Be Jazz Fenton.
Uncle Vlad is here to take you home. His home, not your home, because Mommy and Daddy have been naughty and they're in grown-up time out. Hitting and yelling aren't okay. Calling names and throwing things isn't okay. That's what the policemen said, that's what Nurse Miranda says, and that's what the funny man Mr. Turner brings to talk to you sometimes says. His name is Mr. Spelka, like Danny's teacher, and he laughed when you first blurted that and said she's his youngest daughter. The last time Mr. Spelka came to talk, he asked you how you were feeling. And you did a very bad thing.
You lied and said you were alright, that everything was fine and you would be okay.
Lying is wrong, Jasmine Fenton, and you know this.
But you do it anyway.
You're sad, see, because everyone keeps telling you it's going to be okay, things are going to get better, you'll have a great life, Jazz, just give it time. Except your Mommy hates you and Daddy is still yelling mean things in the back of your mind and Danny hasn't come home yet. You can't tell them that Danny isn't ever going to come home. Because you don't know that. Not really. Except you do deep in your tummy.
It's been so long and Danny hasn't come home isn't coming home ever and nothing's okay.
Except Uncle Vlad isn't quite as scary now. His eyes are still too blue and he still moves like a shadow, quick and quiet and Not Right. But when he looks at you it's not like being under a microscope this time. Like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit the hole. Uncle Vlad looks a little awkward this time, a little like he doesn't know what to do with himself.
You understand that. People are scary sometimes. Nurse Miranda talked to you when she did your hair this morning. She bought blue ribbons, the color of the sky outside with no clouds in sight, just for you. Her fingers are short and sometimes they pull but she doesn't mean to hurt you, just doesn't remember that your head isn't as tough as her grand-daughter Valerie's is. But as she braided, she told you that sometimes, life isn't fair. Sometimes, life is very hard, and little girls are put in places that that aren't always the best fit for them. She looks at you with dark serious eyes and says that you are strong, that you are smart, that you are wise.
She says that you can survive anything and that she believes in you.
Then she hugs you tight, so tight you can't breathe, and kisses you on the forehead and tries not to cry. Lots of people do that around you now, try not to cry, except for maybe Uncle Vlad.
Uncle Vlad just looks nervous. It's something about his fingers, the way they shake against his pants and stay too stiff, like he's trying not to move them. He's still smiling at you, just like he did the first time you met. Except this time the smile is a little cracked at the edges, too many lines around his eyes and the corners of his lips pulled too far across his teeth, which are very white and pointy.
A hand brushes over the top of your head, smoothing out your braids, and you look up at Nurse Miranda. She's still trying not to cry. That's sad. But she's smiling anyway.
""Are you ready to go home, Jazz? It's going to be a big new adventure. And you'll get to eat something besides hospital food!"
She's trying so hard to make you laugh, to make you smile.
Be Jazz Fenton.
Laugh even though it hurts your chest and smile even though it doesn't feel right and ask Nurse Miranda, "But how is Kyle supposed to bring me candy now?"
Kyle is a helper at the hospital, a very nice man who comes and reads to the kids on the floor. He's got Down's Syndrome, which means he's not quite smart like other grown-ups, but he listens and smiles and gives the best hugs. Tight and warm and they make you feel warm all over. You're his favorite and he's your favorite, too. He brings you Hershey bars, the big ones with almonds in them.
But Uncle Vlad doesn't know that.
He just looks confused.
The smile on Nurse Miranda's face is more real now, you think. She doesn't look about to cry anymore. Which is a good thing. You hate it when grown-ups cry because you're not allowed to cry because it makes you feel bad for making it happen. She pinches you on your nose – gently, never trying to hurt you on purpose – and laughs.
"Sassy little monkey!" You're sassy but not a monkey, Nurse Miranda, that's silly. "You be good for your uncle, alright?"
Be good for your uncle, Jazz. Don't cry so much, Jazz. It'll get better soon, Jazz.
Don't you dare tell, Jazz, it was an accident, Jazz, it was a ghost, Jazz, they're evil, Jazz, listen to your father and I, Jazz don't tell don't tell keep the secret accident don't tell don't tell don't tell
You're so tired.
Hug Bearbert Einstein and think about the little elephant with soft ears in your backpack. Dash gave him to you. He's very special, so you have to think of a special name for him. It hasn't come to you yet. So you keep Bearbert to introduce to Uncle Vlad and leave your special elephant in the bag and play with the edges of your new dress. It's very pretty, blue like your ribbons, and it goes good with your hair. Uncle Vlad knew better than to get pink, which is ugly on you like everything else.
Something deep down wonders if you deserve new dresses, ribbons in your hair, shoes on your feet.
No one is smiling anymore. Not Nurse Miranda, not Mr. Turner, not even Uncle Vlad. Then he crouches down in front of you, where you sit in your wheelchair because you're small and weak and your legs don't always work right anymore. He smiles, and this time it's a little warmer, a little smaller. Just for you.
"Are you ready to go, Jazz? The car is waiting outside."
Uncle Vlad has a strange kind of voice. Deep but not really? Somewhere in the middle, like it's trying to be both. But he's quiet and it's not bad to listen to. Try to answer. Except the words get stuck in your throat, jumbled and jagged like numbers on a page and you just can't make them into noise. Nod instead, it's easier. It's less dangerous.
Be Jazz Fenton.
Watch your Uncle Vlad's smile be real. It's a little sad and looks like he feels a little sorry for you but it's real and just for you. The knot that's in your chest gets looser.
"It'll be alright in the end, dorogoy. You'll see. Now, shall we tell Nurse Miranda thank you and goodbye?"
There's a strange word at the end of one of his sentences, something you can't make your head wrap around. But even though you want to scream that nothing was ever going to be alright again because grown-ups can be so dumb, you know that manners are important. Nurse Miranda has been so nice to you even though you're not sure you deserve it all. Turn to her and find your words again.
"Thank you for everything, ma'am."
Manners are important. You always call grown-up ladies "ma'am" – it's something Aunt Alicia taught you. Except you must've done it wrong because Nurse Miranda is trying not to cry again. Except she's smiling again, too, and she reaches out to squeeze your hand. Very gentle. Her fingers are warm and the skin is cracked in some places.
"You don't have to thank me for anything, sweetie. You just go home and get better, okay?"
Feel your throat squeeze until you can't breathe anymore. Blink too fast. Your eyes are wet. You're not allowed to cry anymore. Mommy said so. And even if Mommy's in grown-up time-out, you should still listen to the rules, right? You don't cry, right? So squeeze her hand back and nod again. The words keep sticking.
You want to say something. Anything. But you can't.
Danny's gone Danny's not coming back it's never gonna be okay again why can't you see that?
The grown-ups are talking again, but it's too close and very far away. Mr. Turner is watching Uncle Vlad real close. That's his job, see. He's meant to make sure that you stay taken care of and healthy and happy. Even though you're not ever really happy. Even though he had to take you from Mommy and Daddy. He's a nice man, Mr. Turner. So watch him close right back and try not to flinch when Uncle Vlad grips the handles of your wheelchair too tight. They're creaking. It's too close.
Daddy used to do that sometimes and you don't like that sound.
"Alright, my dear. Let's go home, hmm?"
Oh – Uncle Vlad is talking to you again.
The wheels roll under you and you're moving. Down the hall, too fast, too soon, towards the elevators. Squeeze Bearbert tight to your chest and kiss his head. Uncle Vlad's steps are very loud behind you. They tap-tap-tap on the tiles of the floor. You think Mr. Turner is following close, and when the elevator lets them in, he's right there. Uncle Vlad is shifting behind you. Back and forth and back again.
Maybe he doesn't like hospitals, either.
You don't blame him – they smell bad and people are always so sick.
The elevator ride isn't long. That's sad and happy. Sad because that means you're going to go fast again, tap-tap-tapping across the floor as Uncle Vlad's hands squeeze the handles of your chair too tight. Happy because you're finally, finally, going to be outside again. You're tired of hospital air and hospital food and hospital beds. You're tired.
The door opens. Uncle Vlad moves, Mr. Turner behind him, and you hold Bearbert tighter and tighter as you cross the big open floors towards the big glass doors. Everything is big and you are small. Sunlight is brighter than you remember, and so is the air. But it smells so good. Fresh. Clean. It's shady outside this door, and you're looking at a car that's much fancier than you were expecting.
Uncle Vlad always looks very nice but you didn't think he was rich?
Be Jazz Fenton.
Look at that very-expensive car and know that everything is changing. Try not to cry because you're not allowed.
"Alright you two. This is the part where I wish you luck and say my goodbyes. I'll be in touch in a couple of weeks, Mr. Masters, just to see how you two are settling in." Mr. Turner is a very nice man and his smile is kind when he crouches to look at you better. "I know this is really hard, Jazz, but give it a go, okay? Things are gonna get better. You just gotta give it time. Be good for me?"
Things are gonna get better, Jazz. You've gotta give it time, Jazz. Be good, Jazz.
Why can't you just be you? Is that so bad? Why aren't you allowed to be mad, be sad, be confused? You don't want to be good right now but you're scared to be anything but good and nothing makes sense anymore. So you just nod and answer him like a good little girl.
"Okay, Mr. Turner. I'll be good. I promise."
Mommy, I won't tell, I promise. Daddy, I won't tell, I promise. Danny, I'll be back, I promise.
There's another man coming around the car. He's dressed like butlers from your cartoons. Tall and skinny and bald. His eyebrows and mustache are silver, kind of like Uncle Vlad's hair. Except it's not shiny silver, more gray-white. He talks to Uncle Vlad and takes your bag and puts it in the trunk of the Very Nice Car. Mr. Turner is still looking at you. So is Uncle Vlad.
You wish they would stop.
A hand reaches down and squeezes your shoulder and your heart sinks. Did you do something wrong? Did you say something you weren't supposed to? You don't know. You can't think straight. Mommy squeezes your shoulder when it's time to shut up and that's how you know to drop your head and be quiet for once, Jasmine, can't you do anything right?! It's scary, waiting for when it's going to hurt. Didn't Uncle Vlad say that things would be better? Is this better?
Then the hand goes away without hurt and you look up. Uncle Vlad looks confused again, and his eyes aren't so scary anymore. They're actually kind of a pretty color. Like his hair.
"Would you like me to help you into the car, Jazz?"
He's trying too hard. Something's wrong. You just don't know what yet. Nod anyway. Hold tight to Bearbert when Uncle Vlad picks you up. He holds you like you're going to break. You don't know really what to think about that. He's gentle when he sits you down, too, and it's kind of funny that he can't quite make the buckles work. The words that come out of his mouth sound grumpy and not English. You don't know what they are, but it reminds you of Paulina, who sometimes starts speaking Spanish when she gets upset.
Finally, the buckles are done. Uncle Vlad gets in the seat next to you and the other man – you think his name is Mr. Smith – starts driving. The car moves very smoothly. Watch the world outside move by and think how different everything is. Think about the words that Uncle Vlad were speaking a minute ago. Ask before your brain can think to stop itself.
"What was that language you were talking in a second ago?"
Sometimes, people are scary. And sometimes, people surprise you. This time, Uncle Vlad surprises you. He smiles, laughs a little. Answers your question like it doesn't bother him a bit.
"My family is from Russia, and it was what my mother and father spoke around the house when I was a child. English is actually my second language."
Huh – but he sounds just like you? Paulina still has an accent when she speaks English.
"Really?" Your mouth won't shut up. "How many languages can you speak in?"
Uncle Vlad is a grown-up, has silver hair, so he must be very old and know lots of different things. He doesn't disappoint you.
"I speak four languages fluently: Russian, English, German, and Polish. I am conversational in Japanese, French, and Spanish. I have just begun learning to speak Mandarin."
This time, when Uncle Vlad smiles, it's nice. It curls up a little at the edges and his eyes twinkle, if that's the right word for it. It makes your chest feel warm because he looks impressed by you. Most grown-ups just look annoyed when you start asking questions. Not Nurse Miranda or Mr. Turner, but they were different. Maybe Uncle Vlad's different, too? He can be scary, and he moves too shadow-quick, but there's something in this smile you like.
But there's a word he said you don't understand. You need to understand. You don't like not knowing things. "What does 'fluent' mean?"
"It means I can speak the language very well without stumbling over my words or thinking about what I have to say. Conversational means that I know enough to ask for simple things, but I still have to think about what I'm going to say in certain situations."
Oh! Uncle Vlad is different. He doesn't talk to you like you're a baby. Like you don't understand. Like you're dumb. He talks to you like you're a grown-up, too, and you understand the words he uses even though he sounds a little like an old movie character. Swing your legs back and forth and think about how to answer. Come up with something. Think hard on it. You don't like talking about her, but. . .
"There's a girl in my class that speaks Spanish. Her mommy and daddy are from Columbia. That's in South America."
You know this because you got 100 on your countries test in Social Studies. Uncle Vlad raises his eyebrows and leans a little closer. This time, he doesn't scare you. It's kind of nice.
"Oh? Has she taught you any words? Learning different languages is quite useful, especially when you're young. It helps your brain grow."
Yes. She's taught you the words for "stupid" and "freak" and "ugly" and one other thing that you're not quite sure what it means, but you think it's got some naughty words in it. Paulina is very mean. You don't understand why. But she is.
"No," you tell Uncle Vlad, "Paulina only teaches Spanish to her friends. She and I aren't friends."
You aren't. You're very much not friends. But Uncle Vlad doesn't need to know how much of a freak you are just yet. His eyebrows raise again, surprised.
"Really? I would imagine you would have lots of friends. You're very smart."
Being smart doesn't mean you're good at making friends. The other kids do such silly things sometimes, and you don't understand, which means they make fun of you because you don't. Everyone makes fun of you except for Dash, and that's because Dash is special. Try to forget that he used to make fun of you, too.
Shrug. Pull at a loose thread on Bearbert's coat. Answer without crying. That last part is very important.
"I only have Dash. He's my best friend. The other kids don't like me very much. I guess it's 'cause I don't think the way they do. And besides, I'm not that smart. I can't do math very well. The numbers get all jumbly on pages, and sometimes I can't tell which number is greater than another."
You don't know why you told him that. It doesn't make any sense. Now he'll know you're a freak and he'll send you back and you'll live with Mommy and Daddy when they get out of grown-up time-out and you're not sure you want to go back. . .
Except Uncle Vlad doesn't look confused or disgusted or upset. He just looks curious. Like he's trying to come up with the answer to a hard question. Swallow your spit even though it feels like cement. Try to ignore the question bubbling up in the back of your throat. Even though it itches and you really want an answer. No one ever gives you answers anymore but maybe Uncle Vlad will?
"Do. . . do you think you could teach me how to speak Russian, Uncle Vlad?"
It slips out. You weren't ready. But it's out in the open and you can't shove the words back down your throat. So you stare at him and try to keep your heart in your chest instead of in your mouth. It's not quite working. But here you are.
Except. . . .
"Of course, malyshka. I would be honored."
Uncle Vlad doesn't look mad. Or frustrated. Or bored. He smiles at you and this time it twinkles in his eyes and they're not so scary anymore. They're kind of lonely? Kind of excited? It's hard to put your finger on.
"What does 'm-malishka' mean?"
The word feels thick and clunky in your mouth and you're sure that it sounded nothing like what Uncle Vlad had said. But he chuckles a little anyway. Smiles like you've done something that's made him proud. This is something new. You're not quite sure what to make of it.
"It means 'little one'. That is how you will be learning, if you wish. I will speak to you in Russian, and you will ask me questions about what it means. Is that alright with you?" His voice is quiet and deep, and now that you're listening close, you can hear a slight raspy accent just on the edges.
This is all so different than what you were expecting.
Smile. Swing your feet. Feel the excitement beat on the inside of your ribcage. "That would be amazing!"
Uncle Vlad's eyes look a little panicked now, kind of like that time when Daddy shoved you in the water without your water-wings at the pool on accident. Maybe he's just as confused and scared by all this as you? That doesn't make a lot of sense because grown-ups can be dumb, but Uncle Vlad knows lots of languages and has very nice things, so that means he has to be smart, right? Except even grown-ups get scared sometimes, that's what Mr. Spelka told you last time he visited.
Being scared is something you know all about.
"We've arrived, sir."
Be Jazz Fenton.
Let Uncle Vlad pick you up out of the car and stare up at the biggest house you've ever seen. Know that this is supposed to somehow be yours, even though it isn't. Half-listen as he walks through a door taller than him, talking about something, and realize that he's being very careful not to hurt you. Look at the big glass cases on the walls, full of football jerseys and posters. Hold tight as Uncle Vlad walks up stairs with thick green carpet.
Try not to cry when he opens a door and says, "This is your new room."
It's. . .
It's amazing, with a big white canopy bed and a desk and lots of books on the bookshelves that you haven't read yet. The curtains are pretty, pale purple and the walls are painted blue like the sky with puffy clouds way up high, and the pillows on your bed look like you could disappear into them. There are toys in the corner, stuffed animals a chest at the foot of your new bed.
This is all for you?
Uncle Vlad looks a little nervous. He asks if you like it.
Do the only thing you can do without crying. Hug him tight around the neck and sniffle even though your nose is getting all stuffy and say, "Thank you" over and over until the words run together. Uncle Vlad holds you tighter. Rubs a big hand up your back. His voice rumbles in your ear. He smells good.
Be Jazz Fenton.
Hold Uncle Vlad and Bearbert and try not to cry because. . . .
You don't deserve any of this.
Danny's never coming back, is he?
~*O*~
Walker tapped his foot against the ice-slick floor and made a conscious effort to not grind his teeth to dust in his jaw.
This place was awful.
Sure, the people were nice enough – hairy, loud, and somewhat smelly, but nice – and they'd been more than accommodating. But the cold was enough to drive a man to drink, and even though he shouldn't have been looking a gift horse in the mouth, the boots Frostbite had lent him were friggin' heavy. They were smothering his feet.
"Would you cut that shit out? You're giving me a migraine."
And then there was Spectra.
Sighing, he cracked his knuckles one more time and went to sit back down next to her on the couch. They'd woken up about three hours ago, curled up like a couple of kittens with a hot-water bottle. And, apparently, that hadn't been enough time to snuff-out Spectra's embarrassment over the whole thing. She'd thrown a scalded-dog fit when he tried to ask why she kept stealing the covers. Why she kept her hands hidden from him for the first hour.
Frankly, he didn't really want to know – his head was killing him.
The flashbacks did that sometimes.
"Frostbite said we'd be able to see him in less than an hour," he grumbled.
Spectra rolled her eyes. It let him see the dried mascara that she hadn't been able to scrub away from earlier. "That was forty-five minutes ago, Tex. You're such a grandma sometimes."
He snorted. "Least I don' look like a 'coon. Ya missed a spot. Or thirty."
Ah – he might not've always been quick on the draw, but there was nothing more satisfying than beating her at her own game. Which was petty and childish. But Walker couldn't help but grin as he watched Spectra puff up like an old wet hen. Somehow, in the last several hours, everything had changed. But, at the same time, nothing had. Not really.
"Why the fuck do I even try with you?!" Spectra growled. "Jesus Christ, get the fuck off my couch before I smack you."
She started rubbing at the skin around her eyes again, about half-frantic, and Walker felt a curl of remorse form in his chest. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Aww, c'mon, I didn' mean nothin' by it," he coaxed. "It's jus' been a heckuva day an' we didn' get long enough of a nap."
It was true. He felt like someone had taken him out back and sandpapered him. Judging by the way Spectra glowered at him and huddled against his side regardless, she felt about the same. Her arms wrapped tight around his left bicep and squeezed, fingers digging in through his old flannel shirt. They both smelled like menthols from that dang jacket.
"You might have a point," she rasped, "other than the one on top of your head. But that doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."
Walker chuckled. "Fair point, sugar."
They lapsed into silence for about the thirtieth time that day, listening to Frostbite and his doctors move around Danny and his de-icing chamber. Their voices were quiet, gruff, and growling. Sometimes, the words they used didn't even sound like English, which was entirely possible. But listening to that made Walker anxious. Being anxious made him antsy. Hence, the foot tapping.
It was a vicious cycle.
"Do you think Danny's going to be okay?" Spectra's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in his head. "He's so little, I just. . . Frostbite told me that he was almost too far gone help and now everything's ass-backwards. It's got my stomach in knots."
Well, that would explain the massive amount of mascara still clinging to her cheeks. He could feel the warmth of her cheek against his shoulder, the way her fingers dug in to him. She was shaking a bit. And Walker – exhausted and still a bit disoriented from his earlier episode – didn't blame her. At all. Pain in the rear she might've been, but she and Danny were attached at the hip for the most part, and he'd seen the panic in her eyes when they couldn't get the little boy to calm down.
A lump formed in the back of his throat. The static was starting to creep back into his head again, sparks flying down his arms and legs and making everything heavy. His skin itched. Walker swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and responded the only way he knew how.
"He's gonna be fine, sugar. Danny's tougher'n we give 'im credit for. Keep yer chin up."
Chin up. Yeah, that was sound friggin' advice coming from the man who'd driven them to a place where it was hog-killing weather constantly without shoes. Because he'd gotten scared.
Seemed to work, though, because Penelope nodded against his shoulder. Her grip on his bicep loosened a bit. Walker glanced down and frowned. Her right hand was bruised. Badly. In the shape of a bite-mark, no less, dug into the knuckles until he was certain that it had been a wound at one point.
He was about to open his mouth to say something – anything, really – when Frostbite stomped into the room. Penelope was on her feet in a second. Walker followed right behind, fists clenching and relaxing over and over again.
"Young Danny has been removed from the chamber," Frostbite rumbled. "He is being dried and dressed as we speak and should be waking up in a few minutes. Follow me – I will take you to him."
Anxiety thrumming in his core, Walker followed just behind Penelope, idly noting the way her fingers were shaking. Frostbite led them to another room near the de-icing chamber, smaller and dim compared to the one they'd been staying in. A couple of other frost-monsters were huddled around a table, removing equipment and growling to each other in Esperanto, and then there was Danny. Tiny and white and breakable, nestled tight in a thick bundle of furry blankets. He was still sleeping and pale as ever. But his color was much better, and he didn't seem to be in pain.
Walker let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His core wasn't trying to choke him anymore. So that was a start. Penelope rushed forward, shoving one monster (who hadn't moved quick enough) out of the way to stand near Danny. She was frowning, lower lip trapped between her teeth, and reached out to stroke a hand through the little boy's hair. He and Frostbite watched from the doorway for a moment.
For once, Walker didn't trust himself not to break his boy.
"Danny is very strong, warden," Frostbite praised. "You should be proud of him. I have seen adult ghosts fight half as hard as he did to pull through."
Nodding, Walker swallowed and ignored how dry his mouth was. "He's a fighter, alright. Dunno what we would'a done if he wasn't."
The giant fluffy monster quirked an eyebrow at him but had the common decency not to say anything else. "We had to sedate young Danny in order to transfer him into the chamber. He will be groggy and disoriented when he wakes up, and you will want to let him sleep once you arrive back to your lair. However, there should be no lasting side-effects."
Made sense. Sedation had always made him sick as a dog when he was alive, but at least Danny would be able to rest good and proper when they got home. Poor little guy didn't sleep enough as it was. Too many nightmares.
"Thanks again, Frostbite. For everything."
"Think nothing of it, my friend. Now, I will leave you to be with your family. Young Spectra could use some support, though she may not ask for it."
Walker nodded absently before the words registered. By the time it all sunk in, Frostbite had gone, leaving him a spluttering mess in a room with his unconscious kid and Penelope, who hadn't even bothered to look up from Danny as everyone else fled.
Family?! Sure, he had his kids, but Penelope wasn't really part of his family, was she? They could barely stand each other on a good day. Not to mention he'd pretty much kidnapped and threatened her into helping him with Danny in the first place. So what if he'd gotten used to finding her clothes in his hamper and her makeup in his bathroom, even though the lighting was perfectly fine in the other one. So what if he'd started making his queso with extra green tomatoes because he knew she'd sneak some and it was her favorite? So what if he didn't know what he'd do with Danny without her help?
And so what if the thought of her going back to Bertrand made his jaw clench and his stomach knot on itself?
That didn't mean jack.
"Walker, get over here, he's waking up."
Penelope's voice broke through the static, and Walker rushed to stand next to her. Danny looked so small on the table, surrounded by fur and fluffy pillows though he was. A little frown creased his boy's forehead.
"Danny? Baby, can you hear me?" Penelope coaxed gently, soothing her hand through his hair.
A tiny whine escaped Danny. Walker thought his chest was going to explode. It took another minute or two, he and Penelope both quietly trying to coax their boy to consciousness, but then something amazing happens. Danny woke up, eyelids dragging themselves up just far enough to see the solid pits of ectoplasm in his eye-sockets. He said something, garbled by his damaged vocal-cords and exhaustion, but it was enough to convince them both he was okay.
It was like someone popping a balloon. All the tension in his shoulders flooded away, and Walker felt himself sag forward in relief for the first time all day. Penelope choked out something between a laugh and a sob. She leaned forward and kissed Danny hard on the forehead, still carding one hand through his hair.
"Hi, baby!" she cooed. "Are you feeling better?"
Feeling better. Little punk had to have been feeling so much better. The happy little noise he'd made when Penelope kissed him was proof enough of that. Gently, Walker reached out and tilted Danny's face to look at him, grinning even though his eyes were burning and his chest ached.
"Hey, punk. Ya scared the bejeezus outta us, ya know that?" That was an understatement – he hadn't had a flashback episode in nearly twenty years. "Are ya feelin' better?"
Okay, so maybe Pen had just asked him that, but Danny hadn't responded. Frostbite had said he'd be groggy from the sedative. Maybe repeating questions would be better at this stage? Danny blinked up at him, tiny throat working as he swallowed, and Walker never thought he'd be so relieved to see a sleepy toddler staring up at him. Slowly, the little boy nodded, leaning into his hand, and he stroked his thumb over a thin cheek. There was just a touch of baby-fat beginning to line it.
Danny swallowed one more time, then opened his mouth and said, "Papa, c'n we g'home now?"
Walker thought his chest was going to explode. He had to look like a fool, mouth open and eyes bugged out, but he just couldn't be bothered to care.
Papa. . .
Danny had called him Papa.
His hands were shaking again, and he was sure that he couldn't have stopped grinning if he'd wanted to. And no, there were not tears in his eyes. He wasn't crying. It was just. . . too warm in this room. Yeah, that was it. A laugh escaped. Walker found that he couldn't be bothered to care about that, either.
"Sure, kiddo. Let's go home. Ya wan' me ta carry you?"
Danny's eyelids fluttered, and a little frown creased his brow again. Penelope smoothed it with her thumb, and Walker tried to ignore how the spark of pain in her eyes made core ache. Another swallow, convulsive. The frown got deeper even with Penelope soothing it.
Then Danny mumbled, "I wan' Mama."
Oh, maybe he could grin wider.
Penelope froze, and her eyes probably could've made good-sized dinner plates. Then they started to water. And then she was crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and even though this was a happy moment, Walker was just Not Ready for something like that. It was his greatest weakness – watching a woman cry left him all cut up like a boardinghouse pit. Penelope stepped out of Danny's line of sight, chest hitching in big sobs, and scrubbed hard at her eyes.
You okay? he mouthed, hand ruffling Danny's hair.
Still crying, Penelope nodded, waving him off even as she sniffled. Walker shook his head and grinned again.
"Alright, kiddo. How's 'bout a compromise?" Compromises were a guardian's greatest asset, he'd found. "I'll carry ya home an' yer mama'll tuck you in. Sound good?"
Danny looked about half-drunk, but his thin face broke into a smile that could've lit up a room. He nodded, eyelids dropping and dragging themselves open a few seconds later. Penelope was still trying to get herself together, so Walker started tucking the blankets further around Danny's thin frame. Wouldn't do to get him all thawed out just to let him freeze on the way home. As he hauled the little boy up against his chest, he marveled at how light the kid still was. It felt like holding up a doll.
Shivering, Danny burrowed tighter against him, and Walker grinned when Penelope finally made her way back over to them. She gripped their boy's hand, thumb running over the back of his tiny knuckles, and craned up against his shoulder to kiss Danny's forehead. He could just make out her whispering under her breath, telling Danny how good he was, how much they loved him. And he couldn't disagree with a single word she said.
God Almighty, they were co-parenting.
"Ready ta go, sugar?"
Penelope looked up at him and nodded. She looked like she'd been chewed up, spit out, and stepped on. Not that he'd ever tell her that, of course. She'd probably snatch him bald, bad as her temper was. Still, they were all three dog-tired.
It was time to head home.
~*O*~
"For the love of God, sit down, Johnny! You're going to wake poor Taylor up."
The only reason he stopped pacing was so he could turn around and glare at Kitty. "Seriously?! Kitten, he's been a nervous wreck since Pops left with Danny! He nervoused himself to sleep! It'd take a hurricane to wake him up at this point."
Sipping at her cup of coffee – how the actual fuck she'd managed to find Pops' secret stash of the good stuff was beyond him – Kitty fixed him with a Look. The kind of Look that made him want to either throttle her or apologize for being a dumbass. Generally, it was a mixture of the two. He only ever apologized, though.
Johnny scrubbed his hands through his hair and groaned. One of the ancient kitchen chairs did the same thing when he slumped down into it, face in his palms.
"Has it been eternity yet?" he mumbled. "I'd kinda dig goin' to Hell right about now."
Kitty snorted at him, and he felt her fingers start massaging at the back of his neck. "Fat chance of that, Johnny. You'd pussy out at the gate. Besides, can you imagine what your dad would do if he figured out you left Tay here alone?"
It was enough to make his face pale in fear.
"Okay, so that'd be bad," Johnny muttered. "But is'not like I'd leave him here alone-alone. Em's still here. Did Skulker finally fuck off to his island?"
Kitty rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee. "Johnny, Skulker and Ember have been gone for, like, three hours already. Don't you ever pay attention to anything?"
He didn't really mean to grin, but that didn't stop him from peeking up at her from between his fingers. "Not if I can help it, kitten."
She reached out and smacked him hard on the shoulder, but he could tell she wasn't really mad at him. Johnny snatched her coffee mug from the table and downed a big swig – that was probably gonna make her mad, though. The second blow was a bit harder than the first, aimed for the bony point of his shoulder, and it hurt like a motherfucker.
But coffee. . .
"Hey, hey, hey!" Johnny chuckled. "Quit it, or you're gonna wake up Tay!"
Glaring at him – God, she was pretty when she was mad – Kitty snatched back her mug and hunched over it. "You're such a fucking ass, Johnny! You're the one who wouldn't shut up five seconds ago!"
Still laughing, Johnny scrubbed his hands through his hair again. He glanced up at the old clock above the door-frame. Almost eleven at night. Well, eleven at night Zone-time. Did the Far-Frozen run on Zone-time like this lair did? God, this place was fucking weird. Shit made his head hurt.
"Do you think they're gonna come home tonight?" he rasped. "Pops doesn't like stayin' out late, especially when shit's gone and hit the fan."
The frown on Kitty's face dissolved into a worried look, and she bit her lip, finger swirling on the rim of her filched mug. She glanced through the door to the living room, watching Taylor as he snored on the recliner. Poor little guy was beat. He'd been blaming himself all day for Pops having a "fit" and for Danny freezing their room.
"I dunno, Johnny. You said Walker was pretty upset. Penny, too, if you're not absolutely bullshitting me."
Johnny glared at her from the crook of his elbow. "Hey, I would never bullshit you when it comes to something that fucking weird, 'kay? It was like watchin' those old married couples you see on sitcoms fight. 'cept when they were done, Danny was a little kid-sicle and Pops was deep into a Thousand-Yard-Stare. Pen just kinda went along with it, too."
Kitty leaned forward enough to press their foreheads together, the tip of her nose just brushing his. "You're pretty good at being observant for someone who's so oblivious ninety-percent of the time," she teased. "Think your dad's got a bit of a crush on Pen?"
"I think 'crush' is a bit of an understatement, kitten. I had a bit of a crush on Penny when she first formed. Not that I think she's prettier than you!" Johnny sputtered, getting a good look at the dangerous gleam in Kitty's eyes. "But I had a crush. This thing Pop's has got is different. He looks at Pen like. . . like. . ."
"Like what, Johnny?"
Frowning, he finally managed to put the look into words. "He looks at Pen kinda the way I look at you."
There was an "aww" building in Kitty's throat. He could feel it. But she just grinned and pecked him on the forehead, fingers playing with the baby-hairs at the back of his neck.
"And how do you look at me, Johnny?" she cooed.
Johnny groaned. "Aww, c'mon, kitten – don't make me say it out loud! It's not cool."
"It also isn't cool to be a dick, Johnny. Now, say it!"
"Fine!" he grumped. "He looks at her like she's the whole fuckin' world. There, ya happy?!"
Kitty answered by kissing him full on the mouth. And it was just the best answer he'd gotten all day. Johnny was grinning by the time she pulled back, even though it probably made him look like a full-on dope. God, this had been a shitty day, but at least he could count on her to make it all better. Well, mostly better.
He still had to deal with Tay if Pops didn't make it home.
Thankfully, it seemed God didn't feel like fucking him right up the ass, because it wasn't two minutes later that the front door opened.
Pops and Penny both looked like hell, designer eye-bags and all. Danny was passed out on Pops, his white hair just barely peeking out from beneath the thick fur he was wrapped in. The door shut with a quiet snick! behind them, and Johnny stood up from his chair, Kitty right behind.
"I was starting to think you weren't comin' home, Pops," he whispered.
The eye-bags were more like bruises, and Johnny really wished that he didn't have a habit of saying stupid things when Pops was tired. Because tired Pops was bad. Kitty elbowed him in the ribs and glared, stepping around him to give Penny a hug. She sagged into it, obviously exhausted.
"We were startin' to think we weren't comin' home, either," Pops drawled, voice raspy. "There was a lot a damage Frostbite had ta reverse. Yer sister leave?"
Johnny nodded. "Yeah – she took Skulker a few hours ago. Tin-can couldn't handle Tay."
Frowning, Pops glanced over where Taylor was curled in the recliner. He sighed. "Poor little fella. Was he bad?"
"Nah – he's just been anxious. Kiddo feels guilty 'cause he thinks Danny havin' an anxiety attack was his fault."
It seemed like Penny had another thing in common with Kitty; she was good at interrupting when someone least expected it. "That's fucking stupid. Danny has panic-attacks if we forget to turn off the timer on the dryer. It could've happened at any point."
Johnny blinked in shock. "Since when do you care about Tay blamin' himself for something? I thought you hated him."
She glared death at him and that was bad, Johnny, don't make eye contact with angry Penny. She took Danny from Pops, bouncing in place as the little guy grumped in his sleep. "I don't hate the little brat. I think he's obnoxious. But I don't hate him."
Pops snorted. "You callin' Tay a brat is like a sow callin' a boar dirty, Pen."
"Shut up," she growled half-heartedly. "Let's just all go to bed. I feel like I could die again."
Okay, so he totally agreed with that because it had been a long ass day. But. . . "That sounds awesome except Danny's room's still frozen over. Em couldn't get it to thaw for some reason."
Pops looked ready to collapse, scrubbing a hand down his face. He even had a five o'clock shadow at this point. "That's alright. Tay's out anyway, so let's just leave 'im. You an' Kitty can take the couch. Danny can sleep with either me or Pen. It don' matter."
Now, if he was a good son, or even just a smart son, he would've said that he and Kitty would take Tay back to their place and just come back in the morning. But Johnny was an absolute dipshit so he didn't say anything quick enough to beat Penny to the punch.
"Just let Johnny and Kitty have my room. We're adults, Tex, I'm sure we can share the same bed. 'sides, it's big enough to fit a small army. You won't be crunched for space."
Kitty somehow managed to avoid ripping off his arm in shock, but that didn't mean her nails digging into his elbows felt good. To his credit, Pops looked just as surprised as he felt, blinking down at Penny for a good long minute before he answered.
"Well. . . I mean. . . if you're sure," he sputtered.
"I'm sure. Unless the big, bad warden's scared of a sharing his bed?" Penny sassed.
She was already making her way to the stairs, Danny stretching and yawning against her shoulder. Pops just stood there, mouth open, blinking as he tried to process what the actual fuck was going on. And for once in his afterlife, Johnny felt like he wasn't the only dumbass guy in the room. Kitty was punching his kidneys for some godforsaken reason. Probably excitement because holy shit. . .
Penny and Pops were sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. . .
Thankfully, Kitty seemed to be a normal, functioning adult. Because Johnny didn't know what the fuck to do?
"Alright, Walker, Johnny and I will take the spare room. You go upstairs and sleep, 'kay?" she chirped. "It's been a rough day for everyone. And don't even bother setting an alarm for in the morning. We'll take care of Taylor when he wakes up."
She didn't bother waiting for a response, gently shoving Pops towards the staircase. Pops nodded, and he still looked like someone had beat him over the head with a brick. God, was this what it was like to be the smart one? Johnny could kinda see why Penny was such a smartass. This was awesome!
Once Pops disappeared up the stairs, Kitty pounced on him, shaking him viciously by the shoulders. "Holy shit, Johnny!"
Johnny laughed. "I know, right? Pops has it bad."
"You didn't fucking tell me it was like that?!" she whisper-shrieked. "Holy shit, they were like a shitty Hallmark couple pining away for each other and the only language they can speak is sarcasm! God, and the way they parent? Like, did you notice how they moved Danny?! No words, no bullshittery – they are parents, and they're soft for each other and. . . holy shit, I ship it."
"What the hell does that mean?" Johnny asked.
Kitty's grin was borderline evil, and he felt himself fall in love all over again. "It means you're gonna have a new step-mom, Johnny Walker."
. . . now would've been a really good time for the gates of Hell to swallow him whole. But that wasn't how his afterlife worked. All Johnny knew was that he was fucking doomed. Again.
A/N: MERRY CHRYSLER! *screams in Vine*
I come bearing a chapter to round out the decade AND the year! This has been sitting on my laptop for a hot-second, and even though it's not quite as refined as I would've liked it to be, I couldn't wait. No betas. We post our rough-draft 8k chapters like men, dammit. This one's a bit lighter than most of my other chapters have been. That's because Johnny's a simple soul, bless him, and he does things his own fucking way.
Also, Johnny isn't like canon Johnny in that he isn't a horrific man-slut. He looks. He has crushes. But he does not touch and is soft for his girl, 'kay? They were my favorite couple growing up, shut up and let me have this.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you in the next one!