This is my favorite chapter, and I am not at all ashamed to say it is because of how much I love Simon's wings and tail. I am actually very disappointed in the fandom's lack of appreciation for these wonderful things. I would kill a hundred Humdrums to be able to fly.
Simon's therapist talked about his wings and tail.
.
Simon said they were annoying, but annoying didn't cut it. He was even clumsier than before, knocking over anything that wasn't bolted down with his unmanageable new appendages. He wasn't sure how to control them, because while they reacted just like extra arms or legs would, he had no idea what to do with a tail and wings. Spelling them invisible was a pain, and he felt constricted whenever he was stuck inside without company and his wings unspelled. They limited what he could do, and he didn't like being limited.
But worst of all they didn't feel like his. Like they were a part of him. They were just these weird things that followed him around and made other people nervous.
They reminded him of his magic. But he had known what his magic was ever since he had first gone off, and he had learned to make it his. He didn't know what these things were.
Simon's therapist asked if he was going to get them removed. He probably could, somehow, but he had not seriously considered it. If Baz or Penny had wanted them gone he would not have minded a twit, but neither of them had said anything beyond agreeing that they were mildly annoying to deal with. Actually, Baz seemed to like them. Simon thought he probably liked them to have as much nuttiness physically as each other, so they matched again. He never minded when the tail lashed around when Simon was upset or when it wrapped around his leg or waist while they were tangled together in bed. Baz was weird that way.
Simon said probably not anytime soon. His therapist suggested he try to start thinking of them as part of him, so they didn't feel so invasive.
"Try looking at them in the mirror, or touching them," she said. "Look at the places where they're attached to your body. Practice moving them around. If you aren't planning to get rid of them it might be a good idea to try and get used to them. Make them yours."
.
He tried the mirror, and felt like he was looking at a stranger.
.
He tried in the shower, with warm water falling all around him. Simon closed his eyes and tentatively ran a hand down his damp back, over his shoulder blade to where the wings were attached to either side of his spine. He felt where wet skin transitioned smoothly into wet, rough, scaly hide. It was so thick he could barely feel his hand's touch.
Baz had mentioned once that his wings and tail were warmer than the rest of him, and he had been right. The dragon hide seemed to carry its own heat, stretched over thick knobby bones. Simon flexed his shoulders, and then cautiously flexed his wings. They moved together and apart from the place where they were joined to his back. Simon felt a shy little thrill run down his spine. He had fucking wings.
He moved his fingers delicately over the rest of the wings. They really were a bit like extra arms. The bone that would be the humerus bone in an arm was thick and sturdy, connecting from his back to the high, elbow-ish joint that rose above his head. But the second one, that would be the ulna and radius, and that stretched all the way back down to his knees when they were folded, was hollow like a bird's. Dr. Wellbelove had x-rayed them, so he knew that the three long, almost finger-like bones that spread down from the high joint were also hollow, with smaller joints separating them into a couple parts. Phalanges, he thought they were called. At the tips of the high joint and of the hollow bones were small grey spiky claws, like fingernails, which were hard and dull to his touch. Between the phalanges stretched a thick, but surprisingly flexible, rubbery membrane. It bent easily under his fingers, and he wondered how painful it would be to rip it. Ouch.
His wings jerked slightly under his touch. He supposed they didn't enjoy the thought of being hurt. He knew how they felt. Wait, of course he did. Stupid.
Simon tried flexing his wings again, from the joint where they met his back, and then from the joint where all the bones met like the spokes of a fan. They expanded behind him until they bumped into the shower walls. They were too big to open fully, but it felt wonderful to stretch them out. They never really hurt, even when he accidentally banged them into stuff – he supposed dragon skin must be too tough for that – but sometimes they got cramped if he kept them folded too long or lay on them funny. There must be quite a bit of muscle between the skin and bone to support his weight in the air and for him to be able to move them easily.
When he ran his fingers across a thinner patch of membrane, it twitched. He thought that might be muscle too, not just skin. It was more sensitive than the rest of his wings, and if he held it up to the light he could see the faint silhouette of veins running under the surface.
They really did feel warm.
The water had gone cold. With his hands guiding the ends, Simon wrapped his wings around himself like a blanket. The dragon skin shone dark red or black depending on the way the light hit it. They were so big that they easily overlapped and practically sealed him in. If he had crouched down a little, they would have been able to cover his entire body from the spray. It was kind of . . . nice.
Okay. This wasn't so bad. He could get used to this.
The tail was a little different. He didn't know what to do with it. Tucked up under his wings, he ran his hand down his spine to his tail bone. Which now had an actual tail attached to it.
When he had summoned his wings, he had been thinking of the dragon, but he had also been distracted by the horrifying thought that he was the one doing this. He was the one making the holes and the Humdrum. That was where the devil tail had come from. From the thought of being the real villain in their little fairytale.
The tail was about one meter long, and it was thicker at the base than at the end. The skin was the same thick, leathery stuff from his wings, but it was long, ropey, and as flexible as a cat's. There must be a ton of vertebrae in there. It was weird to think that his spine had practically doubled in length, and half of it was sticking outside his body.
The tip was the especially scary part. A thick black spade with sharp edges had grown out of the end of his tail like a single pointy tooth. It was hard, like the claws on his wings, and a shiny black. Would he have to file and polish these parts to keep them sharp and shiny?
He tried to wrap his hand around the tail, but it jerked away and lashed impatiently. Funny, it never did that when Baz held it. Then again, it seemed to like Baz more than it liked him. It was always wrapping around his leg. Or was Simon the one doing that without realizing? It was so weird to feel it moving without him consciously deciding to anything.
"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed. The tail lashed again and knocked over the shampoo bottles. Simon's wings shook themselves out a little, as if to say they highly disapproved of such behavior. At least someone was on his side.
He tried to move his tail, first from one side and then to the other. The tail moved, but then it snapped away like a whip cracking. He sighed, unfurling his wings and shivering a little in the cold water before turning off the shower and stepping out into a chilly draft, dripping water everywhere.
He had a split second to realize his mistake, and then his foot slipped on the wet tiles. He lurched forward, his other leg coming forward to try and catch him, but he knew from experience that it wouldn't be enough to keep his momentum from crashing him into the floor.
At the last second his tail swept up behind him and his wings rose off his shoulders. He had closed his eyes, waiting for the impact and subsequent pain, but it didn't come. He opened his eyes, and found himself balancing on one foot on a dry patch of floor, with his tail stretched out in the opposite direction and his wings poised like his arms, cupping the air in an effort to slow his fall.
Slowly, he righted himself. His wings settled back and his tail swished behind him. A little smugly, Simon thought.
Well.
.
He was feeling pretty good that night, with Baz in his bed and him in Baz's lap. They kissed long and languidly, fingers curling into hair and running lazily over their clothes. Baz had his back to the wall, his head resting against it, and Simon knelt half on his legs and kissed him again and again. His tail curled possessively around Baz's waist, and that time Simon knew he was the one doing it.
He grinned into Baz's mouth, and Baz raised an eyebrow. His eyes widened exponentially when Simon drew his wings up and pulled Baz away from the wall so he could wrap them around both their bodies. His wings overlapped each other until he and Baz were sitting in the middle of a cozy cone-shaped cocoon of comfort. The light filtering through the scarlet membrane was soft and rosy. Dim, but enough to see the satisfyingly surprised expression on Baz's face.
"You've been practicing," Baz muttered, their faces so close that Simon felt his lips move, brushing against his own. This felt nice. Having Baz to so close, so warm, so safe in their own protected place. He liked this. He liked being wrapped around Baz like this, he liked having him right here at his fingertips. He had him trapped here, in this small warm space he had created just for them.
And it was so very warm.
He didn't feel like a stranger when he saw Baz touching him. His tail slipped under Baz's shirt. Simon kissed the stupid smug smile right off of Baz's beautiful face.
.
.
Simon's therapist said a lot of things.
But.
But one day, while Penny and Baz were out and he was stuck inside with his wings and tail visible, he sneaked up onto the roof of the flat complex.
He jumped.
It took a few seconds of outright falling, and then his wings snapped open and cupped the air, slowing his decent. He beat them once, twice, three times, and then he was soaring above the tops of buildings. He caught an updraft, folded his wings and plummeting to the ground in a dive, catching himself just in time and evening out, only to rocket back up.
He glided for a while, just drifting and letting the air currents take him wherever, his tail whipping behind him. It turned out he really, really, really could not fly without his tail; it was crucial to both balance and steering, and helped him take sharp turns around building corners without losing speed.
The wind was in his face and hair and out stretched arms. The cold air brought tears to his eyes. He didn't even realize he was grinning until his cheeks started to hurt, and then he laughed and whooped and tried to do a flip (and ended up nearly crashing through someone's window.)
This. This thing. This thing he had always wanted to do, this thing that magic had never been able to fully give him. This thing that his magic had given him – this thing that made his heart soar, that made moving quick and easy and wonderful, that made him feel on top of the world, without the imminent danger of going off. This new magic.
Flying was so much better than therapy
.
.
.
Things I can do with my wings and tail:
No. 1 – Fly.
No. 2 – Avoid public transportation.
No. 3 – Move without feeling like a klutz. (Only in the air, but it's still a novel experience. No wonder Baz is always so smug.)
No. 4 – Not constantly fall flat on my face when I'm on the ground.
No. 5 – Hold/carry/move things with my tail. (Always useful, even if still doesn't listen to me half the time.)
No. 6 – Keep me and Baz warm.(Penny too, sometimes.)
No. 7 – Keep the rain off.
No. 8 – Carry Baz and Penny.(Only if it's an emergency – they're heavy.)
No. 9 – Feel less Normal without magic.
No. 10 – Be constantly reminded about what happened.
Right now No. 10 is a bad thing. It's easier to not think of things when you don't have ineradicable evidence hanging off your back. But maybe someday he might be able to remember without feeling sick to his stomach. Maybe someday there might be more good memories connected to his wings and tail than bad ones. After trying for years to not think about thing he didn't like, that thought felt an awful lot like hope.
Please review, if only to voice your appreciation for my beta's timely edits.