Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He woke up alone in a house for four in a room for two. 

Micro shoved off the book that blocked off his desk, To Kill an Angel 101: A Beginners Guide, a classic. 10/10 would read again. 

Displayed at the window in front of him was a dissected gun, parts taken for a project he couldn’t finish because of that one part that was missing(goddammit he missed his chance last time). 

He checked the time. 2am, perfect, he loved his body clock. It was about time for him to leave regardless. 

Micro slid on a pair of sunshades. Normal shirts and pants were the only thing with a black mask that wouldn’t get him mistaken for a vigilante(how dare they all wear hoodies), or a hero(coats, it was always that or capes) or a villain(self explanatory). They needed to have a little consideration for the civilians who still wanted a nightly stroll without shivering. 

And to complete the look, was a white cane. Mastering the art of pretending to be blind helped you get in contact with more guns than you’d expect. Robbers in Yggdrasil districts loved disabled people, but where he was going normie robbers would be the least of his worries.

The Lingulini mafia were supposedly having a turf war against the Infernus syndicate again, Tricolor had decided to involve themselves to get the violence to stop and it was the best chance he could get to stab Seraph.

***

He never understood why vigilantes chose to jump over rooftops, they weren’t immune to fall damage and not to mention those things haven’t been cleaned for years. The amount of dust there would make a vacuum cleaner cry. 

Wheels were a better investment of their time and legs, even if it was a bicycle it beat going on foot. Micro hadn’t encountered any problems beyond bicycle thieves after using it over the past 5 years. 

It wasn’t as if the view wasn’t any different from the roads. Concrete apartments would have a visible increase of flaking paint the closer you went to Yggdrasil with heaps of litter piling up in the many alleyways. He bet the roof quality also dropped. 

He didn’t need to use gps. The rising smoke and shouts served as more than enough of a beacon. 

“Wait here.” He parked his bicycle in his usual spot in a pile of discarded bicycles in an alley. “If I die, you have every right to go sell the house.”

He took the white cane with him and pushed the sunglasses back up his nose bridge. The empty alley slowly narrowed into a small gap, just big enough for one person to fit through.

Micro stood at the opening, silently watching the carnage on the other end.

At the end of the street was a brawl between Dawn and Lingulini, the two had been fighting over the same street for so long the government gave up on fixing it, leaving massive scorch marks and craters on the roads and buildings. 

Fighting against Dawn’s husband, Vulcan, was Jophiel, and Micro could not have thought of a worse match up. A plant hero against a human inferno, no wonder there was more smoke than usual. Jophiel would be fine, she’d fought worse.

“Now where are you…” Micro peeked his head out, scanning the skies for the one person he needed to be here. He rubbed a finger on the bumpy grip, where a small button was hidden that would activate a thick butterfly needle at the tip of the cane. 

Blood, the one thing he couldn’t get. 

Blood from the one hero who couldn’t be killed: Seraph, the angel hero.

“C’mon, Jophiel’s in danger go help her.” He muttered under his breath, his foot tapping anxiously against the concrete. Last time he wasn’t able to get close thanks to Jopheil’s last minute appearance. 

Seraph never patrolled near Yggdrasil and was usually with his damn boyfriend the Architect. His blood disappeared within seconds of contact with air, so Micro’s only way to obtain it  was by stabbing him a specially crafted syringe.

Finally. 

A grey flash zipped across the air, colliding right into Vulcan and sending him flying into a nearby building. Micro ran out of his hiding spot, gripping onto his cane tight. 

It seemed he wasn’t the only one who decided to watch the fight. Micro dashed past a young man with a green mask with a pile of guns in his hand, they made eye contact for a split moment—a shared look of understanding—before going back to their own business.

There was a car in the middle of the fight, the poor guy probably took a wrong turn and got stuck in this mess. 

Micro ducked to the side of it, only to see an Infernus soldier hiding there as well. 

“Ah, sorry.” Micro said.

They seemed to take that personally. 

Micro leaned back just as their fist swung, sliding his foot back for support. He grabbed his cane with both hands and pressed a different button on the grip. Both sides of the cane extended into a long staff that slammed into the chest of the soldier. 

He anchored one end of the staff into the ground and pulled himself into the air, planting a solid kick on their chest which sent them sprawling to the ground. The ends of the staff retracted back into the cane and Micro swung it in an arc above his head and slammed the tip into the temple of the soldier.

20 long seconds of staring at their face for a reaction later, Micro finally sighed in relief when he confirmed that the soldier had indeed been knocked unconscious. 

He looked back at the battlefield. Seraph flew into the air, grey wings that matched his eyes spread out. 

The guy inside the car slowly lowered his car window, still shell-shocked with a stunned look on his face. “Thanks.”  

“No problem.” Micro shrugged. “Why aren’t you driving outta here?”

“I kinda jacked this car.” The guy said. “And I don’t want them—” he gestured at the chaos going on behind him, “going after me.”

“It’ll probably be over within the next few minutes now the heroes are here.” Which meant he only had a few minutes left to stab Seraph. “Gotta go now, see you.”

“Don’t die!” He shouted as Micro ran off towards the firefight.

He ran past the mafia and syndicate members fighting their own battles, dodging stray fireballs and bullets in practiced fashion all while keeping his eyes on the area Vulcan and Seraph were fighting. 

Get your ass down here.

Micro dropped flat to the ground the instant he smelled gunpowder. The wall next to him crumbled in smoke and flames as a shockwave sent him rolling towards the other side of the street. His limbs retorted in pain from the impact and he could feel the fresh scrapes blooming on his knees. 

And of all times was when Seraph decided to dive back to the ground.

Micro could barely see where Seraph landed the giant cloud dust that was kicked up, but there was no chance he would let this opportunity pass so he shoved himself up on trembling knees and lunged right into that bloody lung hazard. 

Even with the mask on he could feel the heavy air curling around his throat, his eyes cried for mercy against the sting of smog. His hand waved around, trying to clear the brutal dust laden air so he could get even the slightest glimpse of Seraph’s grey wings again.

He heard a shout somewhere in front of him and sprinted, as fast as he could with the cane supporting half his weight—Micro could feel it, he was right there.

C’mon, I know you’re right there, show yourself.

The dust cleared as he neared two silhouettes, forming a ring around Seraph and Vulcan. Maybe even fate wanted Micro to succeed since Seraph’s back was facing him. 

He pressed the button in the grip and raised it high over his head. 

A heartbeat. 

Don’t think, do it.

Micro drove the needle right into the soft spot at the base of Seraph’s neck and he fell forward with a scraggled cry. Another button on the grip drew the blood, Micro held it there, eyes placid as he watched Seraph’s wings curl up in pain.

As he deserves.

A red light lit up in the cane and Micro pulled it out. More than enough. 

Micro turned around and bolted.  

Running straight out of the choking dust cloud and right back into the fiery battlefield, uncaring for the way his knees cried in pain. He got it, Seraph’s blood, and now he just needed to get out of here alive.

Someone barreled into him, knocking him flat down. His chin hit the ground and a metallic taste spread across his mouth. 

“Sorry, but some guy was aiming at you.” A man with red eyes stood above him, soot staining his hair and clothes. His eyes crinkled in worry. “You good?”

“Not particularly.” Micro muttered, his arm caved in as he tried to push himself up. 

“You’re bleeding.” Reds said. He looked around before grumbling something under his breath. He pulled Micro up and slung him over one shoulder like a sack of rice. 

“What are you—?” Micro was cut off by a piercing throb in his jaw. 

“Getting both of us outta here.” He said, taking in a deep breath before running towards the car where Micro fought the Infernus soldier. Micro was surprisingly comfortable atop Reds’s shoulder. He checked his cane again, slightly bent but the blood sample was secure. 

The young man with the green mask was running away too, chased after by two mafia members with armfuls of weapons in his hands. 

“Hey you! Over here!” Micro called out, not as loudly as he hoped thanks to his jaw but it was enough to catch Greenie’s attention. Greenie nodded, fueled with hope and adrenaline, he was surprisingly fast; catching up to them in moments.

“You! With the car!” Reds shouted, waving one hand in the air. 

He skidded to a stop and almost tore off the car door in an effort to open it. Micro was gently tossed from his shoulder into the back passenger seat while he opened another car door and sat in the shotgun seat. Greenie practically threw himself into the car, guns flying out of his hands. Micro reached over him and slammed the car door shut.

“Drive.” The three of them said.

A small squeak escaped from the guy as the engine comically purred to life and the two mafia men were getting a little too close for comfort. 

Micro pressed himself against the seat as two bullets shot above his head, rear glass window shattering an explosion of little shards, it skimmed the guy’s head only prompting him to smack the console in frustration.

Greenie rummaged around the different scattered weapons, pulling out a pistol. He rested his hand on the headrest, pulled the trigger once, and the bullet hit a thigh. 

“Good shot.” Micro said. 

“Well none of the others have any ammo left.” Greenie muttered, tossing the gun back into the pile.

The tires finally began to shriek alive as bullets licked the bumper. They rocketed down the street, the wheel sharply turning at the corner which sent the car tipping on two wheels before falling back to four.  

A thoughtless silence spread through the car, leaving only their heavy breaths and the hum of the engine for long minutes as the car got further away from the fight.  

Just four randoms. Four randoms who were doing their own stupid things in the middle of a battlefield who ended up escaping in a carjacked car filled with guns.

And Micro had never felt more enjoyably tired.

***

“Do you guys know each other?” The guy driving the car asked tentatively, head turning back. 

“Nope.” Micro answered for them. 

“Really?” He asked. 

“I didn’t even know they existed until 2 minutes ago.” Greenie gestured around while shoving guns into the trunk using the small access panel in the middle seat. 

“What’re your names?” Micro asked, leaning back in his seat. He already pinched himself to check if it really was reality and not some fever dream. “I’m Micro.”

“Banana. Yeah, funny name I know, I’ve heard it all.” Greenie, or Banana, said, mumbling more things under his breath. 

“I’m Neptune.” Reds, or Neptune, turned around; one arm rested on top of the backrest. “Don’t worry, we’ve all got quirky names.”

“Panzer, at your service.” The guy, Panzer, said. 

“Get out.” Banana scoffed playfully. 

“Hey, it means armoured in German!” Panzer shouted back. “Isn’t Neptune the fancy one named after a god?

“Micro’s my only friend now.” Banana sighed. 

“Are you sure we’re all just strangers? We’re getting along a little too well.” Panzer said. “I swear to Ish people don't bond this quickly.”

“We did just escape a mafia-syndicate warzone infested with heroes together.” Micro pointed out.

“What were you guys doing there anyway?” Neptune asked.

“Uh, yeah.” Neptune nodded. “Now that I think about it, why were you three there?”

“Well—”

“Funny story actually…”

“To stab Seraph.” Micro said. 

“Either your bucket list is fucked, or your brain is.” Panzer snapped, slapping a hand on the wheel. “Who in their right mind decides to jump Seraph on a random Tuesday night?”

“Can’t a man have hobbies?” Micro shrugged, raising his hands. “And it’s technically Wednesday morning.” 

“Is it worth whatever happened to your elbows?” Banana gestured at the raw scrapes on his arms, his knees looked even nastier—they definitely felt so.

Micro gripped onto his cane, where a tiny bit of Seraph’s blood was held. “Absolutely.” 

“I was just there for the car. The catalytic converter, the wheels and the batteries.” Panzer said. “What I didn’t think of were the Infernus and Lingulini people being there and got stuck until you guys came.”

“You’re a carjacker?” Neptune asked, more curious than accusing.

“Yeah, it makes good money on good days.” Panzer said. 

“And you did it in Yggdrasil of all places?” Micro asked, narrowing his eyes in judgement.

“I’m not the one who stabbed a hero!” Panzer said in mock offense. “I actually value my life, thank you very much.”

“Funny, because I was there because the mafia were around.” Banana said, closing the middle seat trunk opening. “They like to throw away their weapons after they run out of ammo. The ‘pulling your secondary is faster than reloading’ kind of mentality leaves a ton of goods behind.”

“Goods?” He asked.

“Weapons.” Banana said, jabbing towards the trunk. “They sell for a good buck.”

“Reselling?” 

“To whoever.” Banana shrugged. “Got a good few connections up here.” He proudly tapped the side of his head.

“But why were you in the middle of it?” Panzer asked. “Just go when the fighting dies down.”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but many other vigilantes and resellers immediately go for the goods when fighting ends.” Banana explained. “It’s fastest fingers first, if you want to earn in that industry you’ve gotta get right into the action.”

“Was it worth nearly getting your head blown off?” Micro asked. 

“Most of the time.” Banana said. “Some days are just bad.”

“That. I can understand.” Panzer said. 

“And you Neptune?” Micro asked. Other than saving his life, Micro hadn’t seen him doing anything. 

“Ah, I suppose it’s my fault you ended up like that.” Neptune sheepishly gestured at Micro’s everything.

“How…?” Micro ran his mind back to when the explosion happened. “That was you?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Neptune said, sucking in a deep breath. “Those mafia goons chased after me and I panicked. Blew up the whole wall.”

“An explosion ability?” Banana asked.

“Nah, nothing that brilliant.” Neptune shook his head. He slid a hand into his pocket and took out something that looked like a tube but with wires poking out. “Pipe bomb.”

“You’re an arsonist?” Panzer asked, arching an eyebrow in interest.

“I prefer the term ‘Demolition expert’.” 

“Pipe bombs aren’t that strong though.” Micro pointed out. “Not strong enough to take down a whole wall.”

“Mine are a little…different.” Neptune shoved it back in his pocket with a roughness that gave him looks of anxiety from Panzer. 

“It still doesn’t answer why you were there.” Banana said. 

“I left my scooter somewhere there last night, came back today and it disappeared." Neptune spat the words out, scratching at his beard. “Probably got stolen.”

Micro and Banana stared holes at Panzer’s headrest until he relented. “It wasn’t me! Only cars, nothing else.”

“I was roaming around then some Mafia guys thought it would be fun to jump me.” Neptune continued. “I panicked and threw one of these at them, but it missed, hit the wall then…”

Neptune made a ‘boom’ gesture with his hand, sound effects included.

“Self-defense is acceptable.” Micro shrugged. “It’s fine, it’s not like you blew off my limbs.” 

The car suddenly stopped and all of them except Panzer(who buckled in his seatbelt) flew forward, heads crashing into seats in front, or in Neptune’s unfortunate case, the windshield.

“What was that for?” Neptune snapped, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

“Well, we’re far enough from the mafia.” Panzer said. “I figured that you guys would want to head back home.”

“You live here?” Banana asked.

“Of course not, but I’m not sure where you guys live.” Panzer said. 

The cane in Micro’s hand grew heavy, a reminder of the important substance inside. 

“I’ll head off now.” Micro opened the car door. 

“Wait, gimme your number.” Banana pulled out a notepad that came from nowhere. “All of you.”

“What for?” Panzer asked.

“‘What for?’ Because I want you to.” Banana scoffed and clicked his pen. 

“We ain’t friends.” Panzer frowned.

“We don’t need to be, but I still wanna contact you guys in case I suddenly decide to go bomb the heroes tower or rob a bank.” Banana said. 

“Or plan a revolution and overthrow the government.” Micro added as he scribbled his number down. 

Neptune frowned at the notepad for a while, lifting the pen up and down before clumsily scribbling his number down.

Then left Panzer.

“Fine, fine. Geez.” Panzer disgruntledly scratched on his number before chucking it at Banana. 

Chapter Text

The first thing he felt in the morning was regret. Regret from deciding to stay up like the idiot he was to start working on the angel-killing weapon(better name pending) even after patching up the scrapes and bruises that turned black after he crawled his way back home.

So now he was running on 2 hours of sleep, feeling like a car had rammed, rolled and dragged him across the road, having to go to work.

And since his genius ass decided to park his bike in the worst street of the city, he had to take public transport to get there. 

Wonderful start to the day. Three cheers.

The bus decided to leave just as he arrived at the bus stop. 

That’s why some people hate going outside, Murphy’s law loves it when they do. 

Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if a meteor fell on his head.

So, 15 minutes later, when the damn bus arrived, it was packed full of people and for the next half an hour Micro was breathing in body air and depression while the bus driver kept hitting the brakes once every 5 metres. 

And even when he got off that bus from Satan’s asscrack with the urge to jump off a cliff and enough motion sickness to feed a family of four, the walk to the heroes tower was more crowded than usual.

Micro couldn’t even walk straight. There was some K-pop surprise booth thing nearby, which left the usually empty streets nine times more crowded.

Then at the traffic crossing, the red light tweaked out because of course it fucking did, and he was stuck waiting there for 5 whole minutes as more and more people gathered like mealworms.

Too many people were shoving against each other, Micro was being nudged too close to the curb. He desperately grabbed onto a light post in an attempt to remain on the concrete. 

Someone was pushed into him. His hands slipped. 

Fuck.

He hit the road—something popped in one shoulder—and his damn knees started stinging.

“Motherfucking bitch.” He spat.

Just as he was pushing himself upright, someone screamed and he looked to his right to see a car barreling right towards him.

Lovely.

Micro stared at the car as it got closer, not bothering to move since he would get hit regardless.

The car screeched to a stop, inches away from him. 

“Are you alright?” The bastard driving the car got out. 

“Mhm, totally fine.” Go the fuck away. Micro dusted himself off, frowning at his skinned palms. 

“You work in the Heroes Tower?” The bastard asked. 

“Yes.” There was a stupid badge each employee there had to wear and was ridiculously expensive to replace if damaged. 

“I work there too, how about I give you a ride there so you can get that checked out?” The slightly-better bastard offered. 

“Sure, thanks.” He wasn’t declining a free ride. 

Now that Micro got a closer look at that bastard’s car, it was one of those fancy ones. Panzer probably wouldn’t be able to carjack it, but if he did it would sell for a pretty buck. 

“You don’t have a badge though.” Micro gestured at the bastard’s empty collar. 

“I’m a special case.” He said. 

After getting horned by too many cars, they got in. The passenger seat was odd, with two slits in the back around the back region. Micro shuffled in, the leg space was ridiculously big. 

“I’m Micro, what’s your name?” He asked as the bastard got in. Micro already had a decent idea of what kind of person he was. 

Strike #1: Funky hair or eye colour.

The bastard’s eyes were purple. 

“I’m Fluixon.”

Strike #2: They have a weird name.

A glint of silver caught his eye and Micro looked down to see a metal hand in place of Fluixon’s left one. 

Strike #3: An accessory that no human should have.

Said accessory in this case was an entire limb and Micro only knew one hero with a robotic hand. 

“The Architect.” Micro said, frowning.

Fluixon looked at him in mild surprise. “Spot on.” 

“Have you considered using gloves?” Micro gestured at the very obvious metal hand. “It gives everything away.” 

“I know and yes, but they’re annoying.” Fluixon replied dryly as if he's experienced this exact scenario one too many times. 

The car silently started up and they drove off. In the few minutes Micro sat there, he caught Flux staring at him at least twice. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Micro asked.

“You look a lot like someone I know.” Fluixon said. “Your eyes are similar.”

“Cool.”

Now hang on a minute—

His eyes were grey. 

Seraph’s eyes were grey too. 

Seraph was the Architect’s husband.

The Architect was Fluixon.

Fluixon was his fucking brother-in-law. 

“Very cool.” Micro turned away, resting a hand over his mouth while wrestling every instinct in him to throw open the car door and run. 

Instead he just sat there as Fluixon drove into the Heroes Tower carpark. Maybe this was a different Architect, maybe there were two and this one was a lookalike. 

Micro spaced out for the two minutes it took for them to get from the car to the elevator and up 20-something floors. Somehow the ride up felt more stifling than the one on the bus. 

“The infirmary’s just over there.” Fluixon gestured in some direction when the elevator doors opened.

“Yeah, I can take care of myself. Thanks for getting me here, you can go now!” He practically rapped those lines and sped-walked down the hallway as fast as his knees would let him. 

Micro practically threw open the infirmary doors, any chance to get the hell away from Fluixon was one he would take. 

In his urge to escape, he rammed right into some idiot’s chest and fell flat on his ass.

Fuck this shit. 

“Sorry about that.” You damn well be sorry. “Didn’t see you there.”

This bitch was stupidly tall—not that he’s short, he's average height he swears—and Micro refuses to look up at them. 

A hand reached down to help him, which Micro begrudgingly accepted and was hauled back on his feet.

“Thanks.” He spat.

The bitch who helped him up went creepily quiet, still holding onto his hand like a weirdo.

“You can let go now.” Micro shook his hand off. 

And then it hit him, he definitely heard this bitch’s voice before. 

Micro looked up, and met a pair of grey eyes that matched his own. Only they had a head of pure white hair and skin paler than a ghost. 

Micro jumped back, his shoes creating little skid noises on the floor. He tore his eyes away from he-who-will-not-be-named and stepped back out the door. 

Nononononono, this isn’t real. This is a dream, this is a dream. 

He didn’t turn back, but he could already imagine that all too familiar look on their face. 

“…Micro?”

Even with the distance between them, that sound rang in his head like a bell. 

He hated that his heart ached from that.

“What is it?” Fuck it, Fluixon was coming down the hallway. “Who’s there?”

In a rare display of panic, Micro’s eyes zoned in on the only escape route his head would provide. 

He forced his eyes shut and bolted down the hallway, drowning out the shouts of his name with his breathing and the sound of his footsteps hitting the concrete floor.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw a wall. 

Micro comically skidded to a stop, hands reaching out to brace for impact. His eyes desperately scanned the walls for any other escape route—it was a dead end—fuck. 

There was a window. Maybe he could…

That’s a stupid idea.

Good thing he was an idiot.

Adrenaline rushed, he pushed open the window and raised one foot on the sill. 

Fluixon turned the corner just in time to see Micro launch himself out the window.