Chapter Text
Monty wanted to go home.
He wanted to go back into his cage, too tight and too cold, but so familiar, or into the guest room his mother gave him, curling up on the old mattress covered by blankets he'd stolen from around the house, he wanted to lay down in the house he knew and never get up.
He wanted to go into the very far corner of the library, a place with pillows on the floor that resembled a nest, he wanted to curl up and read for hours on anything he could find.
He wanted to go to the Tongue & Tail butcher shop, he wanted to sit in the corner next to the window and stare at the room, he wanted to see his friends in front of him one last time.
But he could not go back to the house, the smell of death and rot in it had become overwhelming, not even flying into the attic gave him any reprieve. He could not sit in his cold cage, getting colder by the approaching winter, as the very bars of it threatened to burn him with every slight touch, the magic surrounding it angry with him for existing when his Witch did not. He couldn't go into the guest room, as even without the smell, his door was locked and his things were trashed from his tantrum for being ripped from his human body and left alone. When his mother got back and saw it, she'd been angry with him and slammed the door shut, locking it and keeping the key on her until he, '𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯', but with Esther gone, not even a body to say goodbye too, he didn't have hope of ever seeing that key again.
But he didn't really want to see the only things he'd ever sort of owned broken and ripped, so maybe it was better he couldn't even try.
He couldn't go back to the library, a place he'd been sent on a mission to that had eventually become his sanctuary, as no one really wanted a crow in their building, even one who just wanted to go and sit in a certain missing boy's favourite spot. He couldn't grab all the books he'd loved and read them again, even if he could understand the words, he'd never feel the emotion behind the lines again, it would never be the same as the first time he'd picked up the books that would become his favourites.
He could never go back to the Tongue & Tail butcher shop, the broken windows boarded up tight to keep out the kids who tried to go in and loot after Jenny had left for London.
He only met Jenny once, but he had the feeling if they'd met at another time, or in another life, maybe they could have been close.
But instead of any of the places he wanted to be, he sat in the cold woods on top of the bar holding the lone pair of swings there.
In his life as a human, it had been many things to him. The best and worst places he'd ever gone.
He'd gone to the swings to feel the air on his body as he flew, the closest thing to being a crow he got in that body, dragging a sense of euphoria from him, to be able to have both. He almost wishes the memories weren't tainted by his worst rejection, but he couldn't go back and change anything, as much as he wanted too.
Now he sits there again, though this time there is no squeak of the metal as he propels himself forward, wishing to fly.
There is silence, because he wished the exact opposite.
He'd been forced into that body, forced to feel a depth of emotions he never could have predicted, and at that time, he'd been taking it for granted, as now that he'd felt that emotion, he wanted it back.
Crows weren't supposed to feel in such a full way, not the way humans did, especially not a crow 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳, but to take away his human heart and mind made him realize that he longed for it. The despair and hurt he'd felt was all consuming, but so was the happiness and the care, the contentment and the excitement.
It didn't go away, now that he was a crow, some part of him always reminding him of what he wasn't, but it wasn't the same, instead of feeling things like they filled him up and kept him warm, it felt as though he was about to burst. Every want and desire he had hurt and made his small body ache, as if the extent of them was shoving at the bones and blood in his body to make room he 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦.
He sat and longed for all he ruined, feeling that sharp aching pain, for days. He doesn't move, not really, apart from the occasional glance down at the swings or the rustling leaves. He doesn't eat, there's no room for hunger in the unbearable fullness of his despair. He doesn't fix his feathers as they get pushed out of place, as there is no room for annoyance either. He doesn't outstretch his wings, as for the first time in his life, he wished he didn't have them at all, if it meant he could go back.
He wanted to be able to grieve his mother and his tormenter, in a complex way he knew wasn't possible as he was. He wanted to be able to feel the regret and remorse of his actions, of his rejections, of his failures. He wanted it all.
Even if he had to be brutally ripped apart to get it, he needed it.
He needed to be human.
Time passes around him, the nights get longer and the days get colder, he doesn't keep track of how long he's there, but he stays in his place regardless. He doesn't move.
Or, he tries not to.
As the fifth pinecone is thrown at him, brushing against his untamed feathers, he fails and caws angrily, looking down at the ground where they were flinging at him as he hopped to the side to dodge another.
When he sees the Cat King standing there, looking all too smug, he huffs and thinks he should have just let it hit him
Still, he tilted his head in question down at the King, currently in his human shape, even though he looked a bit different then the last time Monty had seen him. His hair a bit darker and his smile a little strained.
"What a coincidence, just the bird I wanted to find!" The Cat King dropped the final pinecone he'd held in his hands, holding them up at his sides in peace.
Monty didn't respond, or even tilt his head further, he just stared, feathers ruffled as he suddenly felt the chill in the air.
“Not even going to respond? You wound me, birdie, really.” The Cat King chuckled, as if it was some big joke that Monty wouldn't answer. “Okay, fine, but would you come down from there already? My neck’s starting to hurt…”
Monty debated for a long moment, he didn't know what the King wanted, or why he was there, or how long he was going to stay, but he did know that he was freezing on the bar and he should move, get blood rushing again.
He eventually did as he was asked, taking a step off the bar and letting his wings fly open with trained ease, flapping and guiding him as he soared around the swings and the Cat King both just a few times, before settling down on a swing.
If it happened to be the same swing he sat in ever long ago with the first man he'd ever loved… Sue him.
The Cat King looked amused, but he took the seating in stride, coming over and sitting in the swing next to him.
“Thanks… Do you know why I'm here, birdie?” The Cat King asks after a moment, looking out of place in his fancy, very warm looking, coat.
Monty turned his entire body, looking blankly at the King.
“Come on, even as a crow you know how to nod and shake your head, don't you?”
Monty hesitated. He did, but did he really 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to respond to the Cat King?
Did it matter if he wanted too, if the Cat King wasn't going to leave if he didn't cooperate?
He slowly nodded his head, the sensation much different than in a human body.
“Good! Now, do you know why I'm here?” The Cat King asked, and this time, while Monty still hesitated, he shook his head in response.
“Well, birdie, I want something from you,” Monty couldn't help the small tilt of his head conveying his interest. “And you want something from me.”
Monty's feathers puffed up and he hopped back until his wings hit the metal of the swing chains, shaking his head. He knew better than to trust the King, his mother had told him not to get involved and to not let the Cat King know anything about him, but with cats running all throughout the town, that was pretty much a lost cause.
The memory of warm hands caressing his skin, cold lips pressing against his own, a hand on his chest shoving him backward.
“Don't get your feathers in a twist, it's nothing bad! Really, it benefits you. Don't you want to be human again?” The Cat King looked all too smug as Monty immediately perked up, intense yellow eyes that matched his own staring back at him.
Monty didn't really care what the deal was, after that. He would do anything to be human again, even if it meant giving up his wings for good, he would do anything to feel again.
He quickly began nodding his head repeatedly, excitedly, as he hopped on the swing seat, closer and closer to the King, never dropping their eye contact.
“So you agree, just like that? Your human body for whatever I want?” If Monty were thinking clearer, he would've noticed the smirk on the Cat King's lips, the eagerness to sign the deal, the way he didn't say what he wanted in exchange.
But Monty wasn't thinking clearly, for the first time in quite a while he felt excited about something, so fully it made his entire body sting to stay still. He hopped around to satiate his need for movement, letting out a series of clicking, trills, and caws.
“Alright, alright!” The Cat King laughed, shushing him, to which he listened immediately, buzzing with anticipation.
“Now let's see… I've never actually made a deal with a crow, what would be considered your hand?” The Cat King looked amused, but did genuinely seem to debate it. Monty stopped for a moment as well, would his foot or wing technically be his hand?
Slowly, he turned to the side and reached out his left wing, letting an uncertain trill fall out his mouth.
The Cat King shrugged, smiling. “Works for me!” His palm lit up with a gorgeous purple fire, and for a moment, Monty worried the flames would burn him, but before he could retract his wing was grabbed and they did the closest thing to a shake as they could manage in their forms.
The flames didn't burn, but an odd sensation settled over him, the cold of the early winter air became pleasantly warm. The energy that had kept him up for days seeped away. The ache in his chest lessened.
Both his eyes closed, and he felt more human for the action. He felt something slip under his feet, lifting him from the swing seat and bringing him to something even warmer, something safer.
“There we go, birdie…” Monty heard someone say, and though he couldn't remember who it was, the voice soothed him further as he leaned closer to the warmth. He noted, dully, that he seemed to be falling asleep, but for some reason that thought sounded kind and comforting now, so he didn't fight it.