Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hermann perches on the edge of his temporary bed in Mother's office, wrecked leg stretched stiffly in front of him.

Dietrich eases slippers onto his feet.

Hermann winces, squeezes his eyes shut.

„Sorry.“

„It's alright. I need to get used to it.“

Dietrich sits back on his heels. „No, you don't. You shouldn't live in pain.“

Hermann sighs. „I already do.“ Flexes his wings against their binder. „This's always pinched and pulled feathers.“

„That's—“ Dietrich runs a hand through his hair, sighs hopelessly.

A deep breath, then Hermann says, „It doesn't hurt much anymore to bend it a little, but twisting is still bad.“

Dietrich nods, takes a deep breath of his own.

A moment of silence.

„Would you like another jumper? It's chilly out.“

„Yes, please. Maybe a blanket, too? For the ground?“

„Good idea.“ Dietrich smiles, pats Hermann's uninjured knee, stands, and leaves.

Footsteps go up the stairs.

Hermann scratches at the lower hem of his binding.

Footsteps come down the stairs.

Hermann reaches, tries to itch his back under his trapped wings.

„Would you like me to help straighten it?“ asks Dietrich.

„I'm alright,“ Hermann replies quietly.

Dietrich frowns, passes Hermann one of his jumpers, redrapes the blanket over his arm.

Hermann pulls the jumper over his head, rolls his shoulders to better settle the wool.

„Ready?“

Hermann nods.

Dietrich crouches, slides a hand under Hermann's legs, slips the other around his back, gathers him to his chest, and lifts him easily.

As though he was light as—

Hermann gasps, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

„I'm sorry. I can—“

„It's fine. Keep going.“

Dietrich swallows, straightens the rest of the way.

Hermann wraps his arms around his neck, buries his face in Dietrich's shoulder.

Dietrich walks as smoothly as he can to the back door—

Hermann reaches down and works the knob.

—outside, and to the center of the garden. He kneels, sets Hermann on the grass.

Hermann exhales shakily, breathes, „Thank you.“

„You're welcome, Manny.“

Hermann closes his eyes, relaxes a bit as a breeze riffles his hair.

„Would you like to scoot onto the blanket?“

Hermann opens his eyes, nods. He takes a deep breath, pushes himself over with his arms, dragging his legs behind.

Dietrich hovers.

Hermann leans—whimpers at the pull on his knee.

„Would you like help?“

„Yes, please,“ croaks Hermann.

Dietrich eases him down onto his back with gentle hands.

„Thank you.“

„You're welcome.“

Hermann watches the clouds skid by overhead, swallows darting through the air, and smiles faintly.

„I'm going to duck inside a moment for a book. I'll be right back.“

Hermann hums an affirmative.

Grass rustles under Dietrich's feet.

Hermann sighs.

Another, weaker, breeze.

Hermann lets his eyes fall shut, concentrates on the warmth of the sun on his skin.