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The moment Phil entered the fledgling’s tower, he was bombarded with a series of trills in greeting. That wasn’t abnormal, but the other two brought the youngest out earlier to let off some extra energy, and Phil was hoping that he’d return to a quiet aerie. He should have known better. Tommy’s aerie is never quiet.
He stopped in the center of the room, peering up into the rafters with a growing smile as a lanky figure darted from beam to beam, quickly making his way down to the ground level.
With another sharp chirp, the blonde-headed teen launched out of the upper part of his tower, much to Phil’s surprise. The younger avian usually preferred to play keep-away in the upper levels before retreating to his nest up at the top. Phil had yet to get very close to him. Small auburn wings snapped open to catch his fall as he fluttered rather gracelessly to the floor. Phil still made a small noise of panic at the sight of such a rapid fall, but it’s not like you can keep a fledgling from…well, fledging.
That fact didn’t stop his breath from getting caught in his lungs, however.
Tommy, as Wilbur had named him when he first came into their care, landed with a loud clomp of his shoes on the wooden floor. The blonde blinked at Phil near eagerly, whistling excitement.
Phil raised his eyebrows, and gave a short warble in reply. “Well,” He said with a soft smile, “you’re very energetic today- hey!” He cut off with a laugh as Tommy shrieked and darted around him, startling Phil when his head popped up underneath his own inky-black wing.
Phil got several garbled twitters in response, that nearly sounded like he was being mocked. He probably was, to be fair.
Tommy had yet to speak a lick of English, or any other language besides the inborn tongue of their species. They were patient with him, speaking often, doing their best to teach through rudimentary gestures, and though Tommy appeared to understand the others, he never made any attempt to actually speak himself. Whether he was simply content to chirp, or was otherwise conditioned not to speak, the result was the same.
That wasn’t to say he was quiet, far from it in fact. Sure, when they first brought him home after he was found being held captive, the boy barely made a peep. Luckily, with enough encouragement he eventually started to communicate with Phil through chirping, not that it did Wilbur or Techno any good. Tommy seemed to respond semi-well to Techno’s chuffs and grunts, but Wilbur- entirely human Wilbur- was only able to gesture.
Tommy chirped again, nodding sharply, though his meaning was lost to Phil. The older blonde could only smile gently, but made a mistake when he reached out to put a hand on the teen’s shoulder.
Tommy let out an ear-splitting shriek and flung himself across the room, making Phil wince where he was stood frozen.
Apparently the contact was pushing it, even with Tommy’s apparent good mood today. Ah well, everyday was another attempt at expanding his boundaries, hoping they would eventually fall away. It was difficult when they couldn’t talk to him though.
Phil took his usual place seated on the floor, eyes carefully averted from where Tommy was curled up pressed against the far wall, eyes blown wide and chest heaving.
From the depths of his soul, Phil really, truly, hoped that the person responsible for Tommy’s condition was suffering greatly. To raise a hybrid like an animal instead of a person, served no end but the cruel amusement of the perpetrator.
With nothing else to do but wait for Tommy to relax, the older avian took a long breath and pulled out his book to read. He was never able to focus on the writing in here, where his attention was on the fledgling in the corner of his vision, but it couldn’t hurt to expose Tommy to written word.
Time dragged slowly, with every too-loud turn of a page or soft twitter from the younger avian catching Phil’s ear. Eventually Tommy began moving again, flitting around the room with a rustle of feathers and patter of feet.
Phil didn’t move a feather, eyes trained on the parchment on his novel, and ears perked for sound. When Tommy went silent, and Phil couldn’t track his movement, he assumed the boy had settled down.
Until something tugged his feathers.
“Hey-!” Phil exclaimed, before he could stop himself, turning to blink at the boy crouched with one arm wrapped around his knee, and the other stretching towards Phil’s wing. He flinched violently when Phil looked at him, but didn’t jump away, staying where he was and looking in Phil’s eyes with mischief crinkling his own.
The older man scoffed, staring at him for a moment. “…What was that for?” He asked softly.
Tommy gave a low, amused, warble, mouth curling up smugly as he poked the leading edge of Phil’s wing. He paused, eyeing the older man warily, as if gauging his response and Phil only sighed, shaking his head and looking back down at his book.
When Tommy tugged one of his primaries a bit too sharply he jolted a bit and then gave the teen an unimpressed look.
“I don’t appreciate that mate.”
Tommy whistled.
“I know what you’re trying to do, but you won’t get a reaction.”
Tommy looked him directly in the eye and smacked his own smaller wing against Phil’s antagonistically. Phil tilted his head, eyes sad, and gave what he hoped to be a reassuring coo. It must have served only to confuse Tommy as his brows immediately furrowed with a scowl, wings shifting with agitation. The movement caught Phil’s eyes, light reflecting dully off messy feathers, askew and dirty. Tommy wasn’t all that good at taking care of his own wings, but then again most young avians weren’t, it was an instinct that developed later. Fledglings were supposed to be preened by older flock members, but Tommy had none. He wouldn’t let Phil touch them with a ten foot pole.
Phil hesitated, and then before he could reconsider, quickly stretched his wing across Tommy’s shoulders and pulled the boy tight against his side. Tommy instantly panicked, giving a loud screech and struggling to twist out of Phil’s encircling feathers.
Phil could only coo gently, hoping that the boy would settle once he realized he wasn’t being harmed. Phil made no move to wrap his arms around him, though his mind so desperately wanted him to, only holding him in place with the large wing.
The coos slowly turned to low birdsong, half humming, half whistling. Though Tommy was still breathing heavily he stopped whaling against Phil’s wing, which the latter greatly appreciated.
After a few more moments Tommy’s head peeked over the edge of Phil’s shoulder with a furious expression, and Phil could not help but laugh. Tommy hissed at him yanking at his feathers to make his point, and Phil relented to let his wing droop to a more casual restraint.
Tommy was still suspicious, narrowed eyes watching Phil’s every movement and eyeing the gap between the edge of the wing and Phil himself. He must have decided that attempting to escape wasn’t worth the risk, and returned back to assaulting Phil’s wing.
The older avian gritted his teeth at the sight of a few black feathers joining the magnitudes of red ones scattered across the floor. Preening was incredibly important to flock bonds, but Tommy (despairingly for Phil’s mind), wasn’t preening. He was simply acting out, which wouldn’t be so bad in itself if he wasn’t doing so in a way painfully similar to an act of affection. Phil reached over slowly, saying, “If you’re going to do that, at least let me teach you how to do it well-”
Tommy however, yanked his hands away from Phil’s the moment he got close, squawking a warning.
The man sighed, continuing to demonstrate without Tommy’s participation. Maybe if he showed him, he would choose to do so instead of just yanking the next time he snuck up behind Phil.
Tommy made low noises of discontent as Phil gently combed through his own feathers, and then began leafing through them properly, brushing away stray grit and loose feathers. Tommy slowly went quiet as Phil made his way down the coverts that he could reach, freezing when he felt the back of a hand brush against his wing.
He wanted to coo at the touch but instead he forced his fingers to keep moving, so as not to disturb the fragile peace.
This was the closest Tommy had ever gotten to being anywhere near establishing a flock bond with him. It meant they were making progress. Tommy was trying, just as much as they were, and the thought made Phil’s chest buzz.
Tommy continued to trail his hand through Phil’s feathers, not preening, but close enough to make a happy chirp bubble up his throat. Tommy only startled slightly at the sound, and then he regarded Phil with unconcealed amusement.
They stayed like that for a while, until Tommy was lazily curled under the wing, rubbing one of Phil’s primaries between his fingers in a way that could have been mimicking preening. The older avian eventually ran out of reachable wing to preen, and sat watching Tommy try not drift off to sleep with his chin resting on his knee.
The look in Phil’s eye was fond when the buzz of his instinct became too strong and he reached a hand out to brush through Tommy’s unkempt feathers.
The boy went stiff under his fingers, feathers puffing in agitation before Phil smoothed them back down with a sweep of his hand and warmth-filled croon.
“Brrr?” Tommy made a questioning noise, filled with anxiety and confusion. He made no move to get away though, so Phil took it as a sign that he was alright.
“Shhhh, you’re alright mate.” He said gently, beginning to preen the disastrous feathers, and causing a stream of broken chirps to fall from the young avian’s lips.
And it broke Phil’s heart to hear his nestling in such distress. Was it too much? Was he pushing Tommy too far, too fast?
With a great deal of effort, Phil withdrew his hands from the wings and leaned over to see Tommy’s face, meeting teary blue eyes. “You okay Toms?” The teen only stared back at him, silent, until Phil spoke softly in their common tongue, conveying something along the lines of loved.
Tommy crumbled, leaning into Phil’s arms as he trembled to the very tips of his wings. The older man found the feathers shoved back under his hands, a broken keen reverberating in the aerie as Tommy buried his head under Phil’s chin. Begging, pleading, a cry for help. Phil was right there, wrapping his great, dark wings around them, around his fledgling, his flock. Here, in the aerie, nothing could touch him. Not Dream, not the people who abandoned him in the first place, no one. Tommy was safe, and Tommy was his.
Phil swore to god, if he ever saw that teletubbie piece of shit he was going to fucking murder him.
As much as he knew that Phil was desperately trying to form a flock bond with the new avian, Techno also spent too long making dinner to watch it get cold. He slipped into the aerie quietly, glancing around in surprise when he wasn’t immediately met with the sight of Phil on the floor and Tommy in the rafters. Technoblade frowned, “Phil?” He called.
There was a chirp, that he recognized as Tommy’s, and then Phil’s voice calling down from somewhere above, “Up here mate.”
He looked up to see Phil’s head peeking over the edge of Tommy’s nest, grinning down at him from the top of the tower. Techno realized he was gaping and closed his mouth quickly. “What are you doing up there?” He asked stiffly.
“Just chillin’.”
Tommy’s head poked over the edge then, eyes lighting up when he saw the piglin hybrid. He trilled loudly, wings fluttering.
“Right…” Techno replied, “I made stew, and it’s getting cold, so if you wouldn’t mind-”
“Aw, Techno- we’re bonding.” Phil argued.
He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can bond later- my stew, Phil.” He got no reply, and looked up to find he couldn’t see the others at all now.”
“Phil…” He called loudly.
He could hear the older avian laugh, and see black wings shifting as he finally stood up, leaning over the nest’s edge as he looked back at Tommy. “C’mon mate, Techno’s brute side is showing.”
He ignored the piglin’s huff from below them as he coaxed the teen, but Tommy didn’t seem keen on leaving the nest either, clicking sharply and ruffling newly-aligned feathers. With a fond eye roll, Phil let himself fall back, wings snapping open to catch himself as he fluttered to the ground and landed beside Technoblade.
Tommy squawked indignantly from above, expression awry with discontent.
“Come down!” Phil called.
The blonde scowled at him, and hesitated, shifting. Then, to great surprise of the other two, he opened his mouth, and called, “Phiiiiiillll…” The tone was wobbly, shaking at the edges, and pitched in all the wrong places, barely sounding like a word, but unmistakable nonetheless. Mimicking the same name that Techno had spoken just a few moments before.
Phil’s jaw dropped as Technoblade began snickering.
“Phil…!” Tommy repeated, upon seeing their reactions. The younger avian glared at him, and pointed back at the nest, his meaning obvious.
Technoblade sighed. “I’ll bring your bowls in here.” He muttered before turning to leave the aerie.
Phil couldn’t help but smile as he unfurled his wings, “Thanks, Tech.” He replied, heart curling around the warmth that had settled in his chest at hearing and being Tommy’s first word.