Dark SBI & Fluffy Oneshots

Extinguished Flames (That We Cannot Relight)

A/N

Yoooooo we have phoenix tommy for the first time! But i decided that angst and hurt/comfort was the only way to write him! yipee!

Anyways, TWs: major character death, blood and injuries, implied/referenced suicide attempt, typical dark themes with my oneshots

Synopsis: Wilbur's always tried his best to protect his little phoenix brother, Tommy, a fellow member of the Syndicate. but one slip-up can easily ruin everything :)

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Stumbling up the hill was the only thing that Tommy had the energy to do.

The setting sun was otherworldly enough to almost cast a spell on him, with its beautiful shades that glistened in the whispers of gently swaying grass, peaking through the canvas of tree leaves, and blinding him as he traversed up the small incline. Colors of vibrant oranges, yellows, reds, and even purples painted the skies overhead, like someone had taken a brush stroke along the clouds to transform them into their own.

It looked like it had been taken straight out of a movie, like one of those coming-of-age films where it always ended with the protagonist walking into the sunset. He could picture the credits the beginning to roll, the gentle guitar strums and drums that beat in time with his every step. A gentle ending to a long story.

And now it was the ending to his own.

Tommy's breaths were panicked and short as he took a few more steps up, feet kicking down strand pieces of dirt and sending them scattering below him. A hand pushed gently on his back, willing him to continue moving up, closer to that sunset, closer to that peaceful ending. It was calming. If he focused hard enough on the warmth that seeped through his shirt from the callused palm, an unconditional comfort, then he could ignore the dripping blood from his torso, staining his shirt and ruining the beautiful, dancing grass below him.

Each step burned him. Blooming, everchanging spikes of pain coursed up through his feet and to his legs, making his joints lock until he could do nothing but collapse. Until he could do nothing but surrender to it; exhaustion spreading like a plague, overcoming his logical thought and wish to live, to survive. It wormed its way through his self-preservation, creating thick cracks in its foundations until it toppled at the slightest breeze.

And so Tommy fell, mere feet from the top of the hill, inches away from that final sunset.

He barely registered a muttered curse as that same hand caught him on the way down, wrapping around his injured stomach and crouching down with him to lay him down gently. Another bolt of pain raced through him at that, flowing all the way to the tips of his broken wings. The ends grazed the soft blades of grass and pushed more dirt into the scratches and slices that adorned every torn feather, a juxtaposition to the picturesque view in front of them. The now-unrecognizable remains of a curse–the curse that had doomed him to this painful fate– and the mark of a new night.

He wondered how many people were looking at the same sunset. How many were safe inside their homes, with no wings in sight, no hunters with animal cages and sharpened weapons dipped in iron.

He would kill for that. Had killed.

But it all ended the same way.

Tommy groaned, blinking slowly and attempting to shift his hands from where they were trapped beneath him. His bones felt like they were made of cement, their weight dragging him against the ground. The ticklish plants– blooming flowers, discarded leaves and drooping vines– could almost be dull knives running across his skin in another taunt to make him plead for his life. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. That way, at least, his grave would be well decorated with the nature he once was connected with.