Summary; A look into what things would be like if Cruella de Vil was a good mother and aunt.

Trigger warnings; Offscreen Death, past child neglect, unhealthy coping mechanisms, adoption, and mental health issues.

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Archer hadn't meant for it to happen...

Archer hadn't meant for it to happen...

Archer hadn't meant for it to happen...

That's what Cruella kept telling herself as she drove to the police station. But that didn't quell the anger she felt in the slightest.

Because now he was gone.

Her nephew was gone—dead because of a stupid trick shot that he had tried against her advisement.

Leaving behind his three year old son—Hunter—who had witnessed the whole thing and called the police like he had been taught.

Who had arrived at Archer's farm to find him dead with an arrow in his neck, his wife nowhere to be found, and said son in hysterics.

Cruella knew that it wasn't fair or smart to be angry at a dead man. But she couldn't help it.

She couldn't believe that her nephew had been so reckless.

So selfish.

So stupid.

Perhaps it was a way for her to cope with the overwhelming exhaustion and sadness she felt. Or perhaps it was just because she was so overwhelmingly pissed at the fact that she didn't know what to do.

Who to call.

What decision to make regarding what would undoubtedly be asked of her when she arrived at the station.

Cruella wasn't a stranger to the legal protocol of what was to be done with an orphaned child.

She was old enough to remember when her uncle, Malachi, died and her cousin, P.H, came to live with her family after all.

She knew that Hunter (if she was remembering his name right) would either be placed with a relative of one of his parents or in an orphanage.

She knew that his mother had no family. Or none that could be found anyway.

She knew from Horace and Jasper that orphanages often weren't the best places.

And Cruella, of course, knew her family well. Knew what could go wrong.

Her mother wasn't a caring woman even when her father was still alive and that hadn't changed.

P.H loved experimenting on people and animals—never bothering to ask if it was okay before he started—and always ate the unhealthiest things.

Cristian loved his booze more than ever she did.

Divus was in school trying to become a teacher and forgot to eat a good portion of the time.

Cecil was always on the move trying to hit it big and couldn't afford to take care of a child even if he wanted to.

Cotton was barely an adult himself and had a dangerous job, and an even deadlier fascination with fire.

And Cyrus... was dead...

Which left Cruella.

Cruella who knew that she was emotionally and mentally unstable.

Cruella who had always been firmly against having kids after basically having to raise her younger brothers when her parents were away.

She knew that she could refuse if asked to take the toddler she barely knew in. That she didn't have to take him in. That he wasn't her responsibility.

But she also couldn't get the image of the wiggling newborn baby with her grandfather's hair and father's eyes that she had last seen three years ago out of her head.

The baby turned toddler who was now sitting alone at the police station waiting for someone— anyone —to show up and collect him from the strange, scary, unfamiliar place he found himself in through no fault of his own.

Cruella knew that if asked to take him that she'd say yes. That it was inevitable and she couldn't—wouldn't just walk away and let Hunter be shipped off somewhere else.

She wouldn't allow him to be shipped off to her mother and have the same lonely childhood she had.

He deserved better than that.

And she was going to give it to him. 

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"Auntie Ella, where are we going?" Hunter, now nine, asked sleepily as she helped him into his jacket and searched frantically for the car keys in the dark of her mansion.

The clock read 3:00 AM.

Cruella didn't know what to tell him.

No.

She didn't know how to tell him the awful news.

How to tell him that his great uncle, Cotton, was dead because of his own stupidity and arsonist habits and that his three year old cousin, Ivy, was in the hospital with serious injuries. Mother nowhere to be found.

How was someone supposed to explain that to a nine year old who still had nightmares about his father's own death and his mother's disappearance from his life?

She didn't know.

But she knew she had to try.

"Ivy and her daddy got in a bad accident, and she needs us right now. We're going to go see her."

Hunter furrowed his brows. Taking a few minutes to process what she said as she passed him his shoes and searched for the keys.

"Oh. Is she okay?"

Cruella paused in her search for a brief moment. Not looking at him.

"She's... she's really hurt, darling. The doctors think she's going to be okay but they aren't sure and don't think she should be alone right now."

"Oh."

"I know. Now come on, get your shoes on and help me look for the keys."

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As she stared at her younger nephew, Diego, as he slept on her couch, Cruella couldn't help but wonder how she kept getting into these situations.

She had already taken in Hunter and Ivy, who were now 10 and 4 respectively, and now she was to take in Cecil's oops baby that he hadn't known he had until yesterday.

Why she had agreed to take the 3 year old in while his father was still alive, she didn't know. But it wasn't like she could revoke it now considering the fact that Cecil was already out of the country on another one of his shoots.

Sighing, Cruella grabbed a blanket from nearby and draped it over the sleeping toddler. Who furrowed his brows but thankfully stayed asleep.

She really didn't get paid enough for this.

Oh wait.

She didn't get paid at all.

It was a good thing she was rich.

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"Diego, darling, don't poke the baby" Cruella sighed tiredly as she strolled into the nursery at 1am to find her 4 year old nephew poking her newborn son.

Causing Carlos to wail louder than he already was.

"Sowwy Auntie Ella." Diego said, retracting his hand from the crib.

Cruella just ran her hand through his hair as she leaned over the crib to check on her son. Knowing that the older boy didn't mean any harm. "Why are you up? Did you have a nightmare?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. Causing his bangs to fall into his eyes.

" 'Los crying. Los sad?"

"No, darling. That's just the only way He knows how to communicate with us."

"Oh."

Cruella hummed in response, squeezing the squeaky dalmatian chew toy that amused her son for some unfathomable reason in hopes of calming him.

Causing his crying to cease as he stared up at her and the toy. Which he immediately reached for, cooing and clapping. Eyes lighting up.

Diego watched intrigued, so Cruella squeezed the toy again.

Exciting Carlos further.

And in that moment, Cruella allowed herself to smile despite her exhaustion—because she was doing much better at this than she ever thought she would.

And a part of her was much happier because of it.