Chapter Text
Daan isn’t even sure how this specific arrangement came to be.
After their unfortunate group willingly went into the 8th circle of hell, and barely escaped said hell, Daan is absolutely certain that he might just go to the much too empty and much too big mansion still bearing Elise’s name, and fall apart. Maybe he’ll try drinking himself into an early coma and liver failure, if everything goes according to plan and Gods be good.
To his utter misfortune, Daan was born with this thing called empathy. And paternal instincts. No idea where that came from, Daan is pretty sure he didn’t have that a week ago. He has considered the possibility he might be cursed.
So. He proposed an offer after the train started up again, all 13 passengers safely inside, even if some were scratched up and bleeding. And missing some sanity. And limbs. And/or eyes.
Daan could almost swear there was another young woman with them, one with a chipper voice and glasses, but no one seemed to remember her, and Daan could barely remember her face, let alone her name. He thinks he might actually be going insane, but that’s a normal Tuesday in his books, so he files it away for later consideration.
His offer of a house and a questionable parental influence extended to Levi and Marina only, at least he thinks it did, they’re only children for All-mer’s sake, orphaned and left to rot in a shithole of a fucked up town, and Daan will be damned if he lets it be so.
After all, there is an empty mansion waiting in Rondon, if he’s planning to die in the next few years, there is no reason to not help out two kids down on their luck.
And no. Daan is not interested in how much they both insist they’re 18. Motherfuckers look 16 at best, so until he sees a birth certificate verifying their eighteenness, they’re both 15 in his eyes. 14 if they’re annoying him.
Levi is an angel - Daan is pretty sure his docile behaviour is just a result of severe trauma and daddy issues - but the little girl? Satan.
Said Satan politely refused his offer, however, she wanted to go back to her studies in Vatican City and do something with that in her future, but she promised she might come for summer.
And Daan was okay with that answer.
Levi agreed to move, after some pestering, arguing, threats and promises of medical care. And heroin.
Levi, after all, has no skills marketable to anyone outside of a fucking trench, and Daan is pretty sure the boy, if left to his own devices, would either end up homeless, with his skull cracked open or working in a brothel, and that is not flying in Daan’s eyes.
So, considering all that and putting it into an equation… If homeless + child equals heroin addiction, and heroin addiction + severe trauma equals free housing…
What the fuck are these two grown-ass men doing in his house?
Heaven knows. He must have let them in because they both have been designated a room, even if Pav can more often than not be found smoking in the garden, nursing the gash across his chest while watching Marcoh exercise.
And more importantly, why are they both built like a brick wall?
He has touched Pav’s chest in order to dress the wound Pavel received from being a dumbass, and was half tempted to try and crush a can on his abs. Just to see it go *crunch*.
Daan didn’t need to touch Marcoh to verify the firmness of his muscles. He still has a single functioning eye, and Marcoh usually exercises shirtless. Like a slut.
Daan is not quite sure how the two men have not murdered each other yet. They’re very keen on getting into fights at the first possible opportunity, and Daan is pretty sure the only reason Marcoh has not broken Pav’s nose is because Levi asked rather politely, no matter how much Pav’s shit-eating grin invites a punch to the jugular.
Levi is the only one with an ounce of humanity in that godforsaken mansion.
Daan has a bet going with himself who kills who first. Will Pav finally snap and strange Marcoh in his sleep, or will Marcoh softly punch Pav into the nearest wall? Stay tuned to find out!
It is very disappointing that both are major cowards, unwilling to commit murder and ruin Daan’s fancy sofas, no matter his subtle encouragement. He is still debating if this is their way of flirting, after all, no heterosexual man he knows stares at another man’s abs the way Pav does, and no heterosexual man he knows stares at another man’s tits the way Marcoh does.
Sluts, both of them. Daan’s home is turning into a whorehouse.
He doesn’t want their slutiness anywhere near the jumpy, chronically shaky haunted doll he adopted, thank you very much.
When he’s not debating how and why Marcoh and Pav moved in with him, he’s in the clinic his father-in-law owned in the centre of town, or researching psychology, or drinking himself to sleep as our Lord and Saviour All-mer fucking intended.
He has started researching shell shock, trying to find a way to help the kid without cutting out a part of his brain, or forcing him to be zapped with a strong electric current twice a week, poor boy doesn’t deserve that. Just the thought breaks something in Daan.
Talking and psychoanalysis as a way to help shell shock seem to be a hot new way to resolve seeing the horrors of war at the tender age of fuck you, but.
It was invented by that cunt Freud.
And God damn it if Daan has to ever admit that anything the cunt Freud ever said anything remotely true.
Plus, he’s sure that asking the haunted doll inhabiting a human form, currently living in his house, to talk about “feelings” will not go well. After all, Levi’s greatest current passions are trying to die and trying to convince Daan to let him die. And staring at Marcoh and Pav argue like an old married couple when they’re in the garden.
Apparently, Levi finds their interactions fascinating. He has softly vocalised to Daan that he would like to learn from Marcoh, finding the way that the older man moves his body as if it’s an art rather than a sport both enchanting and admirable.
“You could always ask him. I doubt he would deny you.” Daan offered, gently wrapping a tourniquet around Levi’s arm, “He and his sister decided to wait a year to see each other, until the air clears. You have time.
“I- He’s intimidating. And I have nothing to offer in return. I’d hate to waste his time.” Levi shrugged, avoiding Daan’s gaze, “You really don’t have to do this. I can do it myself, I don’t need help.”
“I know.” Daan replied as he flicked the syringe to get rid of any air bubbles, eying the crook of Levi’s elbow to find the vein, “Just because you can do it yourself, doesn’t mean you should. Quitting cold turkey could kill you, kid. This way I can supervise both the dose and tapering properly.”
Levi’s face fell as he sank into the chair, staring out the window to avoid looking at Daan at all. Daan still noticed the way Levi looked like a kicked kitten, biting his lip and trying to hide the tears slowly surfacing.
Daan is lucky he had a syringe in the boy’s vein, because otherwise, he might have succumbed to the urge to smush Levi’s cheeks and promise him his soul. And kidneys.
Not his fault that the kid consistently manages to trigger his presumed dead parental instincts and cuteness aggression. The kid is just. Cute. And so, so sad.
“I can’t repay you, doc. I have no way to earn my keep,” Levi bit his lip, staring into air as Daan fixed a cotton ball with some plaster on the puncture mark, “I don’t understand why you try.”
“Earn your keep? Do you really think Papa War Crimes, who is currently resting in my living room, by the way, is earning his keep in any way besides being an asshat?”
Levi chuckled softly, a barely audible noise, but it made Daan grin nevertheless.
Daan knows the drug started to take effect when Levi sinks into the armchair fully, his muscles relaxing as the shivers plaguing him cease. He’s always shivering lately.
Daan stood up, stretching out his limbs as he ruffled Levi’s hair.
Levi can’t help himself but lean into the touch, like a dog starved, a dog craving anything that isn’t a kick.
He’s breaking Daan’s heart.
“You can earn your keep by asking Marcoh to teach you boxing, or by playing soccer in the garden, or by learning how to climb the trees, or by doing whatever the hell teen boys do nowadays. Just- be a kid for a bit, okay?”
Levi nodded, finally drifting off to dreamless sleep.
Daan threw a blanket over him, making a mental note to get him to eat more. Daan wasn’t much himself, if he’ll be honest, but the boy’s built was bordering on skeletal.
Daan already vowed to himself, long fucking ago, that he’ll help this kid get better if it’s the last thing he fucking does.
As quietly as possible, he tries to slip past, leaving Levi to sleep in his office.
And that plan immediately flies out the window as soon as the two dipshits living rent fucking free in his fucking house fall over each other, at the exact moment he opened the door.
Daan is half tempted to step on them. They’d probably be fine and he’d gain the satisfaction of hearing their bones crunch.
“Wha- Were you two cretins eavesdropping?”
Pav’s face was crushed somewhere under Marcoh’s arm, and Marcoh seemed less than thrilled having Pav’s knee digging into his hip, but they both managed to mutter out a ‘No’, like the liars they were, looking everywhere BUT Daan’s eye.
Daan needs a drink and a cigarette.