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"Get the hell out of my house," was the first thing Kevin said after kicking the door down. He said it confidently, the same way he talked to any enemy in the middle of a fight he knew he could win.
It had taken a few weeks to get to this point. After the Rooters reveal that his entire life had been a lie, it had taken a while, first to get rid of them, then to get his life back into some semblance of order. And now, finally, finally, he was ready to confront the woman he had called "Mom" for most of his life. The one who he had bought a house for before securing his own housing. The one who had been leeching off of him all this time without any shame.
She was sitting at the dining table. She hadn't even jumped when the door ripped off of its hinges with a squeal. He didn't think too much of it; maybe she had been expecting him all along, or maybe it was Rooter training making her hard to read. He didn't really care and he wasn't going to ask.
She looked up at him slowly. Her cheeks were gaunt, her skin pale, her hair messy. There were dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn't been sleeping. If Kevin didn't know any better, he would think she felt guilty. What a joke.
"Did you hear me?" he asked, voice pitching and nearly cracking with the weight of his anger and betrayal. "I said-"
"Kevin," she said softly. He fell silent.
They stared at each other. He didn't know why he was even listening or what he was even waiting for; he knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better. Even if there was, it wasn't like he could trust her. Not anymore. Not ever again.
"Kevin, I..." she looked away again, back at the wall. "I'm..." her voice drifted again.
"A Rooter," he growled, trance broken without her dark eyes pinning him in place. He strode to her side, canines bared like an angry dog. He smacked his hand down onto the table, reveling in the way it cracked, hopping to get a reaction out of her. It didn't work, though; she didn't even flinch. She still had that same distant, pathetic expression on her face.
She had looked like that once back then, too, when his "stepdad" kicked Kevin out onto the street, calling him a freak. She had looked almost sad, almost guilty, almost pathetic, as if she hadn't wanted it to happen. But she hadn't stopped it or spoken up. Why would she? It was all part of the mission. It wasn't like he was a son to her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, head fiercely whipping over to look at him once more. The fire died almost immediately, that miserable look replacing it once more. She whispered it again, swallowing. "I'm sorry."
"Get. Out." It was a command, not a plea. There was a lump in his throat, one he didn't know the cause of. Rage, he hoped.
She stood up slowly, like a marionette pulled by it's strings. She was weightless and drifting, as if she were a plastic bag floating in the sea, surrounded by the depths that had claimed her long ago. She walked softly, quietly past him, her gaze downcast. Her steps hesitated for the barest moment when she was right next to him, a pause so small that nobody else would've noticed it, but he did. He was watching her too closely not to. He had grown up with her for too long not to.
When she was at the door, he spoke up again, his bleeding heart holding him hostage. He didn't turn to look at her as he asked, "Was it all fake?" He sounded pathetic, childish. He sounded like a kid who was about to lose his mom forever. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop himself even if he tried.
She paused at the doorway, touching the frame as she looked over her shoulder at him. She was quiet for a moment. "No..." she finally said softly, voice drifting off. "Not all of it. The big parts were, but... not the small parts."
Kevin chuckled despite himself, the sound raw and harsh to his ears. "Right. Because that makes sense."
"I...." she breathed in deeply. "Everything that I did - that we did - for the mission, that was fake. But everything else.... wasn't."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" He shouted, finally rounding on her. His fists were clenched at his sides, his blood rushing through his veins. "It was all part of the mission!"
"Not all of it!" She said, voice raised and face defiant again. He liked that, liked that broken façade. That felt real, felt genuine. It fell again too soon, back into that almost-sad look, the one that absolutely, definitely, 100% could not be real. "Not all of it," she repeated again quieter, a broken record on repeat. "Taking you to the park every day as a kid. The homemade sweaters. When we made breakfast together before Harvey woke up. Even last year, with dinners on Thursdays and encouraging you to get your GED. The small things... they were all real."
She looked so genuine, so honest that it hurt. He wanted to scream at her, to force her to tell him what the point of it all was, to make her explain why it was that she did it at all, but he didn't. He stood there, shoulders hunched and breathing hard, and stared at her stomach because staring at her face wasn't an option.
"I loved you, bǎo bèi" she whispered, tears in her voice.
That did it. He grabbed the dining chair she had been sitting in and, with an angry yell, slammed it into the wall next to him, drywall and wooden pieces flying through the air. He felt wild, insane. He felt lost. He felt rabid, but she wouldn't stop. It was like something broke inside of her, like she couldn't bear to hide the truth any longer.
"Servantis lied to you," she said, voice wobbly as if with tears. A Rooter crying - what a gas.
He froze. Slowly he turned to her, danger radiating from him.
"What?"
"He lied to you," she repeated, hand tightening on the doorframe. "Osmosians are real. Rare, but real. He didn't implant memories to make them seem like it - he implanted cracks to make them seem like they weren't, so that when he told you about them, you would think you were hearing the truth. But you weren't. That's why everybody knew about them, why they were in Plumber systems, why things didn't quite line up. He lied to you."
"You're full of shit," he hissed, enraged. Lies on top of lies. Even when they were defeated, the Rooters didn't stop.
"Aggregor was an Osmosian. Ragnarok, too. And Devin, also - he was real, an Osmosian and your father. Erasing a person fully was too hard for Servantis; he was too weak. It was easier to cover them up, to hide them behind lies and say they didn't exist," she explained, gripping the doorframe like she would fall without it's support. Her face was scrunched up, determined in the face of her definitely-not-anguish threatening to overcome her.
"STOP LYING!" Kevin screamed, throat raw. He slammed his hand on the table again, this time breaking it in two. Rage ruled him as a fear he didn't want to acknowledge cowered in his veins. "STOP FUCKING LYING!!!!"
"You deserved better," she whispered, eyes closed and face contorted in misery. A tear rolled down her cheek.
He grabbed another chair by the legs, swinging it down upon the granite kitchen counter; the edge of the counter broke and bottles of seasoning fell to the ground, the back of the chair breaking apart. He threw the bottom half of the chair at the wall, denting it as the chair exploded.
The next chair hit the counter again, exploding in a shower of splinters that flew back at him, though he didn't react. The one after that flew over the couch and into the television, sparks flying through the air and the lights flickering angrily. The chair after was bashed against the broken table until both of them were woodchips, unfixable. The last one was thrown at the wall once more, revealing brick underneath the drywall.
Sweat poured down his body. His arms and were covered in scratches and scrapes and bits of wood. His chest heaved, his lungs burning as though he had run a marathon.
"Who was my mom," he asked, refusing to look at her. "Who was she." It was an order, not a question, though he barely felt like he could answer it.
"She was... my sister," she breathed. "That's why it was so easy. So convenient. She didn't know."
"Devin, he- he... I-I remember-"
"She died of a drug overdose shortly after you were born," she explained, swallowing as if the memory hurt her. "I raised you. Devin helped when he could, but the Plumbers..."
"Good Plumbers are absent fathers," Kevin said quietly. It was an old joke he had heard once, and it seemed to ring true. Magister Tennyson was a good example.
"Were you already a Rooter?" he asked, voice shaking. He didn't believe her. He couldn't believe her. Rooters always lied. They had to.
"She didn't know," she repeated. Tears were falling down her face. "Nobody knew. None of our family, our sisters. They weren't allowed to. "
"So you were always gonna do it," he said, voice choked.
She sniffled and didn't reply.
He didn't want to cry. He didn't. He didn't want her to see.
He was just a boy without his mom.
"It's not fair," he said wetly. The tears were dripping down his cheeks, mirroring her almost perfectly. "It's not fair. I ...I hate you."
She nodded, sniffling. She looked weak as she leaned against the doorway, entire body trembling. She looked small. Had she ever looked like that before? ...He couldn't remember. He didn't want to.
"Get out," he said brokenly, voice tired and bitter. "I'm only letting you go instead of tossing you in jail 'coz you meant something to me once. Get out."
She turned away from him, releasing the doorframe.
"All of the money you paid for this place is on the bed. The deed is in the safe. The combination is your birthday," she said, voice warbling and wet.
One foot stepped across the threshold, then the other.
"Have a good life, Kevin. Thank you... for being my son."
Then she was gone.
He didn't watch her go. He didn't fall to his knees. He didn't wail like a small child. He didn't scream, he didn't cry. He didn't regret it. He didn't want to run after her and pull her into his arms. He didn't love her.
And if he did, he wouldn't admit it. He would never.