Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winter had fully set in. It had been drizzling on and off all week, which made the night air all the more biting. And yet, Oliver couldn’t keep the grin off his face. It was the same grin his siblings had once referred to as that idiotic smile you get right before you’re about to do something fucking stupid.

He pushed that thought aside. Better not to think about his siblings.

There had been very little reason to smile for the better part of a year. But finally, finally, things were about to change. He was getting out. He had suffered his last day at the menagerie. No more glass case. No more gigantic stares gawking at him for merely existing.

Oh, you love the attention, his sister’s voice teased at the back of his mind. He blinked hard. Don’t think about them.

“Not as much as you love to be a catty bitch,” he told the air anyway.

“What did you say?” one of the other fairies asked behind him.

Oliver tore his eyes away from the opening of the tent flap to glance behind him. “Not you. Talking to my sister.” The fairy frowned and tried to look past him, but Oliver shrugged matter-of-factly. “Oh, she’s not here. She’s super dead.”

“Ah. Right.”

He was left alone after that, for some reason.

Peeking further out of the tent, Oliver searched for any sign of movement. The menagerie grounds were strewn with trash. The animals had been locked up for the night in their own tents and cages. Almost all of the staff and management were in town for the night while Grady was left behind to keep an eye on things.

Grady, the only human who was decent. The only one who was willing to risk everything to get them to freedom. He had played his part well that day, grumbling about the nightwatch duty to his coworkers. It was all going according to plan.

Tonight was the night he would finally help the fairies get far, far away from this place.

None of them were caged tonight, but Grady told them to stay inside the tent in case another worker showed up unexpectedly. Plus, it would keep them all together and ensure that no one was left behind.

Grady had gone out to keep an eye out for Cliff, the person who was supposed to take them to a safe house for fairies. Oliver had heard whispers about it before, but it never seemed real until now. However, Oliver didn’t find himself as thrilled as he should have been about it. He inched halfway out of the tent, debating with himself.

He didn’t know this Cliff person. Didn’t know exactly where they were going.

But he did know Grady. And Grady had been a light in the darkness ever since he came to work at the menagerie.

Oliver stopped overthinking it and slipped out of the fairy display tent. Maybe it was a stupid thought, but he wondered if it would be at all possible to stay with Grady instead. If not… It would at least be nice to talk to him one more time before this supposed hero came along and ferried them all to safety.

With some of the lights still up, it didn’t take long for Oliver to spot him near one of the food trucks at the edge of the grounds. He was talking on his phone. His shoulders were rigid. As Oliver flew closer, it sounded like Grady’s tone had a razor-sharp bite.

Too curious to interrupt, Oliver slowed his wings and landed on the ground so his buzz wouldn’t be heard. He hid behind one of the truck’s tires and listened. He clenched his jaw, worried that the arrangement with Cliff had fallen through.

“All I’m saying is that I better get what I’m owed,” Grady huffed into his phone. “I was promised double what Everett was offering. Now you’re telling me I’m not getting the full payout at once?”

Oliver clamped a hand over his mouth, his insides twisting.

Everett. Cliff Everett. If he wasn’t coming for them anymore, then who was?

If it weren’t for the unfamiliar, frightening edge to Grady’s voice, Oliver might have flown right out and demanded to know what was going on. But something was wrong. Anyone who was insisting on paying more to get their hands on an abused group of fairies probably didn’t have hot meals and soft beds in mind.

“We can discuss it more right now,” Grady sighed. “I see your headlights.”

Sure enough, the rumbles of engines and the glow of high beams became apparent from a distance.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Oliver muttered, pressing his back against the truck tire.

He needed to keep listening, but flying was not an option. His wings would easily be heard, and he’d spotted, and Grady likely still had fairy containment gear on him. Oliver wouldn’t be able to keep up by running, but Grady wasn’t on the move yet.

Without stopping to think twice, Oliver bolted out from under the truck and approached the massive boots. In hindsight, he was lucky not to get crushed then and there. But the stars or ancient magics apparently wanted him to live long enough to regret his decision.

He gave one soundless flap of his wings—just enough to carry him high enough to grab the crisscross of laces near the top of Grady’s boot.

It wasn’t so bad at first when Grady wasn’t moving. There was only the simple, crippling fear of the giant looking down at just the right angle and spotting his passenger. But luckily, the lights didn’t seem to reach all the way to the ground, and Oliver’s clothes weren’t bright.

The boot shifted, almost making him slip immediately. He grabbed hold of the laces, able to hear his bother’s deadpan in his mind—How the fuck have you managed to live this long?—just before the world began to swing nauseatingly. Grady was on the move. Each pause before his boot swung forward again offered little reprieve, other than giving Oliver a split second to tighten his grip and swallow his screams.

In the dizzying ride, he was able to make out several massive trucks arriving. More humans got out of the vehicles than Oliver could keep track of from this angle. It was abundantly clear that Grady had royally screwed him and the other fairies over, but Oliver was too petrified and sick to even consider trying to fight them all off.

“About the payment—” Grady started to say, pausing his walk for a blessed moment.

“Save it,” another human said. “You can collect once the inventory’s accounted for.”

Inventory. How fucking rude.

“Fine,” Grady muttered. “They’re docile right now. They still think Everett’s coming for them, so they’re loose in the tent. Didn’t want to risk them getting suspicious by keeping them caged.”

“How many canisters should we take?” another voice from one of the trucks asked.

“There’s a dozen units,” the first one said. “Three canisters should be more than enough.”

Units. Even the menagerie workers had the base-level decency to refer to them as fairies. Even occasionally as talent.

Oliver dared to peek up toward the newcomers and wished he hadn’t. They were decked out in gear that would likely shield them from any attack he could throw their way. The typical menagerie worker’s getup was laughable by comparison. But he was most focused on the canisters that were mentioned.

Iron smoke, contained for time being. One breath of that, and Oliver wouldn’t be able to make so much as a spark for hours.

With that, Grady took up his stride again. Each thump made Oliver feel like he might lose his grip, but he managed to stay somewhat alert to his blurred surroundings. They were heading for the tent. If he stayed on Grady’s boot, he was sure to be found before long. If he tried to retaliate or try to warn the others, he’d be taken down in an instant.

He was the only one with a shot of making it out.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

When Grady stepped close enough to the unkempt grass near the edge of the path, Oliver threw himself off. He rolled to a stop, cold mud smearing his arms. He ducked down among the vegetation and held his breath. The ground trembled with the humans’ retreating footsteps.

The moment he was sure their backs were to him, he started running.

The tent flap fluttered open.

Oliver began flying. Screams and shouts fell into the distance as his fellow captives were overwhelmed with iron smoke in mere seconds. He forced himself not to look back. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going back, from trying—

But Grady was sure to notice he was gone. A search would begin. He had to keep going. Oliver flew for the surrounding woods, vehemently telling himself over and over that there was nothing he could have done. Over the roar of wind in his ears, Oliver swore he heard one of the fairies begging Grady by name to save them. He couldn’t stop himself from looking back over his shoulder toward the tents. Furious tears flooded his vision.

And then he slammed into a branch.

The branch had caught him by his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain shot through the middle of his right wing, and Oliver shrieked into the woods. He looked up in terror to find iron mesh pinned into the trees. He had heard about this security measure from the menagerie workers who came and went over the months, but it had always been difficult to discern when they were telling the truth and when they were simply trying to intimidate them.

He was lucky his wing had only grazed through one of the larger holes—if he had slammed directly into the iron, he might’ve passed out and plummeted to a very awkward and unimpressive death. As it was, his wing was still aching hard enough that staying in the air was too painful. Oliver angled himself towards the ground to land, grunting at every leaf that slapped him on the way down.

“Haven’t even made it past the boundary, and you’ve mortally wounded yourself,” Oliver growled under his breath. He fanned his wings and conjured a faint bit of illumination in his palm. The iron exhaustion still had a hold on him, but he mustered enough light to see the inflamed veins on the gauzy appendage. He had to tear his gaze away from the stomach-churning sight.

Okay, so he wasn’t mortally wounded, but it was gross. And it fucking hurt.

Up the hill, vehicle doors slammed. He had to keep moving—even on foot.

As he stumbled in the dark over the rocky, root-riddled terrain, Oliver quickly remembered how much he hated the ground. When flying was an option, walking long distances on foot seemed like a primitive, wasteful thing. It felt so human. The soil was soft from rain and kept sucking at his boots, slowing his stride. Crickets kept snapping from spot to spot in the grassy nooks between trees. Pebbles and bark, slick with condensation, threatened to bring him staggering to his knees.

But maybe tonight, this was for the best, anyway. Oliver craned his neck towards the vast canopy of branches overhead. It was impossible to tell where the menagerie had installed the random panels of iron netting to trap would-be escapees. It was safer to avoid the chance of flying into another mesh. At least until he was further from the boundaries.

More annoying--but safer.

Somewhere further along the treeline, there were human footsteps. The kind that were clearly urgent, but trying to be quiet. Already looking for him. They’d be searching the branches, the iron netting, anything but the ground, he assured himself.

He couldn’t stop, couldn’t risk himself being cornered.

Before long, a different sound reached his ears. It didn’t sound anything like humans, so he hurried toward it, knees already aching from the strain of having to pull himself through the mud.

The noise turned out to be a swift, gurgling creek running through the woods. The current was angled in the direction he was headed—finally, some luck. Anything to keep moving forward without having to walk so damn much.

A few scraps of bark lay near the roots of a tree. He grabbed a piece big enough to carry him and dragged it to the bank of the creek. As he pushed it into the water and clambered on, the water rushed over his boots and hands. He hissed. This creek would have been pretty in the day, maybe. And marginally warmer. But right now, it looked like an inky black ribbon that would rush him further into the unknown.

Better than going back.

As it turned out, the water didn’t give him the reprieve he craved. Of course it didn’t. Nothing can be fucking easy. He had to stay on hands and knees for any sort of balance, which made the freezing water lap at him as it carried him off.

For a while, it was manageable. His hands became numb enough to deal with the sting. Even the pain in his wing started to wane as the iron’s effects lessened.

Oliver knew he was in trouble when he felt the first real dip of the current. It plunged the bark down and back up so swiftly that he was drenched almost entirely. He crouched, digging his fingers into the wood in a pathetic attempt to keep his plan from falling apart. Then that one dip turned into several, and the current began to rush faster.

And then, no amount of holding on could help. The bark overturned completely and threw him off. Shock took hold of his limbs. For a few terrible moments, all he felt was a mind-numbing sting. In his panic, he drew in a lungful of water. That finally jerked a reaction from him. He kicked and flailed until his legs finally found the creek’s bank.

Coughing and sputtering, he clawed himself onto freezing cold mud. In his desperation to get away from the water, he managed to get his clothes, hair, and—worst of all—his wings completely coated in mud. He gagged out the water in his throat, and once he was sure he wasn’t going to choke, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the trees, chest heaving.

“This is all because I didn’t go back to help them, isn’t it?” Oliver asked the stars he couldn’t see.

No, his brother said, appearing beside him. It’s because you thought it’d be a good idea to go rafting.

His sister was on his other side. Or maybe if you’d kept your eyes forward, you wouldn’t have hit that branch, dumbass.

Oliver sighed. “You guys are the best. Go away.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up to sit. The cold was bone-deep. He was surprised his limbs didn’t crackle with ice when he moved them.

If he stayed here, he’d freeze to death. If he moved forward… he could still freeze to death. Or maybe find death in some other, more exciting way.

He forced himself to his feet, nearly slipping into the mud all over again. Hugging himself, he glared at the rush of the creek. “Thanks for the ride. But also, fuck you.” He moved to find drier ground.

Oliver scraped mud off his face and arms as he pressed on, which seemed to exist in an unending supply. He was climbing over a rock covered in slimy gray moss when something rustled in the trees above. A bone-chilling hoot accompanied a single, heavy flap of wings.

Oliver seized up, pressing his back against the sediment. His sharp, terrified breaths were deafening as he leaned out to peer skyward.

Nothing.

He waited five minutes before scrambling over the rock and making his way to the next. This time, he caught the flicker of a mighty wingspan against the overcast sky.

Of course, he would have an owl stalking him tonight.

He clenched his fists as he lay back into hiding. The urge to fry the wicked fowl with a pointed spell was mocked by the remnants of the iron fatigue. Just running was wearing him more than it should. It would be some time before he could conjure any useful magic.

Waiting it out was awful—hearing every evil hoot and shift of the predator from branch to branch as it looked for him, hoping for an easy meal. Sitting still made the cold sharpen in Oliver’s joints. Rubbing his arms and legs seemed to do nothing; he couldn’t stop shivering.

He was starting to worry the clatter of his teeth might draw the owl’s attention, but its patience had a limit. Oliver heard it move towards a small rodent skittering around and wasted no time in launching back onto the path forward. He sprinted to put as much distance between them as possible, lungs burning and aching and begging him to stop. But he didn’t, not until the hoots were only a nightmarish echo behind him.

He was owed a stroke of good luck—but apparently, not yet. Gnats hovered over the moist ground in patches now, particularly near the best climbing spots where tree roots dipped under the rocky soil. They nipped at every inch of exposed skin, seeming to swarm to the mud.

Oliver almost wished he’d been an animal talent, fantasizing about commanding the owl to eat the aggressive fuckers out of his hands.

“If I had my magic,” he panted, punching blindly at a cluster of them. “I’d turn all of you into ash, do you hear me? Ash!”

The compounded grief and discomfort and pain and sheer this is fucking unfair, why me had Oliver rocking where he stood. Tears welled up in his eyes as he caught his pathetic breath and considered curling up by the next family of gnats and just letting them have at him. What was the point of freedom when it was impossible to survive?

It felt like it had been hours, but truthfully, Oliver had no way to tell how long had passed since entering the woods.

A pair of oily grasshoppers hopped onto the horizon. Oliver watched them approach fungi growing at the foot of the tree, nibbling at it. The other hopped close to indulge in one of the infinitesimal flies passing through. As though it had enjoyed the taste of blood, its attention moved to Oliver.

Fuck me, he thought wearily.

But suddenly, the entire forest floor shivered and the gathering of insects scattered in a panic.

An irregular quake continued to travel through the soil, growing stronger as he dared to walk forward. It was a clumsy rhythm—but much bigger than an owl.

Human footsteps.

A laugh threatened to burst out of Oliver, so he covered his mouth. Still, his chest heaved with the trapped sound. Of course. Of course there was a human just when he was ready to lay down and die.

Retreating into the nearby foliage, he took shelter among a nest of roots. Thankfully, the insects had moved further away and didn’t bother him in his hiding place either. If he had to choose between murderous grasshoppers or a human, he wasn’t quite sure where he’d land. He supposed it depended on how murderous the human was.

Holding his breath, Oliver peeked to catch a glimpse of the human. He reared back when those massive footsteps trailed closer than he expected. They paced away, but not very far.

There were black boots, dark jeans. This human seemed to be alone. He turned enough for Oliver to see part of his face in the darkness. He was cloaked in a leather jacket and had dark blond hair. Oliver caught sight of a strong jawline covered in short facial hair before the human turned away again.

“What are you up to?” Oliver murmured.

The human was peering through the scope of a weapon as if trying to get a read on the surrounding area. Oliver immediately pulled back into cover, his heart jumping. This could be one of the humans who stormed the menagerie. But… that didn't feel quite right. Oliver’s speed may have been pitiful on the journey so far, but he was sure he would have noticed if a human managed to get ahead of him.

Another peek gave him a glimpse of a car hidden in the shrubs nearby. It didn’t look like the ones that had pulled up to the menagerie, though. It seemed as if this human had been stationed here much longer than Oliver had been on the run. And he seemed to be spying in the direction of the menagerie.

Cliff Everett?

Relief threatened to send him stumbling out into the open immediately, but Oliver kept it at bay. He thought he could trust Grady—he’d known him for months. For all Oliver knew, Cliff was just as bad as the others. If this even was Cliff. The rescue could have been a lie from the start. The safe house could be a lie.

Weary, Oliver sank to the ground as he thought hard.

“He has to have food,” he whispered. “I could steal it. It’d be like crumbs to him, wouldn’t it?”

His brother scoffed. And how do you plan to get over there with your wings like that?

True. The mud caked on his wings had dried in several layers. And even if he did manage to grab as much food as he could carry, then what? He was already worn to the bone. The winter was unforgiving, and spring was a distant dream. He’d never make it. If he turned tail now, the next owl he came upon might be more patient than the last.

Even if this human planned to keep him captive… it would mean getting to stay alive. Humans wanted live fairies, after all. Unless they were scientists. And this one certainly didn’t look the part. The menagerie types wanted to make money off of fairies, and that meant keeping them fed and safe enough to be ogled.

A breeze danced through the woods and filtered through the roots, making him shiver harder.

He’d escaped once. That meant it wasn’t impossible to do it again.

Swallowing hard, Oliver grabbed onto a root and used it to pull himself to stand. His arms and legs shook from the effort. He shuffled out into the open and approached the human in the small clearing. He expected to be spotted right away, but the human was so focused on scanning the woods, Oliver went unnoticed.

“If you’re hunting for me, you’re doing a really shitty job of it,” Oliver breathed. “I’m right here.”

But the human didn’t seem to hear him.

He cleared his throat. “H-hey. Please tell me you’re not a total asshole. That would kinda ruin my beautiful night.” He couldn’t seem to make his voice any louder than a whisper now that he was exposed.

Then the human started moving toward him, and he thought that finally he had been heard. But the boots weren’t stopping. Oliver found his legs unresponsive. Until that night, he’d never had to look at humans from the ground. And his experience with Grady left him entirely frozen. It didn’t seem real, those monstrous strides carrying the unknown human closer and closer—

At the last moment, Oliver jolted back.

The boot came crashing down an inch from him, pushing up the soil as if the earth itself was casually coming apart.

Oliver wasn’t aware he was screaming until the human gave a startled grunt and recoiled from him. Falling quiet, Oliver breathed heavily and stared hard at the spot where the boot had been. The sight of tread’s deadly imprint would have made him puke if he wasn’t starved.

“What the hell are you doing down there?” the human thundered. “Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that! I could’ve killed you!”

Chapter Text

Eyes wide and blank, Oliver looked up slowly at the furious titan. He wanted to snap back something to defend himself, but for once in his life, he had very little to say.

His sister giggled in his ear. Are you telling me that all we needed to do to shut you up was put a big, scary human in front of you?

“Y-yeah,” was all he managed to mumble in response, still locked in petrified eye contact with the human.

Those wide green eyes didn’t budge from Oliver as he set the weapon down against a tree. The man squinted, studying him in the shadowy light.

“Are your wings damaged?” The human knelt down, his wide shoulders blotting out Oliver’s view of the forest behind him. Oliver didn’t realize he was just gaping like an idiot until a huge hand waved overhead to snap him out of it. “Hey. Stay with me, buddy. Did they do something to your wings to keep you from flying?”

“I-it’s just mud, mostly,” Oliver finally croaked. He moistened his cracked lips. “You’re Cliff Everett, aren’t you?”

A nod. “Your name?”

“Oliver.”

“Alright, Oliver. You can’t stay grounded like that. Let’s get you patched up.”

And then a gigantic hand was barrelling for him. Fingers long as he was tall outstretched to clamp around his body–

Oliver scrambled out of reach with a yelp.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cliff’s hand was still extended, closing in. “We need to get that mud off your wings. It looks like it’s caked on pretty thick. I can help you.”

“I’m fine,” Oliver snapped.

A beat passed. “You’re fine,” Cliff echoed flatly. “On the ground, where you almost got smushed thirty seconds ago.”

Oliver grit his teeth hard. “Y-yep. Abso-fruit-ly.”

Did you just say ‘abso-fruit-ly,’ you psycho?

Cliff didn’t laugh. Oliver watched the looming hand like it was a monster on its haunches, ready to pounce. He braced himself to be seized against his will again, but to his surprise, Cliff sighed and pulled back.

“Fine. At least take this.” Cliff dug around in his jacket and produced a folded handkerchief. He held it out to Oliver.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s forty degrees out here,” Cliff said, and Oliver caught something sad in his gaze when he drew the cumbersome cloth around his shoulders.

The fabric was warm and immediately buffered the unforgiving wind that skirted through the woods. It smelled clean, though Oliver found himself still expecting a whiff of the vape smoke that clung to everything Grady owned.

“I wasn’t sure you were real,” Oliver said, bold enough to look Cliff in the eye. He raked his eyes over him in detail, solidifying a legend into flesh and blood. “The way some people talked, I thought you might just be a story. But… If you’re here, that means the safe house is real, too. You can still take me there, can’t you? Y-you have to.”

Something guarded sparked in Cliff’s eyes. He even leaned away, searching the ground around Oliver. “Where are the others? There’s supposed to be twelve of you, right? Is there anyone else here?”

“Nope. Just you, me, and the voices in my head.” Oliver attempted to smile, but it shattered immediately. He palmed his face with the handkerchief, shoulders trembling despite the newfound warmth. “Grady got a better offer, that stupid, lying bastard. I heard him talking with them. He got paid double to turn us over to those monsters.” Although Oliver tried to keep his grief locked away, he didn’t have the strength to fight the sobs that choked his answer. “Stars, I heard them screaming. And I-I… I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

When Oliver trailed off, Cliff cursed under his breath. Wiping tears away, Oliver examined Cliff’s face, trying to gauge if he truly felt bad, or if he was upset about not having a whole shipment of fairies to resell. Considering he hadn’t outright grabbed Oliver, he was willing to believe the former. Oliver pulled the handkerchief higher around his shoulders. Okay, he was really willing to believe it.

Oliver sniffled, trying to get a hold of himself. “Can we go?”

“Not yet.” Cliff raised his gaze, observing the woodland around them warily. “I had a bad feeling when I saw those trucks on the road. Chances are, they’re still out here. Can’t move ‘til they clear out of the area.”

Cocking his head, Oliver gave a bitter laugh. “They got what they came for. You think they’d stick around very long just to find one fairy?”

“They’re looking for me,” Cliff said with grim certainty.

“Oh. Well, I mean that’s definitely a possibility. But also, Grady might be pretty upset that I’m the only one who got away, so that’s always on the table, too.”

Cliff’s eyes locked back onto Oliver with such intensity that he drew back instinctively. “Did you get a look at the new buyers?” Cliff demanded. “Were they wearing a green patch on their shirts? Did you see the kind of equipment they had?”

“Iron smoke. But I couldn’t see what they were wearing. I was on a shoe.”

“Sorry, you were what?”

“Hey, at least I wasn’t seen.”

Far from looking impressed, Cliff eyed him up and down slowly. Then he gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not gonna bullshit you, Oliver. There’s something off about you.”

Oliver’s heart stuttered, but he smiled cluelessly. “Somehow, you’re not the first to say that.”

“I mean, a dozen fairies, and only one happened to find me?” With each word, his expression darkened, and Oliver found himself staggering back several steps. “How do I know they didn’t send you out here as a trap? You could have a tracker.”

Stopping where he stood, Oliver blanched. “A tracker? Where, under all the mud?” He scoffed, more offended than frightened by Cliff’s assumption. “What, do you think they threw me in the creek before they sent me to you?”

Cliff hardly looked convinced, and without the human saying a word, Oliver felt that he was losing him. Panic seized him.

“No,” Oliver snapped, a humorless laugh shaking through him. “No way I’m with them! You have to take me to the safe house! I didn’t almost drown, and almost get eaten by an owl, and almost chewed to the bone by gnats, and almost stepped on just so I could almost get saved!”

As Oliver’s voice rose with fresh emotion, the slightest touch of sympathy wavered at the back of Cliff’s hard stare, but it didn’t surface all the way.

“You want me to save you?” Cliff gave him another unimpressed look. “You won’t even let me touch you.”

“Yeah, shockingly, I’m not really jazzed about humans at the moment. But… but you can’t just leave me here!” He forced himself to shamble forward, still gripping the handkerchief tight as he pointed up at Cliff with both hands. “Because! Because. Think about it. If you’re right and I’m on their side, and you leave me, I’d just go to them and tell them where you are, right? And you don’t want that.”

Or he could just kill you and be done with your annoying ass, shit-for-brains.

Cliff lifted his chin suddenly, tracking lights moving in the distance. Oliver craned his neck to follow too, hopeful to see them headed for the horizon. His stomach sank when the trucks didn’t get any further away. They seemed to be circling the ground perimeter.

“Come on, we need to get out of the open.” Cliff stood and grabbed his gun, striding for the hidden vehicle. He paused there, still holding the shrubbery aside, and looked back at Oliver expectantly. “C’mon.”

Oliver could have easily walked right under most of the juniper spruce’s branches, but the gesture was appreciated all the same. He jogged over to join him, kerchief billowing out like a cape. Once side by side with the comparable giant again, he immediately sprinted another short burst to the base of the nearest tree—nervously eyeing those black boots.

“Don’t move,” Cliff said sternly.

As though reliving the same moment, he gave Oliver a particularly wide berth as he walked to the car. As he ducked into the passenger’s side door, he glanced over his shoulder to ensure Oliver was rooted in place. He returned with a bottle of water and a battered zipper bag. Each footfall still tremored violently through the ground, rattling every bone in his body. Oliver grit his teeth and dreamed desperately of being back in the air. His fingers dug painfully into the bark of the tree until Cliff took a seat on the ground and the earthquakes ceased.

“We may be here a while, unfortunately,” Cliff said, unzipping the pouch. “These guys won’t give up easily. Are you hungry?”

He held out a small cloth bag to Oliver—fairy-made. Oliver could smell the fresh contents without seeing them. He seized the offering like a frenzied animal and found dried fruit, a chunk of herbed bread, and slivers of hazelnuts and almonds packed inside. He plopped on his ass in the dirt and ate voraciously, only pausing for a quick “thanks” when Cliff set a fairy-sized jug of water at his feet, too.

He coughed, forced to slow down halfway through guzzling the water. He glanced up at Cliff out of the corner of his eye, wiping his mouth on the kerchief, wondering if he should be embarrassed by his pathetic reaction. The human was sorting dutifully through the pouch, fairy clothes pinched in his fingers. Surely, he had seen worse if the stories about him rang with any truth at all.

“These might fit you,” Cliff said, finally settling on a pair of trousers and a long-sleeved knit top. He held them out, but Oliver shook his head.

“Look at me. I’ll ruin them.”

Cliff‘s lips tugged into what Oliver could only describe as an endeared smirk. “I appreciate the thought, but the whole point is you not freezing to death.”

“Hm.”

“But I’m betting they’ll be more comfortable to slip into without half the river hanging off your back.” He set the clothes on his knee and laid his hand out palm-up. Trepidation seized Oliver once more.

“I won’t hurt you,” Cliff added. So softly, as though it might spare his pride.

“Once I have my flight back, I don’t need you to carry me around, just so you know,” Oliver announced nonetheless. “I’m very capable of getting around without humans.” His throat was bone dry as he looked up at Cliff’s face. “You promise not to rip them off, right?”

The gentle smile was disarming. “Yeah, I promise.”

He’d never been held by humans until his capture. Then, in the last nine months, he’d had more experience with hands than he ever cared to again. Hunters, workers, guests… They were always sweaty and rough and left him sore for days afterward. It betrayed every instinct to enter someone’s grasp of his own accord. Not even Grady had allowed him that, for all his affectionate gestures.

Oliver was unprepared for his boots to sink into Cliff’s skin, which despite being calloused in places, had considerable give to his weight. Heat radiated from the surface, and when Oliver wavered in one spot near the center, a finger twitched in reaction.

The moment he was seated, the ground vanished beneath him. Vertigo washed over him, and he gripped Cliff’s palm tightly as he was lifted up to eye level. It took every ounce of stubborn willpower not to lose the food he’d just feasted on.

“I’m gonna need to see your wings in order to help you,” Cliff said.

Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin, unprepared for the sound of his voice that much closer. Steeling himself, Oliver shrugged off the kerchief and pulled it in front of him. He looped his hands through the folds like a security blanket. He was certain that Cliff wouldn’t intend to hurt him, but he braced himself all the same as the heat of the other hand approached.

Fingertips slipped between his wings, grabbing the upper right appendage. Cliff gave one scrape at the mud with his nail, and Oliver hissed, flinching severely.

Cliff pulled back at once. “That hurt?”

“N-no.”

The fingertips returned. “Then why’d you do that?”

“Just practicing.”

Cliff began to scrape again. “You’re shaking.” He sounded more concerned than accusing.

“Well, I have a giant pawing at some very vital limbs,” Oliver reasoned. “But don’t let me distract you.”

Despite Cliff’s gruff demeanor, his touch stayed gentle. Without tugging too hard on Oliver’s wings, he managed to remove most of the muddy layers with his fingers alone. Oliver still jumped a little at each new contact, but he gradually relaxed, particularly when the weight of the grime diminished.

The final layers were the most stubborn. Cliff used water and a clean cloth to get at the clumps of dirt that stuck to the gauziness of Oliver’s wings. Cliff paused as he was finishing up. Setting aside the cloth, he pinched the tip of one wing and held it out. Oliver looked over his shoulder, going rigid when he saw how closely Cliff was narrowing his eyes at the damaged membrane.

“You didn’t tell me about the iron,” Cliff said.

“No offense,” Oliver said, timidly easing away to free his wing from the human’s grip, “but I was a little iffy about you knowing that my magic wasn’t at full capacity.” He hesitated, then turned slowly on Cliff’s palm to fully see his face. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It was just a little touch—I’ve had much worse before. Absolute agony by comparison.”

That didn’t seem to cheer Cliff up.

Embracing the lightness of his wings, Oliver fluttered them experimentally. He let the kerchief drop as he hovered above Cliff’s palm. He didn’t last long, slumping back down into the hand after a few moments. Mud or not, exhaustion and cold still had a grip on him.

“You okay?” Cliff asked.

“I think I’ll take those clothes now.”

It was a relief to be out of the human’s hand, but Oliver found himself missing the warmth as he changed in the brush beside the tree. Luckily, the new clothes were much thicker than the mud-crusted outfit he’d been dragging himself through the forest in.

Emerging from around the tree trunk, Oliver found Cliff checking his weapon. It was a chilling sight. Although he swore he could sense some faint iron somewhere nearby, at least it didn’t seem to be from the bullets within the gun. Not that non-iron bullets would do any less damage if they were aimed at him.

Although the weapon wasn’t an active threat to him, Oliver found himself wondering if his magic was any more agreeable. Drawing a deep breath, he cupped his palms together and muttered an incantation. A spark—bigger than he anticipated—crackled within his hands.

He jumped delightedly, laughing with triumph. “It’s back! Finally! Let me know if the gnats are bothering you.”

Cliff turned to look at him, wariness darkening his features when he saw Oliver playing with a ball of lightning.

“I should’ve known this was your affinity,” Cliff scoffed.

“You don’t seem that thrilled for me.”

“I am, trust me. Deep down.” He shook his head, letting out a small hiss between his teeth. “I’ve just had a few run-ins with lightning fairies that I’d rather not think about.”

“Who hasn’t?” Oliver raised his eyebrows at him. “But hey, at least I’m not a—”

“Fire fairy.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped with intrigue. “Not a fan, either, are you? You’ve had some run-ins with them too?”

“Every day of my life.”

“Me too.” Oliver regarded the lightning in his hands for a few moments before extinguishing it. Maybe dousing his magic would make him seem like less of a threat as he treaded carefully on his most pressing subject. “Lots of fire fairies at the safe house?”

Cliff’s full attention flickered down to him, sizing him up. “We’ll see.”

“Come on, look at this face. You really think I’m lying to you?”

“You certainly wouldn’t be the first.”

Frustrated tears prickled at the back of Oliver’s eyes. He wanted to grab Cliff by the shoulders and shake him. “What the hell can I do to make you believe me?”

Cliff’s voice lowered. “I don’t know.” He frowned deeply, running the cloth over parts of the weapon that had been already cleaned. He worked in silence for an uncomfortable moment, as though reliving something awful—Oliver was afraid to ask. “I’ll get you somewhere safe. But no promises about where. I’ve got others to protect too. I won’t risk them for anything.”

Oliver’s heart sank like a stone. Desperate, he shuffled closer. “Cliff, er… Mr. Everett–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Cliff, please. You have to believe me.”

Those green eyes rested on him again, searching. “We’ll see.”

Oliver felt his frustration bubbling into currents of electricity under his skin. He balled his fists to keep it at bay. He was still discerning what he could possibly say next when the ground under his feet gave another faint shiver.

But Cliff wasn’t moving.

Oliver whirled to face the way they’d come. It was distant, but he was growing far too familiar with the resonance of human tread.

“Oliver?” Cliff sat to attention behind him.

Then, he heard it too. Voices.

Flashlight beams began to reflect off their surroundings—already far too close for comfort.

Oliver‘s chest constricted as it became clear that they were brutally outnumbered. “Oh, fuck. Oh stars, they’re…”

“Not a word,” Cliff breathed. He leaned over to peer through the foliage, grip tightening on his weapon.

Oliver wished he had even the slightest affinity for glamour. Then he could hide them. He could compel the searchers to walk right past them without a clue where they were. But then again, if he were a glamour fairy, he’d likely be suffering a far worse fate than a menagerie.

Keeping his mouth shut tight, he eased forward to peek past the lowest branches. Humans shifted in and out of view among the trees. Shivering, Oliver was prepared to retreat closer to the safety of Cliff, but he froze when he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure—Grady. He was searching along with the others, flashlight in hand.

All at once, fear and sorrow meant nothing. Unbridled rage poured in. The lightning that had been running a current under his skin threatened to burst from him like a storm. And this time, he would allow it.

“You,” he whispered.

This was all Grady’s fault. If he hadn’t gone for the bigger paycheck, then Oliver and the others would’ve been on their way to the safe house. Instead, Oliver had been put through a night of hell, and the others… They were on their way to suffering a fate worse than death.

Oliver’s wings buzzed to life. Golden lightning cracked and snapped in his palms. He darted up, but he didn’t even make it out of the foliage before he was yanked back by his shirt.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Cliff demanded, pulling him closer between a finger and thumb. “Put it out before they see the light!”

“Let go! Grady’s there!”

“Oliver—”

“He deserves to fry for what he did!” Oliver kept flapping his wings, as though he could drag Cliff along with him. He was trembling again, but not from fright or cold—fury coursed through his veins into his magic, making him feel like he could level a human city. He shot a glare back at Cliff. “If I kill him, will you finally believe me?”

“This isn’t going to help you!” Cliff’s other hand approached, impatiently attempting to corral him into a fist. “There’s too many of them. Just calm down.”

“No!” Oliver lashed a hand out and shocked Cliff. It was a fraction compared to what he planned to do to Grady, but it was enough to make the human let go instinctively.

Beating his wings harder, Oliver burst through the foliage. Grady had his back to him in the distance, heading the other way. Oliver charged up another spell. It glowed brilliantly in his hands, nearly blinding him. It would be more than enough to ground Grady even from far away. Gritting his teeth, Oliver wound his arm back to launch the spell out.

Before he could unleash hell, Cliff’s hands returned with a vengeance and clamped entirely around Oliver.

It shouldn’t have been a problem breaking free. But his magic was snuffed out in an instant. It felt like he had plunged back into the ice water of the creek again, unable to draw a full breath. He squirmed in the darkness. Instead of skin, cloth pressed around him. He was still processing what happened when he heard a human shout in the distance.

“Over there! I saw a light!”

Oliver choked on what little breath he had. He writhed furiously, piecing together that Cliff had donned iron-laced gloves to kill his magic. It didn’t burn him. It just left him entirely helpless to create so much as a spark. He went into a vicious panic, kicking and pounding against the gloved palms and fingers surrounding him.

“Let me go!” he wailed.

“I’m sorry.” Cliff’s voice was close, muffled but rumbling. “If you go out there guns blazing, we’re both fucking dead, do you understand me?”

“I could’ve killed him!” Oliver’s voice cracked. His beating fist hit with less vigor as the iron fatigue set in. His wings twitched and tried uselessly to unfurl against Cliff’s grip. “Let me go! I can kill him!”

“And he’d deserve it. But there’s a better way to get your revenge. Like surviving.”

Oliver’s escape attempts became more difficult when Cliff stood, rocking him onto his side hard. The fingers twitched tighter around him. When he paused, panting, Oliver could hear the other humans closing in.

“I saw it, too.”

“It’s the lightning one. I told you he was still out here!”

Grady’s voice. Oliver forgot to breathe. The lightning one.

“Fuck,” Cliff rumbled.

The hands opened up, moving with a speed that Oliver’s half-sedated mind struggled to comprehend. He saw the urgency darkening Cliff’s expression, a black handgun pulled out of a holster strapped to his thigh. Oliver heard himself mutter a threat at the human as his weak form was prodded into the vacated holster. He groaned, picking himself up in the cramped and metallic-smelling space.

“Cover your ears,” Cliff barked down at him seconds before chaos exploded in the woods.

The first shots came from Cliff—holding them off before they could close in on his position. From the cover of the car, he took six more shots. Judging by the howls of agony that sounded out, a few of them hit their marks.

Gunfire returned—too many bullets to count. Cliff dove back behind cover, and Oliver nearly bit his tongue, slamming against the other side of the holster. The container’s shape made it difficult to see anything happening out there. The sounds were too much, even with his ears covered. Deafening impacts of bullets tore against the metal of the car, shattering the windshield and sending glass shards raining down around them.

Cliff launched to his feet again, returning fire. Ducking down. Returning again. It was a sickening rhythm.

But the voices were thinning out. Oliver couldn’t help it—he listened, he listened for Grady’s voice but couldn’t hear it among the injured. Maybe he’d been shot somewhere critical. Maybe he was already dead.

Massive footfalls crashed closer, determined to overwhelm Cliff before they could be taken out at a distance. The proximity made Cliff’s movements even more unpredictable and nauseating. Oliver put his hands out on either side to brace himself as best he could.

Another explosion from Cliff’s gun. A body thumped on the ground.

An empty click. No more bullets. But the other assailant seemed to be in the same situation.

Oliver could feel the other human charge at Cliff, and in the blink of an eye, they were fighting hand-to-hand. The whirlwind of movement almost made Oliver miss the ear-shattering bullets. He found himself tossed from side to side with each movement of Cliff’s leg as he dodged and charged from one second to the next.

Things turned dire the moment the humans fully collided. A crushing weight pressed into the holster, making the material cave in on itself. Adrenaline single-handedly erased his exhaustion. Oliver scrambled upward, trying to claw his way out before he could be pulverized.

He looked overhead in time to see Cliff’s fist lash out and land a blow on the assailant’s jaw.

The pressure eased as the human was thrown off, but when he reared back, he returned with a punch that sent Cliff sprawling onto his back. The fall seemed both neverending and instantaneous. Before Oliver knew what was happening, he spilled out of the holster and onto the cold ground. He groaned, pushing himself to sit up.

A knee crashed mere inches from him. A massive hand landed not far. He couldn’t tell which body part belonged to which human as they grappled on the forest floor.

If I live, I’m never touching the fucking ground again.

It seemed a very slim chance he would get a chance to keep that promise. He found himself frozen all over again. The humans didn’t relent, two mountains duking it out right above him, hell-bent on killing each other. The assailant grabbed Cliff by the collar and dragged him up. Cliff swung a fist out and connected—a noise that could have rivaled gunfire from where Oliver stood.

He wanted to flee, but his wings wouldn’t respond even when he staggered to stand. He felt like any move he made would be the wrong one—the exact one that would put him in the path of an unpredictable boot as the giants hefted their celestial weight around.

In his petrified state, Oliver felt a spark at his fingertips. He glanced down, startled that he could produce anything. But Cliff’s awful gloves hadn’t burned him directly. Now that he was free and terrified out of his mind, his magic could do what it was meant to—save his ass from creatures that were big enough to crush him without a second thought.

Throwing both hands upward, Oliver shot a jolt of lightning straight for the assailant’s chest. Sparks ate at the front of his jacket, tiny flames eating at fabric and flesh. The human gave a deafening shout and locked up with pain, clutching his front.

Cliff didn’t hesitate to sweep the man’s legs out from underneath him. He tackled the assailant away from Oliver. Still, the ground rattled so hard that Oliver fell back to a hard seat.

He watched in a daze as Cliff swept a rock up from the ground. Something told Oliver to look away, but he couldn’t. The man started pleading, his words nearly incomprehensible in his desperation. Cliff swung the rock down once, twice, three times.

The attacker fell still.

The woods were silent. Even the crickets were too stunned to make a sound.

With labored breaths, Cliff slowly got to his feet. His hulking silhouette loomed motionless as he surveyed the bodies. He grabbed his rifle, marching out to tread between them, pausing occasionally for a closer look. He nudged one in the side with his foot. When the man loosed a weak groan, Cliff shot him in the head.

Then, the silence was absolute.

Oliver couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his own numbness. He was scared, but he should have been screaming. The acrid pulse to survive seemed to overtake all logic. Still, his chest tightened when Cliff’s eyes, still wild from the shootout, locked onto him.

Oliver didn’t dare budge as the human approached. Cliff set the rifle down on the battered hood of the vehicle and chucked off the iron-laced gloves as he walked, each step measured.

“You okay?” His voice was roughened from exertion. He crouched down and scooped Oliver off the rotting leaves and twigs.

Oliver felt like he couldn’t pull in a full breath—not enough to form something coherent. His ears were still echoing the catastrophic impacts of the fight, his mind still battling denial that he had survived by some miracle.

Moonlight illuminated something slick and crimson on Cliff’s left shoulder, and his voice launched back into his throat.

“You’re hurt,” Oliver gasped. He leaned forward. “They shot you.”

Clif smirked as he glanced towards the injury, but there was a tight clench to his jaw. “I’ve had paper cuts worse than this.”

Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

“Wow. I’m afraid to ask what kind of paper you’re handling.” Oliver stared at the wound, sitting back slowly on his heels as guilt crashed onto his shoulders. The massacre around him didn’t seem real. His spark had been the catalyst—that seemed even less real. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “He just—he was all I could see. I was too mad to think.”

“Yeah, well.” Cliff couldn’t seem to deny that Oliver had caused the shootout, but at least he didn’t seem too angry about it. “That was a good shot back there. I would’ve come out much worse if you hadn’t done it, so thanks.”

This drew Oliver’s eyes back to the dark spot on his jacket sleeve. “Not to be negative, but the way you did come out isn’t great, either. I… I’m sorry, I don’t know healing spellwork. I-I mean I have some affinity for it, but I never learned much. My brother always did it for me, so I never really needed—”

“S’okay,” Cliff said, cutting off his ramble. “I happen to know the best healer in the world. Just gotta make it to her.” With that, he started back toward the car.

Oliver bit his tongue to keep from immediately asking if this miraculous healer happened to be at the safe house. Best not to push the matter about the place—not when he was the one who got Cliff shot. But he could at least assuage some of his guilt and prevent Cliff from gritting his teeth through a massive wound.

“Wait!” Oliver said. “Maybe I can stop the bleeding. I can try to close it up for you with the heat from my lightning.”

Stopping in his tracks, Cliff frowned at Oliver, then looked pointedly at the human that Oliver had attacked. The burn on his chest seemed more pronounced than Oliver remembered in the chaos.

“Oh, that?” Oliver waved it off like it was nothing. “That was adrenaline. I’m fucking drained now. I promise not to put a bigger hole through your arm. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Cliff didn’t appear particularly comforted by Oliver’s promise. He must have been in a great deal of pain, though, because he relented and ferried Oliver to the bullet wound. Summoning his glow, Oliver saw that the blood didn’t show any sign of stopping. Inching closer to the edge of Cliff’s palm, he reached out and ripped the hole in the fabric wider. The hand holding him twitched from that simple action; Oliver knew to brace himself then.

This time, making a spark didn’t come as easily. After a second attempt, Oliver managed to conjure a weak spark with what little energy he had left. He pushed the crackling spell through the hole in Cliff’s jacket, honing in hard on the heat and willing away the zap so Cliff wouldn’t get shocked.

“Shit,” Cliff muttered through clenched teeth as the wound was painstakingly cauterized.

The fingers around Oliver flinched in response to the fresh pain. He had to fight the urge to flee from the very real possibility of being accidentally crushed. It would be a fitting end to a perfectly disastrous night, but he sighed in relief as he finished sealing the wound and pulled his hand away without having his bones snapped. Fatigue made his head spin the moment he put out the spell.

“How does it look?” Cliff asked, echoing a far more gusting take on Oliver’s sigh.

Oliver blinked hard to focus his vision and winced at the result of his spellwork. “The bleeding stopped,” he said cheerfully. “But the world’s best healer might strangle me when she sees it.”

“Her bark is worse than her bite. Thanks for this. I know you’re tired.”

His hand lowered back to waist level and Oliver grit his teeth as gravity seized his insides once again. Cliff produced a penlight, using the narrow beam of light to analyze the damage done to his vehicle. The entire left side was freckled with bullet holes, windows jagged. The flashlight lingered on two deflated tires, to which Cliff muttered a curse.

He knelt by the back tire, where the sharp smell of gasoline strengthened. Cliff groaned, craning his neck to survey the last drips pooling into a large puddle under the car.

“Fuel tank’s punctured, too. Fuck.” There was something dreadfully weary about the way he pocketed the light and rubbed his temples.

“It won’t run?” Oliver asked in a thready voice.

“Afraid not.”

Cliff pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Where a droning dial tone should have filtered down, Oliver heard nothing. Cliff tried again—nothing. After several increasingly urgent attempts to send a message, he slammed his fist against the car.

“Signal’s gone,” Cliff snarled. “I bet those fuckers got to the cell tower.” Oliver saw the underside of his jaw clench hard as surveyed the woods. “We’re on foot out of here. They’ll still have eyes on the menagerie and the main road. No way around it.”

Oliver gave a start. “What? How far?”

“Probably in the ballpark of eight hours, if we make good time. Hop off for a sec.” Cliff had lowered his hand to the battered hood of the car, which Oliver now understood as his invitation to dismount.

“Eight hours?” Oliver’s breathing began to quicken. He staggered toward the edge of the hood to make his voice heard the rustling and clatter of Cliff gathering supplies from the backseat into a rucksack. “Hang on. Is that even possible? I-I mean, you’re injured and so am I. I can’t even do magic consistently to help, with this stupid fucking iron exhaustion. I can barely fly—”

“Shut up.” Cliff stopped so abruptly, Oliver sucked in the rest of his rant. The human sighed, seeming to contemplate before he pinned him with a hard look. “Look. We can either sit here freezing our asses off until Atlas sends another crew out to finish us off… Or we can put in the fucking work and do what we need to do to get through this.”

Oliver’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t whine further, even though he wanted to really, really badly. After the hell he went through in the forest, finding Cliff should have been the end of his fight to survive. Now there was more fighting to do, and he had a feeling that Cliff was going with or without him.

Biting back a wince, Oliver flew up. His wings ached terribly, and he could feel Cliff’s intense stare.

“It’s fine,” Oliver said. Cliff rolled his eyes and went back to hastily organizing his supplies. “It is,” Oliver insisted.

Cliff slung the bag over his shoulder. “Just keep up,” he said in a tone that suggested he didn’t believe Oliver was capable of that simple command.

As they began to move out, the pain in Oliver’s wings was forgotten when he glimpsed the body that Cliff had just finished off with a shot. A gasp caught in Oliver’s throat. He stopped a hover, goosebumps prickling up his arms. “Oh,” he blurted. “Shit.”

Grady.

Half his face was unrecognizable from the rifle shot. Otherwise, he looked like was only sleeping. Although Oliver half-expected Cliff to simply keep walking, he did pause to follow his stare.

“That’s him?” Cliff asked after a beat of heavy silence.

Oliver nodded. “Huh. If I’d known it was him, I would’ve asked you to hold off. You know, so I could at least tell him off.”

He tore his eyes away from the body, something roiling in him that he couldn’t put a name to. Not relief or satisfaction, or anything that he wanted. Grady was gone from this world, but the fairies he’d sold out were still forced to live in misery and torture.

“What if we go back toward the menagerie?” Oliver said, flitting closer to Cliff. “Maybe… maybe the others are still there! We could get them out, and—”

“They’re not there,” Cliff said flatly, and began walking again. “These people don’t linger with their precious merchandise. If anyone’s still stationed at the menagerie, it’s without your friends.”

“But how can you be one hundred percent—”

“Oliver.” Cliff stopped to glare over his shoulder. “You said it yourself. We’re both injured. I don’t have the resources to get anywhere near that place and make it out alive. We’re lucky we survived this round.” He resumed walking.

Huffing, Oliver glumly relented and flew ahead. “May as well argue with an actual mountain,” he muttered.

A pathetically short amount of time passed before Oliver was struggling to stay in the air. He dipped several times and caught himself; the time between falls was quickly getting shorter, and the ground was getting closer.

When Cliff silently put a hand out in his direction, Oliver tried to ignore it. Soon enough, he was faced with the inescapable choice—the human’s hand, or the ground. He gracelessly chose the former, stumbling to land on hands and knees on Cliff’s palm. His face was burning red from exertion and embarrassment.

He tipped his chin up at Cliff, biting back any tell of intimidation. “Just so you know—”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need me. Once you can fly without nose-diving, the free rides are over.”

Chapter Text

It was strange, the feeling of toddling security. He was with Cliff Everett. He had made it out. They just had to walk out of these woods.

Eleven hours. To think it had only been a few minutes.

It took a while to get comfortable in Cliff’s grasp. While he appreciated not being stuffed into a bag or clutched in a fist, Cliff’s urgent stride was jostling. Oliver was thrown forward every time the human climbed a sharp incline in the path, and his entire body lifted up if Cliff landed indelicately.

Eventually, he figured out that molding against the base of Cliff’s fingers with one arm slung around the middle and ring fingers was the stablest way to ride. After that, it was immensely more tolerable.

His heart rate began to slow, allowing him to look around without a lens of utter panic clouding his senses. It was a relief to see the forest from anything but the ground level. He watched the length of each of Cliff’s steps and wondered how long it would’ve taken him to cover the same distance. Stones that would have been mountains to a fairy, impossible to climb, Cliff avoided with scarcely a glance down.

The math made him queasy.

Cliff seemed to have a sense of what direction to head in, though he paused every so often to consult a digital compass. The terrain was beautiful but treacherous. The earth was steeply sloped on the side facing the mountain, packed with rocks. Delicate moss cascaded many stones, catching moonlight in gaps between dense fir branches. Ferns sprouted like each plant was competing with the others to be the most extravagant. Bullfrogs sang—and again, Oliver was immensely grateful to be off the ground.

Cliff had just crossed a muddy creek when Oliver’s stomach ached, hollow again. He patted Cliff’s hand and twisted around.

“Do you have any more food?”

Cliff nodded, breathless from the hike, and found a dry place to sit and remove his pack. He set Oliver down next to him. After all that time pressed to a hot palm, the cold stone was a relief.

Oliver made a noise of appreciation as Cliff handed him another fairy-sized bag of food. Nearly ripping it in his haste to open it, Oliver dug in while Cliff pulled out a couple of protein bars for himself.

While they ate in silence for a few minutes, Oliver glanced up every so often to see Cliff surveying the environment around them carefully. There was something distinctly unnerving about the intensity of the human’s stare, and Oliver was glad to not have it pointed at him. Still, Cliff’s ever-present tension had him worried.

“You don’t think another crew could catch up to us this fast, do you?” Oliver asked.

“Doubt it. They wouldn’t be able to bring trucks this far in. As long as we keep moving, they won’t have much of a chance tailing us.” He nodded at the surrounding woods. “I’ve just been in enough places like this to know that humans aren’t the only things to worry about.”

Oliver scoffed into his bite of bread. After what he’d been through, the thought of any creature so much as bothering Cliff was laughable.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re the scariest thing for miles,” Oliver said. “You can relax.”

Cliff chuckled, but his eyes looked less than amused. “How long were you at the menagerie?”

The question caught Oliver off guard. He stared up at the sky in thought. “I didn’t have a great view of the moon to keep track of the cycles, but… With the cold nearly killing me a few hours ago, I’d say almost a year. It was dead winter when I was taken.”

“Did you live in woods like these?”

“It was a little flatter. More water. Less bullets.”

The mere mention seemed to make Cliff roll his shoulder from the pain of his wound. “Any chance you know the name of the area you’re from? The state, even?”

Your killer in shining armor is looking for another option to get rid of you, Oliver’s sister scoffed.

Oliver willed her voice away. “It doesn’t matter,” he said matter-of-factly. “My village doesn’t exist anymore.”

Cliff didn’t look shocked in the slightest, but he did murmur an apology.

To distract himself, Oliver dug back into the food. Cliff handed him water and said, “You should slow down. I didn’t bring much. The plan was to tide everyone over for the trip. A quick snack before you could have a real meal once we got there.”

Oliver slowed, jolted by a sting of guilt and frustration. If things had gone right, if Grady hadn’t sold them out, maybe he and the other fairies would be in the passenger seat of Cliff’s car right now. They’d be on their way toward the safe house, eating together and asking so many questions that Cliff’s ears would ring. Or maybe they would have arrived by now and would have been feasting on a hot meal.

Movement flickered in the corner of Oliver’s eye, but he didn’t flinch or even look. He wasn’t surprised when he heard his brother’s voice. Are you going to finish that?

“Fuck off,” Oliver huffed.

“Huh?” Cliff said.

“Nothing,” Oliver said immediately. He thought about the strange looks he always got when he tried to explain his siblings’ lingering voices. Things were fragile enough without Cliff thinking he was out of his mind. He plastered on a smile and looked up. “I mean fuck off, for telling me to slow down and then making me think about an actual meal.”

To his relief, Cliff had a sense of humor. “You this much of a sweetheart all the time?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

Cliff laughed. With the last bite of the bar tucked in his cheek, he balled up the wrappers and stuffed them into his jeans pocket.

“There used to be villages out here,” Cliff told him. “Three of them in this range. One of them used to be right at that peak, there.” He pointed at a dark spot on one of the distant hills.

They watched it for a moment, as though tiny lights might spring back to life in the patch of trees.

“Did you know them well?” Oliver asked.

“Not really. It was a long time ago.”

Cliff contemplated the view stretched out before them, and Oliver followed suit. The wide creek ran along a course on a flat, rocky inset. Branches, wild grass, and fallen logs scattered the hills, creating a smattering of texture and color. Their seat was on the slope, shrouded by firs and trees with barren branches. The water ran towards more mountains that cut against the starry sky.

Treacherous, but beautiful.

~~~~~

Oliver’s arms ached from gripping Cliff’s fingers for so long. Even with his new clothes, the cold made his wings stiff along his back. An itching thirst plagued him too—made worse with the knowledge that his supply was limited. Cliff only had one more portion for each of them, and they weren’t even halfway there.

He was tempted at one point to ask Cliff to shuffle him back into the empty holster to catch some sleep during the arduous walk. But that didn’t really feel fair to his companion, who arguably was doing most of the work.

The long stretches of silence were broken by idle conversation. Oliver picked his questions carefully. He was surprised to learn that Cliff had once come from a wealthy family—not birthed from a long line of mercenaries as Oliver had assumed. He didn’t talk to any of them now but his younger sister, Anna.

“How old is she?” Oliver asked.

“Twenty-four.”

“Does she do what you do?”

Cliff’s jaw ticked. “Sometimes.”

“Can you possibly answer in more than one-syllable grunts?”

“Maybe.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, catching Cliff smirking at his expense overhead.

“What about you?” Cliff asked. “Any siblings back home? A creepy uncle?”

His chest tightened. “Sure.”

“Who’s giving the one-syllable grunts now?”

“I mean, yeah, everyone’s got family at one point or another, right? For all you know, I am the creepy uncle.”

Though Cliff chuckled, the beat of silence that followed was heavy. He cleared his throat and asked in a softer voice, “Were any of them in the menagerie with you?”

Of all things, a laugh shook loose from Oliver’s tension. “Um, no. They would’ve been smart enough to get us out of there months ago. And if not, I would have got back for them tonight, or I would’ve zapped you until we went to find them.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Cliff murmured.

Oliver counted his breaths and focused on the uneven rhythm of Cliff’s gait. He desperately sought a change of subject.

When he thought to ask Cliff about the falling out with his family, instead he blurted, “There were three of us. Cyra was the oldest. Fire affinity. Total bitch. She was my best friend.” He swallowed hard, missing every deserved and undeserved lash of flame she’d hit him with. “Then I came along with my lightning. And my parents were nervous about what kind of chaos Hudson would bring when his magic developed.”

“What’d he end up with?”

“Healing.”

Cliff’s hand tensed. Oliver felt it especially in his fingers. Like he wanted to curl his hand into a fist, but was kind enough to refrain, given his passenger. Cliff must have known, then, that a healer was the worst thing to be in this human-dominated reality.

“Is Anna safe?” Oliver asked after another beat.

“I do everything I can to make sure she is,” Cliff said, his hand relaxing somewhat.

“Good. That’s good.”

An owl hooted in the darkness, shattering whatever peace that had managed to gather. Oliver’s breath caught, while Cliff’s hand flinched—and this time, it wasn’t a mere twitch. His fingers curled and gathered Oliver closer, while his other hand shielded him overhead. Oliver instinctively squirmed, flashing back to every time he had been snatched up against his will.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of owls,” Oliver said as he recovered from the shock of the sudden movement. He pushed pointedly against two of Cliff’s fingers. “Because I don’t think things’ll end well if I’m the one that has to scare it off.”

Cliff exhaled a scoff. “You can stay put. I just… Sorry. Force of habit.” He pulled his other hand away. “Had a friend that would lose her shit if she heard an owl, even miles off. She wouldn’t let me take another step unless I covered her.”

“Smart.” Oliver didn’t comment on the strange, controlled tone that Cliff took at the mention of this friend. Seeing as Cliff hadn’t pried further about Cyra and Hudson, Oliver returned the favor. “I know you’re out of bullets, but you didn’t happen to bring a gun to throw at it, just in case?”

“I always have a backup.” There was something just as chilling as it was comforting about the smile he sent down. “You wouldn’t know it, but I used to be a real sharp-shooter. One of the best.”

“You seem decent enough,” Oliver said, recalling the bodies strewn in Cliff’s wake.

The human shook his head, brow furrowing deeply. “No. I used to be able to pierce the center of a falling leaf from thirty yards away. That’s gone now, too.”

A faint tremor entered his hands, making Oliver falter. He grieved it like the skill had a soul of its own. “I don’t mean to be insensitive,” he called up. “Like I’m sorry and all, but that also sounds fucking scary and I’m kinda glad I don’t have to see it. Don’t hate me.”

He was worried he’d struck a cord again, but Cliff just laughed. “You’re brutal, you know that?”

Oliver decided he looked far less scary when he smiled like that.

~~~~

Conversation dwindled to only necessary, clipped exchanges. Pausing for water, or a piss break. Explaining a shortcut through a canyon. Realizing they were out of food.

It was four hours later when Oliver suddenly noticed that they were moving much slower. Cliff was exhausted. Craning his neck, Oliver felt another pang of guilt and embarrassment sweep over him. He found himself wishing Cliff was fairy-sized, so he could return the favor and carry him for a time.

You wouldn’t make it two feet with the state of your back right now anyway, dummy.

The last half hour was almost entirely uphill on rocky terrain. Finding a dry area, Cliff stopped for water. His bottle was nearly empty—he’d been taking these ridiculous, tiny sips all night. He downed the last of it and shoved the empty bottle into his pack. He looked so tired, Oliver couldn’t help but shoot to his feet.

“Hey, have mine. I have two left.” Oliver thrust one of the fairy-sized jugs of water out. Cliff shook his head. “I mean it. Not really helpful if you pass out.”

Cliff pushed it back with a fingertip. “It’ll last you longer than it will me. I’ll be fine.”

“What about the creek? Moving water should be safe.”

Cliff looked around, listening to the sound of rushing water. “It’ll take us a little off-course,” he said, but he was already moving to investigate.

A little was an understatement. But then again, Cliff covered far more distance than Oliver could dream of, and if they wanted to ensure they survived the journey at all, the detour was necessary. Still, Cliff’s long strides were competing with the sound of his labored breathing—something he couldn’t hide while Oliver was held so close to his chest.

“How’s your arm feeling?” Oliver asked.

“Still attached. How about your wings?”

“Hm. They’ve gone from feeling like they’re quickly disintegrating to slowly disintegrating. I’ll take it as a good sign.”

“Sounds like you won’t be needing me soon.”

When they reached the creek, the faintest touch of gray was spilling through the night sky. The dark waters looked less treacherous now that Oliver had a giant with him, but he was appreciative when Cliff set him down on some rocks a safe distance from the rush. Relief was evident in Cliff’s broad shoulders as he pulled out his water bottle and stepped toward the creek.

While Oliver stretched his legs and peered around, a glint caught his eye further down—something that wasn’t rippling like the water.

He might have written off the strange feeling it gave him, if not for the weird smell in the air. Fanning his wings, he took flight. The soreness made him wince, but he took it slow as he wandered a little further upstream.

Oliver wrinkled his nose, then gasped and pulled to a hover when he spotted the source of the stench.

“Oh, ew,” he moaned.

Dawn light reflected off the eye of a deer corpse, which was laying halfway across the creek, bloated and rotting. He stared for another beat, watching the way the water passed through and around the carcass. Then he jolted.

“Cliff!” Oliver croaked. He wheeled around and zipped back the way he came.

The human was lifting the water bottle to his mouth, oblivious to the sound of Oliver’s calls over the sound of the creek. Pushing past the protests of his wings, Oliver closed the distance, putting himself between Cliff’s mouth and the rim of the bottle.

“Don’t!” Oliver shouted.

In his agitation, sparks flew from his hands—some of which jolted Cliff’s lower face. Cliff reeled back and dropped the bottle into the mud, rubbing his cheek where the sparks had hit.

“What the fuck, man?” Cliff boomed, looking at Oliver like he’d lost his mind.

Oliver struggled to right himself in midair from Cliff’s recoil. “C-contaminated,” he wheezed. His flight swung haphazardly left to right in front of the human’s chest. Avoiding an embarrassing sink to the ground, Oliver landed on the branch of a hearty bush and let his wings sag, his lungs burning. “There’s a-a dead deer upstream. The water—it’ll poison you.”

Cliff stared in shock. He looked for himself, seeming to notice the dark mass when his spine stiffened.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “Thank you.” There was something so defeated and pitiful in his voice. His green eyes drifted to the crystalline, rushing water. Mocking them.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said.

Cliff shrugged, rubbing dirt off his hand before offering his open palm. “Better dehydrated than dead.”

They made it another hour and a half before Cliff had to stop again. This time, he selected a covered space within the steep incline.

“Are you okay?” Oliver asked. Seeing his giant savior so ragged panged him with fresh anxiety. If Cliff died out here, he wouldn’t know where to go. He may as well lie down and die with him.

“We need to rest for a while. It’s still a long way,” Cliff said.

It was little more than a narrow cave, scarcely large enough to fit three adult humans side by side, crouched down. After ensuring there were no poisoning insects or animals nesting inside, Cliff removed his pack and settled on the ground.

“The sun’s coming up soon. It’ll warm up,” Oliver commented, mostly just to have something to say while watching Cliff close his bloodshot eyes and tip his head back against the wall like he could sleep for days.

“Yeah,” Cliff answered. “In a few hours. Sunlight will make it easier to find the route. But it’ll dehydrate us faster.”

“Hm.” Oliver looked out towards the woods: dark and ominously silent. “You’re sure we’re not being followed, right?”

“They got what they wanted for now,” Cliff grunted. “You’re safe.”

Oliver swallowed—no matter how much he swallowed, it didn’t patch his dry throat. The cold wind funneling through only heightened the scratchy sensation. He ran his tongue around his cheeks to try to trick his body into believing he was supplying it with sustenance and swallowed again, anyway.

“You can sleep, you know.” Cliff’s hand rooted to his bent knee.

Oliver shook his head, pulling his knees to his chest. “Not yet.”

Even in his exhaustion, Cliff had the energy to look exasperated with him. “What are you waiting for?”

“What if a fox lives in here? One of us should stay awake and keep watch.” Oliver squinted at the woods.

“You think a fox is going to maul me?”

Pursing his lips, Oliver glanced at Cliff’s height—unable to see all of it. “Okay, okay, maybe not. But still. One of us should watch, just in case anything—or anyone comes. You sleep. It’s only fair.”

Cliff groaned. “You were an exhibit in a menagerie. Fair doesn’t exist.” A frustrated, pensive look clouded his gaze. “Humans have taken enough from you, haven’t they? I’m not taking away your sleep.”

Oliver could speak for hours about what humans had taken away from him, and he was tempted to. Instead, he sighed and traced a finger along a line on Cliff’s palm. “For a human, you really seem to hate humans.”

“Only because most of them suck.”

“True. But… you don’t seem to suck. That much.”

Cliff gave a small, rumbling chuckle and fell silent for a time. After a few minutes, Oliver was certain the human would fall asleep, but his breaths remained uneven, and his eyes wouldn’t seem to close all the way as he gazed at a random spot on the earthen wall.

Just when Oliver was thinking about the hollow pang in his gut, Cliff’s stomach gave a vicious growl. The blood drained from Oliver’s face. With no regard for subtlety, he opened his wings and found a new perch closer to the opening of their shelter. He shivered from more than just the chill when he glanced over his shoulder at Cliff.

“Are you serious?” Cliff said, rolling his eyes. “What happened to me not sucking that much?”

“Hey, desperate times,” Oliver said with a shaky laugh. He pointed at Cliff sternly. “I know I look delicious, but you better not. I’ll be really pissed.”

“Scrawny thing like you? I’d be better off chewing on a handful of twigs.”

Oliver’s jaw dropped indignantly. “Well, you don’t have to be rude about it.”

“It’s just a fact, honestly.” Cliff’s smirk softened. “Hang in there a while longer. Rainie will get you feeling like a king when we make it. She probably already has a stew and some kind of fresh bread started now. As many helpings as you want.”

Cliff closed his eyes and inhaled peacefully, as though he could smell the food from here.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Oliver asked.

Another shake of the head. “She leads the kitchen staff at the safehouse. Rainie’s a five-inch angel.” Cliff smiled, a memory flickering. “She makes the most incredible boysenberry tarts.”

The safehouse. “Wait. You’ll let me stay?” Oliver blurted, eyes wet.

Cliff gave him a soulful look in the darkness—scarcely enough light creeping into the cave to illuminate the fond glimmer that entered his eyes. “There’s a space for you as long as you want it.”

Maybe it was the dehydration or the crippling exhaustion, or the fact that he’d had to kill a man with his bare hands, but Oliver buried a sob into his hands.

“What changed your mind?” Oliver asked.

“I figure, if you had a trick up your sleeve, you’d have shown your hand before being fucking miserable in a cave in the middle of nowhere.” Cliff paused in thought before adding, “I told you, you’re different from a lot of fairies. I'm not used to your folk wanting to be anywhere near me. Even most of the safehouse residents keep me at arm’s length. And here you are, practically jumping into my hands. You’ll forgive me for being cautious.”

Oliver moistened his lips and looked at Cliff—really looked. From this perch, he could finally see all of him. “I think you’re bullshitting a little. The safehouse must be head over heels for you. You’re like, a hero.”

Cliff smiled sadly. “I’m a human.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Oliver… You’re just saying that so I won’t eat you.”

“Shut up.” Oliver choked on his laugh and blinked back more tears. “T-Thank you.”

Another silence settled, far more content than the last. For a short, blissful time, Oliver didn’t think about how empty his stomach was or how sore his wings were. But before long, it became impossible to ignore the cold. The sun’s warmth wasn’t moving fast enough, and it didn’t seem to be in a hurry to reach beneath the overcast sky.

Gravel and dirt shifted as Cliff adjusted himself. Oliver figured he was trying to find a more comfortable position, but then Cliff murmured, “Hey.”

Oliver turned and found a palm offered beside him.

“Can I pick you up?” Cliff asked.

“Why?”

“Your lips are turning blue. I’m gonna hold you by my neck for a while.” When Oliver hesitated, Cliff raised his eyebrows, goading. “C’mon, your goal is to get to the safehouse alive, right? You’re not gonna last long in this chill.”

Already feeling the familiar heat radiating from Cliff’s hand, Oliver was in no position to turn him down. He crawled aboard, breath catching as Cliff immediately lifted him higher. He worried for his wings—the last thing he needed was to have them smushed in a tight clutch. As Cliff cupped the hand by his neck, Oliver found himself in a snug—but not uncomfortable—hold.

At least, it wasn’t meant to be uncomfortable. Cliff seemed perfectly at ease handling a body the size of his finger, but Oliver was stiff and awkward as he tried to adjust himself.

“Relax,” Cliff told him. “Feels like you’re getting ready to strike.”

Oliver didn’t think it was possible for Cliff’s voice to have even more reverberation than before, but it was pleasant instead of frightening. Focusing on the warmth around him, Oliver all but melted against Cliff’s neck. He could have fallen asleep, but the more relaxed he became, the guiltier he felt. Once again, Cliff was doing everything to keep them alive, while Oliver could do little but mooch off his exhausted assistance.

The sting spurred him to blurt, “I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry I got us noticed back there. It just—I saw Grady, and… What he did, it still hurts. Even now.”

For a moment, he thought Cliff had fallen asleep. A gusting, sympathetic sigh came out. “You wanted someone to trust. He was supposed to look out for you.”

“He started off by giving me extra food—he didn’t do that with the others. Then he started talking to me like… like I was a person. Eventually, he started letting me out of the enclosure to really stretch my wings when I promised that I wouldn’t fly off.” Oliver pursed his lips. Anger made electricity want to surge to his fingertips; sorrow doused it. He tried to laugh it off, but the sound that came out was pitiful. “I thought he liked me. But, you know? I’m starting to think he chose me because I could keep his phone charged all day.”

“Fuck that guy.” Although Cliff said it with intimidating conviction, his voice sounded pained—weaker than before.

“Fuck me,” Oliver mumbled. “I’m the reason you got shot. You’re really hurt. What if you don’t make it? I’m sor—”

“Shh.” Cliff's hand pulled back slightly. Oliver stayed huddled against his neck while warm fingertips stroked his wings. “I’m gonna make it. We’re both gonna make it, so stop apologizing.” His touch faltered. “That doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“It feels nice,” Oliver mumbled.

Does it? Cyra hissed. Does it feel nice to have another human win you over like this?

Hudson gave a disappointed sigh. Do you ever learn?

Oliver went rigid and peeked behind him, past Cliff’s fingers. He could see his siblings perched by the exit of the shelter, untouched by cold. Untouched by anything.

“What’s wrong?” Cliff said, straightening alertly.

“No, it’s… Nothing’s there. I’m just hearing things.” Oliver ran a hand against Cliff’s neck, as though he could soothe anyone so big. “I know you’re so sure we’re gonna make it, but… Still. In case we do die a horrible, slow death, I want you to know about what happened to my brother and sister. They deserve to have their story told.”

Cliff said nothing, but the way he sat back and slowed his stroking told Oliver that he was listening.

“Cyra was killed when our village was raided,” Oliver said softly. A little chuckle of admiration escaped him. “She was burning off their faces. Seriously, have you ever seen eyeballs melt? She was so cool.” His laughter faded. “A human cornered me. Cyra swooped in, badass as ever, and distracted him long enough for me to escape. But th-then… while she looked away for one moment to make sure I was safe, she was grabbed. I don’t think the human could even see anymore. He just… crushed her. Just like that. I still remember the sound.”

Cliff stopped stroking altogether. There was hesitance to his touch, as though the memory might make Oliver have an aversion to human contact.

“Hudson and I were rounded up and separated. I didn’t have any fight left in me—not when the iron came.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have no idea where they took him, but I know things don’t turn out well for healers—especially for ones who say ‘fuck you’ to being forced to heal. And Hudson would never agree to be used. He’s… he’s got to be dead.”

Oliver didn’t realize that tears were leaking out until drops landed on his arm. He drew in one hitched breath and broke down sobbing.

“I-I still hear them and see them,” he croaked. “All the fucking time, like that’s what I get for not fighting harder for them.”

After a pause, Cliff’s hand pressed harder against him—firm, but pleasant. It took a moment to register the motion as a hug. Cliff’s thumb brushed his muddy, matted hair as his hand adjusted around Oliver and he took a shuddering breath.

“Sometimes, everything you have in you isn’t enough,” Cliff said. “That’s the worst fucking thing, but it’s not your fault. I bet they know that.”

Oliver’s eyes drifted toward movement at the entrance of the cave. He could see his brother and sister hovering there again. They looked at him, Their faces were soft, sympathetic, almost pitying as though they could feel his grief just as poignantly.

“Yeah, maybe,” Oliver mumbled.

The heat of Cliff’s body had warmed him sufficiently. No longer shivering, he let his breaths become steady. The deep, gusting breaths of the giant beneath him slowed to match.

As the first golden specks of sunlight filtered in, Oliver closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

He slept solidly, but when he awoke, Oliver knew he had only gotten in a few hours at most. The sun was resting just above the level of the trees at their location.

It was as though sleep had worsened every sensation instead of providing relief. His body felt like it had been just about stomped on after all. His eyes were bloodshot and aching. When he sat up, his back screamed in pain, particularly at the tender base of his wings. Emptiness gnawed in his stomach, rivaled only by his desperate thirst. He cried aloud, doubling over.

The only pleasantry he could admit to was that he was warm. He turned his head, seeing the underside of Cliff’s jaw. The human had shifted somewhat in the night, curling inward. Oliver struggled to stand on his shoulder, sliding down to a seated position. Cliff stayed rigid. He looked so cold.

Oliver pushed gently at Cliff’s neck, trying to wake him without startling him. If his own state of discomfort was anything to go by, getting more sleep likely wouldn’t do Cliff any good. Much to Oliver’s distress, Cliff’s skin was hot despite the human’s stiffness.

“Cliff?”

No reaction.

“Cliff! Come on, big guy, it’s time to wake up.”

It was as if Oliver wasn’t there at all.

Cursing under his breath, Oliver pushed his hands back through his tangled hair. There was no way he could make it without Cliff, and he was quite sure at this point that he didn’t want to. An idea occurred to him—one that would likely work, as much as it made his nerves stand on end.

“Okay,” Oliver said as if Cliff could hear him. “You can’t get mad, okay? Because I’m not doing this for fun, and it probably won’t even hurt that much. Besides, you’re so hurt already, it’ll hardly feel like anything, right?”

It wasn’t like Oliver could muster a lot of magic, anyway. Nonetheless, he didn’t want Cliff’s neck to be the target, so he carefully made his way down the rippling plains of Cliff’s shirt. It was even trickier than he thought, not losing his balance on the folds even as he moved on all fours.

Somewhere beneath him, Cliff’s stomach gave another savage growl. Oliver froze, gripping handfuls of fabric for support as his heart raced at the predatory sound. Instinct told him that moving out of his place meant that he’d put himself in danger, alerting some creature like a dinner bell. He let the feeling pass over, remembering he was safe as could be. At least the sound meant Cliff’s body was still trying to survive.

Finally, Oliver reached Cliff’s forearm, which was folded just below his chest. Muttering an apology, Oliver pressed a hand to Cliff’s arm and mustered a weak bit of lightning to get his attention. It was barely a jolt, even more unimpressive than Oliver had anticipated.

But Cliff’s breathing stuttered, and that was something.

“Cliff!” Oliver tried to sound more encouraging than stressed. “Rise and shine! It’s time to get moving! Wouldn’t want Rainie’s food to get cold, right? What if she made those boysenberry tarts for you?”

When Cliff showed no other sign of being among the living, Oliver zapped again, harder. This time, Cliff gave a rumbling moan and began to curl into himself. Immediately, Oliver was thrown down, almost falling down Cliff’s arm. He scrambled back up desperately, clinging to Cliff’s shirt to keep from falling again.

“Cliff!” Oliver shouted, more strained. “Wake up!”

The movement beneath him intensified like a collapsing building. Gravity lurched, and Oliver found himself half-dangling, half-straddling Cliff’s forearm. His wings spasmed, his fingers and boots slipping against the jacket fabric. Oh fuck, he was going to fall or get crushed, or—

A shadow dropped over his precarious position. Another huge hand fumbled to grab hold of him.

“Hey,” the human rasped out.

His arms and wings were briefly pinned to his sides as Cliff sat up, taking him through the air. Then the hand opened up and Oliver was utterly relieved to see those big eyes cracked open and focused on him.

“Fuck,” was Cliff’s next assessment, when he tried to stand and immediately winced when he put pressure on his shot arm.

“I agree,” Oliver muttered, straightening himself for the second time. He was still catching his breath from the intimidating wake-up call, but he supposed it wasn’t much of anything to the human.

Oliver moistened his cracked lips. “For a second I… I thought you’d given up on me there.”

Cliff frowned at him. But before he could respond, he seemed to lose focus. His scowl turned to the daylit opening of the cave, then his own body. He dabbed at his forehead, and Oliver took note of the clammy sheen on his skin.

“I think I’m sick,” he said, because of course this would happen. “The wound got infected. Fuck me.” He pawed gingerly at the cauterized area, peering at the marred flesh. Despite being closed up, the flesh was inflamed. “You okay?” he looked down.

“You can keep asking, the answer’s not getting any better,” Oliver said. “Your healer friend is gonna have her work cut out with both of us.”

“Yeah. She’ll be pissed.” Cliff looked so pleased about it, though.

He breathed hard like he was dying for a drink too. But there wasn’t any, so they had to keep moving, or die.

With a more audible effort, Cliff got to his feet and gathered his pack.

~~~

“You know what would be amazing right now?” Oliver had one arm slung around Cliff’s index finger. As much as he’d gotten used to riding this way, it felt like his strength was holding on by a thread.

“What?” Cliff sounded like he could barely muster the energy to reply. “I swear, if you bring up food again…”

“So, back in my village, there was this rosemary bread that I would fucking kill for right now.”

Cliff groaned, his fingers twitching slightly more closed like he planned to stifle Oliver by force. He would have been more worried about that happening if Cliff wasn’t putting all his energy into pressing forward.

“Hey, if annoyance is what’s gonna keep you staying upright, I can do this all day.” Oliver swallowed hard. The heat of Cliff’s fevered skin certainly wasn’t helping his parched state. “Okay, no more talking about food. But there was this spring near my village that had the best—”

“No water either,” Cliff huffed. “No more talking about water. Pretty soon, we’re gonna have to start drinking our own piss to keep from passing out.”

Oliver shuddered. “Well, I have to say, that killed my appetite.”

“Good.”

Cliff leaned against the nearest tree, breathing hard.

“You okay?” Oliver asked.

“Fine,” Cliff said in a pained voice.

“It’s just… It’s the fourth time you’ve stopped in an hour. Or I think it’s been an hour. Maybe.”

Cliff glanced at the sun and back down at his passenger. “Look, if I can’t make it, just keep flying in this direction.” He pointed. “Straight on. Okay? You’ve got a good chance of getting there.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.”

“Oh? Wanna carry me?”

Oliver kept his gaze rooted forward as the human wrenched himself upwards and moved again. “That joke wasn’t funny the first two times.”

Cliff’s first smirk in hours surfaced. “I still think it’s a little funny.”

~~~

Oliver kept thinking the river would have to circle back through. They had to be close to water any moment now.

But it never came.

The trees that were once a comforting balm after the exile in the Menagerie now leered down at them. They were mocking them. Waiting for them to die.

Cliff staggered on a tree root, and Oliver swore he heard the leaves clattering in laughter.

As the hunter’s movement became clumsier, it happened again, and this time, Cliff was brought crashing to his knees. Oliver screamed, but Cliff refused to lose his hold on him. With only one arm to brace himself, he grabbed hold of a spindly sapling to slow his fall as he hit the ground.

Oliver pushed at the fingers that had closed tightly around him. Cliff rolled onto his back with a groan and let his hand drop to his stomach. He lay there, breathing hard.

“Did you hit your head?” Oliver gasped. The breath had been squeezed out of him.

“I’m sorry,” Cliff groaned. His lips were chapped and pale and his cheeks were flushed.

“W-What?”

Cliff’s voice thickened. It was a moment before Oliver realized he was crying. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I failed you. I was trying to save you and I… I couldn’t. Not strong enough.”

Fucking stars, he’s losing it. Oliver raced up his torso, feet tangling in the folds of Cliff’s jacket. He stood on his collarbone and slapped Cliff’s cheek earnestly. “You’re okay, you’re… You’re doing great. We’re just tired. Come on, get up.”

“I can’t.” The massive face recoiled with petulance. “I can’t go anymore. I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can. You’re huge, man. You can do anything.”

Saltiness hit the air as tears dribbled down Cliff's jaw. “I failed them too. It should’ve been me. Should’ve been me from the very start.”

The anguish in his voice was painfully familiar. Although Oliver didn’t know who he was talking about, he understood. He swiped at the tears as fiercely as he could, trying not to buckle under the realization that his savior was just as broken as he was.

“So what, you’re just gonna lay down and die?” Oliver said. “The only way you fail them is if you do that, you know. If you don’t get up, they died for nothing. Is that what you want? For your death to be as meaningless as theirs?”

For a second, Cliff looked inexpressibly angry—so murderous that Oliver shut his mouth. Good. Oliver could deal with gargantuan anger if it meant that Cliff would get up and keep walking.

But the expression was fleeting, and Cliff tipped his head back defeatedly. “You can still make it,” he murmured. “Just keep heading the way I told you. Okay?”

“No,” Oliver said, enraged. “Not okay! I’m not going without you.”

But Cliff fell silent, no matter how Oliver shoved his face, encouraged him, or insulted him. Breathing frantically, Oliver pushed his hands back through his hair and paced on Cliff’s chest. His gaze fell on Cliff’s bag, and he sprang for it.

He dug around until he found two fairy-sized water jugs. Wincing, he fluttered his wings and tested his ability to stay airborne. When he was certain that he wouldn’t fall out of the air—at least not right away—he peeked down at Cliff’s prone form.

“I’ll be right back,” Oliver called. “Don’t go anywhere.”

His wings burned as he flew higher and higher, until the tops of the trees were below him. His vision swam. He squinted around him until he saw a hint of blue reflecting the sky. Making a beeline for the stream, he searched it up and down for any sign of carcasses and found none.

The water bubbled pleasantly over jagged clusters of stone and fallen branches. He was tempted to dive right in and indulge himself, but he held back and only knelt to fill the empty jugs to the brim. He didn’t stop to take so much as a sip, certain that any second wasted would be the one that resulted in Cliff’s death.

Once he was weighted by the filled jugs, he wasn’t sure he could get back in the air, but the promise that he could finally do something to help gave him the extra push he needed.

“Cliff!” Although he had been minutes, Cliff already looked paler by the time Oliver returned to him. “L-look! I found water! So don’t die!”

Cliff remained nonverbal, but his eyes fluttered open when Oliver landed by his head. There was still some sense of presence when he looked at him.

“Come here,” Oliver urged. He set down one jug and tugged at Cliff’s chin. “That’s it…”

His hands trembled with weakness, but he did not spill a drop as he lifted the jug to Cliff’s lips. With no protest from the hunter, he tilted it until the whole jug had been emptied. Then, he gently did the same with the other. Some of this swallow leaked down Cliff’s cheek, and Oliver dabbed at it with the sleeve of his sweater.

“That’s better, right? I know it’s not much to you, but I can get more,” he said, ignoring the twinge of anxiety at the idea of making the flight back and forth.

“Where… did you get this?” Cliff asked.

“A creek. It’s clean, as far as I can tell.”

Cliff's gaze intensified. “What color were the stones?”

“Grey? Greyish-blue.”

“Were they smooth or rough?”

“I-I wasn’t looking hard, I’m sorry. Kinda rough, I think.”

Cliff sat up onto one arm so quickly, Oliver fell back onto his ass. He found himself in Cliff’s shadow, unprepared for the urgency returning to his deep voice.

“And you just flew there now?”

“Y-yes—” Oliver’s voice choked off into a squeak as Cliff seized him around the middle and stood up the rest of the way.

“We’re closer than I thought,” Cliff breathed, looking around him. “We’re almost to the safehouse. We’re almost there.”

Oliver knew Cliff was still delirious when he hugged him tightly to the side of his face before snatching up his bag.

~~~

They drank their fill at the stream, splashing the freezing water over their faces and through their grimy hair. But they didn’t linger. A second wind seemed to fuel Cliff as he marched through the woods. The trees thinned here, where the jagged rocks became less common and shrubbery full of winter berries peppered the horizon.

Oliver dimly felt magic stirring in the crisp winter air. Glamour.

“Am I imagining that?” he asked into Cliff’s fingers. A sprawling human estate was visible through the trees at the top of the hill. It occurred to him how odd that a human seemed to be able to perceive through the veil of powerful glamour, but was too dizzy to bother asking. He would deal with that later.

The safehouse was real. It was here.

They were still trudging upwards in the shadow of the building when something flashed across the sun and darted down through the trees. A fairy beelined for them.

“Cliff!”

The beckoning voice seemed to have a bodily effect on the human. Cliff made a weak cry of relief as he staggered to rest against the nearest rock face. A green-haired fairy was in his face in the next instance, her pretty face wrought with lines of panic.

“Cliff! You’re alive,” she said, covering her mouth as her eyes roved him. Her movements were twitchy, like she wanted to be in multiple places at once. “I’ve been sick all night.” She twisted over her shoulder, whistling. “Over here! I need help!”

In a matter of seconds, the air was alive with the buzz of more wings. As the green-haired fairy flitted lower to inspect Cliff’s arm like she could detect his infected injury, her eyes landed on Oliver.

“Oh!” She gasped and flew in closer, bracing one hand on Cliff’s finger and reaching her other to Oliver. He flinched, and she hesitated before gingerly touching his cheek. “You’re hurt, too,” she said softly. “Don’t worry—you’ll feel perfectly fine soon.”

Oliver blinked at her, his mind moving more sluggishly than ever now that he was fairly certain he wasn’t about to die. He made a noise of realization. “Wait—are you the best healer in the world?”

She cocked her head up at Cliff, a smirk interrupting her worry. “Of course I am,” she said, her smile warming for Oliver. “But ‘Zia’ works too.”

With that, Zia and the others urged Cliff to go inside the safe house. He barely managed to stand—it didn’t seem to occur to him to put Oliver down to avoid working one-handed. As he made his slow way to the door, Zia continued to orbit him worriedly, calling out every type of spell that would be necessary for him to recover.

“Don’t tell me you walked the whole way?” she said as Cliff was allowed to settle at the base of a massive set of stairs in the foyer.

“Nah,” Cliff huffed, slouching back. “I think I crawled at least a quarter of the way.”

While she continued to fuss over him, a couple of the other fairies crowded near Cliff’s hand.

“Here—let’s go to the healing ward,” one of them told Oliver, offering a hand to pull him out. “You’ll be much more comfortable in your own bed.”

All at once, Oliver’s listlessness snapped into alarm. He hugged himself tighter against Cliff’s chest and shook his head. “N-no!” he said with more force than intended. “Can’t… can’t I stay with him?”

The two fairies shared a look. “You’re sure?” the other asked.

Cliff’s fingers suddenly curled, protective. “He’s sure,” he said, his voice an unusual mix of firm and gentle.

The healers didn’t push the matter any further after that.

While Zia worked on healing the infected bullet wound, Cliff relaxed his hands and allowed the other healers access to Oliver’s damaged wings. They murmured among themselves there was little they could do for the iron burn—that would have to heal on its own. Nonetheless, the healing that they could perform brought a sense of relief he didn’t know he could feel anymore.

There was talk of food and water to be delivered. Talk of preparing a room and bed for Oliver, once he was ready to go. It felt like he was living in a dream. He swore at any moment he was going to wake up curled against Cliff back in the cave.

But there was no denying the warm, solid sensation of the hands that continued to carry him with such care.

He peered up and found that Cliff was looking down at him. Their eyes locked, and they shared a quiet smile—one rife with grim satisfaction that only survivors could share.

He slumped his side against Cliff’s shirt and let his eyes fall shut.

We made it.