A/N: Back to present time. Also, TW for a kind of mental breakdown. I'm sorry in advance, and please stay safe and healthy everyone.
Present Time
I didn't expect Lark to be there when I came limping back in. My ex-girlfriend was pacing around the front gate of my mansion in what looked like her pyjamas covered by a long overcoat. Her hair was undone but tucked into her collar and held back by a black beanie, and her usually plush lips looked like they had been bitten until they were bleeding, something that happened when the girl was stressed. Sitting on the ground by the gate was a large red bag with a white cross on it.
"Oh my God, Culver!" Lark yelled as she spotted me, rushing towards me and catching me as I flopped forwards.
"Careful, careful, I'm damaged goods," I said, wincing as Lark fretted and swore, pulling me into my house. My voice was croaky and bruised, and I was sure it would take a while for it to get back to normal. After Lark lowered me onto the couch, not bothering to try and drag me up the grand set of stairs to my room, she gently peeled my goggles and mask off, sucking in a tight breath when she saw my face. "Oof. Mustn't look that pretty, huh."
"You're always pretty," Lark muttered, full brows creased. "But you're also pretty beaten, Dovey. Good God. Lucky I brought my dad's first aid kit."
There was a buzz at the back of my mind, a flittering feeling that things weren't okay. I didn't feel okay, I felt... I felt...
I swallowed, lacing my fingers together tightly to try and still them, but they were shaking. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the buzzing and that sense of unease that just wouldn't leave.
Calm down, Culver. Don't make Lark deal with your problems. Calm down, calm down, calm down.
"You brought that, but didn't think to, I don't know, get changed into real clothes?" I said, gesturing at her outfit, my ex rolling her eyes. Lark always liked to dress nicely when she went out, even if it was just to buy groceries. She and Gia were alike in that way, but Gia was a little more avant garde with her look, Lark being more muted with her fashion choices.
"Well, apologies for not dressing up for you, but I was preoccupied with other things when I heard my mum talking about you being attacked," Lark muttered, rummaging through the red first aid bag that looked more like a miniature pharmacy than a kit. Her fingers were shaking and moving around without any purpose, and I wondered if she even knew what she was looking for.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" I asked, Lark huffing as she eventually pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and some wrapped gauze. My eyes lit up when she whipped out the painkillers, throwing the packet to me. I took the pills dry, grimacing at their taste.
"Not as much as a real doctor, like my dad, which is who you should actually be seeing instead of sitting on your couch," Lark said, making me grin, the movement only making me hiss in pain as it pulled at my injured face and split lip. "See? God, what if there's something broken and not just a split lip. What happened?"
Pointing to my head, I sighed. "Punched. Twice, at least." Moving down to my throat, the skin there probably red and purple underneath the high neck of my kevlar top, I continued the audio-visual tour. "Strangled. Kinky, but the guy had zero concept about consent." I went through the extent of my other injuries, including my almost bullet-hole, leaving my wings to last. "I'm not, uh, well-versed in winged injuries. They just hurt. Poor Mags and Piper."
Everything hurts.
Maybe I deserve to hurt.
"Well, no bleeding bullet holes at least. Bless Gia," Lark said, before mumbling 'think positive'. "After hearing my mum, I was worried you'd be Swiss cheese when you got here, if you got here at all." Lark dabbed a cotton ball dripping with antiseptic over the cuts on my face, giving me a 'don't be a baby' look every time I flinched and whined. She finished cleaning and dressing my superficial wounds with small adhesive strips, before pinching my chin to turn my head, inspecting me once over again from top to bottom.
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Swooped | ✓
Fantasy[BxB] Life was pretty average for Culver Fleet, an 18-year-old certified couch potato slash pothead. He has spent every waking breath dodging responsibilities, until one fateful day he is swooped by a magpie and is... changed. He thought he just cau...
