Chapter 1

Roderich stayed in the hospital, numb. Two hours ago, he had been called by emergency services that his parents had been in a car accident. His father had died on impact, and his mother not even half an hour after. He stared down at his hands blankly. The vinyl chair squeaked as he finally got up and walked out of the building.

In a blurred haze, Roderich made his way through the downtown, meandering onto a bus. The bus was empty, and quiet. Dark too, as the driver had turned the lights off inside. It was made darker by the inky clouds overhead in the late hours of the evening, no moon or even a single star to be seen in the entire stretch of sky. Barely paying attention to where he was going, the nineteen year old somehow made it to his apartment without getting lost. 'That's a first', Roderich distantly mused.

The apartment was silent when he returned. Roderich stumbled down the hallway in a haze, his eyes unseeing and his mind unthinking. Undressing in the bathroom, the omega was suddenly very glad his roommate wasn't there, gone for spring break. A loud wail crept out, and all of a sudden Roderich was bawling. He had kept himself together when he received the call. He had kept himself together on the ride to the hospital. He had kept himself together as he learned the news. Roderich had kept himself together as his mutti passed away, and later, on the way home. The strings that had tied the pieces of his heart had reached their limit, finally snapping.

Fumbling for the shower knob, he got in and the hot water immediately pounded into his back. After a few seconds, or minutes, or maybe even hours, Roderich's legs gave out from under him. Falling onto his hands and knees, the young man hacked and choked on water and his tears, and he could feel the snot dribble down from his nose. His knees and hands smarted from hitting the white porcelain, a dull ache settling in his bones. The omega gingerly positioned himself onto his side, rubbing his aching appendages. Curling up under the hot spray, Roderich lay his head on the floor, and thought of his mother and father.

How, when he was a kid, they would tuck him in, his vatti telling him a story and his mutti just stroking his hair as he fell asleep. He imagined the hot water was his mother's hands. The calming noise of the spray were their hushed voices as they spoke. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, the warmth of the water and the hot steam calming him. Slowly he drifted off as the water continued to run. He dreamed no dreams.

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Waking up an hour later hadn't been pleasant. After the water had turned icy cold from running too long, Roderich had sat up with a gasp, scrambling to get out and away from that awful, numbing, biting cold. He pulled himself weakly out of the tub, falling onto the tile floor in a wet heap. Taking a breath, it finally caught up with him why he had fallen asleep in such an odd place. Suddenly that breath caught in his throat, as surely as a butterfly in a net. And then he was drowning. He clawed at his throat and heart, trying get the pain and the emptiness out. Tears sprang to his eyes and he hacked and sobbed and bled as his scratches pierced through his skin. Gasping at the pain, he clutched at himself, trying to keep himself in one piece.

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It wasn't working.

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The funeral was held on a pale . . . Wednesday? Friday? Roderich wasn't sure. It had happened, and that was all he knew. Relatives said their condolences and "You poor boy" and "Poor thing, all alone in the world". Some of his great aunts and other omega relatives tried to comfort him, pulling him into their arms, but he pulled away just as quick as they grabbed him. It wasn't long before they stopped trying altogether, merely content to watch.

Later at the cemetery, as the carriers had put their . . . t-their . . . the . . . in the ground, Roderich had had to run for the bushes, trying not to puke. He had dry-heaved a couple of times, a little bile coming up, as there was nothing in his stomach. Any food he had eaten for the past few days had seemed to make a reappearance within an hour of eating of eating it. Sleep had become scarce since that first night and even if he did manage to, Roderich woke up screaming and crying more times than not. The music sheets and violin in his room remained untouched, and dust was slowly beginning to accumulate on the black violin case and books. Roderich didn't notice.

He had called his work, a little cafe down the street known as "Lost Notes" and explained his situation to the owner. She was a nice person that he got along with and understood the situation. She told him to take as much time as needed, and contact her if he needed more time, or anything else he needed help with. Roderich said thank you, but politely declined.

The young musician was unsure of how much time had passed since the funeral. It could have been a week, or it could have been five. During this time, the omega found out from lawyers that the house and most of the belongings had been sold to pay for some unwise investments and debts his parents had gotten into, leaving Roderich with little to no money, as well as a small handful of debt. Roderich decided it didn't matter either way. Time had still passed, and passed without them. The fact that such a thing could still be . . . was bizarre. How does one function without something he has never been without his entire life? Mildly he wondered if this what it felt like for an amputee. Expecting the limb to be there, only to be surprised time and time again when he realizes it isn't, and he'll never have his arm or leg back ever again.

Currently, the omega was sitting on his bed, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them tightly. Looking out, the sun cast a golden glow on the world. How can time go on? In this moment of stillness, how can movement still continue to be? How can I still exist, yet they do not? How? Roderich continued to stare out at that golden world from his window, musing about its contrast to the grey and black of the room. It was as if any and all color around him had ceased to be, his sadness tangible and effecting the very world around him, changing it to match his mood. His room was rank with the scent of depression, so Roderich had opened the window a crack to air out his room.

His room overlooked a small and relatively unbusy side street that ended at the corner of a park that had long been abandoned by any grounds keeper. From Roderich's window, he could see a large, twisted oak tree at the very beginning of the park's path. The trunk stood out against the green of the rest of the forest, big, black, and more twisted and crooked than any man's misery. Though contrary to the haggard old bark of the tree, the leaves stood out full, proud, and lush, as if embodying the full youth and energy of summer. As he watched, the stillness was . . . interrupted.

A great gust of wind came from the north, and the crashing of the leaves and the creaking of ancient tree boughs gave life to the world, creating a sea of green and gold and every shade in 's eyes widened as the wind swept harsher and fiercer, causing the window glass to vibrate and the old building to creak on its foundations. His attention was riveted back outside as a large flock of blackbirds erupted from the trees, circling and wheeling in the turbulent wind, their punctuous cries ringing through the air. Roderich jumped and gave a small shriek as one bird, however, hit the glass before falling to the ground, two stories below.

Roderich blinked once. Then twice. In a single moment he became a blur of movement and flew down the stairs until he was at ground level. Going out the main doors, the musician circled around back and began looking around for the bird, hoping that it wasn't injured and in pain. As Roderich searched, he heard a muffled squawking noise from within the bushes. He kneeled as he slowly parted the branches, Roderich was surprised to see the blackbird was a bright, startling white. Albino. It's beady red eye stared up at him, indignant. It gave a shrill squawk, as if complaining about being stuck in the bush. Gently he lifted the bird from the bush, keeping a hand over its wings. Carefully he ran a hand over it, feeling for broken bones. Finding nothing broken, he set it on the ground. Roderich met the bird's gaze, slightly surprised it hadn't taken off right away.

So why it hadn't flown away yet was a mystery. All it was doing was just . . . staring at him. "Um . . .", Roderich began tentatively,". . . Good bird?" Slowly he reached out, and gave it a light stroke from head to tail. It gave an affirmative chirp, before giving a small flap of its wings and flying to land on his head. It stayed there for a few seconds, before flying off. Roderich sat there stunned, before quickly patting his hair. Huh. It hadn't pooped on him. It did leave behind a feather, however. One, single, stark white feather.

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The next morning, Roderich got up and took a hot shower. After that, he prepared himself some breakfast making some scrambled eggs and toast. He felt rested and at ease, and . . . better. Not good by any means, but not bad. Not as bad as before.