Chapter Text
Reggie groans, planting his face in his mattress and covering it with his pillow, ignoring the blaring of his alarm. His head is killing him and has been since yesterday. He probably shouldn’t have stayed up reading that book the night before. He couldn’t help himself though, it was getting good! At least it’s Friday. Although he’s pretty sure he has a math test. Being in middle school sucks.
He hears his door open, and footsteps walking towards his bed “Reggie, hey, come on bud. Up and at ‘em.” His dad rests a hand on his shoulder and shakes him. The 12-going-on-13-year-old groans, curling up into a ball “Do I have to go to school?” He whines, removing the pillow off his head. He already knows the answer before he even asks.
Parker Rowe gives his eldest a wry smile “Sorry kiddo, but yes. You do. And if you want breakfast before school, you need to hurry up.”
Reggie drags himself out of bed and over to his dresser, wincing when a tiny whirlwind races into his room. “Reggie! Mama made pancakes!” 8-year-old Delsin is unfortunately still learning volume control at the moment, which does nothing for his big brother’s pounding headache. “Okay, that’s great Delsin. Go eat some.”
The youngster darts out of the room at the same speed he came in, whooping and making Reggie wince again. Today is going to suck.
He gets dressed and grabs his backpack, making his way downstairs. “Morning Mom,” he mumbles, taking a seat at the table next to Delsin, who is ravenously destroying a plate of pancakes.
Roxanne Rowe sets a plate down in front of him, eyeing him with concern. “You okay, sweetie?” She presses a hand to his forehead, but he pulls away from it. “I’m fine, just tired is all.”
He can’t tell her about the headache. It’s Mom, she’ll know in an instant that he was up past bedtime reading. She takes a step back, suspicion openly showing in her face as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Alright. If you start feeling sick, call me or Betty, okay?”
He nods, picking at his pancakes. “I need to get to work or I’m going to be late. See you all tonight,” Parker remarks, kissing his wife on the cheek and both sons on their heads before running out the door. Reggie watches him go and slides his plate over to Delsin, who happily finishes off the leftovers.
The drive to school is far too short, but at least the cold glass of the car window feels good on his head. It’s raining, like always, on this cold day in November. At least next week they get a break, and then it’s only a few more weeks until Winter Break. He waves goodbye to his mom and his brother when she drops him off at the middle school, watching them drive off towards the elementary school down the street. The school day goes by in a blur. He can barely focus on his math test, which he knows is going to come back to bite him later. He picks at his lunch, eventually pushing his tray aside and resting his head on his arms.
“Hey, Reggie, are you okay? Do you need me to get the nurse?” He picks his head up when his friend Trevor taps his arm, concern written on the other boy’s face. He shakes his head “I just stayed up too late reading. I’m not sick.”
Trevor grins “Oh! What’d you read this time? The newest Spider-man edition just came out!”
“From Here to Eternity. It’s a book about Pearl Harbor.”
Mikey snickers “You’re such a nerd, dude.”
Trevor wrinkles his nose “Don’t you think you’ll get in trouble reading those? Those are high school books! I dunno if your mom wants you reading them yet.”
Reggie shrugs “Mrs. Nelly let me check them out of the library.”
His friend shakes his head “If you say so.”
He’d hoped his headache would fade by the end of the day, but when his mom comes to pick him up after school, it still hurts. It feels like someone is trying to crack his head open from the inside with Dad’s hammer. He hurries through his homework and doesn’t even care that he probably did a shit job of it. He sees his mom giving him concerned looks and tries acting more normal, despite how awful he feels. He watches cartoons with Delsin and attempts to finish everything on his plate at dinner. He is hungry, but every time he moves his head goes spinning and he feels like puking. Maybe he is getting sick.
The only bad thing about Friday is that it’s the one of two days they can stay up late. Normally, to an almost 13-year-old, this would be the greatest thing ever, but right now all he wants is to go to sleep. He lets his brother pick the movie tonight, trying not to make it obvious when he leans against Mom on the couch and closes his eyes. He feels her shift to wrap an arm around him, tucking him closer into her side.
He wakes up a couple hours later to Dad carrying him upstairs, looking groggily up at the man. The Rowe family patriarch smiles down at him as he walks down the hall. “You’re getting too big for me to carry around there, kiddo,” he teases quietly, setting Reggie in his bed and brushing his hair back. A faint frown crosses Parker’s face, and he presses a hand to his son’s forehead. “You feelin’ okay? Your head’s a little warm still.”
“Mhm. Just wanna sleep,” Reggie mumbles, burrowing into his blankets. His dad straightens and sighs “Alright. Goodnight Reggie.”
“Night Dad.”
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The next morning, he’s woken up by a small body crashing on top of him and searing pain slicing through his head from the shrill voice right next to his ear. “Reggie! Wake up! It’s Saturday!”
“Delsiiiin it’s too early, go bug Mom,” he groans, trying to push his little brother off. It’s a feeble attempt, as he’s not truly angry enough to get rough with his smaller sibling, but the preteen only has so much patience. And with the war drums pounding an angry rhythm in his skull, that patience is even thinner.
“But it’s not early! It’s like 9 o’clock! We’re supposed to be watching Ninja Turtles!” Delsin leans over and pokes at his big brother’s face. Reggie wrinkles his nose and smacks Delsin’s hand away. “Why are you being such a grump?” the 8-year-old asks with a pout, crossing his arms over his tiny chest like their mother does.
“Because I feel like shit Delsin, now get off,” he snaps, rolling over and covering his head with the pillow again. It does help a little, muffling everything, but he’s still in pain. Delsin gasps, sucking in a loud breath and dropping his hands “Ohhh you said a bad word! Momma’s gonna use the soap!”
“I don’t care. Get out of my room,” he grouses at his younger brother. Sadly, the 8-year-old will not be swayed, and instead scoots forward, flopping on top of his older brother, knobby knees hitting Reggie’s back while small elbows jab into his shoulder and chest “No.”
And there goes the last bit of patience he had. Reggie sits up and shoves his brother off his bed. Delsin tumbles off the mattress, hitting the carpet on his back with a dull thud. The smaller child sits up, rubbing the back of his head and peering up at the older boy. Reggie glares back with as much fire as a 12-year-old can muster “Leave me alone!”
Delsin stares at him, wide-eyed, from the floor. Guilt fills Reggie’s chest when he sees fat tears dripping down his brother’s cheeks. The younger Rowe scrunches up his face and Reggie braces himself, clamping his hands over his ears. “Moooom!!”
The sound of running feet in the hallway fills him with dread. Roxanne bursts through the door of his room, her damp hair dripping onto her bathrobe. There are water droplets still clinging to her skin, so Reggie guesses that she had just gotten out of the shower. The usual weekend routine suggests that Dad is probably at the grocery store. “Delsin? What’s wrong honey?” There’s concern and confusion painting his mom’s face, and the guilt in Reggie’s stomach wars with the nausea caused by his headache.
“Reggie shoved me off the bed! And he used a bad word!” Delsin jumps to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at his big brother. Their mother frowns at the older of the two, hands moving to rest on her hips “Reggie? Did you shove your brother off the bed?”
“Because he jumped on me and wouldn’t get off!” Reggie bites back loudly, immediately regretting it when an angry pulse sears through his head. “I just wanted to watch Turtles with you!” Delsin yells, and the shrill volume is too much. The room is swimming, his head hurts and he just. Wants. QUIET! “Shut up!”
The sound of glass shattering makes Reggie jerk back in surprise, brown eyes wide with shock when his bedroom light explodes, sending shards of glass raining down on him and his brother. Delsin squeaks in surprise and covers his head. No one moves for what seems like an age, and in the deafening silence that follows, Reggie can hear the door open downstairs. His dad’s heavy footfalls move around downstairs, pausing when Roxanne calls to him, though she doesn’t leave the doorway. “Parker? Baby, could you come upstairs a moment?”
“Yea, I’m coming!” Reggie gulps fearfully when he hears Dad’s boots on the stairs. He is going to get in so much trouble for this. He’s not even sure how, but he’s certain the light was his fault. “Delsin, don’t move.” Mom orders. Delsin stays where he is, though he slowly lowers his arms. There are glass shards in both their hair, on their clothes, on the bed, and all over the carpet. Dad appears in the doorway behind Mom, eyebrows darting up when he sees the mess. “What happened?” The Rowe patriarch’s eyes drift up to the broken light fixture.
“Must have been a short in the wiring,” Mom muses, shaking her head, causing water droplets to go everywhere. “Could you get Delsin cleaned up while I help Reggie?” He nods and carefully steps over the glass on the carpet, carefully helping Delsin get his pajama shirt off and setting it on the floor. “Come on sport, let’s get you straightened out,” the man grunts, lifting Delsin into his arms and carrying him out of the room. He sets him down in the hall and comes back for Reggie, pulling the glass-coated blankets back and setting them on the floor as well before repeating the process with his eldest. Reggie lets him without a fuss, not wanting to make this already awful situation worse. Dad disappears downstairs with his brother in tow, leaving Reggie with his mom. She steers him into the hallway bathroom and has him lean over the sink while she grabs the rinse cup they keep on the tub. She rinses the glass from his hair, the warm water soothing against his pounding headache. She does it a few times, running her fingers through to check for any remaining shards before grabbing a washcloth and wetting it, dabbing at his face, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere else the glass might have gone.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Reggie mumbles quietly, heat rising in his face.
“For what, sweetie?” she asks absently while checking his skin for any more glass, sitting back once she’s satisfied and waiting patiently for him to continue.
“For fighting with Delsin, and breaking the light.”
She blinks, startled. “Honey, you didn’t break the light, it was an accident that no one was responsible for.”
He looks up at her, feeling miserable. “That’s what you always say when weird stuff happens around me.”
She gets very quiet for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Sweetheart, strange things happen. Coincidences happen. You’re looking to far into it.” She brushes his hair out of his face. “But I’m also your mom, and I can tell there’s something else wrong. Can you tell me?”
“I just didn’t sleep very well. Lotta nightmares.” It’s not a complete lie, he did have a lot of nightmares last night. He can’t really remember them though. He only remembers being afraid. His mom is studying him, a faint frown on her face. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”
“Yes.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t want her to worry. He’s already caused enough trouble this morning. She watches his face a moment longer, then sighs, her shoulders drooping. “Alright. Just remember, you can tell me anything, okay?” He nods, wanting the conversation to be over. She pulls him into a hug, kissing his hair, before gently shooing him from the bathroom “Now, go apologize to your brother. I’ll grab one of your dad’s shirts while he and I get your room cleaned up.”
“Okay.” He dries his hair and leaves the bathroom, making his way downstairs. Dad is in the kitchen, with Delsin sitting on the counter, finishing up with removing a few splinters of glass with tweezers. The man finishes and sets down the tweezers, picking Delsin up and setting him on the floor. The younger Rowe child runs over, light brown eyes bright with excitement “Reggie! That was so cool! The light exploded! It was just like on tv!” Reggie gives his brother a small smile “Yea, I saw it. I’m sorry I shoved you off the bed.”
Delsin wraps his short arms around his brother’s chest and hugs him, a little tight but Reggie tolerates it. “That’s okay! I’m sorry I jumped on you.” Reggie hugs him back, and when they let go, his little brother looks up with a hopeful expression. “Can we watch tv now?”
Reggie smiles “Sure.”
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It’s been a week, and the headache has gotten only marginally better. He’s aching all the way down to the middle of his back now, and he’s starting to think something might be wrong enough to tell his parents. He’s certain they’re starting to suspect something anyway. He’s been cranky all week, even during their three-day school break. And he’s noticed since last night that everything itches.
He’s currently in his room, the brand-new light fixture bathing his room in a warm yellow glow, trying to finish a new book he got from the library a couple days ago. It’s hard to focus though. There’s a knock on his door. It opens as he looks up, Mom peeking her head in. “Hey, Delsin’s done with his bath. Go take your shower and then lights out please, Reg.” He puts his book on the bedside table with a sigh and climbs off his bed. “Okay.”
“Thank you. Night baby.”
“Night Mom.”
He scratches at his scalp as he pulls his pajamas out of his dresser, grimacing when it makes his head throb. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he spots Dad sitting on Delsin’s bed, the two of them reading Peter Pan together. Delsin is leaned forward, eyes bright and smile wide, listening as Parker animatedly tells the story. Reggie watches them for a moment before stepping into the bathroom, turning the shower water cool. He shivers when he steps under the spray, but the cool water feels amazing on his sore head and back. He sits on the floor, leaning his head against the wall, idly scratching under his hair. After about five minutes, the itch seems to triple, spreading to the center of his back. He scrubs furiously at his head while dragging his back along the tub faucet, desperate for any relief. Something warm and thick drips down his back and his eyes snap open.
He tries to peek over his shoulder, eyes widening in fear when he sees blood splattered all over the tub and something sticking out of his back. He’s too scared to scream, and it takes him a moment to realize there’s more warmth dripping down his face. He reaches a hand up and it comes away bloody. His back spasms and he bites down on his hand, barely containing a scream. There’s a series of sounds, like tree branches snapping and mud squishing underfoot. The pain in his head gets worse, building and building and finally, darkness.
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When consciousness returns, he’s groggy, disoriented. He doesn’t know where he is at first, not until he registers the cold water of the shower stinging his sore back. His headache has dimmed to a dull ache, and the itching is gone. The tub is full of blood though. He hears a knock on the door, the barely audible sound of his dad calling out to him. “Reggie? You good in there, bud?” His voice is full of concern, and Reggie sluggishly sits up. This feels like that time he and Delsin got really sick a couple years ago, when Mom and Dad stayed by their sides for a week, fear on their faces while his little brother could barely breathe.
“Reggie?” He hears the door open, can see his dad’s shadow against the curtain, and panics “I’m fine Dad! Just dozed off.” He can see Dad’s shadow pause, hand slowly dropping “You shouldn’t fall asleep in the shower, kiddo. It’s dangerous. Doesn’t take that much water for you to drown. Next time I’d rather you went to bed and showered in the morning.”
His insides squirm. He hates lying to his parents, but he’s terrified. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”
“Alright. Well, finish up and scoot to bed. It’s past ten o’clock.”
“Okay.” He croaks, wrapping his arms around his knees. He waits until his dad leaves the bathroom, and he hears the door shut, before he gingerly moves a hand behind him to feel his back. What he feels makes him want to throw up. There’s something on his back. It’s warm, and the texture is like his skin, but covered in strange little bumps. And it’s long. He reaches back with the other hand to find the same thing on the other side. He pulls his hands back and hesitantly pushes his hands into his damp hair. Something is poking out of his skull, two hard bumps that ache when he touches them.
“What the fuck?” he whispers to himself, thankful Dad already left the room and can’t hear him using the worst curse word. He drops his hands into his lap, tears blurring his vision. What’s happening to him? Was he some kind of monster? He swallows, grabbing a washcloth and the soap. He turns the water hot, which helps, and washes the blood off his body thoroughly before standing and washing it off the tub. He turns and holds the washcloth under the water, rinsing it again and again until it runs clear. One last check of the bathtub and he turns the shower off. He grabs his towel, drying off as fast as he can. He takes a deep breath, looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and slowly turns.
The two things aren’t stuck on his back, they’re attached to it, seamless where they meet his skin. He remembers the pictures his teacher showed them last week in science, of newly hatched baby birds. They look just like baby bird wings without any feathers.
He tries to put his shirt on, wincing when it scrapes over the bald wings, and turns. They’re sticking up a bit, obviously pushing at his shirt. He checks under the sink and spots one of the ace bandages his dad uses on his knee sometimes. He quickly pulls off his shirt again and starts wrapping it around his torso. It hurts, and the bandage is a little too tight, but the wings are lying flat against his back now. He sighs in relief and checks his head. Whatever the little nubs are, he can’t really see them. But thankfully, they aren’t showing over his hair. He opens the door, peeking out and darting to his room, closing the door behind him. He turns out the light and climbs into bed, wincing when he lays on his back without thinking. He rolls onto his stomach and presses his face into his pillow.
What is he going to do?
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Reggie is silently grateful that it’s winter, and cold out, so he can wear a baggy sweater and Mom won’t notice anything off. The bumps on his head seem to grow a little more every time he pokes at them, and he’s terrified of what to do when they get too big to hide under his hair. His wings itch as black feathers begin to sprout. School has been hard, especially gym. He’s been hiding in the bathroom to change clothes, and the bandage wrapped around his ribs makes it hard to breathe. He’s been avoiding the mirror at school and at home, changing as quickly as he can. The worst part though, comes a week after the shower incident. His back is already sore from the awkward position the newly budding wings are shoved into, and as the school day progresses, he notices his lower back is hurting too, right above his rear.
He just wants it to be over. Dad’s picking them up today since Mom is helping Betty get some things ready for an upcoming party at the Longhouse. When he climbs into the truck and leans against the door, closing his eyes, he can feel his dad looking at him. “How was school today, kiddo?”
He just shrugs, not opening his eyes. “It was okay.” With his eyes closed, he misses the way his dad frowns, concern alight in the man’s eyes. “Just okay.” Reggie nods, and soon enough Delsin is bounding up to the truck, holding up a painting “Dad! Look what I made Mama!” Reggie scoots out of the way so his brother can climb in, wincing when Delsin’s knee collides with his side as the ball of chaos plops down and buckles his seatbelt.
“That looks great, Delsin! I’m sure your mom is going to love it!” Parker praises his youngest, smiling brightly at him and starting towards home. Once they get to the house, Delsin bolts out of the car, Reggie following at a slower pace and Parker taking up the rear. Reggie can once again feel his dad’s eyes boring into his back. It makes him tense, and he speeds up a bit, running to his room as soon as he’s past the front door. He speeds through his homework and shoves it back in his bag, laying on his bed and groaning. Being a teenager (he’s two weeks away, give him a break) sucked, and being a teenager turning into a monster sucked more. He’d snuck a bottle of Ibuprofen from the hall closet when Mom wasn’t looking and hidden it under his bed. He pulls the bottle out, swallowing two of them dry and making a face. He stashes the bottle once again and heads downstairs. Delsin is finishing his homework at the kitchen table while Dad is in the kitchen, making dinner. Parker glances up and smiles at Reggie “All finished with your homework?
“Yea, when’s dinner gonna be ready?” He hadn’t eaten his lunch, and even though he still isn’t really hungry, he remembers Betty saying not to take medicine on an empty stomach.
“Probably about an hour, bud.” Dad sets something down and wipes off his hands on a towel. “Mom got apples though if you want one to hold you over.”
He shakes his head. If he eats anything, he won’t be hungry for dinner, which will only make them more suspicious. “What are we having?”
“Stew, and I think Betty’s sending some stuff over with your mom.” Parker answers, eyeing him carefully. Reggie has no idea what he’s looking for, but he feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, and he hates it.
“I’m gonna go read in my room if that’s okay.” He’s already backing towards the stairs. Parker chews on his lip, then sighs “Sure. Make sure you remember to put your laundry in the hamper tonight.” Reggie nods and scurries back to his room, locking the door and curling up on his bed. He’s so tired. And even though the wings are less sore, the pain in his lower back keeps building, like someone’s sticking him with the thing Dad uses to move logs in the fireplace. He sniffles, trying to hold back tears. He wants his mom, but he’s scared. What if she thinks he’s a freak? What if she and Dad send him away, and he never gets to see them again? What will Delsin think? Will they even let him see his brother anymore?
He burrows under his blankets with a quiet whimper, falling into an exhausted sleep. He’s woken up by someone jiggling the door handle, a pause, then a knock. “Reggie? Dad says it’s dinner time! And you’re not supposed to lock the door!” Delsin’s shrill voice is accusatory and loud, even muffled as it is by the closed door. Reggie groans, getting to his feet and opening the door. “Okay, Delsin, I get it.”
His little brother looks up at him, and tilts his head “Are you sick?”
Reggie gives the smaller boy a puzzled look “Huh? Why would you think that?”
“You look sick,” the younger Rowe says with all the blunt honesty of a child. “And you didn’t play very much when we didn’t have school.” His small faces falls “I miss you.”
Reggie swallows past the lump that forms in his throat. He hates that his little brother is smarter than he looks. “School’s just hard, Delsin. I’m in middle school now, I have more homework and more stuff to do. We’ll play over Winter Break, okay? I promise.”
Delsin perks up, beaming at him. “Okay!” He races back downstairs, and Reggie follows. He can see that Mom is home, humming to herself as she helps Dad set the table. They’re smiling at each other, sharing a quick kiss that makes Delsin loudly exclaim “EW!”
Parker laughs while Roxanne fixes the 8-year-old with a stern look. “Delsin, is that very nice?” The boy huffs and sits in his spot “No, Mama. I’m sorry.”
She kisses the top of the youngest boy’s head. “Thank you.”
Reggie slips into his chair, his stomach churning from the smell of food. Normally he loves his dad’s stew, but right now food is the last thing on his mind and has been for nearly two weeks. He forces himself to eat the whole thing, knowing if he doesn’t it’s only going to make his parents more suspicious. He barely pays attention to the conversation, answering when he needs to or when directly spoken to. When Mom asks, yet again, if he’s okay, he excuses it as simply being tired from PE. Roxanne’s eyes narrow, not entirely convinced, but she lets it go. “If you want to go to bed early tonight sweetie, you can.”
He takes the out when it’s offered, setting his bowl in the sink and using the last of his energy to race to his room. He changes into his pajamas and crawls under the covers. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.
Sometime later, he’s awoken by muffled whispering outside his door. He picks his head up, spotting his alarm clock on the bedside table. 3:04 am. The door handle twists, and he quickly rolls over, pulling his blankets up and laying still, pretending to be asleep.
“Parker, I need you to believe me. Something is going on that he’s not telling us,” Roxanne whispers, the glow of the hallway nightlight bathing his room in soft blue.
“Roxie, Reggie doesn’t lie to us. And if it were something big like that, he definitely wouldn’t.” Reggie can hardly breathe. Of course his mom could see right through him.
“You and I both know there are ways to get around lying that sound like the truth,” she snaps back, keeping her voice low. She sounds angry. The guilt swirling in Reggie’s stomach threatens him with the reappearance of his dinner.
“I know that, but I really don’t think he takes after that side of you, Rox,” Dad replies, his tone soft. “I think he’s just a normal boy entering his teenage years, nothing else.”
“His thirteenth birthday is two weeks away. Why has nothing happened yet?” Huh?
“…I don’t know,” his dad admits, so quiet that Reggie has to strain to hear him. Parker gently sets a hand on Reggie’s head, stroking his hair, and it takes everything in the older Rowe child’s power to stay still, to keep pretending, even as his heartbeat pounds in his ears, bile rising in his throat. If his dad moves his hand even an inch further forward, he’ll feel the twin nubs that Reggie has been trying desperately to hide for the past two weeks. “If we don’t notice anything by Christmas, we’ll call Director Mercury.”
Who the hell is that?
He hears his mom sigh. “I hope you’re right, Parker. I’m scared.”
Dad removes his hand and Reggie relaxes, nearly sobbing from relief. “Everything will be okay, alright Roxie?”
Scared of what? Of him? There are tears leaking out from under his tightly shut eyelids. He hears the door close and sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees. Did his parents know? Did they suspect? Reggie doesn’t know, and he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer.
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The next day, Saturday, Mom goes back over to Betty’s house, this time with Delsin in tow. She’d asked if he wanted to come along, but Reggie had made some excuse about cleaning his room and finishing his book. She’d bought it, thankfully, and soon after Dad left to go into Seattle for a few things, leaving Reggie home alone. The familiar itch from before is back, and he curls up in the bottom of the tub with the shower running hot. He tries to breathe as the itching turns to pain, lightning crawling up his spine. He bites down on his arm to avoid screaming, just in case Mom comes home early.
He passes out again, waking up to the shower going cold and a dull ache right where his tailbone is. Something thumps against the tub. He lifts his head to see what it is, despite how heavy his head feels. Shock widens his eyes when he spots a tail curling loosely around his leg, twitching of its own accord. It’s long enough to reach his knee and about as thick around as his finger and covered in a layer of… something. It reminds him of a pill bug, with small black plates overlapping to allow the tail to move and bend effortlessly. How is he supposed to hide this? Panic is setting in, and he wobbles to his feet, turning off the shower and getting out. He dries off, tying the ace bandage around his chest in what has become an all too familiar routine. He grabs another one and wraps it around his leg, forcing the tail to stay in place. It doesn’t like that, seemingly having a mind of its own. It tries to pull free. Reggie gets dressed, trying not to freak out. He opens the door a crack, listening carefully. Nothing. Mom and Dad must still be out.
He runs downstairs and out the back door, to the shed in the backyard. He pushes open the door and pulls the string for the light. Dad’s tools are hung on the wall or stored in various toolboxes, and he searches for something, anything, that could help him. His gaze stops on Dad’s bolt cutters. They’re heavy, and he’s seen them cut through a combination lock like Delsin cuts through a pancake. He hesitates, glancing down at his leg. He can see the tail still trying to tug free from the ace bandage through his sweatpants. He can’t call it his. It can’t be his. He can’t be a- he cuts himself off and shakes his head, snatching the heavy bolt cutters off the wall of the shed and turning the light off. He shuts the door behind him and runs back into the house, back up to the bathroom. He rummages through the cabinet under the sink to find the first aid kit and sets it on the counter. Pulling off his sweatpants and his shirt, he sits on the edge of the tub in just his underwear, unwrapping the ace bandage from his leg.
Reggie takes a deep, shaky breath, the tail lashing like an agitated cat. He traps the end of it under his thigh and uses one of his shoelaces to tie a tight bow around it, remembering reading about tourniquets in one of his books. He holds the heavy bolt cutters as best he can near the base of it and pauses. They’re made for an adult, not an almost 13-year-old freak whose hands are shaking like crazy. Before he can talk himself out of it, or psych himself out further, he braces himself and cuts.
The pain is even worse than he’d thought it would be. He drops the bolt cutters, barely noticing how they clatter into the tub with the severed tail as white-hot pain lances up his back and down his leg. It hurts so bad he can’t breathe, and he barely makes it to the toilet before he throws up. He’s shaking so hard his teeth are chattering, gasping for air when nothing else comes out of his stomach. He curls up on the floor, hyperventilating and sobbing. He’s not sure how long he lays there, waiting to die, but eventually the searing pain dulls. He lays there a bit longer, feeling wrung out like a washcloth. He slowly sits up, feeling his stomach clench again. There’s nothing left in it though, so he just dry heaves. He crawls over to the counter, pulling the first-aid kit down and pulling the gauze out. He wraps it around the raggedly chopped base, every touch sending jolts of pain up his spine and making him cry all over again.
He drags himself back to the tub. There are blood drops on the floor and collecting in little pools. He wipes it up with a bunch of baby wipes, hiding them at the bottom of the bathroom trash. He picks up the bloodied bolt cutters and looks down at the ace bandage around his chest, vision blurring with more tears. He’s not sure if he can cut his wings off. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s pretty sure he can’t hold the bolt cutters in the right spot and cut the much bigger wing. And he’d probably pass out before he could cut all the way through them. At least if he died from blood loss, all of this would be over.
He could ask his dad to cut them off, but that meant he’d have to tell his dad the truth, and he doesn’t know if he can do that either. For now, he’s stuck with them.
He wipes off the bolt cutters and grabs the severed tail, doing one last check for blood. He opens the bathroom door and stumbles to his room, shoving the bolt cutters and tail under his bed and pulling his clothes back on. He lays down on his bed and wishes he could go to sleep forever. Everything hurts, and he wants to throw up again, but he’s too tired. His head feels floaty, his mouth tastes awful, and all he can smell is blood and puke. He falls asleep, wondering what he did to deserve this.
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When Reggie wakes up again, it’s dark outside. His clock reads 6:13pm. Everything feels so heavy, like there’s metal tied around all his limbs. Every time he shifts, pain lances through his body. He can hear movement downstairs, but he doesn’t want to get up. Feet travel up the stairs, too light to be his dad but too slow to be Delsin. That left Mom. Her footsteps nearly reach his door then pause, retreating for a moment back down the hall. Shit, did he leave blood on the floor? Did he leave the bolt cutters in there? No, they’re under his bed. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by running feet, his door being thrown open by Mom and his light flicking on. “Reggie?!” He winces from the sudden bright light, but a second later it’s blocked by his mom’s head as she leans over him. He blinks sluggishly up at her, registering that there’s alarm and concern on her face. She glances away long enough to yell for his dad. “Parker! Get up here now!” She turns back to Reggie, hands coming up to cup his cheeks.
“Sweetie, what happened?” Her voice is gentle but firm.
His mind scrambles for a response. “Huh?” He needs to buy time for his wrung-out brain to come up with an idea. He hears his dad run into the room “What happened?” Parker demands, coming up behind his wife, who keeps her attention on her son. “I could smell blood and vomit in the bathroom, and there’s bloody wipes in the trash. Reggie, I need you to talk to me, baby.” Her voice is urgent.
Shit, she found the wipes. But her comment gives him the idea he needs. “Got sick, had a bad nosebleed,” he mumbles tiredly. She searches his face for a moment, then gently brushes back his hair, just missing the hard knobs on his head. He makes a feeble attempt to pull his head out of her grip “Why didn’t you call Betty’s house? I would’ve come straight home.”
“Just wanted to sleep.”
Roxanne exchanges a worried look with Parker. “Do you still feel sick?”
He nods. That is absolutely not a lie. His stomach is rolling like the ocean on a stormy day, and he feels way too cold. Mom sits on the bed and rubs his arm “Okay. Why doesn’t Dad stay here with you while I go get a few things?”
He’s too tired to argue. And he knows he wouldn’t win anyway. Mom hurries out of his room and Dad takes her place on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell one of us you weren’t feeling good, kiddo?”
“My stomach hurt a little, but I thought I was fine. It got really bad after you left.” Again, not a total lie. Dad’s hand reaches for his head, and he moves away. Reggie can’t keep letting them get that close, or they’ll figure it out in no time flat. Dad’s hand hovers in empty space for a moment, then withdraws, hurt flashing across his face and disappearing as quickly as it appeared. When Mom reappears, she’s holding a bottle of something, a cup of water, and the thermometer. “Parker, can you make sure Delsin doesn’t try to come in? At least until we know that whatever Reggie has isn’t contagious?” Dad nods and gets to his feet, squeezing Mom’s shoulder as he goes. Mom sits back down on the bed and sets everything on the bedside table. “Can you sit up, sweetie?”
Reggie carefully sits up, trying to not hit anything. He can’t keep the pain off his face though, and his mom gives him a sympathetic look as she uncaps the medicine she brought in with her, pouring some into the cap provided, and holds it out to him. He takes it and sips it carefully. It tastes nasty, like all stuff that grown-ups say is good for you, but it’s better than the puke/blood combo lingering on his tongue.
He hands it back to her, making a face as she hands him the cup “I know baby, this stuff never tastes good. But it works.” Sometimes he wonders if his mom can read minds. She hands him the cup, reminding him to sip slowly. He takes a few sips before handing it back, his stomach threatening to rebel once again. His mom helps him climb under the covers and picks up the thermometer. “Open up.” He obeys and she sticks it under his tongue. They sit in silence until it beeps. Roxanne takes it out of his mouth and looks at the readout, frowning. “Well, you’ve definitely got a fever. Hopefully it’ll be a quick bug.” She kisses his forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back in to check on you soon.” Getting to her feet, she turns out the light, leaving the door open a crack.
Once she leaves, he lays on his side, staring at the sliver of light coming into his room. That was too close. Any more and they’re going to figure it out. He needs to… what? He lays there, thinking, and it’s hard because the medicine Mom gave him is making him sleepy.
Well, maybe a nap won’t hurt.
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It takes him a few days to start feeling better. At least he doesn’t puke anymore. His temperature stays high, which leads to his mother constantly hovering. It’s nerve-wracking, knowing that she’s only a few feet from discovering what’s hidden under the bed or noticing something new on him. And exhausting, trying to stay awake to make sure he can move his head or lay on his back to avoid detection. He can’t keep doing this. He needs to leave. He figured that out on the second day after cutting the tail off. He hates doing it to his parents, but… It’s only a matter of time before they find out anyway, and make him leave. Or worse. So, he starts planning. Well, as much planning as a sick nearly 13-year-old can while stuck in bed with a concerned mom. Not to say that Dad isn’t too, he’s come in plenty while Reggie’s been sick, but he’s been working and wrangling Delsin, who keeps wanting to come into his big brother’s room.
“You can’t play with your brother right now, Delsin. He’s sick.” Reggie hears his dad telling Delsin firmly for what has to be the twentieth time. “But Daaaad I’ll be quiet! We can play legos!”
“No, Delsin. We don’t need you to get sick too.”
“But I don’t care if I get sick! I wanna play with Reggie.”
“Enough, Delsin. You’re staying out of your brother’s room, end of discussion.”
His parents are getting frazzled, and Reggie feels so guilty for making them deal with him. Dealing with the freak who can’t just be normal. Not that they know it. And Delsin… His brother deserves someone who can play with him like a normal kid.
And the cherry on top is that he can no longer hide the bumps under his hair. They’ve started peeking out, forcing him to grab a beanie to hide them, making the excuse to Mom that he’s cold. Thankfully, she buys it, or at least decides not to fight about it. His chest still aches, and his wings hurt. Whenever he takes off the ace bandage to shower, they look worse, curling weirdly, the new black feathers dulled and breaking. He hates them.
It’s been three weeks since his headaches started. Only 8 days until his birthday, and two weeks until Christmas. He has to leave before then. Winter Break starts soon too, which will make it very hard to leave with a snoop for a little brother sneaking around. On Thursday, after Dad goes to work and drops Delsin off at school, Mom’s sitting in his room with him, sketching while he attempts to focus on his book. He’s been feeling a bit better, and is thinking of how he can make his escape with Mom always being around, when the phone downstairs rings. Mom raises an eyebrow and sets her sketchpad down, leaving the room and going to answer it. Reggie hears her talking on the phone, though he can’t make out what’s being said. His eyes drop to his book when he hears her coming back upstairs. He doesn’t want her to think he was eavesdropping.
“I need to go over to the school, your brother got into a fight again,” she sighs as she enters his room. He looks up at her “Is he okay?”
She nods “Yea, just gave the other kid a bloody lip. Will you be okay until I get back?”
“Mhm.” He hums. Holy shit, this is his chance.
“Okay. If you need anything, anything at all, call Betty.” She says firmly, seemingly satisfied when he nods. She smiles, pecking his cheek “Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
He waits until he hears her car start to get out of bed, changing into normal clothes and grabbing his backpack. He dumps everything out onto his desk and starts packing, throwing in a flashlight, his book, and some clothes. He sneaks downstairs and grabs some snacks out of the pantry as well as a few apples from the bowl on the counter. The last two things he shoves in are the blanket at the end of his bed that Betty made for him and the pictures that Delsin and Mom drew for him. He runs downstairs, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his jacket. It’s cold out, and cloudy. He chews on his lip, deciding what way to go. Going left would take him past the Longhouse, going right would take him to town, and going straight would lead to Betty’s house. He chooses back, walking into the woods behind their house that lead towards where they usually hike in the summer.
Reggie’s been walking for nearly an hour when it starts snowing. He can see the road through the trees, keeping an eye out for cars and ducking behind trees whenever he sees one. By the time it starts getting dark, he’s cold and exhausted, but he can’t stop. He has no idea where he’s going, although it doesn’t really matter. He just can’t stop.
Sometime after it gets dark, as he’s getting close to their hiking area, he sees red and blue lights through the trees and panics, bolting. He finds a rocky area and ducks under an overhang, just small enough for him. Distantly, he can hear someone calling his name. He recognizes the voice as belonging to Sheriff Miller. He shrinks down as close to the rock as he can. The beam of a flashlight moves the other direction and he sighs in relief. He stays put though for at least another ten minutes.
Finally, he crawls out from under the rock, brushing dirt off his clothes before he continues walking. It’s hard walking in the dark, and cold, and he really, really wants his mom. But all he can picture in his head is disgust on her face, on Dad’s face. And fear on Delsin’s. He keeps walking.
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He has no idea what time it is, and it’s still snowing when he hears it. The sound of boots on rock. He turns, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Even now, when his eyes have adjusted, it’s still hard to see anything. The footsteps are behind him again. He whips around, backing up, and hits something solid. His breath leaves in a rush and he looks up to see a man grinning down at him “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
Reggie tries to run but the man grabs his arm. He reminds Reggie of a snake, lean and coiled with a sharp smile and slicked back hair. “Looks like a little cambion, huh Brutus?”
“Hmph, doesn’t smell right for a cambion.” The deep voice takes Reggie by surprise. There’s another man standing nearby, built like a tank, with muscles on muscles. He has a crooked nose and the way he’s staring at Reggie makes the teen (he’s close enough now!) nervous.
The snake-man tilts his head, and his eyes flash gold. Reggie blinks, jaw dropping. “Huh, you’re right. I smell some kinda seal. Might be worth something to the boss. Think we should take him with us?”
The crooked-nose man, Brutus, nods “Yea, the boss’ll know what he is.” Reggie immediately knows that whatever happens, he Cannot go with these men. He kicks snake-man hard in the knee. The guy is so surprised he releases his grip on Reggie’s arm, hopping on his good foot and grabbing his knee “Ow! Oh, you little shit!”
Reggie bolts, scrambling over rocks to the nearest tree and scurrying up it. He hears an angry shout below and sees Brutus climbing up too. The large man’s weight causes the tree branches to groan. Reggie climbs higher, trying to stay above grasping hands. Suddenly, snake-face is on the branch right under him, appearing out of thin air. The teen jerks back, eyes wide with fear and surprise. The man’s grin is menacing, his eyes an inhuman gold as he grabs the teen’s ankle. “Clever little thing, aren’t you? But not clever enough.” He yanks, and Reggie falls.
He hits a few branches on the way down, pain exploding in his back and his right arm when he slams into the ground. He whimpers, trying to curl in on himself. Brutus drops down next to him and picks him up by his broken arm, making him scream. The man smiles, and it’s the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. “Scream all you want, kid. No one’s coming to save you.”
As soon as the word’s leave the man’s mouth, a blur of brilliant, blinding light slams into them, knocking them both over. Reggie never hits the ground though, a strong arm catching him around the waist.
“I gotcha, wyrmling.” Reggie looks up at the voice, and recoils. The man holding him has horns, and scales. Over his shoulder, Reggie can see the man has wings, though they remind him of the dragons in one of his books, instead of a bird like his own. “It’s okay, Reggie. I’m one of the good guys.” The man smiles, and it’s warm, reminding him of his dad. How does he know his name?
“Chief!” The dragon-man’s head snaps around in time to see a ball of fire heading for them. He turns, shielding Reggie from the blast before glancing over his shoulder and baring sharp fangs. His wings snap open and in seconds they’re airborne. He sets Reggie down on a nearby tree branch. “Stay here,” he orders before flying back down to confront the snake-man. Reggie looks over at where he and Brutus were seconds ago, shocked to see that the blur of light is actually a person. Well, sort-of. Four crystalline masks cover their face, arranged like a fan, and they have four enormous, glowing wings. There’s a weapon in their hand. A giant ball on a stick. A mace, if Reggie remembers correctly from one of the history books he borrowed from the library.
The dragon-man told him to stay put, but Reggie’s not planning to listen. He climbs down carefully, the trip awkward with a broken arm and his back screaming at him. He’s pretty sure he landed on a wing, which is probably also broken. He makes it to the ground and runs. He can still hear the sounds of battle behind him.
He gets maybe a football field away when a giant wall of flame appears in front of him. He skids to a halt, and out of the flames walks snake-man. Reggie really doesn’t like him. The man smirks, mouth full of sharp teeth, and lunges at the teen, who pulls his arms up to shield himself, his heartbeat thrumming like a humming bird. There’s a loud cracking sound, then the sound of an inhuman screech, and a burning, grinding pain wrenches up Reggie’s arm, like it’s been caught between red-hot gears. He crumples to his knees, holding his arm close, vision blurring with tears. His skin is red and cracked, like the time Delsin burned his hand really bad. And on the back of his hand, a glowing circle appears. Terror strikes him to his core. Another screech wrenches his attention away. The snake-man’s face is melted, skin dripping like candle wax. Reggie feels like puking again, his stomach twisting painfully. He hears a shout right as the man holds out a hand. Something hits his head, and after a brief burst of bright, intense pain, darkness takes him.
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Pain. Too hot. Too cold. Too everything.
And then nothing.
Reggie’s not sure where he is, when he is… Is he dead?
He kind of hopes so. It’s nice here. It feels soft, and just warm enough. And nothing hurts.
“-what happened, I have half a mind to keep him here with us! How could you not notice?” A voice, one he barely recognizes. It sounds angry.
“He’s never hidden anything like this from us before, and we thought it was just what normal human teens acted like!” Dad.
“I told you, Parker, but you wouldn’t listen to me!” Mom.
“Don’t you dare start, Roxanne! You could’ve pushed, you could’ve checked, but we both trusted him and let it go!”
“Enough!” A fourth voice booms. Reggie can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. “You two are more worried about laying blame than accepting that you both made mistakes!” At this point, he’s fairly certain he’s alive.
Silence for a moment, then the first voice speaks again. “I warned you that keeping this a secret from him would have consequences. Your son fucking mutilated himself because he had no idea what was going on. He was almost killed by a pair of demons and bound his wings up so hard that Alcmene isn’t even sure if they’ll finish growing properly, which means we may have to remove them and have him grow them all over again.”
What? Reggie tries to move, tries to talk, something, but the void creeps back in, and he doesn’t hear any more.
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The next time he wakes up, he feels… heavy. Tired. He’s more aware this time and realizes that he’s lying on his side, on something soft. Whatever it is, it’s warm. His eyelids feel like they weigh a ton, but soon enough he manages to open his eyes, blinking sluggishly. His vision is kinda fuzzy, and all he can make out so far are blobs of color. Wherever he’s lying is dim, only a soft, muted light behind him illuminating the space. He can hear whispering, and some of the blobs in his vision move. He squints, trying to see better.
“Roxanne, I think he’s awake.” That’s the angry voice from earlier. One of the blobs comes closer, and as his vision adjusts, his mom’s face swims into focus. She’s smiling sadly at him, and looks very, very tired. “Hi baby, how ya feeling?” she asks gently, running a hand through his hair. He leans into the touch at first, soaking up the affection like a sponge, and then his brain catches up. Her hand is in his hair, brushing over the bumps protruding from his skull. And his wings are out.
Panic jolts through him like lightning and he jerks away from her, wide-eyed, nearly falling off the hospital bed he’s on. Someone catches him and he looks up to see the dragon-man from earlier, gaze full of concern. Reggie scrambles away from him, eyes darting around for an escape route. There are two other people besides the dragon-man and his mom: a man with white wings and a lady with grey skin and snakes for hair. Reggie scrambles back, searing pain bursting from his right wing when he contacts the smooth stone wall, causing him to cry out. The dragon-man reaches out a hand “Don’t touch me!”
Somewhere in the room, something shatters. The adults are all frozen, watching him with expressions of concern. His mom shifts so she’s in his view, pulling his attention. “Reggie, hey, look at me, okay? Keep your eyes on me.”
His chest is heaving, tears soaking his cheeks. He can’t calm down. She wasn’t supposed to see, wasn’t supposed to know. Is this the part where she tells him he can’t come home? That he’s stuck here with other monsters like him?
Roxanne moves swiftly to the head of the bed when he starts to hyperventilate, picking him up and setting him in her lap as she sits on the bed. She pulls him close to her chest, wrapping her arms around him, one hand rubbing up and down his back, her chin resting on his head, his sobs muffled by her sweater “You’re okay, honey. You’re safe. These people are friends. I need you to calm down though. Breathe with me, okay?” She takes exaggerated, slow breaths in, and does the same with breaths out. He tries to follow along, stuttering at first, but soon enough he’s able to copy her rhythm. After a couple minutes, he no longer feels like passing out, though he still thinks he might puke.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whines against her chest, more tears spilling out. His mom shushes him, stroking his hair “It’s okay, honey, you’re okay.”
“It’s not okay, you’re gonna hate me,” his voice cracks on a wail, and he feels her arms tighten around his shaking body. “I’m a monster.”
She waits for his crying to subside a bit before she leans back to look him in the face. He’s surprised to see tear tracks staining her cheeks. “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Reggie Rowe. You are not a monster. You are different, that’s all. And I could never hate you, no matter what. You’re my baby.”
She… doesn’t hate him?
“What about Dad?” he whimpers. His dad’s absence was one of the first things he noticed when he woke up.
“Your dad went home to check on your brother, who is staying with Betty,” she explains. “When I came home and couldn’t find you, I searched the house and found your dad’s bolt cutters and your tail. I called some friends to help. Your dad and I were very worried about you. When those men attacked you, it broke something important. You were really sick, sweetie, and we’ve been here with you the entire time.”
“You… you were?”
“They were.” Dragon-man speaks up from behind them, making Reggie jump. His mom runs a gentle hand over his undamaged wing, shocking the teen that she’s okay with touching it. The sound of a door opening has them all turning to look. Reggie sees his dad walking in, exhaustion lining his face as he scrubs a hand over it. Parker blinks in surprise when he sees everyone standing around the bed looking at him, then spots his son, sitting in Roxanne’s arms.
The Rowe patriarch is sitting next to them on the bed in a flash, pulling Reggie into his lap and hugging him tightly, kissing the side of his head. “Reggie, thank the Pantheons you’re okay,” he sighs in relief.
“Hi Dad…”
Parker pulls back, and Reggie has never seen fear like that on his dad’s face. “What were you thinking?” he demands “You hurt yourself! You were almost kidnapped! You could’ve died! And your mom and I would never have known what happened to you!” There are tears in his dad’s eyes, and Reggie’s stomach can’t take it anymore, the guilt and emotional rollercoaster pushing him past his limit. He leans over the edge of the bed and throws up, coughing and choking. The body aches are back, the dull pain in his wing, his arm.
His dad swears, rubbing his back “Shit, Reggie, I’m sorry bud.” He can see his mom looking at the lady with the snake hair out of the corner of his eye. “Alcmene, are you certain you can’t do anything else to help?”
The lady shakes her head, walking closer to the bed “I’m sorry, Roxie, but until his magical equilibrium settles, introducing too much magic into his system, even healing spells, would be too much for him to handle. We must settle for small things like poultices and potions right now.”
Reggie leans back against his dad once the heaving stops, taking a shuddery breath. The lady, Alcmene, waves a hand, and the mess on the floor disappears. Was that magic? They’d just mentioned magic. His mom hands him a cup, instructing him to sip slowly. Whatever is in the cup is thick, and warm, and he’s amazed when it settles his churning stomach. Alcmene holds up a hand, and several bandages curl into the air, wrapping around his wing and a piece of metal.
“We’ll leave you alone for a bit.” Dragon-man says quietly, leading the others from the room and leaving Reggie and his parents in silence.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispers “I thought you were gonna hate me. I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you wouldn’t want me around Delsin.”
Parker heaves a heavy sigh “No, Reggie, we’re sorry. We knew this was coming, but you hid it so well that we didn’t see the signs. We never should’ve kept it from you in the first place.”
“You never would have had to deal with all this pain on your own if we had told you,” Mom agrees, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Looks you’re going to have my horns though,” she hums, smiling softly. “You’ve already got your dad’s wings.”
He stares at her in disbelief and confusion. “Huh?”
His dad’s chest shakes with silent laughter. “Why don’t we get some sleep? We can talk in the morning.”
Reggie panics when his dad goes to stand, clutching his arm “Don’t leave!”
Dad kisses his hair and lays him back down on the bed, tucking him in with a blanket that is the softest thing he’s ever felt “I’m not bud, we’re gonna be right here.” Parker moves to make room for Roxanne, who leans down and presses her forehead to Reggie’s own, her hand on his cheek “We’re not going anywhere sweetie. Ever.” She moves back and drags a chair next to the bed, Dad doing the same.
“Sleep, Reg. In the morning, we’ll tell you everything.”
“From the beginning.”
Chapter 2: Golden Fields of Lilies
Summary:
Roxanne and Parker's perspectives throughout the years, from Reggie's birth to the day they died
Notes:
I didn't expect to post a second chapter for this, but I got too deep into using other character POVs, so here you go!
The main story is still going, I have simply been cleaning it up a bit. Fire and Smoke is one of the first stories I ever posted, and it is still near and dear to my heart. Now that I've had a lot more writing practice and pinned down my style better, I want to give it the continuation it deserves. So never fear! I will continue it soon!TW: very brief (non-graphic) references to childbirth, references to injuries, mild body horror
Chapter Text
ROXANNE
Roxie holds the tiny bundle close to her chest, feeling exhausted, lying on one of the beds in the Agency’s medical wing. Alcmene bustles about, changing linens and fetching water for her, half the Gorgon’s snake-hair watching her while the other half wiggle around like normal. Parker is asleep in the chair next to her, his wings twitching every so often. Roxie looks down, brushing a black nail over the sleeping infant’s cheek. They’d argued over a name for her entire pregnancy, and finally settled on something simple. Reggie. His initials matched her own, yet silently she prayed to the spirits of their pantheon that he would take after his father.
She’s still tired, but her strength is returning quickly. At least it’s quiet. Alcmene had been kind enough to bring a magical barrier up until after the delivery, making sure no one could see or hear anything from the demoness’ bed. Roxie shifts herself a little higher, taking care not to scratch her newborn with her horns when she leans down and gently touches his forehead with her own. She doesn’t want to admit she’s scared, but she’s always been an honest demoness. Brutally blunt, something that surprised many of her kind. She found lying to be cowardly and slimy, and found it never-endingly amusing that a demon was more honest than half the angels she’d met over the years. A lie of omission, a lie of half-truths, is still a lie. Even her husband had been guilty of it, though he strove to be better after they’d been together.
So yes, if she’s being honest, she’s fucking terrified. She’s been terrified since the first day she could sense her tiny son’s power, the day he first moved in her womb. She doesn’t realize she’s shaking until she hears Parker’s voice. “Rox? Are you okay?” She lifts her head to see him staring, concern on his handsome face.
She leans back onto the pillows and lays her tiny baby against her chest. “No, Parker, I’m not. I’m scared. What are we going to do ?”
He tilts his head, his braid falling over his shoulder. “About?”
“Morningstar. If he finds out about Reggie, and he will , make no mistake, we won’t be able to stop him,” she whispers, brushing a hand over soft wisps of dark brown hair. He’s so small. He’s done nothing wrong. And yet Morningstar would kill him without hesitation. She pulls him more securely to her chest, shushing him softly when the babe fusses in protest.
Parker scoots his chair forward, setting his hand on top of hers where it rests on their son’s back. “He won’t find out. And even if he does, the Agency will keep him safe. He’ll be alright, Roxie. I promise.”
She has never heard a more blatant lie, and yet, for now, she chooses to believe it.
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The steering wheel creaks under her grip as she tries to do a breathing exercise. Delsin sits in the back seat, looking contrite. She peeks at him in the rearview mirror, her anger dimming somewhat. It has been a stressful few weeks in their household, so she supposes she can’t blame her youngest for acting out like he did. And as much as they’d been reassured that no demonic traits were passed onto their youngest thanks to the Ceremony, she couldn’t help but wonder sometimes.
“You know you’re going to be grounded for the next couple days, right?” She prompts her son, raising an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. He nods, rubbing the bruise on his arm “Yes Mama. I’m sorry.” She can tell the small boy has more to say and waits patiently for him to continue. “When is Reggie gonna get better? I miss him. He hasn’t played much, and we haven’t watched any cartoons together in forever.”
There it is. She sighs. Despite how much they fight, which according to Betty is normal for young boys and siblings in general, Reggie and Delsin have always been close, and she knows her younger child is struggling with the lack of contact. Reggie’s been oddly distant even before he got ill, for a few weeks now, and while Parker reassures her it’s normal human behavior, she’s not convinced. She wishes that she could tell them both the truth. They should be prepared; they shouldn’t be ashamed and hiding. She hates it.
She parks the car in front of the house and turns to Delsin. “I’m sorry, Sweetie, but the truth is I don’t know. I hope it’s soon. When he gets better, I’m sure he’ll want to start playing again, and we can decorate for Christmas together.”
Delsin frowns “Is he gonna be better for his birthday?”
Roxie bites her lip “I dunno, baby. If need be, we’ll celebrate his birthday later, okay?”
Delsin thinks it over with all the deep consideration of any 8-year-old and then beams at her, all prior upsets forgotten “Okay!” He grabs his backpack and darts out of the car to the porch. She follows at a more sedate pace, smiling fondly. She loves her boys.
Delsin waits impatiently for her to unlock the door, racing inside and dropping his backpack by the door and kicking off his shoes before dashing over to the tv and grabbing a VHS tape. “Delsin, do you have any homework?” she asks right as he pushes the tape into the tv, the theme song to Monsters, Inc. playing. “No, I finished my homework during quiet time!” he says excitedly, plopping down on the rug in front of the screen. She smiles, shaking her head. One thing she can appreciate from both her boys is that they’re very honest. Often brutally so, just like her. She sets her purse down and goes to wash her hands before heading upstairs. She knocks on Reggie’s door “Reg? You awake, sweetie?” She pushes the door open and frowns when she notices the room is empty. She steps back into the hallway, checking the bathroom. Nothing. Fear begins to trail icy fingers down her neck. She looks in their bedroom and Delsin’s bedroom and still comes up with nothing.
Roxanne can feel her heart pounding as she runs down the stairs, yanking open the door to the basement, ignoring Delsin’s confused look “Reggie?!” She hears the door open and leans out of the doorway to see Parker coming into the house, bags in hand. “Parker, I can’t find Reggie,” she blurts out before he can put anything down. He sets the bags on the table “Okay, don’t panic yet. Have you checked the whole house?”
“I was about to check the basement, and I don’t think he’d be in the shed. It’s too cold out,” she points out. It’s not the first time she’s wished to feel her power’s familiar spark under her skin, but she can’t dwell on that. She must do things the human way.
“Okay, I’ll double check the shed, just in case, Delsin can you look in the basement and see if your brother is down there?” Parker takes charge easily, despite no longer controlling legions, and Delsin jumps to his feet without a fight, sensing his dad’s urgency. “Rox, call Betty. Maybe he went to her house.”
She grabs the phone off the wall, pacing as soon as it starts ringing. “Betty! It’s Roxanne. Is Reggie at your house?... We can’t find him anywhere. I went to pick up Delsin from school and when I came back, he was gone… Okay, thank you.” She hangs up, chewing on her nail while she tries to think of where he might be. Parker comes back inside, and she can see fear on his face. To anyone else, he’d look calm, collected. But she’s known him for centuries. He can’t hide from her. “Nothing?”
“No. I’m going to help Delsin check the basement, then go talk to the Sheriff. You check upstairs one more time,” he orders as he hurries to the basement door. She takes the stairs going up two at a time, and returns to her son’s room, turning on the light. She notices his backpack is missing, as are a few of his books. She frowns, checking his dresser and kneeling to check the bedside table. In her frantic search, she knocks her sketchbook off the bedside table to the floor. A few loose papers flutter out and under the bed. She sighs, reaching under the bed to grab them. Her hand hits something metal. Roxanne backs up and leans down, peering under the bed with a frown. She can’t make out what’s under there. Reaching into Reggie’s bedside table drawer, she finds his flashlight and turns it on, shining it under the bed.
What she sees makes her heart stop and her breath catch in her throat. Parker’s bolt cutters sit under the bed, coated with blood. She reaches under the bed and drags them out, spotting something else laying behind them. She sets the bolt cutters down and reaches back under. Sitting back, she looks closer at what she pulled from under the bed and all coherent thought stops, replaced with a visceral horror so vast that she can’t even describe it. Sitting in her hand is a tail. A severed tail. A child’s tail, based on the delicate armoring and short length. “ PARKER!! ”
He's in the room in seconds. She looks up at him, rage warring with her fear as she gets to her feet. “What was it you said? ‘It’s normal, he’s only being human, there’s nothing wrong with him’ ?” His eyes are glued to the tail in her hand. “If anything happens to my baby, Parker Rowe, then I swear, to every God and Goddess of the pantheons, you will not live long enough to regret it.”
She should’ve been honest with Reggie from the beginning. Pushing past her silent husband, she makes her way downstairs. She has a phone call to make.
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“It’s been almost six months, Mom! You said you were going to tell him before Christmas!” Reggie snaps, glaring daggers at his mother. At seventeen, he already stands an inch taller than her. She’s faced down monsters taller than the Space Needle though, a pissed off teenage Nephalem doesn’t scare her, powers or no powers.
She sighs, running a hand through her hair, feeling the familiar old ache at the lack of horns. They’ve been going in circles with this argument for months. “Sweetheart, I know. If it were up to me, I’d have told both of you the truth years before the incident with Brutus and Clegane. But this isn’t just my decision, and your father won’t budge. And as much as I hate not being honest with your brother, maybe your dad’s right. Maybe this is better for him not to know about… everything. He’s headstrong, impulsive. He wouldn’t survive a fight with anyone from our world, but he would still try.”
Reggie barks out a laugh “Our world? No, my world. It’s not yours anymore. You turned your back on it, and me, to play pretend here with Dad and Delsin.”
“Reggie, that’s not-”
“Unless you ever actually plan to be honest with him, save the speech, Mom.” He disappears upstairs, and she drops into a chair at the table, scrubbing a hand over her face.
The next day, not long after Reggie leaves for his usual summer stay at the Agency, she gets a phone call.
“Roxanne, this is Director Mercury.” His voice is tense, and she’s known him for long enough to know he’s annoyed. She groans and double checks that Delsin is outside, far out of earshot. “What happened?”
“Well, on a good note, your son discovered Fiend Fyre. On a bad note, he used it in the middle of the Atrium.” His sarcasm is biting, and she winces.
“How bad?”
“No one died, and it looks like everyone should recover, so there’s that. He’s grounded though. Mesmyr’s with him in his quarters.”
She silently thanks the pantheons for the cherubim’s warm presence.
“Roxanne, I’m not going to tell you how to raise your children. But keeping things from them has already backfired once. Do you want it to happen again?”
She sighs “It’s not just up to me. And as much as Parker tries to hide it, he’s afraid. We both are.”
She glances outside at Delsin, who is currently splattering paint on a canvas with water balloons. Her heart aches in her chest.
“The truth will come out eventually, Roxanne.”
“I know. Even for demons, it always does.”
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Roxanne leans against the door of the car, tossing Parker a raised eyebrow “When was the last time we fought one of these?”
“About 200 years, give or take.” He says nonchalantly, pulling a shotgun out of the backseat and tossing it to her. The monster bearing down on them, right outside the edge of the ward, is a nasty fucker, with rows of teeth, rotten flesh, and six legs. They need to buy Sheriff Miller time and keep the beast from reaching Salmon Bay as long as possible.
Parker looks at her, a wry smile on his face. “Think we’ll survive this one?”
She gives him a wolfish grin in return. “Not a chance in hell.”
He pulls his own shotgun out of the backseat. “Not gonna sugarcoat it even a little hm?” He jokes as they come to stand in front of the car.
“You should know by now, babe-” she pulls the shotgun up, aims, and cocks it, “only angels lie.”
PARKER
Love is divine. To love is to be closer to his Father. And yet, Elysium is afraid of the love he feels. Afraid that it will draw him away from the divine light he was born into. Is this temptation? Can angels be tempted?
He isn’t sure.
He throws himself into training, fighting, carrying out his angelic duties. Anything to distract himself. And yet…
He cannot escape her smile. That slightly crooked smile that shows a hint of the fangs beneath, that makes his heart melt and his wings glow pink. She’s beautiful, there is no denying that. But it’s more than the alluring lust given off by her succubus cousins. The way she fights, the way she moves, the way firelight gleams off her slender horns. Liliandra is the most captivating creature he has ever seen, without even trying to be. The first time they met, the envy demon had tried to take his head off, and he’s been smitten ever since. Her tongue is sharp, her temper explosive, and he’s found that his heart ceases to beat every time she appears.
She’d started to seek him out, their scathing remarks turning to witty banter and everything changed. He no longer considers her his enemy, and the first time she sought him out beyond the field of battle, the angel had been shocked to find that he looked forward to their next meeting. She is his friend, and after a few centuries, he’s finally come to realize that he’s in love with her.
It terrifies him.
He’s drifting, far away from Earth, far from the source of his affliction, but he knows that no matter how far he goes, he is tethered to her. Stardust swirls around his fingers, and while normally the wonders of the cosmos provide an excellent distraction, today they are of no comfort to him.
He feels his sibling well before he sees them.
“You are troubled, little brother.”
Mesmyr’s voice is soft in his mind, carrying with it the gentle chime of bells and the weight of eons.
He turns, casting his gaze away from his sibling’s masks. “Am I so easy to read?”
Laughter fills the space between his thoughts. “No, I merely know you too well. I can see that something weighs heavy upon you.” Crystalline feathers brush against his own, warm and comforting. “Tell me.”
“...I fear that I am falling to temptation.” The confession makes his wings pulse green with shame and disgust.
“You are referring to Liliandra?”
Elysium’s head snaps around, gaping at his sibling, who gazes back calmly, their wings glowing a calming yellow. “How did you-? I didn’t-”
“Peace, Elysium. I am not angry with you, nor is He. We are happy that you have found love. It is a beautiful thing,” Mesmyr reassures him gently, a hand resting on his shoulder, but Elysium shakes them off, flitting further away, dread slithering through his chest.
“How can you be so calm about this?! I’ve fallen in love with our enemy! She’s evil!” He wants to take the words back the moment he says them, regret and guilt wrapping around his heart like lead. Liliandra isn’t evil, not like the other demons. She’s envious, she’s dangerous, but she is not evil.
Mesmyr tilts their head. “Evil, you say? Tell me something, little brother. Do you consider the tiger evil for killing its prey? What of the elephant for crushing trees and bushes beneath its feet as it walks?”
Elysium pauses, confused by question. “No?”
“Precisely. They do as they were created to do. They do not choose to be hungry, they do not choose to grow stripes. They are as they were created to be. Demons were created to be envious, wrathful, lusty. Can you truly consider them evil if they had no choice in the matter of their creation?”
The younger angel goes silent, contemplating his sibling’s wisdom.
“She is not evil, just as we are not good. You both simply exist. Be more than your existence, little brother.”
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Parker walks around the quiet infirmary, rocking the swaddled bundle in his arms. Roxanne is asleep, the exhausted lines in her face finally smoothed out.
The angel peers down at the tiny infant snuggled against his chest and smiles wryly when he starts to squirm and fuss. “You caused your mom quite a lot of trouble, bud, think we can let her sleep for a little bit?”
He's had little experience with childbirth, rarely leaving the safety of the Agency’s walls, so when his wife had gone from screaming obscenities at him to collapsing, he'd rightfully panicked. Mesmyr had dragged him from the infirmary so Alcmene could work, leaving him pacing the hallway for hours until the gorgon had finally allowed him back inside. A drop in magic, she'd told him, brought on by some sort of magical backlash. One of the strange mysteries surrounding a Nephalem that they have no explanation for.
He doesn't dare take his son from the infirmary, Roxanne will have his head if she wakes up and can't find her baby. Instead, a simple soundproof charm falls over her bed in a shower of sparks, and Parker shifts the child in his arms to lay against his shoulder.
His wings glow a soothing yellow in an attempt to lull his tiny son back to sleep, his hand rubbing up and down the infant’s back. “I know, kiddo, everything’s bright and loud here and you hate it. Can't say I blame you.”
Soon enough, the babe returns to sleep, and Parker shifts him once again in his arms as he sinks into the chair next to his wife's bed. He wraps the blanket a little more snugly around his son, the infant’s fussing having caused it to come loose. When a tiny hand wraps around his finger, he stops, amazed that something so small can have such a strong grip, especially in sleep.
He brushes his thumb over the hand holding his finger, a soft smile overtaking his face. It's funny, he'd been terrified when he'd fallen in love with his wife, and even more terrified when Alcmene had placed the squirming, wailing bundle in his arms mere hours ago. Not because of what his son was, no, but because he hadn't been prepared for the deep love he'd felt the moment he'd held him, the visceral urge to protect him from the world.
Horror had gripped his heart not long after, spurred further when Roxanne had voiced exactly what was on his mind.
Morningstar.
His eldest brother, a name whispered in hushed tones by younger angels, the fallen one, the scourge of the pantheons.
And the infant in Parker's arms will one day grow to become a threat to him.
The angel had reassured his wife that things would be fine, that they and the Agency would be there. He hopes and prays that he's right. His child has done nothing to the cruel fallen angel, but that doesn't matter. Morningstar will come for him.
The tinkling of chimes clues him in to his sister's arrival. She settles into a chair next to him, a smile painting her face, wise grey eyes coming to rest on the infant in his arms. “Is it alright that I visit now?”
He nods, gesturing to the sleeping babe. “Would you like to hold him?”
Mesmyr nods back, and he sets his son in her strong arms, trusting the other angel completely. There is no safer place for any child. Calloused yet gentle fingers gently brush over dark brown wisps of hair, a similar shade to her own tight curls. “He's beautiful. Have the two of you decided on a name yet?”
Parker smiles. “Reggie.”
“I like it.” Mesmyr leans back in her seat, regarding her brother carefully. “What's wrong?”
Parker looks down at his lap, his wings rustling against his back. Even now, when he is no longer Elysium, his sister can read him like an open book. “I'm scared, Myr.”
“Of?”
“Morningstar.”
His sister's face darkens, her gaze falling to his son. “You fear him coming for Reggie.”
“Yes. I told Roxanne that we'd protect him, and I will, I would willingly give my life if it meant sparing his, but… I'm terrified that it won't be enough.”
“Morningstar is relentless, that much is true. But you must have faith. Faith in yourself, in your wife, and in us. You are not alone, and neither is he.”
Silence reigns for some time, eventually broken by his son, tiny face scrunching up and a loud wail piercing both angel’s supernatural hearing. “He has a strong set of lungs, I'll tell you that much,” Parker jokes. He's probably hungry, and Roxanne wakes despite Parker's soundproof charm, taking the crying infant from Mesmyr. The angel wonders if it's simply a mother thing or a demon thing, how finely tuned she is to her baby's needs.
Mesmyr rises to her feet while their son nurses, nodding to Roxanne and squeezing Parker's shoulder. “He will be fine, brother, because he also has both of you.”
She leaves the infirmary, and Roxanne sends him a questioning look. Parker just smiles, leaning forward to kiss her. “Everything’s fine, Rox.”
And for that one moment, everything is.
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And then everything changes. He's beginning to wonder if they were wrong, if all of this worry was for nothing, when Reggie disappears. Roxanne’s discovery of a severed tail beneath the bed sends a spike of dread through his heart, and he feels numb, desperately wishing, not for the first time, that he still had his powers. He could find their older son in a heartbeat, soothe his furious wife and terrified younger child, but he gave up his wings long before Delsin was born.
While Roxanne calls Director Mercury, he takes Delsin over to Betty’s house, letting her know that there’s an emergency. When he returns he finds her pacing the kitchen, a frown affixed to her face. Even though she’s been without her demonic traits for over a decade, he can still envision her lashing tail and delicate horns.
The phone rings a few hours later, and she lunges for it so fast that for a moment he wonders if she briefly got her powers back. “Hello?...Oh thank the pantheons, is he alright?...I understand. We’ll be right there.”
“They found him?” Parker confirms, heart pounding in his chest.
“Yes. Mercury said they ran into a pair of demons. We need to go now.”
He’s never driven to the sheriff’s station so fast, the hidden door in the basement a welcome sight. Mercury is waiting for them in the hallway outside the infirmary, a scowl on the dragon’s face.
“How is he?” Roxanne blurts out before he can speak. “What happened?”
“He’s not good,” Mercury answers, shaking his head. “Come with me.” The Agency director leads them inside, and as soon as they spot their son both he and Roxanne rush to his side. The first thing Parker spots are wings.
His son has wings. With black feathers. Parker feels like he can’t breathe.
Reggie’s unconscious, laying on his side so his uninjured wing can spread out, the other carefully bandaged around a splint. His arms are both bandaged, one splinted like his wing, the other carrying the smell of some form of herbal salve. Alcmene is hovering over him, her snakes darting to and fro, an obvious sign of agitation for the gorgon. She glances up, eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “His seal broke. He punched right through it and the rebound threw everything out of whack.”
“Can you help him?” Parker asks, gently running his hand through his son’s hair. He pauses when his fingers brush against bone, and he leans closer, spotting two small white horns beneath Reggie’s hair. The amount of horn and feather growth tells Parker that Reggie has been hiding them for weeks.
“I can, but it won’t be a quick process. He’ll be here for a few days.”
Parker had nearly forgotten Mercury was there until he speaks up from behind them. “And after what happened, I have half a mind to keep him here with us! How could you not notice ?”
“He’s never hidden anything like this from us before. We thought it was just what normal human teens acted like!” Parker retorts, earning a glare from his wife.
“I told you, Parker, but you wouldn’t listen to me!”
Pride pricks his tongue, spilling words before he can reel them back. “Don’t you dare start, Roxanne! You could’ve pushed, you could’ve checked, but we both trusted him and let it go!”
“Enough!” Mesmyr’s voice booms from somewhere near the door to the infirmary, making them all wince. His sibling’s newest form is leaner than before, slender and willowy, yet any who think them weaker would be painfully mistaken. “You two are more worried about laying blame than accepting that you both made mistakes!”
Shame fills his chest like muddy water in his lungs, his gaze dropping.
Mercury looks between him and Roxanne before speaking up again. “I warned you that keeping this a secret from him would have consequences. Your son fucking mutilated himself because he had no idea what was going on. He was almost killed by a pair of demons and bound his wings up so hard that Alcmene isn’t even sure if they’ll finish growing properly, which means we may have to remove them and have him grow them all over again.”
Bile rises in his throat, threatening to choke him, while the blood drains from his wife’s face. “There has to be something you can do to avoid that.”
“We will have to wait and see.”
Mercury leaves, and they make room for Alcmene to work. Parker’s gaze falls on his son’s small wings again, his stomach churning. Removing them won’t change the curse burned into his feathers before he’s even learned to fly. “I’ll be back.”
He leaves the infirmary without a destination in mind, feeling so guilty for leaving Roxanne alone with their son and fleeing like a coward. She’s always been braver, stronger , than him. He ends up in one of the gardens, sitting by a tree and dropping his head into his hands.
His fault.
“Parker.”
He jumps, head snapping up to find Mesmyr standing there, arms folded across their chest and wings tucked neatly against their back. “Why did you run.”
A statement, a demand, not a question.
“Reggie’s wings…” Parker whispers, looking down at his lap. Tears blur his vision, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.
“What of them?” Mesmyr’s voice is surprisingly sharp.
Parker shakes his head. “I… I cursed him, Myr. He’s thirteen and already marked as fallen. He’ll never be able to glow, and they look-” he pauses, swallows “-they look like Morningstar’s wings.” He no longer has angelic vision, so he can’t see the aetheric form of his child’s wings. But maybe that’s a good thing, because he’s already certain he knows what he’ll see. Not the warm glow of pulsing crystal, tendrils of energy reaching for the lifeblood of all angels, but a cloud of dust, a miasma of drifting pieces that were once whole and unbroken, shattered wings that do not flow with the aether around them but consume it like a plague of locusts. He swallows back tears and gets to his feet, gripping his sibling’s wrist. “Mesmyr, please, tell me what you see.”
Mesmyr pulls away and shakes their head. “I don’t need to tell you. You should already know.”
That’s what he was afraid of.
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Parker massages his temples, sighing into the cool night air. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, he just needs space to breathe. His son’s temper has been a challenge to deal with over the last few years, and sometimes he needs to distance himself from the situation in order to look at it with a clear head, and not-
Not think of charred feathers, of a flaming sword and a sharpened tongue.
He’d only met his eldest brother twice on the battlefield, and it was only thanks to Mesmyr that he survived both encounters. Every time Reggie’s temper flares, or Director Mercury tells them of another incident, Parker has to remind himself that his son is not his brother. The young Nephalem still has a chance to come out of this unscathed. His eldest child is a good person, with a good heart, who loves his little brother and protects his friends with a righteous fury that makes the former angel proud.
And yet…
And yet Parker cannot deny the fear that grips his heart whenever his son snaps, nor the pain that splits his soul when fiend fyre laps at Reggie’s ebony feathers. There is light in him, but there is also darkness, and Parker is afraid. Afraid that the darkness will grow to be too much for him, that his hesitancy to use angelic abilities and his preferential treatment for the demonic ones already shows the path he is following.
Parker spots a bench near a tree ahead and slows. Odd, he’s walked this path before and doesn’t remember a bench being here. Someone is sitting on it, an elderly Akomish man with kind eyes and a smile that brightens when he sees Parker approach. It’s not someone Parker recognizes from the tribe, and after eighteen years he’s certain he knows everyone.
“Hello, Elysium.”
He freezes.
“Father?”
The man chuckles and pats the spot next to him. “Come, sit. We have not spoken in quite some time.”
Parker doesn’t move, feeling like his feet are stuck to the ground. “You’re-” he shakes his head to clear it. “Why are you here? And why do you look like that?” He’s not sure if he can ever remember a time when his Father appeared as a mortal man, actually.
“I am a visitor to this pantheon, which means I will show them the proper respect. And does a father need a reason to visit his son?” Answering a question with a question is exactly how he remembers Him. Slowly, Parker takes a seat on the bench.
“You haven’t visited before,” he points out carefully, met with a mournful sigh.
“No, though that does not mean I have not been watching. You may no longer be a part of my pantheon, but you are still my son. And Mesmyr fills me in on whatever I might miss.”
Parker can’t help but roll his eyes. His older sibling is known for being a bit of a gossip, so he’s not surprised that the cherubim tells their Father everything. “Why visit now then?”
“Because of your son.”
The breath is knocked from his lungs with a Woosh , and Parker stares at his Father, wide-eyed, fear trickling into his mind. “Reggie? What has he done?”
A wrinkled hand covers his. “Peace, Elysium. He has done nothing wrong. Mesmyr told me that you both have been struggling recently. Speak. I will listen.”
Parker finds himself gripping the worn, strong hand like a lifeline. “I… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve tried so hard to keep him on the right path, to keep him from becoming what everyone expects him to be, but I’m terrified that it won’t matter.”
“And what do you expect him to be?”
Parker blinks. “I don’t understand?”
“What do you expect your son to be?” The question is asked again, more slowly this time, wise brown eyes piercing straight through him.
“I… expect him to be himself?”
“Hm, only the good portions?”
Parker frowns. “No, I mean, yes, I want him to try and be good, but I know he can’t be perfect.”
“And yet, every time Reggie fails, you pull away from him.” His Father’s tone holds no judgement, yet it cuts deep all the same, and Parker’s tongue is caught in his throat, not a sound escaping. “You are afraid to love him as he is, so you only love him when he shows goodness.”
“What? No, I don’t-” He begins to argue, to try and defend himself, but his voice dies when Elohim speaks again.
“You fear that he may become another Morningstar.”
“...Everyone is afraid of that.” The defense sounds brittle to his own ears.
Yes, but you are his father.”
Parker stares. “And? Roxanne is his mother, and she’s afraid too.”
“But has she pulled away as you have?”
“No. But she was a demon. She will love him even if he joins Morningstar, or becomes him.” The thought haunts Parker’s nightmares, of the day when his son may turn on them, of the day he would have to stand across a battlefield from Reggie. Every time the Nephalem draws closer to that line, Parker pulls away, to prepare his heart from the day when he is no longer allowed to love him.
“If he becomes Morningstar, you will not love him?”
Parker’s brow furrows. “No, of course not. How could I?”
“You are his father.”
“You make it sound so simple but it isn’t that simple. ” He doesn’t mean to snap, but he’s getting frustrated, and tired, and afraid. So, so afraid.
“It is that simple.”
“No it isn’t!” Parker explodes, leaping from the bench, righteous anger coursing through his veins though the call of his powers is absent. “You have no idea how hard it is, hypocrite! You’re Morningstar’s Father and I know that you don’t love him!”
“I do.”
The fire in his veins vanishes like smoke. “...What?”
“I do still love him.”
“How?!”
“He is my son. As you are. The love I feel for you is no different than the love I feel for him. I mourn his loss, but I have never stopped loving him.”
Parker stares, feeling numb. Slowly, he sits back down.
“You have made your love conditional, Parker, on whether Reggie succeeds or fails. He needs that love just as much, if not moreso, when he fails. Because that will only push him further from you, to a place you can no longer reach. It began with his wings, and has only grown from there.”
Though the rebuke is gentle, there is a firmness to it that still makes him flinch. Mesmyr is much the same way, but getting it straight from the source brings him so much shame. “It hurt to look at them. To know they were broken, and know it was my fault, that I’d cursed an innocent life.”
Elohim raises a weathered eyebrow. “Why do you assume he is cursed, broken? You cannot see his wings as they are.”
“I asked Mesmyr, he confirmed what I already knew.”
His Father sighs heavily, and the disappointment in his eyes makes Parker want to cry. “He said you should know.”
“How is that any-” Parker cuts himself off as realization hits. Oh. “They aren’t broken, are they?”
His gaze is held by eyes that have seen worlds come and go. “You already know the answer to that question, my son.”
“I have to go.” He’s off the bench and sprinting before even realizing he didn’t say goodbye, or even thank you. But a glance over his shoulder reveals that his Father and the bench are gone.
Well, he can relay the message to Mesmyr later.
Halfway home, Roxanne’s car appears, her face grimly set when she pulls over and rolls down the window. Two guns lie in the backseat. “We need to get to the edge of the ward. I’ll explain on the way.”
He doesn’t hesitate, sliding into the car with her.
Talking to Reggie will have to wait until they come back.
Skylarke94 on Chapter 1 Mon 26 Aug 2024 04:05PM UTC
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ToxicArcee93 on Chapter 1 Fri 06 Sep 2024 11:49PM UTC
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