Fic: The Anatomy of Birds (Michael, Lincoln, AU)
Title: The Anatomy of Birds (1/4)
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.
It was a Monday--no a Sunday--when Michael was born. It started at night when Mrs. Olaniyi pulled him out of bed. He didn’t remember much of how they got to the hospital. Only that Mrs. O. made him put on a sweater when he didn’t even have on a shirt and then slapped his hands when he kept scratching.
He fell asleep in the middle of a crowd of toys in the waiting area with the sound of Mrs. O.’s knitting needles lulling him to sleep.
When they shook him awake, again, the first milky light of dawn was falling through the high windows and he stumbled behind Mrs. O’s big backside. They followed the trip-trap steps of the nurse to his mother’s room. His mom had always been beautiful, but now she looked pale, lost and endlessly small on the huge hospital pillow with her hair, damp with sweat, plastered to her forehead.
With a weak smile on her lips she pointed toward the plastic crib and Mrs. O. pushed him toward it. He got up on his tippy toes, but it wasn’t enough. Mrs. O. wheezed and grumbled and pulled him up by his armpits. There was nothing inside the crib except a little bundle of blankets with something dark sticking out. It didn’t look like anything special.
*
His feet squished through the puddles and he giggled with delight. The rain water had collected in a cracked tile. When he wriggled his toes tiny specks of dirt swirled upward.
“Michael?”
“I’m here, momma,“ he yelled without looking up from his little biotope.
“You sure it’s not too cold for you?“ she asked and petted his hair. Michael leaned into her touch like an affectionate kitten and rubbed his nose against her thigh.
“No, I’m good.” He turned his attention back to the weathered maroon tiles. The sun had washed away most of the reminders of this morning’s downpour. He leaned forward to trace the outline of his shadow on the patio floor with one wet finger.
The wings fluttered in appreciation.
*
“Can you see him?” his mom asked.
Lincoln tore his eyes away from Captain Crunch and The Ninja Turtles in front of him and looked down the aisle. He frowned. Michael had toddled off again and sat under a display of Floppy Dogs. His little mouth was contorted into a smile of pure delight as he tugged on the tablecloth.
“He’s right over there.”
She smiled softly. “Sometimes I’m afraid that he isn’t real.”
*
“Let me watch,“ Lincoln said and Michael groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. The air around them seemed to burn with static electricity, a small flutter behind his back and they were gone again.
“Man, that’s so disgusting.”
Michael rubbed his eyes. “What does it look like?”
Lincoln shrugged and squinted. “It doesn’t look like anything.” Michael obviously wasn’t too satisfied with that answer and so he tried again. “It like on those tv shows. When the music gets all screechy and the scene starts to blur. Makes you feel weird just looking at it.”
“Oh.”
“Can I touch them?”
“No!”
*
She took him to the church in the late morning hours. On the outside she bought him blue ice cream and they had to wait till he had finished.
“Why can’t I play outside anymore?” Michael asked when they were finally inside.
“Of course you can play,“ she said sweetly and stroked his hair. “It’s just… It would be better if they… went away for a while.” Leaning down she whispered in his ear. “It will be our secret.”
“But why?”
“You remember those kids at school? What they said when you told them your story?”
Michael nodded, reluctantly.
“There are a lot of people out there like them. Bad people. They’ll be jealous of you, because you are special. They’d take you away from me and they would call me crazy. You don’t want them to call your mother crazy?”
“Of course not,“ he blurted out and reached for her hand. Shyly he laced their fingers together and let their hands swing back and forth.
“Then promise me, that you will never ever tell anybody.”
“I promise.”
She held him close and whispered, “One day. One day we’ll have a house, where it’s green and free and nobody is around.”
His eyes widened as he grasped the possibilities.
“And there I can play as much as I want?”
“As much as you want. Always.”
*
Michael shuffled his feet through the ruffled carpet a few times before he finally brought up the courage to knock.
“Come on in,” she said and Michael opened the door. His mom smiled sweetly and put the book she was reading aside. Happy that she wasn’t upset at the intrusion, he smiled and rushed toward her, into her arms and snuggled against her. She laughed and pulled him into bed with her.
“I’m glad,“ he mumbled as he nuzzled her shoulder.
“What for?”
“That you aren’t mad at me because it’s late. And that you don’t think…”
“That I don’t think you are too old to come to my bed? Oh, Michael, you’ll never be too old for that,” she replied and hugged him tight. She waited for him to make a start, but he just closed his eyes and relished her embrace. He’d always been so sensitive, a kindred soul. “Anything bothering you?”
He just turned his perfect seawater eyes on her, full of quiet understanding, and then evaded her gaze. His arms squeezed her tightly and it felt like a ring closing in on her heart.
“Do you miss them?“ she whispered and softly rubbed the skin below his neck, right between the shoulder blades.
Michael didn’t look up and again she felt worried that she had failed him. When he replied his words came out sluggish and hesitant. “Sometimes it itches.” He sought her eyes again, this time worried, pleading for answers. “I can feel them tickling. On my back. Under my skin.”
“You didn’t let them out, did you?”
“No, no,“ he replied hastily. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like they want out.”
She smiled in relief and kissed his forehead lightly. “It will be out secret,” she whispered conspiratorially. A gorgeous smile bloomed on his face, obvious excitement over this important assignment and of having gained something just between the two of them--something that nobody else could be part of.
“I love you mom,” he whispered with stars in his eyes; she decided that there was nothing more beautiful in her life than this look of complete trust and adoration, reserved only for her.
*
Michael always got the good spot, up on Mama’s shoulder, close to her heart. Lincoln’s place was on her belly. It wasn’t a bad spot, especially when they were alone; he got to hear it gurgle sometimes right below his ear. Or he got to nuzzle her belly button, which never failed to maker her laugh.
Still, when Michael was around--and it really never happened anymore that he wasn’t--it looked like she was closer to him, talked in his direction when she read, sparkled at him to see whether a joke had sunk in. Lincoln couldn’t help but feel resentful. Stupid Michael. Who cared if his whole tiny body shook with the giggles when he laughed or that tears welled in his eyes every time when the story didn’t end happily.
Once Lincoln had punched Michael’s leg and yelled at him not to be such a crybaby and that stories weren’t real. They had gotten into a fight right there on momma’s bed and Lincoln had been banned from story time for a week.
*
It was Lincoln who took him to fly a kite. He asked how Lincoln knew and his brother just shrugged. Truth to be told, he didn’t know either. He'd never had anybody to show him.
Stumbling, they read the instructions and then Michael made Lincoln run up and down the hill, over and over again.
“No, you're doing it wrong.”
Lincoln rolled his eyes at him and went back to running, dragging the kite behind him like a pitifully malnourished dragon. Michael bit his lip angrily and then charged down from his elevated position on a little hill. He caught Lincoln in mid run and managed to tackle him to the ground. Panting they grappled with each other and Michael almost clipped his tongue when Lincoln threw him down into the grass.
“You are doing it wrong.”
“I’m not going to let you hold it, you freak. You won’t let go on time and you’ll just get it broken.”
“It’s mine. Mom gave it to me. You have no right to just run off with it.”
The kite had been thrown off by their fight and lay two feet away, red and blue in the wet grass. Michael reached for the plastic construct and tears welled up in his eyes.
“You broke it.”
“No, everything is still there.” The older boy pulled the toy from Michael’s hands, trying to cover the part where the crosspiece had cracked with his thumb.
“No, it’s broken.”
“We can glue it, I promise. We’ll do it together and it will be as good as new.”
Michael shook his head vehemently. He couldn’t explain it yet, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t work again, the piece in the middle would be too heavy or the angles would be all wrong and either way it would never be the same.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s not going to fly again,” he whispered.
“I promise Michael, I promise. I’ll fix it.”
*
The next day it rained and the rain turned into snow and Lincoln said that they probably wouldn’t go out with their kites this year anymore. He got a hammer from the toolbox and a variety of nails. Michael blinked. They were all different sizes.
“You still don’t look like dad.”
“Shut up.”
He eyed the wall over Michael’s bed expectantly.
“So where do you want it?”
I don’t want it at all, Michael was tempted to say, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a good idea to say it out loud. So he just cocked his head, stuck out his lower lip and hummed something unintelligible. It seemed to be enough to encourage.
Michael watched as Lincoln balanced on the edge of the bed, not wanting to step on the mattress point blank, four nails between his lips and five more in his back pocket. He winced when plaster trickled down on his bed from where Lincoln drove in the nails. Mom wouldn’t be too happy.
Miraculously Lincoln managed to never to miss any of the nails completely. Four to fix the head section and five for the tail. It wound up and down, like a snake, curling and hunting.
Michael nodded as Lincoln plopped down beside him.
“It’s supposed to…”
“Yeah, like it’s always in the air, even when it’s inside.”
“’xactly.”
Caught in mid-flight, by his brother.
*
She'd always been more Michael's mother than she'd been his, but his heart still ached for her nonetheless. It made him feel good about himself when she asked more of him. He dragged home shopping bags on foot, nailed windows closed at her request. She sent him go to talk when she didn't want to. They no longer shopped at the supermarkets. Instead he walked to tiny stores, places with real people that you could negotiate with.
Even when he fought her and talked back, he still ached for her, and his biggest regret was that he wished that he could love Michael as much as she did.
Holding his hand under the water stream, he bit back the pain as it ran over the burns on his knuckles. He hadn't heard her slip in and gasped when she wrapped her arms around his back.
"I need you, you know," she said. "You are my big boy."
He blushed, but didn't move away. Her warm hands stroked his chest as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
"If anything ever happens to me, you'll take care of Michael, won't you?"
"But mom, nothing is ever gonna happen to you."
*
“Please, I need to go inside,“ he whined and tried to wipe away the snot that dripped down his nose. “Please. I need you to stand watch.” Pleadingly he tugged at Lincoln’s sleeve. The tears were falling more and more freely down his face and he could barely speak under the hiccups as he struggled to get the words out. “Please, I need to see her.”
“You're crazy, they will see you.”
“I don’t care, why should I care? Please, this might be my only chance.”
Lincoln softened and released Michael. For a moment the two boys’ eyes met, and then Michael stumbled back toward her room. The doctor had just left and Social Services were standing around the corner. He knew he only had a small time window at the most.
His heart thumped in his chest as he pushed the door open. He held his breath and slipped in. He placed his feet carefully, almost afraid he might wake her. They hadn’t been around when she died. The doctors ushered them out when she went into cardiac arrest. Now she lay motionless and pale, illuminated only by rippled rays of sun breaking through the drawn blinders. It was eerie to see her in here, for once not disturbed by the steady beep of the respirator.
Michael wiped the tears from his eyes and approached the bed. He didn’t want to go to her. Didn’t want to take her waxen cold hand in his. Didn’t want see her shell no longer animated by life and breath. The tears burnt behind his eyes again as he slid in the chair next to her and wrapped his fingers around her hand.
*
What was taking him so long? Lincoln leaned back against the wall and let his gaze swipe back and forth along hallway. He wished he had taken Benny up on his offer; Benny's mother had died of a lung condition three years ago. Benny knew how tough it was--Benny who had tried to slip him a joint under the table, his eyes full of sympathy.
Lincoln hadn’t been high when his mother died, but now he wished he had been. They had been ushered out of the room when she’d flat lined; they’d stood in hall with Michael crying his eyes out and Lincoln grasping his hand.
They’d been let in again after she died, for one supervised last look. He still remembered the feeling of Michael’s coarse sweater as he held on to his little brother’s shoulders. How Michael had winced when he squeezed too tight. He’d expected anger, had expected his brother to scream out the pain and surprise and heartache that they both felt. He had counted on it. Instead Michael had just stood there, tears running freely but silently down his cheek as they both watched the shell of the woman who had been the only home they had known.
“You can touch her, if you want to,” the nurse had told them and they had both recoiled.
Now Michael was in there, saying his last goodbyes, on his terms and not just because a bunch of doctors had given them permission. He admired Michael, for his strength and single-minded determination, for his braveness in this time of need.
Their mother… in a way she had always been Michael’s. The bond between her and Michael had always been special, they seemed to talk to each other on the same level; they were friends and confidants. They achieved a level of closeness that seemed deeper than anything else Lincoln had ever seen. She had always been a good mom, to both of them, but sometimes Lincoln had felt like an intruder just by being in the same room with them.
He'd expected Michael to fall apart when she got sick. Instead Michael had burned even more brightly, determined not to let her lose her spirit. Now she was gone and neither of them knew what would happen to them.
Shuffling his feet, Lincoln thrust his hands in his pockets.
When something metallic crashed in the room behind him, he whirled around and almost fell over himself getting through the door.
*
She had to come back. She had to. Michael didn't even notice when the wings shot out of his back, knocking over the IV stand, the empty tray on the bedside table and the vase they had brought just a month ago.
“She has to come back!” he screamed, clutching her lifeless fingers in his hand, so tightly he thought they might break. “Why won't you listen to me? Why? Why did you have me when you won't even listen to me?”
Angry tears shot out of his eyes as he half knelt on the hospital bed, hunched over his mother's body.
“I never,” the words sputtered out of his mouth, “I never asked you for anything before. Never.” He arched his back, unfurling the wings into full glory. They seemed to dwarf the room around them, catching every sliver of muted light, glistering even in the hospital's half darkness.
“I was a good boy. I always did what she told me. I never showed them to anyone, here,“Michael reached behind and started to tug violently on one radiant arch. He doubled over as blinding pain immediately shot down his spine. “Take them back. I don't want them. I never wanted them. Just make her come home again.”
He was ripped off balance. He heard the slap before he felt it.
“Out, now,” Lincoln hissed.
Michael stared at him with big blue eyes. For a moment he felt defiant. Let them find him, here, with his mother, her dead body a testament to the betrayal that had been committed against them.
“Now!” Lincoln insisted, his voice thundering in Michael's ears. Growing up with Lincoln had been hard at times. Even with all the fights they had and the miscommunication, it had never shaken the impression that Lincoln knew what he was doing. It was all he could trust in.
The anger evaporated and he took Lincoln's hand. Their eyes met and he heard Lincoln make a strangled sound as the wings retracted in front him.
He didn't resist when Lincoln pushed him out the door.
**
Chaper 2
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.
It was a Monday--no a Sunday--when Michael was born. It started at night when Mrs. Olaniyi pulled him out of bed. He didn’t remember much of how they got to the hospital. Only that Mrs. O. made him put on a sweater when he didn’t even have on a shirt and then slapped his hands when he kept scratching.
He fell asleep in the middle of a crowd of toys in the waiting area with the sound of Mrs. O.’s knitting needles lulling him to sleep.
When they shook him awake, again, the first milky light of dawn was falling through the high windows and he stumbled behind Mrs. O’s big backside. They followed the trip-trap steps of the nurse to his mother’s room. His mom had always been beautiful, but now she looked pale, lost and endlessly small on the huge hospital pillow with her hair, damp with sweat, plastered to her forehead.
With a weak smile on her lips she pointed toward the plastic crib and Mrs. O. pushed him toward it. He got up on his tippy toes, but it wasn’t enough. Mrs. O. wheezed and grumbled and pulled him up by his armpits. There was nothing inside the crib except a little bundle of blankets with something dark sticking out. It didn’t look like anything special.
*
His feet squished through the puddles and he giggled with delight. The rain water had collected in a cracked tile. When he wriggled his toes tiny specks of dirt swirled upward.
“Michael?”
“I’m here, momma,“ he yelled without looking up from his little biotope.
“You sure it’s not too cold for you?“ she asked and petted his hair. Michael leaned into her touch like an affectionate kitten and rubbed his nose against her thigh.
“No, I’m good.” He turned his attention back to the weathered maroon tiles. The sun had washed away most of the reminders of this morning’s downpour. He leaned forward to trace the outline of his shadow on the patio floor with one wet finger.
The wings fluttered in appreciation.
*
“Can you see him?” his mom asked.
Lincoln tore his eyes away from Captain Crunch and The Ninja Turtles in front of him and looked down the aisle. He frowned. Michael had toddled off again and sat under a display of Floppy Dogs. His little mouth was contorted into a smile of pure delight as he tugged on the tablecloth.
“He’s right over there.”
She smiled softly. “Sometimes I’m afraid that he isn’t real.”
*
“Let me watch,“ Lincoln said and Michael groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. The air around them seemed to burn with static electricity, a small flutter behind his back and they were gone again.
“Man, that’s so disgusting.”
Michael rubbed his eyes. “What does it look like?”
Lincoln shrugged and squinted. “It doesn’t look like anything.” Michael obviously wasn’t too satisfied with that answer and so he tried again. “It like on those tv shows. When the music gets all screechy and the scene starts to blur. Makes you feel weird just looking at it.”
“Oh.”
“Can I touch them?”
“No!”
*
She took him to the church in the late morning hours. On the outside she bought him blue ice cream and they had to wait till he had finished.
“Why can’t I play outside anymore?” Michael asked when they were finally inside.
“Of course you can play,“ she said sweetly and stroked his hair. “It’s just… It would be better if they… went away for a while.” Leaning down she whispered in his ear. “It will be our secret.”
“But why?”
“You remember those kids at school? What they said when you told them your story?”
Michael nodded, reluctantly.
“There are a lot of people out there like them. Bad people. They’ll be jealous of you, because you are special. They’d take you away from me and they would call me crazy. You don’t want them to call your mother crazy?”
“Of course not,“ he blurted out and reached for her hand. Shyly he laced their fingers together and let their hands swing back and forth.
“Then promise me, that you will never ever tell anybody.”
“I promise.”
She held him close and whispered, “One day. One day we’ll have a house, where it’s green and free and nobody is around.”
His eyes widened as he grasped the possibilities.
“And there I can play as much as I want?”
“As much as you want. Always.”
*
Michael shuffled his feet through the ruffled carpet a few times before he finally brought up the courage to knock.
“Come on in,” she said and Michael opened the door. His mom smiled sweetly and put the book she was reading aside. Happy that she wasn’t upset at the intrusion, he smiled and rushed toward her, into her arms and snuggled against her. She laughed and pulled him into bed with her.
“I’m glad,“ he mumbled as he nuzzled her shoulder.
“What for?”
“That you aren’t mad at me because it’s late. And that you don’t think…”
“That I don’t think you are too old to come to my bed? Oh, Michael, you’ll never be too old for that,” she replied and hugged him tight. She waited for him to make a start, but he just closed his eyes and relished her embrace. He’d always been so sensitive, a kindred soul. “Anything bothering you?”
He just turned his perfect seawater eyes on her, full of quiet understanding, and then evaded her gaze. His arms squeezed her tightly and it felt like a ring closing in on her heart.
“Do you miss them?“ she whispered and softly rubbed the skin below his neck, right between the shoulder blades.
Michael didn’t look up and again she felt worried that she had failed him. When he replied his words came out sluggish and hesitant. “Sometimes it itches.” He sought her eyes again, this time worried, pleading for answers. “I can feel them tickling. On my back. Under my skin.”
“You didn’t let them out, did you?”
“No, no,“ he replied hastily. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like they want out.”
She smiled in relief and kissed his forehead lightly. “It will be out secret,” she whispered conspiratorially. A gorgeous smile bloomed on his face, obvious excitement over this important assignment and of having gained something just between the two of them--something that nobody else could be part of.
“I love you mom,” he whispered with stars in his eyes; she decided that there was nothing more beautiful in her life than this look of complete trust and adoration, reserved only for her.
*
Michael always got the good spot, up on Mama’s shoulder, close to her heart. Lincoln’s place was on her belly. It wasn’t a bad spot, especially when they were alone; he got to hear it gurgle sometimes right below his ear. Or he got to nuzzle her belly button, which never failed to maker her laugh.
Still, when Michael was around--and it really never happened anymore that he wasn’t--it looked like she was closer to him, talked in his direction when she read, sparkled at him to see whether a joke had sunk in. Lincoln couldn’t help but feel resentful. Stupid Michael. Who cared if his whole tiny body shook with the giggles when he laughed or that tears welled in his eyes every time when the story didn’t end happily.
Once Lincoln had punched Michael’s leg and yelled at him not to be such a crybaby and that stories weren’t real. They had gotten into a fight right there on momma’s bed and Lincoln had been banned from story time for a week.
*
It was Lincoln who took him to fly a kite. He asked how Lincoln knew and his brother just shrugged. Truth to be told, he didn’t know either. He'd never had anybody to show him.
Stumbling, they read the instructions and then Michael made Lincoln run up and down the hill, over and over again.
“No, you're doing it wrong.”
Lincoln rolled his eyes at him and went back to running, dragging the kite behind him like a pitifully malnourished dragon. Michael bit his lip angrily and then charged down from his elevated position on a little hill. He caught Lincoln in mid run and managed to tackle him to the ground. Panting they grappled with each other and Michael almost clipped his tongue when Lincoln threw him down into the grass.
“You are doing it wrong.”
“I’m not going to let you hold it, you freak. You won’t let go on time and you’ll just get it broken.”
“It’s mine. Mom gave it to me. You have no right to just run off with it.”
The kite had been thrown off by their fight and lay two feet away, red and blue in the wet grass. Michael reached for the plastic construct and tears welled up in his eyes.
“You broke it.”
“No, everything is still there.” The older boy pulled the toy from Michael’s hands, trying to cover the part where the crosspiece had cracked with his thumb.
“No, it’s broken.”
“We can glue it, I promise. We’ll do it together and it will be as good as new.”
Michael shook his head vehemently. He couldn’t explain it yet, but somehow he knew it wouldn’t work again, the piece in the middle would be too heavy or the angles would be all wrong and either way it would never be the same.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s not going to fly again,” he whispered.
“I promise Michael, I promise. I’ll fix it.”
*
The next day it rained and the rain turned into snow and Lincoln said that they probably wouldn’t go out with their kites this year anymore. He got a hammer from the toolbox and a variety of nails. Michael blinked. They were all different sizes.
“You still don’t look like dad.”
“Shut up.”
He eyed the wall over Michael’s bed expectantly.
“So where do you want it?”
I don’t want it at all, Michael was tempted to say, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a good idea to say it out loud. So he just cocked his head, stuck out his lower lip and hummed something unintelligible. It seemed to be enough to encourage.
Michael watched as Lincoln balanced on the edge of the bed, not wanting to step on the mattress point blank, four nails between his lips and five more in his back pocket. He winced when plaster trickled down on his bed from where Lincoln drove in the nails. Mom wouldn’t be too happy.
Miraculously Lincoln managed to never to miss any of the nails completely. Four to fix the head section and five for the tail. It wound up and down, like a snake, curling and hunting.
Michael nodded as Lincoln plopped down beside him.
“It’s supposed to…”
“Yeah, like it’s always in the air, even when it’s inside.”
“’xactly.”
Caught in mid-flight, by his brother.
*
She'd always been more Michael's mother than she'd been his, but his heart still ached for her nonetheless. It made him feel good about himself when she asked more of him. He dragged home shopping bags on foot, nailed windows closed at her request. She sent him go to talk when she didn't want to. They no longer shopped at the supermarkets. Instead he walked to tiny stores, places with real people that you could negotiate with.
Even when he fought her and talked back, he still ached for her, and his biggest regret was that he wished that he could love Michael as much as she did.
Holding his hand under the water stream, he bit back the pain as it ran over the burns on his knuckles. He hadn't heard her slip in and gasped when she wrapped her arms around his back.
"I need you, you know," she said. "You are my big boy."
He blushed, but didn't move away. Her warm hands stroked his chest as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
"If anything ever happens to me, you'll take care of Michael, won't you?"
"But mom, nothing is ever gonna happen to you."
*
“Please, I need to go inside,“ he whined and tried to wipe away the snot that dripped down his nose. “Please. I need you to stand watch.” Pleadingly he tugged at Lincoln’s sleeve. The tears were falling more and more freely down his face and he could barely speak under the hiccups as he struggled to get the words out. “Please, I need to see her.”
“You're crazy, they will see you.”
“I don’t care, why should I care? Please, this might be my only chance.”
Lincoln softened and released Michael. For a moment the two boys’ eyes met, and then Michael stumbled back toward her room. The doctor had just left and Social Services were standing around the corner. He knew he only had a small time window at the most.
His heart thumped in his chest as he pushed the door open. He held his breath and slipped in. He placed his feet carefully, almost afraid he might wake her. They hadn’t been around when she died. The doctors ushered them out when she went into cardiac arrest. Now she lay motionless and pale, illuminated only by rippled rays of sun breaking through the drawn blinders. It was eerie to see her in here, for once not disturbed by the steady beep of the respirator.
Michael wiped the tears from his eyes and approached the bed. He didn’t want to go to her. Didn’t want to take her waxen cold hand in his. Didn’t want see her shell no longer animated by life and breath. The tears burnt behind his eyes again as he slid in the chair next to her and wrapped his fingers around her hand.
*
What was taking him so long? Lincoln leaned back against the wall and let his gaze swipe back and forth along hallway. He wished he had taken Benny up on his offer; Benny's mother had died of a lung condition three years ago. Benny knew how tough it was--Benny who had tried to slip him a joint under the table, his eyes full of sympathy.
Lincoln hadn’t been high when his mother died, but now he wished he had been. They had been ushered out of the room when she’d flat lined; they’d stood in hall with Michael crying his eyes out and Lincoln grasping his hand.
They’d been let in again after she died, for one supervised last look. He still remembered the feeling of Michael’s coarse sweater as he held on to his little brother’s shoulders. How Michael had winced when he squeezed too tight. He’d expected anger, had expected his brother to scream out the pain and surprise and heartache that they both felt. He had counted on it. Instead Michael had just stood there, tears running freely but silently down his cheek as they both watched the shell of the woman who had been the only home they had known.
“You can touch her, if you want to,” the nurse had told them and they had both recoiled.
Now Michael was in there, saying his last goodbyes, on his terms and not just because a bunch of doctors had given them permission. He admired Michael, for his strength and single-minded determination, for his braveness in this time of need.
Their mother… in a way she had always been Michael’s. The bond between her and Michael had always been special, they seemed to talk to each other on the same level; they were friends and confidants. They achieved a level of closeness that seemed deeper than anything else Lincoln had ever seen. She had always been a good mom, to both of them, but sometimes Lincoln had felt like an intruder just by being in the same room with them.
He'd expected Michael to fall apart when she got sick. Instead Michael had burned even more brightly, determined not to let her lose her spirit. Now she was gone and neither of them knew what would happen to them.
Shuffling his feet, Lincoln thrust his hands in his pockets.
When something metallic crashed in the room behind him, he whirled around and almost fell over himself getting through the door.
*
She had to come back. She had to. Michael didn't even notice when the wings shot out of his back, knocking over the IV stand, the empty tray on the bedside table and the vase they had brought just a month ago.
“She has to come back!” he screamed, clutching her lifeless fingers in his hand, so tightly he thought they might break. “Why won't you listen to me? Why? Why did you have me when you won't even listen to me?”
Angry tears shot out of his eyes as he half knelt on the hospital bed, hunched over his mother's body.
“I never,” the words sputtered out of his mouth, “I never asked you for anything before. Never.” He arched his back, unfurling the wings into full glory. They seemed to dwarf the room around them, catching every sliver of muted light, glistering even in the hospital's half darkness.
“I was a good boy. I always did what she told me. I never showed them to anyone, here,“Michael reached behind and started to tug violently on one radiant arch. He doubled over as blinding pain immediately shot down his spine. “Take them back. I don't want them. I never wanted them. Just make her come home again.”
He was ripped off balance. He heard the slap before he felt it.
“Out, now,” Lincoln hissed.
Michael stared at him with big blue eyes. For a moment he felt defiant. Let them find him, here, with his mother, her dead body a testament to the betrayal that had been committed against them.
“Now!” Lincoln insisted, his voice thundering in Michael's ears. Growing up with Lincoln had been hard at times. Even with all the fights they had and the miscommunication, it had never shaken the impression that Lincoln knew what he was doing. It was all he could trust in.
The anger evaporated and he took Lincoln's hand. Their eyes met and he heard Lincoln make a strangled sound as the wings retracted in front him.
He didn't resist when Lincoln pushed him out the door.
**
Chaper 2