Archive of Our Own

The Pike house is chaos even on a normal day, but tonight it’s the good kind.

Everyone is gathered around the dinner table, plates half-full, conversations overlapping, the kind of noise that feels familiar without anyone really noticing when it became a habit. It started as occasional dinners, then turned into something more regular, until somehow they all just… showed up once a month without planning it.

Shane is seated beside Ilya, automatically reaching over to help Amber untangle a bracelet from her sleeve while still half-listening to whatever Hayden is saying.

“So we’ll be gone for a week,” Hayden says casually, like he’s just mentioning the weather.

It doesn’t fully register at first.

It’s only when Jackie adds, “Jade and Ruby have summer camp, so it’s just Arthur and Amber,” that things start to click into place.

“And they’re staying with your parents?” Shane asks, still focused on the bracelet, gently pulling it free.

“That was the plan,” Hayden says, taking another bite.

Arthur, who has been quietly building something with legos in the corner even during dinner, doesn’t look up.

Amber, however, does.

“I want Uncle Ilya,” she announces suddenly, loud enough to cut through everything.

Jade, already halfway out the door with her bag, spins back. “Yeah, can they stay with you guys instead?”

Ruby nods immediately from across the table. “It’s more fun there.”

Hayden blinks, looking around like he’s lost control of his own house. “This is not a democracy.”

“It should be,” Jade says.

Jackie laughs under her breath, shaking her head. “They do have a point.”

Shane finally looks up, glancing at Ilya.

Ilya is already nodding like the decision has been made five minutes ago.

“Yes,” he says. “We take them.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Shane says.

“I did,” Ilya replies. “It took one second.”

That’s how, two days later, Shane and Ilya find themselves standing in their living room with Arthur’s small suitcase and Amber’s backpack, which is mostly snacks and one very serious stuffed bunny.

Jackie kneels in front of Arthur. “You’ll be okay?”

Arthur nods, quiet as always. “Yeah.”

Amber wraps herself around Jackie for a quick hug, then immediately lets go and runs to Ilya.

“Uncle Ilya!” she says, like she’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

Ilya picks her up without hesitation. “Yes, malyshka. You are here now.”

Hayden eyes him. “Try not to teach them anything illegal.”

“No promises,” Ilya says.

Shane sighs. “We’ll be fine.”

Jackie smiles. “We know.”

Instead of finding Arthur drawing, Shane finds him sitting on the floor with a small pile of Ilya’s Hot Wheels cars spread neatly in front of him. Not scattered. Not chaotic. Carefully lined up like they matter.

Shane pauses.

Because he knows those.

Everyone knows those.

Ilya’s collection is usually off-limits. Not in a strict way, but in a quiet, understood way. Something he keeps for himself.

Arthur picks up one car, inspecting it gently before rolling it forward in a slow, careful line.

“You like those?” Shane asks, sitting beside him.

Arthur nods. “They’re cool.”

From the kitchen, Ilya glances over.

Shane expects him to react.

Maybe not badly, but… something.

Instead, Ilya walks over slowly, stopping just beside them.

Arthur notices immediately, his hands going still. “I’m being careful,” he says quietly.

“I see that,” Ilya replies, just as quiet.

There’s no tension in his voice. No edge.

He crouches down beside Arthur, not taking the car away, just watching for a moment.

“You line them up very nicely,” he adds.

Arthur looks at the cars, then back at him. “Yeah.”

Ilya nods once. “You can play,” he says. “Just… gentle, okay?”

“I am,” Arthur says, a little more certain this time.

“I know,” Ilya replies.

Shane blinks.

“You’re just letting him?” he asks under his breath.

Ilya shrugs slightly. “He is careful. That’s enough.”

Arthur rolls another car forward, slower this time, like it matters.

After a moment, Ilya reaches for one himself, placing it beside Arthur’s.

“This one is fast,” he says softly.

Arthur’s eyes light up just a little.

Amber is not climbing Ilya like their usual plays.

She is standing on a chair in the kitchen, very serious, wearing one of cute yellow pjs like it’s a uniform.

“I’m making,” she announces.

“You are making cinnamon rolls,” Ilya corrects, standing close behind her like a very attentive assistant.

“I’m the boss,” Amber says.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees immediately. “You are boss.”

Shane leans against the counter, watching as Amber aggressively stirs something that definitely does not need that much force.

“Gentle,” Ilya says, guiding her hands slightly. “We do not fight the dough.”

“It’s sticky,” Amber complains.

“That means it loves you,” Ilya replies.

Amber considers that.

“Okay,” she says, accepting it instantly.

Flour ends up everywhere.

On the counter. On the floor. On Ilya.

Shane watches as Ilya carefully helps Amber shape something that vaguely resembles a cinnamon roll.

“It’s perfect,” Ilya says.

“It’s round,” Amber says proudly.

“Very round,” Ilya agrees.

They are supposed to be leaving.

That’s the plan.

Shane is grabbing keys. Ilya is putting shoes on Amber, who is somehow already holding a sheet of stickers.

That should have been the warning sign.

By the time Shane opens the car door—

It’s too late.

Amber is already in the front seat.

And the entire front compartment is… decorated.

Stickers.

Everywhere.

Bright, mismatched, unapologetic stickers.

On the dashboard. Near the air vents. One dangerously close to a button Shane definitely needs.

Shane freezes.

“…Ilya.”

“Yes?”

“Why are there stickers on my car?”

Ilya looks.

Pauses.

“She is expressing herself.”

Amber beams. “Pretty!”

Shane blinks slowly. “It’s permanent.”

“Everything is temporary,” Ilya says.

“That’s not—” Shane stops. “Why is she in the front seat?”

Amber pats the seat proudly. “I sit here.”

“No, you don’t,” Shane says immediately.

Ilya gently lifts her out. “We move to back. Safety first, malyshka.”

Amber pouts for half a second.

Then nods. “Okay.”

Shane looks at the car again.

More stickers than before.

He doesn’t remember that many.

He turns to Ilya.

“You’re cleaning this.”

Ilya shakes his head. “No. This is memory now.”