Be Jazz Fenton.

Watch as the world moves in slow motion and super-speed.

It is the end of January.

Uncle Vlad's house is like a castle. It's big and dark and there are so many rooms to explore. You take Bearbert and go on lots of adventures. There is a library with dark shelves and a TV room and more bedrooms than you know what to do with, even a few rooms with lots of glass bottles and footballs in cases. Don't touch anything because this isn't your stuff. Mommy always says that touching other people's things without permission is rude. The walls are green and gold. Uncle Vlad likes watching football lots. His favorite team is the Green Bay Packers. You used to watch football with Daddy sometimes. But now you don't like it as much. Too loud. Too much yelling.

There is one room you're not allowed in and it's got a heavy metal door and it makes your tummy squeeze too tight. Uncle Vlad says it's the basement. Says he's got tools down there that are dangerous. You aren't ever allowed into the basement. That's okay.

Basements scream and then they go quiet.

You have nightmares, too, in this big castle-house.

Lots of them, every night, about boys with no eyes and tables that drip green and sometimes you even wake up puking because the dreams even have a smell, dirty and rotten like bad meat. Don't tell Uncle Vlad what they're about. That's very important. He is so nice to you, gives you a big room with toys and books, a princess bed that almost makes you forget how scary it is to sleep. If you tell him the secret, he'll hate you. If you tell him the secret, everything will fall apart just like it did before. Big bruises and handprints and your tummy trying to eat itself.

But the weird part is Uncle Vlad is never mad at you. Not like Mommy used to when you'd wake up screaming or Daddy when you made a mess on accident, their breath smelling like gross brown grown-up drinks. Uncle Vlad always comes in right away, never yells, never hits. Never blames you or calls you stupid or to stop acting like a spoiled brat. He just picks you up and gives you big hugs, lets you cry until you can't. Sometimes, he lets you get a drink of water. Other times, he wipes your face off with a washcloth.

He always asks if you want to talk about it. When you say no, he nods. Then you read stories from your magic book that's also a secret.

There are so many secrets and your chest aches because you don't know what to do with them.

Mr. Turner comes to visit a week after you start living with Uncle Vlad. He's nice, you think, with a smile that crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He asks how you like it here. Asks what kinds of toys and books you have. When he sees your room, he laughs in a way that makes you think he's impressed, and he gives Uncle Vlad a weird look that you don't understand. But grown-ups are weird anyway. Towards the end of the visit, Mr. Turner talks to Uncle Vlad for a little while. They have Very Serious looks on their faces. You think Uncle Vlad is asking about your nightmares.

Try not to feel sick in your tummy and don't think about the color green.

Be Jazz Fenton.

It is February. Go back to school.

School is important. And when you come back into the classroom, give Dash the biggest hug you can because you missed him. He hugs you back just as tight until all the air leaves your lungs. It doesn't hurt anymore. There aren't any bruises under your shirt. The other kids look at you like you've got a disease, and Paulina asks "What'd you do to make your Mommy and Daddy hate you? Huh? Freak?" It hurts. But you've gotten pretty good at ignoring hurt, right?

Help me help me help me help me jAzZY hElP ME

There's lots of work that you missed. That's okay. You like doing homework. And the other kids call you weird for it, but they don't Mommy wouldn't hit you when you were doing homework understand. Dash sits with you and helps too. He's good at showing you how numbers fit together even when they swim like fish. When you're finished, you help him with his reading. The letters make pictures, and pictures make stories, and you help Dash see the pictures instead of the letters that melt together like ice-cream.

You don't ride the bus anymore, and now Uncle Vlad always feeds you breakfast, but Dash still gives you his Honey Bun. Every day. Lunch is quiet at the same table. He holds your hand tight. It never hurts. Not like it used to.

This is normal. This you can handle.

Uncle Vlad is a very busy man. He works a lot, always talking on his phone and wearing suits that look uncomfortable. Mr. Smith, who works for Uncle Vlad, takes you to the office every day after school. He doesn't talk a lot but that's okay. You don't like talking a whole lot either. But the office is filled with people who talk loud and fast and wear shoes that shine. Men with slick hair and ladies with very red lips. It smells like paper and sweat and something else you can't quite name. Uncle Vlad's office is quieter, though, so you sit in the corner and do make-up work. When you finish, read books.

Sometimes, when Uncle Vlad does not have to talk on the phone, he lets you sit on his lap and work on papers with him. You ask him questions about what he does. He always answers, and he never makes you feel like a dumb baby. Sometimes, Ms. Jensen the Secretary comes in. Sometimes it's other men with shiny shoes and suits and mean eyes. Uncle Vlad never makes you move.

"Why do you have a child on your lap, Mr. Masters?" one man asks. His eyes make you feel small, sharp and cold and too much like Mommy's, and his smile isn't nice at all.

"This is my newest assistant, Jazz. She will be observing how we conduct business here at Dalv Corp. I trust this isn't a problem?" Uncle Vlad says it like he knows the answer already.

No one asks why you're there after that.

It is Valentine's Day and the class has a party and you're so excited. Uncle Vlad helps you make a box for your valentines the night before. It's pretty, blue and purple instead of pink and red you don't red or green anymore and there are little bluebirds on the side. You're so proud of it. He kisses the top of your head and calls you "kiska" and that means kitten. Russian is easier to learn than math.

It's Valentine's Day and the class has a party and you're not excited anymore. There are cupcakes and candy and your valentines are Harry Potter this year, with M&M's to go with them. You hand them out during the party. No one else but Dash gives you a Valentine. He squeezes your hand, kisses you on the cheek when the teachers aren't looking. Paulina laughs and tugs on your braid. It's got blue and purple ribbons in it.

That's okay. That's okay, you tell yourself. You don't need valentines.

At the end of the day, Mr. Smith comes to pick you up in the limo. He's holding the biggest bunch of pink roses you've ever seen. He smiles, bends down to tap you on the nose. The other kids are staring. Paulina looks like she's trying to catch flies in her mouth. You're holding a pretty blue box with one valentine and only a little candy, backpack too heavy with homework. Your hands are shaking.

"Your Uncle Vlad says that every princess deserves roses on Valentine's Day," Mr. Smith says, voice quiet, and he's smiling.

That night, you hug Uncle Vlad so hard around the waist it makes your arms hurt. He always waits to hug you back, just a little bit, like he's scared of doing something wrong. That's okay. You understand that. But when he does hug you, it's the best. Warm and strong and his heart thu-thumps in his chest so strong you can feel it in his tummy.

Mr. Turner comes back to visit. You talk again. Keep your secrets. That's very important, keeping these secrets. Even though it makes you feel so sad, so bad, so angry.

The nightmares don't go away. Uncle Vlad still isn't angry.

Be Jazz Fenton.

It is March and it rains every day.

Dash comes to your new house on the weekends sometimes. You play in the backyard and splash in mud puddles and get filthy. It's so much fun, being muddy Danny would really love this so you don't notice how dirty you are until Mr. Smith calls you inside. He laughs a little because Dash looks like he's been dipped in chocolate, hair sticking up on his head. Your braids are all messy and your sneakers squish when you step.

So Mr. Smith makes you and Dash take off your shoes. He washes your legs off with the water hose. It's cold. So cold. But a good kind of cold. You squeal and Dash giggle-yells. Then you both go inside and take baths, and Dash's daddy can see the future because he packed extra clothes. Uncle Vlad laughs when he hears. It's a nice sound. He doesn't laugh a whole lot.

School is school and kids are mean. Ignore them. It doesn't hurt you're not supposed to lie so just do your work. Math is getting a little easier. Numbers are like wet noodles instead of slithery snakes, now. Dash says that his letters are more like a bad watercolor, now, too. You don't have anymore make-up work. It's sad.

There's a lot less homework to focus on.

Mr. Turner comes back and then you start talking to Mr. Spelka again. He's an older man, older than Uncle Vlad. He's got lots of hair that's gray except for a few pieces, and those are red like yours. His eyes are dark. They crinkle at the corners 'cause he smiles so much. He's a therapist. Talking to him is supposed to help the nightmares. So you go every Thursday after school. Sometimes, when he doesn't have to work, Uncle Vlad sits in and talks with you.

Outside is cold, but it's getting warmer. Sometimes, after talking with Mr. Spelka, you think your chest is getting warmer. Then you remember Danny isn't here, remember green drip-drip-dripping and big pits in a boy's head, remember your secrets. You're cold again.

The nightmares stay. But they don't happen as often. Sometimes, you only have them three times in a week.

Are you forgetting? No but it doesn't hurt so bad You think so, maybe.

Uncle Vlad has finished his magic storybook. Your favorite story is about the Great King, who was strong and brave and loved his queen very much. He loved her so much that he had a ring made for her, filled with magic so she would always be safe. His crown was made of fire and they were very happy. But then, one day, an evil sorcerer made the queen sick. The ring couldn't keep her safe, so she faded away, and the king was very sad. He was so sad that he became angry, and he wore his queen's ring to make him strong when he fought the evil sorcerer. The king didn't win. He's sleeping, now, locked away in a coffin.

It's a sad story, you think.

But it's pretty, and you sometimes wonder if someone would ever love you as much as the king loves his queen.

Uncle Vlad doesn't work as much, now. He even picks you up from school some days. Those days, he takes you to get ice cream. It always gets in his beard and it gives you the giggles. Those days, he'll ask you about Mommy, lots of questions about what she's like now. He never asks about Daddy. Only Mommy. Shrug and try not to answer until he makes you.

You don't like thinking about Mommy anymore. It makes your tummy hurt. Because you miss her but you're scared of her.

Little girls aren't supposed to be scared of their mommy.

Ice cream makes it easier, though, and Uncle Vlad always says he's sorry he made you upset. When that happens, he carries you back to the car. You go back home. And that's what you call it now. Home. You don't know when that happened. But it's okay. Really. Those nights, you sit together with lots of blankies and watch movies in the TV room. Uncle Vlad always makes big bowls of kettle corn, and he lets you snuggle up under his arm.

He's always so warm.

But his eyes still scare you sometimes, and the way his shadow moves isn't quite right. You feel bad. He can't help it.

Those nights, you usually don't have nightmares.

Be Jazz Fenton.

It is April and you get sick.

Try not to let Uncle Vlad see. It's hard. Because your nose is stuffy and everything aches, like you've been running laps for hours, and you're cold then you're hot and all you want to do is cry. You're supposed to go visit Dr. Spelka today. Dash wanted to show you his new Star Wars coloring book. His favorite is Anakin, even though he sometimes has scary eyes and there's something about the way he moves that makes your fingers itch. But you don't want to get dressed and sitting down to let Uncle Vlad braid your hair hurts. Smile anyway. That's what little girls are supposed to do, right? Smile? Pretend it's alright?

It doesn't work.

Uncle Vlad's fingers don't feel hot when they touch your head. He frowns. Sits you on the counter and puts the thermometer on your tongue. When it beeps, he looks at it, then picks you up.

"No school for you today, malyshka," he says, and it's all in Russian.

That's another thing you haven't noticed. You can understand more things, now, and the different words don't feel so heavy on your tongue. Sniffle. Bury your face in his neck. You feel so yucky. It's awful. You hate being sick.

Sit quiet and let Uncle Vlad put you back in your pjs. Try to listen when he talks on the phone. You don't like missing school, even though the other kids are mean and Paulina still smears mud in your hair at recess some days. But this is different, right? You're not being bad, just got sick, and Uncle Vlad isn't like Mommy or Daddy. He doesn't yell. He doesn't hit. He doesn't say it should've been you mean things that make you cry.

Uncle Vlad picks up Bearbert, sits you in his lap, and works from his office at home, instead. Nap against his chest because that's the only thing you want to do. He's big and too hot but he's kind of safe and you feel so awful. Wake up shivering. Don't say anything because Uncle Vlad is talking on the phone to some Very Important People. His business is very big. Sometimes, you worry he works too much 'cause he'll come home late and then go to his basement and then tuck you in with bags under his eyes. The nightmares make him cry sometimes, too.

Shh – he doesn't know that you know that.

Take your medicine even though it's nasty you're a good girl good girls don't spit medicine don't hit me please and play with Bearbert's ears. Your head doesn't hurt so bad after a while. Sit quiet on Uncle Vlad's lap anyway. When different pictures come up on his computer, ask questions. Be polite. That's very important. Uncle Vlad is like Mommy and he says that manners are a person's greatest weapon. They can be a sword and a shield, except they don't leave marks you can see.

Sometimes, Uncle Vlad sees things a little different than most people.

Listen when he explains what they mean. The words are big, and sometimes you have to ask him to explain those, too, but he doesn't seem upset. He never talks to you like you're small or stupid. Uncle Vlad is the only grown-up who's done that except maybe Mr. Spelka. Even Mr. Turner, who is also very nice, sometimes treats you like a baby. Uncle Vlad never does.

"How can you learn to use things if you do not ask questions, little flower?" he says, and then he taps the end of your nose.

It tickles, and you giggle. When his work is done, Uncle Vlad carries you to the bathroom and lets you take a bath. Wash even though your arms ache and try not to shiver 'cause he doesn't let you use very hot water. Get out. Dry off. Put on new pjs. Go into the TV room and sit on the couch until Uncle Vlad comes back.

He's got soup.

It's no fun, being sick. But you've got soup your tummy isn't hungry and you can watch tv Mommy isn't yelling and Daddy doesn't hit and Uncle Vlad lets you pick. You pick cartoons. It's hard to be sad when Jimmy Neutron is having fun with his friends. When the medicine works, and you feel a little better, sit on a high cushion. Practice braiding on Uncle Vlad's hair. He's got lots of it, long and soft, and it's a very pretty color. Tell him that. It makes him laugh.

It's April, and springtime is here, and you realize that you don't actually miss Mommy and Daddy.

Tell this to Dr. Spelka and Uncle Vlad. Sit and shake and feel very confused. Aren't little girls supposed to miss their Mommy and Daddy? Are you bad? Are you broken? You feel like you are. Everything is amazing and you have so many things that you didn't have before, but there's a big hole in your chest that's cold and Danny still isn't here. Why? Nothing makes sense anymore.

Cry very hard when you say all this because you're not supposed to. Mommy said you're not allowed to talk about it. Not allowed to tell. You haven't told them everything. Not really. But you just. . .

You can't. . .

Cry and cry and then cry some more when Uncle Vlad picks you up. He hugs you hard. Rocks you back and forth and back again. Listen as he talks in Russian. Understand every word.

"It's alright, little one. I've got you. It's okay to be confused. You're wonderful, Jazz, a sweet little girl and you're going to be okay. Please don't cry, princess, I'll make it all better."

Hold tight to his shirt. Try not to cry. Cry harder anyway.

But, when you're done crying, you feel a little better. Even though you think Uncle Vlad looks very scared and confused and like he doesn't know what to do.

Don't even try to wait for the nightmares at bedtime. Go straight to Uncle Vlad's room. Get under the covers in his very big bed and huddle up under his arm. He's sleepy, already kind of snoring, and there's a dark bruise under one of his eyes. You think that he must've been working hard in his basement earlier. There are other bruises on his arms, too. Bite your lip. Hug him tight.

Whisper "I love you" because he's asleep and can't hear you.

That way, he can't laugh or yell or be mad. You're scared. You love him lots, but you're scared, because you don't want him to be like Mommy or Daddy.

Because you love them too and they hurt you anyways.

Be Jazz Fenton.

It is May. You have lived with Uncle Vlad for almost five whole months now. You know lots of things about him that you didn't know before.

You know that he drinks lots of coffee every day but only when it's so hot it burns other people. Know that he is strong enough to carry you on his shoulders without holding on and that he lets you do this at his office building because it makes people walk into things and you both giggle. You know he likes hamburgers best when they're still pink and that his teeth are sharp and his smile is sharper. You know that his shadow doesn't move quite right, that his eyes are too bright, but that he always has time to read you a bedtime story.

Know that Uncle Vlad loves football and speaks lots of languages and is the smartest person you know. That he plays in the mud with you some days and let's you ask questions and talks to you like a grown-up. That he lets you practice braiding on his hair because Dash's isn't long enough, even though he keeps trying to get his Daddy to let him grow it out.

Know that Uncle Vlad goes into his basement and comes out bruised, but that he's always got a smile for you. That he panics when you cry because he doesn't know what to do so he just hugs you so tight it makes it hard to breathe. That he stays up too late some nights and lets you sleep in his bed because that helps keep you from having nightmares. Sometimes, you think he has nightmares too.

Be Jazz Fenton.

Wake up on Danny's birthday with an awful feeling in your tummy. Go to breakfast. Don't eat anything. Try not to cry when Uncle Vlad asks what's wrong.

Say, "It's Danny's birthday. I miss him," and try to think about whether it was in English or Russian.

Watch as Uncle Vlad frowns around his very hot coffee. His hair isn't up in a ponytail yet. Today is a work-from-home day, you think. "I'm sorry, malyshka. The police are still searching for him, though, so we'll be sure to think happy thoughts for him on his birthday."

It slips out before you can stop it. You're not sure you want to stop it.

"They aren't gonna find him."

Uncle Vlad looks at you, and his eyes are too bright, and you think they might be red for a second. "Why ever would you think that, Jazz?"

Your hands are shaking but you can't cry. You aren't sure that there are any left. "I don't think it, Uncle Vlad. I know it."

His eyes are too bright. "And how do you know it, darling?"

Be Jazz Fenton.

Look at your Uncle Vlad with his too-bright eyes and too-dark shadow. Shake down to your toes. Love him and be scared. Answer anyway.

"Because the little ghost had Bubby's eyes."

The coffee mug shatters.

~*O*~

"Mama!" Danny whined. "I don' wanna!"

Penelope tried not to sigh. For about the thirtieth time that morning. "Danny, baby, I know you don't like practicing. But you have to learn. You don't want to get sick again, do you?"

Sick again. . . yeah, freezing an entire room and yourself to the bone constituted being sick for her kid. Thankfully, they hadn't had any more incidents since early January, and she thought nearly five months ice-free was an absolute miracle, all things considered.

Danny crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, sitting squarely on his bottom in the middle of the yard. His tiny jeans were stained with mud and grass, and he'd managed to spill his juice all down his front earlier. His little bare toes were absolutely filthy because, despite all her coaxing, he'd decided that shoes just weren't his thing today. A frown creased his forehead.

The little shit had no right to be this cute.

"No," Danny muttered. "I don' wanna get sick. But I don' wanna practice neither."

Penelope tilted her head a bit and sat down next to him. "Why don't you want to practice today? You love flying."

Still pouting, Danny leaned into her side, silently asking her to play with his hair. "I jus' don' wanna. Can we go inside now?"

"No, baby, we still have to practice."

"Mamaaaaa!"

If someone had told her even a month ago that she'd be this happy to deal with a whiny four-year-old, Penelope would have punched them in the fucking mouth. It was bad enough putting up with Ember and Johnny on a regular basis. Why the absolute hell would she want to deal with more? But, counter-intuitive though it seemed, Penelope took the childish petulance that Danny was showing as a massive indicator of progress.

In February, he'd told Walker that he didn't like strawberries and nearly had a panic attack because he thought he'd get punished.

By March, he could still barely force himself to ask Taylor to play astronaut instead of pirates.

And in April, he told her no once and then panicked so badly his regulator nearly shorted on him.

So this was a big step forward. Annoying as hell, sure, but still good in the long run. Danny had been in a foul mood since he'd woken up that morning. Why, she didn't know. But she was so ready for Walker to come back and deal with it before something regrettable came out of her mouth.

Penelope gathered the few scraps of patience she had left and hauled Danny into her lap. "Alright, kid, tell me what's wrong. You've been cranky all day."

Danny shrugged. "'m not cranky," he muttered, sullen. "I jus' don' wanna practice."

"Ah-ah!" she chided. "That's not an answer. What's the rule?"

A tiny finger traced the stitching along her collar. "I gotta tell the truth, even if I don' wanna, 'cause that's how I feel better," he recited quietly.

"That's right, baby. Now, why don't you tell Mama what's going on?"

Even after nearly five months, she still couldn't get over the giddy rush that came with the title. Penelope ran her fingers through Danny's hair, smirking a bit at how much healthier it was. He'd even been brave enough to let her cut it a couple of weeks ago. His bangs didn't fall in his face anymore, and his eye-sockets looked almost normal. If it wasn't for the way they swirled every now and again, electric-blue on acid-green, they could almost be mistaken for solid-colored eyes.

Still pouting, Danny let his head drop to her collarbone with a dull thud. "Papa said we'd practice today. Then he leaved."

Well, that certainly explained everything. Penelope kissed him on the forehead, one hand still scratching at his scalp, and Danny relaxed into her. The little regulator implanted near his stomach whirred quietly.

"Danny, I know you wanted to practice with Papa today," she soothed, "but you know why he had to leave, right?"

"I know," he groused. "Papa's gotta catch da bad guys."

Penelope chuckled a bit at just how unimpressed he sounded. "That's right. Papa catches bad guys so we can be safe. It's very important. So, sometimes, he leaves even when he doesn't want to."

"Didn't want to" was the understatement of the fucking century. Walker had grumbled and stomped his way through getting ready the entire time that morning, dark bags under his eyes. It was a miracle he hadn't woken Danny up. Although, she probably hadn't helped by laughing at him the whole time. Grumpy ass cowboy. . .

Still, the explanation seemed to mollify Danny. His frown wasn't quite so deep, and he worried his lower lip between his teeth. Tiny fingers still toyed with her shirt, and Penelope tugged at one strap of his overalls teasingly.

"Sorry 'm grumpy, Mama," Danny whispered.

"You're allowed to be grumpy, baby." Penelope kissed the end of his nose and smiled when he giggled at her. "Just tell Mama why so we can figure out how to make it better, okay? Now, why don't we practice flying? Then we can go inside and get ready for family dinner."

Danny suddenly lit up, all gapped teeth and freckles. "Emmy an' Tay 're comin' home?!"

It was almost enough to make her jealous, but Danny was absolutely smitten with Ember, the little shit. She'd taken to coming around at least once or twice a week, sitting in the living room and playing whatever Danny wanted. Even the Cyborg Wonder came with her sometimes, and their visits had given her enough time to head back to her own lair and grab a few more things. She could understand his obsession with Ember, to a degree. The girl was a fucking princess and made Penelope want to throw things on a good day, but she was always paying attention to what he was feeling and that guitar worked fucking wonders for relaxing him.

What Penelope didn't understand was his obsession with Skulker. The man was gruff and crass and smelled like fried circuits and charcoal half the time. Not to mention how rough he was, how rude he could be. But none of that phased Danny.

Come to think of it, it was probably the fire mohawk – he'd asked for that right before she'd cut his hair.

"Yes, they are," Penelope answered. "I think Johnny and Kitty are coming tonight, too. But you have to practice before they get here. Ready?"

"Yeah!" Danny cheered.

He bounced up, brow furrowed in concentration and tongue peeking out from between his lips. It had taken nearly a full month to convince Danny that he wasn't going to be punished for showing his powers. It'd taken a month and a half to get him to turn invisible on purpose. For a minute. But as he'd gotten more used to the idea of having "superpowers," Danny improved by leaps and bounds. Almost to the point where she was concerned by it.

Flying, though, was proving to be more difficult.

Penelope grinned behind her hand, floating cross-legged a few feet over his head. "Alright, baby, lets try again. See if you can float up to me."

Huffing through his nose, Danny scrunched his nose up and focused on trying to get to her. He was always so determined when he decided to do something. As she watched, his hair started floating up, his feet rising just the tiniest bit off the grass. His tongue was peeking through his lips.

Then she laughed, and his concentration was broken.

Danny thumped back onto the grass, arms crossed over his chest, and frowned up at her. "Mama! You can't laugh! 's not funny!"

Penelope tried to get ahold of her giggles. "Sorry, sweetie. I'm not laughing at you, I promise!"

His frown didn't move an inch. "You are too."

"I promise I won't laugh anymore, sweetheart. Cross my core. Try again – remember to think about pushing up and towards me."

This was Danny's biggest hurdle with flying. He couldn't wrap his head around pushing up with his mind, not his legs. All ghost powers were linked exclusively to mental control, kind of like extended telekinesis. Thinking about being invisible or being intangible came easily to Danny simply because those were things that kept him safe. If he dreamed about no one being able to touch him, he made it that way. Flying, though, was a bit different. Penelope remembered how difficult it was for her to get. She couldn't imagine how hard it would've been coupled with the level of trauma Danny had experienced.

Expression still thunderous, Danny stood back up. She could see the moment he decided he was going to tackle her. It was written all over his tiny face. Bracing herself, Penelope watched him flex his legs and push. His tiny body hurtled towards her, obviously faster than he'd intended, and she only just managed to catch him. For a second, Danny froze, wide-eyed and shocked as she grinned at him.

Then. . . "Mama, I did it!"

Penelope laughed and hugged him tight. "You did! Good job, baby! Do you think you can stay up here?"

His smile could've lit up a solar system. Danny wriggled a bit in her arms, nodding so hard he looked like a bobble-head. "Yeah! Yeah! Mama, leggo! I can do it!"

Very carefully, Penelope loosened her hold on his body. Danny wobbled a bit in the air, still grinning, then started floating in quick circles around her. Which opened up a whole new level of anxiety, holy shit. Why had she chosen to sit so high in the air again?!

Okay – realistically, they were only like seven or eight feet off the ground. Maybe – it was probably closer to five now that she thought about it. But Danny was so breakable. What if he fell? What if he broke his regulator? It'd taken almost three weeks to convince him that Technus implanting it wouldn't hurt, that they'd be with him the whole time and, no, there wouldn't be any yelling or hitting. Walker ended up having to cover his eyes as she talked so he wouldn't panic when the local went in. Fixing the thing or reinstalling it would be a goddamn nightmare. Holy fuck, she shouldn't have tried to teach him to fly, what the hell. . .?

"Mama, look! 'm flying!"

Danny hovered in front of her, and it looked like he'd never stop smiling. Penelope felt her shoulders relax a bit. This was why they had to teach him to fly. Because, for a boy so nervous, something that made him act like a normal child was precious.

"I see!" Penelope cooed. She flipped onto her stomach, kicking her legs in the air. "Be careful, though. I don't want you to fall."

He moved close enough to kiss her on the nose, tiny hands framing her face. "Ok, Mama!"

She couldn't help it. Grinning, Penelope shot forward and scooped him up. Danny squealed as they sped around in circles. Little fingers twisting in the fabric of her tee-shirt, he dissolved into a fit of giggles, freckles glowing in his pale cheeks. Little bolts of electric-blue swirled in his eye-sockets. They were almost comforting.

It was so good to watch him smile like this.

"Mama, I can do it! Lemme try!" he squealed.

They went like that for another twenty minutes. Danny hovered through the air slowly, stumbling every now and again when his anxiety reared its head. But Penelope (somehow) kept her patience. She let him learn, remaining just below him to catch his stumbles. By the end, he was able to keep steady. Not fast, not in a particular direction for any amount of time.

But it was something.

At the end, Danny was panting with exertion, cheeks flushed and hair sweaty. Penelope scooped him up again, hugging him tight to her chest before touching down. The ground always hummed now, like there were live wires running just under the surface. It was. . . she didn't quite know how to describe the sensation. It'd taken some getting used to. But it wasn't unpleasant, exactly. Just different. Wards affected each person under their protection differently. Danny always described them as a "big hug" and Johnny always shrugged and said that they felt like a permanent breeze. Apparently, she interpreted them as electricity.

Penelope shook herself back to reality and bounced her way through the front door. "Alright, baby, bath time."

"Okay, Mama. Can I play rockets?"

She'd never met a four-year-old boy so willing to take a bath before. Then again, she'd also never met a boy who'd been tortured to death before, either. Penelope glanced at the clock – nearly five thirty. Walker would be back any minute. Dinner was at six thirty because early meals were important for building Danny's metabolism. Did they have time to let him play with toys? Probably not.

"Sure, sweetheart, but only after I wash your hair," Penelope bargained. "Alright?"

"Yes, Mama."

. . . she'd gone soft and couldn't bring herself to be mad about it.

It was a steady routine by now. She sat Danny on the floor and let him pick out two bath toys while she pulled out his clothes for supper. When she was done, it was into the bathroom and a quick rinse because, if she didn't, the bathtub was caked with mud in ten seconds. Then she plugged the tub, let it fill, and set to work on that hair while Danny played. His hair was gorgeous but it was always filthy. Because that was how little boys worked. Thank fuck Technus made his regulator pretty much everything-proof.

Just thinking about trying to keep water or (ghost) dirt away from it gave her nausea.

As she worked lather into Danny's hair, careful not to snag her fingers on any tangled curls, she heard the front door. The electricity under her feet spiked then settled. Penelope smirked.

"Papa's home, buddy," she declared.

Eyelids still shut tight, hands clenched around his favorite rockets, Danny grinned. "Yay!"

Penelope shook her head and rolled her eyes, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of heavy feet clomping up the staircase. "Don't wiggle, Danny, I'm almost done. Then we'll rinse and get dried off, 'kay?" She finished working the lather into the back of his scalp and grabbed a nearby cup. "Alright, tilt your head back."

Ever her good listener, Danny tilted his head back and held still. Penelope hummed quietly as she rinsed the shampoo from his hair, careful to avoid getting too much in his ears or on his face. Behind her, the footsteps got louder and then she heard the tell-tale sound of someone leaning against the doorframe.

"Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?" she teased. "Did you almost die again?"

She could practically feel Walker roll his eyes and grimace. "Worse – I had to run PT drills with rookies after dealin' with Bullet's nonsense. And do paperwork."

Ah, paperwork! The cowboy's one true weakness.

Penelope snorted and finished rinsing Danny's hair out, glancing at Walker over her shoulder. "Aww, poor baby. You're so abused."

"Dang right I am."

"Papa! I flied with Mama! A-all by m'self!"

Walker took another couple of steps into the bathroom, lifting Danny into the crook of one arm when she finally got him wrapped in a towel – a towel with a hood, obviously, they weren't heathens. He looked exhausted. The bags under his eyes were stark, and Penelope felt a pang of worry shoot through her. But he was smiling, more relaxed. He'd even already stripped down to his under shirt, ward-glyphs stark against his pale skin.

"Ya did?! Didja go fast?!"

Danny shook his head. "Nuh-uh! I, uh, I fell 'cause Mama laugheded at me an' I got cranky an' then I jumped real hard like "fwoosh!" an' I was flyin' Papa! Then. . .then we, uh, did circles, an' Mama only had t' catch me fwee times!"

He held up four fingers.

The grin on Walker's face was dangerous. Because it was hot and she hated herself.

"Woah! That's awesome, bud! High-five!" He held up one hand for the little boy to slap, lumbering out of the room before Penelope could do something embarrassing.

Like drool.

Annoyed with herself, she focused on cleaning up the mess left behind, drying off Danny's forgotten rockets maybe too enthusiastically. She could kind of catch bits and pieces of the ongoing conversation as she finished mopping up the wet floor. Nothing substantial. Just. . . a dad talking with his kid.

God, her afterlife was weird.

The front door opened again with another rush of static through her feet, and Penelope grinned as she heard a pair of mis-matched feet thundering up the staircase.

"Don't run, brat," she called without looking up from the counter. "You'll fall and break something."

Taylor rounded the corner into the bathroom a second later, a shit-eating grin wide across his face as he barreled into her. There was dirt smudged over his nose. Penelope huffed. But she hugged him back anyway, obnoxious little monkey.

"Hi Pen!" he wheezed. "Do I got dirt on my face? Skulker and I were playing chase and he smacked me into a rock."

Rolling her eyes, Penelope used a wet washcloth from earlier and scrubbed his cheeks down. "I swear to God, you make your own dirt sometimes, kid. There – now you're clean."

"Thanks. Where's Danny?" he asked, rapid-fire, bouncing on his toes.

Taylor seemed to have a permanent grin during the day, and sometimes his energy was exhausting to keep up with. But that stupid grin was also infectious, damn him, and Penelope couldn't help but smile back. She tried to fix his hair with her fingers for all of two seconds before deeming it a lost cause.

"He's with your dad in the bedroom. Don't get too carried away playing. Dinner's in forty-five minutes and I do not want a repeat of last week, understand?" she warned.

Nodding, he gave her one more squeeze around the waist before he half-sprinted around the corner again. A second later, she could hear him and Danny chattering excitedly with one another, Walker rumbling something quietly to the pair. She finished throwing the last of the towels in the hamper, humming to herself, and stepped back into the hall.

Walker leaned against the bannister railing, scrubbing one hand through his hair. He offered her a crooked grin, the one that made his cheek dimple, and Penelope felt her gut clench. He had no fucking right to be that cute, damn him. And it just got worse the longer she stayed here.

Because she actually kind of liked the son of a bitch now.

"Those two 're like a housefire," he joked. "We're gonna have a heckuva time when Danny really starts gettin' his feet under 'im."

Penelope snorted. "We have a hell of time now, Tex, what are you talking about? Now hurry up and put a shirt on – we've still got to make dinner before your other demon children show up."

Lifting one eyebrow, Walker's grin widened. "What? You don' like the tattoos anymore?"

That was the thing – she fucking did. The symbols traced all over Walker's arms and torso, crawling across his clavicle and up his throat, were some of the most intricate she'd ever seen. Nocturne did some beautiful work. And they were fascinating. The first month after he'd gotten them (when she finally convinced herself she wasn't going to strangle him) they'd gone over them in detail, trying to figure out anchors and trigger-points. She hadn't gotten far because they were written in a language she'd never seen before.

But they were also hot in like a bad boy kind of way? And it wasn't fair. So she made him cover them up because they were distracting dammit.

"Are you flirting with me, cowboy?" Penelope flipped the game on its head and poked his breastbone with one finger. "Because you suck at it. Go do as you're told. I'll get everything started."

He smelled like woodsmoke and leather for some reason, and Penelope laughed under her breath as he called after her. "Don't ya dare set my kitchen on fire!"

"No promises!"

Honestly, it wasn't an unreasonable request because she sucked at cooking. But getting the oven pre-heated and boiling water wasn't that difficult. So Penelope pulled her hair back up into ponytail – it was getting long – and set to work. She even remembered to salt the water so suck it, Tex, because she'd learned something. It was Italian night, too, so this was pretty simple.

Walker came thumping in, black long-sleeved shirt half-way unbuttoned, about the time she started chopping up tomatoes. Glancing at him, she could still see the bruises under his eyes. His hands were steady, though, grabbing at different ingredients to start working on the sauce.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Penelope questioned. "You look like hell."

The big lug just shrugged his shoulders, a half-smile on his face. "Not really. Nocturne's been crackin' down this week fer some reason. Just gotta stick through it, I guess."

Anger spiked through her. Penelope's shoulders tightened, fingers just barely missing the knife when she sliced down on a tomato a bit too hard. This was the price Walker had paid. Nightmares for protection. Nocturne was the master of dreams. So when he decided that he wished to see a horror show, he just. . . made one of his own.

Right in the mind of some dumbass like Walker.

"You hit that cuttin' board much harder an' it'll break in half, sugar." Walker jabbed. "C'mon – it really ain't that bad. I don' even remember 'em half the time."

"Which means you do remember them the other half," Penelope shot back, "and you still won't fucking tell me about them. Sleep deprivation is different for ghosts, Walker. You know that. This can't keep going."

Walker sighed, big shoulders slumping, and he sidled a little closer so that their arms touched. "I can't rock the boat, Pen. Danny's jus' startin' t' come outta his shell. Tay's been doin' better than I ever seen. They're the ones we gotta focus on. Not me."

Jaw clenched, she turned to look at him. "Yeah, and if you go batshit because you aren't getting enough sleep and won't let me help, they're going to be right back at square one. We've been over this a thousand times."

The look on his face was resigned and. . . almost lonely. He slid the parsley he'd been dicing up into the bowl with her sliced tomatoes. But Walker didn't look her in the eye. It'd been like this for almost a month. The nightmares and the bruises and the reassurances. Penelope hated admitting it, but Walker had been a good friend. He was a good dad. And he wouldn't let her help because of some macho "I've got to do this" complex deep in his aggressively male psyche and that was fucking irritating.

"Jeremiah. . ." she started.

"We'll talk about it after supper, how's that?" Walker suggested, voice low. "When the boys are asleep. I don' want 'em hearin' anything."

It was the closest thing to a yes she'd gotten since the nightmares had started. She'd take it.

Penelope nodded, turning back to the boiling pasta and stirring. "Fine. But you're not weaseling your way out of this one, Tex. I mean it."

Walker chuckled and pressed a sudden kiss to the top of her head that made her freeze in shock. "Sure, hon."

There were feet coming down the stairs. Heavy, thundering, headed right for the front door. Penelope shook herself out of her stupor long enough to order, "Do not go outside, boys! Dinner will be ready soon and I don't want you getting dirty again. Play in the living room."

Twin groans answered, followed by Danny's dejected, "Yes, Mama."

Beside her, Walker laughed. "Who'da thought you'd be the disciplinarian?"

"Shut up. I am not."

She could still feel where he'd kissed the top of her head. It buzzed with the same electricity that hummed through her feet. But, Penelope mused, she couldn't really focus on that right now.

"Hey, Papa, do you think we could invite Technus to the next family dinner? I ran out of ammo for my leg canon today."

. . . there were other things to worry about.

A/N:

I have hurt the baby. I have saved the other baby. But I hurt the Jazzy-baby, and there is no excuse. For this, I must apologize.

But anyway! I'm going to keep this author's note short and just say that I hope you all enjoyed the chapter (even though it's a bit of a time-skip) and I look forward to seeing your thoughts on it! Thanks so much for sticking with this for so long.

See ya in the next one!