Passerine

Chapter 2: like carillon bells

Summary:

"You look at him like you look at me, and I don't know what to make of that."

Father's gaze pinned Wilbur to his seat, even more than the soreness of his body did. Even Tommy had fallen quiet, sensing –in the way that younger siblings do—that his brother was in the sort of trouble that required absolute silence.

"And how do I look at you, Wil?" Father asked.

//

Or, flowers, family and the futility of trying to outrun fate.

Notes:

Chapter's trigger warnings are as follows:
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Panic attacks, death.

Wilbur did not know what to make of the visitor. The traveler. Whatever he was.

Father had come down to the garden with him, and Wilbur could tell he was sad. He didn't know if the visitor had been the cause, or something else. Someone else.

"A formal introduction is in order," Father had told Wilbur and Tommy. "This is Technoblade. An old friend. He'll be tutoring you for a while, Wilbur."

Wilbur had stared up at the man, seeing him in the soft morning light at last. Technoblade. Tommy was right—it was a pretty dumb name. And one Wilbur had heard before, though he wasn't sure where.

He was tall and lean, and most likely a few years older than Wilbur. He was dressed like him, too, with poofy sleeves that Tommy always said made him look like an old man. An emerald earring hung from Technoblade's left ear, similar to the one that Father wore on a golden chain around his neck, tucked secretively under his dress shirt. Was he some sort of royalty, too, then? Some foreign prince or a distant cousin that Father never bothered to tell Wilbur about? Father kept many secrets; this may just be one of a million.

Technoblade had taken one look at Wilbur, nodded, and then said, "We'll start at dawn," before leaving them.

Wilbur had stared after him, perplexed. "What...?"

Father had struggled to keep a smile off his face. "That's Techno for you."

Now they were sitting in the dining hall, each to their own thoughts—except Tommy, whose thoughts must always come out of his mouth, regardless of who was or wasn't listening.

"—and Wilbur tripped me but I got up very quickly, you saw that didn't you, Dad? Dad? Didn't you?"

"I saw, I saw," Father said distractedly. He was staring down at his half-eaten plate as if it held the secrets of the universe. Wilbur assumed he was only doing it so he wouldn't be staring at Mother's empty seat.

She'd been taking more and more of her meals in their bedroom. Tommy hadn't noticed yet, but Wilbur did. Wilbur always did.

"And this Techno fellow, he's a bit of an odd one, isn't he? Will he be training me, too? Will I have to wake up at dawn like Wilbur?"

Wilbur grimaced. "Please don't remind me, Tommy."

Tommy stuck his tongue out at him from across the table. "It's not like you have any other plans. I'm sure you'll just be staying up reading again." He gestured dramatically to himself. "I, for one, would love to be under the tutelage of Mister Technoblade, stupid as his name may be."

The two of them turned to their father—one with starry-eyed expectation, the other with morbid curiosity.

Father sighed fondly before ruffling Tommy's hair. "Sorry, little bud. Maybe we can find someone else for you. I'm sure the Captain would be willing to—"