Chapter Text
ParrotX2 was not a good person.
The world was not black and white.
The world was not gray.
The world– no, the entire universe was a multitude of colors. Some were soft pastels, some were muted, and some were bright and vibrant. Sometimes, people prefer one over the other. The soft pastels linked to the muted colors in the end. The loud, rainbow spectrum was where they all originated.
Parrot didn't know his color. He would never be satisfied, but maybe he could settle down with that.
He was surrounded by colors. The bright, blooming crimson splattered across the pavement. The muted, forgotten tranquilizer in the corner of the cramped and dingy alley. The world's colors were truly a golden experience.
Parrot was still in his patrol outfit. His left wing was likely fractured, as it had taken a brutal hit from the force of being smashed against a wall. The vigilante had just finished disarming a group of criminals from god-knows-whatever organization was performing their debut– a common occurrence after the invisible mafia had taken the underworld by storm.
He finished tying up the quartet of knocked out nuisances, launching a call to the police with their location. A twinge of pain in his wing signaled for him once more, a wince forcing its way through his throat.
Fuck. That wasn't gonna heal right for another week. He needed to save his potions for when he could guarantee a steady supply, and as much as he hated to admit, a broken wing was an inconvenience compared to what he could've sustained. A bitchy one, but an inconvenience nonetheless. Netherwart was rare after the Arlecchino took over the corresponding dimension.
Talons dug into the rusty fire escape rails, metal creaking under his weight. He could also just use the stairs– or, hell, normally leave the alleyway, but that couldn't even come close to the aura he'd have by using his wings. He couldn't say no to that.
The vibrant plumage beat against the air softly, bone fragments just one mistake away from piercing through wing muscles. Parrot hauled his body upwards, momentum carrying him to the slanted roof of the apartment complex.
Bang! His enchanted boots landed sloppily as the vigilante scrambled for purchase on the roof. It'd be even worse for his image if he showed up the next day looking like he had an intense make-out session with cement.
For the love of GOD, he could sense the bruises forming and the migraine he'd wake up to in the morning.
He checked the clock tower, enhanced vision zeroing in on its hands displaying a crisp two o’clock in the morning. Too bad he has to wake up at the asscrack of dawn. A sticky warmth coated his fingers when he reached behind his back. Maybe he’d use his ability on himself for once, even though it barely did anything for him compared to the things it does to others. Damn ability, just meatriding anyone but Parrot. One foot forward, two steps forward. There was no opportunity to look back. It was always this way.
The vigilante Requiem leaped between roofs, rapidly advancing through a backstreet to shake off any possible tails. He had a project to submit in class tomorrow – technically today – yet sleep took less priority over getting his identity doxxed. The winds, usually caressing his feathers and bird-resembling upper face mask, now harshly whipped against his injuries.
He spared a glance behind him when he thought he heard a breeze going in the opposite direction of the wind. It seemed to be a raccoon, so he shook it off and kept his pace.
Soon enough, his cracked-open window came into view. Thankfully, his night-owl of a roommate didn't close it purely to piss him off tonight. With a leap, the avian barrelled straight into the room in his shitty two bedroom apartment.
CRASH
The desk stacked high with textbooks toppled over from the force of his missed dive, practically an alarm blaring to his roommate– “Hey! I'm still awake, come annoy me and call me a chud!”
Thankfully, his beat up chromebook was spared, landing albeit a bit harshly in a pile of practice sheets. His face mask flew off, likely not shown mercy. Parrot dusted himself off, fiddling around in the darkness to flick on the lightswitch.
With a click, the room was illuminated. Now, Parrot was what he would call himself a… kind of responsible person when it came to first-aid. This included bandaging himself after intense fights, and properly disinfecting cuts that would otherwise give him some shit like mutated E coli and hentaivirus or whatever it was.
However. His body ached as the adrenaline began to wash off him in waves: a dull, throbbing sensation spreading to his head. It was a telltale sign of a migraine– something he learned to anticipate when regularly banged against cement and metal pipes held together by thoughts and prayers.
Parrot tripped over a book, just barely catching himself from lobotizing himself on his pencil holder. Skimming through drawers, he found a bottle of old cleaning alcohol and a half-used package of cat shaped bandages. Would it cover it? Yes. Was it proper first aid? Absolutely not. Was it the best thing he had? Also yes.
His ability would slowly chip away on his superficial injuries, so all he had to worry about was ensuring his wing would heal properly. ParrotX2 unfolded his wings to their full extent, the stale air of his apartment drifting into a breeze. He craned his neck slightly to the left, eyes scanning over the points most damaged.
He took off most of his upperwear, seeking a cleaner perspective. The damage mainly was a minor opening on the side of his wing, a few scrapes over the joints, and what he believed earlier to be fractured bones.
His enhanced healing ensured he wouldn't need to worry much regarding the first two– it was the last one the vigilante was worried about. He disinfected the wounds with alcohol, forcing down any noises not to alert his likely already awake roommate. Afterwards, he dug in his drawer for a rag and old magazines to splint his wing. The process was short, yet nonetheless painful.
ParrotX2 has healed many. Some barely noticeable, some for a... close friend. He knew how dangerous yet helpful his ability was. Perhaps such a selfless ability didn't belong in the hands of someone as selfish as he.
Yet he couldn't find it in himself to show it. The thought of being exploited like he's heard so many others be just didn't sit right with him.
So, he healed himself, and a select few. He doubted it would change.
He tightened the cloth and splint, allowing some breathing air. It would do until Parrot's ability passively healed it to an extent. He let his items scatter on the floor– Parrot's roommate wasn't a snooper. Or so he thought.
Flopping down onto his mattress, ParrotX2 allowed sleep to take him.
…
BEEP
…
BEEP
…
Jesus Christ, he hasn't even tucked himself in.
(He was definitely going to fall asleep during class.)