Chapter Text
The rain had come fast, sudden and drumming, soaking the earth and sending the people of the village scattering beneath the safety of their homes. Ororon, however, had nowhere to go. He had been lingering too long at the outskirts, watching, waiting, searching for the rare fruit he so desperately wanted to grow. He hadn’t expected the sky to split open above him, nor for the patter of raindrops to quickly turn into an unrelenting downpour.
His ears twitched at the distant voices of humans. They were retreating indoors, their presence still too close for comfort. He swallowed hard, wings twitching against his back. He needed to find shelter, fast.
The first building he came across had its door slightly ajar, light spilling faintly onto the wet ground. The scent was unfamiliar—sterile yet earthy, with a faint trace of something he couldn’t place. There was no immediate sign of people. That was enough for him.
Silently, Ororon slipped inside, folding his wings close to his body. The space was dimly lit, the soft hum of rain against the windows masking his careful movements. He pressed himself against the wall, scanning the room. It was lined with strange instruments, cabinets filled with bottles and tools, but what caught his eye was the darkened corner where a padded bed lay low to the ground.
Perfect.
He approached warily, then, satisfied that he was still alone, crawled onto the bed. His wings curled around him as he shifted his weight to hang slightly off the side, allowing his body to rest in a way that felt natural. The tension in his limbs eased, the rhythmic patter of rain lulling him into a rare, undisturbed sleep.
Then—noise. Small. Soft. Barely noticeable. But it was enough.
Ororon’s breath hitched, his muscles tensing beneath his thin frame. His ears twitched, and instinct took over. A barely perceptible click escaped his throat, bouncing off the walls and returning to him in an invisible pulse.
His blood ran cold.
Someone was standing above him.
And he had no idea how long they had been there.
Ororon’s chest hammered like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. A human.
He had been so sure the building was empty—no lingering footsteps, no voices, nothing but the scent of medicines and animals. But now, standing so close he could hear the steady rhythm of their heartbeat, feel the warmth of their presence, was someone he hadn’t accounted for.
What if they noticed what he was? What if they tried to hurt him?
His fingers twitched against the fabric of the bed, his wings tightening around his body like a shield. He forced his eyes shut, swallowing down the fear clawing at his throat. Maybe—maybe if he stayed still, if he didn’t move, they’d leave. Maybe they hadn’t realized he was anything more than a bundle of cloth and limbs twisted into an odd sleeping position.
But they weren’t moving away.
They were closer now.
He could smell them—human, warm, carrying the faintest traces of herbs and something metallic. Their scent was strong, natural, lacking the harsh stench of fear or hostility. If anything, their heartbeat was… calm.
His own was anything but.
What was he going to do? Run? No—too risky, too sudden. Fight? No, no—he was small, fragile, and weak against a fully grown human.
A lump formed in his throat. He could only wait, listen, hope they weren’t about to reach out and—
A shift. A soft rustle of clothing.
Ororon’s breath hitched.
Then—
A voice. Low. Steady. Almost curious.
“…Are you hurt?”
Ororon’s mouth hung slightly open, his fangs grazing his lower lip as his mind struggled to keep up. This human—this vet—was talking so casually, like Ororon being here wasn’t a potential threat or a strange, unwanted surprise.
Instead, he was interested.
Ororon wasn’t used to that.
He watched the man warily, taking in his strong frame, the warm brown of his skin, the hat that looked so similar to his own gardening one. He didn’t seem aggressive. But humans could lie.
The moment the vet had called him a bat hybrid, Ororon’s stomach had clenched. He knew what he was. There was no mistaking it now. But instead of fear or disgust, the man had looked fascinated—maybe even a little excited.
Ororon didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as memories clawed their way up his throat. Not many left in the world. No, there weren’t. His family… his people… gone. He still remembered their warmth, the way they’d huddled together in the dark, wings overlapping for comfort. Until—
No. He shoved the thought away. He wouldn’t think about that. Not now.
His teeth sank into his lip, copper flooding his tongue before he could stop himself.
The vet’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah—don’t hurt yourself, little guy.” He crouched slightly, hands moving to his pocket. “I’ve got some ointment here. Just—hang on—whoops—oh, here we go.” He held up a small tin, grinning sheepishly.
Ororon flinched at the movement, but the vet just chuckled. “No need to be scared. I’m a vet—I take care of animals.” He hesitated, then added, “And, well, in your case, hybrids.”
Ororon stared.
“I, uh, hope I’m not coming across as weird or scary,” the vet continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Promise I just think you’re cool. I don’t get to see hybrids often.” He gestured vaguely toward the window. “Guessing you came in from the rain? Same here. I was out looking for a toucan—poor thing tore its wing.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning Ororon’s curled-up form. “Hey, you don’t have any tears, right? No injuries?”
Ororon opened his mouth. Closed it. His mind raced.
This was… different.
He had expected fear. Distrust. Maybe even hostility. But instead, this vet was just… asking if he was okay.
Ororon swallowed, his throat dry. He should run. He should.
But for some reason, he didn’t.
Ororon swallowed, his throat dry. He curled his fingers into the fabric beneath him, his wings tightening ever so slightly around his frame.
No one had ever spoken to him like this before.
Curiosity. Concern. No fear. No disgust.
He had spent years avoiding humans, hiding in the shadows where their hands couldn’t reach him. The last time one had taken an interest in him, it had ended in blood.
Yet this man—this vet—was just talking to him.
Ororon hesitated, then, slowly, he shook his head. No injuries. Nothing more than the cold settling into his bones from the rain.
The vet’s shoulders loosened slightly. “Good,” he said with a small nod. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold either.” He tapped the tin in his palm, his expression lighthearted. “Still, you should let me put this on your lip. You don’t want it getting infected.”
Ororon didn’t move.
The vet must have sensed his hesitation because he simply smiled and crouched down, bringing himself a little closer but still keeping a respectful distance. “I’m Ifa, by the way,” he said, tone casual, as if they weren’t having this conversation with Ororon still half-draped off the bed like some startled creature. “Vet around these parts. People bring me their sick and injured animals—sometimes their lost ones, too.” He tilted his head slightly. “That how you got here? Lost?”
Ororon stiffened. He hadn’t meant to be found. Hadn’t meant to be seen at all.
But Ifa was watching him with an expression that was too open, too kind. It was strange.
“Not lost,” Ororon muttered, voice barely above a whisper. He shifted slightly, adjusting his wings. “Just… hiding.”
Ifa’s brows rose. “From the rain?”
Ororon hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. It was easier than admitting the truth. That he had spent most of his life hiding—from poachers, from humans, from everything.
Ifa hummed in understanding. “Can’t blame you,” he said. “That storm came in quick. If I hadn’t already been out, I’d have stayed indoors too.” He glanced toward the window, as if checking the rain. “Probably won’t let up for a while.”
Ororon stayed silent. He wasn’t sure what to do with this conversation—with a human who didn’t immediately ask him what he was or why he was here with suspicion in his voice.
Ifa didn’t press him. Instead, he simply held up the tin again, shaking it lightly. “Still gonna let me help with that lip, or am I wasting my breath?”
Ororon blinked at him. He didn’t have to accept. He could just sit here, wrapped up in himself, until the vet lost interest and left him alone.
But…
But Ifa hadn’t looked at him like he was wrong. Hadn’t spoken like he was something that needed to be feared.
So, cautiously—warily—Ororon gave the smallest nod.
Ifa grinned. “Good call.”
Ororon sat up slowly, his limbs unfolding with a hesitant stiffness, his wings shifting as he moved. He kept a wary eye on Ifa, but the vet only waited patiently, as if handling a nervous animal.
He didn’t sit too close. Didn’t reach out suddenly. Just held the tin of ointment in one hand, the other resting loosely on his knee.
Ororon swallowed. It still felt strange, being acknowledged like this—being treated like this. He had spent so long avoiding humans that letting one tend to him felt unnatural. Dangerous.
Yet, despite the tight coil of unease in his chest, he found himself leaning in slightly.
Ifa opened the tin, scooping a bit of the salve onto his fingertip. “Alright,” he murmured, voice low and even, like he was speaking to a spooked creature. “This might sting a little.”
Ororon didn’t flinch when Ifa’s finger brushed against his split lip, but his wings twitched involuntarily, and his breath hitched at the cool, tingling sensation of the ointment. Ifa’s touch was gentle—more careful than Ororon expected.
Up close, he could see the details of the vet’s face: the faint stubble along his jaw, the creases at the corners of his eyes, the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration.
Then, just as Ifa finished applying the salve, he paused.
Ororon blinked, confused, as the vet’s gaze lingered on his face.
“…Huh,” Ifa said, almost absentmindedly.
Ororon tensed. “What?”
Ifa tilted his head slightly, studying him. Then, in an offhanded tone, he said, “Your eyes are beautiful.”
Ororon stiffened.
A strange feeling curled in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. He had been called many things in his life—creature, monster, freak—but never that.
His lips parted slightly in disbelief. “You’re joking.”
Ifa blinked. “What?”
Ororon’s hands curled into the fabric of his pants. “They’re ugly,” he muttered, voice low. “Beady. Like a rat’s.”
Ifa stared at him like he had just said something absurd. “That’s a weird thing to say about your own eyes.”
Ororon’s face burned.
He didn’t understand. Humans had always looked at his eyes with unease, with mistrust. His pupils were round but slightly too dark, too reflective in certain lights. They made people uncomfortable.
But Ifa wasn’t uncomfortable.
He was still watching him, his expression thoughtful but genuine. “They’re sharp,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Dark, yeah, but bright in the right light. Kind of like polished obsidian.” He gave a small grin. “I bet they glow a little at night, huh?”
Ororon swallowed hard.
His chest was fluttering. An awful, traitorous thing.
He didn’t know what to do with this—this warmth, this unfamiliar attention that wasn’t laced with fear or cruelty.
So he dropped his gaze, huffing slightly. “That’s dumb.”
Ifa only chuckled. “It’s not, but alright.”
Ororon dared a glance up, finding Ifa still smiling at him, like he meant it. Like he wasn’t just saying empty words.
Ororon kept his gaze firmly elsewhere, fixating on the darkened corner of the room rather than the man before him. It was good that the room was dimly lit—otherwise, Ifa might have seen the warmth creeping up his pale cheeks.
His wings twitched, adjusting themselves instinctively, trying to shake the odd feeling settling in his chest.
Ifa, seemingly unaware of Ororon’s internal struggle, stood up with a stretch and turned toward a nearby cabinet, rummaging through the drawers. The faint sound of metal and paper shifting against wood filled the space.
Ororon’s ears twitched at the noise, but he didn’t comment. He wanted to—wanted to ask what the vet was looking for, why he was still so interested in him, why he hadn’t simply left him alone.
But his throat ached, dry and tight.
A deep fatigue was creeping in now that the initial shock of being discovered had worn off. He had been out all day—wandering, searching, keeping to the shadows. He had planned to return to his cave before nightfall, to curl up somewhere safe and eat what little food he had left.
But the rain had ruined everything.
The dampness clung to him, weighing down his wings, making them feel wrong against his back. When soaked, the delicate membranes of his wings became irritated, painful, and the cold seeped into his bones. Worse, the storm dulled his senses—his echolocation was nearly useless in heavy rain, the sound scattering before it could reach anything meaningful.
Which meant he was effectively blind and vulnerable until the rain stopped.
The realization sat uncomfortably in his gut. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.
His stomach twisted at the thought, but his body was too exhausted to argue. He needed warmth. He needed food.
And—perhaps most unsettling of all—he needed to trust that this strange, kind-eyed vet wouldn’t hurt him while he was stuck here.
“Okayyy,” the vet drawled, settling back into his seat as if this were the most casual thing in the world. “While we wait out the storm, is it okay if I ask you some questions? Nothing personal—just gotta make sure you’re not in any pain or anything, then I’ll let you sleep. How about that?”
Ororon hesitated but nodded warily. He wasn’t sure if he could even speak right now—his throat felt raw, his voice useless—but answering questions seemed harmless enough.
Ifa grinned, looking satisfied with the response. He unclipped the pen with his mouth, scribbling something down with a quiet mumble to himself.
Ororon swallowed, his wings wrapping just a little tighter around him.
The questioning began.
Ifa tapped his pen against the clipboard, glancing at Ororon with an assessing gaze. “Alright, first question—are you in any pain? Anything aching or bothering you?”
Ororon hesitated. His wings did hurt from the dampness, but nothing unbearable. Still, he shifted uncomfortably before giving a small shake of his head.
Ifa scribbled something down. “Alright, good. Next—are you tired?”
Ororon blinked at him. Was he? Now that he had stopped moving, his body felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion he hadn’t noticed before. His limbs ached in a dull, lingering way—not from injury, but from weariness.
After a long pause, he nodded.
“Figured,” Ifa muttered, jotting down another note. “Alright, last one—have you eaten or had anything to drink in the last twenty-four hours?”
Ororon stared at him, silent.
Ifa raised an eyebrow. “That a yes or a no?”
Ororon frowned slightly, shifting where he sat. Time was hard for him to keep track of. He knew when it was dark, which meant night. He knew when the sun rose, which meant morning. But as for the exact hours in between—he had never bothered.
Still, thinking back, his last meal had been… how long ago? He had eaten a handful of berries the night before, but nothing today. As for water, he had taken a few sips from a puddle before the rainstorm hit, but that hardly counted.
He shook his head, uncertain.
Ifa paused, his expression shifting. The easygoing air around him thinned slightly, his brows knitting together in concern. “Not sure?”
Ororon hesitated, then shook his head again.
The vet let out a small breath through his nose. “Alright,” he said, setting the clipboard down on his knee. “That’s not great.”
Ororon tensed. Was he in trouble?
Ifa must have noticed his reaction because he held up a hand in a calming gesture. “Relax, I’m not mad,” he assured him. “Just means we’ve gotta fix that. You’re already cold and tired—going hungry on top of that is just asking for trouble.”
Ororon stayed quiet, wings twitching slightly.
Ifa exhaled, then stood, stretching his arms behind his back. “Tell you what,” he said. “You stay put, get yourself comfortable, and I’ll grab you something to eat. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be warm. Sound good?”
Ororon didn’t answer right away. His first instinct was to refuse—he had survived on his own for years, scrounging up whatever he could find. Accepting food from a human felt strange.
But… his stomach ached. His limbs were weak. He needed it, whether he liked it or not.
So, after a long pause, he nodded.
Ifa smiled, satisfied. “Good. Be back in a bit—don’t run off while I’m gone, yeah?”
Ororon huffed but didn’t move as Ifa turned and made his way toward the back of the clinic, boots tapping lightly against the floor.
The room was quiet again, save for the distant patter of rain against the window.
Ororon let out a slow breath, pressing his wings a little tighter around himself.
He wasn’t sure why, but for the first time in a long while, he felt… safe.
When Ifa returned, Ororon sniffed the air, the scent of fruit and berries filling the room. His ears perked up, and he licked his lips, drawn to the sweet aroma.
Ifa chuckled softly as he set a plate down in front of Ororon, along with a glass of water on the nightstand nearby.
“Got some mango, raspberries, strawberries, and kiwi. I wasn’t sure which you’d like the most, so I grabbed a little of everything. We don’t exactly have a lot of info on bat hybrids like you,” Ifa said as he handed Ororon the tray.
Without hesitation, Ororon grabbed the berries and began eating them eagerly. The sweet juice hit the back of his throat, and he felt an immediate surge of relief. After going so long without food, he always felt faint and drained, but the fruit worked wonders. Though larger bats like him usually went for animal blood, he couldn’t bring himself to hunt. The animals were too cute, too innocent.
Ifa watched him, a look of amusement and contentment on his face, but Ororon paid him no mind, focused only on satisfying his hunger.
Ororon barely registered Ifa’s presence as he devoured the fruit, the sweet juices coating his tongue and soothing his parched throat. His fingers were sticky, but he didn’t care—his body had been running on empty for too long, and the sudden burst of sugar sent a rush of warmth through his limbs.
Ifa let out a soft chuckle, resting his chin on his hand as he observed. “Guess that answers my question about whether or not you were hungry.”
Ororon ignored him, his focus entirely on finishing the last of the berries. The moment the food was gone, he licked the remaining juice from his fingertips, his ears twitching in satisfaction.
“Feeling better?” Ifa asked, nudging the glass of water toward him.
Ororon hesitated, then took it, drinking slowly. He didn’t gulp it down like the fruit—water was different. It had no taste, no energy, but it was necessary.
Ifa hummed, seemingly pleased. “Didn’t know if you liked fruit, but figured it was worth a shot.” He leaned back slightly, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Most bats your size go for, uh… blood, right?”
Ororon stiffened for a fraction of a second, his wings twitching against his back. His gaze flickered downward, shame curling in his stomach.
He knew what humans thought of blood-drinkers. That they were monsters. Predators.
But Ororon had never been able to do it. The thought of hurting another creature, of sinking his fangs into soft fur or warm flesh—it made his insides churn. The animals were too cute. He had tried once, when he was younger, but the rabbit’s trembling had been enough to make him cry.
So he stuck to fruit, even if it meant feeling faint sometimes.
He didn’t answer, but Ifa must have caught on. The vet raised an eyebrow before a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Ah, I see. That why you’re so skinny?”
Ororon scowled, his ears flattening. He wasn’t that skinny.
Ifa held up his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Hey, no offense! Just saying, if fruit’s all you’re eating, you’re probably not getting enough to keep your strength up. You should eat more often.”
Ororon huffed but didn’t argue. He knew Ifa was right.
The rain continued to tap against the window, steady and unrelenting. He had no choice but to stay put for now.
Ifa stretched his arms behind his head, glancing at him with a lazy sort of amusement. “So. Now that you’re not starving, wanna answer a few more questions?”
He nodded slowly, feeling a sense of gratitude he couldn’t quite put into words. He owed the man this much at least—Ifa was letting him rest in his shelter, offering a place to escape the rain, and feeding him when he was on the brink of exhaustion. It was more kindness than Ororon had expected from a human, especially someone who had seen his true nature.
After a moment of quiet, Ifa settled back in his chair, glancing at the clipboard before looking up at Ororon with a curious, almost playful smile.
“Alright,” he began, tapping the pen against the paper. “Let’s move on to a few more personal questions, if that’s okay with you.”
Ororon’s ears twitched, a small flicker of unease stirring in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share, but at the same time, Ifa had been kind to him. Still, the notion of answering anything too personal felt uncomfortable.
“Do you have a name your comfortable with?”
Ororon paused and nodded, “It’s Ororon.”
Ifa repeated it to himself and nodded with a smile.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Ifa continued, his voice light, “where do you come from? I know you’re a bat hybrid, but… do you have a home? A place you consider safe?”
Ororon stiffened slightly at the question. Home. That word felt foreign to him. He didn’t have a home—not really. He had caves, shelters, temporary spaces where he could rest, but nothing permanent. His wings tensed as he looked away, his eyes scanning the room instead of meeting Ifa’s gaze.
He felt his throat tighten slightly, the memory of his family rising unbidden.
Ifa must have noticed the shift, because his expression softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said quickly, sensing the tension. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Ororon swallowed, shaking his head. He owed Ifa this much, at least. “I don’t… I don’t really have a home,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I stay where I can, mostly in caves or abandoned places. Somewhere safe from the rain, the humans…” His voice trailed off, and he wrapped his wings tighter around himself, instinctively retreating into his own shell.
Ifa’s eyes softened, and he nodded as though he understood. “That must be tough,” he murmured, taking a slow breath. “I’m glad you found your way here, then.”
Ororon remained silent, unable to bring himself to say more. The truth was, he didn’t know where he was going, what he was doing. He just moved from place to place, hoping to avoid humans, and hoping to find peace somewhere.
After a long pause, Ifa shifted in his seat, seeming to sense the weight of the silence. “Alright, another question, then.” He paused, unsure if he should push any further, but his curiosity won out. “Have you… had any close friends, or, well, anyone you trust? It’s just that, well, you seem so alone. Not many hybrids like you around, right?”
Ororon froze, his heartbeat picking up again. The question hit too close to home. He thought of his family, of the memories that still haunted him. His throat tightened painfully, and he couldn’t speak for a long moment. Finally, he forced himself to nod, though the answer felt incomplete. “I… I had family once. They’re gone now.”
Ifa’s expression turned somber, and for the first time, Ororon noticed the deep empathy in his gaze. He didn’t press further, thankfully, and instead offered a gentle smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ifa said quietly. “But, hey… if you ever need a friend, I’m here, alright?”
Ororon’s heart fluttered in his chest at the kindness, but he couldn’t bring himself to respond right away. There was something so warm about Ifa’s voice, something reassuring, but the words felt strange to him.
Instead, he just nodded, his eyes lowering once again.
“Lastly,” Ifa drew a deep breath before asking, his gaze unwavering. “Would you like to stay here, with me?”
Ororon’s eyes widened, the dark pupils widening as his lips trembled. Stay with a human? His mind raced, his thoughts colliding in confusion.
“I know, I know,” Ifa quickly added, as though sensing Ororon’s panic. “It’s terrifying to be out here with humans. But as a vet, I can’t, in good faith, send you back to a cold and empty cave, all alone. Not by yourself, I can’t.”
He paused, looking at Ororon with a mix of concern and determination. “You’re very thin,” he revealed, his eyes scanning the hybrid’s fragile form.
Ororon froze, uncertain of how to respond. He hadn’t thought much about how he looked, only focused on surviving, moving from one shelter to the next. But hearing Ifa’s words made him realize just how much he’d been neglecting himself.
“Almost malnourished,” Ifa continued, his voice softer now. “If you stayed here, I could bring you fruit every day, help you get healthy again. And, uh, then you can go back when you’re ready, of course.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, a blush creeping up his neck.
Ororon felt something stir in his chest—something unfamiliar, but warm. He had never considered that someone, a human no less, would care enough to help him like this. His heart fluttered, his mind at war with itself. A tiny voice in the back of his head urged him to say no, that humans couldn’t be trusted, that they only wanted to hurt him. He had learned that lesson too many times before.
But, despite the voice of caution, his lips parted, and the words came out before he could stop them.
“Can—can I stay here for a bit?”
It was a whisper, fragile and uncertain, but there it was. Ororon’s heart raced. He had no idea why he said it. Maybe he was just too tired, too worn out to keep running. Maybe he simply wanted to believe, for once, that not all humans would betray him.
Ifa’s expression softened, his eyes warm. “Of course you can. You can stay as long as you need.”
Ororon nodded, his wings folding tightly around him as he sank into the bed, his heart still beating wildly in his chest.