Calum's body was rocked by guilt. This time a cold, numb breed of shame that always had one hand wrapped around his throat. The bandage on his hand was abandoned on the floor. Anytime he reached up to his neck, his fingers found hair. Or feathers.

     When the fire died down, Calum got a sack one by one, picked up all the feathers he'd pulled out. It was a dwindling number, thanks to the bandages on his hands, but he really needed another solution. Preferably before he was walking around like a rotisserie chicken.

     His feathers were so big, and every day they got bigger. His wingspan was twice the size of his arm-span. Each one of his primary feathers was almost at tall as he was. They were a pain to pluck, so he'd left them alone. Calum knew that was only until his stupid brain could figure out how to get at them. Yesterday he'd gotten honey on a primary, it had bugged him until he realized he could pull out the barbels individually. He'd gotten a few inches off that night before the horror of what he was doing kicked in.

     Now he was picking up the spoils of his disgraceful war and sneaking out, because even Deadwing has to sleep eventually. He hated going behind Dee's back but the thought of confronting him about this, especially now after he'd clearly done something else to upset him, it sent Calum's stomach into painful knots. It's okay if I'm protecting him from...this.

     He'd learned how to glide down to the ground. The Calum walked what he figured was a few miles. Far enough away that Deadwing, who could fly, would never find it. He'd dump the feathers into a different bush each time. The way back was a mix of short gliding bursts when he was too tired to run. He always tried to fly back, but hadn't quite gotten to that point.

     Then he would struggle to reach the first sturdy branch of their tree, it was all he needed to get up. Once he'd grabbed a weak one, it broke and he fell hard to the ground, waking Deadwing up. He lied about just wanting to use the bathroom. For some reason Deadwing bought it.

     He prayed for the day when this horrible cycle would end.

     This time his hand clamped firmly onto the branch he wanted. For a second, he was a younger, more terrified boy with a sprained ankle, holding onto the bottom rung of a ladder. He pushed through it. He'd done it too many times. He would find a way to push through this too.

     He watched the embers for a few minutes before going back to bed, thinking about the blank look on Deadwing's face from earlier. It was like he'd disappeared for a few seconds, leaving his empty cicada skin until the next time he would emerge. Calum noticed their ears twitched when he talked, so he'd just kept talking. It seemed to have helped. Until he blew it. Until he inevitably messed everything up again. He pulled out a few hairs from the side of his head, and  swiped them across his lips. He let the disgust simmer within him as he dropped them into the fire. The smell was enough to snap him out of it.

     Behind him, Deadwing gasped, his wings shooting out and knocking over the empty kettle on the table. Calum whipped around as it clattered to the floor. Deadwing's back rose and fell dramatically as he hyperventilated. He started curling himself up into a ball. Calum thought he heard them talking to themself, or was it just whimpering?

     "Deadwing?"

     It was just bright enough for Calum to see him flinch. He crawled over to him, and could hear what Deadwing was repeating over and over.

     "You are not deserving of a name. You must not speak of our culture; it doesn't belong to you. You must cut your hair. You are not deserving of a name. You must not speak of our culture; it doesn't belong to you. You must cut your h—" Calum put his hand on Deadwing's shoulder, and he cried out in pain and twisted away.

     "Deadwing, hey it's okay. It's okay."

     "I haven't done anything yet, please don't tell h-her! I give you anything you want."

     Their voice was strained and high pitched, like a child.

     "I...I'm not going to tell anyone? It's me, Calum. I'm here, it's okay."

     Deadwing looked up, still folded in on himself. Calum realized the glassy, disconnected look was back, he wasn't sure how much of his friend was present. The only thing he could think to do was keep talking.

     "It's nighttime, I can make you some tea if you want? Did you have a bad dream?"

     "Mum?" Deadwing's shoulders started shaking. "I d-don't want to go with her, I can do better. I can make the feathers g-go away. Don't tell Dad...please. I can make them go away."

     "It's Calum, you're not going anywhere. We'll stay right here." He pulled the blanket around Deadwing's shoulders. "Do you know what this is?"

     Deadwing's breaths shook but they were coming easier. His fingers traced along the woolen threads and he seemed to calm down some. "My blanket."

     Calum felt a jolt of hope. "Did you make it yourself?"

     He nodded. "Holly taught me; it took a whole year to finish."

     That seemed to do it. His frame loosened like nails in oil. He didn't shake like he was going to fall apart anymore. Calum slowly drew one of his wing's around Calum's back, mimicking the gesture Dee had done for him. He was surprised by how cold they were and how warm the closeness made him feel.

     Dee blinked. "Where am I?"

     "Home, the crow's nest."

     "Calum." Deadwing breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry. I..." he trailed off. "I'm...a massive mess."

     "It's okay."

     "I don't remember waking up, or much of anything really...did something happened?"

     "You just woke up, you repeating three things—"

     "The rules." He stiffened. "Gods."

     He put his face in his hands, breathing in and out. The rules. He wasn't allowed to have a name.

     "I've been trying so hard to forget it all happened." His fingers knit in between the threads of his blanket. "It won't go away. I should be able to just...make it go away."

     "It's okay if you want to talk about it." Calum's fingers itched.

     He rocked back and forth gently. "I'm sorry for freaking out earlier."

     "Don't apologize for that, it's not fair."

     He glanced up; the blue of his eyes electrified by the red of his crying eyes. "You are too good to me."

     A shiver went down Calum's spine, his mind was so far away from his hands.

     "I was thirteen when it all started." Deadwing stared off at his hands, fading away a little.

     Calum scooted a little closer to him. Their hands brushed. Deadwing flinched, but it wasn't as bad as before. The clouds overhead still crackled and popped but the breeze made quick work of dicing them. Perhaps the sun would still be there when they were gone.

     "I stopped going outside. I wasn't allowed to. I pulled out my feathers—I pulled out everything wrong I could find. I just, I wanted to make them happier so bad. I wanted the pain to end." Tears were streaming down his face like twin rivers. "I can't stand being covered in scars. I can't stand my name. I want to be a person." He flinched again. 

     Calum held his arms out for a hug, and too his surprise, Deadwing's head fell towards him, landing against his chest. Calum squeezed him tight and he didn't pull away.

     "Edwin." His eyes squeezed shut, and he started to shake again. "I don't want to be a monster anymore. I...want...to be Edwin again."

     "Edwin." It left a good taste in Calum's mouth. "I like that."

     He whimpered quietly; his arms were stiff as boards under Calum's hands and his body still shook with every breath. "It's so hard."

     "We'll take it slow. Whatever you want."

     "Calum?" He sounded so fragile.

     "I'm here."

     "It hurts."

     "Where?"

     "I don't want to see High Welf again, please don't make me see her. She makes the other kids hurt me. I'm scared." His voice slipped back to its higher pitch.

     "She's not here." Calum rubbed his back, in the space between his wings, daring to piece together those fragments. "They can't hurt you."

     "Holly?"

     "She'll be back soon. It's me, Calum."

     "Calum." Edwin clutched onto the fabric of Calum's shirt.

     "It's me, I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."

     He cycled in and out of reality and horrible memory too many times for Calum to count. He was there the whole time, refusing to let go, doing everything he could to comfort him. He didn't feel guilt, he barely felt worry, it was all shoved aside by the burning desire to keep Edwin safe. Everything else paled in comparison, but was hopelessly silhouetted by how little he had to offer. He couldn't fight this with a sword. All he could do was talk, and keep talking, and hope that he could be louder than Edwin's demons.