Chapter Text
Hershel figured that this day was coming. His apprentice had been antsy that week, complaining about his back aching. He doesn’t recall either of the boy’s parents talking about avian lineage, but Hershel is cognizant of the presenting symptoms.
Unbidden, it reminds him of Randall’s whining for a few days before he returned to school from the weekend with a set of wings. They were covered in soft, downy feathers. A precocial bird, Hershel later discovered. Dalston wasn’t too wrong to call him a chicken when they were younger.
The professor had assumed, perhaps erroneously, that Luke’s parents knew what was coming and that they’d informed the boy of what was in store for him. Avian presentation was difficult, or so Randall and Claire had recounted, but Luke was a strong boy.
He shouldn’t have been quite so surprised by the call he received as he was packing up to leave work for the day.
“This is Professor Layton, who am I spea-”
“Hershel!” Comes Clark’s voice through the receiver, “Oh my god I’m so glad you picked up- could you come over?”
Put off by the clear distress in his friend’s voice, he doesn’t hesitate to respond, “Of course. What’s happened?”
“Luke is- one second-” The sound muffles as the man presumably shouts something to his wife before returning to the phone, “Sorry- he’s just presented as avian. What do we do?”
The professor is rather caught off guard until he realizes that the boy’s parents must not have actually been expecting Luke to be avian in the same way that his mentor had. “Ah, I see. Well, have the wings actually sprouted?”
“They’re in the process, I believe.” Then he echoes, “What do we do?”
Floundering, he says, “Ah, I’m not sure? Try to keep him comfortable?”
“You don’t know what to do either?” Clark sounds rather distressed by the idea, despite the fact that Hershel himself isn’t an avian, nor has he lived any.
“Take a breath. I’ll be at your place momentarily.” It might just make things worse to admit that he doesn’t know what to do.
He knew a lot about avians. Everything he could get his hands on in Stansbury, and even before that. Hershel’s memory must be a bit scrambled, because he wouldn’t have a reason to research avians before meeting Randall. He hadn’t known any avians before him. Years of living with and loving Claire gave him extra motivation to stay up to date with research. It’s become habit now.
The professor is quick when shoving papers into his trunk and collecting his keys. In the worst case, he’ll come back to collect what he’s forgotten later before going home. The Tritons need him now–his parents just as much as the fledgling.
Clark meets him at the door, pale and shaking all over.
“Should we take him to the hospital?”
“Ah, I wouldn’t recommend it.” Unfortunately, the medical system is notoriously unkind to avians. “The ride in the car would likely be painful for Luke in this state, and there’s a low chance that a doctor would be helpful, I’m afraid.”
“Whyever not?”
Hershel frowns as he takes off his shoes and sets down his trunk. “General doctors still aren’t being properly trained on what to do for fledging, especially because it’s considered a ‘natural occurrence.’ Even if you went to A&E, Luke probably wouldn’t be treated until he was actively fledging, and there’s nothing much to do for him after that point. You’d have difficulty finding a doctor that’s knowledgeable enough to do a proper cut to free the wings.”
This only seems to distress Clark further, so Hershel gives him a light hug and asks to see where they have Luke.
“I can’t go with you.” The blond takes him down the hall towards the bathroom. “Brenda said there’d be blood.”
“Is she alright with handling it, or would you like me to take over entirely?”
He hesitates, unsure. “You’ll have to ask her yourself. I think it’s alright?”
Shrugging off his jacket, the professor asks Clark to get to the store and fetch some supplies–strong painkillers, bandages, alcohol wipes, and some extra supplies to clean up whatever mess is going to be made in the process of the wings coming out. His friend nods and leaves without another word.
The door to the bathroom is cracked open, and Hershel can hear both Brenda’s reassurances and Luke’s muffled whimpers. The poor dear. He knocks on the doorframe lightly as he enters to signal his presence.