Air Born | Generation Icarus #1

Miguel - Find Him

A/N: Thanks to hale-hydra for writing the first ever Generation Icarus fanfic (find it in the fanfic list on my profile!). You rock, L 😘

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After the funeral, I sat alone outside the church, staring blankly as the world carried on as if nothing had changed. I'd found it hard to accept that Abuelita had really gone until the little service had ended and she'd been taken away.

Find him.

The echo in my mind was just a whisper, yet it was louder than the entire crowded city around me.

Find him.

The padre walked out of the church and looked down at me. Instinctively I hunched my shoulders, although my thin wings were completely hidden by my best, only slightly faded shirt.

"This is yours now," he said softly, pressing Abuelita's crucifix on its black chain into my palm. My fingers curled tightly around the smooth wood.

"You have been a good boy," he said. "Always putting others before yourself. Now your future is in your own hands. God bless you, son." He patted my shoulder and disappeared into the cool depths of the church.

Slowly I dropped the chain of Abuelita's crucifix around my neck and trudged back to the apartment. Her chair looked so empty. I couldn't stand the sight of it. As I picked it up, I realised something was wedged underneath. A cardboard box that had been hidden by the trailing edges of her blanket.

I opened it and found a carefully wrapped bundle. Inside that was a photograph of my mother and me, taken when I was just a baby, when Mama was happily married and had everything she could ever ask for. Her dark eyes laughed at me as she cuddled me close, her wild, curly black hair cascading down her shoulders. There was a jagged edge where the image of my rich, white father had been ripped away.

Beneath the faded photograph were our passports. Two American and two Mexican.

As I sat there, holding my American passport, my thoughts accelerated. I'd disowned my father for so long, I'd forgotten how useful being half-American could be. Would be.

Wrapping up my mother's passports, I put them to one side.

Last in the box was a paper bag. When I saw what it contained, I almost swore.

"Where did this come from?" I whispered, although in my heart I knew that the seven hundred US dollars must have belonged to my mother. All these years Abuelita had been saving a small fortune for when I needed it most.

Now I could find Tyler. There was just one more thing I needed to do.

*

I'd worked for Juan for several years, both at his timber yard and as his personal errand boy. But Juan knew that I knew the business was just a front for his shady dealings in far more lucrative hardware. I'd never been involved, operating a strict 'don't ask, don't know, can't tell' strategy. Still, I couldn't help but notice when heavily armed 'businessmen' paid regular visits, and stock boxes that were never opened appeared and disappeared overnight. It made me uncomfortable, and if there had been any other work available, I would have taken it. But at least I could always rely on Juan to pay my wages on time, which he did as a point of pride, unlike many other dealers. It was one of the ways he flaunted the fact that he always had cash to spare.

I needed all the money I could get and I had two weeks' wages owing. But I didn't want them in pesos. It was time to make a deal with him of my own.