Work Text:
Whenever someone asks Virgil how the fly over was, Virgil answers the same “Eh, alright,” that everybody does.
It's not true, in the mildest sense.
They don't need to know that he takes the ground route every time. The way he has to leave at least three hours early if he wants to get somewhere. That walking is his only choice, and any sky-led option is out of reach for him.
He can't take the opportunities available to avians that have injured or dysfunctional wings, because being in the air at all leaves him nauseous. His head spins and his eyes begin to hurt.
He wears a long cloak over his back, draping it in ways that hide the mechanical prop wings from looking obviously imperfect. His father had wings, as did his mother, but she came from a line of avians with the same genetic defect Virgil unluckily inherited. She was the one who taught him the lessons she never needed for her own survival.
Virgil knows the world that lead his great great ancestors to hide their lack of wings has run its course of severity. He's seen people with no cloaks and backs of nothing feathered. Smiling and existing so proudly.
No one is going to kill them nowadays, yet Virgil remains unsettled by the idea of revealing himself. Every vision in his mind for how they find out ends in his gut twisted up in knots of discomfort.
Well-meaning questions, misplaced coddled concern, faces of shock and eyes filled with pity. The transition from friends to glass creation, where the belief consumes them that one poorly timed push could break him.
It is only made worse by how dizzy flying makes him feel. That's not something normal, on the rarer side even within his own family.
It's separate from his lack of wings, just another sign that this probably wasn't a life he was meant to have. He wasn't made for this world.
So he's fine keeping it hidden. He can complain away in his own head about the length of his walks compared to the quick flight his friends could take.
His legs are a lot stronger than the typical avian's due to how much he walks. The kinds of muscle growth that would have gone into his back and wings in another life. He supposes that's something to be grateful for.
Obviously, that acceptance means it's inevitable for someone to find out. When Patton lands next to him on his walk, he has to admit it's not…the worst option. Though a lot of his fears could easily prove themselves true with Patton's given nature.
"Heya there, kiddo!" Patton greets, falling into step beside him, wings staying outstretched to help steady him after landing. After a few more steps, they fold neatly behind Patton's back.
"Hey," Virgil says back, keeping his gaze ahead. There's a sign up ahead, a newer addition to the infrastructure. Most signs are at the top of their buildings, makes it easier for those flying to see.
"Taking a break from flying before we get there?" He asks, a small chirp included at the end in a lilted curious way. Virgil thinks if his wings were real, they'd fluff beneath the cloak, defensive.
Still, it's an easy out. He should have anticipated one. "Yeah. A break. Did you leave early today?" It's not normal that he runs into any of them until they've arrived at the meet-up.
"Not intentionally… I got the time a little messed up, I think. These winter days, huh?" Patton jokes, hopping, briefly flapping his wings to stay in the air before settling back down again. He must have gotten bored just walking. Most avians do.
Virgil hums, whistling out an agreeing tune. Coos, chirps, whistles—he understands them because that's the language of their people. Lack of wings or not, he still has those instincts. Like the ones to preen wings, others and an imaginary pair for himself.
Patton seems unbothered, every ten-or-so steps, doing a little hop and small glide. He is stubbornly remaining by Virgil's side. Sooner or later, he's going to ask—
"When do you want to switch back to flying?"
Virgil shrugs, nudging the inner button of his lower back that prompts the mechanical gears in his wings to do a small flap beneath the cloak. "I'm enjoying the walk. You can fly ahead if you want."
Patton trills a no at him, and Virgil almost feels scolded by the tone. There's a few moments before Patton continues. "I'm happy to stay with my friend. You just seem a lot more practiced at keeping your claws planted to the soil.. I wouldn't want to slow you down, y'know."
Virgil snorts, shaking his head a bit. "I guess… It's fine, it'll be around ten more minutes until we get there like this. If you're fine with that—"
"Definitely!" Patton interrupts, not letting Virgil finish. He seems to notice he does that because his wings lower slightly, bashful. "And you're okay with that too?"
"I don't care either way," Virgil responds, which is the truth. He doesn't care if Patton leaves or stays. He might slightly prefer he leave, but that's only so it reduces this risk building up that he'll be found out. Even the small hops of flight Patton's been doing are enough to give him secondhand nausea if he considers doing it himself.
They walk in silence for the next few minutes, the air above them filled with caws—people who are friends, family, all kinds of bonds—chatting as they fly, their wing flaps inaudible this far down, but visible.
"Is there a reason you like walking?" Patton breaks the silence to ask.
"Is there a reason you like flying?" Virgil retorts back.
Patton thinks about that for a moment, face scrunching in thought. It's kind of a given to like flying, Virgil and those like him are exceptions. It's probably not a question Patton's had to really think about.
Still, the avian smiles as he offers his answer. "Yeah, a lot of reasons! It feels freeing, nice. The air is like a home away from the nest, you know? I like that when I fly, I could be doing anything. Just for fun, or going to see my friends… It feels natural."
None of that resonates with Virgil. Flying has never meant any of those things to him. But he supposes the thought is nice, in a distant "not-me" sort of way. He chirps out an 'okay', thinking it over.
Patton is stubborn though, saying, "Well? Can I know why you like walking?"
"The scenery's nice. It feels like I can generally appreciate everything from here… Plus, walking gets me where I need to go. Not as quick as flying might, but, at least I don't feel like throwing up.."
"Throwing up?" Patton questions, seeming alarmed by the description.
Virgil shrugs, now committed he guesses to honesty. "Yeah."
But not too much honesty.
Patton trills a few starts to questions, clearly wanting further elaboration, before eventually bailing on the plan. Instead, simply chirping, "The scenery is really nice down here."
There's another lull in the conversation. The meet-up spot they decided on this time is now in view. Virgil wouldn't mind if Patton flew ahead now, leaving this awkward talk behind, but he doesn't.
Patton glances at the cloak around Virgil's shoulders with a gleam in his eyes Virgil's not sure he likes.
"I have a cousin—" Patton begins, which almost startles Virgil from the unexpected and unprompted nature of it, "—one who isn't my favourite, he lies a lot, but… He wears a cloak, like yours. He lost his wings to a wildfire that scorched through their nest when he was barely learning to fly."
"Sorry?" Virgil responds, because what else do you say to that kind of information drop?
"What I mean is that.. If you're sorta like that.. it's okay. I won't tell anyone, but, if you are, that secret shouldn't just be yours."
Their walk has halted, Virgil just…staring, trying to decipher what to do with the words. Patton fidgets his hands together, but is clearly firm in what he said, meeting Virgil's gaze directly.
"…Okay," Virgil offers up, almost like a truce of some kind. "Don't… Don't dump your family history on me like that again, but okay. Thanks."
Patton beams happily, taking Virgil's hand before they make it inside, settling onto the perches to wait for their friends.
He's still processing kind-of-but-not-really telling someone. It's the closest someone other than his family is to the truth. The thoughts that had plagued him relentlessly about reactions, of pity, concern, scorn—Patton mostly avoided them. It felt…surreal.
Virgil finds himself almost relieved that Patton messed up the time and could join him on the walk. He doesn't know how this will go from this day onwards, but it doesn't feel as overwhelmingly daunting to imagine others finding out now. The possibility is simply there.