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Wings beat against the air in a steady rhythm, the wind blowing through his hair and brushing against his feathers like ripples in a pond. The sun licked against his skin as he presented his face to the sky, spreading his arms out wide and grasping at nothing.
He laughed, loud and energetic, his breath being taken away by the air that churned around him. Screaming until his lungs were empty and his voice was hoarse, just for the sake of doing it. He let himself practically hover against the clouds, breathing deeply and inhaling the thinner oxygen greedily. It had been so long, too long.
Tommy tucked his wings, letting himself freefall for a few moments, waiting until the timing was right before snapping them out, letting the wind catch and him to be propelled back in the air. The way his stomach seemed to drop and the tingly feeling that came with it. He trilled sharply, whistling to himself and calling in chirps and tones known only to him and his kin.
The sun was shining, the warmth in the air below was almost nonexistent this high up. Goosebumps prickled against his skin as his hair was blown in front of his face. Tommy reached his hand out towards the sun, his fingers curling around the glowing yellow orb as if he could touch it.
His talons stretched out in front of himself and he let himself drop again trusting his instincts to know when to catch himself. His instincts knew him better than he would be able to know himself.
Tommy let himself fall, lower, and lower, until he was able to see the ground peeking in from behind the treelines. He spread his wings.
The wind didn’t catch.
Alarm spiked in his chest, he saw the flutters of his feathers in the air, the gaps between his wings.
He saw the way the ground was much closer than it was before. He flapped his wings desperately, hearing the shouts from below. The familiar, cursed shouts only sent sparks of electricity along his skin.
Arrows whizzed past the treelines, piercing through the leaves and towards him.
An arrow was lodged into his wing, pain erupting from the wound. His feathers were falling, peeling like he had been plucking them. They seemed to drip off his wings like blood against an open wound.
He stared up, not able to breathe, not able to scream. The oxygen rushing in and out of his lungs too fast for him to be able to retain any of it.
Tommy hit the ground, waking with a gurgled scream.
His chest heaved, as he stared up at the ceiling of the pub. His wings had been pinned under his back as he had moved around in his sleep. The tingling pins and needles made it hard to sit up. He choked on his tears, gasping and covering his mouth with both hands to try and muffle his sobs.
Gripping his jaw, his nails digging into his skin he curled in on himself. His wings were shaking as he curled them around his arms, the brushing of his feathers against his skin made him flinch, sparks flickering.
He was falling.
He was falling.
He was falling.
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his hair and letting out a distressed keen, his throat aching with the strain of trying to hold back his tears.
He was in the nest, he was on the ground. Tommy curled his talons around the blankets. His chest ached and his head was starting to spin. He couldn’t breathe, there was too much oxygen. He was too low.
He needed to fly. He needed to get out. He needed to breathe.
When he tried to stand his knees were shaking and gave out when he leaned his weight on them. A blanket caught around his claws and he tripped, scuffing his hands on the floor and probably bruising his elbows.
Tommy sat there, his forehead pressed against the ground, crying and wheezing. His wings were draped limply across the floor, shielding him from view.
Footsteps came thumping across the floor, sending vibrations through Tommy’s skull where he was still curled up. He tried sucking in breath after breath but it only made his headache worse and the floor dip and spin more.
Someone was talking to him, there was someone nearby. Tommy reached out blindly, his eyes still squeezed shut, and found a hand taking his own, squeezing gently.
Tommy chirped, he squawked, crooning and keening. Anything he could think to soothe his racing mind, to keep the breath in his lungs.
Anything to stop the empty feeling echoing in his chest, swallowing him whole.
There was a hand brushing against his head, running through his hair and brushing his sweat plastered bangs away from his forehead. He heard their soothing chirps, he tried focusing on it. The lilt of their tone, the way that the end seemed more regal than his careless croons. How they articulated with that familiar sleek accent.
He was flying. He had been flying.
He had fallen.
Again.
Again.
Again.
All he could do was fall.
Tommy sobbed, desperately clinging to the person in front of him, digging his nails into their arms in a way that he was sure was painful. But he couldn’t let go, couldn’t will his hands to loosen. The same way he could never will the wind to carry him anymore. Could never mold it to his command and use it to his own bidding.
Phantom pains tingled against his wings, numbness spreading down from his back towards the tips. The aftermath of the arrow, the result of falling.
All he knew how to do was to fall.
Tommy sucked in painful breath after painful breath, his lungs rattling and his throat grating. He had cried himself hoarse, tears blotting against his skin and running dry. The remnants of his dream—he couldn’t even call it a nightmare, nightmares don’t feel that good—rearing its ugly head in the back of his mind. Causing his hands to shake and his entire body to tremble with a weakness that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Hey,” a soft voice whispered towards him, their hand went back to smoothing Tommy’s hair away from his forehead, “you with me Toms?”
“Phil?” Tommy croaked, everything was covered in a haze, his vision was blurry and he did his best to squint through crusted eyelids. He saw Phil’s pants in front of him where the older man was knelt down, one hand buried in Tommy’s hair and the other still holding onto Tommy’s tightly.
“There you go,” Phil crooned, “there you are, you’re okay.”
“I was falling… Phil, I was—I was falling again…” Tommy said, he pressed the heels of his palms against the floor, letting go of Phil’s hand and pushed himself up to a sitting position, “I couldn’t fly… I—I couldn’t .”
Phil ran his thumb under Tommy’s eye, wiping away the tears that still gathered, “I know… I’m sorry, you’re okay.”
Tommy let his eyes slip shut, leaning into Phil’s touch. His talons scraped against the wooden floor as he shifted. He sat with his legs crossed in front of himself, his wings dragging limply against the floor, he didn’t bother to try and move them. What would’ve been the point?
He didn’t explain his dream any further. Phil already knew.
It was the same dream. The same one that he had last night, and the night before. The one that he had been having for weeks.
He kept falling.
He kept flying and he kept falling. He went too high and he fell too low.
He went too close to the sun. Too close to the ground.
He fell.