Chapter Text
The mansion looked like a war zone, if the war in question was being fought entirely with foam darts and water balloons.
Brandon stepped over a fallen squad of plastic soldiers and a half-deflated water gun shaped like a dolphin, balancing a bowl of cut strawberries and grapes in one hand. "Adi. Baby. Food first, then chaos."
"Five more minutes!" Adi shouted, already sprinting past him in nothing but socks and a superhero cape, clutching a foam blaster nearly bigger than he was. Nikolai was crouched behind the couch, equally armed, looking far too serious for a man engaged in combat against a four-year-old.
"Target spotted," Nikolai muttered, peeking over the cushions. "Hold position, soldier."
"I'm not holding position, I'm WINNING," Adi yelled, and unloaded a spray of foam balls directly into his father's chest.
Nikolai went down dramatically, sprawled across the rug like he'd been shot through the heart instead of pelted with sponge ammunition. "You got me, soldier. Tell your papa I loved him."
"I'M RIGHT HERE," Brandon called from the kitchen doorway, unimpressed, fruit bowl still in hand.
That's when the front door opened and Jeremy walked in first, Landon right behind him and Jeremy just stopped.
Because there was Nikolai Sokolov. Former Punisher of the Heathens. The man who once broke a guy's jaw for looking at Brandon wrong. Lying flat on his back on a Persian rug, "dead," while a giggling toddler stood over him in a cape, reloading a foam blaster like he was prepping for round two.
"...Niko?" Jeremy said slowly.
Nikolai cracked one eye open. "I'm dead. Don't talk to me."
"He's not dead," Adi informed Jeremy seriously, "he's just bad at this game."
Landon, arriving a second later, looked at the scene, looked at his twin standing in the kitchen doorway holding a bowl of grapes like a disappointed soccer dad, and looked back at Nikolai on the floor.
"Bran," Landon said, very flatly, "is this the same man who put three guys in the hospital in one night during our underground ring days?"
"Yep," Brandon said, popping a grape into his own mouth, completely unbothered.
"The same Niko who used to beat people?"
"That's him."
Landon just stared. "He's on the floor. Pretending to be shot. By a foam ball."
"That's my husband," Brandon said proudly, like he was introducing royalty. "Adi, baby, eat your fruit before you start round two of the war."
"Okay!" Adi abandoned his blaster mid-victory lap, trotted over, grabbed a strawberry straight off the top of the bowl with his bare hand, and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, already chewing as he turned right back around to grab two more foam guns off the floor.
Nikolai, still flat on his back, finally sat up, hair messed up, completely serene. "He likes the watermelon ones better."
"I do," Adi confirmed through a mouthful of strawberry, then thrust a foam blaster toward Jeremy and one toward Landon like he was knighting them. "You two are on my team now. Uncle Jer you're the medic. Uncle Lanny you're backup."
Jeremy looked down at the toy gun in his hand, then at Nikolai getting back up off the floor with the same calm he probably once had walking into a fight, and just laughed. A real, disbelieving laugh.
"Man," he said, taking his position next to the couch like he'd done this a hundred times. "I have so many questions about how we got here."
"None of them matter right now," Nikolai said, already reloading. "We're at war."
Landon sighed, but he was smiling, taking up position beside his brother. "For the record, I never thought I'd see this man playing pretend with toy guns in a mansion full of throw pillows."
"Love does that to people," Brandon called from the kitchen, setting the now empty fruit bowl in the sink. Adi had, somehow, eaten every single piece without anyone noticing.
"Papa, come fight too!" Adi yelled, already dragging Brandon by the hand toward the "battlefield" before he could even protest.
"I'm unarmed!" Brandon said, laughing as he was tugged across the living room.
"Take mine," Jeremy offered immediately, tossing his blaster over. "I'm switching to strategy advisor."
"Coward," Landon muttered, ducking behind the couch as Nikolai opened fire again.
"INCOMING!" Adi screamed, blaster raised, cape flapping, and the war resumed, four grown men and one extremely victorious four-year-old, foam balls flying across a living room that had definitely seen calmer days.
By the time it was over, there were foam balls in the chandelier, one missing throw pillow, and Adi passed out on Nikolai's chest mid-sentence, still clutching his blaster like a trophy.
"He's gonna sleep good tonight," Brandon murmured, brushing Adi's hair back.
"We all are," Landon said, sprawled across the couch like he'd survived an actual battle.