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Arkha dug through his closet like a man on a mission. HQ was settling down, the agitated buzzing of voices and activity that usually followed a mission long over.
He shoved aside identical uniform coats and boots, a stack of black t-shirts and a jacket he didn't remember owning, until he found what he was looking for. Underneath a pair of Rudo's pyjama pants. The fluffy ones.
He didn't really care how they got there when he finally pulled out an old and worn hoodie. It was so big he could have fit the entirety of Team Child in there and still have room for personal space.
Arkha brought it closer to his face.
The cloth smelled faintly of old detergent, but it was deemed tolerable enough for his purposes. And he didn't really have time to wash it, anyway.
With his hoodie in one hand, and a bowl of water in the other, he returned downstairs to the Nest. The room was dim and quiet, curtains drawn together to block all sunlight. Arkha closed the door behind him soundlessly.
"I'm back," he announced softly. Silence answered. Enjin had claimed half of the Nest, long limbs spread out. He was uncharacteristically still.
Stark, white bandages snaked over his forehead and under his hair, hiding the hit he'd taken out in the field earlier that day.
Arkha sat the items down and tapped Enjin's cheek until he got a few glassy blinks out of him. "You're not supposed to sleep yet."
"f'ne," Enjin sighed, tried curling away from him but his limbs wouldn’t listen. Probably pretty sore.
Fine was the codeword though. Always fine.
When Arkha first pulled him out of hell, all of his ribs countable and snarling in a way that looked feral, Enjin didn't know how to speak. He would push his arms against Arkha until he let go when he needed space, and tug on his sleeves when he wanted attention.
Ironically, the first word Enjin learned was 'fine'. Arkha wasn't sure where he picked it up. It became his standard answer to almost anything after that.
He's come a long way since being ten, and even though he is the best soldier Arkha had in his ranks, some things just wouldn't change.
Enjin shifted again, this time wincing when he made himself dizzy.
"Silly boy, stay still," Arkha carefully cradled Enjin's head, angled his face just right so he could dip a cloth into the water and clean off the remaining streaks of blood. One wipe, one moody grumble.
When the cloth came away clean, Arkha guided limp arms into the sleeves of his hoodie. He pulled it over Enjin's head with careful precision, not wishing to cause pain or tug on bandages.
"There you go," he rolled the sleeves up a bunch until Enjin's tattooed hands became somewhat visible. "You look ridiculous."
"S'my favour'te." Arkha had to suppress a laugh when Enjin tucked his face into the hoodie itself until only his closed eyes were visible. And the unignorable evidence of Arkha's failure to protect someone who he considered a son.
"Alright little fabric mole, let me see those eyes again." He tilted Enjin's chin up slightly until his pupils caught on the faint shine a string of fairy lights cast around them. The reaction was sluggish, a bit too uneven in size for Arkha's liking. His stomach tightened.
"How's it lookin', doc?" If Enjin had been healthy, Arkha would have given him a light and exasperated smack. Now, he merely pulled out a bottle of water and ordered Enjin to drink some more.
Arkha settled in next to Enjin, a blank report card in front of him. "Tell me what happened."
"Boss," Enjin whined. Actually whined, and if that alone wasn't indication enough of how out of it he was, then Arkha didn't know what else had to happen. "M'tired."
"Well, tough luck. You're stuck with me for now. Start with the ambush, please."
Arkha listened patiently to every half slurred word Enjin muttered, to mixed up names and long pauses between sentences.
The sound of chatter outside the door was muffled. It was just him and Enjin in this room, their own pocket sized world where Arkha wasn't the Big Boss but simply another father worried about his sick child. And Enjin was not the leader of Team Akuta, he was just desperately searching for a place where he didn't have to appear strong when the pain got too much.
Sometimes, when the pauses got too long, he had to nudge Enjin's arm or pat his cheek for alertness to return to his gaze. It was getting rather obvious that he wouldn't last much longer.
Arkha knew basic concussion protocol up and down and inside out. He knew how important it was to keep Enjin upright for now, even if his instincts said otherwise. That didn't make it any easier to dash Enjin's hopeful look whenever he checked his pupils and found only minimal change.
It took around thrice the amount of time to get through the story than it would have on a normal day. Enjin had managed to curl on his side, steadily shifting closer.
Arkha eventually puzzled together the report from Enjin's foggy memories, checked his pupils at least twice more and only when he saw a noticeable improvement, did he breathe a sigh of relief.
"Have another sip," Arkha pushed the bottle into Enjin's sleepy fingers. It took a few, long seconds before he registered the object and managed to drink.
Arkha stretched out, raised his arms up until his shoulders popped satisfyingly. Then he brought them back down, lifting the left one so Enjin could make himself home on his chest. Which he promptly did.
"Sleep?" He slurred hopefully.
This time, Arkha allowed himself the chuckle. He pulled a blanket off the stack near his leg and draped it over them both. It was Riyo's, deep red and warm.
The extra weight felt heavy against him, exhaustion filling his limbs like lead.
He gently ran his fingers through Enjin's hair, until his breathing evened out and he was sure the kid was getting a deep and well deserved nap.
To Arkha, it didn't matter if Enjin was ten and covered in scrapes or twenty-eight and concussed into oblivion. That was his son, plain and simple. There was nothing in this world that could get him to move.