Chapter Text
Part I: Eight Years Old
Chapter 1: The Choice
Zeff’s been hunting monsters since he was 17. After growing up in a small mundane village in the Eastern Quarter, he had wanted to live a life of adventure; to prove that he was strong enough to make a name for himself in one of the most dangerous careers in the world. Now, nearly thirty years later, he has long since learned that to survive as a hunter you need more than just physical strength.
In a deadly business, it's important to know your adversary as well as you know yourself. Zeff’s devoted himself to research almost as much as he has to his combat training. He has journals upon journals of notes that he continues to add to diligently.
When he received the job to go vampire hunting up North, he hadn’t even hesitated. He’s fought hundreds, if not thousands of vampires over the years. They’re complicated creatures, but his notes are extensive. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to say he knew everything about them, but he was more versed against them than some of the other creatures he’d fought.
With a healthy amount of confidence, he easily agreed to the job. The thought never even crossed his mind that it would be his last.
There’s no such thing as a simple hunting job, but the one he had been hired to do was pretty close. There were multiple rumors of vampiric activity centered around a dark forest deep in the North and Zeff had been hired to investigate, with hefty bounties offered for each vampire he managed to bring back.
After 6 months of travel and research in the local towns in the area, Zeff is starting to regret taking this job. He’s had his fair share of bad jobs before, earned some scars and lost some friends from the worst of them. But the more he talks to the locals, the more he starts to wonder if vampires are really the problem here. Zeff has no doubt that he could take on a vampire, even a coven, if he needed to. But from what he’s heard, in quiet whispers in dark corners, he’s starting to wonder if there’s not something worse than vampires in that forest.
Sometimes the real truth is less talked about, too strange to be spoken out loud. Yes he’s heard many stories of vampires near here, each story grander and more outlandish than the last. But in the small towns closest to the notorious Northern forest, the stories were a little different. The missing people were still the same, but there was the hushed talk of a tall blonde man that walked in the sunlight, who seemed just as human as anyone else. He was seen around the new travelers, ones that somehow never made it to the local inn by nightfall. Most concerning were the stories of the orphanages, of how children had a tendency to run off in the middle of the night, but only on the days the large man had been seen stopping by town to do some errands or shopping.
One woman in particular, withered and gray, put a thin hand over Zeff's before he had left the last inn. After glancing around to make sure no one was paying her any attention, she leaned close and had whispered, “Hunter, if you’re looking for vampires, you’ll probably find them. But they don’t seem to be alone in these parts and sometimes I think people can be far scarier.” She had pulled away, suddenly appearing far older than he had first thought. “My grandson fancied himself a hunter and didn’t listen to me. Look where that got him—just an empty grave for me to visit.”
No one knew the man’s name or where he had come from, but that didn’t mean that he was unknown. With enough luck, Zeff had found some local teenagers that told him the man was rich and well known for paying high prices for weird things. Some of the braver locals, amateurs that thought themselves monster hunters, would try and catch themselves a creature to sell to him. The guy bought whatever he could get his hands on, monster blood, claws, teeth, anything. One kid told him that one of his friends sold the guy what could have been werewolf fur, more likely the shed of his dog's winter coat, for 1000 berri.
Whatever the strange man is doing in the woods, Zeff wants no part in it. But at the end of the day, he’s agreed to a job and he’ll have to do it.
His nerves are on edge the instant he steps foot in the woods. Zeff’s not sure if it’s his own misgivings getting to him, the dread that had been growing the more he had heard. He swears he can feel the prickle of eyes upon him, though he knows there’s no one there.
Could someone really be experimenting out here, making his own monstrosities out of lone travelers and innocent children? Or is he only letting delusion and folktales get to him? Losing his wits to fear and speculation really isn’t like him, so he shakes his head and keeps trudging cautiously deeper into the woods. His steps are quick, but light, keenly aware of every creak of the trees around him.
The farther Zeff continues, the more certain he is that he’s being watched. He’s not sure what it is, but there’s something out there in the dark woods that’s keeping an eye on him. He can’t tell how far away it is either, but makes sure to have a cautious hand on his shotgun, ready for anything.
There’s a tension in the air that makes his hair stand on end, worsened by the pure quiet of the woods. There’s no animals that he can hear, no flutter of feathers or rustle of low bushes. The only sounds he can hear are his own, the quiet crunch of the fallen leaves under his boots, the sound of his own breath, which sounds far too loud to his own ears.
When the silence breaks, suddenly and harshly, it’s far worse than he can imagine. It’s not a howl or a snarl, or even the crash of something out in the foliage. It’s a small, high pitched scream of pure terror and anguish. It sounds eerily like a child.
On instinct, Zeff darts forward, his cautious, near-silent steps replaced with long, careless strides. The harsh snapping sound of his own silver soled boots through thick branches breaks him out of his panic, making him stagger to a heavy stop.
Something in this forest was already aware of his presence, but now he’s carelessly announcing his own location to whatever else may be out here. He’s survived this long as a hunter because he’s not an impulsive person, but here he is, acting rash and stupid. If he wants to survive this mission, then he needs to be strategic and rational.
So he forces himself to stop and think, slowing his own harsh breathing. He keeps his eyes on the dark gaps between trees, forces his instincts to keep alert while his head starts working.
Is there really a child here? The nearest village is hours away, so one couldn’t have just wandered in. Maybe those rumors he’d heard were just that, somehow using the story of kidnapped children as a ploy to lure people deeper into the woods.
The most rational explanation is that it’s a trap, a ruse to lure him deeper into the woods and toy with his emotions. Even if it’s not, running in impulsively isn’t going to help anyone.
With his decision made, Zeff cautiously backtracks to his earlier path, his steps near-silent once more. The wailing continues somewhere behind him and he grits his teeth as he does his best to ignore it. He’s never considered himself a particularly paternal person before, but hearing the pure fear in the young voice prickles at the back of his mind. Logically, it’s most likely a trap, but even so, he wants to find and help this child.
Whatever it is in this forest, it’s a skilled manipulator.
Zeff fights himself to ignore the sobs and continue on his original path, steadily closer to where the old abandoned castle must be. Despite his best attempts to ignore the sobbing, he can’t help but notice they seem to be getting louder the further he heads north.
In fact, he can now make out more sounds to go with the sobs. Now, he can hear snarls, deeper and darker than any wolf or beast he has heard before. Is that part of the trap? Is the monster real? Or is it part of the simulated scenario of a child running from a monster in the woods, only for something worse to be waiting for him? Or is the snarling creature the only other creature here, something he can actually fight that would end this farce he’s hearing?
Zeff finally lets himself creep closer to the noise, his steps still cautious, but quicker than before. Now that he’s finally giving in to finding the voice, he lets his urgency rush his steps. More than just terrified screams, now he can make out a cacophony of crashes in the woods, of broken tree limbs and crushed foliage. Is the beast making this noise as it approaches? Or is it part of the illusion?
Finally, Zeff can see a small form approaching, blonde hair flying as a small body dressed in rags runs for his life. The kid is barefoot and his feet are bloody from rocks and thorns, but he doesn’t limp or falter.
“Please,” the child sobs, tears cascading down his face. “Please…” The kid’s not even watching where he’s going, too busy wiping away the thick tears running down his cheeks. It’s a miracle he hasn’t tripped yet, running blind full tilt like this, in uneven rough terrain.
He’s not begging for help, Zeff realizes with a start. The child hasn’t even noticed him yet, blinded by his own tears and the darkness of the forest. For all the kid knows, there is no one else here besides him and the beast at his heels.
And what a beast it is. The only word Zeff can think to describe it is hellhound. It looks like a wolf, but even larger, with flaming eyes and claws that rend the earth it touches. The ground seems to steam behind it, as if its massive claws are not just gouging, but igniting the earth as well. When it opens its mouth to let out that deep growl that makes every nerve in him quiver, it looks like there is fire or molten lava inside it, causing the gaping maw to glow red.
This is a creature that Zeff has never heard stories of or seen diagrams of. No other hunter has ever described anything near this. If the stories of the mad scientist are true, did he create this abomination?
The monster lunges, snapping its hellish jaws at the child, sending him rolling to the ground. Mirage or not, possible trap, it doesn’t matter. If Zeff doesn’t do something, the kid’s going to die, plain and simple. Can he live with that?
Before he knows it, his legs are moving and he’s darting forward, straight for whatever this man-made monstrosity is. His instincts and intuition are screaming with him that this can’t be a trap. This child needs his help and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t give it. Deep in his gut, he can only conclude that this kid must have somehow managed to escape the mad scientist’s castle and now his beast guarding the forest will kill him for the slight.
With a roar Zeff lunges, driving his silver hunting knife into the side of the beast’s head. He can feel it’s blood sizzle against his fingers as his blade sinks in to the hilt. His attack seems to have caught the creature off-guard, causing it to stagger backward a single, massive step.
He’s lucky it had been so engaged with it’s original prey, since Zeff hadn’t bothered with any stealth in the first place. Now, though, he has it’s full attention. The creature roars, it’s voice nothing like Zeff has ever heard before. It snaps it’s jaw and lunges it’s head side to side, trying to dislodge him.
Zeff grunts as he grapples with it, his right hand clenched tight on the hilt of his blade and his left in it’s rough fur. Besides the effort to keep his grip, his hands feel like they’re burning, both from the heated sizzle of the beast’s blood and the harsh sting of it’s thorn-like fur. Despite the pain, Zeff does his best to hang on, tensing his whole body as the monster wildly shakes its head in attempts to dislodge him.
“Run!”
But he doesn’t hear any of the sounds of movement from behind him, no patter of feet in the dirt, no crash of branches. Zeff hazards a quick glance over his shoulder, frustrated to see that the child is just staring up at him from where he fell in the dirt earlier, his eyes wide.
“I’m not doing this for you to kill us both,” he yells, his voice sharper and meaner than usual from the pain and adrenaline. A strangled grunt of pain escapes him as the beast twists it’s neck, nearly jerking his right hand from it’s grip on his knife. He scrabbles with his legs, trying to find the barest of footholds to keep from straining his wrists with his full weight. His blade is starting to slide out, his grip weakening. His distraction will only work for so long, soon the beast will throw him off and kill them both. “Run, kid.”
Finally he hears the rustle of leaves and the soft sound of bare feet racing off toward the distance. A particularly harsh twist of the creature’s head gives Zeff the opportunity he needs to follow. He uses the beast’s own momentum against it, suddenly releasing his tight grip to let his body swing upward. Zeff’s legs have always been his secret weapon, his last line of defense. As his body flies, Zeff brings his legs up for a devastating kick right in the hellhound’s jaw. Zeff lets the backward force of his attack throw him to the ground, tucking and rolling as he hits dirt to gain as much distance between them as he can.
The beast rears back, it’s head facing the sky. The horrid sound it makes is loud enough to make the earth vibrate around them.
As fast as he can, Zeff gets to his feet and runs without looking back. He knows he only has a few moments before the hellhound will be back on it’s feet and at his heels. He needs to find the kid and get the hell out of this fucking forest before the cursed thing catches up.
It takes him a few minutes longer than he had expected to track the kid back down again. Zeff carries most of his strength in his legs and he’s a tall man, with long, fast strides, even when he’s not running full kilter like he is now. But the child is pretty far in the distance, miraculously quick and light on his feet. In another circumstance, Zeff would have been impressed, but now he’s just relieved. Maybe, with speed like that, one of them will manage to get out of this mess.
But the child ahead of him slows at the sound of footsteps behind him. He glances back at Zeff with eyes that glitter in the moonlight, a twist of a tiny smile on his lips. “This way,” he calls, speeding up again as he darts between trees.
Zeff races after him, urging himself to run even faster as he hears the crash of claws and trees behind them. His heart pounds as he hears a deep growl before an answering snarl, farther to his left. There’s more than just one creature chasing them now and he’s not sure he can fight them both off.
The further they run, the rougher the terrain is getting, slowing both of them down with fallen trees, dense roots, and sudden hills and valleys, but judging by the crashing noises behind them, the monsters are moving as quick as ever, destroying the obstacles of the land without hesitation.
They’re running out of time and they both know it. The kid is closer now, his previous lead now nearly nonexistent. Either his adrenaline is starting to wear off or the pure exhaustion is getting to him. “I’m sorry,” the boy suddenly says, his voice soft and watery with tears, “thank you for trying.”
The defeat in his small voice gives Zeff the strength he needs to dart forward, grabbing the child and flinging him over his shoulder right before a boulder sized claw crushes the ground he was standing on moments before.
The child is thin, far lighter than Zeff thinks he should be. Running with him draped over his shoulder doesn’t seem to add any weight to him at all. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, helping him keep swinging his legs forward. The child sobs over his shoulder, his new position putting him face to face with the creatures at their heels. Zeff doesn’t have time to feel guilty about how scary the view for him must be. He just barrels forward, forgoing any thought of navigation beyond, away, they have to get away.
A sudden, searing pain burns through him and Zeff blinks to find himself laying in the dirt, staring up at the dark, unsympathetic night sky. Instinctively, he must have turned his body during the attack, throwing the child off his back and into the brush behind him. There’s a wet, searing heat on his right calf and he doesn’t need to look to know the creature has sunk it’s massive teeth into the meat of his leg.
“No!” The kid cries, somewhere behind him. If the brat’s smart, he should keep moving instead of mourning a stranger.
Now that Zeff has his arms free again, he reaches for his shotgun, aiming for the glowing eyes of the creature that has latched itself to his leg.
His shot strikes true, though he didn’t think about the consequences. The creature jerks in pain, lurching away from him even with its jaw still tight around his leg. The sickening crunch and tear of his lower leg being torn from his body is overlapped with Zeff’s own howl of pain. Spots dance in his vision, pure agonizing pain radiating through his body from where his leg used to be. There’s no running left for him now.
The creature he shot howls in anguish, stumbling away. The second one growls, newly threatened by the shotgun in his hands. Zeff knows it’s an unfounded concern for the creature. Right now, with his spotty vision blinded by tears of pain and the tremble in his hands, he’s well aware that he can’t get another decent shot in.
Oddly enough, Zeff feels at peace. He’s devoted his life to fighting monsters and now it seems fitting that that’s what will take his life in the end. Maybe his death will give the kid enough time to escape.
But then he feels small hands grip at his shoulders, trying to drag him backwards, further away from the infuriated hounds. It’s a brave gesture, but a hopeless one. The kid weighs less than a paperweight, there’s no way he can save both of them. “Kid,” Zeff groans weakly, his voice barely audible. “Run.”
The child ignores him, instead continuing his attempt to drag Zeff’s dead weight away. Zeff’s vision is fading, darkening as he loses blood and consciousness. There’s something oddly pink in the corner of his fading field of view, but he can’t tell what it could be.
Beyond the blood rushing in his ears, Zeff vaguely hears a faint voice.
“Run fast, little brother,” is the last thing Zeff hears before he loses consciousness.
Waking up again is a disorienting experience. It doesn’t happen all at once, instead awareness comes to him slowly in brief glimpses of sensation; a cold hand on his face, a gentle tug on his mustache, a dulled ache in his thigh. Eventually, Zeff blinks blearily at an unfamiliar stone ceiling and stays aware enough to register that he’s in fact alive and he has no clue where he is. Surely, any afterlife he could have ended up in would be far more interesting than a dark stone room, illuminated only by an elaborate sconce on the far wall.
Could it have all been a dream? Zeff tries to remember what happened despite the fog in his brain. He remembers taking a job hunting vampires… It was up North… He furrows his brow as he thinks, fighting through the haze. His head is starting to ache, but he can finally remember the shrill, haunting screams, and flashes of what came after.
He remembers the searing pain in his leg and now he’s startled by its sudden absence. He feels distant from his own body, not sure he could even feel if he wiggled his remaining toes. Pain medication, obviously.
So how did he get here? He certainly hadn’t had the strength to fend off the beasts and get help. He knew for sure the kid couldn’t have either...
The kid…
Zeff tears his eyes back open, dragging his exhausted eyes around the room to look for where the small boy had ended up. Had someone found them and brought them here? Had they found his bleeding body alongside the boy too? Had the kid been mauled, just like he had?
What if he had died simply because he hadn’t run off when he could have?
Zeff hates how concerned he is at the thought. Who knows what happened after he passed out from blood loss. Even if he had somehow survived, could the kid have? He remembers how light the boy’s body had been on his back. If a combat trained adult shouldn’t have survived the encounter, how could a malnourished child have?
The soft sound of a quiet sigh derails his racing thoughts. It takes far too much effort to lull his head to the side, but Zeff is relieved to see a small bundle in the chair at his bedside.
Despite his fears, the kid is alive, curled up as small as he can on the seat of a heavy-looking wooden chair. His head rests against bandaged knees, legs tucked up tightly against his chest. His neck is bound to hurt from the awkward angle, but the kid still sleeps soundly, soft sighs and snores escaping his thin lips.
Whoever treated Zeff has obviously looked over the child too, bandaging up wounds on his legs and feet from running in the woods. They must not have had a change of clothes that would fit him though, because he’s still wearing the tattered rags from earlier. Besides the dark blood stains, some areas nearly black in the dim light, his clothes are also discolored a grungy yellowish gray, like the kid has been wearing the same over-sized shirt for months on end.
Likewise, the kid’s blonde hair is knotted and matted, especially visible now that Zeff can see the back of his head. There’s a weird shape to how his hair is matted, like there had been something that trapped his hair against the back of his skull for months on end. There are deep bags under his eyes and his skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent. Wherever he escaped from, he most likely hasn’t seen sunlight in months.
The more Zeff looks over the kid, the more his sheer relief is replaced by concern. Yes, they both miraculously survived, but now what? Zeff finds himself feeling oddly at a loss of what to do. What does he do with this poor kid?
Surely the boy has some home he had been abducted from. Somewhere out there, there’s someone that is looking for this small, resilient child and will take care of him; shave the mats from his hair, dress him in clothes that actually fit him.
“Oh, you’re awake,” a shrill voice remarks, startling Zeff from his turbulent thoughts. With how exhausted his body is, Zeff’s glad that he only has to turn his head slightly to see the newcomer in the doorway.
Looking over him with shrewd eyes is a tall older woman, her long, curly gray hair cascading loosely down her back. She doesn’t look like a doctor, mostly because of her casual clothing; denim pants and a cropped shirt that puts her toned midriff confidently on display. He would think she was far younger than him, if not for the pronounced wrinkles on her face.
He opens his mouth to speak but she quickly cuts him off. “Well bastard, are ya happy now?”
Zeff blinks at her, the effort required surprisingly exhausting. “Happy?” Zeff asks, his voice hoarse from disuse. Now that he can feel the ache in his dry throat, he has to wonder how long he’s been unconscious.
In all his years, he can't remember the last time someone asked if he was happy. If he was in fighting shape, definitely. But no one ever asked if he was happy.
On a normal day, it would be a difficult question to answer. Today, laying in this bed and surprised to be alive, it's far easier. Despite the way his body aches, he gives the austere woman a tired grin. “Yes dear, I am. Thank you for saving us both.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly, as if surprised, but after a moment her lip twitches up in a sharp grin. “Decent answer. I'll take it.”
“Where are we?” Zeff asks, his voice still a harsh croak.
“At my home,” she answers simply, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “and my clinic. You’re lucky that little boy of yours was able to find me, it’s not easy to get here from town.”
“He… found you?” Zeff asks, disbelief coloring his weak voice. “How?”
“I’d like to know that myself,” she remarks, before helping him sit up enough to drink some water. Her hands are thin, but strong, able to hold his limp weight without making him feel unstable. “It’s something else to be woken by knocking at my door to see a small child lugging a half dead man around.”
Zeff blinks in confusion, his mind struggling to wrap his head around the idea that somehow the kid got them out of the forest and found a doctor. Where had he found a town? The last one Zeff had known of was hours away and they hadn’t mentioned having a doctor on their outskirts.
“Where..?”
“Outskirts of Drum,” she answers, her intense gray eyes watching his face as he struggles to visualize a map. It's… quite a distance from where they had last been. The only conclusion he can come to is that the kid had stumbled upon someone kind enough to help them find help that wasn’t sticking around after showing him to the doctor. Odd, to be willing to help that much but not follow through… but not impossible, he supposes.
“Kid okay?” He asks, glancing over at the small boy in the chair. The more he looks at him, the tinier the kid seems to be. How old was he anyway? He seemed to be able to speak well enough, but he was so small… Six, maybe?
“Well,” she gives him a dark look, her tinted glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose, “you’re certainly not looking like a model father here. He’s in far better shape than you but that’s not saying much.”
Zeff chokes on the water he’s trying to sip. “I’m not a father!” he exclaims, “I found him while I was out on a job.”
She rolls her eyes over her dark glasses, unimpressed. “You just found him and the kid is this worried about you? He hasn’t left your side in days. I’ve tried to get him to eat and drink, but he barely sips at water. He’s far too malnourished and dehydrated to even have to leave your side to use the bathroom.” The sharp glare she sends him is even harsher than her words. Her body language is closed off, her arms tightly folded in front of her chest. Suddenly, Zeff realizes that, had the child not been so concerned about him, she probably would have dumped him in the woods to fend for himself. Because she thinks he’s at best a neglectful father, at worst an abusive piece of shit.
Zeff hardly has time to internalize that thought, more concerned about the sorry state of the kid. He really is thin and he can’t even imagine what the kid went through before he found him. Still, he feels the need to make this exceptional woman understand. He may not be the best person in the world, but he’d never treat a child like that.
He turns his gruff face back to her and does his best to keep his voice as steady as he can despite the confusion of the morning. “Yes?” Honestly he’s not sure why the kid has stuck around so long, especially to that extent. “He was running for his life and I happened upon him. No clue where he came from.”
The doctor puts her hands on her hips and gives him a steady look, trying to read the truth out of him. Zeff just looks up at her, his face set in its default frown. He’s never been one to lie or mince words. Many people have told him that he’s too blunt and too harsh, but he’s never let that stop him before. She seems to be cut from a similar cloth, so he hopes she’ll understand.
She still gives him the same steady stare, but gradually her anger seems to dissipate. She huffs under her breath, but her posture relaxes ever so slightly, just the slightest of a slouch sneaking into her stance. She gives him a more thoughtful look as she puts the glass of water down on the side table. “Well before he wakes up, you need to make a decision.”
Zeff blinks at her, confused. His head is swimming with all the confusing information, mixing turbulently with the pain medication in his veins. “About what?”
She leans forward, brushing knotted bangs out of this kid's face, revealing a strange curve to his eyebrow that Zeff didn’t have time to notice before. Her words are strict, but her touch is so gentle the boy doesn’t even twitch in his sleep.
“About if you can be a father. From what I’ve seen of this kid, wherever he came from was horrible. I asked him if he had more family for me to reach out to, but he said that you’re all he’s got.”
“Me?” Zeff exclaims, his dry throat making his voice crack. “I literally just met the kid—” and nearly died for him in the same evening. Zeff thinks of the weak voice, the way the kid had run and begged help from no one, the pure surprise in his eyes at Zeff’s interference, the defeat in his voice as he apologized and thanked him in the same breath for trying to help him. The more he thinks about it, the clearer it is that this kid must have been fighting alone for a long time. And Zeff was the first person to ever bother to help him.
“Well shit,” he sighs, running an exhausted hand through his unruly mustache. His fingers stutter at the messy braids he finds, far clumsier than the tight way he normally twists them himself. The kid must have tried to re-braid it for him even though he had no clue how. Despite the stress and confusion of the last few hours, Zeff feels warmth flutter in his chest.
Before this moment, Zeff had never thought of himself as a paternal person. He had never bothered to entertain any ideas of having a family in the future. Sure, he had met some beautiful women in the many towns he’s traveled through, but none ever bothered to ask him to stay.
At most, he’d band up with some other monster hunters for a few years before they went their separate ways. He had lost some to monsters and some to retirement. As tragic as the deaths were, they all knew what they had signed up for in this line of work.
Honestly, Zeff was always struck most by the ones that told him they had decided to leave. The ruddy cheeks of a man who had fallen in love and decided to stay behind. The determined grin of a woman that had found a calling elsewhere, found a passion in a new career she hadn’t realized was an option.
Out of the two options, Zeff always thought that death would be the end of his career. He was certain he’d live the solitary life of a monster hunter until he died the solitary death of a monster hunter. Perhaps these hunters that had retired would think back on him once in a while, but he didn’t expect anyone to mourn him. He’d live until he died, simple as that. No more, no less.
Now, he absently runs his fingers over the clumsy twists of his facial hair. The hunters that he knew that had chosen a new life… They had never planned on that either, had they? Maybe this was how it happened. One day, they suddenly had their eyes opened to a new purpose in life.
He hardly knew anything about this kid, but had saved him anyway. But just the same, the child had saved him, too. The tiny body in the chair next to him has so much courage in it, he can’t help but be impressed. If he could pick a child to raise… then he would choose this one.
But still, this is a huge change. It’s not only his life that would change, and honestly… what would he even do now? Zeff frowns and tugs at a knot he’s found toward the end of the attempted braid. His words slow and deliberate, he announces, “I have no clue how to take care of a kid.”
The doctor graces him with a rare grin that adds a hint of youthfulness to her harsh face. “It’s a learning curve. A bastard I know”-- the fond way she says it makes Zeff sure she means “a friend,” but unwilling to say so– “accidentally ended up with a kid, too, much younger than this one. He had no clue what he was doing, but they’re doing alright. Certainly not perfect, but the kid seems happy.” She gently pets the kid’s hair again, her gaze softening ever so slightly. “You made the right choice, so you seem like a smart man. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”