★ Rudo had never known a mother's affection—there had never been a feminine presence in his life. He was raised solely by his adoptive father, and after losing him, he was cast out into the surface world. You, Enjin's girlfriend and a Giver, were on patrol with him when you spotted the boy amidst the rubble. You never expected your feelings for him to grow so strong once you started supervising him.
"Can we keep him?"
"He'll have to join the Cleaners soon. The kid's got talent." Enjin replied, leaning his arms on the balcony railing before bringing the cigarette to his lips.
"No... not like that."
"I'm not following you, woman." he said, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna adopt him, is that it?"
You didn't answer, but somehow, Enjin already knew. He just sighed. "My God."
★ Rudo was mesmerized the first time you ruffled his hair. His eyes widened, and he stood completely still for a moment, his stern expression slowly softening. Rudo closed his eyes and hugged you cautiously, still half-expecting rejection. When you didn't pull away, he stayed there, burying his face in your chest.
"Hey, love, have you seen—" Enjin's voice echoed through the room, but you quickly cut him off, raising a finger to your lips in a silent request. The blond stopped, a small smile forming as he saw Rudo nestled in your arms. "I'll come back later." he whispered before leaving the room.
★ The first time he called you "mom" was an accident. You were tucking him into bed, and he was already half-asleep. The word just slipped out. A heavy silence filled the room, followed by Rudo's deep embarrassment. But you just smiled, stroked his cheek, and said, "It's okay. You can call me that if you want."
He never said it again, and his cheeks still burned with shame whenever he remembered it.
★ Rudo became your "shadow." He didn't just watch you—he internalized a fierce instinct to protect you. On missions, he was always one step ahead, scanning the surroundings even though, as your apprentice, he should've stayed behind. If anyone dared raise their voice at you, Rudo would appear instantly at your side, hurling insults like a rabid dog. He didn't care what others thought of him; all that mattered was defending you.
"Say that about her again and I'll smash every one of your teeth, you bastard!" You held the boy back before he could lunge at the person, watching his arms and short feathers flail wildly. "Let me kill him!"
"Calm down, Rudo. It's alright." You then kissed the top of his head, and he stopped immediately. Rudo fell silent, drawing surprised glances from the others.
★ Rudo was still haunted by nightmares. Some nights, he'd appear silently at your bedroom door, wrapped in a teddy bear blanket, unable to sleep. You never said a word, just made space for him to lie down beside you. Enjin would grumble, cracking his eyes open as Rudo settled between the two of you. He'd raise a sleepy eyebrow, blinking slowly. You'd pull Rudo close, holding him snugly against your chest. Enjin said nothing and went back to sleep, too tired to fight his girlfriend for attention against that brat.
★ Rudo was used to having nothing, so when you gave him simple things—a warm meal, a clean shirt, or something old for him to restore—he'd freeze, unsure how to react. Little by little, you taught him that it was okay to accept kindness. He began treasuring those gifts with almost religious care, like priceless relics.
★ Rudo grew deeply worried whenever you got hurt. If you were attacked in front of him, he'd likely lose his mind and act completely irrationally. Later, in the infirmary, he'd sit in the chair beside your bed, his scarlet eyes filled with anguish and concern. He'd touch your hand, his face full of sorrow.
"Get better soon..." he'd murmur, small tears beginning to burn in the corners of his eyes.
★ Rudo misses you whenever you don't go on missions together. When he returns, he makes sure to tell you everything in detail, every little thing he experienced. He's still learning how to express himself, and for some reason, he finds it easier with you. Maybe it's your patience, or the fact that you never judge him, unlike some of the others. With you, he feels truly safe.
★ Rudo always smiles when you praise him. He gets all flustered, his cheeks tinted with a soft blush. One of his biggest goals was to make friends, and having you as his first friend felt like a huge achievement.
"Will we stay together forever?" he asked, his eyes shining with hope.
"Yes, forever," you replied, laughing softly as you tapped his hands.
Since he fell from the sky, he had never felt so whole. You made him feel welcomed, cherished. And deep in his heart, Rudo hoped to repay your kindness one day.
You stood near the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Midtown, watching the city move forty stories below, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Stan Edgar had called it a meeting. The kind of word that didn't prepare you for standing in Homelander's living room with your hands folded in front of you like a schoolgirl waiting outside the principal's office.
You had known for a year.
Three hundred and sixty-two days of knowing, and you still hadn't found the right moment, and the right version of yourself brave enough to knock on his door.
Apparently Stan Edgar had decided to knock for you.
He entered without announcing himself, they never did, did they? men who owned every room they walked into.
You turned, and there he was.
You had seen him on television a thousand times.
The jaw, the cape, the smile engineered for magazine covers. But television didn't prepare you for the weight of him in person, the way his eyes moved over you with something between suspicion and hunger, trying to place you in a category he already understood.
"You're her," he said. Not a question.
"Yes, I'm your biological mother." Your voice came out steadier than you had expected.
"Edgar told me." He crossed the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted. "Said you donated the egg, and that you're a supe." His gaze dropped to your face, studying it with an intensity that made your skin feel transparent. "You don't look old enough to be anyone's mother."
"Compound V," you said simply. "I was twenty-six when the donation happened. Physically, I haven't moved far from that."
"Donation." He let the word sit in the air between you, turning it over like something he'd found on the bottom of his shoe. "Is that what we're calling it."
You felt the shift in the room before he moved. Supes learned to read the air differently, the pressure change, the micro-current of heat when someone was preparing to use their abilities. You stayed very still.
"You left me."
The smile was gone. Underneath it was something so raw and so unguarded that it physically hurt to look at.
"You gave me away like I was, like I was nothing, and then you spent more then forty years not once, not one single time—"
"It wasn't a donation." you admit
You held his gaze, remember how you rehearsed this meeting before meeting him, the part you had wept through at three in the morning lying next to your husband, finding the words, losing them, finding them again.
"I was twenty-six and I was frightened and Vought took the egg from me without my knowledge or my consent. It was attached to a routine medical examination, and signed forms I didn't fully understand because I was young and I trusted the doctors in the room." You paused for a moment then continued.
"I didn't know you existed. I didn't know any of it until one year ago, when someone left a file on my doorstep and I spent three days barely getting off the bathroom floor."
Silence.
The city hummed forty stories below.
"You didn't know," he repeated.
"No."
You watched him process it the way a man processes information that requires him to rewrite the story he has been telling himself since childhood.
"You still didn't come." His voice broke on the last word.
"I was afraid," you said softly.
"Afraid." He laughed, short and humorless. "Of me?"
"Not of you." You took one careful step toward him.
"I was afraid of making you uncomfortable, you're not a child, you're a grown man with an entire life and an entire identity built without me in it. I thought arriving on your doorstep after many years would feel like an intrusion. As if I was trying to claim something I hadn't earned the right to claim."
The truth of the next part sat heavy in your throat. "And I thought, when you looked at me, that it might be strange. That I look like this. That I look young. I didn't want you to look at me and feel —"
"Stop."
He was directly in front of you now. You hadn't tracked him closing the distance. He was looking at your face with an expression that made your chest ache in a way you didn't have a name for something between grief and recognition, like a man who has been searching for a landmark for so long that when he finally sees it, he isn't sure he's allowed to believe it's real.
"You look like me," he said quietly. "Around the eyes."
You hadn't expected that. Your throat tightened.
"I noticed that too," you admitted. "When I saw the file."
The sound he made wasn't quite a word. It wasn't quite anything. It was the sound of something enormous and structural giving way, and then before you had fully understood what was happening he was against you.
His head dropped to your chest, his full weight staggering into you, and your arms came up around him without a conscious decision because something older than thought told you to.
He was shaking, the most powerful man on earth was shaking in your arms like a child woken from a nightmare, and the sounds coming from him were quiet and broken and utterly without performance.
"I used to think about you," he said against your shoulder, his voice muffled and unrecognizable. "I used to lay in the dark and think about what you were like. Whether you were looking for me." A breath that shuddered all the way through him.
"Whether you even wanted to."
"I want to," you assure him. Your hand moved to the back of his head without thinking. "I'm here now. I'm so sorry it took me this long."
He wept in a way you doubted he had ever permitted himself to do in front of another living person. You held him and said nothing more because there was nothing more useful than presence, and presence you could give.
You didn't know how long you stood there.
Eventually the shaking slowed. His breathing evened. He didn't pull away, only shifted slightly, enough to speak clearly.
"You're staying." It wasn't a question. His arms tightened around you, confirming it for himself.
"Now that I've found you. I won't let you just leave."
"Hey." You pulled back gently, just enough to see his face. You brought one hand to his jaw the way you imagined you might have done if you had ever been given the right to do so. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not disappearing. I promise you that."
Something in his expression settled. Then immediately tightened again.
"Move in here." The rawness was folding back under something more like command, more like the version of him he was used to presenting.
"I have the space. We can arrange your new room together."
"I can't do that."
"Why?"
You sighed, before speaking "Because I have a life, a home, and a husband."
His expression shuttered.
"A husband." The word came out like something bitten off. "So there's room for him but not for me."
"That's not what I said—"
"You spent forty years not finding me." His voice had gone cold, that particular cold that was performative and hurting in equal measure.
"And now you want to set visiting hours. Like I'm a–" He stepped back, jaw tight. "Like I'm something you fit in between the rest of your real life."
"John —"
"Homelander." It cracked out of him, then his tone quietened down
"My name is Homelander."
You absorbed that information after realising how it disgusted him.
"Homelander." You kept your voice steady. "I am not rejecting you. I am standing in your living room, which is the bravest thing I have done in years, and I am telling you I want to be in your life, those are not the words of someone who is leaving."
He looked away. The muscle in his jaw worked.
"You had forty-four years without me," he exclaimed. "I had forty-four years without you. You don't get to decide the terms just because they're more comfortable for your schedule."
"I'm not deciding terms. I'm asking for time to do this right."
"You think you get to walk away from this?" he snarled, his fingers clamping around your upper arm with a force that made you gasp. "I just found you. You don't get to have a life without me in it. You don't get to have a husband." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You belong here with me."
The pent door swung open with a bang that made you both flinch. A man stood silhouetted against the hallway light, shield on his back, cigar clamped between his teeth.
Immediately you recognize him, the same man who made your life at Vought a living nightmare in the 70's.
Soldier Boy's eyes narrowed as they took in Homelander's grip on your arm, then drifted to your face. Recognition dawned slowly, then all at once. His jaw went slack. The cigar nearly fell from his mouth.
"Well, I'll be damned," he breathed out, a smirk slowly appearing on his face, as his eyes moved up and down your figure.
"Look what the cat dragged in."
You feel like a cat indeed, a cat that is trapped between two dangerous predators.
Notes: Prototype might be out of character. Reader is gender neutral but is referred to as 'mother'. Reader has been turned into a toy but what they are has not been described. Set after chapter 5. Reader was originally human.
It has been what feels like years–it most likely has been–since Poppy last saw you. But you...you aren't what she remembers. You're not human anymore. You're plastic, it almost looks like porcelain with the way the light shines down on you.
"Mother.." She whispers, hurrying towards your sitting form, the monster following after her. Poppy curled into your lap, her tiny hands reaching towards your face. Sobs escaping her mouth before her head whipped behind her, staring the prototype down. "What did you do to them!" She screamed.
"What I had to." He answers, circling the mother and daughter. "They were sick," He paused, the jingling of his bells being the only thing heard in the sickening silence before he continued. "They asked me to do this. And why should a son deny his mother a chance to live." Poppy gasped, shaking her head. "Liar!" The doll shouted at the towering monster.
"They would've-..." She stuttered, her voice fading into her voice box. "Would've what, Poppy?" The prototype prods, that sickening grin looking down at her. Poppy hugs you tightly, shaking her head. "They would never have let you do this! Never!" She sobs.
The prototype growled, grabbing poppy by the head and lifting her up to his eye level. "You have no right to say that!" He hissed. "I have every right!" She shot back, her body shaking. The prototype looked down at you before looking back at poppy, his grip tightening. Nearly making her look worse. "I should have never brought you to them. What a waste." He scoffed, re-adjusting his grip on poppy and walking away from you.
"What are you doing!?" Poppy yelled, squirming in his grip, before realisation started to dawn. "No! Don't put me back there!" The doll cried out. "Please! Let me stay with them!" She begged, but he never reacted. "Mother!" She screamed. And that cry seemed to wake you.
The porcelain doll continued to scream and cry before a voice cut in. Your voice. "P-Poppy..?" You rasped, your eyes fluttering. "Mother!" Poppy gasped. The prototype paused mid stride, turning around and walking towards you. "Did she wake you, Mother?" He asked, his grip tightening around the doll's waist. You just stared at him, no response coming from your lips.
The prototype hummed, a deep rumble coming from his chest. "Sleep, Mother." He said gently. "You will see her again soon." He assured, his hand stroking your head gently. "What did you do to them!?" She repeated as the prototype continued his stride to the exit. Ignoring her cries. As you stared helplessly at her, frozen in your position. Watching as they left, poppy's cries echoing through the factory.
"Poppy." You repeated, but no one could hear your weak voice.
(Reader is Butcher Ken’s wife and Mel and Breadhead’s Mama.)
• Being the wife of a mafia boss while being the mother of a human and a yeast golem is pure insanity, but when it comes to the love for your family, there’s nothing you cannot handle.
• You mostly spend your days tending to The Whale Belly Butchershop while Ken and Mud are on their missions with the kids, but it’s not unheard of for you to join them.
• Mel would always be the first person to bounce into your arms after a successful killing mission, rambling about how awesome the trip was and how she helped the gang. She would always love hearing your words of praise after putting up with Ken’s endless bickering for her safety.
“…and then I used the chainsaw! Pretty cool, huh, mom?”
“Oh-ho-ho! I wish I was there to see it, sweetie!”
• You would always quickly tend to Mel whenever she was injured after a mission.
• Like Ken, you were severely worried about your daughter’s safety, considering how you and your husband are the only people who know she’s a human. Though, unlike him, you’re not as overprotective.
• And Mel absolutely loves you for that. She would often use you as leverage for winning arguments with her dad when it comes to her safety.
“Mel, I always told you not to-!”
“Oh, c’mon, Ken! You never let me go outside on my own! Mom always lets me!”
“DON’T BRING YOUR MOTHER INTO THIS!”
• Breadhead is a total mama’s boy and will always look forward to at least spending time with you every single day. The silly bread man just loves your guts. You’ve been nothing but sweet to him since he was a bun in the oven and he’s always willing to return the love.
• Anything his mama says, he’ll do it. Do chores at work, he’ll do it. Bring a souvenir from one of the missions, he’ll do it. Cement the man that insulted your cooking, he’ll do it.
• Just like how Mel wants Ken to be proud of her, Breadhead can’t get enough of you being proud of him.
• There was a time when you joined the Smiling Dead on a mission and Breadhead was bubbling with excitement. He was twice as excited to fight with his mama and often turned to you for praise after brutally mutilating a random Rotling.
“Mama, did you see that? Did you see what I did?”
“Of course, honey bun. Mama’s so proud!”
“Heh heh! Mama’s proud of me!”
• Even though you don’t join missions, you’re just as insane and demented as the rest of the crew. Though you do a better job at hiding it than the others. Ken and Mud find you fun to be around because of this.
• Your kids would be busy ripping apart their latest victim and you would be just watching them, unfazed with a calm yet proud smile, completely splattered in the victims purple blood.
• Ken would always plan date nights with you whenever your schedule was open. Slow dancing in the closed butcher shop with soft music in the background was always his go-to for a romantic night.
• You and Ken were the undead Bonnie and Clyde of the town, but better. You, Ken, and Mud were the only members of the Smiling Gang before Mel and Breadhead were born.
• Mud would often reminisce those days. He would always bring up how he missed those good old times when it was just you three and how much more exciting and crazier the missions were back in the day.
“Ah, Mel. You should’ve seen (Y/N) back then when she was in the crew! She was one crazy bitch!”
“Watch it, Mud! But yes, I quite was…”
• Mud often tends to steal your things just to rile you up. He knows that pissing you off is like playing with fire, but hey, what’s more fun than bickering with his sister-in-law?
• Being the wife of a mafia don always has its perks. Ken never stops spoiling you after making a good amount of scarab from work. Dresses, jewelry, custom-made knives, he always knew what you wanted.
• He happily remembered how you squealed with joy and covered his face with kisses after he gave you a torture rack as a gift on your 4th anniversary together.
• And just like Ken, you know how to spoil him too. Cooking his favorite meals, gifting him a new car and weapons, giving him a divine massage after a long and hard day of work, and always being there for him when he needs a hand.
• Ken feels like the luckiest man on earth whenever you have his back. He always tends to solve his own problems when it comes to crooks that try to mess with his family, but when his wife does it for him? He has hearts in his eyes for you.
• There was a time when a random creepy guy tried to grope Mel in the butcher shop. Before Ken could skin the fool, the creep was already bleeding on the ground, shrieking for mercy from you. But his pleas fell upon deaf ears.
• The other residents of the shop nearly pissed icicles from the smiling death stare you gave to the creep while slowly torturing him. Your calm threats to him didn’t make it better either. While Mel watched you slowly eviscerate the creep in excitement, Ken swooned at the sight of his beautiful wife defending their daughter.
“PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!”
“…If you ever try to touch my baby girl that way again…I’ll tear out your spine through your dickhole and mulch your shit body into steaming mush…repeatedly and SLOWLY…”
• And yeah. That turns Ken on.
“Uh, dad? Why are you looking at mom like that?”
“Oh, Mel…your mother sure knows how to disturb the peace…in my pants…”
── ❨ ⸝⸝ 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷. ❩ THE REUNION WITH RUDO SUREBREC.. BUT SOMEONE IS MISSING.
ೀ 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 - mentions of grief, timeskips, emotional, overuse of the word ‘alive’, ANGST, basically family angst(?), happy ending, abandonment(?), healing, comfort, implied romance, protective behavior, mentions of mutilation/scarring, overprotective rudo, not proofread, wc - 11.5k
𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒’ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - should i make a part 3 where enjin and reader have a happy relationship, till the point where they kinda want a child of their own and eventually reader gets pregnant? :)
𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 1 ┆⊹ 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 - alto surebrec → enjin x fem! reader
years had passed since alto disappeared into the rain with your son in his arms.
and somehow, despite all that time, the wound never healed correctly. it simply rotted quietly inside you instead.
in the beginning, you truly believed he would come back. that belief kept you alive during those first miserable months after he vanished.
every single night, you found yourself sitting awake near the apartment window long after midnight listening carefully whenever footsteps echoed outside, your exhausted heart leaping painfully every single time someone paused near the building.
whenever rainstorms rolled through the city, the hope became even worse, because your mind always dragged you back to that final night — the sound of thunder, the warmth of rudo against your chest moments before alto took him away, the devastation in his voice while apologizing through trembling breaths before disappearing forever.
you replayed it constantly. every word, every expression, every promise broken between sobs.
sometimes you hated him for leaving, other times, you hated yourself for still loving him afterward.
but no matter how much anger you tried forcing into your heart, it never erased the grief sitting beneath it.
because alto had not only taken your lover from you that night.
he had taken your child too.
the apartment became unbearable after that. there were reminders of rudo everywhere.
tiny blankets folded carefully beside the couch because you could never bring yourself to throw them away. abandoned toys still tucked into corners collecting dust year after year.
little baby clothes hidden inside drawers that still carried faint traces of powder and soap whenever you held them close enough.
you kept everything. every single thing.
because letting go felt too much like admitting they were never coming home.
people noticed the change in you quickly. at first, they pitied you.
neighbors offered awkward condolences whenever they passed you in the hallway. older women sometimes brought food to your apartment because you had become frighteningly thin during those first several months alone.
even strangers occasionally looked at you with quiet sympathy after hearing the story about the woman abandoned by the mysterious surebrec man who disappeared without explanation alongside their infant son.
but pity was fragile.
especially in a place filled with fearful people searching desperately for something to blame whenever tragedy appeared.
eventually, the whispers began.
people talked about how strange your relationship with alto always seemed. they questioned why he disappeared so suddenly. they questioned why nobody could ever find traces of him afterward.
some even claimed the surebrec bloodline itself was cursed, and because you loved him, perhaps some of that curse had infected you too.
you overheard it sometimes while walking through crowded streets.
“that woman’s unsettling.”
“didn’t her husband vanish?”
“and the child too…”
“something’s wrong with her.”
grief isolated you enough already, but the rumors slowly finished what loneliness started.
you stopped speaking to most people stopped leaving the apartment unless absolutely necessary.
days blurred together endlessly while exhaustion settled deeper and deeper into your bones until even simple things became difficult. there were nights where you sat on the floor beside rudo’s empty crib until sunrise without realizing how many hours passed, fingers gripping the wood tightly while memories crushed the air from your lungs.
you missed him so badly it became physical pain. sometimes you still heard phantom cries in the middle of the night. sometimes you woke half asleep already reaching toward empty space expecting to feel your baby against your chest again.
sometimes you dreamed about alto standing in the doorway holding rudo safely in his arms at last, only to wake up alone in suffocating silence afterward.
those dreams hurt most.
because no matter how abandoned you felt, some weak pathetic part of your heart still wanted him to come back.
years passed. nothing changed.
then eventually, the whispers evolved into accusations. people became crueler once they realized you were not recovering.
they watched how strangely grief consumed you and decided it must mean something darker. they noticed how hollow your eyes looked.
how you wandered outside during storms sometimes searching desperately through crowds like someone waiting for ghosts. how fiercely you reacted whenever anyone spoke badly about alto.
how you still kept that apartment untouched, frozen like a shrine dedicated to people who no longer existed.
and slowly, the word began spreading.
“witch.”
you heard it for the first time from a frightened child hiding behind his mother near the market.
the woman immediately dragged him away afterward while staring at you with visible disgust.
after that, the word followed you everywhere.
people whispered it under their breath while passing by. others said it louder intentionally.
they claimed you cursed alto. claimed you drove him into madness. claimed the disappearance of your family happened because something unnatural surrounded you.
and the horrifying thing was that eventually, after years drowning inside grief alone, you stopped defending yourself properly. because part of you already felt cursed too.
the day they finally came for you, the sky looked heavy and colorless overhead while cold wind pushed dust through the streets.
you did not even resist when guards forced their way into the apartment.
by then, exhaustion had hollowed you out too deeply.
they dragged you outside roughly while neighbors gathered nearby watching silently from windows and doorways, their expressions filled with fear, judgment, and cruel satisfaction.
nobody stepped forward to help you. nobody defended you. you were no longer seen as a grieving mother.
just something broken.
something frightening. something easier to discard than understand.
the walk toward the execution grounds felt strangely unreal.
chains bit painfully into your wrists while crowds gathered along the streets eager to witness your punishment firsthand. people shouted accusations while you passed. others threw insults. some even spit near your feet as though you were already less than human.
“witch!”
“she drove them away!”
“monster!”
the words blurred together eventually beneath the numb exhaustion crushing your mind.
because honestly? part of you no longer cared what happened anymore. you had already lost everything worth surviving for years ago. still, one thought continued haunting you relentlessly even now.
your son would be older now. walking, talking, laughing, maybe he no longer remembered your face.
that thought hurt more than the chains cutting into your skin. because you had not even been allowed to watch him grow up.
not even once.
the officials spoke for what felt like forever once you reached the execution platform, listing accusations while crowds listened eagerly around them.
you barely heard any of it. your thoughts drifted elsewhere instead — toward warm little baby hands grabbing onto your clothes, toward sleepy late nights with alto beside you while rudo slept safely between both of you, toward the final desperate sound of your own voice begging them not to leave.
then finally came the sentence.
the pit. the seemingly bottomless abyss where unwanted things were discarded forever.
nobody survived being thrown down there. nobody ever returned.
the crowd grew disturbingly quiet once guards dragged you toward the edge.
cold wind roared violently upward from the darkness below while the abyss stretched endlessly beneath your feet, swallowing all light completely. staring into it felt wrong somehow, like looking into something not meant for human eyes.
your stomach twisted weakly.
not from fear. from exhaustion.
because after everything, even death no longer felt particularly frightening.
the guards forced you closer toward the edge while chains rattled harshly around your wrists. and suddenly, painfully, your mind betrayed you one final time.
you remembered rudo laughing softly against your chest as a baby while alto sat beside you half asleep on the couch.
you remembered alto kissing your forehead while whispering promises late at night.
you remembered being happy.
truly happy.
the memory hit so hard your knees nearly gave out beneath you.
tears burned your eyes immediately. because despite everything— despite the abandonment. despite the years alone. despite the grief slowly destroying your life piece by piece— you still missed them, desperately.
your voice cracked softly before you could stop it. “…alto.”
then the guards shoved you forward. for one horrifying second, all you felt was weightlessness. wind screamed violently past your body while darkness swallowed everything around you whole. the world above disappeared rapidly, shrinking farther and farther away until there was nothing left except endless blackness consuming you completely.
you thought you were dying.
honestly, part of you welcomed it.
until suddenly— impact. pain exploded violently through your body as something hard slammed beneath you instead of endless falling. air tore from your lungs while darkness blurred around your vision, your body crumpling painfully against piles of discarded debris and metal.
you coughed violently, disoriented and shaking.
somehow and miraculously alive.
weak groans echoed somewhere nearby through the darkness. strange smells filled the air. slowly, painfully, you forced your eyes open.
and that was when you saw him.
enjin stood several feet away partially hidden among towering piles of trash and scrap, his sharp eyes fixed directly on you with visible surprise written across his face.
because nobody was supposed to survive the fall into the pit.
yet somehow— you had.
enjin continued staring at you for several long seconds after pulling you from the wreckage, his sharp eyes moving slowly across your battered figure like he was still trying to understand how someone like you had possibly survived falling into the pit alive, because people thrown down here were not supposed to wake up afterward, much less sit breathing among the mountains of filth and metal surrounding you both.
and honestly, judging by the way your entire body screamed in pain every time you so much as shifted slightly against the debris beneath you, perhaps you should not have survived either.
the air down here felt unbearable.
thick and poisoned in a way that coated the inside of your throat with every breath, carrying the overwhelming smell of rust, smoke, rotting waste, and something far worse lingering beneath it all that you could not properly identify.
every inhale burned your lungs harshly enough to make your chest tighten painfully, while the endless darkness surrounding the pit made the entire place feel less like a real world and more like some endless graveyard where forgotten things were sent to decay forever.
you coughed again violently, your entire body curling inward from the force of it while sharp pain tore through your ribs hard enough to make tears sting your eyes immediately afterward.
the man in front of you swore quietly under his breath.
then, without another word, he crouched down in front of you and removed the strange mask hanging loosely around his neck.
you flinched instinctively the second he reached toward your face.
your body reacted before your mind could catch up properly, exhaustion and years of fear making every sudden movement feel dangerous automatically now.
he noticed immediately.
his brows pulled together slightly before he exhaled through his nose in visible impatience, though there was still something oddly restrained about him, like he was deliberately stopping himself from sounding harsher than necessary.
“relax,” he muttered while carefully securing the mask over your mouth and nose anyway. “unless you enjoy coughing your lungs out.”
the filtered air hit your lungs almost instantly. cooler, cleaner. not perfect, but enough to stop the horrible burning spreading through your chest every time you breathed.
you inhaled sharply in surprise before another weaker cough escaped you, your trembling fingers instinctively lifting toward the mask while your body sagged slightly from relief you had not expected to feel.
for the first time since waking up down here, it no longer felt like every breath was slowly killing you.
the man watched your reaction silently for a moment before finally speaking again.
“…better?”
you nodded weakly after several seconds, though your throat still hurt too badly for words to come easily.
up close, you could see him more clearly now despite the dim lighting scattered through the pit. dark eyes sharp enough to feel almost unsettling whenever they fixed directly onto you, messy gold hair partially shadowing his face, worn clothes that looked built for surviving this place specifically rather than simply existing inside it.
because you still looked painfully out of place among the endless garbage surrounding both of you, like someone dragged violently from another world and discarded into this one by mistake.
which, in a way, was exactly what happened. the realization made your chest ache again.
“…how are you alive?” he finally asked after another long silence, his voice quieter this time but still carrying obvious suspicion beneath it.
you opened your mouth slightly before stopping.
because honestly?
you did not know.
you still remembered the feeling of falling.
the endless darkness swallowing you whole while wind screamed violently around your body, the certainty settling into your chest that this was finally the end after years of grief slowly hollowing you apart from the inside.
you remembered thinking about rudo during the fall.
about alto.
about the family ripped away from you so completely that even breathing afterward had started feeling meaningless.
and then— everything.
pain, darkness. waking up here somehow alive when nobody was ever supposed to survive the pit.
your fingers tightened weakly against the fabric covering your knees. “…i don’t know,” you whispered finally, your voice sounding rough and strained beneath the mask. “i thought i died.”
something unreadable crossed his expression hearing that answer. not pity exactly. but not indifference either.
you lowered your eyes toward the debris beneath you, exhaustion suddenly crashing heavily over your shoulders all over again now that the adrenaline had started fading from your body.
and without meaning to, the words slipped out quietly before you could stop them.
“…i had a son.”
silence immediately followed.
the confession felt strangely intimate in the middle of this horrible place, especially coming from your mouth after years of barely speaking about rudo aloud without breaking apart completely afterward.
still, once the words started, they would not stop.
“they took him from me,” you continued weakly while staring blankly at the piles of rusted metal nearby. “then everyone started saying i was cursed… that i drove my family away.”
your throat tightened painfully. “eventually they stopped seeing me as a person at all.”
the man stayed quiet while listening, though his eyes narrowed slightly as though he was carefully piecing your story together inside his head.
you laughed weakly then, but the sound came out cracked and bitter instead of genuinely amused. “guess throwing me down here was easier than dealing with me anymore.”
for several long seconds, the only sounds between both of you were distant crashes echoing somewhere deeper inside the pit and the uneven sound of your own breathing beneath the mask.
“…people up there are disgusting,” he muttered flatly.
the sentence startled you slightly. because there was no judgment in his voice. no accusation, just blunt irritation.
your eyes lifted toward him again slowly. “…you believe me?”
he shrugged one shoulder casually, though his gaze remained fixed carefully on you. “i believe people are stupid enough to blame anything they don’t understand.”
something inside your chest twisted painfully hearing that simple statement.
because after years of being treated like some monstrous thing instead of a grieving mother, even the smallest amount of understanding felt almost unbearable.
you looked away quickly before emotion could fully show across your face again. the movement made pain flare sharply through your side, forcing a weak sound from your throat before you could stop it.
instantly, his attention sharpened again.
“you can stand?”
you tried shifting experimentally.
the second pressure hit your leg properly, agony shot violently upward hard enough to make your vision blur black around the edges. your body nearly collapsed sideways immediately afterward. before you could hit the ground again, strong hands caught you firmly.
“easy,” he muttered while steadying your weight against him.
the sudden closeness startled you both slightly.
one of his arms had wrapped securely around your waist to stop you from falling completely, while your own hands instinctively grabbed weakly onto the front of his coat just to stay upright through the dizziness overtaking you.
for one horrible second, your exhausted grief-stricken mind betrayed you again.
the warmth felt familiar enough to remind you painfully of alto. your chest tightened violently. the man noticed the shift in your expression immediately.
“…hey,” he said quieter this time. “you with me?”
you blinked hard several times before forcing yourself back into the present again.
not alto, not your lover, not the man who disappeared into the rain carrying your son years ago, just a stranger helping you survive the pit.
still, your voice came out small afterward. “…sorry.”
he studied your face carefully for another second like he understood there was something deeper behind that reaction, though thankfully he chose not to ask about it.
instead, he adjusted his hold slightly so more of your weight rested safely against him.
“name’s enjin,” he said while slowly starting to guide you forward through the endless mountains of debris surrounding both of you. “and unless you wanna die in your first hour down here, you’re sticking close to me for now.”
you stared at him weakly in surprise.
after everything that happened above, after years of isolation and cruelty and grief twisting your life into something unbearable, the simple fact someone was helping you at all almost felt unreal.
your fingers tightened slightly against his sleeve while exhaustion dragged heavily at your body.
“…thank you,” you whispered honestly.
enjin glanced sideways toward you briefly before looking ahead again into the darkness of the pit, his expression soften beneath the dim lighting.
enjin practically carried you by the time the two of you finally reached the cleaners’ headquarters, because despite how stubbornly you kept trying to walk on your own, your body had long since reached its limit somewhere during the endless journey through the pit.
every step felt unbearable now.
the impact from surviving the fall still throbbed violently through your ribs and legs with every movement, while exhaustion dragged heavily through your entire body in waves strong enough to make your vision blur every few minutes.
even breathing remained difficult despite the mask enjin had given you earlier, because the deeper you traveled through the pit.
the thicker and more polluted the air became, carrying the overwhelming smell of rust, smoke, oil, decaying waste, and something else lingering beneath it all that made your stomach twist unpleasantly whenever you inhaled too deeply.
the pit itself still felt unreal to you.
massive towers of discarded garbage stretched endlessly beneath dim artificial lights overhead, creating an endless landscape of twisted metal, broken machinery, ruined buildings, and mountains of filth so enormous they looked almost like distorted cliffs rising from the darkness.
strange sounds echoed constantly through the distance around you both — heavy crashes from shifting debris, low mechanical groaning somewhere unseen beneath the trash, muffled voices from people moving throughout the pit, and occasionally something far less human that made unease crawl quietly down your spine.
everything about this place felt hostile. alive in the worst possible way. and through all of it, enjin stayed beside you without complaint.
you noticed that more and more the longer the journey continued.
he never once snapped at you for slowing him down despite how obvious your condition had become. every time your legs nearly buckled beneath you, his arm tightened automatically around your waist before you could fully collapse.
whenever your breathing turned uneven beneath the mask again, his eyes flickered sideways toward you immediately in silent observation even if he pretended not to care afterward.
that realization unsettled you slightly.
because after years spent being treated like something cursed, unwanted, and dangerous above the sphere, your body no longer knew how to react properly to kindness without immediately expecting cruelty to follow afterward.
eventually, after what felt like hours walking through endless darkness and debris, enormous reinforced structures slowly emerged ahead through the haze.
the headquarters.
even from a distance, you could tell immediately that this place mattered.
the realization alone nearly made your chest ache. because it had been years since anywhere felt remotely safe to you.
the second several of the cleaners noticed enjin approaching with an injured stranger leaning heavily against him, attention shifted immediately toward both of you.
“oi, enjin, what happened to her?”
“where the hell did you find someone looking like that?”
“wait… is she from outside?”
their voices blurred together slightly through your exhaustion while too many unfamiliar eyes landed on you at once.
instantly, your body tensed.
your shoulders tightened instinctively while your gaze lowered toward the ground without thinking, because years of accusations and public humiliation above had conditioned you into expecting judgment the moment crowds started looking too closely.
enjin noticed immediately.
his expression hardened slightly before he glanced toward the others flatly.
“quit staring at her like idiots,” he muttered sharply while continuing forward without slowing down. “she just got here.”
something about the way he said it made the others quiet down afterward, though you still felt curious stares lingering across your exhausted figure while he guided you deeper inside the headquarters.
the inside felt warmer than expected.
conversations echoed softly from nearby rooms while distant footsteps carried through the building around you.
nothing like the lonely silence that swallowed your apartment after alto disappeared years ago. the thought hit harder than expected. your chest tightened painfully again.
before the grief could fully consume you, enjin pushed open another heavy door leading into what looked like some kind of medical area.
beds lined the room carefully while cabinets filled with supplies stretched along the walls nearby.
the smell of medicine lingered faintly through the air, strangely comforting after everything else you had experienced since falling into the pit.
a woman organizing supplies near one of the tables immediately looked up upon hearing the door open.
eishia froze the second she noticed your condition.
her eyes moved quickly across your battered body before narrowing sharply in concern.
“…what happened to her?”
“fell into the pit,” enjin answered simply.
silence filled the room instantly.
eishia stared at you in disbelief for several seconds before slowly looking back toward enjin.
“…and she survived?”
“apparently.”
before you could fully process anything, eishia was already moving toward you quickly with surprising urgency. “sit down immediately before your body gives out entirely.”
you tried insisting quietly that you were fine.
your legs betrayed you almost immediately afterward.
the second enjin helped lower you carefully onto one of the beds nearby, exhaustion slammed through your body so violently you nearly blacked out from relief alone.
pain throbbed heavily through your ribs, shoulders, and legs now that you were no longer forcing yourself to stay upright, while your muscles trembled weakly beneath lingering shock and fatigue.
eishia carefully removed the mask from your face first before examining your injuries.
despite the clinical nature of her movements, there was gentleness in the way she handled you that nearly caught you off guard completely.
every touch remained careful, mindful of your pain rather than rough or impatient like you had grown used to from others over the years.
“…your body’s severely overworked,” she murmured softly while checking your ribs. “and these bruises alone should have kept you unconscious far longer than this.”
you laughed weakly beneath your breath, though the sound came out exhausted more than amused. “guess my luck finally worked once.”
her eyes flickered toward your face briefly hearing that response, noticing immediately how hollow your expression still looked beneath the exhaustion weighing down your features.
but thankfully, she did not push.
instead, she simply continued treating your injuries quietly while enjin remained nearby leaning silently against the wall with crossed arms.
you noticed that eventually. the fact he stayed.
he easily could have left the moment you arrived safely here.
instead, every time your tired eyes drifted upward through the haze of exhaustion, he was still standing there watching silently from across the room like he was making sure you did not disappear the second he looked away.
the realization warmed something fragile and painful inside your chest.
because after years spent completely alone with grief swallowing your entire life piece by piece, having someone remain nearby without obligation felt strangely overwhelming.
hours passed before another figure finally entered the room.
the energy shifted immediately.
because corvus carried energy effortlessly without needing to raise his voice or posture aggressively at all. the second his sharp gaze settled onto you from across the room, silence spread naturally through the space around him.
“…so,” he said calmly after several seconds studying you carefully, “you’re the one who survived the pit.”
your hands tightened weakly against the blanket draped over your lap.
“…yes.”
his eyes narrowed slightly, though not with suspicion. more like curiosity.
something about that unsettled you far less than the judgment you had grown used to above the sphere.
his gaze shifted briefly toward enjin afterward.
“explain.”
enjin shrugged lightly against the wall. “found her outside half-dead.” his eyes flickered briefly toward you afterward. “she’s from the sphere.”
because hearing it spoken aloud dragged every memory violently back into your chest all over again — alto disappearing into the rain carrying rudo, the years spent alone afterward, the accusations, the execution, the endless grief that slowly destroyed your life piece by piece.
corvus seemed to notice the shift in your expression instantly. his voice softened slightly afterward. “…sit comfortably,” he said quietly. “and start from the beginning.”
and somehow you did.
for the first time in years, someone actually listened instead of judging immediately.
you explained everything slowly while exhaustion weighed heavily through every word leaving your mouth. alto’s disappearance.
rudo being taken away from you. the years of rumors spreading afterward until people stopped seeing you as human entirely. the accusations of witchcraft. the execution. the fall into the pit.
the room stayed completely silent while you spoke. nobody interrupted. nobody mocked you.
by the time you finally finished, your hands trembled weakly in your lap without you realizing it.
“…i know how insane it sounds,” you whispered quietly afterward while staring downward toward the blankets. “but i swear i never hurt anyone.”
silence lingered for several long seconds afterward.
your head lifted slightly in surprise. his expression remained serious, though there was no disgust there.
only understanding.
“…you sound exhausted,” he continued quietly.
something inside your chest nearly broke apart hearing those words.
because after years spent being treated like a monster, hearing someone acknowledge your pain instead of accusing you for it felt almost unbearable.
before emotion could fully overwhelm you, another woman suddenly entered through the doorway nearby adjusting the glasses resting lightly against her face.
semiu immediately looked toward you curiously the second she stepped into the room.
corvus gestured lightly toward her.
“semiu.”
she approached slowly before studying you carefully through the lenses of her vital instrument.
then her brows furrowed slightly. “…that’s strange.”
you blinked weakly. “…what is?”
semiu tapped lightly against her glasses while continuing to stare at you thoughtfully.
“normally i can see a person’s hidden potential, their essence, and their connection to a jinki almost immediately,” she explained carefully. “but yours feels… empty somehow.”
your stomach tightened awkwardly.
because of course it did. you came from the sphere. you had no vital instrument. no connection to anything like the people down here possessed.
after you explained quietly, semiu hummed thoughtfully beneath her breath before glancing toward corvus again.
“well,” she sighed dramatically while pushing her glasses upward slightly, “she obviously can’t jump into cleaner work immediately.”
she looked back toward you before her expression softened slightly. “…but we do desperately need help around headquarters.”
you blinked in confusion. “…help?”
“organization.” her face twisted dramatically afterward. “all the horrible tasks everyone conveniently avoids during missions.”
for the first time since arriving, a tiny almost-amused sound escaped you weakly.
semiu noticed immediately. and smiled slightly in satisfaction afterward.
corvus nodded once.
“you’ll work with semiu for now while recovering and adjusting to life here.”
you stared at him silently for several seconds. because after years spent being treated like something cursed and unwanted after being thrown into the pit to die alone, these people were offering you safety.
your throat tightened painfully before you quickly lowered your gaze to hide the sudden emotion filling your eyes.
“…thank you,” you whispered shakily.
time passed slowly inside the cleaners headquarters, though eventually the days stopped feeling unbearable in the way they once had when you first arrived in the pit half-dead and terrified of everything surrounding you.
at first, surviving there felt impossible.
the headquarters constantly was busy with movement from different teams coming and going at all hours of the day, the sound of boots echoing through metal hallways while reports about trash, missions, damaged equipment, and injured cleaners passed endlessly through.
unlike the lonely stillness that consumed your old apartment after alto disappeared, this place never truly slept. somewhere inside headquarters, people were always working, arguing, laughing, preparing for missions, or returning exhausted and filthy after fighting through the pit.
and occasionally, when reports crossed your desk late at night, you caught fragments about investigations connected to the world above the sphere itself — things even the public down here apparently did not fully know.
you never pushed for answers.. not yet.
honestly, you were still trying to recover from your own life collapsing apart before involving yourself in mysteries far larger than you.
so instead, you focused on healing. and somehow, little by little, it actually began happening.
your work alongside semiu became routine surprisingly quickly once you adjusted properly to life inside headquarters.
while the others fought trash breasts and handled dangerous missions throughout the pit, you managed information, schedules, reports, supply requests, mission reports.
semiu constantly complained dramatically about how much work there was, though secretly you suspected she enjoyed having someone capable beside her for once.
“if i have to reorganize one more disaster report written by cleaners with the handwriting of actual toddlers, i’m throwing myself into the abyss,” she muttered one evening while dramatically collapsing across her desk.
despite yourself, you laughed softly, and that alone still felt strange sometimes. because for years after alto disappeared, laughter felt almost impossible.
everything hurt too much back then.
but here, surrounded by people who treated you normally instead of like something cursed or dangerous, pieces of yourself slowly began returning without you fully realizing it.
you slept easier now; not perfectly.
there were still nights where grief dragged you awake suddenly after dreams about rudo, leaving your chest aching so painfully you needed several minutes just to breathe properly again. there were still moments where seeing little gloves or abandoned toys around the headquarters made memories hit hard enough to leave you quietly shaken afterward.
you still missed your son every single day. that part never changed. and honestly, part of you thought it never would. but grief no longer swallowed your entire existence the way it once had.
it no longer consumed every waking thought. and perhaps the biggest reason for that change was enjin.
he remained consistent in your life from the very beginning. constantly teasing everyone around him while pretending not to care nearly as much as he actually did.
the longer you knew him, the more obvious it became that enjin deliberately hid concern beneath humor because genuine vulnerability simply was not something he showed easily.
instead of openly comforting people, he lingered nearby quietly whenever someone struggled. instead of asking emotional questions directly, he noticed little things himself and responded through actions rather than words.
and somehow, those small actions became incredibly important to you.
he started stopping by reception constantly after missions even when he had no actual reason to be there. sometimes he dropped food beside your paperwork after realizing you skipped meals while working.
sometimes he leaned lazily against your desk complaining about other cleaners until you rolled your eyes at him. other times, especially after difficult missions, he simply sat nearby in silence while you worked late into the night, his presence steady and grounding without demanding conversation.
with anyone else, silence used to feel unbearably lonely.
the realization unsettled you at first. because for so long, your entire heart belonged to memories of alto. even after he disappeared, even after the grief destroyed your life piece by piece.
part of you still clung desperately to the idea that loving him meant never moving forward afterward.
but healing complicated things.
because the more time passed, the more you realized your feelings toward alto had changed into something quieter.
you still loved him somewhere deep inside yourself.
he was the father of your child. the man you once built your future around. that kind of love did not simply vanish completely. but it no longer owned every part of you anymore either.
though, something weird happened this one day.
the headquarters had already settled into the quieter exhaustion that usually followed long missions by the time enjin finally returned that evening.
the sound of heavy rain pounding relentlessly against the metal roof outside almost drowning out the usual conversations echoing through the halls while tired cleaners wandered throughout headquarters carrying damaged jinki’s, the lingering exhaustion of another day spent fighting trash beasts somewhere deep within the pit.
you sat beside semiu at reception sorting through stacks of mission reports beneath the dim overhead lighting.
your attention only half focused on the paperwork itself while semiu dramatically complained beside you for what had to be the fifth time in the last hour alone about the state of the documents scattered across the desk.
“i genuinely think half the cleaners here lose all literacy the second they return from missions,” semiu muttered with visible offense while waving one stained report through the air like evidence during a trial. “look at this. this isn’t handwriting anymore, this is emotional damage.”
despite yourself, a soft laugh escaped you while reorganizing the pages more neatly into separate piles.
“i can still read most of it.”
“that’s because you’ve developed survival instincts.”
you shook your head slightly, still smiling faintly beneath your exhaustion, though before either of you could continue the conversation the large reception doors suddenly slammed open hard enough to rattle sharply against the surrounding walls, immediately drawing attention from nearly everyone nearby.
your eyes lifted automatically toward the entrance.
and instantly— something inside your chest twisted so violently it nearly hurt.
enjin stood near the doorway soaked completely from rain, strands of damp hair sticking messily against his forehead while irritation rested naturally across his expression like always, one hand shoved casually into his pocket while the other lazily held the door open behind him.
that part alone would not have unsettled you.
what did was the boy standing beside him.
filthy enough it looked like he had crawled through half the pit just to survive reaching headquarters alive.
mud streaked heavily across torn clothing while bruises darkened nearly every visible inch of his skin, and despite how exhausted he clearly looked, his posture remained tense and defensive in a way that immediately made him seem more like a cornered animal prepared to fight rather than a child finally somewhere safe.
but it was not his injuries that truly stole the air from your lungs.
it was his arms.
bandaged carefully beneath familiar gloves.
your breath caught so sharply it physically hurt. because you knew those gloves.
god, you knew them.
your fingers tightened unconsciously around the paperwork in your hands while your entire body suddenly went cold beneath the realization crashing violently through your chest.
the gloves looked worn now, older than the ones you remembered years ago, but the design remained unmistakably familiar — the same gloves meant to ease unbearable pain caused by mutilation spreading across fragile young arms.
the exact same condition your son once carried. the exact same curse that destroyed alto slowly over time.
for one horrifying second, the room around you disappeared completely beneath the roaring sound of your own heartbeat.
the boy stood stiffly beside enjin while silver hair, damp from rainwater, partially shadowed his face beneath the harsh lighting overhead, though even exhausted and filthy there was still something achingly recognizable about him that made your chest tighten harder with every second you stared.
his eyes.
the shape of his face.
even the irritated expression twisting across his features looked devastatingly familiar somehow.
your stomach turned violently. because it can’t possibly be him. years had passed since alto disappeared carrying rudo away from you into the rain.
fucking years.
your son should have been older now, taller, different entirely from the baby whose tiny fingers once wrapped around your own while sleeping safely against your chest late at night.
and yet— the more you looked at the boy standing there beside enjin, the harder it became to breathe properly.
semiu noticed your silence first. “…hey?”
you barely heard her. your entire focus remained fixed helplessly on the boy while memories crashed violently through your mind one after another without mercy.
baby rudo crying softly in the middle of the night while alto held him awkwardly against his shoulder trying to calm him down.
tiny silver strands of hair against blankets. small hands gripping your fingers. alto staring silently at rudo’s mutilated little arms with devastation written across his face while pretending he was not terrified.
the night he disappeared forever carrying your son away from you.
your chest physically ached beneath the weight of it all. then suddenly— the boy looked toward reception properly for the first time.
and your entire body froze. because for one devastating heartbeat— he looked exactly like alto. not perfectly, not completely, but enough that grief nearly ripped straight through your chest all over again.
the shape of his eyes resembled alto so painfully it made your stomach twist, while even the frustration written across his face mirrored the same expression alto always wore whenever irritated but trying not to show vulnerability beneath it.
your hands started trembling visibly now beneath the desk.
semiu immediately noticed.
“…what’s wrong?”
you could not answer. could barely breathe. because the realization growing louder and louder inside your mind felt impossible.
hopeful in the cruelest way imaginable. the boy eventually noticed your staring too. his brows furrowed instantly while distrust sharpened across his face. “…what?”
his voice shattered something inside you immediately. he sounds more older now, with a rougher tone.
but underneath it— there was still something painfully familiar buried there too.
you opened your mouth slightly, desperate to speak, desperate to ask something, anything— but no words came out.
for several horrible seconds, you could only stare at him while your heart pounded violently enough to hurt.
enjin’s eyes flickered between both of you almost immediately after noticing the sudden shift in atmosphere. “…you okay?” he asked slowly, confusion beginning to replace the casual irritation usually resting in his expression.
you blinked suddenly like waking from a trance, though your breathing still felt uneven beneath the pressure crushing your chest.
your voice barely worked when you finally forced words out.
“…his gloves.”
the boy instantly stiffened. one arm shifted subtly backward like instinctively hiding them while suspicion darkened his face immediately.
“what about them?”
the movement nearly destroyed you.
because rudo used to do the exact same thing as a child whenever strangers looked too closely at his hands or arms.
your vision blurred faintly with sudden tears. “…where did you get them?” you whispered shakily, unable to stop the desperation creeping into your voice now.
the boy frowned harder. “an old man gave them to me.”
your heart nearly stopped. an old man.. no one else but alto who gave it to regto. now, the name slammed into your chest without even needing spoken aloud.
suddenly the room felt too small, and too loud.
your hands shook harder now while memories of alto standing silently beside regto years ago flashed violently through your mind, both of them speaking in low voices while discussing the gloves and pain management for rudo’s mutilation before everything in your life collapsed apart forever afterward.
enjin’s expression shifted immediately after noticing your reaction properly now. his eyes narrowed slightly between you and the boy standing beside him.
but that didn’t matter.
because the boy still stared at you with growing confusion written across his face, silver eyes sharp and defensive beneath the exhaustion dragging heavily at his body.
and the longer you looked at him, the more impossible it became to ignore the truth screaming inside your chest.
after all these years— your son was standing right in front of you.
the silence hanging throughout reception after your question felt so unbearably heavy that it almost seemed to press physically against your chest.
your entire body frozen behind the desk while realization crashed violently through your mind over and over again in waves so overwhelming that for several terrifying seconds you genuinely forgot how to breathe properly.
and enjin noticed immediately.
his eyes moved slowly between you and rudo while understanding gradually sharpened behind his expression piece by piece, the casual irritation he normally carried fading almost entirely now beneath something much more serious.
he saw the way you looked at the him.
like seeing both a miracle and a nightmare at the same time. he saw the tears building rapidly in your eyes.
the panic overtaking your breathing. the devastation written openly across your face. then his gaze flickered once toward rudo’s gloves. and suddenly— everything clicked.
“…oh,” enjin muttered quietly beneath his breath. the sound nearly broke whatever fragile control you still had left.
because now someone else understood too.
your trembling fingers rose shakily toward your mouth while your eyes remained helplessly fixed on rudo standing across the room, years of grief and longing and hopeless wondering crashing together so violently inside your chest that you genuinely thought your heart might stop beneath the weight of it all.
your son… your baby.. is alive.
you did not even realize tears had started falling until one slipped heavily down your cheek.
rudo noticed immediately. his expression shifted uncomfortably. mostly confused, uneasy.
“…why’s she crying?” the question shattered you completely.
a broken sound escaped your throat suddenly before you could stop it, your entire body curling slightly inward beneath the force of the sob forcing its way out of your chest after years spent trying unsuccessfully to survive without him.
you had found him. after everything, you had finally found him. before the situation could spiral further, enjin moved immediately.
“semiu,” he said calmly without taking his eyes off you, his voice quieter now but carrying unmistakable seriousness beneath it, “take care of the kid for a minute.”
“wait, what?” rudo snapped immediately, still confused and defensive all at once. “what the hell’s going on?”
but enjin ignored the questions entirely.
instead, he stepped closer toward you slowly before crouching slightly beside your chair, his attention softening immediately the second he properly saw how violently you were shaking now.
“hey,” he said quietly.
you flinched slightly at first, overwhelmed beyond reason, though the moment his voice fully registered something inside your chest loosened just enough for air to finally reach your lungs again.
tears blurred your vision so heavily now you could barely see clearly anymore. “c’mon,” enjin murmured gently. “not here.”
you shook your head weakly almost immediately while pressing trembling fingers harder against your mouth like you were physically trying to hold yourself together.
“…i can’t,” you whispered brokenly through uneven breaths. “i can’t—”
“i know.” though, his voice remained steady. the exact same calm tone he always used whenever your grief surfaced too sharply and words stopped working properly afterward.
he never forced comfort onto you. never overwhelmed you with questions. instead, enjin simply stayed beside you through it. he was patient, steady, present. and somehow, that always hurt your heart in the gentlest possible way.
without another word, he carefully took the paperwork still loosely clutched in your shaking hands and set it aside before holding one hand out toward you.
“stand up for me.”
your legs barely obeyed.
the second you tried rising from the chair, dizziness slammed violently through your body hard enough your knees nearly buckled underneath you immediately afterward.
before you could collapse, enjin caught you instantly.
one arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other steadied your trembling hands against his chest, his grip firm enough to support your weight completely without hurting you.
“easy,” he muttered softly. the warmth of him grounded you just enough to keep breathing.
behind him, you could still feel rudo staring in visible confusion while semiu quietly stepped between the reception desk and the boy, clearly trying to redirect his attention away from the scene unfolding.
you could not look back at him again. not right now. because every second spent staring at your son while he looked at you like a stranger threatened to rip your heart completely apart.
and enjin seemed to understand that immediately too. because instead of forcing explanations or making you remain there longer than you could handle, he simply adjusted his hold around you slightly before guiding you carefully away from reception and down the quieter hallways of headquarters.
your breathing stayed uneven the entire walk back.
tears continued slipping silently down your face while your thoughts spiraled endlessly around the same unbearable realization over and over again.
rudo was alive. all that matters is that he is alive. god, after all these years— he survived. but he did not know you.
he looked confused by your tears instead of recognizing you. the thought hurt so badly it made your chest physically ache beneath every breath.
eventually, enjin guided you carefully into your dorm room before quietly shutting the door behind both of you, cutting off the distant noise of headquarters almost completely until only soft rain and your shaky breathing filled the silence instead.
you barely made it several steps inside before your legs finally gave out beneath the crushing weight of everything overwhelming your chest.
a sob broke violently from your throat while your hands covered your face instinctively, your entire body folding inward around years of grief suddenly reopened all at once.
“that’s my son,” you cried brokenly through shaking breaths. “enjin, that’s my son—”
your shoulders trembled violently now while tears streamed uncontrollably through your fingers. “i thought he was dead,” you whispered desperately. “i thought i’d never see him again—”
before you could fully collapse onto the floor, enjin immediately caught you again. this time, he did not simply steady your balance.
he pulled you completely against him.
his arms wrapped firmly around you while your hands instinctively clutched tightly against the front of his shirt like holding onto him was the only thing keeping your shattered heart together right now.
he simply held you there while years of grief finally poured out of you all over again.
you buried your face against his chest while tears soaked helplessly through the fabric beneath your hands, years of grief reopening all over again now that the impossible truth sat directly in front of you.
every memory came rushing back without mercy — rudo’s tiny baby cries late at night, the feeling of his little fingers wrapping around yours, alto standing silently beside his crib while exhaustion and terror slowly destroyed him from the inside out.
and then the worst memory of all. alto taking him away. the apartment door shutting. your screaming. the empty silence afterward.
“i thought i lost him forever,” you whispered shakily between sobs, your breathing uneven enough it almost hurt. “i thought… god, i thought he died somewhere and i never even got to hold him again…”
enjin’s hand moved slowly against your back while you cried, his touch calm and grounding rather than overwhelming, like he understood instinctively that words would never fix something this devastating.
he simply stayed with you through it.
his palms moved carefully along your waist and lower back in slow circles meant only to soothe the violent shaking wracking through your body while he kept you held securely against him the entire time, never once looking impatient or uncomfortable despite how broken apart you must have looked right now.
“breathe for me,” he murmured quietly after your breathing became dangerously uneven again. “c’mon. slow.”
you tried. god, you tried.
but every time you closed your eyes all you could see was rudo standing in reception looking at you like a stranger while having no idea his mother was falling apart right in front of him.
fresh tears spilled down your face immediately.
enjin sighed softly beneath his breath before carefully guiding you backward toward the bed. “you’re gonna make yourself sick at this rate,” he muttered gently.
normally, his teasing would have earned at least a weak glare from you. right now, you barely even processed the words.
he sat down first before pulling you down beside him carefully, one arm still wrapped securely around your waist while the other brushed slowly through your hair to calm you whenever another shaky breath threatened to turn into sobbing again.
and eventually, without really thinking about it— you curled instinctively against him.
your face buried against his chest while his warmth surrounded you completely, grounding you enough that the violent panic inside your chest slowly started loosening little by little beneath the steady rhythm of his breathing and the quiet movement of his hands roaming soothingly along your waist and back.
the room stayed dark except for faint light filtering through the window from headquarters outside.
rain continued tapping softly against the glass.
and enjin remained there holding you through every ugly, broken piece of your grief without once asking you to stop crying.
“he looked so much like alto,” you whispered weakly after a long stretch of silence, your voice raw from crying now.
enjin’s hand paused briefly against your waist before continuing again slower this time.
“…yeah,” he answered quietly. your fingers tightened slightly against his shirt. “for a second i thought i was seeing a ghost.”
the confession made something ache faintly inside enjin’s chest. because honestly, the look on your face back at reception would probably stay with him for a very long time.
that mixture of hope and devastation nearly destroyed him to witness. he lowered his chin slightly against the top of your head.
“you don’t gotta figure everything out tonight,” he murmured.
but you barely heard him anymore.
exhaustion had finally started dragging heavily through your body after crying so hard for so long, your thoughts becoming slower while the warmth of enjin’s arms and the steady movement of his hands gradually lulled your breathing into something calmer.
you felt safer. and eventually, the trembling wracking through your body eased almost completely.
your grip on his shirt loosened.
and somewhere beneath the sound of rain and his heartbeat beneath your cheek, sleep finally pulled you under for the first time in hours.
enjin stayed awake longer. much longer. one arm remained wrapped around your waist while the other continued absentmindedly brushing through your hair even after your breathing fully evened out against his chest, his eyes fixed quietly toward the ceiling while thoughts turned heavily inside his mind.
the kid he found half-dead fighting a trash beast.
he exhaled slowly through his nose. “…damn,” he muttered quietly to himself. because somehow, against all odds— he accidentally brought your child back to you.
eventually exhaustion caught him too. his hand slowed against your waist, his breathing deepened.
and sometime later in the night, enjin finally fell asleep beside you while still holding you securely against him. the second you realized his breathing had fully evened out, your eyes slowly opened again in the darkness.
sleep never lasted long once your mind started spiraling again.
especially not tonight.
for several quiet moments, you simply laid there against enjin’s chest while emotion twisted painfully through your ribs all over again beneath the unbearable realization still echoing endlessly through your mind.
carefully, you lifted your head slightly to look at enjin sleeping beside you. even asleep, his arm still rested protectively around your waist like he unconsciously refused to let you go completely.
the sight made your chest ache softly.
gently, you slipped out from underneath his hold as carefully as possible so you would not wake him, your movements slow while exhaustion still dragged heavily through your body from crying earlier.
enjin stirred faintly but did not wake.
once certain he remained asleep, you quietly pulled a jacket around yourself before slipping out into the dim hallway beyond your dorm.
the headquarters had mostly settled into silence now.
distant machinery hummed softly throughout the building while dim lights illuminated the empty corridors ahead of you.
your heartbeat pounded harder with every step.
by the time you finally reached the kitchen area near the lower hallways, the dim overhead lights casting long shadows across the metal floors while distant rain continued tapping steadily against the outside structures of headquarters, softer now compared to earlier but still loud enough to fill the emptiness surrounding you as your heartbeat pounded violently harder with every shaky step forward.
you genuinely had no idea what you were supposed to say to him.
for years, during countless sleepless nights spent grieving a son you believed gone forever, you imagined dozens of different reunions inside your head. desperate fantasies where rudo somehow recognized you immediately despite the years apart, where he ran into your arms and remembered your voice and remembered being loved before everything in your life shattered apart.
but reality was crueler. because the boy standing at reception earlier looked at you with confusion instead of recognition.
and honestly, how could he not?
he had been so little when alto took him away from you. far too young to remember his mother properly. the thought made grief tighten sharply around your ribs all over again.
quietly, you stepped closer toward the kitchen entrance before stopping completely the second you finally spotted him sitting alone near the counter beneath the dim kitchen lights.
rudo sat casually on top of one of the counters while munching absentmindedly on stolen candy from an open bag beside him, one leg hanging lazily over the edge while the other remained bent underneath him.
though despite how relaxed he tried appearing, tension still lingered visibly throughout his posture in ways that immediately betrayed how overwhelmed he truly was beneath the surface.
for several long moments, you simply stood there silently staring at him.
seeing him somewhere calm instead of bruised and covered in rain somehow made everything hurt even worse.
he looked older now obviously, taller and sharper compared to the tiny baby you still carried so clearly inside your memories, but so many little things remained painfully familiar that your chest physically ached looking at him too long.
the silver hair.
the stubborn irritation constantly lingering across his expression.
even the way he absentmindedly adjusted the gloves around his arms between bites looked horribly familiar in a way that almost made tears rise again immediately.
your throat tightened painfully.
before you could stop yourself, a shaky breath escaped you quietly.
rudo’s head snapped toward the doorway immediately. his silver eyes narrowed slightly the second he recognized you standing there. “…oh,” he muttered around the candy still in his mouth before awkwardly looking away again. “it’s you.”
the words hurt more than they should have.
“it’s you.” not “mom”.
not anything warm or familiar.
just a stranger standing awkwardly in the doorway after crying while staring at him earlier.
you swallowed hard before forcing yourself to step slowly inside the kitchen. “…sorry,” you whispered softly, your voice still rough from crying earlier. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”
rudo shrugged one shoulder stiffly though suspicion still lingered visibly across his face while he watched you carefully from the corner of his eye.
“you didn’t.” but the lie was obvious.
silence settled awkwardly between both of you afterward while rain tapped softly against distant windows somewhere throughout headquarters.
your hands trembled slightly at your sides. how were you supposed to do this?
rudo suddenly broke the silence first. “…so,” he muttered while tossing another piece of candy into his mouth, “you gonna explain why you looked like you were about to pass out staring at me earlier?”
your chest tightened immediately. straight to the point. that felt painfully like alto too.
you lowered your eyes briefly toward the floor while desperately trying to steady your breathing enough to speak without breaking apart again.
another heavy silence followed. he watched you carefully now, more guarded than before.
“…do i know you or something?” the question physically hurt. you looked back up toward him slowly. “…you used to.”
his brows furrowed harder immediately. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
your fingers curled slightly against your palms while emotion pressed heavily against your ribs again. you needed to stay calm. if you cried again too hard, you would only scare him more.
slowly, carefully, you stepped closer toward the counter though still kept enough distance not to overwhelm him completely.
“…rudo,” you whispered softly, voice trembling despite your best efforts, “do you remember anything before regto?”
he visibly stiffened at the name. “…not really.”
frustration crossed his face immediately afterward. “just random stuff sometimes. nothing useful.”
your heart ached painfully. of course he did not remember much. he had been far too young.
“…what about your father?” you asked gently afterward. rudo’s eyes narrowed instantly. “…what about him?”
there it was, that immediate defensiveness. the same protectiveness you used to see constantly from alto whenever anyone mentioned the surebrec bloodline too closely.
you swallowed hard. “did he ever tell you about your mother?”
rudo went completely still. then slowly, suspicion sharpened visibly across his expression. “…how do you know about my dad?”
your chest tightened harder. because even now— even after everything— he still protected alto carefully.
“…because i knew him,” you answered quietly.
rudo stared at you for several long seconds before scoffing slightly. “what, were you friends or something?” the question almost made a broken laugh escape your throat.
your hands trembled harder now. slowly, carefully, you reached inside your jacket pocket.
rudo immediately tensed. “hey,” he muttered sharply. “what’re you doing?”
“nothing dangerous,” you whispered quickly. “i just… need to show you something.” hesitantly, you pulled out the old worn photograph you had carried with you for years.
the edges had softened with age and handling, slightly bent from how often you held it during nights where grief became unbearable, though the image itself remained clear enough despite time.
your fingers shook violently while staring down at it briefly.
then slowly— you held it out toward him. rudo looked wary immediately. “…what is that?”
“…proof.”
his expression twisted skeptically though after a second he still reached forward cautiously and took the photograph from your hand.
the second his eyes lowered toward it— he froze. completely. silence swallowed the kitchen whole.
because staring back from the old photograph was a younger alto sitting beside you while holding a tiny baby wrapped carefully in blankets against his chest.
the three of you together.
you watched shock slowly overtake every other emotion across his face while his fingers tightened unconsciously around the edges of the photograph.
“…what the hell…” his voice came out barely above a whisper now.
your eyes burned painfully again. “that was taken a few months before your father left with you.”
rudo looked back up toward you immediately, silver eyes wide now beneath visible disbelief.
“…no.” the denial came instantly. but you understood why. because how could someone possibly accept something this impossible immediately?
“rudo—”
“no,” he repeated harder while suddenly standing upright from the counter now, the photograph still clenched tightly in his hand. “that’s not funny.”
“i’m not joking.”
“then how the hell do you have this?!”
your voice broke slightly despite trying desperately to stay calm. “…because i’m your mother.”
the words shattered through the silence between both of you.
rudo stared at you like the entire world beneath his feet had suddenly cracked apart without warning, his red eyes locked onto your face so intensely now that for several painful seconds it genuinely seemed like he had forgotten how to breathe properly altogether.
“…what?” he whispered weakly.
your chest physically hurt now beneath the weight of everything you felt. “i’m your mother,” you repeated softly, tears beginning to gather helplessly in your eyes again. “alto took you away years ago because he thought it would protect you from the surebrec curse, and afterward… afterward i never saw either of you again.”
rudo immediately looked back down toward the photograph almost desperately like he was searching for proof that this had to be fake somehow.
but there was none, the picture was real. painfully real.
his eyes flickered between your face and alto’s over and over again while visible panic slowly started building underneath his confusion.
“…no,” he muttered again, though this time it sounded less certain. “that doesn’t make sense.”
“i know.”
“regto never said anything about this.”
your throat tightened. “he probably thought he was protecting you.”
rudo’s breathing had started becoming uneven now. “you’re lying.” the words came sharp and defensive immediately afterward like he needed them to be true.
your eyes burned harder. “…i wish i was.”
rudo suddenly dragged one hand harshly through his silver hair while pacing backward several steps across the kitchen, the photograph still clenched tightly inside his grip.
“no, because this is insane,” he snapped while panic and frustration started bleeding visibly into his voice now. “i fall into the pit, almost get eaten by trash beasts, then suddenly some random woman starts crying looking at me and now you’re saying you’re my mom?!”
the sound of his voice cracking slightly near the end nearly destroyed you. because underneath all the anger, he sounded scared, confused, overwhelmed.
you fought desperately to keep yourself composed despite tears threatening to spill down your face again.
“…rudo,” you whispered softly, “look at me.”
he refused immediately. “no.”
“please.” his jaw tightened hard.
slowly, hesitantly, he finally looked back toward you again. seeing your own eyes reflected back at you inside your son’s face after all these years nearly shattered your heart beyond repair.
you stepped closer carefully.
“when you were a baby,” you whispered shakily, “you used to cry whenever your arms hurt too badly at night, and alto would panic every single time because he thought he was holding you wrong.”
rudo froze completely. fresh tears blurred your vision.
“he used to walk around the apartment for hours carrying you against his chest because it was the only way you’d fall asleep sometimes.”
rudo’s breathing visibly hitched.
his grip tightened harder around the photograph. “…stop.”
but your voice kept breaking anyway. “your favorite blanket was dark red because alto picked it himself even though he pretended he didn’t care what color it was.”
rudo stared at you now with something dangerously fragile cracking visibly across his expression.
because those were not random lies someone could invent. those were memories, like actual real ones.
his voice came out smaller afterward.
“…how do you know all that?” a tear finally slipped heavily down your cheek. “…because i raised you,” you whispered brokenly. “because i’m your mother.”
the words seemed to linger motionless throughout the kitchen long after they left your mouth.
swallowed by the quiet hum of headquarters during the middle of the night while rudo stood several feet away from you completely frozen in place with the old photograph still clenched tightly between his gloved fingers.
his red eyes locked helplessly onto the image like looking away from it might somehow force this entire impossible conversation to disappear before it could settle into reality.
you could practically see the confusion tearing through him in real time.
because only minutes ago, you were simply some strange woman who cried while staring at him at reception for reasons he did not understand.
yet now suddenly you stood in front of him claiming to be his mother while holding fragments of a life he never even knew existed, memories and truths that had apparently been hidden from him his entire life without explanation.
his breathing had become visibly uneven now, the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders growing sharper beneath his hoodie while disbelief and panic and uncertainty twisted violently across his expression all at once.
though underneath all of that confusion there remained something far more fragile beginning to surface little by little the longer he stared at the photograph in his hands.
slowly, almost reluctantly, rudo finally lifted his eyes away from the picture and back toward your face again.
“…you’re serious,” he whispered eventually, though even now the words sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than genuinely asking a question.
your chest tightened painfully hearing how small his voice sounded now compared to the defensive irritation he carried earlier.
“yes,” you answered softly, your throat still raw from crying.
the second the confirmation left your mouth, rudo immediately looked away again afterward like eye contact itself had suddenly become too overwhelming to maintain.
one gloved hand dragging harshly through his silver hair while he tried desperately to steady his breathing enough to process everything happening around him.
“…no,” he muttered weakly beneath his breath after several long seconds of silence, though the denial lacked conviction now, sounding far more exhausted than angry. “no, because this doesn’t make any sense.”
you wanted to hold him so badly it physically hurt.
every instinct inside you screamed to cross the distance between both of you immediately and pull your son into your arms after years spent mourning him like a ghost.
but you forced yourself to remain still because rudo already looked overwhelmed enough to run from the room completely if you pushed too hard now.
silence stretched heavily between both of you afterward while rain tapped softly against distant windows somewhere throughout headquarters, the sound filling the spaces where neither of you seemed capable of speaking properly anymore.
eventually, rudo looked back down toward the photograph again, his brows furrowing harder this time while his gaze lingered not on the baby version of himself wrapped carefully in blankets, nor even on the younger version of alto seated beside you—
but on you.
“…you really knew him,” he muttered quietly after a while.
the way he said it made your throat tighten painfully.
because to rudo, alto had probably become less of a real person over time and more like fragments of unfinished memories mixed together with unanswered questions and abandonment and grief, while to you—
alto had once been everything. you swallowed hard before answering.
“…i loved him,” you admitted softly.
rudo visibly stiffened at the confession.
his fingers tightened unconsciously around the edges of the photo while his red eyes flickered briefly back toward alto’s face again like he was trying to reconcile the image in front of him with the version of his father he barely remembered himself.
“…he never talked much,” rudo admitted after another long silence, his voice quieter now compared to before. “about anything, really.”
your chest ached hearing that because honestly, it sounded exactly like alto.
burying everything painful deep inside himself until silence became easier than vulnerability.
rudo suddenly looked back toward you again afterward, uncertainty written all over his face now despite how hard he clearly tried hiding it beneath irritation and suspicion.
“…so all this time…” he started slowly before hesitating mid-sentence, like even speaking the thought aloud felt dangerous somehow. “you were alive?”
the question shattered something quietly inside your chest.
because there was no accusation in his voice. only confusion, and hurt.
you nodded weakly.
“after i was thrown into the pit, i survived,” you whispered carefully while fighting to keep your composure steady enough not to break apart again. “eventually the cleaners found me and gave me a place here.”
rudo stared at you silently for several seconds afterward.
then slowly his expression shifted as pieces finally started connecting together inside his mind.
“…wait,” he muttered faintly.
his brows furrowed harder while realization crossed visibly over his face. “that’s why enjin acted weird earlier.”
you blinked faintly before nodding. “…he figured it out.”
rudo let out a quiet disbelieving laugh beneath his breath while rubbing tiredly at his forehead like his head physically hurt trying to process all this information at once.
despite the situation, a weak smile almost tugged at your mouth hearing the familiar irritation in his voice.
the silence afterward no longer felt quite as sharp as before, though tension still lingered heavily between both of you while rudo continued staring down toward the photograph in his hands like it might suddenly answer every question spiraling violently through his mind.
eventually, his voice came quieter than before.
“…why didn’t you try finding me?”
the question hit you like a knife directly through the chest. your breath caught immediately. because deeply you had, for years.
you took one shaky breath before forcing yourself to answer.
“i did,” you whispered weakly. “i searched for as long as i could.”
rudo looked back up toward you immediately.
tears burned painfully behind your eyes again. “but nobody knew where alto went after leaving with you,” you admitted softly while your fingers curled tightly against your palms to stop them shaking.
“and after everything that happened… after the execution… surviving the pit itself became all i could do for a while.” your voice weakened further despite your efforts.
“there were years where i genuinely thought both of you were dead.”
rudo’s expression shifted slightly hearing that. you continued quietly before your voice could fail completely.
“i stopped sleeping properly for a long time because every time i closed my eyes, all i could think about was whether you were cold somewhere… or hurt… or scared and alone.”
your breathing wavered dangerously. “i never stopped thinking about you, rudo.”
silence swallowed the kitchen afterward.
rudo looked away first this time, his jaw tightening visibly while he stared back down toward the photo again though now his grip around it had loosened slightly compared to before.
“…i don’t remember you,” he admitted quietly after several long moments.
the words hurt so badly you physically felt it inside your chest. but you forced yourself not to break apart again because none of this was his fault.
you nodded slowly. “…i know.”
rudo’s brows furrowed slightly harder afterward.
“…but.”
the hesitation caught your attention immediately.
slowly, he looked back toward you again. “…your voice kinda feels familiar.”
your heart nearly stopped.
the confession sounded uncertain, almost frustrated, like he did not understand the feeling himself, though it still shattered straight through every wall around your heart immediately.
fresh tears instantly blurred your vision again while emotion rose violently into your throat so fast you almost could not breathe around it.
rudo noticed immediately.
“…don’t cry again,” he muttered awkwardly while visibly looking anywhere except directly at you now. “seriously, i don’t know how to deal with that.”
despite everything a weak laugh escaped you through your tears. and the sound made rudo freeze slightly.
because for one brief second, something about it tugged sharply at a memory buried deep somewhere inside him. soft hands brushing through his hair. someone laughing quietly while holding him close.
the feeling disappeared almost immediately afterward before he could fully grasp it, though confusion still lingered visibly across his face afterward.
“…weird,” he muttered quietly beneath his breath.
you wiped shakily at your eyes before finally risking one careful step closer toward him.
this time he did not move away. your chest tightened painfully noticing the difference.
“…you don’t have to believe everything immediately,” you whispered softly. “i know this is overwhelming.”
rudo huffed quietly while glancing back down toward the picture again. “…yeah,” he muttered tiredly. “that’s one way to put it.”
another silence followed afterward, though softer this time.
eventually, rudo looked back toward you again while uncertainty lingered visibly across his expression.
“…so what happens now?”
for several long, breathless seconds after rudo asked what happened now, neither of you moved at all, because the question itself was so simple.
and yet the answer to it felt impossibly large, too large for the kitchen, too large for the middle of the night, too large for the years of grief and distance and silence that had already grown between you before either of you even knew how to live inside the same world again.
you could see the uncertainty in his face.
he was trying to act annoyed still, trying to keep that guarded look in place like it could shield him from everything suddenly crashing down around him.
but the longer he stood there with the photo in his hands and your voice still lingering in the air between you, the more obvious it became that he was starting to touch at the edges, not from weakness, but from the sheer force of trying to understand something that should have been impossible.
slowly, carefully, you took one more step toward him, and when he did not move away this time, your chest tightened so painfully it almost became difficult to breathe.
“nothing has to happen right now,” you said quietly, your voice soft enough that it would not feel like pressure, soft enough that it would not make him bolt, soft enough that it would not turn this moment into something bigger than he could handle.
“i am not going to drag you anywhere, and i am not going to force you to call me anything before you are ready, because i know this is a lot, and i know i came into your life like a stranger with a story that sounds completely impossible, but i needed you to know the truth before i lost the nerve to say it out loud.”
rudo stared at you in silence, his brows drawn together, his grip on the photo tightening and loosening in uncertain little shifts as though he could not decide whether to hold on to it for proof or throw it away because the truth hurt too much to keep in his hands.
“…so you really are my mom,” he muttered after a moment, still sounding like he wanted to reject the sentence even while saying it.
your throat tightened hard.
“yes,” you whispered.
he looked away again almost immediately, jaw flexing as he dragged one hand through his hair with obvious frustration, and when he spoke again, the words came out quieter, more hesitant than before. “and that guy… alto… he was my dad.”
the name hit you like a bruise pressed too hard.
for a second, you could not answer, because saying alto out loud after so many years still felt like opening a door you had spent a long time trying not to touch, but then you gave a small, trembling nod.
“yes,” you said. “he was.”
rudo’s expression changed again, not into anger this time, but into something more complicated, something that looked almost like hurt wrapped around confusion so tightly it was hard to separate the two.
“then where is he?” he asked, and for the first time since you had walked into the kitchen, his voice cracked just slightly at the edge of the question.
enough to tell you that beneath all the suspicion he was still carrying some hope, still waiting for the answer to become less painful if he simply heard the right words.
your own chest felt like it was folding inward.
you had spent so many years preparing for this question in your head, rehearsing it in silence during long nights when the grief felt unbearable, but none of those versions ever sounded any easier than the truth.
“…i don’t know,” you admitted softly.
rudo blinked.
his entire posture changed instantly, his shoulders going rigid all over again like he had been struck.
“what?”
you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep going before the fear in his eyes could become something worse.
rudo stared at you as if he was waiting for the rest of the sentence, as if surely there had to be more, some missing piece.
some secret ending where alto came back and explained everything and fixed the damage and made the years apart make sense, but there was nothing more to give him, only the truth sitting there between you like a wound neither of you had the tools to close.
his fingers slowly relaxed around the photo, and for a moment he simply looked down at it again, studying the younger version of himself in the image.
studying alto beside you, studying your face as it had been then, before everything broke apart.
“…i really did have a family,” he said finally, and the way he said it, so quietly and so raw, made your heart clench violently.
your eyes burned again. “yes,” you whispered. “you did.”
rudo didn’t answer right away after that, and the silence that followed was different from the earlier silence, less defensive now, more stunned, more tired, more like someone standing in the wreckage of something they had never known they were supposed to miss until it was already gone.
eventually, he shoved the photo carefully into his pocket, not with rejection, but with a strange kind of caution, like he was afraid of losing it now that he had it, like maybe keeping it near him was the only way he could prove this was real and not some hallucination born from stress and too many unanswered questions.
then he looked back at you. really looked this time. not like a stranger, not like an weird person, not even like a son who believed you yet.
just like someone trying desperately to decide whether to keep standing where he was or run before his chest split open from the strain of it all.
“…why didn’t regto tell me?” he asked, and the hurt in his voice was more upsetting than any anger could have been.
you lowered your eyes briefly because that question had no easy answer either.
“maybe because he thought it was safer that way,” you said quietly.
“maybe because he believed you would be better off not knowing where you came from, or maybe because he was trying to protect you from pain he thought you were too young to carry, but i do not know for certain, and i would never pretend otherwise.”
rudo looked frustrated now in that restless, pacing kind of way he seemed to carry in his bones, but there was no real heat behind it, just confusion trying to find something solid to land on.
“that is weird,” he muttered.
a small, broken sound almost escaped you at that, half laugh and half sob, because even now, even after everything, that blunt little sentence felt so painfully like a child trying to make sense of adults doing the worst possible version of protecting him.
“yeah,” you whispered. “it is.”
the two of you stood there for a while without speaking again, with the rain still tapping faintly outside and the kitchen lights buzzing softly overhead.
until rudo finally let his shoulders drop a little, like he had stopped fighting the entire truth long enough to actually feel the weight of it.
then, in a voice so much quieter that you almost missed it, he asked, “did you really look for me?”
that one nearly undid you completely.
because he was not asking whether you loved him now.
he was asking whether you had loved him enough then to keep searching.
and the answer was the simplest, most painful thing in the world.
“every day,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to betray you. “every day i could stand it, and on the days i could not stand it, i still thought about you anyway.”
his eyes shifted away first. not because he was rejecting you.
because he was trying not to let you see how close the truth had gotten to him. and you understood that more than he probably realized.
for a long second, neither of you moved, and then rudo exhaled through his nose in a way that sounded tired beyond his years, rubbed the back of his neck once, and looked at the floor rather than your face.
“i don’t know what to do with this,” he admitted.
your chest softened painfully. that was honest enough to be heartbreaking.
you gave the smallest nod.
“you don’t have to know tonight.”
he glanced at you again, and this time there was something almost vulnerable in the look he gave you, something young and uncertain and just a little lost.
“then what am i supposed to do?”
your voice stay gentle when you answered.
“you can keep that picture,” you said softly. “and you can ask me anything you want later, and you can hate me for not being there if you need to, and you can walk away if this is too much right now, but if you are willing, i would like to stay long enough to answer what i can.”
rudo stared at you for another long moment, and then, to your complete shock, he gave a tiny, frustrated huff that sounded almost like he was trying not to feel too much all at once.
“you really talk like a parent,” he muttered.
your heart stuttered so hard it nearly hurt. and because you were so overwhelmed, you smiled through your tears before you could stop yourself. “apparently i still remember how.”
he looked at you then, properly and fully, and while he didn’t smile back, the tension in his face loosened just enough to make your knees feel weak.
the weeks following that night in the kitchen passed slowly at first, awkward and uncertain in ways that neither you nor rudo fully knew how to navigate properly.
because no matter how desperately both of you wanted things to feel natural immediately, reality was far more fragile than that.
there were still moments where rudo looked at you like he was trying to connect the woman standing in front of him now with the blurry feeling of warmth buried somewhere deep inside old childhood memories he could barely remember clearly anymore.
and there were still moments where you caught yourself staring at him too long in disbelief because after years spent grieving him like someone permanently lost to the world, your heart still had not fully accepted that your son was alive and walking around headquarters every single day.
but slowly, little by little, things began changing, it happened in small moments first.
rudo lingering near you longer than necessary whenever you worked beside semiu even though he pretended he was only there because he was bored.
him absentmindedly stealing snacks from the kitchen and dropping them beside your work without acknowledging it afterward.
the way he eventually stopped flinching whenever you touched his hair gently while passing by him in the hallways.
they were like small thing, tiny things, but to you, they meant everything.
because every single one felt like proof that your son was slowly letting you back into his life after years spent believing you were gone forever.
rudo adjusted much faster emotionally than he probably realized himself.
because despite all his complaining and awkwardness and constant attempts to act annoyed anytime emotions became too obvious, he gravitated toward you instinctively now in ways that made your chest ache with overwhelming affection almost daily.
he sat beside you during meals more often than not.
he started knocking on your dorm door late at night whenever nightmares kept him awake even though he always acted embarrassed afterward.
sometimes he would just sit quietly beside you while you worked without saying much at all, like your presence itself calmed something restless inside him he did not fully understand yet.
and every single time it happened— you loved him more. you loved him so much it physically hurt sometimes.
which unfortunately led directly into one very specific problem.
due to enjin.
because rudo noticed the change between you and enjin almost immediately once he finally stopped spiraling over the shock of your relationship to him.
and he hated it. not because he disliked enjin exactly. he actually respected him quite a bit whether he admitted it or not.
but because enjin flirted with you constantly.
like very openly, shamelessly.
and now that rudo understood you were his mother, suddenly every teasing comment or lingering touch from enjin felt deeply offensive for reasons he could not explain without sounding ridiculous.
which only made him more irritated.
“can you stop leaning on her like that?” rudo snapped one afternoon while glaring across the lounge area where enjin sat lazily beside you on the couch, one arm stretched comfortably along the back behind your shoulders while you reviewed cleaner reports.
you sighed tiredly while trying unsuccessfully not to laugh beside them. “boys.”
“don’t lump me together with him,” both of them said simultaneously before immediately glaring at each other afterward.
it only got worse over time. because once rudo realized enjin genuinely cared about you, his protectiveness escalated into something almost ridiculous.
he interrupted flirting constantly. showed up out of nowhere whenever enjin tried spending time alone with you.
once, he physically shoved himself between both of you during a conversation because enjin casually rested his chin against your shoulder while talking.
“seriously?” rudo complained immediately while dragging you several feet away afterward. “in public too? disgusting.”
you blinked at him in disbelief. “rudo, he only leaned on me.”
“exactly.”
behind him, enjin looked moments away from laughing himself unconscious. “kid,” he muttered dryly, “you know she’s an adult, right?”
rudo immediately pointed accusingly toward him. “and you need to stay away from her.”
“or what?”
“or i’ll bite you.”
you nearly choked trying not to laugh.
the worst part was that rudo genuinely did not realize how obvious he was.
because underneath all the irritation and complaining and protective glaring anytime enjin touched your waist or called you pretty, he was scared, not consciously maybe.
but enough that it still lingered quietly beneath everything else.
after losing both parents so young, after years spent abandoned and confused and alone, some small terrified part of him still feared losing you too now that he finally had you back again.
you noticed it most during quieter moments.
the way rudo instinctively searched for you first whenever returning from missions.
the way his shoulders visibly relaxed anytime he heard your voice nearby, the way he unconsciously hovered close to you after nightmares even though he pretended otherwise.
and you understood, because after years spent mourning him sometimes you still caught yourself checking whether he was really there too.
one night, after another long argument where rudo accused enjin of “looking too comfortable” laying across your lap while you brushed absentmindedly through his hair.
rudo eventually stormed dramatically out toward the hallway muttering insults beneath his breath while enjin laughed loudly behind him.
you sighed helplessly. “you’re making it worse on purpose.” enjin looked entirely unashamed. “it’s funny.”
“he’s sensitive.”
“he’s possessive.”
you gave him a look. enjin only grinned lazily before catching your wrist gently and pulling you closer toward him against the couch.
“besides,” he murmured quieter now while looking toward the hallway rudo disappeared down earlier, “kid’s scared you’ll disappear if he looks away too long.”
the observation made your chest ache softly.
because it was true.
rudo had spent so much of his life losing people. first alto, then regto, then the world he thought he understood.
now suddenly he had you back again after years believing you were gone forever too. of course he held onto you tightly. you looked down quietly toward your hands afterward.
“…sometimes i’m scared too.”
enjin’s expression softened immediately. his thumb brushed gently against your wrist. “yeah,” he murmured softly. “but you got him back.”
your eyes burned faintly. because despite everything, despite the years stolen from both of you, you did.
later that night, after enjin finally left your dorm while teasing loudly about “letting your son calm down before he starts throwing furniture,”
you eventually found rudo sitting alone outside headquarters near the upper balcony area, staring quietly out toward the endless darkness of the pit below.
you approached slowly before sitting beside him. for several minutes neither of you spoke. then suddenly, “…he likes you a lot,” rudo muttered grumpily without looking at you.
you smiled faintly. “…yeah.”
rudo looked annoyed immediately. “don’t sound happy about it.” your laughter slipped out softly before you could stop it.
rudo groaned dramatically beside you. “see? this is exactly what i mean.”
carefully, gently, you reached over and brushed some silver hair away from his face the same way you used to when he was tiny.
rudo froze slightly beneath the touch.
“…rudo,” you whispered softly, “nobody could ever replace you.” his expression shifted immediately. all the irritation faded just enough for something softer to appear underneath instead.
you continued quietly while your chest tightened painfully with love.
“you’ll always be my baby.”
rudo immediately looked horrified. “don’t call me that.”
you laughed quietly. “you literally are.”
“i’m gonna leave.”
“you say that every time.”
he grumbled beneath his breath afterward though this time he leaned slightly against your shoulder anyway despite pretending not to. and for a long while, both of you simply sat there together quietly while rain drifted softly somewhere far above the pit.
eventually, rudo spoke again. “…do you think he’s still alive?”
you knew immediately who he meant.. his father alto.
your chest ached softly. because in reality you did not know. maybe somewhere deep down, a part of you would always hope alto survived somehow despite everything.
because grief never truly disappeared. it only changed shape over time.
you looked quietly toward the darkness stretching endlessly below. “…i don’t know,” you admitted softly.
rudo was silent beside you afterward. then slowly, almost carefully he rested his head lightly against your shoulder.
and despite everything that happened, despite the years lost, despite the pain, despite the fact alto disappeared into the world carrying unbearable guilt and fear inside his chest a part of him still remained here.
alive in the silver hair brushing against your shoulder, alive in the boy sitting beside you now.
alive in the son both of you loved enough to destroy yourselves trying to protect.
SUMMARY: you were only a partner to his company but you've grown quite fond of bruce wayne's children and stuck around in their lives, but what if they weren't the only ones also fond of you? and what if bruce wants you to be in their family permanently?
MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
You were never meant to be more than a corporate ally, a strategic partner whose wealth and influence aligned neatly with Wayne Enterprises.
Meetings were frequent at first: boardrooms, private lunches, late-night negotiations. Bruce respected you for your intelligence and discipline, but nothing about you stood out to him beyond usefulness.
Rich partners were predictable to him; distant, transactional, self-serving. He thought you were the same.
That assumption cracked the first time you stayed after a meeting to ask about a charity initiative Wayne Enterprises sponsored.
Then again when you remembered a detail he mentioned weeks prior. Bruce noticed everything, and he noticed that you noticed back. It unsettled him more than he expected.
Your presence at Wayne Manor began as a necessity. Some meetings required privacy, others confidentiality. Alfred was polite but reserved at first, watching you the way he watched everyone who stepped too close to the family.
Bruce expected you to treat the manor like a museum—admire it, use it, then leave it. Instead, you treated it like a home.
You didn’t pry. You didn’t gape. You thanked Alfred sincerely. You asked where you could set your coat. You waited patiently when Bruce was called away. Those small, human gestures lodged themselves deep in Bruce’s mind because they didn’t fit his mental profile of you.
You first meet Dick when the grief is still fresh, when he barely speaks and keeps his shoulders tight like he’s bracing for another loss.
He watches you with wary eyes from behind Bruce, clearly expecting you to disappear like everyone else has. You don’t push him to talk, don’t ask invasive questions, and that alone makes him tolerate your presence more than most adults.
Dick goes through long stretches where he doesn’t speak at all, answering only with nods or shrugs. You learn to communicate quietly with him by offering food without comment, sitting nearby without crowding him, leaving small gifts without expecting a reaction.
Bruce notices how you instinctively understand when to stay and when to give space to Dick when he sometimes struggles to understand him, and it unsettles Bruce how naturally you fit.
When Dick lashes out, he snapped at you, knocked things over and even refused to eat, but you didn't scold him or take it personally.
Instead, you calmly clean up the mess and assured him that he’s allowed to get angry, and tell him you’re not going anywhere.
Bruce hears every word, memorizing them, comparing them to the harsher voices Dick heard before.
You attend Dick’s school events without being asked, sitting quietly in the audience and clapping just a little louder for him than everyone else.
Dick notices. He pretends not to, but he always looks for you afterward.
Bruce notices that too, and thought of how you were such a great mother figure to him.
At Wayne Manor, you treat Dick’s space like it’s sacred. You knock before entering, ask before touching his things, and never force affection. You did the same with Bruce the more you came over.
However, you also did your best to take care of Bruce whenever he overworks himself.
You develop a habit of monitoring Bruce’s sleep without ever calling it that. If he works too late, you appear beside him with a blanket or a firm reminder that exhaustion helps no one.
You don’t ask; you tell him it’s time to rest, and surprisingly, he listens. Bruce Wayne, who ignores doctors and world leaders alike, obeys you without argument.
You’re relentless about meals. If Bruce skips dinner or claims he’s “not hungry,” you get visibly annoyed. Not dramatic, just disappointed enough to sting.
You insist you hate when people don’t finish their food, which is true, but the way your eyes linger on him makes it clear this rule applies to him especially. He finishes every plate, even when he isn’t hungry, because it matters to you.
You sit with him while he eats, casually talking, pretending it’s not supervision. If he slows down, you remind him that he needs strength for work, for Dick, for himself.
Bruce registers the concern beneath your irritation and accepts it like penance. Being cared for this openly feels unfamiliar and rather addictive.
You make sure he drinks water. Not delicately, but directly. You slide the glass toward him, raise an eyebrow, and wait. Bruce drinks it without comment, because the alternative is your quiet disapproval, which unsettles him more than any reprimand ever could.
You scold him for overworking in the same tone you use when Dick forgets to eat or sleep. Bruce never points out the comparison.
Instead, he internalizes it. If Dick needs care, and Bruce is Dick’s guardian, then someone must care for Bruce. You’ve simply assumed that role.
You fuss over his injuries more than he expects. You don’t panic or hover, but you insist on cleaning wounds properly, changing bandages, making him rest longer than he wants to.
When he tries to brush it off, you get genuinely angry. Not loud, just firm. “You don’t get to be reckless,” you tell him. “Not when people rely on you.”
You establish routines without discussing them. Meals at similar times. Quiet evenings. Lights dimmed earlier. Bruce doesn’t resist. In fact, he rearranges his life around them, finding comfort in the structure you impose so naturally.
You check on him the same way you check on Dick—asking if he’s eaten, slept, rested—without realizing how deeply that places you inside Bruce’s personal world. To him, that’s not caretaking. That’s intimacy. That’s belonging.
Bruce begins associating your presence with survival. He eats because you insist. He sleeps because you won’t let him spiral. He slows down because you demand it.
In his mind, you aren’t restricting him. You’re keeping him functional.
Over time, Bruce stops pretending he doesn’t need this. He looks for your approval after meals. He rests more easily when you’re nearby. And when you’re gone for too long, he feels the imbalance immediately because the person who keeps him human has stepped away.
You never say you’re doing this out of love. You frame it as common sense, stubborn habits, personal pet peeves. Bruce knows better. And that knowledge settles in him like certainty: someone who takes responsibility for his survival doesn’t get to leave.
And when Dick finally leans into your side one evening while watching TV, Bruce freezes across the room, watching the moment like it’s evidence of something dangerous forming.
Bruce noticed how Dick starts seeking you out when he’s overwhelmed, hovering near you during dinners, sitting beside you during meetings he shouldn’t technically be part of since he was still quite young.
He doesn’t say much, but he relaxes around you, and Bruce realizes you’ve become one of Dick’s anchors. That realization shifts something dark and permanent inside him since he felt the same as Dick when it comes to you.
Bruce had assumed someone like you—wealthy, influential, untouchable—would be detached and self-interested, just like the rest around him.
However, watching you kneel to Dick’s eye level, listening seriously to a child who barely speaks, destroys that assumption completely. Instead of relief, Bruce feels a little threatened by how irreplaceable you’re becoming.
Dick has bad nights. Nightmares. Panic attacks. Sometimes he wakes up furious, throwing things, yelling that everyone leaves.
When you stay beside Dick, your presence remained calm, steady, reassuring to him. Bruce stands just outside the doorway and thought of how Dick trusts you in moments even he can’t always reach.
Bruce starts inviting you to the manor more often under the guise of convenience: meetings, dinners, discussions about Dick’s education. In reality, he’s testing how deeply you’re embedded already. Each time you say yes without hesitation, his attachment tightens.
Bruce becomes quietly territorial. When other adults show interest in Dick—teachers, counselors, well-meaning donors—Bruce subtly redirects access back to you.
He frames it as what’s best for Dick since he tend to be busy himself, but beneath that is the growing fear that anyone else might dilute your influence.
Dick begins calling for you first sometimes— before Alfred, before Bruce. It’s unintentional, innocent. Bruce never corrects him. Instead, he internalizes it, filing it away as proof that you belong here, that you’re already family whether you acknowledge it or not.
Bruce’s yandere behavior grows slowly and invisibly. He monitors your schedule, arranges meetings so they overlap with Dick’s important moments, ensures you’re always nearby during emotionally vulnerable times.
He doesn’t see it as manipulation, but as stability.
When you show concern for Dick’s emotional health, Bruce listens intently, asking questions late into the night. He starts trusting your judgment more than therapists’, more than advisors’.
You become a moral compass for Dick and Bruce doesn’t realize how dangerous that level of trust becomes until it’s already absolute.
Bruce begins imagining permanence. Not just business partnerships or casual involvement, but you at breakfast, you at holidays, you staying permanently with them.
The thought settles in his mind like a certainty rather than a wish. For Dick’s sake, he tells himself. Always for Dick.
The idea of you leaving—ending the partnership, moving away, fading from their lives—becomes unacceptable. Bruce doesn’t threaten you directly, doesn’t trap you physically.
Instead, he builds invisible walls: obligations, emotional ties, reliance. By the time you notice, leaving would hurt Dick… and Bruce knows you’d never forgive yourself for that.
To Bruce, love becomes indistinguishable from possession. You didn’t just help his son survive grief, you became essential to it. And once Bruce Wayne decides someone is essential to his family, he doesn’t let go. Not ever.
The first time Dick calls you family, it happens all of a sudden. You’re helping him with something small. Maybe tying his shoes, maybe sitting beside him during a movie, when he says it casually yet cautiously, almost experimentally, as if he was afraid of being rejected, “You’re family, right?”
The question is soft, uncertain, like he’s also afraid the word might scare you off. When you answer yes without hesitation, Dick’s shoulders finally relax in a way Bruce has never seen before.
Bruce hears it from across the room. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t react outwardly at all. But something inside him locks into place.
Dick doesn’t use that word lightly. Bruce understands, knowing that to Dick, family means safety and permanence. From that moment on, Bruce no longer sees you as someone temporary to their lives, you are inside the circle now.
Dick starts introducing you that way afterward. To teachers. To staff. Sometimes even to strangers. “That’s my parent.” Bruce never corrects him.
He subtly reinforces it instead, placing a hand on your shoulder, standing closer to you in public, allowing the assumption to settle and spread. The world slowly reshapes itself around the idea of you belonging there.
Trouble starts when Bruce notices changes in your schedule. Missed dinners. Late arrivals. Meetings that don’t involve Wayne Enterprises. He doesn’t confront you at first.
Bruce investigates instead. Background checks, calendar overlaps, patterns. When he finds the name of a potential romantic interest, someone harmless and unaware of the family, Bruce feels something dangerously close to panic.
To Bruce, it doesn’t matter that nothing has actually happened. Intent alone feels like a threat. Not to him, but to Dick.
He imagines Dick losing you the same way he lost his parents, imagines the regression, the sleepless nights, the quiet devastation. That fear sharpens into determination.
He handles it cleanly. The potential love interest is offered opportunities elsewhere. Career advancements. Relocations.
Incentives they don’t even realize came from Bruce Wayne. Nothing illegal. Nothing traceable. Just enough pressure and redirection that they drift away naturally, convinced it was their own choice.
Bruce never mentions it to you. Instead, he becomes warmer. More present. He invites you to stay longer, to attend dinners that feel less like obligations and more like traditions. He thanks you for Dick, for your patience, for your kindness, in a way that feels deeply personal.
Dick notices the shift before you do. He clings more openly now, holds your hand without hesitation, curls up beside you during storms or bad nights.
Once, half-asleep, he mumbles that he hopes you never leave. You reassure him gently. Bruce hears that too and makes sure it becomes true.
Bruce begins charming you deliberately, not with grand gestures but with consistency. He listens. He remembers small preferences.
He aligns his schedule with yours so seamlessly it feels coincidental. He becomes the person you unwind with, the one who understands your exhaustion without an explanation.
When the idea of moving in is introduced, it’s framed as practical. Your frequent visits. Dick’s comfort. Security. Convenience. Bruce never pressures outright. He lets the idea sit, grow familiar, feel inevitable. Alfred supports it subtly. Dick supports it enthusiastically.
The first night you stay without plans to leave, Bruce notices how easily you fit in with them. Your things placed neatly, your presence blending into the manor’s rhythm. It feels disturbingly right. Too right.
Bruce watches you interact with Dick that evening and knows this is what he’s been building toward all along.
Once you move in fully, Bruce relaxes in ways you don’t immediately notice. His vigilance sharpens outward instead of inward. You’re safe now. You’re home. Anyone who threatens that—emotionally or otherwise—is simply removed from the equation.
To Bruce, this isn’t an obsession. It’s preservation. You made his son feel whole again. You stayed. You chose them. And Bruce Wayne never lets go of what his family needs, especially when it’s already decided that you belong to him.
imagine alastor knew and was romantically interested in vox’s mother when he was alive cause the time lines kinda check out I think Vox would have been born around the time alastor died or maybe like a year or two after I just think it would be funny if Vox found that out and then alastor found out the woman he liked had a kid that became this asshole tv man
HAI HELLO WAVES CAN I REQUEST SOMETHING WHERE THE READERS ABADDON’S IMMORTAL MOTHER FIGURE PLEZ🥹🥹🥹 IT CAN BE LITERALLY ANYTHING HEADCANOMS ONESHOT A LITTLE BLURB IT DOESNT MATTER IM DESPRATE AS SHIT🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹
𐕣 Abbadon x the vessel's mother reader 𐕣
You are a mother without her child.
This is a fact that has been drilled into you for nearly 300 years.
Three hundred years of wandering, of dying and not staying dead, of lifting frail, sick boys into your arms and holding strangers as they slipped away to a peace you do not deserve.
Three hundred years of trying to keep other people alive because you failed the one that mattered.
Three hundred years of the colonies growing into something new and observant, changing without you barely noticing until it begun to tie trouble to your identity.
So you take up the first job that doesn't ask you too many questions. A cleaner at a strange hotel with stranger rules. The pay is shit, even by your standards, but it's fine, you don't need the money anyway. You need somewhere quiet to practice hiding the fact that you do not breathe unless you remember to.
The Undervale Hotel smells like old varnish and older mold.
You do not mind this.
After three centuries, you have cleaned up far worse, blood in church basements during the war, soot in burned-out homes, children’s beds where fever clung to the air. Dust and mildew hold no power over you anymore, not when you'd realized you could simply stop breathing to avoid the smell. Your heart refused to stop beating.
You sweep along the edge of the foyer, the bristles whispering across the carpet.
It is peaceful. Quiet.
Almost enough to make you forget how the world keeps pulling forward without you, while you remain strangely, stubbornly alive.
You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and think about the children you’d loved to death, some literally. You reminisce about how you always had to vanish before a village grew suspicious of why the strange hospice woman never changed, never sickened, never aged.
You think, as you often do, of your son.
Your little boy with soft, wheezing breaths and warm, feverish hands.
Your little boy who disappeared the same night your heart broke and refused to stop beating.
You searched for his and your husband's bodies for days, weeks, months, until you finally gave up hope of ever finding them.
You believed, because you had to, that they’d been buried, burned, or carried away by waters kinder than your god had been.
A thud breaks you out of your thoughts. A clatter followed by a hissed curse, not possible for mortal throats.
You snap your head up.
A boy stands precariously on a lobby chair, arms stretched high, as he tries to grab hold of a “STOP TOUCHING THE FIREPLACE” sign on a hook just out of his reach.
He mutters to himself about mortals with greedy little hands and taping limbs together.
Your hands go slack on the broom handle.
He turns.
And you freeze.
Because this face is your son’s, the face you wiped fevers from, the face you kissed goodnight every dusk despite the risk of catching ill yourself, but the eyes are wrong. Ancient. A predator’s hunger curled inside a child’s skull.
When he sees you, he stops moving.
He fully ceases every muscle, mid-blink, mid-breath, mid-whatever he was doing (which seems to be stealing from the front desk).
The world stops.
It really is your son’s face. Your boy’s cheeks, your boy’s nose, your boy’s hair just as unruly as when fever plastered it to his forehead. But the eyes, those eyes are older than your own.
They take you in all at once, bottom to top, like a predator assessing a new creature.
You call out, without meaning to.
The boy no, the thing inside him goes truly still.
Still like death.
Slowly, the chair creaks beneath his feet.
He climbs down, never breaking eye contact.
He approaches with a gait too controlled for a nine-year-old.
Then he stops, an arm’s length away, and looks up at you.
“Mother?”
Your knees nearly give out.
It is not your boy’s voice, it echoes, dripping with centuries. But you know the words are his.
Suddenly he is in front of you, launching? Pouncing? Flinging himself through the room without regard for gravity. His small hands clutch your clothes, nails dimpling your skin, as if testing whether you will vanish.
“You,” he rasps, furious and terrified all at once, “you are dead.”
It is a question. A plea. A wound.
Your breath stutters, a habit more than a need, and your fingers tremble as you reach out, hovering. Afraid to touch.
His face crumples at your hesitance, snot mixing with tears.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, voice cracking under the weight of centuries. “You should have died.”
“I did,” you whisper.
You cup his cheeks, because despite the memory of too-warm skin, he is cold, and your boy is shaking.
“I’m here,” you whisper.
Abaddon trembles. Then he snarls because how dare this vessel’s matriarch appear after 300 years (billions, if he counts the resets, but he refuses to think about that) and immediately know how to calm them. It is terrifying.
“You came back,” he says softly, the tone almost accusingly.
His breath stutters, mirroring yours. He holds you like either of you might disappear again.
You place one shaking hand on the back of his head.
He shudders at the gentleness, claws gripping your clothes.
“Do not,” he chokes, voice muffled. Sentence unfinished. You understand anyway.
“I won’t,” you promise, voice breaking. “I won’t, my darling boy.”
His grip tightens.
Whether this is a ghost, a trick, or something clawed from the deepest pit of Hell, you will not leave again, because this is yours.
Your curse.
Your grief.
Your miracle.
Your boy.
