Day One 1/2

All reality is a blender where hopes and dreams are mixed with fear and despair. ~Holly Goldberg Sloan

Kageyama stiffly walks back to the little makeshift camp he'd set up beside the river where they'd spent the night with his hands full of wood.

Everything hurts and to top it off, thick cloud cover has moved in and it is starting to sprinkle. He's been reduced to foraging for kindling on foot because when he'd tried to move his one wing even a little, it had screeched at him badly enough for tears to sting his eyes before resuming its maddening throb of pain. He is running on very limited sleep and he still has a headache. Honestly, the cold was invasive and annoying and the tree behind him was the furthest thing he could have gotten from his bed save a field of rocks, but he could have slept through that.

What he hadn't been able to ignore was half waking in a panic anytime Hinata's breathing stretched too long between breaths. Which was basically every other breath if the number of times Kageyama woke was anything to go by. But as the sun had first started lightening the sky with gray, Hinata had still breathed.

Kageyama had waited until the sun was just barely breaking through the trees to extricate himself with the purpose of starting a fire in mind. He'd carefully laid Hinata out, mumbling a grudging apology at taking the warmth away, and sat back and really looked at him. His face and neck were bruised darkly, the cut on his cheek raw and painful looking. Another splash of purple peeked out when his shirt had ridden up a little and Kageyama was sure he had a lot of internal bruising too. He had scrapes down his arms and legs, his one shoulder likely a superb candidate for some impressive scarring.

And of course, there was his lack of wings. Despite his trip down the river, his shirt still bore frightening evidence of just how much he'd bled when that white-winged bastard had stripped them out. The feathered base had scabbed over during the night and it would definitely scar… but Hinata would never fly again. That was a living hell for avian people like them. Having been in the sky, touched it, ridden it, seen the world from that height…to lose such an integral part of who one was like that would be beyond devastating.

As he'd taken in the broken redhead, the reality had come crashing down. Hinata was grounded. He would never be able to go with them on scouting trips or a morning conditioning flight again. On the days where a large impending storm threatened the rookery, he'd never be able to join them in the thrill of riding the rollercoaster of currents where the warm and cold air met just ahead of it. All of their drills— the dives and checks and pitching banks— were now all out of his reach. Even the simplest things like moving between trees would be infinitely harder now. And Volley… Hinata would never play the game they all lived for again. It was as if Hinata had been forced outside of their world while still retaining a perfect view back into it.

And now a niggling thought had worked its way into his head and he couldn't banish it. Hinata was probably grounded because he'd intervened with the bastard white wing. Hinata had jumped in when the jerk had attacked him. And when Hinata had needed him to return the favor, Kageyama had been nowhere in sight. If Hinata hadn't tried to save him, he would probably still have his wings. Guilt had steadily been building in his chest and he couldn't bring himself to face Hinata's silent form any longer and he'd gone to fetch firewood. He'd managed to start a low blaze but with no change in his companion, he'd left for another armload of kindling.

He curses colorfully when he trips over a low branch he hadn't seen through the undergrowth and silently grumbles about not being able to fly at the moment. He quickly checks himself… Hinata will never have that chance again. He rounds a bush and steps onto the softer sand beside the fire and goes still.

Hinata isn't where he left him. The redhead is curled up against the log, his side resting against it to avoid contact with his back. His shoulders are hunched and his arms are crossed in front of him as if he were cold. His skin has a bit more color now and maybe that's why his bruises look all the more prominent to Kageyama; he is the very image of pitiful, but...

Hinata is awake.

Kageyama drops his wood and takes two steps forward before he's even realized it. Hinata's gaze snaps in his direction and his expression runs slack, his eyes going wide, and all Kageyama can think is how gratified he feels that he gets to see those orbs once more. He'd been honestly frightened that Hinata would die.

"K…Kageyama?" He whimpers. And Kageyama watches dumbfounded as Hinata scrambles weakly to his feet and heads in his direction with little more than a wince.

"You're alive? I thought you were dead." He says softly, the threat of tears just behind his words as he comes up right in front of him.

His musical voice is scratchy, and Kageyama hates thinking about how it got that way. He wants to tell Hinata to go back to the fire, the light misty rain is going to make him wet all over again and that is the last thing he needs in his current state. But Kageyama bites his tongue and carefully avoids looking up at the space where his wings are very much absent even as he can't help but be acutely aware of it.

"I thought you were dead, idiot." Kageyama returns instead, unable to stomach the desperation in his friend's face.

He half-ways expects the redhead to fall right into the banter like any other day, but that's not what happens. Instead, Hinata's hands reach out and fist into Kageyama's shirt with a white knuckled grip—really a feat given how pale he still is. The response sets Kageyama on edge.

"I saw you fall. That jerk dragged me across the sky and I couldn't get to you. I was sure a fall from that high would kill you." His forehead drops against Kageyama's chest and the taller boy feels totally blindsided. Hinata looks so shaken and he has no idea what to do.

"I broke my fall with my face and a tree branch." He mutters self-consciously. There's a half bark of laughter that dissolves into a sob and then Hinata goes quiet for a moment.

"I'm glad. I lost sight of you and then…" His voice cracks just a touch and he lets go of Kageyama's shirt. "He was hitting me. He got behind me and grabbed my wing and twisted and it hurt so much…"

Hinata's hands drift up to his shoulders, his fingertips brushing the ends of the battered feathers and his back hunches. Kageyama can't see his face, but the entire position conveys nothing but pain and anguish. And his voice… the rawness in his vocal cords is completely messing with the black-haired boy.

"Kageyama, my… my wings…" His legs fold up and his voice all out breaks as his knees hit the ground. "They're gone… they're gone, Kageyama."

Kageyama can't stand seeing him like this. This kid is the most ridiculously sunny person… that stupidly bright and inquisitive personality has gotten them both into plenty of trouble. He'd pulled their banter trick in conditioning just last week under his father's nose and earned them a round in the race pits. Kageyama had been salty with him for two days over that fiasco. But seeing him now, Kageyama can't find that person.

He drops down next to the redhead, unable to stop himself. He forces his wings out over them to keep the rain off, the pain from his strained joint be damned.

"Hey." He reaches out and pulls Hinata's teary face up to meet his gaze and supports it there with a hand against his neck to make sure he has the redhead's attention. "It's going to be ok. We will figure it out. I promise."

He's not sure if he says it more for Hinata's benefit or his own. His father is the leader of their murder for a reason. They are over a few thousand strong and no longer scattered and weak because of his guidance. But Kageyama knows the rigid regulations his father follows to have brought them so far…and he knows his father's rules on someone who can't fly.