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Chapter Text

Seonghwa’s mother had often told him of The Guardians, a noble group of Flighted called Terns that soared around the world and blessed the towns they would migrate through; whose wings, though torn or ruffled, were almost pure white, washed with gray like watercolors at the edges of the primaries and on the dorsal side. They were revered for their heroic journeys, sharing news from distant lands to small villages and large cities alike. They’d all started as chicks in nests across all walks of life, from the richest kings to the starving desert towns, and every single one would find their fate floating on updrafts.

His mother had told him, her wings of blue and white hiding them both from the rest of the universe and him tucked to her side, that he could be one of the Terns, that he could reach greatness far beyond his status with nothing but his will and the wings at his back.

At the time, said wings were fluffy and flightless with downy feathers, but those words had nestled into his chest and fluttered in his mind whenever he would stumble.

Seonghwa had always dreamt of being a Tern, but kneeling before a flock of bloodstained Flighted, eyes watching his every move and fists buried in his feathers, he knew he’d never be that which he had hoped.

As his wings ripped apart, sawed off where the limbs met his shoulder blades, as the darkness pressed in and as the laughter rang out from the crowd gathered around, as he bled, his dream slipped through his talons.

He would wake up a week later, tucked into wings that weren’t blue and white like his mother’s, afraid and with his life crumbling around him.

Summer warmth pressed up into the pastel long-sleeved sweater pushed back to his elbows as he dug his hands into the dirt. There was no urgency, no panic in his chest as soil lodged under his nails and dust settled in the minuscule folds of skin of his palms. Behind him, a stream spilled lazily over carefully placed rocks, the water gliding through the designated path he’d painstakingly designed years before.

Cicadas buzzed in the forest beyond his garden, the trees alive with noise as birds chirped and fluttered from branch to branch and other small friends traversed the dense undergrowth. 

Sitting back on his heels, Seonghwa brought a dirty hand to move overgrown hair away from his eyes, leaving trails of dirt on his glistening brow. Exhaling, he looked at the work he’d done today: twenty new hardy succulents along a rocky outcropping he’d created for a birdbath, fifteen new herbs in his herb garden farther along the outskirts, and six fruit tree saplings in the emptier section of yard along the  forest. And finally, the bed of sunflowers had gotten new friends: forget-me-nots and hyacinths. If he recalled correctly, his mother had planted them along their house in his younger years.

Seonghwa brought his hands to the grass, rubbing the backs and then the palms of them against the ground to clear them of the dirt. 

Standing, he turned, lifting his head to the sun, basking in the warmth that had kept him company.

Beneath his sweater, in that trapped layer of heat between cotton and skin, the scars on his back stretched and burned at the ache that presented itself the moment he left his fixated state of gardening. A moment of joy in the sun was quickly twisted like a knife when the pain at his shoulder blades made itself impossible to ignore.

Throwing an exasperated hand into the air, Seonghwa opened his eyes and let himself sink to his knees again, this time under the crushing weight of his own agony. 

It has been years. It has been so many years and still he hurts.

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to the cool grass and exhaled slowly. 

It had been 7 years since he’d woken up, writhing and screaming, in the arms of a stranger. 7 years since his wings had been severed from his body and 7 years since his entire life changed.

Feathers still grew around the scars, running along his spine up to his head and down his back to an unkempt tail of broad feathers the same color of the damn wings he’d lost. It had been 7 years and still, with every feather that grew, he felt no peace. 

Despite this turmoil, he had regained his freedom; had reclaimed it in the arms of that stranger, who now was his pillar of strength and reliability in life: Choi San.

Choi San was a Flighted with broad shoulders, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a giant wingspan. For all intents and purposes, he should be terrifying, as the very same folks that had torn Seonghwa’s wings away from him had been large and powerful Flighteds, but the difference between San and those terrible people were their eyes.

That group had eyes that were hungry, greedy, obvious in the way that they searched Seonghwa’s body and wings when he had been forced on display. 

The highest bidder got to keep the wings and do what they wish with the poor soul they stole them from.

Seonghwa had been the lucky one. His mother had been unlucky. 

At least she hadn’t lived to see her son’s body be cruelly destroyed under the hands of killers.

After they’d taken his wings, they’d simply tossed Seonghwa out like he was some sort of discarded piece of trash. Like he wasn’t worth even disposing of properly. Like he wasn’t worth the blood on their hands.

And then Seonghwa had woken up in the arms of a man with large wings and, at the time, a small frame. The man with deep brown eyes that only conveyed concern. The man had spoken to him softly, had eased Seonghwa into his arms though it was obvious the now flightless man was heavy for this scrawny Flighted.

San had whispered gently—those eyes warm as his chin softly pressed against Seonghwa’s forehead as he’d leaned it into his chest—that he was going to take care of him. That he was going to make Seonghwa better again. 

That no one would ever hurt him.

And Seonghwa had believed him and San had been right.

San would take him to the hospital, become an emergency contact and eventually the caretaker for such a broken mess of a man. He would take Seonghwa to a quaint little village, away from the city and those hungry eyes, to a spacious cottage in the countryside that San’s parents had built. 

And in that cottage, Seonghwa would heal.

The hospital may have stitched and bandaged the physical wounds but emotional damage is hard to assess when there were no emotions.

As Seonghwa’s body got better, as San dedicated every day and every night to coaxing the injured man to eat and drink and sleep, his mind would escape from its protective walls and finally, he’d come to terms with what had happened. And over the years, San would learn and grow alongside the man who healed at a snail’s pace, patient and loving through every stumble and every hurdle.

And now Seonghwa was here, bowing in the grass of a garden with the sun, once a warm reminder of the new day, now burning into his back as distant memories seeped back into him and the reminders of what he’d lost tearing him asunder.

Stuck in his head, he hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching. 

“Hyung… are you-are you okay?”

Jongho, oh stars he’d forgotten that Jongho was watching.

Lifting his head slowly, eyes still closed, Seonghwa whispered, “Yep, I’m alright. It’s fine. Just out of breath.” A lie, a little lie, but a lie nonetheless… unfortunately Jongho had been basically raised at this cottage and he didn’t hesitate.

“You’re full of shit if you think I wouldn’t realize you’re in pain, hyung,” Jongho retorted sharply, grass rustling as the younger man knelt at Seonghwa’s side. “You really shouldn’t wear such heavy clothing when it’s this hot outside.”

Seonghwa let out a breathless chuckle, eyes still closed, “It was aesthetic for my gardening time, I had to wear it.”

Jongho sighed, hooking an arm under Seonghwa’s, and gently, slowly, lifted the man from his knees and pulled him to his feet, making a sympathetic noise when Seonghwa grunted and flinched when his back twitched in pain. “Let’s get you inside. Wooyoung is making some bread for dinner and Yeosang is sleeping. San isn’t home yet but he should be back soon. We can get you a heating pad for your back but you really should cool off.”

“When did you become so… mature?” Seonghwa asked, voice tight as they walked to the doorway. 

He opened his eyes as Jongho smiled and whispered conspiratorially, “Someone has to be the adult around here.” He took a moment to quietly assist Seonghwa up the couple of steps, and then added bluntly, “And the group chat has been active, you just forgot your phone on the counter so I thought I’d inform you of the happenings.”

Seonghwa nodded, “Well, I appreciate that very much, little bird.”

Walking into the house from the back porch opened up into the kitchen and dining room, next to the refrigerator. To the left was the wall, where there were individual cubbies for each set of shoes and a whiteboard with magnets all over from the travels the little family had gone on.

Seonghwa kicked off his shoes with as much grace as a middle schooler just returned from a day of academics, stepping heavily forward and past the fridge. 

The kitchen was large, with granite counters and white cabinets with glass cabinet doors so they could easily see where the dishes went when emptying the dishwasher. The floors were dark hardwood and covered in mats where the cooking was done most to protect the wood.

There was an island in the center of the kitchen, where Wooyoung stood kneading a slab of dough with a song humming in the back of his throat. At the sound of Seonghwa’s entrance, the man turned with a grin, his wings fluffing at the sight of the older man, “You managed to get away from your babies?”

Seonghwa was about to answer, hobbling over to lean on the island counter, when Jongho clambered in and said, “Hyung was crumpled to the ground like a baby deer. Don’t let his cute act fool you, he exhausted himself.”

Wooyoung snorted, Seonghwa retorting quickly, “I had finished all I needed to do in the garden, I was just getting ready to go inside, Young-ie.”

Lifting and then slamming the dough down, Wooyoung flared his wings, “You gotta be careful, you’re gonna turn to dust if you keep pushing yourself at that age.”

“I’m not that old!”

Wooyoung swept a wing in a shrug and tucked them to his back. Those wings, though expressive as the man himself, were dull in coloration. Thin, angular, black with gray on the insides, his wings were well kept and even if they were small, they were impressive. Wooyoung had ended up at this Safe Roost by choice, not necessity, meeting San during work at a local cafe one day, and from that moment it was history. The two had become a flock, and then San had shyly introduced the quick witted, loud man to Seonghwa and the three had clicked. They were Woosanhwa, a trio of chaos, as much as Seonghwa tried to act like he was the mature one of the group.

Seonghwa had spent many days curled up in a nest with those wings wrapped protectively around him, that warm voice whispering comfort as nightmares wracked his healing mind.

Seonghwa went to the stools on the other side of the island, sitting and leaning forward, closing his eyes as the cool countertop ebbed relief into his skin. Jongho shuffled around, opening the refrigerator, closing it, shuffling some more, and then something cold was pressed to his neck. Seonghwa chirped, instinctively appreciating the cold, before stifling the noise as Wooyoung giggled.

Jongho sighed, a layer of affection buried in his tone, and said, “I’m gonna get the heating pad warmed up for you, you really should take care of yourself better Hyung.”

Wooyoung interrupted warmly, “Let him be, it’s adorable when he’s the one being taken care of. He always hovers when we get even the slightest owie. It’s our turn to hover now.”

Jongho moved away, his wings making a quiet swooshing sound as the youngest cooed in the back of his throat. 

Seonghwa kept his head buried in his arms, the sound of Wooyoung humming again and the movement of Jongho in the living room creating a buzz in his head that melted the heat from his shoulders. The tension remained but at least the mind-bending warmth had gone.

He knew he should get up and move to the couch but… it was just… so…

A warm hand pressed firmly to his lower back, and even through the sweater, he could feel the rough calluses and worn skin. Through the fog in his head, he was aware time had passed and that he was still lying at the island, but that fuzzy sleepiness had yet to release him from its clutches.

“…ix hours…day outside…needed it…” A quiet voice said nearby, the conversation not quite settling in his ears.

“He is…wake him…almost ready…” Another voice replied.

The warm hand at his back moved, settling between his shoulders as another moved to lift him from the stool and carry him away.

Seonghwa’s eyelids, heavy and requiring a herculean effort to lift, flickered and met the soft gaze of San, who held him closer and said comfortingly, “Just moving you to the living room, go back to sleep.”

He didn’t need any more tempting, his eyes closing and his head going limp as the darkness pressed in again.

Gasping awake, Seonghwa blinked and made eye contact with the mass of heat of feathers that had plastered itself over his chest like a weighted blanket.

Yeosang, with one blind eye clouded and the other gleaming excitedly, stared back with a tiny grin on his face. His mouth opened and a voice that wasn’t his own chirped out, “ Hyuuuuung !” 

Seonghwa blinked again, before rubbing at his face and meeting the younger man’s gaze again, “Good morning.”

Yeosang chuckled his own laugh and replied in a perfect mimicry of Seonghwa, “ Good morning .” After a few moments, the man’s brow furrowed and he said in his own voice, “It’s not morning. It’s 8 in the afternoon. You’ve been sleeping for 8 hours.”

Seonghwa stretched his arms above his head, sitting up from where the blankets and pillows had swallowed him, “Dinner is at 9, right?”

Yeosang nodded, sitting up and lifting his chin, saying in Wooyoung’s voice, “ We’ll wake him up when it’s almost ready, Sannie. ”

Seonghwa smiled, reaching over and ruffling the younger man’s hair, “Shall we get your wings preened before dinner, Sangie?”

Yeosang nodded emphatically, turning his back to Seonghwa and stretching trembling brown wings. The older man grabbed ahold of one wing and smoothed the feathers down slowly, carefully finding loose and old feathers and removing them with a tiny pinch at the base.

Closing his eyes, Seonghwa hesitantly combed his fingers through unkempt primaries, flashes of his mother’s wings bombarding his vision.

He had to move through that wall, he had to help his flockmates, he wasn’t in his past he was in his now.

He was in his now.

Seonghwa pressed on, zipping the feathers back into alignment with deft fingers.

Distracting himself, he thought back to his school days and how his teachers would describe flocks.

Groups of Flighted, all together in a tight-knit family, develop deep emotional bonds through preening and spending time with each other. Though specific preening areas, like the insides of wings and the base of the tail, were specifically for romantically involved individuals. Preening the outside of the wings and outsides of the tail were key in developing friendships, and those friendships would become stronger feelings of flock. 

There were two kinds of flock: the one an individual is born with and the one they make or join when they are older. 

Flocks can even be a mix of both, with parents and their flockmates and their offspring in one household.

Mixed homes were quite common and some of the members of the Safe Roost had even grown up in mixed roosts.

Seonghwa had been a part of a strictly familial flock in the deeper parts of the forest where small villages of friendly flocks would live near one another to provide safety. 

The Safe Roost was in the middle of a property but still situated near a village so the flockmates could get help if an emergency happened.

Seonghwa blinked heavily, hands twitching from where they were buried in the feathers around Yeosang’s back, reordering and cleaning the feathers that were so often pressed against by shirts and jackets. 

Yeosang’s wings had a distinct tremor, a remnant from the attack that had half-blinded him. This meant Yeosang could only fly short distances; even then it was hard work and exhausting.

Yeosang had been a friend of Wooyoung’s for long before their loud flockmate had met San and Seonghwa, and the accident had occurred a few years prior that left Yeosang unable to support himself in a world that demanded flight for almost every job. If employers saw unusable wings they’d assume the individual was irresponsible or weak and move on to the next candidate.

It had broken Yeosang’s heart and left him distressed and in a desperate attempt, he’d reached out to the Safe Roost, who’d taken him in without any hesitation.

Now, Yeosang was in charge of picking the ripe fruit and vegetables and getting them ready to be sold by San when the group went to the farmer’s market held by the village. 

He had also picked up exercising and had begun an online course for other Flighted who had gone through physical hardships and wanted to help their bodies.

Seonghwa was proud, every day, and made sure Yeosang knew he was proud, every day.

“Dinner!!!!” Wooyoung shouted, wings spreading from where he stood at the island with an assortment of complementary dishes to add to their rice and meat. The fresh bread sat sliced beside the array. 

Seonghwa shook himself out, smoothing Yeosang’s wings down and patting the younger man’s shoulder, “All done!”

Yeosang stood, wings flaring to keep balance as he stepped off of the nest, the feathers at the back of his neck fluffing and smoothing, “Thank you, hyung. Let’s eat some-,” his voice changed into that of Wooyoung’s, “- Dinner !!!”

Seonghwa followed him to the kitchen, where Jongho stood with a plate and chopsticks. San raced down the stairs, giant wings carrying him over to the group in a sweep of wind. 

Seonghwa took this moment to look at the flock, a blooming feeling of contentment in his stomach. Jongho’s brown and black wings were tucked and preened to perfection, meaning he’d probably just cleaned them, while Wooyoung’s wings remained ruffled from the cooking and baking.

San had been upstairs, likely in his study doing a couple telehealth appointments with some patients, but his wings, which were huge, white and black with hints of red at the edges, were in good shape. 

His flockmates were happy and healthy, their wings in great condition.

Seonghwa smiled gently, saying as the others had begun to dig into the food, “I love you all.”

The group collectively fluffed at that, tail feathers rattling as they shook out at the admission of affection. San brightened visibly, his smile beaming and heartwrenchingly adorable, “Thank you, we love you too, hyung.”

Jongho rubbed his neck slightly, nodding, “Love you.”

Wooyoung looked at Yeosang, who echoed in Seonghwa’s voice, “ I love you all .”

Wooyoung scoffed, though he was grinning, “Is this ‘cause I made dinner again?”

Seonghwa shook his head, “No, no. I love that you did this, though. I just love you all and I don’t know if I say it enough.”

“We know you love us, don’t worry,” San reassured.

Seonghwa nodded and then promptly dug into dinner.

He didn’t know how life could get much more perfect than right now.

Truly, he doubted it could.

The sound could have been mistaken for an explosion, or maybe an earthquake, with how sudden and loud it was and how the ground shook with the impact.

It was very clearly trouble, despite how it may have confused those hearing it.

There were shouts, several, different unfamiliar voices.

Coming out of sleep, Seonghwa lifted his head and blinked sleepily in the dark.

Then, a wail of agony crashed through the silence.

Seonghwa was struck with panic as the sounds settled, all of his imagination fueling only the most violent and terrible possibilities, the only coherent thought wracking his sleep-addled brain being: They’re all going to die. They are all going to die.

There were footsteps, the others waking up from their nests and clambering out of their rooms to the balcony that served as the sky entrance for the home.

One set of footsteps moved to Seonghwa’s room, a hand slowly opening the door and revealing Wooyoung, whose wide eyes and stiff wings and tail conveyed his fear. The man said gently—a whisper, why was he whispering—, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay. Come with us. We’ll be safer together.”

Seonghwa trembled from where he lay curled up on his nest, which was just a mattress with an ungodly amount of pillows and blankets, nervously shaking his head. Wooyoung was right but Wooyoung hadn’t seen what Seonghwa had seen, what Seonghwa had been through. Screams were always bad. Wooyoung was right but he was naive, and as much as Seonghwa wanted to believe his younger flockmate he stayed where he was.

Wooyoung approached, pulling his wings to his back and saying gently, “No one’s going to hurt you. No one.”

In Seonghwa’s vision, though he knew he was safe, perfectly safe, memories flashed unbidden through his consciousness like lightning. Shapes, large and imposing, moving around him with hands reaching for the delicate feathers along his neck. People, people he didn’t know, had surrounded him then and now, with his flockmate stepping forward gingerly, he couldn’t suppress the violent shivers that wracked his frame. He was safe, but he wasn’t. He was there, but he wasn’t. 

Wooyoung got closer, lowering himself to Seonghwa’s level and cooing deep in his throat, a warbling sound that soothed some ancient instinct locked within his mind.

The older man stifled a sob, reaching a hand out towards the Flighted who so gently moved forward. 

Wooyoung took his hand, pulling him forward and to his feet, “Sannie, Jongho, and Yeosang are already out there, they are gonna protect you just like I will. It’s probably nothing, but we gotta check it out.”

Seonghwa blinked, tail rattling as the feathers shook against each other, “What, what if—“

Wooyoung squeezed his hand, leading him down the hall to the stairs, “No ‘what ifs’. It’ll be okay. You’ll see it’s okay with your own two eyes and be okay.”

Seonghwa’s feathers on the back of his neck flared and fluffed, and the stumps where his wings had been strained as if they could flex large wings. As if the ghost of what was could mantle protectively.

Wooyoung paused before the front door, listening for several moments, and then pulled the door open and led Seonghwa out of the house slowly, watching their surroundings as they went. 

Standing along the farthest edge of the front gardens, beside the white picket fence that kept the forest from encroaching upon the clover lawn, cowered three individuals. Wooyoung tensed, feathers hidden in his hair becoming visible as they fluffed up fully. If the situation weren’t so terrifying, he’d find it cute that his younger flockmate was so protective. Though now, staring at these intruders, Seonghwa only felt his stomach twist and flip with adrenaline.

Seonghwa couldn’t tear his eyes away. As Wooyoung and he approached the other flockmates, it became increasingly obvious that these strangers were covered in blood, dirt, and clearly unwell. 

All three wore what could be described as robes, though they had bandages wrapped around their entire forearms and calves, with fingerless gloves and combat boots a matching shade of black. Other than the gloves and boots, the clothing was a strange, stark white; though they were splattered with blood and gore.

They were like ghosts in the dark, the gleam of the moon reflecting brightly in their fearful gazes.

The tallest, a blonde with large brown eyes and full cheeks despite his slight frame, stood on the left of their trio. His wings, though coated in layers of grime and mud, had hints of gold and blue that carried into the scattered feathers buried in his hair. His tail was torn and had sections of entirely missing tail feathers. He was covered in the least amount of blood, his odd outfit splattered. 

The second tallest had hair of flames, the roots were blonde but morphed into a hot red as it got farther from his skull. His wings were faring poorly, several patches of feathers on the front of the arm of his wings were missing, revealing bleeding cuts and irritated skin. What feathers remained portrayed a beautiful idea of what his full wings might look like. Interlocking white and black feathers with a splash of red and brown at the feathers closest to his back. His face was drenched in blood, a gash above an eye still bubbling sluggishly. He stood favoring one leg, the other held above the ground and the leg obviously broken just from the angle of the shin. With the way his body swayed, it was obvious he was struggling to stay standing.

Finally, the shortest by a significant margin, stood in the middle, the other two crowding protectively with their wings mantled and eyes untrusting of the group gathering across the lawn from them. 

The shortest Flighted was the one in the worst shape, weight swaying from foot to foot as his head lulled in his attempt to stay awake. His wings dragged on the ground, visibly snapped and twisted beyond use while bloodied slashes cut through the robes in a morbidly fascinating fashion, splattering blood like a Jackson Pollock painting. His face was the only one covered, a mask or muzzle digging into his face as he audibly struggled to breathe. 

He was dying. They all were, but the muzzled individual was so damaged it was hard to say if even San’s abilities could bring him back to full health…

There was a man dying in front of the Safe Roost Seonghwa had called home for years and Seonghwa was just standing there letting it happen.

He needed… he wanted…

Wooyoung’s grip on Seonghwa’s waist tightened, the touch bringing him back to the moment as San spoke up in his firm yet kind tone, “Whoever you are, wherever you came from, it doesn’t matter. If you need help, we will help you. My name is San and this is the Safe Roost.”

The tallest, the one least bloodied, spoke in a wavering, small voice uncharacteristic of someone of his stature, “You… you aren’t going to make us leave…?”

One of San’s wings swept to gesture to the flock at his sides, “As long as my flock is unharmed, you can stay with us until you are better. I cannot in good conscience let you go in your state. I’m a doctor, I can help you.”

At the word doctor, the smallest of the three flinched. The one with the blond and red hair spoke, his deep voice gruff and hoarse, “We have nowhere to go. We have nowhere to go.” His head twitched, his gaze wandering, “Can’t fly anymore, we’ll die. We will die.” His voice fell off as his eyes glazed over, his face paling.

San took a tentative step forward, hands up placatingly and wings tucking back comfortably, “You’re safe here. Like I said, I’m San. These are my flockmates: Wooyoung, Seonghwa, Jongho, and Yeosang. What are your names?”

The trio glanced at each other in varying states of comprehension, an unspoken conversation happening as they silently met each others’ gaze.

Finally, the shortest spoke up, voice grave and almost inaudible with the mask on his face, “We have no names. We aren’t allowed names.”

There were several moments of contemplative silence, both groups exchanging challenging stares. The tallest blinked slowly, before whispering uncertainly, “But we’ve always talked about what names we’d like… I’ll be Yunho.”

The other tall one closed his eyes for a long few seconds, listing to one side before catching himself, “I’m… I’m Mingi.”

The shortest huffed, eyes glazing over as he added shakily, “And… and I’m Hongjoong…”

San smiled, one of his wings twitching at his flock, sending Wooyoung into movement gathering them towards the house. The three injured Flighted watched, gazes skeptical and fearful even when San turned his back to them to grab a hose at the side of the house to allow their guests to wash off..

Although his flock moved around him, Seonghwa couldn’t gather the energy to leave these injured individuals. As much as waking up to the sound of strangers had sent him on edge, he knew now that they were just like him once upon a time: scared, hurt, and with nowhere else to turn.

The tallest, Yunho, watched him with wings mantling higher around his two—presumably—flockmates, of which were listing heavily against each other, the adrenaline from wherever they had traveled from fading the longer they stood in safety. Seonghwa felt the feathers buried in his hair rise, his tail shaking reflexively against the anxiety.

San approached the injured Flighteds, wings tucked and feathers smooth, and asked when he was several arm lengths away, “Can I help you to the hose? We can get some of the gunk out of your wings and start treating some of these hurting spots.”

Seeing San so close to them woke him from his trance, all instinct demanding he be closer, be a protector for his flockmate.

Seonghwa kicked into movement, trailing towards San and watching the strangers from behind the larger man’s wings. The shortest, Hongjoong, regarded San with nervous but exhausted eyes, muffled voice saying, “Mingi got his head hit real bad, you can start there while me and Yunho wash up.”

San nodded, taking slow, projected steps into their space and fitting his shoulder under one of Mingi’s arms and taking his weight easily, “Would you mind telling me how you ended up here? If not, that’s okay too.”

“We’ll tell you when we can trust you.” Yunho said as he supported Hongjoong, and together, the four of them moved towards the house, Seonghwa stumbling out of the way with another tail shake. 

Mingi made noises of pain as they moved, head hanging as San practically dragged him forward. Concussion. Seonghwa didn’t know much but he knew that Mingi definitely had a concussion. Wooyoung had once flown face first into a tree and couldn’t look at his phone screen for a while as he healed. The memory of tending to the energetic young man made his tail twitch, the stumps of his wings aching as the muscles tried to move the limbs that weren’t there.

Seonghwa followed the group, bringing up the rear closely. The new people were either a part of a cult or church, had to be with those robes and matching gloves and boots. That, or they were just extremely coordinated in their fashion… but from the blood that seemed less likely. 

Seonghwa wasn’t that knowledgeable on local religion, preferring to keep his internet searches focused on plants and general botany. He cared more about the aeration of substrate than Wikipedia rabbit holes, but now, staring at these hurt people, he wishes he had actually done some sort of research

Anything to help him understand how he could help them.

Yunho and Hongjoong, under the watchful eye of Seonghwa, washed off the most dirty areas of their bodies and wings, freeing debris and detritus from their wings and tail. Mingi was helped inside by San and from the sounds of it Wooyoung had managed to get the others back to their rooms and had returned to San to help.

Seonghwa stood at the porch as Hongjoong limped, wings dragging, alongside his taller flockmate towards the front door, stepping aside as they got closer. 

Unexpectedly, Hongjoong paused and took several seconds to look Seonghwa up and down critically. 

“How’d you end up here?” The shorter man asked.

Seonghwa suppressed a nervous chirp, replying slowly and softly, “I was hurt… they made me better.” Upon seeing Hongjoong’s gaze harden, he added, “I lost my wings before I came here, they have never hurt me. You’re safe.”

Yunho glanced between them, taking a step forward, when Hongjoong whispered, barely audible with the mask on, “Good… Um… I don’t—don’t think I’m gonna make it inside. Sorry—“

And without any other warning, the small Flighted pitched forward, knees buckling suddenly as his eyes rolled back. 

Hongjoong’s knees hit the porch before Yunho could grab his smaller flockmate, Seonghwa jerking away from the sudden movement from both of the strangers.

Yunho looked up at Seonghwa the moment his flockmate was gathered safely in his arms, gaze scathing and angered, “Why are you just standing there?!”

“What–What do you mean? I–”

“Get your flockmate, tell him that Tern 1 is down! This is not time to be still, feather-brain.” The voice coming from Yunho wasn’t the nervous and soft voice from before, instead something commanding and harsh that stirred the wingless man into movement, racing into the house away from the pair of injured strangers.

He didn’t even realize he was moving until he was grabbing San’s arm and pulling him away from Mingi, who had been gently laid on one of the couches, saying shakily, “Please, help, he–he–”

San met his gaze steadily, wings flaring and a low concerned croak bubbling in his throat, “Easy, easy… You’re alright Seonghwa, you’re alright. What happened?”

“Hongjoong collapsed, Yunho got mad, he got mad —“

San glanced at Mingi, who breathed slowly with glazed eyes and twitching wings. Wooyoung stood on the opposite side of the couch. There was something unspoken that Seonghwa couldn’t understand because Yunho got mad at him . The last time a stranger had gotten mad he had his wings ripped off. 

Wooyoung took a step towards Seonghwa, freezing when the wingless man flinched. San slowly moved a hand to the older man’s side, firmly holding him by the bicep, “Easy, Seonghwa. Easy. Wooyoung-ie isn’t going to hurt you.”

Shaking his head, Seonghwa pointed in the direction of the front door, feathers fluffing, “No, he’s, no he’s hurt . You have to help him. They’re mad, you need to help him!”

San nodded to Wooyoung, who moved in and hugged Seonghwa in a hold that was as restrictive as it was reassuring, as he said gently, “I’ll go now, stay here. No one will hurt you here, Wooyoung will make sure.”

Wooyoung’s head moved against Seonghwa’s, likely the two making eye contact and speaking with just looks, as Seonghwa shook in the younger Flighted’s arms. 

“You’re alright, hyung. You did so good coming and telling us, you did good. You’re safe here, you’re safe. Breathe.” Wooyoung’s voice was steady, even as the man in his arms trembled like a leaf in the wind.

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat, unbidden tears gathering in his eyes, “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t…”

“Shhhh, this is a scary situation, there isn’t anything wrong with you. You’re rightfully nervous. We know nothing about these folks, they’re absolutely covered in blood which could be theirs or someone else’s and one of them just had an emergency where you couldn’t have been prepared to help. You’re okay, hyung.”

Wooyoung pulled away from the hug enough to look Seonghwa in the eyes, “You’re okay.”

Seonghwa stared, struggling to keep himself in the moment with his flockmate instead of in the memories that bore down on him. He opened his mouth to respond when the man on the couch, Mingi, suddenly pitched forward with a hand flying to his mouth.

Wooyoung leapt away from Seonghwa with wings beating, scrambling to the couch and grabbing a trash bin. With wildly accurate coordination, the Flighted shoved the bin underneath Mingi’s chin just as the injured man retched.

Seonghwa blinked, tail flicking as he watched his flockmate care for this stranger. It felt distinctly wrong, but in his haze of fear he couldn’t gather the focus to think on the instincts that flared protectively. He stood, a lone statue in the middle of the room as Wooyoung moved around, getting Mingi settled and gathering ice packs and their med kit from the bathroom.

He couldn’t even move as San carried Hongjoong to the kitchen island with an anxious tension in his shoulders, Yunho hot on his heels practically barking orders at Wooyoung, who had to bounce between helping Mingi and helping the others.

Whatever energy that had seeped into his veins when he’d woken up was gone and in its absence came an overwhelming emptiness. 

Distantly, Hongjoong jerked away from San’s hands, held down by Yunho and Wooyoung, screaming primal fear.

Distantly, Mingi protested the noise with pained groans.

And distantly, Seonghwa felt tears run down his face as everything grew to be too much .

Yeosang hesitantly walked down the stairs, wings flexing and contracting as the voices in the kitchen grew in volume. His head twitched and shook as his limited gaze took in the scene before him.

The strange man with the nice deep voice lay on the couch with a trash bin clutched in his hands, Seonghwa stood unnervingly still not even an arm’s length away, and in the kitchen San, Wooyoung, and one of the other strangers gathered around a figure on the kitchen island.

Clicking his tongue thoughtfully, Yeosang approached Seonghwa, observing the man’s posture as he got closer.

He was tense, and the stumps where his wings would have been were stiff in his loose sleep shirt, tail feathers spread wide and the feathers in his hair raised. His eyes were glazed over, his breathing stuttering, and his hands were clenched into fists with beads of blood dripping down his palms.

Not good, to say the least. Not good at all.

Yeosang stepped around Seonghwa, circling him and taking in everything before acting. Gingerly, he reached out and settled a hand on the older man’s forearm, whispering in Seonghwa’s own voice, “ I love you all .”

That was a unique thing he’d always been able to do. He’d always been able to talk in other’s voices. His mother had called it mimicry, his father had called it an insult.

But his friends loved when he used their voices to express himself. It was easier that way. It was a lot of energy to make words and sentences himself, but when the others already had words and sentences he could use them to communicate.

He looked up into Seonghwa’s thousand-yard stare, those dark eyes unseeing even as Yeosang pressed his face closer. 

Yeosang pulled away, head tilting to keep his one seeing eye on his hyung. “ I love you all .”

He frowned when he still didn’t get a response, hooking one of Seonghwa’s arms over his shoulders and guiding the wingless man towards the stairs, saying in his own voice, “You’re gonna get all ache-y if you stand here all night. Time for bed. Time for bed for hyung and for me. You can stay in my nest tonight, you’ll be safer.”

Seonghwa still didn’t respond, but his eyes focused a bit more on where he was walking than whatever he was seeing in his head.

Yeosang grinned, taking the stairs one step at a time, “Up we go. Up we go.”

Getting all the way to Yeosang’s room took several minutes, but by the time they reached his nest Seonghwa was more present and reacted whenever Yeosang put his face close to Seonghwa’s.

“ I love you all .” Yeosang repeated, wings stretching before tucking at his back, where they trembled idly.

The younger Flighted guided his hyung into bed, pressing pillows and blankets close to give him a sense of safety and comfort. After getting Seonghwa situated, Yeosang tucked in against his side, placing an arm over his chest and saying happily, “You’re gonna be all comfy now. You’re gonna be okay.”

He wasn’t expecting Seonghwa to reply, especially when he whispered hoarsely, “I think I know where they came from…”

“Wha—“ Yeosang blinked. He turned, looking at his hyung and realized that Seonghwa had fallen asleep after delivering his cryptic message. “Oh.”

He laid his head down, sighing as the screaming from the kitchen continued, “G’night, hyung. It’ll be better in the morning… at least I hope it will.”

His mother’s hands were warm. 

Still warm. 

Kneeling on both knees before the shattered, beaten corpse of the only woman who loved him, holding one of her hands as though he could break it if he even twitched, Seonghwa could feel the heat radiating from her skin. 

She lay in a stretching puddle of her own blood, teeth scattered in the crimson pool and fingernails littered inches away from her warm, pale hands.

Seonghwa stared at her face, which had, mercifully, been left untouched by the brutality of their captors. Her eyes stared back, distant and unseeing even if it seemed as though she were looking right at him. Her dark eyes were dull, duller than he’d ever seen them, and they conveyed a sadness he could not even imagine. 

Her high cheekbones had death’s pallor, her mouth curved into a frozen scream as her hair, once long and well kept, was missing in sections, ripped out by the cruel hands of those standing mere feet away from Seonghwa’s bent form. The feathers that grew small and fluffy around the curve of her jaw were clotted with blood and twisted, the cut just below them that formed a facsimile of a smile slowing in its bubbling of blood.

Seonghwa forced himself to blink, the images of the body before him scorching themselves into his mind like he was branded. 

When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurred, and it took him several long moments before he realized it was because tears had gathered in his eyes and were streaming down his face. 

He made no sound. The monsters within reach would punish him if he did.

He couldn’t bear to look at the violent tears in his mother’s chest, but he found himself compelled to look at her wings. The wings that had blanketed him on windy days, the wings that sheltered him from sheets of rain, the wings that, at any point, he could bury himself in if the world got too much. 

The wings that were currently an entire arm’s length separated from her body and untouched by the gruesome death that preceded their removal. 

The wings that still looked as perfect as they did the day they had been kidnapped.

He was moving before he realized, scrambling to cover his mother with his body, his own wings that still remained attached spreading to their full wingspan and hiding her from view.

He didn’t dare scream, though the agony inside felt as though he were being ripped into two.

Seonghwa glared at one of the men who watched, his giant wings and broad shoulders intimidating and wide, meeting his gaze with a steadiness he hadn’t mustered before, and bared his teeth. 

They had hurt her enough. 

And as the man stepped forward, he realized with a chill, he was next.

Seonghwa burst awake with a cry building in his throat, sitting up so fiercely that the weight against his side was pushed away as though it were nothing but a feather.

Standing on unsteady feet, he launched himself away and directly into a desk. A desk made of mahogany and heavier than the flock combined.

The cry in his throat ripped forth; falling to his knees, Seonghwa wailed in agony. 

He released the tension, the weight in his chest that crushed him daily, and forced the pain into the sound that poured out of his mouth like a flood.

He was broken. He was broken .

Every day, he would get better. And every night, he’d have the same goddamn nightmare. 

He was Prometheus, getting his liver torn out and regrown, but instead of the mercy of a liver, Seonghwa was getting his heart ripped straight from his chest and shoved back in without care for how it bruised.

He was a living, breathing cycle of suffering. 

He was damned to this hell.

He was—he was…

Hands, warm hands, hands that shook but hands that were alive , cupped his face lightly, gently, as though he was a glass about to shatter. As though he were worth any gentleness, any care.

These hands that were rough and worn and so different from hers, but hands that held him like she had.

They moved him, bringing his head up and into the light that streamed through half-shuttered blinds, and brought his face into the curve of a neck. 

The angel that had come to him spoke, voice deep and rumbling against Seonghwa’s cheek, “It’ll be okay… Easy, Seonghwa, easy. It’ll be alright.”

The hands moved, though Seonghwa stayed plastered against the chest, and went up to the nape of his neck and began to preen the feathers there. With every feather, he felt himself moving closer to them, drawn like a magnet to their warmth.

“There we are, there we are. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

Seonghwa shook his head in a short jerk, the wailing becoming a whine in his throat as he drew in shaking breaths, “It-It can’t be safe, it can’t-it can’t .”

“Want to tell me why?” The voice asked, an almost musical intonation, which only brought more tears to Seonghwa’s eyes.

“They-they have her, they have her. She isn’t breathing. They hurt-they hurt her and now she stopped breathing!” Seonghwa protested, his hands finding the wings at his angel’s back and burying themselves sharply in feathers. “They hurt her, I have to-I have to stop them!”

The angel hummed, hugging Seonghwa tighter before resuming their preening, “Can you tell me what you see? Just five things, okay?”

Incredulously, Seonghwa tried to rear back and face the man holding him, but the grip only tightened. It wasn’t… it wasn’t scary like it should have been. Instead, he melted against the resistance and allowed himself to be guided back to the warm embrace. 

He blinked, trying to focus enough to answer them, but only sobbed harder when the tears in his eyes made it impossible, “I can’t see, I can’t. There’s nothing. Nothing !”

The chest against his rumbled as they hummed thoughtfully. “Alright, what can you feel? How about you give me four things you can feel?”

Seonghwa huffed, tears still spilling down his face as he replied, “I can-I feel preening.” He realized with a jolt that his own hands were still buried in their feathers and released them, “I was, I was—feathers. I felt feathers.” He sniffled, eyes blinking harder to clear the tears, “I feel my shirt. An–and I feel your warmth.”

He tried focusing on the angel’s face and whined when he recognized dark hair, dark eyes, and a patient smile. 

“You did very well, do you want to tell me three things you can hear?” San asked gently.

Seonghwa swallowed hard, shaking his head, “You-You can stop. You can stop. I’m here. I’m at the roost. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

San hummed again, the feeling of the deep rumble emanating into Seonghwa’s chest and dragging him further into the present and into awareness, “Are you hurt? You slammed into Yeosang’s desk pretty hard.”

“Yeosang’s—Wait, what?” Seonghwa looked around the room wildly, pushing away from his flockmate’s chest. He was, in fact, not in his own room. 

The generously sized room was sparsely decorated. A desk and chair beside the nest and a bookshelf beside that were some of the only personal items. Though, the hardwood floors were covered in the softest, fluffiest rug San could find and along one of the walls were portraits of the flock, done by Yeosang himself. 

The portraits were… impressionist and stylized, with the primary focus being on the colors of the feathers of each individual and carrying that through to the tones of the rest of the portrait.

They were as unique as the members of the flock, and Yeosang had done a great job.

Seonghwa blinked, turning and looking at the door, where Yeosang stood staring with his singular seeing eye.  Though, his hair was sticking up at odd angles and a bruise was blooming on the right side of his face, just below the deep scars surrounding his blinded eye.

A bruise that hadn’t been there when Seonghwa saw him yesterday.

Standing fast enough that his head spun, Seonghwa was in front of Yeosang with gentle hands petting the spiky hair down and his face leaning close to inspect the damage, “What-What happened?”

The younger Flighted blinked, trembling wings fluttering behind him nervously, his voice that of San’s, “ Seonghwa isn’t thinking right now, he didn’t mean to hit you. Thank you for coming and getting me .”

Seonghwa’s hands flinched away from Yeosang, his eyes widening, “I… I did that?”

Yeosang simply nodded and turned to keep his good eye on his hyung. He blinked, taking in Seonghwa for a long moment, before saying in Seonghwa’s own voice, “ I love you .”

Seonghwa bowed his head, the feathers on his nape fluffing and relaxing as he exhaled, “I love you too, Sang-ie.”

San approached with heavy steps, wings flapping  at his sides as he said softly, “The guests are downstairs. Yunho and Mingi are doing well. Hongjoong is… he’ll live.”

There was a moment of silence, tension like that of standing on a cliff’s edge building. The stressed man took in a short, sharp breath. “Why did you let them stay?” Seonghwa asked, voice verging on the edge of a demand as it pitched up.

“They needed help.”

Seonghwa huffed, “You don’t know them. You don’t know if they will hurt us. You can’t just let them in .”

San’s wings tucked back, the tension in Seonghwa’s shoulders easing as they did, “You know that it's a house-rule that we don’t turn away injured people. If we can help, we help. You know this, Seonghwa.”

“They came from nowhere, wearing fucking cult robes and blood, and you let them into our house. I don’t care about the rules when walking red flags are sleeping, not even 20 feet from me.” 

San regarded him with pained eyes and a set jaw, his will unchanging in the face of disagreement, “Would you at least talk to them?”

Seonghwa’s head threw back as a sharp laugh tore from his throat in a ragged, empty sound, “ Talk to them?! They aren’t safe, they aren’t friends, they are strangers. They will hurt us.” Upon seeing San’s concerned furrowed brow, he insisted fervently, “ They will . It's only a matter of time till trouble comes running.”

San’s gaze hardened after a moment of concentrated and measured breathing, mouth curving into a frown, “You of all people should know not to judge a book by its cover—a Flighted by their wings.”

The stumps, where Seonghwa’s wings should be, ached sharply at his back as he sent a scathing look to San before moving past Yeosang and storming downstairs. 

Seonghwa paused at the base of the stairs, the adrenaline that had wound him up dissipating upon seeing three lounging bodies all in various states of bandaging and all of them quietly flinching when they heard him walk in.

The feathers at his nape fluffed. Yesterday they had been in poor shape and in varying states of distress. While they had improved they were… they were not great.

Mingi, the one with the fire-y hair and large dark eyes, lay on his side on the couch with one arm hanging off and cradling the side of a trash can. His head was wrapped firmly in bandages and his leg was splinted and wrapped. His wings splayed out at his sides, the raw sections covered in ointment and the evidence of a detailed preening remaining in the way his feathers were aligned and clean, a juxtaposition of the chaos they were in the night before.

Yunho sat, curled beside Hongjoong on the nest Yeosang and Seonghwa had been the day before. He blinked, quietly regarding Seonghwa with a blank expression. He had bandages around his upper arms and band-aids on a few cuts on his face. His tail had been cleaned thoroughly and his wings looked significantly improved. He looked pristine compared to how he was before. His eyes were half-lidded and his body was relaxed, and although he looked disinterested Seonghwa could feel those eyes watching every move he made. Yunho reminded him of a tiger or other big cat, quiet and judgmental despite a beautiful appearance.

Hongjoong lay still with a distant look in his eyes, hair carefully kept away from his face with clips. He was heavily bandaged on his chest and arms, his wings covered in wrappings and splinted in several places. The feathers were askew but clean. His body trembled, breathing quick and shallow.

They all had, at the very least, wiped off the grime and gotten some semblance of clean. 

And they all no longer wore the robes. Instead, they were in some spare clothing that San had stored for later use. 

They looked normal. 

If not for the black muzzle still covering Hongjoong’s face. 

Seonghwa cleared his throat, tail feathers rattling as he shook out some of the building anxiety. Yeosang stopped at his side, a trembling wing moving to gently press against Seonghwa’s back as he said, “Let’s get some breakfast. You must be hungry.”

Seonghwa pulled his gaze away from the three newcomers, following his younger flockmate’s lead and allowing himself to be guided to the kitchen, where the smell of bleach seeped into his nostrils like a thick haze. It was centered around the island counter and Seonghwa felt dread building in his veins, weighing into his chest. The bleach didn’t feel like it was cleaning anything, it felt, instead, like it was desperately trying to suffocate the smell below, wrapping it in a blanket and tightening its hands around the smell until it simply faded away.

Seonghwa pressed his eyes closed, throat tight and hands trembling. Bleach didn’t smell clean. It smelled like death. It smelled like hiding that which shouldn’t be seen.

It smelled like danger.

Yeosang pressed a wing against Seonghwa, mimicking the quiet chirps of the local birds to get his attention, pulling him away from the thoughts that tore at his sense of safety like a cat's claws through fabric. Seonghwa exhaled slowly, that tight feeling seeping away as he focused on the gentle touch and kind eyes of the man beside him.

“Cereal?” Yeosang asked, looking at him and tilting his head.

Seonghwa shook his head, tail flaring and shaking behind him, “Is there any rice I can just warm up? I don’t think I can stomach anything else.”

Yeosang walked to the refridgerator, opening it and peering inside. With a minute of rummaging around, he successfully pulled out a tupperware container half filled with cooked white rice. He turned back, both eyes wide but his seeing eye gleaming excitedly, “Found some!”

Seonghwa smiled, dipping his head and thanking him quietly as Yeosang passed him the container. He reheated the remaining rice and ate it with a spoon, staring out the kitchen window at his garden. He’d have to get out–

There was rustling behind him, a few footsteps and the presence of someone taller approached, and from the corner of his eye, Seonghwa saw—

Hands grasping for purchase in expanses of feather s . 

Shining silver flashes. 

A blade the size of his own head swinging ever closer. 

Splashes of a deep crimson that he saw only in his nightmares.

Grinning faces, gleaming teeth—

Seonghwa blinked, languidly lifting his head from where it had been bowed, his brain thick with fog and his eyelids heavy. Before him knelt Wooyoung and San, Yeosang within arms reach from the two, while behind the three of them stood Jongho and Yunho. 

The lights were dimmed; a distinct chill crawled over his skin like spiders as he blankly looked at the faces staring back at him, expressions ranging from concerned to nervous. They felt… far away, and as Seonghwa blinked he felt the world solidify around him at a snail’s pace. 

Breathlessly, hoarsely, Seonghwa asked, “Why… Why is everyone staring at me?”

Wooyoung’s eyes brightened as his wings flared, San turning to Yeosang and saying gently, “Go get a blanket.”

Yeosang stood to leave, wings fluttering, Seonghwa’s eyes following him as he asked again, “What happened?” He swallowed hard, finding it a laborious task to open his eyes the next time he blinked, “ What’s wrong?”

San looked back to him as Wooyoung drew closer, hands holding Seonghwa’s own– when had Wooyoung grabbed his hands– smiling warmly, “You’re alright, everything is alright. You think you can sit up?”

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed. He had just been standing. He moved his head, looking around. Wooyoung was right, he was indeed on the ground. There was a tupperware container a few feet away, rice spilled across the floor. Seonghwa exhaled slowly, moving his arm to push himself up, discovering just how exhausted he was as his muscles protested. He had just woken up, why was he so tired?  

Wooyoung helped Seonghwa up, waiting for him to lean against the cabinets before releasing him, “You’re doing great, hyung.”

Seonghwa breathed in through his nose slowly, San moving closer as Yeosang returned with a blanket, “Seonghwa-hyung, can you tell me where you are?”

Behind the two, Yunho shifted his weight, wincing as one of his wings twitched. The movement caught his eye, Seonghwa lifting his head and suppressing a shudder. He hummed, a warble in his throat, “You… you’re not allowed here.”

San lifted a hand, cupping Seonghwa’s face carefully. The wingless man’s eyes moved to him, brow furrowing in concentration. Seonghwa huffed, saying sharply, “I know where I am, I’m not dumb.”

“Are you feeling okay, hyung?” Wooyoung asked, grabbing the blanket and moving his hands to the corners.

“I’m fine. I don’t know why you are so worried. What’s wrong with everyone?” Seonghwa returned, moving his gaze to the younger man. They were all so tense, so concerned, so watchful. He had been eating and now he was on the ground, he didn’t know what happened and they won’t tell him and he just wants to know .

Yeosang chirped slightly, head turned to keep his good eye on Seonghwa, “We are just concerned, hyung.” In San’s voice he continued, “ It’s a panic attack, it’s alright Seonghwa, you’re doing okay. No one is going to hurt you. ”

The man whose voice he’d used twisted around to give him a look unnoticed by Seonghwa, who looked at Wooyoung, “I don’t… I don’t remember having a panic attack.”

Jongho spoke up, wings flapping behind him, “You fainted too. Hit the ground so hard it woke me up–”

“ Jongho !” Wooyoung snapped.

Seonghwa lifted a trembling hand, covering his face and heaving a breath out, “I can’t believe I woke you up, I’m sorry, I–”

Wooyoung turned to Seonghwa, gathering his hands in his own and saying gently, “Hyung, you didn’t wake him up. He’s being sassy because he’s worried about you.”

Jongho exhaled, leaving the kitchen as he rolled his eyes. Seonghwa watched him leave with a frown, asking, “How bad was it?”

San grabbed the blanket from Wooyoung’s hands and wrapped it around Seonghwa, brushing stray hairs away from the wingless man’s face, “It seems like you had some flashbacks, which sent you into a panic attack. We tried soothing and helping you ground yourself but you were spiraling. One minute you are sobbing and the next you are keeling over about to hit your head on the floor.”

Seonghwa sighed, pulling the blanket tighter as a shiver ran down his spine. 

A pause descended over the group, Wooyoung rubbing his thumbs over Seonghwa’s knuckles and providing a sense of warmth as San sat close by. Yeosang hovered nearby, providing soft sounds with his mimicry. 

Yunho stood, watching the group with a deep frown. 

After several more moments, he spoke up, “I’m sorry for scaring you, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Seonghwa blinked, stunned. “It’s, it’s fine. It…” His brow furrowed again.

He was once again struck with the fact that these strangers were people too. They were hurt and hurting, and he had… 

“Just… forget it.”

A couple weeks passed in uncomfortable tension, Seonghwa avoiding the newcomers while also trying to keep an eye on them. 

Mingi and Yunho meshed well with the other four. Once Mingi’s concussion eased up a hidden bubbly personality revealed itself after he realized he’d be safe at the roost. Yunho was protective but relaxed once Mingi was feeling much better.

Notably, Mingi and Wooyoung became close, Wooyoung preening the large Flighted’s wings carefully and gently, listening to every word that Mingi and replying after thoughtful consideration. Mingi was still confined to the couch as his leg healed but he was getting bolder and braver as time moved on. Yunho grew fond of everyone, though Jongho’s youthfulness spurred a burst of protectiveness in the taller Flighted, who followed Jongho around and always made sure to check in with the young man if they hadn’t spoken in a while.

The roost was much busier, bustling with movement and noise. 

Seonghwa made a space for himself on the stairs, watching from a vantage point that allowed him to flee if he felt any sort of threat. He was less anxious around Yunho, though the giant wings of the newcomer often set him off. Mingi was slowly becoming familiar to the eldest of the roost, but Seonghwa relied on San as a barrier when interacting with him. 

The only real concern was Hongjoong. Though his defenders were growing more accustomed to the Safe Roost day-by-day, he remained catatonic near constantly. When he was present, he was scared of everything and everyone, including those he had arrived with. It seemed that the few moments of clarity they’d seen when he first arrived were gone in the face of fear. Despite his clothing being changed and his body being cleaned, they were unable to remove the muzzle.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t take it off. It was that Hongjoong wouldn’t let them .

Yunho and Mingi managed to get some water into the Flighted through pouring water into the muzzle, but they hadn’t gotten any food into Hongjoong in over two weeks. 

Something had to be done or he would starve.

San stood at the kitchen island, leaning his back against it as his wings swept forward and wrapped around his shoulders like a blanket. The moon had long since set and the early morning whispers of light filtered through the sky that was variegated with clouds; cricket chirps slipped through the cracked open window, a cool breeze wafting into the kitchen and brushing against his feathers.

Beside him, on the granite counters, sat a discarded and cold cup of tea. The cup was porcelain and worn, with a chip in the rim. A simple thing, really. An old tool, now showing its wear and tear. Staring at it, San exhaled slowly. It was broken but it was perfect as it was… The cup. Yeah, the cup.

San turned and looked to the living room, where the new members of the flock slept fitfully. They all struggled with getting full nights of sleep, woken by nightmares or night terrors. Mingi’s concussion was doing much better and Yunho’s wings were healing quite well. And Hongjoong…

Hongjoong hadn’t eaten in approximately 15 days. He was officially starving and now risked the complications of refeeding syndrome. They couldn’t just cater a 3 course meal, they’d have to start off small and often with liquid food to get his body accustomed to food again. Hongjoong had gone from muscular and somewhat filled in to angular, gaunt, and so skeletal they could see almost every bone in his spine.

San brought a hand up to rub his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was a doctor, yes. He was trained in the healing and rehabilitation of Flighteds. He handled situations that are stressful and terrifying and all sorts of danger.

He hadn’t been in a situation quite like this. 

San stretched, grabbing the cup and pouring it out into the sink. 

One of the stairs creaked, his feathers fluffing as he turned to face the sound. A wingless figure stood frozen on the stairwell, feathered crest flaring and eyes reflecting the limited light. Quietly, San beckoned him closer, saying calmly, “You’re up early.”

Seonghwa walked down the last few stairs, light footsteps muffled by thick socks as the other Flighted approached. His head stayed bowed, eyes tracking the sleeping flockmates as he maneuvered around the chairs and table. Sidling up to San’s side allowed the winged man to see small trembles running through Seonghwa’s shoulders. 

“Nightmare, hyung?” San asked gently, spreading a wing as an offer. 

Moving into the hug, Seonghwa mumbled, “Yeah.” His gaze lingered on the newcomers before drifting around the kitchen. Exhaling roughly, he pressed his head into San’s shoulder; the feathers on his head laying flat.

San sighed, a small smile on his face, “You know… you could talk to me about it.”

Seonghwa scoffed, shaking his head, “I know, San. I do talk to you.”

“It’s been, like, a week since you wanted some good therapizing,” San whined quietly, glancing towards the living room. Mingi’s wings twitched, but otherwise he slept on.

“You’ve been busy,” replied Seonghwa, who followed San’s gaze and watched Mingi settle. It was true. He had. But there was always time to help his best friends– “What are you going to do about Hongjoong, Sannie?”

Damn it, his hyung always knew how to cut right to the chase. San froze, frowning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

“ Choi San. You haven’t slept for 2 days. Every single day you hover over Hongjoong and push back calls with patients to care for Hongjoong when you know he won’t improve if you don’t do something . What are you going to do?” Seonghwa lifted his head to meet San’s gaze, a determined gleam in his eyes.

“Hyung–” San started before shutting his mouth with a clack of his jaw. Since when did Seonghwa suddenly care enough to bring it up? Since when did his kind, but somewhat reclusive, hyung feel the need to step up? It wasn’t bad that he was doing it, he just— it was surprising.

Seonghwa stepped away at that, feathers fluffing, “He is dying.” The words seemed to take root, both of them realizing with sudden horror at the implications. “ He is dying . How can you just stand here and watch it happen?”

San looked at the ground, wings flicking and flaring at his sides before wrapping around himself, “It’s not that easy. I can’t just say a few words and instantly fix everything wrong with him. With someone like him I wouldn’t want to do anything to make his stress get higher. I’d rather it be voluntary than forced.”

Seonghwa regarded him for a moment, stepping closer and resting his head against San’s curved wing, “What is it that you would be doing?”

“The only thing I can think of is removing the muzzle against his will, forcing a tube through his nose,  down his throat and feeding him directly into his stomach. If you haven’t noticed, our new flockmates are hugely traumatized and I don’t want to make it worse. How will Yunho and Mingi feel while we do something that could be seen as harmful?”

“There are 5 of us and three of them. They will forgive us eventually.” Seonghwa said, though his voice was unserious in his threat.

San scoffed this time, shaking his head, “I don’t want to scare them into doing anything. That’s the opposite of what this place is supposed to be. It's a Safe Roost not an Ignoring-Consent Roost.”

“Why not get Yunho and Mingi to help us? They want Hongjoong to get better, so they’ll help us make him better.”

San looked at Seonghwa, tail feathers spreading, “I mean, yeah but– Us ?”

The wingless Flighted looked back, jaw set and brow furrowed, “Yes. Us.”

“You’re actually going to help us? What about… Seonghwa, they’ve sent you into panic attacks just by being around them. Are you sure?” San asked.

“It's either help them or let you all struggle without me. I’ve come to accept that they need all of our help, including mine. I’ve been hurt before and the least I can do is help others avoid the same hurt I’ve experienced. I’m going to help them… Now stop talking about me before I take back my offer to help.” Seonghwa grumbled, a warble low in his throat as he turned away to look at the stairs, as if looking at them would make him teleport there.

“With your help…” San’s brow furrowed as he thought, “and with everyone as desperate as they are to help Hongjoong it could work.”

“Why haven’t you talked about it with them already?” Seonghwa asked.

San scoffed, “It’s not easy to bring up during conversation. ‘Hey, I want to shove a tube down your friend’s throat so he’ll finally eat, anywho how was dinner?’”

“Couldn’t be worse than: ‘Hey everyone, we’re just gonna allow these strangers into our house and rehabilitate them.’ Meanwhile, said strangers are literally covered in blood.” Seonghwa replied, sending him a Look.

The winged man huffed, failing to hide a smirk, “But, you got to admit, they are interesting to keep around the house.”

Seonghwa turned, walking out of the kitchen and sighing, “Fine.” He glanced back at San, “When Yunho and Mingi wake up, ask them for help… and get some sleep. We can’t have the one stable person in the house down for the count.”

“What about Wooyoung?” San asked incredulously. 

“If you think Wooyoung is stable, you have clearly not been talking to the same Wooyoung I talk to,” Seonghwa said playfully. “You are the foundation of this entire house, we can’t have you crumbling because you refused to sleep out of guilt.”

San waved him off, shaking his head, “Alright, hyung. I will, as long as you get to bed too.”

“Deal, Sannie. Sleep well.” Seonghwa dipped his head, feathers fluffing as he made his way to the stairs.

San watched him leave, moving his wings and tucking them at his back. Why he hadn’t thought to include Yunho and Mingi in helping Hongjoong he didn’t know. They were the closest ones to him. Though, they still hadn’t revealed why exactly they ended up on the Safe Roost’s front lawn in the first place.

He’d have to ask…

But until then, he needed to sleep like his hyung had demanded.

He was burning in a snowstorm. 

His skin was alight with flames, muscles smoldering embers glowing hot while his body shivered violently against the frigid air around him. Sweat rolled sluggishly down his neck as goosebumps flared on his arms. Every breath was shards of ice down his throat, every heaving exhale lava pouring from his lungs.

He was hellfire in a blizzard, forest fires in a whiteout. 

His body ached something fierce , as if he’d flown for days and days and finally landed to rest. Exhaustion pinned him where he was, wherever he had ended up without his knowledge. Opening his eyes was an effort he couldn’t make and even as sounds around him changed in their muffled haze he couldn’t move his head to follow them. 

He was tired, he was hungry, he was thirsty, but most of all he was scared. Without his sight he was weak, without his hearing he was weak. Weaknesses were defective and defectives were executed without any hesitation. 

His minders would be furious, but most of all, they would do their jobs and kill him the second he returned for his mission report.

His mission… he couldn’t… What was his mission?

Did he even have one? He–

One sense he hadn’t lost was touch, and he was reminded of this violently when hands grabbed him and moved him from the fetal position he’d been in.  They were rough, calloused, and warm against his skin as they lifted him. 

Muffled sounds, voices maybe, echoed nearby. 

He was being lifted again, this time against a breathing chest and into the air in the hand’s hold. He was being carried. He was weak and they had to carry him .

He breathed heavily, ignoring the pang of agony that swelled through his chest. He had to open his eyes. He had to fight back and prove he was an asset that still maintained its use and value. 

Lord , he was so hungry. He was empty. There was a cavern in his stomach where flesh should be. The thought of food kept him just conscious enough to fight into wakefulness.

It could have been hours before heavy eyelids lifted, before he could see shapes and colors around him. 

Where was… He was…

He blinked and suddenly his surroundings had changed, he was laying on something flat and cold and some primal part of him knew it was bad. Knew it would bring pain. It had before.

He didn’t know how he knew it had hurt but it did and he had to escape .

He willed his hands to move and, traitorously, they lay limp at his sides. 

His upper body was hoisted into a sitting position, his head lolling forward as his vision blurred sickeningly. There was warmth at his back, his wings coaxed into laying out away from their tightly tucked position. There were more hands, holding his wings out where they spread to their wingspan, restraining them from moving back. 

Red flags and warnings screamed in his mind but he was just… so tired. Held like this, with arms around his middle and hands on his wings, he couldn’t escape. Not with his body burning from the inside out. Not with his brain a forest of fog. Not with his stomach empty and his limbs weak.

At least, that’s how he felt until hands grabbed the muzzle on his face and moved around to find the straps and latches and buckles that would release the mask.

Hongjoong’s eyes flew open, the world solidifying around him. The face before him was faintly familiar and he could almost believe the kindness that swirled in the dark pupils before him. Almost, until they undid the first restraint on the muzzle and all instinct screamed to FIGHT.

Grabbing the throat of the person before him, Hongjoong ripped one wing from the hands of the unsuspecting individual and used it to slam into the person behind him holding his chest to theirs. There was yelling, a scream, and Hongjoong was using his grip on the kind one’s throat to leverage himself up and pull himself to his knees. Those eyes were still kind, despite the glaze of fear, and Hongjoong could almost feel bad. Almost. 

Hongjoong snarled, voice barely a whisper as his pained throat protested his speech, “What… the fuck are… are you trying to do?”

Hands moved closer as the world tilted, Hongjoong growling and spreading his wings as he dug his nails into the warm throat in his grip. He could feel the heart of his victim thundering in their chest, their pulse racing as he got closer and hissed, “Did you think… I would let you… let you kill me without… a fight?”

“Tern 1, put the caretaker down,” commanded a voice harshly, leaving no room for refusal.

Hongjoong’s hand released its grip before he even processed the presence that ordered him to, the adrenaline in his veins easing away as he realized that he had no authority here. If he had been attacking a target or an infiltrator, he’d be given permission to kill. If not, he was simply a tool to be put back into storage. He was not in control here.

The realization hit him and without a second to ponder on that thought any longer, he went limp. The hands returned, restraining him as the kind eyes came back into view. 

They reached for the mask and Hongjoong couldn’t suppress the grinding warble that tore its way from his throat, feathers fluffing as he glared at the person before him. 

They were big, with large wings and dark hair and those stupid eyes. They were patient, much too patient to be a caretaker from The Guardians. He raised his head to try and see the owner of the voice, but the kind man grabbed his muzzle and all focus pinned back. 

“You will let him remove the muzzle. Fighting will be punished,” The voice growled, the threat low and rumbling through the room. 

Hongjoong exhaled, the adrenaline fading completely as his head lolled forward. He could do nothing. They’d see. His weaknesses, his flaws.

The mask was the one thing protecting him.

Tears welled unbidden as the hands slipped the mask off his face.

The gasps from the others in the room revealed that these were, in fact, not his regular caretakers, and the twisted, warped scars along his lower jaw spreading from his right ear to the bridge of his nose and along his chin were not what they were expecting. Hongjoong knew what it looked like, having memorized the white and pink marbling skin that covered his jaw bone tightly, numb and restricting movement. 

He burned inside, nausea building as his body trembled. The cold air brushing against his face only reminded his fuzzy brain of the fact he was freezing and he clenched his jaw against the shivers that wracked him. 

Hongjoong blinked, the kind eyes now shining with tears before him as they said to someone out of his sight, “Hold him still, this will be uncomfortable.”

The kind man lifted some sort of tubing in his hands and got closer, the hands on Hongjoong getting tighter and more restrictive. 

A shiver ran down his spine, this time not from the cold.

Seonghwa watched from the edge of the couch as San prepared the nasogastric tubing, Yunho sitting behind Hongjoong and holding him to his chest as Mingi held Hongjoong’s head still. Wooyoung held Hongjoong’s left wing and Jongho his right, while Yeosang knelt next to San to hold Hongjoong’s legs down. 

The sick and starving Flighted had fought back briefly, though quickly lost his steam when Mingi had demanded he stop resisting. The speed at which Hongjoong had obeyed had stunned the Safe Roost flock but they decided not to question it in favor of getting this ordeal over with. 

Now, Hongjoong lay limp against Yunho’s hold and with eyes distant and dull. His breaths were slowly deepening, the distressed heaving from before morphing into calmer inhales and exhales. Seonghwa doubted he was actually calm, given his thousand-yard stare.

Once upon a time, Seonghwa had been held much like Hongjoong was, the same expression layered on his face as unimaginable horrors pressed against his mind, filled his mind with static and screams. Back then, San had carefully brushed his hair back and shushed him as they waited for his brain to finally stop replaying the worst moments. 

Now, perched on the couch arm, Seonghwa couldn’t quite identify the twisting ache in his chest as he watched the starving Flighted stare into oblivion. 

San scooted closer, looking at Mingi and saying clearly, “I’m going to push this tube through his nose and down his throat to his stomach, he may try to move his head so I’m going to need you to hold him still. When it’s in, we can tape it to his face so it's not hanging from his nose.”

Mingi nodded, though the twitch of his feathered crest let the rest of the group know he was nervous. He glanced at Yunho and waited for the taller Flighted to give a small smile before looking up and asking in that deep voice, “What if he… what if he doesn’t want it?”

San hummed, “Valid question, I’m glad you asked. If we were to give him solid food right now, his body would likely completely reject it, ranging from just throwing it up to having a heart attack because of the sudden workload of dealing with electrolytes he was previously lacking flooding his system.” At Mingi’s confused look, he added, “Too much of nutrients would put stress on his heart.”

Mingi nodded, “That’s not good.”

San nodded and looked at Hongjoong and said, meeting the blank stare kindly, “We need to get you fluids and some nutrients, so we need to put this tube in. It will not be here for too long, no longer than a week if you respond well to the feedings.”

The starved Flighted blinked, distant gaze focusing slightly as he whispered, scars pulling at his lips, “Can… can I…” He seemed to struggle, eyes closing as he swallowed roughly, “ please have my mask back?”

“After we get this tubing in; it’s not bulky enough to keep your mask off for the entire week. Just hold on, we’ll get this over with quickly,” San reassured Hongjoong with a kind smile.

Hongjoong whined soft in his throat, before leaning his head back fully into Mingi’s hands and taking a deep breath, “Yes… yes sir.”

San frowned, “Don’t call me sir, I’m your equal here. Just call me San.”

Hongjoong didn’t respond, eyes half-lidded and his gaze seeing things they couldn’t fathom.

The large Flighted sighed, scooting closer and patting Hongjoong’s shoulder lightly, “Just hang in there, it’ll be over in less than a minute.” San then looked at the rest of the flock, smiling before leaning closer to the starved man and carefully holding his face still, “Starting.”

Wooyoung and Jongho gently tightened their grip, careful to avoid causing pain to the still healing wings, Yeosang rubbing Hongjoong’s knee reassuringly as he spoke in Seonghwa’s voice, “ I love you all .”

San inserted the tubing slowly, Seonghwa knowing he was doing so to lessen the stress, and Hongjoong instantly let out a croak and flinched. Yunho tightened his hug as Mingi held the smaller Flighted’s head still. San paused in his movements, waiting for Hongjoong to stop his vocalizing before proceeding.

Seonghwa stood slowly, inching closer as Hongjoong’s wings tensed and flicked, the feathers on the man’s neck and throat fluffing. The distant look in his eyes sharpened and suddenly the Flighted was heaving for breath. San seemed to ignore the change in Hongjoong’s demeanor and pressed on, pushing more of the tube through Hongjoong’s nostril. 

Tears welled in the starved man’s eyes, his gaze flitting around before landing on Seonghwa, a sharp whine echoing from his throat as he seemed to beg and plead for help with only a look.

Seonghwa… Seonghwa couldn’t stand it.

Kneeling down and grabbing San’s forearm, the eldest cupped Hongjoong’s face and looked at his younger flockmate, “Give him a second to breathe, damnit.”

“It’ll be better if it's over faster—“

“ Give him a second .” Seonghwa demanded, crest fluffing and an agitated croak rumbling through his chest. 

San eyed his hyung for a moment, before dipping his head and lowering his arms, though he kept his grip on the tubing not yet in Hongjoong.

Seonghwa looked back to Hongjoong, who stared at him with wide, dark eyes. Slowly, much too slowly, his breathing settled and his high pitched whine ebbed into nothingness.  

Seonghwa smiled slightly, “You’ve done so well. You’re going to feel so much better. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”

Hongjoong hummed, then closed his eyes and nodded in a tiny motion for San to continue. 

Seonghwa backed away at that, pointedly ignoring the stares that the flock gave him. San moved back into place and quickly pushed the rest of the tube into Hongjoong’s stomach, leaving a hand-length of tubing out so he could tape it to his face and give him feedings through.

When he was done, San moved away and nodded to those holding Hongjoong. Wooyoung softly removed his hands from the splinted and twisted wings, carefully removing a loose feather as he did so. Jongho mirrored him, though he spent more time preening the feathers in his reach. Yeosang watched and quietly lifted his hands from Hongjoong’s knee, chirping happily. 

Hongjoong opened his eyes, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze, and whispered hoarsely, “Please…” 

Seonghwa was moving before he processed the word, grabbing the mask and carefully leaning over Hongjoong. Gingerly, he slipped the mask over the tubing, leaving the end out so they could still feed him with the mask on, gently sweeping overgrown hair away from a heated brow as he rested the black muzzle back into place. 

Seonghwa’s hands moved along the straps, clasping them together and tightening the mask where possible that wouldn’t restrict the tube. 

Seonghwa’s hands lingered, as did his gaze as he watched Hongjoong search his face for something . 

For a moment, the wingless was trapped. Those dark eyes were burdened, deep, an endless void that trapped all light within it. There were flecks of light brown like stars, with a ring of light colors surrounding Hongjoong’s pupils like an event horizon.

His eyes were black holes, and Seonghwa felt as though their gravity had captured him.

The spell—because that’s what it had to be to be so powerful—was broken by a throat clearing beyond the two of them. 

He stumbled away quickly, as if a fire had erupted below his feet, tearing his eyes away from Hongjoong’s and walking around the couch to the stairs, feathered crest bristling. Whatever that was—.

“Hyung?” San called, the uncomfortable silence weighing on the group finally registering in Seonghwa’s mind.

“I’m—It’s fine.” He replied firmly, fleeing up the stairs as gracefully as possible.

TO BE CONTINUED...