Seamus Finnigan didn't want to die anymore. The pain was long gone, leaving in its wake a kind of hyper awareness that was at the same time disconcerting and comforting. He could feel every fiber of the warm, wet cloth, as it was rubbed in soothing circles over his back. Madame Pomfrey? No, because he could also feel the network of veins thrumming with blood, under the flesh of the small, delicate hand which was cradling his. So Dean had come to check on him. The thought of Dean washing him with a cloth, tending to him in his sleep, brought a feeling of warmth that no blanket could equal.
Yesterday he had thought of nothing except the pain wracking his body, but now, in the early light of day filtering through the windows at the far end of the room, Seamus realized just how close he had probably come to dying. How close he had come to losing Dean. Possessed with that thought, he attempted to roll over to face his self-appointed nurse, likely even plant a deep lingering kiss on those lips, only to have the oddest sensation pass over him. It felt as if though a sheet of the lightest silk was being poured over his back like liquid. It was the odd and slightly squishy feeling of pressing against a feather mattress, and having the feathers move under you.
Frozen, more in confusion than any true pain or fear, Seamus halted his movement, and one of the hands ran up and down his sides, while that low rumble of a voice began murmuring non-sense in his ear. Any other time Seamus would have been enraged over the being treated like an infant, but the voice and the hand were comforting, and the more Seamus began to get his bearings about himself, the more he needed that comfort.
He could sense too much. He felt every ridge and crease of Dean's hand as it stilled on his hip for a moment; he could hear the individual octaves in Deans voice meld together into one perfectly harmonious pitch; he could taste the heavy moisture in the air and smell the blueberries, which Dean had undoubtedly heaped on top of his breakfast this morning, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he rolled over and opened his eyes he would see Dean as he never had before.
"Dean," Seamus whispered in a wavering voice "what's wrong with me? What happened yesterday?"
Dean's response was to tighten his grip on Seamus' hand, and mutter a charm under his breath. Seamus was so enraptured at the feeling of magic vibrating through his body, that he almost missed the charm. The hovering mirror, which of course Dean would be familiar with by now. The thought of how Dean learned that spell made Seamus smile wistfully, as he remembered the dark flush that had spread across his lover's body as the mirror had appeared above his bed. Still, why would they need the charm here, in the infirmary of all places and why wouldn't Dean answer his question unless…oh. The mirror was Dean's answer. So whatever it was, the boy beside him obviously felt that he needed to see the problem for himself.
Taking in a deep, calming breath, which despite what Dean might say about meditation never did anything to calm Seamus, he opened his eyes. Staring in blank shock, for how else can one stare at their reflection when it is sporting four foot wings, Seamus drew in a ragged breath, and squeezed so hard that dean let out a slight yelp. Aside from the wings, he really didn't look all that different. A bit taller, a bit broader through the shoulders, but that was about it.
Still, bloody fucking-hell…he had wings.
"Well that explains the back pain" he muttered, and wasn't even aware that he had spoken aloud until Dean responded,
"They're very nice you know. The wings I mean." And they were. They weren't all feathery and feminine, and didn't make him look the slightest bit like the pillow-biter he truly was at heart. They began at his shoulder blades, that much he could feel, and extended out, past his head, and swooped back down. Rather than feathers, they were covered in the softest skin-like sheath, which glimmered darkly like a ravens feathers, shifting hue slightly as the light caught them. Seamus Finnigan had wings. Bloody fantastic wings if he did say so himself, and since Dean was not yet running away in terror, he could only assume that his boyfriend shared the sentiment.
"So I have wings huh?" Seamus felt a bit ridiculous to be going on about them but really, how often is it that a lad just wakes up with wings sprouting out of his back? Still, he had one more question he needed answered before he focused to fully on the wings. "So," he stated firmly, feeling much more comfortable with the whole situation than he had only moments before "the wings are it then right?" His face and chest looked normal enough, but Dean could see things he couldn't, and had been there long enough to catalog every new feature, if there were even any more, and had had plenty of time to come to terms with this whole ordeal. Seamus was shocked to hear the shake in Dean's voice as he answered. "That's not quite all" Dean whispered, then with a nervous glance at Seamus' crotch answered "no, most definitely not all of it."
Suddenly the memories of his pain from yesterday returned full force, and the Irish boy broke out in a cold sweat. No, absolutely not. He remembered the pain shooting like needles through his groin, but there was no fucking way it wasn't there. He would have felt it right? That's the sort of thing a bloke notices when he wakes up, whether he can see it or not. Bit like getting your leg cut off really. You don't just wake up after that and have a conversation with the persona sitting beside you and no bloody well notice that you're short one leg. So it couldn't be gone. It simply couldn't.
He wasn't afraid of losing Dean. Really, Dean was a good guy, and the sort of chap who would stay with you even after you lost a leg…or something else. Still, Dean had looked beyond terrified when he glanced down, and it wasn't fair for a nice, healthy young man Dean's age to be stuck with an invalid, just because he was too nice to leave. Seamus drew in a deep breath, hoping it would fortify him for what he was about to say next.
"Dean," He began as calmly as he could "I know you like me. I like you as well. Sometimes though, we don't always get what we like, or even what we love, and it's hardly fair for you to stay and have to deal with something this embarrassing, and I mean I suppose we could still have sex, but let's face it, I'm a lousy bottom, and you've not got the confidence of a self-assured top, and I don't mean to be stingy, but really it hardly seems fair that I just lie there and take it, even though I'm not getting anything out of it. Maybe some blokes could do that, but I can't. And I know that's not fair, because there was that time 5th year when you laid there and took it, and didn't get anything out of it except a really sore bum, but the potion went wrong, really what did you expect from the guy who took 5 years to learn to turn water to rum, and I apologized for that a lot, but I'm still not as good of a guy is you, and I just don't think I can have sex without my bits all attached..."
"Seamus!" Dean yelled, and Seamus stopped rambling because Dean b never /b yelled, and he braced himself for the worst.
Dean, who had been staring blankly for most of Seamus' sentence now understood the Irish boys' concern and let out a chuckle, which escalated to a laugh, then finally spread to full hysteria.
Seamus, who though his boyfriend was being awful, all things considered, but stared in shock as Dean shook with mirth beside him.
"For Gods' sake Seamus," Dean gasped out, his laughter now dying at the look on his boyfriend's face, "just look why don't you."
Seamus decided to do just that, and braced himself for the horror that no doubt awaited him inside his pants. Although not a particularly religious fellow, Seamus could help but send out a small mental prayer as his hand moved downward: 'Please don't let me be a bird. Let it be cut off and gory and revolting, but whatever you do, please i please /i don't let me be a bird.' With that last thought, Seamus pulled his trousers away from himself, and let out a startled gasp.
Dean, now no longer smirking in the slightest, leaned over and looked as well. He had seen it already, when he had come rushing in from class at the news, and found Seamus naked and shivering on the bed. He had brought a new pair of pants from the dorm, and gently slipped them over his lover's hips, though he had opted not to bring a shirt, not knowing quite how to deal with the new appendages on Seamus' back.
Still, looking again only brought the horror of the whole situation home, and in a shaky voice, making him sound much younger than his years, Dean firmly announced "Seamus Finnigan I love you, but I am never bottoming again," and with that Dean collapsed back into his chair and left his boyfriend to stare in awe at the disturbing growth spurt certain parts of his body had decided to undergo. Dean sighed and dropped his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth determinedly, softly muttering to himself "never, ever bottoming again for that."
