Spread Your Broken Wings
For: @minamiren
From: @a-still-small-vox
Every year I foist my request for a wing AU on someone, so when I saw your request for one I had to laugh. I figured the universe was telling me it was finally time for me to put my money where my mouth was and write my own No. 6 wingfic. If you'd like to see the other ones, just search the no6secretsanta blog for my name - Vox - or the word "wing". There are a few things in the wing search that are unrelated, but it looks like ratbandaid wrote one for someone else as well.
This fic is set in the Reunion era, but I've not actually read Reunion, so the No. 6 discord helped me pick a few canonically accurate details to include. They also voted to have Nezumi tinker with his robot mice after I blanked on an activity for him. If any of the rest of it contradicts canon, well, it's an AU. It has a happy ending, so don't be dismayed by Nezumi's lack of wings at the beginning.
Happy holidays! I hope you like it!
___
“Nezumi, look!”
Nezumi duly lifted his head and looked up from his book. Shion was kneeling on the carpet beside the sofa Nezumi was lying on, picking something up from the floor.
“What?” Nezumi said.
Shion raised his hand. Cupped in his palm was a single black feather.
“Look! It’s yours. It has to be,” Shion said excitedly. “I would’ve noticed if I had a black one.” His own wings were white with striking crimson primary feathers, and in his excitement they were hovering half-open on either sides of his shoulders.
Nezumi looked down at the feather, something sharp and cold condensing in the pit of his stomach.
“So I still have a few feathers left to moult. So what?”
As he spoke, his body curled in on itself ever-so-slightly, his knees drawing closer to his chest and his shoulders tensing. His involuntary reaction was irritating. He had no wings to shield himself with, so what was the point? They had broken and burned away long ago, in the fire that destroyed his home.
“So, this is the biggest one I’ve ever seen,” Shion said, his excitement undiminished by Nezumi’s cold reaction. “They could be growing back!”
“Who cares?” Nezumi snapped.
Finally Shion paused, looking confused rather than chagrined. “You don’t think it’s possible? Why not?”
It wasn’t that Nezumi didn’t think it was possible. Unfortunately, it was all too possible. He knew full well his wings would’ve survived that fire if his heart hadn’t been broken by the murder of his family and the genocide of his people. Cataclysmic grief and trauma were what truly broke someone’s wings. And in the same way, processing and healing could, for some people, make them grow back.
“I don’t want them,” Nezumi said finally.
“What? Why not?” Shion said, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Think of all the places you could go if you had them.”
Sitting up straighter, Nezumi put the bookmark back in his book and folded his arms with a glare. “Is that all you can think about? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Shion tilted his head, seeming even more perplexed. He studied Nezumi for a long moment, then said, “I would’ve thought that a wanderer like you would be happy to have more freedom of movement.”
Nezumi took a deep breath, willing Shion one last time to drop the fucking subject. Shion hadn’t even put the feather down, and was still holding it in his palm like it wasn’t just a piece of garbage.
“Well, you thought wrong,” Nezumi said through gritted teeth. “Now will you please get rid of that thing?”
Looking down at the feather in his palm, Shion hesitated. “Can I put it in a box somewhere, or do I really have to throw it out?”
“Do what you want,” Nezumi said, feeling like his teeth were beginning to creak with the tension in his jaw. “Just put it somewhere I don’t have to see it.”
“Right.” Shion shot him a worried look, then left the room. Nezumi slumped back against the sofa like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out a miserable breath and putting the book over his face.
After a minute he sat up and opened the book. But he could immediately tell it would be fruitless to try and continue reading.
Stowing the book in his pocket, Nezumi got up from the sofa and left Karan’s house. He had been planning to have dinner there, but now he had no taste for it. As he walked through Lost Town, he turned his gaze away from the dark sky to the rubble of the wall below. The scars on his back ached, and he fiercely concentrated on the sensation. He couldn’t fly again. He wouldn’t. He had known it since the day he lost his wings.
⁂
A few days later, Nezumi was in his underground room tinkering with one of his robot mice, when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, Shion was standing there with a plastic bag, looking apologetic.
“What’s that?” Nezumi said, raising an eyebrow at the bag as he let Shion in.
“It’s the dinner I owe you,” Shion said wryly. “Seeing as you didn’t stick around to eat it. I’m sorry, by the way. I—”
“No, wait a minute,” Nezumi said, shutting the door behind Shion and coming back to stand in front of him again. “I want to get the full effect of this performance.”
Shion rolled his eyes, but the tense set of his mouth relaxed. “Yes, you can grade me on it. Listen. I’m sorry I pushed you about your wings. I still don’t understand why you were upset. I always want to understand as much as I can about you, but it really wasn’t my business. I should’ve known better.”
Nezumi tilted his head and said, “Six out of ten. I took three points off for stating the obvious. That’s what you should know better about. But your genuine emotion won over the judges by a narrow margin.”
Shion spluttered a laugh, setting the bag down on the table. “I’ll take your feedback under advisement. How have you been?”
“Fine,” Nezumi said, though in truth the past few days had weighed heavily on him. “What did you do with the feather?”
“Huh?” Shion said, looking surprised. “I put it in my bedside table drawer. Why?”
Nezumi looked away, letting the expected wave of pain flow through him. Getting rid of his feathers had always hurt, but even thinking of keeping them had been far, far worse. His family would’ve treated them as sacred, storing all of his feathers away from the age of his first moult until he was on the cusp of adulthood. Then they would have used them to make a special cloak that represented all the wisdom he’d gained since he was a child. Wrapped in his own feathers, he would have gone forth as a newly respected adult member of his clan.
But even knowing that, Nezumi had never been able to treat them as special. Letting Shion keep a feather as some kind of token for now was a compromise between what Nezumi knew to be right and what he could tolerate. He was ashamed of all the ones he’d lost and given up, but without his wings, he would never have enough for a cloak. A thin scarf would’ve been possible at best, and that would’ve been painful.
Nezumi took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “There may be others,” he admitted. “Don’t get excited about it.”
"Others?” Shion said, momentarily confused. “Oh. Feathers. But Nezumi, I thought you said—”
“I know what I said,” Nezumi interrupted. He sighed theatrically, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Even if every single one of them grows back, it won’t change anything. I’m not flying.”
The following silence from Shion was deafening. Nezumi could practically feel him bursting with questions. With only his teeth and lips to keep them contained, it seemed to take Shion a herculean effort to hold them back. But he did.
Nezumi gave a quieter sigh — a real one, and hated himself for it. He turned his gaze away from Shion’s face and said, “My body might betray my family, but I won’t.”
Nezumi knew that his heart was healing. That his soul was healing. If they weren’t, he never would’ve been able to return to No. 6. But that didn’t mean he was ready for his wings to grow back, even if his body thought it was time. It was a kick in the teeth that the universe was finally returning something it had taken to him, only to do it in a way he didn’t want.
“Betray your family?” Shion blurted out. “I mean — sorry. I just—”
After watching Shion struggle for a moment, Nezumi said, “Ask your question, Shion.”
“Why would it be betraying them to fly?”
At that, Nezumi actually raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “None of them will ever fly again. Why should I?”
Shion blinked. He opened his mouth, and Nezumi braced himself, his heart suddenly pounding. He recognised the look in Shion’s eye. It was a “third option” kind of look.
“That’s not true,” Shion said, as if he were the one stating plainly obvious facts. “If you fly, they’ll go with you. You’ll carry them with you, Nezumi. When I fly, I bring Safu.”
Nezumi stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to believe that spiritual mumbo jumbo you just spouted?”
“I’m serious.” The look in Shion’s eyes now was a special kind of deep-seated grief he only ever got when he was thinking of Safu. Even Nezumi couldn’t bring himself to believe Shion could be lying with a face like that.
For a moment Nezumi thought about it. What it would be like if he flew, and felt his family with him. The thought was nauseatingly terrifying.
Something of what he was thinking must have shown in his eyes, because Shion said gently, “I struggled with that too, when you were away. After the wall fell, I realised my flight feathers were growing back.” Citizens of No. 6 weren’t allowed to fly without a special permit. Shion’s feathers had been clipped for the first sixteen years of his life. “Safu and I used to hop and glide over obstacles or down from ladders and chairs when we were kids, but she never really got the chance to fly. I thought for a long time about whether I should try flying for myself, and if it would be betraying her. But when I was finally in the air I realised… well, it’s hard to explain.”
“Try your best,” Nezumi said drily.
“Shush.” Shion shot Nezumi a brief amused look before returning to his serious tone. “Maybe it’s because Elyurias was here, and this place is special. I don’t know. But the wind is a great equaliser. It’s always flying around us even if we’re not flying in it.”
Something in Nezumi’s gut resonated with what Shion was saying, although he didn’t understand the actual words. Realising that was giving him a headache.
“You’re making no sense.”
“Oh, well…” Shion started, frowning in deep concentration. Then he gave up, shaking his head. “At least for you, your family’s genes are in your body. If you fly, they literally will be flying too. If you don’t want to, I would understand. I just don’t think you should give it up without thinking about it a little more. We have sympathetically regenerating wings for a reason.”
“I’ve had a lifetime to think about what No. 6 stole from me. I’m trying not to do that anymore.”
“But this isn’t No. 6. It’s your own body. And I’m asking you to think about what you could gain,” Shion said, that determined look in his eye once again.
Nezumi held up a hand to signal he was done with this conversation. “We don’t even know for sure my wings are coming back. It could be years, if it happens at all.”
“And if it’s not?”
For a moment, Nezumi hesitated. A large part of him still wanted to say he would never fly again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think flying could be enjoyable or worthwhile. It was that the idea of flying again felt profoundly wrong to him. Dishonourable, perhaps. Selfish. Undeserved.
Nezumi didn’t know if he could get past that feeling. It felt so big and final. But Nezumi’s hatred for No. 6 had felt so big and final too — and yet still, he’d asked Elyurias for mercy. And although it was perhaps an order of magnitude smaller his own, he did respect the validity of Shion’s loss and his experience of grief. A vain wish flitted through his heart, that Shion was somehow right. Nezumi gritted his teeth, recognising that wish for what it truly was.
It was Shion finding the chink in his armour, getting under his skin. Only Shion was capable of doing this to him.
“I’ll worry about it then,” Nezumi said begrudgingly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
As the words left his mouth, Nezumi could have sworn he felt his shoulder-blades expand as if they were breathing. As if his wings were already there, immaterial and invisible, simply waiting to be called forth.
⁂
As more and more feathers grew in, Nezumi’s back became tender, with a low-level bruiselike ache that was easily alleviated by sitting in front of something warm. It was nothing compared to the agonising inferno his wings had first burnt up in. The process wasn’t the slightest bit gory, or even bloody. He simply woke up, or glanced at himself in the mirror, and saw that the feathered chrysalis on his back was a fraction bigger than it had been the day, or the hour, before.
Part of Nezumi wished the process would just hurry up. Waiting for it to be over was agonising — mainly because he couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried. He spent more time in Lost Town, or invited Shion to spend the night with him. Shion was a great distraction, and to his credit, said nothing about the wings at all. It was better to have him there in the middle of the night, when Nezumi woke up and felt the weight of history smothering him from behind. Shion’s warmth and the soft noises of his breathing would pull Nezumi back to the present. Waves of grief would wash over him, but somehow by morning he would always have fallen asleep again, and would wake surprised.
After around six months, the wings detached from his back. It was as seamless and physically painless as the rest of the process. Nezumi simply stretched, and suddenly they sprang free.
It had been around four weeks since that day. After checking on them every day, Nezumi was confident the wings were done growing. He kept them furled unless he was safely out of range of witnesses or mirrors, and the knowledge that he physically could fly remained his secret.
Despite having seven months to think about it, Nezumi still wrestled with the question of whether he would try to fly again or not. He told himself he just needed time.
It was as he was walking home from Lost Town again one day that it hit him. The answer was right there, staring him in the face. He looked at the sky above the broken wall of No. 6, and turned back to Shion and Karan’s house.
⁂
Several days later, Nezumi and Shion stood in the shadow of that very same wall. Shion looked doubtfully up at the distant, crumbling top.
“You’re really serious about this?”
“I have wings, Shion. I won’t die. That’s the point,” Nezumi snapped. He was already regretting his decision, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“I know you would survive a fall, but you could be crushed!” Shion said, gesturing emphatically. Nezumi rolled his eyes.
“Just get on with it, Shion.”
Shion let out an annoyed sigh, but Nezumi could see the worry in his eyes. Though soon it shifted as Shion’s mind switched gears, and a calculating, focussed expression took its place.
“Right,” Shion said, nodding decisively. He fastened the chest and waist straps of his backpack. Then he spread his wings and leapt.
Nezumi had seen Shion fly before. In fact, Shion loved flying. It seemed to have become one of his favourite activities, no matter the weather. The first time Nezumi opened the door and found Shion there in a raincoat with water absolutely streaming from both wings, Nezumi had banned him from flying over in bad weather. Mainly because the amount of water that could run off a pair of wings would’ve required a floor drain to remove from his room.
Still, Nezumi had to admit he liked seeing Shion fly. He seemed so happy — so free, so young. In a way, having his wings clipped had saved him. He had no bad flight-related experiences thanks to No. 6, because he had no flight-related experiences prior to its destruction at all. Only the clipping itself and the lack of the ability to fly had been traumatic to him. Having wings and being in the air were his joy.
Shion’s alabaster and crimson wings flashed in the sunlight as he rose effortlessly to the top of the wall. With a messy series of flaps, he vanished as he landed. There was no movement or sound for several minutes. Then Shion’s distant figure reappeared, tossing a rope down the side of the wall.
Nezumi knew he was not going to be able to climb a rope up the entire height of the wall. That would’ve been a ridiculous proposition. What he was going to do was climb up the rubble on one side of the break, and secure himself with the rope just in case. It was a precaution Shion had insisted on when Nezumi first declared his plan. They even had a climbing harness, which Nezumi was already wearing. All he had to do was attach the rope with the belaying device and he would be ready.
At first the going was easy. The rubble near the base of the wall was widely dispersed, and there were plenty of hand- and foot-holds, and Nezumi’s hands were protected from the rough cement chunks by gloves. He climbed up the first third of the way easily and fairly quickly.
It was as the mound of rubble ended that the climb became more difficult. Nezumi began having to place his hands and feet more carefully, on increasingly smaller ledges. Although his endurance was high from all the walking he’d done in the past two years, and his legs could keep going for many miles, his arms grew tired faster than he’d expected.
But Nezumi gritted his teeth, refusing to even consider giving up. He focussed on the immediate area in front of him, not looking up to check his progress. He didn’t spare a glance for the city below. He simply kept going, hand over hand, fingers seeking their next purchase, wings held tight to his body, as his hands and feet carried him higher.
Just one more minute, he told himself over and over. See, this is easy. You made it a few feet. You can do it again. And then he did. Inch by inch, minute by minute, Nezumi climbed so high he felt the air turn cold around him.
In the last twenty feet or so, the wall became nearly impossible to climb. There were cracks in the wall so thin he could barely even feel them through his gloves. Nezumi glanced up once, then pulled his gloves off one after the other with his teeth. In his haste and exhaustion he fumbled them, and one dropped from his mouth. Rather than falling straight down it was immediately picked up by the wind and blew away like a leaf. Gritting his teeth, Nezumi reached for the next handhold as best he could. Moments later, his feet slipped.
This is it, he thought to himself. I won’t be getting to the top.
But no sooner had he thought it than the harness around his waist cut into him, at the same time as his feet found purchase once more. Letting out a shaky sigh, Nezumi kept climbing onward.
Despite knowing that he was close to the top, he was startled when he reached up and found only air above him. He pressed both palms to the top of the wall. Then, hands wrapped around his forearms as Shion helped him up.
Nezumi hadn’t asked Shion to help him, but he barely had the strength left to make it to safety, and was glad of the help. He collapsed onto his stomach, letting Shion half-drag him several feet away from the edge. For a few minutes he lay there panting with exhaustion, until Shion handed him a bottle of water. Then Nezumi sat up enough to start gulping it down. Shion took the opportunity to wrap a blanket around his shoulders. When Shion handed him an oat bar from the bakery, Nezumi ate it ravenously, and felt a bit of strength come back into his limbs.
“You did it,” Shion said wonderingly. Nezumi shot him an unimpressed look.
“You doubted me? As if we both don’t know you’re capable,” Nezumi said once his mouth was no longer full.
“You really think so?” Shion said, seemingly taken aback. Nezumi just shrugged. As far as he was concerned, anyone who could climb a mountain of corpses could easily climb the wall of No. 6.
After taking another oat bar from Shion, Nezumi took off the climbing harness. Shion packed it away in his bag, along with the coil of lightweight climbing rope and the blanket Nezumi had been using. He offered Nezumi his hand, and Nezumi stood. Together they approached the edge of the wall.
The city of No. 6 was spread out beneath them in all its ruined glory. Light glittered from a thousand points of metal and glass, but Nezumi’s eye was drawn to the conspicuous vacant space once held by the Correctional Facility. The Moondrop, too, really did look like an insignificant blister. His chest suddenly filled with a nameless, wordless emotion. He’d reached many high places and seen many beautiful views in the years he’d been away from No. 6, but none of them had been like this.
“It’s so small,” Nezumi said. His tone came out with far more emotion than he’d intended. Shion simply nudged Nezumi’s shoulder with his wing and said nothing. When Nezumi looked over at Shion’s face, he thought perhaps Shion understood.
“Are you ready?” Shion asked.
Nezumi smiled. “Yes.”
“And?”
Nezumi spread his wings. Instantly the wind caught them. Without him having to jump or even flap, he was lifted up into the sky.
Nezumi’s heart swelled until it felt like it could burst out of his chest. He tilted his wings and banked effortlessly, circling around in a great swooping arc. The world grew blurry, and he blinked a few times before realising tears were trickling down his face. Although he wished he could say it was from the strength of the wind, he knew it was solely because of his own feelings. But high up here, above the world, who else but he would know if his heart transgressed?
After gliding in circles for a few minutes, Nezumi’s tears stopped of their own accord. He looked down and saw Shion staring up at him openly. Nezumi thought he saw a glint of wetness on Shion’s cheeks as well, and shook his head to himself.
There’s no need to be so dramatic, he thought. I’m the one who regrew his wings, not you.
Briefly, Nezumi considered landing. But instead, he raised one hand and beckoned to Shion.
The expression on Shion’s face changed to one of beaming joy. He opened his wings and lifted up into the air, then began flapping to catch up to Nezumi. When he arrived he was panting and smiling, his eyes still sparkling.
“Oh, Nezumi!” he exclaimed. “Look at your wings!”
Raising an eyebrow, Nezumi turned his head. It took him a moment before he saw what Shion was seeing.
The wind was sweeping over Nezumi’s jet-black feathers, ruffling the countless tiny plumes. They rippled like stalks in a cornfield, waves passing over their glossy black surfaces. Far from being plain, they held countless rainbow colours hidden iridescently within. A familiar colour caught Nezumi’s eye, then another. Though it had been years since he had seen his family’s wings, shock shot through him as he recognised the sky blue of his father’s wings, and the deep salmon of his mother’s. Even the light pink of his little sister’s and the dark emerald of his Gran’s were there. Yet though they were present, his wings felt the same. They didn’t hurt, and nor did they feel burdened. His family was simply there.
“Was this what you meant?” Nezumi said, turning sharply to Shion.
“No! I had no idea!” It was obvious Shion was being honest. He didn’t even seem to know what Nezumi was talking about, only that it was important. How could he, when out of everyone in the world, only Nezumi knew those colours?
Nezumi took a deep breath, working through his shock. Then he gave Shion a small smile.
“Well, come on then,” Nezumi said. “Show me how to get to your mom’s house.”
“You sure?” Shion said. Nezumi nodded, and Shion took the lead.
The wind blew. Shion and Nezumi glided effortlessly through the sky, their flight a circling dance like birds before the sun.
