Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride, its plot, or its characters. I'm only borrowing them for this oneshot.
Timeline: Err...none in particular...just after the first book, I would say. Around there.
Rating: Barely T. Just barely, for injuries and the like.
Warnings: Super-Iggy-angst, blood, Erasers.
~ Reverence: profound respect and esteem mingled with fear and affection.
In Reverence
He sat in the corner with his back to the door, clammy forehead pressed against the rough, peeling plaster in front of him. The morning's cold seeped in through the dusty window and made bumps rise on his bruised skin. Somewhere in the room he heard a forgotten clock, left behind when the run-down house's owners had packed up and disappeared, clicking its way through the minutes.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Clicking its way through his despair.
Iggy closed his unseeing eyes and breathed shallowly, inhaling the dust motes and smell of old paint surrounding him. His chest felt empty and full at the same time, as if it couldn't decide whether to deflate or explode or do both at the same time.
He wished it would just hurry and make up its mind. It wasn't like anything worse could happen to him that had already happened.
C'mere, birdie…
Iggy reflexively twitched at the memory of the harsh, grating voice grinding against his ears like jagged sandpaper. Instinctively, he reached up and covered his ears with his long hands. The movement pulled at the wounded muscles in his back, sending sharp jolts of pain through his arms. He winced and lowered his arms tentatively.
He wanted so much to just brush the pain away. Just to be normal Iggy, smiling and joking and goofing off with Gazzy and the rest of the flock. He just wanted to go back to normal times, to tease Fang and Max or listen to Angel's sweet voice or complain about Nudge's nonstop chatter.
With any other injury, he would have. But this wasn't just any other injury. This time, the School had struck right at his heart. First they had taken his sight. Now they'd crippled him, just when he'd become confident of his abilities again.
Iggy moved his shoulders experimentally and almost cried out at the pain the simple movement caused. He drove his forehead harder against the wall and shuddered.
With any other injury…
The clock ticked away.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
He heard the light, small footsteps climbing slowly up the stairs beyond the door long before their owner reached his room. He felt a short burst of satisfaction that he at least still had his extraordinary hearing. They couldn't take that away from him.
His brief moment of relief vanished when he realized that they probably could, and would if they ever caught him alone again. It would be even easier for them to catch him now that they had literally destroyed his freedom.
The footsteps reached his room and there was a pause before a tiny hand knocked on the shut door. Angel's worried voice filtered through the weathered wood.
"Iggy? It's me, Angel. When…when are you gonna let Max help you?"
Iggy breathed out slowly and bit his tongue to keep from replying.
I don't need help right now. What I need can't be brought back by her messy bandaging.
He heard the scratched floorboards creak under her when she shifted her miniscule weight. "Iggy?" she tried again. "Can't you hear me? Can I come in?"
It was an effort to swallow and wet his throat. The dry interior was still rough from so too much screaming.
"No."
She fell silent at the sound of his hoarse croak, but only for a moment. "Iggy, really. Max is really worried. We're all worried. At least let us stop the bleeding. Please? You could…die."
I know, he thought bleakly. But would it really matter?
"I'm as good as dead anyway," he whispered desolately.
Something brushed against the interior of his mind, a familiar yet uninvited presence, and he knew instantly why Angel had been the one to come to him instead of Gazzy or Max. She was the only one who could read his thoughts.
"Get out," he muttered resentfully. "That's cheating."
"Well, you wouldn't let me in. How'm I supposed to help if I can't tell what you're thinking?"
He clenched his teeth and curled his hands into fists, driving them into his thighs. "I don't want your help," he hissed.
Angel's too-wise, six-year-old voice drooped. "But you have to let me. What if they get infected or something? Just let me in, please? I promise I won't…I won't touch them if you let me in."
Iggy opened his eyes and lifted his head, glaring furiously at the blackness in front of him. All of a sudden, it was just too much for him. Rage and frustration rose in him in a fiery swell, and he hit the floorboards with one fist. They broke under the force of the punch and he growled and drew his hand back at the feel of warm blood on his scalped knuckles.
"Iggy?" Angel's voice had grown even tighter with worry. He forced himself to ignore her and nursed his hurt hand.
God, why me? He raged silently. Why'd they have to catch me?
Angel read his thoughts again. "Do you wish they'd have caught me instead?" she asked in a tiny voice. He sighed and shook his head, even though she couldn't see.
"No," he answered. "I wouldn't want them to catch any of you. I just…I just wonder why it had to be me."
"Oh. I get it, I think."
He let out a bitter, half-hearted laugh, aware that this despair was so unlike him but not particularly caring. "No, you don't. You don't get it, none of you do. They blinded me, Angel. They blinded me and like that wasn't enough, they took advantage of that and…and then they crippled me! How can you get that? How can you understand what I'm feeling right now? Huh?"
Silence fell, broken only by the abandoned clock's lonely clicking. The floorboards creaked as Angel shifted her weight again. "I…I guess I can't," she admitted quietly. "Sorry."
Iggy grunted and lowered his head, suddenly ashamed. He shouldn't have yelled at her like that.
"I know you didn't mean to," she said.
"But I did anyway. And just because I'm…" Tears suddenly welled up and choked his voice, and he wiped furiously at his eyes before continuing. "…Hurt, doesn't mean I can snap at you like that. Sorry."
"It's okay."
It's okay, little birdie, relax! It won't hurt a bit, we promise!
He flinched at the sound of deep, rasping laughter and drew his legs up to his chest, burying his face in his knees. His face flushed with pain and humiliation. When they'd grabbed him, he had known that he was in for something especially bad. It showed in the way they held him tight, their grip crushing but not obliterating like he was used to. That was not a killing grip. That was a torture grip.
He'd known something bad was coming and had screamed like a whipped child when they did it. He had tried to keep it in. But it was impossible.
"I'm sorry," Angel whimpered from the other side of the door. "We should have been paying more attention. We should have looked out for you."
What complete dead weight. Why do those idiots keep you around when you can't even see your enemy in front of you?
"It was my own fault," he said tiredly. "I messed up and made a stupid mistake. He taunted me and I let him get me mad. I followed him, and that was just stupid. You'd think I know better, huh? I should've known he would have back-up."
Angel didn't say anything and he wrapped his blood-streaked fingers around each other.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I shut you out. All of you. I know you guys were only trying to help. …I was afraid. I was upset and hurting and I let it take over."
"We didn't know what to do," Angel said. "As soon as we got you away from the Erasers, we were just thinking about getting somewhere safe so we could fix your wings. And then when we found this house and you kind of just…it was like you didn't really know what they did to you until we came here. And then you just ran up here and wouldn't let us come in, and you didn't have anything to stop the bleeding with, and…well, Max was mad and scared, I could tell. And Gazzy looked like he wanted to cry, and Nudge did cry. And Fang…he just went really quiet. You know how he goes all still when something's really wrong. Like that. We don't want to let you stay hurt, Iggy. Please let me in."
Iggy wet his lips, his heart pounding in his narrow chest.
"The door's not locked," he said quietly.
There was a long pause before Angel drew the courage to open the door and step into the room. He heard the door whine as it swung open, and Angel let out a horrified gasp. Iggy winced. She had seen the dark blood streaking the dusty floor first, and now…
"Oh, Iggy."
Her wobbling, sorrowful voice finally undid him. He shuddered with the force of his grief and pain and doubled in on himself, trembling, tears trailing down his dirty face. Silent sobs wracked his frame as he let loose all of his pent-up frustration and anguish. Angel's footsteps skirted the blood trail left by his wounds and she knelt by him, wrapping her small arms around his shaking shoulders.
"It's okay," she murmured into his shirt. "It's okay."
"How…how do they look?" He coughed back his misery and reached a hand back, brushing his sensitive fingertips against the ragged, torn ends of his once-beautiful wings. The Erasers' claws had cut deep, far past the primary feathers, into the secondary and blood feathers.
Angel's blond curls brushed his cheek as she turned to look at the tattered remains of his freedom. "They're…" her voice wavered and failed, and she shivered before she spoke again. "They don't look too bad. They'll grow back. They'll be…fine…"
She turned and buried her face into his shoulder again. She didn't continue. She didn't have to. They both knew it was a lie.
He quieted and they fell into silence, her holding onto him, and him holding onto himself. And somewhere in the room he heard a forgotten clock, clicking through their despair.
A/N: Originally, this was supposed to be a two or three-shot. That changed when I decided that it would just be better on its own.
Why was this catalogued as tragedy? Although Iggy didn't die in a literal sense, his spirit pretty much did when the Erasers cut his wings.
Any comments would be much appreciated.
- Kimsa
