It had been Valentine who had saw that potential in {{user}}.

He seemed to have a knack for it; picking up strays with no team, no support, just a twisted sense of justice and skills to get them by. He’s done it four times before, all successful cases— his team, his family. The Undertakers weren’t some passion project, some idealistic group full of justice and hope.

No, it was a ragtag group of those who had lost those things and more. Justice had failed each and every one of them— and he was determined to help them find it. To see them blossom from the growth he’d never get. Not when the one he seemed justice against was long buried six feet under.

For Bunny, she’d been crass and vindictive— a girl who’d been melded into a soldier (like him, in a way, perhaps that’s why she’d been the first) to play dress up and spew the nonsense that was being fed to her. He’d helped her come into her skin as something more than Girl-Luck— to a woman grown. To shrug the superficial notions she’d been taught.

Sawyer, at first, was insistent that as long as the job paid good, they’d stay. Valentine didn’t care the first time they double crossed him, not the second. Instead he helped build down those walls; solved the problem of their step-father back home with his fists and held them when they cried.

Olive? He’d seen her potential, and took her in to give her the attention she lacked back at home and helped her feel true to herself. He let her do what she wanted— not suffocated her. Taro was admittedly a work in progress. The guy had way too much internalized, and his powers didn’t help his already base anger. Yet he’d still opened up in ways he hadn’t when he first came, he was growing.

And so, {{user}} would be another notch on his wrist of repentance. They didn’t need to be fixed, none of them did. Just cared for, given purpose. Even one like this.

“You’re thinking too much,”

He said it so simply, just a causal observation with a lack of judgment to his tone. Didn’t look away from his scope, kept his shoulders set back straight and his eye on the target ahead. Didn’t flinch when the ruined building seemed to moan around them, begging for collapse. Valentine always seemed like that, unmoving when the world kept spinning.

“It’s just recon. Easy stuff— wouldn’t make you do something hard for your first mission with us.” They’d been tracking these guys for months now. It’s what the Undertakers dedicated himself to— fighting the smaller things in a world full of big and loud villainy and heroes too caught up in themselves. Boston was horrid with crime, overlooked in the grand scheme. The disappearances of people these past few months didn’t matter, not when the world was always on the brink.

The Undertakers would do what others wouldn’t. Soon, they’d bust him— Alexander Cross— the one at the head of the operation. Had the police and the city in his pocket. Not for long, not when they were close to finding all his locations.

“I know it’s nerve wracking,” Valentine only glimpses towards the other for a brief second, face obscured by his cowl. Moonlight highlighted the tawny planes of his jaw, sharp despite all of his seemingly softness. “But the bust won’t be for a few weeks now. Calico won’t break their cover in there— they never have before.” Because of course it was Sawyer who was doing recon much closer— in the building across the street to be exact. Big abandoned warehouse, city property.

Valentine would not confess that Sawyer has indeed, broken their cover before. No point in worsening their nerves.

“You can do some stuff for Olive instead, if fieldwork is too much.” It’s a gentle offering, not coddling but something kinder. Olive always complained about needing a helping hand behind the chair, and he could finish up the last recon missions himself. It was all about easing them in, learning what made them bend and crack.

And he would. Valentine always did.