Work Text:
Jean Descole remembered the day when the penny dropped. The exact date, no, but the memory itself remained crystal clear.
Descole did not like children, as a rule. They were loud and filthy, and made sudden movements he did not like. He did not have the patience for them. This is why when Desmond Sycamore decided after many months of mulling over to voice that he wanted a child of his own, he was met with complete and utter indignation.
Due to the way their condition functioned, he had heard these thoughts long before they were communicated formally. He flatly ignored them, in hopes that it was just a passing fancy that he would soon discard. They shared a lot of the same interests and dreams, certainly Desmond would see reason eventually.
This was not the case.
“You what?” Descole responded in a grouchy, vehement tone after a several long moments of silence, his face contorting into a scowl.
This response was not unexpected, which is why Desmond was unshaken. He was moved by very little of what Descole did these days, though.
“I said, I want a baby.”
“Why the hell do you want a baby?”
“I just do, this is what I’ve decided I want the next stage in my life to be. This is not a decision I’ve made lightly. When I weighed the concepts of a life with and without a child, I felt one with would make me happiest. It’s what our wife wants too. I think you’ve known that for a while now.” He said peaceably.
Desmond could feel his rage and incredulity, but he knew that no matter what, he would not say no. Instead, he stood up in a violent flourish of inky, cloudy vapour and retreated to the recesses of their shared space in his mind, slamming the door behind him to make a point.
The spaces beyond the doors to their tea room, Desmond could not reach. Long ago, he had free reign of the whole sprawling house that he and Descole had made together, before they bought a house very much like it in the real world. He looked back on it fondly- He had gone by a different name then, one he had had to forcibly assign to him as the shadowy man refused to choose one for himself for years.
The reasoning was that since it was his life, with Descole only coming out occasionally, he should be the one to have the majority of the space to himself now. He agreed this was reasonable, and left him to it.
Desmond also stood and disconnected from the mental abode, allowing his friend to throw one of his famous tantrums in privacy. Again, none of this was unexpected, but it was a necessary chat.
A few days later, when he was working, came the words “I will not help you look after it.”
Desmond sighed audibly and put down his pen.
“I don’t expect you to. You can have as little involvement as you like- Though you know Aggie would like it if you helped too.”
Agnes, their shared wife, who Descole had actually fallen for first. She understood their condition well and treated the two of them as individuals, both of which she loved dearly for different reasons. She was one of the rare few who knew about ‘them’ at all.
There was another sullen silence, which Desmond gently broke. “I told you because I respect you. We could have gone and done it without communicating with you properly, but that’s not fair to you. You won’t change my mind, but I just wanted you to know and be prepared for it.”
He could feel Descole slump over with a resigned sigh. “Yes... Alright. Thank you. You have my blessing.”
The time leading up to the pre-disclosed baby was nice, as there was no baby yet to ruin the sanctity of their home. Descole found that it involved a lot of doting on their wife, which he enjoyed thoroughly. He was good at that.
The shopping for tiny clothes and nursery decorations did not hold his interest at all, and made him want to vomit. Desmond shooed him away good naturedly during these activities.
The birth was, of course, a miracle that almost swayed him. Almost.
Then ‘the child,’ as he so eloquently called her, starting making too much noise and producing abhorrent smells. Descole quickly began making himself scarce, peeking out at the world warily from his hideaway.
Until one day, when everything changed.
A few months had passed, and the efforts of looking after an infant were starting to wear on both parents, even with the help of Raymond, who inadvertently seemed to only inflame situations involving their daughter. Not that she was particularly badly behaved. She simply did not seem to like him and dramatically preferred the attention of her parents, which was made surprisingly obvious despite still being small and nonverbal.
Today, Descole awoke in the place of Desmond, who had passed out on the couch of the main sitting room. This wasn’t a regular occurrence, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and likely wouldn’t be the last.
The child was crying. Descole rubbed “his" eyes and felt around for the father. He quickly discovered that he was still fast asleep. He prodded him slightly, which caused him to turn away and snore a bit. Due to his role, he could not bring himself to bother him further, and left him to it. Now, what to do?
The child’s wails became more insistent. That made him nervous. Fortunately, the sound of footsteps could be heard moving toward the source of the noise. Ah, crisis averted! Descole sighed in relief, laid back, and waited for the noise to stop.
It didn’t stop.
“Desmond...”
Agnes' weary voice rang through the house. There was no avoiding it any longer. He sighed, checked to make sure Desmond's glasses were in a safe place for when he would need them again, and went to her.
He crept down the hall in an apprehensive, unnatural way, though one might argue there was an unnatural way he went about most things. He stopped at the doorway, as if an invisible barrier prevented him from proceeding.
A dark haired woman bounced a shrieking bundle on her hip, shushing it gently to no avail.
The woman sighed in resignation and turned to him. “I think she wants you, dear.”
Agnes Sycamore’s rounded glasses sagged low under her tired, unfocused gaze. Lithe hands proffered the bundle to him. Descole took a step back involuntarily, before he forced himself forwards to take the child from his distressed wife.
Agnes' expression changed at the sudden lurch. She pushed her glasses back into place and looked him in the eyes, scrutinising every bit of his face. The sleep seeming to dissipate from her instantly.
“Oh, it’s you!”
It was not an accusation, merely a statement of surprise.
She rushed to take the baby back, but he put his hand up to indicate that there was no need, despite the fact that every part of him was begging her to do so. What sort of protector would he be if he couldn’t perform this task?
“I... Yes. It’s me. Hello, darling.” He confessed, smiling sheepishly. He had made no attempt to hide it like he normally would during company, but they would look the same at a glance even to Agnes.
The child, miraculously, seemed to quiet down upon hearing his voice.
“Where’s Desmond?”
“Fast asleep. She, er, woke me instead of him. You know how it is.”
Aggie smirked and shook her head, amused at this revelation. “Lucky him getting to sleep in. Hand her back then, I’ll just make do. I know she makes you uncomfortable."
As this exchange occurred, Descole could feel the rightful owner of their shared body waking up in a bit of a panic and frantically prodding him to let him take over.
He looked down uncertainly at the baby, who had now ceased her screaming and was looking up at him.
“I...”
The child burbled and cooed at him. He noticed her eyes had changed from baby blue to the same shade of brown as her father's. A memory stirred in him from long ago.
A little boy, feeling all alone, confused, and broken. He ran to the bathroom, sobbing. There was a burning desire to be away from others. Waves of intense hatred and anguish washed over him. Them.
Descole, back then, before he had even taken on that name, surreptitiously sank his tendrils into the boy's being and soothed him. Slowly, the boy’s tears came to a stop. He looked in the mirror. Two intense mahogany eyes stared back, reddened from the cry but still determined and full of life.
The eyes that looked at him now lacked that same determination as of yet, but they were familiar all the same. Without thinking, he put his hand in front of the baby. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for what? He did not know.
The little girl stretched contentedly in his arms, and then, very gently reached out her own tiny hand and gripped his. He allowed her to guide it back to her tiny, round face as she closed those vibrant brown eyes. She was soft to the touch.
It was then that everything slotted into place. It was as if a hidden part of him had opened up and joined the already established ranks of the role he served.
“I would die for this child.”
The vast majority of his existence went unexplained, yet he knew it all the same. He came into being as a grown man of indeterminate age with the knowledge that there was a young boy that needed his protection. This was his purpose. It was irrefutable.
That young boy grew into a man as well, and had needed him less and less as he became successful in life. There were still occasions he was needed, but it wasn’t quite the same. It made him melancholy in a way he had not wished to confront.
Descole did not like children. But he had liked his boy.
It all made sense now. This was his new charge. Why didn’t he see it before?
“Jean? Are you alright?”
Their wife was watching him, head tilted. She was unsure what to make of what she’d just witnessed. Desmond had also stopped trying to get his attention and was now observing quietly.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” he responded absently.
He carried the child- No, Willow- back over to her crib and laid her down. She fussed slightly due to the movement. He stroked her face once again to comfort her.
“Hello, darling. I’m your uncle.”