(Damien POV)
After finalizing the sale, the boys wasted no time and began making their way back to what was now no longer their home. Their steps were quick, almost restless—there was too much to do, and not enough time to do it.
The sky above had already begun to darken.
As they cut through narrow alleys and slipped past crooked fences, a low rumble rolled overhead. Moments later, the first drops of rain began to fall—light at first, tapping softly against the dirt and wood around them.
Then it came down harder.
Rain soaked into their clothes as they moved, the ground beneath their feet turning slick and uneven. Mud clung to their boots, slowing them slightly, but neither of them said a word. They kept moving, heads low, pushing through the weather.
Soon, the familiar outline of the house came into view through the rain.
It looked just as it always had—leaning slightly to one side, its wood weathered and splintered, the roof sagging in places as if it might give in at any moment. Water dripped steadily from its edges, the structure looking even more fragile beneath the gray sky.
Luke let out a short breath. "Man… I won't miss seeing this crappy place."
"Same," Damien replied, wiping rain from his face as they approached.
They stepped inside.
The shift was immediate. The sound of rain dulled against the roof, giving way to the still, stale air within. It smelled of old wood and dust, thick and unmoving, as if the house had already begun forgetting them. Without stopping, the boys headed up the creaking staircase, each step groaning under their weight.
They reached their shared bedroom.
The room was small and cluttered in a way that spoke more of neglect than comfort. Two rough wooden beds sat on opposite sides, their thin, worn blankets tossed carelessly across them. Clothes were scattered along the floor—some folded long ago, others simply abandoned where they'd fallen. In the corner stood a small, uneven table, its surface scratched and stained, with a creased map resting on top.
Damien walked over, picked up the map, and carefully folded it along its worn creases before slipping it into their bag.
They didn't hesitate after that.
He grabbed the bag and tossed it open while Luke moved around the room, gathering what little they owned. A few shirts, a pair of pants each, and some basic toiletries were stuffed inside. The bag strained slightly, already nearing its limit—there wasn't room for anything more than the essentials.
Luke stepped over to the table, lifted a small wooden cup, and filled it with water, then sealed it tightly. Damien gathered a few pieces of bread, wrapped them carefully, and placed them in a separate container.
"If we run low," Damien muttered, tightening the bag, "we can hunt along the way."
Luke nodded. "Yeah… we'll manage."
It didn't take long.
There simply wasn't much to take.
With everything packed—including the map—Damien slung the bag over his shoulder. For a brief moment, the two of them stood there, the quiet of the room settling around them. Outside, the rain continued to fall, faintly tapping against the roof and walls.
The beds, the scattered clothes, the now-empty corner table—it all felt distant already, like something they had outgrown long before today.
Without another word, they turned and left.
Down the stairs.
Through the narrow hall.
Then finally out the door.
The moment they stepped outside—They stopped.
Rain fell steadily around them, soaking the ground at their feet.
A group of Rugrats stood waiting.
Spread loosely across the front of the house, their figures darkened by the rain, their postures relaxed but their expressions anything but. Crooked grins stretched across their faces, eyes locked onto the brothers with a quiet, eager malice.
Damien's grip on the bag tightened slightly.
He didn't need to say anything.
Trouble stood at their doorstep