Chapter Text
Jeremy always knew he was different from his brothers. He was a bit frailer than them, lighter on his feet, his head always in the clouds. His Ma had always been fussy over him, but he just thought it was normal motherly over-protectiveness of her youngest.
It wasn’t until he hit the age of ten that he realized just how different from everyone he was.
He had been complaining of a sore back and itching, which only seemed to worsen no matter how many hot showers or cold compresses were used. Despite the suggestion from some of his oldest brothers, his Ma had refused to take him to a doctor. At first, everyone thought she had gone mad.
And then, one night, at three in the morning, young Jeremy had awoken with a throbbing headache, a queasy stomach, and a white-hot pain in his spine. Their apartment at the time had been so small that the sound of his vomiting and pained screaming in their one shared bathroom had woken everyone up.
That… Hadn’t been a good night. Jeremy remembered feeling something pull followed by a feeling of wetness down his back and then instant relief as the terrible pain finally subsided after weeks of discomfort. He didn’t realize what actually happened until half his family was standing in the doorway with varying expressions of shock, amazement, and horror.
The bathroom floor had been covered with blood, and poking out of the youngest brother’s back was a pair of wings as bright red as the fluid that painted the tiles. The feathers were slick and wet, sticking out in all mishappen directions. The wings twitched and stretched clumsily to dispel the sensation of pins and needles.
Jeremy didn’t fully understand what was going on. All he knew was one minute he had been in excruciating pain and the next he finally felt comfortable but exhausted. He managed to stay awake long enough for one of his brothers to help clean him off in the shower before promptly going to back bed.
Ma had a lot of explaining to do that night.
She pulled everyone into the other room to try to calm the rising panic that threatened to make the entire household go crazy. All his brothers were frantic, bombarding her with questions and concerns which she addressed to the best of her ability.
Jeremy’s father had been a different kind of man. He had wings as well. They had hoped that Jeremy wouldn’t gain the trait, but it seems God had other plans.
There used to be a lot of other people like them, but suddenly there weren’t. Because of this, if anybody found out about his wings, there was a good chance he would be taken away and hurt. By who, or what, or why, she had no idea, but she had been dreading this day for years and it was clear she was terrified of what might happen to her youngest and how this might affect his life going forward.
After that night Jeremy’s brothers suddenly turned into his bodyguards.
They were a lot more careful with him after that point. They still rough-housed but were more mindful of his delicate bones than they had been before.
They helped him come up with ways to hide his wings, helped him clean up his feathers, and helped him understand they didn’t think any different of him just because he wound up growing a couple of extra limbs.
They were quick to cover him whenever they got into a scuffle with the neighborhood shitheads. Quick to come to his defense whenever someone tried to rough him up when he ran his mouth too much. Quick to help him find a place to hide in case his wings started slipping out of their hastily put-together wrappings.
His brothers backed him up through thick and thin. Despite the bird jokes and teasing, he knew they cared.
Eventually, though, as he grew older, he felt the urge to leave the nest. When he was finally old enough to strike it out on his own, he lost a lot of the backup his brothers provided.
There was no way he’d be able to hold down a normal job. His spirit was too adventurous, his knuckles itching for violence, and his lack of medical records too concerning for most employers.
Mercenary work, on the other hand, cut a lot of those pesky formalities out. Nobody asked questions besides “How much would it take you to kill that guy?”
Jeremy could handle that, and he did handle it for a few years. He’d get a contract, bust some heads, get paid, and nobody even knew he had a couple of extra appendages. Simple.
Then he was offered a contract with TF Industries and things got a lot less simple.
The hot air and sweltering heat of the desert combined with the constant presence of feathers pressed to his back would make him drenched in sweat nearly constantly. The fact he’d be staying in close quarters with a bunch of crazy assholes from all over God’s green earth was an uncomfortable concept. Then there were the crazy concepts: like some kind of Respawn machine that could bring them back after they die. And they were expected to die daily. Fun.
Most people probably wouldn’t touch a contract like that.
But… The money had been too good to ignore. Ma had been hurting financially as of late. His previous contracts had paid him in the hundreds of thousands. This was offering him a paycheck of millions.
So naturally Jeremy signed the dotted line.
Sweaty desert heat? He’d be sure to keep a water bottle on him.
Bunking with a bunch of random jerks? He’d just deal with keeping his wings wrapped up 24/7.
Getting killed daily? Well, as long as he came back good as new, he didn’t see the point in making a big deal of it.
He could do this and still keep his secret.
He could totally do this.