Work Text:
October 1960
Eight year old Walter Finch was in his room, listening to his radio and reading a book about whales and marine mammals that used to belong to his dead sister Molly, when he heard his other, live sister, Barbara, come up the stairs. She must have just come home from work; she brisked past Walter’s open door, starting to unbutton her uniform as she made her way to her room to change.
“Hey, Walter,” she called from the hallway, not stopping as she walked past.
“Hi, Barbara,” Walter replied.
Walter heard another set of hurried footsteps as Calvin ran past his door, after their sister. “Barbara!” Calvin nearly shouted. Calvin always talked a lot louder than necessary.
“Hi, Cal,” Barbara said in acknowledgement, and Walter heard her footsteps slow down to let him catch up.
“Barbara, come here, you gotta see my Halloween costume!”
Walter heard Barbara sigh. “In a minute, I’m gonna change first.” She said.
“It’s so cool, I made it myself!” Calvin went on, not acknowledging her, “Sam helped! It’s a space suit and it’s got buttons and stuff! And I’m gonna wear my space helmet with it and it’s even gonna be warm enough to wear Trick or Treating because me and Sam made it so–”
“That sounds really great, Calvin, but I need to change before I look at it, so give me a minute!”
“Okay, but you’ll come see right after, right?”
“Yeah, sure, right after. Now, get out of my room!”
“I’m not in your room!” Calvin whined.
“Go talk to Sam! Or Walter! Or literally anyone else, I’ll help you when I’m ready! And don’t wait right outside the door, weirdo!”
Walter winced as he heard the door slam down the hall, and a moment later, Calvin wandered into Walter's room.
“Hi, Walter,” he said, clearly annoyed with Barbara, “whatcha doing? I’m bored. Barbara’s boring.”
“Reading.” Walter said.
“Reading what?”
Walter turned his book to look at the cover. “Marine Mammals,” he read.
“Huh. Is it any good?”
“There’s a lot of long words in it,” Walter said, “so I don’t understand it very much, but it’s kinda cool. Did you know orcas are a kind of dolphin?”
“That’s weird.”
“Mhm.”
“Did you see my Halloween costume?” Calvin asked.
“Mhm. It’s so cool,” Walter said, smiling.
“I know!” Calvin grinned.
“What’s Sam gonna be for Halloween?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I think he should be an alien, cause then it’s like our costumes go together. What are you gonna be?”
“I don’t know.” Walter said. He didn’t really like Halloween much. A lot of the costumes were too scary for him. Sometimes, even the decorations were too much.
“Oh yeah, you don’t like Halloween, do you?” Calvin said with a laugh. “‘Cause you get scared.”
“Dad says it’s okay to be scared,” Walter mumbled.
“I like being scared,” Calvin said, “it’s fun. It’s fun to scare other people too, like Mom and Sam and Barbara and you.”
“I don’t like it, though.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re no fun, Wally-Walter.”
“Hey, I am too fun!”
“Are not.”
“I am too.”
“You’re not either.”
"Yes, I am!"
Calvin rushed forward and pulled the book from Walter's hands, holding it above his head. "No you're not!" He cackled.
"Hey, I was reading that!" Walter whined, jumping up to try to grab it back. Calvin continued to laugh, holding out his arm to push Walter away so he couldn't grab the book. After a minute of struggling, Walter gave up.
"Calvin," he complained, "come on!"
"Okay, fine," Calvin said, handing the book back.
Immediately Walter's sigh of relief was interrupted by a shriek when Calvin tackled him to the floor.
"Calvin!" Walter protested, struggling to get up, but his brother was stronger than him. Calvin kept laughing, and the volume of his voice was starting to hurt Walter's ears.
"What?" Calvin said, poorly feigned innocence barely present with his screaming laughs as a dead giveaway.
"Get--Ow!"
"Hey, what's going on here?" Barbara said, now standing outside the door. She held a cigarette in her hand, blowing smoke into the room as she spoke.
"Calvin's bein--mmph!" Walter's explanation was muffled when Calvin clamped his hand over his mouth and grinned at their sister.
"Everything's fine, Barb," Calvin said, "we're just having fun, huh, Walter?"
Walter's reply was to bite his brother's hand.
"OW!" Calvin shrieked. "What'd you do that for? Gol-ly, your teeth are sharp! Yow!"
Barbara laughed. "You were asking for that one, Cal," she snickered, "maybe let him go now. You wanted me to see your costume, right?"
"Oh yeah," Calvin said, "you take so darn long I forgot," he grumbled as he stood up, letting Walter get up too. Walter picked his book up off the floor and dusted it off as his brother and sister left.
"Thank you, Barbara," he called as they walked out of the room.
"Yeah," came Barbara's acknowledgement.
That night after dinner, Walter was bored, so he went to see Barbara in her room. Her door was open, and the room smelled like smoke more strongly than usual; Barbara sat inside on her bed with a new cigarette in her hand and a large hardcover book in her lap–which, to Walter, seemed like a fire hazard, but he didn’t say that.
"Hi, Barbara," Walter said from behind the threshold.
Barbara glanced up briefly. "Hey, Walt," she said. She sounded tired.
"What are you reading?"
Barbara sighed. "Homework. I gotta read a whole chapter of American history without dozing off," she scoffed.
"Oh." Walter stood in silence for a minute.
Barbara glanced up. “You can come in, Walt,” she said, “it’s okay.”
Walter stepped into the room, looking around at Barbara’s awards, posters, and merchandise that she kept; mementos from the Bigfoot movies she had starred in before Walter was even born. He was told that she hadn’t acted in a movie since he was a newborn baby, but she had done some school plays in town which he’d seen. She was good at acting.
“What is the chapter about?” Walter asked sheepishly.
“The Revolutionary War,” Barbara answered, “do you want to sit by me and look?”
“Okay,” Walter said. He went to sit on the bed next to his older sister. She smelled like smoke and lemongrass soap and floral perfume. Mostly smoke. Walter coughed a little as she breathed another cloud onto her book.
The page of the book Barbara was looking at had lots of pictures. Walter saw one of a ten-dollar bill, with a caption saying something about how Alexander Hamilton used to be the secretary of treasury, whatever that meant.
“What’s a… secretary of treasury?” Walter asked. Having never heard the word “secretary,” he pronounced it like “SEE-crit-air-y.”
“SEH-cret-air-y,” Barbara corrected, “from what I can tell, it’s a person who takes care of the country’s money. Keeps track of it and whatnot.” Barbara said.
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“Mhm.”
“Who’s Alexander Hamilton?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, to be honest,” Barbara sighed. Walter watched the end of her cigarette glow as she took another breath. “If only someone would make a play or a musical about him,” she joked, “maybe I’d be able to understand a little more. But who would do that? Hamilton, out of all of them. Any sane person would do Jefferson or Washington or Columbus or somebody important.”
Walter smiled. “Wouldn’t that be funny?” He said, “I’m sure there’s someone out there with enough of a weird obsession with Hamilton to write a musical about him.”
“Yeah, well,” Barbara sighed, “they haven’t yet, so I’m stuck reading this dusty old book.”
“How far have you got?”
“Second page of the chapter.” Barbara huffed. “Twenty pages of the chapter. Been trying to read this paragraph for fifteen minutes. You do the math.”
“Hold on, I need some paper.” Walter started to get up.
“What?”
“To do math?”
“Oh, Walter,” Barbara laughed, “no, you don’t have to. It’s just an expression, silly. Come back here.”
“Oh.” Walter felt embarrassed. “Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, Walt,” Barbara said, “I do that sometimes, too. One time a girl at school asked if I wanted a knuckle sandwich and I didn’t know what that was, so I said to her, ‘thanks, I’m hungry,’ and then she popped me right in the face!” Barbara laughed.
“Oh, no, really?” Walter said.
“I had a big old bruise on my chin that took a month to heal.” She pointed to her face.
“I don’t want that to happen,” Walter said.
“Well, guess what, you lucky duck?” Barbara said, elbowing her brother playfully.
“What?”
“The difference between you and me is, if someone ever hits you, you have a big sister that’ll come and pop them right back ten times harder!” She ruffled Walter’s hair with a grin.
Walter laughed. “Okay, Barbara,” he said.
Barbara put her arm around him, pulling him close to her side, and he leaned against her. She breathed one last cloud of smoke before putting out her cigarette and tossing it into her bedside ashtray, and then she went back to reading, quietly muttering to herself about founding fathers and battles and presidents.
Walter hoped Barbara would always be around, and that the curse his mom said the family had was gone for good. If Walter ever got hurt, he would hope there was backup. He didn’t like the idea of fighting. He wasn’t good at defending himself, either.
As it turned out, though, later that month…neither was Barbara. Not good enough, anyway.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
November 1960
Walter couldn’t stop crying the whole week that the family was arranging Barbara’s funeral.
His whole life, his siblings and his father had told him that the curse was gone. That everyone was safe now. Now, it was clear that no one was safe.
Walter had never seen his mother cry before then.
He had also never been to a funeral. The whole process, even without the pain of losing his sister, was enough to make him cry. He had to wear a terribly uncomfortable black suit and tie and there were so many people Walter had never seen before. His father told him most of the people were only there because they’d seen Barbara’s movies. A good number of them didn’t even look sad.
Walter’s mother went up to the front next to the flowers and pictures and painting of Barbara, and talked for a while about how they were here to celebrate Barbara’s life and told a couple of stories about her, some of which Walter remembered, some not. Walter cried for the whole speech. He sobbed out loud a couple of times, which was really embarrassing because everyone else was quiet, but his father sitting next to him just patted his back reassuringly, and Calvin sat on his other side and squeezed his hand in sympathy. Walter could see tears in his father’s eyes, and Sam was quietly crying on Calvin’s other side, but Calvin himself was somehow holding it in, though his face was red.
Calvin was always stronger than Walter was.
If Barbara wasn’t going to be around, he thought, Calvin was just as good if not better backup if he needed someone popped in the face. Not that he ever wanted that to happen. But, you know, if that ever happened.
Assuming Calvin would be around much longer, Walter thought as he sobbed again. Or Sam, or Dad, or Mom, or anyone. He was crying so hard, he didn’t know how long it took him to realize his mother was done talking, but suddenly he was in the car again, on the way to the cemetery at home.
The few hours that a funeral normally took was far too long for an eight-year-old. When the whole thing was finally over, Walter was exhausted.
After he got ready for bed, he had to go to Sam and Calvin’s room. Who knew how much time he’d have left with them—he thought, a little panicked. Their door was open, and Walter saw Calvin lying on his bed, glaring into space.
“Calvin?” Walter said.
“Hi, Walter,” Calvin replied. His voice was raspy. He hardly looked in his brother’s direction.
“Are you mad?” Walter asked.
This time, Calvin did turn his head to look at Walter. “No,” he said, “I’m just thinking.”
“Oh.” Walter said. “About Barbara?”
“Hm? Well, yeah, sort of.” Calvin nodded slightly. It was creepy to see him sitting mostly still. Usually, he was always moving around.
Walter wondered what about Barbara he was thinking about. Did he miss her as much as Walter did? If so, why didn’t he cry?
A few seconds later, Walter himself was crying again. He sniffed, and Calvin looked at him again. He noticed Walter’s tears, and sat up and turned to face him.
“Oh, are you okay, Walter?” Calvin seemed surprised, though Walter had been crying off and on since Halloween, “What’s wrong?” He cautiously walked toward Walter like he wasn’t really sure what to do.
“I miss Barbara,” Walter blubbered.
“Yeah, me too,” Calvin said in a soft voice. He put his hand on Walter’s shoulder and patted him awkwardly for a few moments while he cried. “Do you want me to hug you?” he asked bluntly after a bit.
Walter nodded, so Calvin did, wrapping his arms tight around Walter’s shoulders. Walter tightly hugged around his brother’s waist and smushed his face into his shoulder, wiping wet tears onto his pajamas, but Calvin didn’t seem to mind.
Calvin’s pajamas felt rougher than any Walter had. They smelled like sweat and lotion and dirty leaves from outside. Those were nice smells. Familiar smells. Walter didn’t smell them very much, however–only in between sniffles while crying for the next several minutes. When he got tired of crying, Calvin carefully let go of him.
“Are you better now?” He asked.
Walter shook his head.
“No?”
"I'm still sad."
"Yeah, okay," Calvin said, "do you want to sit down?" He nodded to the bed where he'd previously been sitting.
Walter nodded, so Calvin took his hand and they went and sat down on Calvin's bed.
"Do you wanna…talk about Barbara?" Calvin asked after a moment.
"I don't know."
"Do you wanna talk about something else?"
"No." Walter shook his head.
"Okay."
A long pause.
"Do you miss her too?" Walter asked finally.
Calvin sighed. "Yeah, Walter, I miss her. It's…really weird to not know what happened."
"Mhm."
"When we were at the funeral, Sam and I swore we would never be afraid again."
"Why?"
"Well, because," Calvin's voice broke a little, "Barbara was just a teenager. Like, yeah, she was older than us, but she wasn't even an adult yet. She didn't get to do all the things she wanted to do, like marry her boyfriend or get a house or become a bigger movie star."
"Yeah," Walter nodded.
"I never want to be afraid to do things I want to do because I might not have a long time to do them. You know?"
"Yes, I do," Walter said.
"You can't be afraid, either, okay?" Calvin said, grabbing Walter’s shoulder and looking at him with sudden intensity. "I know everything is a lot scarier for you and you don't like being scared, but you need to live your life, too, okay?"
Walter nodded, though on the inside he felt even more terrified. More tears started to stream down his face before he could stop them. He wiped them on his sleeve.
"Aw, Walter," Calvin said, hugging him again, "I feel bad for you, it must be terrible being so scared all the time."
"Mhmm." Walter sobbed. Calvin patted his back in an effort to be comforting. Sam walked in.
"Oh no, what's wrong with Walter?" He said, concerned.
"Barbara," Calvin said meaningfully.
"Oh, sure," Sam said softly, "poor Walter."
"Well, we lost her too, Sam." Calvin said with a slight edge.
"I know, but Walter's so young...he's only eight."
"...yeah, I know." Calvin admitted.
Walter heard Sam come up to him and felt another hand on his back.
"Hey, Walter," Sam said, trying to sound a little cheerful, "it's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay, alright?"
Walter sure didn't feel like anything was going to be okay, but he nodded against Calvin's shoulder.
"We're gonna go to sleep in a minute, Walter, but…if you want you could stay here, I suppose? With me? Or Calvin?"
Walter looked up. Sam smiled at him halfheartedly.
"We'll make sure nothing happens," Calvin said.
"Do you wanna sleep in here?" Sam asked.
Walter nodded. "Okay," he agreed.
Sam ruffled Walter's hair. "It's okay," he said, a little to himself, "let's get some sleep."
—---------------------------------------------------
August 25, 1964
Walter couldn't say he was surprised when he lost Calvin too. He didn't cry as much as he had when Barbara died, but he did miss him all the time. Although, Sam definitely seemed to miss him more. He and Calvin were twins--to Sam, losing his twin must have felt like half of his insides may as well have been ripped out. Before, Sam used to be more cautious than Calvin, but now, he saw any sort of fear as a weakness, adopting more of his brother's spirit as a way of keeping him alive.
Walter was ashamed to say that he did the opposite. Calvin's words didn't stick to him, about not being afraid to live his life. Walter wanted time. He wanted to survive. He was terrified of taking any risks.
His twelfth birthday week, though, he was feeling unusually good, and thought maybe he was getting tired of fear. Especially because he was so excited to play on the dragon slide that his dad was building for him, which was supposed to be finished on his birthday. He couldn’t wait to turn twelve.
Although, he wasn’t sure if he deserved something as big as a dragon shaped slide. But Sam assured him that their father was partially building it for himself, so that helped. He also did his best to help build it, though his dad tried to insist he didn’t need to. But the least he could do was help bring him tools and things. He didn’t want to do nothing while the whole family was working on it, as much as Walter liked being in his room or in the bunker his dad had also been working on for him.
Walter’s dad did a lot of building for him. It seemed to be his way of saying “I love you.”
The slide was almost finished by the afternoon before his birthday. His favorite part had been helping his mother paint the dragon’s face and body; though he wasn’t as good at painting as his mom, so one side of its face looked a little melty and the scales were a little lumpy. That was okay, though, it was funny. He still loved the dragon. Before long, his dad said they should stop to have dinner, and that he would add the finishing touches in the morning. Walter was so excited.
After dinner, Walter sat in the living room talking to his dad about what they were going to do tomorrow--Walter's parents had said they would have him stay home from school, so they would have the whole day.
"What do you want for lunch and supper?" His dad asked, "Your mama said she'll make you whatever you want."
Walter never wanted anything extreme. "I don't know," he said, "pasta?"
"What kind, silly," his dad laughed.
"I don't know. Uh, I like the twisty ones."
"Twisty noodles. Rotini?"
"No, not…the one that's like macaroni, but longer and twistier."
"Oh. Yeah, that one, I know that one." Walter's dad nodded. "Wait, why that one?"
"It just looks funny," Walter grinned, "I like it."
"Sure," his dad smiled, "we can do that. What will you want on it?"
"Just regular tomato sauce."
"With beef?"
"Oo, yeah."
"For lunch or supper?"
"Uh….both? I don't know."
"How about lunch, and you pick something else for supper."
"Okay. Like what?"
"You decide. It's your birthday, boy!"
"Arrggh, this is so hard!"
"Okay, wait." Walter's dad held up his hands. "How about we do pasta for both lunch and supper, and you just pick what kind of cake you want?"
"Um…can we do carrot cake?"
"Sure. It's your birthday, you're allowed to choose the most boring cake if it makes you happy."
"What's wrong with carrot cake??" Walter cried.
"Walter, I'm teasing," his dad said, "I just don't like carrots, that's all. But you can have whatever you want, don't worry."
"I don't wanna have a cake that not everyone likes, though."
"That's very thoughtful, but listen: it's your cake. If someone doesn't like it, it's more cake for you."
Walter nodded. "I guess."
"Besides, you wanna know a secret?" Walter's dad nudged him in the side.
"What?"
"I love to eat anything your mom makes."
"Even carrot cake?" Walter laughed.
"Probably. If not, there'll be more for you."
"Okay. I'll have carrot cake, then."
"There you go." He ruffled Walter's hair. "I know you're excited, but it's getting late. You should go get ready for bed, so you aren't grumpy tomorrow "
"Okay, Dad."
His dad stood up and ruffled Walter’s hair one last time. “Good boy,” he said with a smile, “tomorrow will be a good day.”
Walter’s twelfth birthday was not a good day. In fact, it was another one of the worst days of his life. Those were adding up way too fast.
He didn’t even get the dragon slide he was excited for.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
November 1969
Seventeen-year-old Walter hadn’t left his bunker in around a year now, but his brother Sam came to visit him every once in a while, along with his mother who brought him food and supplies. He was grateful whenever either of them came down to talk, but he was especially glad to see Sam because he wasn’t home often; he had joined the Marines in 1968. Last time he’d visited was last November for Thanksgiving, when he’d told Walter that he now had a baby girl named Dawn. Walter thought that was a beautiful name. He wondered if he would ever get to see her. If he remembered right, she was born last May; meaning that hopefully she was about twenty months old now. He hoped she was safe.
Walter didn’t think he could stand to lose anyone else. He thought about the family he’d lost all the time, and he constantly worried about Sam.
He was surprised his brother had made it to nineteen years, given how much he seemed to go out of his way to take risks. Maybe he was just lucky. Or maybe the curse skipped a generation. How awful would that be-–for Sam to watch his own children die, after he’d lost so much already.
Walter was thinking about all this, because a couple of days ago, his mother had told him Sam would be coming home for two weeks soon, for Thanksgiving this year. Walter hoped his brother would come to see him. He got sort of lonely sometimes, down here by himself, even though he also usually couldn't stand to be around people, either.
He anxiously checked off the days until Monday, the 24th, when his brother was supposed to come home. He wasn't sure if he would visit on the first day, but he worried all afternoon whether he would make it home safely. His hands shook as he did some writing, to try to distract himself. He almost cried when the monster came clawing at the other side of the wall that day, hoping it wouldn't find his brother out there.
He was sitting up in bed that night when he heard the door to his bunker open, and a familiar voice called, "Walter?"
Walter nearly sobbed with relief. His brother was still alive. He was home. He was…accompanied by a baby? Walter hoped that was what it was when he heard a strange cooing sound coming from up in the tunnel. Dawn, maybe? He hoped.
Walter stood up to greet his brother, dusting off his shirt self-consciously. Sam stepped out of the tunnel into the main part of the bunker, holding a baby in a red onesie. The baby looked younger than twenty months, not that Walter knew much about babies.
"Hello, Sam," Walter said, trying not to cry, "I'm really glad to see you. Who's this?"
"Good to see you too, Walter," Sam smiled halfheartedly, "I'd like you to meet my son, Gus."
Walter tilted his head. "Gus? What happened to Dawn?" He had a moment of panic as he worried something had happened to her.
"Oh, nothing, Walter," Sam assured, "Dawn's still healthy. She's just upstairs, asleep."
"Oh," Walter said, "she's about two years old now, right?"
"Twenty months, yeah.” Sam nodded. “How'd you remember?"
"To be honest,” Walter said, “I worry about your family a lot."
Sam sighed. "Yeah, okay.”
A pause.
"How old is Gus?" Walter asked.
"About, er…five months?" Sam said. "He was born in June."
"He looks just like you," Walter blurted.
Sam studied his baby's face for a moment. "He does, doesn't he," he said proudly.
"Oh, he's even got your eyes," Walter noticed as the baby turned his head to look at him. Gus had light brown eyes that stared at Walter with glaring intensity. It reminded him a little bit of Calvin, and he wondered silently if Sam had seen it too.
"You know, now that I think about it," Sam said, studying Walter's face, "Dawn looks a lot like you."
"Really?" Walter said.
"Yeah…she's got those kind of bright blue eyes.” Sam shifted the baby to one arm and reached out to turn Walter’s chin to inspect his face. There was no obvious affection in it—Sam wasn’t a cuddly sort of person, at least not at this point in time, so it felt more matter of fact—but Walter was suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t felt a human hand on him in months. He quickly pushed the thought away, slightly embarrassed, as Sam said, “And I think her nose is a little bit like yours."
"I’d never thought about that," Walter said, rubbing his own chin after Sam had taken his hand away. He wondered if Sam would ever bring Dawn to him, so he could see. He was about to say something about it, ask a question, but he was quickly distracted by Gus, who was still looking at him.
"Who's that, Gus?" Sam said to his son playfully. Gus turned his head back and looked at Sam as if to say, how should I know? "That's your uncle Walter," Sam answered himself, and pointed at Walter. Gus must not have known what pointing was yet, though, because his gaze stayed fixed on his father’s face.
"Uncle Walter, huh?" Walter muttered, "How about that."
"You can't talk," Sam laughed, "I'm going to just be ‘Dad’ pretty quick." He looked at Gus, who was now gumming on his hand and looking back and forth between him and Walter with interest.
"Oh, you're right,” Walter said, “good luck with that."
The conversation paused for a few moments. Walter wasn’t sure what Sam was thinking. He diverted his attention by looking at Gus, and Gus stared back at him.
After a second, Gus unexpectedly took his slobber-covered hand out of his mouth and waved his chubby arm in Walter’s direction, clumsily reaching for him.
Sam noticed, and suddenly said to Walter; “Do you want to hold him?”
Walter blinked. “Who, me?”
“Sure.”
“Uh, okay,” Walter said, “what do I…?”
“Here, just don’t overthink it.”
Walter was worried, but after a moment, with Sam's help, he managed to have Gus sitting snugly in his arms. He was heavier than he’d expected—-but Walter decided that was a good thing, especially for a baby.
“Hello, Gus,” he said nervously, looking down at the baby he was now holding. Gus replied with a gurgling sound, blowing spit bubbles onto his own chin. Walter watched him for a moment, amused, and noticed how warm he felt in his arms, how alertly he looked back at him with those big brown eyes, how plump and perfect his face looked. Walter thought he could hold him all night, watching him babble and coo contentedly. He looked up at Sam uncertainly, but he was smiling, and that made Walter feel better.
Suddenly, though, Walter realized he didn’t know if he’d ever get to see Gus again—that was up to Sam, and Sam was a lot busier than Walter was. This could be the last time he got to hold his nephew. He might never get to see Dawn. Maybe that was for the best. Who could know? Everything was far too unpredictable. Maybe fate was waiting for him to come up the basement stairs and inadvertently cause another disaster that would kill more of his family.
Walter suddenly noticed his thoughts were spiraling, and his arms were shaking, so he realized he’d better hand the baby back to Sam. Sam caught on, and Walter heard him say something in concern as he took Gus back and the baby started to cry.
“Walter?” Sam said.
Walter was busy trying to remember how to speak.
“Walter!”
“Sorry.” Walter shook his head, holding back the urge to cry. “I–Uhm, how long are you going to be home for?”
“Two weeks,” Sam said, “why?”
“Will you come back to see me tomorrow?” Walter asked hopefully.
Sam studied Walter’s face. “Walter,” he said, “you know that you can come up whenever you want to, right? No one is stopping you; you’re family. We want you.”
Walter shook his head. “I can’t,” he said helplessly, “what if something happens?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know! Something we don’t see coming. We never see it coming.” Walter was on the verge of panic.
“Walter, I know it doesn’t hurt to be careful, but you can’t just stop living your life because you’re afraid.”
Walter couldn’t stop the tears now. He had to wait a few long moments before he was able to speak again. “I don’t know what kind of life I would have,” he said, “if I—if we lost anyone else.”
Sam stood still for a long while, looking unsure of what to say. Gus was crying.
After what felt like forever, Sam said, “I’d better put Gus to bed.”
He went back upstairs, and that was that. Almost worse than Walter’s fear of the monster on the other side of the wall, was his brand-new feeling of being absolutely terrified that Sam was angry at him, and that he’d never want to come down and see him again.
Walter couldn’t stop crying for the rest of the night. Gosh, he was such a mess.
However, Walter was incredibly relieved when on the evening of Thanksgiving Day, Sam came down to see him, and gave him a big plate of reheated holiday food. Sam visited Walter every day for the rest of the time he was home, and once, even brought Dawn down so Walter could finally see her.