Chapter Text
He stops feeling human long before he stumbles over, falling to the ground, and his hands bleed Gold.
He stops feeling human somewhere between the days, when he wakes up slow, calm and warm, and those days that merge into weeks, months, intertwining in an incomprehensible way.
He feels the passage of time like he feels the changing seasons – the changing forest. The forest, shifting under his hands, thoughts, command.
And with this flow, his life becomes a river, washing away old dirt, old worries. Old memories.
His humanity.
And he comes out on the other side – clean and lost in all the ways he was never before. And at that shore, there are people waiting for him, ready to take his hand and show him the right way.
Phil is there, when he realizes that he can't remember his Father's face. And he holds him close while Wilbur cries against his shoulder, because losing something so horrible still only feels like losing.
Phil is there, when he watches him teach Tommy how to fly. Not more than a few steps above the ground; Tommy still clumsy and unsteady on his wings, like some of Phil's young crows. And it takes a few moments for Wilbur to realize, that he can no longer imagine Tommy without them, as if they were always there, even if he's almost sure it's not true. Phil takes his hands in his, and gives him an honest smile, because changes are terrifying, even if they are good.
Phil is there, when Wilbur looks into his own reflection in the mirror, and although he knows something has changed, he can't recall his old face. He puts an arm around him, kissing the top of his head, and Wilbur thinks that maybe he doesn't mind how his eyes glow with something wild, if that means he'll look a bit more Phil.
Phil is there, when he forgets that he should call him Phil.
The new life settles around them slowly.
When he first calls Techno his brother, he can't remember why he ever hesitated to use that word.
When he waves his hand and feels the delicate flower spring between his fingers, he doesn't even flinch.
When Techno hands him a lute, saying he finally 'understood something', it looks familiar in a way that Wilbur doesn't want to ponder over. And when he takes it in his hands, it feels like it was made for his fingers only.
And slowly, like an unlucky ship sailing on calm waters for the first time in forever, Wilbur finds his place.
He finds his place huddled next to his dad, face pressed into soft feathers. He finds his place, leaning against a tree trunk, his cheek rested against Techno's shoulder as they watch Tommy's clumsy attempts at flying. He finds his place alone on the edge of the lake, head titled up, and slowly, in quiet solitude, moving the strings of his lute to life.
But sometimes he dreams.
He dreams of the outline of a small house, the warmth of a fireplace on his skin.
About someone's smile, gentle and warm, so much like his. With dark hair tickling his face, soft hands.
He dreams of something dark, something that makes his heart beat harder, painfully in his chest. Something terrifying and something he loves and in those dreams, he can never muster the strength to leave.
He dreams of someone's hand, warm in his, a hollow cough and a harsh winter.
He dreams of piercing cold, of hunger, of the hot sun burning his skin. Of swollen hands, sore legs, quiet fear and sleepless nights.
And then he wakes, with a bittersweet taste on his tongue, and remembers nothing.
Sometimes, he gets a strange shiver, like a deep feeling that something is wrong, settling all over his body with something heavy.
And then he searches for Tommy's with panicked gaze, almost fully, completely convinced that something bad will happen if he doesn't, and his fingers shake with a shadow of a blurry, forgotten memory of something cold-
And he always sighs, when his eyes finally fall on his brother's back.
Sometimes, even small things – sudden movement, the comb between his hair – make his eyes flood with tears, and his chest presses down with something heavy, and he can't breathe, until he's filled with frustration.
Anger, at something he doesn't even remember, but still makes his whole body tremble, his shoulders raised in a violent sob.
And in all the moments, when he’s standing next to the river, someone is reaching out to him.
Techno's hands tighten on his shoulders – firm, steady, holding him closer in reality. And then he combs his hair, braiding it with flowers that spill between his fingers, letting them both exist in calm silence.
Tommy moves closer to his side, squeezing his hand between his little ones – soft and smooth on Wilbur's scarred skin. And he talks about more or less important things, about real things and those he must be making up on the spot, and Wilbur listens to these stories with the shadow of a smile on his face.
His dad pulls him close, lets him hide his face in his chest. His hands always feel warm against his back, holding him tight. Dad covers them with wings, keeping Wilbur hidden, and maybe, sometimes, that's just enough to protect him from the rest of the world.
On the other side of the river, stripped of everything he ever had, everything he lacked – Wilbur is sure of one thing.
He's happy.
And he lets himself sink into that feeling, as the wild wind ruffles his hair, as the soft grass tickles his ankles, when someone teases him in a half-whisper, as someone else soothes them with a soft laugh.
He plays his lute.
And when he looks up, the stars are shining brighter than usual.