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“Don't forget, the paperwork for the practice license needs to be renewed in a couple weeks, and Mrs. Ableton still wants us to show up for the Halloween parade. Oh and don't-”
“Jameson Legundo, I am a full fledged doctor with an entire team of nurses and assistants. I know how to run this practice, and you are not getting out of this trip so stop delaying, pick up your bags, and get in the car.” He grimaced a little at getting caught out, watching his partner's downy gray wings ruffle with equal parts amusement and annoyance.
Her expression softened, reaching up to place both her hands on his shoulders, wings coming up to cocoon them from the world for a moment.
Her voice was gentle, if a little reproachful “You've been running yourself ragged for two years now. I have patients ask if you're doing ok. The nurses and I have found you asleep at your desk more nights than you've been home. You're leaving feathers everywhere you go. You need a break. You cannot keep working like this, or I'm not going to have a partner for much longer.”
He sighed softly. He knew what should happen now: his own wings should come up, locking feathers with Alice's, and he should have chirped his agreement. However, just as things had been for the last five years, his wings stayed still at his back and his voice caught in his throat. The words still haunted him to this day, spoken in quiet somber tones by navy doctors and psychologists both: Psychosomatic After Effect of Avian Flock Sunder Syndrome. Permanent. Disabling. There was nothing physically wrong with him any more, he was lucky to be alive!
(He wished he wasn't. A ninety-five percent mortality rate, and he was in the cursed five percent. His therapist had grabbed his hand gently, said she understood, and then sent him to a hospital to be monitored for several weeks.)
Instead he settled for setting his hands on Alice's shoulders, leaning his head against hers, chuckling when she nuzzled against him and chirred soothingly. Alice had never made him feel lesser, always seemed to know the cues he wanted to give and responded effortlessly. They'd been friends their whole lives, thirty-odd years at this point, and some days it felt like she was better at handling his life than he was.
“I can't make everything better for you, Jamie, but I can make sure you take care of yourself. Whether that's putting a blanket on you or making sure you have your stupid cranberry muffins with your medication or sending your stubborn ass on vacation. You used to love exploring haunted ruins, and the region is gorgeous. Take a few weeks, enjoy it and then come back and I'll make sure to get the fancy coffee you like, okay?”
He groaned dramatically but telling by her bright laugh Alice knew he'd surrendered to her, and he let his hands move so he could draw the smaller woman into a tight hug, warmth budding in his chest when it was returned.
“Alright, alright you win. But if any of my monstera are dead when I come back, I'm staging a mutiny.”
~~~
Legundo had always been proud of his wings.
Huge, satin shined and sapphire blue, they were eye-catching to say the least. Hyacinth Macaw, beautiful parrot wings in a small Midwest town. He was never boastful but he hadn't needed to be, they were admired without doing anything other than existing, especially when he learned they could be used to fly.
By the time he'd graduated, they were almost twenty feet from tip to tip, some of the biggest in the state, and not yet done growing. Then he'd joined the Navy, and his wings were more a hindrance than a help. Even tucked tight against his back, even with the help of a wing band to keep them closed, ship training was miserable. Swimming was only moderately better, and he often had nights where he wondered why he hadn't gone Army or followed in his father's footsteps and gone Marines. His drill instructors zeroed in on his wings, called him a bullet magnet, and said at least jed draw all the enemy fire from his squad.
But he'd persevered, because he was nothing if not a pig-headed motherfucker, and he'd gotten through basic, gotten through medical training, and somehow managed to get assigned to the field instead of a boat. Small favors, and all that.
Then, two tours later and still shaking the sand of Afghanistan from his feathers, he was called to his commander's office and given a transfer. A flight squad, a small special ops squad composed of Avians who could fly. He'd almost declined, he wasn't a great fighter, let alone a spec ops fighter, but his commander had been firm. With issues from terrorism getting worse flight squads, especially medical flight squads, were going to be in high demand.
And so he'd shipped out again, to Camp Pendleton, and met his squad mates. They were young, painfully so, and he wasn't even that old himself. But they'd made it work, they'd come through training, and they were good. And then they were deployed for the first time.
Iraq was hard on them, physically and mentally. They treated more civilians than soldiers it seemed, and the devastation was seemingly endless. None of them were unchanged, but their bond deepened into Flock, into that most important bond between Avians shy of Mates, and Legundo had worn their feathers braided into his own with pride and adoration through their next two deployments, short stints attached to Marine platoons in various stretches of desert.
Things had been great. They shared a home, shared everything with each other, supported each other through classes to receive their degrees. Legundo would have spent the rest of his life with his Flock, was so happy, felt he was untouchable, on the top of the world.
Their fourth deployment as a squad was where everything was ripped away from him. Half way through their six month tour, they'd been woken to emergency orders- a squad of marines, trapped just behind enemy lines with multiple injured. They were going to be joined by two combat flight squads to cover them. It was routine, a mission they'd done dozens of times it should have been easy.
And it was, for about two hours. Legundo had been wrapping up the last of the wounds, support was on the way to transport them to safety and none of the fly ins had been hurt so far despite heavy fire. Then, the scream of a mortar, a thud and explosion, screaming and screeching all around, the flutter of ash. He'd been in agony, one brilliant blue wing hanging useless, his eye hanging out, a leg bent in odd ways and burns licking across his skin but he'd still tried so hard. One of his Flock had already been dead, the burnt ash silhouette of her wings on the sand tearing at his brain like great claws, and it was only the cries of his other Flockmates that kept him going.
They too had not made it, one behind the other spilling their life blood into the sand, onto his hands, the ash of their wings bitter like poison on his tongue. He'd laid down between their bodies and prayed to follow them, prayed for his wings to disintegrate and for his own heart to still in his chest.
He'd wanted to die.
He had not.
He'd woken up three months later in a naval hospital with a missing eye, a plate in his leg and a pin in his knee, and what felt like a gaping chasm in his heart. His wing still ached, the feathers still regrowing dull and lackluster, and the pain left him mute and crying in his bed more often than not. He stayed another month under observation and then sent him to a rehabilitation facility for several kinds of therapy. They sent him home with a cane, prescriptions for a dozen medications and a medical bracelet. The Navy gave him medals, his degree and let him retire quietly, honorably.
His voice stayed stuck in his chest, his feathers grew back dull and rough, and his heart never stopped hurting.
Legundo wasn't proud of his wings anymore.
~~~
Well, one thing was certain, Alice was right to say the region was pleasant to look at. Towering trees, the fleeting sight of animals off the road, the sun flickering weakly through the thick clouds and smoky fog. He'd slowed the truck down just to see it as he drove by.
Alice had arranged everything. A hotel to sleep in after he'd landed, a truck rental the next day filled with supplies she'd had a friend order and load for him. He would lack for nothing for his two month trip. Honestly with as much as she'd packed him, jed probably be fine for three months, if not longer! He'd even seen a crate of medical supplies and journals, and a small leather drawing book.
It was an eight hour drive from the city into the forest that would lead him to Oakhurst, and it had been pleasant, if quiet. Maybe Alice was right. Maybe he needed this.
Eventually though his drive ended, and the village came into view. From the road, it looked as dilapidated as he expected. The walls were tumbledown, missing entire logs in some place, and the buildings he could see within that were still standing were in a state of disrepair.
And there were people inside?
He pulled the truck to a stop, blinking owlishly as he took another look. Sure enough, there were a handful of people moving around in the gloom, some alone, some in small groups. Unease prickled along his spine. This place was supposed to be abandoned, getting very few visitors. He'd had to get a permit from the Goldsmith Preservation Society to visit and camp, and they hadn't mentioned there would be others there when he'd asked. Cautiously he drove the truck up to the wall, remembering the rule about not driving inside the village proper, grabbing his cane and backpack as he climbed out. The supplies would be safe in the closed bed of the truck, so he shut and locked the front door, shouldering his pack.
He limped his way into the village, cringing a little as multiple sets of eyes focused on him. There was a woman with vibrant red hair and large barred owl wings speaking with a man in a semi-formal dark park ranger uniform that had small crow wings, a woman with dark red hair and silky brown hawk wings and a woman with darker blonde hair and blue jay's wings. A little down the path a young blonde man with robin wings was talking with a much larger man with dark hair and cardinal wings, both looking as confused as Legundo felt.
A few houses down there was a group of what he thought were college students, and they were an eclectic bunch, all of them outfitted as backpackers. There were two young men with brown hair- one taller and slimmer with the black and white splotched wings of a duck and the other a little shorter and paunchier with the downy soft wings of a dove. Beside them was another woman with bright red hair and small screech owl wings and a woman with brown-ish hair that had lovely yellow parakeet wings, who were both talking happily to-
He froze, bile rising up his throat, and he was never more desperately glad his wings and voice did not work, because as his vision filled with brown hair and big bright eyes and purple hummingbird's wings all he could feel was grief and distress.
(Doovid has the most beautiful purple hummingbird wings, accented with emerald green and ebony black. He's the Flock's youngest and their brightest, all big heart and inquisitive eyes and an endless capacity to be so painfully kind. When they made being Flock official, he'd leant up and brushed his nose against Legundo's cheek, trilling and laughing all while he boldly threaded one amethyst feather into the older man's hair, demanding a sapphire blue one in his own hair in return.)
(Doovid dies holding his hand, telling Legundo not to cry, that he still loves him. Purple feathers give way to dead gray ash that sticks to the tears on his face and chokes his throat.)
Thankfully, perhaps, with no outward signs of his inner turmoil, his pause in the road was just seen as confusion and he had enough time to carefully stuff his emotions back into a box. He wouldn't sleep tonight anymore, he could already tell, and when he looked at the group again, he couldn't help but make sure his eyes skipped around the source of the memory.
Judging the ranger to be his best option once he had himself under control, he made his way over, cane thumping a steady rhythm on the packed earth of the old trail. The group effortlessly opened to allow him space to join and he gave them all a brief polite, if confused, smile.
“I wasn't aware I'd be sharing the campsite with anyone. Not that I'm necessarily opposed, just confused.” There, polite and not all sounding like he'd nearly had a meltdown in the middle of the road a few minutes ago. He was getting so good at doing this “people” thing again.
“That seems to be the case with a lot of the people here. And, in that same vein, I don't have anyone marked down on my schedule to be camping at all this month. A very confusing time all around.” The ranger seemed put off by the goings on as much as the rest of them did. Legundo turned towards the others of the group, holding out his free hand.
“Dr. Legundo, nice to meet you all.” He tried to infuse as much civility and warmth as possible into his voice, but this was usually when he ran into trouble.
When you were missing half the words and body language of the rest of the population, meeting people was hard. He couldn't raise his wings in greeting, the welcoming chirp was missing from his voice. Most people who had dealings with Flock Shock survivors reported it as feeling “uncanny”, and complained of easier miscommunication or like they were being threatened or intimidated. Legundo had been told multiple times that he sometimes made people uncomfortable with his stillness, and he'd opted out of working with their youngest patients in the practice for that very reason.
Thankfully, none of the women or the ranger seemed off put by him, their greetings warm and friendly. The woman with the owl wings was Cleo, and they were traveling with Pearl, the woman with jay wings. The hawk winged woman was Apo, a trooper answering the crow-winged ranger's, Abolish, call about possible trespassers in the campsite. All four groups- himself, Cleo and Pearl, the pair of men, and the college students- had valid registration paperwork to camp.
They were joined by the two men, Martyn and Ren, family friends who'd wanted to go camping at a haunted village before Martyn moved away for college. The college students were a mixed group of a writer, an investigative journalist, two cryptid hunters and their friend who'd simply wanted to tag along, and they happily tumbled over themselves in their introductions, reminding Legundo very much of a group of happy, excited kittens.
Eventually though everyone turned to Abolish, since he was the one in charge, and he thinned his lips before sighing.
“Technically, the camp is large enough to support all four groups, so it's entirely up to you all if you stay or go. I'll head to the ranger cabin and see if I can't sort things out on that front.” They looked amongst themselves and Legundo hummed to himself thoughtfully. He wasn't opposed to sharing the campsite with other people, especially since he was likely going to be here for much longer than they were, and Alice would use his bones for Christmas decorations if he came home early and his only excuse was “there were people there”. He liked his bones, thank you very much!
So instead he passed his paperwork over to Abolish and made his way out of the village to the truck, Cleo and Pearl behind him. Their truck was just out of sight of his own and he waved as they went their own way. He unlocked the truck and dropped his backpack and cane inside, limping over to the bed.
Right at the edge of the bed was the four season tent that Alice's friend had lent him, and he pulled it out and spread it on the ground. So long as he was careful and took it slow, his leg should hold up for a bit. He set the tent up and sunk the pegs deep so they would stand up to any storms. Setting up the little woodstove took some doing, since he had to stretch on to his toes to thread the pipe through the patch in the tent, but he finished that too.
Next there was the cot, so he didn't have to struggle getting down to or up from the floor, a few folding tables and a camp chair. Last to be set up were the plastic shelves, easily slotted together. It was a good set up for an eight week trip, with the safari style tent leaving plenty of room, warm and protected from the weather.
He took a break, sitting in his camp chair and eating his lunch from his backpack, before taking his afternoon medicine. When he went back out to start pulling supplies out he could see a few plumes of smoke, likely from the other groups, and he took a moment to be quietly pleased that despite there being so many people here, he still felt pleasantly secluded.
With that thought in mind he pulled boxes and Rubbermaid boxes from the back, hefting them inside to unpack. Freeze-dried meals, canned goods and pantry staples were shelved right alongside clothes and hygiene supplies. An entire shelf was medical supplies and journals and his medications(with extras, because Alice was good at managing his paranoia like that), while another shelf were all his personal care items and a spare hiking cane. There was a small box of personal books, a solar battery bank, and a tablet. Lastly, tucked carefully into the back was his drawing pads, his pencils and a small cooler, which opened to reveal some fresh food and a six pack container of his favorite cranberry muffins with a note on top.
Jamie,
Try and enjoy yourself ok? Everything you need should be in the truck. We'll see you in two months!
Love,
Alice, Lizzie and the Kids
He smiled gently, tucking the cooler under one of the tables and the muffins on the shelf. He really didn't deserve Alice and her family, but he was eternally grateful for them regardless.
“Oi, nice digs you got here doc!” He jumped a little at the sharp whistle, turning around to see Pearl leaning into the tent, her smile wide and rakeish.
“Oh, Pearl, hi. Did you need something?” He grabbed his cane, stepping over to let her in properly. She looked around, wings fluttering with her curiosity, and Legundo watched her take stock of everything.
“No, no, just came over ‘cause Cleo said she wanted to see if you would join us for dinner, but looking at this I think we should be coming over here! You came prepared for a long old trip didn't ya?”
“Oh, about eight weeks, but my partner definitely packed more than that.” Pearl made an interested noise and Legundo hung his cane up on a loop near the door, turning to his guest with a tilted head. He didn't know what possessed him in that moment, but if he was going to be around these people for a while, he might as well be friendly.
“You know Pearl, you're right. Why don't you and Cleo join me in an hour for dinner, my treat.” Look at him, socializing! Alice would be so proud of him.
Pearl's wings fluttered with pleased surprise and she gave him a bright grin, chirping her agreement before heading out to let her friend know. Legundo contented himself with opening the cooler and pulling out some beef cubes and grabbing a few potatoes and carrots from the pantry shelf. He made a quick stew and some drop biscuits, cooking them over his campstove.
An hour later, on the dot, there was an “oi, doc!” from outside and he called them in, letting them set up their chairs around the table with his while he ladled stew into the bowls they brought and set the biscuits on the table.
Dinner was...really nice. Neither woman seemed off put by him nor stared at him, and he found the conversation easy and non-taxing. Cleo and Pearl were freshly graduated from social work programs and were spending a year traveling before Cleo took on their family's farm and Pearl planned to help. They'd been friends since before university, and both had stuck together since. They'd been worried about attending classes in their thirties, but it turned out social work classes tended towards older students anyway. In exchange, he told them about essentially being banished by his practice partner until he took a vacation, his first in five years. He joked that it might’ve been his name first on the deeds and the papers but Alice ran the joint, without a doubt.
At one point Abolish poked his head in, doing rounds to make sure everyone was safe and sound after the mix-up, and they sent him on his way with a biscuit and assurances that they were all fine. They chatted a little while longer, he even shared a few of his muffins with them, before they left for the night, claiming exhaustion. They chirped their farewells, he said his, and then he closed and secured the tent.
He stripped, wiped himself down and toweled off before he set about his nightly routine. Vitamin E lotion on his burn scars, pain relieving cream in his eye socket, a handful of pills with a full bottle of water. Massage his knee and hip, slip into pajamas, turn the damper on the stove to keep the chill out.
As he slid beneath his blankets, letting his wings hang limply off the side, he curled up and drifted off quickly.
Maybe this camping trip wouldn't be so bad after all.
~~~
“Doctor! Doctor Legundo wake up!” He snorted, sitting up straight on his cot and blinking his eye furiously. It was dark still, the only light coming from the dim flicker of his camp stove, and he groaned as he lifted his leg to swing off the side.
“I'm coming, please give me a moment!” He blindly reached up, groping for the lamp hanging from the string over his cot, hissing a little as bright light flooded the tent. He grabbed his cane and staggered to his feet, tottering to the tent entrance. He undid the zipper latch and opened it, allowing Abolish to step in.
“Ranger? It's the middle of the night, is something wrong?” He scrubbed a hand over his eye, watching the other man's wings ruffle with unease.
“There's been an accident. Can you come take a look at Martyn?” He blinked rapidly, surprised that something could have happened so late at night, but began to pull on his boots and coat without complaint. He grabbed the lantern off the string and a backpack filled with medical supplies. Abolish handed him his cane without prompting and he followed the ranger out into the cold night.
“An accident?” He prompted, following as best as he could. Without properly warming up, his leg was stiff and he struggled a little, but it would loosen the more he did. Abolish's wings gave one great jerk, feathers rattling violently together, before he answered.
“Did you feel something about an hour ago?” Legundo blinked, taken aback by the non sequitur. He hummed to himself and then nodded.
“Yes, about an hour ago I woke up briefly. I thought it was just a dream.” Unmentioned was the fact he was so used to being woken by his dreams they hardly registered to him any more.
“Around that time everyone else in the campsites reported feeling a sense of dread and fear. They all came to the ranger station to ask if I knew anything, and while we were talking Mr. Dogmourne arrived with his nephew, said he'd passed out while exploring a ruined tower about a mile from the camp.” A fission of unease lanced up his spine, settling cold over his shoulders. Dire feelings of malaise that everyone in a radius could feel? That didn't make a lot of sense, but it could be something he focused on later. For now, he apparently had a patient.
The ranger station, a large building meant to serve as a place for campers to shower, launder and be able to call out while camping, was tucked up against one of the undamaged walls and he could already see people thronging about. Abolish gently pushed folks aside to give him room, and Cleo thoughtfully put a chair down so he could access Martyn on the couch without standing on his leg.
The younger man had been laid carefully on a couch, propped to not crush his wings. His wrist was already purplish with a bruise and he was unconscious, not responding to his uncle's anxious hovering.
He thumped his bag down and settled in the chair, fingers reaching out to check his pulse first. Steady and strong, thumping against his fingers. His breathing was easy and unlabored.
“Mr. Dogmourne, can you tell me what happened?” He carefully picked up Martyn's wrist, prodding along it with careful fingers. Stiff with swelling, but no audible clicking or deformation- likely just a bad sprain then. He grabbed a roll of bandages and a splint while he listened.
“We were enjoying some late night exploring, dontchyaknow, and we saw a great big tower. Laddie wanted to see what was inside and ran up. A'fore I could make it up, there was a flash o’ light, and laddie was screaming. When I got up there, he was layin’ on the ground in front of this strange dark contraption.” The others muttered uncertainly at the mention of the “contraption”, their wings puffed up or moving in small jerks, but Legundo was of the mind it was simply some machinery or another, and Martyn had gotten a dose of chemicals. He didn't have oxygen or supplies for a supportive IV, which was unfortunate.
“Ranger, can you summon a medevac for him? I'm worried he got a dose of some kind of chemical from whatever was in that tower.” Abolish nodded and went to the radio battery to try and hail help, and Legundo finished splinting Martyn's wrist.
He sat back, running his hand over his aching knee when Abolish returned, looking grim. “The radios aren't working. I can't hail anyone, not even the next town over or the ranger stationed ten miles away.” Legundo thinned his lips as Ren began to fret more.
“That's not great, I'll admit.” He bit his lip in thought. “Ok, here's what we'll do. Mr. Dogmourne, take my keys and bring my truck up here. I'm going to put Martyn in a sling and bind his arm, and we'll drive him to the next town over and call an ambulance. If someone could be so kind as to go to my tent and put the fire in my stove out, I would greatly appreciate it.” Ren and Pyro went to do as bid, and Legundo set about wrangling Martyn into a makeshift sling and tying his arm down.
By the time he was just finishing Ren was pulling up, as he stepped back to allow the other man to pick up his nephew and carry him out. Pyro opted to come with them, agreeing to drive so Legundo could sit in the back and monitor his patient and leaving Ren the passenger seat so he could check in on his nephew.
The headlights cast an eerie halo glow as Pyro carefully drove through the foggy night, splotched wings twitching with unease, feathers rising and falling. Legundo was too busy keeping an eye on his patient to notice anything, instead jerking back to the present as he felt the car stop abruptly.
“Pyro?” He chimed cautiously, the younger man's wings mantled with alarm while Ren tweeted his fear.
“Talk to me guys, what's wrong with the truck?” He moved his hands off of Martyn, turning just enough to peer around the front seats. Before the truck, illuminated by the headlights, was...fog? No, not quite- whatever was in front of them swirled and shimmered, reaching high into the sky over their heads and far off to the sides beyond what he could see. That unease across his shoulders bloomed, cold and heavy, sinking deep into his chest.
“Well,” his tremulous voice landed in the still, frightened air between them. “That's unusual.”
~~~
Half an hour later they returned to the village, stumped and defeated. Whatever the barrier was, it extended all the way around the village in a five mile radius. They couldn't walk or drive through, but wildlife could move unimpeded. The barrier was dangerous, as Ren discovered when he slammed his hands against it in rage, only to be shocked. Legundo had clucked and fussed, but his burn medications were back at camp, so he made the executive choice for Pyro to drive them back.
There was confusion and fear upon their return, only increasing as Pyro and Ren told the story. By the time he returned from getting supplies to treat Ren there were feathers scattered everywhere and people were talking in anxious hushed tones. He treated Ren's arm, thankful that he and Alice were both paranoid over packers, and then sat back to watch everyone around him, training and exhaustion, the only thing keeping him calm. Cleo and Pearl were talking with Apo, who'd only been in the camp by virtue of her patrol passing through, and all three looked discomfited but otherwise calm and in control. Ren was sitting on the couch, Martyn's head in his lap, cardinal wings stretched out to cocoon them from the fracas.
The college group seemed excited at least, their anxiety giving way to excitement of the unknown and possibly supernatural. The only person not outwardly reacting was Abolish, who was standing off to the side, something unreadable sitting across his features. Looking at Abolish set Legundo's teeth on edge, but he couldn't quite put his fingers on what it was, so he buried it for now.
“How about we all go back to our tents, get a little more sleep, and we all try and figure this out in the morning?” Cleo's voice cut through the other conversations but there was little complaint or argument. Legundo told Ren to let Martyn rest, as he was as safe as he could be for the time being, there in the ranger cabin and then rose to his feet.
He cried out as his leg, finally protesting his lack of care, gave out and he crashed to the floor in a clatter. Voices rose and fell in surprise and pity, and shame burned across the back of his neck, an embarrassed warble stuck in the back of his throat, even as pain blacked the edges of his vision. Before he could drown in his embarrassment a shadow eclipsed him, muffling the sound of the room while another voice sent people away. He blinked open his eye to see owl and jay wings wrapped around him, firm hands on his arms to help him up as calming cheeps filled the air.
“Alright doc, you're fine. Pushed a little too hard, eh?” Cleo's voice was warm, not drawing too much attention to his blush of shame or his pained wincing, instead settling for helping him make his way to his tent, Pearl leading the way with both of their lanterns. She set him on the bed and he braced himself for the fussing or the pitying looks, but Cleo just patted his shoulder, brushing a wing against his. They didn't comment when he flinched violently from the contact, instead stepping back and hooting her farewell.
He waited until the tent zipped shut behind her before rubbing his face, mortification coming back threefold. Cleo was just being nice, wing brushing was a friendly gesture, she hadn't been trying to hurt him, no matter what his awful stupid brain thought. And no one was going to make fun of him for falling, this wasn't school where tripping in front of your peers was cause for ridicule, this was the real world, where people had empathy and understood disabilities. Usually, anyway.
He knew all of that, honestly he did, but he still couldn't help the uncomfortable little bubble that stuck in his chest. He sat there and stewed in for a bit, struggling his way through some of his calming exercises before he felt well enough to ride carefully to his feet. He grabbed painkillers and a brace and then settled on his cot. He took the pills dry and fixed the brace tight in place before crawling back under the blankets, pulling them up tight.
Sleep was slow in coming, even with the pain medication, and when he closed his eye all he could see was storm-blue swirls dancing on the back of his eyelid.
~~~
He woke up to screaming.
He launched up on his cot, eye snapping open. There was a cacophony of screaming coming from up the path, not pained from what he could tell, but fearful, terror threading through the notes.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to massage his knee over the brace just enough to prevent another fall, and then pulled on his boots and jacket. He grabbed his cane and, after a brief moment of hesitation, the handgun he'd gone through the effort of bringing with him on the plane. He'd brought it for defense against animals, but defending his fellow campers probably counted.
He opened the tent and speed-limped his way into the village, gun ready at his side. The screaming had tapered off, but even across the way from the ranger cabin he could hear cheeps and squawks of horror. Through the early morning gloom he could see eleven pairs of wings, spread wide in threat display even as feathers puffed and shook in fright.
Alarm lanced through him: no one looked hurt yet, but everyone looked upset. Ren and Abolish were both leveling rifles at something he couldn't quite see yet and that alone had him speeding up. Just as he came level with the rest of the campers, his fingers tightened spasmodically on the grip of his gun, the breath leaving him in one quiet punched whisper.
“Oh, saints.”
Standing before them, their hands up, were two men. Or were they? They were both tall and lean built. One had blue hair and was dressed in dated clothes that put Legundo in the mind of a period actor and his milky skin seemed made of marble. The other was dressed in roughspun linen clothing in earthy colors, their hands wrapped in old dirty bandages, their brown hair pulled back in a severe tail. Alone, their presence was unnerving, but not so much as to garner guns and screaming.
No, the reaction came from their wings.
Or rather, their lack of wings.
Neither man had wings or feathers or any thing of the sort, and Legundo viciously shoved down the nausea that crawled up his throat at the visceral sense of wrongness that filled him. This wasn't even the uncanny stillness of his own wings that people chalked up to sickness, the complete absence of wings was the marker of the dead.
“Oh, doctor, excellent timing. I think we're all having one hell of a shared delusion after all the excitement of last night, or there's a pair of dead men in front of us. I figure, hey, who better to figure out which is which other than our resident smart guy.” Apo's fingers twitched on the grip of her own gun as she spoke, and Legundo gave a stiff, robotic nod. He took a deep breath, sliding his handgun into its holster and crept forward, tense.
Two pairs of eyes, one blue and cat-like, the other brown and viciously sharp, followed his every move. Up close, they were both unnaturally still, their chests not moving, and when he hesitantly reached out to grab each one's wrist to take their pulses, they were ice cold to the touch.
He swallowed thickly, a frightened chirr lodging behind his teeth and trembling through his voice.
“Neither of them have a pulse. They're dead.”
His pronouncement was like a bomb, detonating in the still morning air. People shifted uneasily, Avid was screaming about vampires and zombies, most of them were moving from fear to hostility. Legundo stepped back, letting himself be pulled behind the shield of Cleo, Pearl and Apo's wings. He was not ashamed to admit he was hiding, frightened even as visions of bodies laid out on desert sands pushed into his head, wingless shattered forms feeding their blood to the earth, the ash of their wings floating away on the winds.
He glanced around the barrier of protective feathers, watched as Abolish handed his rifle to Pyro and secured each prisoner in handcuffs of strangely bright metal, and the lot of them followed him into the ranger station. Inside and down the stairs were two small prison cells, and Abolish put one man in each cell before closing them. Everyone arranged themselves in front of the cells and Legundo grumbled a little as he was bracketed safely in a corner by Cleo and Pearl.
He wasn't that fragile damnit!
Pearl merely tittered in laughter at him, not unkind but definitely teasingly, and dropped her wing so he could get a good look at the interrogation going on in front of them. Abolish stood solid, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed as he stared down the men in the cells.
“Now, start talking, before I leave you in here to rot and save us all the trouble.”
~~~
Legundo shifted his sketchbook on his lap, tilting his head to get a better look at his drawing of the ruined church. It needed more detail and shading, but it was coming along nicely if he did say so himself.
It had been three days since Martyn's accident and the arrival of the two dead men, and he was finally taking some time to do what he originally came on this trip for- relax.
He would have done it sooner but everyone else, and himself, had been too keyed up to do much more than creep around the village like frightened cats, haunted by the information Abolish's interrogation had turned up.
The men's names were Scott Goldsmith and Owen, and they were vampires. Vampires. Avid had set up quite the howl at that information, but most of them hadn't believed it until the blue haired one, Scott, had changed into a bat before their very eyes. With that kind of incontrovertible proof they kind of had to believe their story. And what a story it was.
Scott had apparently lived in the area for almost a millenia, and had been cursed to an enchanted slumber from which he woke every fifty years, trapped by the barrier with a group of humans. He would feed and wander around and at the end of six months the barrier would collapse and he would be forced to sleep again, until the next cycle.
Owen had lived in the area two hundred years prior, and the village had lived in fear of Scott's legend. Owen's Sire had been killed when he was framed by the villagers for being a witch and a corroborator of Scott's rampages. He'd been burned at the stake, and Owen had rampaged in his grief, wiping the village off the map. He had slept, buried in the ruins of a tower not too far from the town. He had woken when the barrier went up, the wave of magic jolting him from his slumber.
There had been a loud, angry argument as they tried to determine what to do then, when the final shock of the night had come. Abolish wasn't actually a park ranger assigned to the camp's running, he'd been sent by someone (he wouldn't say what or whom), to break the cycle of the hunting game and then to take custody of whichever vampire or vampires were at the root of it. Apparently his benefactor had determined that the cycle, Scott’s forced sleep and the barrier were fueled by the blood Scott spilled, and by starving them of the magic in the spilled blood the barrier would come down, Scott's enchanted sleep would be ended and the cycle would no longer repeat, sparing generations of the unneeded bloodshed.
The only problem was that meant spending the next six months trapped behind the magical barrier of Oakhurst. None of them were happy with this, but there was no other way for the barrier to come down than for one side to kill the other stone dead, or to wait out the timer. Since none of them were keen to become murderers, even of vampires, this left them only one true choice.
This of course presented its own issues; most of them had friends, families and lives to get back to, and no way to inform them they were alright and hadn't died horribly while traveling. He’d fretted for days over putting Alice, Lizzie and the kids through the terror of not knowing if he’d died on vacation, a vacation that they had arranged for him. Alice would surely blame herself for sending him away and, while he would likely be able to return at some point, he couldn't bear the thought of putting her through that.
Secondly, most of them were not remotely supplied for such a stay. The best prepared of them was Legundo, and even he only had three months worth of goods with him. Nevermind that he, Avid and Sausage all needed medications that were very much not optional. Abolish was able to help with some of that, as his benefactor had planned for Abolish having to manage a large handful of humans while he completed his mission. Below the lower level of the ranger cabin was a supply bunker, filled with enough dry, canned and staple goods to feed them through the six months and beyond. Padded out with hunting, they would not starve, and Legundo had a greater supply of medications for treatments, including IVs of saline and two canisters of oxygen. That still left the issue of the necessary medications for the people who couldn't live without them, but Abolish promised to work on it.
The last, and perhaps most important issue was the weather. Oakhurst was smack dab in the middle of a sub-arctic circle forest, and the winters were cruel and long. Even Legundo's four season tent or Cleo and Pearl's Nordic pup tents would not stand up to the cold. This issue was thankfully neatly solved by Abolish. Since the Goldsmith Preservation Society was the reason they were in this situation to begin with, the shady force behind luring humans for Scott to hunt, their rules no longer applied, if they ever did. They would patch up and winterize several of the most stable buildings to see them through the next six months. A deal had been struck with Owen and Scott: if they helped with the construction during the day and didn't threaten any of the humans, they would be free to wander at night or when they weren't needed. With little choice, they had acquiesced and been put to work.
Legundo had been asked to pick a cabin, a small one near the edge of town, but was otherwise forbidden from assisting with the construction efforts. It stung a little, even if it made logical sense. If his leg was to give out or his depth perception was just that little bit off he could fall off the roof and do himself a great injury, with no way to get treatment until the spring. That didn't mean he didn't feel useless.
However he was not idle. Abolish had charged him to make sketches of all the buildings, especially those that were being altered, and there were plenty of injuries that needed tending. Thirteen people, only two or three of which had any kind of carpentry experience, meant there were plenty of cuts and sprains and strains to take care of at the end of the day. The vampires healed on their own with minimal intervention from him at least.
“Hey, Legs, lunch is ready.” He groaned quietly at the nickname, and closed his sketchbook and rose to his feet. He tucked the book into his pack, grabbed his cane and his chair, and followed after Martyn. The younger man was largely confined to camp and simpler projects while his sprained wrist healed, and they'd taken to alternating who was cooking to keep them both busy.
Several split logs had been stacked carefully to make a table, and Legundo popped his chair down amongst the colorful many that were already there. Others were appearing, faces pink with work and the cool autumn breeze and a big pot of canned chili started making the rounds. He filled his bowl and ate quietly, content to let the loud and happy conversation ebb and flow around him. It was a press of wings and voices but it was...nice. It reminded him a lot of sitting in the mess with his platoon, before he'd been transferred, just a bunch of people from every walk of life that would normally never cross, jammed into one place just trying to get by.
Shelby ladled a bit more chili in his bowl while he wasn't looking and he retaliated by shoving a biscuit in her face, laughing at her indignant squawk and getting a wing in his face for his troubles. The others were laughing, riding high on their progress. Cleo and Pearl's cabin would likely be finished tonight and Owen quietly informed that Legundo would likely be able to move into his own by lunch tomorrow. Avid and Drift still had a hole in the wall to patch and Pyro and Sausage were determining if they wanted to knock out a cracked window or seal it. Ren was nearly done with his and Martyn's place and Shelby had surprisingly chosen the old bakery near the ranger cabin to share with Scott. Apo and Abolish were sharing quarters in the ranger station. Owen was sleeping elsewhere, and hadn't told anyone where.
As they finished up lunch and returned to work, he and Martyn set about cleaning up the table, cleaning everything off in a soapy bucket and drying them. The clean dishes were stacked at the end of the table for everyone to grab their own on the way to their campsites. Martyn settled on a book and Legundo set about finishing his sketch.
Once the shock had worn off, most of them were treating their situation as an adventure. Sausage claimed it was the perfect setting for a new thriller he wanted to write while Avid and Shelby were already discussing writing a book of their own. It would likely never see publication outside their circle of cryptid hunters friends, but he was sure snippets would make their way on to the internet as conspiracy theories. Drift had been interviewing the vampires with Pyro's assistance, fascinated to have people able to give insights into life in the haunted village. Apo and Abolish seemed focused on making sure the vampires played nice with everyone and Cleo and Pearl had plans to document what flora and fauna they could find within the dome. Martyn was of the mind that this was a sign from the universe that he should delay college for another year even as his uncle oscillated between thrilled to spend more time with his nephew and fear of the danger.
Legundo was....honestly he wasn't entirely sure how he felt. He wanted to go home, to assure the few people he still had in his life that he was alright and not spend half a year away from his home and his practice and all the things he had built for himself in the last five years. Even if they were minor, like his plants and his books and the bakery he visited so often they knew his order on sight, they were his victories, his proof that he was still living. At the same time, he enjoyed the easy camaraderie that was already developing amongst the campers. He enjoyed nights shared around the fire and the people poking their heads in just to say hello. No one called attention to him, no one made him feel left out, and it was like a life raft to a dying man. He had, perhaps, a handful of people who didn't treat him as broken or fragile in his life after what happened, little islands of normalcy in a life where his own brain routinely tried to rip him apart at the seams. His medical bracelet, vibrant yellow silicone widely known to indicate a Flock Shock survivor, was necessary to keep him safe, but it also marked him out as different, as wrong, and people always, always reacted to it.
Their weird little congregation in Oakhurst wasn't like that. Some of them were too old to be anything but empathetic or unbothered by someone else's issues and some of them were simply young enough to come from the generations that thought people like him were to be included and supported instead of pitied or ridiculed. Or maybe it was just the people themselves, he didn't know. He was afraid to think about it.
Part of him, the part that still railed at his losses and the injustice done to him by the universe, was angry at himself for chewing over these thoughts for so long, for basing so much of his well-being on the way others treated him. Another part, the part that had been counseled into the ground over the last five years, wanted to be gentle on himself, wanted to remind himself that just because the way he managed things now was different didn't mean that he did not need to manage his Avian instincts. He did not stop being who and what he was just because he lost his Flock.
He scowled fiercely, wroth with his thoughts and already feeling the budding anxiety that often came with focusing too much on his life, and he slammed his sketchbook shut on his ruined drawing, shoving it angrily in his bag. He gathered his belongings and stomped his way back to his tent.
Maybe he’d feel better after a nap.
~~~
Looking at Avid hurt. Even after three weeks he could still barely stomach looking at his face, let alone his wings. He could tell that it hurt the younger man that the doctor seemed to look right through him, avoiding eye contact and keeping distance as much as possible and Legundo so wanted to apologize, to assuage the other's fears. But what was he to say?
Sorry Avid. I can't look at you without wanting to curl up in a ball and sob like a little kid because you look like my dead Flockmate. It's not you, it's me.
Yea that would go over just splendid, he could already tell.
He squinted his eye, carefully tying off the bandage around Avid's arm, murmuring a quiet apology as he winced. “It's not so deep as to need stitches, but you'll need to keep it clean and dry. Come in twice a day and I'll flush it out and rebandage it. You know what infection looks like?” A nod. “If you see any of that, come straight to me. And try to take it easy for the rest of the day, just to give it a little time to mend up.” There was a rustling as Avid rolled down his sleeves and pulled on his jacket, Legundo turning around to avoid looking at him as he cleaned up.
Owen and Scott had finished repairing and winterizing the cabin and helped him move in, and Abolish had moved several shelves and his stock of medical supplies in as well, so his little cabin was packed. Plenty of things to keep him pretend-occupied while he waited for the living reminder of his loss to leave, hopefully without hurting his feelings. Well, hurting his feelings more.
There were shuffling footsteps as Avid slowly made his way to the door, and Legundo pretended to be busy sorting shelves and writing notes in his journal, but as the door swung open, the footsteps stopped and he braced himself.
Please just leave please just leave please just-
“Doc, do you hate me?” And, oh, that hurt more than he expected, feeling like a sucker punch in the solar plexus. He sighed, a shaky sound of surrender, hands dropping from the shelves to grip the table in front of him with trembling fingers. Avid deserved some kind of answer, not just to be forced to endure averted eye contact and fearful distances. It wouldn't fix the damage done, but it might help soothe the hurt.
“You uh-” he cut himself off with a cough, voice already clogging with tears. “You remind me of someone I used to know. He was- he was very important to me.” A miserable sniffle, and he prayed that it would be enough, that Avid would take what he was given and leave, leave Legundo to collapse into pieces again because even five years later it still hurt so fucking much.
“Who was he?” A wet laugh ripped out of him, pained and ugly, and he could feel the instant regret of the young man shuffling in his door, asking personal questions of a man he'd known for three weeks. Legundo should have known better. After all, this is the kid who came to the middle of nowhere with his friends hunting legends and found them. He was never going to be satisfied with a partial answer.
He licked his lips, riffling around for an answer. In for a penny, in for a pound right? It came to him like a wave, a mantra he repeated time and time again, long before he lost them, and a mantra he would repeat for the rest of his days.
“To me? One third of everything.”
(They're laying a ranger grave somewhere in Iraq, wings and legs and arms so wound together it's hard to tell where one person begins and another ends. Loony's wings are ruffled against the cold where he lies over Legundo's lap, and Piepie's breath is warm and sweet against his shoulder where she's curled up at his side, her star-dotted wings wrapped around her like a blanket. Gentle fingers carded through his short hair and he pressed his head back against his pillow, getting a giggle in return.
“Jamie?” He hums, sleepy, in response, flicking his eyes open to look up at his third Flockmate. “What does this feel like to you?”
He stops and thinks, brain swimming through sleep and content, lips cracking in a sappy grin. “You feel like everything. ‘S perfect.” He slurred, getting a happy, laughing cheep in return.
“Oh? I'm everything am I? All by myself?” It's teasing and warm and his brain mulls that over for a minute, eyes looking down at Loony and Piepie before flicking back up to Doovid. He must look like a fool, grinning like a love struck idiot half asleep, because the younger man leans down to nuzzle the top of his head and threads his fingers through dusty blue feathers.
“Mm. One third of everything, I ‘spose.” Those fingers stop and he coos his sadness at the lack of affection but before he can demand it back Doovid is screeching with laughter, jolting the other three into full wakefulness all together. It takes a minute to register what he said, but soon they're all laughing, part exhaustion, part exhilaration as it sinks in.
It's their second deployment together, and they're lying in a hole in a desert thousands of miles from home after three days without sleep, and he wouldn't change it for anything. It's new, and it's scary and it's everything.)
~~~
Cleo never really cared for their wings one way or the other. To her, wings were just part of the package that came with life, like hands or legs or ears.
Their wings are big and silky and beautifully patterned and the envy of their family. Their family treats them as a show child and she fucking hates it. Forced to dress up, to sit on display, to practice their courtesies and tolerate wandering hands and wandering eyes. They fight every step of the way, tooth and nail. The cops are called more than once.
Nothing ever changes.
They find out they can fly when they're thirteen. Their parents spend days extolling the virtues of how good this will be for the family, how Cleo should be proud to bring so much prestige to their parents.
Their parents make them fly at a banquet a single time. Five days later, she steals a stack of bills, some jewelry, and she flies away in the night. She doesn't stop until three states are between them and their family and then they finally land, and crash in a sleazy motel for two days straight.
It takes time, but they find a soft place to land. It's a little cliche, they think, to end up in a traveling circus, but it works. She's not the only runaway there, and the adults are fierce in their protection. A retired school teacher turned flame juggler is their teacher during the day, and at night she helps the animal tamers. When they find out she can fly, they ask them to perform in the acts. Cleo says no, prepares to fight them on and leave if needed, but to them, no is no. Cleo never has to justify why, they just respect their limits. It's perhaps one of the most important lessons they've ever received, to respect their own boundaries and expect others to respect them.
Cleo meets Pearl when they're both fourteen. Pearl is on the run from abusive parents who moved to America, and she's just one more child who folds seamlessly in their little herd of miscreants. They become fast friends and Pearl can fly too, so they have many fond memories of sunny afternoons spent gliding through the air and playing with their friends.
It's not the traditional way to grow up, but if you ask Cleo, it's the best way. They don't regret growing up in the circus.
They meet Zack when they're both twenty-two. Cleo spends their time working with the lions and elephants and Pearl works with the pyrotechnics team. They're both full fledged circus members now, no longer little kids watching the show through the curtains after lessons or scruffy teens learning the backstage ropes. Zack is part of a group of kids, Flock despite their age, on the run from gang life, taking up the circus life instead. He's a natural with animals and so assigned to Cleo and at first they hate their new shadow, but he grows on them. He's scrawny and all legs, and his mallard wings are in the weird awkward stage of growing in his adult feathers. He's brash and loud but settles as the months pass and he realizes he is safe. Cleo grows to love him as a little brother, he and Pearl are thick as thieves.
There's a show in the Citadel, and a cop finds Pearl and Cleo in a bar, an emergency summons. Zack and his friends, shot by the gang they fled from eight months before. Five of the boys don't make it, leaving only Zack and one other. The other succumbs to Flock Shock a week later. Zack pulls through.
He’s never the same again.
Zack holds on for two years. He even gets better, for a time. Cleo and Pearl and all the others get very good at communicating with him, including him, making him feel normal and loved and worthy. It's hard. There are good days and bad, and the bad days are a struggle.
It's worth it, to see him come back to life. For a couple of months, it's brilliant even. He even wants to get back into performing. His first night back, working with the tigers in the rings and watching the acrobats fly and twirl through the air above him, his eyes glitter and everything seems like it's going to be ok.
They find his body three days later, wrapped in the blanket that Cleo and Pearl made him in the hospital, a cocktail of poison on the bedside table, silly-straw and all. He looks peaceful in death, and if not for the ash in the shape of wings on his bed, Cleo would almost believe he was sleeping. There's a letter tucked under his head. It's long and neat, poignant in its serenity and resignation. It helps and hurts in equal measure.
Zack is seventeen when they lay him to rest beneath the willow tree on a small farm in Tennessee, a resting place gifted to him by a retired performer. Pearl cries for three days straight. Cleo cries for two more. The circus suspends its performances for a month.
Zack was not Flock, not really, but he was important to them, and he was loved. If this pain was what they suffered for his loss neither of them can imagine what he lived with.
Cleo does not begrudge him his peace.
Cleo is twenty-three when she shares her Heartsong for the first, and only, time. Laying beneath the stars, hand in hand with Pearl, the murmur of their family and friends all around and behind them, it slips from their lips without their meaning to, but Pearl is right there with them, their voices twining and wrapping together like they’ve been made for each other. They have been, really. If it feels like something is missing, well, that’s fine. They’ll find whatever, or whoever it is, together. They announce it the next day, and the whole circus celebrates with them, and Cleo spends every night after that sharing a tent with the most important person in the world, wings tangled together, fingers locked.
It's perfect.
Cleo is twenty five when a lawyer finds them. Their parents are dead, the land and money left to them as their only child. They make them sign reams and reams of papers, hand them a manila folder of banking info and deeds and cards and leaves. Cleo does not know whether to celebrate or cry. She settles for pouring a shot and burning a wreath of black roses- mourning and hatred both. She spends many late nights with Pearl, and together they plan, find a way to turn poisonous money into something glorious.
They'll call it the Mallard Foundation. The name won't mean anything to anyone but them, but what it stands for will. A place for runaways and orphans or Shock survivors to go, to heal or grow or learn or all of the above. There's buildings to plan, gardens to sow and licensing to sort, but they know they can do it. They register for school, they hire lawyers and financial people and they say their goodbyes.
Cleo is twenty-six when they leave the circus, Pearl in tow, and lessons close to heart. Pearl is her Mate, and Flock in all the ways that matter, and there's a whole lot of good they can do, together.
Cleo doesn't mind their wings anymore, not when they've seen what happens to life without them.
~~~
Legundo knows from long experience if you stick a bunch of Avians in a small area for an extended period of time, they'll find a way to bond. Avians, like their wild counterparts, are intensely social. They're made to be close with other Avians. It's a physical, emotional and mental imperative that's been well studied for literal centuries. It's even part of his recovery, forming social bonds to support his mental health and instincts.
Preening, singing, flying, sharing food, nesting- it's all vital. Even in the Navy they'd been encouraged to take time to bond with their squads and platoons and shipmates, because a happy well adjusted Avian is an Avian ready to kill for their country. (Look the American military wasn't known for its stellar stance on mental health but at least they got this one mostly right). For all that his time in the Navy took from him, he still had many fond memories of squirreling away favorite MRE parts to give to squadmates or pushing bunks together or singing loudly (badly) with soldiers he was assigned to in their transports.
All that to say that he was absolutely not surprised to see the Avians of Oakhurst falling into those same patterns. It started, unsurprisingly, with the group of college students, who quickly dragged in Martyn, who dragged in his uncle. Pearl and Cleo were not far behind, though they put up a great show of being much put upon the first few times. Even Abolish and Apo showed up, though not every time. It wasn't planned, but most evenings now that the construction was done a pair or trio would settle down somewhere and others would slowly float their way over until eventually there was a knot of Avians hanging out, a proper huddle.
Legundo didn't attend these bonding sessions. Not because there was anything wrong with them! He still just didn't do well with large crowds, even if he wanted to. He'd been working on it with Alice's help but it seemed a big effort to start with a whole new group.
Not that they didn't try and get him to participate. Shelby and Sausage were always quick to ask him to join, and Avid- who was doing his best to respect Legundo's space since their brief conversation last week while simultaneously trying to worm his way into the doctor's sphere- had taken to drawing dogs with really sad eyes to hand him in lieu of giving him puppy eyes in person.
And it was working damn him!
They'd been trying to convince him for two weeks now and they had just passed the month mark, and apparently they were ready to deploy the big guns.
Cleo was standing in his door, their arms crossed and a smug smirk tugging at their lips. Behind her, grinning devilishly, was Pearl. He could already feel that he was being set up for something but if he was, he was going to go down fighting. He was terribly fond of both women but they reminded him of Alice; brilliant, stubborn and absolutely ready to bully him into mental health whether he liked it or not. And just bully him in general, but that was part of the charm.
“Cleo, Pearl, how delightful to see you. What are you planning?” He narrowed his eyes, biting his tongue as his lips tried to twitch up into a smile and ruin his facade. Both women pushed into the room and the door remaining open felt like an omen.
“Us? Up to something? Neeeever!” He rolled his eyes.
“I might believe you if you didn't look like a cartoon villain, Pearl. If I didn't know better I'd half expect a trap door to open up under my feet any second.” They both laughed, wings twitching with mirth and he crossed his arms, trying to turn up the mock severity on his face. Judging by their snorts, he didn't succeed.
“Actually, I think there is something you can help us with. I hear you have peanut butter, doc.”
“Peanut butter? What do you want my peanut butter for?” He tilted his head.
“Secret project. Can't ruin the surprise!”
“Pearl, that's alarming. What secret project could possibly need peanut butter for?”
“That would ruin the secret doc! Pleeeease? I promise it'll be worth it.” She was deploying puppy dog eyes but they were so exaggerated that all they really did was make him laugh.
“Fine, fine.” He chuckled, turning around to his shelves. He rummaged a little, pulling up one of the jars of peanut butter he'd been sent. “But I swear Pearl if I wake up to the town being assailed by squirrels because you painted the cabins with this I'll-” his voice tapered off in a screech as strong arms wrapped around his waist and heaved him onto a broad shoulder.
“Cleo wh- put me down!” He wriggled a little, trying to get down, but Cleo simply laughed and tightened their grip.
“C'mon doc, mandatory socialization time. You've been cooped up in here for three days.” He grumbled, gripping the back of their shirt as Cleo made their way out the door and headed for the ranger cabin.
“How are you even doing this? You're like, almost a foot shorter than me!” Was that a whine? Was he whining?
“You're nothing compared to a hay bale, doc. It's easy.”
“Was that an insult? I think I'm being insulted. Pearl! I take it back! You're not allowed to have that peanut butter anymore, traitor!” He scowled as Pearl just laughed, tucking the jar under one arm while she shut the door with the other, trotting to get ahead of them so she could open the ranger cabin's door. Inside the main area, a large room that once held several desks and chairs, had been cleared away and covered in spare blankets and pillows, even a few beanbags from the previous ranger.
He yelped as Cleo's grip on him shifted and he was tossed, gently to be fair, into a deep stack of pillows.
“One express delivery! Don't let him escape.” He turned onto his side to try and get his feet under him, make an escape, but he didn't get far before there was something clinging to his good leg, another heavy weight settling over his arm.
Fuck, he was trapped, and judging by the sharp grin Shelby, who was holding his arms hostage, gave him he's not going to be allowed to go anywhere any time soon.
“Fine, fine! You win, just let me turn over so I don't break something.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes at the cheer that went up at his surrender. He wasn't really upset, but he has an image to maintain damnit.
He turns back on to his stomach, rolling his eye when his leg and arm are recaptured. Cleo's hand dips into his vision to drop his drawing tablet in front of him and he propped himself on a pillow so he could draw. His back won't thank him for the position, but he doubts he'd be allowed up any time soon.
He settled for working on finishing his landscape piece of Oakhurst as a whole, tablet pen drawing thin lines and shading carefully. On his off arm Shelby's head is pillowed as she read a book and he doesn't know who was on his leg, but he could hear them whispering quietly with someone. Pyro was carefully preening Avid's wings and he could see Pearl working beads into Cleo's.
He settled further into the pillows, letting the chatter and the rustle of feathers float around him, settled in a way he hadn't felt in a good long while.
*
Cleo watched as Legundo slowly relaxed in the middle of the huddle, held gently in place by Shelby and Sausage. As expected, he hadn't truly fought or set up a fuss over being unceremoniously dumped for forced social time, instead giving way fairly quickly and easily once he was surrounded by the others. Now he was working quietly on a drawing, occasionally taking whatever snack was handed to him.
They were pleased with the success. They'd grown quite fond of the other man, and it was nice to see him relaxing. He always looked exhausted and a little sad, but that didn't surprise Cleo: she was intimately familiar with the yellow band around his wrist and what that meant and the injuries he carried came from nothing good she knew.
Underneath that though he was kind, and funny and wickedly smart, and they enjoyed spending time in his company. Maybe they would not be so fond in such a short period of time normally, but this wasn't a normal situation where it took months or even years for friendships to form, fostered with short infrequent meetings. The people trapped under the magical dome spent all day every day with each other- they shared meals, worked together to do chores, and were neighbors. Close proximity with no way to get away from each other had bred deep familiarity.
They wanted to help him, saw the way he held himself back from the others, saw the way he wanted to do things that should have felt natural to him but was afraid to. It was painfully familiar, and while she was aware that he wasn't Zack, that didn't mean she didn't want to help. Thankfully, Pearl was of her mind as well. Not to mention, it was a great dry run for the foundation. Win-win: they got to help a friend and hopefully learn a bit on the way. Was it possibly unethical? Sure, but that had never stopped them before and did the ethics really matter if they helped someone?
They grunted as Pearl threw themselves over their lap, one bright blue wing whacking her with an impatient request to preen. They rolled their eyes but obligingly ran their fingers through the feathers, shaking loose a few pine needles.
“Did you roll through the damn branches when you were out earlier?” Pearl chattered at her teasing and tugged at white and brown feathers in retaliation.
Cleo opened her mouth to snipe back again when there was a series of shocked yelps and chirps of surprise.
“Don't touch me!” Her head whipped at the doctor's growl, finding him half up and twisted around to snap at Sausage, teeth bared in a snarl that was more fear than anger. They were just able to see a patch of dull blue ruffled feathers, like someone had stuck a hand in his wings, and she winced as the story clicked into place.
Shelby was already in action though, pulling on broad shoulders to get the bigger man's attention on her instead of Sausage, murmuring soothing nonsense. Pearl was up to gently push Sausage away, talking to him in quiet tones before taking his spot, leaving Sausage to sit next to Cleo, who held up a wing in invitation. The kid meant well, and looked upset at the situation he'd accidentally caused, so there was no sense in making him feel worse for it. He'd got a very real lesson on the fact that just because someone joined the huddle, didn't mean you could touch wings without permission first.
They could see why he'd wanted to help though. Like many Avians who lost the use of their wings for one reason or another, Legundo's wings looked in desperate need of some serious care. They were clean, yes, likely kept that way for health reasons only, but were otherwise unkempt. Patches of missing or misaligned feathers, dull- almost colorless- plumage, rough textured. The muscles looked tight, rigid from years of disuse and the skin along the bones looked thin and painful. Yes, Cleo could very much understand just what Sausage had wanted to do, even if he’d gone about it the wrong way.
Shelby had gotten Legundo to lay back down and Pearl had curled up on his other arm, both women talking to him and laughing at what the other was saying. Tension was visibly bleeding out of his body and Cleo relaxed- it was a setback but a very minor and temporary one it appeared. He gave up on drawing, both arms being used for pillows now, but seemed content to lay there while they talked over his head, their chatter encouraging the others to resume theirs as well.
That did give them a little information though: he appeared fine with physical contact in general, but wings were a huge no go. Part of her wondered if that was purely down to unexpected/unasked for contact or if wing contact was a no go entirely. That would be worth finding out, but probably in a bit, not so soon after the most recent upset.
For now they were content to read their book and sooth Sausage's feathers back into place. Outside the ranger station a chill wind blew, herald of the coming cold despite it only being the middle of November, and the sun was just beginning its journey below the horizon when the huddle broke up. Pearl and Cleo helped Legundo to his feet even as Shelby wrangled a promise for him to join them again soon, and Cleo considered it a success when he agreed in good humor, even if he grumbled all the while.
Later that night, tucked into bed with Pearl curled around them like a demented koala, she turned over and buried their hands in blue and white wings, nuzzling into her Mate's shoulder.
“Worth it?”
Pearl chirred in tired agreement. “Worth it.” She hummed back. “Now shhh. Heaters don't talk.” Cleo laughed and turned over to bury themselves closer to Pearl and let sleep claim them.
~~~
“Oh, Owen, come in. Do you need something?” Legundo stepped back to allow the other man into the cabin, adjusting his glasses as Owen strode in, looking around with sharp eyes.
Watching Owen was like watching a particularly jumpy feral cat. He was swift and graceful in a predatory way but Legundo felt sometimes that if he made too loud a noise or too sudden a move he'd vanish in an instant. He'd watched it happen during their second week behind the barrier, as Avid popped out of a hole in their roof with a camera and surprised the vampire into his bat form.
Owen's gaze landed on him, heavy and piercing, head cocked. He fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under that gaze: he didn't feel like he was in danger per se, but he definitely felt as if he was being measured.
“You finally slept.” The doctor blinked at the seemingly random statement, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Had it really been that noticeable? He cleared his throat and nodded, turning to busy himself with the coffee pot he'd left on the mantle, shoving it in the coals.
“Mm yea, a good bit actually.” More than a good bit, honestly. It hadn't been perfect but he'd gotten several uninterrupted hours. He didn't want to admit it probably had to do with spending time in a huddle with the others yesterday, because as soon as he did that Alice and Lizzie and his therapist would somehow know and then they would insist he spent more and more time with people.
“I'd offer you a drink but can vampires drink anything besides blood?” He grabbed his favorite enamel cup, forest green with white speckles, from the shelf and some of the powdered creamer and sugar. Even a month in and he was still stunned by the sheer amount and detail in the supplies Alice had ordered for him.
“Scott said he can drink wine and tea, but I'm not sure if that's his age or if he's trying to pull one over on me.” Legundo snorted as he grabbed the pot from the coals, pouring it into his cup.
“Yes that sounds like something Scott would do. For someone who's been asleep most of the last eight hundred years he's got a strange sense of humor.” He settled in his camp chair, patting the corner of the table. Owen didn't sit, instead hovering intensely nearby while Legundo sipped his coffee, watching him placid.
“Is there anything you need? You're always welcome here, but this is the first time you've visited.” He kept his voice gentle, open, like he was talking to a recalcitrant patient, waiting to see what the other man would do. Owen's attitude with the humans behind the bubble tended to oscillate between “sheer contempt” and “oddly clingy” depending on the day and person.
“Your light wasn't on at the usual time.” Legundo blinked, trying to parse out that statement.
“Were you...worried, Owen?” The vampire immediately bristled, a hiss escaping from between clenched teeth. He whirled on his heel, curls flying with the motion, and stormed from the house, leaving Legundo to sit at the table, lips twitching with wry amusement and surprise. Oh dear, he’d really stepped on the cat's tail with that one, didn't he?
He finished his coffee and rinsed the cup with the bucket of water he kept in the corner and set about getting ready for the day. Pyro, Apo and he were going to go to the strange white forest to the south to explore, since the hike was short and manageable.
He dressed warmly and grabbed his hiking cane instead of his daily one, packing his sketchbook and a lunch before shouldering his pack and heading out.
He'd apologize to Owen when he saw the vampire next. No need to poke the bear, right?
~~~
Huddle was outside today and even the vampires were in attendance. Cleo lounged happily, wings spread to soak up the warm air. While it was unseasonably warm that day for almost December, there was little in the way of sun so they weren't getting the whole benefit, but it was still pleasant. Pearl was in the sky with Ren, both of them whipping through the air and occasionally diving the huddle before pulling up at the last second. Avid was napping, buried under Sausage and Shelby who were also asleep while Owen watched them from a branch, sipping deer blood from a bottle Abolish had handed him. Martyn was cleaning his hiking boots while Legundo and Apo were quietly discussing taking a trip to a ruined crypt with Abolish in a few days.
Across from them was Drift, a notebook in their lap and Scott lounging across from them, happily answering all the questions thrown at him, basking in the attention. Cleo turned their attention away from the trip planning to focus on the interview, ruffling their feathers to catch the soft breeze.
“So when you were alive, not everyone had wings? Like, there were people who just...weren't Avian?” Scott hummed, nodding and taking a sip of his own blood through a bendy straw.
“It wasn't rare, necessarily, but it was also not...noticeable I guess you could say? Not everyone could see the wings, even if they had them.”
“Right, that only changed in the last fifty-ish years, after the Lightpoint Shower.”
“The what?” Cleo snorted quietly to themselves as Scott's accent deepened in his confusion, chiming in from their place on the floor.
“Every couple hundred years there's a geomagnetic event that causes changes in what Avians can do. Some say it changes their very genetics. Records are spotty before sixteen hundred, but the last three documented events gave Avians the ability to fly, increased the average wing size and we started to see more exotic breeds of birds represented outside their home ranges, like parrots in Europe or ducks in South America. Among other things."
“They call it “Geomagnetic Evolution” in the sciences and it's the biggest current friction point for the argument between science and magic. I had a whole class on it in medical school. I'm pretty sure it resulted in at least three fist fights.” Legundo chimed in, handing Apo a cracker before they both resumed their conversation.
Drift was still scribbling fiercely in their book. “What did your wings look like Scott?” The vampire got a fond, far away look on his face for a moment before he spoke again.
“Oh I had the most lovely snowy owl wings. They were about ten feet long, the longest in the kingdom. I used to take such care of them. Perfumes and special oils. Couldn't be caught dead at court with my wings in disarray.” He giggled, pointedly flicking his eyes over at Legundo who, thankfully, didn't appear to have heard him. Cleo did though and she raised her head to give him a warning glare, getting a toothy grin in return. Oh they could already tell this was going to end up being a problem.
“Ten feet was considered the longest in a whole kingdom when you were alive?” Scott focused his attention back on his interviewer.
“Yes, it was considered quite the remarkable point in my favor.” He tittered and Cleo rolled their eyes.
“How the times change, I guess. Ten feet is the smaller side of average nowadays. And owls are fairly common as well." The vampire scowled at her, mirth leaving his eyes.
“Oh yes, the average nowadays is fourteen feet. Mine are fifteen.” Drift muttered absently, making a few more notes before closing the book. The others, having woken up chimed in with their wing lengths, not a single one smaller than Scott's much touted ten feet. Scott's expression got more annoyed as it continued and Cleo flashed their own toothy grin at him, sitting up to stretch her wings to their full extent.
“Twenty feet.” They trilled, smug. Their feathers gleamed in the sunlight, well taken care of and decorated carefully by their Mate, flecked with beads and blue jay's feathers. Scott's cat-like eyes flickered from person to person before finally settling on the doctor, who'd been silently watching the proceedings of the last few minutes. His eyes narrowed, a predator marking the weakest prey in the herd.
“And what about you, doctor? You're awful quiet about your...wings.” The last word practically dripped with disdain and Cleo's wings fluffed up in anger. There was no reason to drag the doctor into this because Scott his feelings hurt by a little teasing.
However before they could say anything Legundo, apparently sensing danger, was carefully climbing to his feet, prepared to make his excuses.
Scott was fast though, striding over and boxing the man against the side of the building they'd been sitting near. “Come now, surely you want to talk about your wings. After all, they're so important! And everyone else is very pleased with theirs!”
“Just leave me be, Scott. I don't wanna get involved.” The doctor was looking around for help, and Abolish was already breaking through the crowd.
“You know something has bothered me this whole time- you’re so...different from everyone. Strange. You don't move, you don't make any noise, you're not like everyone else around here. I thought you were just a quiet guy at first but that's not the case is it? Look at you, you treat your wings awfully, you have no pride in your gift. It's like you're broken.” One marble pale hand reached up, snaked out and grabbed a wing tip, yanking violently.
Everything happened all at once. Abolish snagged his hand in the back of Scott's jacket to pull him away and Cleo surged to their feet, an angry bark drumming in their chest, but they and the crowd were drowned out by the thunderous snap of a wings, like canvas whipping in a storm. There were a lot of gasps and Cleo couldn't help the widening of their own eyes.
Spread wide, nearly blocking out the sun, Legundo's wings were massive, easily dwarfing Cleo's own. Spread open it was easy to see the damage of the years but the threat display was no less effective for it, sending Scott scrabbling backwards and allowing Abolish to pull him violently away and into the ranger cabin, likely for an extended time out. Cleo couldn't help the vicious satisfaction that settled in them. Good, some time in a cell would cool his head.
Now she had a whole new problem on their hands. Legundo was standing stock still, his wings trembling and jerking, his eye distant and unfocused. It seemed like he was barely breathing, but he wasn't crying and didn't appear like he was going to pass out so she would take what she could get.
They sent Apo a telling look and the trooper nodded, going around and sending the others away, leaving only Cleo and Pearl with the doctor. Pearl looked at them, head cocked and Cleo sighed and nodded.
First things first, they needed to get his wings closed. He'd probably hurt himself badly with this incident, even if it had been an instinctual response to a perceived threat.
“Doc, you with me? It's Cleo and Pearl, everyone else is gone. You're alright.” They kept their voice pitched down, soothingly, and breathed a sigh of relief when that blurry green eye slowly tracked to them.
“You need to breathe man, you're gonna tip over if you don't, then we'll be picking rocks outta your forehead for an hour.” There was Pearl, humor lacing through her voice as she got close to the man, telegraphing her every move. He didn't flinch away or say anything when she grabbed his hand, bringing it up to rest against her heart.
“Feel that? Nice and calm yea? Breath with me so we match, alright?” Cleo let her Mate take the lead, sidling closer so he could see them better. He was breathing with Pearl, wings starting to droop as he calmed down but not pulling in like they would expect. Definitely injured, and probably too weak to naturally fold regardless.
They waited until his eye completely refocused, looking around the now abandoned area, mortification bleeding into his expression before they spoke, effectively distracting him.
“Those look pretty sore. You want a little help?” He seemed to contemplate Cleo's offer, an array of emotions flickering over his face almost too fast to see, but eventually he nodded, biting his lip.
Cleo kept their touch as light and careful as possible, but judging by the cut off little noises he was making, he was definitely in pain. Some of the thinnest skin on the upper bones of the wing was split and irritated and they still shook even as they carefully folded them. It took some obvious effort but he was able to keep them folded with only some difficulty.
“C'mon, we'll go to your place and take care of these.” Between them they herded the doctor to his cabin and got him inside. Cleo got him onto his cot while Pearl got the fire built back up. They met again at the shelves, pulling down bandages and cream and painkillers, setting them on the table near the doctor, who watched them with a healthy mix of apprehension, pain and thankfulness.
Cleo leaned on the camp chair, giving the other man his space but getting his attention. “So, you could probably do part of this on your own but you're going to want your wings bound. Can Pearl and I help you?” They hoped that he would agree, he'd tolerated the touch so far if it was announced, but they were fully prepared to be told to leave.
Legundo stared at them, lips pursed, but eventually he nodded, shoulders slumping and Cleo and Pearl moved into action. Both took a side, spreading cream and sealing gauze pads over the most irritated skin splits. Then they pushed the wings into position and bound them with long lengths of bandages at the joints- secured into position with the bandages the wings would be able to rest while supported. As they worked they talked, mostly about their own plans but eventually drawing Legundo in as well, stopping only long enough here and there to narrate what they were doing. He took the pills without prompting, chewing them dry much to Pearl's disgust, the fight and energy seemed to go out of him all at once.
“Yea there it is. Come on, boots off and lay down. Day's a wash anyway.” Pearl shepherded the man into his own bed, getting a grumble out of him. Pearl tucked him in, laughing as he swatted at her but eventually she grabbed his hands, squeezing gently.
“Hey, I don't know what got Scott's dick in a knot, but he was an ass and nothing he said is true. Next time he says some shit like that, punch him in his stupid fucking nose. Or kick him in the groin ‘til he flies off.” He snorted, squeezing back.
Cleo felt warm with pride for her Mate, watching as she spoke to the older man until he fell asleep. They cleaned up the room a little, fed and banked the fire and then slipped out. Pearl headed for their cabin but Cleo turned her feet to the ranger cabin.
Scott better have a damned good explanation for whatever the fuck that was, or they wouldn't have to worry about making it through the six months because she would kill him.
~~~
The next morning, it was cold and that already put Cleo in a bad mood. They were one of the first in the village to be up and around, judging by the dark windows she could see around them when she looked out. They set about building up their fire and throwing an extra blanket over Pearl before starting breakfast.
They had a list of things they wanted to accomplish today, and they'd be damned if the cold or their own bad attitude stopped them. They needed to check on Legundo and see if he'd let them take care of his wing injuries, and then they needed to find a way to keep him either occupied or out of the camp entirely because the second task was forced sensitivity training with the vampires. After the disaster of yesterday, it was clear Scott at least needed an update in Avian culture whether he liked it or not, and Owen could probably benefit as well.
Their conversation with Abolish last night had shed a little light on Scott's attitude, a combination of blood starvation and magic sickness, and while that explained his sometimes violent mood swings it didn't excuse them. So, she was going to skip the beating up portion of the program, for the moment anyway, and settle for education. Educating someone a millenia older than
they themselves was strange, but this was her life now so fuck it.
She set the bread and canned corned beef hash on the table, allowing themselves a quiet moment to fondly watch their Mate crawl out of bed and stumble over to the table before they too sat down and served themselves. Pearl never was a morning person.
They poured coffee for both of them and they ate in companionable silence for a while. Pearl perked up by the end of her plate and went about cleaning up from breakfast while Cleo changed into their flannel and a pair of jeans, lacing up their boots. Pearl was quick to dress in their own clothing, a matching flannel in blue instead of green, and they damped the fire before heading out into the camp.
People had finally begun to wake up, fires and lanterns lighting up the various windows. Martyn was heading towards the shower block at the ranger cabin, waving sleepily to them as they made their way to the doctor's cabin. The window was lit up with the now-familiar flicker of his lamp sitting on the window and they could just make out a broad form carefully hobbling along.
Pearl knocked loudly and there was a brief pause before there was a shout telling them to come in, and both women stepped into the cabin. It was warm inside, warmer than most others- Legundo had admitted that Owen often brought him extra firewood so he could keep a bigger fire going after he'd once explained that the cold hurt his leg.
He smiled at both of them, but there was a timidity to it, like he was sure of their reactions after yesterday. Cleo smiled at them warmly while Pearl made herself comfortable on the table corner.
“Morning Doc. We were just popping by to see what your plans were for the day and to see if you wanted some help with your-” Cleo motioned to his bound and bandaged wings, cocking her hip to rest against the wall near the door.
Legundo looked at them both, head tilted, something sharp and considering in his gaze, and Cleo was surprised but thrilled to see the very tips of his wings wiggle, just a bit, so small she almost thought it was a trick of the light before they did it again.
“Jameson.” Both women blinked, taken aback by the seemingly sudden and unrelated statement before Cleo grinned, smug. First name privileges, score! A tiny blush dusted his cheeks, almost lost in his tan and the flicker of lamplight, but Cleo's wings ruffled happily even as he pushed right through it, trying to ignore his own embarrassment. “And I would appreciate it, yes.”
Pearl hopped off the table to head for the shelves of medical supplies while Cleo took him over to the cot so they could begin undoing the bandages binding the wings in place. As last night, she made sure to narrate everything she was doing, making sure to keep her fingers to only expected areas. Undoing the bindings had his wings drooping and him tensing and hissing with pain, wings trembling with strain already.
“Been a little while since you used these huh?” They kept their voice light, gently peeling away a few of the gauze pads and examining the wounds. Still irritated but no signs of infection, so that was good.
“Five years. Five and a half of you count the coma.” And, oh, that was a loaded statement and judging by the tenseness that was creeping into his tone, not one he wanted to elaborate on.
That was another little bit of information though: five years was considered out of the “danger zone” for death or comorbid issues and was generally considered a turning point towards long term survival. That made sense, if he was working and traveling alone for extended periods of time.
Cleo changed the subject. “What're the plans for today then, Jameson?” She hummed, grabbing the antibiotic cream from Pearl to work on his left wing.
“Originally I was going out with Apo and Martyn to explore that crypt, but I don't think I want to go out today. I'll probably stay in and work on something on my tablet, or take Shelby and M up on that offer to watch a movie. What're you two going to do?”
Pearl finished on the right wing just as Cleo finished the left, and they began to push the wings back into place again, binding them with the bandages. He declined the pain medication when offered, tapping his pill organizer on the shelf as he pulled on his shirt. “Pearl and I are going to spend the day playing school teachers for the vampires.” He made little noises of interest and poured his coffee.
“Mm good luck with that. Better you than me though.” They spent a few more minutes chatting before they let themselves out, heading for the ranger station.
Abolish and Apo were both up and about, the area that the huddle had taken over had been cleaned up and the whiteboard wheeled to the front. Scott was sitting in one of the chairs, hands cuffed behind his back and a mullish expression on his face while Owen lounged in another chair, sipping from a bottle and kicking his legs idly. Shelby, Avid and Drift were sharing a single beanbag chair while Martyn dozed on the couch. Sausage and Pyro were talking amongst themselves, pointing at pages in a large book. Ren was nowhere to be seen.
They weren't sure why the others were there, this was surely all information that they would know, but they weren't about to see them away either. They might be able to provide some kind of insights to the vampires, and if nothing else they would have entertaining commentary.
Pearl tossed them several markers and then took a spot at the front of the room, arms crossed behind their back and chin tipped up, pretending to be a snooty professor.
“Alright listen up, welcome to Pearl and Cleo's “how not to be an asshole to your fellow Avians” class. You're here because one of you decided to be a big bag of dicks to our friend.” She narrowed her eyes at Scott, who stuck his tongue out at her.
“We're going to be focusing on Flock Shock today or, if you wanna use a buncha fancy words “Avian Flock Sundering Syndrome”. I think a couple hundred years ago it used to be called ‘Sundering Disease’. Don't know what it was called before that.” Owen made an affirmative noise and Scott, despite still looking peevish at least seemed to be paying attention, which was something.
“It's pretty simple for all the damage it does. Avians who form close bonds with other Avians can choose to bond as Flock. There's some level of conscious choice involved, but a lot of it involves a lot of chemicals, or magic depending on who you ask, in the brain that would require us to spend several hours just going over them. The longer a Flock is bonded, the stronger the chemical reaction in the brain. When an Avian loses their Flock, the chemicals in their brains basically blow up. It's almost always fatal. Only five percent survive the initial sundering of their bond and that's only in the last like, seventy years. Before modern medicine and ventilators, fatality rates were ninety-nine percent.” Cleo scribbled a few more figures and words on the board.
“A bond is considered sundered if only one member of a Flock survives. Generally, if at least one other person survives in the bond, the Avian's brain pushes itself to forcibly stay alive. That can lead to a whole other host of issues but that's a different lecture.” She started pacing, Cleo writing faster to jot down the information that her Mate was reciting.
“Avians who do survive the initial sundering have a ton of issues. The chemicals in their brains make them depressed, make them prone to various mood issues, weaken their immune system, weaken their hearts, cause them to lose their voices and their abilities to work their wings. And that's just the physical symptoms. A lot of Avians who survive report feeling lost, and they often describe feelings of fear and uncertainty with other Avians. Depending on how they got sundered, they can have a lot of other issues too. And surviving the initial danger doesn't mean they survive long term. There's a good reason it's considered a permanent disability. Of the five percent of survivors, eighty-four percent die in the first twelve months, usually from suicide. Of those remaining, in the next two years- three years total- another thirty-five percent die of either suicide or a comorbidity, usually a heart condition or stroke. In the next two years, another thirty percent will die. To put it into perspective, if you look at a group of one hundred victims, eighty-four die in the first year. In the next twenty-four months, another five die. In the twenty-four months after that, four people die. Out of one hundred people, the five year survivorship is seven people.”
Cleo knew this, had known this for years, but it was always sobering to hear and judging by the reactions in the room, this was the most frank description even to the ones who knew about it. Owen looked grim, lips drawn in a fierce scowl, eyes pensive and Scott looked....well uncomfortable was probably a good way to describe it. He was looking away from the board, ears drooping, and he was slumped in his restraints. Smart of Abolish honestly because looking at him he almost certainly would have fled had he been able.
Pearl stomped over to him and grabbed his chin, and while he didn't fight her and allowed her to move his head so he was forced to glance up, he refused to meet her eyes. He looked rather like a scolded dog at that moment, and Cleo wondered what part of that was genuine contrition and what part was distaste for being called out.
“We do not make fun of these survivors, Scott. These are people who are living through something that has a ninety-two percent total fatality rate, something that changes their very lives. I told him if you give him shit again he should kick you in the dick, but I'm gonna be honest, if we find ourselves back here again before that barrier comes down, Abolish is going to be short one vampire.” There was a genuine menace in Pearl's voice and Scott stared at her, a bit of fear creeping into cat-like eyes.
Pearl released his chin and stepped back, moving back to the board. “Generally, if a survivor makes it to five years, they're considered “safe”, in a medically relative sense. The chemicals in their brains begin to head towards normal levels and they generally start to recover. They never reach completely normal levels on their own, but they generally need less medicine to support them. We also start to see lessening of mental health symptoms. People are never quite the same but they can resume almost entirely normal lives. There's not a ton of scientific research on the post five year life of Sunder victims, but there is anecdotal evidence of some even recovering enough to form new Flock bonds and share Heartsongs.”
Both vampires perked up, curiosity in their expressions. Pearl smirked at Scott to see him wanting more information, but before she could answer them the door opened, admitting Legundo, armed with his sketchbook and a thermos.
*
Legundo smiled, feeling a little bashful, but he needn't have worried. Shelby bounced over, gently fussing over his injured wings before bringing him over to where most of the others were sitting. He allowed himself to be pushed into one of the beanbags, pouring himself a cup from his thermos while Avid reached from behind to hand him a cookie.
Pearl waved at him and he chuckled to wave back, taking in the view at the front of the room. Cleo was at the whiteboard and wiping away some familiar statistics and was replacing them with the words “Heartsongs” while Pearl spoke to Owen, who was getting another cup of blood. Scott was cuffed to a chair next to Owen's, trying to turn his head to get a glance at where Legundo was sitting, but he was relieved that the cuffs appeared to prevent him from doing so. He wasn't in the mood, or ready, to deal with Scott today. His wings still ached and there was still static in the back of his head.
“Heartsongs are very simple, but very important. At some point in their life, an Avian feels drawn to a song or a melody, like a bastard ear worm that never goes away. The song can change but it's pretty rare. Basically if an Avian likes another Avian a whole lot, they sing their song or hum their melody and the Avian or Avians of interest return it, if they match, a Heartbond is formed. Heartbonds are permanent bonds between two, three or very rarely four Avians. One of those science or magic things people argue about, but both sides agree that the bond is very real. The difference between a Heartsong and just singing is, if the Heartsongs match, an Avian will feel compelled to respond. Avians only share their Heartsongs with people they're already seeing or are almost certain will return it, because it's basically a proposal or a permanent commitment.”
“Oh, it's for love matching. Wasn't really a thing in the courts, it was considered uncouth, especially since most marriages were done for political reasons.” Legundo felt a shiver at the disinterest in Scott’s voice. Except for at his very worst, even Legundo had held on to his Heartsong. Even with the rest of his voice still trapped, he could still hum his Heartsong to himself sometimes in the quiet of his home or office.
(“Jamie! Jamie you're never going to believe this!” Piepie slams into him like a missile, sending them both sprawling onto the sand in a tangle of limbs and black and blue feathers, his shriek cut off by a mouthful of thin desert dust.
He groans and turns over, wrapping his arms around his excited Flockmate, chattering at her for startling him. She's too excited with whatever news she has to do more than laugh at him, sitting up on his stomach and pinning his shoulders down, black and white speckled wings mantled and ruffling with glee. He's glad that he's only in his BDUs at the moment and not his MOP suit or his Kevlar, because it's uncomfortable enough already with his wings pinned underneath him.
“Let me up you fiend! What's gotten into you?”
“Melinek and Fitch exchanged Heartsongs last night! I won the bet! I won and you lost, loser!” It takes a minute to process what she's saying to him and when he does he groans loudly in disappointment, head dropping down onto the dune.
“You've gotta be kidding me. Dancing around each other for four years, all the way through Afghanistan and Iraq, and the SECOND they touch sand in Kuwait they're doing it? They couldn't wait til we were stateside?” His laments are quickly lost in her joyous laughter and he can't really be mad. She's won the battalion bet, which is a couple thousand dollars and several favors, but she's also won the Flock bet, which means she's choosing every movie and every Friday restaurant for the next six months of leave.
Eventually her mirth settles and she leans down against him, trapping him on the sand. He runs his fingers through her feathers, just reveling in the closeness he can share with her. Their second tour has just finished and he's thirty pounds lighter and with a sleep debt that would make a doctor weep, and he just wants to be close to someone for a moment.
“That's gonna be us some day.” He hums quietly, turning to press his lips to her temple. They've shared Heartsongs amongst themselves, shortly after making being Flock official, and while none of them match, they're happy with what they have. More than. Sometimes he still feels delirious with how happy these three make him. But he also understands her wish, so he pulls her closer and hums a little tune- not a Heartsong, but still a beloved tune for all four of them, love curling through his chest when she hums back, perfect.)
“You good Doc?” he shook himself out of the memory, turning to give Shelby a brittle smile. It's a good memory, bittersweet five years on, so he's not too upset. It just makes him miss them, but most things still do.
Shelby doesn't seem to entirely buy it but she doesn't push either, instead leaning against his arm and handing him a fistful of pumpkin seeds. Owen has made his way over to join them and Abolish, Cleo and Pearl were talking with Scott, the vampire looking petulant but nodding along until eventually his restraints were undone. He rose to his feet and headed for the door, skirting the group on the beanbags like a nervous cat.
The huddle formed earlier than usual that day, people not really wanting to brave the wind outside, and Legundo spent the time working on a few sketches in his book. Thanksgiving was next week, and it would mark seven weeks behind the barrier, but shortly after that would be Christmas and he had an idea for what to give people, but he had to be careful about where he worked on them. He wouldn't want to ruin the surprise.
He only left the huddle long enough to retrieve his afternoon medication before returning, and they settled down to watch several episodes of Bones on Shelby's laptop. He liked it better than NCIS and Shelby said he'd probably like Blue Bloods as well, which Avid had on his laptop. That one would probably have to wait- he was getting better about being around Avid, but it was slow going.
Eventually though the huddle broke up for the day, and Legundo ended up leading Cleo and Pearl back to his place. Pearl cooked while Cleo tended his wings again and then the three of them settled down to spend the night idly.
When he lay down several hours later, sleep was fast in coming and welcomed him warmly, instead of with the cold terror he'd known for so long. As he closed his eyes, blue jay's wings and ginger hair flashed through his mind.
~~~
The day of Thanksgiving dawned cool and clear, bathing the village ruins in soft sunlight. For once, Leundo was not the only one up with the sun. Rather, the camp was a hive of activity as everyone pitched in to prepare for their improvised celebration. Scott and Owen had gone out the night before and gotten a plump doe, which even now hung from a large tree near the edge of town, while everyone else had been assigned various tasks and duties.
He’d been assigned to “use his MRE wizardry” to try and make a dessert for after dinner, and so after spending the morning having his wings tended and getting dressed, he made his way down to the storage room beneath the ranger station. The shelves were still full, the campers only having to recently begin digging into the stock there, and he was almost spoiled for choice. There were a few options on his mind, but it seemed that there was always one vital piece missing to make whatever he was thinking about.
He bit his lip, lost in thought as he browsed: There was a surprising amount available. Abolish’s benefactor, whoever that was, had planned well. They could have been trapped for a year or more and likely been fine from what he could see- longer if they worked on some kind of rationing or switched to hunting their food earlier.
The question still bothered him from time to time- how had they known what was happening, and what to prepare for? Abolish had mentioned briefly that his benefactor had been researching this issue for quite some time, but that would imply that they had been aware of the cycle for at least two or three occasions, but if they only came around every fifty years, that meant they’d been aware of the issue for at least one hundred and fifty years, if not longer. Did that make his “benefactor” an entity of some kind, some branch of the military or agency or some other cohort of individuals who fought the supernatural? Surely it wasn’t just one person, not even a vampire.
“You think any harder, doctor, and I might be able to hear you from outside.”
He jolted, cane clattering to the ground with a rattle, and he whipped around as best as he was able, glowering at the younger man while he clutched his chest.
“I’m going to put a bell on you.” He hissed, getting a laugh from his surprise visitor as they stepped forward to grab the doctor’s cane from the ground, rising up to press it into his hand.
“Apologies, doctor. They sent me down to make sure you hadn’t fallen or gotten lost.”
“I might not have the best sense of direction, Abolish, but not even I could get lost in a single room with only one door.” He sniffed, turning up his nose and watching as the “Ranger” gave him a soft grin. Abolish was not a man of many words, usually, but Legundo found that he quite enjoyed the other man’s wit and humor when he did decide to share it with the others. Except when it was turned on him, of course. He’d forwent his uniform for the day, instead going to dark cargos and boots with a thick jacket and scarf and the doctor didn’t think he could blame him. While the weather was on the nicer end today, it was still becoming bitingly cold, especially in the afternoon when the sun began to set.
Abolish simply cocked an eyebrow and leaned against the wall, watching as the older man turned back to perusing the stacks of food. Eventually he settled on an apple cobbler, and plucked up from the shelves a big bag of dried stewing apples, some sugar, shortening, oats and spices. There wasn’t a huge array of those, but there was cinnamon and that would have to do. He shoved them all in the empty backpack he’d brought down with him so he wouldn’t have to manage the stairs with his arms full and no cane.
“I did come down for another reason.” Legundo made a quiet, interested noise and turned around to give Abolish his attention. “So, the barrier is sentient.” He sucked in a breath, eye widening as looked at Abolish.
“You can’t just say that Abolish, what the hell! Haven’t we had enough earth shattering revelations already?” He choked out after catching his breath, mind racing with dizzying thoughts.
“Well, I guess I should say that it learns, that might be a better way of putting it.”
“Oh yes because ‘it learns’ is certainly a far more comforting thing to hear about the magic barrier meant to pen us in like cattle for vampires.” Oh he hadn’t been aware that his voice could still go that high and judging by Abolish’s expression that was an alarming fact that he was learning as well.
“I mean, most magic tends to...evolve over time-”
“Abolish please. I know this might seem normal to you but to most of us you’ve taken our world views and didn’t just break them, you shattered them and then stomped on the pieces. Before this magic was something I’d only discussed in a single academic class, and that was mostly in exercise in trying to explain things scientifically rather than exploring magic as an actual viable option.”
Abolish seemed to take a moment to look at the other man, wincing as he seemed to come to the realization that he was indeed a bit too blasé for the average person, and set about explaining himself.
“I managed to get a signal out using an old radio technique. After that, I wasn’t able to do it again. So I used another method, and it barely got out. When I tried again, I wasn’t able to, so I got suspicious. That was two weeks ago. I managed to get a request out to my benefactor, and they sent a small care package; the medicine that everyone needed. However, when they went to send another package in, coats for everyone, well- there was a lot of fire and some lightning. From what we can tell, the barrier wasn’t designed to let things in or out but it's old, so it couldn’t catch everything. Until it learned it. That’s why the cellphones stopped working, why the radio battery stopped working. We used those right as the barrier went up, and it learned them.” He waved the doctor up as the older man chewed over the information, struggling to come to terms with what he’d been told.
A magic barrier that learned. The implications of that were horrifying, if only for the sheer fact that meant no one would ever be safe so long as the barrier existed, because whatever technology they came up with in the future would be adapted to. In that moment, he was glad that he was here, because better that he be wrapped up in this than someone else. If only the others were able to leave as easily.
In the ranger station properly, Abolish led him to the small table in the kitchen where a large box sat, handing him a box cutter and waving him at the thing. He cut it open and moved aside the packaging, smiling brightly as the contents were revealed; bottles of medications. It was all there, everything the people who needed them were missing- Sausage’s anti-eptileptics, Avid’s heart medication, and all the rest were his own, including a few extra tubes of the pain-relieving drops for his eye socket. Everything from the list Abolish had asked of them at the very beginning, just over two months ago.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The other two had run out of medication almost three weeks ago, and it was only a damned miracle that there had been no issues. He hooked his cane over his arm and scooped up the box, thanked Abolish and hobbled his way out of the ranger station. He found Sausage first, and handed over the bottles with the younger man’s name on them, smiling gently at him when his wings rippled with the release of anxious tension. He was even able to find Avid in short order, and managed to look at him without more than a sharp pang, more focused on getting man his medicines. Avid was more vocal about his relief, immediately running away to take what he needed.
The remainder of the medication in the box he took to his own place, and then set about making the apple cobbler. He hadn’t always been a good cook, but Alice had insisted it was a skill he needed after he was released from the hospital and so Lizzie had taught him. He’d never be on Iron Chef, but he knew enough to keep himself fed and even a few extras to break out for occasions such as this. And it wasn’t like cobbler was hard, coming together under his hands in the cast iron in just under a half hour. He set it in the coals to bake and then went out to see if he could help anywhere else.
Ren and Apo were working over a large fire where the doe rested on a spit, turning constantly while it was basted with some amber liquid from a bowl. The meal itself was taking place inside the ranger station, and the large room where the huddle usually took place had the large improvised log table set up inside it. Abolish and Drift were working on setting it, using plates and utensils everyone had dropped off that morning, and Shelby was babysitting some cranberries over the woodstove in the small kitchen.
There was nothing that needed doing inside, so instead he wandered, checking in on the other campers and striking up conversations where he could. Sausage was working on sprucing up canned carrots in his place, and Martyn and Avid were working on potatoes. From the bakery, Scott was kneading dough under the watchful eye of Pearl and Cleo, and while he wanted very much to join them, he was not much in the state of mind to go anywhere near Scott, especially when he was one, still in a good mood and two, literally still walking around with the injuries from his last run in with the elder vampire, technically self-inflicted or not.
Instead he settled for returning to his cabin and checking on the cobbler, pleased to see it golden and bubbling. He managed to flag down Owen and have him grab the cobbler- after nearly having a heart attack when he tried to grab the cast iron with his bare hands- and bring it to the ranger station where it was set on the back of the woodstove to keep warm. He brought along his cup and his chair, setting into his spot at the head of the table(he had no idea why they’d put him there, but he wasn’t about to argue with Drift when she had that look in her eye), watching as the others slowly filed in. There were carrots boiled with honey and garlic powder, fresh rolls, potatoes and a huge pan filled with steaming roasted venison, alongside a small dish of Shelby’s cranberries.
Legundo ate until he was full, and then some. Cleo, who sat on his right, insisted on keeping his plate full until he had to put his foot down when they tried to lay out another slice of meat for him. He laughed at her put out expression, and only flinched a little when her wing brushed against his, but that seemed to make her happy if the smile playing at the corner of her lips and the rippling of her wings was anything to go by.
Coffee and tea eventually made the rounds, followed closely by his apple crumble, and he couldn’t help but glow under the warm praise the dessert garnered from the others, the cast iron scraped clean in very short order. Happy conversation filled the air, and he let himself be pulled in, ending up in a rousing debate with Ren and Apo about the best kind of candles, of all things.
“Ooh, ooh! I have an idea!” They turned towards Avid as he cut through the talking, eye glittering with excitement. Abolish made a motion for the younger man to continue while the others turned interested gazes on him. “My family used to go around the table and mention what they were grateful for from the year, and I think we should too!” There were a few murmurs before the others agreed and then made Avid go first, since it was his idea to begin with. The answers washed over him, some quick and easy and others taking a few moments to hem and haw before answering. Ren was thankful for the opportunity to spend time with his nephew, Avid was thankful for surviving his first round of finals after his heart diagnosis, Sausage was thankful for his publisher who “continued to put up with him” - on and on, all around the table. Even Scott(Encouraged loudly and persistently by a puppy-eyed Avid) participated, claiming to be grateful that he wouldn’t be forced to go back to sleep again after losing so many centuries to his forced slumber, though Owen demurred and was not forced to answer.
Finally it was his turn, and he sat there with his coffee mug in his hands, the enamel warm under his hands and thought deeply. He could, easily, beg off answering like Owen had, but part of him wanted to participate. The easy answer would have been “Alice and Lizzie and their kids” or “that my practice continues to do well”, but both those answers seemed hollow, like they barely even scratched the surface of his thoughts.
No one pressured him as he mulled over the answer in his mind, free hand fiddling with his canary-yellow medical bracelet before he paused, fingers tracing delicately over a few of the charms attached to it. Three little steel plates, each carved with a roman numeral: one, three five. His thumb traced idly over the last, thinking of all the times he’d thought he’d never earn it. He thought of blank hospital walls and pitying nurses’ faces. Thought of bloody arms and spilt pill bottles and soft eggshell blue walls, scratchy scrubs and hospital bracelets, a kind faced orderly checking on him every fifteen minutes. He thought of the first time he held Alice’s son in his arms, watching as she and Lizzie cried not just for the birth of their child but the survival of that child’s godfather. He thought of a weathered face and a kind, accented voice in a wood paneled office, soft leather on his back and a heavy blanket in his lap. He remembered the parties they’d held for every one of his recovery milestones, attended by his employees and his platoon-mates and, yes, even his therapist and his care team. He thought about his plants and the bakery that knew his stupid order by heart and people who cared enough to kick him out of his own business long enough to take a vacation for his mental health. He thought of gentle forms curled into his side on the hard floor, movies on laptops, crackers pressed idly into his hands. He thought of three feathers, carefully strung from a chain about his neck, and he thought about ginger hair and owl’s wings, soft eyes and patterned blue jay feathers.
He thought of those things, and suddenly his answer seemed so simple, for all the weight it carried, and if anyone saw the shimmer of tears in his good eye when he looked at the table with a small smile, no one drew attention to it.
“I’m thankful to be here.”
~~~
Thanksgiving passed and December brought with it the screaming wind and the biting cold. The first snowstorm of the winter hit Oakhurst like a monster come to life, scratching at the walls and rattling the windows and doors. Snow was thin on the ground, but when it blew it scoured against skin like sandpaper, and left people unwilling to venture out except for the daily huddle.
The first storm lasted two days and while it only left an inch or two of white on the ground, it froze the ground and sent most of the prey scattering, much to the annoyance of the vampires. While it still resided in the forest, it was apparently “quite dreadful to catch, and such a bore too” if Scott’s complaining was to be believed.
Legundo spent most of his time in his cabin, not even going to huddle some days. The cold bothered his old injuries fiercely and put him in an awful mood that he didn’t want to inflict on anyone else. He still took visitors, but most of them seemed to realize that he was struggling with the weather, and tended not to bother him for too long in any one stretch. He had the medication to relieve most if not all of his symptoms, but he’d always hated taking the “as needed” painkillers he’d prescribed- they made him feel wobbly and foggy when he was awake, and had him sleeping more often than not. He would save them for when the cold deepened or when storms would come through, when his pain would be at its worst.
He was not idle in his cabin at least. There were frostnip injuries to fingers and noses and wingtips to handle, sprains and strains from the exploration of the area that was still going on, cuts from the chopping of the needed firewood and all the little seasonal illnesses that needed managed in those first two weeks after the freeze. Abolish and Pyro both went down with winter moulting and needed to come in daily for assistance with their wings as well, and those alone took an hour or two each, depending on how many patches of wing skin needed treating with warm compresses. Yes, he was certainly earning his keep if nothing else, he hardly went a day without at least two or three people needing his skills.
On top of that he was busy working on his christmas gifts- carefully handcrafted sketches of people in the village. Some were portraits and others were of candid moments he’d stumbled on, all of them carefully done in his best charcoal and pastels. He was finished with most of them, all of them sitting tucked safely away in a manilla envelope on the table where he kept his personal belongings, and there were only three left that needed various finishing touches to be ready. His current piece, Abolish in repose as he read a book on the roots of a tree, was simply missing a few colors, and then he only needed to finish Scott’s and Owen’s.
The drawing was soothing to him, and a great way to pass the time and take his mind off his pain. It had been a skill recommended to him during his second behavioral hospitalization, and one he’d picked up with reservations before setting to it with enthusiasm after a few months.
He hummed a little to himself, a tuneless little note, as he pushed his current work back and hobbled to his feet, shuffling over and setting two more logs on the fire. Owen, dear man that he was at the end of things, had been bringing him even more firewood, and his cabin was pleasantly warm despite the deep chill beyond, which helped.
He puttered around the cabin, pulling a few cans of food down to set up for dinner, and he pulled his coffee pot from the coals on the edge of the fireplace to pour himself another cup, standing a moment to enjoy the heat against the palm of his hands. He was just about to set back to his work when there was a knock on the door and he cocked his head before looking up through the window- there was no one that he could see, so they were packed into the door.
“Come on in!” He shouted, taking another sip as his door swung open and blew Avid and Scott in, both covered in a light dusting of snow. Avid was pink-cheeked and grinning, holding a huge bundle in his arms, and Scott trailed behind him, looking both entirely uninterested and yet bashful at the same time. It was an intriguing look on the noble’s face, and Legundo turned to them both with a cautious but open expression. “Gentlemen.”
Avid practically bounced in place, looking between the doctor and the vampire, before he lifted up a foot(nearly toppling over in the process) and nudged Scott forward. Scott rolled his eyes but his expression was all fondness, pulling something off the top of the large bundle that the human held and stepping forward. He left a good amount of space between them, respecting the doctor’s hesitance to be near him, and instead draped the thing over the back of Legundo’s camp chair.
Legundo’s brows shot up to his hairline, mouth dropping open in surprise as he took in what Scott had laid before him - a beautiful black wool cloak, lined with impossibly soft white fur and sporting a hood trimmed in what was almost certainly silver fox fur. It was a little creased and dusty, but its make and quality were undeniable even at a glance.
He set his coffee down carefully, and pointedly away from the cloak, stepping forward before stopping himself to look up at Scott, headed tilted. The vampire gave him a nod and he reached out, running a hand over the materials and marveling at their feel under his palms. Scott cleared his throat to pull the doctor’s attention back on to him and Legundo turned his head up, watching the elder vampire with a curious air, the caution gone from his face.
“Avid told me that most of you didn’t have clothing warm enough for the winter, since none of you planned to be here so long. The castle, my home, is in..disrepair-” disdain dripped heavy from his voice, a flicker of annoyance fluttering over his face before it fell back into that placid mask. “-but the inner sanctum where I kept many of my things has been untouched through the years.” He paused, seeming unsure of himself before Avid gently nudged him. “You and I are of a close enough size that I believe this should suit you well enough. Please consider it a gift, one you are free to keep after the weather clears.”
Legundo’s face smoothed in surprise and he ran his hand over the cloak again, marvelling in the soft wool and fur once more before he looked Avid, seeing the younger man grinning at them both, though he was poking Scott in the side with increasing pressure and speed.
“Yes, yes fine Avid just stop poking me will you!?” Scott huffed and Avid laughed, dancing back out of range at the, clearly, playful swat that aimed at him before returning to look at the older human. His face was twisted gently, that same soft mein of contrition and bashfulness lining his cheeks again as he spoke. “I also owe you an apology, doctor. It was exceptionally unkind of me to go after you as I did, and exceedingly inappropriate to touch your wings without permission. I have been...reminded that being an ancient vampire does not preclude me from expected social norms. I do hope you’ll accept my most sincere apology.”
And he dipped into a low bow, holding it for a moment before rising gracefully to his feet again. Avid was beaming and looking between them, satisfaction curling around the edges of his grin, and Legundo didn’t have the heart to disappoint the younger man for all the work he’d clearly been putting into the vampire between them.
Instead, he met Scott’s gaze head on and felt his face smooth into a gentle smile, softening his edges as he held his hand out, settling a little when the other reached out and locked fingers with his, their handshake firm. “I accept Scott.” He grinned at them both, feeling the expression spread across his face and laughing gently at the widened eyes and the flustered ear twitch it got. Alice had always told him he had a “smile to knock your socks off- or your pants” and he wasn’t above using it to smooth over the last of the tension between him and the elder vampire, especially when Avid shot forward to wrap him in a quick hug before stumbling back with a squeaked apology.
They exchanged a few more words before Scott gathered up the bundle, presumably more cloaks and jackets for the other campers, in one hand and grabbed Avid’s hand with his free one, a look of fond exasperation on his face as Avid swung their hands between them as they left. Legundo’s brows shot into his hairline as he watched, an incredulous smile painting across his face. The twenty-two year old cryptid hunter and the thousand year old vampire? Sounded like something straight from one of Lizzie’s romance novels, but if it made them both happy then it was no business of his.
He set about carefully picking up the cloak, shocked at the sheer weight of it, and carefully wormed his way into it. There were two fur-lined slits in the back for his wings, which took a fair amount of maneuvering to get them into, but the cloak settled heavy and warm over his shoulders. Scott had been right- they were just close enough in size, though Legundo was a little taller, that the cloak fit him perfectly, the fur brushing over his arms. It was delightfully warm, even just from the few moments spent on the chair in front of the hearth, and would surely see him through this winter and any others.
His mood buoyed and wrapped in his new garment, he swapped his day cane for the hiking cane- the textured tip would be safer and easier to use on the frozen ground- and made his way out of the cabin to the ranger station. Maybe he would join the huddle early today, and convince Shelby to bring her laptop along for another few episodes of TV.
He shut the door, head cocking as he heard what he swore was the rustle of feather on feather, but when he looked up, there was no one else around him. He shrugged his shoulders and pushed it from his mind- it was surely simply the brush of his cloak on the ground. After all, his wings hadn’t worked in five years, surely they wouldn’t start now.
~~~
“What the fuck, Pearl!” Cleo laughed, tossing their head back as they watched the show going on across the room from them. Legundo was backed into the corner, practically hiding behind one of his tables, a look of fascinated horror on his face as he stared at Pearl.
Pearl, who was grinning bright and fierce, her great wings fluttering and jerking with her barely contained laughter, who was kneeling on the ground next to a panting, smiling dog. Or, well, what at first glance looked like a dog but, upon closer inspection was very much not. Its fur was too shaggy and coarse, its paws too big, its nose too pointed
Pearl was gasping in mock outrage, hands coming up to press over pointed ears. “Oi! Such language in front of the baby, doc!” She laughed at his sputtered words and Cleo was sure they were perhaps only a few minutes from watching the doctor have a full on stroke in his cabin. As funny as it was, she didn’t need him making himself sick with worry, and she pulled herself up from the wall and strode over to him, confidently petting the wolf as she passed.
“C’mere you great big scaredy cat. Tilly won’t hurt you any, but if you keep shaking in a corner, she’s going to think you want to play hide and seek.” They grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the hiding spot, letting him take shelter behind their half-mantled wings.
“Tilly?!” He screeched and Cleo choked on another laugh- they weren’t aware the doctor’s voice could go so high.
“Yea! You don’t think we should just call her like, “wolf” or something do you? That’s not very nice doctor!” Pearl playfully admonished, rising to her feet and standing relaxed. Honestly, Cleo couldn’t really blame the doctor for his reaction, and it was still one of the tamer ones they’d had so far since bringing Tilly into the village properly. Avid had screamed so loud Scott had woken from a dead trance and was halfway to clawing them to ribbons before he realized what was happening. Abolish had just sighed about the paperwork that would come along with one of his charges taming a wild wolf and probably wanting to take it with them. The others had ranged from nervous to delighted.
“You’re fine, Jameson. Tilly’s been coming to us almost the whole time we’ve been here. You actually helped us with her, you know? All the peanut butter and bandages came in handy.” He spluttered at her, half indignant and half surprised, and she rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, gently pulling him around to her side. She kept a close eye as she held his hand forward, looking for any signs of actual distress instead of just nervousness, rubbing her thumb along the inside of his wrist as he trembled even as she held him there.
Once again, she was painfully humbled by the trust he seemed to have in her. Trusting her to touch him without announcing it, trusting her to put his hand near a wolf’s mouth, trusting her to tuck against her side and under her wing where she boxed him in, kept him from fleeing. She’d worked so hard to get to this point with him- both she and Pearl had- and every time she saw the fruits of those labors, she felt like she was sucker punched in the heart.
Tilly ambled forward and nuzzled his hand, licking along his palm and fingers, and Cleo could feel the fear melt away and the wonder that took its place. They let go of him, letting him press forward on his own, tentatively running his hands over shaggy grey fur. The first little chuckle as she mouthed harmlessly over his fingers when he itched in just the right spot caused what little tension there was in the room. They went to stand next to Pearl, wrapping their arm around her shoulders and pulling her close as they watched Tilly and the doctor get to know each other, cautious at first but with growing enthusiasm.
“Worth it?” Cleo snorted as Pearl muttered the words into her hair, their wings reaching up and back to lock with their Mate’s, turning to press a kiss to soft cheek.
“Worth it.”
*
They were still in the doctor’s cabin when there was a loud, harsh knock an hour or so later. Legundo looked up from where he was laying on his spread out blankets with Tilly and Pearl, eye blurry with sleep - Cleo would have to get him up soon so he didn’t make himself too sore- and Cleo placed down the lunch they’d been working on, heading to the door.
They pulled it open, chattering a little in discontent as a stiff breeze sliced through the warmth of the cabin, coming face to face with a dour looking Owen.
“Anything we can help you with, Owen?” They asked, standing obstinately in the door and protecting the other occupants from his gaze. He blinked at her, something questioning flashing through his eyes before he shook himself, seemingly remembering why he was here in the first place. “Abolish called a meeting. Martyn, Ren and Apo found something, and he wants everyone to come see.” She moved when he did, obviously trying to get a look over their shoulder into the cabin, and they closed to the door mostly, leaving just enough space so they could lean their head out and respond.
“Alright, tell them we’ll be up shortly.” They shut the door in his face and turned around to look at the pile in the center of the room. She’d known the doctor hadn’t been sleeping well since the coldest weather had rolled in- his lantern was almost never off now and they could see him moving about at all hours of the day and night- but he was apparently so tired he was content to fall asleep on the floor next to the wolf he’d met less than two hours ago after almost no effort on Pearl or Cleo’s part.
They hated to wake him up, but Abolish wouldn’t call a meeting that wasn’t important since they almost all saw each other every afternoon anyway, which meant they probably really needed to go.
They knelt down beside the pile, gently shaking his shoulder and getting in return a soft whine, the doctor burying his face further into Tilly’s shaggy pelt. She melted, wanted to let him stay where he was, but they really did need him up.
“Jameson, up you get. Abolish sent Owen to get us for a meeting, which almost certainly means something happened.” She shook him again, and this time his response was a loud, frustrated groan. They felt their heart go out to him a little- this was probably the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks, what little of it they’d been able to give him, and an idea popped into their head.
“I’ll make you a deal. You get up and go to this meeting, and when it's done, Pearl and I will drag a bunch of extra blankets and pillows down and we’ll take an afternoon in. Tilly is welcome, of course. And, if you take something for your pain, I’ll convince Abolish to part with the bag of dried cranberries we found and make you some muffins. Sound like a deal?” His emerald eye focused on her rapidly, muttering fading at the mere mention of cranberry muffins, and she stifled a laugh. Pearl wasn’t so lucky and she barked a loud laugh that had Tilly up and barking as well, both of them helping the sleepy man to his feet.
Cleo pulled on her cloak, a lovely green number lined with silvery fur, and then helped Legundo into his while Pearl pulled on the frock coat she’d been given and tucked the pot of stew into the coals to keep warm while they were gone. Scott really truly did have some excellent taste in clothing, everything he’d given everyone had been a perfect match for them. The doctor grabbed his cane and the three of them, plus the wolf, made their way into the chilly mid-morning air and towards the ranger cabin. They weren’t the only ones on the path and they were soon joined for the slow journey across the old village by Scott and Avid, both wearing black velvet cloaks, Scott’s lined with purple silk and Avid’s lined with red fox fur.
Inside was already packed, and they gently bullied their way to the couch, plopping the doctor down between them as Tilly stretched out at their feet. Legundo was more awake now, looking around them with a trained and weather eye. A few people came over to have minor injuries looked over or just to chat, but eventually everyone was there and Abolish called them to order.
“This meeting was called for two reasons, so I’ll try and make this go as fast as possible. While out hunting this morning, Owen and Scott found signs of wolves. Very large ones, and judging by the damage that was done to the area the traces were in, very violent ones. I can’t confine you to the village, you’re not prisoners, but I am going to insist that if you go out for whatever reason that you go in groups and that you take at least two rifles with you. Additionally, if possible, take either someone who can fly or a vampire, so they can help keep an eye out. Just until we’re sure the wolves leave the area.” He paused for a moment, seeming to chew over something before he spoke again.
“We’re not entirely sure these wolves are mundane in origin. We cannot rule out that the barrier or the magics of the ritual are in some way involved with these wolves. I recommend caution in the extreme. Our resident doctor is good, but even he can only do so much.”
The room set to nervous and unhappy mutterings, a few shouting out questions about general safety matters and worries for the village itself in the coming days, which Abolish did his best to assuage. Cleo was of the mind that they weren’t going to let the presence of the wolves stop them from the project they and Pearl were up to, and that they’d simply have to abide by the new safety rules for traveling outside the village. While Cleo themself wasn’t a very good shot, Pearl was a deadeye when it came to guns. Between her Mate and Tilly, plus whoever would join them, Cleo was sure they would be fine.
Legundo however was more of a concern. He was capable, and often went out of the village with one group or another a couple times a week, but with the weather bothering him so much, they couldn’t help but worry about him. What if they needed to run from something? They knew he had a gun with him, but would he be able to use it? Part of them felt bad for questioning the other man’s ability, but deep down they knew it stemmed solely from wanting to make sure he was safe and not an actual concern about him as a person. They would have to find a good and gentle way to bring it up in the coming days.
For now they waited for the room to settle down again, this time letting Martyn, Ren and Apo take the open patch of floor at the front of the room. Martyn and Ren both looked enthusiastic, and Martyn was holding in his hands a book bound in reddish leather while behind him Apo hovered, looking pensive, her wings puffed up with her unease. Martyn wasted no time in starting, drawing all the other eyes in the room no to him.
“So! We went exploring this morning and we found a crypt tucked into the side of a mountain. We went down it after making sure it wasn’t going to fall on our heads, and we found a chest inside. There were two books, but when I picked one up it vanished!” His retelling had everyone on the edge of their seats and Cleo watched as around her others waited with baited breath to see what happened next.
“It felt like a rock dropped on my head, and suddenly I felt, like,really powerful! There was this book too, but it just has a weird incantation in it. We haven’t tried it, but we figured we should bring it back here and let everyone know. We’ve put off going to the crypts for one reason or another the last two months, and I wonder if there are other books there!” Now the excitement and interest had tapered off into disbelief and at their side they could feel more than hear the doctor’s rumbling complaints and refutations, echoed by others around them.
Scott rose from his seat and came to the front, holding one elegant hand out expectantly. “Allow me.” It was clearly less of a request and more of a demand, and Martyn’s expression soured briefly before he nodded and handed the book over. Scott held it with one hand and flipped the pages with the claws on the other hand, bending down with an eyeroll when Martyn stood on his tip-toes to get a better look. They were muttering together, Ren and Apo all leaning in.
It happened in a flash- literally. Martyn said something, just loud enough for Cleo to hear the latin words “ignis” and “cohibere” and then the room exploded in a corona of white and silver light, twin piercing howls of agony rising above the cacophony of shock and horror and pain, the briefest crackle of flame, and the sickly bitter scent of burnt flesh.
It took several minutes for their vision to clear, and they were one of the first, seemingly only by virtue of being so far back from the actual point of ignition, Pearl and the doctor following close behind. The room was a disaster, people spread in their seats and on the floor and rubbing their eyes while they cried with pain or grimaced silently through the starbursts in their eyes, trying to get their vision back as fast as possible. At the front of the room Martyn lay sprawled out, clearly unconscious with a bleeding wound in his hair, Ren in no better condition slumped against the wall next to him. Apo was wandering, clearly blinded, blood leaking from her eyes but the worst was Scott and Owen.
Both vampires were sprawled on the ground, graceless and broken things, and Cleo could see smoke rising from their flesh, clothing burnt away to reveal deep blood red and black burns in usually marble-colored flesh. Owen’s eyes were closed, his expression one of pain, but Scott’s eyes were open, blood streaming from them, terror and agony swimming in ice blue depths even as he lay there, unmoving. He’d been right next to Martyn, holding the book when whatever happened had occurred, it was clear in that moment he was paying the price.
She was drawn from her thoughts as Legundo burst into action, leaping from his place between them with a purpose and fluidity only borne from adrenaline and urgency and training, shucking both cloak and cane as he went.
*
Legundo looked at the chaos around him, letting it wash off his back, a stillness- a deadly calm- he hadn’t felt in several years settling in his bones, soothing the dull roar in his brain to a nothingness.
People were hurt. He was needed. He couldn’t afford to be anything less than perfectly helpful at that moment. His training came to him easily, ready as an eager hunting dog, and he lost himself to it, let it direct him while the room seemed to fall apart all around him.
First, triage. Five major injuries, possibly more minor. Three, maybe four, unconscious. Two head wounds, two sets of burns- deep, full thickness. One disoriented and in pain, likely a facial or head wound.
First he sat Apo down in a chair, ordered her to stay in a voice he hadn’t even been sure he still possessed anymore, kept her out of the way and hopefully from aggravating whatever wounds she had more. Then, to Martyn. Vitals stable, eyes already fluttering open even as he complained of burning eyes and a headache. Orient to time and place, pull Ren in as he woke up as well. Stable, for the moment. Order them to stay, to not move, to not make it worse.
The room coming alive around him, hands jostling his next patient dangerously, causing little tears in already devastating wounds that aren’t closing like they should why are the vampires not-
Bite his lip, hard, taste copper on his tongue, focus. No panic allowed. No sound of shells or M-16s or air overhead. Just scared people. People he needs to help. Not a traditional warzone, but a battlefield nonetheless.
“Don’t move them!” He snaps, command thick in his voice and they scrabble back, even as several pairs of eyes turn to him, fearful. Stamp down the bile in his throat, nudge them aside- gently, assess the patient.
Unmoving, eyes bright with fear and pain and the only part of him moving- the only signs of life and consciousness, blue hair burnt away on one side, marble skin carved deep with burns that he’s seen time and time again, even if these are caused by something he’s never seen before and something he never thought he’d see. Hands burnt, bone exposed where he’d been gripping the book. It's bad, made worse by the fact that his healing factor doesn’t seem to be helping. He’s seen the vampires heal from pretty much any issue they’ve had so far, even wounds that would have killed a normal human. It's not a heartening thought.
He shuffles over to Owen, checks him over. Same injuries, those awful deep burns, but at least his eyes are closed, even if his face is a rictus of deep pain. He doesn’t respond to calls, to touch, and when he goes to bring his arm up to check the wounds closer he can’t, the limb locked tight in place. Trying the same with Scott’s leg gets him the same result.
Apparently, whatever had been in that book was not only capable of burning the vampires, but also paralyzing them.
He sat back on his heels, the usual inferno of pain in his leg a far-flung thought, and he breathed, letting the urgency slip away, letting the fear and the panic melt.
The room snapped back into focus, the battlefield calm sliding away, and the bullet point lists of their injuries in his mind pinned to the side, ready to be addressed, but calmer now. No longer a medic on a battlefield, but a doctor in an emergency room. Cool, collected, in control.
“I need help. Who among you is well enough to assist?” His voice was steady, deep, and it stilled the rest of the room, drawing their attention to him. Several people stepped forward, and he nodded, taking stock. He had five injured people but plenty of hands.
“I need them all taken to my cabin. Avid, run ahead and clear off all three of my tables, my cot and take some of the blankets from the floor and make up a pallet. Go now. Sausage, Pyro, go and fetch me four long branches from the woodpile. They need to be thick and sturdy, but not so large people can’t grab them. Abolish, go downstairs and bring me two tarps and rope. Shelby, Drift, I need water and as many cloths as you can find in the camp. Take them to my cabin and start some of the water boiling. Cleo, Pearl, help me up and then take as many pillows and blankets as you can down to my place. Pile them in a corner until we need them and then come back.” His voice left no room for argument, and he watched as everyone scattered to do as he’d instructed.
Once he was on his feet he slowly moved from patient to patient, assuring them that they were going to be ok and keeping them as calm as he was able. He gently pried away Apo’s hands, frowning as the damage was revealed. Her pupils were blown from light damage, and bloody from where she’d scratched them in panicked pain. It wouldn’t blind her, but she’d be staying on bed rest for a few days after he’d finished treating her. Martyn and Ren were both improving slowly, able to talk to him and answer questions. Scott and Owen stayed as they were, neither improving nor deteriorating. He would take it.
Abolish returned with his items first, but Sausage and Pyro were there in short order, and between the four men they managed to fashion two improvised stretchers. They wouldn’t last long, but they really only needed to keep his four most injured patients up off the ground while they moved from the ranger cabin to his. He’d briefly entertained the idea of treating them here, but it would have taken far too long for even as many volunteers as he had to bring up all the medical supplies he needed.
He waited until Cleo and Pearl had returned and then had them load Ren and Martyn first. He instructed both to be placed on a table and had Pearl lead Apo down as well, instructing her to put the other woman in the bed on the floor. They were slow going, not wanting to trip, but were back within ten minutes, loading up the injured vampires next. He grabbed his cane and trotted after them, not bothering to hassle with his cloak when there were things he needed to be doing.
In his cabin he ordered Owen placed on the last table and Scott in the actual bed, as his injuries were most severe. With everyone jammed inside it was an almost impossibly tight squeeze, but they managed to leave the center open for him so he could bounce from patient to patient.
He went to Scott first, calling Pearl to be his nurse. First he cut away the remains of the elder vampire’s clothing, wincing as more and more burns were revealed. Almost no part of him had been spared, but then, given his proximity to the light, it was unsurprising. The wounds themself bled sluggishly, thick black blood on burnt dead skin. The wounds had a layer of thick white powder in them, crusted and burnt on in places, and he wondered if that was what was preventing the wounds from closing. He would have to debride the wounds to get rid of it, a painful process that Scott would have to be conscious through- he didn’t know how to sedate a vampire.
Examination of Owen’s wounds, less in number but not in severity, showed a similar issue. He wouldn’t subject them to having their wounds cleaned with an audience so, for the time being, he wrapped them both in old sheets to try and stem some of the bleeding and keep their modesty as best as he was able.
Ren’s head wound was not so deep as to require stitches, so he settled for placing a gauze pad over it and wrapping him with bandages, instructing him to lie back and rest for the time being. Martyn, on the other hand, did require stitches, and Legundo used one of precious few lidocaine injectors to numb the wound after shaving away his hair. It took ten stitches to close the wound and several rolls of gauze to shield it from the open air. He put Shelby to watch them both and to help them scrub the powder from around their eyes.
Apo merely needed her eyes and face cleaned, and she sat stoically as he rinsed and rubbed away the strange substance and the dried blood. She had no signs of concussion thankfully. With his first three patients treated he rose to his feet and sighed, feeling exhaustion licking at his heels. The adrenaline of the initial incident was coming away from his skin and leaving him with the reminder of his own injuries and tiredness that he’d been so conveniently ignoring. He shoved them down with a scowl- there would be time for rest later.
He wasn’t done yet.
“Ren and Martyn are free to leave, but they need to be watched so they must go with someone else for tonight at least. Apo may leave as well. They can stay alone if they want, but another person is a good idea. I need three volunteers with strong stomachs. Everyone else must leave.” His voice brooked no argument and he waited until it was just him, the vampires and, perhaps unsurprisingly, Cleo and Pearl and Abolish. Avid had not left quietly or willingly, and even now he could see the younger man trying to peek through the windows. He hoped the younger man wouldn’t keep doing that, because things were about to get a whole lot worse very quickly.
He handed his three volunteers gloves and waited until shed their outer layers and donned the gloves before he began. “There’s a white powder on the wounds. It must be scrubbed away before I can debride the wounds. Abolish, you seem to know about vampires a fair amount. Scott at least is conscious, is there a way to sedate him?” Abolish’s deep frown and shake of his head was all he needed. It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t be able to spare Scott the pain of the procedure- vampire or not, this wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Very well. I need whichever one of you has the strongest stomach to assist me with Scott. The other two must clean Owen’s wounds. Scrub firmly until all the residue is gone. I don’t think the wounds will heal if there’s any residue that remains.” In the end, Abolish was the one to help him, and they both set about their work. Some of the fear had left Scott’s eyes as he tracked them, and Legundo made sure to apologize as they started scrubbing. The residue didn’t come up easily and they had to scrub quite firmly to remove it. Normal human skin would have torn and bled worse, but thankfully despite seeming very painful, it didn't worsen his wounds. At one point blood dripped down the sides of Scott’s face and for a brief moment he was afraid there was an eye injury he’d missed, but a quick look showed it to be something even more heartwrenching- Scott was crying as they worked on him, his pain only increasing as Legundo took a scalpel to the wounds to clear away burnt flesh and heated on residue.
He lost track of how often he apologized as he worked, Abolish moving the other man around so he could get at all the wounds before covering them over with gauze and bandages when, still, they refused to close. He cleaned up the burnt hair as best as he was able and gently cleaned his face before leaving the vampire to rest under a few blankets.
Owen, thankfully, was unconscious when Legundo set to cleaning up his wounds with the scalpel, but he still couldn’t help but apologize as he worked. Night was just falling as they finished wrapping Owen’s wounds and tucking him in and Legs collapsed into his chair, everything catching up with him all at once.
He was awake long enough to eat the bowl of stew that was pressed into his hands and take his medication before he was pressed back into his chair, a blanket draped around his shoulders and another over his lap. He didn't sleep, not really. Instead he drifted in a light doze, fingers stroking over Tilly's ears when she rested her head in his lap, keeping an ear out on his patients while memories softly floated through his head.
(“Please Jamie! I promise I'll take care of him really! Look at this face, how can you say no?” Legundo groaned, practically folding in on himself with his head in his hands, the delighted cackling of Doovid and Piepie filling the air from where they're watching on the couch.
In front of him, Loony aims a pleading look at him, matching puppy eyes with the little lab cradled in his arms. His feathers, fluffy and pink- flamingo wings- are puffed up to soften his expression even further. He's cooing at Legundo, giving off every signal he can to try and bend the other man to his whims. He’s soft, so fucking soft for this big idiot that he almost agrees right then and there, but stops himself at the last minute.
“Loony we can't. We're deploying in a month, who's gonna take care of him? And if we find someone, what happens if he likes them better by the time we come back, hmm?” He feels like a fucking monster when genuine disappointment seeps into his Flockmate's gaze.
He presses forward, wings coming up to embrace the taller man, trilling when pink feathers lock with blue. Legundo always loved the contrast of their wings together, bright blue with soft pink, he just wished that he wasn't getting to see it because Loony was sad.
He hated making his Flockmates sad, even over small things. But this isn't a small thing, not really- Loony's always wanted a dog and hasn't been able to get one with their constant moving and deployments. But after their unified choice to separate from the military after this last approaching deployment, they've all thrown themselves into getting ready to put down roots.
Which led to now, standing in their base housing apartment, holding his Flockmate while they cradle a lost puppy between them. Doovid and Piepie have figured out what's really wrong by now, pressing in behind Loony and cocooning him.
“I'll make you a deal.” He reaches up, threading one hand through rose tinted blonde hair and nuzzling under the other's chin. “I'll give Lizzie a call. She wants to get Alice a puppy, and I think this guy would be a good fit, and we can visit as much as we want. Then, as soon as we have the papers in hand, you can pick out whichever puppy you want, and they can come home with us. Deal?” Not the same, not perfect, but life practically floods back into his Flockmate and he shrieks as he finds himself scooped up and cradled closely, face peppered with kisses, laughter filling the air punctuated by joyful puppy barks.
Three days later, Legundo comes home with four little plant pots, baby monsteras, one for each of them. A promise, he says, of putting down roots properly. Midori-Sensei, Kyle, Patricia and Buttons take pride of place in their windows.
Lizzie takes the puppy and Alice names him Greg. They visit as often as they like, until they all deploy for what's supposed to be the last time.
He never gets the puppy.)
*
Scott woke up all at once, a scream of bone deep agony- a horrific amalgamation of all the hurt that had been trapped behind his teeth for half a day- sending Legundo careening out of his chair, looking around the room. He was alone, Cleo and Pearl and Tilly having gone home, leaving him with just the vampires. Scott had sat up on the cot, arms wrapped around his stomach as he bent double, gasping for breath he didn't need and Legundo limped over.
“Scott, you're alright, you're fine. There was an incident and you've been hurt but I need to see if you've healed.” He leaned forward, telegraphing his moves before he put a firm hand on his shoulder. When he didn't get anything beside a jerky nod he carefully lifted Scott's arm, undoing the bandaging around his hand and frowning. Almost no improvement at all.
“Blood.” Scott's voice rasped painfully, accent thick with pain and damage to his throat and Legundo froze a moment, processing that before nodding and standing. Abolish had brought a few bottles of animal blood just in case and he fished them out of the bag they were in. He shook one up and uncapped it, sat himself on the bed and cradled Scott's shoulders with his free arm. It was an uncomfortable angle for him to twist at, and Scott didn't seem pleased with being bottle fed, but it was clear when the first few drops hit that necessity would overrule either of their discomfort. Scott drank three of the bottles, and there was minimal improvement, but the pain seemed to lessen and when the last bottle was pulled away his eyes were brighter, more alert.
The doctor carefully lay him back to rest a little longer and took the remaining bottles to Owen's makeshift bed. It was harder, the angle of the table was higher and Owen wasn't conscious to drink himself, but eventually he was able to get the three leftover bottles in him. He showed more improvement than Scott, but not so much that he felt comfortable calling his job done.
He did wonder why Owen was quicker to improve. Maybe their age? Maybe their respective proximity to the book? Scott had been in the center of the blast and had more injuries, perhaps that meant it was harder to heal from? It at least made sense that blood helped the healing process, they were vampires after all, and he felt a little ashamed he hadn't thought of it earlier.
That did present him with an issue though. It was long into the night now and everyone was asleep. Add to it that a small storm had blown up, reducing visibility to unsafe levels, it would be too dangerous for him to leave and cross the ruined village to get more blood. They could probably wait until morning, but he railed internally about leaving his patients in pain for so long.
He stood there, looking between the injured vampires before coming to a choice. He knew that human blood was more nourishing to the vampires, they and Abolish had said as much, but he also knew in this shape he wasn't sure they'd know when to stop- or want to. Cutting himself seemed like a bad idea, and brought up horrible memories besides, but he had one more trick up his sleeve.
He grabbed three of the empty bottles and an iv kit from the shelf, setting them on one of the unoccupied tables and pulled his chair close, settling in it. Neither vampire was watching him, but he knew that probably wouldn't last. At least that meant that Owen would be conscious again.
He shook the thoughts from his head and opened the kit, tied the tourniquet off and swabbed his elbow with the alcohol pad. He was never more grateful to have great veins than in that moment, but he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to make a vampire joke with his patients during a blood draw again. It was fiddly, doing this with one hand, but he eventually got the needle in and the tubing attached. He removed the chamber and the clamp, sighing with relief when blood began to flow from the tube into the bottles.
He ended up filling only two of the bottles, but it was just a little too much if the cold creeping across his skin and the blur in his vision was anything to go off of. Not enough to be dangerous, but enough to be miserable for a day or two. Well if Cleo and Pearl didn't murder him for this.
He removed the needle and wrapped gauze around the entry, tossing the sharp into the spare bottle and capping it, doing his best to ignore the shaking in his fingers. He went first to Owen, mostly with the hope that Owen would need less blood and he could give the remainder of the first bottle along with the second to Scott without having to draw from himself again.
Feeding Owen was harder the second time around, as his own body rebelled against him, but he managed to get a little over three-fourths of the bottle into the vampire, watching as his wounds closed over before his very eyes. He sighed with relief and lay Owen back down, stumbling over to Scott.
Blue eyes tracked his every move, flickers of hunger dancing through the haze of pain still there, and he pulled the man up, holding the bottle to his lips. The remains of the first bottle were quickly gone and he grabbed the second, relieved to see the same healing happening on his wounds, thrilled when a clawed hand came up to grasp the bottle half way through the second.
Which was good because his body was in full revolt, and he felt himself slide off the cot edge and onto the floor. He let himself lay there, curled in on himself- he'd be sore in the morning but it was worth it to not have two unhealing patients in his cabin.
“Foolish man.” Scott's voice came from above him and he struggled to blink open his eye, looking above him. Scott was on his feet, a sheet wrapped around his waist, staring down at Legundo's crumpled form, some emotion on his face that he was too groggy to even begin to decipher. There was the sound of movement behind them, presumably Owen, but Scott took advantage of his momentary reaction to lean down and pick him up.
Claws prickled gently at his skin as he was settled against a broad chest, something soft and warm- his cloak?- was draped over him. He was too tired to care, instead settling his head against a cool shoulder, burrowing a little as the cloak was pulled up over his head. He would be embarrassed about this in the morning, for now he let himself drift, deeper this time, while the vampires spoke over his head.
There was the sound of his door opening and the wind howling away, but he was bundled up well enough that he was plenty warm. The last thing he heard as he allowed himself to sink down into exhausted sleep was Scott's voice, more a rumble against his ear than actual words.
“I'm starting to understand what people see in you.”
~~~
Scott had woken them up in the middle of the night, a pale and passed out Legundo cradled in his arms, and asked to be admitted inside. They'd let him and the vampire had deposited his charge in the bed on their instruction, filling them in as he did. The explosion had been a spell, meant to restrain and weaken vampires, cast by Martyn on accident. Without the knowledge of how to direct the spells power level or targets, it had gone horribly wrong and detonated, hence the grave damage done to the vampires. Legundo had healed them but, after giving them the blood he had been left by Abolish, he’d drawn too much of his own to finish treating them.
Cleo had been livid with his stupidity, and summarily sentenced him to house arrest, only allowed to go to the huddle if he was supervised by “someone with more self preservation than a goat”. That had been fine as the first day he'd been content to stay abed, weak and cold. They'd kept him fed and packed with blankets, tucked between them. It was the most tractable he'd been the whole two months so far, and she was pleased that he seemed to sleep well enough.
Of course, his tameness lasted exactly three hours after breakfast the second day. He was bored, he was imposing on them, he didn't want to get between the Mates, literally or figuratively. Cleo had managed to negotiate with him- they would get his tablet and drawing supplies and they would go to huddle plus muffins, if he would take his pain medicine and let them take care of him until the end of the week, for their own sakes they claimed. It was a vicious negotiation, according to Pearl through her laughter, but in the end he agreed, and he moved temporarily into their place.
He was restless the first day, clearly still weak and in pain but not wanting to cause an issue, but Cleo had managed to convince him to keep his end of the bargain. There was much eye rolling and grumbling but he did take the extra pill at lunch. He was obviously much more comfortable that afternoon, though they could see why he wasn't a huge fan of taking the pills- he was slow to respond and sleepy, his usual clean sketch lines muzzy and unclean. At the height of it, for about a half hour, he simply laid against Pearl, staring into space. Part of that, they knew, was simply the medication not playing nice with the blood loss, so they stayed firm on him taking it.
Today was day three, the first day they were all going to the daily huddle. They'd given him his pill a little earlier, trying to get him over the worst of the side effects, but he was still a little loopy as they settled in, seemingly content to half work on a sketch and half curl limply into Pyro’s side, not even flinching when the younger man scratched his fingers through his hair.
It was Shelby who’d started it, humming along to the music from the movie that was playing on her laptop that most of the others are clustered around. It wasn’t a happy tune but neither a somber one, and soon the others were joining in, Drift going so far as to tip her head back with a great grin as she hit the high notes of the song.
Cleo almost missed it below the cacophony of all the others singing, especially with Pearl tucked into her side, but it was there, just quiet enough to hear- Legundo’s voice, a deep hum, raspy and rough with disuse but it was there. It was the first time he’d ever joined in on a song the huddle was singing, and there’d been no lack of that with the number of musicals and Disney movies on the college students’ laptops, and it so took her by surprise that she froze, drawing Pearl’s attention as well. They weren't the only ones to notice, Pyro freezing and the others stumbling over their verses as it sunk in what they were hearing, and though they scrambled to resume like nothing out of the ordinary had happened the damage was already done.
Legundo’s voice cut abruptly, his shoulders coming up defensively as if he could feel the entire room’s eyes on him, and he didn’t join in again at all, simply opting to focus on his sketch and curling away from the group. He seemed almost...ashamed, more than embarrassed, and that hurt Cleo to think about, but she couldn’t make him realize that he was allowed to do things like this, all she could do was continue to provide a space where he could.
So they tried that. Not that day, too soon and with his guard up far too high to even entertain an attempt, but a few days later, when it was just the three of them in the cabin making dinner, Pearl turned on some music from their own laptop, some older song that she couldn’t quite remember the name of, both of them humming and singing along. It wasn’t an unusual thing for them, they often sang together while making dinner, though Pearl insisted on picking the music most nights, claiming that Cleo’s taste in songs was “dogwater at best”.
Nothing happened the first few nights. He ate dinner with them, relaxed in his camp chair while Cleo and Pearl preened each other’s wings, and fell asleep to their quiet conversations, getting more and more comfortable. Even when the “Deal” was ended and he went back to his cabin to sleep, he began to spend more and more nights with them, sometimes even sleeping over if the wind was too wild or the cold too cruel to bother crossing the camp.
A few weeks later, just before Christmas, they got a gift that was, to them, greater than any they’d gotten so far. They were both facing away at their improvised counter, peeling and chopping vegetables for stew, singing along quietly to some breakup song of Pearl’s that had snuck its way into her usual playlist, but was just catchy enough to not get chucked off. They were crooning the notes between the verses to each other, ready to start the next words, when a timid baritone crept in, just quiet enough to slide between their voices.
”I don’t wanna be a witness to a path that’s overgrown...”
Neither of them drew attention to it, though they exchanged ecstatic grins over their pile of vegetables and Pearl nearly stepped on Tilly in her silent victory dance, simply guiding him along the song with them until the end. He didn’t croon the final “oohs” with them so much as growled them with his damaged voice, but it was so much more than even they’d hoped to accomplish so soon.
He didn’t join in any more that night, or for a few more nights after that, and they didn’t make a big deal about it or push him, since they were worried about making him self-conscious or making him clam up again, but by the time Christmas eve rolled around he’d sung with them almost half a dozen times, each time a victory. Whether it was the medication lowering his inhibitions enough to get him started that first ime or not, they were just happy with the progress, and packed him off for the night with a special made batch of muffins and a promise that he would be up early tomorrow to help prepare for the celebration that the camp was putting on together.
Long after the door was closed, the fire banked down for the night, and they were tucked into bed, Cleo turned over and found Pearl already staring at her, something shining in her Mate’s eyes. They shared toothy grins, fierce and proud, but something else lurking deep in Pearl’s eyes that Cleo was sure was reflected in their own eyes.
“Worth it.” They chirped together, laughing happily in tandem. If they felt like there was an empty spot in their bed, well, they were working on it.
~~~
Christmas morning dawned bright and cool, and Legundo climbed out of bed with an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in a while. He’d always loved Christmas, but after everything that happened he’d found a lot of the joy taken out of it. Every year, Alice and Lizzie brought him along to their families’ combined celebration, but he always felt out of place even as the others made sure to have him feel welcomed.
This year felt different. The campers had, despite what he’d feared when the barrier first came up, become his friends. His friends, that he’d made all his own. It was a victory to him. He wasn’t about to squander that.
He cleaned himself up with a cloth and warm water, put on a clean blue flannel shirt and his cloak, and then gathered his chair, shoved his plate, his cup and his cutlery in his empty backpack and grabbed the manilla folder with everyone’s sketches, the last of which he tucked safely into his cloak. He wasn’t about to risk them getting ruined now!
At the ranger cabin he dropped off his flatware and his chair, tucked his cloak and the folder up out of view and went to the kitchen to help. The vampires had brought a wild pig this time rather than a deer, and it was already roasting over a fire outside, while Scott, Shelby and Drift were making bread at the bakery. Legundo and Pyro had been assigned to potatoes, two ways, and the others were working on other vegetables and a dessert. The ranger cabin was warm and filled with the smell of spices and the sound of joy and laughter- and Christmas carols, some well done, some...less so, but enjoyable nonetheless. The morning flew by and before he knew it he was being shuffled into his seat, between Pearl and Cleo as he’d come to expect at this point, and he looked around as everyone else took their places.
Scott, Avid, Drift, Shelby, Pyro and even Owen were wearing antlers made of sticks taped together and threaded into their hair, while Ren, Sausage and Martyn had taken sharpies to their matching red shirts, doodling what he thought were christmas themed stick figures, even Abolish and Apo had little paper elf ears on. He squawked with indignation when Pearl plopped a paper headband on his head, with little snowflakes stapled all along the edges on top. Well, someone had been at the office supplies the last few days!
Much like the previous celebration, and most nights if he was being honest, Cleo and Pearl tag teamed to keep his plate full until he was near to bursting, leaning back with his coffee cup once he was pleasantly full as everyone chattered and laughed all around him, slipping Tilly scraps of roasted pork under the table. He chipped in where he could, getting into a rousing argument with Shelby and Sausage about the validity of the live action Disney remakes that resulted in all three of them being served last when dessert came around, but he felt it was more than worth it.
The live actions were acceptable damn it.
There was no traditional gift-giving, given the circumstances, but Scott did get another round of thanks for the wonderful cloaks and coats he’d given to everyone, and Sausage had written small poems for every single camper. Drift, Shelby and Avid had worked together to make small short fantasy stories for everyone, and Ren had whittled tiny animal figurines. He squirmed his way out from between Cleo and Pearl and went to where he’d tucked his cloak, pulling free the manilla envelope and carefully tucking away his other gifts before scurrying back to the table.
He opened the envelope and let his fingers trace gently over the drawings within before he started handing them out, warmth and pleasure flushing through him as each person’s exclamations of shock and joy filled the air, handling the drawings like they were made of the most precious materials. As they passed from his hands to their receivers he cataloged them all one last time, each one a labor of love whether it was Apo’s portrait or the picture he’d drawn of Scott and Avid, holding hands and walking down the path of the village, each was done with care. He was proud of them and his inner parrot practically danced in place to be able to give so many loved gifts.
He found himself caught up in more than one hug, each one he returned with his own happiness and enthusiasm, floating on a high he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. When Cleo came up to wrap around him he went willingly, happily, burrowing into their chest while Pearl pressed in behind him, the others coming to surround them.
Christmas was kind of perfect this year, if he did say so himself.
*
“Is the doctor...alright?”
Cleo looked up from their book, catching Owen’s gaze as he leaned down to look at where Legundo was sprawled in her lap, eyes closed and a dopey grin on his face. Pearl was curled up behind him, dozing off. Dinner had ended and the table had been broken down, but as they day was young and no-one wanted to spend Christmas penned up in their cabin, they’d decided to simply have an all day huddle. Most were scattered around in the giant impromptu nest, a movie playing on someone’s laptop, many of them sleeping.
She ran her fingers through short hair, it was starting to grow out despite his best efforts, and hummed quietly, smiling when he hummed back, not even opening his eyes.
“Some Avians are particularly prone to the dopamine rush from certain things. Some like to share food, some like to sing. Apparently he loves gift-giving, and wasn’t prepared for how happy everyone was to get their gifts.” Their voice was terribly fond, and she pulled a blanket tighter up around her Mate and friend. “Not too much of a surprise. He’s a parrot.” Owen blinked at her, confused, and opened his mouth to ask another question before he was interrupted.
“He’s high and having a great time, leave him be Owen.” Drift murmured, turning over just long enough to grab the vampire by his belt and yank him violently into the puddle, ignoring his startled hissing and shoving him between Pyro and herself and using him as a pillow. Cleo laughed behind their book as the man laid there, stiff and unhappy but unwilling to move from his forced pillow position. Cleo took the opportunity to look around the nest at the rest of them, to check on everyone. Shelby and Sausage were awake and watching a vampire movie- little on the nose but alright- Drift, Pyro and now Owen draped over their legs. Abolish was actually in the nest for once, dozing off with Apo while Martyn settled over them like a giant sleeping dog.
Ren was sitting against the wall with his knife and a few small blocks of wood, close enough to still be considered part of the huddle but far enough not to get wood shavings on anyone, and close to the movie group Avid was curled into a small ball in Scott’s lap, the elder vampire cradling him with his eyes closed and a tiny rumble filling the air. A deep instinctual part of her was pleased to see their huddle in safety and content, a soft trilling hoot escaping them and their wings ruffling behind them. Pearl trilled back, half asleep and curled to wrap her arms around Jameson, the man burrowing close to her with the tiniest, softest coo. That sparked a fire in her heart, made her wings ruffle and mantle, and they had to put the book down to get a hand on both of them.
This? This was everything they wanted. Merry Christmas indeed.
~~~
There was a tiny tapping at his window, and Legundo set down his pencil and climbed from his chair, stretching out his back as he padded to the window, cracking it just enough to admit two tiny furry forms. He pursed his lips in curiosity- he usually only got Owen as a late night visitor, but the second bat, a tiny silver-gray thing, was almost certainly Scott. Owen had been visiting him most nights he wasn’t with Cleo and Pearl for several weeks now. Some nights he simply sat in his bat form and kept the doctor company, but other times- when it was clear the doctor wasn’t going to sleep for one reason or another, he would shift back to his human form and they would talk. Never for long, never anything of true consequence, and they always invariably passed into companionable silence eventually.
Tonight was a deviation from that. He was up late, an approaching storm driving him spare with aches and pains, and he’d been attempting to draw. Now though, he shut the window tight and then grabbed a pot, filling it from the water bucket in the corner and setting it in the fire. Both bats transformed into human form and settled around the room while he went about making tea for all three of them. Scott had apparently been telling the truth that tea was one of the things that vampires could drink, and he’d made a fair dent in Legundo’s supplies of tea bags since the cessation of their hostilities.
He plopped a tea bag in each one, poured the heated water over them and then spooned a little sugar in his. He was waiting to see if this was a “sit calmly in each other’s orbit” kind of night or, if there was a conversation to be had, letting them start it. He settled in his chair after waving them towards their mugs, pulling his blanket over his lap and drinking sedately. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there but his mug was mostly drained by the time Scott’s voice broke the calm quiet of the cabin.
“Vampires can see the memories of the people they drink the blood of.” He fumbled his cup with a squeak, looking at the two of them aghast. “The more we drink, the more we see. Considering we only usually drink a few ounces at a time...”
A warble of mortification jammed behind his teeth and he set his cup aside to place his head in his hands. He’d given them so much when they were injured!
“What did...” He trailed off leadingly and it was Owen who took pity on him and answered him this time.
“Enough.” This time he didn’t bother to suppress the noise of sheer embarrassment and shame, giving it human voice as he sank low in his chair.
“And you have questions.” It was more a statement, misery lacing his tone, and both vampires nodded. He wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t- not really. He flapped his hand, begging silently for them to get it over with and there was silence again, though this time it was more oppressive, setting on his shoulders uncomfortably, hesitance unusual for the vampires sparking between the three of them.
“How do yo-” Owen’s voice trembled for a minute and that got Legundo to raise his head. The younger vampire seemed supremely uncomfortable, looking between Legundo and Scott like the words were being pulled out of him. Scott favored him with a calm, placid look and Owen’s face screwed up before he spoke again, every word a clear trial.
“When you lose everything, how do you go on?”
All the breath wheezed out of him at once, static fuzzing in the back of his mind suddenly like an ocean wave. He certainly wasn’t pulling punches with his question, even though it clearly pained him to ask, and Legundo had to take a moment to breath past the panic that was beginning to bubble in his chest. This wasn’t like talking with his therapist, or Alice and Lizzie or even Cleo and Pearl, who hadn’t wormed their way past his defenses so much as they had slammed the walls down and made themselves at home. This was Owen, a vampire who, Legundo knew, carried some kind of great loss in his heart like some living entity of grief, even two hundred years later. And Scott and he had only just begun to build a healthy and friendly relationship with each other, marred as the beginning was with Scott’s verbal assault at all of Legundo’s weak spots.
Owen though was looking at him like he had all the answers in the world, even as he held himself tight and coiled like he was prepared to be struck or to have to flee from Legundo or his words, Scott hovering just behind his shoulder like some great stone sentinel- or maybe a supportive guardian.
He sucked in a breath, steadied the shaking of his hands, and calmed himself as best as he was able. By their own admission they’d already seen the memories, would talking about them truly be so bad? Especially when Owen was looking at him like that? Probably, but when had he ever prioritized his own comfort over someone else’s wellbeing, mental or physical? Don’t’ answer that.
Carefully, he rose to his feet and went over to his bed, pulling up the pillow to grab a small leatherbound book. He held it in his hands, fingers rubbing over the soft cover reverently before he limped over and, with steady hands that belied the turmoil of his heart, handed the book to Owen. He stepped back, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders like it might protect him from his own words.
“I tired to commit suicide six time in the first eighteen months after I lost my Flock.” The words were bitter on his tongue, but once he started he feared to stop, knowing he’d never gather the courage, or the personal disregard, to begin again. “Two of those times I was stopped before I could properly make the attempt and I was allowed to be treated outpatient- go home between therapy sessions. Four times I was found, hospitalized, and then made to stay in a rehabilitation clinic until I was deemed safe to release. After the third attempt, I was placed under a guardianship: I wasn’t allowed to live alone, I wasn’t allowed to hold a job, I couldn’t fill my own prescriptions or manage my own money. It's not something the courts can usually do, but there are special provisions in the laws for Avians who’ve survived Sundering. I lived with my friend, Alice, and her wife, and they took care of me.” He pulled the blanket tighter around him, aware that the cold was all in his mind, but desperate to protect himself from it anyway.
Both vampires were watching him as he spoke, their faces unreadable in the flickering firelight. “I didn’t make it easy on them, and I didn’t care. I wanted nothing more than for one of my attempts to succeed. I often wished that I’d died in Iraq, because I felt like all the color and the warmth and the joy was gone for the world, even as I lived in a house with people who loved me so much that they took me in, took responsibility for me, took care of me. They were never anything more than loving and supportive no matter what I put them through. They never were disappointed in me for staying in bed for days at a time, for crying at the table, for screaming at them over tiny issues. They sat with me, they made my favorite foods to try and get me to eat, they gave me space. I hated them. These people who I’d loved and known for decades, and I hated them. I was a ghost, haunting their home. And they never did anything but love me.”
Owen looked faintly ill, Scott taking the book from his hands and forcing him to sit, but Legundo couldn’t- wouldn’t- stop now.
“Eventually, they announced they were pregnant and it solidified to me that I needed to try again, and this time I needed to succeed, because I couldn’t fathom them bringing a baby into a home that had me in it. I didn’t want to hold them back from starting their family, from being happy. They weren’t going to throw me out, they were insistent that I would stay and they would keep my guardianship, and they even wanted to make me the baby’s godfather. I didn’t want to saddle the kid with that burden.” He rubbed a hand over his face before forcing his way on.
“I was smart, or at least I thought I was. I was on my best behavior after the announcement, faked doing everything right, and eventually they started letting me do things alone under guidance from my therapist. A couple weeks before the birth, Lizzie wanted to take Alice out for a nice dinner and a show, stay somewhere fancy for a day or two before the baby came, and they were going to leave me alone overnight. Said I’d earned it, so long as I checked in every eight hours with them. So, they left, and for the first day I did what they expected: I watched TV, I checked in when I was supposed to, I made a sandwich, I went to bed. I had a plan, and I was comfortable, ready. They took the pills besides my daily ones, which were in a locked organizer that only opened on a timer, and they’d left the knives with Alice’s mom, but they had left me money to get takeout the second night. The next morning, I took the money, I went to the corner store, and I bought a bottle of whiskey and a box of allergy medicine.”
Even Scott looked uncomfortable at that point, even if they knew the ending of the story technically considering he was sitting before them. “I was going to take both, and jump from a bridge into the river. No one would find my body, and I wouldn’t leave Alice and Lizzie with the last memory of me being dead on their house floor. I thought it was a win-win. I was...happy. I wanted one last thing though, cranberry muffins from the bakery I’d been visiting for years, even before I was Navy. So I went, I sent my check-in text while I was in line, and then-” He swallowed thickly, throat clicking with faint tears at the memory even now.
“The cashier at the front greeted me by name, knew my order, seemed thrilled to see me for the first time in a couple months and see me in a good mood, like genuinely excited for me. She gave me an extra muffin, free, and said she’d see me tomorrow. She drew a little sloth on my cup. On my way to the bridge I saw kids playing in puddles. A dog came up and greeted me, walked with me the rest of the way there. I stood on the edge of the bridge and went for the muffins and the coffee instead of the whiskey and the pills. I stayed there for four hours. An old man came up to me at one point, didn’t say anything, and just stood with me. I went home.” He trailed his fingers over his band, over the little charm for his three year, the one he almost didn’t make it to. “I hid the whiskey and pills, told myself I could try again another day, before the baby came. I made eggs, I checked in, I went to bed. I went back to the bakery the next day, and they had my order ready before I even placed it. I went to the park and the dog was there again. The old man flagged me down and had me feed birds with him. Lizzie called, asked where I was, and the relief I could feel in her voice when I told her I was at the park feeding birds actually hurt. They came to the park and brought their dog, and we walked around for an hour, even though I could tell it hurt Alice’s back. We went home. We ordered chinese, and I went to bed. And it just kind of...kept going like that. I’d wake up, I’d go to the bakery, I’d run errands, I’d go to therapy. Eventually, I pulled Lizzie aside and gave her the whiskey and the pills, and she threw them away and then held me for hours. When the baby was born, I was the second person to hold him, and it was like something clicked into place. I’m not ashamed to admit that for a while I didn’t live for myself. I lived for Alice and Lizzie and that baby and the dog and the old man in the park and the barista who drew little zoo animals on my coffee cups. Living for me came later, much later, and I’m still not very good at it, but I’m getting there, I think.”
He chewed over his last few words briefly before he spoke again. “So, how do you live when you lose everything? With difficulty, for someone else, one step at a time. One of those. Or maybe all three. I’m still figuring it out.”
*
Scott looked at the two men before him, turning the book over in his hand with a delicacy he usually reserved for his mate. Owen was hunched on the edge of the cot where Scott had placed him, arms wrapped around his chest and pale, even more than a vampire should normally be. In his chair, Legundo was staring off into the middle distance, his face streaked with tears and exhaustion lurking in his eye. Neither of them had spoken since the human had finished his story, leaving Scott alone to his thoughts.
Experiencing the memories from the blood was vastly different than hearing the retelling from the man himself. Blood memories didn’t contain emotions, it was like watching the events happen to someone else entirely unrelated to and uncared for by you, but hearing those same memories described in the voice of the man who’d lived them hurt him in a way he hadn’t expected. He’d always prided himself on knowing what made humans tick, the best way to get them to do something, to get at their soft spots, but he was unprepared for the sheer depths of grief a person was able to experience, and the frightening strength and perseverance to then pull themselves back from the literal brink, not even once but multiple times.
Here before him was a man who’d come close to death seven times, once by an enemy, six times by his own hand, and not only had survived all that, but had returned to life and career with a determination and passion that only those who had come close to losing everything could have. Yes, he carried the scars on his skin and in his wings like living reminders, but there he was, still healing, still helping.
Scott...admired him.
He turned his attention back to the book in his hands and cracked it open, mindful of the well-worn and loved pages. It was an album of some kind, filled with colored drawings Shelby had told him were called “photographs”. The first page had a few scribbled words and a date but the second page had the first photo. It was of Legundo, wearing a bright white pressed uniform with black and white epaulets in front of an unfamiliar red, white and blue flag. He was severe looking, but Scott could see pride and determination in his eyes, of which there were two. An early military photo, then. The next pages showed him in various uniforms and with various people in places he couldn’t begin to fathom, great walls of dull grey steel and seas of coarse sand, but in all of them he looked happy and fulfilled, even if his face was thin with hunger and exhaustion. Under each of the pictures there were names and places and years that he wasn’t terribly interested in as he carefully paged through, stopping short about a third of the way through the book.
He had to take a moment, looking at the picture before he could parse it out. It was Legundo, in that strange beige patterned uniform, standing with three others, two by two. They all had their arms behind their backs, their feet planted firmly on the ground and their chins up, gazes firm and unyielding. In the back, Legundo and a man with pink-ish blonde hair had their wings extended, one pair bright blue with blue-gray unders and the other bright pink, and in front of them the other two, a woman with darker hair and black and white speckled wings stood next to a man with mousy brown hair and glittering purple hummingbird wings. Below the picture was the caption “Flight Squad ‘Dragon’s Mercy’ - Commissioning, Pendleton”.
Well, that explained why Avid was so very insistent on getting in the doctor’s inner circle while still being painfully careful about it. At first glance, he almost swore that the man with the hummingbird wings was Avid, but on a closer glance there were enough differences to tell them apart. But to a grieving man reeling from the loss of one of the great loves of his life? More than enough of a resemblance to hurt. Scott had seen glimpses of the man in the blood memories, but he hadn’t known what he was to the doctor other than close, but as he paged through the book it told him a story.
The first pictures were very clearly of a group of people placed to work together but lacking any close ties. There was distance, cautious body language, wings held close and still, but the further in he flipped, the more he saw the thaw, saw them warm up to each other. More pictures of strange deserts and cities made of sandstone, metal carriages with no horses, men and women wearing helmets and carrying guns. There was a humorous photo of the doctor sprawled on the front of one of the carriages- limp and with his wings in disarray- pretending to be dead, while the man with bright pink wings stood in the sand, face in his hands while he played at shock and horror while the other two laughed in the background, the woman bent double and clutching her stomach she was laughing so much. There were pictures of them in pairs and the group sitting together, working together, eating together. There was a page solely devoted to a single large image, the four of them sitting in front of a desk, a man in a suit behind it while they signed papers. Each of them had feathers from the other three threaded into their hair and their wings, and the joy was palpable, the caption simply being “Flock”.
From there the pictures only showed them as closer and closer, some of them painfully soft and intimate, obviously taken by the other Flock members. People in beds, in holes in the ground, cuddled together under blankets, sharing bathtubs, cooking in a kitchen, at parties, studying books. On and on, dozens and dozens of pictures of a life steeped in so much love and closeness it was visible on every face and in every photo. The last picture was smaller, the four of them pressed close together, Legundo holding a key up while the others beamed and gave thumbs up, all their wings puffed with joy. The caption was as simple as it was heartbreaking, even for Scott.
“A home for our future.”
There were no photos after it, but plenty of empty pages, and he closed the book with thin lips, striding over to tuck it into where he’d seen the doctor retrieve it from. He grabbed Owen and led him out of the cabin, dropping him off with Pyro- he’d never understand why those two got along so well, but Owen needed someone in that moment- and then went to where Cleo and Pearl lived. He slammed his hand on the door, impatient, and when a furious, rumpled Pearl appeared he simply pointed at the doctor’s cabin imperiously and then stormed off.
There was only one thing he wanted to do at that moment: go home, and hold Avid.
So that was what he did.
~~~
Pearl loved her wings. She’d loved them from the first day she was old enough to see them, to know that they were hers. Even as a little girl, they’re the softest, downy blue, and she’s so thrilled when the patterns come in, little swipes and dots of black and white.
She has two brothers, and they live with their mother and father, and things are good. Grian and Jimmy spoil her, and she protects them, even though she’s the youngest and the smallest. It’s amazing, they’re inseparable, and it's Grian who flies with her the first time when she’s five, Jimmy who screeches in terror and then laughs and catches her when she dives at him as she twirls through the sky for the fun of it and her father who kisses her scrapes and bruises when she lands a little hard, insisting to fly right back up.
Her family jokes that if she stays in the sky any more, they’ll have to replace her with another little girl, because she’ll have flown away to live with the rest of the birds in the trees.
Pearl loves her wings, and she loves her family.
Pearl’s dad dies when she’s ten. The funeral is rainy and she’s so sad she leaves her wings damp and muddy for days after, too depressed to even think about taking care of them, of herself. Grian picks her up, wraps her in crimson feathers, and Jimmy cleans her wings and threads canary yellow into vibrant blue.
They pick each other up. They fly and remember. Life is...ok, for a while.
Pearl loves her wings, and she loves her brothers.
Their mom isn’t the same after the funeral. She leaves them alone for long periods of times, she comes home smelling of booze and she screams angry, hateful things at them. Her wings drop feathers, once glassy black and now a dull flat gray. She meets a man, and Pearl hates him. So do Grian and Jimmy. When their mom tells them they’re moving to America to be close to the man’s job, all three protest.
It's the first time her mother and her boyfriend raise a hand to them.
It is not the last.
The move happens, no matter the protest. Jimmy argues so much that the man breaks his cheek. They have to lie at the airport, tell the security who ask that Jimmy hurt himself at rugby practice. The guard doesn’t seem to believe them, but he doesn’t stop them either.
Pearl hates him a little. Ok, a lot.
America is terrible, and home gets no better. The man breaks her fingers when she takes a candy bar that was his, their mom breaks Grian’s wing when he’s late home from soccer practice. Jimmy folds in on himself, silent and dull, like the life has been sucked out of him.
Pearl loves her wings, and her brothers, but she hates hates hates her mom and stepdad.
Pearl is thirteen when Jimmy disappears. Her mom doesn’t look for him, only files the police report when the school calls him in as truant. She and Grian take the brunt of her anger.
Pearl is thirteen and six months old when Grian disappears. Her mom is livid, and takes after Pearl with a vengeance. Her stepdad hovers over her shoulder in the hospital, makes sure she tells the nurse she fell from a treehouse. The nurses don’t believe it, but the social worker says there’s not enough evidence to do more than notify CPS. Things are quiet, for a little bit, after the CPS visit, the adults afraid to do more than raise their voices in case someone notices.
She’s so tired.
Pearl is thirteen and eleven months old when she finds the bag tucked in the back of her closet. There’s protein bars and some clothes and a wad of cash, a note from Grian on the top. “We’ll find you, but just in case.” She hides the bag under her bed and a part of her hurt at seemingly being abandoned by her brother eases. They still left, but not with the intent of leaving her forever.
Pearl loves them still.
Pearl is fourteen and two months old when her stepdad raises a belt at her and aims for her face, and that’s more than she could ever be expected to handle. She kicks him in the dick, grabs the belt and whips him over the head, terror and hate and anger lending strength to her blows that have him wailing on the ground with blood dripping from his face. She leaves him crying in the entryway and runs upstairs, grabs the bag and flies down the steps. She steals a wad of bills from his wallet and leaps out the door, taking to the air with wings she hasn’t been allowed to use for almost a half year, since Grian left.
She flies well past where her wings beg her to take a break, stumbling into a shitty little motel with a woman way too underpaid to care that a little girl is renting a room all alone. She sleeps just long enough to recover, then flies away again. She flies for a week before she stops, sees the colorful sprawl of a circus set up in a field.
She’s always wanted to go to the circus, so she lands and wanders her way in. She must look a fright, because before she knows it she’s surrounded by the fussing of a dozen different circus workers, who make sure she has food and let her watch the show for free and even let her sleep in one of the tents.
Pearl is fourteen years, two months, and one week old when she meets Cleo, and everything seems to snap into place for her. The circus is her home, its people her family. She misses her brothers, and now that she’s fled so far and so fast she’s not sure she’ll ever see them again, but Cleo is there, always with a sharp quick word that has her howling with laughter or a soft touch that soothes away her hurts. It's not the life she saw for herself, but not one she’ll ever give up.
Pearl loves her wings, because they brought her freedom, and she loves Cleo, easy as breathing.
~~~
Pearl grumbled, curling tighter around the two bodies in bed further, one wing coming up as if to block out the knocking coming from the door. How dare they, didn’t they know that the damned sun wasn’t even up yet? It was still dark out, for crying out loud! The loud knocking persisted and Cleo peeled an eye open, glaring murder at the door, one great wing coming up to cover the body between them.
“I’m going to murder whoever that is if you don’t get up and make them stop.” They growled, a bark of threat rumbling in their chest, and Pearl sighed heavily. It made sense, she was on the outside of their nest and therefore able to get off the bed the easiest, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.
She wiggled out of the bed, hissing with annoyance as the cool air outside their nest hit her skin. Puppy eyes directed at her mate got her nothing more than a flat, expectant look, and she rolled her eyes, pulled on a shirt- she was pretty sure it was Jameson’s flannel- and stomped as quietly as possible to the door. She wrenched it open just enough to stick her head out and glare violently at the person on the other side.
Shelby gave her a sheepish look, but Pearl refused to soften, instead trilling impatiently as she waited for the younger woman to speak.
“Uh, sorry Pearl, but we need Legs at his place. Avid and Pyro are both running really bad fevers, and nothing we’ve done is helping. They’re also coughing really badly, and Avid says his chest hurts.” Pearl hisses again, this time more a sound of alarm, but forcibly pulled on her words. It wasn’t really Shelby’s fault, and this is exactly what the doctor was around to help for, so she didn’t blame her either.
“Fine, fine. Tell them we’ll be there soon.” And she closed the door, before thinking better of it and wrenching it back open. “Sorry for snapping.” And then she closed the door again, turning back to the room inside. Cleo was awake properly, looking past the screen of their wing, their face lined with a deep frown. Not that Pearl blamed them- they’d only just got the man to sleep a few hours ago, and they were calling him out of bed already. This seemed to be an unfortunately common occurrence the last few weeks.
January had blown in hard, and the cold reached a deep level that even the healthiest of them was struggling with. People were getting sick left, right and center, Jameson was barely sleeping and had lost a decent amount of weight, even the vampires were struggling to find enough blood to keep them even, and the humans were giving serious consideration to providing them with their own blood if the situation didn’t improve soon, to prevent an accident.
She and Cleo had taken to swapping nights between their own cabin and the clinic-cabin, making sure there was plenty of easy to eat foods on hand to try and prompt the doctor to eat and to help him as much as he would allow them to. Their forward progress with their work with him had stalled completely as he withdrew into pain and exhaustion, but thankfully they were still at a point where they could generally convince him to eat something and to take his medicine. Every third or fourth night he was generally tired enough that he willingly would sleep between them, and that seemed to help, their shared body heat in the cocoon of their wings and the blankets easing some of his aches and pains.
Cleo sighed in resignation, pulling back their wings so Pearl could put gentle hands on broad shoulders.
“Jamie, wake up big guy.” All she got was a miserable groan and a tiny, almost invisible flutter of feathers- she wondered if he knew his wings had started emoting again, but doubted it- and she gave him a firmer shake. “C’mon, up and at’em. You got some patients that need their doctor.” He moaned and cracked his eye open, blinking at her slowly before nodding and pushing himself up to sit. He looked groggy and unhappy to be awake, but his desire to help and do his job was clearly stronger than his desire for sleep. That was unfortunate, but understandable.
He stumbled out of the bed, took his flannel from Pearl and buttoned it with clumsy fingers and then toed into his boots. Pearl pulled on her own shirt and Cleo climbed out to get dressed, all of them pulling on their outerwear and Pearl pressed his cane in his hand as he led the way out the door.
It was bitterly cold outside, the kind that froze your breath in your lungs as you drew it and turned the tips of your nose and ears cherry red within moments of being outside, but it at least had the side effect of waking them all up the rest of the way and by the time they were at Legundo’s cabin they were wide eyed awake, though none of them were happy about it.
Inside was packed, two of the tables turned into makeshift beds, the one nearest the fire contained Avid, the one near the other wall containing Pyro. Legundo shucked off his cloak and Pearl, impulsively, pulled him into a hug and nuzzled under his chin with a soft churr before sending him further into the room to work.
*
Legundo pulled on a mask and gloves, listening to the sound of raspy, labored breaths and the occasional hacking cough. Both young men sounded rough, and he’d known they were fighting something- they’d come to him a few days ago to get some medicine so they could stay in and rest- but it was clear that whatever they were fighting hadn’t improved. He grabbed his stethoscope from the nail on the wall and put it on, peeling back Avid’s blanket and rucking up his shirt to get a good listen. There were clear signs of fluid in the very bottoms of his lungs, and his heart was sluggish, not so much as to be alarming even with his condition, but enough for him to notice. A thermometer under his tongue gave back a temperature of over 102. Checking over Pyro revealed similar findings: the same crackle of fluid in the lungs, the same percussive cough, the same odd heart rate, the same fever.
He took his stethoscope off, the first inkling of an idea rolling around his head. “How long have they had the fevers?” Scott answered the Avid’s had spiked last night but he’d been complaining of feeling chilled for a couple days, and Drift and Sausage said Pyro seemed to go downhill all at once, going to bed fine the day before yesterday and waking up yesterday morning already feeling miserable.
“Ok, Drift, Sausage I need you both to stay here. Everyone else, please step outside, right now.” There were a lot of discontented mumblings, and he could see he would have a fight on his hands if he didn’t get out in front of this right now. “I think they might’ve come down with bird flu. If they have, I want to minimize exposure, so I need all of you out. Now.” That got them moving. Avians were susceptible to bird flu just like their wild cousins but in Avians, instead of being deadly or requiring depopulation, it was a sickness that struck hard and fast, leaving you weak and miserable for a few days before generally leaving and it was generally only fatal if a person was already weakened or ill. He wanted everyone out to prevent further spread, but Drift and Sausage had been with Pyro while he was sick, so they were almost certainly already infected. He would be fine with his gloves and mask, so long as he changed clothes often and washed.
He went and had Sausage help him drag the third table away from the other two, and had them pick either the cot or the bed, make it up, and sit on it while he went to the shelves, pulling down armfuls of supplies; IVs, a few vials of anti-pyretics and painkillers and some other odds and ends. It wasn’t everything he would usually use to treat bird flu, but it was the most important stuff. He started an IV for both Avid and Pyro, administered some of the medications and then helped his other two patients get comfortable. He gave them his tablet and his books and then settled into his chair, prepared for several long days.
*
Scott prowled around the clinic cabin, keeping an eye on all five sleeping humans. Both Drift and Sausage had, as Legundo feared, come down with the illness that had struck Avid and Pyro down, and they were now sleeping in their makeshift beds while IVs dripped into their arms. Avid had deteriorated a little bit, struggling to breath because of his damaged heart, and Legundo had used one of their canisters of oxygen to support him. Even now the doctor was on the floor, leaning against the legs of the table and dozing in fits and starts.
Though the vampires had volunteered to monitor the patients for any changes and wake the man up if something transpired, he seldom slept for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time before jerking himself awake, checking on each person before settling back on the floor near Avid’s bed. He was half tempted to hypnotize the man into actual sleep, but that was a boundary he wasn’t quite ready to cross. Yet.
They’d been in isolation for two days now and there was improvement in all four, but not enough to release them to recover in their own cabins, and he could hear the steady thump of all four hearts, the slowly evaporating liquid in lungs. He could also smell the pain and the exhaustion and the fever clinging to the doctor. He wasn’t sick, not like the other four were, but he wasn’t well either. It was clear they were asking too much of the man, and in turn he was offering far too much of himself. He’d talk to Cleo and Pearl when Owen came to relieve him shortly- he didn’t know why, but those two were invested in making the doctor as healthy and happy as possible, and it was probably time for someone to intercede on the other man’s behalf.
He stopped his pathing near his mate, trailing gentle claws through matted brown hair, something tight in his chest loosening when the small mortal sighed and pressed into his hand, a tired trill leaving him. Legundo jerked awake again at the noise, and Scott cursed himself briefly; he couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, sorry for comforting his sick mate but he could also feel bad for startling the man taking care of him.
“Rest awhile, doctor. They’re all improving, and I will let you know the second anything changes.” He didn’t add any command to his voice, but his tone was firm and insistent, and Legundo watched him with a narrowed eye before nodding and leaning back against the table leg again, chin tipping towards his chest as his breathing evened in sleep. He sighed, watching the other man and taking in the pale skin and the flush on his cheeks and the deep bags carved under his eyes.
Yes, he would definitely be talking to Cleo and Pearl.
~~~
Cleo looked around their cabin, nodding in satisfaction at what they found. She and Pearl had taken over one of the bigger cabins, and that was coming in handy now. After a frank and alarming conversation with Scott a few days past, Cleo had finally put her foot down. At huddle that day, they’d called the remaining people for a meeting and declared the doctor out of service for all but the gravest emergencies for at least a week. Abolish and Apo would be in charge of first aid, Shelby and Ren had offered to air his cabin out and sanitize it, and everyone else would simply have to do without them for a while.
After that they’d set up the house to be occupied full time by three people: They’d stolen a few extra pillows and blankets to make the bed as comfortable as possible, they still had some of his clothing there, Owen had brought them enough extra firewood to fill an entire corner near the hearth, they had a full rain barrel of water and they’d been to the ranger station to gather as many cans of food as possible. Against the wall was the large wooden tub that they had made at the very beginning of their time in Oakhurst, and Pearl was in the process of filling it with water heated in the coals of their hearth.
Cleo busied themselves with setting the kettle in the coals and laying out towels and pajamas, but there wasn't a whole lot of time to fill. All the sick Avians had been sent home, and the vampires had volunteered to escort Jameson to them. None of them were under the mistaken idea that he would go quietly on a break, and Cleo wasn't above using a little muscle to get him where they needed him.
Sure enough when the door opened a flushed and surly looking man was trapped between the immobile forms of his “captors”, grumbling all the while as he was pushed into the house. Cleo caught him, holding his hands and giving the other men a grateful nod as they left and closed the door. Jameson leveled a baleful look at her, mouth opening to surely argue with her but they pulled out their first trick, bringing their chilly hands up to cradle his feverish cheeks. The contrast seemed to blow any complaints out of the water, leaving him to lean into her touch with a soft whine.
Pearl abandoned her task, finished anyway, and tucked herself behind him, wrapping warm arms around his chest. “You're lookin’ mighty rough there Jamie. Dumpster fire chic I think they call it.” He barked a harsh laugh, voice rough with hurt and disuse.
“That's rude, where're your manners?” She laughed at him, leaning up on her toes to nuzzle behind his ear.
“Bold of you to assume I ever had manners. In fact, I think I'm insulted.” Cleo brushed their thumbs along heated cheeks, holding him steady as he swayed on his feet between them. He was sweet, like this, had been since he let them get this far, going soft and pliant when they had hands on him, leaning into their touches like he was a dehydrated man and they were cool clear water.
Touch starvation. Her mind whispered, and she tamped down angrily on the thought. She was done angsting over what got him in this condition and far more focused on helping him. What had started as a project for them had become something else. Something more important, more vital for them.
“Hey, look at me?” An emerald eye opened, locking on their's, and she smiled. “You've been busy, and everyone wants to give you a break. You wanna get cleaned up and call it a night?” He hummed, seeming to think, before he murmured his assent into her palms, though he made no move to actually do anything. She felt her face soften in fondness. “Let us help?” Phrase it as a question, give him the option to pull back or decline, and he almost always went willingly, happily.
Sure enough they got another murmur of agreement and Pearl cooed at him when he trilled sadly as they both pulled away. As they pulled him over to the steaming tub and started undressing him, and he seemed content to let them until their hands reached for the chain around his neck. His hand lashed out, and his face was creased with an actual snarl, looking at them with the first proper anger they’d seen from him in almost three months. The message was clear: Don’t touch it.
She pulled her hand back, holding her palm open in a placating gesture and waited for him to calm, neither of them pressuring him as he seemed to wrestle with himself. It was a simple thing, for all that it was clearly very important to him. A silver beaded chain with a pair of dogtags in the center, and then set into special anchors were three feathers, one shimmering purple, one bright pink and the other black speckled with white like stars. They felt silly for not realizing what it was sooner: most Avians keep mementos of their Flockmates or Mates on their person when keeping feathers braided into hair or wings wasn’t possible. Of course he still had the ones from his lost Flock.
He relaxed in inches, his grip on her wrist gentling and rubbing soothingly over the, barely, sore area where’d been gripping, murmuring apologies. They turned their hand and laced their fingers with his, squeezing gently, because of course he would be the one to feel like he needed to apologize. Pearl grabbed his other hand and they stood there a moment or two longer until he relaxed the rest of the way and pulled his hands free, going back to undressing.
As he did that, they let themselves get lost in their thoughts. He'd been getting more vocal lately, his Avian voice returning to him, and they had both seen little ruffles and jerks in his wings after the Scott incident, increasing in range and size and frequency as the weeks passed. He was still seemingly unaware of it, but Cleo and Pearl weren't the only ones to notice. All of them had made sure not to bring it up, afraid that bringing his attention to it would cause him to get self-conscious and stop his forward progress.
There was no expected trajectory or timelines for the recovery of Sundering victims, and in fact most evidence supported it being entirely different for each Avian. Were they just lucky and he'd responded so well because they had the right conditions for him? Was it the isolation? Being surrounded by so many people who were open and easy with their affection? Being the focus of people willing to gently push his boundaries? She didn't know, and honestly she wasn't going to look too much into it. She would just be happy with what they were achieving.
He groaned as he sank into the steaming water, dipping low until he was submerged to just under his nose, and Pearl laughed at him, getting a dour expression in return, one that melted straight off his face as the aussie's skilled fingers set about scratching shampoo into his hair. Utilizing her Mate's distraction they grabbed a cup and the wing soap and settled on their knees at the back of the tub. They didn't announce their intentions, not this time, instead placing her free hand between his shoulder blades, fingers angled into and brushing the fine feathers near his spine.
He jolted, wide eyed and turned to look at them, radiating timid questioning. They kept their face calm, scratching gently and waiting for him. He could pull away at any point, and they would respect it, but they hoped he wouldn't.
He stared between them both, nervous and still flushed with fever, and then he gave a little warble, turning back around to present his wings. Cleo hooted back, trying to jam all the adoration and how humbled they were by his trust into the noise, and set about her task. She was careful, painfully so, as she stretched the wing out and poured water and soap into the dull plumage, scrubbing it in while being mindful of the bare patches. The skin in those areas was raw and red, irritated by the bitter cold without the protection of their feathery coverage.
After Pearl finished with his hair she gave him a cloth and the soap, shuffling around on her knees to come next to Cleo. He didn't even flinch when she sunk her fingers into brittle feathers and Pearl hummed a musical little flute with her happiness.
Cleo was right about her initial observations, all those months ago. The feathers were clean enough, though slightly grimy from lack of care while he was busy the last few days, but there were broken feathers and misaligned patches and irritated skin. It took over an hour between the two of them to clean both wings, and that was without doing any actual preening. His fever had come down a little, thankfully, and he was resting his chin on the edge of the tub, eye lidded as he dozed. They'd be lucky to get food and his medicine in him before he conked out on them.
He wobbled as they helped him out of the tub and he woke up just long enough to wrap a towel around his waist before they brought him over to the hearth, helping him stretch out his wings so they could dry in the fire’s warmth. They could only do one side at a time because his wings truly were massive, but he seemed content to sit on the ground and let them move him around, eat the bowl of soup they gave him and take his pills. He grumbled a little when Pearl turned him to dry the other wing and popped a thermometer under his tongue, cheeping with displeasure at the read out and holding it for Cleo to see: 102.1, not as bad as Scott had reported when he’d first brought him over, but still higher than she liked.
He’d probably be better with some sleep, honestly, and a couple days’ rest. They gathered up his pajama bottoms and set them in his lap and then went about getting the bed ready while Pearl finished up with helping with his scar lotion and wrapping his knee. There was a small scuffle when it came time to put his eyedrops in, but Pearl was nothing if not a stubborn and persuasive person, and she managed to get him to hold still so she could put them in. Cleo leaned against the wall with their arms crossed, smiling at the scene before her, at the feeling of rightness that settled warm and content in her chest.
This was something they could get used to.
Finally though everyone was fed and dressed, just in time for the sky to darken with the beginning of a new storm. Cleo climbed into bed first, pressing back and arranging their wings comfortably, reaching up to guide Jameson in and tucked him against her chest. Pearl climbed in behind him, bracketing the man between them. It was a little silly, considering how much taller he was than either of them, but he fit perfectly between their bodies, and part of her couldn’t help but feel he was made to be there. It took a bit of maneuvering and bending and twisting each time they did this(none of them had small wing spans, and he wasn’t able to move his to accommodate just yet) but they made it work until there were two sets of blue feathers and a set of white-brown-black all pressed together, twined with blankets.
It was warm, and comfortable, and Cleo drifted off between one breath and the next, lulled into slumber by the sounds of her sleeping companions and the joy of having them close by.
~~~
The calm only lasted two days, but it was two days more than they thought they were going to get from him. Almost as soon as his fever broke he insisted on going home to “get out of their way”, to the point where he was half into his cloak before Pearl and Cleo had to put their foot down on it.
“You. Sit.” Cleo’s voice left no room for argument, and Pearl removed his cloak and sat him on in the camp chair, holding his shoulders in place while he stared at the floor mullishly. They put their hands on their hips, refusing to be swayed by his hangdog expression or melt as he tried to pout up at Pearl.
“Jameson Legundo, look at me.” Ah yes, there it was, the sad green eye and the bitten lip, the “I’m just a little guy” expression. She had no idea who taught him that, but she wanted to have a word with them.
“So, do you think Pearl and I are in the habit of doing things we don’t want to?” They leaned into his space a little, keeping their voice firm. “Do you think that you could realistically make Pearl and I do anything, or put up with something?” They waited until they got a sulky little head shake and dropped their hands from their hips, crouching down so they could lay their hands on his knees softly.
“You wanna tell us what this is really about, Jamie?” They prodded gently, watching out of the corner of their eye as Pearl’s hands went from holding him in place to soothing over tense shoulders. There was silence for a good little while before he mumbled something, so quiet that neither of them could hear despite their close proximity to him.
“Little louder, big guy. My hearing is good, but not that good.” Pearl joked lightly and there was a sigh so heavy they could feel it.
“I’m tired of people being obligated to take care of me. I hate being a burden to everyone.” Cleo closed their eyes as the words hit home, and she squeezed her hands over his knees, taking a minute to breath. It wasn’t fair to him, this situation- being trapped here in the wilderness. He was still recovering, still actively in therapy by his own admission, and he was clearly struggling with not having access to that support pillar for so long. They’d made progress with him, he trusted them, but they couldn't fix him, even though that wasn’t what they wanted to do.
“Hey, look at me.” It took a beat, but eventually he raised his eye to look at her, Pearl coming around to sit on the floor next to them, Tilly pushing forward to put her head in his lap. “You are not a burden, no matter what your mind is telling you. You’ve helped a lot of people since we’ve been trapped here, you even saved the vampires after that spell. You literally just treated a bunch of people with bird flu and kept others from getting sick. You are not a burden in this camp, and certainly not outside it either.” A flush had crept up on to his cheeks, and he turned his head to try and get away from the intense pair of gazes that bore into him.
They grabbed his chin and pulled his head back to face them. “On top of that, no one is obligated to care for you. If people really didn’t want to take care of each other, then they wouldn’t. Shelby wouldn’t have cleaned Avid and Scott’s room so they had a fresh place to return to today, Apo wouldn’t have made stew for everyone every day for the past week, Owen wouldn’t chop all that extra wood for people. People care for each other, for you, because they want to. On top of that-” Cleo reached up and pulled him off the chair, letting him settle between her and Pearl on the floor.
“On top of that, Pearl and I very much do not see it as an obligation, or a burden, or an imposition, or whichever word is lurking in the back of that usually beautiful brain of yours. We take care of you because, surprise Jamie, we care for you. You’re important to us. Having you stay over, helping you with your meds, making dinner with you? We do that because we want to, not because we pity you. You belong right here with us, alright? And we’ll say that as many times as it takes for you to believe it, alright?”
They could feel the fine tremors of his body against their own, she could see Pearl pulling him tight between them as they lay on the floor, pulling a couple blankets down to drape over them. Neither of them drew attention to the wetness dripping into their shirt, instead content to hold the man between them until they all drifted off again, all plans of leaving forgotten.
~~~
“I want to try something with you.”
Legundo looked up from his book, blinking owlishly at Pearl who was perched on the table by his elbow. It had been a few days since his brief meltdown and they’d settled into a calm routine in the cabin. They hadn’t been joking about being more effusive with their words, driving him to blushing distraction more than once with their praise and affection, and he’d gotten used to being touched in startlingly rapid fashion. Pearl especially was not afraid to get her hands on him to scratch his hair, hold his hand, pull him into her side or down onto her lap.
He was trying to look too much into it, no matter how much a small part of him wanted to. They were Mates, and it was only their long term relationship that left them feeling secure enough to be so openly affectionate with him. It wouldn’t be, couldn't be, anything else, and he refused to get his hopes up.
“I don’t know if I should be alarmed or interested.” He said, face creased with his skepticism as he shoved his thoughts aside. “The way your mind works is frightening sometimes, Pearl.” Pearl chattered in mock offense at him and in response he only looked around her at where Tilly was laying on her back, paws in the air while she chewed on a table leg. Despair crossed Pearl’s face for a moment before she groaned theatrically and ran over, trying to shoo Tilly off the table leg. Content that he’d escaped whatever her plan was for the moment he returned to his book and made it about two pages in before it was plucked from his hands. He groaned and chucked his empty cup at Pearl, who danced out of the way and then pulled him up from his chair, tugging him over to the bed.
“So mean to me.” She sighed, pushing him down until he was flat on top of the covers. He grumbled and squirmed around until he was a little more comfortable, reaching an arm down to scratch Tilly when she wormed over and demanded pets. He looked up when she settled on the bed beside him, tapping the end of his nose and snickering when he tried to bite at her. She reached down to the floor and brought up a bottle, holding it out so he could see it. It was wing oil, scented like “rainforest breeze”, and he took a moment to breathe.
No one had touched his wings in a non-medical or non-cleaning fashion in five years. He hadn’t even really messed with his wings in that time. At first he’d avoided it because it hurt, the shattered bone in his wing arch bothering him for months and months after he’d been discharged from the hospital, but then it had simply become what his therapist called “acute touch aversion”, a common issue with Sundering victims. As the years passed Alice and Lizzie could be tolerated in small doses, and their kids didn’t bother him at all, but that was it.
He’d allowed them to clean his wings a few days ago, but preening was different. Surface preening, simply aligning the feathers and plucking out debris was a common bonding activity among friendly Avians, but it was considered less intimate than deep preening, which was a much more involved process. It released all kinds of “feel good” chemicals for most Avians, and was an intensely personal experience, usually reserved for family, close friends, Flock and Mates. The last person he’d allowed to preen his wings had been Piepie, a quiet stolen moment in a ranger grave while they were on standdown.
Pearl was waiting patiently, not pressuring or wheedling, simply giving him time to process the offer and come to his own choice. They both were good about that, when it came time for them to inevitably push another one of his barriers down: giving him the option to decline something, respecting it, but always coming back eventually.
The thing was? He didn’t want to say no. He’d gotten attached to how easy they were with their affection, with trusting them both enough to steamroll all his carefully built walls, with letting them take him through new and sometimes uncomfortable experiences he hadn’t partaken in years, if ever. This whole town was good at getting to him like that, but especially Pearl and Cleo.
He warred with himself. Part of him, that part that was awfully fond of both Cleo and Pearl, wanted to say yes, to let Pearl sink her hands into his feathers and work out the literal years of disuse and miscare, wanted to sink into the mattress and let the parrot part of his brain take over and trust that they wouldn’t hurt him. Another part of him raged at the thought, despairing that the memory of Piepie’s fingers on his feathers should be erased by another person. It felt like a betrayal, like he would lose that part of her. He knew it wasn’t true, not logically, but logic barely seemed to matter in his mind some days.
Neither of the women in his life could ever replace the Flock he had, but neither of them were trying to, simply desiring to carve out their own spot in his life, and in his heart. And, being honest with himself, they already had. Already slid right next to Alice and Lizzie, like they’d always been meant to be there, like there was a spot in his soul made for them.
Finally, he bit his lip and bludgeoned emotion aside with logic, forcibly quieted the voices that said he was being disloyal to his lost Flock(and boy he was really going to have to talk to his therapist when this was all over because he was starting to feel like his brain and heart had been put through the wringer the last few months) and nodded to Pearl, giving his consent.
*
Pearl released a breath she hadn’t even been aware she’d been holding when Jameson gave her a little nod, tucking his face into the pillow and forcing himself to breathe for a moment. She gave him the time he needed, rubbing between his shoulder blades until he pushed up and wrestled himself out of the shirt and undershirt he’d been wearing and laying down again. She stood up and then moved down the bed, climbing in and straddling his lower back. She was going to focus on the inner half of his wings, and let Cleo tackle the outer edges and she motioned her mate to join her.
“If you want us to stop at any point, for any reason or no reason at all, just shout “pineapple”, awright?” He jerked with a snorted laugh below her, turning his head to look at her with his good eye.
“A safeword?” She grinned at him, bright and wild, and nodded. He seemed to think that over for a moment before nodding, turning his head back into the pillow and laying, still and stiff, below her. She uncapped the top on the bottle of wing oil, filling the air with the scent of tropical flowers and petrichor, and poured a generous amount into her palms and lathered her hands, Cleo grabbing the bottle and doing the same. Wing oil wasn’t a requirement for preening, all Avians produced a natural wing oil unless the glands were damaged or underdeveloped, but there were commercially available versions of the product for use. A lot of people used them simply because they smelt nice and there were versions that were medicated or, like this one, moisturizing to help with cold weather chapping. Both her and Cleo had had to use one bottle already, but there were a few more in the supply area at the ranger cabin: no one had protested them taking a few for use.
She hesitated only briefly before sinking her hands into the finest, softest feathers at the base of his left wing, watching for any obvious sign of distress, while Cleo began working on his wingtip primaries. It was an easy rhythm to fall into; spread the oil over the vanes and the barbs and the shafts of the feathers, loosen any dead or dying feathers, peel the keratin sheathes off any new ones, and then settle them neatly, one after the other.
He was still tense and timid under her, hands gripping the sheets, a fine tremble racing through him randomly. He was scared, it was easy to see, but he wasn’t fighting, wasn’t angry, wasn’t trying to escape. She guessed he wanted to do this, but part of him was afraid to, afraid to make that deep connection with another Avian after his previous losses. She wasn’t quite as good at the psychology stuff as Cleo was, so a bit of it went over her head, but she knew more than enough that this was a good thing for him, that it was ok- even expected, for him to be a little frightened. It was a humbling show of faith to her, for him to put himself in this obviously uncomfortable position just because he trusted they wouldn’t use it against him.
And they wouldn’t.
At first, Pearl’s feelings around Jameson had been complicated. She knew Cleo saw him as a project, someone they could help, but not necessarily someone that either of them were going to get attached to long term. Cleo had broken from the mindset before she had, had gotten attached to the other man, and Pearl was not a jealous person, especially with their strong Mate bond, but she still wasn’t a huge fan of how much space the man began to take up in their lives. But, the more time she spent with him, the more she saw what Cleo saw in him. He was kind, and funny and smart, not afraid to wade into a debate or call someone out on their bullshit. Yea he snored and was kinda picky about the way he took his coffee and he had the self-preservation and self-love of a goat(that was to say, none at fucking all) but he was so strong.
Someone had once told Pearl, when she’d been venting about her life before joining the circus, that the best revenge was a life well lived, and she had lived by that for the longest time. But she was a teenager, and revenge was appealing to her in a way it usually only was to those too young to realize the consequences of it. After Zack had died, she and the others closest to him had been forced to see a therapist for a brief time. When her family had been brought up in a session, the therapist told her something that had blown that previous life advice away with a vengeance: “The strongest person I ever met was a man so steeped in hate and loss that I would not have been surprised to see him on the evening news. Instead, he was the sweetest most kind man you could ever meet, and when he died, he was surrounded by all the people he’d helped in his life, and he said to us that the best thing he ever decided to do was to turn all his hate into love.” Pearl had mulled that over for a time, still of the young person’s mindset that she wanted revenge, but time had passed and she realized that the hate in her heart hardened her, made her prickly and unapproachable. So she tried to take that old therapist’s advice, and turn her hate into love.
And it had worked. She’d softened her edges, and suddenly it was like she was living a whole new, fulfilling life.
Jameson was the same way: he’d taken all the loss and hate, survived it, survived himself, and turned it into love. Granted it was love for everyone but himself, but he was getting there. That was when Pearl knew she’d never be content to let him go, not while they were trapped behind the barrier, not after, not for years to come. Or ever, if she was being honest. Cleo had already known, better at her emotions than Pearl was any day of the week, but always willing to be there for her Mate, so they would go forward on it hand-in-hand.
It wasn’t unheard of for Heartbound couples to sometimes include a third(or fourth, or more) if the compatibility was there. And, well, Pearl had been afraid to voice it aloud, but she sometimes wondered late in the dark of night if Jameson was the missing tune to their Heartsong, the one that had sat there, unremarked, for as long as they’d been bonded. Triads were common Heartbonds, especially in “song birds” like jays and parrots. Less so in birds of prey, but still not unheard of, or even all that uncommon.
She was jerked out of her thoughts by Cleo’s elbow in her side, and she snapped her eyes to her Mate, who jerked their head down to the man beneath them. Pearl felt her heart twist and thud in her chest at the sight before her: the happy hormones had hit the doctor like a truck, and he was limp and purring into his pillow, eye shut and a dopey grin on his face. Forget planet, he wasn’t even in the same solar system as them right now, blissed out and riding the wave.
The women grinned at each other, exchanging a high-five over the back of their hapless victim, and shuffled around so they could start on his right wing, stopping long enough to share a quick kiss before resuming their task.
It was Cleo who started it, just the first few notes, but Pearl’s grin curled across her face, picking up the threads of it, slitting her eyes and ruffling her wings as the tune of their Heartsong filled the cabin. Pearl was usually the one who started this, but Cleo was so happy that she hadn’t even waited to initiate, and Pearl couldn’t, wouldn’t, complain about reinforcing their bond with it.
So caught up in their work, in their joy and their closeness, neither of them noticed the noise until there was a brief pause in work to get more oil, just long enough for them to hear the quiet hum of the man pinned below them, cutting through his contented purr, but the notes were unmistakable, because they’d both heard them off and an for almost eight years now.
Their Heartsong.
Pearl barely stopped herself from falling off the bed in her surprise, but Cleo wasn’t so lucky, legs giving out in their sincere and sudden shock. Pearl...couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, stopped with her hands buried still in dull blue feathers. She was ecstatic, just barely tamping down on the wild screech of victory that wanted to claw up her throat, staring wide-eyed at her Mate, who seemed in a moment of uncharacteristic loss of control, unable to decide between bursting into tears and leaping for joy.
Reality soon crowded in through, and Pearl bit her lip, an ugly and awful thought rearing its head and breaking through her joy.
How on earth were they going to tell Jameson?
~~~
They didn’t tell him. There was never a good time, never a good way. At least, that’s what they told themselves. How do you tell a man you were never even supposed to meet that you were soulmates, fated to be together by the gods and stars themselves? How do you tell a man that has suffered the kinds of losses that the doctor had that he had another chance, if he was willing to seize it?
It wasn’t as simple as sitting him down and saying “Jamie, we’re pretty sure the three of us share a Heartsong. Wanna try it out?” He’d think they were making fun of him, or worse! At least, that’s what they kept telling themselves. They couldn’t ignore it though, no matter how much they tried: the Heartbond was already obvious to them, that tiny little thread warm like coffee and soft like lamb’s wool that linked Mates together, was already there, thrumming at the back of their minds, their instincts already screaming for their Mate. The process was half baked, his unconscious response to their call not quite enough to cement the bond properly, and it wore on all three of them, even though they could tell he seemingly had no idea what was bothering him so much.
He didn’t remember anything from that night besides feeling warm, and safe and cared for, the first time he’d felt those things so much, so intensely, in a very long time. He’d been riding the high for several hours that night, and had even returned the favor the next day for Pearl, and a few days later for Cleo. He was much more open after that with them, and only them, touching his wings, and they started to come to life before their very eyes with nightly care, even as the incomplete bond agitated him.
They needed to tell him. And yet they couldn’t. Was it their own cowardice that prevented them from just sitting down and having the talk with him? Probably. Though Cleo would claim that part of it came from simply wanting to protect him. They didn’t dare to get his(their) hopes on the off chance they were hearing and feeling things that actually weren’t there. (They weren’t. They were cowards. Afraid of his reaction, afraid of him pulling back for fear of another loss, to fear opening up on such a level again. They feared the loss too, like a living thing clawing at the insides of their ribs, like a bird beating against the bars of its cage. They had both survived a lot in their lives. They weren’t sure they could survive losing him.)
Days passed, then weeks, and neither of them said anything. They soothed the infant bond as best as they were able by sleeping together, by preening each other’s wings, whatever they could do without raising too much suspicion. Jameson came to life, flourished really, with the closeness and care. His voice returned to him, scratchy and rough and damaged but undeniably there. The first day he’d warbled a proper, Avian greeting to huddle Avid had screamed in excitement and tripped down the stairs(requiring a sling and gaining a lecture) and the others had been stunned into silence before the cabin was a cacophony of noise and joy, sounding more like an aviary than a campground with the amount of cheeping, chirping and whistling going on.
The first day his wings moved, that he noticed anyway, sent him walking into a wall with his surprise, but all the anger was drained out of him as his wings responded to his annoyance, puffing up and mantling. That had startled him, sending his feathers spreading and his wings shivering. The first day he’s moved his wings on purpose, spreading them with a pleased shiver and a chirr, he’d be so shocked it had overridden the high from preening, sending him falling off the bed and taking Pearl and Cleo with him to the floor, the trio ending up in a tangle of limbs. He hadn't been able to stop after that, moving his wings just because he could, eye wide with joy and wonder. It would be a long time before he could fly again, if ever considering how damaged the muscles were, but for now he just seemed so happy to have back what he did that the lack of flight didn’t seem to matter to him.
He was so happy that they didn’t want to ruin that with their secret, so they kept it to themselves. Just a little longer, they whispered together in the dark of night in a bed that, as was becoming rarer and rarer, didn’t have a third body in it. We’ll tell him soon, they thought, watching as he willingly went to Shelby, let her touch his wings and braid beads into them while he did the same for her. We’re waiting to protect him, they muttered, watching as everyone(including themselves) fawned over the new vibrant blue feathers that grew in as the weather began to warm up.
Hours into days into weeks into months. The snow melted, the air warmed, and that fateful day in April approached faster and faster, the day the barrier would come down and they would all be able to return home. Shelby and Drift announced their Heartbonding in late January, and Avid followed up a few weeks later with the surprise that vampires did, in fact, have their Heartsongs still, holding the hand of a blushing Scott as he announced their Heartbonding in the beginning of March. After congratulating them, it had quickly devolved into the huddle taking bets on how long it would be before Avid was turned. Cleo had their money on before the barrier came down, Pearl for within a year, and Legundo had put his money on four months after they all departed.
The announcement of the second Heartbond seemed to weigh heavy on all three of them, and Jameson withdrew from them all with a speed and violence that surprised and frightened all of the others staying in Oakhurst. He stopped coming to huddle, stopped coming to the ranger station to resupply, stopped coming over to Cleo and Pearl’s cabin. It seemed the only person to see him anymore was Owen, who took him water and firewood and meat, sometimes staying to visit, but seldom was he allowed to stay for long.
When Owen reported that he’d caught the doctor pulling his own feathers out and had that he’d stopped eating the food that was brought to him, Pearl and Cleo knew they’d fucked up. They’d let their own fear and cowardice hurt their bondmate, and likely undone a lot of the trust they’d earned with him, though it would be no less than they deserved if they had. This was only cemented when Avid of all people stormed up to them a week before they were due to leave and demanded they fix the doctor. They would have been upset by the audacity of him assuming they’d had anything to do with it if he hadn’t been right, and so instead settled on impressed with willingness to call them out. Scott was rubbing off on him, in more ways than one it appeared.
That night, they made a pot of potatoes, carrots and fried pork, grabbed the muffins they’d made, and braved the pelting spring rain to get to the small cabin, tucked into the back wall and, thankfully, out of the way of everyone else. The lamp was off but there was the familiar flicker of the hearthfire in the window, and neither of them bothered to knock, instead letting themselves in.
The inside was dim and warm, but there was the scent of blood and feather dust on the air. Laying eyes on him hurt, somewhere deep down. He was pacing against the far wall, limping heavily without the aid of his cane and clearly in pain, his wings were patchy and bloody in places, several wounds where he’d yanked out feathers in distress. He was pale, the bags under his eyes dark and vivid against his pallid skin, and his hand shook, wings jerking with his agitation.
He seemed to register their presence all at once, wings snapping out and a hissing growl leaving him, though his eye betrayed his fear and stress.
They set down their items, separating and heading to opposite sides of the room, both to appear less like a united front but also to block him from the door. Cleo let her wings droop a little, feathers dragging across the floor in a sign for peacekeeping, and Pearl copied her across the room, adding a few wing flutters and a chirr to it. He looked between them, licking dried lips, seemingly unsure of what to do next and when he spoke, it was a trembling, timid thing which drove a spike through their hearts.
“Finally come to tell me to my face, huh? Got tired of trying to let me down gently?” He curled defensively in on himself even as the words left him, staring them both down like he was bracing to be struck, either with words or fists.
Cleo could have punched themselves there and then. Of course, of course, that would have been where his brain would have gone. He wasn’t stupid. He’d probably recognized the fledgling Heartbond for what it was, and when they hadn’t done anything to return it, to strengthen it, his brain had supplied the easiest answer to him: he was too much trouble, too great a burden to be loved like that. Too broken from before to be worth being loved in such a way. The fact that he’d lasted so long was heartbreaking. Had he held out hope for that entire time, just waiting for them to return his feelings and wasting away? Or had he come to his conclusion right away and covered it up, desperate to hold appearances until he could get away and break down without the campers hovering nearby?
Cleo did not want to know the answer to that question.
Cleo also wasn’t sure how to handle this. She was usually the one with the action, knew how to navigate intense and emotional situations(the only positive side effect of her “training” from her parents) but she was at a loss, her heart crying out for her Mate’s pain, the pain that they had caused. Would he listen to them? Could they repair what they’d broken?
Pearl seemed far more sure of themselves, far more willing to dive in head first and act before the situation spiraled out of all of their control, and she darted forward, practically flew, and wrapped her arms around the man, ignoring his angry(terrified-stressed-devastated) growling-screech and the way his wings buffeted against her. Because of course Pearl was willing to ignore the very clear parrot “danger-warning” call to hug her Mate.
Once Pearl had his arms in a tight grip, because even angry and heartbroken he wasn’t willing to struggle in a way that might hurt one of them, Cleo stepped forward next, striding around behind him with a grim purpose, and dodged his wings to wrap around him from behind, their wings coming up to circle all three of them, Pearl’s doing the same below, blocking out the room and the light and the world outside, leaving them only the hurt and sadness between them to deal with.
It reminded them of that first time they’d done this for, months ago, the night the barrier had come up and he’d fallen because of his bad leg- him trapped between them in a steadying, safe feather cocoon, them holding him together. Cleo nuzzled in behind his ear and Pearl nuzzled in under his chin, and out of the corner of her eye they could see he’d closed his eye, tears tracking down his cheek, a soft heartbroken trill scratching out of his throat and falling into the still air between them.
“I’m sorry Jamie. We haven’t..we fucked up big guy.” Pearl’s voice was wobbly in its own right and Cleo’s voice was thick with their own emotions when they took over.
“We didn’t think you remembered, and we didn't want to bring it up in case you thought that we’d set you up that night, and we were worried you weren’t ready to hear it, especially since you’d made so much progress. It was fucking stupid of us. You didn’t deserve to have that hidden from you, and that was our fault. Not yours. Never yours.” He sobbed, a tiny broken sound, and tipped his head forward to bury his nose in Pearl’s hair, the trembling in his body picking up fiercely. It felt less like they were holding him still, in place, than they were holding him from shaking into a thousand pieces.
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore. That you felt the bond and finally realized how much work it was going to be to be saddled with me forever.” Cleo didn’t bother to blink back her own tears, burrowing their head into his shoulder and squeezing him tightly.
“Never. Never in the rest of our lives could we never want you. You're ours, have been this whole time, and you belong with us, from now until the end of whatever amount of time we have on this earth.” Pearl whispered, Cleo whispering back the affirmation in a tone of fierce love, one that hid no secrets, that told no lies, and they got a watery sniffle in return.
“It's hard work, taking care of someone like me.” He murmured and Cleo shook her head, raised her face to press a kiss to his cheek.
“Not to us. Not if it’s you.”
That was it for the man between them, and he crumpled, legs giving out as he burst finally into noisy tears, all three of them settling on the ground, still wrapped around each other in a jumble of limbs and wings that would be a pain to untangle, though none of them were in any hurry to do so.
They weren’t sure how long they sat there, sharing tears and whispered affirmations and quiet declarations of love and intent, but when their wings came down and showed them the world around them again the sun was long set and the fire had burned to embers, leaving them in the cool dark. None of them were keen to move, too desperate for closeness, for connection.
There was a pause, a single missed breath, and then the notes came, a quiet almost fearful hesitance to them, but the familiar tune nonetheless, and neither Cleo nor Pearl hesitated to join in, the trio of voice quiet in the reverent dark, singing their love to themselves and the stars and the moon.
The morning came, and the sun found them asleep, together at last as they should be. Three souls, nearly destroyed by loss and cruelty and hatred, brought together by luck, fate and Heartsongs.
Finis