The Anatomy of Birds (2/4)
Title: The Anatomy of Birds (2/4)
Author: callmetofu
Beta: jules1013 and deadbeat_nymph
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Characters: Michael, Lincoln, Mama Scofield
Category: Childhood Gen, angst, AU
Summary: Michael has wings. Covers time period from the mother's death up to the events in the house on Pershing Avenue.
Chapter 1
*
"Have a little faith."
Lincoln doesn't say it, but Michael figures it's implied I won't leave you. Never. He puts on a brave face and he tries to tell himself that his brother's protective shadow will be enough. He doesn't have the heart to tell Lincoln that he fears, he knows that it won't be.
The future that seemed so straight and clear now spreads out in ripples, Lincoln will try and Michael can't explain that losing mom is not just about losing his home and losing his parents, it's also losing his best friend. Lincoln's okay and Michael knows he does try, but he'll never replace mom.
He takes one last glance at the wide lake. It's better than a grave. They walk back side by side and without wanting to his slips his hand into Lincoln's.
He can't tell Lincoln about how it feels like a part of himself has been ripped out. How his back has been numb ever since Lincoln dragged him off her body. Deep inside Michael vows to never forgive him.
But it still feels good to hold his hand.
*
He never realized how few friends they had. The few that have bothered mingle, dressed in black, like a family or crows. He doesn't tell Michael that he broke into mum's liquor cabinet and got drunk on biting orange liquor. That he spent the morning locked into their bathroom because he knew he had to be sane for this. For Michael.
They haven't talked about it, about that day. He's not prepared for this. Even through all the months in and out and the hospital they never listened. They thought she would pull through. And she believed it above all.
The future that's ahead of him is as clear as the blue sky above him. He just never thought that it would be left to him. Michael is special in a way that he isn't, in a way he doesn’t understand, and now he's gotta protect him the way that their mother would have done.
Next to him Michael shivers, even though it's not cold. The only thing he knows is that wherever they'll go, they'll go together.
*
They spend the first night with the foster family awake, next to each other on the lower bunk, knees to their chests, back against the rough wall.
Across them, in the lower bunk, slept a girl whose name was Lakeishka. She had asthma and from time to time shot up from her sleep, clawing at her throat gasping. Above her, Amber and Virtue who insisted on sharing a bed.
They had all their possession with them, their whole home stuffed into two black plastic garbage bags sealed off amateurishly with copper wire.
Over the next few months they learn to live small, their last belongings eroding away as they realize that it's just not practical to carry too much. Beloved books worn out and thumbed through stay behind on foreign shelves and some part of Michael dies when they leave behind his edition of Narnia that their mother used to read them. Toys go first, handed over to kids that are staying when they leave.
Except for two of Lincoln's matchbox cars, one faded green, one gray. They drive to 31st. Street Bridge and Lincoln throws them into the water. It's the one thing he doesn't want to share.
*
He has no explanation for the things he does, why he's sometimes angry and sometimes not. There's not an answer he can give when Michael looks at him with tears burning in his eyes and wants to know just one thing, "Why? Why did you have to do that? Was it worth it?"
It leaves a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that even after everything he's been through, his brother still knows how to be disappointed. His hands on Michael's shoulders, his thumbs against Michael's shoulder blades are the only 'sorry' he can give.
"Look, I'm leaving all my stuff here." He slides fully around Michael from behind and he can feel shaking of the body in his arms. "I'll be back," he whispers, hiding his face against Michael's throat. "I promise I'll be back."
He let's go and kicks his duffle bag under the table in protest. There's a small tremble going through Michael's back he notes before he steps to meet the couple who is going to lead him away.
They almost make it down the first set of stairs before Michael bolts. When Lincoln looks up he sees Michael's tortured eyes, peering down from the railing, their foster mom right next to him. Fight and flight is etched all over his face.
The edge of Michael's mouth trembles and his knuckles grow white as clings to the metal rail. For a moment Lincoln fears that Michael will leap, swoop down like a cloud of white and try to carry him away.
Frantic, he nods a quick "No", almost stumbling as the men force him forward. Michael falters in defeat. Even if he doesn't know a lot, he knows that Michael has to stay put. Their eyes lock one last time before they usher him around the next corner.
After this one time, Michael never asks for a why again.
*
It feels like acid rising up his stomach as he watches Lincoln being led away and the back of his shoulders is burning. He does not move when his foster mom puts her hand on his arm.
He should have known not to expect too much of Lincoln. His jaw set he turns and walks back on his own.
She's a quiet woman, smelling vaguely of naphthalene. Their home is filled with dead saints and angels. She apologizes to him twice a day that everything is so small here and that they need the money.
Michael pretends he doesn't notice the blue bruises on her arm.
*
Lincoln learns to keep a low profile from day one, between screaming officers and illtempered campmates. He doesn't say one word the whole first week he's here except "Yes, sir!". One time he gets a beating because he forgets even that.
Both boys that arrived with him are smaller than him. The first one soils his pants the first day. The other one hangs himself two weeks in.
Most boys here are in here for something worse, but his foster father requested extra weeks for him. Said he could use the discipline.
Week three Lincoln starts to doubt that the world outside truly exists. He tries to remember why he's here, but when he tries to call his mother's mission to his mind's eye he never gets further than Michael's tear streaked face.
Fourth week in he wonders if he's going insane. He must be. Surely having a little brother with wings on his back can't be real.
*
There are no words for what he's feeling. He never said anything about the beatings. Michael's read Dickens. He knows what happens to orphans.
He was prepared for it.
But nothing prepared him for this.
He bites his knuckles to say soundless. He knows he should be doing something, should leap out there and scare that man away. He should be out there. He should be doing something. He's scared, just so damn scared. All the fear and all the options press down on his brain and he silently starts rocking back and forth.
His knees press against his chest and his throat burns, because he's trying so hard not to breathe. He closes his eyes for the last time in his life wishes for help. Whishes for whoever gave him these wings to come down and save him.
Michael doesn't wish for Lincoln. He knows that Lincoln isn't there.
*
Half way into week four a cadet named Jerome breaks into the general's quarters.
They all climb under their tables in the chow hall when he begins shooting. During this moment Lincoln thinks of nothing. The boy across of him starts leaking blood.
In the end Jerome blows his brains all over the chow hall wall before they can get to him. He wasn't a good shot and so he didn't take anyone else along.
There's a flurry of movement and Lincoln just can't think. His body is made of stone. He doesn't breathe.
And suddenly just like that it's over.
Everybody gets to go home.
*
“Can I see them?” his voice sounds rough and uncouth to his own ears. It's the first time since their mother's death that they've visit her grave. Or tried to. He's coaxed Michael to come to the cemetery, but her grave is just out of sight and Michael refuses to go closer.
He isn't sure why he asks, he figures Michael will just say no, but Michael just stands, his eyes impossibly blue against pale skin. With trembling fingers he pulls the buttons of his Parker open and he steps when Lincoln tries to reach for him. Tears are openly down his face as he throws his coat on the snowy ground. He grabs the neck of his shirt, bunching fabric, pulling up the back and then they are there like an explosion and Lincoln can't help but gape for a moment even though Michael is screaming now, "Are you happy? Are you really happy now?"
A painful knot forms in the pit of his stomach and then Michael whips around and he's running. The wings are gone again and he doesn't have his jacket.
Lincoln finds him huddling under a drooping shrub, knees drawn to his chest, defiantly brushing the tears from his eyes.
"Sorry," he says and proffers the jacket as a sign of peace. "I won't do it again."
Michael kneads his hands and blows lightly into his fist. He glares up to Lincoln under tear stained lashes. Something twists in Lincoln's gut as Michael gnaws on lips and finally nods and takes the offered jacket. He slips inside now both bigger from the bulk and smaller inside. Lincoln feels guilty that even if he does something like this, his brother still keeps coming back.
*
Author: callmetofu
Beta: jules1013 and deadbeat_nymph
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Characters: Michael, Lincoln, Mama Scofield
Category: Childhood Gen, angst, AU
Summary: Michael has wings. Covers time period from the mother's death up to the events in the house on Pershing Avenue.
Chapter 1
*
"Have a little faith."
Lincoln doesn't say it, but Michael figures it's implied I won't leave you. Never. He puts on a brave face and he tries to tell himself that his brother's protective shadow will be enough. He doesn't have the heart to tell Lincoln that he fears, he knows that it won't be.
The future that seemed so straight and clear now spreads out in ripples, Lincoln will try and Michael can't explain that losing mom is not just about losing his home and losing his parents, it's also losing his best friend. Lincoln's okay and Michael knows he does try, but he'll never replace mom.
He takes one last glance at the wide lake. It's better than a grave. They walk back side by side and without wanting to his slips his hand into Lincoln's.
He can't tell Lincoln about how it feels like a part of himself has been ripped out. How his back has been numb ever since Lincoln dragged him off her body. Deep inside Michael vows to never forgive him.
But it still feels good to hold his hand.
*
He never realized how few friends they had. The few that have bothered mingle, dressed in black, like a family or crows. He doesn't tell Michael that he broke into mum's liquor cabinet and got drunk on biting orange liquor. That he spent the morning locked into their bathroom because he knew he had to be sane for this. For Michael.
They haven't talked about it, about that day. He's not prepared for this. Even through all the months in and out and the hospital they never listened. They thought she would pull through. And she believed it above all.
The future that's ahead of him is as clear as the blue sky above him. He just never thought that it would be left to him. Michael is special in a way that he isn't, in a way he doesn’t understand, and now he's gotta protect him the way that their mother would have done.
Next to him Michael shivers, even though it's not cold. The only thing he knows is that wherever they'll go, they'll go together.
*
They spend the first night with the foster family awake, next to each other on the lower bunk, knees to their chests, back against the rough wall.
Across them, in the lower bunk, slept a girl whose name was Lakeishka. She had asthma and from time to time shot up from her sleep, clawing at her throat gasping. Above her, Amber and Virtue who insisted on sharing a bed.
They had all their possession with them, their whole home stuffed into two black plastic garbage bags sealed off amateurishly with copper wire.
Over the next few months they learn to live small, their last belongings eroding away as they realize that it's just not practical to carry too much. Beloved books worn out and thumbed through stay behind on foreign shelves and some part of Michael dies when they leave behind his edition of Narnia that their mother used to read them. Toys go first, handed over to kids that are staying when they leave.
Except for two of Lincoln's matchbox cars, one faded green, one gray. They drive to 31st. Street Bridge and Lincoln throws them into the water. It's the one thing he doesn't want to share.
*
He has no explanation for the things he does, why he's sometimes angry and sometimes not. There's not an answer he can give when Michael looks at him with tears burning in his eyes and wants to know just one thing, "Why? Why did you have to do that? Was it worth it?"
It leaves a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that even after everything he's been through, his brother still knows how to be disappointed. His hands on Michael's shoulders, his thumbs against Michael's shoulder blades are the only 'sorry' he can give.
"Look, I'm leaving all my stuff here." He slides fully around Michael from behind and he can feel shaking of the body in his arms. "I'll be back," he whispers, hiding his face against Michael's throat. "I promise I'll be back."
He let's go and kicks his duffle bag under the table in protest. There's a small tremble going through Michael's back he notes before he steps to meet the couple who is going to lead him away.
They almost make it down the first set of stairs before Michael bolts. When Lincoln looks up he sees Michael's tortured eyes, peering down from the railing, their foster mom right next to him. Fight and flight is etched all over his face.
The edge of Michael's mouth trembles and his knuckles grow white as clings to the metal rail. For a moment Lincoln fears that Michael will leap, swoop down like a cloud of white and try to carry him away.
Frantic, he nods a quick "No", almost stumbling as the men force him forward. Michael falters in defeat. Even if he doesn't know a lot, he knows that Michael has to stay put. Their eyes lock one last time before they usher him around the next corner.
After this one time, Michael never asks for a why again.
*
It feels like acid rising up his stomach as he watches Lincoln being led away and the back of his shoulders is burning. He does not move when his foster mom puts her hand on his arm.
He should have known not to expect too much of Lincoln. His jaw set he turns and walks back on his own.
She's a quiet woman, smelling vaguely of naphthalene. Their home is filled with dead saints and angels. She apologizes to him twice a day that everything is so small here and that they need the money.
Michael pretends he doesn't notice the blue bruises on her arm.
*
Lincoln learns to keep a low profile from day one, between screaming officers and illtempered campmates. He doesn't say one word the whole first week he's here except "Yes, sir!". One time he gets a beating because he forgets even that.
Both boys that arrived with him are smaller than him. The first one soils his pants the first day. The other one hangs himself two weeks in.
Most boys here are in here for something worse, but his foster father requested extra weeks for him. Said he could use the discipline.
Week three Lincoln starts to doubt that the world outside truly exists. He tries to remember why he's here, but when he tries to call his mother's mission to his mind's eye he never gets further than Michael's tear streaked face.
Fourth week in he wonders if he's going insane. He must be. Surely having a little brother with wings on his back can't be real.
*
There are no words for what he's feeling. He never said anything about the beatings. Michael's read Dickens. He knows what happens to orphans.
He was prepared for it.
But nothing prepared him for this.
He bites his knuckles to say soundless. He knows he should be doing something, should leap out there and scare that man away. He should be out there. He should be doing something. He's scared, just so damn scared. All the fear and all the options press down on his brain and he silently starts rocking back and forth.
His knees press against his chest and his throat burns, because he's trying so hard not to breathe. He closes his eyes for the last time in his life wishes for help. Whishes for whoever gave him these wings to come down and save him.
Michael doesn't wish for Lincoln. He knows that Lincoln isn't there.
*
Half way into week four a cadet named Jerome breaks into the general's quarters.
They all climb under their tables in the chow hall when he begins shooting. During this moment Lincoln thinks of nothing. The boy across of him starts leaking blood.
In the end Jerome blows his brains all over the chow hall wall before they can get to him. He wasn't a good shot and so he didn't take anyone else along.
There's a flurry of movement and Lincoln just can't think. His body is made of stone. He doesn't breathe.
And suddenly just like that it's over.
Everybody gets to go home.
*
“Can I see them?” his voice sounds rough and uncouth to his own ears. It's the first time since their mother's death that they've visit her grave. Or tried to. He's coaxed Michael to come to the cemetery, but her grave is just out of sight and Michael refuses to go closer.
He isn't sure why he asks, he figures Michael will just say no, but Michael just stands, his eyes impossibly blue against pale skin. With trembling fingers he pulls the buttons of his Parker open and he steps when Lincoln tries to reach for him. Tears are openly down his face as he throws his coat on the snowy ground. He grabs the neck of his shirt, bunching fabric, pulling up the back and then they are there like an explosion and Lincoln can't help but gape for a moment even though Michael is screaming now, "Are you happy? Are you really happy now?"
A painful knot forms in the pit of his stomach and then Michael whips around and he's running. The wings are gone again and he doesn't have his jacket.
Lincoln finds him huddling under a drooping shrub, knees drawn to his chest, defiantly brushing the tears from his eyes.
"Sorry," he says and proffers the jacket as a sign of peace. "I won't do it again."
Michael kneads his hands and blows lightly into his fist. He glares up to Lincoln under tear stained lashes. Something twists in Lincoln's gut as Michael gnaws on lips and finally nods and takes the offered jacket. He slips inside now both bigger from the bulk and smaller inside. Lincoln feels guilty that even if he does something like this, his brother still keeps coming back.
*