Still feeling crappy from last night, so trying to flush it out with writing. This happened. It wasn't what I expected, starting in self-indulgence, but it is what it is.
Marks & Wings AU, following on from 'John'. the-lady-razorsharp I don't know what he is up to, but I'm a little afraid of where it might end up.
I'm not in control here. I'm just the typist.
-o-o-o-
The wind was cool on the mountain peak and it brushed against his face, caressing his stubble and tangling in his hair.
He wished it could wash away his thoughts. Sweep them into some oblivion and give him some peace.
But that was not to be.
John was healing. He would have his flight back, if not his beautiful white wings. Unprompted, the equations restricting the colouring of John's metal polymer wings danced across his mind, taunting him with the one aspect he had been unable to solve.
His brother would fly on metallic grey wings.
Not immediately. Practise was called for. John needed to almost learn again from scratch and while the first few steps had been made, watching them, for Virgil, was just pure pain.
This was his fault. He'd had the chance to take on the Hood and prevent this from happening, but no, he had chickened out, called it a moral code and run.
John had paid the price saving Virgil's life.
He closed his eyes.
The wind played with his eyelashes.
A moment and he scrunched up his face and lifted his wings.
They protested, the ache shivering down his wing bones and shaking his flight muscles. They hadn't yet forgiven him for his abuse. The infection in his right wing was gone, but the bone was still going through the last of its healing and his plucked feathers were still in the process of growing back.
It was exhausting.
The breeze caught his span, filaments fluttering, and he stretched it wide, a groan his only comment. A couple of forced wing beats clearly identified where everything hurt and he took a moment to just breathe.
The question now was what to do next.
His family had been struck down severely by a thug who would only continue to haunt them. How much more could they tolerate?
The answer was none.
Virgil had reached his limit. He was not a soldier. He didn't know how to fight, only to save. But this had crossed the line into saving. He needed to save his family from this asshole. He needed to repair what he had caused through his own inaction. He needed redemption.
He needed to stop the Hood from hurting his family ever again.
His wings folded across his back with a creak.
Time. He needed a little more time.
And a plan.
-o-o-o-