Sebastian Vettel posing with the winners of an inclusive sailing championship event during the 2025 German Sail Grand Prix weekend.
(The former motor sportsman did not take center stage at the special award ceremony on Thursday. He waited patiently in the background until it was his turn to appear. He did not take the microphone. For him, the stars that day were others. After the ceremony, which took place in the Sail GP pit lane, he took time to pose for photos and sign autographs.) - from this article
strongggg cw for extensive physical torture and also imprisonment and restraints(??)
Gandra held her breath as she pushed the heavy metal door open, wincing as it scraped loudly against the brick floor. Leaning out into the hall, she quadruple-checked that there was no one there.
She knew Heron’s trust in her would greatly lessen if she knew her new favorite student had visited.
Waiting, heart in her throat, to make sure no one was there, she eventually stepped inside the room, not letting out a breath until she had the screaming door shut. She triple-checked she still had the correct key, that she could get it open again.
Getting trapped in here would likely ruin everything.
Taking in another deep breath, Gandra turned around.
He lay facing toward her, but he couldn’t see her. In the dim cold light let in from the small barred window he looked even worse. Thin and sickly, feathers matted, a hollowed face, waxy skin where his feathers were missing.
Gandra took a few steps forward, standing over him. Forcing down her horror, she knelt, touching his shoulder.
Despite being unable to see or hear her, he didn’t jump. He didn’t move.
He was blindfolded and gagged, and his ears were covered. He was left entirely unable to sense his surroundings, as his arms were bound tightly in front of him, and his feet lashed together at the ankles behind him. Even if he was able to change position, he didn’t look strong enough to.
Gandra knew the only reason Heron hadn’t cut out his tongue was because she had much worse planned.
Gandra knew the only reason Heron hadn’t plucked out his eyes was because she had much worse planned.
Reaching up, Gandra gingerly slipped off his ear coverings, and reached to undo the muzzle tightly clamped around his beak. It was purposefully too tight- paining his teeth and his jaw as he was forced to harshly bite down.
“Mads?” she whispered. He was breathing, but he didn’t feel alive. His body was frigid to the touch.
“Gand-” he broke off, coughing. It wasn’t the usual clearing of a throat after being unable to speak for several hours, rather a guttural, full-body cough that sent tremors all the way to his talons. Curling slightly in on himself he coughed for nearly a full minute, Gandra gently holding the back of his head, one of the only places he looked safe enough to touch.
When he was finally able to speak his voice sounded rough and strained, and physically painful. She moved to tug off his blindfold, and he tilted his head away from her. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” Her hand went back to his shoulder.
“It’ll be too bright,” he pointed out. “‘S this a rescue?”
Though she knew he couldn’t see him, Gandra smiled slightly, sympathetically. There were tears in her eyes. “Not yet. I will get you out of here, we’re just- we’re just not ready yet.” It felt like an admission of failure.
“Where’s Fenton?”
Gandra let out a breath as she recalled the former king of what was once Duckburg, forced at the foot of St. Canard’s king’s throne, hands bound and a chain around his neck. Their king’s new prize for finally overthrowing the other kingdom. Treated as nothing more than a trophy. “He’s… he’s been taken. He’s in better shape than you, though.”
“And Blue?”
Gandra’s heart dropped.
Since returning with an intent to get Mads out of here, she hadn’t heard any word of the Blue Phantom, who had been taken even before the Mad Ducktor. As she was now Heron’s favorite the instructor told her everything, and she had never mentioned Duckburg’s former royal wizard. They weren’t in any of the cells, they’d just disappeared.
And Instructor Heron’s new magic color was a familiar ice blue.
Gandra leaned down, kissing his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Mads.”
He was silent.
There were too many things to say, too many things to explain, to apologize for. Gandra knew she could never say it all, there wasn’t enough time. A hand still on his shoulder, she couldn’t help but examine him further, unable to tear her eyes away.
The most noticeable signs were the bruises across his face. His entire body was littered with them, but they were mostly concentrated there. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had dark black eyes beneath his blindfold.
There were dozens of cuts lashed into his back, the recent ones ranging from a few weeks to a few days old, layered on top of the scars left from years ago. Left untreated, none of them had healed properly, Gandra had to force her gaze away from the visible infections there as her stomach churned. He’d been branded with the official sign of the assassins at least three different places, also untreated, his feathers melted to his skin.
His arms were bound at the elbow, the end of his left arm plucked bare of feathers and left still bleeding in several places. Gandra noted the feathers on the ends of his right-hand fingers were crusted with dried blood as well, looking as if he’d been clawing at something. The position looked incredibly uncomfortable, and his elbows were rubbed raw by the metal manacles.
His hair had been unevenly and crudely cut, he was left with nothing but a collection of purple tufts on top of his head.
In addition to all of this, he looked painfully thin. Skin clung to his ribs, his shoulder blades jutting out harshly, his legs nothing more than skin and bone. Gandra wondered the last time he’d tasted anything other than his own blood. He was visibly sick, his breathing ragged. The room was ice cold, Gandra was already shivering, and it left his body freezing. Other than when she’d touched his forehead- his fever was burning him alive.
Gandra was knelt next to his stomach, his arms extended out in front of her knees.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hardly audible over the sound of his breathing. “Mads- Mads I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for getting you in this situation, I’m sorry for not being able to rescue you yet, I’m sorry for giving you away. I’m sorry I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop this, I’m sorry after you saved me I took away your entire life. I’m sorry.”
He swallowed, a forced, painful wetting of his throat. “It… this was inevitable.”
Gandra broke.
Bursting into tears she leaned down to hold the back of his head, lightly resting her forehead against his temple as she sobbed, tears wetting his feathers. Her quiet sobbing mixed with his breathing, echoing throughout the stone room around them, reflecting their pain back on them. There was a bruise on his cheek she was careful to avoid touching as she kissed his temple. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t reply.
Gandra stayed in the cell as long as she could get away with, curled up next to him on the cold stone floor for hours. They lay there in silence, clinging to the quiet company. Gandra was only able to touch his shoulder, everywhere else looked too painful.
They were moving him tomorrow to a cell suspended over the city’s main square, to be jeered at by the crowd passing below. A box too small for him, specifically designed to trigger his claustrophobia. This was the last moment she’d get with him.
And Gandra grasped on to it, holding onto him with all of her might, until it drained away through her fingers like water.
You don’t have to do this but I would love to see you write another story in the Fenro Witch AU where it’s the 1 year anniversary of Boyd’s death and Gyro and Fenton decide to go to Boyd’s grave to pay their respects with flowers with Fenton at some point giving Gyro time alone to say how much he misses Boyd and maybe you could have it that in certain parts such as them walking to Boyd’s grave, we cut to the past on the day of Boyd’s death showing how it happened, Gyro and Fenton’s reaction to finding Boyd (which would probably have a lot of crying, grieving, Gyro holding onto Boyd rocking him in his arms and begging him to wake up), and Boyd’s funeral. Only if you want to write this of course. 😊 ❤️
UAAAAAGH HUGGING GET OUT OF MY HEADDDD IVE HAD A FIC SIMILAR TO THIS PLANNED FOR FOREVER ty for giving me an excuse to write it <3333
Also! purposefully got this done just in time because May 18th is the 1 year anniversary of this au!!
cw- major character death, hanging mentions, implied self harm kind of I think
also this is almost 5k words long just so you know how much is under the read more-
Though they never discussed it aloud, they both knew what day it was.
They never needed to plan the day, they both just knew what to do.
Neither of them needed to say it.
It was cloudy that morning, the way it’d been cloudy on that day before. Heavy clouds that hung in the air, weighing down on the earth beneath them. Threatening to spill colder rain on an already freezing day.
The clouds were so thick it was still dark when they got up. Fenton lit a candle, and together they made their way downstairs. Gyro didn’t say a word, and Fenton knew he’d have to watch him today. It would be rough.
Fenton got the flowers and blanket ready while Gyro prepared the food, cutting fruit from last fall that had been magically preserved. It was still much too early in the year for any fresh fruit, so they’d have to make do.
The flowers too- the frost had killed all of the wild ones growing around the house, so they only had a dried bouquet from last year.
“It’s alright,” Fenton said, mostly to himself, as he arranged the faded, crisped plants. “We’ll bring him fresh ones as soon as spring starts.”
Gyro didn’t answer, but the duck hadn’t expected him to. Now as he listened, he realized the sound of cutting from the kitchen had stopped. “Are you done?”
No answer.
Fenton peered in through the doorway, robes swishing as he moved. “We don’t need too man- what happened?”
“Accident,” Gyro grunted, holding two of his fingers tightly in his other hand. Bulb sat on the counter next to him, trying to sniff his fingers, and there was blood on the knife. “Wasn’t paying attention.”
Fenton frowned, he would really need to watch Gyro today. “How bad is it?” He asked as he stepped into the kitchen, moving to one of the medical cupboards.
“It's fine,” the witch grumbled, looking defensive. He still let Fenton take his hand and examine the injury. Bulb looked quite interested too, and mrowed at Fenton, as if asking him to fix the cut. “It’s not that deep.”
It wasn’t, but it went right across the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. Quite an annoying spot for both an injury and a bandage. Fenton wrapped it for him without saying anything, and offered to finish cutting the fruit.
At last they were ready, Fenton held the picnic basket in one hand and interlaced his other arm with Gyro’s. It was just bright enough that they could see fine in the gloom, and Fenton looked up to the sky as they set off. “Hopefully it doesn’t snow.”
Gyro didn’t comment.
The cemetery was brighter, there were no trees above in the clearing to block the meager light that struggled through the clouds. There was a single tree in the center of the headstones, with huge spreading branches and even further spreading roots. Right now its limbs were bare, they creaked in the wind.
Other than that, the forest was quiet.
The plot they were looking for was on the edge of the cemetery, near the treeline. Gyro stopped, reading the headstone as Bulb wound around his legs and Fenton laid out the thick blanket on the crunchy dead grass.
Boyd Gearloose.
The date was exactly one year from today.
“You want to do the flowers?” Fenton asked as he reached for their basket.
Gyro just nodded, he looked simultaneously too numb and emotional to speak.
Fenton sat as his partner sat the flowers down in front of the grave with great reverence. The headstone was small, it didn’t match the make of the others in the cemetery, and the bouquet nearly obscured the engravings.
Gyro then slowly sat on the blanket next to the duck, resting his head on his shoulder. Fenton gently put an arm around him, and Bulb curled up in his lap.
They sat and watched the grave until Fenton’s bottom and back ached, until the clouds had let up to allow more light into the world and Fenton’s neck felt stiff. Still, he refused to move until Gyro did, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. To let him take his time. He knew they’d be out here for a while, this was why they’d brought food.
At last Gyro let out a deep shuddering breath, turning to bury his face in Fenton’s neck. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Fenton wasted no time in wrapping him into a hug and pulling him closer.
“I miss him so much,” Gyro breathed through tears, his beak was tucked right up beneath Fenton’s. “All the time.”
Fenton didn’t answer, rubbing Gyro’s shoulders and staring at the grave. Blinking rapidly when tears pricked his eyes and taking a breath.
“He turns ten in a few months, right? He’d- he’d be so tall by now.” Gyro shifted his head just slightly so he could see the headstone. His tears wetted Fenton’s feathers and his robes.
Last year their grief was too fresh to do anything for Boyd’s birthday. Gyro hadn’t even gotten out of bed that day, but that was a regular occurrence then. Their house was still under construction then, they barely had a roof on their first story, and were sleeping in the living room. Fenton only got up to prepare food.
Gyro hadn’t eaten.
“He’d like it out here, don’t you think?” Gyro’s voice was cracked. “Especially the peach trees in the summer and the apples in the fall- it’d be so much easier to have more help with harvesting.”
Fenton let out a soft sob, holding his partner closer. Tearing his gaze from the headstone as he nuzzled against Gyro. “He would’ve loved to help.”
This was all too much. The wound was too fresh, they were picking at the scab too early. Fenton wanted to get away, he’d suddenly rather be anywhere but here. The cemetery was alright on most days, but on others he avoided the place more than the superstitious villagers did.
Right now he didn’t even want to think about it.
But he didn’t move. Gyro needed to be here today, and Fenton had spent the last year supporting him, pulling him through this. He wasn’t going to stop today.
So he clung to his partner and sobbed along with him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. He cried until his head hurt and his face ached and then he cried some more. Gyro only curled tighter against him, letting himself be enveloped by Fenton while also holding himself. And Fenton held him, kept him there.
Trying to be and to find as much comfort as possible as they unwillingly reminisced on what had happened that night.
—
They were in a tree, there was a branch digging painfully into Gyro’s back.
The witch ignored this as he scanned the nearby houses, searching for any hint of what the angry mob had done with Boyd. This was a temporary refuge, and he needed to use it to figure out a way forward.
Fenton was in the tree next to him, one hand wrapped tightly around a nearby branch as he bit his other fist, trying to keep himself quiet while he sobbed. He was unable to tear his gaze off of their house as it went up in smoke, now a blinding hot beacon in the dark cold night.
Nothing would be left when the fire went out. That much was clear already.
Gyro absently rubbed his back while he searched, trying to keep his panic down. As crazed as the mob was now, he was sure they wouldn’t kill an actual child, right? Besides he had the gallows in his view, the nooses hung thankfully empty. It had been a narrow escape.
Every now and then a group of angry villagers would tramp past their hiding space, screaming with their pitchforks in the air. Gyro and Fenton would duck down while simultaneously pulling their legs up, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The cover of night helped- but the tree's lack of leaves did not. It was too early in the year for even any buds.
Next to him Fenton choked slightly, and the witch leaned over to kiss his temple. “We’ll rebuild when we get out of here.” The loss of their house he could stomach, they’d been needing to get out of the village for months now.
What he really couldn’t let go of was Boyd, he had to be around here somewhere.
As Gyro watched, the town’s mayor, the leader of the mob against them, stepped into the open ground between the houses. The witch’s eyes narrowed in hate, following the old man as he walked casually past the burning wreck of timber that used to be Gyro’s house. Fenton didn’t seem to notice him.
The mayor stepped over to the opposite side of the street, near the woods. He stooped and reached for something that Gyro had dismissed in his study of the area, a misshapen rock, or someone’s discarded shirt. Something small in the shadows, unassuming. Not anything alive- so it couldn’t be Boyd.
No.
Gyro stared as the mayor lifted the tiny, ragged thing, it hung limply in his hand.
No.
Seconds later Gyro had slipped out of the tree, storming past the burning house and into the clearing. “Don’t you dare hurt him- give him to me!”
The mayor glanced up, looking shocked, before his expression turned to a smile. He held Boyd’s body close- how dare he touch him- and Gyro caught sight of the blood running down Boyd’s head.
“They’re over here!” the mayor shouted.
Gyro hardly heard him as he strode toward him. “Give him to me before I curse you and this entire village-”
“You won’t get the chance.” The mayor lifted his head, smirking. Gyro was mere feet from him now. “You’re dead, witch.”
Sure enough, there came the sound of shouts and cries through the woods, from the edges of town. Lit torches appeared through the tree trunks, Gyro heard rushing feet. Alerted by the mayor’s cry, they would all be upon him in seconds. He froze.
But he couldn’t let that stop him. Gyro took the last few steps toward the mayor, reaching for Boyd. “Give him to me-”
His fingers barely brushed the feathers of Boyd’s temple before the mayor pulled him out of his reach. “Not a chance. In just a few moments, you and your witch accomplice will be joining him.”
“Give him-” Gyro broke off as something caught hold of his hand, something held him back. Instinctively he yanked himself away, not tearing his gaze from Boyd’s body. “Let go of me!”
“Gyro, wait.” It was Fenton, hanging onto his sleeve, pulling him away from the mayor, away from Boyd. “We have to get out of here, the whole mob will be here in a second-”
“Boyd!” Gyro tore his hand from Fenton’s grasp, throwing himself toward the little parrot’s body. Immediately there were strong arms around his waist, holding him back. Now in the middle of the street, Gyro was ready to fight Fenton to get to Boyd.
“He’s gone, Gyro. I’m so sorry.” Fenton’s arm loosened and Gyro broke free, only for his wrist to be snagged again. The shouting was getting closer, the torches drawing near.
“No, no, I have to get to him-”
“Gyro!” Fenton shouted. The witch started, looking back at him.
Fenton had tears in his eyes, his chest was heaving, his grip on Gyro’s wrist tightened. “We have to get out of here- please Gyro. I can’t lose you too. We’ll come back for him I promise- but we have to leave.”
The mob had nearly reached the street.
Gyro swallowed, and glanced back at Boyd.
The mayor smiled, canine teeth shining in the firelight.
Everything stayed frozen like that for a split second, as Gyro felt like he was free falling. The ground disappearing, wind whooshing past him. His stomach churning.
With a sob he half collapsed against Fenton, allowing the witch to pull him toward the treeline. Together they half stumbled, half ran, trying to get away from the mob behind them.
That night was a blur. Gyro was barely in reality, just conscious enough to stay upright as Fenton pulled him forward. They were always pursued by the fiery shouting monster, no matter where they went or hid the mob was close on their heels.
Gyro cut his feet, crashed into trees, tripped several times, but Fenton was always there, helping him up, pulling him along. No matter how many exits the mob blocked off Fenton seemed to find one last one, and get them out through it in the nick of time.
The witch’s lungs burned and his body ached, but he kept going. Nowhere was safe, they couldn’t stay in any hiding spot for long. He stumped through the forest, sobbing. They had to keep moving, had to stay alive.
Despite all of this, Gyro barely felt anything.
All of it was lost in a swirling haze of numbness.
At last they stopped, Gyro immediately crumpling to the roots of a tree. Clinging to the bark the moment he hit the ground, curling further in on himself as he sobbed. Fenton collapsed next to him, catching his breath, rubbing Gyro’s back.
“He’s gone, Fenton.” Gyro gasped, curling into a tighter ball, hardly caring where the rocks and roots dug into his back. “He’s gone.”
Fenton shifted, pulling Gyro further against him. Holding him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
They stayed by that tree that night, sleeping in the roots against the trunk. Gyro curled up on top of Fenton, crying himself to sleep, while Fenton wordlessly held him and did his best to comfort him.
Nothing would help right now, but Gyro appreciated it.
The next morning, the witch woke slowly. Even in his sleep he’d still been clinging tightly to Fenton’s shirt, he slowly loosened his fist as he opened his eyes. His fingers were sore.
He wished it’d been a dream, he didn’t want to look up, to realize where they were. In the middle of the freezing woods.
Without Boyd.
Looking around and realizing all of this would mean it was true.
He could hear Fenton’s heartbeat beneath his head, feel the rise and fall of his chest. The duck’s arms were still wrapped around him, holding him close.
In a flash, Gyro sat up.
“How could you?!”
Fenton started awake just in time to feel Gyro’s hands landing on his shoulders, angrily pinning him against the tree. “Huh? Gyro wh-”
“You made me leave him behind!” Gyro shouted in his face. Fenton blinked up at him. “I wanted to stay- I wanted to get him back- but you wanted to leave! You made me leave him!”
“Gyro-”
“I left him with- with- no, you left him- this is your fault he’s not with us!”
“Gyro-”
“I shouldn’t have let you make me leave him- I should’ve gone back- I should go back-”
“Gyro!”
The duck’s shout snapped him out of it. He froze for a moment, staring at Fenton, hands still tightly gripping to his shoulders. Fenton’s eyes were wide, he looked startled and scared and worried. Hesitantly, as if he were dealing with a spooked wild animal, his hand slowly slid up Gyro’s back.“Gyro, I-”
That was all it took. The witch collapsed on top of him, head ducked as he sobbed into Fenton’s chest, his hands clutching at the shoulders of the duck’s shirt. Holding on to him as tightly as he could, never wanting to let go of what he had left. “I’m sorry-”
“Hey, sshhhh, it’s okay.” Fenton shushed him, rubbing his back. His voice cracked, and without looking up, Gyro lifted his hand to gently cup the side of Fenton’s face, to catch his tears with his thumb. “I’m- I’m sorry we had to leave him too.”
Gyro just swallowed, and held onto him tighter. He could feel Fenton’s shuddering breaths beneath him, the duck was doing everything he could to keep himself together. Gyro had completely given up on that by now, he let himself totally break down in Fenton’s arms.
Somewhere between five minutes and two hours later Fenton shifted, sitting up further against the trunk of the tree. Gyro was forced to sit up with him, but he refused to unbury his face from the duck’s chest. “Hey.” Fenton held the side of his face, trying to get his attention.
Gyro couldn’t bring himself to move.
Fenton understood. “As soon as you’re okay enough to be on your own for a little I’ll go get him, okay?”
The witch lifted his head. “No- no I don’t want to risk you too-”
“Gyro,” Fenton cut through his worries. “I’ll be safe, I promise. Things will have calmed down by now, now that it’s morning. I’ll sneak in and out and bring him back here so you can see him again, and so they won’t have him. We can bury him out here.”
Gyro sat back, looking around.
They were in the old cemetery.
They’d slept beneath the huge tree in the center of the headstones, perhaps the one safe place for them to go now. As afraid of the witches as the villagers were they were even more afraid of a haunted cemetery and wouldn’t step foot between the graves. It was a perfect safe haven.
“You brought us here on purpose?” Gyro asked.
Fenton nodded. “I figured they wouldn’t touch us if we stayed here- especially at night. We’d mostly lost them before I’d thought of it, so that theory hasn’t been entirely tested yet.”
The witch let out a breath. Burying Boyd here, in a haunted cemetery in the middle of the woods, where no one but them would come to visit him but them. Where he could be secreted away from the people who had killed him.
Gyro must’ve started shaking because a few seconds later Fenton was pulling him into a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could.
“They killed him,” Gyro gasped through tears. “They hated us so much they killed him.”
Fenton didn’t have an answer to that, so he just held Gyro until the shaking stopped.
It was hours before Fenton left, no matter how much Gyro assured him he was fine the duck didn’t want to leave him there alone. At last he stood, leaning down to kiss Gyro’s forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour, alright?”
That felt like the longest hour of Gyro’s life. It was late March and freezing cold, and the witch stayed curled against the trunk of the tree, staring off into space. He’d cried himself out by then, so he simply watched the dead leaves blow past in the cold breeze, occasionally wiping his eyes.
Having no concept of time in this state Gyro had no idea how long it really was- whether it was one hour or four he would never know. He would sit and wait until Fenton got back and if he didn’t, if he’d been caught, Gyro would simply sit there until he wasted away beneath the tree.
Though, watching Fenton approach through the trees was the worst part.
Gyro was already breaking down by the time Fenton emerged into the clearing, Boyd’s small body held against his chest. Tears streaming down his face the witch reached for him, and Fenton gently passed Boyd into his arms.
“Careful with his head,” Fenton murmured. “They cleaned him up a little, but it looks like that’s where…” he trailed off, not needing to say it.
They sat together beneath the tree, holding Boyd’s limp body and sobbing. He was cold, too cold, and Gyro held him close to try and warm him up. Maybe if he was warm again, then he could wake up.
He never did.
Gyro rocked him the way he used to before putting him to bed, resting his forehead against the little parrot’s. “Boyd,” he whispered.
From next to him, Fenton made a sound like a cross between a choke and a sob.
“God Boyd-” the witch hugged him tighter, his arms a protective shield. “I’m so sorry- I should’ve stayed with you- I shouldn’t have let them take you-”
Of course he could protect him now, after he was already dead. Gyro had been no use in saving his life, in keeping him alive. “I should’ve tried harder to fight them, I promise I was doing my best for you but it-” he choked, “it wasn’t enough.”
Fenton’s arms around him tightened.
Together the three of them sank to the ground, Gyro and Fenton no longer strong enough to hold themselves up as they created a little protective circle around Boyd. Shielding him off from the rest of the world.
But nothing they could do now would make up for losing him.
They buried Boyd the next day, Fenton sneaking back to the village for food and a shovel. He came back with what looked like a little white fluff ball on his shoulder. “Hey, look who survived the fire!” the duck exclaimed as he approached Gyro with the food.
The witch glanced up, eyes swollen with tears, but no fresh ones in the moment. “What?”
Fenton sat next to him, passing him some bread and dried fruit. He then lifted the little puff from his shoulder. “It’s Bulb! I didn’t think he’d made it- but I found him in the woods right next to the house.” The duck hesitated. “What’s left of it.”
Bulb- Boyd’s kitten. The one that Gyro hadn’t wanted, but Boyd had begged for and cared for by himself to prove they could keep it.
Now it suddenly felt like it was all they had left of him.
Gyro sighed, reaching out to pet the little cream-colored kitten’s head. “Hey, Bulb.”
Fenton began digging a few minutes later, in an empty spot at the edge of the cemetery near the treeline. The ground was soft and the grass was dead, and the plot didn’t need to be very big. Fenton had it finished all too soon for Gyro’s liking.
He didn’t want to say goodbye yet.
Gyro saved four of Boyd’s soft grey feathers, and clung to them as Fenton lowered the little body into the ground. They’d wrapped him in a blanket that Fenton had taken from the village and laid some dried flowers down on top of him.
Fenton let Gyro put the first handful of dirt back into the grave, Gyro unfurling shaky fingers and letting the first fall loose. Letting go of the dirt felt like letting go of Boyd- releasing his hand for the last time.
A few moments later, Gyro threw up what little of the food he’d had at the edge of the trees while Fenton rubbed his back.
It really wasn’t much of a funeral, Gyro sitting at the edge of the grave with Bulb in his lap, numbly watching Fenton fill the dirt back in. He had too many thoughts whirling around his head to voice a final goodbye, he couldn't catch any of them and pin them down long enough to form a coherent thought.
The exercise was good for Fenton Gyro could tell- the duck had tears in his eyes as he worked but he put as much effort into it as his body allowed him. Sleeves rolled up, grunting, his face red with effort, he worked his way into a rhythm. Letting his emotions out that way.
Gyro couldn’t. He just stared at the hole as it slowly got more and more shallow, his body aching. Eventually Fenton dropped down next to him, sweating and out of breath.
Together they sat and stared at the grave until the sun went down.
—
It was a long time later that they both sat up, and Fenton wordlessly passed out the food. They ate mostly in silence, Gyro occasionally giving little pieces of peaches to Bulb.
Surprisingly the sun came out- the breeze picked up into a chilling wind, but it blew the clouds out of the way and allowed the warm sun to shine down. Fenton looked up as the sunlight hit them, smiling faintly. They could use a little sun right now.
Glancing back down, he realized Gyro’s hands were shaking.
The duck gently reached out and placed his hands on top of Gyro’s, steadying them. The witch swallowed, flipping his hand the other way to tightly interlace his fingers with Fenton’s. Fenton gave him a smile, which Gyro half heartedly returned.
He was trying. That was something.
“So much has changed since… since he was here.” Gyro voiced at last, clearing his throat. “It feels like we’re moving on without him, but… but then I come back here and suddenly everything’s exactly the way it was when we buried him.”
“The sun’s out,” Fenton pointed out. “And you didn’t throw up this time.” Gyro snorted. “So maybe things are better than then?”
The witch leaned back, propping himself up on one hand. “I suppose.” Letting out a heavy breath, he tilted his head back. “I didn’t even get to hold him one last time-” his breath hitched. “I wish I could’ve known I was tucking him in for the last time, there was so much I could’ve- I should’ve- said and done, I-” he took a deep breath. “I miss him.”
Fenton folded his legs tighter, looking back at the grave. “Me too.”
Even in a new place, Boyd’s empty space could be felt. Fenton missed him in the mornings, when he would make squealing noises to try and match the sound of the whistling kettle. The way he used to lay in the sun next to Bulb, soaking up the light just like the cat. In the afternoons he would pick flowers in the spring and present them to Gyro and Fenton, there were so many less vases of small wildflowers now. He used to sing the enchantment songs Gyro taught him at the top of his lungs just for fun, accidentally causing nearby flies to move in a particular pattern or the air to swirl around him. How when they tucked him in at night by telling him stories, he’d listen to theirs before telling an eternally long one of his he came up with on the spot- just so he wouldn’t have to go to sleep.
Fenton didn’t even realize he was crying again until Gyro had moved right next to him, kissing his forehead and wiping away his tears with his thumb.
The duck leaned into him, a fresh sob rising in his throat.
“I’m just so sad about it,” Fenton breathed, his face buried in Gyro’s shoulder. “All the time still. I- I don’t want to be sad anymore but- but I still want- I still need- to miss him.”
“I know,” Gyro murmured. “I’m sick and tired of being miserable but I don’t want to be happy without him.”
“Yeah,” the duck swallowed, wrapping an arm around his partner. “Yeah.”
The breeze blew past, ruffling their feathers and stirring the leaves. Doing it’s best to try and carry away some of their grief.
It wasn’t until the sun was setting that they made their way back to the house, Bulb walking at their heels. Fenton set up a fire near the back porch while Gyro put their things away. The day surprisingly had brought some life back into him- Fenton knew he could leave him alone for a minute.
They sat out on the back porch and watched the sun go down, both of them looking up at the stars and shedding a few last tears. At last they made dinner in the fire, sitting close to each other to stay warm on the cold early-spring night.
Gyro rested his head on Fenton’s shoulder. “Talk to me,” he asked.
Fenton thought for a moment, unsure what to talk about. If Gyro wanted to hear more about Boyd, or if he wanted Fenton to distract him from his grief.
So he recounted one of the fairytales from one of the storybooks inside. It was one they both knew, though neither had reread in a long time. They didn’t mind, it was something to fill the silence.
The witch let himself get really into it, doing impressions of the voices, acting out the scenes. At one point he stood to reenact a fight scene, and pulled Gyro up with him, letting him act as the damsel that Fenton was nobly trying to save.
Gyro spun around their imaginary battlefield with him, laughing and cheering as he collapsed against Fenton, listening to him recount the story.
Laughter like this from Gyro was all too rare these days, and Fenton pulled him close by the waist, pretending to fight off a great beast. Gyro collapsed into him, drunk off of laughter as he wrapped his arms around the duck’s shoulders and cackled into his ears. Fenton squeezed him tight, not wanting to let the moment go.
With one last dramatic whirl Fenton slayed their imaginary beast, and together they landed back in their seats by the fire, clutching to one another as they laughed. Gyro’s head on Fenton’s chest as he clung to his shoulders, shaking with laughter.
Fenton held on to him as their laughter died down, turning to a quiet contentment.
Gyro lifted his head, nuzzling the end of his beak against Fenton’s. “Thank you.”
