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Tommy had been in this foster home for nearly four months. The sibling, Wilbur, had shown no malice towards him. The foster father, Philza, was also very nice.
The only thing remotely off about the situation was that Phil had an odd tendency to look at his wings hungrily. Like- how you would look at chicken drumsticks or something. It was weird as fuck, Tommy thought.
Like- why would he look at them like that? It was all so confusing.
but that’s okay because he liked the house otherwise. They had a HUGE backyard, and lots of trees in it, too!
so Tommy went outside to start climbing one of the trees for fun. Because why not? Literally why not.
he got to the trunk and began to hoist himself up, wings flapping feebly.
behind him, the back door slid open, and Phil stepped out, calling to him.
“be careful, mate! Don’t want to break a wing!” He yelled with an aggressive wink and a flare of his wings.
”I will, don’t worry!” Tommy called back with a giggle.
the blonde continued to shimmy up the tree, eventually making it halfway up and turning around to sit on a branch.
”Phil! Phil look, I did it!” He called with a happy smile.
”good job, wing- I mean Tommy!” He called back.
Tommy wrinkled his nose. Did Phil mean wing like chicken wings? Like what you would get at Buffalo Wild Wings? That was weird.
Tommy shook it off. Whatever.
he turned around again, satisfied with his endeavour, and began to climb down.
his foot slipped.
he plummeted.
and hit his left wing on a branch.
shit.
he couldn’t fly now.
Tommy hit the ground hard, left wing folding underneath him with a sickening crunch.
he let out a scream, and suddenly, Phil was there. He would be okay now. It’s all okay with Phil there.
the man picked him up and carted him inside, gently laying him down on the couch, face down. Phil pulled out Tommy’s wing, and the boy whimpered in pain.
phil whistled.
”damn, four breaks. I might just have to take it off..” Phil's stomach growled.
Tommy whimpered, why did he look so predatorial?
Gently, Phil set his wing back down by his side and went into the kitchen for something.
It seemed like he was... plugging something in? And grabbing something from the knife rack?
Tommy cheeped fearfully as Phil approached with a bread knife.
The man approached the couch as Tommy tried to wriggle off of it. He reached out and pinned the boy tightly, taking the serrated bread knife to the sinewy limb.
he began to saw. Blood began to bead up.
Tommy started screaming, in agonizing pain, tears beginning to run down his face.
Yet Phil didn’t stop. Continuing, ever continuing. He wore a face of immense concentration as Tommy wriggled under him, with small and desperate peeps tumbling over themselves in their haste to get out of his mouth. Phil flinched a bit, his instincts getting to him, but still continuing.
At this point, Tommy was screaming so much that his voice had become hoarse.
Yet Phil continued. Tommy's vision began to get a bit blurry, as he crept closer and closer to the brink of unconsciousness. he began to wheeze hoarsely, vocal cords wrecked, though he was still peeping inconsolably.
Phil had his tongue sticking out of his mouth, with his tongue and face splattered in blood. He kept going until the limb was hanging on by one stubborn tendon, and bleeding sluggishly.
finally, the last bit popped off with a wet snap.
Phil held up the wing with a look of triumph. it was twitching eerily.
he waltzed into the kitchen, with a small smile on his face and the wing in hand.
Tommy was left on the couch, curled up, wheezing panickedly, and crying.
Phil did nothing to console him, still bustling around in the kitchen. Eventually, he heard a beep, and Phil reappeared around the kitchen island. Tommy shivered and his peeps increased in energy and number, calling out to a caretaker, any adult avian.
No one came. No one. Just him and Phil... and Wilbur? Who was walking down the stairs?
There, at the base of the stairs, appeared Wilbur. He looked like he had just woken up, so mildly disturbed.
Tommy peeped and held out his arms desperately, flaring his one right-wing.
Wilbur looked horrified, seeing the puddles of blood, gruesomely severed wing, and wrecked boy with a tear- and blood-stained visage. Phl stepped forward, greeting Wilbur with blood still on his face.
The brunette froze, not expecting to see his father terrorizing the foster child.
Tommy peeped again, desperately, with suspended arms shaking.
Wilbur made his way over hurriedly and hoisted him up. The brunette set him on a stool at the kitchen island with a vacant stare.
There, on the counter, innocently, sat his left wing, bloody and bent horrifically wrong.
Tommy let out a dry sob. Wilbur sat down next to him, staring blankly at the picture of bacon on the wall. (ehehehhheh /ref)
Phil went over to the counter and checked on the machine sitting there. It was... an air fryer? What was he doing with it?
After he checked it, Phil leaned over, grabbed the wing, and began to de-feather it. Tommy flinched every time he plucked one, feeling the phantom pains. When he was done, it was just a flimsy little limb.
He began to dip it into the basket.
Tommy peeped again, staring at Phil. The man turned his head slowly and made direct eye contact with the boy while he dipped the wing into the basket, closed it, and turned it on.
Tommy shrilly shrieked, and Phil leapt forward and slapped a bloody hand across his mouth to keep him quiet.
Tommy closed his eyes, stopped, and once Phil pulled his hand away, hunkered down in his chair, and peeped to himself quietly.
Phil just stands there, waiting for it to finish. He begins to speak.
"You know, I've done this before."
Wilbur's eyes widened, and he shuddered.
"Yeah, you remember Technoblade? Yeah, the piglin hybrid?"
Wilbur nodded hesitantly.
Phil laughs and nods to the wall with the picture of bacon on it. If you look closely enough, you can see the words “In Memory of Technoblade” written in calligraphy.
"Good bacon, he made."
Wilbur leaned over and threw up.
"I'm never eating bacon again," he said, wiping his mouth, and still looking rather green.
The timer beeped, and Phil took out the wing. He bit a large chunk off.
Tommy begins to cheep shrilly, scaring Phil. He leaned over, and his eyes widened a bit.
“Mate… I’m sorry, but I just got a little hungry. 🥺. I’m sorry, could you forgive me? 👉👈”
Tommy and Wilbur stared.
”how the fUCK ARE YOU DOING THAT-“ Tommy screamed.
"never mind that. Wilbur, would you like a piece of this chicken?"
Wilbur turned more green and ran out of the room towards the bathroom.
"Eh, well, his loss 🤷." Phil said, and shrugged.
Tommy shuddered.
