New York Please Go Easy On Me

"No, no Peter. You don't have to go on. Let's take a break." Wade said, trying to get Peter to walk out with him.

"No I can do it. Just give me a second." Peter sniffed, the back of his hand wiping away fat tears dripping down his face. "I'm okay. Just sit down. We can keep going. I want someone to know. I want You to know."

Wade sighed but didn't argue as he sat back down across from his Baby Boy before thinking better if it and moving over to be at the spider's side; a strong arm wrapping around the spider's Small form. "If you're sure."

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Everyone is born with wings. The wings of a human have evolved for far more important reasons then just flying to travel and find their next meal. Now wings are everything. Everything from your wing size and feather color describes something about you whether its true or not.

Doves, the jewels of society due to their beautiful white wings. They are pure, desirable and perfect.

Crows, hated and judged because they're assumed evil and bad just because if a genetic out come of the color fare decides to give them.

People who can't fly are a disgrace and unwanted. Believed they can't be good mate material because they can't participate in an instinct to dance with their potential mate. They are assumed to not understand how to nest, how to raise young....

Peter has wings....He used to fly.

But that was a long, long time ago.