Archive of Our Own

Parrot woke up with his skull splitting in two.

Pain pulsed behind his eyes, slow and relentless, like something had been rattling around inside his head for far too long. For a moment, he stayed still, waiting for the world to settle. It didn’t.

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

Wood. Warm, almost sweet. Not the familiar blend of stone and oak from his own place. His breath caught.

He opened his eyes.

Jungle wood walls loomed above him, unfamiliar and bare. A single bed beneath him. A crafting table shoved into the corner, its surface worn smooth with use. No windows. No chests. No clutter. Like someone had built a life here and then stripped it down to the bare minimum.

Parrot sat up so fast his head spun.

“This isn’t—” His voice came out rough, wrong. Younger.

Panic flared, sharp and immediate. His eyes scanned the room for anything—an exit, a weapon, proof this was a joke. He spotted a key lying casually beside a drawer.

Just… there.

He stared at it, disbelief curling in his chest. “If this is a kidnapping,” he muttered, “you’re doing a really bad job.”

The key made him uneasy. If someone had wanted him trapped, they wouldn’t have made it this easy. Which meant either he wasn’t a prisoner—or this wasn’t meant to scare him.

He stood, legs stiff, movements delayed like his body hadn’t caught up to his thoughts yet. The last thing he remembered was sitting with Theo, hunched over a table cluttered with posters and ink stains. Complaining about spacing. Laughing. Then—

Nothing.

No transition. No warning.

He ignored the key and moved toward the door instead, every step echoing too loudly in the small room. His hand hovered over the handle before he pushed it open.

Cold air slammed into him.

He sucked in a sharp breath as the outside came into view—towering jungle trees, uneven paths, the distant rush of water. The familiar curve of the terrain.

His heart dropped.

No.

His body went rigid. The ache in his head surged, pain blooming violently behind his eyes as his hands began to shake at his sides.

Paragon.

Not something like it. Not a copy.

Paragon exactly as he remembered it.

His knees gave out.

He hit the ground hard, palms scraping against the dirt. He barely registered the pain.

“What—?” His voice cracked, thin and disbelieving. “H-How is this possible?”

His thoughts scrambled, grasping for logic. “I’m just exhausted,” he whispered. “Theo said this would happen if I kept pushing myself. I’m hallucinating. That’s all.”

But even as he said it, something felt wrong.

His voice. His body. Lighter. Like it hadn’t learned how to carry years of regret yet.

Parrot slapped himself.

The sting was immediate, sharp, grounding. A red mark bloomed on his cheek.

He sucked in a breath. “Holy shit…”

Not a dream.

The cold dirt beneath his hands felt real. The ache in his jaw. The wind cutting through his clothes.

He was really here.

“No. No, no, no,” he whispered. “This can’t be real.”

If this was Lettuce’s doing, it was cruel. Cheap. But effective.

Because Parrot knew this place.

Knew the mistakes that lived here.

He pushed himself up slowly, heart pounding. If this was real—if he had actually been sent back—then this wasn’t a punishment.

It was a chance.

A second one.

He just had to do it right this time.

Then—

“Parrot?”

His breath hitched.

The voice cut through his thoughts like a blade.

“Parrot? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He turned.

Wifies stood a few steps away, brows drawn together in concern. Younger. Softer. Untouched by the things Parrot remembered doing to him.

For a second, Parrot couldn’t breathe.

That voice had once been everything to him. The reason he trusted people so easily. The reason he believed things could last.

Too easily. Too completely.

It had made him reckless. Open. Stupid.

But he wasn’t stupid anymore.

This time, he wouldn’t be.

The memories came anyway—stupid trips for useless items, Clown trapping them just to laugh, floating lanterns disappearing into the night while Wifies stood beside him like the world couldn’t touch them.

Parrot swallowed, forcing his expression to smooth out.

This wasn’t the time to break.

Wifies took a step closer. “You’re shaking. Did something happen?”

Parrot looked at him—really looked.

Not with nostalgia.

With calculation.

“I’m fine,” he said, steadying his voice. “Just… tired.”

A lie. But a necessary one.

Because if this was a second chance, then Parrot wasn’t going to waste it on panic.

He would change things.

He would stop the arguments before they started. Choose his words better. Walk away when he remembered how it ended last time. Keep Wifies out of situations that would break him. Keep himself from becoming someone Wifies couldn’t recognize.

He would fix it.

No matter how careful he had to be.

No matter how much it hurt.

Wifies studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but eventually nodded. “Okay. If you say so.”

Parrot forced a smile.

This time, it would be different.

It had to be.

—

Parrot knew one thing with absolute certainty: Wifies did care about him.

That truth had been the one thing Parrot clung to for far longer than he should have. He held onto it like a lifeline, like proof that none of this—none of the walls, the silence, the endless repetition—was truly malicious. Wifies wasn’t cruel, not intentionally. He wasn’t heartless. He was just… lost. Too far gone in his own reasoning to see the damage he was causing.

Parrot believed that if he could just talk to him—really talk—everything would change.

So he tried.

Again and again, Parrot reached for the past. He reminded Wifies of the old days, the laughter, the trust, the moments where they stood side by side without fear or restraint. He spoke carefully at first, choosing his words like fragile glass, afraid that one wrong sentence might shatter whatever remained between them. When that didn’t work, he tried honesty. Raw, aching honesty. He explained how trapped he felt, how the walls closed in even when Wifies wasn’t there, how every moment inside that place chipped away at him.

Every attempt ended the same way.

No matter what Parrot said.

No matter what he did.

No matter how much of himself he laid bare.

They always ended up standing on that same pressure plate.

It became a routine so precise it felt scripted. Parrot would walk out of the prison, exhausted but hopeful, convincing himself that this time had been different. He would let himself rest, let his guard down just long enough to fall asleep—and when he opened his eyes again, he was back there. Cold stone beneath his feet. Silent walls towering above him. The faint, cruel click of mechanisms locking into place.

The prison was perfect.

Not perfect in beauty, but in design. Every detail was crafted to keep him contained, to make escape feel temporary and meaningless. It wasn’t meant to kill him. It was meant to hold him. Forever, if necessary.

At first, Parrot told himself this was protection. That Wifies was just being careful. That maybe, somehow, this was all for the greater good.

But it didn’t take long for the truth to settle in.

Wifies didn’t care.

Not really.

Sure—Wifies cared about Parrot’s life. He cared that Parrot was breathing, eating, surviving. He monitored his health, watched for injuries, made sure nothing physically irreversible could happen. In Wifies’ eyes, that was enough. That was kindness.

But Wifies never cared about Parrot’s voice.

Not when Parrot said the prison felt less like safety and more like torture.
Not when he begged to be trusted.
Not when he admitted that every reset, every return to that cell, broke something inside him.

Wifies listened just enough to respond, but never enough to understand.

He brushed aside Parrot’s fear as exaggeration. His pain as inconvenience. His opinions as something that could be ignored as long as his body remained intact. Wifies convinced himself that mental suffering was temporary, manageable, secondary. After all, Parrot was still alive—what more could he possibly need?

That was what made it hurt the most.

Wifies wasn’t trying to be cruel. He wasn’t fueled by hatred or anger. He simply believed that physical health outweighed everything else, that as long as Parrot was safe from harm, the rest didn’t matter. And in doing so, he stripped Parrot of the one thing that made survival meaningful.

Choice.

Freedom.

Being heard.

Parrot realized then that no amount of talking would ever change this. You couldn’t reason with someone who believed they were already right. You couldn’t escape a prison built by someone who thought they were saving you.

And worst of all, you couldn’t stop caring about someone who never learned how to care about you the right way.

—

When the TNT began to sizzle beneath his feet once again, Parrot didn’t flinch.

He didn’t gasp, didn’t scramble backward, didn’t even bother lifting his head. The sound alone was enough—sharp, familiar, unavoidable. His fingers loosened, and the spyglass slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly against the floor. He let it fall. There was no point in holding onto it anymore.

Parrot didn’t turn back.

He didn’t need to. He had already memorized what would happen next. The way Wifies’ expression would twist with sudden realization. The split second of shock, followed by panic, followed by regret. Parrot had seen it too many times to count. It was etched into his mind with cruel clarity, replaying even when he closed his eyes.

This was the room Wifies died in.

The same room.
The same moment.
Over and over again.

Parrot had walked out of it countless times before. He knew every crack in the walls, every shadow cast by the light, every place he could stand and every place he shouldn’t. At first, he had stayed. He had shouted warnings, begged Wifies to move, tried to force a different outcome through sheer desperation. Later, he had tried precision—perfect timing, perfect words, perfect positioning.

None of it mattered.

History refused to change.

Eventually, Parrot stopped trying to stop it. He stopped yelling. Stopped reaching out. Stopped believing that this time would be different. Each attempt only ended the same way: the moment slipping through his fingers just when it felt close enough to save.

Parrot had given up.

Not in a loud, dramatic way. There was no single breaking point, no final scream or collapse. It was quieter than that. Slower. A gradual realization that sank into his bones and weighed him down until resistance felt pointless.

Watching Wifies die again and again didn’t hurt less—but it stopped surprising him.

What hurt more was the time.

So much time spent reliving moments that no longer belonged to the present. Time wasted trying to fix something that refused to be fixed. Time trapped in the past with someone who could never move forward with him. Parrot began to realize that this wasn’t a second chance—it was a punishment. A loop designed to keep him tethered to grief, unable to heal, unable to escape.

And so, for the first time, his thoughts shifted.

Instead of asking How do I stop this?
He began to ask, How do I leave?

How did he get back to the present—the real present, not this fractured echo of what once was? How did he escape a moment that kept dragging him back every time he tried to move on? Parrot didn’t know the answer yet, but he knew one thing for certain: staying here would destroy him.

He couldn’t keep watching Wifies die.He couldn’t keep chasing a future that no longer existed.

He couldn’t keep pretending that reliving the past was the same as fixing it.

As the room filled with the familiar aftermath once again, Parrot stepped away, heart heavy but resolute. This time, he wasn’t leaving to reset the moment.

He was leaving to find a way out.

—

Parrot woke up on that same bed again.

The ceiling above him was familiar—too familiar. The same cracks, the same soft light bleeding through the window, the same weight pressing down on his chest. He knew exactly where he was the moment his eyes opened.

This time, he didn’t panic.

He didn’t sit up in a rush. He didn’t count the days. He didn’t think about what he was supposed to do.

He just lay there, staring, letting the realization settle like dust instead of a knife.

So it brought him back again.

Fine.

He wasn’t going to fight it anymore.

Parrot turned his head and exhaled slowly. What was the point of trying to change Wifies? Of trying to fix Paragon, the Director, the future that always bent itself back into the same shape no matter how hard Parrot pushed against it?

He had tried. Over and over. Each loop taught him the same cruel lesson.

Some things were inevitable.

So this time, he decided to stop clawing at fate.

This time, he would stay.

Just for a day.

A single day where he could pretend none of it mattered. Where Paragon wasn’t looming, where the Director didn’t exist, where tomorrow wasn’t already written in blood and regret.

A day with Wifies.

He got up, moved through the house on instinct. Everything was exactly where it always was. The familiarity hurt more than any change could’ve.

When he stepped outside, the cool air hit his skin, grounding him. The sky was clear. Peaceful. Almost mocking in how normal it looked.

And there Wifies was.

Out in the field, sleeves rolled up, focused on tending the crops like the world had never ended and never would. Like this place was permanent. Like Parrot hadn’t disappeared so many times before.

Parrot stopped walking.

For a second, he just watched.

This—this was what he kept coming back for.

“Wifies.”

The name slipped out softer than Parrot intended.

Wifies froze.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then he turned around—too fast, like his body moved before his mind caught up. His eyes widened just a fraction, surprise flashing across his face before he could hide it.

“Yeah?”

There was something painfully hopeful in his voice.

Parrot didn’t think. If he did, he might’ve stopped himself. Might’ve overthought it, talked himself out of it like he always did.

Instead, he walked forward.

Straight up to Wifies.

And hugged him.

His arms wrapped around Wifies’ shoulders, pulling him in with a desperation that bordered on reckless. Parrot buried his face into the fabric of Wifies’ shirt, breathing him in like he was afraid he’d disappear if he let go.

Wifies stiffened.

For the first time—the first time—he didn’t know what to do.

His arms wrapped around Wifies’ shoulders, pulling him in with a force that surprised them both. Parrot pressed his face into Wifies’ shoulder, breathing him in like he was anchoring himself to something solid.

Wifies froze.

This wasn’t normal. Not for Parrot. Not anymore.

His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides. His first thought wasn’t this is nice—it was what are you planning?

Parrot didn’t touch people like this unless something was wrong.

Unless he was about to leave.

“Parrot…?” Wifies said quietly, careful. Testing.

Parrot didn’t answer.

He just held on tighter.

Wifies swallowed. Slowly, he brought his hands up, resting them against Parrot’s back. The hug wasn’t returned fully—not yet. There was hesitation there, a question left unspoken.

“You okay?” Wifies asked. “This isn’t… you don’t usually—”

“I missed you,” Parrot murmured, muffled against his shoulder.

The words landed heavier than Wifies expected.

His suspicion wavered—not gone, but shaken. He tightened his grip just a little.

“…You sound like you’re saying goodbye,” Wifies said softly.

Parrot flinched.

That hurt. Because it was close. Too close.

He pulled back just enough to look at Wifies, eyes tired, unguarded in a way Wifies hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I’m not,” Parrot said quickly. Then, quieter, more honest: “I just—can’t I miss my best friend without it meaning something bad?”

Parrot’s voice cracked when he said ‘best friend’. He didn’t know if that was what they still were.

Wifies searched his face. He was good at reading Parrot. Maybe too good. He could see the exhaustion there, the weight of things Parrot never explained.

“…Are you trying to escape?” Wifies asked. “Is this some kind of plan?”

“No,” Parrot said immediately. No hesitation. “I swear. I’m not running. Not today.”

Not today.

Wifies caught that—but he didn’t push.

Instead, he sighed and shook his head, pulling Parrot back into the hug properly this time.

“Then stay,” Wifies said. “Just—stay normal. For once.”

Parrot’s hands curled into the fabric of Wifies’ shirt.

“I can do that,” he whispered. “Just for today.”

They stood there in the field, the world moving gently around them. Wind through crops. Sun climbing slowly.

Wifies still didn’t fully trust it.

But he held Parrot anyway.

And Parrot let himself pretend—just for a little while—that this was enough.

—

And so that’s what they did for the day.

If Wifies was suspicious, he didn’t let it show. Not in his voice, not in the way he moved, not in the easy way he slipped back into old habits like Parrot had never vanished and returned wrong a dozen times before.

He treated it like a normal day.

And maybe that was the kindest thing he could’ve done.

Parrot noticed the difference immediately. Last time, his laughter had been fake—too loud, too quick, cutting off before it could sink in. This time, it kept catching him off guard. He’d laugh, then pause like he couldn’t believe it had come out of him, then laugh again because Wifies would point it out.

“You good?” Wifies asked at one point, glancing over. “You’re laughing like you forgot how.”

Parrot wiped at his eyes. “Shut up. You’re just funnier than usual.”

“Objectively true.”

They started the day with farming—because apparently Wifies’ definition of hanging out was “being productive but complaining the whole time.” He handed Parrot a hoe and immediately began giving the worst instructions imaginable.

“No, no, you’re doing it wrong.”

“I’m hitting dirt.”

“Yeah, but like… incorrectly.”

Parrot stared at him. “You wanna explain how to hit dirt correctly?”

Wifies demonstrated. Missed. Hit his own foot.

They both burst out laughing.

“Wow,” Parrot said. “Natural talent.”

“Don’t rush greatness.”

At some point, Wifies decided they needed to build something. What, exactly, was unclear—only that it involved redstone, fences, and a level of confidence that was absolutely undeserved.

“This,” Wifies said, crouched over the mess, “is gonna save us hours.”

Parrot squinted. “That’s three levers tied to one door.”

“Efficiency.”

“You don’t even know what it does.”

“Neither do you, and yet you doubt me.”

Parrot leaned closer. “Because every time you say that, something explodes.”

Wifies grinned. “Only sometimes.”

They flipped the lever.

The door slammed shut, the redstone sparked, and a piston launched a block directly into the water.

There was a long silence.

Parrot stared.

“…Bro,” he said slowly, already starting to laugh, “what are you doing?”

Wifies blinked. “Okay but imagine if it worked.”

“It worked. Just not in the universe you’re living in.”

Parrot laughed so hard he had to sit down, clutching his sides. Wifies laughed too, trying and failing to defend himself.

They gave up on building after that—mostly because Parrot kept deliberately messing with things just to see Wifies’ reaction.

“You are banned from touching redstone,” Wifies declared.

“You’re the one who almost flooded the farm.”

“Details.”

Later, they ended up racing across the fields for no reason other than Wifies saying, “Bet you can’t beat me.”

Parrot took off immediately.

“Hey! I didn’t say go yet!”

“You hesitated,” Parrot yelled back, laughing as he ran.

Wifies chased him, shouting threats that meant absolutely nothing. Parrot tripped near the edge of the field and went down hard—only to be tackled a second later.

They lay there, gasping for breath, laughing into the dirt.

“This is dumb,” Parrot said.

“Your fault,” Wifies replied. “You started it.”

Parrot turned his head, watching clouds drift lazily overhead. His laughter faded into something quieter, softer.

“I missed this,” he said before he could stop himself.

Wifies didn’t joke that time. He just nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

The afternoon stretched on. They skipped stones by the water, arguing over who had better aim. Wifies cheated. Parrot accused him loudly.

“That didn’t even touch the water!”

“It skimmed.”

“It teleported.”

“Skill issue.”

Parrot shoved him. Wifies stumbled, windmilling dramatically, then regained his balance and shoved Parrot back harder.

Parrot nearly fell in.

“Okay, truce!” Wifies laughed, holding up his hands. “Before one of us actually drowns.”

They sat side by side after that, shoulders brushing, tossing pebbles and talking about nothing important. Old dumb stories. Embarrassing moments they’d sworn never to bring up again.

Parrot listened like he was storing it away. Like he was memorizing the sound of Wifies’ laugh, the way his voice went higher when he got too excited.

As the sun dipped lower, Wifies stretched and sighed.

“You’re weird today,” he said casually.

Parrot stiffened—just a little.

“Good weird,” Wifies added quickly. “Just… here. Like, actually here.”

Parrot smiled, small and real.

“Yeah,” he said. “I wanted that.”

They watched the sky turn orange together.

And for that day—just that day—Parrot let himself believe that this was enough.

—

Every good thing was bound to come to an end.

Parrot had learned that lesson over and over again, carved into him by repetition, by resets, by the cruel certainty of time refusing to bend for him no matter how badly he wanted it to.

Wifies finally stood up, stretching like the day had merely been normal. Like this wasn’t the last time Parrot would see him like this—alive in the moment, smiling without suspicion, existing without the weight of inevitability.

“I should probably head out,” Wifies said casually, already turning toward the door. “It’s getting late.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Parrot’s chest tightened. He watched Wifies walk away, every step feeling like a countdown he couldn’t stop. His mouth opened before his brain could catch up—like it always did now.

“Wifies.”

It had become a habit. Calling his name at the edge of endings. Like if he said it enough times, it would anchor him here.

Wifies turned instantly, no hesitation at all. “Mhm?”

That was the worst part.

The way he always turned back.

Like Parrot had never once been hard to choose.

Parrot swallowed. The words sat at the back of his throat, strange and heavy, polished smooth by repetition but still unfamiliar when spoken aloud.

“…You’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

It came out steadier than he expected. Almost rehearsed. Maybe it was—he’d thought it so many times across so many loops, but never said it like this. Never like it was a final offering.

Wifies froze for half a second.

Just a half. Long enough for Parrot to see the surprise flicker across his face, the way his brows lifted slightly, the way his mouth parted as if he hadn’t been expecting something so… serious.

Then Wifies softened. He smiled—not big, not loud. Just warm.

He nodded. “I know.”

Two words. That was all.

But they hit harder than anything else could have.

Parrot let out a shaky breath and crossed the space between them before he could overthink it. He wrapped his arms around Wifies, pulling him into a hug that lingered far longer than socially acceptable, far longer than necessary.

But Parrot didn’t care.

He pressed his face into Wifies’ shirt, breathing in something familiar—soap, fabric, home. His fingers curled slightly at Wifies’ back, like if he held on tight enough, he could fight whatever was coming.

Call him sentimental. Call him stupid.

This was the last time.

Wifies hesitated for only a moment before his arms came up too, settling comfortably around Parrot’s back. He squeezed gently, grounding, like he always did.

“You okay?” Wifies murmured.

Parrot almost laughed.

Instead, he felt it start—the same subtle, sickening pull beneath his skin. Like reality loosening its grip on him. Like static creeping up his spine.

He closed his eyes.

Oh.

So this was it.

“Huh,” Parrot muttered quietly, voice muffled against Wifies’ shirt. “So this was what I needed to do.”

Wifies shifted slightly. “What?”

Parrot didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The truth wasn’t meant for Wifies—not in this life, not in this moment.

The loop hadn’t been made for Parrot to change anything.

It was never about saving Wifies.

Never about rewriting fate.

It was about fixing what Parrot had broken.

About saying the things he’d never said.

About leaving without regret.

A proper goodbye. One that didn’t rot inside him.

And maybe—maybe that wasn’t so cruel.

Because life had always liked playing jokes on him. The worst kind. The kind where just when things finally felt okay, just when he let himself breathe, it ripped him away like it was nothing.

“I did miss you,” Parrot whispered.

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Wifies’ hands tightened just a little at Parrot’s back, thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles like he always did when Parrot got weirdly quiet.

“Yeah,” Wifies said softly. “Me too.”

If Wifies noticed the tense—did instead of do—he didn’t say anything. Either he didn’t hear it, or he was kind enough to let it go.

Parrot felt himself fading faster now. The room felt distant, like he was sinking underwater. His grip loosened involuntarily.

This is fine, he told himself.

This is enough.

And then—

Everything went black.

That same familiar, hollow drop.

That same disorienting nothingness.

The same feeling he’d had when he was back with Theo.