Chapter Text
The television is tuned to static, a sort of weary buzz in the corner of the apartment. Its faint hazy light illuminates the worn pages of Hummer's notebook, sneaks into the divots punctured by falls, textures the tears his clumsy fingers are responsible for.
He sighs and slams the book shut.
A siren wails in the distance, wispy and desparate, before dying out into the city's cacophany just like every other. The streets are a symphony of car horns, motorcycle engines, and random screaming folk. At night even more so. People view that inky expanse of darkness as just another void they can dump their noise in.
Hummer hasn't slept in three days.
He doesn't know if it's his bubbling excitement, or the city ambience he's supposed to be used to by now.
Whatever it is, he's hungry.
Hummer stands, stretches, and shuffles to the kitchen for some...why is there only soup in his fridge? He vaguely remembers a grocery stop from two weeks ago where he reeled around a cartful of fresh greens and actual food. Then again, that was two weeks ago.
Whatever.
Hummer reaches his arm in and wraps his hand around a can, wincing from the cold contact. He squints in the low light of the open fridge, trying to catch the expiration date. Dear Levi, what do they put in there?
"This stuff- this stuff's still gonna be fresh on the shelf when I expire," Hummer mutters to himself as he stuffs it in the microwave, container and all.
A few drag-by minutes of mindless tapping on the kitchen counter and glancing at the time remaining every few seconds, and his dinner is ready.
And he forgot to close the fridge...
With a groan, Hummer shuts the door, clicks on the ceiling light because that poor fridge had just accidentally turned into his impromptu lamp, and grabs his still cold soup. The stuff smells vaguely of tomatoes.
He's back on the floor in front of the TV. With the soup can precariously propped on an abducted couch cushion beside him, Hummer leafs through his notebook, scribbling more verdicts for an investigation he already knows is closed. On his laptop, hundreds of mixed reports blur his vision. He eases his glasses from where they hang on his shirt and lets them do the work for him, case by case.
Seeing clearly also comes with the stalwart promise of a headache, apparently.
He types and taps for the next hour, painfully growing more aware of the throbbing in his temples and the lazy droop of his eyelids. It hurts to breathe; no amount of caffeinated tea or soup can fix that. Fatigue rolls through his limbs as he tilts his head back and mumbles gibberish at the ceiling.
"Fiftieth instance of k-kelp...huuuuh...Levi is...
Levi is kelp..."
Smokey moonlight caresses Hummer's cheek as he dozes off into his first sleep in days.
.
.
.
He doesn't know what jolts him awake. Hummer shoots up from his seat and groggily fumbles around for his glasses, which have apparently slipped off onto his timed-out laptop.
Even through thick lenses, the world is blurry, dampened from his ephemeral respite. It's still dark out too.
Hummer yawns.
A deafening clatter comes from the direction of his balcony.
And then the rustling of feathers.
"What the fuck?"
Hummer's heart freezes in his chest, then decides it should start hamering bullets against his ribcage. It's just a pidgeon - there are a ton of pidgeons around here. Or a seagull, please just let it be a seagull- There's no way anything else can get up here. Or...
Hummer lets out a dry laugh.
No way Levi's visiting.
He's probably dreaming right now. He looks down at his hands, counts his fingers. Five on each hand. Then, he slaps himself on the cheek.
It stings slightly.
Nope, not a dream.
The noises come again, this time more erratic, like they belong to a creature lost in agony.
Hummer's fingers twitch as they go numb. He grinds his molars as one foot moves in front of the other, step by step towards the transluscent balcony doors. The silhouette behind them is unreadable - too large to be a bird's, but too... well, strange to be a human's.
"Hello?" Hummer calls out.
He's an idiot. He's such an idiot! This could be a burglar, a serial killer for all he knows! But how, and why, would anybody climb up to the fifteenth story to assault some nobody like him? Hummer has no money, no precious belongings, nobody to ransom to if he's taken hostage. Hell, not even his mother wants him, according to the people at the orphanage.
He gets a response:
A strained cry, dripping with obvious, intense hurt, radiates from the figure. Hummer feels a twang of sympathy take its place beside his fear. Whatever's out there is...wounded, suffering.
He shouldn't be thinking about himsef right now.
Without another thought, Hummer slides the door open.
"Holy-"
On the balcony lies a man surrounded in feathers…no, wings. Three pairs of wings, two on his back, one on the sides of his head. All of them are blackened and mangled, splayed in odd directions. His dark eyes are glazed over, wet with tears, and shivering moans escape his mouth as he clutches his bloody feathers.
Cuts and bruises and burns, countless burns, riddle his exposed skin. A thin trail of red trickles from his lips.
He's mouthing something, unable to form the words that Hummer knows he's trying to say.
"Help…me."
Hummer crouches, now wide awake, instinctively feeling the man's forehead. He's feverish. His hand comes back damp from sweat. Countless questions play on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down as the strange man groans again.
Hummer's eyes widen. "I should call an ambulence," he pants, "you're injur-"
The man's gaze finds him. Hummer's heart twirls in surprise as he realizes how beautiful those eyes are, like two dark, titanium splotches. Not quite black, not quite grey. Flecks of purple swim in his irises, sparkling like stars from the rays of dawn's creeping sun below.
Tears slide down his pale face, gather in the mottled hollows under his eyes.
The man shakes his head.
Hummer sucks in a doubtful breath. "I- I can't. Right. God knows what they'll do to you. I- I'm sorry." He brushes a strand of brown hair from the stranger's forehead and sighs. It's an oddly intimate motion for somebody he's barely met. "You've been through quite a lot..."
He's always believed that the world has more to offer than it shows, that creatures flit under the roiling waves and through the canopies of clouds above.
But how would everybody else react?
This poor man might be prodded and disassembled just because he's...different. Hummer can't let that happen. He just can't. But can he trust himself to take care of somebody who just happened to tumble onto his balcony?
"You're gonna be okay. I promise," Hummer tells him.
He doesn't know if he can keep that promise. He doesn't know. Hummer urges himself to just believe...but his mind falters when his attention again latches onto the man's condition.
As gently as he can, Hummer hoists the man up and slowly brings him to the couch. He doesn't know if he's imagining it, but there's a grateful note in his expression, a slight upturn in his blood-crusted lips, a lift in his head-wings. His breathing isn't as labored now too.
After turning on all the lights, Hummer brings antibacterial and gauze and an armful of whatever else he finds behind his bathroom mirror.
There's a bottle of abandoned prescription pills he knocks over while reaching for the painkillers. He scoffs and hisses curses as the little pellets rain onto his shirt. Curse his psychiatrist for assuming he enjoys swallowing those.
You're not dying today. Not on my watch.
After dropping off the medicine on the floor beside his now forgotten laptop, Hummer wets a clean rag with antibacterial and shows it to the man.
Hummer takes one of his hands, turning it over to look at the feather-speckled wrist. There's a massive gash running down his arm, starting at his palm. "I'm gonna rub this on your wounds, okay? It's going to hurt though."
Tracking the rag's limp flails, the man nods.
God, I'm so unprepared for this. What if I do it wrong?
Hummer pushes down at that clawing worry as he begins dabbing the stuff onto torn flesh. He's read the instructions on the back of the box almost ten times now. He's prepared. Very prepared.
The man flinches at first contact, but melts into the rhythm as Hummer continues. In the distance, the lullaby of a waking city hums.
Up his arm. Dab, wrap in gauze, repeat. Put a band-aid on the smaller cuts.
Onto his bare chest. Those burns are still hot to the touch, charred and deep.
Hummer feels a trail of rouge cover his cheekbones as his hand brushes the man's skin. A brief, accidental touch that makes the stranger's shoulders twitch.
"Sorry..." he musters.
Dab, wrap in gauze, repeat.
There's a branded yin-yang on the side of his neck. Or is it a tattoo? Hummer decides he'll ask about it later.
He suddenly remembers that the man is probably dying of thirst. A quick trip to the fridge and he fishes out an unopened plastic water bottle. What if it's too cold for him?
The man downs half the bottle in one go without any issue, and whispers a hoarse "Thank you." Relief flooding his chest, Hummer resumes treating his wounds.
After going through most of the bloody areas, Hummer moves on to his wings. They're gleaming, fluffy, pearly black feathers tipped with a dull violet. His larger flight feathers are completely purple, but most are twisted in odd directions or burnt off.
Attempting to read the man's physical cues, Hummer tries his best to straighten them and disinfect the countless wounds. He's lost track of how many times he's had to replenish the rag.
A winged man is in his house. On his couch. Hummer can't quell the disbelief broiling in his thoughts.
His foot taps nonstop on the old carpet as he laces the feathers into place. The man is looking quite bored by the time Hummer finishes.
"Your wings are beautiful!" Hummer exclaims, sitting down beside the man.
Oh no...
If he starts talking now, those remarks will start to gush like a waterfall from his mouth, and the stranger is going to get even more sick of him than he already is. And he's quite certain his face is completely red.
"Uhhh... Is there anything I missed? Do you need painkillers? Food? Anything?" Hummer glances around, taking in the man's tattered, ripped clothing. His upper body is completely bare excluding the swaddling of bandages on his torso and chest.
"How about I get you a change of clothes?"
"If it's no trouble...thanks." The man's voice is more lively, revealing a sweet, deep timbre with a touch of idle curiousity.
Hummer's glad to see he's healing quite quickly. Almost an hour ago he was a shivering, agonized mess who could barely utter a single word. Maybe his body naturally regenerates faster...
A tad woozy, Hummer stands, swerves into his bedroom, and digs through his cramped closet for something that'll fit the man, who probably towers above six feet at his full height.
There's this grey wool sweater he hasn't worn in years…but he knows it isn't itchy. None of his clothing is itchy - that's mandatory.
With the sweater, mismatched white socks, and a pair of sweatpants, Hummer returns to the living room. Daylight is an intruder - a medley of a dappled sun and bounced blue reflctions. He rubs his stubborn eyes and faces the man.
"Got the clothes," Hummer yawns.
The man's fingers brush his arm as he lifts the sweater to examine it. His eyes narrow as he takes in the texture and fit.
Hummer fidgets with his belt, a quiet, low tone growing in his throat as the man sets the clothing down and ruffles his head-wings.
"Uhhh..."
"There aren't any wing slits." The man arches his eyebrows in blatent amusement, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
"Pardon?"
"How will I put the sweater on if there's nowhere for my wings to go? I can't be walking around half-naked, can I?"
Hummer's cheeks are set ablaze. "S-shit! Can you? Oh Levi, I'm such a blundering fool...I- I should get that done..." The shame is hot on his face as he lowers his gaze to the floor. How could he have forgotten?
"You're not a fool...you just saved my life."
The stark honesty of that statement has Hummer looking back up at the man, finding no traces of malice or indifference in his expression. Hummer just saved this angel's life...
"I want to thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart," he continues. "From the tales I heard, most people would have...well…most angels are left to rot...why did you choose to help me?"
Hummer opens his mouth. "Why wouldn't I help you? You were- y-you were dying and suffering and...that's just…"
His thoughts fade as a somber expression falls over the angel. What is it in his eyes - Melancholy? Rage? Nostalgia? Love? A whirlwind of emotions Hummer can't even begin to name?
The angel laughs.
"You remind me of...somebody who was dear to me. The way you care and give and expect nothing in return. I miss him..."
Those words are soft, carefully curt, deliberate. There's something behind them. A deep, throbbing pain in the way they are said.
Hummer turns, snatches the clothes, and darts into the kitchen.
"Yeahhhh- I'll just go get some sweater and cut slits in the scissors - I mean, uh, get scissors and cut the sweater. Fuck!"
He's grateful as hell that the angel can't see his face right now. As he rummages through the drawers, he hears a chuckle from the living room.
"Don't worry. Take your time."
Hummer swallows a deep breath and tries to slow his flying hands and racing heart. Scissors. Right. Second cabinet to the left. Right above the cutlery drawer and the rock collection. He finds them and drops the sweater on the counter, making sure the back is facing him.
The silver blades glide through the fabric with a raspy growl, creating two slits running from the bottom to the upper half of the sweater. Hummer brings it up to the light, admiring his crude handiwork with a grin.
He brings it to the angel, who has apparently found interest in the multicolored papers dotting the wall.
"Impressive. You keep track of your investigations really well," the angel notes. "Are those color-coordinated?"
"Yeah! These are all the places where Levi's been sighted. Red means they're really close to where I live. But uh, the other colors, in rainbow order, are all further away locations..."
The angel regards the sweater and pulls it onto his body. His wings stretch and puff up a little as they find freedom.
"Uh...I should give you space to change into the rest of your clothing."
"That would be great. Thank you."
"I'll be in the bathroom, if you need me. Door's unlocked because I- I'm just cleaning up some stuff that fell, before I forget to. If anything hurts weirdly, j-just call my name." Hummer braces to move again, but sees the man raise his hand slightly.
"Hm?" He turns back towards the angel.
"I never got your name."
"Oh!"
Oh.
Names. Names. They're on a name basis now? When is the last time anybody asked Hummer his name? When is the last time Hummer had even told anybody his name?
Hummer's jaw sets as he chews on the inside of his cheek.
"You can call me Hummer."
The man's head tilts. His expression is pleasant, welcoming. Clean of any shock or disgust or aversion. He beams, as if he's just made a new friend, and that sends a skip through Hummer's heart.
"Nice to meet you. You can call me Wifies."