Fleeting Feathers: One-Shot Edition!

Drunk : Aris

| In Chapter 7, Buzzard's POV he mentions when he saw Falcon drunk, I decided that would be a fun thing to write a One-shot about so, here we are! This event is canon to the story and should be considered canon. This story is placed two and 1/2 months after the Fall (When Zombies first appeared), and as such, Eagle will not be present in this One-shot |

In Owl's opinion, today was going quite well. They'd set up in the loft of a warehouse and hadn't even been attacked by Z's in almost a week, it didn't bode well for the Flock, but Owl was hoping their luck would hold out just a bit longer, after all, it was only a few weeks until Christmas, if she had kept her mental calendar correct that is. Buzzard and Falcon had gone out on a quick run to a nearby store to scavenge for water, they'd been running low and turning snow into water took a while and a lot of fire they couldn't spare with how cold it had gotten. Owl had opted to stay behind, Canary had developed a fever and was in and out of it, and Peafowl seemed to be getting sick too, normally Owl would prefer for Falcon to be here, but Buzzard told her to stay behind, because she was "looking sick." (He was right, but Owl wouldn't admit that). 

Owl looked over to Canary and Peafowl, Canary had her head in Peafowl's lap as Peafowl read from one of the children's books they'd found on a trip into the city, some story about a toy rabbit that Owl didn't care to learn the name of, and Canary seemed to be asleep, or at least close to it judging by her deep breaths.

It was nice, Owl had to admit. The calming presence of knowing that she had back-up, that it wasn't just her and Falcon, that she didn't need to hold the weight of the world to keep Falcon safe, that she didn't have to take the burden alone. She wouldn't admit it aloud, but she loved being with the Flock, surrounded by Canary's innocent laughter, Buzzard's begrudging smile, Peafowl's posh way of talking, she loved to hear Falcon smile so carefree and look relatively like he was a person again, not a hollow shell of her younger twin, who'd seemed so lifeless since all this started, like a puppet without strings. (Owl wouldn't mention it, but she was grateful for the Flock, they'd brought her brother back, he didn't seem like the brother she'd known, a mask covered in cracks that he put up to keep Owl happy, he didn't know that she knew his smiles were forced, before they'd found the Flock in that little corner store, and Owl wouldn't mention it to him either).

It was nice, she'd admit, living with the Flock. More often than not, they had food to eat and even a place to sleep, which was better than when it was just her and Falcon. Sure, when they were together she didn't need to hide anything, not who they were, and yeah, most nights Owl would go to bed hungry because she was giving Falcon most of her food, and yeah, they were exhausted from running all the time, but they were alive, and that's all Owl could wish for. But, it wasn't truly living, Owl now knew, because Falcon was looking more alive than he ever had in his life. Sure, the world was literal hell on earth, but they weren't shoved in a box anymore, they weren't being forced to be perfect anymore, they could ramble and made random movements without being rebuked and Owl treasured that. Owl could ramble about the stars and old Greek myths without being told to shut up, and Falcon could talk about his comics with Buzzard without being dismissed or being sent away like he was a chore they're parents didn't want to deal with.

Owl felt more at home during a zombie apocalypse than she had at any point in her fourteen years of life, and Falcon was seemingly glowing with life, and Owl wouldn't give that up for anything. (Because Owl wouldn't hurt Falcon like that, not when Falcon's been taking care of her wounds since she was old enough to walk, not when Falcon's been the only reason she's still around now. Not when Falcon is the only one she trusts with everything, because despite living with the Flock for a month, she still wouldn't trust them with her childhood, because that was too many wounds for her to tell, too many hastily stitched-up holes that Owl couldn't trust them with, not now, maybe not ever).