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Paul always hates the quiet when one of them is gone. There’s noise; there’s always noise, but it doesn’t set him at ease. There’s Corey, mandibles clacking, little growls coming from his throat as he rocks himself. Chris’ feathers rustle in short, anxious bursts.
Shawn is erratic, pausing for long enough to make Paul jump when his fast, clomping steps bounce off the walls again. Mick is quiet enough. It’s only his black stripes, flapping quickly out to catch Sid by the wrist whenever he starts scratching too much.
Sid… well, Sid’s never quiet.
Maybe there’s no difference really – no difference but the waiting. The knowing what they’re all waiting for.
They took Joey this time.
Jim sits stoic at Paul’s side, against the wall but bolt upright. One pair of his hands is clasped, but the others drum silently on his knees, betraying his jitters.
Paul has them too. He bites his lip until he can feel the sharp point of his tusk threaten the skin.
Only Craig’s bold enough to approach the door. On a night the staff are moving them, it’s a surefire way to ask for a shock. They need them out of the way.
Still, Craig stands. Two paces back from the door, motionless, silent. Those inscrutable eyes watching through the thin sliver to the white halls outside.
A crack like a belt makes Paul flinch, whirling towards the sound. Both Sid’s wrists are ensnared. He squawks, tugging on his new cuffs, fingers twitching. Mick just stares.
“Cut it out!” Shawn says sharply, turning agitatedly from the corner he’s facing.
“Chris,” Sid whines, “check Joey again. Check!”
All eyes move to Chris, who shuffles uncomfortably, dipping his beak to the ground.
“What should I check? I can’t… I can’t know what they’re doing.”
It’s a fair question, but Paul can’t help but agree with Sid. Part of him is bouncing in impatience too, just like the smaller guy. Gripping his ankles, knees pressing closer to his chest, he forces himself still, holding his breath.
“Just check!” Sid insists.
Chris’ shoulders slump, but he closes his eyes and Paul can finally breathe again.
It won’t change anything. He’ll just tell them Joey’s vaguely down the hall, which they all know anyway since it’s where the labs are. He’ll tell them the same again, and they’ll all return to waiting, clinging their one, feeble method of pretence at control. In reality, they never know what’s been going on out there until the staff shove them back in here to see it for themselves.
Chris breathes deeply. Corey stops clicking, and Shawn stays still, and Jim stops drumming, and Sid falls still.
Paul hates the quiet. All he wants to hear is that soft, annoying hum of fluttering wings. Jim’s touching distance away, but all Paul really wants is to feel those small, pokey hands, making him squirm as they try to stretch around his middle.
Surely it’s been long enough by now? He thought the staff knew how Joey gets, when he’s away from them too long.
Time drags its feet when they aren’t together. That must be the reason. It probably hasn’t been that long: he’s imagining it. This is more than enough time for a small, harmless, observational test. Right?
Corey clicks.
The drop in the silence makes Paul blink. He drags his eyes up. Corey’s staring at Chris. They all are.
Chris hasn’t moved.
It’s silent. It’s never silent.
There’s the smallest murmur of feathers as Chris shakes himself lightly. Frowns harder, eyes still closed.
No one moves.
Chris swallows.
He cracks his eyes open slowly, as if he’s hoping they won’t notice, that they’ve all gone back to their own business and he won’t have to answer to them.
He looks at Paul first, and Paul’s heart hammers. He can’t breathe. That second stretches, thundering in his ears, fixed on Chris’ fearful eyes.
“What is it?” Jim asks.
Chris’ gaze darts away from Paul, and he wants to chase it, wants to grab Chris by the wings and beg him to tell them–
“I… I can’t find him.”
“What do you mean?” Corey says hoarsely.
“I can’t feel him, I don’t know…”
“They moved him,” Shawn says.
“He’s been in the same place since he left,” Chris replies weakly. “But they… they could have taken him further away–”
“Even when they took you to the basement, Joey could still feel you,” Jim says tersely.
Paul takes a gasping breath. Oh hell, Joey…
“Maybe it’s weaker the other way around,” Shawn argues.
A loud sniff halts the debate before it can start. Chris has slumped forward, throwing his face into his hands. His shoulders shake.
“I can’t feel him.”
Paul can’t breathe. He falls back against the wall. This isn’t right. He can’t breathe.
Shawn sets off abruptly with a clatter of hooves. Eyes widening, Paul watches him storm at the door. Crap, he’s going to get them all in trouble. Paul closes his mouth, watching Shawn’s sudden, dizzying pacing. He can practically see the steam rising above his horns.
A cool, steady hand lands on top of Paul’s, and Paul realises he’s shaking.
He looks around to find Jim staring intently at him.
“We always come back,” he says fiercely.
Paul forces a choking breath down his throat. He nods.
Jim lifts another arm, running it soothingly down Paul’s.
A ringing clang shudders through the space, making them both jump. Their heads shoot towards the door. Shawn kicks it, hard, for a second time. His tail raises, pointing menacingly upwards, but before he can leap at the door and try, again, to savage his way through the steel, he’s dropping to the ground, spasming against the ground.
They all knew it was coming.
Jim is on his feet the next moment, sharing a glance with Mick. Mick deposits Sid next to Paul, and the two largest specimens are marching over to Shawn. It was a warning shock, because he’s already pushing himself to his feet. Jim has to use all of his arms,
and several of Mick’s stripes, to restrain Shawn from charging straight at the door again.
Two, hesitant hands worm their warm around Paul’s. Tearing his eyes from the enraged Shawn, Paul finds Sid nervously looking up at him, clutching tight to his side.
Still numb, Paul lifts an arm. Runs it down Sid’s back, the way he likes. Brings it back up again. Breathes.
They wait in the oppressive silence as Shawn simmers down. He doesn’t, really. His shoulders bunch around his ears, like a bull, coiled, waiting, but the guys manage to drag him further from the door, and he stops growling in the back of his throat. Paul thinks he hears Jim hissing some choice words about how they’ll never bring Joey back in if the lot of them aren’t behaving.
Sid’s fidgety grip digs into Paul’s forearm.
“Chris!” He chirps, “check again!”
Chris blinks round at them, big helpless eyes blinking against a thick wall of water. He shakes his head mutely.
“Just check!”
Sid bounces against Paul’s arm.
Taking a shuddering, sniffling breath, Chris meets Paul’s eyes. Paul can’t bring himself to ask, but Chris must see something there because he wilts.
He shuts his eyes.
Just as Shawn manages to wrestle free of the others, stomping back inside, Chris draws a sharp breath. Paul’s eyes are trained on him, notes the way his shoulders tighten.
“Chris?”
“He… he’s there,” Chris says. Doesn’t open his eyes. Keeps feeling, needs to check, needs Joey to be there after the terrifying emptiness of a few moments ago.
Everyone stops. Even Shawn, even Sid.
“Did they move him?” Jim asks.
“…No. Same place as before.”
Shit. No one says it out loud, but the silence echoes enough. Something happened to Joey out there.
“Wait!” Chris cuts off the stifling quiet. His eyes fly open. “He’s coming back this way.”
Not a second later, the first footsteps echo through the grate in the door. Paul jumps to his feet, Sid scurrying at his side as the lot of them scramble to the back wall, pressing themselves against it the way they’ve been trained.
A shape appears through the opening. The eyeless, blank face of one of the staff. They must be satisfied, because the grate over the lock clanks open and there’s the familiar beeping of the keypad.
Paul’s heart thuds uncomfortably in his chest. He wants to put his head down and charge at the door when it opens, gore his way through the chest of whatever unlucky worker is out there – but he behaves. They all do, because it’s the only way they’ll get Joey back as soon as they can.
The door swings open.
The large, hazmat-suited figure fills the doorway, dwarfing Joey who they push in front of them. One hand is gripping a short leash, tugging on his collar. They’ve been using it all the time on him lately, trying to push his flying ability, keep him off the ground.
Now’s not the time, Paul reckons.
Joey’s wings buzz in short bursts, his toes barely brushing the floor. Every time he slips, droops closer to the ground, the collar tugs and he starts like he’s caught himself falling asleep, hurriedly flaps to right himself. He flinches away from the hand pushing him along, curls into himself – and nearly falls out of the air again. Paul’s heart clenches with him.
Joey’s head droops, wings determinedly keeping him up as the gloved hand of the staff grips his collar and unclips him.
Fists tightening at his sides, Paul bites his tongue and waits. The door stays open, so they have to stay still, watch Joey struggle inside all by himself. He drops to the floor the second he can and almost crumples, legs buckling, listing to one side. His shoulder crashes into the wall. He drags his feet a couple more, small steps. The door finally falls shut; Joey finally leans into the wall and slides down it.
The scientist takes a painstakingly long time locking up, each beep stretching an age, the crunch of bolts dragging cruelly.
Paul watches. Joey’s slumped into himself at the bottom of the wall, and he looks so fucking fragile. The gown swallows him, his head lolls, and his wings slant, spent, to the ground. What happened to him, what did they do?
Black-and-red hair falls, covering his face. When he can see his eyes, Paul thinks, then he’ll relax. When he looks him in the face and knows he’s alright. Or will be.
The grate thuds shut.
Paul doesn’t waste a second; he rushes towards Joey, falling to his knees in front of him.
“Joey, thank hell, I’m here, I’m here…”
But the moment Paul reaches for him, Joey recoils, squirming away from the hands, pressing himself tighter against the wall. He curls up, head hiding behind his knees, and Paul notices he’s shaking, his small frame shuddering with sobs.
“Hey, bug, it’s just me,” Paul coaxes. He fights his every instinct and pulls his hands back, gripping his knees. His chest hurts.
Swallowing, he glances behind him. The guys gather around loosely, keeping their distance after they all saw Joey flinch. Mick has a hand around Corey’s wrist, a precaution. Jim has Sid clamped to him with an arm around his chest. Chris watches from Craig’s side.
“Joey?” Paul tries again. “You’re back, it’s over. What happened?”
For another long second, only Joey’s quite, sniffling breaths can be heard.
Then, slowly, he lifts his head.
Paul opens his mouth, but nothing comes. There’s an intake of breath from behind him. A brief scuffle sounds before footsteps are striding away to the far corner, Mick catching Corey before he can kick off. Jim turns his back, sheltering Sid, who’s now chewing on his arm, thrashing to no effect. He shoots a warning look at Shawn, too, but he’s fuming in silence for now. Chris presses his face into Craig’s chest.
Paul sees none of it. Just stares at Joey. His face.
Streaked down his cheeks and forehead, long, black lines stretch out from his eyes. The trenches are carved into his skin. As Paul watches, Joey’s red eyes leak tears, flowing thickly into the raw wounds.
One more drop seeps in, and Joey winces, lip wobbling.
“Bug…”
Paul can’t help it; he places his hand on Joey’s arm. He sees the flinch in his face, but his frame relaxes, leaning into the touch.
Paul slides his arm further around him.
“Where does it hurt?”
Joey doesn’t need to answer. Paul reaches too far, and Joey’s gasping again, twisting away from Paul’s hand.
Paul pulls it back like he’s been shocked, hands hovering, powerless over Joey.
“Your wings? Let me see your wings, bug.”
He shuffles around, and Craig is there too, peering over his shoulder, still silently holding Chris to his chest. Joey twists gingerly away from the wall.
Through the openings in the back of his gown, more of those harsh, dark incisions mar Joey’s skin. They’re weeping, patches staining and seeping through the white fabric. Some of them stick to Joey’s shivering back.
“What did they do?”
Joey sniffs.
“Don’t know…” His voice is small, and hoarse. “Don’t know, but they wouldn’t stop. It hurt, and then it went dark, and then everything was beeping…”
“Let me get the gown off these, Joe. Looks like it stings.”
Joey’s back jumps with another sniff. He nods, antennae bobbing.
Paul’s heart clenches every time his fingers accidentally brush Joey’s cuts, but he gathers the edges of the material, and pulls. Maybe a bit too hard, but he has to put his rage somewhere. The fabric tears in his fists. The holes gape larger around Joey’s wings, no longer pressing on the fresh wounds.
Paul rakes his eyes darkly over the scars exposed in front of him. They emanate from the base of Joey’s wings, dipping into Joey’s skin. The sight of the incisions makes Paul wince.
The new space also reveals the lab stickers, ones Paul knows well. They cover you in them when it’s your turn on the table. They left them on. They must think Joey still needs monitoring.
What the hell happened to him out there?
Placing a soothing hand carefully on an undamaged patch of skin, Paul glances around. Corey’s not fussing anymore, although it might be because Mick has wrapped him up tight in the corner for a forcible cuddle session. Jim reclines with Sid in a much less
grumpy hug beside them.
“Let’s try and get some sleep,” Jim says.
Paul nods.
“D’you want the others over here, bug?”
Joey gives a tired nod, sagging harder into the wall.
Looking around, Paul relays the nod to the others, ushering them over. Best to join them by the door for now; moving Joey isn’t an option Paul wants to try right now. As Mick slowly lets Corey unravel, Paul turns his attention to getting Joey as comfy as possible.
“C’mere, bug. Tell me if it hurts, yeah?”
It’s painstaking, all he wants being to wrap Joey up in his arms and hold him there, but Paul doesn’t let his hands move fast, instead feeling their way gingerly around his bug. His small frame trembles and shivers under Paul’s palms. He feels every little jolt where he brushes a sensitive spot and Joey tenses.
Somehow, he ends up with an arm looped under Joey’s wings, enough to scoop him onto his lap and cradle him the way he wants to – almost. He can’t squeeze too tight, just lets Joey fall against him and rest.
They don’t quite find their usual position. On instinct, Joey moves to press his face into Paul’s chest only to shrink back the next moment, face crumpling with the slicing pain. Can’t rest his forehead there, either; his antennae have always been too sensitive for that. He has to turn to the side, nuzzling his ear into Paul.
Paul sees his teeth grit again, but he braces the discomfort. It’s worse without.
By the time they get settled, the others are gathered around them and dutifully constructing a cuddle mountain. It almost resembles normal. Not that the tests and the nights of waiting aren’t also normal, but they don’t usually come back… changed. Paul’s fingertips tighten where he holds Joey. He has a feeling they came quite close to losing him out there today.
Joey shuts his eyes. Unable to run his hands over him, Paul settles for flexing his fingertips in little patterns between the harsh new marks on his skin.
As Joey starts to melt against him, Sid’s curious, blinking eyes pop over Paul’s shoulder. Paul looks sadly back at him. Chris is throwing longing glances from his spot under Mick’s arm. Seems like Joey’s the only one resting, now.
The hollow silence rings between them. Paul watches nervously as Jim and Shawn share a look. He hopes they won’t try anything – nothing soon, at least. They don’t need to be nursing any more of their number. Joey’s hurt enough without one of them getting themselves shocked for real.
Eventually, eyes start drooping. It’s a shuffling, fidgeting kind of space as they try to settle and sleep, the night full of eyes peering at Joey. Paul just tries to focus on his slight weight on his lap.
He’s here. For now.
But they don’t know what happened, they don’t know who’s next. They’re just left to adjust to whatever new pieces need filling when someone comes back.
The others rustle and shift against each other. No one speaks. Sid doesn’t pipe up with an infuriating question, Corey doesn’t complain about Shawn’s hooves poking into him. Paul feels the same reticence, not daring move, so long as Joey keeps breathing long and slow, resting somewhere the pain won’t follow him.
Paul just stares ahead, seeing nothing but the stark lines they carved into his bug’s face. Feeling the delicate frame in his arms. Listening to the others breathing, and the space between that he wishes wasn’t there.
Yeah. Paul hates the quiet.