Feathers
Title: Feathers
Author: echo_fangirl
Characters: Nick, Connor
Rating: PG (13)
Warnings: wing!fic, self-harm
Words: 1595
Disclaimer: Not mine, as nice as it would be
Spoilers: None
A/N: For futureperfect , who requested Anyone/Anyone, wing!fic. I didn't even know wing!fic was a thing until recently, and I still don't entirely get it, so hopefully I'm not too far off the mark!
----
The thought had first occurred to him when Cutter saw Connor wince, right after Stephen casually slapped him on the back. He'd watched more carefully then, seeing the absent minded scratching, and the switch to bulkier jackets and layered shirts. Cutter had held his suspicions for a while now, and had looked on the lad fondly, remembering his own coming of age and the accompanying frustrations.
What he discovered though, walking into the men's shower room quite late in the afternoon, simultaneously confirmed his suspicions and left him horrified. Even partially obscured by the steam, the angry half-moon rashes on Connor's shoulder blades were hard to miss.
"Connor, what..." He trailed off as Connor spun around too quickly, eyes startled and arms flailing about for something to cover himself with.
"Cutter! Sorry, didn't hear you come in. I was just finishing up, I'll be out of your way in no time."
Cutter picked up a neatly folded towel and handed it to Connor, who shook it loose then hesitated, no doubt noticing that it could cover his waist down, or cover his shoulders, but not both. He eventually settled on wrapping it around his waist, then tried to sidle around Cutter without exposing his back.
"Connor, what on Earth did you do to yourself?" Cutter tried again. Connor ducked his gaze, and began speaking entirely too fast, even for him.
"I got a bee sting. A big bee sting. Not from an anomaly bee or anything, just a regular bee, but I guess I got a reaction or something. I have allergies, you know, and I guess of my allergies must be to bees because that one..."
Cutter interrupted him then, his concern growing along with his frustration. "Turn around, Connor, let me see." Connor shook his head vehemently.
"No! I mean, no, that's okay. The hot water just made it look worse than it was, it's already fading." He looked hopeful. Cutter tried to look as non-threatening as he could.
"It's all right lad, I won't hurt you, I promise. Just let me see."
Connor swallowed, frozen in place, face flushed pink from the warmth in the room and the awkwardness of the situation. Cutter came closer, placing a guiding hand on Connor's shoulder and gently turning the younger man around. Connor's skin was a painful red, covered in tiny round welts, each sporting a spot of darker red in their centre. A few of the welts looked to be infected. Cutter touched one gently to test it, but stopped when Connor gave a hiss of discomfort.
"Oh, Connor, you daft... What did you do, just yank them out?"
"The bee stings?" asked Connor, sounding confused and just a bit frightened, "The first aid websites always say you have to pull them out."
"The feathers, Connor, you're not supposed to pull out the feathers. Especially baby feathers like yours. You'll do yourself some permanent damage if you keep that up. Some of these are already infected."
Connor pulled away then, turning back to face Cutter, the earlier nervousness transforming into hostility. "What the hell are you talking about? I got stung by a bee. There are no feathers on bees! There are no feathers anywhere! And what do feathers have to do with anything anyway? What are you even talking about?"
Cutter took a step backwards then, studying Connor's face more carefully.
"Connor, do you know what's happening to you?" He asked carefully. "Didn't your father ever... sit you down, talk to you about this... process?" He gestured vaguely at his own back without thinking. Connor stared at him with suspicion.
"I never met my father," he answered, guarded, "but I don't see what that has to do with anything." Cutter sighed.
"Dry off, Connor. Put some clothes on, then you and I are going for a drink at mine."
---
"It's incredibly rare," Cutter explained. "Less than one percent of one percent of the general population even have the potential, and even fewer ever actually present. It's not dangerous, it's just unusual. Very unusual."
"But what is it? Where does it come from?" Connor asked, taking a sip of the whiskey Cutter had given him and pulling a face at the flavor.
"It's genetic, best as anyone can tell. That's why I asked about your father, normally it's passed from father to son. Some think it's a sort of atavism, but..."
"We're not exactly talking about a vestigial tail though, are we? We're talking about actual proper bird feathers growing out of my actual back." Connor interrupted. The alcohol had helped to loosen his tongue a bit, but it was beginning to have a similar effect on the anxiety that had been an undercurrent to Connor's mood.
"No, it's a bit more than a vestigial tail. I don't think it's atavism either, to be honest, and as an evolutionary zoologist I like to think my opinion counts for something in this debate. I think we're more... a subspecies, if you like."
"We?" caught Connor. "So you have... As well?" Cutter nodded.
"Yes, I do. Mine came through when I was about your age though, so they're a bit further developed now than yours are."
"Can I... see it?" Connor asked. Cutter raised an eyebrow.
"That's... quite a personal request you know."
Connor blushed, staring into his glass.
"Oh. Right, of course. Sorry, I guess I don't really know the etiquette. I'm sorry."
"Don't fret, Connor. I'm not upset, just a bit... taken aback." Cutter looked at Connor then, noticing how unhappy he looked. He sighed, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Connor looked up in surprise, then immediately averted his eyes. Cutter chuckled, standing up and undoing the bindings which held his wings flat to his back while he was in public. It was a relief to be able to move properly again, but he resisted the temptation to spread his wings to their full span. The young man on the sofa was freaked out enough as it was. He turned, so that his back was towards Connor.
"Connor? You can look now."
There was a few seconds of silence before Connor spoke.
"Wow," was all he said, and Cutter allowed his wings to twitch a little under the scrutiny. After a few more moments of silence, Cutter turned around again to gauge Connor's reaction.
The boy had a look of absolute terror on his face. Cutter went to sit next to him on the sofa, but Connor drew away.
"I'm going to... turn into that?" he asked, breath catching in his throat. Cutter sighed again, pulling his shirt back on to hang loosely over his shoulders, thereby obscuring the wings from sight. He took a good long swig from his glass of whiskey.
"Connor, I want you to look at me carefully. I'm the same person I was this morning. You don't need to be frightened of me, because absolutely nothing about me which has changed. This... This is a part of who I am, and it's a part of you too, but it doesn't change who we are. Do you understand?"
Connor was looking at anything but Cutter. He kept picking up his glass, then putting it down again, fingers twitching for some kind of distraction.
"How do I stop it from happening?" He asked suddenly. Cutter's shoulders slumped in disappointment.
"You don't, Connor. You don't stop it from happening any more than you stop hair or fingernails from growing."
"But I can cut them off can't I? Hair and fingernails, I mean. Can I cut the feathers off too? Without it bleeding and hurting all the time?"
Cutter shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Connor, it doesn't work like that. And even if it did, I'd tell you not to. You need to understand, this makes you special. Incredibly special. Don't just wish it away."
"Bugger being special! I'm enough of a misfit already, I don't need anything else making my life harder. For the first time in my life I feel like I belong somewhere, and now this... I can't deal with this." He picked up the whiskey glass and downed the rest in a gulp, then coughed and spluttered at the unfamiliar burn. He stood up and started to pace. Cutter looked at him thoughtfully.
"If anything, lad, this would make you fit in more..." He said carefully. Connor looked at him, confused. "You're not exactly the first person on the team with feathers, you know. To the best of my knowledge, you'd be the third."
Connor stopped pacing and stared at Cutter. Cutter could almost see the calculations happening behind his eyes, and was relieved when Connor finally came to a conclusion.
"Not Stephen?" he asked, aghast. Cutter nodded. Connor dropped back onto the sofa, putting his face in his hands and trying to breathe rhythmically. After a few minutes of silence, Cutter moved across to the sofa Connor was sitting on and placed a very light hand on Connor's shoulder, careful to keep the contact well above the sore patches.
"Tell you what. How about I give Abby a call, tell her you've had too much to drink and you'll be staying here tonight. You go up to the spare room, and I'll be up in a few minutes with some antiseptic and some bandages, and we see if we can't clean up the mess you've made of your back."
Connor nodded mutely, then stood up on wobbly legs.
"Promise you won't tell Abby?" he asked, nervousness back in full force. Cutter nodded.
"Our secret." He agreed.
Author: echo_fangirl
Characters: Nick, Connor
Rating: PG (13)
Warnings: wing!fic, self-harm
Words: 1595
Disclaimer: Not mine, as nice as it would be
Spoilers: None
A/N: For futureperfect , who requested Anyone/Anyone, wing!fic. I didn't even know wing!fic was a thing until recently, and I still don't entirely get it, so hopefully I'm not too far off the mark!
----
The thought had first occurred to him when Cutter saw Connor wince, right after Stephen casually slapped him on the back. He'd watched more carefully then, seeing the absent minded scratching, and the switch to bulkier jackets and layered shirts. Cutter had held his suspicions for a while now, and had looked on the lad fondly, remembering his own coming of age and the accompanying frustrations.
What he discovered though, walking into the men's shower room quite late in the afternoon, simultaneously confirmed his suspicions and left him horrified. Even partially obscured by the steam, the angry half-moon rashes on Connor's shoulder blades were hard to miss.
"Connor, what..." He trailed off as Connor spun around too quickly, eyes startled and arms flailing about for something to cover himself with.
"Cutter! Sorry, didn't hear you come in. I was just finishing up, I'll be out of your way in no time."
Cutter picked up a neatly folded towel and handed it to Connor, who shook it loose then hesitated, no doubt noticing that it could cover his waist down, or cover his shoulders, but not both. He eventually settled on wrapping it around his waist, then tried to sidle around Cutter without exposing his back.
"Connor, what on Earth did you do to yourself?" Cutter tried again. Connor ducked his gaze, and began speaking entirely too fast, even for him.
"I got a bee sting. A big bee sting. Not from an anomaly bee or anything, just a regular bee, but I guess I got a reaction or something. I have allergies, you know, and I guess of my allergies must be to bees because that one..."
Cutter interrupted him then, his concern growing along with his frustration. "Turn around, Connor, let me see." Connor shook his head vehemently.
"No! I mean, no, that's okay. The hot water just made it look worse than it was, it's already fading." He looked hopeful. Cutter tried to look as non-threatening as he could.
"It's all right lad, I won't hurt you, I promise. Just let me see."
Connor swallowed, frozen in place, face flushed pink from the warmth in the room and the awkwardness of the situation. Cutter came closer, placing a guiding hand on Connor's shoulder and gently turning the younger man around. Connor's skin was a painful red, covered in tiny round welts, each sporting a spot of darker red in their centre. A few of the welts looked to be infected. Cutter touched one gently to test it, but stopped when Connor gave a hiss of discomfort.
"Oh, Connor, you daft... What did you do, just yank them out?"
"The bee stings?" asked Connor, sounding confused and just a bit frightened, "The first aid websites always say you have to pull them out."
"The feathers, Connor, you're not supposed to pull out the feathers. Especially baby feathers like yours. You'll do yourself some permanent damage if you keep that up. Some of these are already infected."
Connor pulled away then, turning back to face Cutter, the earlier nervousness transforming into hostility. "What the hell are you talking about? I got stung by a bee. There are no feathers on bees! There are no feathers anywhere! And what do feathers have to do with anything anyway? What are you even talking about?"
Cutter took a step backwards then, studying Connor's face more carefully.
"Connor, do you know what's happening to you?" He asked carefully. "Didn't your father ever... sit you down, talk to you about this... process?" He gestured vaguely at his own back without thinking. Connor stared at him with suspicion.
"I never met my father," he answered, guarded, "but I don't see what that has to do with anything." Cutter sighed.
"Dry off, Connor. Put some clothes on, then you and I are going for a drink at mine."
---
"It's incredibly rare," Cutter explained. "Less than one percent of one percent of the general population even have the potential, and even fewer ever actually present. It's not dangerous, it's just unusual. Very unusual."
"But what is it? Where does it come from?" Connor asked, taking a sip of the whiskey Cutter had given him and pulling a face at the flavor.
"It's genetic, best as anyone can tell. That's why I asked about your father, normally it's passed from father to son. Some think it's a sort of atavism, but..."
"We're not exactly talking about a vestigial tail though, are we? We're talking about actual proper bird feathers growing out of my actual back." Connor interrupted. The alcohol had helped to loosen his tongue a bit, but it was beginning to have a similar effect on the anxiety that had been an undercurrent to Connor's mood.
"No, it's a bit more than a vestigial tail. I don't think it's atavism either, to be honest, and as an evolutionary zoologist I like to think my opinion counts for something in this debate. I think we're more... a subspecies, if you like."
"We?" caught Connor. "So you have... As well?" Cutter nodded.
"Yes, I do. Mine came through when I was about your age though, so they're a bit further developed now than yours are."
"Can I... see it?" Connor asked. Cutter raised an eyebrow.
"That's... quite a personal request you know."
Connor blushed, staring into his glass.
"Oh. Right, of course. Sorry, I guess I don't really know the etiquette. I'm sorry."
"Don't fret, Connor. I'm not upset, just a bit... taken aback." Cutter looked at Connor then, noticing how unhappy he looked. He sighed, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Connor looked up in surprise, then immediately averted his eyes. Cutter chuckled, standing up and undoing the bindings which held his wings flat to his back while he was in public. It was a relief to be able to move properly again, but he resisted the temptation to spread his wings to their full span. The young man on the sofa was freaked out enough as it was. He turned, so that his back was towards Connor.
"Connor? You can look now."
There was a few seconds of silence before Connor spoke.
"Wow," was all he said, and Cutter allowed his wings to twitch a little under the scrutiny. After a few more moments of silence, Cutter turned around again to gauge Connor's reaction.
The boy had a look of absolute terror on his face. Cutter went to sit next to him on the sofa, but Connor drew away.
"I'm going to... turn into that?" he asked, breath catching in his throat. Cutter sighed again, pulling his shirt back on to hang loosely over his shoulders, thereby obscuring the wings from sight. He took a good long swig from his glass of whiskey.
"Connor, I want you to look at me carefully. I'm the same person I was this morning. You don't need to be frightened of me, because absolutely nothing about me which has changed. This... This is a part of who I am, and it's a part of you too, but it doesn't change who we are. Do you understand?"
Connor was looking at anything but Cutter. He kept picking up his glass, then putting it down again, fingers twitching for some kind of distraction.
"How do I stop it from happening?" He asked suddenly. Cutter's shoulders slumped in disappointment.
"You don't, Connor. You don't stop it from happening any more than you stop hair or fingernails from growing."
"But I can cut them off can't I? Hair and fingernails, I mean. Can I cut the feathers off too? Without it bleeding and hurting all the time?"
Cutter shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Connor, it doesn't work like that. And even if it did, I'd tell you not to. You need to understand, this makes you special. Incredibly special. Don't just wish it away."
"Bugger being special! I'm enough of a misfit already, I don't need anything else making my life harder. For the first time in my life I feel like I belong somewhere, and now this... I can't deal with this." He picked up the whiskey glass and downed the rest in a gulp, then coughed and spluttered at the unfamiliar burn. He stood up and started to pace. Cutter looked at him thoughtfully.
"If anything, lad, this would make you fit in more..." He said carefully. Connor looked at him, confused. "You're not exactly the first person on the team with feathers, you know. To the best of my knowledge, you'd be the third."
Connor stopped pacing and stared at Cutter. Cutter could almost see the calculations happening behind his eyes, and was relieved when Connor finally came to a conclusion.
"Not Stephen?" he asked, aghast. Cutter nodded. Connor dropped back onto the sofa, putting his face in his hands and trying to breathe rhythmically. After a few minutes of silence, Cutter moved across to the sofa Connor was sitting on and placed a very light hand on Connor's shoulder, careful to keep the contact well above the sore patches.
"Tell you what. How about I give Abby a call, tell her you've had too much to drink and you'll be staying here tonight. You go up to the spare room, and I'll be up in a few minutes with some antiseptic and some bandages, and we see if we can't clean up the mess you've made of your back."
Connor nodded mutely, then stood up on wobbly legs.
"Promise you won't tell Abby?" he asked, nervousness back in full force. Cutter nodded.
"Our secret." He agreed.