CW: Wing whump, broken bones, impalement, murder mentions, depiction of wounds that may disturb, nails, Cassio
Word count: 2000+
“Careful, grapefruit will sting if you get it on cuts,” They said, licking their thumb and swiping up the juice that had crawled down the child's cheek.
The child had wide eyes, a small kindling of spark light in the depths of them. They held the bruised and overripe grapefruit in their hands like it was a gift from the gods. Maybe they thought it was. With their gold hair and wings that seem to span the sky, Cassio has been compared to gods. They hook a finger into the grapefruit's flesh, pulling it open and holding it out to the young girl. Cassio avoids looking at the child's hands. The sunken cheeks that are so reminiscent of the ramifications they bring with their power. They'd rather ignore that. They couldn’t delude themselves into thinking proud of their actions. Giving a half rotten grapefruit to a starving child prisoner is only decency. They seem to be lacking in that department anyway. They won’t be eating the grapefruit anyway. It’s of no consequence if they give it to someone so they die with a belly less empty.
—----
“Where did you get the fruit from!?”
“Y-you remember your mothers address, don’t you?” Cassio gasped, barring a blood stained grin at the man pulling them back by the hair.
The boot grinding into their wing is worth the remark, despite the creaking protests the bones give. Cassio refuses in blatant insolence to give them the satisfaction of hearing them whimper. The woman's hand has Cassio's hair wrapped around it. Pulling their head back with their own hair. She should get a good feel, despite the fact it’s matted and full of knots; it’s still better than hers. Her boot is grinding into their wing like she needs a welcome mat to wipe her boot on. They're polished to high hell, though. These common people must be awfully bored, to bother chasing up a dull feathered angel up about a fucking grapefruit. Fighting back is too much effort. The angel hasn’t got the strength to push their heavy boots off their back.
The woman on top of them brings her boot up off their wing, and Cassio thinks they might be able to move the wing now. Their wishful thinking is rewarded by the boot slamming back down on the tender joint. Dust kicking into their face at their struggles, they cough at the taste of the grit on their tongue. Ame - that’s her name; they remember now- drops a knee to the small of their back. They splutter at the weight and the bone digging into their back. Gods, weren’t the people not imprisoned supposed to have more food, this woman had knees as boney as a horse. It’s not like they can come up with reasons why she might have such boney knees. Because a second after she bends down she yanks Cassio’s wing out of the grip of her boot.
Cassio lets out a muffled groan at the feathered being ripped out. They glare banefully at the dust covered feathers, pinned under this woman’s shiny boot.
They hear the jingling of badges, as she leans forward so they can feel her tobacco breath on their ear, “This is for the children you slaughtered when you came though my town, angel.” She rasped, bringing her foot up to kick at their wing. The angle she was holding the wing at and the force of her kick combined to make a mighty crack. The hollow bone of Cassio’s wing snapping like a firecracker in the desert silence. There must be an audience watching, because it’s dead silent as Cassio’s shout rings though the encampment.
“Breaking my wing doesn’t bring back a dead man's - sorry, child's soul.”
Ame’s roar of fury is accompanied by her boot making the sharp connection with Cassio’s stomach. She pulls her foot back as Cassio curls around themselves. Kicking at them and moving around to their back when she wants a new spot. They see no point in resisting. They hold no care nor connection to those children, they’d just be trained up and sent to die once they hit eighteen anyway. Life is so fickle like that, it never appears short until the busy hum of the soul goes silent. Until their soul has been pulled out, twisted like cotton candy and in Cassio’s possession. Grief isn’t something people know how to cope with, somehow - yet it happens to everyone.
Maybe what they’re experiencing now is grief. The shakiness they feel, the anger and hollower than normal feeling in their chest. Their wings don't have the bright cloud colour they had in their youth. It’s been greyed, by dust, by sin. Maybe realising they’ll never have wings the colour of the clouds again, is grief.
Ame is panting now, standing on unsteady feet and wiping their mouth. Their polished boots are soiled with blood, and their pants have been splattered like they spilt red paint on them. Cassio feels achy, they feel so utterly human it hurts. Their wings remain relatively untouched, the break in the left joint and the ripped feathers being the only real harm to them. But their ankle is pulsing with a before unnoticed pain. They try to twist it, and whine to themself over the pain of the bone moving under their skin. It hurts to walk, and hurts even more when two men have picked them up by the armpits. Dragging them along the ground and adjusting against the half hearted struggles and then resigned floppiness. Ame’s breathing is level again, Cassio makes a silent bet to themself that they could make those breathes laboured with rage in a sentence.
They’re not sure where they’re being dragged too, only that it takes both too long and not long enough. But once they’re shoved against the wooden wall, pinned against it and punched when their knees buckle - everything goes fuzzy.
They start struggling like a wounded animal when someone shoves their wing up, stretching it out to its full length. It aches, the stretch and burn of the unused and weak muscles pulling and twinging. They haven’t opened them to fly in weeks, it feels shorter than that. But the pain doesn’t lie. Eyes coming back into focus, and they see the nails and hammers in the uniformed officers hands. If they refuse to acknowledge the cold wash of fear that stretches over them, they won’t comment. They twist their head, tipping their chin up and sneering at the soldiers approaching.
“You wish to play games with me?” Cassio laughed, their whole body shaking with the effort, “you think yourself able? You rise above your station, officer Ame, you cannot compete with me. You still anger over the lives of those whose energy I have used,”
Their voice had the level and dead pitch of resigned fear, they wore it comfortably. Eyes not waving from Ame’s as she waved a hand for the soldiers to continue.
The first nail felt the worst. Splitting through the thin skin and tearing through the bone like a viper bite. The crunch from Cassio’s bone was first, then the thunk of the nail finding home in the wooden wall. Cassio clenched their teeth tight enough that their jaw grated, swallowing down the unsteady breaths that attempted to rise. Letting Ame draw a scream or any other sound other than a groan, was something she didn’t deserve. She thought Cassio was someone she could make an example of, she was foolish. They had to wonder, what would get her killed first, her stupidity or her few scapes of intelligence.
Nails and spikes were dotted along their wings, twisting them into a farce of freedom. Blood rolled down the rough wood, speaking a mockery. Cassio remained with a sneer on their face, spitting at any soldier that attempted to get close to them. The joints connecting their wings to their back felt like they were to fall off. If they stood on their one foot, able to balance some weight on their big toe, they could avoid feeling like they were going to rip their own wings off. Trying to balance on one toe - or let themself hang like someone with a sold soul - was taxing. The afternoon sun was cooking them. Anyone could call sun a blessing, but right now it felt backhanded. Their lips were cracked, not just from a well aimed kick from Ame. Every time they moved their face the dried blood from the wound in their temple and the bleeding from their nose - would pull. They’d have to note down that they could probably use blood as glue, maybe only for emergencies though. They needed to move, the position was making their foot and thigh cramp. Any movements they made sent a sharp pain that made them whimper quietly to themself. It was better to stay still and let the cramp tear through them. While it tugged on their tendons like they wanted them to be somewhere other than where they’re supposed to be.
The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, thankfully. Cassio’s face was still hot from the heat of the sun and it’s burning kiss. Their mouth hangs open, uncaring of the dust climbing into it. It was apparently still moist enough for the dust to want to set up shop there. Eyes squeezed shut to try pretend they could actually rest with their wings defiled. It felt like their soul was leaking out of these wounds, this whole culture and lifeblood being soiled by people they should crush under their own boot. Cassio could seek them out, when they are old and weary. Grind their sons, daughters, grandchildren's - bones up. Feed it to them or make them smoke it like those fucking grimy cigarettes they’re addicted to.
—-
“Mrs. Angel?” A reedy voice called.
Cassio cracked an eye open, taking in the sunken cheeks and spindly hands of a child. There was dust sticking to their chin like a beard. They should have at least licked the juice of the grapefruit off their chin, the stickiness must be uncomfortable. Cassio has no water in their mouth to spare to clean it up.
“What?” They mutter, swallowing against their rough throat.
“Is it true you killed the children in Miss Ame’s town?”
“Yeah,”
“Oh..”
Cassio waits for a second, blinking in slow motions at the child who is for some reason still standing too close to Cassio’s feet.
They rock on their bare feet, worrying at their lip. Cassio almost tells the kid to either spit it out or let them stew in their misery alone. But they lift their skirt up and hold a small lump of stale bread up to them. They can only reach up to Cassio’s chest, but they’re stretching as high as they can on their tiptoes.
“...What are you doing?” Cassio asks, ludicrous.
“..Being nice, I hope. My mama said that when someone’s hurt you gotta…gotta look after them. Nobody…Nobody looked after you, so….So Imma do it.” The child stutters out, face slightly red. They’re still trying to force the bread higher, but it’s obvious they won’t reach Cassio’s mouth at their height. It’s ingenious, really, and incredibly stupid. Cassio can look after themselves. They’re older than this kid's grandmother’s mother.
They have to think a bit, for a response. It’s also slightly funny to watch the kid try to reach them despite how it really won’t work.
“You’re not the brightest, are you?” Cassio murmured, voice barely a whisper. “I can look after myself, you eat that.”
“...I gotta, look after-”
“Later -later when I get down from here. You can…look after me then.” Cassio concedes, sick of how the kid looks now close to tears over the fact they’re too short. Kid - girl? Youngling? Not sure what to call the parasite that got them into this mess - nods, determined. Pointing at them with a sure finger.
“I will!! You won’t be mean to people either, I’ll teach you how to brush your hair too. Didn’t your mother teach you that? Well, anyway!! I’ll teach you. So, be good. I’ll see you soon, okay? And don’t move from there!”
The kid spoke fast, they had an odd accent as well. Where was this kid's mother, anyway? Were they another war orphan? Cassio forced themself to nod at the kid, despite the nausea that lapped at that stomach at the motion. The kid was waving at them, going towards the bath house. Probably going to wash off the sweat and grime of working in this dusty musty hell of a desert. They should tell the kid they aren’t actually a ‘Mrs.’ either. Before the kid tries to ask about a husband or wife. That seems redundant though, they won’t be conversing with the kid much. Cassio will find a way to get them to leave them alone.
“Don’t have anywhere else to go,” Cassio croaked to their retreating figure. Watching their silhouette against the painted sky and cracked hills.
Summary: Cassio gives a child a grapefruit which leads Ame, who bears a grudge against Cassio for past actions, to wipe the floor with them. She has their wings pinned against a wall and leaves them there thought the day. The child Cassio gave the grapefruit to attempts to give Cassio bread.
