A/N: So! I'm doing this at five in the morning the night before, because I am an idiot and did not do this thing before I left. (I just spent forever in air transport hell.) But! I deliver!
Thank you to Candy Crackpot, Lena-luvs-cats, Jaggedwing, jy24, Deugemia, RMXStudio, XDarkJokerX, newby6320, cursedchild14, nayukiamnesia, Not-Gonna-Update, and Nella Moonblood, Royalle for reviewing!
Title: When Angels Are Near
Author: liketolaugh
Rating: T
Pairings: Link/Allen
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Warnings: AU
Summary: In a world where the love of others makes your wings grow, Leverrier tells Link that CROWs do not need feathers. Link tries to believe him, until he meets Allen, and his wings start to grow. And Link realizes that he has never wanted anything more.
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned D. Gray-man.
It was a little-known fact that feathers were composed of much the same material as hair; this was the reason why they were generally the same color.
Walker's wings appeared to be the exception.
While his hair was a bright, clean white, his wings - which, if you listened to the stories often told of him, ought to match it - were a deep auburn. They were also nine feet wide, thick, and fluffy. Link's own, by contrast, were a deep blond to match his hair, and carefully groomed to conceal the sparseness of the feathers, still six feet wide.
Walker's wings fluffed happily as he split up the pumpkin pie Link had made for him, on the understanding that Walker liked sweets. (Ingratiating himself to the suspect, and therefore the person he would spend the next few months around, seemed a good idea.) Link sat beside him, waiting patiently, with his wings tucked in close; it took more effort than he'd expected to hide his surprise when Walker slid one of the resulting pieces over to him.
Bookman Junior was looking between Walker and Link with visible emotion in his eye, something Link took careful note of. His wings - a red color containing somewhat less brown than Allen's - were bristling slightly; they were rather large for a Bookman, by Link's reckoning - Bookman's own were far smaller. His green eye was narrowed almost unnoticeably, and he barely reacted when Allen gave him the last slice of the pie, keeping a full third for himself.
Link looked down to his own piece and picked up an abandoned fork to cut into it.
It was perfect, as expected. Link himself would tolerate nothing less, and he had ample opportunity to improve his recipes, with what personal time he had.
"So, two-spot." Bookman Junior set aside his fork and his half-eaten pie to lean over and smile casually at Link, wings rising just enough to imply strength without being obvious about it. Link stared back expressionlessly; he was above such elementary psychological attacks, and Junior likely knew it. "Guard, what's that mean?"
Link saw Walker slow down, obviously listening. His wings also twitched nervously, a reverberation along the entire structure, from the shoulder to the wingtips.
"I will remain with Walker at all times," Link replied, well aware that this would shatter the illusion of benignity somewhat sooner than he'd wished. "I am not permitted to leave him alone for any reason - further to which, Walker, I'll be sleeping in the same room as you. If you wake before me-" Unlikely. "-you will wake me immediately." Even more unlikely; Link was a very light sleeper.
Walker glanced up, offered a small smile, and inclined his head slightly; his wings tucked close to himself in an obvious insecure gesture. "Alright," he said agreeably.
And then he went back to eating.
Link learned three things about Allen that first day. First, he was a very private person, hiding both his emotions and as much of his personal history as he could manage. Second, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he was naturally a very defiant person. And third, he was completely incapable of keeping his wings still.
No matter what emotion he was hiding with his face, Link would be able to read it in his wings.
That was useful.
(Link himself had, of course, stilled his wings a long time ago.)
After he woke up in Mother's home, Allen had been faced with a redheaded man who bore large, but extremely sparse wings, mostly bedraggled flight feathers accented with a thin coat of down.
Allen's own wings had been bare.
As months had passed, Cross' wings began to grow thicker and fuller, but Allen didn't notice how it was affecting Cross until he woke up to a new coat of feathers of his own. Neither of them ever spoke of it, but after that, Allen picked up the habit of grooming himself every night, careful and meticulous.
Cross' first and only gifts to him had been a preening comb, small and black, and a pair of white gloves. The first now had two of the teeth snapped off, and the second had become far too small for him; he'd lost them at some point, too.
He knew that it was unusual to comb one's wings so frequently - Lavi did it once a week, Lenalee every three days, and Kanda hardly ever - and never was this so clear as when he was sharing his bedroom with another.
Link raised his eyebrows as Allen reached into his small bag and pulled out his comb for the third time in three nights. "Again?" Link asked, and though Allen wasn't sure Link knew it, the traces of suspicion in his tone were very obvious to him, and it saddened the corners of his smile.
"Yes, again," Allen confirmed, injecting a hint of humor into his tone. Then, deciding to elaborate, "I do it every night. I know it's unusual, but it means a lot to me."
Link hummed dubiously, but then he turned away and pulled out a preening comb of his own - small and plain, like Allen's own, and almost as worn.
Then, silently, Link reached back and started to run the comb through his feathers as well.
Allen watched, only half his attention now on his own routine. It was far more obvious, when Link combed his feathers, how thin they were, how few in number and how threadbare in appearance. Allen's eyes softened empathetically, and distantly, he wondered what had happened - if people had died, or if, as sometimes happened, they had simply grown distant.
Cross' wings had been thinner, Allen recalled, but they had also been bigger beforehand. Then he scolded himself for comparing them at all; it was unfair to judge, especially without knowing Link's circumstances. (Not that he knew Cross', even now.)
"Master used to use oil," he said abruptly, clearly startling Link, if the way he jerked was any measure. Link frowned at him, and Allen offered a small, apologetic smile in return and elaborated, "To make his wings look healthier. Coconut oil, I think."
Link stared at him for a long time, and Allen wondered what he was thinking - if he was trying to figure out what game Allen was playing, what trickery he was up to.
Allen looked back down, surrendering the stare-off, and ran his comb through his auburn feathers, stretching his shoulder to reach properly.
When he dared glance up again, Link had also gone back to grooming, without having spoken a word. Allen repressed the urge to sigh.
He hoped Link trusted him someday. This would be very uncomfortable otherwise.
And he hoped Link found people who loved him again.
And, there we go! I am, in all honesty, too tired to think of anything interesting to say, sorry. Thanks for reading, and please review!