First off, she had not intended on taking a nap right along with Danny. Naps were either for the very old or the very young, and she didn't need to be put to bed like a damn toddler thank you very fucking much. Second, Walker could take his super comfy couch and stupid-soft blankets and shove them entirely up his own ass. Because they were asking for damn trouble. And third, she needed to stop falling asleep in awkward fucking positions – her neck was screaming at her.
Penelope tried not to groan as she woke, knowing full-well that if she did, it'd probably send the little boy snuggled into her chest into another panic-attack. Which he definitely did not fucking need. But her neck felt like someone had shoved a knife between her vertebrae, she was sweating balls, and everything about this day so far – besides maybe breakfast – had sucked harder than a five-dollar whore on Black Friday.
Coming up with a game-plan had been more than a bit challenging. Because how the actual fuck someone managed to salvage the psyche of a child who'd literally been fileted alive was somewhat beyond her. But they'd come up with a reasonable course of action: take things slow, introduce him to what ghosts were over time, and explain how his own perceptions were flawed. Positive encouragements, figuring out and noting his triggers, etc. Really, it wasn't like this was a genius methodology. But execution. . . that was going to be a motherfucker.
Penelope was brought out of her musings when Danny whimpered in his sleep. He'd curled up atop her chest, head nestled against her collarbone, and his thin fingers were wrapped tightly in her shirt. They were freezing – she'd noticed that everything but whatever Danny touched was uncomfortably hot – and every time they brushed her bare skin, it sent a chill racing down her spine.
Of course the kid was going to be a damn ice-jockey. . .
It was only after she'd sighed in exhaustion that Penelope realized the suddenness of the movement. And she promptly kicked herself when she realized that Danny had frozen in place, panic taut in every muscle of his skeletal frame. The hyperventilation came after he'd stopped breathing for a long moment, tiny lungs sucking on air and thin chest ballooning with each gasp that the little boy managed.
"Danny, baby, it's alright," she coaxed, voice low. "Sweetie, I'm right here. You're just fine."
Whatever nightmare realm Danny had found himself in, Penelope didn't want to know, but she was pleased when he seemed to recognize the sound of her voice. The manic vibrations of his body calmed somewhat, and he clung so tightly to her it bordered on painful. But – for the first time since she found herself in the Ghost Zone – Penelope found that she didn't mind a tight hug.
Danny's hair was coarse and brittle under her fingertips, but the motion always seemed to soothe him. She shushed him gently, coaxing the four-year-old through his panic. After a moment or two, his fingers started to relax their grip, his knuckles flushing a deeper green as the ectoplasm-flow returned to them. Danny took a breath, ragged but no longer gasping, and relief became a palpable thing in her gut. Very gently, Penelope brushed a kiss across his temple, fairly certain he didn't notice it, and managed to find her voice through the rage that threatened to choke her.
(This is a fucking baby, you goddamn monsters, and you fucking broke him, and he was precious and perfect and yours and I would've done anything to keep. . . no, don't go there, do NOT fucking go there, bitch, keep it together, do not cry, Penelope, DO NOT FUCKING CRY)
"That's it, sweetheart. Shhh, I've got you. That must've been some nap, huh?"
She tried to joke because that was her way of coping with shit – horribly tasteless jokes and sarcasm – but it didn't seem to work. Penelope could feel Danny's lips wobbling, ectoplasm likely seeping into her shirt again. He sniffled pitifully, entire body shaking from head to foot. It was nerves, she knew, but that didn't mean she had to fucking like it. No kid should ever be that nervous. Not when they had an adult to protect them.
Danny, though, had only been around adults that damaged him. Hurt him. Broke him.
"'m sorry for bein' bad."
Penelope felt her heart crack down the middle.
It was a rasping plea for forgiveness in a voice that absolutely should not have belonged to a four-year-old child. He sounded absolutely resigned to his fate as a "bad boy," like he didn't believe he deserved to ever be treated like an actual person. It was so fucking sick, and Penelope silently made a vow that his parents were going to die choking on their own blood.
Cupping the back of his head with one hand, Penelope and whispered in his ear, "Danny, baby, can you look at me for a second? Please?"
For just the briefest second, she thought Danny shook his head "no." Which would have been a counter-intuitive sign of progress because denying an adult anything would've gone directly against his conditioning. But then the little boy buried his face in the crook of her neck, his nose freezing against the bare skin, and Penelope knew that she wouldn't be going anywhere at this rate. He was too caught up in his own panic, swarmed by the crippling thought that he wasn't good enough or whatever fucking nonsense he'd been taught.
Her resolve hardened when a tiny whimper escaped the bundle of shaking limbs and blankets.
Penelope slowly maneuvered her way upright, wincing as the crick in her neck protested. She crossed her legs Indian-style and settled Danny's slight frame in the center, being sure to keep his blankets tucked around him. He startled just a tad, stiffening like a corpse against her chest, only to press forward more insistently when he realizes that they've only sat up. He was squeezing with all his might but it felt like nothing, his wasted arms holding little to no real strength.
Jesus fucking Christ, she might've been a bitch, but someone would have to be an absolute monster to not be fucked up by this. . .
Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Penelope gives Danny a tiny squeeze before trying again. "Danny? Honey, please look at me. I promise you're not in trouble."
She could feel him trembling against her, anxiously deciding between doing as he was told and ignoring it for the safety of ignoring eye-contact. But after a moment or two, Danny managed to look up at her. His lower lip trembled, those big empty eye-sockets staring up at her in apprehension, and Penelope made the sudden realization that she would be hard-pressed to deny this little boy anything.
At all.
Ever.
But he didn't need to know about the sour taste that left in her mouth or just how badly her chest ached when she looked at him. So Penelope smiled, and the expression pulled too hard on the corners of her lips. It felt like someone had used their fingers to make it happen, stretching and tugging on the skin and muscles until she tasted copper on her tongue. Smiling while Danny suffered felt. . . wrong.
Apparently, Danny picked up on that.
He dropped his head after only a second, choosing instead to stare at her collarbone as his thin fingers toyed with the edge of her top. This close, she could see the freckles smattered over the bridge of his nose, stark against his too-pale skin. The tips of his hair just brushed them, and Penelope resisted the urge to sweep them out of his face – it would probably just trigger another panicked spiral.
"'m sorry," he rasped, and the sound of his damaged vocal-cords sent an entirely different kind of chill up her spine. "No sad. 'm sorry."
. . . no.
Fucking no.
This sweet little boy was not about to goddamn blame himself because his parents were dick-holes and she couldn't make her damn face use its inside voice. Danny was four fucking years old. He didn't need to blame himself for her shit on top of everything he was dealing with. It was stupid and wrong and. . .
So this was what it was like to have a conscience.
Surprise! It fucking blew.
His hair was thick, and she took care not to scratch at his scalp as she carded her fingers through the fluffy strands. Danny relaxed a tad under her ministrations. Only to stiffen again when she let another heavy sigh escape, obviously trying not to flinch again. The hole that should've been her heart widened.
"Danny?" Penelope coaxed gently. "Sweetheart, I need you to look at me again, please."
Very slowly, Danny did as he was asked. His expression was still so timid, apprehension that bled directly into anxiety. Penelope couldn't bring herself to smile when he looked at her like that. There was a bruise on his cheek, just starting to darken. He must've hit his face during an earlier panic attack. Gently, she ran her thumb along the mark, tracing the edge where it rested underneath the right eye-socket. Danny nuzzled into her touch immediately, eyelids drooping. Her chest ached.
He was so cold.
"Danny, baby, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?"
He looked confused and wary. Penelope sat quietly as he considered, weighing the pros and cons in that little head of his. She almost smiled – Danny was clever for his age, it was apparent. But he managed a tiny nod, still apprehensive. She gently clasped the hands wrapped in her blouse, rubbing her thumbs over the back of his tiny knuckles. They were so bony, fragile compared to her own.
Danny looked up at her, his expression contorted in wonder, and Penelope felt the words come to her.
"Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for."
That was a fact.
A four-year-old child was not responsible for the actions of his parents, who betrayed every trust an innocent child placed in them and shattered him. A four-year-old child was not responsible for her reactions and for his, for the scars or the panics or anything in between. A four-year-old child was not responsible for any of the shit that the world had put him through. This wasn't fair.
She knew that, knew that the universe was never fair. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt or that it was acceptable. Danny looked so confused about it all. Like he didn't believe her.
He didn't believe her.
"You are not bad, Danny. There's nothing wrong with you." She kept her voice soft, and even though her expression was still serious, the little boy had latched onto her in wonder. "You're a wonderful little boy and some very bad things have happened to you. But we're going to make them better now, alright?"
Penelope meant it.
Every word.
Because Danny was looking up at her like she had grown a second head, like he didn't expect her to be so kind, like he still thought he was awful. Those tiny hands – dwarfed by her own and so fragile – squeezed her own. His knuckles turned white again, and the disbelief on his little face was palpable. She noted how strained his breathing grew, traced the droplets of ectoplasm that crept over his thin cheeks.
Christ Almighty, this hurt. . .
"Not bad?" Danny's voice was little more than a whisper, pitiful and hopeful.
Penelope wasn't a crier. Never had been and probably never would be because people were shit and the world sucked and she'd grown used to it. But this. . . this was a whole other level. She was Feeling Things and it was awful. Eyes wet, throat trying to close up on her, she squeezed his tiny hands in return. Gently, though – ghosts were sturdier than their human counterparts, but Danny was still emaciated and weak by comparison.
"No, baby," she managed to choke out. "You're not bad. You're not bad at all."
Danny's body had begun to tremble again, and he looked like he was trying to wrap his damaged psyche around the new information. Penelope tried to take that as a positive sign, because it meant he was willing to listen to her. It meant she could undo at least some of the damage that his jackass parents had managed to inflict.
Didn't mean her already shattered heart didn't fucking disintegrate when he ducked his head and muttered, "But 'm a ghost. Mommy says so."
There was rage and then there was Rage.
Penelope had come to the conclusion that anytime Danny brought up his shit-stick parents, Rage was going to be the general emotion pumping through her chest. But it apparently showed up on her face or in her eyes, because Danny shrank away after a moment. Amazingly, though he didn't have eyes, the swirling ectoplasm in his sockets managed to convey emotions very well. And it kind of, sort of, might have felt fucking terrible that she'd scared him.
She pulled the blankets tighter around the little boy's shoulders and kissed him hard on the forehead. His hair still smelled like the strawberry shampoo they'd used the night before. Soft and comforting. For a second, she could almost believe this was. . .
No.
No, she was not going down that road. It wasn't fair to Danny.
"Just because you're a ghost doesn't mean that you're bad, Danny. Your mommy was wrong to tell you that, just like it was wrong that they hurt you. Do you understand?"
Danny's expression told its own story.
He very obviously didn't understand. His pale forehead creased in obvious distress, his breathing growing ragged and shallow. Penelope held him tight, rocking a little from side to side to try and coax him into relaxing. She watched his mouth work, frustration and confusion and hurt vying for space on his gaunt little face, and her stomach twisted.
This was a four-year-old.
"Danny, baby, it's okay." Dammit, she was going soft, because watching him panic like this was making her chest ache. "You don't have to understand just yet. But I want you to know that you're not bad and that no one here is going to hurt you."
Danny looked up at her with such a look of heartfelt disbelief that it made Penelope want to either scream at someone or put her fist through a wall. She managed to smile at him, but it wasn't a very good one apparently, because the little boy immediately shrank in on himself. Guilt played all over his face. She could taste cough medicine in the back of her throat.
That shit wasn't going to fly.
So Penelope leaned forward and kissed him hard on the forehead again, running her fingers through his hair. He melted into the contact, eyelids drooping, and she could feel his grip on her finally starting to relax. She rubbed her fingers over his bony knuckles again. Ectoplasm was pulsing under the surface, a hoard of angry hornets in his skin. They were icy to the touch.
Eventually, Danny let go.
Naturally, Penelope had to pull him into a hug. A proper one, one that he pressed into as only a touch-starved toddler could manage. The tiny button nose that buried itself in the side of her neck was freezing, but his slight weight was familiar, and the way he wrapped her hair around his thin fingers made the depressing-as-hell moment just a little less shitty. Danny even hummed a little.
"You're so good, Danny," she whispered into his ear. "Don't let anyone tell you different, alright?"
No one in their right mind would. Because she'd known this kid for all of forty-eight hours and she was pretty sure that his little finger was her new home, the left one that was slightly crooked at the second knuckle.
They sat like that for a long moment, just her and Danny. Wrapped up tight in their blanket fortress and safe from everything outside. Even if it was just for a second. Then Danny's stomach growled. Penelope couldn't help it – she laughed. Both at the sudden interruption and Danny's startled, betrayed expression as he looked down at his stomach.
She kissed the top of his head again. "Are you hungry, little man? It sounds like it."
Glancing at the nearest clock – an old-fashioned monstrosity that sat on the mantlepiece – told her it was nearly one. And Penelope swore she could smell food from the kitchen, something rich. . . grilled cheese, maybe? What the fuck ever. She would eat her own shoes if it meant that Danny would end up getting something in his system.
Penelope uncrossed her legs and scooped the little boy up in a fluid motion. He squeaked and clung to her like a little koala, both legs wrapped tight about her waist, but that didn't really make much of a difference. She put a hand to the back of his head, keeping one arm slung under his rump to keep him in place, and chuckled. Slow acclimation to familiar movements like standing up or rolling over would have to do for now. It was all about positive reinforcement.
This shit, she could handle.
"C'mon – I think Walker's making lunch." She glanced into the kitchen. "How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound?"
It took a second or two, but Danny managed to nod an assent, toying with the ends of her hair all the while. Penelope took note that he didn't look up around at the room. Didn't note the new surroundings or anything of that nature. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed firmly on her collarbone or his fingers.
Aversion to new environments, likely very easy to externally overstimulate due to extended periods confined to a singular space. . .
She hated the diagnosis voice. It was annoying.
Another kiss. This one more to comfort herself than him.
"You're going to be just fine, baby. I promise."
It was a promise she damn well intended to keep. Even though most promises she made were shit. Even though she couldn't possibly fix all the damage that was inflicted on this poor little boy. Even though there was fucking Walker to contend with and a whole truckload of other shit in her life that she didn't even want to think about, much less deal with.
But Danny was going to make it through to the other side.
She fucking meant it.
~*O*~
Walker still had no clue how Spectra managed to pass out after their conversation, but he figured it had something to do with exhaustion and a lingering hangover. Probably a combination of the two. Either way, he figured leaving a blanket over the pair of them and trying to stay the heck outta Dodge when the inevitable flood came was the best course of action.
So, naturally, he decided to make lunch.
Because that made him feel much less creepy than watching Spectra and the brat sleep. Which he'd done for a little bit until he realized what he was doing. It wasn't like it was cute or anything. Nothing of the sort.
The warden grumbled and buttered the piece of sourdough in his hand a bit aggressively.
Heat wafted into his face from the stovetop, and Walker felt the tension in his shoulders start to leech away bit by bit. The conversation with Spectra earlier continued to play on a loop inside his head. The steps they would have to take to make Danny comfortable with them, what they would have to do to help him heal. It all seemed so. . . flimsy. There were so many variables to consider.
Walker hated variables – he hated them a lot.
Because variables meant plans going haywire. Meant things going out of place, people running away from their designated positions. Meant rules being ignored. Which was a thought that sent a spike of anxiety running up and down his spine. Rules were there to keep things running smoothly, to keep people safe.
If there were no rules, what would anything be? It'd go to Hades in a handbasket, as his mama would say.
Quietly, Walker started putting slices of cheese on the bread, keeping one eye on the tomato soup left to simmer on a nearby burner. He'd thought that maybe making a simple lunch would help calm the little punk down after such a rough morning. Grilled cheese was always Taylor's favorite after a bad day. Especially the kind with cheddar.
The skillet sizzled as he tossed a half-done sandwich onto it, and Walker hummed to himself as the smell of toasting bread wafted through his kitchen. Cooking was always his mama's way of calming down after the horse-hockey hit the fan, and he was glad she'd taught him so much before she'd passed on. Cooking had rules you had to follow, ingredients and temperatures and flavor-combinations. It was methodical. Probably the closest thing to science he ever got around.
There were voices coming from the living room.
Spectra and Danny were awake.
Walker went back to cooking, shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he flipped sandwiches. He added a bit of bacon to his own. Because bacon went on everything.
Sandwiches, pasta, ice cream. . .
Bacon was God's perfect creation.
The voices continued for a few minutes, quiet enough that he couldn't really make anything distinct out. But he could tell by her tone that Spectra was having a hard time keeping it together. He almost (almost being the operative word) felt bad for her. He'd had a rough enough time keeping his temper in check that morning, not to mention trying to convince a four-year-old boy that he didn't deserve to be treated like some sort of test-monkey.
And, like that, his tension headache was back.
Walker finished making lunch and plated everything, making sure Danny and Spectra's plates were sat on the table before fixing his own. Spectra had glanced in at him a little bit ago – he could feel those dadgum eyes on him – so they had to be about ready to eat. It was all a matter of sitting at the table and saying a quick word of Grace before things got. . . complicated?
He didn't know another word to describe what things were now that Danny was here.
Spectra walked in a few minutes later, Danny bundled up on her hip. She'd managed to smile for the little boy, one hand cupped against the back of his head as he looked up at her. But it was strained and cracked at the edges. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been trying to keep from crying, and if it wasn't for how she'd been acting with the little punk from the get-go, Walker would've called her out on a bluff.
As it was, he didn't want to pour salt in a sore.
"Hey, punk," he called. "Y'all ready to eat?"
Danny's head shot up from where it rested against Spectra's collarbone, and he nodded so enthusiastically Walker couldn't help but laugh. Neither could Spectra, apparently, because she chuckled at the little boy. The sound rushed over his skin, gave him goosebumps. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not.
He gestured for the pair to sit next to him. "Well c'mon, then. I ain't waitin' for ya. I could eat myself a whole sow over here."
Spectra rolled her eyes at him, but sat nevertheless. "Do you have to talk in euphemisms? I don't know if you've figured this out, cowboy, but we aren't in Texas."
In her lap, Danny reached for a grilled cheese, only to freeze when he realized what he'd done. He glanced up at Walker with horror painted on his face. The warden managed a smile and pushed the plate a little closer to his tiny hand.
"I done told ya, kiddo, ya ain't gonna get in trouble for eatin' or talkin' while yer in my house." He kept his voice low so he wouldn't startle the little boy. "Yer my boy now. Got it?"
Slowly, Danny nodded, taking the sandwich in his thin fingers like it was the most precious thing he'd ever touched. He watched them both warily the entire time, like he couldn't quite believe they wouldn't just snatch the food away from him at any second. Walker clenched his hands so hard under the table he was sure they'd bleed. Spectra's encouraging smile darkened at the edges, red bleeding into her irises.
No child had ever looked at him like that, and if he had it his way, Danny would never feel like he had to look at him like that again.
The little boy took a tiny bite of his grilled cheese, fingers shaking around the bread. He chewed slowly. Savored every second of that moment.
"Is that good, baby?" Spectra coaxed.
Danny's response was to try and shove half the sandwich in his mouth at once. Walker couldn't help but laugh at the panic on the witch's face as she tried to keep the kid from choking himself on a grilled cheese sandwich, of all things, nearly snorting when she turned to glare at him. His grin still hadn't fallen as he took a big bite of his own, dipping the corner in his tomato soup as he did so.
Delicious – Mama's recipe had yet to fail him.
"Thanks for the vote a confidence, punk, but y'all should prob'ly take smaller bites," he sniggered. "You'll make yerself sick."
Nodding again, shaggy hair flying all over the place, Danny let Spectra give him another much smaller bite. He munched happily on his grilled cheese, but both adults made sure that most of what he ate was the soup. He'd been starved so dadgum long his stomach probably couldn't handle an entirely solid diet. Small bites of grilled cheese, a little while of tomato soup. Eventually though, Danny clamped his mouth shut and huddled back into Spectra's chest, content to let the woman finish her own lunch.
"You never answered me," she eventually said, green eyes piercing through him over her bowl of soup. "And I want one because I don't trust people who speak in euphemisms."
Walker grunted around a mouthful of bacon and cheese. "I talk in euphemisms 'cause I can. 's how I was raised. Deal with it."
Spectra rolled her eyes at him. "That's a terrible answer, and you know it, Tex."
This time, he was ready for the terrible nickname. "Well, it's the only one yer gettin', sugar."
Now, he knew he wasn't exactly the quickest man on the draw when it came to snarky comebacks, so Walker took immense pride in the vicious scowl that played across Spectra's face at his response. Danny watched them from her lap with a quiet sort of awe, like he didn't quite believe that he was a part of everything. The expression held until the warden leaned over and carefully pulled him into his own lap.
"Alright, punk. What d'ya say we go outside for a bit today, hmm? We can sit on the porch and play with cars."
There hadn't been a lot of kids pass through his house, and definitely none as young as Danny, but Walker figured that it wouldn't hurt to take Taylor's example – use toys and games to help distract from how screwed up the child's little life had become. There were plenty of cars, rockets, and other toys up in his new room. Wouldn't hurt to try a few new things to get the kid a little bit more comfortable with everything around him.
Danny smiled up at him, nodding shyly, and Walker couldn't help but ruffle the mop on top of his head. Gently, though. Couldn't scare the poor guy, not when they were supposed to go out and have fun. He glanced up and caught Spectra staring at him, eyes narrowed. The cogs were whirring full-speed in that dang head of hers, he just knew it.
Which meant a whole lotta bull-hockey for him.
Grumbling to himself, Walker jerked his chin towards her half-finished meal. "Y'all gonna finish? Or are ya just gawk at me 'til supper?"
Spectra blinked. Then she snorted, rolling her eyes before returning to her sandwich. She polished it off, soaking up the last of the tomato soup, and stood for a proper stretch. Walker forced his mind to go blank when her top rode up around her belly-button.
"Alright, alright, I get the hint, Grandma Clampett," Spectra drawled. "Now, give me my kid so we can get ready to go outside."
Walker frowned, standing to face her with Danny tucked in the crook of his arm. He ignored the thin, ice-cold fingers toying with the collar of his tee-shirt. "Your kid? He's my kid, sugar."
The gleam in Spectra's eyes grew dangerous, and her chin jutted out in defiance as she glared up at him. "You might've found him first, but he's mine, Tex. Now, gimme!"
Danny giggled softly, thin frame shaking as he watched the pair of them bicker like a couple of old hens.
Walker grinned, an idea forming in the back of his mind, and tucked the little boy deeper into his chest. "Nope! My house, my brat. Go find yer own."
This time, Spectra's eyebrows nearly disappeared in her hairline, and she stepped closer. "You give me back my Danny!"
Walker's grin widened as Danny fell into an honest-to-Jesus giggling fit. "Ya wan' 'im? Yer gonna have ta catch us first!"
With that, he shot through the door, Danny shrieking with laughter as he bolted up the stairs. Behind him, Spectra let out a garbled noise that was most likely a choked-off curse. Walker could hear her follow them a second later. He took the stairs two at a time, skidding across the hardwood as he rounded the corner at the top. Danny was nearly breathless from giggling, a huge smile across his face as they made their way into his bedroom.
Spectra bounded through the door a second later. Her hair was all over the place, green eyes furious. But just as she opened her mouth – probably to cuss him out and call him all sorts of horrible things – Danny leaned forward and stretched his arms out to her. The kid was grinning, like he'd somehow forgotten he was supposed to be scared. It was like the sun peeking out from behind a thunderhead. Bright and shining and hopeful.
"Pen! Up!" Danny croaked, still giggling. "Up!"
Oh, if he had a camera, the look on the little witch's face would've made the perfect Christmas card. . .
Walker offered Danny to her, but he couldn't entirely wipe away his smug grin. "Well, go on then, sugar. I know when I've been beat."
Mute, Spectra carefully took the little boy and settled him on her hip. Danny giggled and laughed, reached out to hold her cheeks with his thin hands. Gently, he butted their foreheads together, and no, Jeremiah Walker did not have to choke back tears, thank ya kindly! Crying wasn't manly. . .
"Pen!" Danny cooed. "We play now?"
A stiff breeze probably could've knocked both of them for a loop right about then. But Spectra – always on her game, dangit – managed to find her voice before Walker thought it possible. She grinned back at him, brushing their noses together in an Eskimo kiss that made Danny's giggles start back up.
"Well, with an offer like that, how could I refuse?!" It was still quiet, probably more of a way to keep the mood light. "Alright, then, why don't you and I pick out some toys to play with? Then we can go outside. How's that sound?"
Danny nodded enthusiastically, another shriek of laughter emerging when Spectra leaned forward and blew a raspberry on his neck.
Walker didn't stop grinning the entire time they searched for toys, content to sit back and watch the pair chat. Spectra might've been a witch and a pain and every other word for annoying sociopaths that he could come up with, but to Danny? To Danny, she was everything he needed. She was quiet. And she listened. And she smiled at him like he was the most important person in the world, like there was nothing better than to listen to a four-year-old child choose between a red Hot-Wheels racer or a blue monster truck.
He'd never have pegged it, but the spunky red-head who made people miserable just because she adored this kid, and Danny adored her right back. Walker couldn't help but thank God that she did. Even when she turned to him and stuck her tongue out, smugly flouncing from the room with the little punk giggling on her hip, leaving him to carry the toys out to the porch. Even when he realized that he'd have to clean the kitchen all on his own later. Even when he realized that she'd neglected to close the front door behind her.
Because even though he had to clean the kitchen on his own, close the door behind him, drop a massive bag of toy cars and planes and rockets onto the front porch, Walker realized that he could've never built a repertoire like this with Danny. He was rough around the edges. Feelings made his skin itch. Panic attacks usually sent him into a bit of a frenzy, even though he could handle the occasional one.
Jeremiah Walker tended to be a hard man, rough and tumble and entirely too callous for his own good.
Penelope Spectra, on the other hand, could be soft. Could be gentle. Could be quiet and calm and deal with panic attacks on a regular basis.
He sat on the porch decking with Danny, smiling as the little boy quietly offered to share toys with Spectra, and ran a hand through his hair. She took it. They played racing games without loud noises, occasionally lapsing into giggles when Spectra would lean over and run her fingers along his ribcage. Danny's clothes were still too baggy. His eyes were still gone, ectoplasm weeping from the sockets when he got too excited or scared.
But. . .
"Pen, no cheat! Stay on track, p'ease."
"Aww, but I'll never win if I do that!"
A serious look. "Cheaters don' win, Pen. Is naughty. No cheat."
"Alright, then, sweetheart. I promise I won't cheat."
Danny was scarred, kind of broken around the edges, and didn't like loud noises. Strangers frightened him. His nightmares would probably be enough to horrify the Fright Knight if they could be seen. He'd probably never really grow out of all his issues, and they had a long hard road ahead of them.
"Walk, play cars?"
But Danny could still smile. He could still play cars and laugh at them for arguing over whose kid he was. That meant there was hope.
Walker took the little white truck from Danny's thin hand, drawling out a thanks as he did so. The game was racing, the cars rushing each other around a made-up track that he and Spectra had made out of old blocks. He made quiet noises as they played together, smirking when Danny would let one of them win on purpose. Kid liked to play fair. Liked to follow the rules.
He could stand behind that. . .
A/N: Okay, so this chapter is quite a bit shorter than the rest and there's an explanation for that. . . also it's late, but there's no explanation for that one so sorry.
With this chapter, I kind of wanted to settle back into the characters of Walker and Spectra, seeing as they'll (along with Danny and Jazz) be the main perspectives from here on out. Don't get me wrong, there will be a few obligatory different POV's scattered throughout the rest of the story, but I really want to hone the voices of the two main characters here and establish their relationship with Danny more firmly.
Also, I kind of wanted to end on a somewhat-fluffy positive note? Because I've got a bad habit of making people sob tears of sadness. Have some tears of cute instead, you bunch of pathetic weaklings lol.
That. . . and I have the worst case of writer's block in fucking HISTORY, so updates may be less frequent from here on out. But! I promise to do my best to satisfy your angst-fluff needs!
Without further ado, please leave me a comment in the magical box below, and I'll see y'all in the next chapter!