Chapter Text
Simon Riley didn’t know what to expect, racing to his family’s home on Christmas eve, not with excitement or happiness but with pure fear coursing through his veins. Struggling with his still-healing injuries and the horror of knowing he’d failed to eliminate the last remnants of Roba that still chased him.
When the door swung open, his chest was heaving, nearly blacking out from exertion before his eyes even saw the scene before him.
Jesus, everything was red, the smell of fresh blood, the bodies. Simon was nearly at his knees, but he needed to know, needed to check. If a pulse was there, there was a chance. For God’s sake, their charismas tree was still up and shining, untouched gifts wrapped underneath it. It was almost laughable, how that corner seemed so at peace while his mother and brother lay dead at his feet.
No pulse, not a single one. Not Tommy, not his mom, not his sister-in-law. The people he’d fought so hard to give peace, pulling his mother out of his father’s clutches, after months and months of helping Tommy give up his vices. Gone, gone and he knew it was because of him. Him and his stupid, stupid mistakes that ended him under Roba’s gaze, that ended him in that facility. He should’ve never made it out of that grave, should’ve ne-
The only thing that pulled him out of his head was the creaking noise that echoed above him, instantly back on his feet and his pistol in his hand. If Sparks is still here Simon wouldn’t let him go, and by God did he wish he was still here so he can kill him, make it slow and painful; he wanted only a chance to get back at him. Put him down like he had put Washington.
The worst part is it isn’t even the bastard’s fault, it was all Roba and his fucking men. It’d be a mercy to put Sparks down, save him from his own mind and Roba’s torment.
He followed the sound of sniffling and hushed sobs, wondering if it was another rare moment where Sparks’ consciousness was regained. Too weak to fight against Roba’s programming, but strong enough to realize what he’d done.
But no, Simon opened the door to Tommy’s room, watching the small bundle underneath Tommy’s bedsheets shake and sob as quietly as possible.
His heart nearly stopped, pistol dropping to the floor, disregarded to focus on the small child he’d forgotten was missing amongst the dead bodies.
“Joseph?” Simon called, softly so that his nephew doesn’t startle. He squeaked anyway, stilling underneath the blankets, “It’s me, Joseph…it’s Simon,” he said, gently pulling the sheet back.
Bright blue eyes stared back at him, splotchy face smeared with snot and tears before the child jumped up from his curled position. Instantly latching onto Simon’s waist, holding on so tightly that Simon could feel the tremors going through him.
“There were bad men, Si” Joseph whispered, face hidden in Simon’s shirt, “I think they hurt mummy and daddy”
He was frozen, wondering just how much Joseph had seen before he’d found a way to hide. Sparks must’ve had enough of himself in him to let the child go, Joseph wasn’t particularly hard to find, he was only four and barely had any survival instinct.
“I’m here now, Jo,” he tried to assure, wrapping Joseph up in the blankets around him before picking him up, “no one can hurt you now, I promise,” Simon vowed, all anger leaving him, something entirely bigger taking its place.
He didn’t know how, but he had to take care of him. Simon’s life seemed like a straight line, joining the military had set him up on a path and he had fully intended to never stray from it. Die on the field or grow old enough that he was the one sitting in an office watching missions unfold. Become a watcher or some veteran who trained younglings.
But right now? With tiny Joseph pressing his tear-stained cheek against his neck, shaking in his arms…the idea seemed far, far away. He wouldn’t let Joseph go to an orphanage, wouldn’t abandon him. The realization was quick, his decision made near instantly.
Tommy wasn’t around to give Joseph the life they’d promised him, and it was Simon’s fault. The least he could do was ensure that the child in his arms never is harmed again.
Even if it meant resigning from the military and raising him on his own.