Author's Notes:

This is a long one. Initially, there was a lot more about Smithers' childhood, about him and his cousins (Robbie and Caroline), his interactions with his mother... and so on. This scene is one of the early ones, that starts to give the first insight into Smithers as a child; and his first long talk with Burns; under the watchful eye of his mother, of course. In the original version, Burns was Smithers' godfather.

Also, Smithers' mother remarried. Her new surname is Weitz. There was a lot more screentime be. tween young Smithers and his stepfather. It could all be summarized in flashbacks.

Young Waylon Smithers, junior, sat next to his mother, poking his scrambled eggs with a folk. He was dressed in his Sunday clothes, a suit very similar to the one he'd worn at the memorial service. His curly hair was as combed as it could get.

He prodded the eggs some more, and made a face. "Mom," he asked, "can I have some bacon?"

Roberta shook her head. "You know how badly it gets stuck in your braces. Eat your sausage."

Waylon sighed. "Yes, mom."

The couple sat quietly for a minute. Roberta had barely touched her bacon and eggs. Waylon ate several more mouthfuls. "Mom?"

"Yes Waylon?"

"Why are we here?"

Roberta put a hand on his shoulder. "We're here to meet your godfather."

"I have a godfather?" Waylon asked wonderingly, mouth full of food.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, please," Roberta chided.

Waylon finished chewing, and swallowed obediently. "How come you I didn't know about him?"

"You weren't old enough before."

Waylon got the feeling his mother wasn't being honest with him. Sometimes, she would give answers that weren't really answers at all. It was frustrating. He didn't understand why grownups did that. It was clear they were lying. He sighed inwardly, and ate some more of his scrambled eggs.

The bell over the door jingled as someone entered. Waylon didn't look up, but he felt his mother shift on the seat. He raised his head.

It was him!

The 'Monster of Mammon' that his mother sometimes talked about when she'd had a bit too much to drink. Mister Burns! Behind him was his butler, or something. The tall and scary blond man.

Waylon watched the thin man pause, looking left and right. Burns' eyes locked on him and his mother. He gave a slight nod. Waylon Smithers lowered his eyes and tried to sink into his seat. He felt a mixture of awe and fear.

He stared intently at his shoes under the table, trying to make himself small.

He didn't realize that Burns had come up to the table until he saw Burns' shoes slide under the table across from his.

"Good morning, Mister Burns," his mother said carefully.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weitz."

Smithers still looked at his own feet, head down, unable to look at either adult.

"Good morning, Waylon," Burns said gently.

Smithers felt his mother's hand on his shoulder. "Waylon," she prompted, "say hello."

He raised his head, painfully aware of the braces he wore. He was glad, at least, he wasn't wearing his orthodontic headgear. The dentist said his teeth needed to come forward. He thought they were fine. He hated wearing the thing.

Smithers looked into the face of C. Montgomery Burns. The man's blue eyes, sized him up; face pleasant but unreadable. "Hello, Mister Burns," Smithers said quietly, fidgeting slightly. Waylon Smithers glanced quickly over at Johan, who stood slightly behind Burns. The tall man had a far-away look in his eyes, as if he were there, but not really watching any of them.

Smithers looked back to Burns, and realized the man was still looking at him. He blushed, and looked down.

Burns gave a slight laugh, only causing Smithers' face to redden more.

Roberta put an arm around her son's shoulders. "Waylon can be a bit shy," she explained.

Burns chuckled gently. "Ah, I can see that."

A waitress came over. Burns ordered some toast, and a cup of coffee.

"Waylon, do you know why Mister Burns is here?"

Smithers struggled for words. He shook his head.

"Mister Burns is your godfather."

Smithers' head popped up. "My godfather?"

His mother and Burns both nodded. "Yes."

"Oh," Smithers said quietly. He looked up, nervous but hopeful, glancing to his mother for reassurance. Roberta couldn't offer more than a nod. Smithers kicked his feet then looked back to Burns. "What does a godfather do?"

Burns steepled his fingers. "Grant wishes."

Smithers' eyes brightened.

"Really?"

"No, not really. That's just in fairy tales. It means I shall, eh, look after you; in a manner of speaking." He glanced over at Roberta. "As long as it doesn't conflict with your family obligations."

Young Smithers made a bit of a face. He looked as if he were rolling words around on his tongue carefully. At length, he decided against saying them. He swallowed them down. "Okay," he finally said.

Burns looked over at Roberta, and raised an eyebrow. She said nothing, but shifted slightly in her seat. Burns sighed inwardly and took a sip of his coffee. Even Johan seemed aware of the tension.

It was Roberta, of all people, who rescued the situation. "The role of a godparent differs in various groups," she began. "For some, it's a religious title; for others, it's an honorific. Your father valued Mister Burns' mentorship. He wanted you both to have a chance to meet each other. Without," she added, "you having to sneak out at night and give everyone a heart attack."

Smithers hung his head.

"I was fine," he muttered.

"No one here knew where you were. And this man keeps guard dogs on his property. What if they had attacked you? What if a stranger had picked you up?" Her eyes flicked over Burns. "I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to my loved ones."

Smithers couldn't help but pick up on the his mother's tone. There was no fondness for Burns.

"Quite so. Which is why, young Waylon, I want to make myself available to you. As you grow, you will undoubtably encounter hardships of the youth these days. I would like to make myself available to you, in my role, as a guardian and mentor."

Burns paused and chewed on his thumbnail absentmindedly. "I don't want you to feel like I am a stranger in your life. With your mother's permission, you are welcome to visit me. I, like your mother, have nothing but the desire to see you meet your full potential." Burns held out his hands. "I respect the self-made young man of today. Your father was a great man, some might say a master of his domain," he gestured to Roberta, "and your mother has formidable mind all her own. I daresay you, lad, have been born into potential."

Potential? No one had ever told Smithers that before. A shy boy, with quiet hobbies and a metal brace around his head? At best he was teased. At worst, down-right bullied. His stepfather never had much to say, aside from the disparaging remark now and then about the boy's lack of aggressive masculinity. To be honest, there wasn't much encouraging young Smithers.

Smithers stuttered, but couldn't seem to find words.

Burns pushed himself out of the booth and stood up. "Think about it," he said firmly. "I shan't pressure you, but know that you're not an unwelcome guest at Burns Manor." Burns gave Roberta a slight bow. "Mrs. Weitz, Mister Smithers… Good Day." With that, he turned; the tall manservant falling into step behind him.

Young Waylon Smithers watched them go, turning to peer out the window. His mother followed his gaze. The two men got into a sleek car, Johan sliding into the driver's seat, and drove off.

"Mom?" Waylon began quietly.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Do you think it's true what he said? About me having potential?"

"I think," Roberta began carefully, "that potential is as much a matter of choice as it is anything inborn."

"Was what he said about dad true?"

"What, that he was a great man?"

Waylon nodded.

Roberta didn't answer right away, and Waylon wondered if he'd gone too far again.

Waylon noticed early on that his mother would get a far-away look in her eyes whenever he brought up his father. It was a topic that she generally would not discuss with him. She said once when he was much younger "all happy memories become sad ones if they live long enough." That had been back when he was still living with his aunt and uncle. His mother had been in a hospital for a while, because, they said, she was sad. She didn't talk about that time. He didn't ask either. It made him very uncomfortable to think about.

If talking about his father wasn't appreciated, discussing the time he'd lived with Charlotte and Alex was truly verboten.

Roberta stirred added another packet of sugar to her coffee and looked out the window.

"Your father was a brilliant man. A genius some might say. But sometimes genius isn't enough."

"That's why he left us," Waylon muttered quietly.

Roberta put an arm around him, drawing him close. She finished her coffee. "Are you finished?" she asked, gesturing to Waylon's plate. The boy nodded. She fished some money from her purse and left it on the table.

Guiding Waylon, they left the diner. It was noon, full sunlight, the air still and humid. It would be a warm walk home. Waylon unbuttoned his church jacket, and slipped it off. He hung it over his shoulder. He reached up and took his mother's hand. He knew he should feel silly at his age, holding hands with his mother. Holding hands didn't bother him. He might feel a bit ashamed by his lack of embarrassment, but that was different.

They walked slowly, the muggy air making everything feel sleepy.

Waylon wasn't expecting his mother to discuss the topic of his father further. He had resigned himself to a silent trek home. Often, after bringing up his father, his mother would be very silent for a while.

He was astonished when she continued the topic.

"No one knows what happened to your father. He went to work one day, and never came home. Your aunt and uncle got a call that night from Mister Burns. Your father was no longer at the plant, his car was gone too… But you were there."

"I was at the nuclear plant?"

"You were."

"Why?"

She sighed. "Waylon, you know why."

He kicked a pebble. "No," he replied petulantly. He knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"I was in the hospital, getting… treatment. Sometimes Uncle Alex and Aunt Charlotte would babysit you, but sometimes they couldn't. So your father would bring you to work with him. That way, he could take care of you."

"Was Mister Burns there?"

"He was the co-owner of the nuclear plant, so most likely," his mother replied tightly.

Waylon gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they walked.

Roberta squeezed his hand back.

"He left you behind, Waylon." She paused. "He left both of us behind."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He wanted a family more than anything, or so he always said. I always thought he was completely devoted to us. I wasn't… I wasn't in a good place then-"

"-The hospital?"

"No, before then. I wasn't in a good place… inside. It's hard to explain. I always wondered, after he left, if it was because of me."

Roberta stopped for a moment to dab her face with her handkerchief. Waylon wasn't sure if it was tears or sweat from the heat. He wiped his forehead with a sleeve, and received an admonition to use his handkerchief, not his shirt. He ran the cloth over his face obediently.

"I used to think," she resumed, "that he left because I wasn't feeling well. But that didn't make sense. Because even if he had been mad at me, he never would've left you behind. Then I thought maybe Mister Burns did something to your father. I was so convinced of that. I went to his house, and I yelled at him. I told him I knew that he knew where your father was. I thought perhaps your father was with Burns."

"But he wasn't there when you went there."

"No."

"How do you know he wasn't hiding?"

Roberta stopped, and drew Waylon to her. She knelt down, and looked him straight in the eye. "You know when you look into a person's eyes, how you can tell if they're lying?"

Waylon nodded. His mother was very good at that, especially when he was trying not to get in trouble.

"Well, I looked Mister Burns straight in the eye… he looked straight back into mine… and he told me 'He's gone, Roberta; and he's never coming back.'"

She stood up and brushed her skirt off. "He was telling the truth. I could see it. For the first time since I knew him, he was being honest with me." She took her handkerchief out of her pocket, and delicately blotted her face again. "Your father's disappearance upset him as much as it upset me. Sometimes though, I still blamed him. I still probably do."

"Does that mean I can't see him?"

"Oh, Waylon, baby, I'm not saying that. It's hard for me though. Mister Burns was the last person in Springfield who saw your father. I worry that something could happen to you too."

Waylon shifted his jacket nervously. "Do you think he did something to dad?"

Roberta sighed. "I want to blame him. It's easier to be angry. But no, I don't think he's responsible. I don't think he would've been so upset if he had been."

"And I was at the plant?"

"Mister Burns finally got ahold of your aunt and uncle. He sent his manservant over to their house around midnight. I was still in the hospital, so this is all what Charlotte told me. He said your father was gone, and had left you at the plant." She took a deep breath. "He said you could stay at the manor, he didn't seem to mind taking care of you; but Alex wasn't having any of it. Alex said it was proper that you were raised by family. Mister Burns couldn't dispute that. There was no way he could; especially considering that he and I do not get along, and lord knows what I would've done if I thought he'd kidnapped you."

"But he didn't kidnap me. He was just taking care of me."

"True. Sometimes though, what you know and what you feel don't always line up."

"Oh," Waylon replied. He thought for a minute. His mind was full. Part of him resented the fact that he'd been moved from house to house. The other part wanted to feel glad so many people cared about him. Another part resented the fact that no one seemed to care when his stepfather berated him for being too soft. He was curious to get to know his godfather.

"When can I see Mister Burns?"

"Whenever you like, I suppose. Only if you want, of course."

Waylon nodded. "I think I will."

Roberta bowed her head thoughtfully. "We can make arrangements for that."

"I like it when you talk to me like this," he said suddenly.

"Like what," Roberta asked, genuinely curious.

Waylon glanced up at the tree branches leafed out over the sidewalk. "Like I'm a grownup," he announced decisively.

They walked on the short remaining distance in silence, Waylon's hand still nestled in his mother's.