Work Text:
“Snow.”
Kas stirs from his thoughts and blinks at the boy in his arms. Steve’s head is still resting on his chest, that warm, naked body still slotted firmly into his, but he isn’t asleep anymore. Instead, his eyes are trained on the window.
Kas frowns and follows his unblinking gaze. The sky outside is the same as always. Red as blood, with bursts of lightning streaking through the rolling storm clouds. Dust is hanging in the air in thick flakes, maybe disturbed by one of the creatures prowling about. Backlit from behind by the flickering light, it looks white. Pretty, almost.
“Snow,” Steve says again.
Kas wrinkles his brow, twisting a strand of chestnut hair around his finger. “How d’you know that word, sweet thing?”
Steve doesn’t reply, which is unsurprising. His words have been coming back sluggishly. A consequence that Kas factored in and expected, after the near complete wipe he did of the boy’s mind. He’s fine with that. Steve doesn’t need many words besides Kas and please and more. Sure doesn’t need any memories of before. Only needs to know who he belongs to now.
Which is why him remembering that word is … disconcerting. It must’ve been hiding well. Somewhere deep within, in some far recess of his mind, probably tied to some fond memory or feeling of his past life.
And they just can’t have that, can they?
“Guess I’ll have to take a look, darling,” he sighs, taking Steve’s face in both hands to pull him closer. Steve whimpers but doesn’t fight back, burying his face in the crook of his neck as Kas touches their foreheads together and burrows in.
He doesn’t need to look long. The memory shines like a little firefly against the smooth, blank backdrop that he’s been so careful to craft his boy’s mind into. Just like a firefly, it’s too stupid and slow to escape as he swoops in and grabs it. He turns it this way and that to examine it, and it flutters and thrums feebly in his hold.
Thick, white buds of cotton floating down from a cloudy sky, the cold bite of snow against warm skin.
A gaggle of kids, shrieking with laughter, feebly hurling their own snowballs back at him.
The curtain of snow behind a window, brilliant and white against the dark backdrop of the night.
A mug of hot chocolate in his hands and a head on his shoulder. Cold feet poking his ankles under a woolen blanket and a freckled girl smiling up at him.
Home.
Kas bares his teeth and snarls.
The memory struggles in his tightening grip, like a bug attempting to wiggle its way out from under a descending boot. It's trying to get away, trying to skitter its way back into whatever hole it's been lurking in, but he won't let it.
You let one little pest crawl back where it came from, and you'll have a massive plague on your hands before long.
The little firefly gives one last, frantic thrum as he crushes it in his grip, and then it snuffs out. In his arms, Steve lets out a tiny sob. Kas makes a soft shushing sound, rocking him and kissing his hair until he quietens down and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.
“It's okay, sweet thing,” he whispers. “It's okay, I got you.”
Outside, the dust is still dancing in front of the window. Steve spends a long while staring at it, nose scrunched adorably, lips moving like he's trying and failing to grasp at the word that was there a few seconds ago and is gone now. Finally, he sighs in frustration, head sagging heavily against Kas's chest.
“It's alright, honey,” Kas promises, slipping his fingers into his hair and smiling when Steve’s lids flutter shut. They always make him sleepy, these little check-ups on his mind. “It won't bother you anymore, I got rid of it for you. Sleep now, you're safe. You're with me.”
Steve blinks up at him, eyes already cloudy and struggling to stay open.
“Home?” he whispers. Kas feels his face twitch into a large, delighted grin.
“That's exactly right, my sweet,” he says, reveling in the hesitant ghost of a smile that tugs at Steve’s mouth. “You're home. And I won't ever let anything take you from me again.”
He wraps Steve back into his arms, wiping the last stray tears from his face and kissing his forehead to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows. Steve sighs into the crook of his neck and melts into his touch, breathing slowly evening out.
“Home,” he mutters, just as he drifts off.
Kas smiles to himself and pets his hair, watching the slowly settling dust outside the window.
He thinks that's a word he'll allow his boy to keep.