Breakfast food was the best kind of food.
Johnny pulled his hair up into a ponytail and grinned, watching as Kitty flitted around the kitchen getting whatever cooking stuff they needed together. Eggs – green, of course, like everything else in the Zone – and milk and the other shit she needed to make breakfast. He wanted bacon. Bacon was delicious. There had to be bacon here somewhere, right? Pops did not simply survive without it.
"Hey, babe, is there bacon in the freezer?" he asked, catching the can of biscuits(?) she tossed at his face. "I need the meats."
He could feel her rolling her eyes at him but she checked the freezer anyway. Johnny grinned and got to work opening the can – it was, in fact, biscuits – and laying the dough out on a cookie sheet. It was gonna be fuckin' delicious. Because Kitty was cooking so he couldn't let his bad luck and inability to be useful get in the way of That Good Shit.
"Johnny, it's your dad's lair," Kitty sighed. "You're not going to be starved for bacon. Hey, have you ever wondered why our lairs make food? We're dead. Shit's trippy."
A snort escaped Johnny as he shoved the biscuits into the oven, checking the torn-open tin for what temperature they needed to bake at. "Probably got something to do with habits or some shit. Why is there running water and electricity? Don't know, don't care, because a hot shower is ace after a bad day, y'know?"
He could hear Kitty humming to herself, glancing over his shoulder at her, and barked out a laugh as she shoved him out of the way with her hip. She tossed a pan onto the stovetop and flicked on the gas burner. On the countertop, already (somehow) thawed and opened for easy access, was a package of bacon. Sweet, delicious, heart-attack causing bacon.
"I know, I know," she muttered. "You're not exactly big on questioning the world at large, Johnny. But some of us like having answers."
Johnny's grin widened, and he kissed the back of her head. "Ignorance is bliss, kitten. 'sides, I'd rather focus on what's important. Like how fast this fuckin' bacon's gonna get in my gut, c'mon!"
He let out a half-formed yell before remembering, oops, Penny and the brats were still asleep. Granted it was, like, ten in the morning, but it'd been a long ass night. He didn't want to piss Penelope off any more than usual because his personality tended to do that. Stupid, yes, but that was his afterlife. Johnny grinned in apology before kissing Kitty on the head again, bouncing off to do. . . .something. He'd gone to do something that he didn't remember.
What was he doing again?
The bacon started popping in the skillet that Kitty had put on the burner, and the kitchen smelled like delicious, fatty heaven. Johnny bounced his head in excitement and tried to ignore how hair kept falling from his baby ponytail. The biscuits were already starting to brown in the oven – about ten minutes left on the timer – and Kitty was already making bacon. Then they'd get crackin' on some eggs, maybe a bit of sausage gravy if they were feeling really spunky.
Pops had taught him a lot of things since coming to the Zone. Like how to curb his instinct to be a complete dick-hole because fuck authority figures. But the greatest thing he'd ever been taught, not just by Pops but by any man in his life, was how to make a good, greasy breakfast. Gravy included.
"Hey, baby, can you grab some paper towels for me and line this plate?" Kitty asked. "First batch is almost done."
Yeah it was! Johnny whistled as he slouched his way over to the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a couple of sheets off the roll before lining the large plate for her. For some reason, his mind kept circling back to Get It On, the old T-Rex song that'd come out when he was, like, fifteen. He was singing under his breath, so caught up in what he was doing that he didn't even realize until he looked over and Kitty was laughing at him. She looked so pretty when she laughed like that. Like, it made her eyes just. . . and her smile was just. . .
Shit, he'd sing the fuckin' Beatles if it meant she'd keep smiling like that forever.
"What?" Johnny chuckled. "Somethin' on my face?"
Kitty cackled and shook her head at him. "No, doofus, you've just got an awful singing voice. It's like someone killed a cat twice."
Okay, that shit hurted. Just a little.
Pouting, Johnny slunk up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. He sat his chin on her shoulder and watched as the second batch of bacon finished crisping. "I do not. Kitten, that's so, like, uncool."
"Aww, poor baby," Kitty teased, turning just enough to kiss his cheek. "It's rough bein' so pretty and untalented, isn't it?"
. . . why had God forsaken him? The afterlife was meaningless. This bacon was going to taste like ash. Johnny tightened his grip and grumbled into the crook of Kitty's neck. She kept giggling, finishing up the second round of bacon. He watched as she started cracking eggs into the skillet a second later to fry and frowned a bit. When had she learned to fry eggs? They usually just scrambled them? Whatever – Pops had probably taught her because he was useless in the kitchen.
He was useless everywhere else, too, but that was different.
"You're mean," Johnny grumbled. "Why do I let you treat me this way?"
Another snort of laughter. "Because no other sane person would put up with your stupid-ass shenanigans."
"Hey!" This time he was genuinely a little offended. "I'm the big bro, dig? The only shenanigans I get into are trying to keep Tay and Em from, like, giving Pops a ghost heart attack. Hey, come to think of it, can we have heart attacks? Core attacks? You're right, this shit's trippy the longer I think about it."
Her shrug lifted his head up a bit, and Kitty grabbed another plate from the stack they'd gathered to start plating her eggs. They'd fried hard – preferable to the runny disgusting sunny-side eggs Pops liked – and they looked damn good.
"Dunno, Johnny. Speaking of your shithead of a sister, you think Em's gonna come back today? I wanna know how much of all this to make. You and Tay'll wolf down about a third of it by yourselves. Em and Skulker will just need more, y'know?"
He did know. Ember's fire-core burned through a lot of ectoplasm in a day. She ate like a goddamn racehorse. Constantly. High-protein, high-calorie meals, too. And ever since Technus had helped Skulker develop his cyborg technology, he'd started consuming almost as much food. Which, in reality, was all ectoplasm. But Johnny didn't want to think about that because, um, that was disgusting. Felt like he was a cannibal or some shit.
"I dunno about Skulker, but Em'll prob'ly show here pretty quick," Johnny groaned, stretching forward to take the now-full plate of eggs and set it on the kitchen table. "She's kinda over-protective after shit hits the fan like it did yesterday. 'sides, she didn't really get to hang out with Danny, either, so she'll be all over that shit."
Nodding, Kitty threw the last few lines of bacon back into the skillet to fry. "You're right. Wanna pull out some sausage for me? I didn't want to leave it on the counter while this cooked. It's in the fridge."
"'kay, babe. You want some cheese for your eggs?" he asked, rummaging through the stocked refrigerator a second later. "I think the lair knew we were comin', 'cause there's a shit-ton in here."
It was more of a feeling than actual sight, but Johnny knew Kitty lit up at the suggestion. "Ooooh, yeah! Put a bag on the table! And some jelly! I want a biscuit without gravy."
Fucking blasphemy but he loved her, so he'd allow it. Johnny grabbed all the necessary shit from the shelf and kicked the door shut. As Kitty got to work on the sausage, he could hear footsteps starting to come from upstairs. Distinct, mis-matched thumps on wood followed by a less-distinct set. He grinned to himself and stretched again.
"We're about to have company, kitten," he stage-whispered over the crackling grease.
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Good. Maybe now you'll behave yourself."
Tay walked into the kitchen a second later, hair flying all over the place and sleep nearly gluing his eyes shut. The kid yawned, and Johnny couldn't help but laugh at how rumpled his pjs were. He walked past and ruffled his hair with one hand before moving to get the biscuits out of the oven.
"Well, look who decided to join the land of the undead!" he teased. "You ready for breakfast, kid?"
Taylor rubbed at his eyes again and nodded, stumbling over to thump down in his usual seat. It took all of three seconds for him to start snoring into the table. Johnny shook his head, still grinning, as he started tossing biscuits into a big bowl.
"Hey, kid, you gotta wake up if you want to eat!" Kitty coaxed, starting to add milk and flour to the sausage and bacon grease. "I'm making gravy, and Johnny helped make some biscuits for you."
Food was usually the best way to coax Taylor awake in the morning. And by best way, they meant only way. Because the kid was a stubborn little shit like Pops. Kitty's persuasion got through enough to make Taylor lift his head onto a palm, but that was about it. Johnny walked over and thumped the biscuits down on the table hard enough to make Tay's head slip off his prosthetic hand. Kid jolted awake with a muffled yell, glaring at him with an ire special only to exceptionally tired children.
"What the crap, Johnny?!" he whined. "It's not even done yet!"
Johnny shrugged. "Eh – I felt like making you suffer. Where's Pen and Danny? I thought I heard 'em coming down with you."
He spoke of the devil.
She appeared, carrying a still-sleepy four-year-old on one hip and yawning into her opposite hand. Johnny blinked in shock at how fucking domestic she looked. Because, in his mind, Penelope was a terrifying, put-together bitch that spent her days thinking out plans to ruin lives. She wasn't supposed to look like a hobo in a set of Pop's pj pants and a too-big t-shirt. But Kitty didn't bat an eye. She just finished stirring the gravy one final time and grinned over her shoulder at the redhead.
"Good morning!" she chirped. "Johnny and I made breakfast. Walker coming down soon?"
Penelope shook her head, and the nest of tangles atop her head shook with the motion. "No. He had some business at the prison to take care of. Said he'd be back later this afternoon?" A frown creased her forehead as she took in all the food they'd made. "Jesus, how long have you spent on this? And why is it all fried? We're exhausted, not hung-over."
Johnny couldn't help but snort a little. "Exhausted and hung-over are about the same thing. It's just one makes you want to throw up and the other makes you think you've died again. Or gone to Hell. Whatever fits best. Now come sit down. Everything's almost done."
It stood for the record that, for once in his afterlife, Penelope didn't glare at him like she was about to suck his core out through a straw. Johnny considered the way she sat down next to Tay without a word a personal victory. Grinning to himself, he ran over and grabbed the platter of bacon and sausage, kissing Kitty soundly just for kicks as he did so. She giggled and started filling up the gravy-boat. Which, in all reality, was a weird-shaped jug with a ladle they used because Pops always made a metric fuck-ton of gravy for breakfast.
Johnny plopped the dishes down in the center of the table, much quieter this time because, you know, Danny. He then circled the table to sit across from Taylor, leaving enough room for Kitty next to him, and started loading his plate. Biscuits, sausage, fried-eggs with cheese, and oh yes, bacon. All the beautiful bacon.
He glanced up and saw Penelope eyeing him over Danny's head, eyebrows raised in shock. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Dig in – there's plenty, and Pops isn't here to preach on table manners."
A jug of orange juice and the milk suddenly landed on the table, followed by the gravy-boat, and Kitty fixed him with an exasperated look. "Didja forget something, Johnny?"
"Uhhh, oops?" he chuckled.
Rolling her eyes again, Kitty slid in beside him and kissed his cheek. "You're hopeless."
"You're just now figuring this out?" Penelope snorted, bouncing Danny a bit to coax him awake. "He's been hopeless since he got here." Her voice dropped to a murmur, and she stroked hair out of the kid's face. "C'mon, sweetheart, you've got to wake up. Breakfast is ready."
Danny finally lifted his head a bit, and Johnny could barely catch the bright green of ectoplasm through his bangs. "Pancakes?" he rasped.
For the first time since she'd come down, Penelope smiled, and it was fucking soft. "Not this morning, sweetie. But there's bacon and eggs here, and you like biscuits. You've gotta wake up for them, though."
Kitty was practically vibrating beside him trying to keep in a squeal. "Oh my God, that is so damn cute!"
From his spot across the table, Taylor frowned and started piling food onto his own plate. Then, thinking for a second, he quietly reached over and started adding bacon and eggs to Penelope's plate, too. Johnny lifted an eyebrow in surprise as Kitty and Penelope started up a conversation of their own. Taylor didn't say a word. He just put the full plate back in front of Penny before digging into his own food, watching out of the corner of his eye to see what would happen.
"What do you want first, baby?" Penelope broke off suddenly. "Eggs or bacon?"
She looked ready to start making a plate. Then she caught sight of the full portion in front of her and froze. A frown creased her forehead, and she looked ready to question everything until something amazing happened. Kitty was grinning, and Johnny nearly inhaled a mouthful of eggs because she actually coaxed Danny into talking to her.
"Danny, do you like breakfast? It's me and Johnny's favorite," she explained, quiet but excited.
The tiny boy turned more fully towards them and nodded. "Yeah! I like pancakes!"
His voice was soft and raspy, probably because he'd damaged his vocal cords at some point, and Penelope looked ready to fall out of her chair. Taylor grinned around a mouthful of sausage. Kitty looked entirely too pleased with herself.
"Really?! Pancakes are my favorite, too!"
It was all super fucking normal. Johnny didn't quite know what to make of that. Especially as Danny smiled, and it changed his whole face. He looked like every other little boy in the world. Cuter, even, except for the whole "no-eyes" thing. There was even some baby fat starting to line his cheeks again. And he reached forward, one hand trembling just a little, to grab a slice of bacon off Penelope's plate. The first bite was followed by Pen kissing the back of his head hard, fingers tightening across the kid's belly.
"Papa makes shapes!" Danny chirped happily. "Twains an' wockets are best, I fink."
It seemed Taylor couldn't be left out for much longer. "Ah, Papa makes you pancake shapes?! Those're the best! Has he made anything else yet?"
Danny didn't startle, exactly, but it took him a second to respond. He nodded slowly, chewing on his bacon strip before answering. "Uh-huh. He. . . he made a wobot! It was cool!"
And then the two of them were giggling together, completely forgetting the adults were in the room. Penelope kissed the back of Danny's head again before starting to eat herself. Johnny doled himself out a generous portion of gravy to ignore the increasing number of Feelings around the table and smacked back Tay's hand as he did so.
"Hey!" Tay whined. "I want some too! You can't just hog it all, jerk!"
"Yeah, no. Kitty made this. It's mine now. Wait your friggin' turn."
The look in the little brat's eyes meant trouble, and Johnny started to grin, gearing up for a fight. A manly, manly fight where he could beat the shit out of Tay just 'cause it was his God-given right as a big brother. Danny was watching the pair of them, expression a bit wary, but still managing to power through his breakfast. So that was a win because he wasn't scared. Yet. Maybe they should wait to fight? But Tay was such a little shit.
Then Penelope had to turn on whatever Mom-powers she'd developed, and it was all ruined. "Wait your turn, brat. It's not hard. He'll be finished in a minute."
Kitty nearly snorted OJ out her nose, and Johnny inhaled a mouthful of B&G. Even though they were dying again, Penelope just watched them with a disinterested expression, calmly sipping on the glass of milk she'd just poured and coaxing Danny into taking a bite of his egg. For his part, Taylor just pouted, crossing his arms over his thin chest.
"But he always does this! I just want some stupid gravy."
Okay, so maybe the kid wasn't wrong. Gravy was a precious, precious thing and Johnny tended to just eat it straight up without thinking about other people around him, Kitty and Pops being exceptions. But still. Penelope fixed him with a deadpan look, glancing back and forth between the gravy, his plate, and his face.
"Johnny, you've got plenty of gravy. Give the brat the bowl." She fed Danny another bite of egg, smiling down at the little boy when he hummed happily. "It won't hurt you, for Christ's sake."
God, since when was Penny such a mom? Johnny grumbled but passed the gravy without a fuss, ignoring the excited grin that crossed Tay's face as he did it. As the little shit started drowning his plate in gravy, Kitty smacked at his leg under the table. Hard. Flinching, he frowned at his girl around another mouthful of food. Except Kitty waved frantically towards Pen and the boys, trying to tell him something. That he just kinda wasn't picking up?
Whatever – he looked over and nearly choked again.
Penelope was wiping gravy off Tay's cheek, ignoring his scrunched-up, disgusted expression. Danny was babbling quietly to them about how good the food was, munching happily on a biscuit. Humming, Penelope answered like there was nothing more important in the world than him, tapping Tay on the nose after she finished. He grumbled something about not being a baby. Except he then turned around and started his conversation with the younger boy again.
"Hey, Danny, you wanna watch movies when we're done?"
The little guy scrunched his nose up in thought. "What kinda movie?"
Wow, had his speech gotten better? What the fuck? Also, how did that work? They were fucking dead, why was there a VHS player in the living room? And how had they gotten movies? Maybe this was where broken electronic shit went? Johnny looked down and realized that his plate was nearly empty. Had he been space-eating again? That sucked – he couldn't really enjoy it if he wasn't paying attention. Beside him, Kitty had gotten into the conversation, grinning widely as she suggested different movies and cartoons for them all to watch.
"Wanna watch Monster's Inc.?" Tay suggested, mouth stuffed with a gravy-covered something. "Or Shrek? They're funny."
Kitty snorted. "I vote Monster's Inc, if it matters."
"Babe, you cried for, like, twenty minutes the last time we watched it," Johnny deadpanned.
"The ending is sweet!" she tried to defend. "It's Pixar, how could you not cry?!"
Penelope rolled her eyes. "Because we're grown-ups? And it's a children's movie about literal monsters in the closet?"
Suddenly, Danny – who had grown even quieter throughout their exchange – piped in with his own timid suggestion. "C-c-can we watch Toy Story?"
Judging by the way Penelope's eyes lit up, they were going to be watching whatever Danny requested. "Have you seen Toy Story before?"
His entire face lighting in a grin, Danny nodded. "Yeah! I-I-I like Buzz bestest! He's a ast- astwonaught!"
"Yeah, he is!" Taylor exclaimed happily. "I think I got it upstairs somewhere! We'll have a pj party!"
You know, when he and Kitty had gotten up to make breakfast earlier, this wasn't how he'd pictured it all going. He had kinda expected it to be a quiet, awkward, face-stuffing affair. But this? Picking out movies for a pj party and arguing over the gravy? Not exactly in his scope of possibility. Still, looking over at how excited Kitty and Tay were, noting how calm Penelope seemed to be (for once), Johnny thought that this was probably the best way for this to have turned out.
"Alright, guys!" Kitty cheered. "Let's get all this packed up, and we'll start the laziest pj party ever!"
Laziest pj party. Yeah, that sounded about right.
Johnny grinned and gulped down the last of his OJ and rubbed his hands together. "C'mon, then, Tay – why don'tcha go grab some movies and we'll clean up here. 'kay?"
Hair flying, Taylor gave him a salute, gravy smeared all over his lips and chin again, and bolted back upstairs. Maybe too fast, though. Danny flinched back and huddled against Penny like a baby koala. His limbs trembled a bit, but he wasn't, you know, freezing the whole kitchen.
So. . . .progress?
"Shhh, baby, it's okay," Penny soothed. "He's just excited about our movie day, that's all. You're fine."
Quietly, Kitty started gathering up the dirty dishes to pile in the sink for a rinse, winking as Penelope mouthed thank you. This shit was trippy, for real. But, as Penelope got up and he heard the sound of Tay's prosthetic thundering towards the living room, Johnny couldn't help but grin. He started picking up the leftovers to pack away for Em later.
"C'mon, Danny! I'll get the movie started! We can make a blanket fort!"
Danny lifted his head from Penny's collarbone and squirmed a little bit. "Mama, let's go! It's Buzz!"
She chuckled and did he just call her "mama?"
"Alright, alright, we're going!"
Sometimes, trippy wasn't such a bad thing.
~*O*~
Walker's skin itched just looking at him.
For years, he'd been hearing stories about the man chained down in the interrogation room. Terrible stories about a shapeshifter that stayed in Penelope Spectra's shadow. How Spectra was the vocal one, the one who'd break your mind open, but he was the quiet one. The scary one. The evil one. How he could wrap your biggest fears around his fingers and pull them into reality. How he slunk through shadows.
It'd made Bertrand seem larger than life.
In all reality, he looked like every slimy, self-important coward Walker had ever dealt with.
The shifter hummed to himself quietly. A smile played on his gooey, amorphous face, revealing a set of razor-sharp teeth. He looked absolutely comfortable, even though he'd been chained to a table, muzzled, and wrapped in a strait jacket. There was a nerve in Walker's jaw ticking in annoyance, anger, a whole load of bad feelings he didn't care to name. His knuckles were aching.
Beside him, Bullet looked darn-near ready to blast through the two-way and throttle the shifter.
"Bastard took out three men before we could subdue him. Benson's in critical condition. Cane lost a damn arm – his partner's been hysterical since he showed up." Jaw working, Bullet growled. "And he kept talking about Lydia and the kids."
"Watch yer mouth," Walker barked, but the sentiment was half-hearted. "You know he ain't goin' anywhere near them. He ain't goin' near anybody ever again."
It almost felt like Bertrand was watching them, even though Walker knew dang well there was no way to see through the glass. But that didn't stop the sinking, anxious feeling in his gut every time those red eyes met his own. A slow, wicked smile started creeping up on Bertrand's face, wider and wider, until the monster started chuckling to himself.
"I know you're in there, warden," he practically cooed, and his voice was so oily it made Walker feel dirty. "Why don't you come in? We'll have a nice talk."
The pen Walker had been fiddling with broke with a loud snap! "He wants t' talk? Alright, we'll talk."
"Boss, wait!" Bullet's hand on his shoulder was firm. "He's gonna try and make you do something stupid. Poke and push buttons. Except he's actually good at it. I nearly beat him to death out in the field. Be on guard, okay?"
The look of utter fear in Penelope's eyes yesterday, the way she said nothing's ever just a joke, Tex, came flooding back to him. Walker scowled. Snarled. Then shrugged out of Bullet's hold with a nod.
"I gotcha. Stay here in case I need back-up."
Even though his expression was skeptical, Bullet nodded, and let Walker leave the observation room without a fuss. Skin crawling, mind racing, the warden entered the interrogation room without bothering to keep the door from slamming against the concrete wall. Bertrand didn't seem fazed, smiling lazily behind his muzzle. There was a hungry sort of look in his eyes that Walker did not like.
"Ah, Warden!" he crowed. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come for me! Tell me, how has your morning been? Productive I hope? Mine has been less than fortuitous, but as they say, the day is still young."
Walker didn't pause. Didn't hesitate. He grabbed a fistful of the shifter's hair – which had formed sometime in the last three minutes – and slammed his face into the table. There was a satisfying crunch! and Bertrand snarled. Face grim and unsmiling, Walker sat in the free chair. Ectoplasm smeared over the table before him, dripping down the shifter's lips and chin and newly-formed shirt.
It felt so good to finally do that.
"Did your mother never tell you it's rude to break a man's nose before greeting him?" Bertrand chuckled, voice thick through his nose, accent slurring the words.
"Did yer mama never tell ya it's rude t'beat a lady?" Walker shot back. "Or kill an officer fer doin' his job?"
Bertrand laughed, low and cruel, and the sound crawled up Walker's spine. "To be fair, warden, I was alive long before officers such as yourself were the norm. Besides, I've never quite enjoyed the thought of authority figures."
He didn't even mention the first part of the retort, and it just ran all over Walker. Grinding his teeth and popping his knuckles, the warden sneered. "Well, y'ain't 'bout ta enjoy it. But yer dang sure gonna respect it by the time I'm done with ya."
"Oh?" Bertrand's grin was near-manic, ectoplasm slick over his teeth. "Was that a threat? I don't respond well to those, either. I'm sure my dear svezda can tell you that."
Nothing is ever just a joke, Tex. . . .
Walker had the shifter by the throat before he could stop himself, chair toppled as he started squeezing. Trussed up as he was, Bertrand could do nothing but sit there and choke. But it seemed he'd been dead long enough to overcome the instinctive panic when his airway was cut-off. The grin never left, red eyes burning. Growling, Walker tossed him back into the chair roughly.
"Penelope ain't your anything, you sick freak," he snarled. "You can't own a woman. You can't beat a woman. And I'll be damned if I let you anywhere near her again, you understand me?"
That, it seemed, was enough to finally break through the false pleasantries. Bertrand's eyes widened, face morphing until it resembled something close to a vampire, long fangs and pale skin and sunken cheeks. The shifter growled like a dog, fighting his restraints for the first time since they'd been put on, and Walker took too-much pleasure in the fact that they worked so well.
"You can't keep her away from me!" Bertrand hissed, tongue flicking out like a snake's. "She's mine! Not yours or that pathetic, sniveling sack of bones you call a child, mine! I found her. I raised her up. You can't take that from us."
Rage – at his tone, at his language, at his utter gall in tryin to possess a person like a child's toy – boiled through Walker's chest. His fist slammed into the table. "Is that why you broke into my lair an' beat her half-silly?! Is that why she's terrified a stupid jokes and flinches when someone swings a hand too close to her face?!"
"Beat her?" Bertrand scoffed, lip curled in a sneer. "You stupid man, I'm making her stronger. You wouldn't understand."
"Enlighten me." Walker could feel himself shaking, tone cold enough to freeze Hell.
"Pain is power, warden. The more she hurts, the stronger she is, and the better she'll be in the future. She's going to be a queen. Don't you see it? The stars and the shadows all say so." The manic gleam returned to Bertrand's eyes, and Walker's stomach heaved at how convicted he was. "My zveszda will be the most beautiful thing to walk this Zone. And there's nothing you can do to keep that from happening."
Walker just stared at him for a long moment. Hands shaking. Eyes wide. He swallowed hard, sinking back into his chair. "Yer crazy. Yer absolutely insane."
A wheezing bark of laughter escaped the bound man. "To the ignorant, knowledge always seems like insanity. Socrates, Nietzsche, and Voltaire were all thought to be mad in their time. Their works are now taught to young men and women around the globe, debated in the highest echelons of academics."
He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You ain't serious. Jesus H. Christ, ya can't be serious."
Bertrand growled again, shoulders rolling unnaturally under the strait jacket. "Now why would you think that?"
The sick, all-consuming pit in Walker's stomach grew. From the stories – both from the rumor-mill and Penelope – he'd known that Bertrand was more than a little off. Heck, any man who'd beat a woman was just this side of sane or sensible. But this. . . he hadn't been ready for this.
And Bertrand knew it.
Slowly, his smile started to return, gleaming under the wire of his muzzle and crinkling in his eyes. They burned, feverish but laser-focused. Walker could see how many years were behind them. Decades of manipulation, destruction, crawling through the shadows and preying on all those who hadn't been fast enough to get away. On Penelope.
All at once, several of Pen's personality quirks, the one's he'd thought unreasonable or just plain wrong, made sense. How she never sat with her back to a room. How she checked the shadows, fleeting glances and pointed looks, before speaking her mind. How she snapped at him for sneaking up on her. How she hid the evidence and refused to cry, and how she hated showing emotions for anyone other than negative ones, and how she triple-checked on Danny after he went to bed because, in her mind, there was always someone waiting to snatch him away at the slightest provocation. To make her hurt because that's just how it was.
"Are you finally starting to see, warden?" Bertrand sing-songed. "She used to be such a fragile little thing, my piyavka. Always crying and asking why she had to feed on misery, why she couldn't just be pretty on her own. So self-absorbed. I made her stronger. I taught her how to feed and how to fight and how to make the pain into power."
Walker couldn't breathe.
"And even though you posture and you proclaim that you'll save her from the big-bad wolf, I will always find a way to get out." The voice dropped in pitch, rasping, bordering on demonic. "There's nothing you can do, warden. Don't you see? All I need is one crack. One slip-up, one shadow, one loose binding. And then she will be mine again, and we will be free, and then she's going to be a queen. You will be gone, I will be here, and my zveszda will wear a crown like she's meant to. It's all just a matter of time."
Then Bertrand started laughing, wheezing through his shattered nose and the ectoplasm clots still trapped between his teeth.
"Do you know," he cackled, "I'll start by killing that little brat in front of her. What's his name? Danny? He makes her so soft, it's sickening." He leaned forward a little, red eyes gleaming with hellfire, and sneered, "I think I'll make her watch him Fade."
Walker snapped.
"You son of a bitch!"
Roaring, ears ringing and core throbbing, Walker launched himself over the table. Bertrand's cackle morphed into an agonized roar as a fist collided with his jaw. The skin on his knuckles were shredding on those razor-teeth, but Walker didn't care. He smashed his fist down into that smug, grinning face over and over and over. It kept morphing, moving vital structures, refusing to let him hear that satisfying crack! of bone on bone. Everything hurt. His skin was too small. Too tight. There was ectoplasm everywhere.
Walker didn't care.
He didn't care.
Finally, the shifter slipped, and he caught the sound of a cheekbone shattering under the force as his fist made contact. Snarling, Bertrand twisted his head enough to catch Walker's knuckles in his jaw. The warden roared and wrenched away before there was a chance it could get bitten through. Bertrand spat out a thick wad of flesh, still laughing, still goddamn smiling, and suddenly Walker was being hauled away by several sets of hands. He thrashed, snarling.
"GET OFF ME! I'M GONNA KILL 'IM! GET OFF!"
Bullet's voice broke through the static after another minute or so of fighting. "BOSS! This is what he wants! You're giving him what he wants!"
Walker froze. Trembled a bit. His hands ached, ectoplasm dripping onto the floor, and there was already a bruise forming on his hip where he'd slammed into the table. Three other men held Bertrand in place, the shifter barely recognizable save for his eyes and that damned smile. Breathing heavily, Walker stood tall again.
"Get 'im outta here!" he barked towards his men. "Solitary Cell Four. I want 'round the clock watch an' light's up at all times! Any slack, any interaction without my say-so, and I'll bury whoever does it. Got that?!"
"Sir!" They chorused in unison, faces hard and angry under their helmets.
They made to drag Bertrand from the interrogation room. But as they did so, Bertrand lazily craned his head to look at the warden one last time. Walker's stomach lurched, core too hot in his chest. Beneath the ectoplasm and bruising and sick grin was his face.
"Maybe I'll look like this when I do it," the shifter crowed as a final word.
One of the guards smashed a baton into the back of his head, and Bertrand slumped forward. They carried him away, not a word between them, leaving Walker and Bullet alone.
"Hot damn, boss, are you okay?!" The lieutenant whistled. "I don't think I've ever heard you swear without being drunk."
Walker was still shaking with rage, grinding his teeth to dust, and he slammed his fist through the tabletop. Actually through it. Chest heaving, he rounded on Bullet.
"He. . . he broke her," he growled, hoarse from screaming. "Penelope's a monster because she ain't had a fuckin' choice! 'Makin' her strong' my ass, he just likes havin' pretty little playthings."
Judging by the look on his face, Bullet thought he'd walked into the Twilight Zone, but Walker was just too angry to care about that. "You're not wrong, boss. That was. . . Jesus Christ, where the hell'd he come from?!"
"I don't know, and I don't care to find out." Walker flexed his fist, feeling the bones shift and pop under the torn skin. "But he threatened my family an' that shit don't fly. I meant what I said. 'round the clock guards, at least three to his cell, and absolutely no shadows. I want those lights on full-blast 24/7. He's too good at slippin' away. I'm gonna visit Nocturne."
"Yes, sir." Then Bullet frowned. "I thought you were going to get something from Technus? Why the sudden change to Nocturne?"
Everything hurt. His heart, his head, his fist. But Walker managed a savage grin and clapped his lieutenant – no, his friend – on the shoulder.
"Because Nocturne is the best ward-mage in the Zone besides maybe Clockwork. I need a back-up plan if Bertrand manages to crawl his way outta the pit we're 'bout t'put him in."
"Seriously?" Bullet was all business, single eye boring into his own. "Nocturne doesn't do anything for free, boss. And you don't have any leverage on him. What exactly are you planning on asking for?"
Pushing past, Walker stalked out into the hall, ignoring the pain and the patter of droplets that followed him. "Anything. Everything. I ain't playin' games with this psycho."
"Boss, he could literally ask for just about anything!" Bullet was struggling to keep pace. "He's ancient!"
Walker stopped, staring off into nothing as he thought. He pictured Danny's smiles, the rare ones that lit up his whole face. He pictured the way his hair stood up in all directions in the morning. He pictured the way Danny and Pen would curl up on the couch and read together. The smell of baby shampoo and jasmine perfume. Quiet laughter and panic attacks and tiny feet pressed into his ribs. Then he tried to picture his life without all those things.
And he just. . . couldn't.
"Bullet, if he'd just threatened Lydia and your kids the way he did me, what would you give up t' keep 'em safe?" he asked quietly.
For a second, neither one of them moved. They just stood there in the shadows, listening to the chatter drifting up from the chow-hall. Then Bullet's expression hardened in understanding.
"Anything."
Walker nodded once. "There ya have it."
Turning on his heel, he phased through the ceiling, confident that Bullet would be able to take care of the prison for the rest of the day. Fading back into tangibility above the prison, he glanced around to get his bearings before setting off in the direction of Nocturne's lair a few clicks into the Western Quadrant. His hands were still shaking.
But, thinking back to the look in Bertrand's eyes, he kept going anyway.
Like hell, he thought.
They ain't yers. Like hell.
~*O*~
Data Entry Seventeen
Date: 1/15/2004
Subject: Project Danny
Records Maintained by Madeleine Fenton via digital video feed
It has been (indistinct muttering) 100 days since Danny was taken through the portal by ghosts. Since the termination of the subject "Ghost Child", no progress has been made in ascertaining where he was taken or what by. Despite extensive interrogation of multiple subjects – see Files "Vulture", "Box", and "Mummy" – no evidence to his whereabouts has been obtained.
They took Jazz from us, though I can't find it in me to be overly sad. Danny is what matters now. He's been gone for so long. Jazz would only get in the way of whatever progress Jack and I can make. Now, I can focus on my studies.
On the work.
As you can see, current subject "Wolf" has a canid appearance, though with remarkable differences to the standard bestial forms of his species in that he is able to communicate using language. I haven't been able to ascertain exactly what this language is – Jack thinks it's a dialectal form of Latin, but I'm leaning more towards the artificial languages, Esperanto being the main suspect – subject has been less than cooperative for testing.
Subject has been categorized as "Extremely Dangerous" due to the dimension-warping capabilities located in his retractable front-claws. They appear to be self-renewing, even when removed from the root, so I'm curious as to why this subject seems to be more resilient that subject "Ghost Child" Perhaps it has something to do with bestial versus humanoid physiology?
(growling, thrashing, equipment clattering)
As you can see, subject "Wolf" is physically much stronger than the other ghosts we've managed to capture. Gathering any sort of useful data has been difficult. Subject also seems resistant to drugs, particularly sedation, indicating some form of hyper-metabolism. He ripped out the first three IVs we ran. Jack nearly got his arm taken off trying to run a third.
Let's hope a few more days of starvation will soften him up. . .
Until such a time we can collect useable samples, we will simply have to assume subject knows Danny's whereabouts. His ability to tear holes through the dimensional veil is much like a rudimentary form of our ghost portal. Because of this, I hypothesize that he is used as a kind of tracker, able to cross dimensions at will to capture prey. The electro-collar around subject's neck supports this hypothesis; however, until I can decipher it's answers (lies though they may be) I am unable to prove anything definitively.
(more snarling, a loud male yell)
Jack, for goodness sake, shock him!
Further information will be documented at a later date.
Subject: Project Danny
File Status: Pending
A/N:
Welcome back to another episode of "Do I Want to Laugh, Cry, or Punch the Author In the Fucking Teeth?"
I'm your host, and you are absolutely right to hate me. Because I hate me too sometimes.
Okay, in all seriousness, thank you for sticking it out with me this long, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. Writing this, I was kind of concerned as to whether or not I should start with Walker or with Johnny. Because do you want that good fluffy shit first, or the squick-anger-aww fest? After debating this for, I shit you not, two weeks, I finally decided on this.
Because fuck it.
Also, this chapter has shown a bit of a change in Danny's speech patterns and comfort levels that may seem wildly OOC. But, also keep in mind, he's finally accepted that Penny and Walker are his Mama and Papa now. He's accepted that they are safe. They are home. And, as any child that age is wont to do, he's come to a slow (VERY slow) realization that nothing will hurt him while they're around. Because of this, he feels a bit more comfortable talking, a bit less wary around people who might be strange.
I'll explain this all better in the next chapter, which is going to focus more on Danny, but I just wanted to explain in case any of you were like Johnny and going, "What the H-E-double FUCK is this?"
. . . I also made Walker say fuck. He's a good dad. He's a good man. He deserves it. Because Bertrand is a fucking PSYCHO.
Once again, thank you all so much for taking the time out of your days (and nights) to torture yourselves with my bullshit. It makes me so happy to see all your kind reviews, you have no idea. I hope to see you in the next one!