This chapter contains self-harm and self-deprecation. Please read responsibly.
"What the hell is going on?"
Phil stood at the entrance to the house, his back and flared feathery wings exposed to the outdoors, an expression of dismayed shock on his face as he surveyed the situation, eyes gliding over the bits of smashed plate strewn across the floor, the aggressive poses Techno and Tommy held; the tears streaming down Tommy's red and messy face, the labored breathing that filled the room.
"N-nothing," Tommy choked out, swiping his arm across his puffy eyes.
Phil turned to Techno, ignoring Tommy's weak lie.
"What happened? Why is one of my plates broken?" Phil's tone was colder than the icy wind that hurled itself against the house, intruding through the open door and raising goosebumps on the arms and legs of the inhabitants, an unwelcome visitor.
The fight left Techno all at once, his body slumping like an old sack of flour that had taken one too many beatings.
"Phil-- Wait-- I didn't mean to--"
"Downstairs." Phil ordered, briskly stepping the rest of the way inside and shutting the door behind himself, hearing the latch click into place before striding further into the room.
"It was an accident-- I wasn't--"
"Techno. Downstairs. Now. I'll join you in a minute." Phil cut him off.
Techno lumbered down the ladder leading to the ground floor of the house, a miserable sag in his posture.
Phil waited a moment, then hurried to the still-sniffling Tommy. He led him gently to the worn couch that had become his resident perch in the small cottage, wrapping an orange blanket around his quivering shoulders.
"I'm f-fine, really," Tommy lied, wiping his red eyes with the palms of his hands, wet lashes clinging together, soaked in briny tears that continued to slide down his cheeks with every damp hiccup.
Phil brushed loose strands of hair from the boy's face, tucking the blonde locks behind pink-tinged ears. He could clearly see Tommy's azure irises now, dark pupils unfocused and unmoving within the cornflower-blue rings, tensed eyebrows that creased his forehead lending them slight emotion, but it wasn't enough to void the strange sense of emptiness they afforded his features.
Shaking off the feeling, Phil pulled Tommy forwards into a hug, surprised to feel hands wrap around his torso in response, and a head nestle into his robed shoulder, muffling sobs and sniffles.
Phil was the one to eventually break the embrace-- he hadn't forgotten about Techno, who was still waiting, probably wondering when Phil would arrive.
"I'll be back in a few minutes. You gonna be ok by yourself, Toms?"
"Y-yeah," Tommy mumbled, wrapping the orange blanket Phil had given him closer around himself, kneading the cloth anxiously.
"Shout if you need me," Phil called as he descended the ladder, flipping the heavy wooden trapdoor closed as he went.
He didn't want Tommy to hear any of what was to be said.
Techno paced the room nervously, fiddling with the engraved rings decorating his fingers. A large collection of chests and barrels were stacked against one carved stone wall, filled with weapons, armor, and various supplies. Numerous lanterns decorated the ceiling, the oil-lit flames inside the glass and iron boxes flickering and dancing as they swung gently, disturbed by Techno's arrival, playing chase with shadows that retreated, waiting sullenly in dark corners before darting forwards, the merry game as natural as the ebb and flow of an ocean.
A cold draft squeezed its way inside through the creaky door perpendicular to the chests, raising goosebumps on his exposed neck and wrists.
He hadn't meant to upset Tommy; it was an accident. It wasn't his fault he couldn't read people like Phil could.
But deeper in his heart, Techno knew he should have been watching closer, been looking out for those signs of stirring anger, and backed away once he spotted them.
It's what a good brother would have done.
The voices rose in elusive harmony, whispering to him like twittering birds as they flocked to his mind.
You hurt him.
Your fault.
Guilty, guilty, guilty.
He deserves a better brother than you.
Selfish brute.
Freak.
Monster.
The cruel sparrows chattered and sung their vicious words, each one a blow he couldn't fend off. He had been trained in physical combat since he was a child; but no one had ever told him how to fight his own traitorous mind.
Shame on you.
Useless.
Scum.
Unworthy.
Techno sunk to the floor, leaning against a chest, hiding his head in his hands. The voices peppered him still with insults, unrelenting in their brutality even as their victim crumbled. He pressed his palms hard against his skull, trying to force them out, desperate for quiet, not caring when he felt his rings dig into his scalp and bruise the skin underneath.
He didn't hear Phil enter the room, or quietly pad over to Techno's huddled form. He didn't notice him sink to the floor next to him either. It was only when a comforting, familiar arm snaked around his shoulders, that Techno finally loosened his grip on his head and looked at Phil, the weathered features of the man he called his father calming his pounding heart and slowing his rapid breathing in a way nothing else could.
"I'm so sorry," Techno rasped.
"I know you don't mean to do it, mate," Phil soothed. "It's ok. We'll find a way to fix it, like we always do."
Tears sprung to Techno's eyes, overjoyed at being forgiven, while knowing he deserved none of it; he forced them back, unwilling to cry. Not here. Not now.
Maybe when he was alone, the darkness of a sleepless night creeping towards him on spindly legs, he would allow himself to acknowledge the hollow part of his heart that made him act like such a monster, and glistening tears would find a home on his cheeks, evaporating by the time the sun rose like the crystal dew that sat upon the greenery in his garden, the plants yet untouched by the starved fingers of winter that seemed to caress every unsheltered thing in the tundra.
Techno had assumed warm hides and a small fireplace would keep the frost away: but perhaps winter had already crept inside of him unnoticed and made itself a home long ago.
He had been twelve, the first time it happened. Techno hadn't understood what the voices that chattered to him in such an amicable way were, or where they had come from, but he was happy for the company, and willing to listen.
That was his first mistake.
It was a warm summer day. Techno lay sprawled on his back, staring at the clouds draped like swirls of cotton candy across a brilliant blue sky. The sun shone down, warm on his skin, and a subtle breeze blew through his loose hair, disturbing the bubble-gum pink strands.
That cloud looks like a bear.
A voice chimed in.
No, more like a boat.
It's a tree!
"It looks like a cloud to me," Techno interrupted, squinting his eyes and wrinkling his nose up at the puffy white shapes.
One of the voices, slightly louder than the others, cut through the mindless chatter.
We're hungry.
"Yeah?" Techno responded, curious. Could voices get hungry? He supposed he wouldn't know, being a person.
The other voices began to whisper.
Hungry!
So, so hungry!
Feed us!
"Well, what do you eat?" Techno questioned, sitting up, now interested.
The voices buzzed for a moment, the chatter unintelligible, before speaking again.
We'll show you!
Yes, show!
Show you!
Feed us!
"Ok," Techno said, standing. "Where should I go?"
Towards the house!
That way!
Watch out for the rose bushes! They have thorns!
"Alright, I'm going." It was better to satiate the voices than to ignore them; they might keep him up all night if he didn't 'feed' them, whatever that meant.
Techno meandered towards the cottage he shared with Phil, lazily opening the door and stepping inside.
"Where to now?"
Downstairs!
Go down!
Down, down, down!
To the basement!
Techno frowned. The basement was for Phil's equipment. There wasn't any food there, only the shiny metal weapons Phil had told him not to touch. But surely the voices didn't mean any harm. They had been nothing but nice to Techno. Why would that change now?
He descended the cool stone steps leading to the basement, determined to do something nice for his friends.
Good!
Keep going!
Almost there!
Hungry!
Techno took a match from the small alcove that held them, striking it against the brick wall and using the sputtering flame to light the sturdy lanterns, throwing the room into soft light. The voices were getting louder-- had there always been so many?-- creating a constant buzzing that made his head pound.
"There's nothing down here. It's just Phil's stuff."
Take it.
"What?"
Take them.
"No! Phil would be mad!"
The voices rushed to soothe him.
It's ok.
Don't worry.
It'll all be fine.
Trust us.
Take it.
"I-if you're sure," Techno mumbled, reaching for a pretty dagger. The hilt was wrapped in thin leather, attached to a fine silver blade lightly imprinted with abstract designs of swirling leaves and plants that traveled half of the knife's length. He toyed with it for a moment, weighing it in his hands, surprised that an obviously ornamental thing could feel so dangerous.
That one.
Yes, good!
Hungry, hungry!
"What am I supposed to do with it?" Techno asked, confused and a little scared. Thinking clearly was getting harder and harder as the voices surged in both volume and number.
Feed us.
"But how?" Techno said, beginning to feel desperate. "I don't know how to feed you!"
Blood.
"What?!"
Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
The voices chanted in unison, making Techno dizzy.
"Stop! Stop it!"
Feed us.
Give us your blood.
So hungry.
"No! I don't want to!"
You have to.
Do it, do it now.
Feed us.
Techno began to sob, overwhelmed and terrified. He held the knife with shaking hands to his pale, delicate wrists, willing to do anything to end the torment.
Now!
Techno didn't remember much of what happened.
He knew Phil had found him, cowering in the basement, slicing relentlessly, carving his skin like a butcher dicing up Sunday's meat, and had torn the dagger from his bloody hands.
He knew it was painful, and that his arms were in bandages for weeks afterwards.
He knew Phil had refused to let him near anything sharp until they had healed, and when Techno was finally allowed to train with Phil again, it was more rigorous and exhausting than ever.
And he knew that the voices had only gotten stronger since.
A/N: Hey! I know this is my first upload in a while, and I'm sorry for that; mental health and some life stuff got in the way of my writing, and I had to take a break. But I'm back now, and new chapters will be uploaded every two weeks! You also can check my profile for the date of the next upload if you're unsure!
Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you're enjoying the story! :D
P.S: I love the comments people leave! I read every single one, and it means a lot to me that people care enough to do that! :)