#scrap metal Smithfield | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Most Important Part of Your Body

[Wing AU; UK Tour]

My part of the art/writing trade I did with @thenicestnonbinary!! They asked for a continuation of my last fic for them and an explanation to Joan’s prophecy, so here you go! Enjoy!

Word count: 3486

----------------------

“Lighting a candle just to breathe the smoke is a bad, bad thing… Tread carefully, for we walk on hot coals… When you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned… Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, you’re going to burn with the rest of us.”

Those words kept replaying in Anya’s head no matter how hard she tried to think of something else. They kept shoving their way to the surface of her mind, ripping apart every other thought until it played on loop, taunting her, torturing her.

What did it mean?

She didn’t sleep at all the night it was said. The image of roaring flames flickered behind her eyelids whenever she closed her eyes, so she just stayed up, thinking.

That was a prophecy. She knew it was.

So what did it mean?

Would there be a fire? Was she going to light it? She couldn’t possibly see herself doing such a thing, but after the dark futures Joan told her about…

She had looked down at her claws and saw that they were shaking.

It had been six days since then, and Anya was on high alert. She was always looking for something that may start a fire- a frayed wire, a fallen light, just someone who looked more pyromaniacal than usual. But, so far, there was nothing.

Morbid curiosity soon grew to be too much- she approached Joan.

“Joan?”

She found the little hybrid in the rehearsal room, surprisingly. It was almost strange to see her out of her dressing room when a performance wasn’t going on.

Joan was tinkering with the piano, practicing with notes and a few chords. When Anya walked in, her ears swiveled around to her, then her head. Her wings perked up slightly, tail raising.

“Anya, hello,” Joan greeted, cracking a small smile.

“Hello, Joan,” Anya greeted back. She cleared her throat. “Joan, I need to ask you something.”

Joan tilted her head. “What?”

“Do you remember when you stayed over at my house?” Anya asked, and Joan nodded. “I wanted to know what that thing you said in your sleep meant. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Joan blinked. “What thing?”

“The prophecy.”

Joan’s eyes widened. “I gave you a prophecy?”

Anya was confused. “Yeah, you did. Did you not know?”

“I don’t know anything about a recent prophecy,” Joan said, sounding anxious. She wrung her claws in her shirt. “What did I say?”

“Something about fire,” Anya told her, trying to swallow her own fear. “It was--”

Joan suddenly whimpered.

“Joan?”

The little hybrid was now curled on the piano stool, wings drawn in tightly around her, hands clutching at her head. She began to shiver, whimpering in distress, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joan? Joan.” Anya gently touched her shoulders, and they quaked beneath her hands. “What’s wrong? What do you see?”

“Fire,” Joan gasped raggedly. “Oh god, oh god, oh god--”

“Joan? Joan, breathe.” Anya told her, hoping to get through to her. “Come on, honey. You can do it. Breathe. Come back to me.”

Joan suddenly flinched backwards, eyes popped open, breathing heavily. Sweat beaded on her brow and ran down her pale face. She scrambled to her feet, nearly collapsing.

“W-we have to stop them!” Joan floundered, rushing for the door.

“Joan! Joan, hey!” Anya grabbed the panicked girl by the shoulders, squeezing her to try and ground her. “Hang on a moment.”

“No!” Joan yanked away from her and ran out into the hallway. Anya followed after her, watching the way she looked around wildly.

“Wh-where are they? Where is everyone?!” Joan cried. “W-we have to find them, Anya! We-- Agh!!”

She suddenly crumpled again, clutching at her head. Anya lunged down to her side and propped her up against her, stroking her with one wing.

“No! No!” Joan squirmed like she was being electrocuted. “Oh god, no! No!!” Tears were now streaming down her cheeks as she spiraled into full blown hysterics.

“Joan, what’s going on? What do you see?”

Joan screamed and shoved away from her, hightailing it down the hallway.

“Joan!!”

Anya chased after the girl, surprised by how fast she was despite her condition. She rounded the corner and found her collapsed on her knees in front of Cathy, Cleves, and Jane. They all looked simultaneously confused and concerned.

“Joan!” Anya went back down to her side and wrapped a wing around her. “Joan, honey, you need to breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”

“That’s what this is?” Cleves asked.

“Is she okay?” Cathy added.

“I--” Anya faltered, frowning down at Joan’s shuddering form. “I don’t know.”

Joan’s body spasmed. She looked up and her eyes were blank and glazed. When she began to speak, her voice wasn’t scared or panicked or anxious or pained. It was calm. Hollow.

“You feel it all over, and you can see it. And it deals with you. It really works on you. And you don't like it. You don't like it, I don't deserve that, y'know. And nobody else can really understand. You feel it all over. You feel it all over. And you just get the shakes. And it just, it comes up on you. Feel it all over. You feel it all over. Feel it all over…”

Anya swallowed thickly and looked up to gauge the reactions of the three queens: Cathy looked frightened, Cleves looked curious, and Jane looked concerned, but they all seemed to be a little unnerved.

“Was that a prophecy?” Cathy whispered.

“Was it?” Cleves asked, shifting. She shook out her wings as if they were crawling with spiders. “Brr. I’ve got goosebumps. That was freaky.”

“It’s coming,” Joan muttered, hanging her head limply. “It’s coming.” Her breathing rattled, body twitching. “We’re animated meat accepting complete infidelity of the body.”

Then, she shook her head and her eyes popped open again, grey and normal-looking.

“Joan, what is going on?” Jane asked.

“Where is everyone else?” Joan croaked. Her elbows trembled like they were about to buckle beneath the weight of her trembling body. “We have to save them!”

“Save them from what?” Cleves furrowed her eyebrows.

“The fire!” Joan cried. She leapt to her feet and scrambled down the hallway, using the wall for support. She began crying out the names of the other queens and ladies in waiting.

“Joan, wait!” Anya went after her.

She chased the hybrid to the wings of the stage, where Kat was talking with Bessie. When Joan saw the fifth queen, she let out a cry of relief and collapsed against her.

“Kat! Kat!” Joan wept.

Kat’s eyes widened and she lowered the girl to the ground. “Joan? Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“I think it’s her visions,” Anya said. She watched as Kat swept her wings around Joan and held her close to her chest. “She’s really freaking out.”

“Oh, honey,” Kat murmured, stroking Joan’s head. “You poor little thing… Your head must be hurting so bad, huh?”

“K-Kat-- Kat--”

“Shh, shh,” Kat rocked her gently. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“N-no-- No!” Joan tried to push away, breathing heavily.

Maggie came down from the nearby staircase, glanced at the scene, wrinkled her nose, then began walking onto the stage. Joan screamed.

“No!!” Joan shrieked, thrashing wildly in Kat’s arms and wings in an attempt to get free. “No! Don’t go in there! No!”

Maggie looked back at her. “Why?” She ruffled her wings and sniffed, clearly miffed. “I do what I want.

“No! No, Maggie, there’s a BOMB!”

And then, with a whoosh and a crash and a burst of light, the stage exploded into flames.

------

“Anne Askew was burned at the stake at Smithfield, London, aged 24, on 16 July 1546, with John Lascelles, Nicholas Belenian and John Adams. She was carried to execution in a chair wearing just her shift, as she could not walk and every movement caused her severe pain. She was dragged from the chair to the stake which had a small seat attached to it, on which she sat astride. Chains were used to bind her body firmly to the stake at the ankles, knees, waist, chest and neck.

Those who saw her execution were impressed by her bravery, and reported that she did not scream until the flames reached her chest.”

------

After an interminable time floating in a semi-conscious haze, the piercing smell of some burning annoyed her into a state of full wakefulness.

The smell of smoke and burning feathers choked her as she shuddered on the floor, slumber against a wall, nose pressed against the gritty floor. Her wings felt heavy, like they were being weighed down by dozens of logs, and an uncomfortable heat pressed down on her. Pushing herself up on weak arms, she raised her head to face the destruction in front of her.

Smoldering tendrils of curtains dot the floor from after they fell from the overhead poles, leaking toxic wisps of white smoke. Without them hanging up, she could see that half the stage had been turned into kindling, surrounding a yawning crater where the risers for the band once stood. The speakers and instruments and tech pieces were now blackened twists of scrap metal, and a hole’s been punched through the back wall, echoing into another room that was slowly being flooded with smoke and ash. Half the sprinklers above were raining water, the other half just dangled from busted pipes. She couldn’t see any bodies; the fire was too big. A few wounded in the wings with her were just now recovering from the shock of the blast; first someone groaned, then she heard someone calling for help.

Anya blinked and realized that her head must be rattled more than she had realized, because she was slumped against the wall without a memory of collapsing. She spent a few moments trying to make sense of what just happened.

As her head cleared a bit, she saw Kat pushing herself up from the ground, covered in a caking of soot. She saw Bessie on her knees, wide-eyeing the fire. She saw Cathy and Anne and Cleves and Jane and dozens of others running towards the wreckage, while others ran in the other direction.

She saw Joan standing in front of the flames, her quaking body outlined by the golden light.

“Oh my god!” Jane cried, clapping her hands over her mouth in shock.

“Wh-what happened?!” Cathy stammered in fear.

“What did this?!” Cleves shouted at the same time.

“Where is Maggie?!” Anne yelled, her eyes wide with fear.

“I tried to warn her,” Anya just barely heard Joan mutter. “I told her. I told her what would happen.”

Anne rounded on Joan, tears trembling on her lower eyelids. “What did you do?!”

“What did I do?!” Joan’s voice raised into a fever pitch. “I did nothing but try to prevent this happening! I tried to save everyone, and she did not listen to me! She went in like the ignorant fool she is!”

She turned to the fire, spreading her wings to the heat. “I saw it! I saw these flames and I tried to save everyone! I tried! I tried!”

Anne took a shaky step back. “Is Maggie dead?”

Joan did not answer, and Anne sobbed.

“Maybe I can--” Bessie stepped up and breathed in deeply, releasing a blast of frost on the fire trying to crawl into the wings. The flames were smothered, but the hell storm on the stage continued to rage wildly. She breathed out another jet of frost, fighting back the fire as more and more people began to flee the building.

“Watch out!”

There was a blur of gold as someone ran into the fire with their wings shielding their flammable clothing and hair. A moment later, they appeared again, dragging someone else by the arms.

“Maggie!!” Anne shrieked, lunging down to the body. Her friend was covered in burns and ash, and one of her wings looked badly charred, but she was breathing. “Maggie, oh Maggie! I’m so sorry! Maggie, I’m so sorry!”

Aragon frowned, then ran back into the fire. She was not immune to the bite of the flames, but her scaly wings were not flammable, and she was able to pull out two more bodies without only minimal burns.

Anya couldn’t recognize the two other corpses. All she knew was that they were very, very dead, charred beyond belief, wings turned to black skeletons upon their backs.

Anya attempted to get up, to maybe help, but a comforting hand pressed on her shoulder and a warm voice spoke to her, “Don’t move, you’re hurt.”

Looking up, she saw Cathy kneeling beside her. Her face was twisted with worry and fear. Anya’s vision began to blur as she was gazing at her.

“I’m perfectly able to--” As she talked, she made the mistake of trying to push herself to her feet. Something shifted in her right shoulder, sending a flare of pain throughout her body, making her gasp as her right arm collapsed under her weight.

Instead of saying, “told you so,” Cathy yelled for help. Medics had apparently arrived.

“Please," Cathy said, “don’t move. You have a large chunk of metal sticking out of your shoulder.”

Anya looked down and saw it gouged there. A twisted hunk of black iron embedded in her flesh, spilling out fountains of hot blood. Her vision began to blur even more. How did she not notice it before?

A painted lady Cimex and a blue Hydra in EMT jumpsuits finally made it through the crowd of people clogging the entrance and came over to where Anya was kneeling. They pushed Cathy aside with their wings, much to Anya’s dismay. She tried to reach for her friend, but the medics coaxed her into saying still while they began speaking. Something about a female black kite Avem showing signs of significant trauma and blood loss. She lost the thread of what they’re saying, because the Hydra medic started to cut the clothes off of her.

“What?” Anya croaked, and she didn’t realize how rough her voice was. The word echoed in her mind like she was in a cave. How much blood was she losing?”

“Shh,” The Hydra told her. “You need to stay still for me, hun.”

When she tossed aside a bundle of unidentifiable shreds of fabric that used to be a stage manager joke t-shirt, stained with equal parts blood and soot, Anya had to agree.

Anya felt very light-headed and dizzy, so she decided to close her eyes.

Funny. This felt a lot more peaceful than how she actually died.

“You’re right, Cathy. I’m really injured.” Her voice was a half-whisper and half-groan, and she had no idea if her friend heard her. She barely cared.

She felt the cold sting of something in her uninjured arm, and the drugs pushed her the rest of the way into unconsciousness.

------

Anya eventually woke up to bright white and the sharp smell of antibiotics. The slight dizziness she felt, and the absence of pain from her wounded shoulder told her that she’s probably still drugged-up on painkillers, if nothing else.

She was laying in a bed in a blindingly white hospital room, staring at the blank wall. She could smell blood somewhere.

She wondered how long she had been drugged insensible. She had no real memory after the Hydra medic stripped her and shot her with something. But, however badly she’d been hurt, they seem to have patched her up. She recovered to the point everyone felt safe ignoring her.

Anya groaned as she got to a seated position. She ached all over. The place where the intrusive chunk of metal once laid was now gone from her shoulder, and she realized that there was an IV tube injected into a vein in her left arm.

“Hey, don’t move around too much.”

Anya whipped her head around and saw Cathy. Relief instantly bloomed through her when she saw the blue jay unharmed and okay.

“Cathy,” She breathed out.

Cathy smiled softly and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “Hey, you.” She said. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“How long have I been out?” Anya asked, and her voice came out croaking and rough. She coughed and Cathy frowned, brushing some white hair from her face.

“A day.”

Anya’s eyes widened. “A day?”

Cathy nodded. “They sewed up the wound in your shoulder, but wanted to keep you under for a while longer. It’s nine, now.”

“Damn,” Anya muttered. “What happened? How is everyone?”

Cathy’s expression went grim. “Jackie and Sean are dead.” She said, referring to a robin Avem and cricket Cimex, both of which had been on the tech crew. “Maggie’s pretty beat up, but the doctors said she’ll make a full recovery soon. A few others are just burned.”

“God,” Anya said softly. “I can’t believe that really happened…”

“Me too,” Cathy said. “I’m just so happy you’re alive. When I heard the explosion go off I was so worried about you. I thought you had—”

“Hey.” Anya brushed her wing against Cathy. “None of that. Happy thoughts. Look, I’m here, aren’t I?”

Cathy smiled. “You are.” She squeezed Anya’s hand again, then cleared her throat. “The show is being shut down for awhile. Obviously.”

“Thank the goddesses,” Anya said. “I don’t know how anyone would be able to work after what happened.”

Cathy nodded. “Yeah. On the bright side, we get a vacation!”

They both shared a laugh.

“Where’s Joan?”

Cathy made a disgruntled expression that Anya didn’t understand. “I don’t know. I don’t really care, either.” Her voice was so hostile; Anya wasn’t used to her sounding so angry.

“Why not?” Anya furrowed her eyebrows.

“She could have stopped it!” Cathy suddenly exploded, causing Anya to flinch in surprise. “She has precognition! And she was having visions! Why couldn’t she have told us what she had seen sooner instead of crying on the floor?”

Anya frowned. “Cathy, I don’t think she could.” She said. “You saw her. She was in a lot of pain. She was scared, too. I think she was too overwhelmed to be able to speak.”

Cathy scoffed. “Yeah right. I wouldn’t just flail around on the floor with the knowledge of a bomb about to go off. She could have told us before the day even happened! She can see the furtive! Why didn’t she see this sooner?”

“There’s a lot of different futures to see,” Anya tried to convince her. “This may not have been one she saw.”

“What, is a fucking bombing not big enough for her mind?” Cathy said cruelly, her voice loaded with venom.

“It’s not her fault, Cathy.”

“It is!” Cathy yelled. “If she had just said something, then Jackie and Sean wouldn’t be dead, the theater wouldn’t be destroyed, Maggie wouldn’t be in urgent care, and you wouldn’t be hurt right now!”

“Don’t blame her!” Anya yelled back. “She tried, okay? She tried. We have to give her that. A lot more people could have died without her.”

Cathy huffed and crossed her arms. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, alright.”

Anya clenched her jaw, but didn’t argue. She was just tired and confused and so, so worried.

She stayed in the hospital for another hour until she was deemed well enough to leave. The first thing she did was fly to the wreckage sight, even though the doctors advised she didn’t fly for a day or so.

Police cars swarmed the building below Anya. Yellow tape was rolled out, restricting civilians from going in. The theater had turned into a full on crime scene.

Anya flew to the park field next, and that’s where she found her. In the same place where she took her hunting.

Anya landed beside Joan.

“I tried.”

Anya could tell from her voice that Joan had been crying.

“I did. I really tried. I wanted to save everyone.”

“You did your best.”

“My best wasn’t enough. Now two people are dead.”

Joan looked at Anya, and her grey eyes were puffy and red. Tear tracks were stained on her pale cheeks.

“Are you--are you--?”

“I’m okay, sweetie,” Anya said. She tugged down her sleeve to show Joan the bandages around her stitched shoulder. “See? I’m okay.”

Joan sniffled and tears spilled over. “O-oh god. Thank goodness.”

Anya wrapped her wings around the young hybrid and pulled her in close. Joan clung to her like a baby bat would to its mother, latched on with her little dewclaws. She sobbed into her chest, and Anya stroked her hair comfortingly, occasionally scratching behind her ears, hoping it would help.

“I wanted to save everyone,” Joan whispered shakily. “I did. I tried.” She sniffled. “Maybe I should just do what Henry did to me when I kept giving him bad prophecies…”

“What did he do?”

“He cut my tongue out.”

23 notes · View notes