A/N: Yay! An update! This story is slowly being worked on, along with Hetalia Headcanons. I don't do regular updates because I can't keep with them and have other stuff I have to do. I am still looking for a beta, and I need one dearly. I tried to run this by a few people but didn't get much back. So eh. I need second opinions before I publish them. Also I apologize for France. I have no idea how to go about his personality or his accent. So...
"Alfred, dey have to come out." Ivan told him, medical supplies sorted out next to him on the floor. The Russian made him lay on a pillow, a black bed sheet under him, so as not to stain the floors, which Alfred didn't understand- there were already scuffs and scratches scattered throughout the cabin- so why would it be a problem to let the floors get stained again?
"Can't you at least give me pain meds?" Alfred asked, considering asking the guy to just knock him out instead.
"I told you, I don't have any."
Alfred groaned, Ivan stretching out one of his still-injured wings, sore. His pant's leg on his injured knee pulled up. Ivan handed Alfred a rag, getting stitches and gauze ready, along with other medical supplies.
"What's this for?"
"For vhen you start screaming."
"Wait what?" Alfred said, looking up at him.
"I will have to pull it out- you are going to scream. And screaming gives away location." Ivan responded, unwrapping bandages on his knee.
"I fucking hate you."
"You said that before."
"And I'm saying it again." Alfred remarked, hissing as the bullet hole was cleaned with peroxide. He bit into the cloth, trying not to move. Ivan looked into the wound with a flashlight, seeing the bullet. "Well, it is in there."
"No shit."
Ivan chuckled, cracking his knuckles, and got a pair of tweezers. He cleaned off the tweezers, and then dug in for the bullet.
Alfred screamed into the cloth, grabbing his own hair in an effort not to kick him.
When Ivan got the bullet out, the blond was crying and had the cloth tight between his teeth. The Russian stitched up the wound, then bandaged it and immobilized his knee. He sat back, taking off his gloves and disposing of them.
"Arf yu dune?" Alfred said, muffled by the cloth.
"No, I clean and rebandage vings now."
Alfred groaned.
-x-x-x-
"Arthur... How could you do this? Why would you do this?"
The boy was sitting sideways in a dining chair, various medical supplies resting on the table, Scott and William hunched over in front of him.
Arthur bawled, his head in his hands as Patrick poured peroxide over his back. The boy wailed, screaming out as the peroxide bubbled and sizzled against his skin. "Because-" He blubbered between sobs, using great intakes of breath between them. "Because- I wanted to-"
The boy felt so undignified and ashamed. He wanted his wings off- he wanted to be like the other people. He wanted to be normal. Patrick wiped his back gently with a cloth, Arthur sucking in snot protruding from his nose, drool escaping his mouth from his sobbing. William bent down and wiped his face with a paper towel.
"But why, Arthur?" Scott persisted.
The boy whined, William moving to hold his wrists together and pinning him in his sitting position. He cried out and screamed as Patrick started stitching his back, then wrapped bandage around his torso, his brothers telling him it would alright and it would be over soon.
It was agonizing. Arthur could feel his skin being pulled and woven into- the needle running in and out of his skin, tightening it.
Arthur sucked in another breath, wiping tears away. "I want to be like the other people- we're not normal Scott..."
"You're not making sense..." Scott replied.
"Look at us... I can't even walk down the street without being stared at. People notice the hump and how I walk hunched over... And then how I never take off my jacket inside... And that I never lay on my back- I don't take off my shirt at the pool- or in the shower-"
He took in a large sob.
"Listen- Arthur-" He looks up, William putting his hand on his shoulder. "You could've died- we didn't think you would do this... And you scared us-"
"What about me though?!"
"Arthur-" Patrick had moved in front of him now, sitting down in front of him.
"But what about how I feel?"
"Arthur, you can be a normal human being now. . . But you've isolated yourself from us... And your family- and the man you love the most. You can be normal, but you can't be like us."
"What?"
"Shame..."
"What are you-" Arthur looked over at Scott.
His jaw dropped, and started screaming.
Scott was standing now, his skin turned unnaturally pale. He staggered, towering over Arthur, his wing spreading and drooping, dropping the the floor, and feathers dropping to the floor.
His eyes grey and lifeless.
"Shame..."
Patrick and William now stood up, all three approaching him.
"What- Stop-" Arthur found himself unable to move, his brothers grabbing and groping his arms, and clawing his back. He screamed, crying out.
"Shame!"
"Why are you doing this?!" Arthur struggled wildly, thrashing.
"SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!"
"Stop it!" Arthur twisted and screamed, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand, swinging blindly, and hearing William cry out. The boy looked at his brother in fear, the knife clanging to the floor and his brothers dropping him, backing away.
William was hunched over, his wings held close to his body, his head in his hands, blood dripping on the floor.
"William? William I'm sorry I-"
Arthur stood up, finding himself to be the same height as his brothers, his hands covered in blood. His hands started shaking, and his gaze travelled upwards to look at his brother, blood seeping from his face and dripping onto the floor. "William-"
"Dad?"
Arthur froze in place.
Alfred now looked up at him, a slash across his face blood running out freely, palms covered in blood, his left wing at an odd angle.
"Oh my god- Alfred-" Arthur grabbed a rag, stepping towards his son. "Alfred I-" Francis slid in front of him, glorious white wings spreading out behind him, shielding his son. Arthur glanced to his left, Matthew holding a chair between him and Arthur defensively, slowly moving behind Francis.
"Francis- please I-" Arthur started, his throat starting to burn and his face becoming hot.
Francis hissed at him, straightening up, feathers unfurled. Arthur stepped away- scared, knowing full well Francis would mail him in this state. "Francis- calm down please-"
"Calm down? Calm down?! Arthur- you stay away from those boys or I will break your spine."
Arthur found himself clutching another knife tightly in his hand, tip pointed at his partner. He could hear Alfred crying now- holding his face in his hands. "Francis listen- Alfred needs help-" he took a step forward, Francis screeching at him.
"Away!"
Matthew was trying to help Alfred now, his efforts in vain.
"Please listen to me!"
"Listen to you- how can I? I can't even look at you- You want to be a normal human don't you?! You want all of us to be normal! What, are you ashamed of us? Of your family? Of your brothers? Of me?"
"No- No- Francis that's not it-"
"Then what is it?!" Francis was holding a blade in side hand now- ready to pounce.
"I- I just-" Arthur deflated, tears falling freely now. "Please I-" He took another step, Francis screeching and leaping at him.
Arthur was pinned down, knife at his throat.
"You think it's all about you, don't you? You and how presentable we need to be." Francis growled.
"You are a disgrace Arthur Kirkland. A stranger to normal people, and an outcast to your own." The blade pressed against his jugular. "And most of all Arthur..."
The blade started to moving.
"I can never forgive you."
Arthur shot up in bed, screaming, causing Francis to wake up. The Englishman found his body covered in sweat, the sheets damp and his clothes wet. His screaming turned into hyperventilating, Francis wrapping his arms around him, letting him cry into the Frenchman's chest. His gasping turned into sobbing and wailing, tears wetting the others shirt.
Arthur was disgusted with himself- a smelly and damp mess, wailing and sobbing.
Arthur hated crying- he hated crying in front of others. Crying over emotions. It showed weakness. It showed that he had an opening, something someone could use against him- harm him.
He especially hated crying in front of Francis. With how much they bickered between themselves- letting himself show weakness in front of him felt the most humiliating of all.
Francis was speaking to him in soothing and tired French, trying to calm him down.
"Francis- Francis I'm so sorry- It's all my fault."
Weak.
Francis cooed, white wings flapping, and rubbing Arthur's back in comfort. His cries had turned into sobbing, Francis pushed him away to look at his face, wiping away tears.
"Arthur, what happened?"
Said blond started sobbing again, telling him everything.
"Maybe it's best if we stay for a while- least until Matthew knows he's safe with us."
"No- no- we need to find Alfred..."
"Arthur- look at yourself- I'm just as worried about Alfred as you are- but we'll have no luck finding him if you're emotionally unstable, Matthew can't trust you- and a wild goose chase reaps no rewards, non?"
Arthur could feel fingers pointing at him.
"Your fault."
"You caused this!"
"SHAME!"
Arthur broke into tears again, Francis doing what he could to comfort him. "I'm sorry- you- you're right. You're right- soon as we have a lead we'll leave." He wanted to punch himself for saying that. "If Alfred gets hurt bad, we'll feel it- he's okay."
-x-x-x-
"I AM GOING TO FUCKING KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU SAY THAT AGAIN."
"How can you kick my ass if you can barely stand?"
"I WILL FIND A FUCKING WAY."
"So vulgar..." Ivan taunted, standing over him and his crumple form on the floor.
Alfred, determined to start walking again, struggled to get up. And after asking him 30 times, he convinced Ivan to 'coach' him. (More to make sure he didn't slack off.)
Alfred's knee was still healing- he believed he didn't have time to let it fully recover, wanting to leave the creepy cabin in the middle of the woods and the forest with a avian hunter and psycho dogs as soon as possible.
Making Ivan take up the task to get Alfred back on his feet- literally.
"Come on malyutka! Get up! Get up!"
Malyutka. Ivan had started calling him that to insult him. It meant little one, the first thing Ivan went for to insult him was their height difference. And it was oddly affectionate. Which only pissed off Alfred more.
Ivan spit on the floor in front of him. "You fat pig-"
Alfred snarled, pushing himself up.
"Get up, get up!" The Russian roared, "Or are you so weak that you cannot even stand?"
Every insulting and humiliating thing that Ivan called him made Alfred want to get up and run- prove him wrong. Prove to him that he was strong and agile. He didn't understand why he felt like he needed to- but a fire in him screeched for him to get up and kick Ivan in the face.
But he couldn't.
"You vant to be hero, don't you?!" Ivan screamed, getting in his face.
"Yes-!" Alfred screamed back.
"Then get up! Vhat kind of hero are you if you cannot stand?!"
Alfred growled, pushing himself up on his elbows.
"A real hero must struggle!" Ivan yelled, stomping his foot. "Come on, get up! Get up you weak and spineless boy! Get up!" Alfred snarled at him again, his teeth baring. Ivan traced an X across his face. "Get up. Get up and punch me."
A real hero must struggle.
Alfred pushed himself up on his knees, slowly getting up, legs shaking and wobbling back and forth. He stabilized himself on a stool, leg still wobbling, Ivan standing a few feet away from him. Determined to punch him, Alfred started running, tripping over his own feet and falling forward, Ivan catching him before he fell on his face and started laughing at him. "God I hate you."
"I am aware of this."
Ivan walks him go back to the stool, making him stand without leaning on anything. When he was able to stand, Ivan made him walk a few feet. Only to trip and collapse in his arms again.
They repeat this, until Alfred could walk without collapsing into Ivan's arms- which- upon giving the Russian a bruised cheek, he had never so satisfied to harm anyone before.
Ivan made him sit back down on the bed, the sun going down. "I need to go out- I am running low on wood and food. I will be back, do not break anything." The Russian turned away, walking to the door, and unlocked the several deadbolts around the door. He paused, hand on the doorknob. "If I am not back by sunrise, grab vhatever supplies you can- burn cabin to ground and run." This freaked Alfred out a bit but he nodded anyway. Ivan then tasked him with keeping the fire lit and protecting the cabin, while the Russian went out for food. He had been given a walkie talkie if he was in danger.
"You think I can't defend myself?"
"Alfred, you can barely walk without tripping."
Nevertheless, Ivan was right, and Alfred wanted to punch him because he was right. But Alfred knew it wasn't wise to bite the hand that fed him. Which also pissed him off. He hated being helpless- he couldn't fly, and could barely walk. And this fucker was babying him.
And he didn't even know this Fucker.
Their days repeated like this- Alfred got the hang of walking and Ivan left him alone.
Alfred had tested the Walkie Talkie, pressing call on it, and Ivan seemed to be there in a flash. This was strange to Alfred. So strange. Someone who seemed to be constantly looking out for him- but why?
But as soon as he was healed, this guy was going to be his partner- exploring together.
He might as well learn about his new friend.
Alfred's gaze went to the dresser- it seemed to be the only storage thing in here, other than the nightstand by the bed, so there had to be things in there. He limped his way over to it, briefly observing the top of it. A rag, a home-made first aid kit, and three sunflowers in a vase, which shook as he opened the top drawer on the left side. It seemed to be empty, and Alfred dug around in the drawer, finding a false bottom and setting it on the floor.
The first thing he saw was a large folder held together with tape and a rubber band. Alfred felt confused as he opened the folder. The first few papers were childish drawings, some done in colors, others in a brown substance that Alfred didn't recognize. He could make out three smiling faces, captioned with a language in unknown symbols. Alfred flipped through the many drawings, some happy and the three faces reoccurring, each entry seeming to be dated and captioned with strange symbols. Only one entry showed the faces with wings, but were crossed out in the next entry. Eventually three more faces joined, the drawings becoming better quality and the symbols less confused and scratchy. The last few pages were blank. Alfred dug into the drawer again, finding pencils and a box of well worn colored pencils. He set them on top of the dresser. He stopped at his next finding. A photo of Ivan and few others. Two girls, one who wanted to kill the camera, one with rather large boobs, and three men who seemed to be terrified but forcing themselves to smile.
A blue X was drawn across both of the girls mid-sections, and a red X across a man with glasses.
He flipped it around, seeing more of the strange symbols, what looked like a few names, three of them crossed out.
The next thing he found was a single blue feather, wrapped in cloth.
He moved to the next drawer, finding more paper and writing utensils, as well a few books. (Again, written in an alien language.)
Next drawer, another false bottom and Alfred finding knives, rope, and a gun with a silencer.
Next drawer, sewing materials and more bandages a few pill bottles and- pain killers!
"So he did have them!" Cursing Ivan under his breath, he set the painkillers to the side and put back in the false bottom, moving on. The remainder of the drawers containing a few miscellaneous objects and clothes.
As he dug through Ivan's things, he failed to notice the door opening.
-x-x-x-
With Arthur asleep, Francis snuck out of the room. He made two calls, wanting to meet with his friends and discuss with them and Matthew about where to look first.
Matthew and Francis sat across the bed from each other, sitting in an awkward and still silence.
His son broke it first.
"How do you hide your wings?"
Francis stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Your wings are nearly fourteen feet long- how are you hiding them? It looks like you don't have any."
"Well- most of us have these… Things in our backs. They are slits of skin close to our spines, and my wings fold themselves in there. It's hard- and honestly takes a while to get used to. They don't develop for a long time- some don't develop them at all. And even then they are difficult to use. When one is enraged, your wings, out of instinct, will fly out, making you appear bigger and more lethal. So emotions come into play. And baggy or loose shirts are recommended- or sweaters, just in case…"
"Do I get them?"
"There is a possibility- I've noticed the younger ones tend to have them. If you were to have them then Alfred probably would-"
Rapid knocking on the door interrupted them, causing both to jump. Francis went to the door, greeted by a familiar face. "Ah- Antonio- where is Gilbert?"
"Me amigo! How nice to see you! Gilbert wouldn't come- he said he was watching over things and he needed to keep an eye on his brother." The Spaniard said, hiding his disappointment as he walked in, sitting on a chair and smiling at Matthew. "Any leads on Alfred?"
Francis shook his head.
"Ah- I have asked around- No one's said anything about a UFO, or any extremely large birds. The sisters didn't report anything- Romano had nothing. I don't think anyone's seen him or where he went- which is odd- most of us can feel things like that."
Francis nodded this time, sitting down in a chair across from Antonio. "It doesn't make sense either- Alfred isn't the best flyer- so he couldn't have gotten that far."
"Where would he go, though?" Antonio asked, resting his elbows on the table.
"America. He's heading for America."
Both men turned to look at Matthew, who moved to the end of the bed, facing the two.
"Why do you think that?"
"Alfred wants to go back to his birthplace- I would. So it only makes sense he wants to do that. For all we know, he could be trying to find his original life… His original home and such. From what I know about my brother- he likes exploring. And he wants to go to America."
"Your boy has a good point, Francis."
The Frenchmen nodded again. "Oui. So- if he is trying to head for America then we know he didn't try to fly over the Atlantic. He's not that dumb- Matthew and I can tell he's not dead- just hurt maybe. So we know he went East- Matthew, can you get my map out of my backpack?"
The Canadian nodded, going and fetching the map, and laying it out on the table, and gave Francis a pen.
His father drew a circle around Spain, and an arrow indicating East. "So the closest way would to be to go through- no…."
"What?"
"What if Alfred got lost?"
-x-x-x-
When Ivan had walked inside the cabin, firewood in one arm and two dead rabbits in the other, seeing Alfred digging through his drawers, a folder and a book set on the top misshapenly.
Ivan cleared his throat, speaking in the clearest English he could. Alfred jumped.
"What, are you doing?"
Alfred whipped around, a wing hitting the dresser and shaking it. He yelped from the pain, falling to the floor from his weak knee, as the vase of sunflowers tipped over. Ivan gasped, dropping everything and leaping across the room, grabbing the folder and the photo as the sunflowers and water spilled over the top of the dresser. The vase rolled off the dresser smashing into pieces on the floor. He set the folder on the bed, along with the photo. Ivan took in a breath, his gaze going to the other.
"Alfred."
Said blond felt terror strike into his veins. He crawled away from Ivan, laughing nervously, trying to get back up. "Uh- Dude- uh-"
"Why... were, you digging, in my possessions?"
Alfred felt hair rise on the back of his neck. He had noticed that Ivan had trouble sounding his W's. And now, hearing him struggling and taking his time to speak clearly, he knew Ivan was mad. "Well- um- I- I was looking for painkillers- uh." Ivan now towered over him, intense violet eyes focused on his every move. Violent eyes glaring at him, staring him down, daring for him to make a wrong move, daring him to lie.
Alfred had noticed that Ivan was rarely focused on one thing- thinking over things a lot and sitting in silent with his thought. He had never seen Ivan give something his undivided attention.
And now Alfred had it.
He was silent, half-panicked and realizing he was backed against the dresser, cornered.
"Alfred."
The Russian's wings had extended now, creating a wall and trapping Alfred in place.
"Well- um-" Alfred sucked in a breath, standing up and meeting his gaze, narrowing his eyes, trying to size up the other man.
"Why were you digging in my possessions?" Ivan asked again, agitated, his feathers ruffling, and making himself seem larger, towering over the other. "Tell me why or I will throw you outside and leave you to die."
Alfred could tell that was a genuine threat.
"Well- look- Yes, I was looking for painkillers, and I wanted to make sure you weren't some crazy Ax-Murderer either."
The man seemed to calm down now, his wings retracting and a smile Alfred had yet to grow accustomed to. His smile could be described as, I am going to murder you in your sleep you little shit but look at my sweet innocent face.
"Vell Alfred, if I did plan on killing you, I would have done it already."
Alfred felt a chill go down his spine, and straightened himself up, Ivan walking to the dresser and examining his findings.
"So, what is all this stuff?"
Ivan put the journal back in without a word, taking a rag and wiping away the water, then picking up the photograph. "This is my family." He said, showing the photo to Alfred briefly.
"Why the X's?"
"Blue means I do not know where they are, red means- well, I'm sure you can deduce that."
Red means dead. Alfred realized, watching Ivan put the photo in the journal, then putting back in the false bottom and then the pencils and colored pencils.
Alfred started asking a lot of questions as Ivan picked up his mess, wanting to know more about him. "You said you didn't have any painkillers- so what are these?" He said, holding up the bottle of pills.
"Depends. I few medications. For example- the one in your hand is cyanide." Ivan said, folding up the clothes Alfred had thrown about.
He dropped the bottle- "What- Why do you have poison here?!"
"You never know when you need it." Ivan shrugged.
Alfred paused, glancing at the photo. "Who are they?"
Ivan growled, finding his broom and handing it to Alfred. "Clean up vase. I rather liked that one."
Alfred looked at him, then sweeping up the glass shards, mumbling. "You didn't answer my question." He said, throwing the shards in the trash and leaning the broom against the wall.
"Vhy should I tell you my vhole life story?" The Russian countered, recollecting the fire wood and animals he had dropped, putting the wood by the fire and wrapping the rabbits in cloth, and then sitting on the pillows.
"Because I'm still not sure if you're an ax murderer or not. Besides, you've already told me some stuff-" Alfred sat across from him, legs crossed.
"Maybe later- I ask now." Ivan paused, in thought, his eyes studying Alfred.
"How did you end up in woods?"
Alfred shifts, staring back at him. "Pass."
Ivan straightens up. "Favorite color."
"Red, white, and blue, but I like brown and Magenta too."
Ivan tilted his head. "Why?"
"Blue reminds me of the sea and the sky- red is blood, white is like, hope and purity. Brown is calming and a nice color. And Magenta- it's vivid and lively- but still has this weird dark undertone. You?"
"I like red and yellow. Yellow reminds me of the sun and sunflowers, and how happy and alive they are. Red is deep and has many meanings."
Alfred nodded, making himself more comfortable. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"Nineteen- shit you're old."
Ivan scoffed. "Fine then- hobbies."
"Well, I like archeology. And super heroes. And I like birds of prey- especially Eagles. You?"
"I like art, knitting, and some music. Hunting, too."
"Is that it?"
Ivan shrugged. "Not much to do around here..."
"Boring and old." Alfred mumbled, something swinging around and hitting him, knocking him over and onto the pillows. "What the- did you just hit me?!"
"With ving, yes."
Alfred looked at him for a moment, dumbfounded, then sat back up. "Where'd you learn English?"
"I taught myself. It's very difficult, help pass time too- I thought vas needed, since spoken by so many."
"Do you use it much?"
"No, but I have to practice, or I vill forget."
"Why can't you speak very clearly?"
Ivan stared at him now, a hard look in his eyes, as if he'd been challenged. "Yazyki-"
The rest of the words couldn't register in Alfred's mind. They were strange and alien, sounding similar to garbled speech. Alfred raised an eyebrow.
"Languages very different. I am Russian, so I have Russian accent- language lacks articles and double-u sounds." Ivan told him, amused by his confusion. "And compared to other languages, English is very confusing."
"No it's not!" Alfred said, sitting up and glaring. "Tell me how it's confusing-"
"There, their, they're- do, due- then you have words that are spelled same but said different and mean different- like wound and wound, wind and wind. And then you Americans spell things differently-" He paused. "Like favour, or favourite. Why do you do that?"
"Because fuck the British." Alfred said bluntly, sitting back.
Ivan snorted, then regaining his calmness. "But weren't you raised in England?"
"No- I was born in America. I lived there when I was little."
"How did you end up in Europe then?"
"Vhy should I tell you my life story?" Alfred retorted, folding his arms and smirking- using Ivan's words against him and imitating his accent.
Ivan rolled his eyes, then sucked in a breath, looking at Alfred. "But do tell me, vhy vere you in woods? I don't see many people around here- besides the hunter and the occasional hiker or lost soul..."
"Lost soul?" Alfred asked, tilting his head.
"Someone who lost in woods. Some of them are very strange dough..." Ivan tapped on his chin. "They wear tin foil hats and bring lots of cameras and sensors. And set up lots of traps and things- the hunter does not like them. Says they make too much noise."
Alfred squinted, leaning in on his elbows, then sat up. "Hold on- dude."
"Hm?" Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"Monster Hunters. You're talking about Monster Hunters."
"Vhat?"
"They're people who look for monsters. Like Bigfoot or the Yeti."
The Russian shook his head, then cleared his throat. "You still haven't answered my question."
Alfred went silent for a moment, turning to look at the fire.
"Vhy did you come into my woods?" Ivan repeated.
He sucked in a breath. "I. . . I ran- flew away from home." Alfred told him, still looking at the fire.
"Vhy?"
He sighed. "I was scared."
"Of?"
"My Dad."
"Vhy?"
Alfred didn't say anything- staring at the fire, his wings suddenly feeling heavier. He looked over his shoulder, observing his bandaged wings, the little scruffs on them, the patches, the new scratches and bruises. His eyes trailed down, a ragged and dark scar, a line of flesh that stuck out of his wing.
"My dad tried to cut off my wings."
Ivan sat up, raising an eyebrow. "Your wings…?"
"Yea- Dad told me that they would be a hinderance on my life- I couldn't be a normal person with them. He chased me into the bathroom and held me down- and he started sawing away at them- My stepdad barges in, throws him off me, they fight, he sleeps on the couch that night, and the next thing I know me and my brother are packing up our bags and moving out of the house. I was maybe- Thirteen? Or so? It was right before school was going to start back up- and we had gotten back from my uncle's home in Scotland. No- I probably would've been twelve."
"Who is your father?" Ivan suddenly asked.
"Arthur Kirkland?"
"Oh…" Ivan said, leaning over.
"What?" Alfred shot back, defensive.
Ivan stared at him, almost right through him. "I have heard of Arthur Kirkland. . . Mostly on the grapevine. . ."
Alfred sat up as well, eyes wide. "What do you know about my dad?"
"I believe the question is, what do you know about your dad?" Ivan asked him, squinting.
"I know he lost his wings in an accident."
Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't tell me anything else- I know that he has a few brothers- I lost count of them-" Alfred paused. "He's an accountant, or something. Some really boring job. He used to work somewhere else, I think it had something to do with animals? But something happened and he quit. Why- do you know him?"
Ivan shook his head. "Not exactly- most of us know each other in one way or another. Some of us used to travel in Flocks- and were out to find others like themselves. I had a rather large flock- but we had to split up."
"What happened?"
"That… Is story for different day."
"Fine- whatever- what about my dad?"
Ivan paused, then took in a breath. "Arthur Kirkland is bane and outcast of our kind."