“The Promise”

The kid appeared out of nowhere; Duke L’Orange could attest to that. Unlike a dimensional gateway, there was no gust of wind or all-consuming pull. There was just no one in front of him one minute, and the next, there was a hatchling. Unbelievably young to be by himself, the boy could not have been more than five. He wore more Earth-looking type of clothes than a Puckworlder: a small tee shirt, jeans, worn Nike sneakers, and a shabby, too-big for him Champion jacket. His fiery red hair hung from his head, while his longer than average bangs whisked in front of his deep, piercing azure eyes. His immaculate white feathers seemed to glow as the boy looked up at him. A tiny, hesitant grin tugged on the hatchling’s face.

Startled by his sudden presence, Duke stared at the boy, as the hatchling seemed to just stare back at him with impassive curiosity. Unfortunately, Duke was so preoccupied he missed the sudden appearance of a Saurian claw and the snatch of the boy’s jacket. Duke activated his sword, but it was too late. Held painfully tightly in a Saurian grip, the hatchling let out a small cry, which tore at Duke’s heart.

“Let the kid go, Dragaunus,” Duke demanded, aiming his weapon toward the menacing lizard.

Dragaunus lifted the boy by his collar to his eyelevel and stared into the child’s eyes. The boy squirmed under the malevolent glare. “So, from whom are you an offspring, waif?”

The boy wiggled in the steel grip, not in pain, per se, but more of being uncomfortable. He shuddered. “Why are you evil?”

Dragaunus laughed, a chilling, braying howl. “Because I can be!”

As the horrific lizard backhanded the child across the face, Duke fueled with anger and impulsively lunged. When he slashed Dragaunus across the blaster, the lizard dropped the hatchling. Duke attacked without hesitation, slash after slash, cutting the overlord across the stomach and then the chest. Hitting one of his teammates was intolerable, but hitting a hatchling was unforgivable.

Dragaunus backstepped, then swiped with his claw, drawing blood from Duke’s arm. Fighting back a growl, Duke dove again, only for Dragaunus to teleport. Landing where Dragaunus had stood, Duke heaved in quick, shallow breaths and attempted to curb his anger. His thoughts ricocheting, dread flooded his being. The kid….He forgot about the kid!

Turning on his heel, he gasped. The boy lay only ten feet from him, leaning on his side, unmoving.

Duke knelt by his side, turning the boy over onto his back. No blood, no scars. Just a contusion encircling the boy’s left eye. For a moment, Duke stared transfixed at the hatching, pierced by the feeling of déjà vu before it fled in a collective gasp. He looked up to see Tanya, a hand upon her cheek.

“I think he’s okay,” he tried to calm her.

However, following her motherly instincts, Tanya raced to the boy’s side, not content until she looked him over herself. Her face scrunched at the scanner’s readings on her omnitool.

“He seems okay. Just knocked out,” she felt compelled to confirm. “Just to make sure, I want the medicom to check him out.”

Duke nodded. “Fair enough.” Carefully, he lifted the boy into his arms and wasn’t at all surprised when Tanya hovered less than a foot away.

*^*^*

“Does he look familiar to any of you?” Nosedive posed the question that had obviously been on everyone’s mind when the team nodded collectively.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Mallory agreed. Sitting on the medibed next to the one the boy occupied, she sent him a sympathetic gaze. “I just figured it was me.”

“Maybe he’s a commander’s son or something,” Canard interjected from next to Mallory. “Possibly he was kidnapped by the Saurians.”

“That would mean he was on Raptor all this time?” Tanya gasped, standing at the podium in front of the beds. “But—he’s…in perfect condition, except for the black eye. They didn’t…” She didn’t want to jinx it. The boy wasn’t injured, and though she was flabbergasted that Dragaunus didn’t abuse him, she didn’t want to make it a reality.

“I don’t think so,” Duke disputed and leaned back against the wall. “He didn’t teleport like the Saurians. He appeared just like,” *SNAP!* “this, sweetheart. One second he wasn’t there; the next he was.”

“Well, when he wakes up, then we’ll find out how he got here,” Wildwing replied.

They hadn’t long to wait. A few minutes later, the boy stirred in his sleep. Yawning innocently, as if waking up from a deep sleep, he put his hand in front of his beak, then stretched. Pushing up into a sitting position, the boy halted. He looked back at his hand upon the sheet and for a moment, looked bewildered. Then, abruptly, he whirled around, glaring at the team through frightened, trembling eyes. His eyes ricocheted to Nosedive and subsequently softened. His shoulders slumped; the boy seemed to relax.

“Hiya,” Wildwing greeted gently, bending down to the boy’s bed so as not to scare him any more than he already was. “I’m Wildwing. That’s Tanya,” he pointed to the blonde, female duck, “Mallory,” the redhead smiled, “Duke, you’ve met,” the lithe gray mallard nodded, “Grin,” the other gray mallard, mediating on the floor so as not to frighten the child with his height, opened his eyes, “and Nosedive,” his brother waved. “What’s your name?”

The boy hesitated, peering about the room. Shaking slightly, he pressed his back against the backboard of the bed. Peeping, the boy divulged, “Crease.”

Wildwing smiled kindly. “I like your name. Are you a goalie?”

A tiny nod was the reply.

“I bet you’re really good.”

“My uncle says I take after my dad,” Crease said softly.

“Who’s your dad?” Nosedive said, taking a seat on the other side of the bed.

The boy’s eyes surveyed Nosedive, and Crease eased and grinned. The smile quickly faded, though, into a deep, sorrowful frown. “My uncle told me it’s good not to tell people. They might think I’m a threat.”

“A threat?” Mallory echoed incredulously, situating herself on the bed behind Wildwing. “Why would someone think you’re a threat?”

The boy ignored her question and smiled gleefully at the team. “You’re the Mighty Ducks, right?”

Wildwing and Nosedive traded bewildered glances. “Uh, yeah, kid,” the younger Featherburn replied. “How’d you know? They don’t call us that on Puckworld, do they?”

“I’ve never been to Puckworld,” Crease mumbled, looking away, “but my uncle says it’s really cool.”

“Were you hatched off world?” Tanya inquired, flabbergasted. She moved closer to the boy’s bed.

Crease nodded. “My dad and momma were on another planet.” Perking up, he looked directly at Wildwing. “My uncle says I like cream cheese because of you. He doesn’t like it too much,” he rambled on. “ ‘Butter imposter.’ But is that true? Do you like cream cheese?”

Nosedive looked at Wildwing, the horrifying knowledge burning in his glare. Wildwing returned it, unhinged. Slowly, as if his tongue first refused to form the words, the older brother stammered, “C—Crease, who’s your uncle?”

“CREASE!” a strangled cry broke right after the inquisition.

Percolating with excitement, Crease vaulted off the bed and weaved in between the legs of the Mighty Ducks. Startled, the team turned to see the boy dive into the arms of a still rather young drake kneeling upon the ground. Short, blonde hair dusting across his forehead, bright, penetrating blue eyes, and a peach complexion, the duck was eerily familiar.

Nosedive. Older. Wildwing hazarded about mid-twenties by the light in his eyes, though it was betrayed by the worry lines that coursed his face. His battle gear had changed since its present incarnation, no longer a smaller, less bulky version of Wildwing’s uniform. A teal tee-shirt cut at his shoulders, revealing his filled-out muscles, while a gun holster encircled his waist. His jeans were a poor attempt at protection, though about his waist was a gold belt—the one from Wildwing’s current uniform. A purple Mighty Duck insignia adorned the left breast of his shirt and was stained on his right shoulder, though another mark, darker with hues of red and black, was still presently seen underneath the Mighty Ducks taint. Wildwing guessed the Ducks’ taint had been placed there to cover the other one.

The older Nosedive pulled back a little from the embrace but refused to relinquish his nephew. “Thanks the Stars you’re okay. I swear, you almost gave me a heart attack. When I noticed you were gone and no one had seen you—” His voice silenced at the sight of the contusion. When he pushed back the child’s hair to get a better look at the injury, his face contorted, appalled. “STARS, kiddo! What happened to you? Are you all right?” His vision immediately shifted over the boy’s head to Tanya. “He is okay, right? Right?”

Tanya, hearing the vehement emotions conveyed in his pleading tone, stammered, “H—He was hit by Dragaunus and fell a few feet. A little rest, and he’ll be okay.”

Nodding absently, Nosedive ducked his head and dropped his hand from Crease’s hair. “I bet that was scary, wasn’t it?” he asked softly, tenderly.

Crease looked up at him with tears in his eyes, then lunged into his chest, gripping on as if for dear life.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Nosedive soothed, running a hand through Crease’s short hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Uncle Dive will take care of the big, bad lizard.”

“Like Godzilla?” Crease pepped, the words slurred by sobs.

Nosedive smiled fondly. “Uh, I think I’m going to reframe from calling Draggy ‘Godzilla,’ if for no other reason than my ego.”

Crease giggled, a light and euphoric sound.

Grinning slightly, Nosedive looked down at his little nephew. It was then Wildwing saw the shadows hiding in Nosedive’s eyes—fears of what he witnessed, sins he had committed, a lost draining the life from him. Then, a transformation—Crease smiled up at his uncle, and the genuine affection between the two was almost surreal—like his and Nosedive’s. And just like that, the shadows faded from his brother’s eyes.

Nosedive situated himself on the floor cross-legged and beckoned Crease into his lap. “Why did you leave like that? Why did you just disappear? I thought we were okay. I thought things were okay.”

“They’re great,” Crease insisted.

“Then why would you leave like that?” Nosedive asked again. “Why, Crease? Did I do something wrong?”

Crease lowered his head, wincing. Softly, pleadingly, the hatchling said, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Nosedive echoed in shock. “How would you hurt me?”

Crease’s eyes snapped toward Nosedive. “I wanted to know about my dad and momma.”

Nosedive frowned. “I tell you about them all the time.”

“But you just tell me stories, not what happened to them! You never tell about that!” His breath ran out, and he relented restlessly, “And when I asked Uncle Canard why, he said that it hurts you too much to talk about it. So, I wanted to see what happened.”

“You’re off a few years, kiddo,” Nosedive chuckled, pulling his nephew close. Murmuring as he rubbed Crease’s back, he consoled, “Yeah, it does hurt, but your Uncle Canard is old and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. When a duck hits thirty, it’s all down hill.” He laughed slightly, which only depreciated to a disparaging sigh. “The reason I didn’t tell you was I didn’t want to hurt you. What happened…” He shivered visibility, closing his eyes as he kept the boy close. “…It still scares me sometimes.” Palpably bracing himself, he maneuvered to look into Crease’s eyes. “But I’d tell you what. You want to know, I’ll tell you, okay?”

“Really?” Crease cheeped. “Honest?”

“Only if you promise never to run off like this again. Seriously, kiddo, I swear you gave me a heart attack!” Feigning pain, he tumbled backwards to the floor, securing Crease against his chest as he fell.

The boy giggled. “Uncle Dive!”

“What?” Nosedive complained, albeit in an amused tone. “It’s the truth!”

“If you’re going tell me everything,” Crease said as Nosedive balanced the boy on his knees, while still lying on the floor so Crease was suspended in mid-air, “will you tell me how you got that?” He pressed his forefinger directly into Nosedive’s taint.

Nosedive glared at his shoulder, then swiftly sat up, resting the boy on his legs. “Uh, there are some things a nephew should never know.”

“Like what?”

Nosedive cringed and struggled to phrase his thinking. “Like certain agreements with certain lizard princesses.”

“Syra?” Creased inquired innocently.

“How do you know Dragaunus’s daughter?” Nosedive demanded.

“Uncle Canard told me that you and she have an cont—contr—”

“Contract?” Nosedive guessed, his voice tense.

Crease nodded and cocked his head to the side, bemused. “Something about getting back at her daddy with the help of the fur-mor cum-mand-ur’s brother. He said it would tick off Drac-an-cus. He turned purple!”

Nosedive scowled, ruffling Crease’s hair. His cheeks, too, blushed. “Your Uncle Canard and I are going to have a long conversation when we get home.”

Crease winced. “Are you mad at me?”

Nosedive grinned gently. “No. I’m not mad at you. Uncle Canard, yes. You, definitely not. You’ll know when I’m mad. Trust me.”

“Like when you came home and Siege had cut off your hair?” Crease asked giddily.

Nosedive blew up his bangs. “Yeah, like then.” With one fluid motion, Nosedive rose to his feet, carrying Crease along with him in his arms. “Okay, kiddo. Why don’t you go back to the base, get changed into your hockey gear, and I’ll shoot a few pucks at you. Then we’ll sit down and hash this whole thing out.”

“But isn’t it pass my bedtime?”

Nosedive nuzzled the boy’s cheek. “It might be, but I’ll see if I can get the leader to let us out.” Nodding to the boy’s wrist, he asked, “You know how to use that thing?”

Crease turned his wrist to the side, and in a wave of yellow shimmering, a device appeared on his feathers. It was no bigger than a I-POD, complete with red and blue blinking buttons. “I got here, didn’t I?” Crease said.

Nosedive snorted, letting the boy down. “Yes, you did, but just make sure not to set anything, okay? You don’t want to end up with the dinosaurs. Just hit the retrieval button.”

Crease turned around and waved to the team. “Bye!” Then hitting his wrist, he disappeared. No lights flashed. No deafening noise. He was just gone.

Nosedive turned to the Mighty Ducks, who had watched the scene unfold before them in a stunned silence. “Thank you for watching over him.” He averted his eyes, and his body turned half-way away. “I don’t know what I would ever do if I lost him. He’s all I have left of you, Wing,” he said plaintively. “Sometimes I don’t know how to get out of bed in the morning, and he’ll just come in and do it for me. H—He’s the greatest thing I ever did, and he’s not even mine.”

A hesitant hand first brushed against his shoulder before clasping comfortingly. Nosedive peered at his older brother, his lamenting expression apparent.

Wildwing smiled slightly. “In a way, he is.”

A small smirk appeared on his beak. The older Nosedive simply stated, “Thank you. I—I needed your approval.”

With that, he pulled away. By the longing expression on his face, Wildwing could tell it was because if Nosedive stayed any longer, he wouldn’t be able to leave. Nodding, he turned to Mallory, a slight smile upon your beak. “You know, sis, he gets his spunk from you. I honestly don’t know who else could have given him that.” Ignoring the shocked look upon her face, he turned away, waving absently as he walked toward the door. “Syra’s coming. Be ready for her. I don’t want to make my deal.”

As Wildwing reached out to stop his brother, to ask him just what he meant by that, Nosedive disappeared just as subtly as Crease had.

He whirled back to his seventeen-year-old brother, who sat on the bed, looking undeniably forlorn. The teen glared up at him, and Wildwing was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“I don’t want you to die.”

And just as Nosedive, himself, had done earlier to his son, Wildwing took his little brother into his arms and held him as sobs wracked his body. He closed his eyes, realizing his own mortality. “Sometimes there are things we can’t change, baby brother.”

Nosedive pulled away slightly and clutched the front of his brother’s shirt. “I don’t care! Promise me you won’t die,” he beseeched frantically. “Promise me, Wing!”

Seeing the hysteria ravaging in Nosedive’s wide and frightened eyes, Wildwing faltered, “D—Dive, I—”

Nosedive shook him fiercely. “Promise me, Wing!”

Drawing the trembling teen into his arms again, Wildwing closed his eyes. “I promise.”

*^*^*

Nosedive staggered down the hallway. It wouldn’t be long until Crease was in his gear, and in the brief time he had, he wanted to catch some siesta. Since his nephew disappeared a little over forty-eight hours ago, Nosedive had looked non-stop for the hatchling. It wasn’t until he noticed Tanya’s old experiment box open did he realize what Crease had done. If the trip solved anything, it proved that Tanya’s concept of changing time was accurate. He would have to contemplate the pros versus the cons later, but at the moment, he could barely stand, let alone ponder the space-time continuum.

The twenty-five year old sighed and turned the bend. The corridor was empty at this time at night, the resistance members obeying the curfew. Heading into the commander’s quarters, he remembered raucously how they used to be Wildwing’s and his and later on, Wildwing’s and his brother’s lifemate. Of course, Nosedive had moved in with Canard, which helped cushion the blow of being separated from his brother. However, when Wildwing and everyone except he and Canard had…he moved back into the quarters, since the base accepted them as the commander’s, and he became, after all, the commander. Coupled with being a full-time parent to Crease, he was beyond exhausted. He was bordering on zombie.

What he needed was a few years sleep, but he’d have to settle for twenty minutes.

He noticed vaguely the desk lamp was on. Though he didn’t remember leaving it that way, he ignored it. It wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities. He collapsed onto his bed and wrapped his arms around the pillow there. He closed his eyes, snuggling against the pillow when he realized the bed was still jarring a little. His bed never jarred anymore. He had collapsed upon it too many times, and the springs had finally broken.

Opening his eyes, he noticed the red blanket. That, too, was not his. His was teal. And the bed was bigger, too, like it was meant for two. What was going on here?

His desk chair squeaked behind him. He pulled his puck launcher from his holster, aiming it at the person he hadn’t noticed earlier sitting at his desk.

“Hey, baby bro,” Wildwing’s exhausted voice greeted him. Dark circles contoured his face, but he still managed to grin. Wearing a uniform much like Nosedive’s, jeans, boots, yet a long-sleeved shirt instead of cut-off, the older mallard didn’t seem like the leader of a Resistance, either. He arched an eyebrow at the puck launcher. “Had a bad day, I take it?”

Nosedive didn’t dare blink and kept his arm erect as he tried to figure exactly what was going on. His brother was dead. He died five years ago. The day his son hatched to be exact, though Nosedive never told his nephew that. The reminiscence callously flashed through his mind, and he pushed the thought away instantly.

“W—Who are you?” Nosedive sputtered uncertainly. Chameleon was his first impulse, but after Canard’s report of the last battle, that was impossible.

Wildwing gave his brother a bemused look before letting out a grumbled mutter. “I wondered when this would happen.”

“When what would happen?” Slowly, Nosedive rolled off the bed and stood, puck launcher still pointed directly at Wildwing’s chest. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my bunk?”

“Your bunk?” Wildwing repeated incredulously before he stood. Nosedive’s eyes narrowed, and his finger twitched on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, Wildwing put his hands up at shoulder height. “Hey, come on, baby bro. It’s me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nosedive said harshly. It still stung five years later. He shook the launcher toward Wildwing. “W—W—Wildwing’s dead.”

“Dive, I didn’t die,” Wildwing pressed and hazarded a step forward. “Remember?”

A shot ejected from Nosedive’s launcher, hitting the ground just to the left of Wildwing’s foot, making the older drake jump backwards.

“Who are you!” Nosedive demanded.

“NOSEDIVE, think!” Wildwing shouted at his brother. “Think back!”

“I don’t—”

“Remember! After you and Crease left, you made me promise you I wouldn’t die!”

Nosedive’s face scrunched in deep contemplation. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his breathing increased. His eyes became unseeing, as he searched his memories. He squinted, though nothing other than that day came to mind. His eyes snapped toward Wildwing, his brother’s piercing blue only seeming to radiate more worry and anxiety, much like they had before…Oh, he wanted this person so badly to be Wildwing that it physically hurt. He wanted it more than anything in life, even to return to Puckworld, but in his heart, he knew the raw truth. He knew it the moment his brother died, but the callous point was only exacerbated when Canard dug him out of the collapsed base and led him to his brother’s cold and lifeless body. He’d still probably be clinging to Wildwing, even five years later, if Canard hadn’t wrestled him away.

Nosedive was jerked back into reality when Wildwing swiftly closed the distance between them. He reaffirmed his grasp on his launcher only to be checked into the wall. His wrist slamming into the wall, he lost his hold on his launcher, and it clunked helplessly to the floor. He winced when Wildwing shoved his shoulder into his chest, restraining him.

“Think, Nosedive!” Wildwing pressed. “Remember!”

A piercing pain ripped through his head, causing him to close his eyes. “I don’t—I can’t—”

Wildwing touched the side of his face, gesturing for Nosedive to open his eyes. They obediently focused upon those clear and warm eyes that had drained of light so long ago.

“Yes, you can!” Wildwing hollered, unrelenting. “Remember after you appeared at the Pond! You were seventeen! You made me promise not to die!”

Nosedive panted, trying to catch his breath as the vision raced through his mind. He remembered the soul-wrenching pain tearing at his heart when he heard that Wildwing had died. He remembered begging his brother to promise what was the inevitable not to be and Wildwing humoring him.

Suddenly, there was a rush of emotion, crashing over him and flooding him with a wave of memories. Dragaunus attacking the world, gaining his domination; his six-month venture in the Saurian zoo; his brother finding him and bringing home to fight in the underground resistance; his sister-in-law and Wildwing bonding; the dreaded day of his brother’s death—Wildwing ordering him go to safeguard his child’s egg and then the collapse of the room around him. When he was finally dug out, Crease had all ready hatched and was in his hands. Nosedive, arching his back to cover Crease’s body with his own, blinked against the bright light.

“Baby bro! You alive?” Trembling hands cupped his shoulders, urging him to sit up.

He raised his head. His heart skipped a beat, and Nosedive stared flabbergasted and utterly unhinged at his brother, who now pinned him against the wall. “You dug me out,” he gasped, his absorbing eyes glistened with fresh tears. “It was you, not Canard.”

“Yes,” Wildwing smiled, albeit tensely and nervously. “What else do you remember?”

Nosedive thought as his knees buckled, and Wildwing caught him before he hit the floor. He stood in the Resistance cell’s hanger, Syra standing before him. She smirked devilishly at him.

“I can kill your hopes of freedom right here and now.” She toyed with the buttons on the device in her hands: a communicator.

Nosedive stared at her, his face edgy and rigid, his body the same. He swallowed the knot in his throat. “What do you want?”

She sauntered about him, dragging her hand along his shoulder blades. She brushed her sadistic fingers up his neck and to his beak when she once more stood in front of him. A malicious smile tugged onto her lips as he shook slightly. “I won’t alert my father of your resistance cell’s location and will even let you relocate if...”

“If?” he prompted, dreading the answer. She was not one to let wanton bloodshed slip through her fingers.

“If you become my lover.”

He gaped at her. His breathing increased to almost hyperventilating proportions. “W—What? Are you insane?”

Her long black hair curling across her face, the twenty-year-old Saurian smirked, sizing him up and down. He squirmed under her gaze, rubbing his forearm nervously. “Lately, my father has been less than supportive in my initiative to acquire my own forces. Nothing would destroy him more than the mere thought of me having relations with Wildwing Featherburn’s little brother. Well,” she amended with an absent shrug, “unless I was having sex with your brother, but then I wouldn’t be destroying him, too. It’s so much better with you. Two birds with one stone.”

Nosedive’s first thoughts were of his brother. What would Wildwing say if he…consented? But his brother would be killed if he didn’t…do it. Dragaunus would return to Earth to render his punishment on Wildwing personally, and Nosedive couldn’t let that—but Wildwing would be killed internally if he ever found out that Syra had…with him…because of …Oh Stars, he was only twenty-one. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to…with her…He hadn’t with anyone else yet, let alone a Saurian! The thought was just too disgusting to even think, and he had the sudden urge to wretch.

His breathing increased as her finger levitated toward the button. Abruptly, she reached out with her free claws, tantalizingly brushing them against the side of his cheek. He shunned away but didn’t step out of her reach. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t jeopardize the Resistance and his brother, even if it meant sacrificing himself. And Syra knew that.

Slammed him hard into the landing gear of the Aerowing, he cringed as pain shot through his back. A rough hand gripped him about the front of his shirt, preventing him from sliding to the ground. His eyes opened to half-lidded, pain-filled slits, catching her sadistic and saucy smirk. As she ducked her head slightly, Nosedive closed his eyes, dreading what was to follow. He tensed, though no amount of bracing could save him from the tingly, unnerving feeling that swept through his body when he felt her warm, wet lips touch his neck, groping his feathers. He attempted to pull away, only for her attack to grow in intensity. She ravaged his neck, beckoning his flesh into her mouth, saturating his skin with her saliva.

Stars…

He let out a tiny yelp when she bit down, her fangs sinking into his neck, drawing blood.

Stop…

He felt so dirty.

Please…

Slowly, Syra pressed her body against his palpitated one. “Do not despair, Featherburn,” she coaxed, raising her head. Her hand that once held his shirt gradually skimmed down his torso, increasing his trembling as he knew where it was headed. “I will be gentle if you wish…the first time.”

He opened his beak to answer, his tongue and body flushing numb, but his words were cut off when the communicator exploded in her hand.

Turning, Nosedive spotted Wildwing at the hanger’s entrance, gauntlet smoking from the shot. “I believe it is you, Syra, who should worry.”

Nosedive collapsed completely on his knees, Wildwing holding him tightly.

“Baby bro?” Wildwing called urgently, but his voice hardly befell onto Nosedive’s ears.

The twenty-five year old turned vacant eyes onto his shoulder. His Saurian lover’s taint was gone…This was not his bunk…and his brother held him in his arms.

Nosedive lunged into his brother’s embrace, tears streaming down his face. “You kept your promise.”

Wildwing tightened his hold, bringing one hand to cradle the back of Nosedive’s head, the other constricting his waist. “You expected any less of me?”

And suddenly, the last five horrifying years were nothing more than night-terror. His breathing eased. His body relaxed, and Nosedive sunk into his brother’s embrace, reveling in his sheer presence.

He didn’t know how long he held his brother, but he found himself unable to detach from Wildwing’s hold. Part of him feared that if he let go, Wildwing would just disappear. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let his brother leave again. If he had to hold onto Wildwing for the rest of his life, then he would.

Wildwing didn’t seem to mind, just submitting to the hold. Every so often, he nuzzled his little brother’s cheek or hair, and Nosedive took solace in the feeling.

Finally opening his eyes, Nosedive snorted. “I like what you did with the place.”

Wildwing shook his head, pulling out slightly of the embrace, though he smiled when Nosedive’s grasp tightened on his arm. “Sarcasm will get you nothing for being out pass curfew.”

“Wait a minute,” Nosedive considered. “I went to save your kid from being in mortal danger, and just because I happen to return a little late, which, of course, two seconds ago was my decree, not yours—”

“Nosedive?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still grounded,” Wildwing declared flatly, getting to his feet and pulling Nosedive along with him.

“Hold on! I’m twenty-five! You can’t ground me!”

“Want to do something about it?” Wildwing challenged and pushed his brother down to his bed, finally releasing himself from Nosedive’s grip. “Mallory and Tanya took Crease up to see the Northern Lights, in case you’ve forgotten, and I have work to do, so go to sleep.”

“But…” Nosedive hesitated, his eyes ricocheting with anxiety.

Wildwing smiled obligingly and leaned forward, nuzzling the top of Nosedive’s head. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

Reluctantly, as Wildwing walked toward his desk, Nosedive stood. “Fine. ” Suppressing a yawn, he headed toward of the door.

Wildwing grabbed his arm right before the doors opened. “Hey, where are you going?”

Nosedive stared at his brother. “Uh, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re bonded, and I share a bunk with Canard now.”

“Uh, and I said Mallory wasn’t here.” He pointed to the bed, then smacked Nosedive on the tail feathers, ushering his brother toward it. “Get.”

Nosedive didn’t need a second command, and he arguably knew even if he wanted to sleep in his bunk, he wouldn’t have been able to. Wildwing wanted him there, to watch over him, to make sure he was okay in case of a sudden shock from the time difference. And, admittedly, Nosedive wanted to be close to Wildwing, too.

As he fell back onto the bed, he listened to his brother’s faint humming of a song he barely recognized from Puckworld years ago. Normally he would have grumbled something along the lines of, “Shut up, and don’t audition for American Idol. They’d put you on their worst auditions show.”

Tonight, though, he settled for, “Wing?”

“Yeah, baby bro?”

Stars, that sounded so good. “…I love you.”

The fond, warm voice he thought he’d never hear again returned without hesitation, “I love you, too.”

And he fell into a relaxing sleep, knowing that in the morning, he would have no trouble getting up.

THE END