Work Text:
Dylan is sitting on the porch of the FBC field office. People come and go.
Someone looks at him with curiosity, like seeing a new face. Someone gives the guy a glare or grumpy look – like he is their archenemy or just kicked a puppy. Some of them go by in a close proximity, some steer clear of him. You can guess their access level by this.
But it's not the people Dylan is interested in. It's the birds. A flock of pigeons gathered in front of the entrance, cooing at each other.
Bathing in the now-so-rare sunlight. Some of them lying on the pavement with their wings stretched to catch all the rays they can get.
Another ones carefully preening and feeding each other earthworms which surfaced from the soil after the rain. Like it's an absolutely normal ordinary day.
Why are the pigeons still here? Can't they fly away?
There's not much of their common food left. People get greedy as supply issue inevitably looms over. The Oldest House is devastated, so its stocks are under question. Manhattan is cut off, so no external resupply the Bureau can get. And no one knows when the mess is gonna end.
Yet here they are. The birds.
Why? Do they need people's presence that much? Or are they.. like him? Like Dylan.
He's still here despite all the cons. But he can't fly away at the moment's notice like them. Not anymore. He missed the opportunity.
Maybe the birds can't cross the lockdown border but it seems they never tried. Just like him.
He doesn't know if it's possible to breach the barrier. He never checked.
They're okay with these conditions though it's far from perfect. He and the birds.
Why is Dylan still here? To find his sister, the one he didn’t know he missed so much. To help the Bureau and everyone as she expected from him… Right?
So he needs help. He can’t make it on his own. Paranatural strength doesn’t help to navigate the alien new world.
It's not the first time Dylan's watching birds. Some of them approach him close. Some keep a long distance. Just like people.
By their color he can tell who is who. He captures the difference. He can tell there’s regulars amongst them. The ones who grew attached to him somehow. They became his silent company. So Dylan gave them names, it was only fair.
Gertrude – his beloved. Pure white with grey spots on her chest. She can coo sitting on Dylan’s lap for eternity. She grew affectionate to him since he helped her back then. Even when other birds are flushed away – she’s still there, by his side.
At the moment Gertrude is nesting on his lap and Dylan is petting her like she is a cat.
Martin – the black one with white tail – the cranky and evasive type. It’s fun to play catch-up with him. People already look at Dylan like he’s a shitty dumbass so catch-ups with pigeons won’t make it any worse.
Martin is elusive to the point that he seems like a unique altered pigeon – since sometimes he’s so hard to catch even with parautilitarian abilities.
Gary, good ol’ Gary – spotted auburn fellow – plain and simple guy. He loves staring at Dylan. And Dylan loves talking to him. Gary is an attentive and grateful listener, the best audience so far. Always staring so intently, as if he understands what the human is talking about.
Dylan brings them snacks. Sometimes he has to trade his ration for it. But he doesn't care much. He really doesn't crave for food like the ordinary people do.
He feels something resembling happiness - tiny sparkles of warmth inside his chest - at the sight of birds pecking the seeds he throws to them.
Like he finally did something meaningful.