Love of A Parent, Pt 2
It's been a year, but here's Part 2 of this! No spoilers, but put under the cut. TW for mild body horror/faint description of injuries and robotic sickness?
“He comforted me, when I was hurt or sick. I know, basic of what a parent should do. But, it was still nice, y’know? Having him stick around to make sure I was better – Even if he didn’t exactly know how to make me better.”
To answer their earlier questions– No, he did not always have his wings. He could remember the times when his back was free from the weight of them, from the organic stretch and pull so different from his mostly mechanical body.
He could also remember the day that they sprouted from his back. It wasn’t a good day—A good week, actually.
When Apollo was young, a cold feeling had begun to spread throughout his body. It was like someone had placed a block of ice in his stomach, a chill stretching out across every wire. He found that he could hardly move, his system slowing down and freezing, leaving him with limited movements. His vision also swarmed with static, leaving stubborn grey spots that gave him headaches.
But when his father went to check on him, to feel the same cold he had complained about, he was burned. To him, Apollo was overheating, his vents blasting hot air with every wheeze and cough he made. Some of his circuitry was fried, that being the real reason it was so hard for him to move.
It was… concerning, to say the least. He had never really been ‘sick’ before, and never to this degree, not for this many days.
On that fateful day, the cyborg was curled on his side in his bed, cocooned in his sheets. His body was wracked with wheezes and coughs, still freezing despite the heat. He could hear his door creak open, his father stepping inside, but couldn’t properly greet him, instead blindly reaching for him.
“D̶-̴- ̸a̴d̶,” he croaked, sending himself into a coughing fit as his throat buzzed. His father winced, approaching and gently placing a cool wet cloth against Apollo’s forehead. He let out a glitched whine at first, trying to shy away from the cloth, but his father pressed it down. “1̴t̷-̶ ̵s̸ ̸c̴o̸-̵ ̵0̵l̷d̶–”
“I know, son, I’m sorry,” his father murmured, sympathetic. He watched as some steam rose from where the cloth touched Apollo’s screen, concern creasing his brow. “But you’re burning up and need to cool down. From what I’ve seen, this is the best way to go about it.”
“\̶/̸\̶/̵-̵h̵y̵ ̸i̷$̶ ̷t̷h̴!̷s̸ ̵h̸4̴p̴p̵e̶n̸i̸n̴g̷g̶g̵g̷g̴g̴g̶g̶g̸g̸–” His voice pitched high at the end, making his father further wince as Apollo trailed off into another whine.
“I don’t know, son– But it will pass soon. Just keep resting.”
A hand was placed on his shoulder, a thumb rubbing soothing circles into his back. It was meant to be comforting, but it made the cyborg squirm uncomfortably. It felt like he was pressing on his shoulderbone – Which was impressive, given he didn’t actually have one. There was a pause, before he felt his father pressing down slightly, discomfort growing as pressure built up.
Apollo made a glitched noise that didn’t quite leave his throat, trying to roll away. He didn’t get very far, only flopping onto his stomach and groaning at the effort of it. The pressure didn’t seem like it was going away, even after his father pulled his hand away, instead just pressing uncomfortably against the underside of his back.
“H̷̡̙͠n̷̦̂n̸͙̙͂̀g̷̾ͅͅh̷̙͈̑̒–̵̻̿͐” His fingers curled into the sheets as he groaned, his screen flickering. He hunched over slightly, pressing his face into the pillows as ERROR signs flashed across his vision, buried under growing static. He could hear his father calling to him, trying to talk– But he couldn’t answer, not with all his systems screaming at him–
“Apollo? Are you alright? What’s–?”
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A warped, muffled scream tore from his throat, as he felt two large things tear through his back, ripping through metallic flesh like parchment. They stretched out, large and heavy, straining as far as they could before stopping. They felt heavy yet strangely light, weighing down on him as they balanced in the air.
There was a slight twitch, his system blasting his head with strange new sensations as the appendages moved. He could hear someone yelling in the background, distant and underwater, too focused on the feeling of blood oil oozing from his wounds.
Distantly, he heard what sounded like bird chirping, and could see what looked like feathers falling to his sheets. He wondered why a bird decided to enter his room of all places, especially with his earlier scream. It hurt his throat just thinking about it…
As his head began to settle, he realized it was coming from him. Those strange, distressed bird noises filling the air, were his. Those soft, downy feathers stained with gold, decorating his bed, were his.
What–?
“–pollo!”
He flinched at the loud voice cutting through the static, finally coming to his senses. His back stung, sharper now that he was aware, feathers and cloth clinging to the wounds. A hand touched his shoulder and he squawked, scrambling away as his father stared at him with wide eyes.
“I– W-Wings,” his father stuttered, blinking as he stared behind Apollo. “You– You have wings!”
Said wings twitched at the attention, straining to cover him. He made a noise, something like a whimper and a sob as a sudden wave of pain hit him. “D̶̦̻͊̓a̸͚͔̐–̴̪̝̾d̷̦̯̈–̸̛͇̰ D̵͕͒̋a̷̭͈̒d–!”
That sprung his father into action, the man looking over him, hesitant to touch him. Apollo clung to his father as soon as he was close enough, releasing his grip on the torn sheets to latch onto his father’s tunic and burying his screen into his chest.
“Oh, my poor boy,” he heard the man murmur, looking at the mess of feathers, oil, and torn clothing on his back. He felt a hand touch the area above the wings, pressing gingerly, and flinched as a stab of pain hit him. The wings twitched, agitated as well.
His father sighed, cradling him as he reached for the wet cloth that had originally been meant to cool him off. “I’m sorry son, this is going to sting.”
And sting it did, as the man began to clean away the oil and stray feathers from the wounds, starting at the base of his wings. He wiped the areas around them, wincing every time the cyborg made a distressed and pained noise.
“It’s alright, Apollo… Just bear with me, you’re doing great son… At least you aren’t sick anymore, right?” his father offered weakly, a strained smile on his face as he continued to clean.
Apollo made an annoyed chirp at that, his grip tightening as another spike of pain shot through him. He felt overwhelmed, taking on the new sensations with the new wings and the constant sting that came with cleaning them. He buried his face further into his father’s chest, his antennas flat against the top of his head.
“Still have a bit to do,” his father mumbled, and he made a sort of static whine. There was silence for a few moments, only broken by his flinching, before the man spoke again. His voice was soft, gentle as he asked, “Do you know what they look like? Your wings?”
His antennas twitched, though his head did not lift, screen dark. His hands gripped onto his father’s shirt tighter, and the man took that as a sign to continue. “Well, they’re a bit messy right now, but, looking at it, they’ll be beautiful once they’re cleaned. They’re mostly black, but there’s some white and grey flecks here and there, almost like snowdrops–”
The man rambled on, describing the heavy wings upon his son’s back, as he continued to clean in a soothing manner. Apollo listened, his grip slowly relaxing, the pain becoming less apparent. He wasn’t truly paying attention, though he did try to, to the best of his abilities. Instead, he just… let himself get lost in the background noise of his father’s words, a soft hum leaving him as he felt his body relax.
It was…
“Done.”
His screen flickered back on, as the cloth pulled away, stained with gold and covered in small feathers. The bed was in a similar state, though definitely worse, his sheets torn due to his own claws. He hadn’t noticed ripping them in his panic and pain, some scraps of the silk clinging to his fingertips.
His father sighed at the sight of it, but pulled back, observing his son. He hesitated, then placed his hands on Apollo’s shoulders, giving him a small smile. “How do you feel? Any better?”
Apollo stared up at him, cautiously trying to flex or at least stretch the wings. There was… a strain still, not painful but sore and strange. Something he would have to get used to. But, there wasn’t any pain anymore, and so he nodded. “Y-Yeah. Better.”
The man looked relieved, pulling the cyborg into a hug. His arms were tucked under the wings, careful to avoid the still healing areas. Apollo returned the hug, arms wrapping around his neck and screen pressing into his shoulder. His wings rose, curling around his father, accidentally smacking the man in the face.
“Pfft–”
“Sorry!”
His father’s laughter boomed, covering the noise of his apologies as he swiped the stray feathers from his face. He lifted his son up off the bed, high over his head, the boy squawking as he felt his feet leave the ground, wings and feet flailing. Apollo glared, his screen bright, about to demand his father put him down because he’d like his feet to be on the ground–
–only to stop, seeing his father’s bright and proud smile, the soft look he had staring up at Apollo. It was like… he was already seeing him fly, long before he had the skills to, soaring through the clouds under the bright rays of the sun. His wings twitched, stretching out wide, almost like it was trying to mimic the image that he imagined played in his father’s head.
The last bit of ice in his chest seemed to melt, replaced with something warm and excited, as he laughed alongside his father, pretending to fly in his grasp as the sun shined through the window.
