Dive Deep into Creativity: Discover, Share, Inspire
Warnings: nothing really, ig maybe a little bit of angst but more hurt/comfort, you are the Astral Express medic, you're supposed to be a fallen angel but that's not really necessary to understand this and will p much only become relevant if I ever follow up this one-shot w the same reader x Sunday (which I might bc I love this idea of fallen angel x Sunday), also this is not intended to be canon to Sunday's true form or anything since it's unconfirmed if Halovians have multiple sets of wings or not
Word Count: 1726
As the de facto medic of the Astral Express, since you were the only trained doctor, you made it your top priority to always know how every one of the passengers was doing, physically and mentally. Currently, your most challenging case sat before you; Sunday, former head of the Oak Family and newest passenger aboard the train.
He sat stiffly, spine straight and hands crossed together neatly in his lap as he sat on your examination table. His head was facing straight but instead of looking at you, his gaze was on his hands. You’d always felt a kinship with the Halovian, whether it be due to your own (miserable) past, or the fact that you both shared avian features. Your own wings twitched, feathers fluffing slightly as you tried to puzzle out the best way to help him. Getting him to even admit he needed help was akin to pulling teeth, but you were determined to be patient.
“Sunday, I just need to look them over, okay? I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you said, your voice soft as you tried your best to coax him.
He squeezed his hands tighter together, his voice barely audible as he spoke, “I know. I-” He cut himself off, pressing his lips closed as he refused to say anything else. Instead, he uncrossed his hands, and began disrobing his top half, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding the material off until his torso was bare.
His wings, a dark purple akin the nightingales you’d seen on Penacony, were on his lower back, further down than your own black wings which sat between your shoulder blades. His sat around his waist, and they were very obviously neglected. They were tightly wrapped around his torso, and the feathers were dull and in disarray, it was clear they needed to be preened. Most alarmingly, his flight feathers were clipped on his left side. It made you wonder if the piercings on his upper wings weren’t of his own volition, if they were perhaps a reminder that he was a flightless bird.
You made your way behind him so you could observe the wings fully. Sunday himself was exceedingly skinny, and you made a mental note to talk to him about that another day; when he wasn’t so shaken up. The connecting muscles to his wings were underdeveloped, making it apparent that even if his wing wasn’t clipped he still would be unable to fly.
“Is it okay if I touch them?” you asked. Sunday gave you a shaky nod. Instead of immediately beginning a more thorough examination you spoke, “I’m going to try to stretch them out, okay? I’ll be gentle, but it’ll probably be painful or uncomfortable. Please let me know if I need to stop.”
A rush of breath left him, before he nodded again, his hands gripping onto the edge of the examination table to brace himself. You started with his left wing; it would be the most troublesome to deal with.
You took it slow, gently prying his wing away from his torso, stopping whenever he’d hiss in pain. It probably took the better part of a half hour to get the wing fully stretched out, but once it was, Sunday heaved a sigh of relief.
You examined the wing more thoroughly, trying to give him a break before you worked on his other one. His flight feathers were in worse shape than you first thought; many of the primaries had been clipped, including the ones used in landing. It was quite barbaric. You briefly wondered how many times the feathers had been clipped, how long it took Halovians to grow them back in, how many times had he endured such treatment?
The muscles in the wing were atrophied, and you knew you’d have to help Sunday set up a strict physical therapy regimen if he had any hope of ever flying again. You massaged the joints, helping to relieve the tension from being so cramped.
You gave him another moment’s reprieve, gently kneading the area where the wing met his back, before you began working on the other wing. This one didn’t take as much time to straighten out, and you gave it just as much care as the other one, rubbing away the aches and pains that lanced through him.
Hearing a bang, your wings shot out, wrapping around Sunday’s form before you turned to the door. “Hey- oh! Sorry, sorry.” March said, scratching at her head as she realized she was interrupting something. You could feel Sunday tuck into himself, his wings twitching as you felt him barely stop himself from wrapping them around himself. Thankfully, your wingspan was larger than his, mostly covering him from March’s view. “Um, I was just going to ask if you’d seen Dan Heng, but I’m guessing not, so I’ll leave.” she said, giving an awkward laugh.
“See you later March,” you said as she ducked out the door, giving it a firm shove shut. You could hear her voice carry through the door, speaking to the Trailblazer, before the two wandered off, presumably to find the elusive archivist.
Your wings settled back into place, tucking them against your back as you sighed. “Sorry, Sunday. Are you okay?”
His breath was shaky as you peered down at him, his face flushed from embarrassment. You weren’t sure if he was embarrassed at the thought of March seeing him in such a vulnerable state, or if it was because you’d wrapped him in your wings. After a long moment, he responded, “Yes, I am…fine. You may continue.”
You hummed in acknowledgement before giving his wings another once over before you pulled away. “I won’t lie to you, they’re in rough shape.” You moved back to the otherside of the table so you could look at him as you spoke. “You need to stop constricting them immediately. The blood flow is severely damaged, and your joints are in less than ideal shape from the abuse. The bones themselves are doing well, but the muscles are atrophied.” You took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s going to take a lot of work to get them healthy again, but after strengthening them, and once your flight feathers grow back in, it could be possible to fly again.”
His face seemed to crumple at your words. This…was not an expression you’d ever seen on him before, especially considering he’d tried his best to appear perfect, hiding away any perceived flaw away from prying eyes. You had to stop yourself from reaching out, uncertain if he’d be appreciative of any physical contact, even if all you wanted to do right now was comfort him. All at once his expression dropped, his eyes downcast and gaze dead as he spoke, the whisper so low you weren’t sure he meant for you to hear, “Do I even deserve…?”
You sighed. “Forget whether you deserve it or not, do you want it?”
Sunday raised his head, looking you in the eyes, though his gaze remained far away as his lips parted. “I don’t know.” His expression turned pained as he licked his lips, nervous, as he finally seemed to see you again. “Can you help me fix them?”
You smiled, nodding. “I have some general ideas on what needs to be done, but I’ll do a bit more research on Halovians specifically to help, just give me a day or two to figure out a plan. For now though, we’ll need to get you some better fitting clothes, and the feathers need to be preened. If you’d like, I can do that, or I can leave you to your own devices.”
His cheeks slowly flushed again, the wings by his ears fluttering nervously, and you had to suppress the desire to cup his face in your hands. He was so pretty it was unfair, but you wanted to help him, and it wouldn’t do to admit any budding feelings you had for the Halovian. It was obvious he needed a friend, and you didn’t want to jeopardize the fragile trust built between the two of you.
Sunday cleared his throat. “If you truly would not mind, your help would be appreciated.”
“Do you want tea or anything? This may take a little bit of time,” you said.
He shook his head, “That is unnecessary.”
The two of you situated on the examination table, you had your own legs crossed together as you found the most comfortable position. You began your work; gently opening pin feathers and brushing out old feathers that were stuck, all the while carefully avoiding any blood feathers, lest you injure him.
As you worked, tension seemed to seep out of Sunday, and every once in a while he breathed a sigh of relief. You wondered when he’d last been preened by anyone else; his smaller wings by his wings were taken well care of, his own handiwork you presumed, and the way he shuddered at each gentle touch of yours, each delicate caress as you dutifully worked through the plumage, was telling enough.
It took over an hour to completely finish, and your hands and fingers ached, but it was well worth the effort. You stretched your hands, your joints popping as you did. “Alright, you’re good to go,” you said, sliding off the examination table to once again stand in front of him.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Of course.” You smiled at him. “Just ask if you want me to preen them again, okay?” He nodded at your words, giving you a small smile in return. “Plus, if you’d like, you’re welcome to return the favor one of these days.”
His eyes widened at your offer. “You would trust me to preen your wings?”
Your brows furrowed as a slight frown made its way onto your face. “Yeah. It’s not that surprising is it? I trust you, Sunday. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, and I’m not going to condemn you for yours. The Express is about starting over, about not letting your past weigh you down. Instead, blaze the trail, see the stars, do what you want.”
A soft smile seeped back onto your face as you spoke once more, “Trust, and be trusted in turn, by your fellow passengers. There’s a whole universe waiting for you, Sunday.”