Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wilbur sighed, dipping his hands over the balcony edge. The cigarette lay nice and polite in between his fingers, curling smoke into the air above his head. Wilbur brang it to his lips again, looking back to the balcony door to see the approaching person.

“Smoking again, Wil?” Sally asked, dragging her hand over his back and swirling her fingers over his feathers, standing next to him to watch the sunset. A moment of silence was shared between the pair, Wilbur blowing out another puff of smoke.

“I gotta go on another mission tonight, love..” Wilbur said to break the silence, Sally rolling her eyes besides him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Bring back a few organs for me, dear. I’ve been getting hungry…” Sally replied, ruffling his dark brown hair, before going inside. Wilbur chuckled, putting down the cigarette on the floor and stomping on it with his boot.

Wilbur gathered his supplies into his bag, pulling up the mask that covered his nose and mouth. He clipped off his earrings and attached the dagger to his ankle, hiding a small handgun in its cover on his other leg.

“Dear, do you need your goggles?” Sally called from the other room, tossing a pair of goggles into the room. He caught them, putting them down on the side table.
“No. It’ll be over before they can see me.” He replied to her, slinging the bag over his shoulders. Sally gave him a kiss on the forehead to greet his goodbye at the door, handing him his seashell necklace that he wore all the time.

“It’s lucky! Keeps you off the cop’s radar, lovely. Keep it with you this time.” She said, clipping the accessory over his neck. He pulled down his mask to kiss her goodbye, pulling it back up and hopping onto the balcony railing and onto the roof above.

The air was chilly that night. Low clouds hung over the city, scattered here and there and letting moonlight filter through in bright shafts. Wilbur hopped along the roofs of buildings, stationing himself in the nook of one to look at his assignment. He read over the paper, glossing over the words in the dim lighting from his watch.

Name, Tommy. Age, 17. Description: Tall, blond hair, light skin, raccoon-ish features. Work: Unemployed. Roommates, possible alibis: Tubbo, Ranboo. Reason for assasination: Classified.

Wilbur snickered and folded the paper down, standing up to his feet and following the tracker on his assignment that was stationed on his watch. He was close by. He raced over the building tops, following the tracker on quiet feet before he was right on top of them.
The apartment was thin and tall, not providing much space for the people inside. He climbed down the piping of the building, propping himself up on one of the edges of a window. He carefully slid the window open with his fingertips, listening to see if anyone was there.

“Cmon Tommy! Pick something to eat already!” Shouted a small boy, waving his hands out in front of him, big and bouncy brown hair covering his eyes and moving in large drafts with him. The blonde boy (obviously Tommy, the boy fit the description he’d read only minutes earlier all too well to just be coincidence) stamped his foot on the ground, bending over to tie his shoelaces together.

“I don’t know! I’ll pick up McDonalds or something!” He shouted back to the small boy, his golden raccoon tail lashing from side to side angrily. Once the boy was finally done tying his shoes, a very very tall boy handed him a slip of paper through clawed hands.

“Already wrote down the orders there, Tommy. Just pick it up and come home, kay?” Said the tall one, whipping around his tail to wipe at Tommy’s cheek in a loveable way. Tommy rolled his eyes and batted away the comfort, waving a hand behind him at the group as he walked through the door.
Wilbur had to duck his head away from the window when the duo walked towards it, holding his breath for a moment as the time passed.

“Who opened this window?” Said the small one, slamming it shut right on Wilbur’s wingtip. He bit his lip hard under the mask, stifling a yell at the sharp pain. He tugged back his feathers, shaking out his large wings before climbing back down the drainage pipe yet again.

He watched the tall raccoon boy trot down the street on the gray sidewalk, the orange street lights reflecting off the puddles on the pavement. Wilbur flicked his wings out in excitement, bringing down his hand to grace his legs. He could do a gun...no, that'll just draw attention. Wilbur shook his head at the thought as in response, hand gliding for his dagger. Right when he unsheathed it though, he lost track of the boy.

“Shit…” He muttered, hopping across the rooftops and fluttering over gaps here and there, chasing the small glimmer of golden fur from the boy’s tail. Wilbur ran after him on the roof tiles, skidding to a halt at the edge of one and making the tiles clatter to the ground. Blood pumped in his ears as the avian ducked down to avoid the boy’s gaze, grabbing the dagger in his hand.
He waited patiently on the rooftop, his figure obscured by a large chimney. He folded his wings in close, his legs shaking from holding the same crouching position for so long. Finally, he heard footsteps echoing off the building walls. Wilbur’s head shot up to stare down at Tommy, a small giggle forming in his throat. This was it. He needed to get this right.

Wilbur climbed down the building, creeping up behind the boy. His wings were held tight behind his back as he crept closer, and closer, finally reaching out to grab the boy’s arm and twist it painfully behind his back.

“WH-WHAT THE HELL?!” Tommy shouted, Wilbur pushing him into the wall with his foot, holding his head to the bricks. The knife trembled in his hand, already pinned at the boy’s neck. But before he could barrel it any further through the skin, Tommy’s tail swept his legs out from under him.
Wilbur collided to the ground, wings splayed out on either side of him. Tommy was obviously shocked at this, taking a moment before stepping right on his wing.

“THAT'S for trying to KILL ME!” Tommy shouted, bolting in the opposite direction, McDonalds food abandoned on the sidewalk ground. Wilbur sighed, getting up on his feet and racing after the boy. Tommy was fast, that was certain, but Wilbur was faster. He kicked at the boy’s back and stomped on his tail harshly, pulling out his dagger and stabbing it right in his shoulder blades.

Tommy yelled and tried to roll from his grip, turning to his back to look at him face-to-face. The realization hit Wilbur a bit too late that this, in fact, was a child. In the amount of blunt shock he was in, he wasn’t surprised when Tommy kicked him hard in the legs, shooting up to his feet and holding his dagger shakily in between his hands.

“Get back! Or imma-“ The boy was instantly cut off when his eyes rolled back, his knees buckling and his body collapsing to the ground. Wilbur jumped away from the collapsed figure, poking the child with his foot before assuming he was passed out from whatever amount of shock caused it.

“Well, bloody hell then.” Wilbur cursed, grabbing the boy by his feet and dragging him down to the nearest alleyway. Blood followed with the body like a slug trail, shining against the harshness of the street lights. He propped up the body in the alleyway, turning on the flashlight of his phone to get a good look at the boy’s face. He was covered in dirt and pieces of gravel from their earlier scuffle, bags hanging under his eyes and a few band-aids littering his cheeks and neck. A red T-shirt was dyed a darker red from the blood, white bandages wrapping his knuckles.

“God damnit!” Wilbur shook his head, kicking at the wall to release some of his boiling anger, flinging his wings out wide. A CHILD? They told him to kill a CHILD! Wilbur was furious. He took another look at the dirty gremlin child in front of him, at the knots in his blonde hair, at the cuts and bruises that littered his arms and legs. He felt pity for the boy. Well, wasn’t there a first time for everything?

Wilbur grabbed him by his waist, hauling Tommy over his shoulder and walking down the street like that. He just prayed that whoever saw him thought he was just a drunken fool helping another, Wilbur walking over to grab the McDonalds that was miraculously still there. He carried the bag on his wrist, holding the boy carefully so as to not drop him.

Once Wilbur had returned home to his apartment, he dropped Tommy down in the guest bedroom that they used for nobody in particular, tying ropes around his arms and legs to a chair they had. Wilbur ate the fries in the fast-food bag, sitting on the edge of the bed across the room, just looking at the kid. His employers will be on his ass if they hear about this. Narrowing his eyes at the sleeping figure, Wilbur got to his feet and began to walk away, flicking his wings back into their position, before closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered in through the half open windows, the collection of dust piling higher on the dresser in the room. Tommy’s eyes fluttered open, his hair falling over his eyes and blonde strands getting caught in his mouth.

Tommy lifted his head from the back of the chair, swiveling around as much as he could to get a good look at the room he was in. The bed was already made and had fluffy white comforters on it, a fresh glass of water on the nightstand. Tommy desperately wanted something to drink, but he couldn’t move from the ropes that tied him down.

The ropes scratched and ripped at his wrists and ankles, his fingers going numb from the lack of circulation. He heard the knob of the door turn, and he dropped his head back down and closed his eyes, desperately praying they thought he was dead and would throw him out. Or…bury him, but that was a chance he was willing to take.

Someone entered the room, the footsteps light and airy on the wooden floor. Tommy assumed this was a woman from the way their feet pattered, but he might be wrong. He went still and tried not to move, feeling her breath on the side of his neck. The rope around his wrist shifted. Maybe she was freeing him! He felt a marker move along his arm. Probably drawing a map out of this hellhole, but maybe he was too gullible. But when the rope was cut and his arm lifted up, he felt something else besides a marker. He felt teeth.

“Ow! What the fuck!” Tommy shouted, opening his eyes and jolting away from the woman. Her teeth dug in deep thought, ripping at his skin before finally letting go.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, I thought you were dead already!” The woman shouted, backing up against the wall and wiping his blood from her mouth. Her scarlet and orange shaded hair dropped over her shoulders, pushing into a droopy ponytail behind her. It was curly in an untameable fashion, dropping at least to her knees. She had a green T-shirt that looked too oversized, tucked into blue jeans and pearl laces swishing across the belt.

“DEAD? Were you gonna EAT ME?” Tommy shouted, trying to maneuver himself along with the chair to face her better. She put her hands up, immediately dropping the knife that she held, and slid it aside with her foot.

“In my defense,” She waved at him, “You are very eatable. Could I just…” She trailed off, creeping forward slightly and wiping the blood from his arm, licking it off her fingers. The woman smiled a devilish smile at him, giggling a giggle that made his skin crawl. She wiped her hand off on the side of her jeans, settling down on the edge of the bed to look at him.

Tommy used his free hand to try to undo the ropes on his feet, but another person entered the room before he had the chance. The man who entered was tall, and looked to be around 23 or 24. He had a black hoodie with the sleeves red, silver hoops of various sizes studding his ears. The man scowled at him, his brunette hair falling over his eyes. He obviously hadn’t dyed it for a while, for his blonde roots were showing, orangey-brown feathered hawk wings stationed at his side.

He stalked over to Tommy, grabbing the back of the chair and tipping it to the wall, narrowing his eyes at him. Amber eyes glared right through his head as all he could do was look at the man.

“I know you took them! Where are they?!” He yelled, tipping the chair back so his head was touching the wall. Fear pulsed through his veins and blood pumped in his ears as he stared at the man only a few inches from his face, trying to spit out a response.

“Wh-what do you mean? I-I didn’t take anything!” Tommy stuttered, shifting his fist into a ball. He could hit him...no, now wasn’t the time for violence. Now was the time to lie and get his ass out of this mess.

“Yes you did, now spill it! Where are you hiding the discs?!” The man shouted in his face again, grabbing him by his shirtfront and slamming him deeper into the wall. Tommy grunted, eyes darting from the man to the woman, over and over.

“I don’t have any discs! I have CD’s if you want some, but not discs! Ask my roommate Ranboo, he has a bunch!” Tommy yelled back a reply, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his tail tremble.

“Quit LYING! I could have killed you already but I didn’t!” The man let go of his shirt, tossing him along with the chair to the side, making him tip over. The man pinched his fingers on his nose bridge, pacing circles around the small enclosed room. The woman got up and ran her hands down his back, whispering little things to him that Tommy couldn’t hear, even with his supersonic hearing.

“Fine, fine. You're right Sally.” The man said, kissing the woman and returning back to Tommy. He brings up the chair, looking at Tommy with an unreadable expression. The man got a knife and cut the rope on his other arm, waving a hand at him.

“Empty your pockets.” He said, sitting back down on the bed, looping a hand around Sally’s waist. Tommy widened his eyes and gave him a mocking look, pulling out his pockets to show him.

“I’m in a T-shirt and shorts, Even if I had your so called "Discs" I wouldn't be able to fit them anywhere!” Tommy shouted, tail lashing and his raccoon ears pinning. The man sighed, shooting towards him, and slammed his foot on his tail. He pinned him to the wall yet again, his hand dangerously close to his neck.

“Better tell me where you hid them or I’ll fucking snap your neck and feed you to my fiance!” He threatened in a sort of whisper towards him, his hand digging into his neck. Tommy squealed, thrashing his tail around and yelling. He tried to land a punch on the man with his free hands, but he had too strong a grip on him. Finally, a voice rang out.

“Wilbur, let go of him!” Sally said towards the man, her hands clenched into fists. The man –probably Wilbur, he assumed– dropped him and looked towards Sally.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t gonna kill him yet! Just gonna get-” Their conversations were cut off when they left the room, shouts and yells being heard through the walls. Tommy took to this opportunity, and started to untie the ropes on his legs. They were strong ropes, and he pulled on them violently before the tension on his ankles was released. Tommy shot to his feet, ignoring the yelling just outside the door, and ran as fast as he could out of the room. He could hear the yelling stop and the duo running towards him, and his fear returned to replace the adrenaline.

He bolted to the balcony door, undoing the lock and opening it. He slammed the door and held the handle, trying to stop Wilbur from opening it. His attempts failed, and he was thrown to the wall from the amount of force used to throw open the door. Wilbur snagged him again by his shirtfront, tilting him halfway off the balcony edge so his head was dangling off the side. Tommy scrambled to try and get a hold of the edge, but he was just pushed father off the side.

“I'm gonna give you one last chance, kid. Tell me where the discs are or I swear to god I’ll fucking drop you!” Wilbur yelled at him, shaking Tommy a bit and forcing him off the side only a smidge bit more.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! Please just DON’T LET ME FALL!” Tommy screamed, his ears pinned violently and his tail lashing over the side. Wilbur narrowed his eyes at him, tugging him back onto the balcony and throwing him to the wall with surprising strength. Sally stood at the doorway, looking in fear at the scene.

“Wilbur, please baby-” She started, Wilbur flicking his large hawk wing at her.

“Fix him up, Sal. I don’t care. Just don’t let him leave…” Wilbur said, wrapping his hand around hers for a bit. Sally leaned in for a hug, before they uncoiled and Wilbur disappeared into the apartment.

Sally walked over to him, putting out her hand to help him up. Tommy hesitated before taking the hand, standing up on uneasy feet. His tail trembled still and was pinned between his legs, but he followed the woman into the apartment anyways.

“Sit on the chair over there.” Sally said, flicking her hand at a small, round table set to the side. Tommy denied the demand, standing up and pacing small circles around the table instead. He’d rather use his legs than be tied to another chair.

“Fine then, stand if you will. The blood is just gonna rush out more and I’m gonna want to eat you instead.” Sally said, dipping down under the kitchen sink to pull out a med kit. She then walked over and set it down on the table, pulling out gauze and bandage wraps for him. She gestured for him to sit down, pulling out his arm to wrap it.

“You are a real mess, you know that right?” Sally said, biting her lip while she wrapped the bandages around his arm. He could tell she was trying her best not to eat him. Tommy sat in the chair, whipping his tail around his legs and flicking his ears, trying to maneuver his head in a way to watch what Sally was doing.

Her touch was soft and gentle, and she didn’t scold him on what he did wrong while helping him. She didn’t pry to where the discs were, she stayed in almost complete silence while she wrapped his arm.

"I'm sorry for my fiance's behavior, by the way." Sally mumbled to him, finishing off the wrap and cleaning dirt off his face. "He has a little bit of anger issues. Wants things his way. He means well, though." Tommy flicked an ear at what she'd just said, taking a bit to let the air refill his lungs before speaking.

"If he's so nice, then why'd he kidnap me in the first place?" Sally paused for a bit, the movement of her hands stopping, although only briefly, to think over what Tommy had just said. She drew a quick breath, and snipped off the extra amount of bandage wrap on his arm. She hummed a quick note, packing up the medical supplies back into a box, and tilted her head at him with a mysterious shimmer to her eyes.

"It's best you don't know yet, love." She said, completely dodging the question, and retreating back into the kitchen to make something.

Wilbur returned home to the apartment maybe 10 minutes after Tommy and Sally's conversation. Blood stained his shoes and his pants, his fingers dyed red from the dark red substance. Tommy coiled in on himself from the sight, curling his tail snug around his body.

Wilbur set a wicked looking dagger down on the counter top, giving Sally a vivid smile and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Did you bring anything back for me, dear?” Sally asked, dancing them around in circles in the kitchen.

“Yes I did, lovely. How do you feel about the kidneys?” He replied, Sally wrinkling her nose bridge at him.

“That’s fine, but I’d prefer the heart.” She said, Wilbur spinning her around before she resumed her cooking on the stove.

Tommy was, to say the least, scared. No, scared didn’t even begin to describe this. Terrified was more like it. He trembled in the chair he was in, his ears pinned in fright from the situation he was stuck in. He…didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be home in his apartment, teasing Ranboo about what's for dinner. He wanted to absolutely destroy Tubbo in Mario Kart. He wanted to tend to the herbs and plants on their windowsill that he kept perfect. He did not want to be in a murder house. Tommy put his hands to his eyes, praying desperately that Tubbo and Ranboo were safe, and alone.

—---------------------------------------

The morning was still and quiet. Way too still, and way too quiet. Tubbo slipped out from his makeshift bed on the couch, hooves tapping quietly against the hardwood floor. He flicked his ears and ran his fingers over his horns, feeling in between every groove and mark.

'I should file them down again…' Tubbo thought, taking his hands down from his horns and looking around the abandoned living room. The TV was on, producing some sort of weird static in place of the news. But nobody was in the room besides him, so he turned it off.

“Is Tommy back yet..?” Ranboo said, creeping out of the room with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Tubbo shook his head solemnly, glancing around the room one more time.

“He hasn’t come back, I’m kinda scared.” Tubbo admitted, taking up his spot behind his desk and opening up his laptop.

“We could track his phone, then,” Ranboo said, settling down on the couch, as if Tubbo having a tracker installed on Tommy wasn't anything abnormal anymore. “Follow where it leads us.”

Tubbo’s ears perked up at the mention of his phone. Tubbo rushed into their room, changing into a normal shirt and shorts as quickly as possible, with a set of hooves.

“Get changed, Ranboo! We’re gonna find Tommy!” He shouted, pumping up his fist.

When they left the apartment building, the sun was steadily creeping up the sky. Although, steadily wasn’t the right word to describe the tracker on Tubbo’s phone. It rolled and wheeled side to side, dragging them across streets and through dusty alleyways. Finally, it pinpointed to a spot.

“This does not look promising at all…” Ranboo said and they crept down a narrow alleyway. Trails of blood streaked the floor, vibrant red against the dingy grey of the cement. Tubbo’s hooves tapped against the concrete, holding Ranboo’s clawed hand in pure, immovable fear. Suddenly, the tracker stopped.

Laying on the ground, was Tommy’s busted and broken phone, along with a small pool of blood.

“Is he dead?!” Ranboo shouted, scurrying around the alleyway to try and find any signs that Tommy was alive. Tubbo followed the trail of blood, starting his run down the street with Ranboo following close behind.

“He’s alive…I’m sure of it.” Tubbo said, although he wasn’t completely sure at this point. Tommy could be hurt, severely injured, even dead. There was nothing he could do but look for him.

“Should we call the cops? He could be kidnapped, hurt, dead even!” Ranboo said, his tail flicking from side to side in worry. Tubbo brushed his fingers through his hair, grabbing onto Ranboo’s wrist and tugging him back.

“We gotta. Now, let’s go back home, before the person who did this comes to finish the job…” Tubbo said, trudging back to the apartment with more guilt on his shoulders than what he left with.

Chapter Text

The morning was still and quiet. A perfect still, a perfect quiet. And of course, that was interrupted by a yell.

“What the hell! Let me outta here you bitch!” Tommy yelled very loudly, enough to make the walls shake. Wilbur stumbled out of bed, trying to be quiet so as to not wake up Sally. He wouldn’t say this –because he was a good fiance– but Sally was a real bitch in the morning.

Wilbur shoved away the door and pushed to his feet, tipping the chair Tommy was in and pinning him to the wall.

“Shut up, now.” Wilbur threatened, easily throwing Tommy aside again and stumbling out of the room again on uneasy feet. Birds chittered outside the windows and perched on the windowsills, their noises and little chirps rather annoying him. Wilbur turned on the coffee maker and waited patiently on the side, eyes drooping and limbs weak and heavy. He heard familiar footsteps echoing down the hallway, and leaned over to kiss a familiar face.

“Good morning my Wilby.” Sally said sweetly, gracing her hands around his neck and pulling him in. Although Wilbur would have loved to stay like this, another scream interrupted the duo.

“HHEEEELLLLLLPPPPPP!” Tommy’s loud and squeaky little teenager voice rang out, Wilbur pinching his fingers to his nose bridge in obvious irritation. “You can go threaten him again, dear. I’ll just drink your coffee instead.” Sally persisted, giving him another long kiss before untangling from his arms. He grumbled, although with a smile to her, and returned to pace back into the room.

“What the fuck!” Wilbur shouted to Tommy, grimace on his face, arms spread wide and the bags under his eyes undyingly present. Tommy wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue at him, shifting his head around so he was looking up at Wilbur. Gold hair fell into Tommy’s face and scrapes littered his cheeks, but he seemed as persistent as ever to annoy the shit out of him.

“I was having a great morning with my fiance and then you ruined it!” Wilbur said again, putting a hand to his face and settling down on the bed. The silence between the two was suffocating to him, but he pushed through anyway. Wilbur lifted his head to face Tommy, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

“Alright, while we’re here, why don’t you answer my questions.” Wilbur started, waving a hand at Tommy and pushing his hair out of his eyes with the other.

“Where are the discs? If you tell me now, I won’t have to run through your roommates to get to them.” He said blankly, Tommy watching him for a long, long moment, before opening his mouth to speak.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Tommy said stubbornly after a bit, quickly jolting his head away, trying to tug his hands violently from the ropes on the side of the chair. It was a pathetic failed attempt, and he only just wiggled around for a bit before giving up on escaping, letting his head drop.

“I can find new discs for you if you want! Just let. Me. GO!” Tommy yelled and scrambled around, his tail lashing from under the chair and making him move. Wilbur sighed a sigh that sounded more sad than angry, and he shifted up to his feet to walk out of the room.

“If you don’t want to cooperate, I have ways to make you talk.” Wilbur said over his shoulder to Tommy, slamming the door dramatically after he left.

—---------------------------------------------------

The morning continued to be as uneventful as ever. Wilbur kept trying to spill information from the boy, but he stayed persistent. He would try to get him to talk about where the discs were, but he stayed persistent, as ever.

“I don’t know where the discs are!” Tommy said again (like usual, he never would seem to SHUT UP when it came to talking. He wanted him to talk about the discs but he kept chattering on about thieving and shit) and waved his pathetic little tail around, hissing at him like a fucking furry. Wilbur grumbled and pounded his hand on the wall, looking at Tommy again.

“I’m gonna say this one more time, alright?” Wilbur hissed through his teeth. “Where are the discs? And if you don’t tell me I’ll kill you and your roommates getting to them.”

Tommy seemed to not be affected by his threats anymore, and Wilbur really hated the thoughts going through his head. He needed to take matters…physical.

“Tell me where they are right now!” He yelled, shooting towards the boy and pinning him to the wall by his neck.

“Lemme go bitch! I won’t tell you nothin’ if you kill me!” Tommy screamed and lashed in his grasp, but it did nothing. He pressed the knife into the boy’s neck, the blade drawing a small line at the skin. He could just…

“Wilbur!” Sally shouted from the doorway, snapping him out of his trance. Tommy gave him a hard kick to his knees, scrambling away and into the corner of the room. Wilbur swiveled his head around to face Sally, expecting to see her fuming face looking back at him. Only, it was covered in fear.

“Y-your dad’s here. He needs to stay here, for some reason…” Sally wrung out her hands, her hair twirled into knots here and there. Wilbur’s face dropped immediately, and he turned to point at Tommy.

“Stay in the fucking room! Don’t leave, and don't talk if you wanna stay alive!” He said sternly, storming out of the room and slamming the door.

He turned the corner to the front door, met imminently with pitch black crow wings. A billowing, pea green cape was perched on the man’s shoulders, a droopy green and white striped hat covering bleach-streaked hair. The man gave a petty, towering smirk at him, the type of smirk that would make a man shudder. Wilbur, in defense, stood his ground.

“What do you want, Phil?” Wilbur asked defensively, his wings, looking small in comparison to the man, spreading out in anything but a hostile position. Phil, looking at him deeply, only snickered as his responce.

“Don’t be so hostile, son.” Phil said, ruffling Wilbur’s hair and shouldering him away, walking into the large apartment. Techno trailed close behind, a rope leash dragging along a fluffy blue sheep.

“I brought your little sheep along too, Wil. She missed you...I think.” Phil said simply, letting his wings soak in the morning sun and billow around the room. Wilbur’s eyes flickered to the guest room, pure guilt and fear settling heavy in his gut. Techno seemed to notice his expression -like the annoying older brother he was- and glanced at the guest room.

“Want us to put our stuff in there, Wil? Seems like you're giving me a look.” Techno said bluntly, the American basically dripping off his tongue at this rate. Wil put up his hands and waved them around, smiling nervously. He gave “the look” to Sally, and jogged his head at the door.

“No, no! It’s really messy in there, I wouldn’t want you guys to get grossed out!” Wilbur flicked his wings, walking in front of Phil to stop him from entering the room. Friend, his sheep, brushed up against his legs needingly.

“Oh, please Wil. I had to raise you at 12, I’m sure I can handle dirty clothes everywhere!” Phil pushed him aside, opening the door. Sally raced over next to Wilbur, their hands intertwining in a tight grip. He prepared for the worst.

Tommy was curled up in the chair, tail coiled at his heels and ears shaking at the side of his head. Tommy looked up to the new group, fear spreading across his face and making him look sick. Wilbur shut his eyes tight, cowering behind his father.

He expected to be lashed at, he expected to be yelled at, he expected to be hit or clawed or kicked to a wall. Surprisingly, Phil stayed calm, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Please don’t tell me this is what it looks like, Wil.” Phil said through a noticeably forced smile, but only Wilbur could see he was sending death glares at him. Wil wrung his hands together, anxiety clawing its way up his throat and forcing him to say things he shouldn’t.

“I was gonna…” He mumbled under his breath like a child being scolded, avoiding his adoptive father’s gaze. He could see Phil’s fists coil together dangerously into something of a ball, but his face seemed calm as ever. As if nothing affected him. That bastard.

“Gonna what?” Phil snapped rather suddenly, raising an eyebrow at him. Wilbur simply sunk backwards, eyes forcibly pinned on his father. He opened his mouth to speak, but Phil beat him to it, flicking a wing at him.

“What were you gonna do, Wil?” Phil repeated, this time more sternly. “What were you gonna do, Wil, because it looks to me that you didn’t finish the job!” Phil’s wings were outspread, feather tips touching the wall. Wilbur had to remind himself how big Phil actually was. Hell, Phil could simply put his foot on his chest the wrong way and probably crush his ribcage.

Wilbur brought in a breath through his nostrils and bit his tongue, wings trembling at either side of him. He curled his fists into balls at his legs, grinding his teeth together and making his head reverberate the sound. Phil seemed eerily patient to see his reaction, but Wilbur wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he wanted. He wouldn’t cave in.

“It’s a child, Phil. They wanted me to kill a child.” He murmured under his breath, loud enough for Phil to hear him yet, quiet enough so that Tommy didn’t eavesdrop. Sally pried his clenched hands open, turning him to face her. She rubbed his palms flat with her thumbs, giving him a warm smile, her pointed teeth visible in the dim light of the hallway. Wilbur gave her the half-hearted smile that she eagerly awaited from him, trying to stop the nervous tic that his hands did ever so often.

He turned to face Phil again, trying to keep calm under the building pressure in his chest.

“I will do my job, and you will do yours. Phil, you have no part in telling me how to kill.” Wilbur said calmly, giving a fake, toothy grin at Phil. He just let out a hearty chuckle in response, his large crow wings bouncing up and down at his sides. Phil smothered out his expression, settling down something more deadly in place of that.

“You can’t tell me what to do. Mind you, I taught you how to kill.” Phil said deeply, leaning down to face Wilbur better. Although Wilbur was rather taller than his adoptive father, something deep inside him made him tremble when Phil arched his back, spread his wings, and put on that malicious grin he’d grown up with.

Wilbur stood his ground though, despite the anxiety settling itself comfy in his guts. “Whatever, you're not gonna touch the boy, understand?” Wilbur pointed a finger at Phil’s chest, glowering at him and bringing in a sharp inhale. Phil only chuckled in a sharp response, shifting backwards and settling his wings politely on his back, folding his arms over his chest.

“Good you stood your ground, Wil. Now I know you didn’t fail me.” Phil spat out on the ground in front of them, swishing his wings and walking towards the kitchen, therefore ending their conversation right then and there.

Sally graced her hands over his back in the comforting way she normally did, pressing her lips to his forehead for a while. He breathed in her scent as much as he could in this moment, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her in close. She gave a short giggle, untangling from his arms and giving him another kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll get Friend settled in with Tommy, she looks like she likes him. Plus,” Sally pointed inside the room, where Friend was curled up against Tommy’s legs, the boy seeming like he escaped and cuddled in the corner of the room. "If we get Tommy to warm up to us, maybe he'll slip where the discs are." Wilbur snickered in his throat, nodding at her.

"Clever, I like it. See, this is one of the reasons why I married you." Sally gave a fake and exaggerated gasp, throwing her hand to her forehead.

"I thought you married me for love!" She gasped in a joking way, smiling at him.

"Well, obviously that too, Sal." He returned the joke, shifting his wings to be more comfortable on his back. Sally gave him another cheery smile, walking into the room to try and warm up to the boy.

“I’m gonna go outside for a smoke, I’ll be on the balcony if you need me, love.” Wil said, grabbing his packet of cigarettes from the counter, and ignoring the look Phil gave him when he walked out onto the balcony ledge. Wilbur removed the lighter from his pocket, and set fire to the top of the cigarette that now was politely pressed between his lips.

The city skyline was rather beautiful in the dimness of the gathering morning, the bustling streets below giving off the usual loud shouts and screams of angry people on the streets under. Wilbur, being lost in thought, breathed the heavy smoke into his lungs, letting it out in brilliant puffs through his mouth and nose. He flicked his wings out, closing his eyes and just soaking in the sounds around him.

He smiled when he felt a familiar hand on his back yet again.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Quit doddiling and get a move on!” Shouted a voice from the sides of the indoor swimming pool. Sally placed the goggles on her eyes and set her hair into a tight bun that still seemed to drag behind her, giving a shrug to her swim coach and placing her hands down on the padded mat below.

Her “opponents” did the same position, the class awaiting further instructions from the coach, who stood off to the side. Sally shot into the water as soon as she heard the whistle blow, trying to keep her human state intact while she swam. Her gills brought in air from the water around her -and while it was still packed to the brim with chlorine, she still accepted it- and she was as persistent as ever to keep swimming.

Although, something dragged at the back of her mind. Something...odd.

Later, she would say she didn’t do it. She would say it wasn’t her fault. She would say they "did it to themself." Later, she would say she didn’t rip off her gloves, washing the blood from the pool, taking off the cover and removing the body. Later, Sally would say she didn’t kill them.

She did.

———————————————————————

It became night shortly after practice. Sally was in the locker room, washing the chlorine from her hair before she went back into the pool. She wrapped a towel around her body as she wrung out her hair, changing into a proper bathing suit and grabbing her phone. There was a missed call from Wil. God damnit.

Her phone started ringing shortly after checking through her messages, and she pressed that little green button and held it up to her ear. It took a moment for her to process that it was Wilbur again.

“Hey Wil, how are you doing baby?” She asked blankly after he shouted her name into the line.

“Sally! What are you doing? I called like, ten times!” Wilbur replied, and Sally rolled her eyes behind the screen. She was 99% sure he could hear her scoff.

“You called 3, Wil. And I just ended practice, I’m gonna teach the kids now. Relax hon, I’ll be back in an hour.” She could hear his sigh of relief from the other end and the ruffling of his feathers, and she smiled, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

“Alright, get home soon please. And be safe. Oh, and there’s some leftover kidneys in the fridge for you when you get home.” He said over the phone. Sally let the tidal wave of blush surround her face at this comment, and gave a “I love you” to him before he hung up the phone. Sally sighed a lovestricken sigh, setting her phone down in the lockers and walking out to the pool.

The little kids were already arriving by the time she got out there, parents dragging behind their kids and getting them ready for the pool. Sally stretched her arms over her head, letting her hair dangle off her shoulders and dipped her legs into the pool, smiling at the kids and inviting them into the water.

The pool itself was rather large, she would estimate around the size of an Olympic swimming pool. She didn’t measure it though -as to not be deemed crazy- but knew what one looked like.

At one point, when she started dating Wil, she was given the opportunity to be an Olympic swimmer. She turned down the offer when Wilbur proposed to her though. She loved Wilbur, obviously, and they’ve always been there for each other. Sally wouldn’t admit to anyone though, that he got in the way of a lot. Wilbur was quite clingy, demanding, and sometimes, just downright manipulative. Sally was all these things and more, but it just seemed he was…special. Wilbur was unique, to say the least. And it would just be them two, and nobody else, for the rest of their lives.

And maybe Tommy.

Sally snapped from her trance when a toddler fell into the pool. She snapped to attention, lunged into the lukewarm water, and ripped the child out by their torso. The little snow-fox hybrid child wiggled in her arms, crying frantically. As Sally would assume for any sane parent to do, she waited for the adult to rip their child from her arms. But nobody came to their aid.

Finally, someone approached, lazily grabbing their child from her arms and sitting them both down on the bench not too far from the steps of the pool. Sally resisted the urge to slap the parent across the face for their lazy behavior towards their kid almost DROWNING, but she kept her cool, clenching the side of the pool until her fingertips turned white.

———————————————————————————

The night went rather well. She swam around with the littles, giving their parents tips on how to help them swim better. Sally was in the locker room again, wringing out her hair and setting into a tight bun behind her. She slipped on her sweater, but muffled yelling pierced its way through the walls. Sally crept towards the noise, trying to see who it was, but she was rudely interrupted.

Sally’s phone rang again.

She muffled the tone with the edge of her towel, answering it with an annoyed whisper.

“Wilbur!” She whispered into the microphone. “Not a good time!”

Sally heard his feathers ruffle in his usual irritated way, his voice speaking low through the speaker.

“Jeez Sal, I just wanted to check on you. I’m hanging out with Phil and Tech, we ordered Chinese food if you want me to save you some?” Wilbur’s innocence basically made Sally’s ears bleed. He almost never ordered food...ever. What was he up to?

“Sure hon.” She said, just trying to end the call as fast as she could to get this over with. “If there’s any orange chicken left I’ll eat that tomorrow.” She finished, removing the phone from her ear, before Wilbur spoke again.

“Alright. But don’t you wanna eat it when you get home? You’re always so hungry when you return from practice…” He said, his tone dipping a few times in thought.

“Oh, no, I’m not hungry...right now.” Sally lied, whispering her “I love you”‘s to him before hanging up the phone. She was so hungry, but Chinese food will have to wait. She had a job to do...

“Yogurt!” The woman outside the locker room shouted. Sally peeked her head around the corner to watch. “Why are you still so fat? I thought swimming would help you.” The little fox rubbed her eyes, looking up at the woman.

“I-I’m not fat! Dad says I’m so skinny I could hide behind a tree..” The fox’s words were cut off when the woman snapped her hand up, irritation stuck on her face.

“Well, you Dad lied. Everyone thinks you're fat. And that horrible swim coach isn’t helping.” Sally growled, stepping out of her hiding place and walking over to the duo.

“Excuse me, but this is one of my best students.” Sally said, putting a hand on the fox’s shoulder. “I’d suggest we have a small...talk about this behavior towards a child.” The woman grumbled and crossed her arms, flicking a hand at the child to go and leave. Sally bent down, hold the kid’s hands in her own.

“I’m going to have a tiny talk with your Mommy, okay?” She said sweetly, nudging the child away and down the corridor. The woman spoke up.

“Step-Mother. That isn’t my child.” She snapped rudely, Sally clenching her hands into fists. She returned her smile, a bit forced this time, and nudged her head towards the pool.

“Mind helping me with the cover while we speak?” The woman hesitated for a small moment, before rudely obliging and kneeling beside the pool to drag the cover over it.

“So…” Sally began, kick-starting her scolding. “Is that how you talk to her on a regular basis?” Sally inclined her head towards the woman, scanning as many weaknesses as she possibly could, in the limited space she was given to work with.

“Uh, So?” The woman said in a snooty tone. “She needs to know the truth. If her Father won’t say it, then I will.” Sally scraped her teeth against each other, glaring daggers at the woman. If looks could kill, her job would’ve been finished a while ago.

“Not to be rude or anything...but..Yogurt, you said? She’s pretty skinny, a bit underweight if I might add.” Sally’s face was filled with concern, eyes flickering to the hallway door. Nobody was there. Perfect.

“Says the fattass.” The woman muttered, looking Sally up and down as if she was a stuffed animal they got in the wrong color. Sally gave a sickening, sweet smile that would give anyone diabetes, snatching the woman by the hair and dragging her into the pool.

She closed the cover to the water with her hand, turning to her siren form, and circling the woman. She thrashed in the water, completely helpless without the above source of oxygen. Sally tugged at her ankles, pulling her under even more and making her blow bubbles. The woman tried to hit her, but she was too quick.

Sally scraped at her arms and dug her teeth into her ankles, pulling hair and coiling her fins around their face. Sally blew out a stream of bubbles when the woman hit her, but she quickly drove her claws across the side of her face. Strong, bubbling red clouded the water around her as she sucked in the blood with her gills, mouth watering at the quick taste of blood. So...hungry

Sally punched the woman in the stomach, forcing all the air out of her lungs, before using her nails to tear a large gash in her belly. The woman screamed whatever was left of the air in her lungs, before Sally dragged her to the deep end to finish the job.

She bit her neck with razor-sharp teeth, tearing the tissues in her legs with her nails and ripping away at her organs. The body was already beginning to float before Sally fully devoured it, the only thing left being a shredded, lifeless corpse.

Sally grunted as she removed part of the covering, dragging away the body and into the locker room. She took out some of the strong acids that were used for the pool, dipping what remained of the body into a bathtub and using the acids to dissolve the corpse completely. She returned to the crime scene, yellow gloves and a scrub, scrubbing away the blood and muscle tissue that stuck to the teal tiles.

“Miss Salmon-Soot?” Yogurt said, peeking her head in from the door. Sally looked up, returning her sugar-coated smile.

“Yes, my little guppy?” She answered, rinsing away the remainders of the crime scene on the floor.

“I wanna go home. Where’s my step-mom?” Sally nodded, looking around and acting confused.

“Oh, Guppy, I don’t know where she went. I must’ve lost her.” Yogurt’s eyes gave an odd shimmer at the news.

“Maybe she ran away.” Said Yogurt, in the most innocent voice ever. “Can we call my Dad instead?” Her tail wagged, and Sally nodded, dragging on her shirt and pulling out her phone from a heap of towels on the benches.

“Yes we can. I’ll drive you home.” Sally said, holding Yogurt’s paw as they walked out of the building. Out of the murder scene. “What’s your Dad’s name, Hon?” Sally asked, scrolling through the parent names of her list of students.

“Fundy!” Yogurt said, beginning a skip. Sally swore she heard that name before…

She swore she heard Wilbur mention him.

—————————————-

“Sally!” Wilbur shouted from the door, giving her a tight hug and wrapping his wings around them. She giggled at his childish way of greeting her, just nuzzling closer to him.

“You said you would be back in an hour and it’s been two! Where were you?!” Wilbur pressed, seeming a bit stressed that she hadn’t gotten home on time. Sally snickered and waved her hand, going over to their room to change.

“I just got caught up in traffic, It's nothing to be stressed about, Hon.” She lied, slipping into something more comfortable. Wilbur nodded nervously, taking off his shirt and pressing his wings back into their non-active mode. When he wasn’t using his wings, they were just tattoo markings of wings on his back.

Sally sat on the edge of the bed and watched him change, tilting her head to the side.

“Wilbur?” She asked, going up to him. He hummed in response. “What are these numbers on the back of your neck?” She ran her finger over the inked set of numbers, Wilbur flinching away and batting at her hand.

“It’s a whole story, I’ll tell you later.” He said, sitting on the bed criss-cross style and looking at his hands nervously. Something was up...

“Well, I’m looking forward to it. Let me freshen up real quickly first.” Sally smiled at him, slipping away and into their bathroom.

Although she loved Wilbur, she loved him more than anything in the world, he was a handful. He got in the way of her goals sometimes, but despite that, she still loved him. And she loved them together, just the two of them, forever, no one else… and maybe Tommy. 

Well, maybe just one tiny new addition.

Chapter Text

Tommy winced against the disinfectant as it wiped over his wounds, tail curling in slight pain beside him. His ears flicked back and forth in displeasure, and he snuck an unsteady glace to the hole in his shoulder. 

Sally narrowed her eyes at him, batting her eyelashes, and placed a small kiss in between his golden curls. 

“Oh, hush Tommy. It’s not that bad.” She comforted him, continuing to wipe gravel from the scrapes that littered his arms. He huffed and turned his face away, ear tips turning a small pink from embarrassment. 

“It is when you're removing a bullet from my shoulder!” He complained about her earlier statement, Sally giving him a small giggle. 

“I removed the bullet a while ago, Tommy.” She said again, moving for the needle and gingerly beginning to sew at the wound on his shoulder. 

Sunlight filtered in through the open windows behind them, illuminating the room in a steady pinkish-yellow fading light. Tommy brought in a persistent breath, glancing back over at Sally’s hands. 

She worked at a steady pace, not breaking her stride as she returned his look, and gave a soft smile. She returned her gaze to the wound, needle and suture threading through the skin. Sally’s hands were dark compared to his pale tone, and ginger red hair fell on her face. 

The door clicked, the knob jiggling as he heard keys unlocking it. Tommy averted his gaze to the noise, giving a bright smile when he saw Wilbur walk through the doorway. He threw his blood-stained coat onto the side of the couch, his usual grim expression swirling to worry as he looked at Tommy.

“W-what the hell happened?!” He demanded, wings flailing out as he went over to him. Tommy gave him a nervous smile in return, gesturing to the wound on his shoulder with his ear.

Wilbur looked to Sally, then Tommy, over and over, a puzzled expression on his face. Sally waved one hand in the air in quiet defense. 

“Don’t look at me. He came back like this.” Wilbur ran his hands down his face, placing small circles around the living room. Sally sighed and shook her head, snipping off the access thread with scissors, and moving onto bandage wraps.

“Then what the fuck happened?!” Wilbur flung his wings out, Tommy’s tail swaying gently under him.

“Well…” He began, both of their eyes averting to him. 

“So I was hungry…”  

———————Later That Day———————

Tommy groaned, tossing back his head and lashing his tail, new morning sunlight warming his skin.

“Sally!” He complained, dragging his hands over the kitchen counter. Sally hummed in response, lifting her head from whatever project she was working on. 

“There’s nothing to eat here!” He whined, tail tip flicking up and down beside him. Sally shook her head, waving her hand to the kitchen. 

“There’s tons to eat, Toms. You're just not looking hard enough.” She said, sitting up more on the side of the couch, sewing a shirt. Tommy raised his eyebrows, turning back and opening the fridge. 

Cans and bowls wrapped in tinfoil were on almost every shelf, red gunk and pink membrane poking out from the sides of the bowls. Tommy turned back to her, jolting his hand at the fridge. 

“It’s all guts! All of it!” He shook his head, Sally giggling and walking over to the island that replaced the wall of the kitchen. 

“Yeah, but you should try it. You might like it.” She grinned, pointed teeth poking her lip as she smiled. Tommy shivered at the grin the siren gave him, turning to rummage through the fridge for something other than human remains. 

“All you two ever eat is guts, or people, or people’s guts!” He complained, focus trained on trying to not touch the bloody bowls filled with human intestines. 

“Oh no, Wilbur doesn’t eat that stuff. He usually makes his own dinner, but-...” Sally flicked the frills on the side of her head and rested her cheek on her hand. 

“Sometimes if he’s really upset, he’ll order food…” She glanced at her hands. Tommy tilted his head at her, ears flicking side to side in silent thought. She looked like she was…hiding the truth. From herself. 

“Okay then...I’m going to the store! I want PASTA!” He leaped into the air, trying to do some sort of cartwheel spin, but just ended up falling on the floor. Sally didn’t laugh or giggle at him, and just went back to the couch to finish her sewing. 

Tommy ignored Sally’s weird behavior and slipped on his boots. He grinned and fixed his bandana, and swayed his tail. 

“Alrightttttt, I’m leavingggggg. Better come catch meeeeee.” He sang, hopping from foot to foot as he slowly began to reach the door. Sally didn’t respond to that either, didn’t even lift her head. Tommy grumbled in disappointment and rushed out the door and down the stairs before she had the thought of catching up. 

——————————————————————

The morning around the city was quite barren. It wasn’t busy like he’d thought in the morning, but rather more…empty. It was weird Tommy shoved the bandana over his lower face, putting on his hood to avoid looking suspicious. That plan instantly flopped through, and people just looked at him more.

Tommy gave a nervous giggle, pulling the bandana down and just keeping the hood on instead. He walked through the city, tail sweeping side to side as he wandered around tall apartment buildings and towers and statues.  

His stomach growled. Tommy flicked his ears from under the hood, gazing around a bit more. 

There was a lamppost on the side of the sidewalk, nothing out of the ordinary. Except…the poster that was plastered on the side.

It was of a blonde-haired boy with glacier-blue eyes, a red-sleeved hoodie, and all. Tommy pulled down a strand of his hair, snatching the poster off and curling it into a ball.   

“Shit…” He muttered, looking around again and pulling his hood farther down his face. He tossed the paper ball into a nearby alley, continuing his walk towards what he hoped was the store.

In came the grocery store into his line of sight, Tommy ignoring the staring people as he ran towards it, hunger clawing up his stomach. His tail wagged behind him as he bolted into the store, skidding to a stop on the white tiled floor. 

He glared up at the signs above that hung from the roof, tracing them with his finger to try and find the “pasta” aisle. He clicked his tongue when he saw the sign,  hopping over to the aisle with a bounce to his feet  

He ran his hands over the tags on the shelves, trying to decide on what he wanted. 

Penne, Lasagne, Ravioli, Farfalle- 

“YES!” 

People glanced at him from down the aisle. He chuckled nervously, picking up a box of Spaghetti.

“Found the Spagehtti!” He waved it around, tail curling around his feet, ears dipping slowly under the hood. Tommy glanced around one more time, before crawling down the aisle once again.

Tommy was looking through the rest of the pasta aisle, trying to find the sauces, before a hand gingerly tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Excuse me?” A woman said, holding up a poster. “Is this you?” 

“Uhhh…” Tommy searched for words in his brain, snapping his fingers at her and smiling. 

“Ah, no.” He said with a quickly fading smile, the woman narrowing her eyes at him. 

“Are you sure? Because there are missing posters all over the city and-“ She peered closer at him. “You look exactly like it.” 

Tommy sucked in a quick breath, look the woman straight in the eyes, and- 

Fucking ran in the other direction. 

“Ah- sir!” She yelled, running after him. “Sir you can’t-“ 

“I CAN DO ANYTHING IF I BELIEVE IT!” Tommy shouted, completely running past the register. Employees yelled and chased after him -even though he ONLY had a box of spaghetti- telling him to “come back” and “pay for it”. Little scammers.

He used his tail to keep his balance as he slid down the corner of the store, racing outside and running down the sidewalk. 

Once he couldn't hear the desperate yells of the employees, he slowed to a nice walk. 

He closed his eyes and regained his breath, pulling down the hood and letting his ears get the wind they deserved. He shook around the spaghetti box, hearing it make a dry shaking noise. He smiled, picked open the seal, and started crunching on the raw strands. 

“Hey, kid. I know who you are.” A large man said gruffly, swiveling him backward, making him face towards a large group. 

All the men were large and bulky and burly, pounding their fists together or growling at him menacingly. Tommy gave a nervous chuckle, tail tucking between his legs. 

“F-from where might I ask?” He managed to spit out, looking up at the men. They pulled out a folded slip of paper, unfolding it and showing it to him. 

It was like the missing posters that were so coincidentally plastered around the city, but…different. Instead of Missing it read Wanted. 

Tommy coiled his tail closer, dipping his chin down to nuzzle into his bandana. 

“Se-seven thousand pounds?” He stuttered, eyes glossing over the wrinkled paper. He gave a nervous smile, shifting under the group's gaze. 

“Yeah. This “Quackity” fellow really wants you. Badly enough he’d hire bounty hunters like us…” The man said, leaning closer to Tommy. He took a few steps back; left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. He always loved a rhythm. 

“Well then…that's..really funny, because-” Tommy wasn’t able to finish his sentence as he turned swiftly on his heels, running as fast as he could down the pavement. 

The gang behind him yelled and roared after him, heavy footsteps rattling trash cans and benches. Tommy squealed and ducked around people, swerving into an alleyway and hopping over trash piles.

“Get back here, ya little feral raccoon!” The group leader howled at him, Tommy ignoring their yells and jumping onto a thick dumpster. 

He scrambled up piping, tail swishing for balance as his claws dug into the rusted metal. He yelped and brought up his feet, trying to avoid the swings of baseball bats and metal wrenches being tossed and hit at him. 

Tommy barreled his claws into the bricks of the building roof above him, trying to pull himself up, desperate to get away from the group that so badly wanted him dead. He heard the unmistakable click of a gun being loaded, a sound paved into his brain by listening to the constant cries and screeches of Wilbur’s many, many victims.

His tail lashed as he hauled himself onto the building’s flat roof, fear pulsing in his ears as he looked back at the people chasing him. One of the men aimed the small handgun up at him, and even Tommy wasn’t fast enough to dodge. 

The bullet carved right into his shoulder, Tommy letting out a blood-curdling scream as he crouched on the roof. He held his hand to the gaping hole in his shoulder, picked himself up to his feet, and ran.

He ran as fast as he possibly could down the line of buildings, jumping over alleyways and swinging from clotheslines. The group somehow managed to find a way up onto the building, chasing behind him, firing bullet after bullet at him. 

Tommy wished he could see the vivid shadow of Wilbur flying above him, ready to pick him up and fly him to safety. But there was no shadow, and there definitely, was no safety.

 He grabbed onto a drainage pipe with his one working arm, sliding down it and smashing right on top of a dumpster. He howled out in pain, but instantly shut his mouth, diving under the trash and curling inside, smacking down the lid. 

He heard the yells of the group get close, then start to fade as they ran down the street, probably assuming he decided to bolt again. Tommy held his breath though, and waited to peek his head out until he could no longer hear their yells and gunshots any more.

He clambered out of the bin, trash clinging to his feet and tail, plastic bags wrapping around his legs. Tommy grunted and panted heavily as he hauled himself out of the bin with only one good working arm, silently crying as he wandered down the backside of the alley. 

His tail dragged behind him and his right arm dropped heavily to his side, scattered breathing echoing around the confined spaces of the buildings. Tommy dipped his ears and whimpered, collapsing down with his back hunched up against a wall.

He tugged off his bandana with his teeth, taking his hand off the wound in his shoulder. Cold air pushed against the exposed skin, deep red blood gushing down in large streams.

Tommy bit his lip and wrapped his bandana around the wound, tying it tight to try and cut off the circulation. He knew it should be higher in order to stop the bleeding, but at this point, he didn’t care. 

Adrenaline was fading and the pain was beginning to settle in as he pushed himself to his feet with one hand, gaze swerving around to figure out where in the hell exactly he was. 

The rising morning sun was beginning to rise even quicker now as Tommy trudged through the alleyways, careful not to be exposed to the streets in case those mafia fuckers decided to test another route.

By the time Tommy was able to peek his head out of the dusty alleyways he’d been climbing through, the sun was almost at high noon, and only then did he realize he was going the WRONG FUCKING WAY! 

“FFFFFUCKK!” He yelled, stomping his feet and kicking a large bundle of trash. He called out in pain as the kick rattled his injured shoulder, the teenager giving up on being angry and focusing on getting to his temporary home. He turned on his heels to go back down the large alleyway, trudging through puddles of what he hoped was green slime, before lights began reflecting off the walls around him.

A large police cruiser was steadily going down the large gap in between houses, and it was right fucking behind him! Tommy held his breath and walked quicker, but the car sped up as well. 

Tommy, deciding for some odd reason to test the limits of his luck today on an already unlucky day, decided to do a jog. The car sped up more, so he started a run. The police cruiser sped up even more this time. Glancing back at the sleek black car, he ran even faster than before. 

The intense speed moved his injury and he howled out in pain, stopping his running and leaning by his hand on a wall. The car stopped right behind him almost instantly, and someone stepped out the driver's side. 

It was a tall man- like really, really tall, with green dyed hair and a mask covering his lower face. Tommy was almost positive he could see the guys abs through his uniform like holy cow. Tommy chuckled and pushed himself back up, waving his hand nervously at the police officer.

“Hey, kid, are you okay?” The green-haired man asked rather nicely, stepping closer to him. Tommy, out of sheer reflex, bared his canines and hissed at him. He slowly put his hands up beside him, trying to show he wasn’t a threat to the teenager. 

“Just trying to check you out. Real nasty wound on your shoulder there, buddy.” They said, stepping ever so slightly closer, and although Tommy couldn’t see the man’s lower face, he knew he was smiling by the way his eyes crinkled. 

“I’m fine. I mean- I’ll be fine.” Tommy said rather defensively, swishing his tail side to side. The man pointed to his injury with a green hand, and returned his gaze back to him. 

“Kid, if I’ve ever seen a gunshot wound, that’s not an “alright” one.” The man said, going over to his car, and opening the door. “If you won’t let me heal you, at least let me get you home.” 

Tommy hesitated; the man could be a bounty hunter, or an assassin ready to finish the job, or a secret double-agent spy, or a- 

“I have pastries in the car if you want some?” 

“Deal!” 

——————————————————————

The police officer -who he found out his name was Sam-  was actually quite nice. He gave him little cherry-filled doughnut things and drove him home, and he even let him turn on the lights! 

He told him to drop him off a few blocks away from his “house” -mostly so Wilbur didn’t freak out and kill his new friend- and waved goodbye to him. But before he could open the door, the man stopped him. 

“Wait…” He said, narrowing onyx-black eyes at him. “You look…familiar. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere.” Tommy froze, fur standing on end on his tail. He gave a nervous giggle, leaning backwards a bit.

“Uhh..n-no you don’t…” Tommy insisted, hands grappling at the door. Sam pushed the button on his side that locked the doors, and Tommy’s heart slowly dropped right into his stomach.

“Yeah…yeah I do. You're on those missing posters all around town! I- we’ve been looking for you!” Sam said, turning the key into the car and starting it back on again. Tommy flinched, hands grabbing at the door handle, his gentle pulls turning to violent tugs the longer he was in there.

“C-can I go now? Cmon..we’re friends, Sam-!” Tommy asked, pushing his feet up against the door, trying to shove it open.

“It’s not gonna open, Tommy.” Sam said, tone blank, and unwavering as he leaned closer to the boy. “I’m gonna get you back to the station..” Sam said, shaking his head and turning back in his seat, putting his hands on the steering wheel. Tommy yelped, and kicked at the door.

“Sam! Sam! Let me out!” Tommy shouted, leaning over the large man and swiftly pressing the unlock button. Sam yelped, but Tommy pulled at the door’s handle, kicking it open and leaping out of the police car. 

“Hey- kid, wait!” He called after him, but Tommy didn’t listen. He bounced down the sidewalk and in between apartment buildings, diving into the back of the building and busting through the door. 

Out of pure instinct and fear and flashbacks of the way Wilbur hunted him down, he hid under the stairs. It already happened…so fast. He’d just made a new friend, and now he can’t trust them. Fucking epic. 

He used his teeth to tighten the bandana on his arm, crawling out from his hidey-hole and climbing up the stairs. A small stream of blood trailed the metal steps behind him. 

He didn’t know why he was so upset…It’s not like he was his best friend since he was a little street gremlin and they hung out all the time and never separated and were besties forever and he made a friendship bracelet and everything and–

Okay, maybe he got a bit personal there, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Tommy shook his head and climbed up the metal flight of stairs, loud footsteps echoing around the stairwell.

He approached the apartment, knocking steadily on the door in a methodic rhythm he’d learned so many times before. Sally opened the door, emerald eyes peering out at him. 

“Aye, Tommy, I was worried! Why did you even- OH MY STARS!” She shouted, yoinking him inside and shoving him onto the couch. He looked at her worriedly, watching her panic around under the sink for the med kit. 

“Tommy!” She scolded, coming over to him. “You're bleeding! Wh- who shot you?!” She demanded, taking off the bandana and pouring disinfectant onto a cotton swab. He yelped when the cold stinging stuff hit his wound. 

“Okay, Tommy, don’t panic, but-” Tommy yelled again, tail lashing under him. Sally groaned loudly and pinned him down on the couch. 

“There’s a bullet in your shoulder, Toms! Quit flailing around!” She demanded, shoving a towel into his mouth and pinning down his arm. 

He screamed through the fabric, tail lashing, eyes watering as she picked away at his skin, ripping away the metal chunk in his arm through a slow, gruesome process. He thrashed in her grip, but as soon as the pain started, it slowly began to fade away. 

Sally panted beside him, blood coating her fingers as she scurried to the kitchen. He heard the clink of the bullet going into the bin, and the steady tune of the sink bubbling on. Sally didn’t even try to eat him…odd. 

“You okay, Tommy?” She called from the other room, Tommy looking through the gap in the wall to see her bobbing her head around, poofy red hair traveling with her careful sways. He pushed his lips together in quiet contemplation, tail flickering at his side as he listened to the familiar whirr of the tap water. 

“Yeah…I’ll be good-..” Tommy insists rather quietly, thoughts going at the slowest speed possible, his head feeling almost detached from his body.

It’s just the blood loss… He tried to convince himself, hands curling into balls at his side. His eyes felt thick with water as he pulled his knees to his chin, tail flickering up and down in a steady motion to calm him down. 

“Tommy..you don’t seem okay.” Sally insisted, wandering over to him, water dripping from her now webbed hands. She placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing small circles with her thumb. 

“Toms, honey, you’re okay.” Sally insisted, leaning down to settle down next to him. He wiped away the small amount of tears that bubbled at the surface of his eyes, glancing back at her.

“You-…sure?” He asked, unsure if she really meant it. Sally’s face seemed to stop at the question, and she wrapped her arms tight around him. 

“Positive.” She said, hugging him tighter, careful not to poke his newly-formed wound. He didn’t wince or whine or whimper when she accidentally touched it anyways, just leaned further into her comforting hold on him. His tail rapped a rhythm on the couch, ears perking upwards more. Sally giggled at him, and brought him up, and over to a chair at the round table settled to the side. 

“Now, wait here. I have to stitch your wound back together.” Sally smiled, tugging on his ear, and returning into the kitchen. Tommy smiled, tail wagging beside him.

———————————————-

Wilbur looked at him, his eye twitching in silent irritation. His wings were fanned out to his side, hands slightly outstretched at his sides, looking as if they were ready to choke him.  

“You…what?” Wilbur finally stammered out, glaring at him with piercing amber eyes. Tommy shrugged and flexed the muscle in his shoulder, huffing in satisfaction when he didn't feel the wound bend or tear. He returned his gaze back onto the fuming Wilbur, deciding to open his mouth and speak before his head flew off. 

“I already told you the full story, do you need me to repeat it?” Tommy asked, offering his best condescending look. Wilbur scowled at him, folding his wings back in, and doing his usual “Wilbur” move of pinching his nose bridge. Wilbur pushed up his hand and swooped his hair out of his eyes, looking back to Tommy. 

His golden tail flicked at his side, and Tommy picked at the bandage with his hands. Sally swatted them away and off the flimsy bandage, going over to give Wilbur a hug. Tommy watched the blood soak deeper into his tight long sleeve shirt. That would be a pain to wash out…   

A beeping sound came from the kitchen. Sally whipped her head up with a smile, running her hands through her fiance’s hair. 

“What’s that?” Wilbur asked, Tommy stifling a slight giggle in his arm. Wilbur glanced over at him, and Tommy could practically see the gears of disappointment grinding in his head. 

“Oh, It’s the spaghetti!” Sally hummed, bouncing into the kitchen again to stir at the pot. Wilbur’s head whipped immediately back to Tommy. 

“SPAGHETTI?!”    

Chapter Text

Wilbur was a patient man. Well, he liked to think of himself like that. But as he was crouched against the rock formation, glaring down at his assignment, patience was the last thing even remotely on his mind. 

He flicked his wings out, the temptation for the kill running through his veins like a dog with a kill drive. He sighed, crawling back behind the rocks, spreading his wings, and beginning a steady flap into the sky above. 

The hot air of mid-summer whipped around his feathers as he glided high up in the sky, vultures seeking prey flying next to him. Clouds drifted lazily in the afternoon, the sun’s less than cheerful rays shining on his back. Wilbur gave a soft smile and a caw to the birds, circling the dusty shape of his assignment. 

Wilbur never asked questions about his targets. He was granted limited information, and he only focused on the task of killing them as quickly and cleanly as possible. Phil had taught him better than to ask questions. He always said that “ignorance is bliss” but he’d prefer to know rather than stay in the dark. 

Wilbur flapped his wings, orange and brown feathers rippling in the steady stream of the wind. White spangle markings covered the backs of his feathers, giving an elegant look to them. He smiled and looked back down at his target, swooping closer to the shape of the blaze. 

He perched on the edge of a rock that stood tall in the canyon's center, pulling out his daggers. He heard rustling around him, but as his brain whirred with commands for the kill, he ignored the noises easily. 

He glided down and behind the blaze as they watched something in the distance, completely oblivious that this might be their last view of the sun. He held the dagger tight in his hands, keeping his wings still as he approached behind the blaze. But the loud rustling started again, and the blaze turned towards him. 

“AH! SHIT!” The blaze shouted, the fiery rings circling him spinning around his head. Wilbur cursed his luck inside his head, looking around for what cost him his clean kill. 

“Manifold!” Someone shouted atop the cliffside, a burst of red fur launching down and barreling straight into the blaze. They both struggled against each other, flailing around on the rock structure as Wilbur could only watch from a distance. He recognized the bright orange flash of fur…it was familiar, but he didn’t remember exactly who it was. 

“Hey! That’s MY kill!” He shouted, pushing over the bundle of fire and fur. The red-furred person only glared at him with red eyes, the long-familiar fire of a gun shooting towards him. 

Wilbur bent down and dodged the fire, but a large rock formation took the hit for him. It waddled side to side, before smashing down on him, pinning him down by his wings. Wilbur yelled and thrashed under the grip of the rock, the pair in front of him still struggling. 

Manifold pushed away against the gun the fox held to his head, and they both yelped, tumbling off the rocky side of the cliff, and splashing into a deep pool below. 

Wilbur huffed and pushed the rock, but it was too big to just shove off. As he struggled against the huge stone that pinned down his wings, only then did the panic. His wings, splayed out uncomfortably on his back, wiggled against the pointy stone of the boulder. He tried to push himself up to knock off the large rock, but it didn’t work. Obviously. 

He kept trying to wiggle off the boulder from his back, wings starting to flap underneath the large stone. He yelled in pain when, after so long of struggling, it finally rolled off and down the side of the cliff. Wilbur pushed himself up to his feet, and then he felt something pull. 

He felt something snap and pop and tug when he was shifting his wings back into position. He let out a soft scream of pain that seemed louder than it was in the echoey gorge of the cliffs, and began to slowly flap his wings, in and out. As he scrambled around the cliffside like a madman, flapping his wings wildly, only then did the breeze pick up and shift his feathers. Still, he didn’t fly up, he didn’t do much at all, really. He was just…there. Standing there…panicking.  

“Shit…shit shit shit shit shit!” He cursed, the muscles in his right wing obviously tugging the wrong way as he flapped them around. He tried to spread the feathers out, tried to pick up a strong gust of wind, but after what felt like hours of trying, he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t fly. He was grounded. 

He ignored the pain that bounced around in his wing like a ping pong ball in a box, folding it down by his side and beginning a slow climb down the side of the rock structure. His long feathers dragged on the ground behind him, right wing folded uncomfortably at his hip. He clicked his tongue and clambered down the gorgeside, rocks scraping at his arms and pulling at his feathers. 

He clambered through thickets of thorn bushes and fallen-down trees, the dried grass from the drought poking at the open skin on his wings. Blood trickled down the sides of the feathers, the usual white speckled feathers now being stained a deep red. Wilbur grunted and tumbled down the last of the rocky outcrops, stumbling down into a large dirt path. 

“Great…I gotta walk!” He shouted in slow boiling anger, throwing up his arms. (Well, as much as he could, he didn’t want to stretch them out and then snap the muscle in his wing that was already hanging by a thread) He limped down the path, the sun growing hotter and hotter the more he was out here. He felt his face grow red with the heat, and his head felt woozy from the lack of blood. 

He wandered through the dusty trail, sand billowing up in large flurries behind him as his feathers dragged on the rough sandy surface. His wings felt sore from the boulder landing on them, and he swore he had broken a bone…

“God damnit…” He groaned, putting a palm to his forehead, trying to block out the sun from his eyes. The scolding heat was already uncomfortable enough with a black long sleeve on, and the blood caking his feathers only made things worse. 

He ripped down his mask, taking in a shuddering breath, anxiety clawing up his throat. His fingers twitched at his sides as he tried to settle down the chorus of panic that bounced around in the back of his brain, muscles spasming under the thickly-coated blood feathers. 

He glanced down at his injured wing with a glare and a huff in the heat. 

“They’re meant for flying, not for the ground.” He’d complain to nobody in particular, shaking his head and starting to pick up the pace when he saw something in the distance. A fence…that meant there was a town nearby, meaning a city, meaning…

A way back home. 

“Fucking finally!” He shouted, picking up speed and trying to lift his wing off the ground. Rocks and sandy soil trembled under his heavy footsteps as he barreled his way down the hill, and he smiled brightly when the sand from under him slowly, steadily, turned to concrete. 

“Yes!” He yelled, running faster, the pain springing around in his wing but he was too thrilled to care, and as he stumbled down the sidewalk and past hoards of weary onlookers, he could have sworn he saw a city bus roll on by. 

By the time the pain had begun to be too unbearable to handle, he slowed down to a nice walk, clasping a hand to his ribs as he tried to ease the pain in his aching lungs. His wing trembled at his waist as he tried to align it back into some suitable position, grunting in short-lived anger when it didn’t work. 

The people of London -or L’Manburg, or Brighton, or whatever fucking city he was in- glanced nervously at him, small children walking with their parents pointing to his wings with their grabby hands, the parents ushering them away from him with strict murmurs he couldn’t bother to listen to. He’d expect any parent to pull their kid away from the man who has a gun strapped to his leg. 

He approached a bus stop, a rickety old bench, perched quietly under an already half-torn-down sheltered structure, and sat down with a loud huff. His wing spasmed uncontrollably next to him, and Wilbur brought up a hand to the feathers under his ear, fiddling with the soft ends. 

He waited for the bus to arrive, a hot breeze blowing past his ankles and shoving debris into his feather tips. As he bounced his knee up and down impatiently, he could make out the slow approaching, blurry figure of what he’d assumed to be a city bus, halfway down the street. 

Wilbur, deathly impatient to get back home and rest and see his fiancé, tapped his fingers on the metal bench under him, glaring at the rusty old bus as it slowed to a stop in front of him. Desperate to get back home, Wilbur took no hesitation to get to his feet, wandering inside the car. 

The driver looked him up and down as he approached, eyes narrowed and focused on his face. 

“Ticket, please. If you don't have a ticket, then money.” The driver recited terribly, training their eyes back onto the road. Wilbur chuckled dryly, not at all amused, and dug through his pockets for some sort of change.

“This is all I have.” He answered, setting down a few quarters and an American dollar -for some reason- and gestured to the change. He could tell the driver was about to snap something insensitive to him as they turned their head back to him, but they were cut short when their eyes caught sight of the blood. 

“O-oh…no, no please, it’s f-fine,” They stammered, fumbling to get the change off the side of the dash, clinking it into a cup holder by their knees. Wilbur could tell by that time they’d already seen the gun, too, so he smiled a devilish smile.

“Thank you, sir, you’re too kind.” He smiled with all his teeth, moving back to the seats of the bus. 

He settled down on an empty row by a window, letting his wing sprawl out beside him, sighing, and leaning his head onto the cool glass of the window. He could hear the constant squish squish of the blood rubbing against the underside of his feathers, and using his fingers he picked away at the dried blood on the topside. 

His brain, overloaded from pain and blood loss already, was beginning to feel choked and tired from sleep. He leaned his forehead on the window again, closing his eyes for merely a moment, before the bus under him made a surprising jolt forward. He blinked open his eyes, uncomfortable at everything already, and glanced to aisles across from him. 

It almost seems like everyone from the aisle he was on moved to the opposite one, staring at him with either fear, curiosity, or some sort of mixture of both. Wilbur grimaced at the sight of all these people, squished to the side of the bus, trying to get as far from him as possible. He held in a smile from the lack of social interactions, pushing himself up from his seat with a grunt, and looking at the digital letters above him. 

“This is my stop. Thank you,” He said to the driver, tipping his head down in thanks as he walked from the bus, letting the doors fly open as his feet touched the ground. 

He watched in satisfaction as the bus swiftly drove away at almost light speed, turning around to face the towering sight of his apartment building. 

Wilbur sighed, starting a walk inside, pushing open the doors, and pressing the button to the elevator. Luckily, it arrived smoothly and quickly, and nobody was in it.

He pressed the button for floor 5, leaning against the side of the cool metal, feeling the vibrations of the machinery work under him, quite soothing. 

The metal rattled his wing, though, and he pressed the damp feathers back to his waist, fixing his left wing up to his shoulders. He sighed at the positioning difference, but shook away the slightly angered thought, tapping his foot on the metal as the elevator’s doors opened up.

He stumbled down the narrow hall of his apartment building, fiddling in his pockets for his keys, pulling out a small stretchy band, pushing the key into the lock, and turning it sideways.

He tumbled into the apartment head-first, collapsing on the ground and kicking the door closed with the tip of his foot. He heard some quiet giggling in the back, and he shifted his face more into the wooden floor.

“Awww, Wilby, are you tired?” Sally cooed at his side, sitting down next to his tired figure, and rubbing her dark-colored fingers through his hair. A small rumbling started in his throat, and he leaned in more to the touch. 

“I’m tired and injured, yes..” He murmured, Sally’s rhythmic tone pausing in his brunette curls. 

“Where? Did you get shot, bit, pulled, tugged, or stabbed? C'mon Wil, you only say “I get injured” and I never know what.” Sally scolded, although her voice was more of honey instead of venom, and she tugged him upwards. He grunted as she moved her hands under his wings, and she pulled her hands back. 

“Ah…your wing.” She winced, grabbing him by his hands and moving him to the couch. She patted his head, racing to the kitchen, scarlet hair dragging behind her as she stumbled around for the med kit. She’s always struggling with basic tasks nowadays…

“Okay, sprawl your wing out for me, Babe,” Sally called from the kitchen, trotting out with the white and red med kit shoved under her arm. He smiled at her, a basic reflex now, and did as he was told. 

“Okay, fine. Just please tell me it’s not broken.” He insisted, sprawling his right wing out, letting Sally begin to toy around with it. She pressed her fingers into certain spots that made his bones tingle, and he held in a laugh. 

“I can’t promise that, hon.” She said, using a wet towel to dab away the drying blood that was now caked to his feathers. “Almost all positive things are broken, or sprained, at the very least. I should put it in a sling…” Sally said, bringing his wing in and out, in and out, testing the movement. Wilbur winced in pain as she did this, and Sally leaned closer to give him a small kiss on the cheek. 

“Oh, shush now, ya big baby. You can handle a bit of pain.” She’d smirk at him, wiping away the blood from underneath his feathers. 

“I usually can, but you just told me something is broken.” He smiled back at her to hide his clenched teeth, trying his best not to yell when she shoved a bone back into its socket. 

“Alright, I’m calling Phil. He’s got wings, right? He can help me deal with your reckless tushy.” She stood up and took out her phone, dialing a number and putting it to her ear. 

“A cute tushy, if I recall you saying,” Wilbur mentioned with a charming smile, and something leaped up inside of him when Sally laughed back. 

“I guess I did say that…but still, shush.” She put a finger to her lips to make a “quiet” symbol, clicking her tongue when he’d assumed Phil picked up the phone. 

“Hey, Phil!” Sally chirped, although her expression said something else than happiness. It looked like worry. 

She paced in small circles on the rug of the living room, tapping her finger impatiently on the phone that was clasped to her ear. She nodded and murmured little things to the other line, glancing back at Wil with a “the hell did you do?” look. 

Wilbur shrugged his shoulders, the bone in his wing shifting uncomfortably in the transfer. He held in a grimace at the steely bolt of pain that clambered up the tendons in his wing, feathers crinkling from the drying blood still present on the soft textured feathers. Wilbur glanced back to his fiancé, watching as she nervously spoke to his adoptive father. 

Sally tapped the phone case, nails clicking impatiently as she waited for the actual instructions. As she hummed a short tune of a response, she scurried over to the kitchen to scribble something down on a sheet of paper. Wilbur wondered what it could be, but he didn’t say what he was questioning out loud. 

“Alright Phil. Thank you, again. Also, I have food in the fridge for you when you come by today- yeah, love you too.” Sally replied through the phone, taking it from her ear to press the end call button. Her smile turned to nervousness as she glanced back at Wilbur once again, emerald eyes meeting with his in, what Wilbur found out to be, silent contemplation. 

“Alright Wil, most likely what Phil said is that a bone must’ve broken, can’t bring you to the hospital yet so I’m just gonna make a sling for you.” Sally said, wandering back over to him and popping open the med kit. He nodded without another word, looking at her as she wrapped his wing with the materials. 

Her dark, freckled hands worked at a steady pace on his wing; she didn’t tug, she didn’t pull, she didn’t shift anything around. She only gingerly moved the wing into a comfortable, folded position at his waist, harnessing it into a sling that wrapped his waist and shoulder. 

“Why does it need to be this…tight?” Wilbur asked, trying to shift the wing, instantly regretting his decision when it moved the bone around. He clenched his teeth, but Sally put her warm, subtle hand on his cheek, rubbing circles with her thumb, like she usually did. 

“You shift a lot, Wil. I mean, you basically nest while you’re sleeping,” Sally smirked, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, removing her hand and cleaning up the feathers he left behind in the transfer. Wilbur smiled as he watched her wade around the apartment, smile turning to a frown when she got her bag. 

“Alright, I’m going out, Wil. I’ll be home in a few hours.” Sally reassured him, slinging the bag over her shoulder, fixing her clothes and fluffing her hair. Wilbur, already nervous about his wing, did not enjoy the idea of being left alone, but he didn’t protest. 

“Alright. Get home by 10, please baby.” Wilbur insisted, leaning over the back of the couch to watch her as she unlocked the door. Sally giggled at him, waving her hand, not bothering to reply with anything other than a smile as she wandered out the door, lock clicking shut behind her. 

Wilbur sighed against the emptiness of the apartment now, glancing around the seemingly unlimited space he was now given. Although his apartment was big, and tall, and roomy for the couple and the “extra friend” they stored away in the guest bedroom, it seemed stuffy and claustrophobic to him now that his beloved fiancé wasn’t next to him. 

Wilbur couldn’t help but notice that he’d also no clue where Tommy went off to… either it was blood loss that made his brain funky, or the raccoon had turned invisible, he was nowhere to be found. Odd. 

Wilbur didn’t panic much though, and only tried shifting his wing closer to himself, before a knock sounded on the door. It hadn’t been too long since Sally had left for whatever she’d gone to, so he’d just assumed she forgot her keys. 

Knock knock knock. 

“Hold on, I’m coming,” He said to the door, shifting his weight to his feet as he staggered off the couch, towards the large door. He didn’t bother to peer through the peephole, instead, just opening the door wide. 

An orange-furred fox man stood at the entrance of his door, snout tilted downwards slightly as he glared at him, an oddly smug grin plastered over the Fox’s face. Wilbur, over a small moment of time, slowly realized who this was, and grimaced. 

“Hey, Wil! Long time no see, buddy.” Fundy said, leaning on the door side with his arm, tail flicking side to side behind him. 

The chain on his large black jacket jingled as his tail wagged. Wilbur narrowed his eyes, flicking his wing back into position on his back, careful not to ruffle the one in the sling at his waist. 

“What do you want, Fundy? I know I’m not in debt yet.” Wilbur crossed his arms, glaring at his used-to-be friend. 

The fox chuckled at him, narrowing his brows in a playful manner. 

“Well, that’s not true.” Fundy pointed finger guns at him, shoving him away and walking into the apartment. His fluffy fox tail thrashed slowly behind him, ears flicked under his hat. He wiped his pointed snout on the end of his jacket, winking at Wilbur. 

“I just came to see you! Can a debt collector just see his friend once in a while?” Fundy asked -even though it wasn’t a fucking question- and glanced around his apartment. Wilbur was the first to speak this time. 

“You're not my fucking friend, Fundy. You are a little traitor, so screw off.” Wilbur said simply, pointing to the door. Fundy raised his hands up in fake surrender, trotting to the door on quiet paws. 

“Okay, okay, fine. Guess you’ll never know what Sally’s hiding from you, though.” He was just about to walk out of the apartment, when Wilbur grabbed him by his jacket back. 

He yanked him back with a little whimper from the fox, ears flicking back up and tossing the black hat off-balance. Wilbur scowled, tossing the scrawny fox aside, glaring daggers into the brown eyes. 

“What the hell do you mean, “hiding from me”?” He asked, his usual stoic, dark glare settling on the fox man. Fundy sighed, and clicked his tongue. 

“A big secret, Wil. And if word gets around that you’re harboring a wanted man, too, I might just get in on the chase.” Fundy crossed his arms, tilting his muzzle down at Wil, voice low in a whisper, yet still chalked full of venom. 

His guts dropped in his stomach at the mention of the raccoon boy he’d slowly grown attached to. 

“If you fucking tell anybody about Tommy, I’ll slit your throat.” Wilbur threatened. 

“Not if I slit yours first!” Fundy smiled at him, flexing his claws. 

Wilbur scowled at him, flicking his only working wing in and out, his hands curling into a ball. 

“What secret is Sally keeping from me, though?” Wilbur pressed, tilting his head at Fundy. He only inclined his head back at him, giving a sly smile. 

“Oh, nothing~’ He sang, smiling again, before fiddling with the chain on his belt with his claws. “Even if I knew for certain, I wouldn’t tell you. See, I’m no snitch.” Fundy persisted, turning to the winged man with a steadily fading smirk. The smugness on the fox’s tone had begun to drip away, and Wilbur swallowed back down the stones that lay heavy in his throat. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes, despite this, going to the kitchen and rummaging through the drawers. He picked around for a box of cigarettes, snatching his lighter and going over to the balcony. 

“Oh? You still smoke, Wil? I thought you quit?” Fundy asked, tilting from one paw to the other, following him with his arms crossed behind his back. Wilbur shot a hurtful glare back to him, pushing open the door. 

“I did, but you being here makes me wanna start again.” He replied, slamming the glass door behind him. He heard it open, though, and snarled as Fundy leaned over the railing next to him. 

“Aw, but it’s such a toxic habit, Wilby. I don’t want my friend to get poisoned.” Fundy said with a smile and a sweet tone.

“You're not my friend, I think we’ve established this already.” Wilbur hissed through his teeth as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, flicking on the lighter. A small stream of smoke curled above his head.

“I’d like to think I am. We were so close, you and I.” Fundy sang sadly, leaning back on the railing and putting the back of his hand to his forehead. Wilbur held in a smile and lifted his wing to his face, glancing to the floor.

“Ah, so that got you.” Fundy smiled, tail swishing at his paws behind him, flicking his ears that were pinned back and under his hat. Wilbur frowned, again, and inhaled another breath of smoke.

A steady night breeze ruffled his feathers as he blew out a plume of smoke, glancing over at Fundy. He nudged the box towards him. 

“Want one?” Wilbur asked, toying with the metal cap of his lighter. Fundy waved a hand at him, tail flicking up and down in a silent irritation Wilbur learned to read in the years prior. 

“Ah, no. It’s a toxic habit as I’ve said before. Surprised you're still going.” Fundy reminded him, snapping his fingers and sliding back the box. Wilbur grumbled and snatched the box back, shoving it into his pant pockets. 

The duo stood in silence at the edge of the balcony, glancing over at one another sometimes, yet their gazes stayed separate from each other. Despite this, he could hear Fundy click his tongue, obviously wanting to say something. 

“We were so close…what happened, again? Please, refresh my memory.” Fundy asked, tilting to the side more on his paws, white-tipped claws tapping a rhythm on the metal rails. 

“Fine,” Wilbur hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at Fundy. He seemed so pleased he was able to mention this, and Wilbur really just wanted to toss him off the edge of the building. He kept his cool, though, fingertips turning white from when he clenched the railing. 

“Assassination Acadamy, think it was night. I was gonna go off on an assignment, when you stopped me,” Wilbur began, noticing the smug tone from the fox drastically shifted. 

“I begged you to stay-“ Fundy restarted for him, beginning to retell the story. “But no, you wanted to go on the mission, to “prove your worth” or whatever to Philza.” Fundy said, flicking his head back to Wilbur. His whiskers traveled in the wind, and he reached up a clawed hand to take off his hat. Eartips faltered in the slight breeze, blowing off to the side. 

“You promised you’d come back, you-… Promised me. ” Fundy said, obviously distressed, but not enough to really do anything to Wilbur. He nodded, averting his attention back to the city skyline. 

“And you promised me you wouldn’t get involved in this work. I thought you ran away, Fundy, but no, instead, you joined the thing I’m almost entirely against.” Wilbur growled, not even bothering to look back at his friend. 

“If you’re against it, then why do you still kill?” 

The words struck something deep inside Wilbur, like a knife hitting through a main blood vessel. He paused, counting his words, before turning to face his old friend. 

“It’s what I was trained to do. I don’t know anything other than this…” Wilbur admitted, cigarette spreading ashes among the balcony edge. Fundy chuckled beside him, claws beginning their rhythmic tap tap tap again. 

“Kill streak of over 500, and yet you’ve only spared 2. Lucky bastard…” Fundy snickered, punching lightly at his side. Wilbur grimaced, although only to hide a smile, and went back to looking at the skyline ahead of him. 

The duo didn’t speak for a while after that, simply just watching birds flap around, busy city people below honking horns and yelling strings of insults at one another. Wilbur was content on trying to keep everything the way it was, how it was supposed to be, no errors, no flaws. Everything has a place, everything in its place…

“Wait, did you steal my target today?!” He asked through a grumble, glancing over to the fox man. Fundy chuckled dryly, scratching behind his neck awkwardly. 

“Yeahhhh…In my defense, I was assigned the same target, sooooo-” 

“You broke my wing!” 

“Yeah, well, you tried to tackle me!” 

“ Tried! Keyword! Tried! ”

And then their bickering started again. 

Chapter Text

Tommy was on the couch, tail swishing side to side, fiddling around with a rubix cube. The TV ahead of him was playing some sort of bubbly, childish, rainbow cartoon he didn’t care for, making the side of the rubix cube turn a mixture of teal and pink. Moonlight bathed the room in its shiny, silver rays, Tommy’s golden hair looking white under the lighting. As he was fiddling around with the cube, he didn’t notice the creak of a door behind him. 

“Tommy?” Wilbur blurted from the hallway, making Tommy jump slightly in his skin, glancing back towards him. He mumbled a simple “Hm?” before returning to the cube. 

Wilbur lingered in the hallway, wing ajar from when he broke it, white-speckled feathers dragging on the floor. His expression looked like a mixture of tiredness and worry, and he wandered over to him. Wilbur put a hand on the back of the couch, using the other to ruffle his hair. Tommy, already a bit tired, leaned into the touch without any hesitation. 

“What are you even doing up at this hour?” Wilbur asked through a breathy chuckle, fingers still parading through his hair. Tommy thought of what to say, not meaning to anger the avian by saying something rude. He couldn’t afford to lose the place he’d just begun living in. He plucked a thought from his brain anyways, assuming it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

“I’m hungry, that’s why.” Tommy spat, tail flicking towards the open kitchen. “All there is in there now is just Sally’s weird collection of human remains…” Tommy grimaced at the mention of the bowls that crowded the shelves in the fridge, shuddering. It seemed Wilbur sensed this too, and tugged on his ear in a playful manner. 

“I know, best not to mention it though,” Wilbur winked, removing his hands from his hair. “How about we just…go get food? It won’t hurt to take a quick walk, y’know?” Wilbur suggested, the working wing flicking out a bit, gesturing towards the door. Tommy’s interest peaked, and he sat up, tail wagging slightly as he did.

“Okay! As long as you’re paying,” Tommy insisted, setting down his rubix cube on the couch cushions, slipping down to tug on his shoes. Wilbur snickered beside him, wandering to the door and slipping on his jacket. Wilbur put his wing in the sling, clicking it around his waist and shoulder. Tommy pretended to punch the wing, Wilbur flinching back as he got his keys off the hook on the wall. 

“Don’t you dare. ” Wilbur hissed, although in a playful way, opening up the door. Tommy stuck his tongue out at him, wandering down the metal flight of stairs, cold air pushing against his neck. 

His footsteps echoed around the stairwell, metallic sounds vibrating in his ears as he walked down each step. Wilbur stood close, hands in his jacket pockets, his face plain, although laid with a smile underneath his blank mask of a face.  

“Yeah…It’s a bit cold out, suggest a hood.” Wilbur mentioned, leaning over and tugging on Tommy’s hood, pulling the cloth over his eyes. He growled in response, lifting it back over his head. 

“I’m a big man! I don’t get cold!” Tommy insisted, lifting his head up and walking on his tippy-toes to match Wilbur’s height. He snickered, jabbing his thumb into Tommy’s chest. 

“Even I know that’s not true,” Wilbur corrected with a smile, pushing open the ground-level doors to the apartment. Tommy rolled his eyes and frowned, although only to hide a smile, and began the walk down the street next to his friend. 

Large rats scurried on the sidelines of the black pavement, orange streetlights giving an eerie glow to the dark, puddle-stained asphalt. Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets, keen on staying as close to Wilbur, and as far away from the rats as possible. He did not want rabies. Again…

Birds swept above the canopy of wires and telephone poles, cawing loud songs to the duo below. Tommy flinched, fur standing on end, before he stopped walking. He clenched his fists down at his side, shutting his eyes tight. When he heard Wilbur turn back to him, though, he opened one eye nervously. 

“O-on second thought-” Tommy began, Wilbur stopping and glancing back at him. “Maybe we should just head back…I don’t enjoy the creepy birds-”

Wilbur barked a laugh that startled the crows on their perches, flicking his wing around Tommy and pulling him in close. “No, you wanted to go, we’re gonna go. Plus, the only things out here are rats and birds, and anybody stupid enough to come at us will have to deal with an assassin.” Wilbur smiled, strutting down the sidewalk with him, although Tommy’s brain was now stuck on another thing entirely. 

“Come at us?!” Tommy asked, looking up at Wilbur. The avian’s smug expression dropped, although soon returned as he began to quickly change the subject. 

“Oh, look! Fried chicken, let’s go get some!” Wilbur said quickly, eager to change the subject as they started a faster pace down the sidewalk. Tommy didn’t mind the subject change; he was quite hungry, and didn’t like the thought of people coming after him anyway. 

Tommy glanced around one final time, before being tugged into the brightness of the restaurant. Pulsing white lights illuminated the 24 hour restaurant, warm smells of chicken, amongst other things, flooding into his nose. 

“Smells good!” Tommy chirped, tail sweeping behind him as he trotted next to Wil, glancing around the building. Basically nobody was there; an elderly man with a small thing of fries, a couple making out in the back booth, the usual attendants in a deserted restaurant like this. 

Tommy kept within Wilbur’s line of sight, nervous for the restaurant he’d never been to in the past…month. He had just begun to worry about most things now when he left the apartment. Well, he was already nervous about the missing posters, but considering there was one in the store, that was a boulder he couldn’t dodge. 

Luckily, Wilbur didn’t seem to notice the missing poster plastered over the back wall, simply gazing forward at whatever he was reading. Tommy wrung out his hands behind him, tail sweeping along the white tiles as he kicked his heels together, staring towards the bird-man anxiously. 

Wilbur glanced down at him, smiling, and put a hand on his shoulder, most likely to comfort him. “Don’t worry, Toms. You’re safe with me, I promise.” Wilbur comforted, wing flicking in and out, before returning back to his side. Tommy wasn’t all that comforted, in all honesty, but he didn’t say anything. 

Tommy tapped his feet rhythmically on the white tile flooring of the diner, completely tuning out the world, just focusing on the rhythm. Tommy liked patterns, they felt comforting to him. He liked everything in order, everything in its place. 

Once Tommy had brought himself back to the present, Wilbur had already got their food, paper bag in hand and a smile on his face. 

“C’mon Toms, let’s go. I assumed you wanted the chicken sandwich, right?” Wilbur asked, Tommy nodding in response. He smiled again. 

“Alright then. Let's get back home before Sally realizes we’re gone. If she finds out I snuck you out for fried chicken, she’ll have my head on a stick.” Wilbur joked, prodding Tommy’s side with his wing. He grumbled, pushing back. 

“And your body on a barbecue. Plus, she probably already knows we’re gone, her hearing is fucking amazing.” Tommy insisted, pushing open the door with his foot, tail swishing behind him as he walked out of the diner. 

The night was really nice. It was very, very cold, yes, but it was nice. Glimmering stars, chirping birds, nice winds. Everything was perfect. It felt like nothing could go wrong as the two boys walked down the side of the street, bickering over sandwiches and chattering about random things that came to mind. 

And of course, that’s when everything went to shit. 

“Hey, Tommy?” Wilbur blurted after a while of silence, pausing by an empty shop wall. Tommy’s already pumping heart dropped when he saw he had a piece of paper in his hands. 

Tommy swallowed. He didn’t say anything, really, just looking at the man as he stared at the paper, presumably staring almost at his face. Then, he spoke. 

“Is this you, Toms?” Wilbur asked, holding up the paper and turning towards him. Tommy nodded, glancing around. Suddenly, Wilbur laughed. 

“Wow, someone really wants you back. HA!” He continued to laugh, crumpling up the missing poster into a ball, and tossing it into an open alley not too far from them. “Too bad. You’re sticking with me, you feral raccoon!” Wilbur teased, throwing his wing over him and ruffling his hair. Tommy shot back a string of curses in response, but they were all muffled by a smile.

A rattling sound, eerie and deafening, came from the alleyway that disturbed the boy’s quiet tussle. They glanced over, one at a time, searching for a source of the noise. 

“Raccoon?” Tommy asked, shrugging his shoulders. Wilbur narrowed his eyes, leaning forward towards the dark mass of space just a few feet ahead of them. 

“Tommy, stay here.” Wilbur commanded, his usual smug tone dropped into something more sinister, more commanding. Tommy instantly thought the worst, tail sweeping away dust at his feet as he stood nervously at the mouth of the alley.  

Wilbur approached the alley; left foot right foot left foot right foot, each step was soaked in precaution as he glared down the empty space. Eventually, as he was walking the darkness consumed him enough that Tommy could no longer see the white-speckled feathers of his friend. 

“Uhh…Wilbur?” Tommy asked, breaking the command put on him, and carefully walking down the alleyway himself. HIs heart beat heavy in his ears, fear was coursing through his veins like snake venom through a cow’s leg, although he wasn’t particularly scared. Every footstep he took rang out like a church bell around the narrow space. 

Then, out of the pitch darkness, he heard a familiar yell. He heard the slam of trash bins being thrown against the ground, the hard hits and punches of fists being thrown. Tommy, already knowing a fight between Wilbur and someone else was going on, picked up his pace to try and help him. He doubted he needed any help, but it would help Tommy’s brain if he could know he’s alright. 

The streetlights behind him eventually went out, glass shattering on the ground as if it had been…hit, of purpose. The darker color of night blanketed the alley as Tommy strumbled blindly down the backstreet. 

More sounds of fights. The yells and calls that rang around his ears were almost deafening, and he was beginning to get scared. Eventually, he saw the flickering headlights of a car ahead of him, and the smashed silhouette of Wilbur against the wall. 

His wings were pinned behind him, in an uncomfortable manner Tommy knew did not help his broken wing. Tommy yelped and rushed forward, pushing at the guy who pinned him down, but he was only thrown back. 

He scrambled up quickly to attack whoever had pushed him down, tail lashing madly behind him as he snarled into the darkness. The headlights flickered on and off, making his eyes strain to see and his head ring out in pain. 

A swift punch landed on his shoulder, tussling the healing wound on it. Tommy yelped in pain, throwing his hands around and hoping to hit something. He flexed his hands out to release his claws, yelling triumphantly when he felt them slash through something. 

Blinded by his slight victory and the flashing lights, someone kicked his chest, knocking him down. The wind was knocked out of him as he gasped for breath, shifting his body to sit up on the puddle-soaked asphalt. 

Every breath was streaked with fear as he couldn’t see his opponent, glancing over to the shadowy mass of Wilbur, fighting in the corner. He was yelling something at Tommy, although through grunts and metal banging against metal, it was incoherent. Finally, his lungs were able to bring in oxygen, and he began to scramble to his feet. 

Tommy tried to stand up as quickly as he could, but someone grabbed him by his arms, shoving a damp cloth into his mouth. Tommy screamed as he kicked at his opponent, eyes wide, face pale. Sweat pooled on his neck as he struggled to get free, the person holding him back dragging him towards the car he’d seen only a few minutes earlier. 

“Tommy!” Wilbur shouted, trying to get free, but he was only shoved down on the ground. The person fighting him, a masked figure with smaller wings, stomped hard on Wilbur’s own. Tommy heard Wilbur scream.   

“HELP!” Tommy was able to yell out through the cloth, the liquid coating the fabric soaking deep into his lungs. He was scared- no, terrified. He kicked and he screamed but every desperate yell for help only brought in more liquid to his lungs. By now his throat began to go numb as his vision began to blur, limp body thrown into the back of a large van. 

He stretched his arm out for someone- anyone, to help him. But it was no use. The back of the truck slammed shut, leaving only the fried image of Wilbur being stomped into the concrete lingering in his head. 

He couldn’t bother to scream anymore as whatever drugs coated the cloth took hold of him, forcing his eyes down and his breath to plummet. He expected death by now; usually a second kidnapping isn’t something you come back from. Tommy laid his head on his arms as he felt the rusted van drive quickly along the highway, swerving left and right in directions he knew he couldn’t remember. Everything was getting…foggy. The world was beginning to spin, trembling under him as he reached out for the light source he knew wouldn’t be there for long. 

With one final, desperate cry, he crawled forward towards the van door, banging on the metal with his hand, claws scraping on the cold surface. Shots of pain rang out through his arm as it became difficult to even move it, recoiling his arms back and tucking into a curled ball. 

The small rim of light that brushed against his eyes quickly began to fade as Tommy’s ray of hope for freedom dissolved, and he tucked his tail closer to himself, admitting defeat, and letting the dark swallow him whole.