Chapter Text
The wings were gorgeous.
Puffy had met many avians over the years; the number likely adding up to more than those still alive. She had seen many wings in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes. Some were imitations of overworld birds, from the soaring albatross to the agile hummingbird; but a few held fantastic characteristics not seen in nature, like constantly shifting patterns or an ethereal glow.
Each set of wings provided unique beauty to their bearers, giving an avian a critical piece of their identity and sense of self. The Angel of Death could not be seen, mentioned, or thought of without acknowledgement being given to the great black wings at his back. His crow-like wings were built for precise maneuverability, but far, far larger than any typical avian's. The black feathers gleamed in starlight and sunlight alike, fooling Puffy more than once into thinking that she was seeing into The End. Phil's wings were a wonder only seen once in the lifetime's of a chosen few.
But the wings in the glass case hooked to the mantle above the fireplace not two meters from her face, with feathers askew and coated in blood, took Puffy's breath away. A soft voice gasped behind her.
"Holy s****."
Tommy followed the sheep hybrid as she approached the display. Puffy splayed her hand against the glass, uncaring of whoever was responsible for keeping the surface clean as the vision of the wings overwhelmed her.
These wings were large, nearly rivaling Phil's, whose span dwarfed even the proudest of avians. The white that was visible through the thick layer of caked blood shimmered in the low lighting of the room. The feathers gleamed with an opalescent sheen as light refracted off of the wings as though from a prism. Puffy could only behold the wings in quiet awe as sorrow filled her heart for the unknown avian to once possess such majestic wings.
"Puffy?" Tommy's voice was quiet, unnervingly so with a tremor Puffy recognized from their discussions of exile. Puffy realized the young avian had likely never seen clipped wings before. "Those weren't here before—the last time I was here."
That certainly got her attention.
"Are you sure?" Puffy turned to the teenager, a calm ember of determination threatening to catch fire should it contact even the most meager of fuel. At the answering nod, Puffy pressed harder against the glass. "When was the last time you were here?"
Wings can be restored; many wings have been restored from a worse state than these. If they were only acquired recently, there was a possibility, however slim, that their owner was nearby. If they were nearby, if they were still alive, then there was a chance to restore these wings to them.
Tommy glanced at the wings briefly, face pale and eyes wide, before turning his gaze to anywhere but the gruesome display.
"Maybe two, three weeks ago." It wasn't a question, but he still sounded uncertain.
The ember caught a dry log.
"Are you finished with your..." Puffy waved a hand in a vague gesture, "...business?"
Another nod.
"Good." Puffy turned back to the case and pulled her pickaxe from her inventory. "We'll be taking these then. Shield your face."
-----
"I've never f**** seen these wings before!"
Tommy still hadn't quite recovered from the initial shock of seeing the bloodied, severed wings. Upon returning to her home, Puffy had led Tommy to a seat on the couch and left him there while she worked on the wings at the table.
The escape from Las Nevadas had been uneventful; what with Quackity busy leading the rest of the server in the ongoing manhunt. Unlike the prison, the siren of which could be heard for miles, the display which Puffy had shattered hadn't been rigged with any kind of alarms or traps. No one rushed to stop them as the sheep hybrid had collected the wings, mindful of their mangled state, and simply walked out of the casino.
Tommy felt sick looking at the wings on the table. The long feathers Puffy was carefully, but inefficiently, cleaning were covered in blood and unidentifiable filth. There were more bent and broken feathers than there were feathers in their proper position; and the angle at which the arm of the left wing bent was crooked. Tommy tried not to look at the jagged bone that would have connected the wings to their owner. He couldn't help the shiver that raced down his spine and through his own wings at the thought of just how violently the white wings had been removed.
"Do..." Tommy cleared his throat as he fought against his apprehension. "Do you want some help with that, Puffy?"
Puffy paused her struggling efforts. Tommy kept a desperate grip on both the arm of the couch and his resolve as he met her sympathetic stare. Eventually, Puffy caved, breaking eye contact and sighing as she motioned to the other side of the table.
"Please, I've only had a little practice with preening," she said softly, "and that was years ago."
Tommy didn't go to the table so much as he felt his legs carry him over to it. Falling into the chair opposite his therapist, Tommy kept his hands on the table in front of him; he made no move to touch the wings.
"It looks a whole lot worse than it is." That's a lie. "We just need to remove the blood and dirt so they don't infect their owner when they're reattached."
Tommy nodded, emotions numbed from being so close to the wings. "Right," he agreed, "wings can be reattached. It's not—this can be fixed. It'll be fine."
Puffy didn't mention the tremor of Tommy's hands as he reached out and, after another several moments of hovering above the feathers, delicately ran his fingers over the wings.
From then on, they preened in silence. Tommy slowly began to move faster, using firmer presses and strokes from his fingers and hooks to clean faster. The wings were too still, only jostled by his and Puffy's ministrations; they were too cold, lacking any internal body heat and feeling dead. They didn't know the wings' owner, and that upset Tommy more than it should have.
Who the f**** were they to think they had the right to preen a stranger's wings? Who the f**** did they think they were to assume they were privileged to touch, or even look at, these absolutely awesome wings?
Who the f**** was Quackity to have the gall to take them in the first place?
Tommy pushed aside his thoughts on the taboo they may or may not have been committing by preening the wings unauthorized; instead he focused on trying to get in the mystery avian's good graces by returning the wings in better than perfect condition.
Tommy startled at his musings as his nails caught on a chunk of dried gore. Why did he care what this avian would think of him? He didn't even know who they were! What if they were Dream?
Tommy flicked the gore away, and he almost laughed at the thought of Dream of all people having these wings. Only cool avians deserved cool wings. Philza Minecraft was a prime example, with wings so large and dark and swirling subtly with the colors of The End. Poggers wings for a poggers man.
Dream was not poggers, though, and there was no way after all the s**** he had done that he—
Tommy sprang back from the wings, quickly enough that his chair clattered to the ground behind him. He held his hands up in a placating stance, as though he had offended the lifeless wings before him. Puffy watched Tommy carefully, ready to listen to whatever had alarmed the young avian so she could help.
"Tommy?"
"He never touched my wings."
Tommy forced his eyes away from the wings for the first time in what was surely hours to look at Puffy. His glare was hard, but not for her, as he tried to convey the gravity of his epiphany.
"The whole time during exile." He took a deep, calming breath. "Dream pulled a lot of s**** but he didn't touch my wings. He didn't touch my wings! Not once! He never—Dream had f**** standards! He was a right b****, but there are lines even he wouldn't cross!"
The teen's body heaved with harsh breaths, and tears were close to falling from his eyes. Puffy stood and moved around the table to him, gently wrapping him in her arms and leading him back to the couch.
Tommy was stubborn against the tears, knowing it would only lead to Puffy babying him for the next week. Even still, he melted into the comfort she provided and quietly cried into her embrace. Once he calmed, Puffy shifted their position to look at him.
"It's okay to feel upset, Tommy. Just because things weren't as bad as they could have been, doesn't mean that you weren't still hurt. It wasn't mercy that Dream left your wings alone, because if it was mercy, he wouldn't have found other ways to hurt you." Puffy offered Tommy a small smile. "But you're safe now. You're safe; no one is going to hurt you anymore, and no one is going to touch your wings unless you want them to."
After some silence, Tommy nodded and began to pull away from the hug. He took another steadying breath before moving back over to the table. Hours of attention had the clipped wings mostly clear of the filth that had once stolen their luster, but they were far from done.
"Right. I'm safe now." He needed to convince himself of this, but it wasn't so hard to believe as it had been months before. Tommy dug his fingers back into the feathers with new determination. "Let's finish these, then find the b**** they belong to."