Work Text:
The wind in No Man’s Land was never kind. It screamed through the skeletal remains of buildings and carried the sharp, sour scent of rot and rusted metal. Rudo tightened his mask further, boot heels crunching over junk as he followed Enjin through the twisted wreckage.
“Last one down,” Enjin called, his voice rough but steady as he kicked at the disintegrating carcass of a trash beast. “Let’s get the hell out of here before more show up.”
Rudo grunted in agreement, releasing his chosen weapon- a busted fan -and watched as it, too, floated away in the wind. His muscles ached from the fight since the beasts they had faced had been stronger than usual, but it wasn’t anything they hadn’t handled before. Still, his body thrummed with a restlessness that didn’t fade even as the field fell silent.
He turned to follow Enjin back to the car when something pale caught the edge of his vision. A flicker of white among the endless brown and grey.
He hesitated.
Just a scrap of fabric, he thought at first. But there was something about it, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He stepped closer, boots scuffing against cracked pavement.
It wasn’t just any fabric.
It was a jumper, worn thin, frayed at the edges, patches stitched with uneven thread across old tears. He froze. His breath hitched in his throat.
He knew that shirt.
Or at least… had known something just like it.
It was Spherite clothing, and more importantly, it looked almost identical to the one Regto used to wear at home.
The one Rudo remembered from the days when he was small and the world still had color. The one Regto wore with sleeves rolled up, laughing at something dumb Rudo had said. The one that always smelled faintly of engine oil and smoke.
His throat tightened and for a second, the ruins around him blurred into the soft, warm glow of memory. A hand on his head, a voice calling his name. A man he’d never had the chance to call dad.
“Rudo! Hurry it up a bit, will ya’?”
Enjin’s shout cut through the haze as he spun toward the sound, gazing towards the man from the mound he stood upon as Enjin stood impatiently by the car, beckoning him forwards.“You deaf or somethin’? Get yer ass over here, I’m starving!”
Rudo blinked, shaking his head before he rolled his eyes, mumbling a quiet insult under his breath before answering. “Yeah, yeah turdface, I’m coming!”
He glanced once more at the jumper, then crouched and picked it up carefully. The fabric was cold, stiff from exposure, but the sight of those hand-sewn patches made his chest twist painfully. Without thinking, he folded it tightly and stuffed it into his bag.
“Coming,” he called again, his voice rough.
By the time he reached the car, his expression was calm again but his hand lingered on the zipper of his bag, feeling the faint weight of the material inside like a ghost pressing against his ribs.
The ride back was quiet, the only sounds being the hum of the engine, the hiss of wind through cracked windows, and the thunk, crunch, thud of whatever debris Enjin kept running over. Rudo gripped the door handle tighter every time the car jolted, pretending not to notice the way Enjin grinned each time they hit something particularly large.
“Relax, kid,” Enjin muttered, half-amused, half-tired. “We’re almost there.”
Rudo didn’t answer, his thoughts somewhere else entirely and wishing his body was anywhere but this death trap of a machine with Enjin behind the wheel. The rhythmic rattle of the old vehicle did nothing to drown out the pulse pounding in his ears, or the faint, imagined scent of oil and smoke that refused to leave his mind.
He kept one hand on his bag the entire drive, and when the car finally skidded to a stop in front of the base, he exhaled shakily. He mumbled something that might’ve been “thanks” and pushed the door open before Enjin could say anything else.
He didn’t even glance toward the mess hall where laughter and conversation filtered through the walls. Instead, he walked straight to his quarters, boots dragging just slightly as exhaustion caught up to him.
The door clicked shut behind him, relieved to once again be in the room he supposed had become his during his stay with the cleaners. It was dim, quiet, and filled with trash.
It was perfect.
For a moment he stood there, unmoving, his bag still slung over his shoulder before he set it down carefully and unzipped it, pulling out the fabric with both hands.
Up close, it looked even worse for wear. The fabric was stiff with grime, the patches stained and faded. But still, those stitches drew his attention. The uneven thread, the one patch right over the heart, the same size and shape as the one Regto had sewn on himself after Rudo had accidentally torn it years ago. The small square on the side, where Regto had taught him how to thread a needle for the first time.
He swallowed hard as he made his way into the small bathroom that was attached to his room, turning on the sink and letting the cold water run clear before slowly removing his gloves, carefully setting them aside and submerging the jumper with shaking hands
The rust and dirt began to bleed away immediately, turning the water a murky reddish-brown. His bare, aching fingers brushed against the fabric, noticing it was rough, frayed in places, but… familiar. The contact made something in his chest ache sharply.
He scrubbed at the stains, working the soap into the cloth carefully so he wouldn’t tear it further as he ignored the increasing pain in his hands. The room was silent except for the quiet splashing of water and his own heavy breathing.
When he finally hung the jumper up to dry he took a step back, arms crossed and re-gloved as he watched water drip steadily onto the floor tiles. He was about to turn away when something small caught his eye, a hole on the left side, just beneath the ribs.
It wasn’t too large, but it was enough to make his stomach twist.
He reached out, brushing the edges of the tear with his thumb. The fabric there was thinner than the rest and worn through, the same kind of wear he’d seen on Regto’s clothes back when the man used to patch them up himself.
The thought of it sitting there, broken, when he could fix it…didn’t sit right. So he turned and began searching.
Drawers, shelves, under his bed, even the pockets in some of his new clothes. Nothing. No thread, no needle, not even a bit of wire he could bend into one.
He was just about to dive right back into his search when someone knocked on the door once, then twice.
“Oi, Rudo!” Enjin’s voice, rough and impatient filtered through the door. “You skipping dinner or what?”
He didn’t answer, his hands now too busy shoving aside a pile of books on his desk as a second voice followed, gentler. “You okay in there? You haven’t eaten.” Riyo said calmly.
He kept searching.
The door creaked open a few inches, spilling warm light into the room as Riyo blinked at the mess of drawers open, blankets half off the bed, and sight of Rudo now crouched by the corner muttering under his breath like a lunatic. Nothing new, I guess.
Enjin raised an eyebrow at the young boy, glancing towards her briefly. “What the hell are you doing, kid?”
“Looking for something,” Rudo said flatly, not looking up.
“Yeah, we can see that,” Enjin grumbled. “How about ya get some food in ya first, then focus on whatever yer doin’ later-“
Rudo finally looked up then, eyes sharp. “I said I’m fine.”
Something in his tone made both of them pause as she glanced at Enjin, then nodded once. “We’ll save you something, okay?”
The door clicked shut a moment later, and the silence rushed back in.
Rudo exhaled slowly, pushing a hand through his hair as he continued, not realising how quickly time had been passing until he looked up and checked the time. 12:07 a.m.
He exhaled with frustration, realising his chances at finding what he needed had become irritatingly slim, before an idea flashed through his mind.
He hesitated for only a moment before he reached up and took the jumper down. It was warm now, soft between his hands, yet still carrying that faint smell of metal and dust.
He folded it close against his chest and stood there for a moment, staring at the door before he slipped on his boots, holding the jumper tight, and stepped into the cold hallway. The corridors were empty at this hour, shadows stretching long across the walls as he moved quietly toward August’s workshop, each careful step echoing faintly.
He didn’t know if August would be awake or if he even cared, but all Rudo knew was that the jumper deserved better than another hole left unpatched, and he soon came to a stop outside of two familiar doors.
The jumper was clutched to his chest, the hall around him empty and lit only by flickering bulbs that hummed faintly overhead. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle carefully and almost immediately winced at the sound of the door creaking open.
Inside was…chaos.
Piles of half-finished gadgets, heaps of metal scrap, coils of wire, and strange glowing contraptions that buzzed quietly on every surface. It looked less like a workshop and more like a mechanical storm had hit it, and it had his eyes sparkling with new ideas as he surveyed the man’s own mound of trash in one corner of the room as he stepped inside quietly, scanning for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
Deciding the coast was clear he started opening drawers and cabinets, trying not to knock over the mountain of tools and alert the whole headquarters of his nightly mission.
If anyone had a sewing kit lying around, it’d be August. The man fixed everything with questionable enthusiasm, so surely a needle and thread weren’t too far-fetched.
He was kneeling by a workbench, eyes narrowed and searching in the dim light hopefully, when a voice practically exploded behind him.
“RUDO!”
The shout nearly stopped his heart. He jumped up and spun around so fast he slammed his knee into the bench, drawing a curse out of him.
August stood in the doorway with his goggles pushed up on his forehead, hair wild and sticking out in every possible direction. “Sneakin’ into my workshop in the dead of night? What’s this, a heist? You finally breaking bad, my guy?”
Rudo just blinked at him, tense. “You surprised me.”
August grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Good! Keeps the reflexes sharp! So what’s the big mission? You building a robot? Making a nuke? Oh, wait, wait-”
His eyes darted to the jumper clutched in Rudo’s hands. In a split second the man gasped so dramatically it echoed, uncaring that it was currently the middle of the night and anyone could come in and beat them senseless for waking them up. “IS THAT-no way, don’t tell me that’s actual spherite cloth!?”
Rudo instinctively tightened his grip around it, taking a step back. “Don’t touch it.”
“Whoa! Whoa, easy there!” August held both hands up like he was facing a feral animal. “Alright, territorial mode, I get it. But come on, lemme just look, I won’t even breathe near it!”
Rudo glared at him. “It’s mine.”
August blinked once, then broke into a lopsided grin. “Didn’t peg you for the territorial type. Look at you, Mr. ‘Keep Out of My Feelings,’ getting all attached to a sweater.”
Rudo said nothing.
After a pause, August stepped closer, tilting his head. “Alright, alright! What’s the deal, man? You’re holding that thing like it’s made of glass!”
When Rudo once again didn’t answer, August’s energy dropped just a notch. “You need somethin’ fixed?”
“…There’s a hole,” Rudo finally muttered, eyes on the jumper. “I’m fixing it.”
“Ah-hah!” August nodded enthusiastically, clearly vibrating with barely contained excitement. “So that’s why you’re lurking in my sacred domain! You came for the tools of the trade!”
He spun around dramatically, digging through drawers, muttering to himself. “Needles… needles… where did I put the good ones-ah! There you are, you tiny spear of precision!”
He whipped out a small kit and turned back to Rudo, grinning. “You, my friend, are in luck. I’m a masterof the stitch arts. Sit, sit!”
Rudo hesitated. “…You’ll help?”
“Duh! I ain’t trust no one with this type of work unless I’m seein’ it done myself, ya get me?” August said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, you’re giving me a once-in-a-lifetime chance to mess with spherite fiber! Do you know how rare this stuff is? You’re practically doing me a favour!”
Rudo’s brow furrowed. “So…you won’t steal it from me and sell it?”
For the first time since entering, August went completely silent. His face was unreadable for all of two seconds, then he let out a full-bodied cackle that echoed off every surface in the room.
“Sell it? SELL IT?!” He threw his head back. “Buddy, I’d rather wrestle a Class-D trash beast in my underwear than pawn off a beauty like this! This-” he dramatically gestured to the jumper “-is history!Letting some random creep with no appreciation for craftsmanship touch this would be a crime against innovation!”
Rudo blinked, muttering under his breath, “…Tell that to Enjin.”
August paused mid-gesture, then burst out laughing even louder. “Pfft-HA! Yeah, that money-hungry idiot’d probably sell his spare underwear if he thought someone’d buy them!”
Rudo’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but not far off either as the excitable man led him over to a stool near another workbench, placing the kit down and indicating for Rudo to take a seat.
He did, and after the blonde handed him the kit he quickly went to work, August watching and chattering endlessly about old gear, weird inventions that almost blew up (some of which clearly did), and about the way certain alloys reacted with different fibers. Rudo barely responded, giving quiet hums or short sentences, but August didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to take it as a challenge to keep the silence away.
At one point, he nudged Rudo lightly with his elbow. “Y’know, you’ve got steady hands. Didn’t take you for the patient type!”
Rudo shrugged. “I got taught.”
August didn’t push it, though his gaze turned thoughtful.
When the final stitch was done, the jumper looked whole again. The hole was gone, the edges smoothed, the texture perfect like it had never been damaged at all.
August sat back, spinning a needle between his fingers before flicking it into a magnetic tray with expert precision. “Good as new, Rudo my man! Better, even. You sure don’t mess around!”
Rudo stared at the mended fabric in his lap for a long moment before he stood, folding it carefully in his arms as August’s grin widened. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
He gave a small nod and began to walk towards when door, but stopped when August called after him. “Hey! Rudo!”
He turned around, watching as August pushed his goggles up onto his hair, oil-smeared hands resting on his hips. “If you ever need something patched up again, gear, clothes, or, hell, your soul, you come to me, yeah? Or if you just wanna hang out! I talk a lot, but I don’t mind listening!”
Rudo’s expression shifted just slightly, but August caught it. The faintest, smallest curve pulled at the corner of his mouth. “…I’ll think about it.”
August cackled, waving him off. “I’ll take it! Go on, scram!”
Rudo turned and left the workshop, the hum of the machinery fading behind him. The hall was quiet, dark except for the dull glow of a flickering light.
After a few moments of staring at the fabric and walking down the cold corridor, he slipped the jumper over his shoulders, feeling its weight settle against him just as Regto’s had when the man used to drape his jumper over Rudo on cold nights back on the Sphere.
For a long moment he simply walked down the hallway, fingers brushing the material as a gloved finger gently ran across the stitching, and for the first time in a long while something warm flickered beneath the ache.
His lips twitched upward again. Barely, but enough.
And if Rudo found himself in August’s cluttered workshop whenever he couldn’t sleep, sitting beside the blonde as they worked on a project of some sort, no one but them had to know.