#torn wings

Washington pulls his hand away and the creature falls to his knees with a pathetic wail. He sets the food aside and picks up a silver knife from a nearby work table. When he turns back, the creature has shrunk back.

“You’re imprisoned too,” It says, sniffling once. “You don’t remember what they’ve done. I’m Alex! Alexander. You just don’t remember.”

“This will only take a moment,” Washington says without giving the creature a glance. He expertly, lightly carves the symbol into his own hand to draw blood. 

The creature lets out another small cry and tries to shift away. It can’t move far enough though. “The British are using you! Trying to make you think you’re one of them. They used my magic to imprison your mind!”

“I am one of them,” Washington responds firmly. He reaches through the bars and grasps the creature’s wrist.

It lets out a piercing shriek as familiar power surges in and around the both of them. Typically the creature struggles, though this time it remains kneeling, limp. 

But then it stands abruptly and fingers press lightly against Washington’s temple. He barely has time to shout before the brightness encompasses everything. 

Washington stands in a room, frozen. One hand grips the boy’s wrists, the other an iridescent, shimmering wing. Wings. Alexander has wings? These redcoats have done something to Alex. To him. He can’t move. Why can’t he move?

“You’ll come with us, General. We have a place for you.”

No. He wants to refuse, to demand he and Alexander be released immediately. But he cannot speak.

“It’s powerful. More than what we could have hoped for. It will sustain our cause for a century.”

A wicked grin fixes on Washington. Alexander whimpers.

“Tear his wings off.”

And then Alexander screams. He screams, and screams, and screams. Washington has never heard a sound like this.

It’s pure pain, anguish that burrows its way even into Washington’s soul. Blood coats his hands. Screaming, screaming. Alexander is in agony and he’s the cause of it.

Something snaps and Washington abruptly breaks his hold and stumbles backward. He ends up on his knees, gasping and dizzy and he remembers that pain.

Across from him Alexander collapses against the bars. “S-sir?”

He remembers. Oh God, he remembers everything. Washington was forced, manipulated. Alexander was right- imprisoned in his own mind. He maimed this child, a boy who trusted him. He remembers the torn wings and the blood entwined with magical essence and he feels so sick.

“Alexander? I… My boy I’m so… so sorry.”

“We don’t have much time,” Alexander says, motioning to the lock keeping him trapped. “Let me out before more of them come. We have to get out of here.”

Washington stumbles forward again, dizzy, unsteady. Alexander almost gives off his own light in the dim room. The boy is right- free him and they can escape. They’ll be safe. He reaches for the lock and it falls away with ease. 

“Let’s go,” Alexander smiles so brightly as he steps through the open door and takes Washington’s hand.

“Of course, my boy,” Washington holds tight. He doesn’t want to let go, he’ll never let this happen again. Alexander pulls his red coat away and lets it drop to the floor. They’ll leave that behind forever. Red… it was never right, was it?

The door abruptly bursts open and there stand two more redcoats with weapons trained on them. Washington reaches for his own pistol, determined to defend the boy.

“It’s all right, sir,” Alexander places a hand on his arm and flashes a smile filled with sharp teeth. The magic is everywhere, enveloping every inch of the room, and the two soldiers in front of them. “Laurens and Lafayette belong with us too, don’t you remember?”

Does he? Yes… yes, of course.

Two more red coats are left on the floor, abandoned. They make their way out of the building, out of camp, together. 

Alex is safe, protected. 

Life as it should be.

And Alexander… he will make every last Redcoat pay for imprisoning him, for trying to steal his magic.