Tags:

Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons

Dick Simmons, Dexter Grif, OC's, But none of great importance

Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Child Neglect, Wingfic, Alternate Universe - Wings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Autistic Simmons, Bigotry & Prejudice, Physical Disability, Speciesism, Angst, Now With Art Because That's How I Roll

I'd say mind the tags but this is Fanfic-net. Here are the tags from AO3 by the way and please do mind them. I'll be updating them as I go so some will not go for all chapters. Child abuse is only fully shown in this chapter, so far at least, references will occur later, however. Any other updates will be put here.


I highly suggest you read this on AO3 (Archive Of Our Own) (Under same name) instead since AO3 fully supports indents which this fic was written with, and blank lines, both of which makes the story much more visually appealing. But reading it there also makes it much easier to read in the long run, instead of it just being the wall of text it is here. Just looking at the story here makes me feel sad down to the core of my being.

I'll keep updating here because I know there are some people here that don't touch AO3 but just know that how you read it here isn't how it's supposed to read.

Thank you.


[Chapter One] Wolf In Crow's Clothing


Richard couldn't remember a time where he wasn't hated.

He was an illegitimate child, a bastard who nobody wanted. His mother would cry every night, beg over her bed for forgiveness from her husband and from God. When their voices would rise and the shrill caws of crows echoed throughout the house Richard would always hide under his bed, tiny fluffed wings wrapped tightly around him.

On Christmas they would go to church for the entire day, he'd always talk to the other children there and they'd share gifts between one another. The presents he gave out were only ever mailed back days later.

Everyone would sit down to sing hymns together smile and be happy, he never understood why other avians thought crows were bad singers.

But then again, he was never allowed to stay longer than the first one or two hymns, his mother would drag him out with tears in her eyes, his father soon following. The next few years he wasn't even allowed to sit down with the other children at all, instead being once again pulled out.

The black eyes of the parents would always follow him, their children's blue ones always averted.

The fourth time it happened he was seven, and he had screamed and cried, 'Why can't I play with the other children‽ Why is it always me that has to go‽'

He'd looked up into his father's eyes and saw no comfort. No pupil was ever visible like the children and like him, his father's and mother's eyes were just black tar pits that stared down at him.

Judging him.

Frowning his father had reached for his hand and left Richard to place his small one over his, tears still welling in his eyes and face stained with tear tracks, nose running.

He was made to stumble, a sharp tug on his hand arm making him cry out in pain.

'Please stop, Father, Father! I'm sorry!'

His shoulder burned and when he finally fell he was only pulled up again by the fluff of his throat and thrown into the back seat of the car. A hand was raised to strike him and he pulled his wings and arms over his head.

'I'm sorry!'

The hit never came.

….

Whenever the home door slammed he would flinch and this time was no different, the sound of keys scraping against the metal lock would hurt his ears. His father's figure loomed over him, his wings raised and talons scratching harshly on the floor.

'Children are meant to be seen and not hear, Richard, you've embarrassed me and your mother today. Go to your room and reread the chapters on how you act around those who care for you.'

Before he turned away to find safety in his room his father once again gripped and tugged at his throat fluff, making small downy tug free with spots of blood.

Tears started to well up again.

'Now, what do you say to your mother and me?'

When he didn't instantly reply his father gave another yank and ground his teeth together, 'Do not make me get the belt, Richard.'

….

'Sorry.'

….

He didn't like most of the children anymore.

He used to play with them on the streets of their cul-de-sac, cars rarely came around and when they did they drove slowly, so it was safe and allowed. They used to ride bikes and pretend they could fly by flapping their tiny wings as the wind blew by.

Sometimes things would get loud with the cheeps of young crows like them, parents would come and complain. Some would go back inside after they promised to be quieter, but most would only look at him and sneer then take a hold of their child and pull them back to their house.

Richard liked playing with Theo the most, he lived in a big house behind a coded fence and had a trampoline. But they didn't go to the same school, so when Richard left in the car with his mother to go to school he was left alone.

The school was outside of their town, on the edges of a different one. Each child was different, not like the uniformity of the children of his all crow part of town. Some of them here were large avians of prey with big fangs, talons, and wings, but others were small with bright colours and beautiful songs.

The children didn't like him so he never spoke with them.

Crows like him were creepy there, scary eyes with no whites, feathers too black, voice and call to scary and rough.

So, one day he dragged his desk to the corner of the room so he would be left alone.

The teacher never even questioned it.

….

Despite all his flaws he was still tolerated and cared for by his family and sometimes the outside crow community would help too. Occasionally he'd be allowed to play with their children, but it'd always end with arguing and Richard hated the conflict of it all.

But still, he was allowed to talk, and live, and be happy, as long he never drew attention to himself.

Richard was fine with that; the eyes of the crows would only ever look at him with blackness and disdain anyway. He preferred to watch the children from afar and let blue eyes meet blue.

He never wanted his eyes to become those soulless black pits.

But, like everything else in Richards life, it just got worse.

Pale and shining grey adult feathers should have shown here, running between his still fluffy black wings and tail feathers and reaching upwards over his neck and throat, mingling in with fluffy head feathers, then sloping over his shoulders and down into the black feathers of his chest.

It would have shown his true heritage as a hooded crow and it would be celebrated by everyone.

A first moulting party.

He would finally be accepted into the community as something other than the burden he was.

What instead grew out from his fluff was instead awful, rough, dark grey and black feathers intertwined with the proper pure grey ones. There was no clear line between sleek black feathers and grey like there should be.

His blue eyes morphed to black, removing his pupil and making him look like… Them.

Grey mottled into black and black into grey over all his body feathers. Nowhere on his body had the beautiful shine of smooth grey feathers nor the gorgeous obsidian of black ones.

This was enough to send further waves of worry and disgust rippling throughout his family and the town. Hooded crows shouldn't look like him, and yet there he was; a small nine-year-old with disgusting feathers that simply couldn't exist.

Unless someone was lying.

Eyes which had previously been averted away from his family over the years were drawn instantly to his mother. Rumours were spread about how the bastard child had somehow become more abnormal and hideous. In an instant, he and his family were shoved into the spotlight once more.

Avians aren't supposed to like others who are not of their species, blue jays like blue jays and robins like robins. It was clear-cut, both biologically and socially with no exceptions, like it should be. Even if a rebellious blue tit teenager decided to get frisky with an eagle one night, Hybrids are a one in a thousand chance.

An oddity.

That's what Richard was, a rare statistical fuckup, hated for the acts of his mother.

His mother, a proud hooded crow that had decided to have an on-off affair with a disgusting raven just outside of their town. She'd only decided to end it when his father put work to the side to take care of his now pregnant wife and soon to be child.

But the whore had now left her mark on their family.

When the bitch was chased off Richard and his father were left together. He tried to be nice, mild-mannered, polite, and follow the teachings of the bible and his father.

He tried.

He fucked up a lot, he didn't mean to, but he kept embarrassing his father. Never saying the right thing or making the other children cry as his father was talking to their parents with adult-things. Crying every time his father took the belt out or threw him against a wall, begging him to stop even though it was punishment he deserved.

….

Three years later, it had been a Monday and he hadn't meant to do it.

The boy kept bringing his friends to push and trip him in the corridors. They took his pencil cases and food and threw things at him in class. So, he had told the teacher and she'd just gone on a spiel of how you treat others like how you want to be treated.

They looked him in the eye across the classroom and he had immediately regretted it.

They were behind him after class, he could see them in the reflection of the window as he walked. Anxiety had welled up in his stomach, telling him to fly away.

Get away.

But he didn't get away.

He ground his teeth together, making young and short fangs catch against his cheek.

He'd turned around flaring his wings and smashed the boys head into the window and then again onto its lip.

Blood stained its red bricks.

The boy was on the ground crying and cradling his head, his friends standing to the side looking unsure whether to run or go to their friend's aid.

Richard knew he should have felt bad for the boy.

But, this was the most control he'd had over anything, he'd done this. Blankly he'd looked down at the crying, weak, broken, and beaten, boy and instead he'd felt powerful.

Overjoyed at the prospect of hurting another.

The boy had to get stitches and would most likely have permanent scars. His mother had wanted assault charges laid on him, the only thing stopping her was the actual school.

Expulsion had apparently been the only option for him, decided right then and there before the day was out. Richard guessed he's not doing a very good job of making people reconsider crows.

Father had dragged him back to the car, keeping Richard out of view from the other children with his large wings curled around him, keeping him close to his side. Feigning care and concern. Richard knew he was going to be disciplined

He'd also known that non-crows wouldn't understand and they'd get father in trouble If he had ever told or showed others what his father did.

He didn't want that, his father loved him, and it was always his fault anyway, forcing his father's hand.

I don't want him to disappear as well.

….

Keys had scraped against the doors lock again, sounding loud in the silence of the house.

'I'm sorry, father. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean for him to get hurt, I was just scared, I'm sorry.'

'But you did mean to do it, didn't you Richard? You hurt that other boy because you wanted to, you're a sick fuck, Richard.' Soft black fluff no longer grew on his throat, so father had pulled at feathers instead, knowing how much it hurt Richard didn't stop him.

'I'm sorry! Really! Please.'

Father had started to drag him towards to kitchen, he wanted to say more beg for forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve, but a further jerk of his father's wrist cut him off and made him choke.

'Be quiet Richard, you are not allowed to apologise here. Not after you humiliated me in front of everyone!'

He was pulled into the kitchen with his father and finally, tears started to fall.

'Look at me, Richard.'

Instead, he looked down and kept crying, inhales becoming increasingly hard as his throat constricted. He didn't want to look him in the eye,

He didn't want to.

Sharp claws punctured his cheeks as his face was forced upwards. Still, he didn't want to look at his fathers all black eyes. Please, no.

The light of the kitchen was blocked off as his father's black wings enveloped him, making him feel trapped. Grown fangs had started to grind together, his father pushing claws further into his cheeks, dragging down.

Trails of blood started to mix in with feathers.

Get away.

But this is father.

It's for my own good.

His father turned away and the harsh light of the kitchen met him again. Placing his fingers on his right cheek, when he pulled them away they came back with blood and tears. He barely found it in him to react, blood, that was normal.

Richard flinched as one of the kitchen drawers was slammed open, the knife block was dragged out. He pulled his wings close against him again, and forced back the urge to cover his ears.

'Father?'

'You don't get to call me that Richard, not until you're sorry and you mean it.'

His father stalked towards Richard, he wanted to back away but he was frozen, wings pulled around him as he quivered. There was a glint of metal in his hand.

He was shoved onto the ground, stars burst into view as his skull hit the tiling with a crack.

Pulling him around onto his stomach his father pushed his whole weight onto him, his knee digging into Richards back. He couldn't even try to get away, push back, resist in any way.

Hard to breathe,

Don't cry.

His left wing was grasped at and the fluff and down ripped away, the whole thing was pulled out straight.

Richard screamed as it was pulled too far, the bones popping and the muscles straining.

The blood from his cheek and stained feathers dripped onto the ground.

Father raised the knife,

And –


I highly suggest you read this on AO3 (Archive Of Our Own) (Under same name) instead since AO3 fully supports indents which this fic was written with, and blank lines, both of which makes the story much more visually appealing. But reading it there also makes it much easier to read in the long run, instead of it just being the wall of text it is here. Just looking at the story here makes me feel sad down to the core of my being.

I'll keep updating here because I know there are some people here that don't touch AO3 but just know that how you read it here isn't how it's supposed to read.

Thank you.


Notes:

I don't know how to do multichapter fics~

I hope the weird jumping around of time and tenses feels deliberate like I meant it to be... haha, I'm sorry.

Sorry for mistakes, they'll probably be fixed soon because I always seem to find only after I post it.

I'm going to be adding art soon on what Simmons and such actually looks like so yeah. - You can't view it here on Fanfic-net, sorry, go to AO3 if you want to view it.

Might go up to mature but we'll see, it's T on AO3 but like Fanfic-nets a dick place so yeah, if this story mysteriously goes missing you'll know why.

More tags are going to be added as I go.

Also, the interrobang is a vastly underrated thing, seriously.