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Chapter Text

When Teo had been young - so painfully young it felt like a dream to remember - he had wanted to be a doctor. 

He was old enough now to know he always would have been a monster.

Perhaps Irena would go on to marry a nice young man.  A good, upstanding man who could give her a happy ending. 

(Monsters didn't get happy endings.)

But neither would Cicada.

Pitviper’s men filled the tavern, a sudden hush seizing the previously bustling atmosphere before he himself strolled through the doors.

Before, the silence would have been a matter of respect, eyes carefully turned away from whatever spectacle of violence was sure to ensure.  The Pitviper had a reputation: Brutal.  Fair.

That reputation had changed since that night, now six months ago.

Madness undoes him, the streets whispered.  In the full tavern, all gazes, from that of the shaggy regular to the high spirited lovebirds, traced his every move.

“¡Reyes!  Come out, now!” He hoped the cook ignored him.  He hoped he would give Teo an excuse to break bone tonight.

Not that he needed one.

With only a moment's pause, the kitchen door slowly opened.  The man in question stepped out cautiously, fearfully from behind it.  

The Pitviper smiled at the man, predatory.

[‘Chances of survival to age two are negligible at best-‘]

“Ah, there he is! Carlos, you crazy cabron, how is business?”

“B- business?  Business couldn’t be better, señor-“

In a moment, the villain was but half a step from touching Carlos- leaning into his space as a viscerally satisfying tension wracked his frame.  Good.

[‘All of it is your fault - I should have never told you when I realized; no father would be better than a father like you-‘]

“Business has been good?  Bien.”

Carlos tried and failed to summon the semblance of a smile.

“And I suppose in these past months, you and your little… side business has not involved a smaller, perhaps mousey man…perhaps one with a baby boy?”

A cowardly doctor with precious, stolen goods, looking to flee the country.

“I- señor, a baby-“

Behind the viper’s mask, Teo’s temper flared.  Before either could blink, his victim was being thrown face- first onto the nearest table as Pitviper twisted one arm behind him, near roughly enough to dislocate it.

“Pendejo, answer me!” Carlos’ nose had broken on impact, if the crunch and scream were any indication.  Teo itched to scream alongside him.

[‘I am truly sorry,’ every damned doctor would say, “but even with the most advanced treatments, such a heart deformity in a patient so young-‘]

Tiago, withering in arms that didn’t cherish him.

His Tiago, buried in an unmarked and untended grave.

Cartilage wasn't enough.  He tightened his grip to hear the man beneath him gasp in pain again.

A different sort of scream snapped Pitviper from his stupor, like a bucket of ice water.

His head snapped up, immediately honing in on its source- although he hadn’t paid much heed to the patrons (that was his assistants’ role) he now saw what he assumed to be a young couple, fallen out from their chairs.  From the dialect the man half shouted in as Pitviper’s men began pointing their guns at the pair, they weren't local.

Shielded by him, the woman was undeniably pregnant and heaving, gripping her round belly tightly as she tried to swallow another shriek.

When Teo had been young, he’d wanted to be a doctor.  A healer.

He’d even gone to school for it, not all that long ago, if you measured years by number rather than feeling.

“¡Idiotas, detente!” He barked.  Before he knew what he was doing, Pitviper was stomping over to the pair, Carlos slumping to the floor in relief - or perhaps unconsciousness - as his men all half jumped, swiveling their firearms away in various directions (to the amusing screams of various inhabitants).

The young man all but snarled at him as he came close.  The mother glowered at him as best she could between contractions - Teo Pitviper found himself timing them; knew bringing the woman to a doctor was not a viable option.  Her child was coming quickly.

[At Teo’s insistence, a virtual private maternity suite had been set up in his house; his new house, child friendly and spacious, purchased in the wake of her announcement.  She had given birth to their son under only the most ideal of conditions]

“Focus on her!” He scolded the man, falling to his knees before placing a hand on either of her own.

“Señora, try to match your breathing to his.  Culo, do it like this-“

[He’d been so happy at the news.  The happiest he had ever been.  As he’d first held his son, he’d cried, unashamed]

In a blur of screaming and breathing, shouting and soothing, their baby girl screamed out her entrance into life, just as his Tiago had.  As Pitviper handed the girl to her parents - beaming, sobbing - he did it with tears in his eyes.

Another dead end, but one different from the rest.

They named her Yolanda.

Chapter Text

The wonderful thing with being a monster was that Marisol had never feared places like these.  She rather haunted them, when it pleased her to do so.

Her hulking opponent hurt the bars of their arena with a meaty thump.  The illusion of a cage that it provided - the suggestion such a thing could actually hold her captive - gave their inebriated audience enough comfort to cheer in joy rather than scream in terror.  Meta fighters were increasingly common, but a literal lioness of a woman?  Really, she was shocked that any man was still fool enough to challenge her.

A blessing there are, she thought, as the feline cast her gaze over to one booth in particular.  A big shot like Pitviper in attendance motivated her to make more of a spectacle of this match; make the most of the packed bar.  Somewhat ridiculous in his snakeskin ensemble, Spain’s most infamous man raised his whiskey glass as their eyes met.  Flatterer.

The enthusiastic chatter swelled again as the idiot of the hour stumbled back upright.  Yellow eyes locked onto her prey.

“Perhaps I’ll buy you a drink with my winnings, handsome,” she purred, “if you can last against me longer than half of an hour.”

Primate snarls and barred teeth just made her laugh, a distinct chitter that tended to spark unease.  Marisol enjoyed toying with a gentleman just as much as any other lady, but she always proved her taunts true: a rake of claws across the man’s previously unremarkable face, and it was easy to slam him into the grimy concrete and claim her victory. Cleaning her hands of his blood both acted as a reward to herself, and blatantly pandering.

That was when the doors were literally kicked in.  As revelry was swallowed by alarm, a man in an odd mask appeared in the entryway.  A hockey mask?  At his side was-

Marisol’s ears flattened against her skull as her lips pulled back, pearly fangs on display.  Was this woman mocking her?!

The second stranger seemed entirely human, and normal enough, if not for the fact she was clad head to toe in tiger stripes.  Tiger stripes!

She failed to register bystanders scrambling into corners and back rooms like rats, or the doubtlessly idealistic cliche the Sportsman shouted, or Pitviper leaping up, visibly livid at the intrusion on his territory.  She was too busy pouncing on the Tiger Lady.

She did hear an out of place whistle.  “Now that is an encore!  And with such lovely performers-”

“My wife is not one of your little prizefighters!”

This time, Marisol was the one treated to a show.  Pitviper’s prowess as a brawler hadn’t been exaggerated, it seemed.  Neither had his messiness, but that was hardly a problem for her.  Later, as the interlopers limped away and he took in her blood-matter fur with open appreciation, Marisol got the idea he’d noticed.

The terrible thing with being a mother was the sacrifice it demanded.  That was what her own mama had always said, and those very words hung over her head like a shroud now.  

The doctor had run the test twice, at her insistence.  The same one she’d gone to both as a cat and fully human, after a particularly rough adventure.  He ruled out any other explanation.  At 5 weeks along, there was really only one possible father.

Not that she’d told her ‘physician’ that, of course.  She’d also rejected his offers of an alternative.

“Díos mio, Marisol.” She sunk down onto her sofa with a groan.  It was like her mama was speaking through her, almost. Heaven knows what the woman would think if she could see her daughter now.  “Que carajos, you went and got pregnant?! From some… some mob boss hopeful with an alligator print fetish?!”

There was no way on this earth Marisol was going to let such a man around her baby.  It was one thing, for her to party with gangsters and gunmen in drug- filled hovels and flirt with supervillains.  Imagining a little raven haired child in her place…

Mierda, she’d need a job that didn’t involve 3am bloodshed!

Motherhood is sacrifice.  She groaned again, even more heartfelt.  “You are the reason mama is going to have to find us both a new home.  You had better not make me eat chalk!”

Such had been the fate of many associates over the years, during their own time pregnant.

“And no cage fights!”

Chapter Text

“You were really a bug doctor before you were a people doctor?”

Tiago grabbed onto the desk’s edge, using it as leverage to rise up o and stand on the very tips of his toes.  He was tall for a boy of age, but these desks were meant to be used sitting or standing, after all.  Each one was lined with jars and frames of perfectly preserved specimen; the odd terrarium with live, buzzing insects.

As the boy leaned as close as possible to inspect the miniature wonders, he huffed a bit as his uncle held narrow hands poised as though to catch him.  He had only wobbled a little!  Tiago had even acquiesced to wearing his non- slip socks, even though he was well enough to wear his ordinary clothes.

As big, black eyes danced around, his uncle Gio chuckled.  The enthusiasm was flattering, and precisely what he’d hoped to achieve.  Dr. Perez Ajello’s collection was somewhat of a local legend.

He hardly spent enough time with the boy, outside of treatments.  It was good to see him happy.

“Technically speaking, I am still an entomologist- I am simply also a Tiago doctor now.”

It was the boy’s turn to google at him, causing Cicada to smile in turn.

Nearly a century ago, if one were to count for the lapse of unwilling time travel, he had set out to make the world a better place through vanquishing dragons.  Now, he did so saving children - starting with and stemming from the one before him now.

“You..inspired me, one could say.  Everything changed when I brought us to El Salvador, and then again, when I realized just how special you are.”

Cicada had almost regretted  saving the child, not long after the spring evening he’d originally spirited the babe away from the viper’s den.  He’d thought there was no point to it, no suffering spared or potential monsters nipped in the bud, when he’d felt that near two-year-old heart stutter for the fourth time since their first meeting.  He’d despaired, cramped as a cargo boat stowaway, as that little body had gone still and stiff and cold in his arms.  

Then the dead boy had all but erupted into life, screaming as if a newborn.

“…Because of my gift, yes?”

Tiago never liked talking about it.  Giovanni snapped back into the present to see that a bit of his childish wonder had left his eyes, and felt his stomach drop.

“I- Sí, my boy.” It was a wonderful gift; quite literally a life saving gift. One that felt more like a curse for a boy like Tiago.  “Because of your special talent, and every door it opens.  And I promise: no matter how many tries or however long it takes us, we will mend your heart.”

Some days, the man’s own heart broke at the sight of Tiago, bedridden or gasping for air or near catatonic in the wake of his own resurrection.  Gio had to believe God had set them both on the same path for a reason.

“We have already helped so many little ones with what we have learned from you, niño. Our little hero.”

“Could I be a hero like you were instead?” Cicada felt his breath being punched out of him, “it seems more fun than…”

“No!” He regretted the forcefulness as soon as the word escaped his lips, watching the boy jump fearfully.  Had Pitviper ever held such innocence?

“No, I-“ if he ever found them-!

“You would not want to be a Cicada! Such a feminine word, and you boys now-“

“Please do not make me go back.”

Back to the hospital or back to the lab, Tiago hardly needed to specify.  Gio swallowed before he choked.

“You will not have to go back anytime soon, if we are very lucky.”

Mierda.  How had he ruined this already?  Today was set aside to cheer Tiago; who was finally feeling better again, not-

Cicada took a deep breath.  This wasn't about him.

“Come how,” he attempted to redirect, his offered hand reluctantly taken, “ let me show you my anisoptera, eh?  Then we can see if señora Gabriella would like to play with those little remote cars of yours!”

Giovanni busied himself attempting to keep the boy preoccupied.  The unwitting son of the Pitviper, diving into the world of masks and capes?  

It was a death sentence for everything they'd worked for.

Chapter Text

Nothing could drive a man to madness quite like grief.  What else could lead a man to make a deal with the devil?

Even the less superstitious among Madrid’s boxers all said as much about Teo Gatti Guerra: if not the literal devil, the Pitviper was close enough; a monster who had seemingly shadowed the step of their old friend since shortly after he’d first began haunting their streets.  Since Pelèon had been killed with Teo’s own hands, and his true killers were each met with a gruesome demise.

That was what brought each of the six men before him, grim as the grave.  Whatever deal Teo had struck with the viper, it hadn’t expired alongside the last conspirator behind Pelèon’s end- gambling was done cautiously where the monster might see; outright cheating?  The only worse offense in the crime lord's eyes seemed to be outright rigging a match.  The lesson had been beat into the collective consciousness time and time again: there would be no repeats.

With their old friend’s status as a middle man an open secret, the boxers now stood before him could only hope he’d believe them; could only hope he’d ensure the Pitviper knew that they'd played no willing, knowing part in this disrespect.

“Nine wins, you say?  All in a row?”  Although his tone was superficially light, the seeds of indignation were audible.  The eldest among them stepped forward, eyeing Teo’s grip on the ropes of his personal gym’s ring wearily.  His scarred knuckles had turned white from the force of it.

“Sí, and a similar streak of luck before coming to the country, from what we can tell.  None of us have any idea how he manages to predict the winner- I swear, none of our matches were thrown-“

The younger man grunted dismissively, effectively silencing him.

Even with the peace vengeance seemed to grant him, time had left him more callous then he’d been before.  When Señora Fortuna had fled in her own twofold grief, it had left the remaining member of their trio to grow even colder.

“This man; he says he is some foreign noble?”

“Lord Paradiso, he calls himself; an Italian guttersnipe, for all we know.”

“Then he is as good as a rat.  And how else does a man kill a rat, other than a trap?”

Nervously, six pairs of shoes shuffled anxiously against the matted flooring.  That slightly manic glee spoke of nothing good.

Grand Champion Santos Moriel Versus Mystery Challenger: the sort of poster that ordinarily brought in plenty of spectators, but very few serious gamblers.  For one quite so daring and self assured, it should prove irresistible.  That had been the Pitviper’s prediction, Teo had passed along, and so the others had passed along to their managers.  A young but upcoming boxer, Fèlix, had been tentatively selected for the match.

Santos performed the sign of the cross as best he could in boxing gloves, pure instinct upon seeing the monster of a man who had replaced his opponent: Pitviper himself, all but leering at him as the crowd gasped and hollered in response.  Dios mio- was this how he died?

At least the villain had donned gloves of his own, rather than appearing bare knuckles, Santos thought hysterically.  How could he be expected to fight such a man?!

It seemed that Santos was not the only man incensed by the turn of events, the stranger who had started this all leaping onto his feet with a shout of protest.  

“That is not the man he was meant to fight!”  Apparently, Paradiso was oblivious enough to all but dig his own grave, confirming suspicions so blatantly.  Even as security all but forced the supposed lord back into his seat, at the Pitviper’s predatory hum in reaction- like a purr and growl in one- Santos had decidedly more important matters to attend to.

“Oh, why the pale face?  This should be a match for the headlines!”

Hopefully, that wouldn’t include an obituary with his name attached.

Chapter Text

In the defense of the so called ‘Grand Champion’, Pitviper had to admit Moriel put up a good fight, despite his apparent terror.  He settled for breaking his nose and cracking his jaw, given this was supposed to be an official, rule- bound fight at any rate.

It was just a warm up anyway.  The main event was stomping his way like an overgrown toddler, ridiculously manicured white beard aside.

“YOU!”

He smiled back at the red faced man, sharp and menacing:  “Me.”

“I’ve lost a small fortune because of you!”

(‘The hijoputa did it to himself; he would have cost us a fortune-‘)

“Because of me?” He curled the fingers of each hand into a fist, already looking forward to the slaughter.  Every time he coaxed a confession beforehand, every time he pummeled some greedy little coward into a barely-breathing pulp, he did it for his Pelèon, same as he had the first time.  Nothing made him feel closer to the man’s memory, except for when he finished them.

“Oh no, cabron, you did not lose that fortune because of me.  The posters did announce the challenger would be a surprise, yes?”

“The challenger wasn’t supposed to be you!  He was supposed to fight some neophyte- he was supposed to win!”

“And how would a little runt like you know who would win, eh?  Other than being a filthy swindler.”

Spain’s up and coming supervillain hardly had the privilege of a moral high ground , but this was hardly about morals to start with.  Besides, hypocrisy came free with criminality.

Paradiso seemed no stranger to that principal: at Pitviper’s accusation, the old man looked not only insulted, but almost shocked at the accusation.  Quickly, that gave way to anger.

“Swindler?! How dare- I’ll have you know scrying is no more cheating than a professional placing his own wagers!  YOU are the trickster here!”

‘Scrying’ - where had he heard that term before?  The Pitviper shook his head a bit, as if to dispel the thought, still grinning.  By now, nearly every sportsman and spectator alike had the good sense to abandon the ring and stands, so it was only them.

“If it looks like cheating, and it smells like cheating…” he shrugged, stalking intently closer.  Eager.  “There are consequences for that, in my territory.”  Bloody consequences.  Heart racing consequences.  His knuckles already itched.

“The rumors were right about you!” Paradiso pointed accusingly, still so arrogant and irate danger seemingly hadn’t registered to the man yet.  It was going to be fun, watching that frail face crumple.  “An imitation devil!”

Pitviper had always been fond of the supposed insult, really.  A few more steps, and he’d be in swinging range.  Them it would be all but over for the smug idiot who’d dare to test his limits.

“You call yourself serpent; you play the part- so live as one!”

A burst of blue light seemed to emanate from withered fingertips pointed straight at him, and everything went up in what felt like radio static.  Too late, he remembered where he’d heard the word ‘scrying’ before: Kismet, and Green Inferno, and another handful of the sorcerers he’d been unlucky enough to encounter thus far.

Joder, he thought.  But then, there were worse ways to finally claim his place among the damned.

Chapter Text

So.  Teo was an actual, slithering reptile.  

¿!Qué coño!?

Just when he thought he’d be joining the actual devil in hell, half hopeful he’d meet his father there again because he knew full well his mother and lovers would never end up there with him, and he was a literal snake lying in a heap on the floor!

He tried to move his hands, to soothe the tense muscles of his shoulder, before he remembered he had neither. He felt like chorizo on a wet schoolyard slide: with every attempt at movement, he slipped and drifted or squirmed in place, every twitch of his cylindrical body making a world of difference.  With his limited vision and overwhelming sense of smell - expressed more as a sense of taste, and he was starting to see why Roman complained so much about ‘sweat-stink’ - it took him several moments to confirm he was still in the venue he’d stood in before his transformation, and that he was now totally alone.

Mierda.  He needed reinforcements, as immediately as possible.  Internally, he grimaced.  Didn’t Al and I have plans for tomorrow?

Al looked down at the desk, as though the sight before him or the events leading up to it might magically make sense.

He’d found a note in a sloppier, lopsided version of Teo’s handwriting, settled on the welcome mat, instructing him to let himself into his ally’s room.  He was more than a bit annoyed that his fellow Mystery Man had seemingly gotten himself well and truly drunk right when he’d promised Ajax a ‘bar brawl crawl’, as Boogeyman had labeled the tradition, but he could always drag him out of bed.  There was no Pitviper, but there was a literal snake, almost politely coiled up next to a second note.  The snake was making eye contact in a rather disconcerting way, for an animal.

Though if the note was to be believed, this wasn’t exactly a true animal.  Ajax narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  An imposter snake seemed just as likely as a transfigured- teammate- snake.

“If you are who you say, tell me something that anyone other than Pitviper would be unlikely to know.”

The silvery and dark gray snake did not blink at him, because blinking was not within the capabilities of a snake.  He still got the impression it was annoyed with him, as it awkwardly lowered its skull to rest against the flat desk surface so it could grab ahold of the pen between its teeth.  He decided to be helpful, flipping the note over so it had a blank canvas.

It took the reptile several moments to scrawl its answer.  It took the Greek moments more to decipher the sloppy Spanish.  Once he did, he gasped.

“Why do you phrase that in such a vulgar way?!  Neither of us were in a state to make it past the headquarters common room!”

It turned out that a snake with the soul of man could look both smug and glib, though that was natural for a man such as Teo.  Al wished he could punch the man’s shoulder, perhaps put him in a headlock or tackle him to the floor.

He settled for beaming down at the possibly venomous noodle that was his best friend.  “I can see why you wagered to beg me for help,” he half- crooned, ignoring the hiss he received at his description, “so many minions and enemies who would love to show you the pointed end of a shovel, hm?  And quite a few friends who wouldn’t mind keeping you just like this, under a lamp and sealed behind glass.” 

To anthropomorphize, the way Teo’s coils churned seemed outright anxious.  Al was a little surprised he was allowed to scoop the man-snake up without struggle.  “But then, you did chose well: I would miss fighting with you too much.”

Alongside or against; same difference on the end.

“Not to worry; I have a favor or two I can call in.  We will discuss repayment later.”

Chapter Text

As originally hesitant to let Ajax scoop him up he’d been, Pitviper the Snake quickly discovered that when one was cold blooded, humans were essentially walking radiators.  That was certainly the only reason Teo allowed Al to drape him across his beefy shoulders like a squirming, fashionable scarf. 

That and not having to worry about someone seeing a sizable snake and attempting to ‘handle the pest before the boss sees’.  Though the risk of that was low enough in his apartment, above the gym.  Such were the benefits of bachelorhood, much as the man he rested on grouchily could never understand it.

Speaking of Al.  He’d pulled down his mask before dialing this mysterious person he claimed to be in his debt, for some reason or another.  Pitviper was torn between being relieved Ajax hadn’t gone straight to Kizmet or one of their other guild members (who would laugh at him for decades over this, as opposed to Al taking it in stride with a snicker or two), or suspicious about this unnamed stranger (it had been a long time since Teo was foolish enough to trust anyone entirely, after all).

It wasn’t long until the menace of a mite perked up, whoever was on the other end evidently having picked up.

“Zatara!  Yes, I know, Phantasmo when it involves business- listen, listen.  I’d like to make use of that favor you owe me.”  Al paused briefly, shifting the grip on Teo’s sole telephone, set up in the living room like a real high roller.  All the blood money wonders of the 1940’s had a way of trickling into his life lately…

“Yes, I mean now.  You certainly weren’t very patient with a furious, drunk oread looming over you-“  why was Pitviper unsurprised, really? “Besides, for all I know it might be a rather time sensitive affair.  I need you to break a curse.”

There was a sound a bit like the tear of fabric, distorted and echoing, as Ajax nonchalantly turned around and hung up the phone in one smooth motion.  

Before them was an actual stage magician, complete with top hat.  Because why not?  The last day or so was already bizarre enough, why not this also?  If Pitviper never met another wizard or sorcerer again in his life, it would be fine by him.

“Phantasmo!  Timely and stylish as always!”

“Ajax.” The (seemingly real) magician gave the man- the men, as much as one didn't look the part at the moment- a critical once over.  “I am assuming that is not actually a snake?”

“As you say.”

“‘To live a serpent’ - are you absolutely certain that was the wording used?”

“The words are a little difficult to forget, mago.”  Pitviper tried not to sound snarky, really.  A wave of Phantasmo’s hand had rendered him able to actually use his words again; if he had any luck left in him, the magician could manage more than that.  He missed having hands, thank you very much.

“Hmm, that gives us room to work with.  Whoever cast this curse did so in a way I cannot truly break, only bend.”  Ah, God was finally punishing Teo for his turning to a life of crime.  “Perhaps you would prefer to live as a lover of heat?  Spain certainly seems warm enough.”

Ajax seemed increasingly disturbed by human noises produced by a serpentine body; Pitviper drew out his sigh to savor the twitch.  “A definite improvement, mil gracias.  The sooner I shed these scales, the sooner I can wring the neck of the maldito Paradiso-“

Phantasmo’s head snapped up stare at him, previous casual demeanor vanishing in an instance.

“Lord Paradiso?  The two bit hack who cursed you is Lord Paradiso?”

“I take it the two of your have also met?” Ajax chimed in, equally off put by the sudden intensity.

The magician was not listening, a wild light in his eyes as he rubbed his gloved hands together, visibly titillated.

“Ah, serendipity.  My friends, I believe you will appreciate what I am about to do almost as much as our mutual foe will despise it…”

Al thought back to that night often, when he stood vigil over Teo’s corpse.  It always took the other man a moment; he draped his cape across the larger man to hopefully help stave off the cold.  He never enjoyed listening to Pitviper’s whining, much.

The whispers from everyday idiots barely wise enough to keep their distance didn’t help.  They were probably anxious, why the villain hadn’t taken his fallen ally and fled.

Weren't they in for a surprise.

Minutes ticked by, the dead man’s skin grown paler and paler, until it stiffened into an unnaturally colorless, brittle veneer.  The chatter fell silent. 

It had horrified him too, the first time.

The shed split like a seam as Pitviper’s body gasped and thrashed back into life.  

Finally.

Chapter Text

With the advent of their second child, the Montez’s had become considerably less overprotective.  This did nothing to stop Maria’s stomach from leaping into her throat at the sound of her little boy crying.  The sound of his sister, panicked but not frantic, kept her from just casting her sewing aside and sprinting through the house.  

Maria’s heart still fluttered in her chest as she stepped through the sliding glass door, the cool air of the backyard brushing against her cheeks, but nothing seemed to ground her as much as her son’s sharp cry.

The twelve year old kneeling at his side, for her part, had the grace to look sheepish.  Maria sighed, attempting to settle herself back down.

“Yolanda, you know not to play so roughly with your brother!”

“It was an accident-“

“I know, I know.  It’s alright.”  It was no secret their girl didn’t always know her own strength, after all. She took after her father that way.  “Josè, let mamá see.”

Maria suppressed a slight smile at Jose puffing up his tiny chest, holding the offending arm closer as if to ward her off.  That stubbornness, her babies inherited from her.  Still, Josè knew better than to try and win against Maria.  Visibly reluctant, he extended his  straight out for her inspection.

She had to clamp down on her first instinct again, laying eyes on the bleeding cut.

“¡Ay Dios mío! How did you two manage this?!”

It wasn’t especially large or deep seeming, but it was a far cry from a simple scratch.  Swiftly, Maria scooped Joesè up by the armpit and began marching back inside, then to the kitchen, and then to the sink.  Yolanda trailed behind as Maria continued her questioning, retrieving the first aid kit while Josè squirmed on the countertop.

“Honestly, between the two of you and Alè…” She muttered, shaking her head.  It seemed there was always some sort of chaos in the Montez household, fond of it Maria was most days.

“It almost looks like you were playing with knives!”  She knew for a fact they hadn’t been - the understanding was Yolanda only practiced such things under direct supervision, and the fancy set sent over from Spain sat in a locked display case while they were in the states entirely. 

Although.  That line of thought did make her pause briefly.  Antiseptic in hand, Maria looked over to where Yolanda was shuffling her feet, evidentially waiting for a proper scolding.  She also quite notably held her hands behind her back.

“Yolanda.” Big, reddish brown eyes peered up from behind a mane of curls.  “Show me what cut your brother.”  Best to be specific; her daughter was exactly the sort to try playing dumb.  

With their sort of luck, she couldn’t imagine Jose had simply fallen on a particularly sharp rock.

“But mamá…” no use for those puppy eyes; Maria gave Yolanda a reproachful look.  

The girl raised her hands slowly, her fingers twitching like a guilty animal caught in the act.  It took a moment for Maria to realize the observation was more than a mere analogy: at the end of each slender finger, in the place of nails, sat gleaming, black claws.

“Me cago—“

“Mamá!”

“Yes, yes, mamás are allowed to curse every once in a while…”

Once wounds were bandaged and the underside of her baby’s litteral claws were clean —a task far too reminiscent of cleaning her busted knuckles and split lips — Maria determined with the poise of an experienced mother that a distraction was in order.

While the children celebrated the announcement of their favorite ice creams after dinner, she managed to sneak a lengthy text or five to her husband, forewarning him on what he would be coming home to.

Mauler walked through the door to their home to a chorus of childish cheers, arms full of grocery bags.  Maria spotted what looked like a tub of something decidedly not for the little ones’ liking poking out, and silently thanked the heavens for giving her such a deeply intuitive man.

“There are my little monsters!” Only his wife seemed to pick up on the slight tightness to his smile.  “I hear the pair of you have your poor mother quite the scare today!”

“Only a little one!”

Ah, that was their children. The laugh that line startled out of Maria and Juan both was considerably more genuine.

Hopefully, once the children were all tucked in for the night, Tèo could put their lingering worries to rest.

He had protected them from Dr. Love for this long, hadn’t he?

Chapter Text

The house was finally quiet.

José was tucked in with a bedtime story. Yolanda had insisted she wasn’t tired, but after five minutes, her slow, even breaths had given her away.

Maria and Juan sat on the couch, Maria’s phone casting the only light as she hovered over Teo’s name. She hesitated—then pressed.

It barely rang twice.

"Guapetes."

Maria closed her eyes. He always answered like that. Like he belonged to them. Like they had ever been foolish enough to believe that, once.

Honestly, she was convinced he did it half of the time just to ruffle feathers.

Juan rubbed his temple. “Don’t start, Pitviper.”

A low chuckle. “No pleasantries? Someone is in a mood…”

Maria inhaled slowly. “We need to talk about Yolanda.”

Teo hummed. “Let me guess. You are calling because I was right.”

“You are not right,” Juan said, voice tight. “She’s only a kid.”

“A child with fangs, Mauler.” Teo’s usual lazy amusement sharpened. “And claws, apparently.  You can pretend that is not true, but sooner or later, someone will remind her.” A pause.  Of course he’d already known, someway. “Or do you want it to be me?”

Maria’s grip tightened. “You are not training our daughter like one of your protégés, Teo.”

“You think I want that for her?”

Maria didn’t answer. Because she didn’t know.

Teo had softened for their family. He’d been there when Yolanda was born, had cradled her in hands that had once broken men’s jaws. He had killed for them, bled for them, protected them with a viciousness that still frightened her.

But there was still that part of him, buried deep. The part that had survived back-alley fights and backstabbing bosses. The part that had built his reputation as The Pitviper.

And she wasn’t about to let him pass that on to her daughter.

“We can handle this,” Juan said firmly.

Teo scoffed. “Oh? And how is that going?”

Maria felt Juan tense. She reached out, pressing a steadying hand on his knee. “She doesn’t need to learn to fight. She needs to learn control.”

Teo’s voice softened. “Do you not think those are the same thing?”

Maria exhaled sharply. “Not when it comes from you.”

“I would never hurt her.”

Juan was quiet, but steady. “No. But you’d turn her into something she doesn’t have to be.”

The line they had always walked with him. The unspoken truth.

That they needed him. That they were grateful.

But that they could never let him fully in.

And he knew it, too.

“…Alright,” Teo said at last. “I will not push.”

Maria’s breath hitched. He had never given in that easily.

“But when the day comes that she asks me instead of you?”

His voice was almost gentle.

“Don’t pretend you were not warned.”

The call ended.

Maria let the phone drop onto the couch. She and Juan sat in silence, listening to the quiet hum of their home.  They didn’t have to tell eachother what was on their minds.

Maria couldn’t shake the feeling that Teo had won something tonight.  Not the argument, not exactly—but something deeper.

Because she had seen it in Yolanda’s eyes earlier.

Curiosity.

The knock came the next morning during breakfast.

Not the front door, of course—Teo never used the front door. A tap-tap-tap against the kitchen’s sliding glass door signaled his arrival, casual as ever.

Maria sighed. “He doesn’t even pretend to be subtle anymore.”

Juan wiped his hands on a dish towel and slid the door open. “Come in, Pitviper.”

Teo grinned, stepping inside like he owned the place. Probably thought he did, in a way. Dressed in his usual black—jacket slung over one shoulder, obnoxious gold chain gleaming against a sweat-dampened undershirt—he looked every bit the devil Maria and Juan tried to keep from their doorstep.

And yet, here he was.

The moment Yolanda saw him, she lit up. “Tío Teo!” She rushed forward, hands tucked behind her back.

"Mi niña feroz," Teo greeted, catching her in a hug before holding her at arm’s length. “What’s this I hear about you giving your brother a battle scar?”

Maria tensed. Teo had seen the first hints of what Dr. Love’s experiments had done to Yolanda. But this—this was different.

Yolanda pouted. “It was an accident.”

“Mm.” Teo tilted his head. “Let me see.”

Yolanda hesitated, but at his expectant look, she slowly brought her hands forward. Her claws caught the light, black and glossy.

For a long moment, Teo was silent.

Then, to Maria’s horror, he grinned. “Not bad.”

Juan exhaled sharply. “Teo—”

“They’re natural,” Teo mused, turning Yolanda’s hands over like a jeweler inspecting fine gems. “Flexible. Sharp. Have you tested how strong they are yet?”

“No!” Maria’s voice was sharp enough to make Yolanda flinch. “She is not ‘testing’ them, Teo.”

Teo raised an eyebrow. “She should. Otherwise, she will only learn the hard way.” He looked at Yolanda. “You need to control them, chiquita. Know exactly what they can do.”

Juan’s voice was firm. “She’s a child, Teo. She doesn’t need to ‘cut through’ anything.”

Teo’s expression didn’t change, but something in his stance did. “That is not how the world works, Mauler.” His gaze flicked to Maria. “You two can pretend all you want. But sooner or later, she’ll have to learn what she is.”

Maria’s stomach twisted. She knew what he meant. Yolanda wasn’t just a little girl. She was something altered.

And in Teo’s eyes, that meant she needed to be ready to fight.

But Maria wouldn’t let her daughter be turned into a weapon. Not by Dr. Love. And not by Teo.

She took a slow breath, pressing a hand to Yolanda’s back. “Thank you for your concern,” she said, voice measured. “But we will handle this our way.”

Teo held her gaze, then released Yolanda’s hands with a lazy shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Maria didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched—like a boxer resisting the urge to throw a punch.

Like a man holding back.

And that, more than anything, unsettled her.

Because if there was one thing she and Juan had learned about Teo over the years…

It was that he never held back forever.