Fly Like a Bird

Scars

Scar [Noun]
A mark left on the skin or within body tissue where a wound, burn, or sore has not healed completely and fibrous connective tissue has developed. 

TW:
Panic Attacks, Scars

Gavin and Michael followed Caleb through the building. Michael walked with his head held high while Gavin was hunched over. Part of it was pain, but most of it was apprehension of having Caleb look him over in more detail.

He would see the scars, hell, he would see how much of a freak Gavin was, and he'd tell Geoff, and Geoff would kick him out-

"You okay, Gav?" Michael lent down to look into Gavin's face, but the bird-hybrid looked away. "You're looking pale."

"'M fine, just hurts, y'know," Gavin said. It wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the truth. He did hurt, but that's not why he was pale.

He was pale because he was afraid. Afraid of what would happen. Afraid of what Caleb would say.

Afraid of what Michael would think.

His thoughts were cut short when they arrived at the room. Caleb held the door open as the two stepped in.

"This may be weird, but you need to take your shirts off," he said, turning on a light and letting the door click closed. Gavin felt his heart stop.

If he was afraid of Caleb seeing, he was absolutely mortified of Michael seeing. Michael, however, didn't apparently care, as he peeled his blood-stained, dirt ridden shirt. Gavin picked at the hem of his shirt.

"Gavin?" Caleb cleared his throat. "You're going to need to take your shirt off."

"I, uh, it hurts too much to raise my arms," Gavin replied, hoping it would save him from having too.

"Here-" Caleb grabbed a pair of scissors and stepped towards Gavin, "-I'm going to cut it off, alright?"

Gavin glanced at Michael, swallowed, and nodded. He screwed his eyes shut as he heard the snip of the scissors cutting his shirt.

He felt like he was going to pass out when he felt the shirt fall off his shoulders. He could hear the blood rushing in his head, and he felt himself start to sweat.

A small gasp sounded from behind him, but he refused to look. He clenched his hands into fists to stop the shaking, but it only made it worse. He knew Michael saw. Saw all the scars. The ones that criss-crossed his back and his shoulders, and his hips. The patches of skin that were discolored, from all the times he had to be put back together. The small, black tattoo that sat nestled just above his hip, branding him as an experiment.

"Go on, say I'm disgusting," he whispered harshly, afraid to raise his voice. He swallowed thickly, feeling his hair and feathers rise. Michael didn't say anything, and Gavin bit his lip. He spun, opening his eyes, and stared at Michael. "Go on! Say it! I know you're thinking it! Everyone thinks it when they see me!" He screamed, spreading his wings to make himself bigger.

"Gavin," Michael said, stepping closer. His ears were low, tail curled around his leg. Gavin backed up, trying to keep the space between them.

"Say it, Michael!" Gavin cried, voice finally breaking. He felt a sob rise up, and he sunk to the floor. "I'm hideous."

"Gavin," Michael tried again. He walked in front of Gavin, who was openly sobbing, and crouched down.

"I'm a h-horrible, sc-sc-scarred m-monster. J-j-just say i-it." Gavin scrubbed at his eyes, still sobbing.