Chapter Text
The beast arrives in the inky black of the night, the moon being the only light to guide. Even if there were citizens out beyond curfew, they wouldn't have the energy to care. Today's mission has taken everything they had. As they make their way through the walls and doors of reinforced protection, their large wings drag behind, littering bloody feathers as they hobble to their home once more. The Bishops did not honor their silent wish for an easy mission.
They clutch their wounded side, grimacing in pain with every small step. Blood is dripping down the hand that is trying to hold themselves together. Their scaled feet carry their body through the path they have traveled many times before, it no longer takes a conscious effort to remember where to go. They don’t think they could make their way home if they tried; their brain is full of cotton and an insurmountable weight that is trying its best to knock them to their feet. Remembering directions is the last thing on their mind. Their heart is thumping in their ears loudly, their feet interrupt the quick rhythm of their heart with its slow and steady pace. The silence of their surroundings is deafening. What used to be a light signal of pain has now become a searing burn in their mind, consuming their every thought.
Maybe they aren’t so numb to it after all.
Or maybe this time is more serious than usual.
Finally, the vialist sees the familiar round buildings towering over every other. They make their way towards the sealed door, people with armored bodies and weapons flank it on each side. The guards take steps away to give the person arriving some space.
The door slowly opens, once again, the sound of stone grinding against stone fills the length of the path leading to the tower with a low rumble loud enough to vibrate its surroundings. They pause for the first time since making their way back to wait for the door to finally finish its goal. As always, the comforting cloaked figures are directly behind it, waiting patiently for their prize to breach the door's barrier.
The Bishops’ faces are filled with kind eyes and worried expressions as the child is rushed to the nurse’s office. Words of comfort and apologies are said to them, but they are so tired that all the words fall apart once they reach their ears. Their head is pounding so much that every second is a fight to stay conscious; they don't even realize they've forgotten to greet the Bishops formally.
The usual medical examination occurs: a prick of the finger, a blinding flash of light in each of their eyes, meticulous examination of their mouth and wings. The nurse says something about being more careful to the Bishops as they surround the bloody figure, and that their patient has some blood loss and will need an extended rest this time. She starts to temporarily bandage the more extreme wounds so they can clean the rest of their body for more proper dressings.
It seems just as soon as they were ushered into the medical bay, they are ushered back into their room so they can wash off.
The familiar room illuminated with neon lights has a shower located in one of the corners, new towels already folded neatly on the bed, blending into the stark white covers. The silence when the door finally closes is comforting, unlike the trip back. The quiet humming of the fluorescent lights, the way their feet clack against the floor and give soft echoes back, the way the mattress compresses against their weight as they sit down to take their shirt off. The quiet gives them time to breathe, think. But all they think about is how tired they are and how nice it will be to get all the blood and grime off their body.
They go to stand once more, having to catch themselves with a hand back on the bed so they don’t fall. After a second to steady themselves, they take a few steps to reach the shower head, their body aching at the strain of overuse and the slices in their flesh spreading to accommodate the movement. They turn on the shower head and stand under the rushing water. A curtain is bunched to their left, blocking part of the bed. They never bother using it for its intended purpose, presumably to give them privacy in their room. The Bishops didn't fully realize how big their body would grow to be, they especially underestimated their wings' size. The shower is just slightly too small for them.
The water runs down their hair, body, wings, and talons. The water seeps into the drain, with their large wings splashing water outside of the bounds of the shower tile. It seems over the—years they assume—their room has slowly shrunken in size.
But the child knows it's not the room. It's them.
They look to the floor, the water running off is stained a dirty pink, removing the weight of the day. The water seeps into their wounds, cleansing their pain from the inside, creating a new blank slate for the future. The sins of the past are washed away in the drain.
The soap bar is engulfed in their hand, soft pads gripping the sudsy block. They scrub their body, the stinging of their wounds is a welcome distraction. They soap and wash their wings and tail as best they can. They can never quite reach all of their feathers, but they try to take care of them for the Bishops. The Bishops like it when they are presentable.
The hybrid turns the water off and grabs the towels on the side. They diligently dry their body, even though their wings and tail never dry very easily. They've found that squeezing their feathers in between a towel so it isn't dripping wet and letting it air dry is the best solution. By the time they're done drying everything, various feathers are sprinkled on the floor. They've come to expect some regular shedding, especially after missions as rough as these. They hope they haven’t lost so much that they can’t function as expected. The vialist mops up the floor with the half-used towels and picks up the stray feathers, tossing them in the small trash bin next to their bed; the Bishops like their room neat. They fold their dirty towels and the ruined shirt on the edge of the bed, which always disappears when they aren't around.
The door slides open, and they are directed again to the medical room to be re-bandaged. Without the Bishops around to watch, the nurse takes her time and carefully wraps and cleans everything, explaining what she's going to do beforehand and always pausing whenever they flinch in pain.
The nurse makes them antsy, the eerie softness of her touch and the slowness of her movements always put them on edge; like a predator stalking its prey, moving slowly to not draw any attention to itself. The fledgling never knows what she's doing, and they don't like it. They're sure that she will do something to hurt them. The Bishops have warned their precious experiment that any kindness from others always has a deeper meaning, which means her gentle touch and kind eyes have to mean something else.
“I told Bishop Lisden that you aren't allowed to go out again until you heal.”
The patient's yellow eyes meet the blue-gray of the nurse’s. She has come to not expect a response.
“The Bishops need to be more careful. You could've died out there.”
It would be a worthy death, they think. Besides, they wouldn't even know it until they were already gone. Even still, their body could be of use to the Bishops.
“You need to rest for the next 2 weeks at least, and let your body heal. I've also requested some extra nutrients in your meals to help you heal and regrow your feathers.”
Her patient turns to look at their wings. There are countless spaces where a feather should be, they didn't realize how bad it was until now. They touch their neck and look at their arms. Sure enough, some are missing there, too. There's probably more on their tail if they could see it. The Bishops, especially Nico, won't be happy with this. They feel like a failure. Yes, they succeeded in their mission today, but they couldn’t help but feel like they still lost some larger game, and that a part of them was missing.
The nurse must have felt their worry because she says, “Don’t worry, they’ll grow back in no time. If you take the time to actually heal, it will be like it never even happened.”
With how much the nurse has emphasized taking time to rest, you'd think that her patient doesn’t listen very well. But that isn’t necessarily the case, it’s the Bishops who have always been one to push them to their limit, to improve their capabilities, and grow in strength. Nico especially has said in the past that they have incredible potential. It just so happens that their health takes a small hit because of that. It’s not on purpose, the Bishops would never do something to hurt them.
This time seems serious, though, with how much she keeps talking about it. The animal doesn’t know what they’d do with being given the chance to rest.
The nurse finishes her task soon after that conversation and releases her patient to return to their room.