A/N: this came to me out of no where... I'm nearly done with the next chapter of HH, I just need to proof read it and assure myself that it's complete. I'm not even sure if this chapter is complete

A young Arthur Kirkland cried, clutching the bloodied rope saw in one hand, tears falling freely from his face. He wanted this- he wanted to be normal. He didn't want to wear a trench coat in the middle of the summer and watch as passer-by noticed the strange way he walked, hunched over and with a strange hump protruding from his back. Arthur took the saw and looped the steel linround his back, catching the arm of his right wing- he felt the left wing, detached and on the floor flap. He stared at it, tears falling. He had already cut off one- now he had to finish the job.

He choked, dropping the saw, letting hang loosely around his wing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Arthur?! Arthur where are ya boy!? Arthur?!" His big brother, Scott- oh no, Scott would be so mad- no no-

Arthur cried, looking at his one winged reflection in the mirror. He fell to his knees, sobbing and hugging himself.

"Arthur?!"

He heard a pounding on the door, and Arthur grabbed the two ends of the saw, frantically moving it back and forth, crying out and continuing to saw. "Arthur?! Arthur let me in!"

"No!"

There was a pounding at the door, then a huge bang as Scott threw himself against the door. "Let me in!" Arthur continued cutting, frantic as Scott broke down the door. The two stared at eachother, and Scott's wings raised, agitated, but then deflated and fell. "Oh, Arthur..." He bent down, picking the boy up.

"I'm sorry Scott- I'm sorry-" Scott rubbed where his left wing used to be, his hand coating in blood.

He set Arthur down on the toilet, pulling out the first aid kit. "Arthur, why did you do this?" He said, turning him around and pouring the alcohol over his back. Arthur screamed, clutching the sides of the toilet. "Arthur, I don't know if we can reattach your wing..."

"I don't want it!"

Scott stopped, staring at him. "What?"

"I said I don't want them!"

Scott was awestruck, bandaging him and wrapping it in gauze. "Arthur. . . Why?"

"I- I want to be normal- I want to be like everyone else- I want to walk down the street without being stared at. . . I want to grow up and live a normal life- I don't want to hide myself, Scott." Scott shook his head, staring at Arthur. "I don't understand, Arthur-"

Arthur turned, slapping Scott with his remaining wing. "Please. . . Let me do this. . ."

"Arthur- I can't let you."

"Why?!" Arthur turned back to him, slapping him with his wing again, and meeting his gaze.

Scott stared at him, the pleading look in his eyes, and the pained expression. "No."

"WHY?"

"Because I said so!"

Arthur pushed him, going for the saw, and wrapping it around his remaining wing, barreling out of the bathroom, running through the house, sawing his wing as he went. He turned random corners, trying to lose Scott, who chased after him. Arthur ran through the kitchen, going past his other brothers, Scott yelling to chase him down. Blood trailed Arthur as he sawed off his wing, only halfway through. He ducted into a closet, hurrying the saw, praying they wouldn't find him. He hurried, hearing footsteps approaching, and then felt weight fall off his back. Arthur exhaled, resting on his knees, not even daring to stare at his wing. The door opened and light flooded in, Arthur turned as William picked him up, horrified. "I got him!"

The Kirkland brothers did what they could to reattach Arthur's wings, but after enough fighting and failed attempts, the gave up, stitching Arthur's skin up, and bandaging him.

And Arthur was never stared at again. His brothers went their separate ways, and he lived a normal life.

-x-x-x-

Years Later

Arthur was a adult now. He had a good paying job, a nice one room house to himself, nice neighbors. A normal, human life. It was everything he could've wanted- happy with himself. Normal. No wings, no mutations, nothing. Normal, simple, life.

One night, Arthur heard something rummaging inside his home, and promptly grabbing his sword that hung up on the wall, he quietly went downstairs, the sword pointed in front of him. And what he found- was a child. A young toddler at that.

The child's name was Alfred, and was looting homes in the area for food. Why this child wasn't in an orphanage became clear very quickly.

Alfred had wings. Arthur wanted nothing to do with him, but ended up taking in the child anyway. Where else could he go? He would die out there on his own.

Arthur told him he was never allowed to fly in the house, or out in public. He couldn't tell anyone about it either. Arthur made him act civilized- take regular showers- he got Alfred to go to school, strapping his wings together. Alfred always asked him, "Why can't I fly?"

"Because, Alfred, if you flew, and people saw you, people would flock our house and go after you. And then the government would take you away."

"Arthur?"

"Yes, lad?"

"How do you know so much about me?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, lad." Alfred huffed, slouching. "Why?"

"Too young for you to know about."

-x-x-x-

A few years later, when Alfred got into first grade, Arthur met a Frenchmen at parent-teacher conferences, and after accidentally bumping into eachother many times, Francis took them all out for dinner, and Arthur fell head over heels in love (and hatred) for him. Francis happily returned his feelings.

Francis had a son, Matthew, which he didn't mind, as Matthew and Alfred got along well.

After a date one night, the two stood outside of Arthur's home, Francis seemed to be uneasy- not sure about leaving. "So, Arthur-" Francis took his hand, staring at him, very concerned. "I- need to tell you about something- it's only because I want to start off with a clean slate- and well-" Arthur rolled his eyes, "Just say it."

"Well Arthur, me and my son- we have what normal people- people like you- would call a deformity..."

Arthur looked concerned now, staring at him. "Francis, what is it?" Francis takes in a breath, taking off his coating letting drop to the ground. Arthur stared at him, confused. "Promise you won't freak out?"

Arthur nods.

Francis inhales, and from his back, beautiful, long wings stretch out and extend from his back. They were a glorious, shining white, around fifteen feet long, stretched out.

"What the bloody-" Arthur backed away, shocked. How the hell could he not notice? How?

"Arthur- please don't freak out-"

"Get away from me!"

Francis stopped, his mouth hung open. "Arthur-"

"No-!" Arthur ran for the safety of his home, but found himself being scooped up into the air. "Put me down you frog! Let go!" Francis only clung to him tighter, no matter how much he struggled. "Arthur please understand!"

"I understand perfectly!" Arthur turned to face him. "Put me down- right now. And then get out of my life."

Francis stares at him, hurt. The Frenchman holds in tears, clinging to Arthur tighter. "Please..."

"Francis-"

Tighter. "Please."

"Francis, I want nothing to do with people like you."

"Why?"

"Because I used to be like you." Francis lands, staring at Arthur, his wings folding tightly against him and conforming to his back.

"What happened to your wings. . .?" Arthur drags him inside.

Arthur sat Francis down on the bed, sighing. "Francis, I cut off my wings."

"You?" The Frenchmen was bewildered.

Arthur told him, recalling the events in the bathroom, and his brothers chasing him down,

"So, they tried to reattach them, and weren't able to..."

"What did they look like?"

"They were a golden yellow, like sunlight." Arthur said, yawning.

"Why did you want them off? Your family was okay with them..."

Arthur sighed. "Because, Francis, I wanted to live a normal life- normal house, normal family, normal life. That's what I wanted. Wings weren't normal. I'm a bloody human being, not a bird." Francis fell silent, staring at him.

"Well?"

"Arthur, do you hate me?"

Arthur was quiet- no, he didn't hate Francis. He loved Francis- would he admit it? No. That was like showing weakness to the damned frog. "Francis. I do not hate you. I don't think I could if I tried. It's just- if you want to live with me, then I expect you and Matthew to follow the same rules I have for Alfred."

Francis nodded, biting his lip. "Well, they do need to learn to fly-"

"When we are away from the cities." Arthur finished for him, staring.

-x-x-x-

So, when the boys were off of school, the family packed up, and visited Arthur's family, all the Kirkland brothers gathering at Scott's home in Scotland, as it was out in the country and the nearest neighbor was several kilometers away. Arthur stayed inside mostly, only witnessing the first few minutes of the boys attempting to fly. He didn't want to watch, as it would bring back bad memories and some minuscule part of him would long to fly with them, and his back would itch and make him want to scratch his skin raw.

Outside, Francis and the rest of the Kirkland's were struggling with the kids.

"I don't understand-" Alfred said stretching out his wings. "These feel so alien..."

Scott tilted his head, glancing at his brothers. "Alfred, how often are ye able to use your wings at home?"

Alfred placed his hand on his chin, thinking. "Rarely. Arthur doesn't like it- he doesn't want us to crash into things inside the house- and we live in a big city so we would be at risk if we flew. At least, that's what he said."

"When did you last stretch them out?"

"Normally when I'm in the shower..."

William facepalmed, then glanced at the house, seeing Arthur in the window. Scott sighed, extending his wings to their full length. "Ya see, there's a difference between us and birds. We don't just wave our arms around and take into the sky. No- our wings are an extension of ourselves, and of our hearts. And losing your wings, it's like losing a piece of your soul. And then, you'll always feel it. You'll feel the weight and pain that isn't there." Matthew glanced in Arthur's direction. Is that what daily life is like for Arthur? He wondered.

"You need to feel it," William started, approaching the boys, brown wings with white markings on the ends folded behind him.

"Feel what?" Matthew asked.

"Feel you. Your wings. Feel your breath as you extend your wings-" He extended them, a full 14 feet, or as Francis said, "Four and half meters or so."

"Feel it- extend your wings!"

Matthew tried to flap his wings, moving his back, his arms, Alfred trying to roll his shoulders and move them.

The adults sighed consecutively.

Francis spoke now, "Boys- it's not physical. You don't think about it or the science of it- you just..." Francis sighed. "You just do it."

"But how?"

The two Kirklands looked at Francis, gesturing to the kids. "Francis, do they even know how to use their wings?" Francis shrugs, and then sighs.

"Arthur rarely lets them have their wings out at home..." The two sighed.

Scott bent down- "You know, let's try something."

Francis looked at Scott curiously, who nodded at William. The two Kirklands picked up the boys by their waists, and flew high into the sky. "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Alfred screamed, clutching Scott.

Francis took into the air, and Arthur ran outside, screaming.

"HANDS ON LEARNING!"

"YOU'RE INSANE!" Matthew screamed, nearly slipping out of William's grip.

The two let go of the boys, starting to fall and try and catch the air. Matthew twirled and his wings started flapping frantically, eventually turning and he caught air, his body lurching back from the resistance.

Alfred panicked, his arms waving and his wings unmoving. Scott dived down after him. "You have to feel it Alfred! Fly! FLY!"

Alfred closed his eyes, bracing for impact, hugging his chest. He wanted to- he wanted to feel it- he could envision it, his wings extending and flying flawlessly. But he couldn't do it- he couldn't fly. Alfred felt himself lurch back- and opened his eyes, the ground falling away from him. He- he was flying. He sucked in a breath.

"You got it Alfred!" Scott screamed, diving and flying back up to him.

Alfred panicked and flapped his wings irregularly, starting to fall again. Francis caught him and William helped Matthew down. All of them landed, and Alfred hugged the ground.

"So, how did that feel?" Scott said, approaching the boys. Alfred got up, glaring at him, and promptly punched him in the chest. "You- fucking-" Alfred looked at his brother, concerned slightly, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh my god-" The two started laughing hysterically.

"YOU DROPPED THEM?!" Arthur screamed, stomping up to them now. "YOU BLOODY CUNTS!"

Scott gasped, and then started laughing. "I don't see the problem, Artie-" Arthur punched his big brother square across his jaw, sending him to the ground.

William approached, "Woah Arthur- calm down-"

"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN. YOU ALMOST KILLED MY SONS."

Scott got up, tackling Arthur, and taking him up into the air. "Come on William!" The other Kirkland sprung into the air, Francis following after them.

"Don't you dare!" Arthur screamed at Scott, hitting him. "Okay, I won't."

And Scott let Arthur go.

Alfred watched Arthur fall, envisioning a pair of wings on Arthur's back. He had the form for trying to correct himself in the air.

"ARTHUR!" Francis yelled, diving after the blond, and William grabbing Arthur and lifting him into the air, then dropping him again. Alfred growled, struggling to take air, Matthew falling in suit as the Kirklands played monkey in the middle with Francis.

Alfred eventually got into the air, dragging Matthew up too, and went after Arthur.

"Hey!" William yelled, Matthew knocking against him and pushing him in the air, trying to distract him. Francis and Alfred dived after Arthur, their wings closing against them, Alfred grabbing Arthur by his torso, Francis supporting the weight, and getting Arthur back on the ground. Francis went back inside with Arthur before he killed his brothers, and Alfred patting on his brother's back, their wings folding. "Wow..."

Scott walked over to them. "So, flying class starts tomorrow after breakfast."

They looked at Scott, partially terrified, and ran back inside.

-x-x-x-

Months After

Arthur had plotted to remove Alfred's wings, and Matthew's. He had wanted to do it before they learned to fly, or even developed flight feathers. He knew the boys couldn't be normal or grow up in society with those things. He didn't want something bad to happen to them because they had wings. He wanted the boys to grow up into normal life.

Alfred fought him tooth and nail, nearly breaking his wrist in the process.

The boys were rescued by Francis, who was just returning home from work.

Arthur desperately tried to explain himself, terrified of what the other would do to him. He fought Francis on a daily basis, but the predatory, cold stare he gave scared him, as if Francis was ready to rip his throat out.

Francis wasn't going to have it though, and when he found out Arthur, Francis picked him up and locked him out of the house for the night, bandaging Alfred's now deformed wing.

And the boys were moved to live with a friend of Francis' in Spain, until Francis allowed him to be near the boys again and adjust to his family.

-x-x-x-

After the two turned 19, Arthur and Francis went to Spain to take them home, but Matthew was the only one of the two to return, as Alfred had left to travel abroad. Antonino didn't chase after him, and this confused Francis- the boy was only 19.

Antonino went over the boys later years with the parents. "Well, Alfred got a pilot's license, and both of them learned to drive, they were flawless in school."

"Why did Alfred leave?"

"He heard that I was considering getting them back home, and he packed up his things and left without a word, jumping out the window of his room."

"Why?" Arthur asked, leaning in.

"Well Arthur, both of the boys are afraid of you."

Arthur straightened up, shocked. "What?"

"Because Alfred's afraid of you going for his wings again, and Matthew is afraid he's next."

Arthur put his head in his hands, Francis patting his back.

"When did he leave?"

"About a week ago."

-x-x-x-

Alfred had grown to love flying- stereotypical, yes, but he loved it. He had not flown all his life, learning how to only a few years ago. Alfred had even gotten a pilot's license so he could fly and live what Arthur referred to as a "normal life." Alfred scoffed, flapping his wings. He didn't understand. He had wings. His family had wings- so why did Arthur think it was so bad to have them? Is there something wrong with him? Alfred shook his head. And why didn't Arthur have wings? Francis said that Arthur had been in an accident...

He flapped his wings again, deciding to focus on flying.

Flying. He couldn't think of any truer form of freedom. The sky was endless- and when you could travel for great distances, it was wonderful. He reached out, running his fingers through the clouds, smiling lightly. He wasn't sure where he was right now- the air was cold and the clouds were thick. Somewhere in Europe maybe? Eh, he'd worry about it later. He started to fly lower, seeing a vast forest below. Okay, he was lost. That's okay. He flew down lower now, looking for a clearing, a place to land, something.

Alfred secured his backpack against his chest, quiet, finding a clearing and landing.

Okay, first- where was he?

His wings folded tightly against him, and he took off his bag, bending down and going through it, finding his maps and his phone. He looked around, trying to get any indication of where he was. No signal on his phone. Map wasn't going to help, he wasn't even sure which country he was in. He could be in Canada for all he knew. He folded the map back up and put it back in his backpack. He sighed, rubbing his arms, shivering, and rummaging through his bag again. Surely he had a coat or a blanket somewhere in here- BANG

He straightened up, whipping his head about, looking for the source. His wings started to unfurl, he zipped up his bag and put it on his chest. Another shot, his wings fully extending and sweeping up. Something tackled him, bringing him down to the ground. He thrashed, barking and snarls filling his ears, something clamping onto his arm, pulling on him, another biting and trying to pull off his wing. A man approached, a rifle pointed at him and a rope tied to his waist. He spoke in a language unknown to Alfred, seeming to laugh and mock him, then stop, seemingly disappointed.

Shit- shit shit shit! He pulled on the jaw of the massive dog attached to his arm, and pulled off the dog, kicking him and flinging off the other dog. As Alfred got up, the man shot him again, his wing shielding his face and barreling into the man and flapping his wings frantically, clawing up a tree and trying to take off- the sky was safety. Nothing could touch you once you got high enough. He manages to get into the air, another shot ringing out and hitting his wing again. His stroke uneven and irregular. Alfred gritted his teeth, bleeding from both wings.

"Alfred, let me take them off-"

"No!"

Maybe Arthur was right- maybe he should have let Arthur cut off his wings- he panted heavily, trying to gain altitude and distance. He could hear barking and the sound of a engine below- he had to get away. He couldn't stop- he had to fly- he'd die if he stopped. He had to- he flapped and flapped, his wings bleeding, cradling his arm. He didn't care about his arm- his wings were injured. This wasn't the first time, but rarely had they been injured this shots rang out, and he felt one hit his wing, and the other hit his thigh.

He started to fall, flapping his wings- No- no- no- NO NONONO-

He crashed, branches scratching him and skidding against the ground. He coughed, blood spitting out, and then tried to get up. He had to go- he had to move- right now- Alfred's uninjured arm shook as he tried to lift himself up, and then he collapsed, the sounds of barking and a vehicle of some kind approaching.

A shadow cast over him as the dogs found him, tackling him and biting into his wings again, pulling on them, pulling out feathers- vital flight feathers. Alfred took his good arm and made his wing throw the dog, and struggled to get up, pulling on the other dog and trying to free himself.

The man bursted into the clearing, the shadow disappearing, stopping his vehicle and pointing the rifle at Alfred. He fired, aiming for where his wings connected to his back, but ended up hitting his shoulder. Alfred cried out, another shot finding its way to his knee and a dog latching onto his leg. He felt something wrap around his wings and he fell to the ground.

Alfred screamed.

He thrashed and kicked, fighting and trying to get the man off his back. He tied his wings together, Alfred screeching. This couldn't be happening- it couldn't.

It couldn't be- why was this happening? Why? Why him? Alfred cried now, the restraint tightening.

This was it.

The end.

And suddenly, the man was knocked off his back. The dogs were thrown off, and Alfred could see a huge silhouette, it picked him and his bag up, the largest wings he had ever seen extending-

And then, nothing.

A/N: so, I'd like to know what you guys think- I kinda have ideas for a chapter two, please be kind, this is my first AU like this, and first fic centering around a ship of some sort.