A/N: This bit of whimsy is inspired by Craziiwolf's amazing work, her art for this AU can be found on tumbler: tagged/khwingedau

All of her work is stunning but this headcanon set piece got me writing. It's been taking shape since before all of of her AU details manifested so there are discrepancies with her AU, but it just kept writing itself. And since it sprouted out of her wonderful art, I figured I might as well post it. Fair warning… this will be LONG (40000 words already) and multiple chapters(like 20 and counting). It will probably be around 25 before it's complete and I will try to keep a regular schedule posting them. I don't know if I've kept them in character as well as I'd hoped, but the words keep flying for me and it has more or less taken over my life for the time being. So here you are… the product of a mind filled with voices and Craziiwolf's art. Feel free to send me thoughts!

Opening 1/2

If we remembered every day that we could lose someone at any moment, we would love them more fiercely and freely, and without fear- not because there is nothing to lose, but because everything can always be lost. ~Emily Rapp, The Still Point of the Turning World

Kageyama can feel the bright sunlight against his eyelids and dimly notes that it is making his head pound that much worse. Getting to sleep in is a scarcity that comes maybe once or twice a year and something that if he was honest, actually put him on edge because of how unusual it was—but having a headache was completely ruining the moment.

Wait… headache.

Kageyama has the abruptly keen impression that he is missing something and jerks awake with panic. He can see a tall oak stretching out above him as he lies sporting a splitting headache that bleeds out from his temples and he recognizes none of his surroundings. There's a gap in the branches that allows the sunlight to filter through, making him squint. Though he doesn't know why, his first thought is Hinata.

Disregarding the pulse of pain that sparks through his head and the irritating question of why, he jerks upright only to cringe slightly at the way his one wing pulls painfully. The main pivot sends him a warning in the form of shooting pain when he stretches it out and he frowns darkly. That damn joint is going to be the death of him in twenty-four hours, he just knows it. But the pain is easily forgotten because Hinata isn't here.

In a flash, he recalls with hazy clarity the last thing he can remember. They'd been out on a regular scout mission like they'd been doing for years. Hinata'd been lamenting how long they had left before they got home and that he hoped they'd make it in time for dinner. Kageyama had pointed out that while the redhead might have been more agile and quick off the gun, he wasn't as good at sustaining that maxed out speed over an extended distance, so if they did miss dinner, it would be the smaller boy's fault. It was nothing more than a jibe and he knew Hinata's stamina could easily rival his own, but he knew it would get a rise.

Their conversation had quickly dissolved into easy bickering, something that was far closer to normal than not. Really the only time they weren't jabbing back and forth was if something serious was going on or they were around Kageyama's father. But they'd both been caught up in the banter… and Kageyama never saw it coming.

A flash of white feathers—such a contrast to his and Hinata's black wings—blindsided him and a heavy impact hit him in the back of the head. He remembers now.

He remembers faltering completely, seeing nothing but stars and dimly hearing Hinata yell. Whoever the white-winged jerk was that had grabbed him, he'd let go and turned on Hinata. Kageyama had dropped the few meters to the canopy below them, still in a daze.

He remembers.

He remembers seeing Hinata's black wings beating madly, clashing with the large white ones of their assailant. He remembers hearing Hinata yell and how he knew by the strain in that sound that he was in serious pain. He remembers the uppermost branches biting into his arms as he lost sight of them, and then even, quiet blackness. He is covered in scratches and bruises, he definitely messed up the main joint in his one wing somehow, and he is fairly confident he hit his head harder than is good for him, but what happened to Hinata?

He stumbles to his feet, taking note of the few leaves and branches that lay next to him. He'd definitely crash landed. He follows the trail of small twigs and snapped leaves that highlight his trajectory and immediately begins beating his wings. Ignoring the pain in the one, his splitting head, and his aching body, he pushes off the ground and heads for his point of entry. He has to find Hinata, and the best place to start is the last place he saw him.

He breaks the tops of the trees and pushes upward, scanning the landscape around him. The sun is dropping in the sky so they are past dinner hour… and Hinata is nowhere in sight. His father will probably be sending out a search for them soon. He has to find Hinata; he has no intention of returning without him. He moronically wishes he had Hinata's eyes. Even if only marginally, the redhead's sight is better than his and he is usually the one that catches the slightest details and movements first. He pushes his wings out, disregarding the complaints from the one. Instead, he scans the trees around him for something—anything that will tell him where his scouting companion has disappeared to.

He doesn't want to think about their attacker at the moment or how it doesn't matter that he tries not to dwell on that screech that Hinata made—that he can still hear it in his head. Hinata has a pure musical voice, always did… it is far different from Kageyama's own. Few in their murder have such perfect voices and they are all usually another avian race that shelter with them. Remembering that uniquely pristine sound contorted with pain makes Kageyama wish he could remove his own ears.

As the minutes tick by without a single sign of Hinata, he grows more uneasy. His muscles are tensing up, and his wings are ready to fail him in the wake of the abuse they've taken— but he can't stop pushing them now. The sun is dropping. He has to find something soon. Without light to see by, they'll both be out here somewhere alone as darkness falls. Their rookery provided more than just shelter; the forest and fields aren't safe at night.

Feeling the frantic tendrils of panic reaching into his gut as the light continues to dim, he speeds across the tops of the trees, looking for any branch out of place that might signal a dropping point. He is breathing hard, his limbs are shaking and his mind is fraying at the edges when he jars to a halt, because he's seen something. Something that doesn't belong against the backdrop of vegetation.

A lone black feather is lodged in the ivy vines that snake up a taller pine. He brakes sharply and buzzes toward it, and he is nearly on top of it and reaching for it when he sees another. And another. Kageyama feels a chill slide down his spine and he pauses.

Withdrawing his hand, he turns and feels the hair on his arms rise. More black feathers are appearing the more he looks around him and the metallic scent of blood hits his nose. His hands shake just slightly as he rounds the pine and drops through the canopy. There is a large part of him that wants these to belong to someone else, that wants to think that Hinata is fine and just waiting back home with a smug look at having beaten him back. There are thousands of people in their murder and nearly all have black wings. These feathers could feasibly belong to anyone.

As he pushes past a branch in full leaf, his jaw drops in horror. There on the forest floor lies half of a black wing, severed at the middle joint. The long flight feathers are disarrayed and crushed at horrible angles, and blood covers the edge where it has been shorn from the rest of it. Kageyama belatedly realizes his heart is pounding, his breath coming in gasps, and he fights to calm himself.

Just because this wing is black doesn't mean it is Hinata's. He drops closer all the same, determined to make sure. It is roughly the right size but with how battered it is, that doesn't mean much, he tells himself. He needs to get closer to really get a solid look at it. He drops beside the broken, severed wing and in the waning light, his own gut revolts as he is forced to come to terms with the reality.

Hinata's wings aren't solid black. They are peppered with occasional white feathers on their undersides— something Hinata takes a lot of crap for— and there, beside the torn flesh and sinew, clings a telltale feather as stark against the rest of the wing as the moon is against the night sky.

Kageyama stares for a long moment before dropping to his knees and with shaking hands, reaches out and weakly pulls the broken wing up to get a better look at the underside. He sucks in a breath and drops it, scrabbling backward away from it. His eyesight isn't as keen as his smaller companion, but he still sees well enough that there is no doubt. Hinata is…

Without a wing, Hinata is… Hinata is grounded.

Kageyama shies away from the broken limb on the ground before him, unwilling to believe that. To an avian like him or Hinata… this is a fate nearly worse than death.

This can't be happening.

He knows that seeing half of one of Hinata's wings is rocking him to his core. Angry tears escape without his permission and he quickly scrubs them away and levels his panic. He will not break here. He still has to find that stupid shrimp.

But it shouldn't be all that difficult now, he muses morbidly. Hinata can't cover nearly as much ground without his wings. And really, the trail is easy to follow at this point. The blood droplets are sparse but they give a definite direction. Kageyama takes a deep breath and firms his resolve.

He needs to find Hinata.