somnambulism noun. Sleepwalking
It was a little past eleven, too early for Penny Halliwell to go to bed, but far too late to do anything really productive. She moseyed about the house, picking up the little pieces of clutter like Sam's toys and Prue's photographs.
A tinkle of glass set her senses on edge. Something was in her house in the middle of the night. Instinctively, she went stalk still and listened carefully. She heard the rattle again, coming from the kitchen, and turned to go in search of the intruder.
It was a bit of a surprise to see that instead of a demon, three was a small girl with light brown hair sitting in the floor of the kitchen, and Grams let out a sigh.
Piper...
The little girl's face was scrunched up, worried, even though she was asleep still. She was looking through the China cabinet delicately.
Grams remembered a time when Patty had held Piper after episodes just like this. She would get out her favorite china and comfort her daughter with a glass of warm milk, promising Piper that she and her dad hadn't broken up because of her.
Piper was a worrier, always worried that other peoples troubles were her fault. She tended to get night terrors or sleep walk when it became an issue, and always wandered around as if she was doing chores or cooking to make it better.
She hadn't done it since the year Patty died, though. There hadn't been anything to distress Piper like this.
But that had changed. Now, two small boys had moved into one of the upstairs bedrooms, and Piper's uncle had left them there so he could go chasing monsters.
"Piper," Grams said softly. "It's bedtime, sweetie. You should be in your room?"
"Dean needs milk," Piper whined back, poking at another china set. "Let me make him milk and I'll go back to bed..."
Of course it would be Dean that had upset her. He had upset all of them through no fault of his own. He and his brother had lost their mother less than a month ago, and he hadn't said more than two words to any of them since they had arrived in San Francisco.
Twelve year of Prue had taken grams at her word when she said that Dean was okay, just grieving, and instead had focused on helping with baby Sam. Seven year old Phoebe just seemed to ignore the fact that Dean didn't talk, and made him play with her anyway, no matter that he was silent.
Piper had been slowly trying to get him to talk, but every time he didn't respond, Penny could see the sadness on her face. Piper was just trying to help, but it wasn't working.
"Dean's asleep," Grams told her. "I'll make him a glass when he wakes up, I promise."
"He can't be asleep if he's crying," Piper insisted, rattling the china again. "I'm going to make him some milk..."
The news that Dean was crying at night wasn't a surprise to Grams either.
He had been crying most nights since he'd moved into the manor. The first time that grams had found him, quietly sobbing in his sleep, she had woken him up, only for him to freak out and insist on crawling into the crib with Sam (which had woken the baby and which caused a lot of screaming).
Since then, Grams had tried to wake him a few times, but if he did wake up, he would catch himself crying and force the tears to stop while pretending he was still asleep. He was crafty for a four year old, and it made Grams' heart ache to know that her grandson was already afraid to cry in front of her.
Grams sighed, going over to Piper, gently leading her away from the cabinet. "It's okay Piper," she insisted. "He's having a nightmare. As long as we don't wake him up, he won't remember it."
"But he needs milk..."
"He also needs sleep," Grams said patiently. "I'll make him milk in the morning. Everything will be fine..."
Piper, in her sleepful daze, took her word for it.
Grams wished it really was.
