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It takes Parrot three days to travel back to Skymore.
In that time, he doesn’t stop thinking about the whole situation. About Cindercrest, and Billy, and the whole discourse between old and new players that he’d thought would die down once everyone got adjusted to the new norm. Clearly, if extremist groups like Cindercrest exist even this far out from spawn, he thought wrong. Parrot spends the three days of travel plotting their next course of action, and by the time he reaches Skymore he’s fleshed out a few possible strategies to combat these players.
He settles down to wait for Theo to get back; once he does, they can go to spawn together. With Parrot bouncing his ideas off of Theo the whole way back, by the time they actually reach spawn they’ll have a more concrete plan to work with.
So he waits, and waits, and it’s not until the third day of neither hide nor hair of Theo that Parrot starts to get a bit worried.
They’ve been split up loads of times before, sure, but normally Parrot is the one out of his depth. Whenever they meet up again, he’s always the one looking worse for wear, while Theo makes doing two people’s share of fighting seem easy. This long silence feels unnatural, and that is a perfect breeding ground for the uncertainty that begins to creep into his consciousness.
Theo’s a capable fighter, sure, but Billy is probably the most notorious assassin on the server. Their last encounter with him had been more than enough to prove his skill. With nothing but the abandoned civilisation to keep him company, Parrot begins to worry about Theo for the first time in a while.
(Sometime on day four, he has the awful thought that maybe Theo won’t ever come back.
Maybe the last words they’ll ever say to each other are nothing more than those goodbyes, cold with the certainty they would see each other again. With the certainty that there would be time for warmth later, once Billy was taken care of.
“Get out of here– just get out of here, bro!”
“Alright, I’ll meet you back at Skymore. See ya.”
That day, Parrot spends hours training. Maybe if he weren’t so weak, Theo wouldn’t have to put himself in danger all the time.)
–––
The moon is rising on the evening of the fifth day, and Parrot is scared. He’s promised himself that he will hold out for two more days after this, more than twice the time it should take Theo to travel back to Skymore, and if there is still no sign of his guard then he will leave for spawn alone.
(There’s only so long he can wait before Billy will come for him, too.)
He’s standing on one of the towers looking over the remnants of Skymore when he sees it. A figure on the horizon, clad in the familiar blue-green shimmer of diamond armour.
Parrot reaches for his spyglass on instinct, but he doesn’t need it to know exactly who it is. Instantaneously, relief surges through him, so strong it makes his knees weak and a smile spread hopelessly across his face.
“Theo,” he breathes, already jumping off the tower even as he trades his spyglass for water. It cushions his fall, slowing him from the briefest moment and then he’s running across the grass, eyes fixed on Theo’s form steadily making its way through the trees.
It’s only when he gets close enough to see the other man’s face that he realises something is wrong. Really, really wrong.
Theo is limping, clutching his side like his life depends on it, and he’s still visibly bleeding from two places: a wound in his thigh, and one that’s hidden beneath his helmet. There is a trail of blood matting the grass behind him, already turning rust-red as it dries in the cold air.
Parrot palms whatever remaining golden apples he has left, recovering quickly from the surprise as he moves to support his friend. He’s only a couple of steps away when Theo lets out a strained gasp and falters in his step, collapsing bonelessly forward, and Parrot reacts just fast enough to catch him.
Theo flinches briefly at the contact, recoiling as much as he can in Parrot’s grip. He must have irritated whatever other wounds lie below the armour. Parrot is careful as he lays the other man down against the wall of a half-built house, eyes flicking over his body to assess his condition.
“Dude,” Parrot says, unable to hide how frantic he feels, “dude, Theo, oh my God."
His hands tremble as they hold a golden apple up to Theo’s mouth, pressing it softly against the other avian’s lips to encourage him to eat. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Theo this injured before.
“P-Parrot,” Theo says weakly, voice barely above a whisper. His breaths are coming too fast, too shallow. Parrot pushes the apple forward again, more insistently this time. The other man relents, making a weak effort to take a bite, but it’s clearly a struggle to chew and swallow.
Parrot sets the apple back in his inventory for a moment as he busies himself with taking off Theo’s armour, placing it gently to one side. The entire set shows enough damage that he wouldn’t be surprised if it fell apart in one or two more hits. After that, he tries his best to strip away what’s left of the underarmours, scorched and cut up beyond salvaging.
Theo hisses as he peels the fabric away from the gaping wound in his side. The flesh is hot to the touch, filled with congealed blood and already carrying the first signs of infection. There’s been no attempt to wrap it. He must have been really desperate to get away as fast as he could.
Parrot reaches into his inventory for the bitten golden apple and a health potion. He carefully wraps Theo’s fingers around the apple and brings it to his mouth, allowing the man to take a second bite. When it’s clear Theo isn’t going to drop the apple, he finally uncorks the potion and begins to carefully apply it around the edges of the wound.
Skin and muscle rushes to reconstruct itself, forcing healing in a way Parrot knows from experience hurts like a bitch, but Theo barely even reacts. His eyes are a bit unfocused, cloudy with what looks like a concussion now that Parrot is looking closely.
The head wound isn’t particularly visible, hidden beneath Theo’s matted blond hair, so Parrot just soaks a whole half of Theo’s head in the health potion. When it comes to things like head injuries, he’d rather be safe than sorry. Even if it means wasting some of the potion.
"Parrot,” Theo says again, still too soft in a way that means it must hurt to speak, and then he breaks off into a cough that makes his ribs rattle. Blood stains his lip, sliding down his chin and mixing with the trail of crimson from his head wound.
“It’s okay, Theo.” Parrot finds himself saying, because there’s nothing else to say, and when he thinks about it he finds his words to be honestly true. He’s spent the better part of the last day and a half consumed by the possibility that Theo was never going to come back. The fact that Theo is here at all, alive even if not well, is more than enough.
He’s turning his attention to the thigh wound, already beginning to tip the last dregs of the health potion over it, when a hand grabs his wrist sharply. It shakes his grip, causing the potion to splash on the grass; he’s ready to complain when he looks up to meet Theo’s gaze, and then he just– stops.
There is fear in Theo’s eyes.
He’s scared.
He’s scared of Billy, because there’s nobody else it could be, and Parrot has never seen Theo be scared of a singular player before. He’s been uncertain, sure, but that is mostly for Parrot’s benefit rather than his own. Theo has always been confident, self-assured in his own skill, strong enough to know he can more than handle himself.
That same man is sitting before him now, and he is scared.
Parrot swallows. He reaches for the golden apple, left forgotten in the grass, and brings it to Theo’s mouth. The other avian takes an obedient bite, but his pupils are trembling and he doesn’t break eye contact once. We need to get out of here, he doesn’t say, but Parrot hears it nonetheless.
“Okay,” Parrot says softly, a million and one thoughts running through his head and all of them about Theo, “okay, let’s get you fixed up with what we have and then we’re gonna– we’ll go. Is Billy close?”
Theo offers a weak shrug that looks like it takes half his energy to perform. Either way, Billy could easily have killed him in this state, so either the assassin is long gone or he’s choosing not to act. Both are… acceptable. They will give him enough time to get the other man stable, at least.
Parrot fishes out a second health pot, pouring it on Theo’s wrists where the strain of blocking mace hits and using his carting crossbow has left its mark, and then gently feeds the rest of it down Theo’s throat. There are, without a doubt, more internal injuries than he knows how to treat. His best hope is giving the other man enough systemic healing that they can make it back to spawn and find someone more qualified.
He works in silence for a bit longer, healing what he can and bandaging what he can’t, and it’s only when the golden apple is mostly finished that Theo finally speaks up again.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, voice hoarse, “you’re not hurt. That’s– that’s good. I thought Billy might have gotten to you before I did.”
Parrot’s gripping his roll of bandages far too tightly, hands clenched firmly into fists. Theo was hurt, so hurt that he almost died, and he still has not a single thought to spare for himself. Not a single thought except to push himself as hard as possible to get back to Parrot and throw himself right back into danger.
“Why didn’t you–”
Parrot stops himself. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to say, not yet. Not beyond this horrible feeling of helplessness and grief and regret, filling his chest so that it feels hard to breathe.
Theo seems to understand anyway.
“It’s my job,” the other avian answers, “can’t be letting the king go around getting himself hurt, can I?”
It’s a weak attempt at humour, and they both know it. Parrot can feel the beginning of tears thick in his throat.
“So it’s okay for you to get hurt?” He snaps, “It’s okay for you to get hurt and bleed over and over and– and die, because at this rate you–!”
“Yes, Parrot.” Theo’s eyes are steel and brimstone and fear, still; the unfamiliar emotion doesn’t fit well on Theo’s face. Nonetheless, he swallows and continues. “It’s what I’m here for. I fight the fights that you can’t, so obviously I get hurt instead of you. You’re the brains, I’m the brawn, remember?”
“No,” Parrot says, “no, no. I should be able to– I– you–”
He falters, taking a second to collect his thoughts. Theo stays thankfully silent, waiting for him to continue.
“You’re not allowed to die,” Parrot mutters, “okay, bro? That’s– that’s an order. From your king.”
Theo looks at him, looks through him, and is silent for a long moment. Parrot’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He wonders if the other avian can hear it too.
“I can’t promise that,” Theo says finally, defeatedly, “I can’t. I’m a fighter, Parrot. We get hurt and we die. That’s what we do.”
Parrot opens his mouth to interrupt, but Theo continues speaking before he can.
“But that’s so we can protect the things we care about with our own strength. That’s what makes it worth it. That’s the whole point.”
Wifies had wanted to protect him, too.
(Please, Parrot. Give that to me before you hurt yourself.)
That’s not a good enough reason. He needs this to not happen again, he needs Theo to stay alive. Parrot would skin himself alive if it meant he didn’t have to see another one of his friends die.
“Dude, Theo.” He can’t breathe. There’s a knot in his throat and a pit in his stomach, and he can’t breathe. "Please, bro. Please. Promise me. You can’t–”
“I can’t what, Parrot?” There’s a touch of defiance in Theo’s voice, annoyance rising in response to Parrot’s urgency. “I can’t do what?"
“You can’t leave me–!"
Parrot cuts himself off, dropping the empty potion bottle and clasping both hands over his mouth, but he’s said enough. Theo knows enough about Wifies, about Dean, to put the pieces together.
There’s a long few seconds, filled with nothing but the sound of Parrot’s heavy breathing and the glass bottle rolling to a stop in the grass.
“Okay.” Theo says finally, “Okay. Okay.”
His arms shake as he attempts to push himself into more of a sitting position, and Parrot moves to support him on instinct. There’s so much more he wants to say, but his lungs won’t cooperate.
“I can’t promise that I won’t. Like, ever.” Theo murmurs, “but I can promise I’ll try my best not to. That good enough for you?”
His mouth ticks upward at the corners, like he’s expecting that to be enough to pull them back into some semblance of their regular dynamic. Somehow, it gives Parrot the strength to speak.
“Next time, if you’re scared, or if there’s something you’re not sure you can handle,” Parrot stops, biting his lip as he contemplates what to say, “you tell me. I don’t have to stay, if you’re like, worried about my safety, because I can’t really help in fights anyway. But we’ll. We’ll talk about it and figure something out and you’ll always come back.”
“Yeah, okay,” Theo agrees, “okay. I’ll try.”
“And you’ll tell me even if that means there’s a chance I’ll get hurt.”
There’s a longer pause this time, unsure.
“I’d rather be a bit hurt than have to see you like this again, bro,” Parrot admits softly, “don’t– don’t scare me. Please.”
“Okay,” Theo acquiesces, “okay, fine. Happy?”
“Yeah,” Parrot says, a small smile crossing his expression, “yeah. I’m happy.”
Theo allows himself to relax, a tired grin mirroring Parrot’s own, and shifts in an attempt to get more comfortable. Instead, he squishes another deep gash from when Billy had gotten a lucky strike in as Theo was changing chestplates, and a groan spills unbidden from his lips. Immediately, Parrot is inspecting the area for reopened wounds, uncorking a third pot with his teeth.
“Bro, it’s not that bad–”
“Yes it is, bro, shut up and drink your potion.”
There is still too much panic in Parrot’s voice to make it a reasonable idea to fight back. Theo shuts up and drinks his potion.