Cerulean Feathers

Chapter 38

Brock shoved the repeatedly resurfacing anxiety in his chest back down, not allowing his fingers to shake as he carefully stretched Jonathan's right wing. The slowly waking Omega shifted slightly, but made no noise. Brock ran his fingers over blue feathers, grateful when he felt no hollow broken bones. He moved to Jonathan's other side, stretching out his left wing with just as much care. However, Jonathan let out a piercing cry, the sound making John snarl before he swallowed it and stepped back. Brock muttered an apology, running his hand over the sensitive wings before wincing.

The splintered and crushed remains of bone were all that remained underneath the layer of sapphire feathers and droplets of blood.

Brock sighed, delicately shifting the wing back closed before running cold fingers down his face.

It did little to stop the migraine that had settled into his skull.

"What's wrong?"

Smitty pressed, John already getting back to work. Brock grit his teeth, dropping his hands to look at the bruising Omega on the table.

"His wing,"

Brock mumbled, trying to ignore the bile that was threatening to rise in his churning stomach.

"What about it?"

Smitt questioned, clearly not fond of Brock trying to drop the subject. The eagle let out a quiet groan before brushing his fingers along the unpreeened mess of cerulean feathers in front of him.

"It's broken,"

Brock said curtly, his heart tightening as he moved to the other side of the table in a vain attempt to drop the topic.

"How broken?"

Brock shifted his feet uncomfortably as he grabbed another washcloth to clean more blood off of the jay's other wing. Sometimes he hated Smitty's determination.

"Bad enough,"

The eagle retorted, softly wiping and preening the unbroken wing in front of him. There was a silence before Smitty spoke again,

"Will he be able to fly?"

There was no "again" at the end of the comment, making Brock's heart heavier and stomach lurch. He almost lost his dinner as the answer bounced around his head.

The poor Jay had never even been able to properly hold himself in the air yet-

"No,"

The eagle answered finally.

Smitty's face fell, and Brock had to turn away when he saw dark eyes filling with tears.

"He never got to fly..."
Smitty whimpered, his voice cracked and splintered with sorrow. Brock forced down his own his own grief, taking lungfuls of Heat-scent that did nothing to soothe his nerves.

They had to be optimistic.

"At least Jonathan is alive,"

Brock said quietly, surprising even himself at the stability in his voice,

"He will be able to live another day, and if his ability to fly is all he lost, I'd say he's more or less lucky."

"It could have been worse,"

Smitty agreed, taking a deep breath before returning to patching up the jay.

***

Swirling, tumbling.

Churning, tossing, aggravating.

His stomach felt like it was spinning around a washing machine, it was so twisted and spiraled.