Chapter Text
The darkness behind the villain’s eyes cleared as he awoke from his deep slumber. Phil Watson didn’t want to pull himself from his bed this morning. He had been up until dawn thinking of his new sons and what he would do with them—the early morning dragged on until he remembered the day’s tasks. He needed to prep the guest bedroom to fit three nestlings.
He arranged a large nest, pulling two king-size mattresses together and wrapping the bed in mildewed clothing, blankets, soft pillows, etc., mimicking his own nest that could fit the double amount of the family. He arranged his supplies, pulling them into a cozy nest to help the young settle.
Had he failed to mention this to his two older boys, barely ending their teen years?
Possibly.
Phil spent his morning breaking his usual routine to narrow down clothing and plush bedding. Lost in the dilated pupils and suppressed chirps, he felt his new nestlings had a final set. One that Phil decently decided of perfection.” Dad?” A voice cuts into his mind, pulling him from the hazed greed.” Have you seen my yellow sweater anywhere?---Oh! There it is!” His brunette son picks it up from the floor before visiting the newly decorated room.” Gawking at the new sight, anxiety creeps at his current youngest. Worried about being stuck in a nest once more to his father’s possessive needs. “W-What’s this?” He feels the dread cut at his cords.
“Oh! Hello, kiddo!” His dad chirps, turning to look over at the Phantom. “I’m preparing a room for your new brothers. It will be a bit of a rough adjustment, so I’m just making sure everything is comfortable enough for the nestlings.” The man who had reached a couple of thousand years on his last birthday had joy in his heart.
“Oh…Is that so?” Wilbur tilted his head in curiosity. “Who are the new nestlings?”
“The three kiddos from the bakery. Your mother and I recently discussed the need for saving.” He hummed, tucking the corner of a fitted sheet. “They will be in this nest by the end of the weekend.” He spoke with confidence.
“Are you sure?” Wilbur chimed the feathers atop his head and dusty gray wings ruffling together harmoniously.
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Tommy’s eyes flittered to his sleeping friend’s form. His cheeks were tinted red and freckled with sparkling dust around the corners of his eyes. Ranboo was the friend who was admired by dozens for his unknown hybrid traits. White and black dots down his body, splitting his face halfway down the middle, and an elongated smile rests on the sharpened face shape. His hair alternates that pattern with red and green stringing to the ends. They matched his eyes and their unnatural glow. Short fur replaced human skin along his cheekbones, matching down his torso to his fingers. Dull, pointed nails that come to a crisp, nightly black. His tail drags on the floor, the length of his long legs, and about two feet more, long-fur wraps around himself in his sleep. The bottom was always cast around his friend’s waist to protect them from the world’s nasty lies and traumas.
Tommy loved his found brothers from their days in the orphanage to now.
Even if their lives were full of lies, their love was never one.
Tommy was naturally enamored and proud to have someone who brought out a personality he never saw in another person. His laugh radiated through the apartment like dandelions, and his sass was like a contagious wildfire. He will forever be the glue to the continuous chaos between him and Tubbo.
But the darkness of an animalistic set of genes is the ending. The cause of a baby’s death is when they still lack a pack’s imprint with the adult Alpha. Not older than kits, the three know of their dooms that will come in a matter of weeks. They’ve reached their end, and the acceptance that they had, came a long time ago.
What Will I Do If I’m Last?
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Wilbur chewed nervously at his nails, sitting in the cafe as he sat with his fellow Syndicate member; a bubble-gum pink bob shifted as she talked. “So you’re sure that Phil was talking about them?” She moves in her seat, looking at her three employees, giggling about the mischief they had started. “Boys! I swear if you break that machine again, I’mma tickle you til you’re wheezing!” She playfully threatens the wide eyes and the hurried feet that ran to the back office.
“I’m certain he was specific.” He nodded, hiding his smile. “It’ll be good for them; Mom told him last night that their times are running out, and they are desperately trying to save them. But they will not understand, and that’s the frightening part. Because I don’t want to hurt them.” Wilbur’s eyes flickered white with instinctual desire; shaking his head, he whined. Tail straightening out in desperate need of control. “God, they’re just babies….” He whimpered, his eyes dilated and furrowed. Niki reached across, running her hands over pigmented nails.
“I’ll bring them to you Sunday evening.”
Niki’s voice was soft, muttering about hiding the gaze of concern.
“There’s no need, Niki. My dad will take care of it. I couldn’t live with myself bringing that hardship in your relationships.” Wilbur followed his deep breaths as he stood, to-go coffee cup in hand. He was slipping a fifty-dollar bill onto the table. “I’m heading out, but keep an eye on them for me. Okay?” She nodded, holding the money close to her heart. Even if the Craft family has questionable standards and morals, they will be okay. She tries not to let the thought spiral for too long. She loves her villainous found family, but she will at least still have the ability to be around the kits. Her place would also be a voice of reason if they ever go too far into their betraying instincts that fight against their rational human mind.
Niki looked fondly at the three boys, her nerves screaming.
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Tubbo walked the dark streets, his hands laced with the two people he would call his soulmates, platonically, of course. His lamb tail fluttered, shaking his ears as they flicked around to watch the streets, following the lights. With the mixed effects on his mostly human body, he had about 270-degree vision at all times, while an ordinary sheep would have a whole 360.
His days lately have been full of finding the leader for his flock, a guardian animal. He was to be a bottle baby from the beginning. His father hated him, and his mother passed on the hospital bed long ago. Sometimes, he wondered…Did Shlatt hate him, or was it tough love? Tears rose in his eyes when those thoughts advanced to the surface, pricking at the brim. His shoulders shook, and his head dipped down, struggling to bring himself back to the reality he was forced to live because of a pro-hero that people had looked up to for 20 years.
He’s brought back with an even squeeze of both hands.
He focused on the concrete cracks, passing the city’s sections. His world spun as he chewed his lip, trying to feel for a stable turn into his building, the two boys leading the way. Section 16 was their home, a shabby apartment with a tense bed and horrible, drug-dealing neighbors. Horrible people preyed on young kids, selling potent drugs that caused more deaths than the average of other sections. They lived in the lowest of the lows. Rent pooling to $600 a month with the rarely used utilities. Their savings slowly flooded to a couple thousand. They were saving up previously to run away. Now, the determination had left the trio.
Their days are full of dread of never waking up. “I’m going to miss this...What do you think will happen to us?”
Ranboo’s throat tightened, swallowing nervously. He rubbed down his back, grooming the youngest’s tail. Tubbo headbutted into the oldest’s shoulder, pulling them onto the mattress. “I’m not sure, Bubba. Sometimes, I think hard and say it depends on what you believe the afterlife is like….” Ranboo’s arms wrap tight around his more minor brother, whispering gently to lull him to sleep. Following the routine towards Tubbo, whose eyes fought to stay open til they couldn’t anymore. His tail curled to protect them forever, unknowing of the pair of eyes in the dark. Drifting into a deep sleep, he never noticed.
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Phil watched his sons in the apartment, filling his heart with joy. He spilled the potion through a rag into each boy’s mouth, dripping the potent weakness and healing mixture. The brew would keep them in a dazed state until early morning. He watched as the tenseness in the forms dissipated, motioning for his two oldest to come inside and help with their transport to the van downstairs. A pink-haired brute scooped up the tallest. His ghostly son follows the tallest with the baby lamb. And lastly, the smallest of all three, a beautiful golden raccoon hybrid. Curls tucked under his chin as he felt the tail wrapped around his wrist, weakly stirring in a desperate attempt to wake himself. Ocean blue eyes with silver ice crystals flutter open to meet the adult avian. He tried to push away with his weakened strength until taloned fingers circled his scruff. He gripped the loose skin, throwing the small boy into an instinctual-filled haze.
“S-Stop, please….” He cried, his pupils reaching a void-filled black. Phil swore in the moonlight; you could see the stars in the nightlight. He rocked him, holding him tight. Tommy relaxed against his will. Phil pressed his nose between the golden-coated ears. He waited until he heard the slowed breathing as it evened out. When he reached the van, the two older boys were curled on the mattress in the back. The softness wasn’t complete without their little bear. He was set in, and like a ritual, both protectively wrapped around him as if Tommy was their baby. The breeds, mixed with their genetics naturally nurturing and anxious. Tommy weakly chittered back to their sleeping calls.
Phil closed the door gently as he walked to the front. His firstborns were sitting in the three-seated front. He pushed the button of his gearshift to pull the van into drive. They left Section 16 with three boys who would never see their false home again, in the backseat set heavily scented items by the runts in a drawstring bag.
The contents…Many plush animals with hand-embroidered name tags, a scrapbook, a Polaroid camera, silencing headphones, hand-sewn blankets from children’s t-shirts, and a trio pair of matching onesies, footed like a group of infants.
A coo left the Phantom’s lips, rounded glasses revealing how young each boy was. Even as aging teens, kits naturally ground towards nesting materials and things resembling swaddling, and it hinted how long the poor hybrids had indeed been alone. Tufted ears of a phantom slid back in sorrow, letting out a pitiful chirp. His wings ruffled the uneasiness from his shoulders, the exhaustion straightening out his back. “They’re going to be very upset when they finally return.” Phil chittered out laughter, shaking his head as their car passed the city lights, and entered the forest, dark treelines, soft howls from the owls; they had a few hours ahead of them to the secluded land where they lived for the whole of his son’s childhood years. “They are so precious….” He whispered as he tucked the light blanket under Tubbo’s side. Ranboo’s tail flicked, and he tried weakly to tug the lamb closer to his body, protecting the raccoon kit between them.
Phil pulled into the driveway, parked at the garage door, waiting for the automatic door to open. The crinkling of metal at the lifting door, scraping lightly at the metal beams. The car slowly rolled on the poreless concrete. A cold room full of storage tubbed memories and rusting bicycles. “Alright, we are home!” He announced with a bright smile. Turning the key as the engine sputtered softly to sleep. He slipped from his seat as they began transporting children to the warm nest. Phil held the blond boy tight in his arms, pressing his nose between his softly rounded ears. Wings had trapped him in close, hunching in close.