#winged!killian

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Anyone remember this?  Anyone? Bueller?  Anyway, @hollyethecurious asked for this, so I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

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Killian was in bed, as Emma had expected. He'd kicked off the blankets, though, which was concerning after his week of burrito-dom. Had he developed a fever? Or were the blankets tugging on the growing feathers? Emma swallowed and approached what had turned into a nest since her departure that morning, afraid of what she’d see.

But he simply blinked back up at her calmly when she peered over the edge of his nest. He’d found one of her beanies, and had pulled it down over his ears and eyebrows, and his arms were wrapped around a pillow for support. “You okay?” she murmured.

“Aye, Love. A little feverish, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Emma was about to suggest he pull off the beanie in that case, but it turned out there was down mixed in with his hair (no wonder it was so soft and shiny) and his scalp was a little patchy. He was probably wearing it to preserve his dignity.

A glance down his body showed it was his ONLY concession to dignity. “Um, Killian? My mother’s here.”

“That’s good,” Killian nodded. “She’ll probably be of more use than the parrot book.”

Emma snorted. “It’s just…she really doesn’t need an eyeful of pirate booty.”

Snow squeaked. Killian looked blank for a moment, then realized, “Oh, bloody hell,” he grumbled. “Sorry, Love. Er…” He fumbled for the sheets, wrapping one around himself.

Snow still blushed faintly, but stepped towards the edge of the bed, where Killian's whole wing hung limply like a bristly, flesh-colored pool noodle. "May I? I know it hurts, I‘ll be very careful," she promised, stretching a hand towards the wing. Killian grunted, but obligingly extended it. Snow lightly touched it, eliciting a flinch from Killian, but he didn't pull away.

His wings at this point had completely lost all their feathers, and now they'd begun the process of regrowth. The down had come in first; there was a fine, soft layer of it along their length, with sharp points jutting out. Emma hadn't known feathers emerged like this, and it was bizarre looking. Snow studied them silently, examining the entire length of wing. "Your pinfeathers are coming in good on this wing," she said at last. "I don't see anything crooked or cracked. Keep an eye out for that," she warned Emma.

"Right, they bleed out," Emma nodded, trying hard not to imagine that.

"S'not pretty when that happens," Killian mumbled into his pillow. "Hurts."

“Does that happen often?” Snow asked, alarmed.

Killian shrugged. “’bout once a decade or so,” he said.

Snow circled to the other side of the bed to examine the maimed wing. He extended it with great reluctance, and she winced at the scar tissue at the wrist. She studied the feathers around the scar tissue, brow pinched. “The feathers aren’t growing in straight here,” she said.

“They don’t,” Killian sighed. “The scars pull the skin taut, and the feathers are always out of alignment. It often gives me trouble.”

“I have a few things for you,” Emma said, as Snow continued to cluck over his misshapen feathers. She held up the Dark Star Pharmacy bag. “More antihistamines…cream…and this.” With a smirk, she pulled out the squirt bottle and sprayed his face. Killian hissed. “See? You ARE like a moody parrot.”

He made to grab it, but Emma jerked it out of his reach. Snow shrieked as this dislodged the sheet, and she covered her eyes. Grumbling, Killian yanked the sheet back over his rear. Emma squirted him again, this time getting his wing.

"Oh..." he said, surprised. "That...that feels GOOD. Helps the itch."

"It may help if Emma squirts you down and runs her fingers through the pinfeathers, just to make sure everything is coming in straight. It’s probably the closest you can get to preening,” Snow said, finally finishing her examination and backing away.

Emma was about to do just that, but Killian snatched the bottle from her and sprayed it. Emma dodged, so the water missed her face, but it made a rather large wet spot on her chest.

Killian arched an eyebrow.

“This means war,” Emma said dramatically. She lunged for the bottle, getting another face and chest full of water for her troubles.

Snow cleared her throat. Loudly.

Killian knocked the bottle out of her hand with his wing, then nudged her in the back with the wrist of his wing until they were face to face. He grinned as a drop of water rolled down her cheek, caught on her lip, then dripped to the bedspread. “Why, Swan… You appear to be drenched. Perhaps you’d like some help out of that wet shirt?”

“Really, you two?” Snow asked despairingly. “REALLY?”

"Just wait, and I'll introduce you to Super Soakers," Emma purred. "If you really want to get me wet -"

- and then Snow was there, squirting the bottle into both their faces.

"Hey!" Emma yelped, pulling away from Killian and wiping ineffectually at her face. "MOM!"

"I'm RIGHT HERE, Emma!" Snow said.

"We were talking about squirt gun fights!" Emma protested. Snow just raised an eyebrow. Yeah, okay, that was fair.

Killian smirked and wiggled an eyebrow.

Snow squirted him again. At his bewildered look, she said, “That was for THINKING about it.”

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I know, I'm not finished with "Bad Feather Days," but this is for @delightfully-difficult-pirate , who wanted fluffy winged!Killian for donating to my Ko-Fi. I hope you enjoy it!

It takes place shortly after "Unbound" during the fourth season hiatus, with Emma adjusting to the displays by Killian's wings. It's not really plotty, it's kinda stream of consciousness.

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It took a couple weeks for Emma to notice Killian's wings didn't simply react to stimuli; they had a language all their own, one even Killian wasn't privy to.

As his wings slowly adjusted to their freedom and their carriage became higher, haloing Killian's ruffled hair, they became more active.

At first it was just the fluffing she'd seen when he was happy or excited. But as his muscles strengthened, it became so much more.

When they'd walk down the street together, his wings would half-spread, and he'd use that pirate swagger that never failed to draw her eye to those trim hips.

Wikipedia called it a mating display.

She didn't think he realized he was doing it.

Anger was another emotion his wings betrayed. She knew he was trying to hide his frustration at his continuing failure to find a way to free the fairies, but now he had more than a tic in his jaw to give him away; his wings would be held tense, the feathers hackled around him to give his anger a jagged silhouette.

He tried to avoid her on those days, and Emma would listen to the warning of his feathers and give him the space he needed to calm himself.

It was rare she ever saw that display.

Her favorite, of course, was his contented fluffing, which she'd noticed was accompanied by an inaudible purring when he was truly happy.

She was only aware of it when she was pressed against him, one wing around her to hold her close.

His wings' vocabulary was extensive. Wings held high meant he was alert and curious; an unexpected flap was startlement (which had scared the Hell out of her father, the first time it happened.) They drooped in sadness, or rose in threat. They shrugged and shuddered and twitched in response to Killian's emotions.

He spoke with his feathers even when he couldn't say something with words. And Emma was determined to learn the language of feathers.

Her favorite? A soft brushing of feathers against skin, tracing her cheek or tickling her arm. The look in Killian's eyes let her know everything she needed to about this touch.

He may have had as much difficulty as she to voice his emotions, but his wings were saying it for him.

Emma checked her phone again, brow furrowing when she saw she'd received another call from Killian. He'd begun calling and immediately hanging up after one ring before she could answer. The fourth time, she'd caught him, and he'd apologized for bothering her, then had rather wistfully asked if she could pick up another backscratcher, because he'd broken his. And where were the extra blankets? And were those little hats she wore comfortable?

Even over the phone, she could hear the strain in his voice, though he'd seemed to perk up the longer he spoke with her.

He'd called five more times since, though she'd only been able to answer twice because she'd been off handling a dispute at Granny's. He'd asked for more of the antihistamine cream on the first call, and during the second, bandages.

That worried her, even though he'd hastened to assure her it was nothing. Oh, and he'd eaten the entire rotisserie chicken she'd picked up before work, could she grab another?

Worried as she was, Emma couldn't focus on her job.

Emma tried calling Killian back, but she was unsuccessful, as she had been the last few times she returned his calls. It seemed that Killian slept between these little bursts of activity, and this time was no different.

She growled in frustration and set the phone aside, trying to focus on finishing her paperwork before Leroy began his Friday drinking extravaganza. She didn't have time to be worrying over how needy her husband had suddenly become.

She heard the sound of the main door opening, and looked up to see her parents come inside, hands full with takeout bags from Granny's.

Snow made a beeline for Emma's desk. "We thought we'd join you for a peaceful dinner before you exposed Killian to Storybrooke's night life," Snow said, dropping a greasy bag on Emma's desk. Her stomach growled appreciatively.

She almost tore into the food right then, but stopped herself when David asked, "Where's Killian?"

Emma sighed. "Home. He's molting, and we decided it's better if he stayed in."

"Oh!" Snow gasped. "I wondered if he did...it must be really painful for him!"

"He won't let me touch him," Emma said. "I want to help him through it, but I don't know how. I don't think he even knows how, because he had no one to teach him." Emma pushed the bag of food aside, appetite gone. "All I have are some books on birds, and they're not the most helpful. I mean, they suggested using a squirt bottle on a molting bird; I don't think that would work on Killian."

"You should definitely try it," David said, grinning.

Emma scowled at him. "Actually, that might not be a bad idea," Snow mused. "Emma, would you like me to come over and have a look at his wings? I have experience with birds molting, so maybe I could see how they compare, and make some suggestions?"

Emma agreed. "Let me ask him first; he's really shy about his wings right now."

"Of course."

Emma's phone rang again. She immediately grabbed it before Killian could disconnect. She listened a moment, then tried not to groan. He'd tried to take a shower, and his loose down feathers had clogged the drain.

He did, however, reluctantly agreed to allow Snow (and only Snow) to look at his wings.

After Emma hung up, David said, "Why don't you and Snow go now? I can fill in for the rest of the night."

"Are you sure?" Emma tried to hide her relief.

"Yes - on one condition. Buy the squirt bottle," David said.

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Emma didn't sleep well that night, though she suspected she'd gotten more sleep than Killian. He'd said he'd try to sleep with his wings draping over the side of the bed, to contain the mess, but Emma would still wake up with a twitching, shuddering wing blanketing her, and shed feathers poking into her.

She'd wake up to see Killian scratching desperately at his other wing, or on his back and wiggling against the mattress in an effort to reach that spot between his wings.

She also caught him shivering from the cold, which was unusual for him.

By morning, there was no hiding that he was losing feathers. Much of the down from the arms of his wings was gone, giving his feathers a patchy look.

Killian studied his ragged wings gloomily. "Soon I'll look like Granny's hot wings special," he sighed. He loosely folded his wings and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Emma followed after him, taking her place at her sink. "You don't have to come in today," she reminded him gently.

Killian grunted, and dug out his eyeliner. He'd started lining his left eye in an effort to cover the dark bags beneath them from lack of sleep. Emma suppressed a chuckle at his vanity. "I'll be fine, Love," he assured her. "I've spent many a sleepless night at sea. I'm accustomed to working with little rest."

"I'm having you work on CBL's today. Best cure for insomnia I've ever encountered. If you were to fall asleep during them, I'll look the other way."

"Not more of the bloody magic box," Killian sight dramatically.

"Sorry." Emma's lips quirked.

Killian just grumbled, then grabbed the toilet plunger and tried to use it to scratch his back. Emma snatched it from him, and resolved to buy a backscratcher.

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Killian didn't fall asleep during his computer courses (which was more than Emma could boast) but he seemed to have lost his will to live by the fifth CBL, which covered a lot of the same ground as the first four, just with slightly different wording.

Killian was slumping in his seat, his wings sagging to the floor. Emma came up to him and tapped the table to get his attention. Killian pushed back the headphones and scowled. "These things are more tedious than a week at sea when the winds have died."

"And yet, you're still awake. Want to get some lunch?"

"Aye, Love. But I'd rather not go out. Perhaps we could order in?"

Emma wondered if he was trying to keep his wings out of sight. Her vain pirate was looking a little ragged, and she knew that flustered him. "I need to run a few errands, so I can pick up some food. Any preferences?"

Killian grinned. "I've been thinking about Granny's hot wings all day. Perhaps...a double order?" he added a little uncertainly. "I find I become more carnivorous during molts."

Protein, she realized. Did he require more protein when he molted? "Got it. See you in a bit." She leaned down and kissed his temple. "Maybe sleep if you can, okay?" Any calls to the station would be forwarded to her phone.

Killian grunted and pulled his headphones back on.

Emma stopped at the diner to place their order, and while she waited, she ran over to the library, where Belle was checking in a stack of books. At her side was was a bassinet, where Gideon was sleeping peacefully. "Am I interrupting?" Emma asked softly.

"You're fine. Gideon could sleep through a dark curse," Belle say. "How can I help you?"

"I need to find some books on molting."

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This feels like a filler piece, much like the last part did. It's driving me nuts...

To Emma's surprise, Killian wasn't fast asleep when she got back to the station. He was, however, standing in the doorway to her office, his back pressed against the frame. He was wriggling vigorously, head thrown back with his eyes closed, and he groaned in ecstasy as he scratched what Emma presumed was one hell of an itch.

Now was not the time to be turned on, Emma reminded herself firmly.

"Anyone who walks in right now could get the wrong idea," Emma said, amused.

Killian's eyes shot open, and about half his feathers puffed up in surprise. Several were knocked loose and drifted to the floor.

"That's embarrassing," Killian said, scratching behind his ear.

"C'mon. I come bearing gifts." Emma nodded towards there desks. Killian followed slowly, his wings shuddering to dislodge more loose feathers.

"Food," she announced, setting his buffalo wings and an extra order of onion rings on his side, "and this." She offered him a bag from Dark Star Pharmacy, which he took curiously. The bamboo stick inside made him wrinkle his nose in puzzlement.

"And this is...?" He raised an eyebrow as he studied the little curled hand at the end.

"A backscratcher. For those hard to reach spots."

Killian's eyes widened, and he promptly gave it a try. His pleased sigh was all Emma needed to know her gift was a success. "There's also some antihistamines in there. They might help ease the itching." A groan was his only response.

She decided to leave him to it for now, and pulled out one of the bird books Belle had scrounged up to read while she ate. Apparently, birds weren't a popular subject in Storybrooke, and the pickings had been slim.

"Swan, I'm not a parrot," Killian grumbled when he caught sight of the book.

"I dunno, you have a lot in common with this one." She angled the book to show him the picture of a mid-molt parrot hissing at a spray bottle.

Killian scowled, then bit savagely into one of his buffalo wings.

Sighing, Emma took one of his shed feathers to use as a bookmark. Killian's scowl deepened.

She let him demolish his food. To distract herself, she dug out one of the stations Cosmopolitan magazines and thumbed through it.

The Cosmos were something she'd inherited when she'd taken the job as sheriff. She had no idea why the station seemed to have an eternal subscription to the magazine, or why it was in Graham's name, but they arrived promptly every month, more reliable than her paycheck. Emma had tried to cancel, but there was no record of the subscription existing, or of any renewal fees being paid.

Regina couldn't figure out, either.

As Killian skeletonized his last buffalo wings (he was DEFINITELY protein-loading,) Emma asked, "Want to take a quiz?"

"That's what I've been doing all morning on the Infernal Machine," Killian grumbled.

"This quiz is about if you know if you're pleasing your man," Emma said teasingly. "Can you please your man, Killian Jones?"

For the first time that day, Killian lost his slightly pinched expression, replacing it with a sultry smile. "Ah, Love, I don't need a quiz to answer that. I've left many a man pleased."

She thought he was teasing, but he aced the quiz. Emma stared.

"I've discovered today I'm very good at tests," Killian said with a shrug. He tossed his trash, then took up his backscratcher. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Love, I want to finish one more of those bloody nuisance lessons before we head home."

He winked, then strutted away, an effect that was ruined when he immediately resumed scratching his back.

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Another part? So soon? It's a lockdown miracle!

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When Emma woke the next morning, her husband had transformed into a burrito.

She woke up far, far too early because she was freezing. Accustomed as she was to her husband's heat and built-in feather blanket, the change in temperature was shocking.

Emma immediately turned to Killian, wondering if he'd gotten up for another good scratch or a dose of antihistamines, but found in his place a large roll of blankets with a tuft of dark hair sticking out the top. A single foot protruded from the other end.

"Killian?" she asked sleepily. "Are you all right?"

The burrito shifted and rolled towards her. Killian poked his face out. "I'm fine, Love." His voice was gravelly from sleep. "Just a touch chilly."

"Ah...I thought maybe you were building a cocoon to turn into a butterfly." She shivered. Well, that settled it; she was calling someone in to update their furnace.

"Bloody hell, Love! I didn't mean to steal your covers." He started to fight his way out of the tangled blankets.

"Killian, you don't have to - oh..." she breathed. Even though the sunlight coming through the window was still weak, she could easily see the changes to his wings. He'd begun dropping primaries, leaving gaping patches of skin.

Killian saw where she was looking and smiled crookedly. "Aye, I look like the Christmas turkey," he said ruefully.

He attempted to fold his wings, but he'd told her that the pain kept him from furling them tightly, they sagged down his backside. "I don't think I'm going to make it to the station today," he sighed.

"I'll stay home with you -" Emma began. She could at least help him with the loose feathers.

"I'll be fine, Swan. Truly. It's Friday night, and someone will have to save the Rabbit Hole from Leroy."

Emma swore, wondering if she could just preemptively toss Leroy in the drunk tank and come home early.

That was probably an abuse of power.

"Fine, but promise you'll call me if you need anything, okay?" Emma reached out, intending to touch his face, but he flinched away.

"Sorry; even touch hurts right now." He shivered again. For the first time, Emma noticed his normally luxurious chest hair looked...thinner. it had always felt so soft to touch. Emma suddenly wondered if there were feathers blended with the hair, and if he was so cold because he was molting everywhere.

Emma helped him back into his burrito. Killian made a contented purring sound as his shabby wings were concealed. She got a good look at the left one as he was folding it under, and she gasped. "Killian, you're bleeding!" She remembered what he'd said about broken pin feathers, and started to panic.

"It's all right, Swan." He extended the wing, giving her a better look. It was covered with long, shallow scratches, which overlapped several similar scars she'd never seen before because they'd been hidden by his feathers. "Scratching with one's hook is risky. I usually stop wearing it when I begin my molt."

But he'd chosen to work the past couple of days, and he refused to go without his hook in public. He'd hurt himself because he didn't want to disappoint her...

Killian saw the change in her expression and said softly, "This isn't your fault, Swan. I thought I would have better control after all these years. I was wrong."

He pulled the blanket around his wings and tucked the end under himself. Burrito complete. "Now, come back to bed, Love. You still have a few hours before you need to go in, and we can keep each other warm, aye?"