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There were stories and legends shared from one kid to another, saying that if you were ever lost, abandoned, or unloved there was someone out there. A being that would find you and take you in. A presence to pour endless amounts of love into your care and upbringing, claiming you as their own.
Everyone only knew them as Mother. With his bright, calming green eyes and cool hands that also felt warm when he cradled your face, you just knew that you were loved, that you were safe, and had someone to call your parent - call a Mother.
Tim had heard the rumors and read about them online during those lonely nights when his parents would be who knows where, but he never let himself believe in it, in them. Why get all worked up about some deity that only has whispers and stories?
There were no pictures or concrete descriptions- just green eyes and cold-warm hands.
And even if he did let himself believe, if he let himself hope … what then? What happens when they never come?
His parents sang promises all the time, but every time, he would be dismissed- treated as if he were merely part of the groundskeeping staff, not their only kid, their son.
And yet here he was.
Alone on his seventh birthday.
A card on his table, telling him his parents were in Guatemala for an exhibit. Or something.
Tears blurred his vision as he flicked the lighter on and off, the small flame dancing in the dark. With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and wished— God, he wished —that the being from the stories would come. Would save him and hear a gentle voice say, It’s all right now. I’m here.
That they would cradle his face like those stories, press a kiss on his forehead with other words of affection, hold him tight, and take him away.
Anywhere but here.
Away from a cold, empty manor.
Away from distant, unloving staff.
Away from parents who were never here.
_________
That night, Tim dreams of dazzling stars streaking across the sky. Walking on belts of moons and planets, and a being with bright green eyes and flowing white hair.
They pulled him close, cupping his cheek with a kind, loving look.
“My poor boy,” they murmured, voice laced with sorrow. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner, baby. But I’m here now— Mother’s here.”
A gentle thumb wipes away tears, and Tim dives into that loving embrace, loud sobs seem to echo and not in the strange, star-lit space.
He doesn't know how long they stay there. But the warmth around him never faded, and those loving hands cooled his heated cheeks and puffy eyes. Arms wound closer around him as he's hoisted into the air and cradled close.
Mother rocks him gently back and forth, fingers carding through his hair.
“I can’t take you with me, baby,” they whispered. “It’s not safe right now. But I’ll always come visit—to tuck you in every night, to hold you close when nightmares cloud your starry sky.”
They pressed a kiss to his hair.
“I have someone that I trust to look after my sweet boy. Sleep, baby. You'll be safe when you wake up.”
_____
That night, Alfred got a call.
He made promises to look after his new baby brother. Mother was fighting so hard to keep them all safe, and he could see the exhaustion in his eyes as he left that night.
But just as he promised, every night, Tim’s Mother appeared through glowing green portals.
With kisses and soft words, he tucked him in and told him stories of ancient pharaohs and great green witches. And every time nightmares gripped him, he felt gentle fingers threading through his hair and heard the soothing hum of a familiar voice.
Because Mother was there.
Mother never left.
And Mother never broke a promise.