Chapter Sixteen: Inventing the Superhug

Waking was slow. The satin of a bedsheet beneath him. A form-fitting pillow under his head – the Memory Foam pillow that Alanna had gotten him for his last birthday. Steady breathing on either side – sure signs that he'd had one of those nights, when he needed every bit of magic his nipotes could share to bring his senses back under control. The ragged remnants of a migraine, confirming his prior observation.

Then his ear twitched. His. Ear. Twitched. He started to jerk upright, only to freeze at a complaining bird noise. From above and behind, on his back, right between his wings. Wait…wings…? As if in confirmation, he felt them arch up, away from the bed, and his brain finally caught up enough to realize there was one more kid in his bed than he was used to. Dean wriggled closer to him, not waking, but letting out a soft complaint – it took an embarrassingly long moment to figure out his wings had been acting as makeshift blankets for his son and nephew.

Reaching up, Greg felt the top of his head, grimacing when his fingers touched furry, feather ears, tucked in the back, right about where they'd be if he was fully transformed. Concentrating, he evaluated everything he could feel, grimace deepening as he felt his gryphon tail give a little flick, right against his furry, transformed legs. At least his fingers hadn't changed into talons.

Gently, he brought his wings back down, curling them around the two teenagers on either side of him. The phoenix on his back settled, trilling a sleepy tune that went right through his bones; his eyelids drooped and he yawned, 'hearing' his gryphon side's laughter in the back of his mind. "Shut up," he muttered as he drifted back to sleep.

The second time he woke up, he was alone, though the indentions on either side confirmed he hadn't dreamed his kids being there the first time. Greg yawned and stretched, smiling as curling his spine just so caused a slight crackling sound. Unable to help himself, he arched the other way and shook himself out, just as he'd often done in his gryphon form. His wings and tail shook right along with his shoulders, flinging a few loose feathers out into the air.

Careful, Parker pushed himself up on his hands, keenly aware that his wings precluded rolling onto either side. It took another few seconds to get his knees under him – they seemed to be bending in a different direction than he was used to. But once he was on all fours, he was able to scoot backwards off the bed.

With his feet under him and no longer restricted by the bed's proximity, Greg arched one wing around, inspecting it for damage. He didn't find any, though some of his flight feathers appeared to have been sheared off partway up the shaft (7), giving that section of wing a very…sharp appearance. Frowning, he tugged at the damaged feathers, wincing at the pain – definitely not ready for molting. At least his gryphon instincts weren't very concerned; he could still fly, albeit with some extra effort until new flight feathers grew in. Sighing, he ran his hands over the rest of his wing, probing for any more loose feathers. A few presented themselves and he plucked them free. Once he was done with the first wing, he checked the other, unsurprised to find several more sheared flight feathers in the same general area as the first batch had been.

Done with his preening – and he was so not admitting to that around his kids or his team – Greg turned towards his closet and the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the door. He pulled the door open, positioning it so he had enough room to back up. Moving to the center of his bedroom, Parker inhaled, braced himself, and whirled.

Staring back at him was a half-human, half-gryphon figure. His hazel eyes were dappled with their native magical scarlet and a pair of medium-brown furry, feathery ears twitched from atop his head, tucked in the remnants of his dark-brown hair. Remnants that were darker than he was used to – hadn't he had a little more gray the day before?

Brown human-sized eagle wings bracketed his shoulders on either side, the leading edges sporting a darker shade than the rest of his wings. Deep brown, though not dark enough to be mistaken for black. His legs were lion-like, complete with lion paws for feet and the backwards knees of a four-legged animal, colored the same medium-brown shade as his ears, complimenting his wings nicely. The back of his legs seemed to be a different color; he craned down to see a pale, creamy hue. His tail lashed around and into view – its fur a dead match for the majority of his lion half and the feathers a match for his wings, save for two feathers on either side of the 'fan' which had turned a silvery hue, forming a rough 'V' shape.

Blinking, Greg shifted his attention back to his wings, flaring them out a tad to see the feathers better… There; on both wings, near the bottom, a couple flight feathers had also turned silver – ironically, it was the same flight feathers on either side, giving his silver feathers a symmetrical appearance. Flushing, he folded his wings, hiding the silver from easy sight, and forced himself to inspect his human half.

He was still in his Narnian armor – why hadn't that been… removed… Oh. Greg partially turned, craning back at the mirror to see as much of his back as possible. Around his wings, he could see most of his back had shifted to a mix of fur and feathers reminiscent of his gryphon form. His armor, rather than being destroyed by the eruption of his wings, now blended right into his…gryphon flesh. Removing it was impossible, not without hurting him or destroying the garments. Experimentally, Greg tugged at his leather-like jacket, wincing as his back protested. Yep – it was basically part of him at the moment. Lovely.

His wings slumped down at the morose turn of his thoughts; he blinked at the mirror for that instinctive telegraph of his inner emotions. So…he was more emotionally sensitive in this…form… Interesting; Parker forced his wings back up and set one portion of his mind on keeping them in place even as the rest of him revisited the sulking. His wings slumped down again, but not as much as the first time, and jolted right back up as soon as he stopped sulking.

Frowning, Greg rubbed his chin. So. He could probably train himself to control that outward expression of emotion, but was it even worth it? It wasn't like he'd be negotiating as a half-human, half-gryphon hybrid. On the other hand… It might help with regulating his gryphon side; although his gryphon instincts had been under his control ever since Texas, whenever they rose to the surface, emotional control was harder.

After a few more seconds of thought, Greg shrugged – his wings bounced along with his shoulders – and set the idea aside to consider later. Inspecting his human half again, he realized some of his armor had been removed. The gauntlets – and his holster. Turning, he spied all three – the gauntlets on one bedside table and the holster on the other.

He was about to start for the closest piece of armor – the holster – when someone barged through his bedroom door. Parker snapped around, automatically defensive – his wings arched and lion-like ears laid back – before he registered who it was.

"Dean!" He was across the room in two bounding strides and swept his son up in a bear hug. He felt his wings curl forward, nestling into place around his son even as he lowered his head to Dean's, trembling with relief and joy. So close. He'd been so close to losing all of this forever. Locked on the outside, staring in as his gryphon half touched his children. Hugged his children. Even if he was stuck in this half-human, half-gryphon state, at least he was himself again.

Dean flailed a moment before he sucked in a breath and hugged back. "Dad…"

Greg reared back so he could look down. "Hurt you…?" Wait, what?

His son froze, looking up as if all his hopes had vanished, right before his eyes. "Elias?"

The stocky man blinked – Who came up with that? – and shook his head. "Me again." A grimace broke free. "Almost…" The grimace deepened as he reached for his magic; his eyes burned as he forced his tongue to work properly. "Talking seems to be an issue."

His head throbbed warning and Parker released the magic, struggling to hide the wince.

"Dad, stop," Dean ordered. "Is it still bad?"

Still bad…? He dared not reach for his magic again, but… "What…mean…?"

His son's eyes darkened. " 'Lanna told me last night about how sometimes you come home and your magic's sick."

Understanding broke through. He'd never phrased it quite like that, but it wasn't a half-bad way to put it. "Probably," he admitted, letting go of his son so he could rub his chest. "Whole again, but…"

"But it prolly used up a lot of magic?" Dean offered.

"Yeah." Embarrassed, Greg fidgeted. "Sorry."

His son grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down, so close their foreheads touched again. "Don't," he whispered, right on the edge of tears. "You're back."

His wings moved of their own volition, wrapping around his son again as his arms followed suit. "Yes," he murmured, "I'm back."

And if his son cried into his armor, he'd never tell.

Once they'd both calmed down, Dean helped him buckle his gauntlets back in place – he was hoping Lance or Alanna would have some idea on how he could get back to being purely human, but part of him had a sneaking suspicion he'd need to be fully geared to do so. Accordingly, after the gauntlets were on and secure, Greg moved to the opposite side of his bed and collected his holster. It took quite a bit of tugging and some help from his son – the belt and holster straps were settling differently than he was used to, a fact that confused him even as he and Dean worked around the unexpected challenge.

Frustrated by the way the holster was refusing to align properly with his leg, Greg kept tugging at it even after it was strapped in place. Just as it finally slid into the position he was used to, his thumb touched a small rune engraved on the holster, just below the retention hood on the side of the holster, right on the curve where his gun grip would jut up, easily accessible. The entire holster glowed for an instant and he felt a familiar weight materialize on his right leg. Dean reared back, gawking at the Glock 17 that hadn't been there a moment before.

"What the…?"

Parker heaved a sigh, hanging his head. "Summoning," he explained, rubbing around the rune. "If someone takes…"

If he had to guess, it had probably been either Eddie or Wordy. Maybe Lou if his wild side's memories of the night before were accurate. But that hardly mattered to the enchantment on his holster. If he didn't remove his weapon, then its magic latched onto the Glock, allowing him to reclaim it with a simple press of the rune.

Carefully drawing on his magic, he focused on Dean. "Look, can you go get your siblings?" A split second later, his choice of words ran through his head again and he cringed. Darn it, he hadn't meant to say that!

Dean looked up in time to see the cringe and grinned at his abashed father. "Dad, seriously. I already knew."

Knew…? He gave his son a quizzical look, brows arching in time with an inquiring head tilt, perked ears, and one wing hiked higher than the other.

The curly-haired brunet blinked at him, surprised by the way his gryphon-half moved in time with his human side. Then Dean shrugged and replied, "I knew in Texas that they were basically my brother and sister. You treat 'em like they're yours."

"Mio nipotes," he pointed out. He'd never, ever denied the role Artorius and Victoria had played in their children's lives.

"I know," Dean agreed, soft, but determined. "But you love them just as much as you love me. You went after 'em even when you couldn't remember them." His eyes, a shade lighter than his father's, turned playful. "Didja adopt 'em as soon as they came in the door? Or did it take a week?"

Greg felt his face burn as he turned bright-red.

Dean conspired to send his cousins in one at a time, gleefully setting them up for his father's currently very impressive hugs. Watching from the outside was almost as good as experiencing them – 'Lanna nearly vanished as his Dad's gryphon wings curled around her, but Lance was tall enough that he had to lower his head to meet his Dad's. Not for the first time, Dean wondered just how tall Lance's parents had been, that their son could compete with Ed and Wordy for height.

Afterwards, 'Lanna shared her magic with his Dad – Dean was curious why it was 'Lanna and not Lance, but knew better than to ask. Especially since his brain was remembering just how tired Lance had been the night before, right around the same time Ed, Wordy, and Sam had brought his Dad, er, Elias, home.

Then 'Lanna pulled back, violet dying away from her fingers. Her earnest gaze rose to his Dad. "Uncle Greg, what happened?"

Greg Parker's smile lit the room. "Well, sweetheart, the short version is Aslan overruled the Old Religion's Judgment."

Dean felt his eyes widen. "Lance didn't bust you out?"

His Dad jumped and Lance ducked his head, flushing. Hazel peered at him, gryphon wings hiking up again. "Dean?"

"I, um, I crashed right after they brought you home, Uncle Greg," Lance confessed. " 'Lanna had to tell Dean about, um, you-know-what."

His father considered the response, frowning thoughtfully. "Well, son, my gryphon side did pull your cousin in to, um, bust me out, but the curse was more than either of us could handle."

Oh. "So the big guy had to save you?" Dean ventured.

His father chuckled at the description and nodded. Growing serious, he met each of his charges' eyes. "Aslan could've done that before last night, kids. He held off 'cause my team tried to force a solution."

"They were gonna let it run?" 'Lanna blurted, going deathly pale.

"Yes, sweetheart, they were," his Dad confirmed, sorrowful. "I don't think I have to tell any of you how badly that would've turned out." Dean nodded along with his cousins – letting the bad guys win didn't sound like a good plan to him. On his father's face, sorrow transformed into determination. "They need to learn that, sometimes, you just have to have faith. Wait for a solution instead of going for the easy way out."

For a long minute, silence draped the whole room, not even broken by the ticking of an analog clock. Then his father shook himself, wings and tail shaking themselves out as the furry, feathery ears on his head flexed independently of each other. "Well," he said, hazel falling on Dean's cousins. "Maybe one of you have some ideas…?" As he spoke, he gestured to himself.

"Did you try just shifting?" Lance asked.

Hazel blinked. "What, like I'd do if I was in my gryphon form?"

"Yeah," his cousin confirmed, nodding.

Dean's father frowned, but closed his eyes, jaw tightening. There was a shiver in the air, then his form blurred and reappeared, fully human with nary a sign of any gryphon features. Well…except for a solitary brown eagle feather that drifted down and landed on his Dad's shoulder. Dean snickered at the askance look his father gave the feather.

Shortly after transforming back to his purely human form, Greg was obliged to shift back to his new partial form – all three of his kids insisted pictures were essential. Lance even conspired to use a spell that tickled his back right as 'Lanna was about to take a picture – his wings spread of their own volition and his silver feathers were captured on film for the whole world to see. He tried to confiscate the camera, but Dean 'accidentally' got in his way, yelling for 'Lanna to run.

She fled, giggling the whole way to her room – by the time he disentangled himself from the boys and caught up, she'd saved copies of the prime blackmail in at least six different locations, only two of which were on her laptop. And since he'd forgotten to shift back to fully human, the little minx snapped her camera up and took several more pictures before he could scramble back to the safety of the darker hallway.

He rumbled a half-hearted growl at his snickering children, only to sigh as his stomach echoed the growl. Shifting fully back to human, he landed his kids with a glare. "I. Am going to take off this armor and go take a shower. By the time I get out, there'd better be enough breakfast for a small army on the table or I pull out Dean's baby photos." He grinned at his son's paling face. "And theirs," he finished, gesturing to his nipotes; they went just as pale, remembering that their uncle knew exactly where the Calvin Family photo album was.

Threat delivered, Parker headed back to his bedroom and stripped off every last bit of his armor. The Glock went into his under-the-bed gun safe and he temporarily evicted his personal gun – his work gun was loaded and the odds of anyone getting past the kids while he took a shower were nil.

Surveying his discarded armor, he muttered something impolite under his breath and lifted his head. "Mindy!"

The house-elf popped into the room. "Master be calling?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah." He rested a hand on the closest piece of armor, the leather-like jacket. "Could you please clean all this and get it back to me by the time I get out of the shower?" He didn't want to wear the armor for at least a month, but his team was in dire need of a sharp lesson after the near debacle of the night before. He'd warned them and they'd understood his warnings – only to ignore them just because he was on the line. It couldn't happen again – which meant making darn sure he scared them bad enough that they wouldn't do it again.

Mindy bobbed her head and gathered everything up before popping away.

Left alone, the lieutenant blew out a breath, rubbed at his head, and rose to collect the towel he'd grabbed from the bathroom before stripping out of his armor. Time for a very long shower.

As he joined his kids in the kitchen and saw the assortment of breakfast items laid out, Greg Parker felt almost human again. And he absolutely felt all the way human again as he bit into the homemade French toast his nipote had made for him. Rich, coated in butter, and drizzled with syrup – perfect. He had to guard the plate of sausages – his sons were eyeing it greedily – but the eggs over easy were left to him without an ounce of regret. Lance preferred scrambled, Dean only liked eggs with omelets, and 'Lanna adored Eggs Benedict, turning up her nose at any eggs that weren't hard-boiled or poached.

Halfway through his meal, the hunger pangs were sated enough that he could slow down and take his time. Taking the opening, he collected another two sausages and nudged the plate towards his meat-eater sons. "You can have that as long as I can open a topic we haven't discussed in several months."

Three sets of eyes examined him warily. "What topic is that, Dad?" Dean ventured, speaking for all of them.

Greg sighed, letting himself sag down an instant. "Marina."

The teenagers tensed, but there was a thoughtful expression on Alanna's face as she looked from the plate of sausages to Greg and back. "She was there, wasn't she?"

"Sam didn't say anything about her," Dean argued.

"But there's no other reason Uncle Greg would bring her up now," the redhead pointed out, turning to her guardian expectantly. "So?"

Parker nodded. "Yes, 'Lanna, she was there." He nudged a piece of French toast around his plate. "As a matter of fact, we knew it was a trap before we walked into it." Around him, his kids stilled, gawking in horror. "Marina came to me for help because the subjects threatened her family." Shame dropped his gaze. "Her mother is…not well…"

He felt a hand on his arm and looked up at his nephew's earnest gaze. "Tell us everything, Uncle Greg."

Parker drew in a deep breath, ordering his explanation, then dove into the whole, miserable story. As requested, he left nothing out, not even the fact that he was still very much in love with his ex-fiancé. But, he swore, he would not get back together with her unless all his children agreed to it and she herself promised to treat them with the respect they deserved.

By the time he was finished, none of his kids would look him in the eye and he hated that. Hated that he'd damaged their faith in him. But he'd learned his lesson well – refusing to let that fear stand, he left his plate where it was and moved around the kitchen island, gathering up all three of his children in a fierce hug. Without thinking, he blurred, shifting back into his partial gryphon form; his wings swept out, wrapping around the three teenagers as he channeled every scrap of his love and fierce devotion into his magical aura.

When at last they lurched apart, his wings vanishing as he blurred back to human, his kids were rather dazed – he eyed them worriedly, wondering if he'd overwhelmed them with his protective nature.

Then Dean shook himself, looked up at his father with wide, pleading puppy eyes, and blurted, "That's like a superhug! Can you do it again, Dad?"

[7] The shaft (also called the rachis) is the long, slender center of every feather. When a feather is turned into a quill, the shaft is where the ink of the quill goes and what is trimmed for writing purposes.

Author Note: Happy Friday, all! I pray that all of my readers are having a good Friday, wherever (and whenever) you are.

In Real Life news, my Mom is continuing to regain her strength. Her surgery site is still healing and she has to be careful of how high she lifts her arm, but her progress is very encouraging to me and my Dad.

On the Small Beginnings front, I have spent the past couple weeks wrestling with the issue of character names. Like most fanfiction authors, I'm quite used to using existing character names and I'm highly attached to those names. In fact, between you guys, me, and the Internet wall - the core cast of Small Beginnings is our favorite Team One. And, yes, we also have Lance and Alanna, but they're my Original Characters and fair game.

I have, of course, heavily changed the world around Team One as well as their personal histories. I was hoping that would be enough, but then my story coach pointed out that even if I'm not in any legal jeopardy, cancel culture is vicious and there are many who would be just the type to jump down my throat for stealing the Flashpoint characters. Sadly, it's a very relevant point; I had to grit my teeth and give in for the sake of my story (and the career I hope to build as a professional author).

I got most of the team to accept new last names and two of them have grudgingly agreed to new first names & nicknames. However, Wordy is refusing, point blank, to let me 'steal' his first name or change his last name. I'd call him stubborn, but I know how he feels... I don't like this name change business, either.

I've explored other last names beginning with 'Word' or 'Words', but none of them quite seem to jive... So! If anyone has suggestions for a first name that has a good rhythm with a last name of Wordsworth, I would welcome those suggestions.

Obviously, Kevin is off-limits, as is James (Wordy's canon middle name). I'd also like the name to be an English name, although if someone suggests a Scottish or Irish name, I'm open to it.

I also welcome everyone's feedback on Team One's current names in Small Beginnings. And yes, I'm very well aware that these names are still very, very similar to our Team One. However, I'm hopeful that the changes will be enough to deflect the worst of cancel culture while still retaining the spirit of the team I know so well.

Side note - I've given everyone first names, middle names, and last names. There was some confusion on that point when I was working with my story coach on names, so I thought I'd just say it outright here. General format below is: First 'Nickname' Middle Last

Presenting Télnis Aonan of STAR (Strategic Tactics and Response):

Gregory 'Greg' Allen Ryder (Sergeant)
Edward 'Ed' Hunter Logan
Peter 'Wordy' Kevin Wordsworth
Marcello 'Spike' Antonio Scarzelli
Lewis 'Lou' Alexander Winner
Sandrilene 'Sandra' Julianna Gallagher
James Samuel Bradagan (Jamtastic)