Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Can you please sit still for five seconds?"

Arkha wasn't exactly the type of guy who meddled in romantic relationships. 

They involved emotions and attachment, as well as exhausting amounts of time and effort just to keep that bond somewhat stable. None of which he was willing to dedicate to something he wasn't interested in.

He'd never been in love or had a crush, so it wasn't like he was sacrificing anything. 

And subsequently, he’d also never considered having children. Hard to do without a partner, and he wasn’t exactly paternal anyway.

No thank you. His hands were full enough running his newly founded organization of misfits, and trash beasts didn’t care whether or not you had a family waiting at home when they killed you.

Not to mention how much blackmail material a loved one provided whenever some lunatic decided you've wronged them. 

All that to say, Arkha was not a family man.

When he'd walked through the abandoned cargo tunnel and into a ruined facility three days ago, following reports of strange and increasing trash beast activity, he hadn't exactly planned to encounter bloodied and broken baggage. 

And yet, here he was.

The tiny boy wedged between his back and the office chair paused briefly at his stern tone. Arkha could’ve sworn he’d count to five, if only he knew how to count.

Or what numbers were. 

The desk lamp flickered, casting imposing shadows over the pile of unfinished documents neatly stacked in the corner. 

Uneven breathing tickled his neck, sending chills over his skin.

Soon the kid was wiggling again, knees digging into Arkha's sides. A particularly harsh movement made his pen jerk across the nearly finished report, effectively wasting an hour of his life with a single, dark line. 

Arkha suppressed the urge to curse and sighed instead.

“Seriously,” he set the pen down, rubbing his eyes. “Can't you go play outside or something?”

That one was a stretch, and he knew it.

The new medic they’d hired recently, an older woman who called everyone including big, grumpy Arkha ‘sweetie’, had told him the boy must’ve been down there for a long time.

His limbs were weak from physical confinement, he was malnourished and pale, and overall way too small for his estimated age.

Oh and Arkha, look, isn't he so adorable? How can you not love him?

He couldn't and wouldn't. The child wasn't his issue, he only stayed until they'd found something more suitable.

She wouldn't last long, Arkha could tell. The soft-hearted ones never did.

Another kick landed against his spine. He straightened.

Seriously, for a kid so…developmentally challenged, he sure had a lot of excess energy to burn. 

But Arkha, why don't you just leave him with someone else?

He had tried. Emphasise on trying. The peace had lasted for around 10 minutes.

Two of his best supporters and the new giver kid, a seventeen-year-old named Bro or Bru, he didn't quite remember, were supposed to watch him. 

The order was strict too, don't let any harm come to him. 

In the end, all three of them had left with a rather large collection of bite wounds, and Arkha had nearly turned gray trying to get the feral piranha out from under the couch for dinner. 

Meaning that option was out. It left him with a more direct approach.

“Alright, fun's over.”

Arkha twisted in his chair, plucked the child off his back and hauled him around like he weighed nothing. He didn't.

The kid let out a quiet squeak as Arkha plopped him on the desk.

“Stay still.”

The boy blinked at him, bandaged legs swinging against the desk edge.

He didn’t seem to care about the scolding finger pointed in his face, just gave a little tilt with his head and studied Arkha like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

His blond hair stuck up in a wild mane. Arkha wanted to reach over and smooth it out, caught himself and instead redirected the hand to a stack of reports.

“I need to work,” he said, holding up his papers. “See?”

The kid didn't glance down, though he was still for now.

Arkha returned his attention back to more important matters, trying to ignore the stare boring into his face. 

The pen scratching across the page and their breathing was the only noise for a while, HQ having settled down for the night.

Then came the tugging on his sleeve.

The first few were soft, a test of his boundaries. 

Then another tug. And another, this time harder, until Arkha gave in and let his arm go limp for the boy to manoeuvre however he wanted.

Which was, apparently, up.

“Hey,” he started, but a moment later he had a lap full of bony knees and sharp elbows.

“What?” he said flatly. “Do you want to draw something? Read a book?”

The kid blinked once.

Right, silly question. He probably didn't know how to read. 

He was about to lift the boy off again when small, bandaged fingers wormed under his hoodie, followed by the rest of the child.

He squirmed until he was standing on Arkha's thighs, their noses almost touching.

Arkha froze. “Hi.”

The boy tilted his head again. “Hi.”

And oh, that was new. His voice was raspy and slurred. He hadn't heard him speak before.

Get a grip, it was just a word.

It definitely shouldn't make his heart squeeze.

Arkha wasn’t sure what exactly he’d done to make the boy so attached, especially to him. He was possibly the worst parental figure in the entire building. 

He had no clue what kids liked, or needed. Hell, he could barely keep himself alive.

Okay, calm down. The kid is not staying. Under no circumstances, this is not a daycare. The pang of hurt going through him was professionally ignored. 

Arkha held the gaze until his eyes stung. Then he sighed, his breath making the boy’s hair flutter and his face scrunch up. 

The kid giggled, a surprised sound he hadn't meant to make. He slid down, vanishing into the hoodie.

The weight settled. Arkha wrapped his free arm around the human shaped lump on his chest.

“Alright,” he muttered. “You little fabric mole.”

He picked the pen back up. The boy got comfortable.

If it kept him still, and Arkha productive, he didn’t care how ridiculous it made him look.

Chapter Text

Arkha tried his best to be unbothered by the stare burning into the side of his head.

“Don’t give me that look.”

The boy kept watching.

Arkha focused on the bumpy road ahead. The ground twisted unevenly, the tires kicking up clouds of dust that blurred the view. His knuckles had gone pale around the steering wheel.

This should not be so hard.

When he had been told yesterday that a family around the outskirts was willing to take in orphaned children, he'd initially been relieved that this was finally it.

Over the past few days, the kid had chased off no less than four different, potential caretakers.

The first was a friendly woman in her late 60's, her youngest granddaughter had recently moved out and started working and she'd felt a bit of an empty-nest syndrome.

However, the fact remained that she was older and the kid had simply too much energy.

So she had left, profusely apologising, with the promise to keep her eyes and ears open in case she found someone suitable. 

The second and third were both business men. They lacked the sense and patience to properly gain trust, and had thus both left with fresh scratches and bites. 

The fourth one, Arkha was most hopeful about.

And with that, an ugly and unwelcome feeling of loss made itself home on the forefront of his mind.

“You’ll like them. Promise,” He reached over to the passenger seat to awkwardly pat the kid’s head. 

Finding fitting and neat clothes had been rather difficult as well. They simply didn't have anything that small in HQ, Arkha went out of his way to buy a few things. 

He’d even brushed that mane of blond hair. Not that it mattered. His effort had since been undone by insistent fingers.

The settlement came slowly into view. Houses scattered across the plain, even a few trees here and there.

It felt peaceful, and safe. 

The family would be good for the kid. They already had a couple of kids in their care, and they were well known in the area for raising some of the top tier workers of their respective fields. 

There was structure, and routine. The forbidden zones were far away.

It was exactly the kind of place his little piranha needed. 

And with that, he’d done his part.

Arkha parked the car outside of a tidy house. The doorstep was littered with shoes in every size imaginable. A delicious and hearty smell escaped from the cracked window. 

“C'meone,” Arkha unbuckled the kids seatbelt, lifted him out and set him down carefully. 

He took the boy’s hand when he trembled on unsteady legs, walked him to the door himself. The grip of his tiny hand was tight and scared, as if he would never want to let go again.

Silly.

An older man answered to the knocking. Gray hair and a long beard, two girls peeking around each knee. He looked friendly.

And off.

“Hello,” the man greeted warmly. “I'm Jim.”

“Corvus,” Arkha shook his hand.

Something about Jime wasn't sitting right. He suddenly felt very on edge, with no apparent reason to. The girls looked happy enough though.

Probably his instincts acting up. He'd gotten awfully distrustful during his work. 

“‘That the kid?” Jim asked.

Arkha nodded. “He’s a bit shy.”

“Understandable. We've got plenty of kids like that,” Jim gestured behind himself. Would you like to stay for lunch?”

“Sorry, I've got a bunch of work waiting for me,” Arkha handed over the small bag with a couple of clothes and necessities he'd scrounged up. 

“The wraps are only until he's built up some strength.”

Jim hummed, tossing the back onto a bench inside the hallway. Arkha bit back his comment.

“Be good,” he gave the boy’s shoulder a push forward.

A tiny, choked whimper escaped the kid. He lunged back to Arkha’s side, desperate fingers clung to his coat. 

But Arkha wasn't the lifeline he needed, couldn't possibly provide him with the safety he deserved. His job was dangerous, he had no manners and a house full of men and women who swore and got drunk for fun and left weapons scattered around everywhere. 

For a heartbeat, the world felt frozen. They locked gazes, fear and pain so clearly visible on a face too young for such emotions. 

Then he pried the hand loose.

Arkha didn't say goodbye, wouldn't draw this out any more than necessary.

The trek from the door back to the car, haunted by broken cries and pleas, was the shortest and longest walk of his entire life. 

A door slammed behind him, cutting off the noises that would echo in his ears for years to come.

Arkha started the engine, turned the music up as loud as it would go to drown the world out.

This was for the best. He knew that. So why did he feel like a monster? 

The next week went by painfully slow.

There was this heavy feeling that had settled deep in his chest, the feeling you get when you've forgotten something extremely important.

He spent most of his time buried in work, trying to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts.

It didn't help much.

Everyone from his most loyal supporters down to the new kid, Bro, had asked him if he was okay, and why he was acting so strange.

He wasn't, his behaviour was perfectly fine.

…

Okay, maybe not perfectly.

Arkha caught himself more than once leaving unnecessary space between his back and the chair. Almost as if he expected a small weight to clamber up and make itself home behind him.

And he wore his old hoodie more frequently than he used to. 

While it always fit nicely in the past, big enough to feel comfortable without drowning him, it now seemed rather loose. And empty. 

He missed the warmth of another being that didn't know how to judge, and the intense stare directed at his every movement. Sometimes he even looked up to seek it out, before he realised he wouldn't see it again.

Maybe ever.

When others remarked about the loneliness that had settled over them, Arkha would snap and tell them to go back to work. 

And when his men compared child-sized bite scars, he would avert his eyes.

Two days after he'd dropped the kid off, the dreams started.

Arkha had seen a lot of fucked up shit during his time. In comparison, these nightmares weren't all that horrific, content wise. No blood and gore, or the clawing hands of friends and family that wasn't with him anymore. 

It was almost ridiculous to even call them nightmares. Dust covered roads and screams of don't leave me alone that the kid hadn't been able to form, immovable weight on his sleeves. 

The voice, while he knew it was his imagination and not an actual memory, was torturing to listen to.

He stopped sleeping three days ago, and safe to say; it hadn't improved his mood at all. 

Arkha prodded the meat on his plate. His appetite had never been insatiable, but now the smell alone made him nauseous. 

He wondered if the kid has had a taste of some delicious, homemade food yet. 

Under his care, he'd gotten a special, and frankly ludicrously expensive, drink with high calories instead of solid foods. 

Kayo, the medic, had taught him that lesson the hard way when Arkha had been too pushy and impatient and the boy had thrown up candy onto his blankets. 

She personally watched him clean up with the most shit-eating grin she could muster. And then she'd made him strip and change every single bed in the infirmary. 

Had it been anyone else, he would have protested. Fired them, perhaps. She was their healer though and you don't mess with someone in charge of your survival. 

Arkha pushed his plate away, sliding over a stack of report cards to work on.

The words blurred together in a dizzying haze, details losing logic and sense. There was really no point in this, other than meaningless distraction. Because if he stopped, he'd have to confront all of those feelings bubbling inside of him that he didn't want to have.

There were hurried footsteps outside his door, and by the time he'd gathered himself enough to return to alertness, his door slammed open.

“Boss!” It was Bro, and he was breathless.

“What happened?” Arkha had gotten up straight away, grip tight around the edge of his desk. The wood dug painfully into his palm.

“It's th-” Bro panted, glancing him up and down. “Damn, you look like something the trash beasts brought in.”

“What happened, Bro?” The stern tone startled the teen back to the topic at hand. 

He shifted somewhat nervously and wouldn't make eye contact. “You gotta come outside.”

Arkha walked past him and out of the office. If he couldn't tell him directly, then it must be bad. 

Bro was taking three steps for every one Arkha did. He almost felt bad for being so brash, but what sounded like an emergency and smelled like an emergency was, most likely, an emergency.

He expected Raiders, or bandits, maybe even a bunch of wayward trash beasts. 

What he didn't expect was to see Jim. And he had his the kid.

The man paced back and forth in the lobby, face red with barely contained fury. He didn't waste a second to lay into them when he spotted Arkha.

“You never told me he was untrained,” Jim shouted. His hands curled tightly around the boy's shoulders. 

The gesture lit a fire in his chest.

“Let go,” Arkha growled in a low voice.

Jim tsked, but his grip loosened. “He bit my daughter! He won't talk or eat, and he's always staring! It's unnerving!” 

The kid was rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet, fingers subconsciousnessly scratching reddened skin around his arms. 

He peered through them, through Arkha, at nothing in particular. 

Arkha wanted to hurt someone. Jim, preferably. 

“I was under the impression that you've been fostering children for nearly two decades. Have all of them been perfect angles?”

His fist tightened, searing hot anger rising in his throat. There was a distant and repeated scream of not in front of the kids, not in front of the kids playing in his mind, but it felt quiet and insignificant to him under the rushing of blood in his ears.

“That's different! He's broken, and violent! He can't even follow basic orders!” Jim had pushed the boy forward until he stumbled and Arkha had to catch him. 

Bro twitched in the corner of his eyes.

“I don't want some-, some feral thing like that near my family!”

And then, with a final throw of the very same bag Arkha had packed barely a week ago, he was gone.

Priorities though. If Arkha so much as found a single bruise on that boy he'd hunt Jim and his entire family down, no matter which god-forsaken rock he crawled under. 

“Lets get you inside,” he held out a hand for the kid to take. The boy ignored him.  

Okay, cold shoulder. He could deal with that. Maybe he even deserved it. 

Arkha led him to the infirmary. Kayo was in the field today so he would have to use his limited first aid knowledge. 

There were no visible, life-threatening injuries at least. 

“Sit down,” he gestured to a bed. “I will get some stuff. You watch him, Bro.”

The teen had been mostly silent during the entire interaction. He was pale and shaking, and Arkha would definitely need to have a conversation with him later, before whatever was triggering him could become ugly. 

Arkha had to squash the spark of excitement that unexpectedly rose within him. This was not a turn of events to be happy about, because it meant he had put the kid in danger. Again. 

After he had trusted Arkha enough to take his hand and leave the safety of his rotting, moldy cell. 

It was selfish, the thought that maybe he could actually take care of a child. Cruel, even. 

And yet. 

Arkha rummaged through the storage room cupboards, gathering disinfectant and bandaids and fresh bandages. Anything he could reach went into his pockets.

Kayo would end his life when she came back and saw the mess he'd made of her workspace. 

Maybe he could explain his reasons, and then she would give him a quick death.

When Arkha was sure he had everything he could need, he returned through the connecting door and-

And they were gone.

Disappeared. Poof. Turned into thin air.

Arkha stared dumbfounded at the empty bed for a second. Then he turned around himself a couple of times, as if that would magically change anything, frantically scanning the room but neither the kid nor Bro were in sight. 

He checked the dusty floor under the beds, and behind the long curtains in case this was a sick joke, even called out to Bro a few times and heard nothing in return. 

Panic was starting to creep under his skin. A stinging sensation in his heart that wouldn't go away regardless of how many deep breaths he took.

His The kid was still weak and fragile. He couldn't have gotten far, not with those shaky legs and barely a clue on the building's layout.

And definitely not without being seen.

But it seemed he'd done just that. None of the Cleaners lingering in the hallway had seen a lick of him or Bro. 

His office would have been the most logical spot. It was the one room that the kid had spent the most time in, the only one that could reasonably mean comfort for a scared child. 

Arkha checked under his desk, and behind the couch, pulled drawers open in silly desperation.

Of course, the boy wasn't that small. Worth the effort, though. 

In a last ditch effort, Arkha decided to check his own bedroom. The kid usually slept in the infirmary, so there was no real reason for him to be there. 

He'd seen Arkha enter and leave though. It wasn't totally outside of the realm of possibilities. 

And that turned out to be a jackpot. 

Bro was standing frozen in the middle of his room, with a look of sheer terror on his face as if Arkha would pack his bags and throw him out personally. 

“Bed or closet?” Arkha asked in hopes of calming him down. 

“I'm sorry sir,” Bro pointed to the closet. “I tried to stop him but he's fast, and now he doesn't want to come out.”

Arkha sighed. “It's okay. You can leave.” 

Didn't have to say that twice. He was more than happy to comply. 

“And Bro,” just before the teen had reached the door, “I'm not mad. Wipe that look off your face.”

When the lock had clicked shut quietly, Arkha kneeled in front of the closet and slid the panel open a fraction more.

The heap of laundry in the back corner that he'd been meaning to clean up was breathing.

“Hey mole,” Arkha reached for the bundle of hoodies and shirts, and trembling child. “Why don't you come out-”

He hadn't even finished the sentence before a tiny foot shot out and kicked him square in the chest, with a surprising amount of force.

The precarious balance he had was thrown off and he swayed for a second, before tipping over and landing painfully on his ass.

“Alright,” he panted. “Message clear.”

Arkha scooted over until his back was to the partially open closet door. Coaxing him out wouldn't help this time. 

His own fault, really. 

“I had no idea what they'd do to you,” Arkha attempted quietly. 

No reply. 

“I thought having a normal family would be the best for you.” And had he done more research, it might have turned out better too. 

No reply.

“All I wanted was for you to be happy with someone stable, someone who isn't as busy or inadequate as me.”

No reply. 

“But I just kicked your trust like it was worthless, right? God, I'm awful.”

It was already midnight when the quiet tap tap tap of little steps broke the silence. 

He'd retreated hours ago in hopes of making the kid more comfortable, to give him time to process Arkha’s words and to decide whether or not he wanted to be anywhere near him.

Arkha got very, very still and listened. The sound got closer until it paused right outside of his cracked open office door. 

There was silence for a few seconds, then the door was pushed open just a sliver more and the fluffy mane of his the kid poked through. 

They locked eyes. Tired, bruised, red-rimmed eyes. 

Arkha got up slowly, careful not to make a sound or a movement that would startle him back into the closet. 

He rounded the desk under the watchful gaze he'd become used to, crouched down to a knee.

The boy stared. 

Then, cautiously, he slipped through the doorway and shuffled forward to a distance barely out of reach.

Arkha opened his arms a fraction, an invitation rather than an order, and it took barely a second before he had said arms full of child. 

“Can you forgive me, please?”

He didn't get a reply. 

Chapter Text

Arkha tucked a bottle of water into one of his boots, all the way in the back of his closet.
"Need anything else?"

His laundry didn’t answer.

"Alright then." He pushed himself up from the floor, knees dusty and popping. "Good night."

This arrangement had quickly become a thing.

The kid had been sleeping in his closet for a few days. And while he had no problems with coming out whenever he felt like it, he'd still been upset when Arkha dropped him off in the infirmary to sleep.
And then Arkha brilliantly suggested getting him his own room. His skin hadn't been happy with that idea, thankfully though the scars were barely visible anymore.

Arkha switched off the light, sinking into his bed. Ever since his furniture became sentient he's felt wonderfully warm and relaxed. There were no more dreams either, thankfully.

Plastic rustled from across the room. At least his kid was well hydrated, Arkha thought as he rolled onto his side. He'd almost managed to fall asleep, when the quiet sliding of his closet door echoed through the room.

He kept his eyes firmly closed and his breathing even with years of battle experience.
There was a tug on his blanket, then the little worm wiggled under the sheets. A moving lump that would have easily slotted right into those shark movies with dramatic music and lots of tension.

And then he climbed over Arkha.

Elbows and knees dug into his sides with so much precision it was definitely fully intentional. The boy finally settled under Arkha's arms, giving his best impression of an overgrown hot water bottle.

He ran a hand through soft, blond strands that tickled his nose, brushing them back gently. The kid sighed and made a noise. A noise that needed approximately three business days to register in his sleepy brain.

It was a pur. The kid was purring.

Like a damn housecat.

"You've got to be kidding me."

-----------------

"Alright kiddo," Arkha tilted the boy's face up to give him his best serious-face. Either he was immune to it or Arkha was losing his touch, and he hated both options. "We're gonna do some social work, yeah?"

The kid hummed neutrally.

"It's not much today. Just checking on a few people who came home earlier, making sure they still got their limbs and all."

He took the kid's hand and led them through the hallway towards the garage and lobby, where a group of people had already gathered. Laughter and loud chatting carried across the room.

"This is how you get respected," Arkha whispered. "Show them you care, yes?"
The child nodded energetically.

"Delmon," Arkha shouted.

"Boss! Good to see ya!" boomed the mountain of a man looming over the group. He separated from his team and approached with thundering steps.

Arkha quickly glanced downwards to check if the boy was alright, but other than the now familiar octopus hold he had on his leg and the owlish eyes there was no fear or nervousness in his demeanor.

"I assume everything went well?" Arkha began, but Delmon’s attention had already been captured by his moving, breathing accessory.

"Yo boss," his voice dropped to a lower volume, which for him meant barely below yelling. "Whatcha got there?"

Of course Arkha couldn’t explain away an entire child, especially one attached to him like a noise maker and in front of the most kid-friendly person this organisation had.
But he'd hoped to at least have that conversation after his cleaners were accounted for.

"Found him out in the field," he said shortly. "I’ll give you the details later."

Delmon stared. The kid stared back.

Then he grinned, bent down to eye level which meant nearly laying on the floor like an exotic fur rug.

"Hey, lil’ man," Delmon held out one of his big paws. It was double the size of the kid's head. "What’s your name?"

The boy squealed excitedly, wrapping both hands around one of Delmon's fingers and attempted to shake it with all of his strength. It barely moved.

Delmon paused, looked up at Arkha like he'd personally destroyed every beautiful flower in this world right in front of Delmon’s eyes.

"Boss," he hesitated. "He does have a name, right?"

---------------

Arkha felt extraordinarily stupid.

Usually he prided himself on being observant, attentive. Noticing details others easily missed, reading people like open books. He had eyes and ears everywhere, and yet he still skimmed over a mistake so glaringly obvious.
The random child he'd picked off the dumps had no name.

"What about these ones?" Arkha rambled down all the names he could find in the, by now, fourth book he'd randomly pulled off a shelf.

No reaction. Probably not because the names were horrendous, but the kid was presently chewing on Bro’s wrist while the teen attempted to write a report and the search for bones apparently required his utmost attention.

None of them fit him anyway.

Arkha put the book away. Was he even the right person to saddle those already burdened shoulders with a name?
Names defined people, if they wanted to or not. People didn't have to meet him to know what sort of person Arkha Corvus was, they simply knew and treated him accordingly.

Even if he did find something that the kid liked now, there was no guarantee that he still would when he was thirty.
Changing your name when you had a reputation was notoriously difficult, and interacting with Arkha automatically gave you said reputation.

Arkha was pulled from that thought when Bro burst out laughing, in loud wheezes and yelps. The kid had clambered across his chest and hung limply over a shoulder, hands holding on tight to his sides in all the ticklish spots.

It warmed Arkha's heart. Non-consensually.

Bro hadn’t exactly had it easy. No one who worked for him had, really. Seeing him smile and laugh just because the resident piranha was gnawing his flesh off and used him as a jungle gym? It made him feel weirdly proud.

Not because of misguided parental feelings. It was more the thought that a creature that had been beyond broken down and tossed aside by the world, forgotten in a moldy cell with nothing but the stench of blood and death as company, could still trigger affection in others.

The ability to coax someone out of their shell so easily was a rare gift.

There was a word for this phenomenon in Arkha's language, a high form of praise native to his hometown only.
It was an honourable title given to great leaders and artists, to people who ignited inspiration and strength in others.

Arkha plucked the kid off Bro, holding him up to the light of the windows like one might with the most precious gem the ground had to offer.

“I’ve got the perfect name for you.”