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Russell thought of himself as a man who could handle a stressful situation. Training as a doctor under a mentor whose mind often escaped him helped. Any case thrown at him built up that mindset: A broken bone, heatstroke, snakebites, even gifts going out of control.
However, after meeting the mayor and deputy of Venompeaks, the hybrid in charge of Onyxsprings and the five odd characters who called themselves Crawford's Cobras, Russell was convinced that his life couldn't get any more intense.
And then the pain that followed was excruciating.
He'd heard tales from his hometown of hybrids losing parts of their tail, chipping their ears, losing a claw or talon. Everyone knew how badly it hurt them both physically and mentally. It was like losing a part of yourself, your identity, your soul.
Russell always thought it was weird when his childhood neighbour had kept all their scales in a small box. He acknowledged now (looking back on the unhappy memories) that they thought someone would turn them into souvenirs for ignorant humans.
Oh, how he wished they had plucked him one by one, turned his feathers into novelty Dreamcatchers like his gift. Maybe they would have allowed him to wrap his cold-sweating body in cropped attachments and blanket himself in the silky appendages. He had hoped to remove their heartless laughter from his mind like the crossing strings would remove nightmares from his head.
But a simple piece of circular wood could not stop the screams that just... Would. Not. Stop.
Deep down, Russell knew nothing could compare to the confusion he first felt when he woke up in that stuffy, humid hospital room. Liam was nowhere nearby to comfort him. The agony of his back kept him paralyzed and unable to move anything from the neck down. Only a feeble, chirped cry escaped his parched mouth.
Mr Holloway had been by his side when he awoke, face resting on crossed arms, dozing against the bedframe. His mournful face, tears streaming down his stubbled cheeks, would stick in Russell's mind for years to come.
Virgil had clutched his left hand tightly, yet no pain registered in his numb fingers. Fuzzy words were said to him, question after question. Who did this to you? How did you make it to the river? You must have been in so much pain...
Russell had recognised later in life that the screams that haunted him were not his attackers.
They were his.
His right arm was gone. Left as a bandaged stump below the elbow. A residual limb, his medical mind provided. His brain was too fuzzy to remember his life in Venompeaks but clear enough to state the reality of his new body.
The grave reality that he would never be able to write in cursive again, open bottles or jars without force, or even button his shirt without a great struggle did not bother him as much as he thought. None of that compared to hearing- no, knowing deep down he'd never be whole again.
Mr Holloway said he had been put under multiple times due to his screaming. Russell couldn't remember doing that; he only recalled his back being on fire.
Why was his back on fire?
Markus, the gentleman who ran the front desk, stayed by his side when Mr Holloway was busy running the town and aiding with moving supplies. "Blindhollow is thriving against the odds," he had said, "Both humans and hybrids have a place to start anew."
Russell spent days (weeks? months?) in that small hospital room, watching others enter and leave, illness and injuries following them in and out. Markus had helped him sit up in bed after a while, with multiple cushions to rest his back against.
Mr Holloway would always stop by when his nightmares got particularly fiendish. He would gently rub his thumb across his hand, pouring him a small drink to calm the nerves. Consistently refusing to let him drown his sorrows, Russell conceded to the pitiful amount. Drown his sorrows more than usual.
He wanted to drown in the amber liquid so desperately, though. Fuck moving past this. Fuck healing and his career as Blindhollow's Doctor.
Fuck that bastard who took everything from him.
Russell had made Mr Holloway swear not to tell anyone his past: his trait and his former lineage. Not even Markus or Dr Pearson. He just wanted to suffer, learning to do everything with his left hand in peace. It's horrible not being able to hold things with both hands and write to his family or boyfriend.
He would never be able to face his parents again. No way he could bare seeing the sympathy on their faces. Liam would be so angry with him. He should've listened to him.
So he adapted. At seventeen, he was broken. At eighteen, he built his first prosthetic and once again became whole. Carved from a wooden railing, strong oak and pale in colour, it took multiple trials and errors to get correct. He had to ensure the ball joints were the accurate size and the elastic the perfect length.
He could not grip without positioning each finger individually, a slow process, but it would suffice. After all, he would only need to point one of those fingers upwards when he met Mr Crawford again.
Blindhollow was known as a fresh start for everyone. Young or old, rich or poor, human or hybrid. Russell took that chance in both his hands, flesh and wood. After Dr Pearson had sadly passed, a new sign was put in its place.
Dr Russell Lector's Office. It had a nice ring to it, he thought.
No one needed to know about his past at Venompeaks. Of Mr Crawford, his group of bandits, and his less-than-legal operations. In Blindhollow, he was just a simple doctor, loyal to Mr Holloway and treating any- all of his patients.
His name is Russell Lector... And he was born with stunning, brown vulture wings.
He was a hybrid, born and raised.
... But no one needed to know that... Not anymore...