She wasn't completely unused to being woken up by little elbows in her ribs. There wasn't a single person in the house that didn't have nightmares at least twice a week. And they were all snugglers (not that anyone would admit to such a thing) which meant she usually ended up with a kid or two in her bed on a regular basis.
But, Penelope groused, she wasn't really used to it happening twice in one night.
Another elbow shoved into her ribcage. Penelope grunted harshly, eyes squinting open in the dim. Her mind was fuzzy and muddled. But her middle was cold, arms a bit numb. What. . .? Still, a bit confused, she only just managed to register the sound of mismatched steps hot-footing it out of the bedroom. It suddenly clicked into place – Taylor. He'd had a nightmare. He'd come to the room. with Danny
He'd come to her. Not Walker, her.
The worry that seared through her core was white-hot, and Penelope only just remembered to be careful getting out of the bed. Eyes adjusted to the dim bedroom, she glanced over her shoulder. Danny was curled up under Walker's arm, smiling in his sleep. Walker was sprawled and snoring with hair falling in his face. And even though her stomach had tied itself in knots, she couldn't help but smile. They could be so damn sweet sometimes.
The live-wire buzzing under her feet reached a new pitch, and Penelope just barely heard the front door open and shut. Worry spiking, she got out of bed, readjusting the covers around Danny before heading after Taylor. The house was silent, but not eerily so, and she got a look at the clock on the VCR. A scowl took over her face – it was six in the morning. What the actual fuck?!
But even though it was definitely way too early to be Dealing With This, Penelope shoved her irritation into a tiny ball deep inside her. It wasn't Tay's fault that he had nightmares. He was a little boy. An irritating, over-hyper, shithead of a boy, sure. But still a little boy. He couldn't help getting nightmares any more than she could help keeping her back to the wall in a room. So she could suck it up and be a grown-up and deal with whatever problem he was having.
At six in the morning.
On a weekend.
Penelope stepped out onto the porch, arms wrapped firmly around her middle, and shuddered. Goosebumps rose along her bare arms. She tried not to scowl at the fact it was nearly June and Walker's lair still kept the temperature just this side of fucking cold. Glancing over, she took note of a bundle of blankets curled on the porch swing. Two sets of mis-matched toes – one bright silver and the other pale peach – peeped out from beneath the hem of one.
"You know, I can think of at least three different places to run after a nightmare that don't involve freezing," she began casually, voice rough with sleep.
A choked sob and a sniffle coming from under the little bundle was her only answer.
Penelope sighed quietly. She took a couple of steps, sitting cross-legged on the porch swing, and shivered. The air was always colder in this lair, especially at night, and she thought Taylor had the right idea bringing out a load of blankets. But that didn't seem nearly as important as the little boy shaking with sobs beside her. Gnawing at her lower lip, Penelope made a decision.
"Alright, kid, get over here," she groaned. "If you don't wanna talk, then at least have the decency to keep me warm."
The fact that Taylor didn't even bother putting up a token fight scared the shit out of Penelope. There wasn't a protesting bone in his body when she hauled him in her lap. He just sat there and shook, a sniffle leaving him every few seconds. Gently, she pulled the blankets from over his head to try and get a good look at his face. Taylor's hair stood in every direction. His eyes were red and swollen, his nose snotty.
Penelope's heart broke. "Oh, honey. . ."
His face crumpled, and Taylor let out a strangled wail before trying to bury himself in her chest. Penelope let him. She held him tight, one hand running through his hair, the other rubbing up and down his back. And he just. . . cried. The poor little guy just cried. So hard that it shook him head to toe, even as his little fingers clung to her shirt. Penelope sat there and let him. She let him wrinkle her shirt and snot all over her and stain her favorite tank top with tears. She sat there and let him cry on that cold-ass porch swing for so long her legs and feet started going numb.
The old swing creaked and swung and kept them company even as light started blooming around them.
Eventually, though, Taylor started to calm down. He sat there, sniffling, head tucked under her chin. Fingers playing with her shirt. Penelope managed a smile – sometimes, her boys acted just alike. No matter how big or small. She kissed the top of his head and breathed in the smell of his shampoo.
"Feel a little better?" she whispered, not quite willing to break the quiet.
Taylor sniffled and nodded, his cheek sticky against her collarbone. "Y-yeah. . ."
"Do you want to talk about it?" She freed one foot and started to rock the swing. "It must've been a heck of a dream. You're my bravest guy."
It was simultaneously funny and very not funny. Taylor had nightmares just like the rest of them. Nightmares about car-horns, screaming tires, and the crunch of metal on bone. And the aplomb that he handled them with was impressive and infuriating in equal measure. Walker refused to deal with his nightmares. Danny dealt with them by clinging to her in the dead of night. But, typically, unless Danny drug him out of bed, Taylor just handled his silently. Alone.
The fists clenched in her top tightened, and Taylor swallowed thickly, breath hitching in his chest. "Y-you gotta pro-homise not to t-tell Papa."
Warning klaxons were shrieking in her brain. Penelope quirked an eyebrow. "I can't lie to your papa, honey. But if you don't want me to tell him, I'll tell him to ask you about it, okay? Now, what's got you so bent out of shape."
For the first time since she'd gotten to him, Taylor made eye-contact with her. Penelope felt her heart clench at how little he looked. This was just a boy. A little boy with bucked teeth and ears too big for his head, and a personality that didn't quite fit inside such a pint-sized package. She managed to smile for him, still rubbing one hand along his spine.
"I-it's dumb," he hiccoughed.
"Taylor, honey, if it upsets you this much, it isn't dumb," Penelope insisted firmly.
For a long minute, Taylor did nothing. He trembled and sniffled, fingers toying with the edges of her top. Eventually, though, he started to speak. Quiet and frightened. Nothing like the energetic little shit he acted like most of the time. His eyes were trying to drill a hole in her sternum.
"At first it was like all the other ones. Bright lights and screaming," Taylor whispered. "T-then it changed. W-we were all h-home but. . ." he trailed off, starting to shake again.
"But?" Penelope coaxed gently.
Lower lip wobbling, eyes filling with tears, the little boy forced himself to continue. "P-papa didn't love me anymore. H-he said he ha-ad Danny now, an' th-hat he w-was b-better th-han me. A-and I t-tried to tell hi-him I'd be g-good. I'd be b-better. B-but he just looked at m-me, like I was st-hupid. L-like I'm a big, dumb baby. A-and I tried t-to find you, b-but y-you di-hidn't wa-ant me either. A-and ev-everyone s-said I wasn't good enough o-or smart enough and. . .a-and. . ."
He was working himself into a frenzy again, gulping down air, flushed and snotty. Penelope listened even as her core shattered. "Oh, sweetheart. . ."
Taylor let out a gut-wrenching sob. "I k-kn-know it's stu-hupid. But 'm n-not your r-real kid, an' my f-first m-mom an' d-d-dad d-di-didn't li-hike me. Th-hey didn't wa-hant me, either, so wh-why wo-hould y-you?!"
For a hot second, Penelope was worried she'd crush the crying boy in her lap she hugged him so hard. But she refused to let go. She wasn't letting him go now. Or ever. Because he said "you", as in plural. As in not just Walker. And fuck his parents, seriously, who gave their children complexes like that?! A breeze rocked the porch swing beneath them, cold and sharp, and Penelope knew she'd gone and fucking fallen ass-over-tea-kettle in love with another kid again. Because every single inch of her soul was going to protect this little shithead even if it killed her. . . well, killed her again. So she was going to sit on this cold fucking porch swing, numb legs and all, and let him cry as long as he needed.
Penelope kissed him on the forehead, ran her fingers through his hand again, and croaked, "Taylor, honey, do you wanna know why you don't have to be scared of that?"
Hiccupping, eyes squeezed shut as he clung to her, Taylor gasped. " 'c-cause it's stupid?"
"No," Penelope corrected sharply. "I told you once that if something makes you this scared, it's not stupid. Nothing about how you feel or what you dream is stupid, or dumb, or means you're a baby. And if I ever hear you talk about yourself like that again, I'll wash your mouth out with soap. Understand?"
His eyes snapping open, Taylor stared at her in naked shock. He nodded, all desperate tears and a snotty nose.
"Good," Penelope continued. "Now. . . you don't have to worry about any of that happening because you are our real kid."
There was raw skepticism in his eyes before he dropped them to stare angrily at her collarbone. Penelope fought down the vicious urge to punch things. Or people. Definitely people if she was being honest.
"But I'm adopted," he nearly spat.
Penelope quirked an eyebrow. "That's a weak argument, kid. Danny's adopted, too. Do you think he's any less our real kid?"
His shoulders hunched up around his ears. "N-no, ma'am."
"Being adopted doesn't make you or Danny any less our 'real' kid, Tay. It means we chose you, shithead tendencies and all." Penelope managed a smile even though her eyes were burning.
Taylor's shoulders hunched even further, and she could practically taste the scowl twisting his chubby face as he glared at his mechanical fingers. "Yeah, r-right. Like you'd p-pick a b-broken kid."
Her stomach dropped unpleasantly, and Penelope slipped a finger under his chin, forcing the little boy to make eye-contact. "You are not broken, Taylor. You've had some bad things happen to you, bad things that lots of adults would have trouble dealing with. Losing your arm or your leg or both doesn't mean you're broken. Having nightmares doesn't mean you're broken, either."
There were tears still falling from his eyes. "It f-feels like it sometimes."
"I know, baby. But you aren't." Penelope brushed the tears off his cheeks. "You're just a little bent out of shape, that's all. We all are."
"How do you know?" he coughed.
Penelope started brushing hair out of his eyes, thumb stroking over his brow. "How do I know what, honey?"
Those big eyes locked onto her desperately. "That I'm not broken? That you and Papa won't get tired of me?"
This time, Penelope's smile was genuine. "I know you're not broken because you're a good kid, Taylor Walker. Because you're funny, and you're kind, and you're a good big brother. Because you're smart in your own way, even if you don't always recognize it. And I know we're never going to get tired of you because we love you."
Taylor's lip was wobbling dangerously again. "A-and you w-won't stop, right? Y-you promise?"
"Kiddo, let me tell you a secret about parents. No matter what you do, no matter how much trouble you get in, no matter whether or not you're adopted – we are always gonna love our kids. It's non-negotiable. We love you so, so much, Taylor. And that's not ever gonna change." Penelope cupped his cheek in one hand, thumb tracing his line of freckles. "So you don't ever have to worry about us not wanting you, okay?"
Taylor sniffled, wiping his nose on his pajama sleeve, and smiled up at her. "P-promise?"
Penelope smiled right back. "Cross my core and hope to fry."
The little boy giggled wetly and launched himself up to hug her again. Penelope huffed, trying not to wheeze as he nearly strangled her. Instead, she hugged him back just as tight, kissing whatever part of his head she could reach. After a few minutes, Taylor let go to wipe at his eyes. Then he looked up at her seriously.
"Hey, Penny?"
"Yes, sweetheart?" She was kind of dreading whatever came next because she was this fucking close to losing her shit.
"It's really, really cold out here."
Relief forced a laugh out of her throat, and Penelope hugged him to her again. "Yeah! It really is! Let's go back in then, hmm? Your Papa's gonna lose his mind if we end up sick."
Ignoring the pins and needles in her feet, Penelope bundled Taylor up against her and stood. He wasn't heavy, exactly, always small for his age. But it startled her, how different he was from Danny. Then he tucked his head against her neck, one hand reaching up to play with her hair, and sighed heavily. Penelope allowed herself a secret grin – okay, maybe not that different after all.
"How do we even get sick?" Taylor muttered against her shoulder. "We're dead. It doesn't make sense."
"Get used to that, little man. The whole wide friggin' world doesn't make any sense." Penelope paused mid-drawl to open the front door. "But that's all part of the fun, I suppose."
"Whoopie," Taylor deadpanned, head heavy on her shoulder.
Penelope snorted. "Don't sound so excited, kid, you'll ruin the mood we've set. And because of that, I think it's a cereal on the floor in our pjs kind of morning. What do you say?"
Taylor was quiet as she made her way into the kitchen. But, when she went to sit him on the countertop, he latched on tighter, legs wrapped about her waist like a vice. "Hey, Penny?"
This was becoming a routine, and a really shitty one at that. "Yes, Taylor?"
He swallowed thickly, burying his face so tight against her neck she could barely hear him. "Do you really think I'm a good kid?"
Penelope sighed. She stroked one hand over his back through the blankets. "Yeah, I really do, Taylor. You're a great kid."
Silence. Then – "Hey, Penny?"
She couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "Yes, Taylor?"
"I think you're a pretty great mom, too, you know that?"
The whole world fucking stopped.
Penelope felt like she'd been doused in ice-water. Her arms were numb, weighed down with stones and lead. Her chest hurt. Her eyes burned. There was a ringing in her ears. It sounded a bit like screaming, like metal shearing, like the crunch of steel on bone. It sounded like a little boy shrieking "MOMMY!" as the world went black and. . . .
"Penny?! Penny, you're crushing me!" He sounded scared but far away.
But. . . but she was holding him? How could he be far away?
A cold little hand reached up to the back of her head, fingertips steel, and Penelope shuddered out a breath she hadn't known she'd held. There were tears on her neck again. Hot and sticky and wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, why did she always do this? Why the fuck couldn't she just. . . .?
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you sad!" Taylor choked. "And I know I'm not the best kid, or the smartest kid. And I know I'm a big pain in the butt sometimes. But I'm right this time so you've gotta believe me – Penny, you're a really good mom."
No.
No, she wasn't.
Because she was Penelope fucking Spectra. She was a witch and a bitch and a leech and she sucked down misery like margaritas. Because she gave people depression and watched them spiral down with a smile on her face. Because she existed to serve Bertrand and she let Bertrand hurt her and because it was better to hurt and to make everyone else hurt than to think about what she'd done. Because it was better to smile with blood on her teeth than let anyone see her cry. And she wasn't good, never good, so how the fuck could she possibly be a good mom? Why the fuck did she think she could do this? She couldn't. . . she just couldn't. . .
Taylor held her tight around the neck. His tears were sticky. But the kiss he pressed to her cheek wasn't. His little body was warm and heavy against her front. Not cold, not stiff, not bloody bruised no no no no no not my baby broken. He was there. And he wasn't scared of her. Not really.
When was the last time someone hadn't been afraid of her?
"You're a good mom, I promise. You're a good mom, Penny, thanks. Please don't be mad at me, I'll be better." Taylor was babbling. "I'll be better. Please don't be sad."
Slowly, the world came back into focus. Penelope swallowed a thick wad of saliva, eyes on fire. Her knees threatened to buckle. She nearly choked on self-disgust. How dare she do this shit now? How dare she make him think it was his fault?
"No, honey. No, you don't need to be better." Penelope managed to take a shaky breath and held him tighter. "You're perfect, understand? You're perfect."
Taylor snugged his face deeper in the crook of her neck. His little fingers were wound in her hair. But his core thrummed strong against her chest, and slowly Penelope found that breathing wasn't so difficult anymore. Her own cheeks were sticky, and her eyes still burned. But no one knew that, really. So what difference did it make?
They stood there for a few minutes, stock-still and silent, clinging to each other like anchors. Eventually, though, Tay broke the spell again.
"Can we have our cereal now?" he squeaked, soft and pitiful. "I'm tired of crying."
Penelope managed a wet laugh and kissed him firmly on the head. "Yeah. . . Yeah, kid, we can have our cereal now. What kind do you want?"
"Fruit Loops, please."
This time, when she went to set him on the counter, Taylor didn't put up a fight. He sat and rubbed at his eyes, still wrapped in his blanket cocoon as she snatched milk from the refrigerator and the box of Fruit Loops from the cabinet. And if he noticed her own eyes were red, or that her hands still shook, he didn't say anything.
It took about three minutes. But soon they were sitting on the floor. Wrapped in blankets like a couple of hobos and munching on enough carbs to fuel three humans. Penelope let Taylor sit in the crook of her legs, content to eat around him. It was better this way, she thought. Because this way she could feel his core thrumming against her chest. And she could listen to him mumble around big mouthfuls of cereal without him seeing how red her eyes were.
This way, she could be close, but he couldn't really see.
Penelope had only just swallowed her core when Walker and Danny came through the door. Both were sleepy and disheveled. Danny's hair stood out in different directions. Walker looked better than he had in days. It made everything hurt a little less.
So she smiled and did what she did best. . .
"Get in here, losers, we're having a cereal party."
. . . she lied.
*~O~*
"You fucking RAT!"
It was a hiss and a screech in the same breath, and Walker wasn't quite sure how Penelope managed to move that fast, but she'd punched Skulker in the face before he could process what the actual crap was going on.
They'd been having a good day, too.
Danny and Tay had been playing together for a good hour after lunch without any hiccups. There'd been no panic attacks. No tears since earlier that morning. Penelope had been a little quiet, but she had sat next to him under the oak-tree outside and talked about. . . nothing. And everything. Walker had slept better last night than he'd slept in nearly two weeks and it had nothing to do with his family snuggled up against him and the smell of jasmine lingering when he'd woken up and it had been shaping up to be one of those rare, precious days when everything seemed relatively normal.
And then Ember had walked out the back door with Skulker – who looked half-beaten and thoroughly terrified – and the defecation had hit the rotary-cooling device, as it were.
"Plasmius is looking for Danny," he'd blurted. "He wants me to find him and report back by the end of the week."
For once, he was thankful for Em being the obnoxious older sister she was – she'd immediately whipped Danny and Tay up and took them inside for ice-cream. They didn't see anything.
Walker could feel static starting to creep up behind his skull. But he managed to get ahold of Pen before she landed another right-hook to Skulker's jaw. His arms were shaking, locked like a vice around her waist as she thrashed and snarled. There was already a wicked looking bruise spreading across Skulker's metal-laced face. And much as he hated to admit it, the poor sunuva gun didn't need to be beaten again.
No matter how much Walker wanted to do it himself.
"Hon, ya need t' calm down," he wheezed. "Let's listen to 'im first. We'll beat 'im down later."
Penelope was shaking like a beat dog, and he wasn't quite sure if it was anger or nerves. But something in Walker's gut told him that he shouldn't take a chance on letting her go just yet. Not when he could feel her core thrumming against his forearm, when her body was coiled like a rattlesnake ready to strike. His skin itched around the glyphs branded into it, and he could feel them going taut around the lair. They were holding strong, getting ready. And Plasmius wouldn't know what hit him if he went up against them.
Still, the power thrumming under his skin didn't stop Walker from recoiling when Penelope turned her glare against him.
"Let. Me. Go," she hissed.
Walker dropped her like she'd burned him. "Sorry, Pen. But ya can't just. . . beat 'im 'til we know what's goin' on? Okay?"
She was stiff as a board, black veins threatening to completely overtake her face, but Penelope set her jaw and gave a sharp nod. "Fine."
Walker put a hand on her shoulder, gentle but firm, and forced her to look at him. "Hey. . . it's gonna be okay. I promise."
Pen's eyes were wet, white-rimmed and terrified. But she nodded once. Walker offered her a half-smile. All he offered Skulker was a glare. Tension ripped through his jaw. His fingers kept twitching. Mostly because he wanted to follow Pen's example and just beat the dog piss out of the hunter.
Though, it looked like Plasmius had kind of beat him to it.
"Start talkin'," he snarled. "And don't leave anything out. Or you'll be sorry."
Skulker groaned, picking himself up off the grass and rubbing at the bruise on his face. There were blackened rings around his implants.
"Jesus, woman, you have a mean right-hook," he grumbled. "Was that necessary? I'm trying to warn you here."
Penelope snarled. "Shut the fuck up and tell us what's going on!"
There was a smart-aleck response building somewhere in the cyborg's body. Walker could feel it. But, judging by the way Pen was shaking, there was no way he'd walk away from the whooping he'd get if it came out. So Walker forced himself to intervene.
"When'd ya see Plasmius, Skulker?" he interjected. "Start there."
Skulker grimaced, forcing himself to his feet. "Night before last. I just now healed enough to get over here without falling apart. He came to the island and asked for my help tracking down his godson. A boy, Caucasian. Said he'd formed sometime in November."
The static in his head reached a fever-pitch. Walker tightened his grip on Penelope's shoulder just a hair. His skin was too tight. There wasn't enough air in his chest. Not enough space in the lair. He was pinned in, unable to move or think or breathe. Pen was still shaking. She was scared.
"That don't prove he's looking for Danny, Skulker." Walker managed to force the words out of his throat somehow.
"He said the boy's name is Daniel," Skulker continued, voice solemn and quiet. "That he goes by Danny."
Penelope shook harder.
"His birthday is on the 24th."
Walker felt the world tilt on its axis. His mouth was dry and his stomach was in knots and his core kept throbbing in his ears. Why? Why and how and what the actual crap was going on?! His fingers were shaking around Penelope's shoulder. Or maybe that was Penelope herself. She trembled head to foot, green eyes bleeding into red around the edges. She stared at the hunter, mouth working, but nothing came out but a horrified wheeze. Blindly, he groped for her hand. When he found it, her fingers were ice-cold, and she squeezed hard in return.
They'd been having a good day. . .
"What's Plasmius want with Danny?" Walker growled. His jaw was going to shatter under the tension.
Skulker managed to stand to his full height even though it looked like his ribs were broken. He was solemn and serious. "I don't know. He said something about having custody of his goddaughter, that he wanted to find her brother." The cyborg ran a hand through his flame-hair and rolled his shoulders. "I opened my mouth before I could think. Tried to back-track but," he gestured to his face, "that didn't work on Plasmius. He expects a report within the week."
For a long while, no one said anything. He could faintly hear Em singing in the house, echoed by the sound of chords from the acoustic she kept around for writing. She was keeping Danny and Tay occupied – good. Walker felt like someone had filled his head with rocks. His chest was tight. There was ice building in his toes, crawling through his veins until it froze his heart solid. This was bad.
Because Plasmius was a nasty piece of work on a good day. One foot in the living realm, the other foot in the grave, and not a single brain-cell that wasn't either conniving or outright insane. Not to mention he was strong. Scary strong. There weren't a whole lot of ghosts who could beat Skulker pulpy, nor where there many who made Walker this nervous. But here they were.
"You. . . you sold him out to Plasmius," Penelope breathed.
Walker jerked his head up.
Pen had stopped shaking.
Her eyes were wide, tears gathering in them, and her face was ashen. She'd gone stock-still, arms hanging limp at her sides. Her fingers were lax in his grip. But that wasn't what scared Walker. What scared him was the dead, resigned look in her eyes. It was like all the fight had just. . . gotten sucked out of her. Like she'd completely given up on everything.
"You sold my baby out to Plasmius," she rasped a second time. "And now I'm going to lose him."
Skulker glanced between them, eyes widening in panic. He swallowed thickly, fingers clenching up, and shuffled from foot to foot. "I didn't realize. . . I didn't mean. . ."
A tear streaked over Penelope's cheek. Silent. Her expression could've been carved in marble for all it changed. Walker felt his core sink into the pit of his stomach. The static built behind his eyes. His mouth was dry. She looked so broken. So defeated. He'd never seen that look on her before. He'd seen Pen exhausted, yeah. And he'd seen Pen resigned before, sure. But he'd never seen her broken.
It scared the hell out of him.
"Skulker, git inside," Walker growled.
The hunter looked conflicted. "I want to fix this. We should come up with a plan to – "
"Get. Inside. Now."
Stupid as he could be, Skulker knew which lines didn't need to be crossed. Bruised and half-bloody, the hunter shot one last half-concerned, half-panicked glance at Penelope. She dead-eye stared. Walker felt ice creeping up his fingertips. His skin itched. It burned. He wanted to punch something Plasmius, he wanted to punch Plasmius and he wanted to punch Skulker and he wanted to punch Bertrand over and over until his fists split wide open and spilled green everywhere and but that wouldn't do any good. So he glared until Skulker turned instead. The cyborg's shoulders hunched around his ears, and he slunk back into the house with his tail between his legs.
It was quiet except the buzzing, rushing, whooshing in his ears.
Walker turned. Penelope didn't look at him. She stared into space. Fear clawed at the inside of his skull, but he crushed it beneath his heel. He ran a thumb over the back of her knuckles. She didn't move. Another tear ran down her cheek.
"Pen?" he murmured. "Sugar, it's gonna be alright. Plasmius ain't takin' Danny nowhere, ya hear?"
Slowly, Penelope started shaking her head. "I know the laws, Walker. He's Danny's godfather from that side. His claim takes precedence."
There was bile trying to climb up his throat. Walker shook his head and swallowed hard. He moved a bit closer, stepped in front of Penelope to make her just. . . look at him, acknowledge him, something. Her hands were still, though, and her fingers were cold. That didn't stop him from running his thumb over them. And it didn't stop him from squeezing just a bit, either.
"That don't matter," Walker rasped. "Danny's our boy now. Plasmius can take bein' a godfather an' shove it where the sun don't shine."
Penelope finally lifted her head to look at him, but her eyes were still vacant, still terrifying. "Walker, we can't fight something like that. You know that. There're laws about things like this."
"Forget the law!" he snarled. "He can scream and make claims 'til he's all outta air, but that don't change the fact I ain't lettin' him in twenty yards of Danny."
There were more tears building in Penelope's eyes. They slipped down her cheeks, silent. But her expression didn't change. It was still broken and blank, carved out of marble. Walker could feel the air trying to freeze in his chest. Fear whispered in his ears, clawed at his head, static and popping bubbles. For a long time, she didn't say anything. Just stared at some weird point in the distance.
"I don't know why I thought I could do this," she finally whispered. "I knew this would happen, deep down. It always does. This is what I do. I care, and I meddle, and eventually I fuck it all up. Bertrand's right – I can't be a mom. Monsters don't get to be moms."
Rage.
Pure, unfiltered, white-hot rage.
It rushed into him and filled him straight to the brim, hissing like a snake. It burned. It made his chest feel too small, like it just couldn't keep him all together.
"Penelope, look at me," Walker coaxed, voice shaking. "Look at me."
She finally made eye-contact, and Walker let go of one hand to brush the hair from her face. More tears streaked down her face. He was going to rip him apart and scream and beat him until there was nothing left but a green smear because how fucking dare he and the private smiles with his white eyes and there's bombs and the smell of old scales and he can't breathe punch every tooth out of Bertrand's head tomorrow, he swore on his core. The glyphs burned into his skin itched.
"You are a good mama, you hear me? I could'a never done all this by myself. Danny's only gotten this much better 'cause a you. 'cause you love him an' you know what his favorite colors are, an' what he likes to read 'fore bed, an' you watch 'im when he sleeps just so he don't get nightmares. He thinks you put the stars in the sky. And Tay ain't far behind him." Walker took a shaky breath, feeling his eyes burn. "So don't you dare think about givin' up on him, Pen, he needs you."
The stone expression cracked. Penelope's face crumpled into a watery, defeated smile. The dead look in her eyes stayed. Walker felt panic starting to creep up on him.
"Did you know I had a son when I was alive?" she rasped.
Walker swallowed thickly. The lair felt like it was spinning under him. "No, hon. I didn't know that."
She hummed and it wasn't a pretty sound. One hand reached up to grip at his wrist, anchoring it to her face. "I had him out of wedlock. Some asshole one-night stand - I didn't even bother trying to settle with him. And it was the forties, so you can imagine how well it all went over. . . Can you imagine? A woman psychiatrist and her bastard kid, trying to make it." More tears rushed down her cheeks, and she barked out an ugly, ugly laugh.
"I should've known better, really. That's kinda the whole reason I died, actually. We went out for ice cream one night after I got off work – I had to find a second job as a secretary because there weren't enough people willing to hire a female shrink – and ran into a bunch of drunk teenagers. They were all piled in the back of this old pickup. They were cat calling. I ignored them, tried to get back to my car. But I wasn't paying close enough attention because how could a slut like me just ignore the star quarterback, hmm? We tried to pull out of the ice-cream shop. The truck T-boned me. The last thing I remember is someone shouting, 'fuck, we killed the old lady, run!'. I was thirty-five, and they were calling me an old lady."
Walker felt like he was going to be sick.
Penelope's stare was feverish, desperate, and it somehow wasn't any better than the blank look he'd gotten before. "My little boy was six. He was six, and I couldn't even keep it together enough to keep him safe from a bunch of drunk teens. I lost him. So how the fuck am I supposed to help Danny?!"
He couldn't take any more. Walker crushed Penelope to his chest and held tight. She wailed into his shoulder, nails clawing at him through his shirt. But he didn't let go. He wouldn't let go. Not now, not ever because nobody deserved any of what she'd gone through, in life or in death. Tears kept burning at the back of his eyes.
"Shh, now, honey, I gotcha. I gotcha," he soothed. "It ain't yer fault, sugar. None of that's on you, baby doll, I'm so sorry. Shh, I gotcha. I gotcha, honey, I'm sorry."
"I can't lose my baby," she gasped, coughing. "I can't lose another baby, Walker, I can't. Please, I just can't."
"He ain't goin' nowhere, sugar. I promise." Walker pulled her away just enough to look her in the eye. "I promise, alright? Danny stays here. Plasmius won't touch him."
Her breath came in ragged gasps, and Penelope looked borderline manic. Black veins were trying to creep up around her eyes again. "The laws, Jeremiah, what about the - ?"
"Fuck the laws, he's stayin' here." Walker brushed some of her tears away with his thumb. "He's stayin' with his mama, got it?"
Penelope's face crumpled again. But she nodded. Somehow, Walker found it in him to smile a bit, and he pressed a hard kiss against her forehead without thinking. The hand on his wrist tightened. Penelope leaned into his chest.
"Okay," she hiccupped. "Thank you, Walker."
His arms felt like they were filled with lead, his gut filled with cement. But Walker hugged her hard to him again. "You're a good mama, Penelope Spectra. Don't you ever let someone tell you different again, you understand me?"
She didn't talk again. Just nodded against him.
"We gotta go back inside here in a minute," he continued. "We gotta make a plan – can't go off half-cocked like I always do."
Penelope tightened her hold on his shirt. "I don't – "
"Not right now, hon," Walker soothed. "But in a minute. We'll stay here long as ya need, 'kay?"
The whole lair felt tight as a bowstring, and his nerves were shot. But Walker held her tight anyway. Penelope trembled against him. But, somehow, he knew it was a good thing. Kinda like popping a cork on a shook-up bottle. Relieving the pressure. Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair, rubbed circles on her upper back.
Penelope Spectra had somehow become the strongest person he knew, and if that wasn't a strange thought, he'd eat a cow patty.
Eventually, Pen pushed against his chest, wiping at her eyes. She took a deep breath.
Then she looked him square in the eyes and said, "First thing's first – I want to punch Plasmius in the dick."
He barked out a startled laugh, relief flooding through his chest his skin itched and itched and itched and it wasn't going to stop until he'd stomped everyone through the ground at the steel in her expression. "There she is! That's my girl!"
Penelope smiled, and it was ragged at the edges, dangerous. "I'm serious. You can ward-threaten him all day long, but I wanna punch him in the dick."
They turned to head back into the house, and Walker slung an arm around her shoulders. "Can I ask why?"
"Principle."
"Ah."
Walker stopped before they reached the back door, unwrapping his arm from Penelope's shoulders. She looked small. But not broken. . . just a little jagged, a little bent and bruised. She lifted her chin to stare back at him.
"Can I ask you a question, Pen?"
Wariness crept into her eyes. "Yes?"
"What was 'is name? Your boy?" He kept his voice quiet, solemn.
Penelope's chin wobbled a bit, but she smiled anyway, faraway and dreamy. "William. His name was William. Everyone called him Billy."
Walker filed the information away. He reached out for her hand again. She laced their fingers together, and he stroked his thumb over her knuckles.
"He was a lucky kid, y'know? Havin' a mama like you."
A tremble went through Penelope's arm, and she squeezed his hand tight. Walker thought back to all the little moments from the past several months. The days where she'd sat on the couch for hours with Danny and talked. The flying lessons, the panic attacks, the energy buildup. He thought about how they'd curl up under blankets, or how they'd read together. How he always seemed to find Penelope checking on the boys after a bad dream. And he thought about how Tay had started coming around more often, about how they'd all fallen asleep on the couch last week in a big pile, about how he'd come into the kitchen this morning to find them eating cereal on the floor, and how not a single bit of that had seemed out of place because. . .
That was just how Pen was with them.
He pictured a little boy with red hair and freckles and his mama's smile, and his chest tightened.
"He was a real lucky kid," Walker muttered.
Swallowing, he shoved the image away for later and twisted the door handle. Because they couldn't afford to dwell on that now.
Plasmius was coming.
A/N: This chapter is likely to be revised in the future, be warned. But I've been working on it for literal WEEKS now, and this was as close to what I've envisioned as I could possibly get. I'm not quite happy with it. But! The angst train has returned to the station, and you children have buckled back in for the ride.
Don't worry - it won't stay for too long, I promise.
Please, please, please leave a comment because they are basically food for my soul, and thank you so much for reading!