Bond Brothers

Robbie lives happily bloody after

A/N: QUICK THING: I've changed Matt's sister's name from Maggie to Maddy. I have a close pal named Maggie (who's a lovely person), and the name overlap was tripping me out HUGELY. I updated this change in earlier chapters on Ao3 (my main domain for this story) and I'll get around to doing here too, eventually. Apologies for the holdup.

SO MANY DELAYS! Sorry, guys. This time I didn't even procrastinate, I just couldn't get it right. You wouldn't belieeeeve how many things got cut or re-written. It's all thanks to Beans that I'm finally posting today at all. THANKS, BEANS.

Anyway, here ya go, pals. Nothin' but teeth-rottin' fluff. Fluff, fluff, fluff. A lot of fluff too, so maybe don't read it all in one go?

Lots and lotssss of little easter-eggs in this chapter. Let me know if you pick up on some of the more subtle ones?

Oh, and yeah. This is the epilogue. The final chapter. The last huzzah. Wow!

Robbie spent two months in Scotland with his family.

His family, he reminded himself often.

Robbie's first thought when he'd gotten off the plane and hurled himself into Mum's arms was that Mum smelt exactly the same. Like apple-cinnamon and every sweet memory of home.

Mum swept him up into a tight embrace and told him, "I swear you never stopped growing taller," and "You're so handsome, so lovely," and, so quietly that Robbie could hardly hear it, "I've never missed anybody so terribly."

The sentiment was mutual. Despite speaking with each other over the phone nearly every day since they'd rekindled their relationship, Robbie had missed his mum – his scent, his presence, his glorious hugs – fiercely.

Mum was all curling, auburn hair streaked with white and big blue eyes that watered with happy tears at the drop of a hat. He was the colours of spring and none of the colours of Robbie, but he was also a gangly thing with skinny limbs and a heart-shaped face – just like Robbie, and just like Robbie remembered him.

Robbie's second thought was that in the two and a bit years since he'd last visited for the holidays, his younger sisters had grown into the most impossible, awful, worst-case scenario little monsters they ever could have grown into.

They'd grown into Pollys.

"Daddy," Hattie snapped impatiently. "Would you fetch Robbie's bag from him, already? Did chivalry die on the car ride over here?"

"There's no chivalry in waiting for him to hobble over to us," Holly added importantly. "People might think we're insulting him."

Robbie got the distinct impression that they'd just learned the meaning of the term 'chivalry' and had chosen to flaunt that liberally.

One tiny, fierce redhead had her arms folded and her Mary-jane shoe ticking down the seconds it took for Mark to relieve Robbie of his bags, and the other had her hands firmly on her hips as she instructed them all on the importance of beating the traffic.

Mark, rather oddly, looked far more exhausted in the presence of his stern 9-year-old daughters than he ever had around the energetic 6-year-olds who'd wanted piggy-back rides and twice-hourly outdoor time. Gone was the man who'd lectured Robbie superiorly on how to be a proper omega, and in his place was a father who had been violently shoved off his pedestal by two, very-opinionated omega daughters of his own.

It was fucking gold.

It was so hilarious, in fact, that Robbie was able to forget for a moment about the ache of leaving four, lovely men behind in another country while he got his head on straight.