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Bro Santa knows that there is no enemy as terrifying as the one you recognize yourself in. The one that holds parts of you, twisted, shaped by your own what ifs and could have beens. The one that is from a dark nightmare, the one that could be you.
Regto is not an enemy. He is a teammate, a fellow Cleaner, and is looking to become a very dear friend. Yet. Yet.
Regto scares Bro like nothing else, because in Regto’s eyes he sees what he could be if Dear was gone. If his precious boy, his light, his son, dies, if Guita falls, if he loses the the things most precious to him more than any object. He sees and he recognizes the depth of Regto’s despair, the hopelessness, the soul crushing loss, and Bro is terrified of what could be of his own future.
Regto lost his son when he fell. He won’t say how, just that he’s gone forever. In a better place. Enjin knows, Bro knows, from the fractured freeze on his face whenever the topic comes up in late night drinks or in emotionally fraught moments. Enjin knows, and it wasn’t a pretty death. Bro wonders, sometimes, with Dear pressed against his side and Guita leaning against him, if he will fail his children some day. If they will find an enemy too much for Guita and Dear’s insurmountable strength, if he himself will fail to protect them from more human threats, if he will end up like Retgo. A father whose child went before him.
An awful fate. That poor boy. Rudo, Regto will say in the night, like something too precious to share aloud. He’ll talk about a boy who cared so much for the world around him but was so shunned, so hurt by it. A boy who would have loved the world of the ground, who would have found joy and treasure in the trash around them, who was kind despite all the world’s fault to him. That poor boy. Gone. Left to… left without a father to bury him, despite having a father that cares so much.
It hurts Bro. He doesn’t know how he himself would move on from that awful fate. He doesn’t know how Regto is moving on. But he is.
He will sit so patiently with Dear, treating him as Dear wants to be treated, and respecting his power. He’ll listen to Guita’s tales of kaiju and read aloud from storybooks, indulging her dreams of mythic beasts. He will sit with Remlin and draw, never any persons but always line art of objects, letting Remlin fill in the gaps with their own art.
And… Amo. He saw her, and saw a young woman in need, and reached out a hand. He’s sat with her through outbursts, brought her to other young women who would understand, who would guide Amo, and never spoke cruelly… even when Amo screamed and shouted. A patience even Bro doesn’t have all the time with Dear. When asked, he’ll say he once knew another young person, who had a hole in his heart.
It’s a kindness.
Bro hopes that if he ever gets the same fate as Regto, he too becomes a kind man. That he still can smile despite empty eyes.
Now….
Now they are in a dank cave. A trafficker’s hide out, but no longer. Blood smears the walls, trash embedded in the rock amongst the bodies strewn about.
Small, the rumors had said. Fast. Chains that flew everywhere, red, red, red eyes, and a wrenching, devastating moan. Terrifying, the one trafficker had said, mumbling out trash, trash from the Sphere, trash… before the Hell guard dragged him away. Regto’s sad eyes had hardened as the man had said this, as Team Child, with parts of Team Akuta tagging along, were assigned to take out the trash beast from the cave.
Dear and Guita are by the entrance with Gris and Follo, guarding the entrance from the larger, more typical beasts. Bro is glad he had them stay back, guessing at the men they might meet in this cave. This is…
Cleaners killed Trash Beasts. Not men.
This is a massacre.
They creep in slowly. Even Enjin does not prowl with his usual fanfare, subtly spooked as the other two are by the obscene amounts of gore sprawling along the walls.
There is no moaning. No death rattles. The men around them have been dead for days. Bro signed up to be a cleaner of beasts, not men, and is thankful that this is a rare sight.
Regto walks beside them, hand by the book hung by his side. Bro keeps a steady hand on his cloth and Enjin swings Umbreaker idly with care. Rattling echoes through the cave - the sound of chains against the ground, scraping and uneven.
Off-beat footsteps sound staggering in the distance. Distantly, as his body prepares for battle, Bro wonders what kind of beast this will be. A scorpion? A hare? Tarantula? A snake, made out of chains?
Shadow grows on the wall in the thin lantern light. Bro tenses, as do the men beside him.
Then they see it. The trash beast.
But its not a beast at all. It’s a boy. Small, malnourished, with blazing bright red eyes and dark marks beneath them. His skin is pale, his hair a dirty white, his whole body, really, covered in dirt…. And blood. Chains rest just above his wrists, blazing black and red with anima, and large, oversized gloves cover his hands. He’s dressed in… in white. With patterns. Like… Regto.
Bro turns. And the face of the man with the terrifying fate changes. No longer are Regto’s eyes sad and lonely and lost. No longer is his face forever holding that small smile, or focused look. No. His eyes are full of hope. A desperate, terrifying sort of hope.
“Rudo?”
Enjina and Bro freeze.
The boy in front of them freezes too.
Regto steps forward. “Rudo? Baby it’s me.” He takes another step, arms outstrectched. “It’s Regto. It’s… It’s Dad.” His voice is all sorts of desperate. The boy steps back, further into the wall. “Please, Baby. Please.”
“Regto—“ Enjin starts, stopped by Bro’s hand on his arm and a shake of his head. He doesn’t look at Enjin though, eyes completely locked on Regto… and his son?
It’s like coaching a wild animal. On closer look, Rudo looks like a wild animal. Dirty, teeth and canines bared, hands permanently clenched in claws despite the chains, stance low to the ground. Blood, all around his face.
“I promise I’m real. I promise. I promise. Just so long as you are too. I know you are. I know those gloves. Rudo, baby, please.” Bro has never heard Regto’s voice so tender. Not even with Amo or Dear.
Regto kneels, uncaring of the way the trash and blood around him stains his clothes. “I’ll wait as long as you need me too Rudo. You know this. Just like when we were up in the Sphere. I’ll always wait for you. Always.”
And wait, Regto does. As Enjin and Bro stand there, staring, uncomfortable, Regto kneels before the boy he is calling his son. Delusion? A boy who looks like Rudo, but isn’t? A trash beast, distorting memories? An illusion?
Or a miracle.
And like a miracle, the boy slowly stands up. His hands don’t relax, his arms trembling, the haze from his chains - a vital instrument? - never fading, but he takes a step forward away from the safety of the wall. His eyes lose their glare, and end up with the same sort of hope that Regto has in his. His mouth, covered in blood, loses its snarl and forms a signal word through chapped and bitten lips.
“…Regto?”
His voice is small. Barely anything.
Regto breaks. “Yes baby, yes Rudo it’s me. It’s Regto.”
With a cry, the boy lunges, running faster than Bro would have thought. Sprints. An attack? Bro and Enjin ready their instruments but -
It’s not an attack.
It’s a boy, running to his father. It’s a father, catching and cradling his lost son in his arms like he’s the most precious thing in the world. The boy lets out a wrenching cry, animal like in it’s desperation, as he buries himself in his father’s shoulder. Regto cradles his head, murmuring into his ear in returning, assurances Bro can hear from where he stands.
The chains, red and black, fade to dust off the boys wrists as he falls limp into his father’s arms.
Regto doesn’t care.
“RE-H-REGTOOOOO!!”
“I’m here, Rudo, I’m here, I’m never letting you go again, you hear me? I’m here. I’m here, you’re safe, we’re both safe and we’re together, its okay, it’s okay-“
Bro feels like he’s a voyeur, almost. Seeing something so important, so intimate - something that should just be for this father and son. He and Enjin stare, shifting uncomfortably, as the reunion continues. Still. Bro is glad.
It’s good to see light in Regto’s eyes again.
- - - -
Regto does not know how long he sits there, on the cold, bloody floor, with his boy in his arms. It must be awhile, for his legs are aching and the cold is seeping in through his thin Cleaner’s uniform. He doesn’t care. Not at all. Because Rudo is in his arms again. His Rudo. His boy, his baby, his son.
A hole in his heart has been filled again by the gentle weight in his arms. A miracle given shape, a love given form, hope made reality - Regto’s mind spins and spins as he pays no heed to the world around him. Only to Rudo, here in his arms.
It is him. Regto cannot entertain any other belief - any other would break him entirely. It is him, and oh is his boy hurt more than Regto thought he could be.
Rudo sits, dazed and slumped in Regto’s arms. One arm curled around him, one tucked between them. His arms hold onto Regto where his grip fails, hands still clenched in those claw like forms. He’s dirty, and thinner than Regto has almost ever seen him. Bruises scatter across his body in starbursts of blue, purple and yellow, scrapes and cuts following in jagged designs. His clothes - his ones from the Sphere - are ripped and torn, more rags than anything else. His gloves are the only intact thing he’s wearing, protected by the anima Regto can sense off of them.
But his arms… they shake, even now, spasming and twitching. The bandages that extend from his gloves up are ragged, torn, and absolutely soaked with blood, dried and fresh. His boy must be in so much pain. Even more blood circles where those cuffs were. When Regto goes to brush his hair away from his fair, bloody bruises are revealed. Scrapes. His boy’s eyes flutter, but Rudo, quieted by Regto’s embrace, does nothing save for nuzzle closer to Regto’s embrace, burying his face next to Regto’s heart.
Regto aches to do the same, to press his ear against Rudo’s chest and hear that butterfly pattern of his heart beat, thump-thump, thump-thump, but he cannot bear to move Rudo from surely the only comfort he has had in… months. Months.
What happened? What happened to his boy, to leave him in a traffickers den, surrounded by bodies and blood? What happened to his boy to leave him so hurting, to put him in the Pit? To make his boy so rabid, so feral, that he could be mistaken for a trash beast?
His boy? His sweet, sweet, empathetic, kind boy?
Rage had been swallowed by grief before, but now it sparks, wild and bright in Regto’s chest. He tempers himself for now -
Revenge can come later.
Getting Rudo comfort and safety and medical aid is the mission for now.
“That’s him, then?” Comes Enjin’s voice to his right. Regto tears his eyes away from Rudo’s face to look at the man, clutching Rudo just that much tighter to his chest. “Your son?”
“Yes.” Regto says, adjusting Rudo in his hold. “It is. Without a doubt. I… don’t know how he survived… he…”
Enjin quiets for a moment. Unsual. “Doesn’t matter right now, does it? Me and Bro searched the cave while you were having your reunion. Seems like the traffickers got him ‘bout three days ago. A wild Sphereite. He broke free two days ago, we got our call yesterday and well… here we are. Their logs say they found him in No Man’s land.”
A pollution zone. Waste land. How long had Rudo spent there, before he was rescued… for some sort of word, by these scum?
Enjin is quiet for another moment, letting Regto digest that info with an unusual level of tact. “Bro’s gone to get the other kids in the van, and get Gris for some first aid. We’ve let HQ know we got a guest for the infirmary comin’ their way. You ready to blow this joint?”
Regto looks at him, at Enjin’s golden eyes, at this stray collector. He looks around at the cave, at the blood smeared on the walls and the bodies around them, quiet, and then looks down at his son. Rudo looks… tired.
Worn.
“Yes. Let’s go.” With a wobble and some determination, Regto stands on near-numb legs. Rudo is a too-light weight in his arms, and he cradles him close to his chest. His hands spasm and twitch, thumping against Regto’s chest like a reminder of how much muscle his boy has lost.
- — - -
They get into the jeep with little fanfare. Enjin holds open the door for Regto to ease in, Rudo cradled on his lap. Guita and Dear sit quiet in the back, Bro with them, clearly having warned them to be sensitive. Their eyes trail over Rudo’s frame with curiosity, and some care - such a clear, stark, difference from the way the children in the Sphere would stare at his boy.
“Mr. Regto?” Guita asks, as Enjin slides into the passenger seat, and Gris into the front. “Is… is that your son?”
“He is. This is Rudo. He’s just a little… out of it right now.” Regto answers gently, eyes trained on his boy for any discomfort more than the ordinary.
“I’m glad you were able to find him then!” Guita says, more cheerily in her normal tone. Dear nods along side her, reaching forward to pat his hand on Regto’s head. “Dear is too.”
“We all are,” Bro says, full of warmth that reaches Regto’s bones. The Cleaners are good people. Such good, good people, despite the monsters all around them.
He turns his head to give them a gentle smile as the car begins to rumble to life. “Me too. I am… very, very glad.”
The car is left in a soft silence then, the rare gentle music echoing over the radio. With Gris driving, the youngin’s in the back soon doze off. Follo, next to Regto, does his best to fight it but eventually he conks out as well, head leaning against the door and hammer cradled to his chest like an infant.
Rudo doesn’t stir, his entire little body lined with exhaustion.
Regto doesn’t sleep. His eyes just trace Rudo’s form over and over again, confirming that yes his son is real. Is alive. Is here, in his lap, back for Regto to cherish again.
“Two hours out…” Enjin announces from the front with an exagerated yawn, “If Gris doesn’t pick up the fuckin’ pace.”
It’s in jest. The jeep is whipping fast and smooth along the rode. Still, Gris grumbles, and they perform the same song and dance as always, breaking the tension in the car.
Such good, good people.
Without thinking, Regto opens his mouth. “They never liked my boy up there. In the Sphere.”
The car goes silent. Enjin’s eyes try to catch Regto’s in the rearview mirror, but Regto keeps looking at Rudo.
“His father was a criminal. They - the apostles, the city folk, the Tribesfolk… they didn’t differentiate the sins of the father from that of the son. They cursed him, neglected him, starved him, until I took him in and adopted him. Brought out the sweet, caring boy I knew, but they wouldn’t see it.” Regto takes a breath, and lets the anger fade away for later.
Always later.
“When I aligned myself with him, they hated me too. I… I came home one day. Later than normal. And when I stepped in the door I saw a man with a sword through Rudo’s chest.” Regto doesn’t let his voice crack. He can’t. He won’t. “He’s so… so small, cause I could barely feed us, and there was so much blood. The man left in seconds, but by then the Apostles were on us. The… Hell Guard equivalent. They accused me of killing my own son, and dragged me away. Rudo was still reaching for me. Begging for me.”
It is clear as day in his mind even now. Rudo, eyes growing dimmer, shaking gloved hand reaching out while the other tried to press down on his thin chest. Regto could see his heart. His lungs. Muscle. All through the slice, nearly as big as Rudo’s torso. Rudo begging, saying Dad through a mouthful of blood, confused and lost and hurt.
“No one cared to check on him. I knew they wouldn’t. They never cared for him, not even when I begged, except to exert their anger out on him. They hung me up in minutes, and dropped me to the Pit. I assumed my son was dead. That - ” Now his voice cracks, and his vision blurs, as he bares his soul to the kind souls around him, as he clutches his miracle to his chest. “That they left him to die alone, and that the most I would get with him was them tossing his body over the side to join me in the Pit. I don’t know how he survived but…But he’s here - my son is here.”
And now, with his son quiet in his lap, Regto weeps. Softly, wetly, his tears dripping unabashedly into Rudo’s hair, but he weeps. In joy, in relief, in sadness for his boy’s fate, he doesn’t know but tears fall down his face all the same.
A heavy hand comes out to rest on his head, gentle. Bro. A father, offering kindness to another father.
So kind, these people are. So, so kind. Regto holds the fragile weight of his son, and cries harder. Soup, he thinks, distantly, feeling bird-bones beneath his hands, and broth and… you would like to try sweets, wouldn’t you Rudo? You would enjoy the gifts so freely given down here, available for us at our leisure. Food for you, a bath, a bed, fresh bandages and… they have painkillers and medical tools and healers and doctors who will look at you with care. And if they don’t… here I can fight back. I can protect you. Here, you can fight back.
Rudo…
You will be happy again.
I promise.