"No one is free; even the birds are chained to the sky."

-Bob Dylan

Jean had never seen any reason to hide his wings. At least, he hadn't until he had broken one of the feathered limbs. It left him in near-agony; every movement sending a ripple of pain that radiated from his shoulder outwards. It sizzled across his shoulder blades and its faintest waves reached all the way down to his bony hips. It had to have been the greatest pain he had ever been in. If it wasn't, then he couldn't remember any worse than the pain of his broken limb.

He never anticipated that someone might have heard his squawk of pain, nor the bangs as he fell down into the alley way he was now required to take shelter in. There was no way he could get home now with one wing useless, dragging behind him lamely. He nearly jumped 6 feet out of his skin when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind, from the mouth of the alley, and a voice called out to him.

"Hey, are you alright?" the disembodied voice asked, calling out to him with a twinge of worry. Jean nearly spun on his heel to face this stranger, his unbroken wing tucking behind him to be less visible, while the other drug along the ground, sending a stab of pain through the dirty blond's system.

He let out a pained whine at the agony of it, surprised to feel arms holding him up only a few seconds later. Had he started to fall, passing out from the extremity of the pain? He hadn't even been aware that his knees had given out from under him until he heard the dark-haired stranger nearly worriedly asking if he was alright. Still, if he was alright.

Of course he wasn't, he had a broken wing! Who would be alright in this situation. It was then that he remembered that most humans didn't have wings. The few that he knew of had escaped to the east, to get away from the large cities and their populations. They had fled to the open countryside, where they wouldn't have to hide. Jean, however, had found himself drawn to the cities, their shining towers and busy sidewalks interesting him more than they had feared him.

Now he was full of nothing but fear, feeling the man's hands on his arms, and his gaze on his broken wing. "Let go of me!" he insisted, pushing at the stranger's broad shoulders. He fell back with a huff, quickly scrambling back away from the man. "I don't know you. You could try to hurt me!" he nearly squawked out, trying to ignore the pain once again blooming in his shoulder blades. "Your wing is broken," the dark haired young man said simply, "Let me help you. I can make it hurt less, and set it properly so that it doesn't heal wrong. I'm not going to hurt you, really," he said quickly, raising his hands in a defensive manner.

Good, at least he knew that Jean wasn't afraid to strike out at him. "No shit, Sherlock," Jean replied snarkily, rolling his eyes and grabbing his broken wing to hold it close to himself in defense, "Where did you learn how to tell, medical school?" he raised an eyebrow, not afraid to be sassy with this man. He still didn't trust him; not even with the freckles dotting his face and neck. Especially not with the freckles. Cute guys couldn't be trusted, Jean had previously learned.

The freckled man looked right back at him with a raised eyebrow, lifting his hand in a twisting gesture that most would take as a way of saying 'Eh, you're half right'. "Veterinary school, actually." He said after a moment, shrugging his shoulders and lowering his hands again. "I really can help you, you know. I know exactly what I would need. It's all back in my office." Jean took a few moments to examine the man then, taking in his rather well-made clothing and clean-cut hair.

He did look like he did something that would pay well, as well as tired him out quite a bit. He fit the appearance Jean would put to a doctor or veterinarian. "Do you really think I trust you enough to go anywhere with you? Why don't you just bring it all to me, that way I know you won't put me on drugs or something and dissect me?" Jean snapped, amber eyes narrowing at the other man. "I don't even know your name," he pointed out after another moment, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

He nodded a bit, seeming to take that fact in for a moment before he smoothly replied. "I'm Marco. Marco Bodt," he said cheerfully, smiling over at Jean, "The office is literally right across the street, you can even see it from here." Jean looked around the taller man to see if he was telling the truth, surprised to see that he was. Trost Animal Care and Services sat right on the other side of the street, looking clean and busy, by the looks of the people sitting in the front office that could be seen through large windows. "How do you plan on getting me in there without anybody seeing me? Not everyone is as open as you are to people with wings," he pointed out, uncrossing his arms and getting to his feet.

He nearly passed out from the dizzy rush that sent through his head, his vision fading for a few seconds as he swayed on his feet, then leaned against the alley way wall. "I'll carry you. We can wrap a blanket around you and your wings and I'll carry you through the back door," he said simply, a cheery smile tugging at his lips. He seemed rather pleased with himself, just for thinking of the brilliant plan. Jean let out an annoyed huff, shrugging his shoulders a bit and looking off to the side. "Go get your huge ass blanket then, I guess. You'll need a big one to hide my wings," he muttered, frowning at the wall a bit, as if angry that he needed its support to simply stay on his feet; even if more of his weight was on the wall than it was actually on his feet.

Marco simply brightened his smile, practically beaming at Jean as he nodded and turned on his heel, jogging off to go retrieve a blanket for the fallen avian. He returned a short time later, the dark green fabric folded up and draped over his shoulder as he jogged back across the street towards the alley and Jean himself, still hiding out in the space between the two brick buildings on either side of him. "Here," Marco stepped over to Jean and carefully wrapped the blanket around him, making sure Jean was holding his wing so that it wouldn't have to be jostled so much as Marco picked him up and started heading back over toward the veterinary office.

Jean tried not to get too comfortable, especially with the fact that his face rested against Marco's collarbone. He couldn't help but notice the fact that Marco smelled really nice, kind of like a mixture of spruce trees and something else that he couldn't quite name. Maybe laundry detergent.

Marco carried Jean around the back of the veterinary clinic, taking him inside the back door and into his office. He set Jean down onto the table and carefully spread his wing out, examining the feathered appendage with gentle, careful touches. Jean winced a little, frowning a tiny bit at Marco. "Careful," he muttered softly, trying not to shift on the table and cause himself any more pain.

He couldn't help but whimper softly, the ruffling of the aching feathers sending small rivulets of pain down his spine. "Sorry," The dark haired man muttered, gently getting up and going to grab some bandages from a cupboard nearby. "I'm just going to set the bones that have fractured, and then bandage your wing so that it will heal properly," he said softly, gently adjusting Jean's wing so that it was laid out properly, not even bothering to warn the two-tone dirty blond.

Jean let out a loud squawk of pain, his eyes closing tightly and his back nearly arching off the cool metal table from the pure agony of the movement. He heard footsteps hurriedly approaching, and rushed to stifle his own sounds of pain. "Marco? Is everything okay in here?" he heard a masculine voice call out, and Jean didn't have time to escape in any way before a brunette head peeked into the room.

He nodded almost minutely, a small shake of his head that Jean himself hardly even noticed, and he was sitting right next to him. "Yeah, sorry. I'm trying to set a wing, Eren," he replied nonchalantly, beginning to wrap the bandages around a fidgeting Jean's wing. The other young man nodded a bit, hardly giving Jean a passing glance. Why was everyone here so calm about the fact that he was a human with the wings of a white throated sparrow? Why didn't anyone lock him up or take him away to be shown in a zoo?

The thought didn't stay in his mind very long, another small whimper of pain slipping from his lips as Marco began to wrap the bandaging around his wing tightly. "Sh-Shit," he breathed, his voice coming out in a soft whine. "Sorry," Marco simply muttered, not sounding very sorry, "It'll hurt less as it heals though," he said softly.

He paused after a few moments, just seeming to think of something. "Do you have somewhere safe to stay, and a way to get home until your wing heals?" he asked, looking over towards Jean. The Avian could do no more than shake his head, letting out a deep breath. "I live alone, out on the edge of the city," he admitted after a few more long moments of awkward silence. Marco blinked at him, shaking his head a little bit. "You can stay with me until your wing heals. I can take care of you," Marco said quickly, nodding his head in a definite firm action. Jean started to protest, but Marco gave him a look that quickly had him simply gaping like a fish for a few moments, before he looked back up at the ceiling.

"How are we getting to your place, then?" he asked, letting out a deep breath that was sure to let Marco know he had won this argument. He was simply too exhausted to argue properly, and the pain tore his concentration away from being ridiculously sarcastic.

"I have a car," Marco said quietly, finishing his current task, "You'll have to wait in my office until I get off of work, but no one will bother you in there, so you won't have to worry about being seen." "Why doesn't anyone seem to care about my wings?" he asked then, that question bothering him now that Marco had brought it up.

The dark haired man shrugged at that, looking over at Jean. "We're veterinarians, Jean. We don't care what something is. If it's injured, and we can help it, then we're going to. Those are my thoughts on the matter, anyway," Marco said simply, sitting up straight and stretching his arms out with a content groan.

Jean nodded a bit, taking Marco's words into his mind and considering them for a few long moments. "I suppose that makes sense," he hummed in thought, sitting up carefully and looking down at his injured and bandaged wing. Marco nodded a bit, getting up from the stool he had been sitting on, and going to put away the unused bandages.

"The office is down the hall and to the left, if you want to head there and wait for me to get off of work," he said softly, looking over at Jean. The avian hummed and headed for the door, not even considering the fact of his shirtless-ness. He stepped out into the hall cautiously, slipping down the hall to head into the room Marco had directed him to.

A heavy wooden desk sat in the far corner, its front facing towards the door so that if he sat down, his back would be to the wall. A computer rested atop the dark cherry wood surface, sleek and foreign to Jean. Sure, he had seen a computer for, but never one that looked so new. Most of the one's he had seen were large and bulky and an ugly beige color.

Jean went over to perch on the spinning chair, humming as he ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the laptop's lid. He let out a sigh and spun around in the chair lazily, his feet slowly dragging along the floor. This was going to be a very long few hours. Eventually Jean learned how to use the modern contraption before him, getting onto Youtube and doing what every bored person does on the internet.

He watched cat videos for several hours, laughing until his stomach ached and his wings stung with the pain of his shoulders quaking. The feeling was hardly noticed by the laughing avian, though as soon as his giggles died down the pain became much more pronounced.

Jean winced, letting out a soft whine as he stretched his back out. A few moments past before he realized he heard footsteps coming his way, and not two seconds after he made this realization, Marco stepped into the office. He glanced over at Jean, his eyes flicking between the laptop and his own amber eyes for a few long minutes.

"Were you on my laptop?" he asked, almost sounding terrified by that thought. Jean nodded a bit, and the dark-haired veterinarian rushed over to look over the screen of the electronic.

"I was just on Youtube," Jean reassured, and Marco seemed to relax at that, nodding a bit and shutting the laptop's screen.

"Okay… Are you ready to head to my place?" he asked, picking up the laptop and tucking it into his laptop bag. He grabbed his jacket as well, humming and heading for the door. Jean nodded and followed after Marco, carefully holding his wing so that it didn't simply drag along the floor.

They headed out the clininc through the back door, making their way discreetly to Marco's car. "Here, you can sit in the back seat and wrap a blanket around yourself again to stay hidden," Marco unlocked his car and offered a large blanket to him. Jean himself decided it probably wasn't a very good idea to ask why the blanket was back there.

The dirty blond took the blanket and carefully draped it over his shoulders, covering his wings mostly from sight. They mostly just seemed like an awkwardly shaped bundle over his back and along the sides of his ribs. Marco opened the back seat of the car for Jean, holding it open as the avian carefully slipped into the back seat, settling against the grey cushions of the dark-haired young man's car.

"How far away is your place?" he asked curiously after watching Marco as he closed the door of his car and rushed around to the driver's side. He sat down, looking back over his shoulder as Jean spoke.

"About ten minutes away from here," He responded with a small raise of one of his eyebrows, "Why? Do cars make you nervous? I know some animals get nervous in vehicles like this. My cats never stop meowing on car trips."

Jean huffed, feeling his feathers ruffle irritably. "I'm not an animal, the car doesn't bother me. I was just wondering," he muttered, frowning a little and resting his head back against the window. Marco gave Jean an apologetic look, turning back in his seat to face the front again. He turned the car on and began to pull out, Jean almost immediately tensing in the backseat and looking around.

"Okay maybe cars make me a little nervous," Jean admitted, nearly hiding in the blanket he was wrapped up in. Marco's laugh rang in his ears, though he found the sound not all to unpleasant.

Indeed it did only take about ten minutes to get to Marco's apartment building. Marco pulled into the parking lot and glanced around the paved area, before he nodded and got out of the car.

He went around to open the door for Jean again, making the avian jolt in surprise. A light pink flush spread over his cheeks, and he got up out of the car, closing the door behind him and following Marco into the building. They just barely managed to get an elevator to themselves, Marco having decided that close proximity was not a good mixture with Jean's dirty blond was quick to agree, not really wanting to be squished into a small space with more than just one other person.

It seemed like a ridiculously long ride up into the building before they reached Marco's floor, his wings twitching with the anxiety of being in such a cramped space for so long. His body didn't seem to care that the elevator had only taken a few short minutes to reach the floor Marco's apartment was on.

As soon as the metal doors slid open Jean slipped out of the elevator, nearly bolting out of that small space. Marco didn't crack any jokes about that, seeming just as happy to get out of the elevator as Jean did.

They made their way down the hall until Marco stopped at one of the doors, the number 314 barely registering in Jean's mind as the door swung inward a moment later, and Marco led him inside.

Jean had always had a problem when it came to new places. He liked to stare; take every possible detail of a place in when he was first entering. So despite his minor passover of the apartment number, he was very interested in the smaller details.

A pair of work boots and sneakers sat next to the door, the toes of the boots scuffed and the leather well-worn. The sneakers seemed to be newer though, with only a bit of wear obvious in them.

He had no idea why that was the first thing he had focused on. His mind truly was strange. Marco led Jean through the kitchen that the entryway led into, then further past it into the hall. He pointed out doors as he went, showing Jean where the livingroom, his bedroom was, and then pointing out the bathroom between the two.

Jean took one look at the futon in Marco's livingroom and nearly gasped, looking over at Marco just after he had offered his own bed. "No way. I'll gladly take the couch futon thing," he nodded firmly, not leaving any room for argument as he went to plop down onto the couch-like piece of furniture.

"B-But-" Marco started to protest, looking over at Jean's wing worriedly. The avian was quick to shoot him down, shaking his head.

"Nope. I'm sleeping here. You can keep your bed," he said simply, letting out a pleased hum and unwrapping the blanket from around his shoulders.

Marco shoulders dipped a bit as he sighed and nodded. "Fine... I'm going to go make dinner, if you want some," he muttered, poking his lower lip out in a small pout.

Jean lit up a bit, looking over at Marco seriously. "Food?" he chirped pleasantly, his stomach grumbling it's agreement with the thought of sustenence. Surely Marco would, as well, cook real food. That thought was particular exciting for the deli-reliant young avian.

Marco nodded a bit, chuckling softly and shaking his head a bit as he turned to head back into the kitchen. Jean, however, stayed where he was, admiring the paintings that adorned the walls and the many books on a shelf in the far corner. He had no idea how long he stayed on the couch, though soon enough the smell from the kitchen tempted him out of his claimed area and into the kitchen.

Marco really seemed to know what he was doing when it came to cooking, even if he was making something as simple as hamburgers. He had even made a salad to have on the side, assumingly for Jean. Of course, he had no problems with the thought of eating meat. He only had the wings, not the appetite. Marco was sure to learn that quickly.

Soon enough the meal was finished and they both fixed up their own plates, sitting at the small table in the kitchen, and eating in respective silence, until Jean got curious.

"How old are you, anyway? I saw textbooks in the living room. Are you a student?" Jean asked curiously, raising an eyebrow up at Marco.

"I'm 21, and as you learned earlier, in veterinary school. I just volunteer at the clinic to get more experience," he hummed, meeting Jean's eyes. They fell into their silence again, Jean curious about the young man, but not sure which questions were alright to ask. Shrugging internally, the dirty blond simply figured he'd find out more about Marco in the time he spent there healing.