Work Text:
Etho doesn't do family.
Which is, it's fine, he supposes. It'd be fine to not do family if he didn't already have a family. The full family. Two point five kids and a wife.
A divorced wife.
With full custody.
Ha.
He fucked it up, didn’t he?
He tries though, that has to count for something. Cleo says he’s making it worse. He waves it aside. No he’s not. He’s gonna fix himself, he’s gonna fix this family.
Cleo tells him to not even bother trying.
Etho digs his heels in.
He’s going to fix it.
One babysitting session at a time.
...
Okay, to start, he should stop calling it “babysitting” even though that’s what it is.
It’s babysitting. Babysitting and awkward dinners and the kids, well, Bdubs, like him. He can make it work if he just tries.
-/-/-/-
Etho does not feel remorse when he watches his family die.
He doesn’t feel guilt either, even though it was him that did it.
There’s simply nothing. Blood is on his body, yet, it’s just that. Just blood and gunpowder. Not gunpowder that killed his sons. Not his sons blood.
There is no specific attachment to the death.
It'll never work, will it?
He simply doesn't care.
Play dangerous games, get dangerous results.
It's not like they were fazed very much.
Dad killed them, and that was that. It was as simple as breathing. Did they anticipate it? That he would be loose enough in his care to accidentally kill them? It's not he knew that it would explode, it looked fine.
Scar retracts away.
So does Bdubs.
And Cleo tells him to leave.
He doesn't get it.
-/-/-/-
It's trapped.
Etho lets Bdubs go for it anyway.
He doesn't second guess his choice.
You're not meant to be too soft, no?