make sure no one comes near my sounder again?

He knew Techno, as the protector, would jump on board quickly. It’s almost too easy.

“The garden has been overtaken by weeds, it’s even taken over the roses” Philza laments, “Put a ring of water around the roses, and set everything else on fire.”

“What about the-“

“Your mother has finally cleared her schedule; she’ll be here in a couple of days to look after our flock”

“Mom? I thought she couldn’t be here until the end of the month”

“She wants to meet the new chick sooner” Philza half lies, smiling coldly. Techno, despite knowing his father for most of his life, swallows hard.

Death and her angel in one place, both angry at the world.

“I have to thank you Dream, you managed to do what no other idiot has done” Philza hums, casually inspecting a pair of plyers on the table.

There’s a panicked muffled sound, frantic in its attempt to speak around something.

“I mean, there were others. Hundreds of idiots with plans far more clever, a few managed to get my ire, but they were dealt with promptly. But the only thing working in your favor was your roach like tendencies. You always stayed hidden, wouldn’t let me deal with you swiftly. Ironically, only you have succeeded in getting me out of retirement”

Philza relishes in the taste of fear in the air.

“I won’t do much until the very talented healer my wife sent gets here, but we can still have some fun. It’s fascinating how modern medicine has come, I could bring back someone from the verge of death a thousand time, and yet you have no right to die before I say so.” He laughs softly, like he’s sharing an old man’s joke. “Now, last time we were done with those teeth, how about we start with those toes.” He smiles coldly.

“I’m about to show you WHY you were never made a predator”

“Quackityyyyyyyyyy” someone whines incessantly, like a child.

“The fuck are you doing?” a childish voice hiss at the first voice, “dad said we should let him rest”

“Fuck off you little gremlin, you’ve been going in and out like you want. I’m the one that’s been stuck here doing jack shit, counting threads on blankets to pass time. I get to wake him up so he can be just as miserable”

“That’s so dumb! Do you hear yourself?” the childish voice whispers angrily, yet somehow loud enough to grate on his ears.

“Don’t pretend to be so sweet, I know you want him to wake up just as much as I do”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to whine about it, he’ll wake up eventually”

“Don’t lie to me you little hell hound, either get out or use your annoying high-pitched voice to get him up”

“Are you fucking serious? Why am I getting called a brat when you’re being such a bitch? Oh, mememe look at me, I’m Wilbur and no one can be spared from my bitchy ass whining” the voice seems to have given up on being quiet, going full volume.

“I will throttle you with a pillow”

“Meemmemeemm I’m Wilbur and I’m such a pansy I can’t do shit so I’ll use lame threats. Your dad’s a mafia lord and you’re threatening me with a pillow?”

Quackity would like to cuss out both voices for being annoying fucks, but all he manages is a groan similar to a zombie.

Silence finally descends, but only for a second.

“BIG Q” the childish voice crows.

“Fucking finally” the other voice huffs, “get up! I’m begging you! I need someone other than this child to talk to me”

For God's sake.

Ok, he’ll get up. But only to cuss out these two voices himself.

Open your eyes Q. Get them open.

You can do this.

It takes forever to open his first eye, and another forever to open the second.

Everything is blurry, he can’t make out the two blobs in front of him very well.

The little bird in the back of his head, trills, filling him with a happy warm emotion.

Huh.

He rubs at his eyes, wincing at the way the bandages scratch at his face.

When he tries to look again, he can make out Tommy staring with so much joy and beside him.

Beside him is Wilbur, looking smug as ever.

Something doesn’t make sense. He tries to understand what’s happening, while slowly lifting himself up from the fluffy cloud he’s lying on.

Wilbur……

What’s off about Wilbur being here? The fog in his mind clears for on second to let on single thought through before it descends again.

Wilbur should be dead.

The brunette’s smug smirk turns into shock and then concern when the avian bursts into tears.

“H-hey! No! That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry! You can go back to sleep. I won’t bother you”

“This is all your fault Wilbitch! Dad said he should rest, what if he’s hurting? Dad has the pain meds and Ponk isn’t allowed near the nest”

“Look Q, I can give you some of my meds if you’re hurt, please don’t cry”

If anything, this makes Quackity cry louder.

“I’m dead” he chokes between sobs, “and hell is too comfortable, and even Tommy is here”

“You want me to leave?” Tommy asks, starting to tear up as well.

“You aren’t supposed to be here” Quackity sobs,

“Ok, everyone easy! Easy!” Wilbur flusters, “Tommy he’s not in his right mind, that’s not what he means”

“This is hell!” Quackity hiccups, “why is Tommy here?”

And why is Wilbur here and not on some throne wearing some gaudy crown?

“What the hell is going on here?”

Protector!

Is everyone dead?

He cries louder, burying his face in his hands.

“Wilbur wouldn’t let him sleep, now this happened!”

“I can give him my meds of it helps”

A large hand ruffles his hair, while the other pulls him towards a firm chest.

“Ponk gave him some strong meds, he’s loopy not in pain. You should’ve let him sleep it off”

“How was I supposed to know? You and dad aren’t telling us anything”

“I’m sorry” Quackity hiccups, “I didn’t want to-hic” he breaks into a new wave of sobs, Techno rubbing his shoulders.

“What are you sorry for? Everyone is ok, we’re all here.”

“Even dad?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yes, even dad”

PHILZA IS DEAD?!

His face crumbles and he whines pitifully.

“Hey, hey, look at me. What is it? Do you want me to call dad?”

Does he want Philza? Does he want proof they’re all dead?

Does it matter if they’re all dead? He gets to have his flock with him, and so far, hell doesn’t seem so bad.

Philza arrives within minutes, his suit jacket is missing, the sleeves to his blouse are rolled up and he’s using a silk handkerchief to wipe something off his hands as he enters the nest.

He can smell something metallic, but it’s covered by Philza’s overwhelming pine scent.

“Quackity, are you in pain?” he coos, reaching over and pulling the hatchling to him.

Quackity just chirps back, trying to flap his wigs but finding something holding them back. He looks behind him to find one of his wings encased in a cast. Hard and rigid.

His other wing is in a very familiar wing mitten.

“Are your wings making you uncomfortable? You just have to keep them on for a couple of weeks. The cast is for the broken wing, and the other is wrapped up with bandages, so the mitten is just to keep it clean.”

That doesn’t make sense.

“You’ll have to see Ponk once a day, just a routine checkup until you’re all healed up” his Caregiver explains, “then we can move on to physical therapy. But that’s okay, you’re going to be fine, you’re going to make a full recovery hatchling”

“Ponk?” he whispers in confusion.

Fucking Ponk is here?

What the actual hell?!

Why are they all so calm about it? How long has he been dead?

“Yes, everyone is here.” Philza smiles, “No one is going to hurt you. The minute the cast is off, you can go with Tommy and set up a new game room. Techno is setting up a new garden, your little ducks are there. Wilbur can take you to the casinos again?”

His ducks are in hell? There are casinos in hell?

What is going on?

“We’re okay?” he dares to ask

“Yes, we’re okay. Everything is okay and we’re all here. Even my wife is planning on coming over, finally meet her new chick”

“Wait! Mom is coming! How many people are going to die?” Tommy screams from the side.

Hold up! She’s coming over? As in coming over to hell?

Can Philza control Death?

Is Philza death himself?

“Are you death?” he whispers in shock.

This actually makes Philza laugh heartily.

“No silly",he boops him on the nose, "that moniker belong to Kristin; my wife. I’m just her angel”

“For fucks sake old man, you’re gonna be gross enough when she gets here, spare us” Tommy fake gags.

“Hush you, she’s not here for work she just wants to meet Quackity”

“I would hope she’s not here for work” Wilbur huffs bitterly, “don’t think the sewers can take all the blood. Maybe we should invest in alligators to keep up with the bod-“

“You seem to be getting restless Wil, would you like your medicine?”

Wilbur makes a 'zipping his mouth shut motion' and crosses his arms.

Seems like hell is pretty similar to the real life, that’s nice. He lays his head on a firm shoulder and decides that it’s the comfiest thing in a room full of clouds.

“Is he going back to sleep? I just got him to wake up” Wilbur whines.

“You got him to what?” Philza asks lightly, something odd in his voice.

"I didn't say anything! The meds are making me say dumb shit" Wilbur frantically tracks back.

"That's impossible, you've reached peak stupidity already. no medicine can break that ceiling" Tommy snickers.

Yup, hell isn’t so bad, Quackity decides going back to sleep.

He’d take this over heaven any day of the week, harps and sunshine aren’t as fun anyway.