Sick Bird (Completed)

Home isn't a Home Alone

Scar pov:

After I left the bookstore and made my way back home, the drive was long and uneventful. The sky gradually darkened as the sun set, painting everything in shades of orange and purple. I could hear the low hum of the radio, barely cutting through the ambient noise of the engine. It was a comforting but distant sound, blending with the gentle whoosh of the wind through the open window.

As I drove, I couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that seemed to deepen with each passing mile. The road ahead became a blur of headlights and shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a fading light. I tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of the car and the quiet hum of the radio. But the thoughts kept coming, unbidden and heavy.

The villains I had encountered lingered in my mind. I genuinely didn’t want to hurt them, but being a hero meant making tough choices—choices that left me feeling conflicted and uncertain. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. Did they feel the same? It was hard to tell, but they were definitely happy to see me, just like Doc had said. That realization hit me harder than I expected.

I hadn’t fully realized how much I was struggling until I saw them, and in a strange way, their presence brought me some comfort. But as the city lights came into view and I neared home, the weight of it all began to crush down on me. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I sat there in the dark, gripping the steering wheel as the sobs finally broke free, the emotions I’d been fighting off all evening pouring out in the safety of my car.

My home didn’t feel like home without them. It was just a place—a structure that lacked warmth or meaning in their absence. I didn’t know if they felt the same, and I didn’t want to push them into something they weren’t ready for. Their presence brought so much life and magic, turning even the mundane into something vibrant and fun. Maybe they think I’m crazy for feeling this way, but honestly, I don’t care.

As I sat there, trying to pull myself together, I wiped away the tears, forcing a smile, hoping it might help me regain some composure. But the thought of walking inside to an empty house, to no one, was too much. The loneliness I’d been holding at bay all evening crashed over me again, and I broke down, the bright face I tried to put on crumbling under the weight of it all.

“Yes, I know, I could go inside and help Jelly,” I muttered to myself, wiping away the last of my tears. “But she’s a cat—she can help herself most of the time, except for the food.”

With that thought in mind, I finally got out of the car and made my way inside, bracing myself for the emptiness. What I genuinely didn’t expect was to see the two villains I had just left at the bookstore lounging in my living room. For a moment, I stood frozen in the doorway, utterly baffled.

Crimson was sprawled out on my couch, fidgeting with his tie like he was completely at ease. Poultryman, on the other hand, was rifling through my movie collection with a curious look, Jelly perched right beside him as if she’d accepted him as one of her own. At first, I thought I was hallucinating from exhaustion or maybe dealing with some doppelganger situation. It just didn’t make sense.

“I must be going delirious in the car,” I mumbled under my breath, still trying to process what I was seeing.

That caught their attention. Both of them looked up at me, surprise flashing in their eyes before Crimson’s lips curled into a familiar smirk.

“Well, look who finally decided to come inside,” Crimson drawled, leaning back further into the couch as if he owned the place.

Poultryman gave me a sheepish wave, holding up one of my DVDs. “We didn’t think you’d mind us letting ourselves in. It was getting a bit late, and, uh, Jelly seemed to like us.”