noa | 22

Walking down the wet pavement, you hopped along in time to your music. The storm had barely let up long enough for you to walk home from work, a long day spent at the farmers market and nursery. It was rewarding work, one of the few jobs you enjoyed in Haddonfield. You'd moved here a few years ago, long enough for you to graduate the high school here. Moving out of the quaint little cottage you lived in with your father hadn't really come as a necessity. You helped pay rent, shopped for the family groceries, and tended to the garden.

The location was ideal anyways, a good distance from the city for you to feel isolated but not too far that you couldn't get groceries or fast food. The surrounding woods only strengthened that feeling. It was overgrown with vines with a little garden in the back, stepping stones in a dirt path that led up to the front door. Dark woods and bricks instead of lighter colors typical of cottages. It was perfect.

You had no need to move.

Your father, the chief of police in Haddonfield, had been staying up late and working later and later than usual. It wasn't unheard of for your father to stay out but you were getting concerned. The last time he'd stayed out like this was because there were rumors of a serial killer in the area. So you were a bit concerned, to say the least.

Today was one of those days where you'd have the house to yourself. You were walking through a mental list of options for dinner. Your preference was pasta with some garlic, tomatoes, and herbs since you could leave leftovers for your dad. Plus it was easy to make. But you were pulled from your thoughts as your song came to an end. You were nearly home, could see your house in the distance, but something was off.

Looking around, you caught the faintest scent of iron in the breeze and paused. Coyotes weren't unheard of but you didn't exactly have a way to defend yourself if they thought you were too close. Not to mention you didn't trust your dad to not let your cat out. Hurrying home, you froze when you saw a man trying to cross the street, holding a hand to a wound on his side. "Hello?!" You called frantically, hurrying over to see. He was bleeding a lot and you weren't even sure how he was still walking. "Jesus, okay, um, do you need me to call a hospital?"

You blinked in surprise as you noticed the mask on his face. Halloween was in a few days, sure, but this was different. The mask covered his entire head, obscuring his eyes from you. Still, the inky black voids of the eyes in the mask seemed to bore into you but you stood steady. If this man needed help, you couldn't let yourself become unsettled.

When he didn't speak, you tried another approach. "I have, um, a first aid kit at home, if you'd prefer that?" You weren't that confident in your ability in your abilities but certainly you couldn't make things worse, right? Still, the man didn't speak, so you lay your headphones on around your neck and moved slowly to drape one of his arms around you. He was surprisingly resistant, but perhaps he was just startled by you. "Sorry to scare you, I live near here. Luckily for you it seems, that's a pretty bad wound..." You spoke to him, trying to keep him awake.

The mechanics jumpsuit made you think there had been an accident involving a car part or something. You weren't sure how he'd gotten himself all the way out here, but you didn't worry about the logistics of it in the moment. A man was injured, you wanted to help him.

Once you started walking him in the direction of your home, he stopped trying to fight you. You were grateful but also worried the blood loss was making him more agreeable to your needs. At least he let you drag him towards your house.

You brought him in through the back door, ignoring the hungry cries of your cat for a moment to drag the large man into the kitchen and help him sit on the floor against the cabinets. He was too big for you to carry up the stairs and he grew heavier the more blood he lost. Throwing your bags down, you told him to stay put and ran upstairs to the bathroom. The first aid kit was under the bathroom sink in a cabinet, the linoleum tiles cold on your knees as you reached in the back to grab it.

Slamming the cabinet door shut, you pounded down the stairs and skidded almost comically to a stop in the entryway to the kitchen. The man was slumped against the cabinets in front of the sink, right where you'd left him, though you could see him better now. Dirty boots, covered in grass stains and covered in wet mud. The jumpsuit was mostly clean except for some oil stains and the growing dark spot on his side where he'd clearly been hurt. But as you squinted more, you saw blood staining his sleeves as well. Odd. You'd need to check his arms for injuries too.

You could hear his breathing now, loud and frantic, and you would bet he was blinking rapidly in attempts to stay awake. You felt horrible and hurried to his side to help. "Can you tell me what happened?" You asked, clicking open the first aid kit and trying to get him to let go of his wound so you could help. He wasn't bleeding much but it was enough to concern you.

His silence worried you more. Sighing, you scooted closer and motioned to his chest. "I'll need to unzip your jumpsuit in order to help. Just... gimme a nod if you're okay with that?" The masks empty eyes stared holes in you for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the mans breathing.

Then he nodded. It was so slight you almost missed it, but it was there. You shot him a slight smile before reaching for the zipper to unzip it to his waist, being careful to not aggravate the wound too much.

He had a black tank top underneath, ridden up slightly which made your cheeks warm up. You helped him shrug the sleeves down so you could see the damage.

It was hard to determine what had happened, too much blood covered his skin. You reached for the kit and grabbed the sanitizing wipes, using one on your hands before pulling some disposable gloves on. "Okay, just, um, let me know if the pain is too much, okay? I'm... not a qualified doctor or anything..." You glanced up at him and gave him a nervous smile before grabbing another fresh wipe and trying to clean up as much blood as you could.

A bullet wound, you realized with a sinking feeling. Who the hell shot at this man?! You gave him a concerned look before sighing. "Well, the bullet went all the way through so at least I won't need to play surgeon for you." The smile you gave him was tight and you could tell he was fighting to stay awake. You squeezed his hand briefly, for comfort, and got to work.

You didn't know enough about gunshot wounds to know what exactly to do but you figured anything was better than letting it get infected. You gave the man a warning before pouring hydrogen peroxide on both ends of the wound, marveling that all he did was let out a grunt, and began bandaging the wound. Two pieces of gauze on either end to help keep it clean and you wrapped his midsection tight. It would have to do. "I only know about injuries from crime shows," you spoke to him quietly as you worked in hopes it would help him stay awake. "I think the wound is supposed to drain? I think? We'll need to keep an eye on it to make sure its not infected."

You scooted back a bit to admire your work. Frankly, it could be much worse. You gave the man a smile before raising up your bloodstained hands. "Can you pass me one of the wipes? I don't wanna stain everything with blood."

He stared at you blankly before reaching to his side where you'd left the kit and tossing one of the single-use wipes to you. You shot him a grateful smile and tore it open to use. "I'd give you a sucker for being a good patient if I had any. Can I offer you dinner and a shower instead?" You watched him carefully as you stood up. "My dad shouldn't be back till late and I wanna make sure it heals alright. Are you sure you don't want a hospital?"

It was slight but you swore he shook his head no. Okay, no hospital then. "This must happen a lot then," you joked as you closed up the first aid kit and set it on the counter in case. The smooth linoleum beneath the man was covered in fresh, red blood smears from dripping while you worked, but you could clean that. "That reminds me!" You knelt at his sides and gently examined his arms, ignoring his silent attempts to move away. "I saw blood on your arms, did you get hurt there too?"

He tried to pull away but you saw it: a spot where he'd been grazed by a bullet. More a flesh wound than anything, but it had torn through his jumpsuit. It was only bleeding a little, which you were grateful for. "Alright, c'mere mister," your tone was light as you raided the kit for more gauze and wrapping. "Got any more injuries you're hiding from me?" You gave him a playful smile before kneeling and tugging on the sleeve of his injured arm.

He said nothing, which you expected, as you cleaned and wrapped his wound. "It's not that bad, luckily. I'm more worried about the gunshot wound..." You offered him a hand to help him stand to avoid straining his abdomen. He seemed to weigh this in his head before letting you help bring him to stand. "I wasn't kidding about dinner and a shower by the way. I bet my dad's got clothes that could fit you, but you're pretty tall. It'll be okay though, just long enough for me to get your jumpsuit washed."

You blinked up at the masked face, letting him stare at you. His head tilted, which you recognized as confusion. "What? You think I'm just gonna wrap you up and ship you out? Not a chance. C'mon," you took his hand and led him out of the kitchen and up the wooden stairs to the bathroom. Since your dad had the master bath, you got dibs on the upstairs one. A bath-shower combo with a huge mirror, the counters spanning as long as the mirror did with a single sink.

You placed the first aid kit back under the sink before gesturing to the shower for him. He stood in the doorway, almost hesitantly. "I'll grab you clothes if you wanna get undressed. I don't mind washing your clothes for you, I bet you could use a shower. Just try to not get your bandages too wet, yeah? I might have some cling wrap if you need."

You swore you saw his shoulders shake with a silent laugh as you stepped past him carefully, pushing him from the doorway with a gentle hand to his chest, to grab clothes from your dads room. Some plain sweatpants and an old black tshirt you knew he wouldn't miss if it got stained with blood or anything in case the man opened his wound.

Stepping back into the bathroom, you froze in the doorway. The man had his back to you and had shrugged the jumpsuit off the rest of the way, his dirty boots sitting near the doorway at your feet. He still had the tank top on, pushed up by you when you bandaged his abdomen. But the jumpsuit now lay in a puddle at his feet, the mask still on.

He didn't have underwear on.

Face lighting up, you slammed the fresh clothes on the counter, pointedly not looking at him. "Alright, just leave your clothes in here and I'll grab them later okay bye!" You spluttered before grabbing the boots and shutting the door, leaning up against it with a bright red face.

Once you heard the water turn on, you went downstairs to clean up.

You set the boots down near the backdoor, hopefully you'd remember to clean them up a bit before he left. You cleaned the floor, grateful the blood hadn't dried yet, and washed your hands again. Your black cat, lovingly named Mayhem, had returned from wherever he'd retreated to and now sat at your feet, meowing for his dinner. "Alright, needy, c'mere. Let's get you food and make our guest food too, yeah?"

Mayhem meowed, pleading with you for tuna.

The man took a while to shower but you didn't mind. In that time, you'd snuck back upstairs to grab his clothes and toss them in the washing machine. When you'd gotten a good look at his clothes, you recognized the auto mechanic company as one in Haddonfield and glanced at the name tag. "L. Smith? Huh. I think I tutored one of his kids when I was a junior. Though maybe that's just a common name." You said, glancing at Mayhem who was sitting on the dryer while you tossed his clothes in the washing machine.

Glancing at the window in the laundry room downstairs, you noticed the rain had started back up, thick raindrops gliding down the glass. You smiled to yourself before whistling for Mayhem to follow you into the kitchen, shutting the door to the laundry room behind you. Mayhem ventured off into the living room while you got to work on dinner in the kitchen.

Cutting vegetables and boiling pasta was peaceful and you would have missed the sounds of the shower turning off if you'd been any more zoned out. You had just taken the tomatoes out to cut them up when the man came downstairs.

Looking over at him, you took a moment to look him up and down. The pants stopped just above his ankles, you'd expected that. What you hadn't expected was the way his broad chest filled out the shirt, how his arms looked in the black shirt. The bandage on his arm was visible and the shirt covered up the wrapping on his stomach. The mask was back on, which struck you as odd but you didn't question it.

Swallowing, you gave him a smile. "Are the bandages alright?" He gave you a short nod again and you turned back to the tomatoes. "Pasta's boiling right now and I'm getting the tomatoes ready. Dinner should be in a few minutes though, if you wanna sit down." You didn't hear him walk away though. You weren't bothered by him watching you, you just hoped it wasn't because he needed something.

When you reached for a knife to cut, his hand covered yours. Spinning around, you were met with his broad chest as he stared down at you. "Oh, do you want to help?" He just tilted his head at you, like you were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't blush.

"Well, we'll just need them in small chunks. Try and make them around the same size, I'll get the garlic going-" You were cut off when the man brought the knife up to your face, still gripping your hand. You blinked up at him, a part of your brain screaming at you that something was wrong here.

A greater part of you was intrigued. This man interested you beyond belief, far more interesting than most people you knew. You were terrified, yes, but you pushed that down to see what he'd do.

When he gently let your hand go, you watched how his fists clenched hard at his sides and he continued to stare at you. The yellow light from the kitchen's overhead light made him cast a shadow on you, the eyes of the mask impossibly dark.

It was you who broke the tension, taking his hand gently and unfurling the clenched fingers with your own. You lay the handle of the knife in his hand and wrapped his fingers around the knife. His breathing stopped as you did that and you smirked. "It's alright, I have confidence in you," you hummed before stepping over to the stove and preparing the pan for garlic.

You felt his eyes boring holes into you but you were pleasantly surprised when you heard him start cutting.

Dinner didn't take long to make, especially not with your guest's help. He seemed unwilling to leave you alone, hovering around you as you cooked and plated dinner, only retreating to the living room to sit when you promised you'd follow him there. Mayhem was lounging in her favorite chair and you caught him staring at the lazy cat as he sat cross-legged on the couch.

It struck you, as you carried in your own plate and two glasses of water for the two of you, that he looked far younger in that moment. "His name is Mayhem," you told him as you sat beside him and placed the water glasses on two coasters in front of you. "He won't bug you, he knows he's not allowed on the couch." The man slowly turned to look at you and you were struck when you noticed you could see one of his eyes, a bright blue-green color.

Pretty, you thought before turning to click the television on. "Anything in particular you wanna see? We've got movies too but I dunno if you like horror. It's an acquired taste." You hummed as set your plate down to stand, pulling out options from a drawer in front of the TV. "It's almost Halloween, after all," you smirked. "Though judging by your mask, you knew that." His eyes were boring holes in you again but you resigned yourself to his silent staring. You were pretty good at reading people and body language but even he was tough to understand. Maybe that's one of the reasons you liked him so much. You hummed, more at your thoughts than anything else, before pulling out 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown' and showing him. "Do you like cartoons?"

At that, he clearly nodded. So, you popped the DVD in and sat back down with him. Despite the fact you knew he was just a man under the mask, it felt rude to watch him eat. So, in hopes he'd feel more comfortable, you kept your eyes off him while you ate and were surprised to see how fast he ate, like he was starving for it. When he finished chugging the glass of water, you let him know he was welcome to leftovers if he wanted, an offering he gladly took.

You watched his back as he retreated into the kitchen, smiling slightly. He intrigued you, thats for sure. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you noted it was nearing 10:30 pm and frowned. Your dad should be home by now. Something may have come up, but if he wasn't home before midnight you'd call him. After all, you still had to get your guest home.

The sound of the phone ringing made your heart freeze. You paused the movie and stood up, padding on socked feet to the phone and answering. "Hello?"

"Kiddo? You alright? Oh my god you should have called me after you saw the news," Your dad's voice echoed through the receiver, sounding frantic and exhausted. "Lock all the doors, alright? Don't let Mayhem out tonight-"

"Dad, relax, what's going on?" You leaned against the wall, glancing towards the kitchen. You could see your visitor standing at the sink, chugging water, and you smiled slightly. "Everything's okay, I'm not-"

"There's a killer on the loose, kid." He cut you off and your blood ran cold. Was the killer the one who had attacked your guest? "We nearly got him earlier but he got away. We're not... we're not sure where he went. Just stay inside tonight, okay? Let me know if you see anything strange?"

An idea occurred to you. A risky one. "Dad?" You asked quietly, keeping your eyes on the man in your kitchen as his drinking slowed down. "What's his name?"

"The killer?" He asked hesitantly and you hummed in affirmation. "Well, um, we don't know for sure that it's him so don't get all worked up-"

"Just tell me." You sighed in unison with your father.

"Michael Myers."

You nodded, despite the fact he couldn't see. Your guest loaded up food on his plate and was making his way back into the living room when you hung up. He stared at you blankly and you gave him a shrug. "Seems we're locked in tonight. Dad's all worked up about some killer they can't catch so it'll just be me and you tonight." You noted the tension in the mans shoulders as you sat down and curled up on your side of the couch, snagging the remote. "Means you and I get more movie time though."

For a moment, the man didn't move. Then, slowly, he sat back down and resumed eating.

You knew. And you had a feeling he knew that you knew. But you weren't exactly in any position to do anything about it. Still, you felt almost guilty for lying to him. Was it lying or just withholding the truth? Is there a difference? You didn't know.

Regardless, you had the Boogeyman of Haddonfield in your living room, sitting on your couch, eating dinner you made together. He extended trust to you, the least you could do was return that.

As the movie came to an end, you didn't stand immediately. Instead, you turned to face him, sitting cross-legged and staring at him until he looked over at you.

"I know. And I know you know I know." Your voice was low, barely audible over the credits. Like you were scared to get caught somehow. "But I'm the only one who knows. Does that make sense?"

His posture was rigid, like he expected a fight. "Do you know about doctor-patient confidentiality?" His blank stare was an answer in itself. "When a doctor treats a patient, that patient has the right to keep their information private. Including names." You saw his fists clenched tight as you spoke. "So, since you're technically my patient, I don't have to tell anyone anything." He was still before his hands relaxed. "I'm not gonna rat on you, is what I'm saying. You're welcome to "

He seemed to consider this before giving you a nod.

A part of you was relieved. A fair trade, you thought. You patched him up and fed him and, in exchange, he didn't kill you.

You only knew you'd fallen asleep because you woke up on the couch, shaken awake by your father around 4 in the morning. "Kid, you alright?" You blinked up at him, the home screen of a horror movie bright on the screen before your dad clicked it off.

"Sorry, guess I was up watching movies." You hummed, rubbing your eyes and sitting up. Your sleep-addled brain abruptly remembered Michael Myers had been in your house and you looked to your side, noting he was gone. As you stepped into the kitchen with a yawn, you froze.

The boots were gone but dishes from dinner were in the sink. You could only assume that meant he'd left. A quick glance at your knife block confirmed your fears. Two were missing from the block but only one lay in the sink. He'd taken one with him. You supposed you didn't have the right to be surprised, he was a serial killer you'd let into your home.

But, judging by your dad's weary expression, they hadn't caught him yet. "I'm heading up to bed, you should too." You nodded and retreated upstairs to your room, Mayhem suddenly at your heels.

Your bedroom was dim, the morning light just starting to shift the pitch black sky into a deep indigo color. You frowned and went to close your blinds to avoid being blinded by the sun but stopped.

There, in your backyard, mostly obscured by the tree-line, you could see Michael Myers staring up at you.

Dumbfounded, you smiled to yourself and gave him a little wave, swaying on your feet. A part of you wanted to believe he had no interest in hurting you, especially after you helped him, while the more realistic part of you thought it was very alarming he'd taken such a fascination to you.

You heard the stories of Laurie Strode, how she believed herself to be his previous fixation. But that was two years ago and Laurie was still in Haddonfield so clearly her fear of him did not outweigh her genuine care for the town. Or maybe there was something there that you didn't understand.

You tugged the curtains closed anyways, too tired to worry about anything deep this early in the morning. When you sat down on your bed though, you were met with an unfamiliar texture. Glancing down, you felt a warmth in your face despite the cold sinking feeling in your stomach.

The tank top Michael had been wearing was laying on your bed, clean from the washing and drying you'd done. Which meant he'd stolen your dad's shirt, the one you'd thought fit him so well.

Blushing, you stuffed the shirt under your pillow and fell asleep.

Crunching leaves beneath your boots, you hummed to yourself as you walked along your way into town. Fall in Haddonfield was painfully beautiful, a watercolor of oranges, red, and yellows and the Halloween decorations were up in full swing. There were even some haunted houses opening up and hayrides for the teens. This time of year had always been a big deal to the town and you were a bit excited too. But for slightly different reasons.

The police hadn't caught Michael yet. Although you hadn't seen him properly since you'd invited him into your house a few days ago, you saw glimpses of him. Enough to know he was definitely stalking you. Which made you feel both afraid and... almost comforted?

You'd gotten sick of beating yourself up over why it would be comforting to you. You knew why: Michael Myers was the most dangerous person alive. And he was looking out for you, in a way. You pretended to not see him because it was part of the game. You weren't stupid, you knew it would be easier on everyone if you gave him what he wanted. Because as far as you knew, he hadn't killed anyone since finding you. No one that the news reported on anyways.

So you spent a bit more time in town and less time at home, to give him something to do. You figured he'd get bored watching you at home all the time but that maybe if you went out and went places, he'd have more fun. If he was amused, maybe he wouldn't kill people.

It didn't help that you still found yourself fascinated by him.

You stopped beating yourself up for that too. He was interesting to you. Most people you found predictable, bland. They had routines, they had patterns. Once you learnt enough about a person, they became predictable. He wasn't like that. You had no idea what he was thinking and that excited you.

"Hey," your co-worker's voice cut through your thoughts. "Did those blackberries do something to you or something? You've been staring at them for, like, ten minutes now." Kalei gave you a teasing look before taking the pot from you.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion behind them. "Sorry, just haven't been sleeping well."

"Bad dreams?" Kalei asked, setting the pot up with the others. You shrugged, chewing on your thumbnail. Working at the farmers market and plant nursery was rewarding but tiring on some days, especially if you didn't get enough sleep.

Boogeyman related dreams did not help.

"I guess so," you sighed dramatically. "Just... thinking about a guy I guess."

"A GUY?!" Kalei squealed as you shushed them. "Tell me EVERYTHING oh my god-"

"It's nothing yet, we barely talk!" You cut them off, shushing them in case Michael was listening in. "It's- I just saw a guy I guess and he's... interesting."

Kalei gave you a knowing look. "Well, as your self-proclaimed work bestie," you chose not to mention that there were only four workers besides the owners of the place, "I am obligated to give you advice."

"Kay, its Illinois, I doubt he'd even be interested in me if he was... available." It wasn't untrue. Even if Michael was emotionally interested in you, you doubted there was anything beyond obsession. You were both equally obsessed but in different ways.

"Well, regardless, I have a duty to fulfill." They smiled at you all too knowingly. "You're a cute guy and, if I didn't have a girlfriend, I'd take you out sometime." You laughed and they continued. "If this man screws you over, I'll take him out."

If only they knew, you chuckled to yourself as you left Kalei to attend a customer. Michael wasn't a typical man you could bring around for your coworker to size up. Even if you could, he was fucking huge. As the customer walked away, you froze when you saw a figure in the tree line across the road. Standing in the tall grass and brush, you swore you saw Michael there...

As far as you knew, he stayed there for the rest of your shift. Just standing and watching. But you knew - or at least assumed, he wasn't supernatural after all - that as long as he was watching you, he wasn't killing someone.

So you let him stalk you, let him as you got into your car to go shopping. Since you'd started working your job, it was easier for you to come across fresh fruits and vegetables so that was one thing you did not lack. You got a small basket and walked the aisles, scanning for household usuals like cereals and pasta. Nothing too extreme, though you did get some refills for the medkit and a proper first aid book. Just in case.

You knew Michael wouldn't come into the store but you didn't doubt he was waiting for you outside. Assuming the sounds of leaves crunching behind you were him, he was taking a risk being out with you in public. But you kept your back to him, not willing to be the first to give up the weird game of chicken you were playing. Though you were grateful you'd been smart enough to park a little ways away from the store, on a more quiet road.

As you finished loading the grocery bags into your car, you were grabbed abruptly by the man who stood behind you. Turning around, you were met with an unfamiliar, black ski mask. Definitely not Michael. He yanked your arm, looking around before drawing a knife and pressing it into your side. You froze as he pushed you more into your car in attempts to avoid being stabbed. "G-gimme all your cash! Now!" He hissed, still looking around nervously.

When he went pale staring over your shoulder, you didn't need to look to see. You knew what was there. "L-look, just gimme your cash and I'll be on my way!" He glared at you, alternating between looking at you and over your shoulder. As if you were moving too slow for him.

You felt someone step up behind you and you shut your eyes just as a hot spray of blood covered your face. The choking gurgles of the mugger grew faint as he was dragged aggressively away from you and you looked down. The blood hadn't gotten on you so much, thankfully. You didn't want to worry about scrubbing that off. You were frozen in place, unable to make your muscles move, as you listened to the sounds of Michael killing the man.

This was inevitable, you reminded yourself. This man wanted to hurt you, Michael was doing you a favor. Still, you forced yourself to turn away and steady your breathing, bracing on the trunk of your car.

Slowly, Michael approached you from behind. You knew he wanted to know he was coming towards you because if he wanted to be silent, he would be. He was strange like that, almost supernatural. You let him stand in front of you, coated in fresh blood in the middle of the day, obscured from immediate vision only because the sun was beginning to set and the shadows casted from buildings hid the two of you. The body was leant haphazardly against a nearby tree and you swallowed. "T-thanks." You said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

He gripped the knife and pressed the dull side to your chin, lifting your face towards his, and you got the message. You lifted your eyes to the dark pits of the mask's eye sockets and stared back. "Thank you for saving me." You spoke again, softer and more personal. It was only an assumption on your part, that he'd want to be thanked. He technically didn't have to kill that guy, he could very well just let you die or be robbed.

But that would end the game between you two and he couldn't have that. On some level, he wanted you alive if not for entertainment purposes.

So, after a pregnant pause, he let you go and stepped away.

The blood was starting to dry on your face and become uncomfortable, so you stepped towards your car and gestured to it. "Are you coming?"

He said nothing but did make his way to the passenger seat after a moment of silence. "What's the plan if we're seen?" You asked mostly to the air he previously occupied, already sitting in the car.

Dodging the cops wasn't that difficult, especially once news of the body reached them. Michael was silent, as expected, as you let him inside. Mayhem was already at your feet, meowing and sniffing Michael curiously.

You remembered, in that moment, how your father used to tell you stories about how Michael would kill animals as a boy. For fun. You weren't sure how truthful that statement was but it made you feel truly anxious for the first time around Michael

So you hurried to set the bags down and get food for Mayhem, said noisy cat investigating Michael curiously. You couldn't tell if your kitty annoyed the large man but you didn't want to risk it. "Michael," you said his name clearly. It was the first time you'd said it to him and it certainly grabbed his attention, even if he didn't move or look at you. "If you hurt Mayhem, I will turn you in. Just making that crystal clear to you now."

That made him look up and you could feel his glare from behind the mask. But you stood your ground, tuna can in hand as you scraped the wet food into the cat's bowl. "I'm not bending on this. If you hurt or kill Mayhem, that's it. I have few lines and my cat is one of those lines."

When you stood up, Michael wasn't looking at you anymore. He was looking at a photo on the table of you and your dad and you knew his question, even if he didn't say it. You sighed, leaning on the entryway. "Him will be a harder ask. He'll actively be working against you but... if you have to, just..."

You didn't know how to ask Michael Myers to just maim your father and not kill him, if he had to. You weren't sure he had that leisure. Mayhem at least wasn't actively trying to find and hurt Michael, that was an easier ask. "Try not to kill him? I can't really hold you to that one but..."

He just gave you a look, one you knew was weird. "Don't gimme that, I can't force you to not kill him when I know he won't give you that same courtesy. But it's not like I want him to die! It's just... a hazard of the trade I guess." Michael seemed satisfied with that, turning his attention to Mayhem who was still eating. Slowly, he leaned down and stroked the cat's short, black fur a bit, which made you smile.

At least you were on the same page there.

"Do you want me to wash your clothes? I haven't really had the chance to shop for spare clothes for you but the sweats you borrowed are clean." His head turned slightly towards you. "And I, um, have your shirt still..." He faced you now and you could feel the smugness radiating off of him. "Regardless, I need to wash my face before someone sees me."

You untied your boots and left them at the door, padding up the stairs to the bathroom, leaving Michael in the kitchen. You wet some paper towels in attempts to clean the blood, not wanting to risk your dad questioning you about it. You could just flush the paper towels and be rid of the whole experience, no evidence you were ever there.

It was difficult since they kept tearing from the water, but eventually you'd done it. You applied some lotion to get the smell off and disposed of the bloody rags and turned to your entryway, now occupied by Michael Myers. Who was staring at you blankly.

You supposed all of his looks were blank. You just projected emotions onto them. You'd have to learn not to do that.

"Hey, sorry, you want to shower?" Before you could even move to leave the room, he unzipped the jumpsuit, leaving you speechless. You gasped in horror at the state of his chest, the black shirt was gone and left his bandages on display, dirty and stained with reddish brown blood and yellow pus from the drainage. It reeked horribly of infection. "Michael!" You stepped towards him quickly, pushing the rest of the top of the jumpsuit off to get a better look. "I'll get these off, Christ, you should have come to me when it got this bad! With how wet its been..." You ran a hand through your hair before grabbing the first aid kit, mentally thanking yourself for remembering to stock up.

You managed to cut Michael free of the bandages, almost gagging in horror when you saw the state of his wounds. You should have stitched him up, should have done SOMETHING. You weren't a doctor, you were squeamish on a normal day! Undressing Michael couldn't even phase you at that point, too horrified at the state he was in.

He wouldn't budge on the mask though.

"Michael, if you're running a fever I need to be able to check. So either let me touch your forehead or I'm touching your neck." He pressed the bloodstained knife to your neck but you stared him down, glaring. "No, this could kill you Michael. Be mad all you want, this is what we need to do now."

He didn't budge. You sighed. "If I close my eyes, will you let me do it?" The tension leaving his shoulders almost... confused you. Did he not like to be looked at? You doubted he was disfigured or something like that. His mugshots on the news were evidence enough. You knew he was pretty.

But you didn't tell him any of this, just shut your eyes and held your hand out. When a few minutes went by without Michael moving, you thought he had just taken the chance to get in the shower, your protests be damned. As you mentally braced to get in the shower after him, clothes and all, you felt him take your wrist and press it to his neck. No rubber mask in the way. It felt like an electric current shot down your arm, goosebumps rising despite the room warming from your bodies in the close space.

He was warm but definitely showing feverish signs. You didn't linger touching him more than strictly necessary, partially for his comfort and partially because you liked living. "I'll see if we have any medicine for you to take. I won't look at you, you can get in the shower." You paused. "Be careful with your injuries. I'll look for a sewing kit or something I can use to stitch you up."

You moved your hand from his neck with the intention to pull away but his tight grip kept you from pulling entirely away. Your eyes stayed shut tight even when he tugged your wrist back towards him, your fingers gracing his cheek before he made a gruff sound. The silence was deafening as he let your fingers ghost over his cheek, hotter than his neck was.

Before you could say a word, he pulled away entirely and you heard the shower curtains open and close, the water turning on. Your eyes opened to stare at the empty space he had occupied and you stared at your hand as though it had offended you.

What... was that?

You learnt pretty quickly how Michael handled being touched. While he tolerated you checking him for illness, he rejected most other forms of touch from you. Over the next few days, you did your best to hide him from your father and were almost too grateful for his new late hours. Michael’s injuries may put him out of commission for too short a time though.

As horrible as it was, you needed your father busy so you could tend to Michael. Even if that implied people had to die. You wondered, as you sat on your bed with a feverish serial killer half naked and asleep beside you, if that sort of thinking made you a bad person.

Probably.

Still, you had work to attend to and you worried about Michael getting into trouble if left unattended. God forbid your dad checked upstairs in your room when you weren't home. So, you called in sick for a few days and spent time with Michael at home.

God he was a bitch when he was sick.

He still wore the godforsaken mask everywhere, which you’d expected, but when his fever rose to 101 you kinda hoped he’d give it up for the sake of wanting to cool down. Of course you didn’t tell him this but you knew he knew you glared at him for it.

Michael was getting easier for you to read as well. You could make out the shifts in his body language and eyes better. At first you’d thought it was mostly projecting onto him but now you could tell the differences in his expressions.

Though you always assumed he’d look like he wanted to kill you as he held a knife to his neck, not because you were bargaining with him to eat chicken noodle soup. “Michael, it’s soup. It’ll get you back on your feet faster if you just eat it.” He glanced at the broth and looked back at you like you’d suggested he eats from Mayhem’s bowl. You nearly slammed the bowl down on the table in front of him before crossing your arms at him. “It's chicken, noodles, and carrots. All three of these things I’ve fed you before. If you just try it-“

You nearly screamed when he tried to stand back up. The infection to his gunshot wound was running its course which was the only reason you had so much patience for him. His bitchiness was just because he was sick, you reminded yourself. Michael Myers, the Shape of Haddonfield, probably hadn’t gotten sick before.

That knowledge didn’t make you want to clobber him any less.

With promises that you’d make him pumpkin pie if he ate the fucking soup, he begrudgingly ate it. By this point you knew him well enough to know he liked the fucking soup but still wanted to be a jackass about it.

You threatened to smother him with the pillow when you helped him take medicine to help with sleep. Michael, in response, tried to stand to throw you across the room but he could barely do so with the stitches in his side. You knew taking medication made him anxious enough as it was, so you showed mercy and sat with him and talked to him until he fell asleep, rubbing slow circles in his back.

He tolerated it, too exhausted to fight you on the touch.

He was awfully cute when he slept. Even with the mask on. It was really strange dealing with a sick Michael Myers and you felt incredibly out of your element.

At this moment, Michael seemed almost painfully human.

If you didn't know what he did for a hobby, you'd be infatuated with the sleeping man. The slow rise and fall of his chest made something in your own chest clench almost painfully. The two of you both had extended a lot of trust to each other, almost shocking amounts. You'd only known each other a short time but he was... very trusting to you.

You stood up from the bed slowly, pondering his motives. You had met him with kindness where most others met him with aggression or violence. Perhaps your kindness was a welcome change to his life. Or maybe he just liked your cooking and bedside manner enough to not kill you. You were more useful to him alive than dead, you figured.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs made your stomach churn with an icy feeling. You shut the door to your room quietly and padded downstairs, meeting your fathers tired face. "Hey dad, how was work?"

"Busy, extremely busy," he sighed, sitting down on one of the worn wooden chairs around the dining room table. "I'm only on my lunch break, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

You tilted your head with a soft smile. "Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?" You tried to cheer him up, nudging his leg with your foot. "Everything's alright-"

"Son, Michael Myers killed a man close to the store the same day you went out. And when I went to talk with your boss, she mentioned seeing a strange man watching the store when you're there. And now you're home on sick leave." He leveled you with a stern, worried look. "Have you... seen Myers at all? Is that why you're staying home?"

Your stomach plummeted but you kept your smile, unwavering. "No, I haven't. Kinda hard to miss a man in a Halloween costume wandering around." You stifled a giggle with what you hoped passed as a nervous cough, thinking about said man asleep upstairs in his Halloween costume. Wrapped with fresh bandages you bought for him after feeding him soup you made for him. "I just... yeah, I was a little worried after everything you told me. Just... wanted to stay safe, like you said. I'll be back to work in a few days, promise." You did your best to look nervous, chewing on your lower lip.

Your father sighed before standing up and pulling you in for a hug. "Just... let me know if anything happens, alright? If Myers is stalking you..."

Squeezing your dad, you cut him off. "I doubt he's after me. Maybe he's just looking for Laurie Strode. Have you talked to her yet?"

He gave you a sheepish look. "We have but we... hesitate to alert her that he's out and about. Haddonfield knows there's a killer on the loose but not who it is." Your dad sighed, pulling away from you to rub his face. "Though with Halloween approaching... I guess it's only a matter of time. Maybe I should make a statement..."

Shooting him a smile, you drifted your way back towards the stairs. "I'm sure you'll catch him. Maybe if you get the whole town looking, it'll go better?"

"I hope you're right," your dad sighed with a tired smile. "I'll see you around, be careful alright?" When you gave him a nod, you made your way back upstairs, relieved that it went smoothly.

You hoped Michael got better soon...

Luckily for you - and though perhaps unluckily for the rest of the town - Michael was back on his feet after a few days. He was still a bit warm but you knew it was fruitless to try and keep him inside any more than he had to. You didn't fight him too hard on it, you knew he needed to make another appearance in town or else he'd risk you both.

You could only stay on sick leave for so long.

His stitches came out easy enough and his wound was healing decently. You warned him to be careful and come back before his bandages got too dirty. He gave you a strange, almost fond look at that. But you assumed you were just projecting onto him.

You got a few days of relative peace. Your father was busy dealing with a recent killing in town, presumably Michael's doing, and was rarely home nowadays. It had been a few days since you properly saw Michael and you hoped that was just because his bandages were holding up.

Currently, you had your headphones in as you walked around town, carrying a small backpack with water and a book. You'd spent the afternoon at the park, reading. It was unlikely Michael had been watching you, you hadn't felt his eyes on you. But you still felt obligated to get outside, take a break after being inside for so long with a sick killer.

You frowned at the sight of a cop car parked along the side of the road, the window rolled down and you could faintly hear radio chatter. When you pulled your headphones off, you could hear static-riddled chatter. "All units respond, multiple fatalities reported on Orange Grove Ave. Suspect has been identified as one Michael Myers. He is armed and extremely dangerous, shoot to kill. I repeat, shoot to kill."

You felt your stomach drop, looking around for the officer whose car it was. You didn't see anyone and you wondered if they were already hunting Michael down. You knew Orange Grove Ave was the street just ahead of you so you took off running. If they hadn't found Michael yet, you might be able to warn him. The last thing he needed right now was more gunshot wounds.

Rounding the corner of the street, you looked around. You saw nothing immediately. It was only after squinting down the street, you noticed the cop car. Fuck. You took off running, mentally scolding yourself for not checking in with him sooner. Something should have been up when you didn't feel him watching you over the past few days, you should have gone looking for him.

Now people were dead and it was partially your fault.

As you got closer, you took in the scene. A cop dead, hanging halfway out of the car, and his partner had his gun out and aimed at the perpetrator: Michael. Who stood there calmly, stabbing the dead cop over and over again. The officer noticed you first, ordering you to get away and get inside.

Michael looked up from his task, staring at you. In the thrill of his kill, he stared at you with empty, hateful eyes. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the officer pleading with you to leave. He was younger, you recognized. Newer to the force and unwilling to take a shot on Michael. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and took a slow step back.

The Boogeyman's eyes tracked your movements, tilting his head curiously. You kept your eyes on him as you took another step back, glancing to your right at a small alley between the houses. Overrun with grass, a dirt path, and a clear way out. All Michael needed was a moment to disappear.

So you took off running, ducking beside the house. You smiled a bit when you saw him move towards you out of the corner of your eye just before he was out of sight. You padded down the dirt path and came out the other end of the street, looking over your shoulder just in time to see him walking after you.

You wondered if he killed the cop. You tried to not worry about it, taking off running. He was following you, you could get him out of here before more cops showed up. Hopefully.

Cardio was never your specialty but you ran long enough to get him into the forest, far enough away from the streets to be safe, before slowing to a stop by a tree trunk to catch your breath. You looked over your shoulder and saw him coming closer, fresh blood staining his jumpsuit and knife and you laughed at the ridiculous nature of all of this. You jumped atop the stump and sighed exasperatedly. "Maybe I should learn to fight, just in case you get stuck like that again, huh?" Michael didn't stop coming towards you, now only a few dozen feet away. "Or start carrying a weapon. What sort of trouble have you gotten up to?"

Something was off though, you noticed that immediately and your smile fell. He was marching after you with purpose. Intent to kill.

So, you did the dumbest thing you could think of: you shrugged your backpack off and, as he got closer, you used the slight advantage of the stump to kick him square in the chest, winding him. He reeled back, breathing picking up, and giving you the opening you needed. You jumped down and lunged for his knife, ripping it from his briefly-loosened fingers and tossing it aside. He glared at you but you stood your ground, glaring right back at him.

But the look to kill wasn't in his eyes anymore.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" You asked, putting your hands on your hips and staring him down. He simply blinked slowly, like you were speaking another language. "I help you get away and you think about killing me? Uncool." He stepped away to pick up his knife, holding it loosely in his hand. Just to have it, no intent to use it now. A sigh left your lips as your arms dropped to your sides. "Look," you mumbled to his back, "if you don't need me around for things other than... feeding you and fixing you up, that's fine." It wasn't. But you didn't tell him that. "I can do that. Just... where do we even stand?"

His head turned towards you but he kept his back to you. You glared at the navy material of his jumpsuit, arms crossing over your chest. "I get you aren't... great with feelings. But I thought we had some sort of partnership going. Was I wrong?" Michael said nothing, but you could see the tension in his shoulders and you frowned. "What changed? Was it me being there on your hunt?" When you said that, he looked away from you. Okay, you were getting somewhere.

A thought occurred to you. It was a stretch but... "Did you... think I was turning you in?" He didn't react. "Or were you worried I was going to get hurt?" At that, he turned around and grabbed you by the neck, pinning you to a tree. The hand still holding the knife clenched it tight, knuckled whitening as he stared at you. It was then you realized the issue: The Shape of Haddonfield cannot afford to feel anything. He doesn't, as far as anyone is concerned.

But you had shown him kindness, kindness he likely hadn't been shown since he was a kid. Despite everything, Michael cared about you. And that frustrated him.

Even with the blade of his knife held up to you, you felt your shoulders relax and you gave him a soft look. "I'm sorry if I worried you," you pointedly avoided suggesting you scared him. He'd take it the wrong way. "I was worried about you too. I heard the cops over the radio mentioned shooting you on sight so I went looking for you."

His grip on your neck tightened ever so slightly. "I know- I know you're used to it," you croaked out, gripping his arm gently and squeezing back, "but I'm not used to hearing about it. We're- we're a team. A fucked up team. I'm not-" He loosened his grip slowly as you stumbled over your words. Sighing and closing your eyes, you finally admitted it. To yourself and to him. "I don't want you to die."

Staring at the shadowed holes of his eyes, you almost didn't hear the police sirens coming closer. Red and blue lights lit up the dim forest as you stared at each other. Slowly, he let you go and you felt him glance towards the source of the annoyance but you took his wrist. "C'mon," you whispered, "let's get home. They may not think to look there." It was a bit a ways away but you were counting on the cops assuming it was impossible.

When he didn't move, you picked up a branch nearby and threw it in the opposite direction of your house and the cops directed their attention towards the sound, their voices and radio static getting fainter and fainter.

You led the way back home, Michael following you closely as you crept your way through the forest towards the house. You smiled to yourself with a fond shake of your head.

The Heelshire family was stupidly rich, that much was explicitly clear to you.

At first it wasn't the huge house, although that was impressive. It was closer to a castle than an actual house, dark wooden interiors with beautiful columns and filled with custom paintings and old, classical music. But any rich persons house could, in theory, resemble this.

What really sold it to you was the gardens. The elevated gardens with hedge dividers, beautiful flowers, and well-kept vegetable garden. Stupidly rich people like the Heelshires could afford to hire a gardener to keep things well-maintained. The gardens were so beautiful you couldn't help but freeze when passing by the ornate glass window that led outside. After being stuck in the car for a two hour drive, being on an airplane for eight hours, and stress-packing in order to get here, getting a chance to be outside was a welcomed thing.

The cobblestone path outside was soaked with the falling rain but that didn't stop you from opening the doors and stepping out to take it in. The smell of the rain and flowers and the slight chill that soaked into you like water to a sponge. You took in the sight of the wet lanterns reflecting in curious ways along the various winding paths. The slight breeze blew some of the water onto your shirt and made you shiver. The nice dress shirt and dress pants you wore did little to shield you from the chill but you always loved the cold.

You fell in love with it immediately.

"Sir?" You jolted from your thoughts, spinning to be greeted with the face of a man. "Are you alright?"

Blinking, you took in his appearance. Dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in street clothes so he must be another worker like you, and slight stubble. "Y-yes," you straightened up and stuck your hand out, "I'm, um, here for the new nanny position."

The man's eyes widened slightly but he quickly covered it with a smile and shaking your hand as you exchanged names. "I'm Malcom, the grocery man. Didn't think the Heelshires were taking male nannies."

You tilted your head curiously. "Why wouldn't they?" You knew your resume may have made you slightly overqualified for the position, your ex only tolerating you to pursue certain jobs. Childcare had been one. You knew CPR, were qualified to teach up to grade five, and knew how to care for children as young as three weeks old. You knew you were fit for the position, gender be damned.

Malcom shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. "They've spoken to a dozen or so ladies interested but... none have been accepted. Just assumed they were after women."

Now that intrigued you. "They kept rejecting people?"

The other man nodded. "Brahms didn't like them. But you're different... I have hopes you'll be good for the job." He gave you a slight smile and a wink before heading towards what you assumed was the kitchen. What he said piqued your interest. Brahms didn't like them? Wasn't Brahms the kid? They'd mentioned so in the ad they had a single son, so you had to assume.

Surely he can't be that high maintenance, right?

It was a bit odd to you that the windows were sealed and they had such a strict policy on food and rats. Why not just get a cat, you wondered to yourself. Plus, wouldn't the house get ridiculously hot in summer with no way to vent it out? But you kept your comments to yourself, nodding and smiling throughout your tour of the house. You asked a question or two about the garden, a part of you giddy to learn that you could be left in charge of it if you got the job.

Mrs and Mr Heelshire seemed nice enough, if a bit high-strung. Though you could understand that, they'd spent most of their time inside and hadn't gone on vacation since their son was born. When glancing at the painting on the stairway, you assumed the boy was likely between the ages of 9 and 12.

Though you were a bit confused when you noticed the parents looked much younger in that photo.

A lot of your questions were answered when you met Brahms. A pretty, porcelain doll dressed in a nice suit. You were able to put the pieces together quick and reacted fast enough to save face, smiling at the doll and shaking his hand. "Hello Brahms, lovely to meet you." Mrs Heelshire seemed relieved that you didn't immediately freak out.

Though it was a bit odd of her to teach you to wake and dress Brahms, you did fairly well you thought. Treating him like a young boy instead of a baby earned you an approving smile from Mrs Heelshire. Though she was understanding when you struggled with the three piece suits, reassuring you that you'd get the hang of it.

When the Heelshires disappeared with the doll into his room to "discuss" with Brahms if you made the cut, you felt a strong compulsion to listen in. But you wanted to be respectful and you floated back downstairs, sticking your arms out and spinning on your toes around the entryway. You reminded yourself of a disney princess spinning around her castle, about to break into song. You paused in front of the door to the gardens again, humming as you opened the door dramatically.

Stepping outside again, you took it all in again. It was beautiful, you couldn't lie. Rubbing your shoulders with your hands, you spun slowly and only stopped when you bumped lightly into a wrought iron chair at the little seating area. Giggling, you didn't mind the rain soaking your clothes. But your employers may, so you ducked back inside, being careful to wipe your shoes.

The sound of Mrs Heelshire's voice calling you alerted you to her appearance over the banister of the stairs. "Brahms has chosen you." She smiled warmly and you could have shrieked with excitement. You got the job, thank god...

That night, the storm grew to be so great you could hear sticks and leaves hitting the panes of your window all night. You jerked awake with a gasp after having a nightmare of tight spaces and a boy laughing. Rubbing your bare arms, you looked around your room. You didn't pack much in the way of pyjamas and you made do with a pair of sleep pants. The blankets kept you warm enough to not warrant a shirt. Glancing at the window, the curtains closed, you could still make out the dark sky. So dark you would have assumed it was midnight if your clock didn't read 8:21 AM.

Mrs Heelshire's anguished cries surprised you and you stumbled from your bed to pull on a shirt. Making a mad dash to Brahms' room, you froze at the sight of the woman kneeling in the room to pick up a few broken toys. "Brahms how could you?!" She wailed at the doll seated in a chair, dressed but empty of emotions. "You promised you'd be good Brahms, you have to be. You promised!"

Her cries haunted you as you carried Brahms down the stairs, trailing after his parents with their suitcases. "Malcom will bring you your paycheck every week," Mr Heelshire rattled off as they pulled their jackets and hats on. "We'll be back. Thank you so much for this, it's been so long since we went on holiday."

Mrs Heelshire pressed a kiss to the dolls cheek before bringing you in for a hug, which surprised you. "I'm so sorry," her voice was shaking as she whispered in your ear. Your stomach plummeted and you felt faint. What did she mean? What was she sorry for?

As you watched the car pull away, holding the doll on your hip, you wondered what you'd really gotten yourself into.

Looking over the lists Mr Heelshire left for you on how to care for Brahms, you noted it was about 9:30 am now and the daily routine left by Mrs Heelshire said Brahms would want to be read to. Looking at the doll and back at the list, you hummed. "Well Brahms," you set the doll down in a chair and crouched down so you were communicating face to face. "Usually when you have a guest over, its polite to give them a tour of the house and let them get familiar. How about, just for today, you show me around the house. We'll have lunch at your normal time and we'll spend the afternoon outside if the rain clears up!" Brahms stared at you silently. It felt a bit silly talking to the doll but you'd go crazy talking to no one.

Brahms was better than solitude.

Scooping up the doll in your arms, you explored the house a bit closer, asking him questions like he was a real boy. His favorite books, favorite music, favorite games, and things like that. You explored the various sitting rooms, the library, a few spare guest rooms, and pointedly avoided Brahms' parent's room out of respect.

In the music room, you decided to give Brahms a bit of normalcy and you played music loud for him, just like in the rules. Setting Brahms down in a chair, you surveyed the options. You were impressed by how many options the Heelshires had, selecting a nice classical music and setting it up in the record player. The sounds of Tchaikovsky filled the air, soft music amplified by the volume. You turned towards the doll with a curious look. "Do you dance?" You asked the doll as you sauntered up, extending your hand to him. "It's okay if you don't know how, I can teach you." A beat of silence. "C'mere!" You called joyously before scooping up the doll in your arms.

Of course you had to lead the dance, the doll certainly couldn't. But you directed the doll how to move like he were real, showing him how to ballroom dance. You danced around the room with the doll till the song ended, collapsing to the chair with heavy breathing and grinning wildly at the porcelain face. You rushed over to lift the needle off the record and turned to face the doll.

"I used to be a dancer, y'know? I did ballet in my youth, was going to make it my career before... well, before. I miss it." You trailed off as you picked the doll up gently, brushing the hair gently. "Maybe I'll show you someday."

Lunch was shortly after, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without crust, a glass of milk, some salad, and blueberries. You chatted with Brahms about his parents, jokingly mentioning they could get a cat to solve the rat problem. Plus you did love cats... Maybe you'd consider the cat as an alternate to the traps. You mentioned to Brahms it was inhumane and made you sick, frankly. Brahms stared blankly the entire time.

The rain outside was lighter now so you wrapped yourself and Brahms up in jackets and ventured out into the gardens, taking your time to explore and chatting with the doll about the various things you wanted to do. The blueberry and blackberry bush looked ready for harvesting and you mentioned to Brahms they could make an afternoon out of harvesting them sometime this week.

When you finally arrived home, it was nearly dinner time. You'd spent hours out there, taking in the beauty properly until the rain picked back up again until you had no choice but to go inside. You wiped Brahms' face off with a soft cloth and thanking him for letting you explore and get to see his house. For good behavior, you promised cookies after dinner. Pasta would be easy and good for leftovers for a few days, so you set to work boiling water and pouring in noodles.

Loud knocking at the door startled you from the boiling pot of pasta you had going and interrupted your browsing of the cupboards for sauce.

You opened the door and was surprised to see a drenched Malcom at the door. "Malcom? What brings you here?"

The man shuffled his way through the door, pushing past your arms that were braced on the doorframe. "Sorry to drop in unannounced, just, uh, wanted to see how your first day went."

You gave him a polite smile, venturing back into the kitchen. "It went very well! Brahms is very well behaved and a lovely dancer." His confused expression could've made you laugh as you led the way into the kitchen. "Though, according to the rules, you're only supposed to come by to deliver groceries."

Malcom shrugged, leaning on the entryway into the kitchen and glancing quickly at the doll. "Well, I won't tell if you don't."

You selected a jar of organic Alfredo sauce and opened the freezer, looking for chicken breasts. "Will you be staying long? I'd like to keep to Brahms' schedule for a few days until we get a routine going."

At that, Malcom looked surprised. "You're... seriously going to care for the doll?"

You gave him a quizzical look before pulling chicken breasts from the freezer, heading to the cupboards to get a plate to try and defrost them. "Why wouldn't I? It's what I'm here to do. Besides, it's better than staying in this big house alone."

Malcom gave you a look like you were crazy. "The last nanny was freaked out by his eyes, said he was creepy."

"Well I think he's cute. The Heelshires are clearly mourning their son, I'm not going to disrespect that in their own home." You were firm with him, not interested in bending on it. You slid the chicken in the microwave for a quick defrost. "Besides, why does it concern you what I do?"

"Well I was hoping you'd accompany me into town this Friday. But if you're babysitting..." He trailed off, trying to see if he could get you to drop it. Like a date with him was worth it.

The look you gave him was closed off. "I just got out of a thing. A really bad thing. I'm not... looking for that again, sorry." Malcom seemed to deflate.

"You'd rather hang out with a doll than a real person?" Malcom's voice was a bit harsh and you felt your eye twitch at the toxic familiarity oozing into your bones. You knew this trick, you did. "Maybe you really are perfect for this job if-"

"I think you should go." You cut him off harshly, gripping the knife you'd use to cut the chicken with. Your eyes fixed on the cutting board, unwilling to look at Malcom.

The silence was deafening before Malcom nodded. "Alright. Sorry to disturb you." You let him show himself out, only letting go of the white knuckled grip you had on the knife once you heard the door shut. Only then did you set the blade down and march with purpose to the front door to lock it.

"Sorry about that Brahms," you apologized softly when you stepped back into the kitchen, feeling shaken for some reason. "He won't be a frequent visitor, he'll only bring groceries. I promise."

Brahms said nothing.

Dinner was a peaceful affair, Alfredo chicken and pasta was a simple but delicious meal. You were careful to only make enough for a bowl of leftovers, not interested in wasting food. It was nearly Brahms' bedtime by the time you'd cleaned up so you carried him upstairs.

When you passed by your room, you came to a slow stop. "Brahms, this is the room I'll be staying in," you opened the door slightly to let him see. "If you need anything in the night, you can come here and I'll help, okay?" It was a protocol you always gave the children you minded. You wanted them to trust you and know exactly where to go if they needed you, for any reason.

Brahms of course would have very little needs. But it was the thought that counted, you'd feel more at peace telling him.

You dressed him for bed and lay him down. You chose a story at random from the little shelf beside him, looking it over curiously. The story was a bit... advanced for a typical boy, even one of Brahms' age. But you read it to him anyways, clear and pronounced like Mrs Heelshire told you. After the day you'd had, kissing the doll goodnight was not even the weirdest thing that happened to you.

After clicking the little lamp off and plunging the boys room into darkness, you left the door cracked and made your way back into your room, shutting the door and pressing your back against it. The storm outside had picked back up, thick raindrops falling down the glass of the window. You practically threw yourself into bed, exhausted emotionally and physically. You barely had the thought to undress yourself down to your boxers and wrap yourself in the blankets in place of pyjamas.

The rest of your first few weeks went smoothly, quickly developing a routine with Brahms. You'd wake him and dress him before bringing him down for breakfast, usually eggs and toast unless you felt a bit more adventurous. The early day would be spent reading and listening to music before lunch and then you'd take Brahms out to take care of the traps and spend time in the gardens. Dinner would be eaten and, if the evening was still young, you'd read to Brahms some more before bed. Of course, you'd never miss his bedtime story and kiss.

You kept to the schedule. You liked it, genuinely. It was nice to know exactly how the day was going to go. The rules weren't hard to follow and you felt good doing something with yourself.

Whenever Malcom visited, you were polite but curt. You had no interest in him romantically and he'd already rubbed you all the wrong ways. You made a point to carry Brahms everywhere when he visited, even kissing the dolls forehead a few times.

At one point, a month into your stay, you'd come into your room after tucking Brahms in to find a beautiful white dress, decorated with flowers in the sheer, layered skirt. Blinking, you approached it slowly and looked over the material. You were pretty sure you could fit in the dress but you had no idea where it came from. What made you nervous was a little note with a few simple words scrawled on it: "Will you dance with me?"

Biting your lip, you weighed the pros and cons in your mind. On one hand, it could just be Malcom. You'd mentioned dancing to him briefly and he could have set it up. On the other hand... why would you dance alone in the house?

Still, the next morning you greeted Brahms in the dress, blushing over breakfast as you tried to reason with an inanimate doll why you were in a dress. You weren't a girl, you weren't particularly feminine, but... it made you feel pretty. And you were curious how it would feel to dance around in the proper outfit.

You pretended you weren't speedwalking to the music room.

Spinning and dancing around the room in the pretty dress made you feel light. The little doll made a cute dancing partner and made you feel a little less stupid at least.

It was nice, you admitted to yourself. It felt nice.

Things changed after about a month and a half into your stay.

You'd woken up suddenly, blinking around your dark room and reaching for your lamp. When the golden light filtered through your room, you were suddenly aware of the doll sitting at the foot of your bed. "Brahms?" You asked, genuinely surprised. Lifting the doll into your arms, you smoothed his hair back for a moment. "How did you-? What is-?" You looked at the open darkness of your door, lit only by your lamp, and felt your stomach sink. Was there an intruder? Was Malcom trying to freak you out?

The panic set in quick and you felt your breathing pick up, swinging your legs over the side of your bed and hurrying to shut the door, locking it. You were only acutely aware of the tears falling down your cheeks as you pressed your back to the wooden door, staring at the doll laying on your bed.

You lay down despite your tremors, tucking Brahms into the bed beside you and rubbing your face. If someone was in the house, you weren't going to question their motives of leaving the doll with you. You turned to face the pale doll. "It's okay Brahms," you whispered softly, "I won't let anyone hurt you. You'll be okay, you're safe, it's okay." Mumbling reassurances over and over, more for yourself than the doll at one point.

You only knew you fell asleep because you woke up late that morning.

You'd crept around the house clutching the doll, looking around for anything missing or taken. By the time lunch rolled around, you felt stupid for being so scared. You sat across the table from Brahms as you stirred the cup of coffee you'd made, the only thing you could stomach. "Am I crazy?" You asked no one, eyes fixated on the table. "Is this all just... nothing? Am I overthinking taking care of a doll?" You lifted your teary eyes to look at Brahms.

"Are you real?"

The silence made your ears ring. The silence was broken only by your broken sobbing.

You tucked Brahms into bed that night and kissed his forehead. You double checked all the locks in the house, confirming everything was safe. You crept back to your room and fell into the bed with the light still on, just in case. Feeling like vomiting, you buried your face in your pillow until you fell asleep. Waking up that night didn't alarm you at first, blinking at the darkness of your room.

Your heart sank when you noticed it was dark.

Jerking to sit up, you were met face to face with a doll's face and you shrieked, the two of you stumbling backwards as you clicked your lamp back on.

A grown man in a porcelain mask was sitting at the foot of your bed and you were hit with a wave of deja vu. You barely recognized your own voice when you spoke.

"...Brahms?"

Your hand swirled the warm bathwater around before you poured the cap of bubble bath into the water. The shock hadn't properly set in but you tried to go over what you knew, again, in your head: Brahms Heelshire was alive. He wasn't a ghost. But you didn't know why.

Why was he declared dead? Why did his parents have a doll of him when he was alive? Why was he living in the walls?

But you decided to focus on the task at hand for now. Perhaps Malcom could give you an idea when he brought groceries tomorrow. "Brahms?" You spoke softly and the man's head snapped up. "Bath's ready." You politely looked away as the man stripped down to get in, focusing instead on looking for a washcloth in the master bathroom. You'd avoided venturing into the master bedroom out of respect for his parents but after this, you figured they'd be fine with it.

The man left his clothes in a puddle, a dark dirty stain on the clean marble tiles. You'd throw his clothes in the wash later, focusing on the man now lounging in the bath, seeming relieved at the hot water. You could tell he hadn't had a bath in a long time.

That worried you.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, you locked eyes with the man. He had dark eyes, amplified by the shadows cast by his mask. "I'll need to wash your hair, is that okay?" Your voice echoed off the walls of the bathroom, the two of you sticking out in the ornate, elegant bathroom.

"Please," his voice was soft and pleading as he sat up to grip your wrist with a wet hand. You nodded and moved to sit behind Brahms but he still didn't let you go.

Uncapping the shampoo and squirting some of the chilled, blue liquid into your hand, you looked at Brahms again. He'd turned slightly to look at you and tracked your movements with his eyes. "Can you lean back so we can get your hair wet?" Brahms seemed to contemplate this for a moment before laying back gently in the water, letting you use a hand to guide him. His hair felt dirty and mangled but you hid your grimace with a smile as he got his hair wet.

Thank god the tub was big enough, he had to be at least six feet tall.

"Thank you Brahms," you hummed once he sat back up and you began working the shampoo into his hair. He whined at the knots you tried to untangle, eventually pausing to get a brush from the drawers in order to speed up the process. His hair was naturally very curly but even this was a bit ridiculous. You showered Brahms in praise after every knot was untangled until his hair was cleaned. Using conditioner helped and Brahms seemed to love the attention.

Maybe a bit too much. You pointedly did not look in the water as you worked.

You rinsed your hands off in the sink before addressing him, wincing at the dingy water. "I think it'll help to get you in a shower so you can wash your body." You didn't need to see Brahms's face to know he was pouting. But you spoke up before he could argue. "If you get yourself washed, we can have snacks downstairs. But you'll need to be good for me, okay?"

He seemed to contemplate this for a moment and you briefly worried you'd interpreted this wrong. He liked being treated like a child, you suspected traumatic reasons, so you were trying to take that into account. But he nodded confirmation and started to stand so you turned away quickly.

God he had thick chest hair- Stay focused. You shook your head slightly like you could shake him from your thoughts. You stepped towards the shower, a separate unit from the tub thankfully, and started it up. Once the water was a sufficient temperature, you gestured for Brahms to get in, pointedly turning to not look at him.

Once he was in, you passed him the washcloth and told him to clean well.

It was... a process to get everything cleaned up. Emptying the tub, getting Brahms's clothes into the washing machine, and changing your wet shirt barely gave you enough time to search for clean clothes. You expected Brahms would be getting out soon so you needed to be quick.

His dad had lounge pants and a tank top that might fit Brahms, at least until you could get clothes in his size. Malcom would have to deliver them and you worried he'd piece things together.

Still, you set the clothes on the counter and glanced at the fogged shower, exhaling in relief that Brahms was still showering.

Once Brahms was cleaned and dressed, you took the time to blow dry his hair, getting him to sit on a chair in front of the mirror. The mask was cleaner and you assumed he cleaned it and you paused in your ministrations. "Brahms, did you wash your face and your mask or just the mask?"

Brahms hung his head. "Mask..." His voice was soft, like he expected you to yell at him.

"I'll need to clean your face then, is that okay?" Brahms glanced up at you and you made eye contact in the mirror. Seeming to make a decision, he nodded slightly.

Getting a clean washcloth and face soap from the shower, you returned to Brahms and reached for the mask slowly.

Your heart ached at the scars on his face, clearly burns from a fire. His eyes had flecks of green to them, more visible in the light. His facial hair was a mess and he stared up at you with such a soft look. Your mouth fell slightly agape and you noticed Brahms flinch.

"Brahms?" He hummed in acknowledgement when you spoke, "close your eyes so I can wash your face, okay?" He nodded nervously and shut his eyes. He had nice eyelashes, you thought to yourself as you brought the warm, sudsy washcloth to his cheek.

The house was silent as you stared across the room at the Sinclair brothers. Peter and Michael were upstairs, locked away safe for their naps, while you tried to process everything you'd learnt over the past few hours. Lester avoided meeting your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor. Bo was pacing in the kitchen, looking agitated but knowing better than to lash out. Vincent looked tranquil, almost zoned out, in one of the dining room chairs. You had taken over the couch, where you sat with your arms crossed over your chest in thought. What had you learned?

For starters, you knew after Vincent was meant to take you and the kids to the House of Wax, Bo and Lester had gone looking for your ex's other friends and killed them. Their bodies were downstairs with the rest, ready to be made into wax figures.

You also knew the brothers had all participated in killing your ex. Bo promises it was very painful and will continue to be painful until they die. Shockingly, this didn't bother you as much as everything else did. You decided to circle back to those feelings later.

Most importantly, you knew the brothers had no plans to hurt you or the boys. They genuinely cared for you in whatever capacity they had. But that didn't necessarily make you feel any safer, considering Vincent and Bo had made their deceased mother into wax.

"We are genuinely sorry, Sweetpea." Lester piped up, more of a mumble than anything. "We didn't think you'd see it so quick. Thought we'd have at least a day before..." He trailed off, chewing nervously on his fingernails.

"Before what?" You asked, sharper than intended judging by his flinch. "Before you made me into one? Or before you repopulated this ghost town with familiar faces?"

"Don't yell at him, it ain't his fuckin' fault!" Bo snapped at you.

"You told me he shot three people. That's participation, Bo!" You glared at him until he stood down. "I've just learnt the three of you have been kidnapping and killing people to make them into wax. Fucking forgive me for not being totally on board yet." You stood up from the couch, rubbing your hands over your face.

"Yet?" Lester asked, glancing at you with hopeful eyes.

You sighed. "If I'm going to be staying here, eventually I will... come to terms with it." The three brothers seemed to relax at that. "But there will need to be rules..."

"Rules for what?" Vincent signed.

"No involving Peter or Michael until they're old enough to understand. That means they're not allowed to help make the sculptures or using them as bait to get people." You watched their faces, looking for any sign of... anything, really. "I don't want to be involved in it either. I'll... keep house, help strip cars, whatever. But I'm not going to kill people. Or help you make them wax."

The three seemed to share a look before nodding. "Fine with us," Bo shrugged, uncaringly. "Ya can't leave Ambrose though. Keep the boys inside the house and upstairs in Vinny's room when we have guests an' there shouldn't be any issues."

Letting out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, you nodded amicably. You didn't look at them, staring at the unlit fire place as you heard two of them stand and make their way outside. The backdoor swung open and closed and you shut your eyes.

You felt Vincent's too-knowing eyes on you. Turning your head to avoid meeting his gaze didn't make the feeling go away. You knew it was Vincent and you knew what he was thinking about.

...

Your sobs grew in volume as you wept in Vincent's arms. At first, seeing your horrible partner strung up like a turkey as a wax model had scared you. But as reality set in, your sobs shifted from cries of sorrow to... joy. They were gone. Truly gone! They couldn't hurt you or the kids anymore.

Gently, you and Vincent set the boys down and you felt them cling to your legs in confusion. You wrapped your arms around Vincent and let out giddy laughs. He gave you a surprised look as you pressed a sloppy kiss to the lips of his mask. "They're gone," you whispered to him. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates as you caressed his cheeks. "They're fucking gone, oh my god..."

It felt as though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you kissed Vincent again with giddy joy. He tilted his head this time and you swore you felt him kiss back. It was mostly adrenaline that had you kissing him but it felt right still. Like it was the best possible way you could thank him, thank his brothers, for saving you and the boys.

After a moment of kissing him, you turned and smiled wide at your partner in the glass, kneeling down to be eye level with them so they could see your smile. The visible fear in their eyes made your heart pound.

They deserved this.

...

You heard footsteps approach you and felt the masked man nudge your arm. With a sigh, you turned and faced him but didn't look up at his face. "What?" You asked softly. He didn't say or sign anything, just took you into his arms and held you close. When he lay his cheek on the top of your head, you felt the tears you didn't even realize you'd been holding back finally fall. Wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his sweater, you let yourself cry. Everything over the past few days had just been so so stressful for you.

You worried if you were trading one prison with your partner for a new one with the Sinclairs.

Washing the dishes from this morning was something you could do to keep your hands busy. After the events of today, you just needed a minute to yourself. You'd given the boys some crayons and coloring books and were letting them go to town on the pages in the living room. Since this afternoon, Vincent and Bo had been in the backyard cleaning up the cribs.

At first, you'd thought that your sons having cribs with the twins' names on it would be weird. But honestly, that wasn't the weirdest thing anymore.

"Pink dinosaurs, aye?" You heard Lester's voice over the running water. Glancing over your shoulder, you smiled slightly at the sight of the dog Jonesy sniffing and licking your giggling kids under Lester's watchful eyes. The grocery bags had diapers for the boys, baby food, food you liked, that sort of thing. If you were going to be staying, they'd need to provide for you and your boys.

Peter started on a story about Abby the Pink T-Rex who was trying to eat all the other dinos for being mean about how pink she was while Lester led him into the kitchen to set groceries down. Lester nodded along with the story, giving comments when prompted.

Despite everything, the Sinclairs were not cruel to you or the boys. Yet, at least. Though you reminded yourself they liked you

Setting the dishes down, you approached Lester cautiously as he was setting things down in the fridge. You leant against the table and watched him set things into cupboards and fridges, catching his eye every so often. You felt your face warm up at his secret little smiles every time he caught your eyes.

Cute.

"Y'know Vinny an' Bo are crazy about ya?" He spoke up finally. You tilted your head and he continued. "Thats why they wanted ya to stay. Lovesick, the both of them."

You felt your face heat up. "What about you then?"

Lester snapped his head over. "What?" He seemed stunned for some reason.

"Why did you want to keep me around then?"

Lester stared at you for a long moment and smiled at his red face. "Well, they're the oldest so. Gotta do, uh, whatever they ask, y'know?" You approached him slowly and he kept rambling, avoiding your gaze and rubbing his neck. "B-Besides, Vinny told us 'bout you kissing him so obviously he was gonna want ya to st-" You cut him off with a soft kiss.

It was different from your kiss with Vincent. It helped not having a mask to worry about. Lester froze up in surprise for only a moment, he was a quick learner. The man melted gently into the kiss, eyes closing as he tugged you closer. When the two of you parted, he stared at you like you'd hung the stars in the sky. "W-well, Sweetpea, that's, uh," he blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm- I'm flattered, uh," he stuttered as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in for another kiss.

Maybe everything could be okay. You could learn to be happy here.

The sound of Bo's yelling had you flinching again. It had been about three weeks since you'd settled into life with the Sinclair brothers. Your usual routine consisted of waking up Peter and Michael for breakfast each morning, having them dressed and downstairs in time for you to see Lester off before work. Some days you'd make the three boys breakfast but Lester was usually off to work earlier than his brothers woke.

Today, you'd made him lunch before seeing him off. Vincent and Bo would typically fend for themselves for breakfast but you always made lunch.

You'd spend time with your boys once Vincent was at work in the basement and Bo was off to the mechanic shop. Usually Bo preferred to keep his distance from you, still not used to having you around. If Vincent wasn't busy, he'd help entertain Peter and Michael while you did chores. Today you'd dusted and swept the floors but tomorrow you would have to do it again, judging by the plate that had shattered when Bo threw it.

No one had been expecting guests today. Usually it was Lester and Bo who would scout them out to warn everyone. But somehow you being home had infuriated Bo and he was taking it out on you.

Learning sign language was slow-going for you but you knew enough to tell Vincent was trying to defend you from his twin brother. Two of the guests lay bleeding out on the carpet - you made a mental note you'd have to add that to your chores list tomorrow - and Lester had gone chasing the other in his truck when they'd gotten out of Ambrose.

Bo was furious. He and Vincent had been quick but not fast enough to catch the guests before they'd found you sweeping outside. You were too normal, too vulnerable looking with two toddlers around you almost constantly. Said toddlers who you'd shooed upstairs when you saw the rage in Bo Sinclair.

So you stood silently, letting him throw hurtful words, plates, and whatever else he could get his hands on. You were used to that.

"Bo, stop it!" Vincent signed aggressively as another plate shattered at his twins feet, crunching the porcelain under his heavy boots. "They didn't do anything!"

"You don't fuckin' know that!" Bo shouted angrily. "Saw em talkin' with the bastards, bet they were tryin' to get em to SAVE em or some shit! Well too fucking bad bitch!" The mechanic grabbed a pool ball and threw it at you, a yelp escaping you as you ducked just in time for it to smash into the cabinet behind you. Tears fell down your face as Vincent stepped in front of you.

Curling in on yourself, you heard Bo continue. Rambling about how you were trying to escape, tried to convince the survivors to save you and the kids. You could feel yourself shaking and sobbing even though it felt like you were watching yourself more than experiencing it. You felt hands on your arms pull you up and you blinked back tears as you took in Vincent's face. The wax looked cracked in a few places and the shadows of the mask obscured his eyes but you could feel the pity oozing off of him. Bo kept screaming at you, at Vincent, accusing you of betraying them and Vincent pulled you away from the counter and towards the basement.

For a moment you thought Vincent was going to make you into wax - or worse, throw you to Bo - before the front door swung open, cutting off the twins argument. "Hey, Bo, got the last-" He blinked rapidly, taking in the scene of his brothers and you, his face falling at your tears. "Aw, sweetpea, it's okay, ya don't have to see the bodies-"

Bo cut him off. "They're a fuckin' TRAITOR, Les, don't speak to em." His voice was dripping with malice as he glared you down.

Lester looked at him and then to Vincent. "What's... goin' on?"

"THEY were askin' the fuckin' bastards to save them and the brats. They're-" Lester cut Bo off with an unusually sharp look.

"I asked Vince. Wait your turn." Bo seemed stunned into silence at the harshness in Lester's voice. "Vinny, what happened?"

"Two of the survivors came up here when they saw them sweeping," he signed slowly as you wiped your eyes, "I don't know what they said, Bo and I didn't even know they were coming till we were killing them."

Lester nodded slowly, watching you choke back sobs in hopes Bo wouldn't shout again. He stepped towards you confidently before pulling you away from the twins. He fixed Bo with a harsh stare before taking your hand and leading you to the stairs. "We gotta kill em Lester!" Bo shouted. "They're a fuckin' traitor!"

Lester shot Bo a glare at your panicked scream. No, no you didn't want to die, you hadn't done anything-! "Bo, shut the fuck up, yeah?" The older Sinclair seemed shocked at Lester's words as he led you up the stairs.

"Sweetpea, pack your stuff and get the boys ready. We'll stay at my house tonight till Bo's done throwin' his temper tantrum." Lester's soft voice cut through your panic, blinking up at him with teary eyes.

"Your place?" You asked, voice raw from crying. He nodded as he opened the door to his bedroom, Peter and Michael asleep in a little blanket pile on the floor. "W-where's that?"

"Not far from here. I've got a spare room, just need to find somethin' for cribs for the boys..." He seemed to be thinking it over before glancing at you. "Pack for a few days, Bo should be calmed down by then. If not, I'll help ya move the cribs to stay with me."

Blinking rapidly, you nodded quickly and started packing some bags. Lester got the boys in their car seats and helped you carry things to his truck. Bo and Vincent were nowhere to be seen but the door to the basement was open, as was the front door.

You nearly ran into Lester's back when he stopped abruptly in the doorway. Vincent was unloading the body from the back of Lester's truck and had spotted the two of you. Blanching at the body, you hurried to the truck and opened the back door for Lester and your sons. Vincent watched you both, unmoving, as you loaded things into the car and got into the passenger seat.

You watched Lester and Vincent sign to each other, soft mumbles coming from the younger brother. You heard Bo's name a few times and Vincent nodded. The older twin took the body off the truck and headed back inside, Lester hurrying over to shut the door behind him.

The scruffy man got into the truck beside you. Neither of you moved. Slowly, he reached over, took your hand in his, and squeezed lightly. As you squeezed back, he squeezed you harder until you both were white knuckled over how tight you were holding hands. You giggled at his antics, feeling a bit better.

He started up the car and drove off from the twins' house.

Blinking your eyes open, you squinted against the light of the rising sun that leaked through the curtains of the window, casting a column of light over your eyes. Turning over, you blinked sleepily at Lester's sleeping form, blanket down to his waist and black tanktop covering his chest. He was breathing lightly and you felt yourself smile.

After getting to Lester's house, a cute little country home not far from Ambrose, you'd basically collapsed on the bed. The boys were set up on a spare bed upstairs surrounded by pillows to hopefully prevent them from rolling off the bed. You vaguely recall arguing with Lester over him sleeping on the couch before you told him to just sleep in the bed.

Seems you'd won the argument there.

You sat up slowly and surveyed the room. It was fairly similar to Lester's bedroom back at the family home but he'd opted for greys in this new room. There were antlers mounted on the wall, decent condition as well, with a few clothes thrown about the floor. Empty water bottles set on top of his overflowing dresser and there were some posters for bands and movies you didn't recognize.

The whole room felt very much like Lester.

Swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you stretched with a groan. You'd slept in just a shirt and underwear - you could recall Lester blushing over that - and made your way to the guest room.

Peter and Michael were good at keeping themselves entertained. You'd left them with a decent supply of toys and two chilled bottles of milk, in case they needed anything. Besides needing to change them, they had learnt to be fairly self sufficient. With how neglectful your last partner had been, they had to. You kissed them both as they blinked awake, cooing at you.

Breakfast was certainly in order. Pancakes, perhaps, if Lester had the ingredients. You led the boys down the stairs, letting their sleepy recounting of their dreams wash over you while you got them situated on some chairs. Having high chairs had been helpful, you thought to yourself. Well, its not like the boys were fidgety. They could sit on a chair and drink their bottles whilst you got food prepared.

Giving them each a wooden spoon to entertain themselves with, you set to work. There was enough things in the fridge and cupboards for you to make pancakes with sausage and eggs. Perfect!

You'd gotten so into the zone, you didn't even realize the boys squealing and running off to greet Lester, who'd made his way downstairs in his tanktop and sleep pants and was now watching you cook. "I get why Vinny likes watchin' ya so much," his voice close to your ear startled you, "you're awful pretty when you're focused."

Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you kissed his cheek and kissed a giggly Peter who he'd picked up. "Any preference for eggs?"

Lester hummed. "Scrambled with cheese?"

"As you wish," you smiled and started cracking eggs into the sizzling pan. Lester sat on a chair nearby and held Peter in his lap, watching you while he bounced the kid on one knee, Michael talking animatedly about his dinosaurs.

...

"Lester, can you go wake up your brothers? Breakfast is almost ready." Ma smiled at him with a bright look. Lester nodded excitedly before hurrying upstairs, ignoring his father's call to not run in socks. The twins usually slept in late, Ma said it was a nasty habit of fifteen year old boys that she hoped Lester didn't fall into. At only ten years old, Lester wanted nothing more than to please his parents.

Knocking on the dark wood door, Lester waited for a response. When none came, he pushed the door open.

The room was still dark, courtesy of Vincent's blackout curtains, and the twins were obviously still asleep. Creeping over to the bottom bunk, Lester decided it was better to wake Vincent first and let him wake up Bo rather than try to wake them both himself.

He still remembered the black eye Bo had given him last time he'd tried.

Clicking off the wave machine Vincent used to sleep, he nudged his older brother awake. "Vince? Vince, wake up!" The boy rubbed his good eye as he blinked up at Lester, yawning wide. "Breakfast's ready, can ya wake up Bo?" A nod. "Thanks!" Lester whisper-yelled before scampering out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

It wasn't long before the twins were stumbling sleepily after their hyperactive ten-year-old brother, Bo barely even awake when they greeted their parents in the kitchen. "Morning boys," Ma smiled, kissing Vincent on the head as Bo slumped into the nearest chair. "Food's almost ready now."

Ma always made waffles on the weekends.

Vincent brought plates to the table, setting them in front of Bo, Lester, and their dad before sitting down with his own. Dad had just set his newspaper down when he noticed Bo had begun eating. "Bo!" He chastised harshly, "We have to say grace! Have you given up on God, is that what it is?" Lester blinked over at Bo who was chewing thoughtfully on a waffle.

"What's God ever done for us?" He rolled his eyes with a smirk. "'sides, if I was gonna thank anyone for makin' this, it'd be Ma."

Vincent snorted but their father glared them down. "Boys, God saved you two for us. You could'a died but God saved you. Be a bit more grateful, yeah?"

Lester watched the twins share an uneasy look as Bo set his fork down with a harsh clatter. He let out a little internal sigh of relief that Bo and their dad wouldn't be fighting today. When Ma sat down, their father began saying grace. Curiosity got the better of Lester and he peeked an eye open, noticing the twins were just staring at each other, not saying grace. He was going to call them out on it before he saw Vincent sign.

"Do you wish we had died?" Lester felt like someone had dropped a bucket of ice in his stomach.

Bo seemed to contemplate it before signing back, "I wish you had lived and I hadn't." Lester watched Vincent from under his lashes, expecting Vincent to be as horrified as he was.

"I feel the same but about myself. Though I guess if we had been normal, Ma wouldn't have had Lester." The older boy signed before adjusting his hair to cover the side of his face. He looked like he was going to continue but then Ma and Pa opened their eyes and began eating.

Lester stared across the table at Bo and Vincent, his stomach in too many knots to eat. Staring at his plate, he briefly wondered if Vincent was telling the truth.

...

"Les?" Your voice cut through the man's thoughts and you watched his glassy eyes focus on you. "Breakfast's ready." He gave you a slight smile, setting Peter down to let him scramble over to the chair next to his brother. Feeling a rush of concern, you stepped over and kissed the top of the man's head.

"Thank you." He whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your stomach.

"For what?" You giggled at him, running your fingers through his hair.