Jake used to dream about falling.
It's part of why he's afraid of heights, really, or maybe the dreams are because of the fear. What matters is that they're terrifying.
Sometimes in them he's falling helpless, headfirst and unable to see the bottom. Those ones are bad, because he wakes up afraid of something he can't remember and sometimes the memory of fear haunts him all day.
There are worse ones, though.
Those were the ones where he fell feet-first.
Those were the ones where he knew that he had jumped.
Last night, Jake dreamt that he was falling.
Footfirst, headfirst, tumbling and rolling and unable to stop himself, Jake didn't know if he'd fallen or jumped or been pushed or if he'd ever been on solid ground at all. Last night, Jake had curled into such a small ball on the bed out of fear that Avery and Jack mistook him, in their sleep, for another pillow. Last night, Jake was falling falling falling and he couldn't stop.
Last night in his dream, Jake stopped falling for the first time he could remember. Last night he was suddenly....he was flying.
Last night Jake looked to see who had saved him, and knew that Avery, whose wings were steadily beating, would never let him fall again.