Chapter Text
When Alex is eleven, his father dies.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Alex’s father dies when Alex is only a few months old, sprawled out beside a clawfoot bathtub and sobbing piteously into the blood-matted hair of Alex’s mother. Alex’s tiny form is clutched tightly in her arms, his high pitched screams echoing off of the walls of the abandoned house. He begins to settle when a strange man picks him up and cradles him awkwardly, as though he had never been shown how to hold a baby yet retains some sort of instinct for it, but his whimpers never fully cease.
Growing up, Alex doesn’t realize that the oppressive silences that sometimes take weeks to break and the alcohol his father indulges in to the point of blackout are a direct result of Charlie’s death. By the time Alex is eight he’s coltishly thin and has already spent more time outside of the walls of Vega than in them, learning how to shoot and pickpocket and survive. His father seems to thrive on knowing there are dangers constantly lurking just outside of the small safe houses they hole up in, a complete contrast to the inebriated and insensate state he firmly resides in when inside of the safety of the city walls. There, Jeep is oftentimes barely aware enough to keep them both alive and fed, but in the vast stretches of the desert surrounding a decaying metropolis, Alex can sometimes catch glimpses of his father as he must have been years ago, boyish and roguish and risk-taking.
That life lasts until the attack at the farmhouse. Seven days later Jeep is gone, leaving nothing in his wake but a drawer full of clothes, a note stating his apologies, and a newly minted V1 son. Alex manages to hide out in their apartment until the landlord comes knocking for the next month’s rent, taking one look at Alex’s wane and tear-streaked face and calling security. Vega’s Classification Centers are identical to the same dreary, squat grey buildings that partially encircle the outside of Vega’s perimeter wall, the only difference seeming to be the general lack of broken glass and the small staff of bored-looking Classers. Alex sits in a threadbare chair in front of a well-worn desk and one of said bored-looking Classers and watches as, after listening to his explanation for why he was living inside of an apartment by himself for over a month, she begins to methodically delete all the information in his father’s classification folder.
The realization that, in the eyes of Vega, his father doesn’t exist anymore is enough to churn his stomach. He knots his trembling hands together in the pocket of his ratty hoodie. The Classer says they might have a place open for you at one of the local children’s shelters and the rumors about what happens there are completely untrue, you can trust me on this but everybody who’s anybody knows what really goes on behind the closed doors of the shelters. No, Alex decides as the Classer turns away to call security to escort him there, I’d rather take my chances in the tunnels. After all, hadn’t his father been teaching him how to survive alone while he was waiting for the opportune moment to leave Alex, like he’d always been the trash Vega now considered him to be?
It took a long time to come to terms with the way of life in the tunnels, cold and stinking and inhospitable; its barrenness constantly at war with the memories of what it had been like before. Alex went on a lot of trips aboveground in those first few months to stake out the old apartment, the faint hope that Jeep would change his mind never really leaving him. He could see it now: Jeep collapsing at their old doorstep, frazzled and wind burnt and inconsolable over what might have happened to Alex in his absence. Alex would run to him, living proof that he had been able to survive using what his father had taught him, maybe bringing along a couple of the other tunnel-rats as well. Are you proud of me? he’d ask and Jeep would say Yes, of course I am and things would go back to normal. They’d be together again; a family again. But that scenario never manifested outside of his dreams and eventually Alex began to drift further and further away from the memories he held of his father. I should’ve known better, he thought. I should’ve known he wouldn’t stick around forever.
After all, Jeep had died the moment his soul mate was gone.
*
When Alex finally sees the Archangel Michael for the first time, he’s 20 years old and strangely unimpressed. While truly as handsome as everyone says, with pouty lips and hooded eyes, Michael is also tall and lithe, nothing like what Alex had imagined a warrior angel to look like. He honestly looks like a stiff wind could blow him over at any moment, a sentiment that some of the burlier of Alex’s brethren seem to share judging by the disbelieving looks. Alex shares such a look with Ethan, who in turn seems to be trying to hide a smile.
“The problem with these soldiers,” he had told Alex on their first day of training, “is that they don’t appreciate what kind of damage little guys like us can do. And that ignorance allows us the freedom to do a lot of damage before they can catch on.”
Which turned out to be true, Alex thought. Although he had certainly bulked up from the nearly-emaciated form he had obtained from scavenging in the tunnels with the help of a V2’s steady food supply, Ethan had remained long and lean and was still able to kick most of their fellow soldier’s asses during sparring. Perhaps it was their admittedly unconventional backgrounds and fighting records that were behind this sudden invitation to try out for a new corps. Ethan had heard whispers floating around about this for months now. The angel has been getting uppity, the V5’s had said, careful to always be out of earshot from the subject of their conversations. The Lord of the City gives him everything he wants and now he demands an entire corps of his own?
Ethan had kept his ears open and his eyes averted, assimilating and processing this information as if it were rumors spreading through the tunnel’s gangs. There was a fine line between knowing too much and not enough when you lived down there and residing on either end of the spectrum tended to end up with you being dead. Quickly. So Ethan kept his head down and his mouth shut, only repeating what he’d heard to Alex. But the difference between knowing something huge was about to happen and actually being asked to participate in it was worlds apart and both Alex and Ethan were now moorless in the situation. Hell, the only other person invited from their squadron had been Noma Walker, a firecracker who claimed to be from a V2 family but who sometimes reminded Alex of some of the tunnel-rats he had grown up alongside.
“There’s only ten spaces available and over forty people trying out,” Alex had whispered after lights out the day they received their orders.
“And they were only picking two people from each squadron until they invited Noma.” Ethan’s voice was barely audible over the snores resounding throughout the barracks. “It’ll be tough competition, I can tell you that much.”
Alex shrugged, feeling the flimsy metal of the bunk-bed move with him. “It’s better rations and easier guard duty. The worst we’ll ever have to face is a V5 who can’t find their watch or runaway dog or something.”
Ethan’s laughter was barely louder than a breath, but Alex could feel the bedframe shake. “If you’re sure about this, then we’ll do it. I doubt we’ll get picked anyway.”
“That’s the spirit.” Alex had muttered.
Now, though, it was difficult to say whether they had made the right decision. On one hand, there was the extra rations and more time off that Alex could use to go see some of the kids who still lived in the tunnels and actually spend some time with Bixby, but Ethan might have been right about the slim chance of making it through. Most sensible corps leaders would pick their squadron, especially one meant to take on a bodyguard capacity for Vega’s wealthiest and most powerful, based on size and shooting accuracy. Neither of which Alex or Ethan had been particularly gifted with.
Pulling away from his pessimistic thoughts, Alex raised his gaze just in time to see Michael sweep out of the room, the large double doors slamming shut behind him. Confused murmuring began to spread among the soldiers and Ethan shot a look at Alex that clearly said, See? I told you so. Alex lifted one shoulder and focused his attention on the officer standing at the front of the room, staring at the doors Michael had just gone through as though he could use the sheer power of his glare to force him to come back.
“So what gives?” a member of D squadron snorted just a little too loudly in the nearly silent room. “I thought we were going to have a chance to spar or something to qualify.”
The officer – Nadam? Kadam? something like that – turned towards the group and cleared his throat angrily. “It has just been brought to my attention that a mistake seems to have occurred. Only the people already selected were meant to be notified of their change in squadron. When I call out your name, please step forward and then the rest of you will be free to leave. I apologize for any inconvenience.” This was punctuated by another glare aimed towards the doors, which remained stubbornly closed.
Alex felt a dull pain spread through his chest. The odds in their favor may have been small, but having to stand there and watch as his chances to finally be able to give Bixby some extra food slipped away from him was painful. While the thought of spending every guard duty babysitting V5 and 6’s didn’t sound like his idea of a fun time, he wouldn’t have to worry about some of their riskier rotations in parts of Vega where even tunnel-rats refused to go. But when had fate or hope ever been kind to him and his -
“Lannon, Mac, and Walker. That’s it, the rest of you can leave.”
Alex stepped forward on autopilot and turned just in time to see Ethan’s gobsmacked expression. Noma was standing on his other side, not even bothering to try to contain her laughter at his expense. “What’s wrong, Mac? You look like an eight-ball got your tongue.”
Ethan’s expression quickly melted into a frown. “Just amazed that they picked you, Noma. So, how do you really feel about having to watch an eighty year old man bathe in order to keep him safe from the angels?”
Noma’s face contorted into a moue of distaste. “You’re fucking disgusting, Mac.”
“I know, I love you too.”
“ – and if Walker and Mac are done playing verbal grab-ass, we can finally move on to what you need to know about this new assignment you’re being given.” The officer’s voice was sharp enough to cause even Ethan, who had little to no sense of shame, to cringe in embarrassment. The rest of the squadron were already focused on their new superior officer. “Now, you ten have been selected by the Archangel Michael himself. There was no reason for a try out because he’s already seen every single one of you in action at one time or another.”
And yet I’ve never seen him before in my life, Alex thought. Although it would make sense to research the possible future members of your own personal corps.
“You will be moved to a new barrack, located at the base of the nest – I mean, the Tower – later on today and you will receive your new orders and rotations at 0600 tomorrow. Dismissed.”
“I told you we’d make it.” Alex hissed as the small group began to disperse and make their way back towards the main barracks.
“Liar, pants on fire!” Ethan exclaimed, poking at his shoulder until Alex could swat him away. “You’re a fucking liar and you know it! You didn’t think we’d get picked any more than I did.”
“Well you know me, Mr. Brightside.” Even Noma snorted at that.
“Does anyone else find it uber creepy that an Archangel has apparently been spying on us without any of us figuring it out?” She was surreptitiously scanning the surrounding building’s roof-lines as they walked, as though Michael were hiding up there right now listening in on their conversation.
“Super creepy,” Alex agreed. “There’s no way around that, but maybe we should just be glad he picked us ahead of time. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t want to have to try to fight Thomas from squad A for a position. I like having my arms attached to my body.”
“Too true,” Ethan laughed, “Did you see his face when his name wasn’t called? I thought he was going to have an aneurysm. Or try to go after Michael himself.”
Noma nodded. “Now that I would’ve paid to see!”
“My money is on Michael just using his wings to slit Thomas’ throat. No muss, no fuss.”
“You can’t make bets on events that never even occurred, Mac.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Walker!”
The sounds of his friend’s bickering and vague threats had been the background soundtrack to most of Alex’s years as a soldier. As Ethan and Noma began to go into graphic detail over what the other could expect at tonight’s sparring match, Alex caught the flash of something black and glossy out of the corner of his eye. Michael? Alex thought, a strange and foreign feeling shifting through the back of his mind at the thought of getting to see the Archangel again, but there was nothing there when he stopped to scan the horizon; nothing to suggest that his eyes hadn’t just been playing tricks on him. It must be the adrenaline from being chosen, he thought. That would explain what I think I saw, not some over-sized stalking bird. Still, there was a faint (and quickly smothered) hope in his chest that, as a new member of the Archangel Corps, he would have the opportunity to get to know a little bit more about Vega’s resident protector.
But fate and hope had never been kind to him and his.
The next time he saw Michael, it was at his first whipping.