Illya prided himself on being hard to sneak up on. Years of constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the KGB to decide he was no longer useful, had made him extremely aware of his surroundings.
He was just as good at being able to sneak up on people.
A trait that passed onto the next generation it seemed as he opened his eyes to see a familiar pair of eyes staring right back at him, less than an inch away from his face.
It took every bit of restraint that he had to resist lashing out at his son.
"Lyov." He sighed, "Why are you out of bed?"
Lyov drew back slightly, "I…I had a bad dream." He whispered in Russian, fingers twisting nervously together.
He would usually never have voiced this, especially not to his trainers.
Beside him, Illya felt Napoleon flip onto his stomach, snoring softly as Lyov looked like he was about to have a panic attack.
"It was about Daddy."
Illya frowned, "About Napoleon? What about?"
"… He didn't come home one day." A sheen of tears shimmered in Lyov's eyes as Illya winced at the thought.
"Your Dad is too strong to let anything happen to him." He reassured the child, "He is secret agent, remember?"
Lyov looked a little less panicked, but not by much. "Then why did I have the bad dream then?"
Slowly, Illya reached out and pulled his son into the bed with him, wrapping his arms around him as Lyov snuggled closer.
"There… is no concrete medical reasoning behind nightmares." He slowly began, "They are common in children though, because of your imagination."
Lyov nodded solemnly, seeming to think over the words.
Illya had never talked to his son like he was anything less than an adult, even when he was explaining things. Of course, there were some subjects that he danced over, but the majority of the time, he told his son the truth.
"Do you have bad dreams?" The child asked, as Illya nodded, settling deeper into the pillows and mattress, fighting back a yawn.
"I do, occasionally." He admitted, "I dream about Napoleon getting hurt. When you were little, I had a few, worrying about if something was going to happen to you. Bad dreams are not real though, they are just pictures created by our minds."
"… Does Papa have bad dreams?"
"I believe so."
Lyov huffed out a breath, twisting suddenly and crawling over Illya's hip to flop down in the middle of the bed between him and Napoleon, as Illya turned with him. Napoleon inhaled sharply at the sudden movement, lifting his head from the pillow, blinking down at the boy who waved sleepily.
"'M going to sleep now." Lyov stated, "Night night."
Napoleon simply smiled sleepily, moving to press a soft kiss to Lyov's forehead as the boy's eyes drifted shut.
Illya gave up on the idea of trying to get Lyov to sleep in his own bed, rolling his eyes and resting his against the pillow once again.
"Just this once, Illya." Napoleon murmured sleepily, looking down at the small boy who had already sprawled out as best he could…. A boneless heap of sleepy child.
It probably wouldn't do too much damage.
…..
The next morning, he woke up to the feeling of Lyov's body sprawled on top of him, Napoleon's thighs pinning his legs to the mattress.
It was oddly soothing.
He chuckled softly and Lyov's head popped up at the sound.
"Good morning!"
"Good morning." Illya sighed, "Do you want to go for morning run?" He was pleased when Lyov nodded eagerly, jumping out of bed and racing to go and get changed.
"You're both mental." Napoleon grunted, "And don't you dare say anything about it 'getting the blood pumping.'"
"I would not dare." Illya chuckled, leaning over and kissing his love on the side, "We will see you later, if you are going to get out of bed this morning?"
"It's six am, I still have six hours before it's no longer morning!"
"Lazy American."
"Oh, I'll show you lazy!" Napoleon darted out, trying to grab Illya and pull him back down onto the bed, only for Illya to neatly dodge out of the way with a fond chuckle.
"Continue your sleep Cowboy. We will be back shortly."
…
Napoleon couldn't go back to sleep, staring up at the ceiling and thinking back to his own childhood.
Would Lyov like apple-picking, he wondered. Hopefully he'd have better luck than him when he first went, and not take a bite of the first, rotten apple that he could find.
He was obsessed with tractors at that age.
His parents once said that out of all his little obsessions, that one was the easiest to deal with.
What little obsessions would Lyov have?
He liked Superman, that was evident from the way he cuddled that Superman doll Napoleon had given him.
He would figure something out for them to do when all this was over.
Hopefully, that would be soon.
...
"Do you remember the lullaby you used to sing to me?" Lyov asked, as they made their way back to the cabin.
"Hmmm."
"… Can you sing it to me now?"
His son blinked up at him, and Illya knew he couldn't refuse him, hearing the bitter wind rustling through the trees. Soon, hips lips were moving on their accord, his voice carrying on the wind, making the Russian lullaby sound so much more haunting than it usually was.
He remembered his mother singing this to him once upon a time.
Lyov would have a happier childhood than his… this he swore.
And then he heard the helicopters approaching from the distance.
"NAPOLEON!"