So, it turns out that I didn't "find" the poor baby bird so much as "stole" it from it's parents.
It was fully feathered, but couldn't fly. According to internet, I should've just put it in a bush while it learned to fly from a day on the ground.
After I made it a nest, I tried to feed it strawberries to rehydrate it and give it energy. It enjoyed them, but when it dropped one, I tried to pick it up, and the baby got scared, tried to escape and shat on the floor. "You need to go to the park now!" I shouted.
I took it to the bushes by the gazebo in Hamilton Park, where the bums pee. It smelled disgusting, but I thought that it was the safest place for the baby.
I went by the next day to see how it was doing. On my way in, I saw a baby starling that resembled it (dirty and unkempt with mites) following two adult birds. It looked at me, reluctant to follow its parents, and I knew then that I had ruined another life, but at least I'd tried to save it.
So I think that it found it's parents and learned to fly. At least, I didn't find a corpse.
WE ARE ALL BABY STARLINGS!