This one-shot is written for Kirshenwasser. (on deviant art) She has made several artworks of Vaas and her OC son of his, Vas. I admired one particular picture and asked her if she were able to do a Rakyat style Vaas considering none had been made. After she did I felt uberly awesome and offered to do a story for her. So, here I am. This fic will center on a sober Vaas being a single parent. What makes matters worse? Well that's just it, he's a single father taking care of a baby. I'm throwing in life experience here so I hope it all reads out realistically for you. I think me and Vaas might have the same ideas of child rearing. Just sayin'.

I didn't put an uber amount of detailing into this story, but I think it still reads out pretty good. I was very tired near the second part of this (up rather late) so I'm sorry if that whole part seems a little...poopy. Anyways, hope everyone likes it, 'specially you Kirsch. Alrighty, I'll leave you to it :)

Edit: I edited everything this morning so it's not as poopy when I wrote it whilst overly tired.

Also, this fic is completely unrelated to any of my other's story line and what nots.

Edit again: Vas' name. Voila! There now it's good.

XXX

A Chance to Live

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Doing the same thing over and over and over again expecting shit to change is insanity. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, please. CHILD REARING IS INSANITY! If you don't believe me, go have one.

I never wanted children. I thought, maybe when I'm thirty. Nah. Maybe when I'm thirty five...nope. Definitely not. My friend's asked what I'd do if I ever became pregnant. "I'll abort it," I said, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly. Then the day came. The second pregnancy test. And it read positive. Well...maybe I could do an open adoption...no the kid would grow up looking at me wondering why the hell I wasn't taking care of it. Maybe a closed adoption...no the kid will come looking for me after forty years. So to avoid any and all awkward situations I kept it. And ya know what...he's a pretty cool kid, if not a little bit whiny and needing constant supervision :/

Goodbye my beloved green herbs, good bye my old friend Mr. Alcohol. Goodbye late nights out and about and raising hell. Hello Motherhood; I await your ass whooping.

I feel Vaas might take child rearing as I had. So here we go.

….

He desperately craved a cigarette. Just a puff. Just one little hit of that sweet, tingling nicotine in his lungs, the feel of the smoke turning his organs a sickening black color. Of all the things he's left, given up, and fought through, he thought he had earned himself a smoke.

Vaas sighed heavily, scrubbing his hands over his tired face. It had been a trying month, and the work was more than he had bargained for. He hadn't the slightest clue that this was how it was going to be. Granted stories and movies had slightly prepared him, but real life was a real fucking bitch. How was he supposed to know he'd be getting up nearly every two hours of every night, forty five minutes each time having to sit down and feed that...

He sighed once again, whirring his lips as he stared up to the ceiling, eyes lost in the flickering shadows provided by the candle at his bedside. So tired. The dancing shadows lulled his eyes shut. He was almost there. He could almost feel the warm embrace that beckoned him back into darkness. His breathing slowed, body relaxed into the mattress, and it pulled him down, down, down...

The high pitched wail of a demonic sound shot through his eardrums, jolting him upright, eyes opening wide, hand reaching at his holster-less waist. Oh yeah, there was no gun there. As the sound continued to pierce through the still air of the jungle night—alerting many of its animal inhabitants of its existence—Vaas gathered his bearings and shook his head furiously, slamming his fists over his ears to block out that wretched sound conjoined with the calls and barks of the jungle beasts. This wasn't how he had envisioned a clean life to be.

Muttering in Spanish he rose from his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees as he raked his fingers through the growing Mohawk. Though he still kept the sides of his head shaved—due to the numerous scars not allowing many parts of his scalp to grow hair—he had neglected to trim the middle for the better part of a month and he could feel the outcome on his fingertips. The wail continued on and Vaas grumbled, rubbing his eyes and slowly standing. The past month had been taking its toll. He was constantly tired, getting only a couple of hours of sleep here and there when he could, and he was sore. His muscles ached and with every movement he could feel the knots rubbing together under his skin. He rubbed at one particular knot in his shoulder as he trudged through his home, the wooden floor creaking under his feet. He pulled aside the curtain that separated the two rooms, mumbling under his breath and nearly stalking his way in. "Chongo, wey," he began as he neared the source of the ear shattering wails. "Could you possibly get any louder? You're waking up the whole damn jungle."

Vaas lay his arms over the sides of the homemade cradle, made by himself he was proud to say, and stared down at the wriggling and very upset infant that lay in its blankets. The bane of his existence; his son, Vas. Although Vaas had taken to calling the little hellion Chongo, Spanish for monkey, due to the death grip the kid could get on his clothes and hands and really anything else that came into his reach. "What's the matter, hah? I just fed you like an hour ago." He let his hand dangle lazily before the infants hands, and Vas quickly grasped on to the first finger that came into contact. The kid's grip was tight, but neither the sight, nor the feel of his father's hands, was enough to quell his discomfort. Sighing once again, Vaas reached both hands into the cradle, lifting the baby out as gently as he could, being sure to support his head as he held him against his chest. As he had done countless nights before, he lightly bounced his son in a soothing manner, rubbing his back and shushing into his tiny ears as he made his way back through the curtain to attend to the routine checks little Vas required. Check diaper, check to see if hungry, check to see if the kid was just getting off on tormenting him and keeping him from a good nights sleep.

It was the last thing Vaas had ever expected to happen to himself in his life. Hell, he never expected it. Never wanted it. Never even remotely ever even slightly thought about it. A kid! Him! The thought was completely absurd. How could Vaas, the drug addicted, blood thirsty, short fused pirate king ever come to produce a child...let alone take care of one? Well, it had happened. And unfortunately so he hated to admit. But there was no going back. He had accepted it. Granted he didn't want to at first but in the end, instincts took over, and he'd be damned if he'd let anything at all befall his own child. The gods never put a coincidence into one's life. It will have it's reason and it will be for the better in the end.

It took months of preparation, mainly for himself, but he had pulled through. The first thing he did was lock himself in a room and wait out the withdrawals. The first few weeks were the worst. He was sick, cold, tired, and ready to just shoot himself in the head had he a gun on him. He had managed to scratch a few more scars into his skin, but they were shallow and benign and barely showed after a few months time. When he emerged, there was no golden light or angels singing or even friends and family to embrace him and congradulate him. Only one of the few loyal men who had stuck by his side through their years of smuggling and trafficking was there, the key to Vaas' cleanse in his hand after he had pulled it from the lock. There was a small joke, a quiet laugh, and then a sudden jolt of energy in the former pirate lord's chest when he learned the woman bearing his child was still safe. He hadn't been aware of what it was at the time, but six months later, he would learn.

The second thing Vaas did was find a place to raise the unborn child. It was too dangerous to try to leave the archipelago yet with a price on his head, from all fighting sides; Rakyat, Pirates, Privateers, they all wanted him dead, and wouldn't hesitate from ending his pregnant lover's life either. Vaas stuck to one of the much smaller islands some miles away from the main ones of Rook. He hadn't been to the place in years, but it wasn't like there had been anything there waiting for him but an uninhabited jungle home only to a few species of wildlife. Upon this tiny island Vaas set to work on building a home. Growing up a Rakyat, he was well versed in the construction of a simple hut, though upon the woman's request he had been 'persuaded' to build a second addition. He was also the bread bringer; going out everyday to acquire his small family's sustenance. He worked hard every day to provide for and make happy the woman who was each day, showing more and more her pregnancy.

During these months Vaas had not only strained himself physically, but mentally as well. He'd been unstable for years, reliant on drugs and blood to keep his place at the top of the food chain that was Hoyt's organization. A clean head meant clear thoughts, and the past had come to haunt him. He had always been short tempered and quick to get into fights, but with a foggy mind overrun with trauma, heartbreak, betrayal, and death, injecting himself with poison seemed to be the only way to overcome it all. But as the years progressed he grew more violent, more unpredictable, and more paranoid. Everyone was an enemy. Everyone was capable of driving a knife into his back. Everyone had an agenda, and he'd be damned if he was going to let anyone play him for a fool...like his sister.

He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to be a father; a dad. He wasn't ready to take on such a responsibility. Hell, capturing tourists, holding them for ransom, and selling them across seas was easier than this. Drug smuggling was easier than this. Fuck, Jeopardy was easier than this. When Vaas found out that he would have to be doing this alone, he'd broken down. He'd pleaded to her not to leave him, not to leave him with this. With this burden, with this life, with this responsibility. He begged and he cried for her to stay with him. Don't leave me! He had screamed, tears brimming at his eyes, hands covered in blood as he held their son in his arms, trying desperately to will the woman to live, for him, for Vas. But it wouldn't be so easy. It wouldn't be a happily ever after and they wouldn't live a happy little family in a house on a hill somewhere. Vaas was left with a child, a foreign object he knew close to nothing about, and for the first time in a long time he was scared. No, he was terrified.

The first night was the worst because he had to bury her. The second night he awoke to the cries of the baby and the nightmares that haunted his sleep. The third night he wept for her and cursed every god he had ever heard of, every spirit, and every belief and every human being. The fourth night he lost it. As the crying filled their home, those constant wails of an innocent infant's needs, Vaas stormed through the curtain, dark eyes narrowed and glaring at that noisy, horrific thing that had killed the woman he loved and left him to deal with the hell she pushed out. He grabbed the rail of the cradle with a deadly grip and screamed. He shouted and cursed and blamed the child for everything. Even for things long past. And as his screams escalated, so too did the child's, and in the end, the fearful cries of his son resonated in his ears and he collapsed. He fell to his knees and cried and with a newfound tenderness, he picked up the baby, his baby. His son. His little Vas. He held him to his chest, rubbing his cheeks on the soft down of his son's hair, and whispered his apologies and his promises that he would never hurt him and he would do everything in his power to keep him safe. Vaas would have to work his hardest though, with himself.

"Look I'm sorry I don't have chi-chi's okay. Just take the damn bottle. Come on." Vaas sat on his bed, son in arms, constantly trying to encourage the newborn to eat. All evidence pointed to the kid being hungry. He needn't a change, nor had he any injuries or bug bites. But Vas was not taking the bottle. Vaas blew a breath to the ceiling. He just couldn't understand it. He tried to remember what the women of his village would do with their crying children, but all he could come up with was breasts. They would simply just stick a boob in their kids' mouths and everything was hunky dory again. Whether the kid was hungry or just crabby, a boob always helped. Unfortunately, Vaas wasn't exactly lactating and therefore held all his faith in a formula filled bottle.

Vaas shifted in his position, his back aching something terrible as he hunched over trying to feed his son. Vas continued to cry and flail his little arms about, his small body practically shaking with the amount of effort put into his screams. Vaas did his best to block it out. Just block out the screams and try to figure out what was wrong.

Setting the bottle aside, Vaas rose from the bed, cradling his child in his arms and he began to pace. Vaas paced the floors back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, wishing suddenly for a rocking chair, at least then he wouldn't have to continuously walk from one end of the hut to the other while desperately trying to calm the upset infant. "Shshshshshshsh, papi, it's okay. It's okay. The world's not gonna end. You're fine. You're not dying, no blood or guts, you're just being dramatic." Little Vas though, seemed uncomforted by his father's words, and continued on with his cries.

Vaas grumbled and sighed, agitated that he could not, for the life of him, console his weeping baby. What did the kid want? He didn't need to be changed. He didn't seem hungry. And he certainly wasn't in the mood for a conversation. Vaas stared helplessly down to the baby in his arms, sighing once again and shaking his head. "I don't know what you're problem is, Chongo. You don't like my voice? I've been told I have quite the charming voice, why are you so unaffected hah?" Vas didn't answer, but continued to cry. Vaas chuckled at the faces the baby made. Vas' face was scrunched up tightly, eyes squinting, and mouth wide, even when he stopped to hiccup from the cries, his face remained the same. "Haha, ya know if you keep making that face it's gonna stay that way, right?" Again, Vas did not answer, and resumed his dutiful wailing.

Vaas flinched when the cries started back up. And here he thought he'd been making progress. No such luck unfortunately and he resumed his pacing. After a full ten minutes—a very long ten minutes for the former pirate—of walking back and forth from one wall to the other, Vaas' legs began demanding rest. He couldn't keep at this. He was highly deprived of a good nights sleep and his body begged for the semi-comfort of the old, worn bed. "Whoever came up with that rediculous 'sleeping like a baby' line needs to seriously get their heads checked. You don't sleep at all, papi!" Vaas yawned as he bounced the baby at his chest and continued to babble on to him. Though Vaas thought he was making some pretty good points in his one sided argument against the child, little Vas thought otherwise.

Vaas decided to try the bottle once again. He sat upon the bed and attempted to feed the little nuisance but Vas was still not taking it. Vaas returned to his pacing. Still nothing. He checked for a changing and still nothing. With one final effort before calling it quits and just letting the baby cry himself to sleep, Vaas picked up the bottle and held it at his son's lips, continuing to pace the floor this time. There was a pause in the infant's outbursts, and Vaas smiled a goofy smile as he watched Vas take the bottle, tiny fingers curling around his own. Vaas chuckled, then proceeded to hang his head back and quietly as he could laugh to the ceiling. "Yes! Haha yes! Ah, there ya go, Vas," he said with a wide smile, glancing back down to the now satiated baby. "An hour later you little prick, you." Vaas chuckled again, victoriously.

For the rest of the feeding time, Vaas continued to talk to his son as if the infant could understand all of what he said. He mentioned how picky Vas was being, only wanting to be fed while being walked back and forth opposed to being fed in a static position. He mentioned how gluttenous Vas could be too. He'd already fed him an hour before he had woken up, and already Vas was halfway done with this bottle. Vaas also mentioned that him and Vas must share some sort of mental attributes, for he said that his own mother had told him of having to walk the length of the room to calm him down as a baby. There was a sudden glint of loss in the man's eyes, and then another glint of fear. Oh shit. What would happen if Vas ever turned out like he had. Would he be so naïve to follow the beckoning of an evil tyrant? Would he be so hotheaded that anyone standing in his way would feel his anger before they saw it? Would he succumb to the promising call of drugs and alcohol? Would he ever kill...

Vaas shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut if only for a moment to erase the memories from his mind. They would surely resurface again another day, but the small coo like yawn of a full bellied baby captured Vaas from their grasp, and his smile returned. He pulled away the now empty bottle and set it aside on the table. Readjusting his hold of the infant, he propped him up against his bare shoulder, patting his back firmly yet gently. Vaas took a chance to seat himself upon the bed and was relieved to find his son had not given a rebuttal by screeching and crying once again. He sighed happily. Finally, maybe he could get some sleep.

After a few minutes and a few piglet sounding burps from the little bundle on his shoulder, Vaas could hear the smallest breaths being blown from a very tired set of lungs. Had he done it? Had he succeeded in finally lulling his child to sleep? Vaas pulled the infant down to cradle him in his arms and took in the peaceful image of his son finally clonked out and in dream land. Another bout of victorious laughter, quietly of course, and Vaas could not help the pull that sleep had on his body. Slowly and carefully, he lay back on the bed, son nestled snugly at his side, head laying on his arm. The man watched him sleep, watched his little chest rise and fall with each calm breath he took, and watched his tiny fingers wrap about his own, putting his whole arm in an awkward position, for Vas lay his head on his bicep and hold of Vaas' middle finger, stretching his hand down to an almost cramping manner. Vaas smirked and lay a hand down on the baby's belly. "You look just like your mama," he stated, more sad than he had meant to but...

It was true. Vaas saw how every day this little hellion was looking less and less like him and more and more like his mother. Whereas Vaas was dark skinned and dark haired, Vas had a much lighter skin tone, and his hair was a soft brown. And where Vaas' eyes were dark with browns and greens, Vas' eyes were a bright blue. Surely they did not look related in the least. Vas' grip tightened on his father's finger and the man chuckled. "But you got my attitude don't you?" He wriggled his finger, scoffing when Vas' hold only tightened more. "You know," Vaas said to the sleeping baby. "Being my son...that makes you a Rakyat too." He said this with slight detachment. Vaas hadn't really considered himself a Rakyat since he left the tribe. How could he stay though? With his sister...she was manipulative, cold, possessive, and not to mention obsessive. She had this mindset that her and him were supposed to...were destined to...Vaas closed out the memory banks concerning his sister and returned his attention to his sleeping offspring.

"I'm gonna teach you, okay, Chongo. I'm gonna teach you how to be a real Rakyat. A true Rakyat warrior. I'm gonna teach you how to hunt and skin a kill and cook it and make fire and jewelry...you know what? Papa's gonna make you a necklace just like his, hah? Would you like that?" He smiled down at the boy, and obviously, sleeping baby did not answer. "Hope I can do a good job on it. This one was my mama's," he said, fingering the green stone that after all these years still hung from his neck. It had gone through several chains and leather strings but the stone always remained, and he'd almost killed everyone in the camp one day when it came up missing some years ago. "And since you are my son and that makes you Rakyat, that also makes you a prince of the island. And if you're gonna be part of the royal family," Vaas said, almost giddily. "Then you're gonna need to look the part." He swept a finger through the thick hair atop Vas' head. "I can fit you in tomorrow for a trim," he said happily.

"And a warrior, especially the prince, has to know how to fight. So I'm gonna teach you how to fight. Hope you won't have to but...you never know..." his eyes lost their humor and he pursed his lips, staring down at the sleeping infant as he still held ever fast to his finger. "There's bad people out there, Vas," he said, letting his free hand run across the thick brown hair of Vas' head. "And they want me dead. But if I can do this, if I can bring them down, then...well...then maybe you won't end up like me..."

The minutes passed and Vaas found himself staring at the ceiling again, his thoughts jumbling together in his head like a hurricane as his eyes became lost and heavy in the fading flicker of the candle's shadows. Everyone wanted him dead, no thanks to Citra and Hoyt, he mused. But he'd be damned if they thought he could be so easily removed. He was a force of fucking nature. He'd survived rivals, enemies, crocodiles, tigers, gun shots, stab wounds, car accidents, explosians, falls, climbs, Hoyt, withdrawal...he survived Bull's fingers around his throat, Dennis' machete to his head! He was damn near immortal for fuck's sake.

Vaas needed to find a way to end this war on his island. If not for himself than for his son. The three factions were going at each others throats like drugs and slaves were no longer the problem. Everything was personal now with Hoyt out of the picture. The Rakyat wanted to kill the pirates and privateers, the privateers wanted to rule the pirates and the pirates wanted to over throw the privateers, and Vaas just hoped that some new warlord wasn't going to swoop in from the unknown and take over Hoyt's left behind empire. He could see no hope of saving his home if it were to happen. Of saving his son...

Glancing down with heavy eyes, Vaas stroked the fingers wrapped around his own with his thumb, allowing a glimmer of a smile to pull at the corners of his lips. He watched Vas sleep soundly beside him, wondering to himself if he shouldn't surround the kid with pillows should he accidentally rolled over onto him...or if Vas rolled off the bed. Tired. So tired. And if he stirred the sleeping little thing...all Hell could possibly break loose. Another breath was blown to the air and he maneuvered closer to the wall, keeping Vas in his same snugly position at his side and on his arm, unbeknownst to the man that that tiny little 8 pound newborn had a habit of growing ten extra arms and legs in his sleep. In other words, Vaas would learn that his son was quite the bed hog.

"Don't worry, mijo," Vaas said with a yawn as he turned his head, scruffy chin brushing over the soft downy hair of Vas. "I'm gonna make sure you have a chance on this fucked up island. Even if it kills me." He hadn't much time to think on his own words before he was pulled blissfully away by loving arms of sleep. It was the best sleep he had had since Vas' birth. He would later find out that only when little Vas was curled up next to him would he get a good nights sleep.

XXX

Well...like I said it's not as descriptive as my other stuffs...but I didn't see an uber huge reason for it to be. Anyways, worked hard on this despite the detail-y bits and I hope you like it Kirsch ;)

PS: Most all new parent-y feelings and sayings in this story are actual reenactments of my own experience with my son. To this day I still have no idea what I'm doing but...well he's alive so that's a good thing haha. Yes I am a comedian and love using dry humor. Yay.