Alea Iacta Est

Alea Iacta Est: 

Latin, meaning, the gamble has been cast.

꘎♡�"��"��"��"��"�♡꘎

Ash feels a prickle on his neck. It occurs often, this feeling that he’s not alone in a room. Every birthday he feels it, every time he sits on the edge of his bed and pulls his book out from under his mattress, leafing through the pages and hoping something, anything has changed. 

He feels it now, feels it as he slips his shirt over his head and ties his unruly hair behind his head. 

He looks behind his shoulder, a nasty grin on his lips, and slides one of his dads old work shirts on over his t-shirt. He knows there's probably nothing there, but he doesn't really care. He buttons the shirt, and runs a hand through his bangs that hang loosely beside his face. 

When he walks down the stairs of his small house, he finds himself alone. There is a note on the table, hastily scrawled and pinned under a glass. Ash knows it is from his mother without looking. She does this every year, disappears to her work at the hospital and is long gone far before he wakes up. 

He throws the note in the trash, and places the glass back in the cabinet. He grabs his backpack from where he left it on the hook near the door, and threads his coat through one of the straps. He looks back at his house as he walks to school, waiting for the tingling on the back of his neck to pass.

It doesn't. 

He finds this to be odd. 

-

Ash does not have friends to wave him hello as he walks into his school. He doesn't really care much either way. He eyes Brandon and Michael as he walks by their gang. He spares a flirtatious smile at the two, a wink purely to aggravate them. 

He relishes the glint in their eyes.

He finds himself in his free period locked in an empty classroom with the same two boys.

“Well boys,” he says haughtily, dropping his bag to the ground, “What shall it be today?” Ash asks, cocking his head as he slides off his shirt, and adds it to the growing mound on the ground. 

Brandon and Michael look at each other, and Brandon readies to punch him. 

“Now slow down,” Ash says, raising a hand as he re-ties his hair. “At least give a guy some time to prep,” he continues, tucking his side bangs behind his ears. Ash rolls his eyes, and lowers his hands to his sides. “This is why Michael's’ always walking funny,” Ash says, tipping his chin in said boy's direction. 

“What the f**k?” Michael says, looking at Brandon incredulously. The two shared a confused look. 

“I’m saying he f***s you dry,” Ash says slowly, hands moving with his words, talking as if to children. 

Michael squints his eyes, and Ash laughs. Brandon frowns and punches him, leaving Ash curled in over himself, sputtering. He coughs, and straightens up, leaning against the wall behind him. Ash slicks his hair back with one hand, just for his bangs to fall back in his face when Brandon punches him in the face.

“For f***s sake,” he mutters, rubbing his cheek. “That one actually hurt,” he says, dropping his hand to his side. 

“Cut back on the snarky remarks,” Michael says, leaning back as he watches Brandon punch Ash again. 

Ash looks up at him, hands holding his upper half up on his knees, and grins widely. “Leaving your boyfriend to do all the dirty work?” he says, wiping his mouth with his hand. 

Michael frowns, and pushes Brandon to the side. Ash only watches as Michael stalks forward, watches as he latches his hand on to Ash's shirt and pushes him back to the wall. Ash somehow feels the will to gasp out “Please dont, I like this shirt,” against the pressure of Michael's hand on his chest. Ash frees a wavering breath, and looks down at Michael, and finds himself resting his hands on Michael's waist, if only to provoke him. 

“Interesting position you've put us in,” Ash says, and Michael looks at him in disgust. 

He pulls away, muttering, “Freak.” Ash smiles, and waits for Michael to punch him in the face. The punch never comes. Ash frowns as Michael slinks away, and watches as he picks up his and Brandon's bags, shoving Brandon's backpack into the boys arms. When Michael and Brandon leave the room, Ash sighs and lets his head thud against the wall. He slides down the wall to sit on the ground, and twirls his cross necklace in between his fingers. 

He runs his hands down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, and frees his hair from his loose ponytail. He runs his hands through his hair, and bangs his head against the wall. When he stops, the thudding in the back of his head and side of his face is almost enough to distract him from the tingle on the back of his neck. almost. 

Ash finds himself feeling as miserable as normal during gym. The PE coach has them outside, even in the oncoming chill of autumn. Ash has managed to sit on the bleachers for his entire time in high school, lying about some fancy term for a spine curvature and faking a doctors note each new semester. Ash knows the teacher doesn’t buy it, but neither of them care enough to do anything about it. P.E is the one class Ash doesn’t share with Michael or his goons, so he is thankful for the reprieve. 

Ash’s head snaps up at the thud of footsteps on the metal steps, watching the guys every move. The first thing Ash notices is the shimmery tattoos lacing his way around the guys slender body. The next thing he notices is his inhuman silvery eyes�" not grey, not blue, but silver�", and the third is that he is making a move to sit next to Ash. Ash drops his cross that he was worrying between his finger, and clutches his backpack to his chest. 

“Can I help you?” he snaps as the guy sits down, inhuman eyes staring holes into him and tattoos gleaming in the light. “No,” the guy laughs, and crosses his legs. 

Ash narrows his eyes. “What do you want?” 

The guy thinks for a moment, and Ash looks him over once more. He’s muscled and lean, with neatly cut black hair, and upon a closer look, Ash can see those same tattoos shining through his black t-shirt. Ash narrows his eyes at the wing like patterns shining through the shirt, and the guy quickly whips around to face Ash. It doesn't escape Ash of the panic, the pure, unfiltered fear, in his eyes. 

Ash raises a dark eyebrow as the guy smoothes his face over, adjusting his shirt as if that can make Ash unsee everything. “My name's Michael,” he says happily, but Ash knows his enthusiasm is fake. 

“We already have one of those,” Ash replies, turning back to the book in his lap. “Get another name.” Ash can feel Michael bristle beside him, and Ash smirks at his unbearably bad acting. It might be enough to fool the others in their school, but Ash is no idiot. 

“Well… I can't," Michael trails off, frowning. Ash looks up from under his hair, and hums before going back to his reading. Michael leans over his shoulder, and Ash coves the page as he sneers up at Michael. 

“What do you want from me?” Ash snaps, closing his book with a thud. 

Michael backs away, hands raised, and smiles viciously. Ash likes him better now hes showing his true colors, but he would never say that. Michael leans forward, and puts his mouth next to Ash’s ear. “I just wanted to say, you're going to die,” he whispers, plastering that fake smile back over his grin, and walks back down the bleachers. 

Ash feels a sense of foreboding, but the pin pricks on the back of his neck have stopped. Ash tilts his head at the feeling, and looks down at where Michael converses with the soccer team, hands waving wildly and meat-brained fools watching him with rapt attention. Ash’s lip curls up in a sneer, and he puts his book back in his backpack, clutching the thing to his chest. 

Ash feels no sense of security when he returns home after school. In fact, its quite the opposite. His parents are cold to him, for absolutely no reason, and Ash finds the bullies at school to be a reprieve from the chill of his empty home. Ash doesn't understand it. It’s not as if he’s sullying the family name in any way, but he supposes it must be hard for his father with his cushy office job, never getting a promotion because of his freak son. 

Ash still doesn't understand it, but he likes to pretend he does. 

There's a note for him on the dining table, his mom most likely came home on her break to heat up leftovers before leaving. He doesn't read it, knowing its full of the usual “do your chores,” and “your dad will be home soon,” and “i love you”’s. 

He wasn’t correct this time, but he throws the note away without opening it anyway. He doesn't know that was a mistake, but he wont know that for a while. 

Michael watches him from outside his bedroom window, sitting in front of his computer doomscrolling, stopping occasionally to fill out a question on the homework packet he has laid out on his desk. Michael knows he shouldn't be doing this, that the boy will no doubt find out, but what is a god to a mortal?

Michael looks back at the look on Ash’s face earlier that day. He didn't expect him to see his marks, to look at Michael with those black black eyes and know there was something different about him. Michael looks at the similar lines of energy visible through the boys clothes, hair obscuring the marks on his shoulder blades. 

Michael curls his lip, and unfurls his wings, closing his eyes, and opening them in Adam’s chambers. 

Adam sits on his throne, made of vines and tree roots and the bones of angels and mortals both. Michael kneels, wings dragging behind him on the ground, head lowered and black hair falling around his face. Adam looks down on him, and raises a bare arm. “Speak.” his command reverberates through the chamber, walls made of the same things as his throne rattling. 

Michael bows his head even further, neck exposed as if offering it up to the blade of a guillotine. “I found him,” he rasps, voice swallowed by the suffocating darkness of Adam’s chambers. 

“And?” Adam presses, leaning forward on his throne. 

“He knows.” Michael shakes his head. “Not necessarily who- no, what- I am, but he knows.” Adam reaches out with tendrils of energy, tipping Michael's head up and caressing his skin. 

“Elaborate.” 

Michael sighs, and looks at the floor, against Adam’s attempts to hold eye contact. “He can see them,” he whispers into the darkness, but Adam hears anyway. Adam hums, and withdraws his hold on Michael. Michael's head drops, and he curls up on the cold stone ground. Adam lets him, watching him in his quiet misery. 

Adam stands from his throne, and walks down the steps to where Michael lays. He crouches down, robes pooling on his feet, and presses a pale hand to Michael's head. He closes his eyes, and hums, stroking Michael's outstretched wings as he rifles through Michael's memory of his encounter with Ash. 

“Strange boy, isn't he,” Adam hums contemplatively, withdrawing his hand. Michael looks up at him, silver eyes filled in fear, and Adam laughs at the sight. 

“You know i wont do anything to you,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb over Michael's cheek. “You know you’re my favorite,” he whispers into Michael's ear, and stands up to move behind Michael, before sitting down and resting Michael's head in his lap. 

“What did you find out about the other human?” Adam asks, running his fingers though Michael's long hair, tsking at the tangles present. 

Michael clears his throat, and opens his eyes to look up at Adam from where he lays. “Human, no lines,” he stops for a moment to cough into his closed fist, and Adam watches the action. “He likes to bully the other one. The…”

“The f**k up,” Adam finishes for him, lifting his fingers from Michael's hair to trace over his horns. 

“Yes. He… gets off on it? I think the humans say.” Michael closes his eyes, and nuzzles into Adam's thigh. 

“Continue,” Adam says gently, but Michael knows his tenderness is just a ruse to get more information out of him. 

“There's nothing special about him,” he finishes. “I dont see why you're keeping an eye on him.”  

Adam only smiles. “Hes very important.” he removes his hands from where they hold Michael affectionately, and Michael sighs at the loss of contact, cursing internally at himself. He knows this affection is all a lie, a way of keeping Adam’s favorite subordinate close to him, but Michael is a lonely fool. 

Michael raises his head, and Adam clambers up from the floor, robes snagging on Michael's horns as he walks back to his throne. Michael lays curled there for a moment, more, before kneeling again, awaiting Adams command. 

“Keep an eye on them both,” Adam says, waving a hand aimlessly. “I want you to wait a while before killing them.” 

Michael bows lower at the words, his own quiet confirmation. “Good,” Adam replies, grinning widely. “Go now,” he replies, making a shooing motion with his hands. “I want you watching that boy. And you can't forget to do your homework.” Michael grimaces at the reminder, but closes his eyes and reopens them next to Ash’s window nonetheless.