Jim McSweeney was used to being out of place in the world. Being a six-foot, muscular wall of a walrus – and an international criminal to boot – tended to make one stand out. He'd learned tricks over the years to make people glance his way and then lose interest. Look, I'm unusual but that's about it. It hadn't bothered him on a personal level in a very long time.

But here, in a no-name museum on the Ligurian coast of Italy, surrounded by gullible tourists and second-rate art, he felt that difference in full awkwardness.

Tugging at the itchy turtleneck hiding his body tattoos, Jim discreetly checked the folded paper in his front pocket. It was a note, written in the elegant cursive he knew could only belong to one person.

Jim, please meet me in front of the statue that looks exactly like you. It's hilarious. – CC

McSweeney stepped heavily down the halls, baffled at the labyrinth the museum was turning out to be. It really hadn't been this big on the outside. But as he passed another doorway, a happy cry had him turning right around to it.

"Seen-ie!"

It was a raccoon toddler, perched on his father's shoulders and reaching out to the walrus with pudgy little hands. McSweeney lumbered over and held out one hand, which the child high-fived alongside gleeful giggles.

"Hey kiddo, you're getting' big now, aren't you?"

The kit tugged at his father's cheek fur. "Look, Daddy! Seen-ie!"

"Good job, you found him," Connor Cooper said, his tone mellow liquid. He looked at the walrus and there was a quick upturn to his lips. His son's hands were still around his face. "You're losing your edge, Jim. Sly found you before you found us."

"Been a while since I've been in the game, you know that." McSweeney peered past his friend's shoulder and saw the stone walrus statue. It really did look just like him. "Same for you, if I'm not mistaken. What have you been up to?"

Connor's mouth evened into neutrality, and he glanced around before pulling the toddler's hands off and placing them at his ears instead. Sly grabbed a hold of them with an iron grip, but the elder Cooper didn't even wince.

"There's a kid's playpen near the museum's front, how about we catch up over there, yeah?"

It was phrased as a question, but the raccoon was already walking off in that direction, not looking back to see if his friend was actually coming. McSweeney let out a brief sigh before following at a leisurely pace.

The playpen wasn't much more than a fenced-in corner of the front room with a toy slide and a little table covered in crayons and coloring books. Connor set Sly down within its bounds and the kit wasted no time in crawling under the table, curling up in a fluffy ball.

"Kid's pretty flexible," McSweeney remarked as the raccoon joined him in leaning against the wall. They watched Sly bump a table leg and giggle as crayons rolled off.

"Yeah he is." There was a distinct note of pride in Connor's voice. "I started training him last month. Gymnastics and jiu jitsu, he's a natural."

"Already? You sure that's a good idea?" The walrus' voice lowered somewhat. "He's a little young, isn't he? Didn't he just turn three in –"

"Don't. Don't start this. You agreed you wouldn't get on my case about this."

"I didn't mean any disrespect, Connor, you know that." McSweeney pinched the bridge of his nose. "It just…seems pretty early for a child. Could get himself hurt if he's not careful."

"It's not him I'm worried about," the raccoon growled, folding his arms. He fell silent as Sly crawled out from under the table and started paying more attention to the coloring books. "I started practicing at six, and my mother at five. He's fine, I know what I'm doing."

"Alright, alright, don't get your tail in a knot." The walrus tilted his gaze towards his friend. "I haven't seen either of you in a while, I'm gonna get worried. How's the missus?"

"She's just fine. She misses you, wants to see you again."

"Is she here?"

"No…no, she doesn't know you're here. She ah," Connor shifted in his spot. "She doesn't know we're here either."

A beat.

"Connor!"

"Lower your voice!"

"I won't!" He did anyway. "What are you doing, pulling something like this? I thought you promised to be more honest, wasn't that the deal? I stay out of your parenting, you open up to your own wife."

"She knows Sly and I are here in town," the raccoon asserted, "she just doesn't know it's at this museum. It's, uh, Cooper business."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." He shifted again, a little closer, and looked around the room before pulling out an old, crusty document from his jacket. He handed it to McSweeney, who opened the top and peeked at the title. He stiffened.

"Connor."

"I know it's short notice, and I'm sorry to dump it on you like this, but I need you to take it."

"Connor, I can't do that."

"You don't even have to keep it with you, just – just hide it somewhere and don't tell me where and everything will be fine. Please."

The walrus opened his mouth to argue, then took a closer look at his friend. Connor was getting twitchy. Connor was never twitchy. He closed his mouth and sighed again, brushed two fingers against the title as if to make sure it was real, then stowed it nimbly away under his turtleneck.

The raccoon's face visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Jim. Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand gruffly. "I don't understand why you asked me to do it though, I'm not the Brainiac. Wouldn't he be better for –"

"He and I haven't, been speaking much lately," Connor interrupted. His words were careful. "We had a disagreement about…whether my inheritance applied to both of you as well, or just the Cooper family. I said. Mmm. We both said some things in the heat of the moment that damaged some pride. So I, thought it would be easier if…for all of us, if you kept the map safe."

McSweeney waited, but his friend refused to say anymore on the subject. Instead, the raccoon turned towards the playpen just in time to catch Sly already halfway over the child fence.

"Hey, no no no! No you don't!" He rushed over and plucked the toddler up easily, holding him under his armpits. "What did I say about climbing without asking first?"

"Not to."

"Then what were you just doing."

Sly's response was a wide grin that had the walrus chuckling hard.

"Better watch yourself Connor, he's got your smile! Haha, we're gonna see the smirk soon too, I can't wait."

To McSweeney's concern, his friend's brow furrowed and he hugged his son to his chest, deftly handling the wriggling child without problem. Connor looked over at him with something definite and sober.

"That's the other thing I needed to talk to you about, Jim." His voice was calm again. Neutral. "We're going to be travelling from now on. Often."

"Oh well. That's not so strange, you've always been a nomad. Just tell me the next time you'll be in Europe, we can get together then."

"No, that's just it," Connor stroked his toddler's fur. "We aren't telling anyone. About where we're going. I'm dropping off the map."

"You're serious?"

"Yes I am. I'm going to devote my full time to raising Sly, help him grow into his heritage. We've agreed that it'll be easier to do so if nobody can find us."

A shadow was forming behind Connor's eyes, heavy and full of grief. McSweeney looked at him.

"You're not talking about Interpol, are you?" There was a subtle tightening to the raccoon's mouth. His friend plowed on. "You know I can help protect you. Protect your family. He won't be able to hurt you while I'm there."

Connor shook his head with a rueful smile. "I appreciate you offering again, Jim, but the answer's still no. I don't…" He wavered only briefly. "I've already asked so much of you, I won't make you do any more. Please just keep the map safe for me. I promise I'll come out of hiding when Sly's old enough to fend for himself. My mother did it for me and we managed just fine."

The grief was heavier now, both of them thinking about the raccoon, suddenly alone in the world at age twenty-three. McSweeney let out a huff and came up to his long-time companion.

"Guess this is a real goodbye then?" They clasped hands and bumped shoulders, mindful of the little kit between them. "You better keep that promise, Connor Cooper. I expect to see you in the flesh the minute this kid turns eighteen."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." The Master Thief laughed, hoisting Sly onto his hip as he walked towards the exit. "Don't get fat!"

"Don't get caught!" The Muscle Man called back. He chuckled as Connor's son twisted to look at the walrus over his father's shoulder.

"Bye-bye Seen-ie!" Those pudgy hands waved enthusiastically.

"So long, kiddo!" He waved back a little less enthusiastically.

Later that night, in a stroke of inspiration, McSweeney broke back into that little museum on the Ligurian Coast, to hide the Cooper Family Vault map in the walrus statue that looked exactly like him. Three days later, he had the image of the museum tattooed into his palm so he wouldn't ever forget where it was.

Five years later, he would stare at that same palm while watching international news coverage of a "truly horrific event" that "demonstrates the lawlessness of the criminal underworld."

As jaded Interpol agents would hold press conferences remarking callously that Cooper's life had finally caught up with him, Jim McSweeney would stare at that palm and weep.


A/N: What have I gotten myself into.

So I was replaying these games recently and got reminded how messed up they were sometimes, especially considering Sly's origin story like holy crap, how do you get that under the censors?

Anyway, this will mostly take place before the events of the 1st game; Sly's time at Happy Camper Orphanage, how he met Bentley and Murray, and how he went from a traumatized child to the smooth-talking raccoon thief we all know and love. It's gonna be a bumpy ride, and I'll give content warnings before each chapter (although it shouldn't be too bad, hence the T rating).

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!