Scattered Feathers

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Everything. Everything on him felt like a live wire. He could feel it all. Even the phantom pains in his scars felt like they were all reopened, and he was just waiting for them to bleed.

Quackity didn't attempt to leave the nest room, something about what Phil had did seemed to trigger something in him that wouldn't let him forget that nice small, tiny bit of relief on his right wing; something he tried to focus on considering the rest of his body seemed to work against him. He blamed Phil for how bad he felt at this moment, whatever he did. Quackity just didn't feel good and he kept slipping into his instincts, and the only reason he knew that was because Ranger was gone and he didn't remember the little crow leaving at any point. Not mention he was having trouble breathing with something lodged in his throat. No matter how many times he tried to clear it, the lump wouldn't go away. His body temperature was going crazy too. One minute he'd be hot and the next it would be too cold.

Phil hadn't come back tot he next which was weird, considering the man had seemed intent on keeping Quackity close at all times. Phil had came in to checked on him at random times, But never too close the other times before. Never touching him either, not after what he had don't to his right wing. Quackity hated that deep down he wanted Phil to do something other tan come in the room, sit at the edge of the nest and talk softly too him. Quackity wish he knew what the man was up too and what he did, to make his body act like this.

He didn't want to move and the only way he had to tell time was the window in the room. Watching as the sun move from one position to the next. At one point he closed his eyes and when he re-opened, the moon was in the sky.

When he became aware of the sun in the sky again, it was with smell of cooked potatoes, that was being placed near his head. He looked at it with a groan, as he followed the hand attached to the bowl up to meet blue eyes. "Hey, mate. How are you feeling?" He asked, making a soft cooing noise.

Quackity gritted his teeth in what he hoped formed the beginnings of a snarl. He really didn't want to move and he didn't feel like talking. He also didn't like those noises that Phil kept making, pulling at something in his brain, that seemed to urge Quackity into relaxing around the man.

Phil made more cooing noises, before speaking again. "I know. This type of molt can make an avian sick to the stomach, I brought some lightly seasoned potatoes." Phil smiled, speaking very softly, like he knew that sound was grating on Quackity's ears.

Quackity lifted himself, ignoring the full body ache and swatted at the bowl before him, before letting himself fall back on the pillow he had been resting on. Things seemed to have gotten worse during the night.

Phil had caught the bowl of cooked potatoes before a mess could be made, with a chuckle, much to Quackity's dismay. "I know. But bland foods are better in this case." Phil said, like Quackity had spoken too him.

Quackity rubbed his face into the soft floor of the nest as the coo that followed, made his brain want to give in to Phil. It was ludicrous. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop and people to just leave him alone like in the past.

"Aw mate, its okay." Phil comforted, making more birdlike sounds as he talked. Quackity didn't see Phil reaching a hand too him and on a slightly delayed reaction jerked his body away from Phil's hand when it reached his back. Making himself sit up and close against the wall once again so Phil couldn't reach his wings. Refusing to let his wings relax no matter how much strain it seemed to put on them, rationalizing that the pain in them stopped the itching of the wings, and made extra sure to press them tight to the wall, grunting as the pain spiked.