Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Whenever someone died, all went quiet throughout the building. Regardless of whether the agents were personally close or not, it was an unspoken rule that everyone was to pay their respects to the one that died. It’s thanks to Sage that these times of mourning were temporary, but it didn’t erase the feeling of a cold and brittle death. Memories of dying and death itself were ingrained in everyone’s head and there was no real way to get rid of them. Sage’s presence didn’t erase the fear of death for those who did. It wasn’t uncommon to hear screams or the bloodcurdling sobbing that would wake up a fair share of people. None of them were to judge though.
Omen stood just outside the infirmary with arms crossed and back against the sleek wall, there were voices on the other side. The fluorescents above him were starting to get underneath the wraith’s skin, his head started to ache. Although, the lights weren’t the main reason for why Omen felt so nauseous. No, it was the voices that he could barely hear from the wall behind him that he was concerned about. Omen didn’t even flinch from the clash of metal against tiles and eventually, the shattering of glass amongst other things. This was how it usually went, Omen lost count of how many times this happened.
The noise died down and in its place was the sound of approaching footsteps. The door creaked and Sage strode out, dark circles underneath her eyes and the sides of her lips were pulled down. She spared a glance at Omen before shaking her head and walking down the hall. What had that man done this time to get Sage in such a disgruntled mood. The wraith was about to find out.
Omen didn’t recall the specifics of the recent mission nor did he feel the need to. He only learned that Cypher came back without a hint of life in his body. Death wasn’t exactly considered a “good” thing to Omen, it was something that he’s all too familiar with and he’d rather not dwell on those darker parts of his mind. He stalled by the door before gripping its handle and entering the room at last.
The bed had long been forgotten and the wraith cringed when the strong scent of alcohol flooded his senses. He cleared his throat while his gaze traveled away from the emptied bottles. He noticed Cypher’s armor and gadgets were sprawled across the floor along with his boots, all of which were accompanied by glass shards. Omen couldn’t tell if it was a bottle that broke or something else. He didn’t feel compelled to ask the spy, nor did he expect to get an answer.
“Sage didn’t send you here, did she?” His voice raspier than usual, Omen turned to the balcony to see its owner.
“I’m here on my own terms,” he grumbled. Omen straightened his posture as he leaned against the threshold. His gaze wandered off toward the stars, the very ones that had the broker so entranced. He then shot a look at Cypher, who had bandages covering parts of his stomach, his arms, and his legs. But other than that and the hospital gown, the man was entirely exposed. Or at least, Cypher’s definition of exposed. Cypher had found a comfortable spot on the rather grainy surface of the balcony, laying on his back with his legs nearing the sudden drop off of the building.
The broker’s face smothered in shadow, Omen hadn’t even noticed that Cypher’s face was bare. The mask was nowhere in sight which left soft dark curls, scars that littered the man’s face, and hints of vitiligo, no longer protected by fabric.
When Cypher saw Omen staring him down, the information broker propped himself up with his elbows, he cocked his head to the side, “your own terms? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Omen didn’t say anything in response. He continued to evaluate the man before him, the ragged way he breathed in and out, the cocky, tight tug near the edge of his lip that indicated a smirk. It was plausible for the broker to be practicing his aim with the bit of mobility he was given, but it didn’t rule out the man’s unpleasant tendencies. It wouldn’t be the first time that Omen found Cypher intoxicated…
“You know I don’t drink on these sorts of occasions,” Cypher’s eyes flickered over to Omen, who was unconvinced. His gaze, borderline deceitful and Omen grumbled something about the broker’s dishonesty that he didn’t care to enunciate properly.
“If you want to take a shot or two, be my guest,” he gestured towards the unopened bottles that were barely hanging on the edge of the balcony, “you might want to be quick though.”
A small ping sounded as a bullet planted itself in the center of a bottle, followed by a crack and the sound of the substance pouring onto the ground.
“In the state I happen to be in, I don’t plan on missing,” Cypher examined the silencer before meeting Omen’s gaze once again. If Omen wasn’t around the sentinel so often, Cypher’s comment would’ve been deemed as a threat. Omen knew that Cypher was merely teasing him and nothing more. Omen was also aware of that “look” Cypher gets when he’s…temperamental, thankfully, a cheeky grin was plastered over his face instead. From the bottles’ labels, Omen could tell that the alcohol was Chamber’s; no wonder the spy looked so pleased.
“What happened this time,” a command not a question. Omen saw a glimpse of pent up rage. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
“I’m losing interest in the…tasks at hand,” Cypher’s eyes wandered off toward the horizon, a light breeze danced through his hair, Cypher’s hands fiddled with the hospital gown, “my blood doesn’t run like it used to. You know it doesn’t have anything to do with my age.” The broker gathered himself to his feet, meeting Omen face-to-face. Omen saw a deep cut beneath Cypher’s chin stretching dangerously close to his jugular, pus and blood had dried over the wound. The wraith wondered when the broker got so careless, his concern for Cypher had little to do with the spy’s wellbeing and more to do with his performance out on the field.
Omen huffed, grounding out, “it’s not about how you feel. It’s about getting the job finished.”
“Don’t act like you’re any different, Omen,” Cypher laced it with bitterness, Omen had overstepped which he then let out a sigh. Though, the shadow’s own irritability seemed to ignite at the information broker’s sly comment.
“You got killed today, this sets us back a week! If only you could put a bullet in the head as easily as you say you can. But of course, you come back here looking like a rat,” there was a hint of a growl.
Conversations like these had them running in circles even when they were both moderately “stable”. It was a never-ending chase between the two, their similarities brought out the competitive nature in both men. However, it so happened that this moment spurred on Cypher’s stubbornness and temper. Then the usual smirk disappeared, the spy didn’t stop at his last comment and the shift in mood caught Omen slightly off guard. Nothing too uncomfortable though, the shadow knew what was coming next.
“The mere scent of blood and you unravel, you feed into your desire to hunt, to spill blood, to kill, the taste of it all has a dangerous hold on you, my friend. You are not any different,” Cypher spat, his eyes flashed with warnings and Omen only grumbled in response. He was lucky enough to be in the same vicinity as Cypher when he was in one of his moods. There are very few agents that have seen him lash out, seen him without everything that made him Cypher, seen him with everything that made him Aamir.
It’s silent and the sky was held still for a second too long which made Omen find purchase against a wall, hoping to ground himself. The hushed moment was over when he heard the crack of a lighter and the cigarette that caught the flame, Cypher inhaled sharply as he leaned over the railing. Smoke danced in the fluorescent light before further dispersing into the air, the scent remained and Omen cleared his throat; Omen hated the smell.
“I thought you quit,” Omen’s voice a little softer this time, Cypher’s scrunched up shoulders eased a bit. He caught on to the playful jab and chose to ignore the hints of concern in Omen’s tone.
“I never said I did,” Cypher put it curtly though there wasn’t malice behind it, “besides, you only live once.”
Omen glared at the man, realizing how many layers there were to his small joke at the end, “ you speak as though you’re a god amongst men, Cypher.”
“Perhaps, or I am simply but a man,” Cypher tilted his head to the side to look at Omen, the cigarette was held in between his lips as he spoke, “and eventually I will be just another body.”
“You are hopeless,” Omen commented, “do you not have faith in our healer?”
“I don’t have any faith, Omen. I abandoned that a long time ago,” Cypher’s accent came off incredibly strong at the last part, indicating that he became slightly on edge.
“Then what do you have?” The shadow questioned.
“The same thing as you.”
“Sadists are we now?”
“It will always be about the feeling.”
“-Of killing.”
“Yes. You can’t deny it, the thrill is what keeps us in the hunt. It’s why we wake up every morning, no?”
“Tread carefully, Cypher. Don’t let it keep you caged in.”
The man scoffed before coughing due to the smoke.
Omen grumbled something under his breath, then scolded his companion, “your repulsive habit isn’t going to make it any better.”
Omen stepped a foot closer to Cypher, who smirked at the sudden attention and feigned flattery. His eyes lazily bore down onto the shadow, “You’re right about that, my friend.”
They stood on the balcony in silence for some time-5 minutes or 30 minutes-neither of them could tell how long they were out there for. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence thankfully, in fact, it was quite domestic. Omen didn’t know if that was the right word to use but it felt fitting, for once the idea of killing was pushed to the back of both of their minds. Neither would admit it but it felt nice to breathe, to let the cold wind kiss the few bits of skin that were exposed, to stare out into the world as two people in the world. For once, Omen could appreciate the stars that were scattered amongst the sky and in a sense the stars were like him. As he pondered that thought, Omen was able to forget his sins. He couldn’t say the same for Cypher, he had no idea what went through that man’s head and knew quite well that he wouldn’t be let in anytime soon.
The wraith would continue to stare out into the night sky while the broker would retire to the hospital bed, Sage came back a few moments later and ushered Omen out of the room so she could continue running diagnostics. The shadow was disappointed but he didn’t show it, he would never admit that he genuinely cared for the spy, much less anyone else. Omen’s empathy was what killed him, and the Protocol’s pity didn’t fill the gaps that would keep the wraith together.
Perhaps he shared that with the spy as well.

-end-

Chapter Text

“Omen,” Cypher turned to look over at the shadow, black tendrils threatening to tear past the bandages with their sudden flares.

Omen hadn’t said anything for the past hour since they boarded.

Omen found it frustrating, the man that had answers was now dead and Omen only had fragments of memories that he could barely cling onto. Whatever that machine did to him, it seemed to almost put him back together. Or at least brought about flashbacks.

Cypher was pleased, he snaked a hand over Omen’s arm and squeezed it, “exciting day, hm? Your bloodlust couldn’t have been more satisfying to watch.”

Omen slid the spy’s hand off of him, “I guess it did feel…good.”

Omen could picture the toothy grin that the man wore beneath his mask. It was anything but comforting to the wraith, he didn’t comment further. They both knew that part of Omen enjoyed it far more than he was letting on.

Iso and Sova didn’t say a word, which made the situation even more uncomfortable than it already was. At the very least, Sova gave Omen a soft glance to remind him that he’s not a monster.

But all Omen could think about was Viper, Sabine had kept her secrets for long enough and now it was time to pry open her mind.

Omen didn’t know how to feel exactly. All he knew was that it was taking everything inside him to keep it together. Keep himself together. Swallow the burning pit in his stomach that wants to consume him.

On the other hand, Cypher was definitely entertained. Omen could still hear the man’s disturbing giggles of delight over the intercom when Omen began his rampage.

Of course Cypher was having a “fun time”, the man practically thrived off of getting others pent up. Omen knew how sadistic the spy could get when he wasn’t cynical. An unfortunate trade off and a pattern that Omen was all too familiar with.

As if he was able to read minds as well, Cypher commented, “I’m sure Sabine will be thrilled to know your new discoveries!”

Omen felt his body go rigid as the woman’s name slid off of Cypher’s tongue.

Chapter Text

Air caressing skin, making its form aware of itself. The sensation has become unfamiliar and almost unnatural to the information broker.

The man gripped the side of the railing as he peered over into the night sky. Cypher was thankful that Brimstone granted him a room with a balcony, even if it was small. It was suiting, he needed to see everything that no one else could.

A sharp, brittle wind lashed against his bare face, causing Cypher to scrunch his nose and step closer into the room. The sudden air pressure from the threshold was practically pulling him in.

Cypher fiddled with the copper lighter, flicking it on and off in between spins.

He recalls the man, Iso’s client, as he lay paralyzed on the pavement. Cypher had paid him a visit before departing with everyone else.

Pathetic.

He had found him choking back the blood that erupted from his throat.

Men thinking they are gods must be reminded that they are simply men.

Cypher wasted no time taking the lighter. His lenses piercing through the man’s exposed eye, the spy laughed. He could hear the man take in a sharp breath, trying to come up with what could possibly happen.

Oh, how Cypher relished in the man’s fear. He would enjoy taking the man apart, for his own satisfaction and for Omen as well.

Cypher hadn’t noticed the sinister smile that crept onto his face. It was disturbingly comforting that he knew the shadow liked the same feeling.

That Omen had the same high.

Is that why they got along? Perhaps. Perhaps, they understood each other on an entirely different level and were still discovering how deep it goes.

For the times they didn’t get along, it’s because of Amir. Amir, who is softer, gentler, who gives love easily, who carries a burdening weight.

Amir, who is vulnerable, sets Cypher and Omen apart.

Cypher, on the other hand, has no weight to carry. Cypher, who kept everyone a safe distance from him to avoid weakness and error.

But for some reason, Omen was able to tear through that and was now trying to puncture Cypher to get to Amir. The information broker, in turn, lashes out at the wraith. As if to warn him what he’s getting himself into.

The warm pull of tiredness convinced Cypher to finally go back inside and close the door. He slipped the lighter into his pocket. Once he sat down at his desk, hands quickly found fabric and he pulled the mask halfway over his face.

Cypher shuffled through his drawers to fish out what he was looking for. It was the second time this month, but he didn’t care. Cypher never cared, Amir did. He tried to reason with himself.

The threat of a bullet is more likely to kill him than smoking. Plus, Cypher didn’t need to worry about smoking around a baby anymore…he clenched his fist.

He could feel the thick smoke heavy in his lungs, as he could with the thoughts of who he once was.

Cypher hadn’t noticed the small confirmation beep, nor the slide of the door. He only snapped out of it when the wraith cleared his throat.

The mechanical lenses found themselves tracing the outline of Omen’s figure. So the wraith was here, and for what?

There was something in the way that Omen seemed like he couldn’t decide which foot to put his weight on that indicated uncomfort.

“Hello, my dear,” Cypher removed the cigarette from his mouth, he gestured for Omen to come closer, “what has you worked up like this?”

Omen shuffled toward him until he was towering over the spy, making Cypher crane his neck upwards. A sly grin was then plastered over Cypher’s face, “or rather, what can I do for you tonight?”

Omen scoffed at that, which only made Cypher’s grin wider.

Chapter Text

He remembers it so clearly. Small fingers wrapped around his thumb as he guided her first steps. Her teeth had barely come in and she’d give him that beautiful smile. Oh and how he could only smile back, then try and get her to say “Baba”.

He remembers how he’d wake up every morning with aches and pains from a sleepless night. But that is what it meant to be a new parent, a new father. Most of the time, he’d be at the will of his lover and for a few moments-he would forget about his “other” life.

He remembers when he’d seen them both covered in blood and dirt. He reached out to hold them, but their bodies were stiff and cold. He was on his knees, hoping to hear their heartbeats again but that was no longer possible.

He remembers abandoning God that day. Or any divinity that he prayed to. He refused to believe that he deserved any of it…the destruction of the only thing light in his life.

It was then that Cypher felt a newfound excitement. Pure, red hot rage was in his veins, his lungs, his mind always. It was ammunition for that excitement, and it boiled any mercy left in him alive. It would dissipate and in its place would be an unsatisfied hunger for blood.

-

At the moment, he was just tired. His eyes were barely keeping themselves open. Cypher passed it off as being overworked but everyone knew that “overworking” wasn’t a thing in Cypher’s mind. But they didn’t press on, the first and last time that happened it didn’t end well. It even left Viper disturbed for a week, her cold demeanor didn’t sway Cypher into sharing anything when she had asked him about it.

Nothing would strike down that wall. However, one particular wraith knew how to weaken it.

Omen sat on the side of the bed, facing away from Cypher. Neither had much clothing on, both exposed so openly. A rare sighting that no one else saw, much less knew about.

The blankets had been kicked off, “it was hot in the room” according to Cypher. That was the first sign that something was off, if it weren’t for the blatant stench of fear that radiated off of the spy’s body. There was certainly a rift but whether it was between them, Omen didn’t know. However, his gut told him it had nothing to do with Omen and everything to do with Cypher’s own mind.

As for Cypher himself, he was laying on his back while staring at the ceiling. Omen turned to lay on his side, sliding a hand over Cypher’s chest to drag him out of the spiraling. A firm, slender hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping the wraith’s hand just over the man’s heart.

“We are two men left with animal impulses,” There was a breaking in Cypher’s voice, his rasp barely above a whisper, “I try my best not to enjoy it, but sometimes I can’t help myself.”

Omen only grumbled, watching Cypher’s facial movements. The man’s lips were pressed into a fine line, a scowl over his features. His grip on the wraith’s wrist faltered.

“Let's not dwell on the past,” Omen said. He knew where this conversation was headed and the shadow was not in the mood to delve in further. He wanted nothing more than to forget about his own problems, Viper was bound to come up in the conversation if Omen allowed it. But any words threatening to spill were left unsaid. Cypher flashed a knowing smirk before turning to face Omen. He crept closer so that Omen could feel Cypher’s hot breath against his face.

“I would never hide anything from you, little shadow,” Cypher teased. Omen felt slightly bitter towards Cypher bringing up his tension with Viper. He didn’t tell him though. It would only feed the information broker’s satisfaction. Instead, Omen said something that made the smirk fall off of Cypher’s face instantly.

“It’s their anniversary isn’t it,” Omen studied Cypher carefully.

“It is,” he growled out. Cypher tugged the wraith upright and guided him over the spy’s lap. Omen straddled him, gaining balance with his hands as they were planted on either side of Cypher’s head. He was careful not to get his claws stuck in his hair. Omen looked down, locking Cypher in.

“When you’re with…me, do you picture her in my place?”

“No,” the word chased the question fast enough that it surprised Omen a little.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t miss them,” Cypher added, his shoulders tense.

A surge of insecurity hit Omen like a landslide. But he swallowed it down, asking another question, “would you kill for me, like you kill for them?”

Cypher’s eyebrows furrowed briefly, “yes.”

The conversation of words ended. In its place, were hands exploring familiar territory that never got old. Omen secretly desired for the man, who was now beneath him, to forget them. He knew it was fucked up in some way. But he also knew Cypher had his own obsessions with him that he had no place to say anything.

Fingers ghosted over the elastic of Omen’s boxers, but stopped and fell to his sides. Slightly disappointed, Omen growled which was met with a raising of eyebrows. Damn the information broker, Omen wanted to feel special but it was hard since he wasn’t the first. Jealousy was boiling in his stomach, he’d never show it though. As if reading his mind, Cypher spat out, “let me grieve, little shadow. Then maybe, I’ll be yours.”

Omen’s breath hitched in the back of his throat. He would not let his words die though, “then maybe, start trying to grieve properly and move on. But you don’t, is it because you like the feeling? You like feeling broken because that’s all you’ve known? Stop it. We cannot change our past.”

Omen crawled off of Cypher, scooting towards the edge of the bed and gathering his things. The jostle of keys, knives, and other items could be heard. Cypher didn’t move, he simply stared at Omen. His expression was unreadable, save for the small bite of his bottom lip as he drew blood. Deep down, he knew Omen was right. But he wouldn’t admit it.

Chapter Text

That feeling, it was back again, famished and dangerously so. It hung itself over Omen, like a silk sheet draped over his body and sinking into his skin. It was almost comfortable, as if this was the way he was meant to be. Yet, he knew better than that or at the very least, pretended like he did. It didn’t stop that sensation though. He was losing control, losing any common sense that kept him together. He could feel it peeling back and mending together all at once, it was maddening.

He tried to remember when this episode started. He soaked in every detail of what was around him. He was inside, somewhere familiar.

There were balls of yarn tucked in a few baskets.

A bonsai sitting on a small shelf.

The overhead light was turned off.

Otherwise it was quite plain.

He was in his bed.

Ah yes, he was sleeping, he had finally found some time to rest after mission upon mission.

Right, missions. That mission. The memories that flooded his senses. The sudden roaring of blood in his head, pricks of needles scattered over his body, and then the burning. Not only from whatever machine the man had been using but also from memories.

The acid mixing with glass shards, Omen felt every bit of skin burn beneath it. He wanted to rip his face off, as if it would bring relief to the bubbling and sizzling of the acid. He couldn’t forget the smell either. Omen re-lived every single moment over and over.

Here he was now, spasming and twitching. Falling into a place where his consciousness seemed to be outweighed by instinct. There were only so many things he could do.

He was alone.

Chapter Text

Amir was unsuccessful holding back his groan. He let it slip and Omen reveled in it the best he could before Cypher snuck his hand over Omen’s neck.

A brief warning.

Omen was splayed out on Cypher’s bed, legs entangled and being practically shoved into the mattress. His senses were ablaze, every small temperature change or shift in mood were impossible to miss. The firm grip put Omen in a bit of overdrive.

It wouldn’t go too far, that would be unlike Amir. And right now, Omen had him all to himself. The wraith clung on to Amir, grumbling something he couldn’t make out. His claws dug into the spy’s back, the muscles tensing underneath his hold.

Amir couldn’t settle the heat boiling inside of him, every movement was deliberate but it didn’t satiate his hunger. Sweat rolled down his temple, his teeth gritted as he further explored Omen. The moment, even if it was fleeting, was tender and it shook Amir’s core intensely. He secretly yearned for this, he felt so intact and grounded. Yet he did not know if it was Omen or merely the physical touch of another.

Amir quickly came to the conclusion that it had to be Omen, who now could only let out soft rumbles and even whine a little. The wraith, squirming and tugging at the information broker desperate for some sort of release, was able to pour his soul into Amir’s chalice. Of course, they had their quarrels, but Omen knew that at the end of the day, Amir would drink it all and savor it.

He certainly was now, making small remarks and comments on Omen, like how the wraith looked and how he was simply a blubbering mess. The bastard was grinning, a twinkle in his eye that spelled out mischief. But the man was also struggling to keep any signs of pleasure to himself, Omen wanted to see him break.

In some ways, their situation embarrassed Omen. Being exposed and having feelings at the forefront of his mind, Omen didn’t know how to react. Or perhaps he was flustered, he couldn’t quite place it, but it didn’t really matter because he never asked the spy to stop. The waves of ecstasy were too addicting and Amir was willing to provide him such. So the wraith would have to suck in any debilitating self-consciousness and let him enjoy the moment.

His moment.

With Amir.