Henry's favorite time was the same as his grandfather's. When he'd lived with Regina, night had always been particularly terrifying. If he'd had bad dreams or couldn't sleep, Regina had always been furious at having her sleep disturbed, so he'd learned to keep it all to himself and never make any noise. In time, he'd acquired a permanent, anxious ache in his stomach that came whenever he was getting ready for bed and didn't leave until he got up in the morning.
Things were different now. Gradually, over the time he'd been with his grandfather, he'd felt the ache lessen until it had almost disappeared. For starters, he had hardly any bad dreams any more. He would go to sleep every night thinking about the sword beside his grandfather's bed and the fact that nothing could get to him even if it tried.
If he did have bad dreams, he didn't have to hide them. His grandfather always came to check on him, and somehow he always knew if Henry was really asleep or if he was just faking it. The first time this had happened, Henry had been terrified, but instead of screaming at him, David had simply sat down on the edge of his bed and read to him until he was sleepy, then rubbed his back until he couldn't keep his eyes open any more. That's how it always went, until the time he'd had a bad dream and finally gotten brave enough to come out and tell his grandfather himself. He didn't know why that had earned him a huge hug, but he liked it. Nowadays, he almost always slept through the night.
This particular night, he tried to brush away thoughts of Algebra as he brushed his teeth, instead thinking about his mother and his grandmother. He knew from the stories in his book that his grandmother, the fierce and beautiful Snow White, was wonderfully brave, and he had seen his mother's courage with his own eyes. Wherever they were, they would fight, and they wouldn't give up. But he missed them just the same.
Henry's final step was washing his face with Old Spice wash. He used it because he wanted to smell just like his grandfather. He would have also liked to shave, but he wasn't old enough. He closed the bathroom cabinet with its peeling paint and went back into the living room.
"Which will it be tonight?" asked David, with Henry's book in hand. The little boy took his place next to his grandfather and leaned against him contentedly.
"Pinocchio," he said. Truthfully, he would have liked to hear the story of Snow White. He almost had it memorized, but hearing the words reassured him that his grandmother was strong and brave and alive. He never asked for that story, though, because he knew that it hurt his grandfather to read it and remember the times they'd been together.
