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“You didn’t have to come,” Pietro says. Again. Maybe this time, Erik’s going to take the hint. “Luna and I have it handled.”
But do they? Pietro actually turns around when he says that. Luna, the traitor, is holding half of the shopping cart with Erik, and actually looks engrossed in conversation. Whatever happened to their father-daughter hangout?
“Grandpa and I are busy catching up,” Luna explains to him, an annoyed tone coloring her voice—like, how dare her dad interrupt the best conversation she’s ever had? Pietro is betrayed beyond measure. “I’m telling him about the cartoon I watch.”
“It’s a very enlightening show,” Erik says, somehow meaning it entirely. Pietro’s not sure he means it—he certainly sounds like he’s engaged. For his sanity, Pietro pretends he’s not even there. “We ought to watch it together.”
“Oooh! After lunch!” Luna tugs at his sleeve excitedly. “You’re going to love it, grandpa. It’s so up your alley. It doesn’t matter that it’s a cartoon, it’s got so much heart, and it’s cute! It’s like—”
“Am I the only one here reading the shopping list? Wanda gave us one job,” he says, effectively bringing his daughter and his father’s attention back to him. Luna smiles at him, and aw, okay. The faux-grumpiness fades away. He hands the list to Erik, who takes out his glasses from his breast pocket to read. “All I see in this cart so far is one chicken. No spices, no milk, no eggs, no vegetables, no drinks. Chop, chop, people.”
“Is she cooking for an entire battalion?” Erik frowns at it. Whether he’s confused by it or trying to read it, Pietro doesn’t know. “Goulash and hähnchenschnitzel do not require that many ingredients.”
Pietro arches an eyebrow. Doesn’t he know the basics? Pietro’s got an insane metabolism. So does his nephew, who was also invited to this little get-together. Their sheer hunger combined would take down that house. But ah—of course he doesn’t. When has Magneto ever cared? Cared about him enough to know the basics of his eating habits?
This lunch was a weird idea.
“Tommy and I have a big appetite,” Pietro says, to which Erik answers a small ah. Did he feel embarrassed to not know that? Did he simply fake being interested? “Of course we’ll be eating a lot.”
“I also have a big appetite,” Luna pipes in. Erik smiles at her, uncharacteristically fond, and Pietro looks away.
“Luna, help me pick the vegetables, will you?” Pietro extends his hand to her, and she readily takes it. “Father, you can take the list with you for the spices and drinks.”
Erik nods. “All right. Should I actually go, or will you do it at full speed and be here a second later?”
He tries to not crack a smile at that. He succeeds.
“I’ll buy everything at normal speed,” Pietro answers. “The staff gets mad when I drop everything from running too fast.”
Erik laughs. “I will see you soon, then.”
He walks away with the cart. It’s uncomfortable to see Erik laugh.
“Are you actually having fun with your grandpa?” Pietro asks Luna, tugging at her hand as they walk aisle by aisle. “He can be a bit much.”
“He’s really nice to me,” Luna shrugs in all her early-teens glory. “He understands me.”
Pietro snorts. “Does he, now?”
“Yeah! He never treats me any differently. I think he just wants a friend,” Luna concludes. “You still don’t like him very much.”
It’s not a question; it’s a statement. Pietro doesn’t meet her eyes either.
“He’s…” He’s what, exactly? He’s not about to trauma-dump to his daughter that he rarely sees. He shakes his head, picking up the tomatoes Wanda asked for instead. “I’m trying,” is all he says.
“I know, dad,” Luna smiles. “I know you are. How many tomatoes did aunt Wanda ask for?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Like twelve. I saw that list, but I don't think she estimated it right. I’ll take twenty just in case. We’re a lot of people, right? It’s your cousins, Lorna, Wanda, Father, you and I. Surely that’ll do.”
“Shouldn’t we take more chicken, then?” Luna asks. “We should’ve told grandpa before leaving him. Maybe tell him to get twice of everything.”
“He’ll be fine. Father is responsible. He’s… a lot of things, but he is very perceptive when it comes to—you know, strategy. He’s very straight and narrow. He’ll figure it out.”
“I trust you, dad,” Luna replies in what seems to imply that she doesn’t trust that decision much. She spares a glance back, as if she could see Erik peeking out and transmit the message like that.
Still, they have to get more than tomatoes. Luna picks up every single vegetable—she shows onions to Pietro like he’s never seen one before. How do you choose the best onions? What about peppers? Oh, dad, look at this potato—it’s making a funny face! How do you use these spices? What about—
He likes the questions, he does. Still, the need they have to fill in the silence tugs at Pietro’s heart a little. It’s like she’s eager to make up for all the absences, all those talks they should have had throughout the years where Pietro was not there for her. In another lifetime, maybe, Luna wouldn’t have to ask all of this hurriedly in a supermarket—she would have known instinctively from all the times she would have seen Pietro make food for her.
No amount of conversations about the difference between oregano and marjoram could make up for a lifetime of absences.
It’s hard to breathe all of a sudden. He ruffles Luna’s hair, watching how her face lights up as she learns more facts, but the disappointment is crushing him. Why is she the one starting conversations and making efforts to talk, when Pietro is the one that invited her? She shouldn’t have to be doing this. It’s his job. Pietro should have googled an entire list of ‘topics to bond with your somewhat-estranged daughter over’, not Luna.
Luna looks up, conflicted. “Are you okay? Am I talking too much?”
“No, you’re perfect,” he hurries to say. “I’m just—thinking. It’s not you, sweetie.” I just wish we went shopping more often is the most difficult sentence to pronounce. “It’s all dad’s head, okay?”
Her frown sets in, but she lets the topic drop. Not entirely, though; she asks one more time: “Are you sure—?”
“I’m sure. You could never do anything wrong, Luna. I’m overthinking things.”
“I wish you let me in, then,” Luna crosses her arms. “When you overthink. Nothing is as bad as it seems once you say it out loud.”
He’s helpless not to smile at her, despite everything. He brings her close for a half-hug, the words desperately fighting to go outside his throat and into Luna’s arms.
“Thank you,” he says instead. “We need to find your grandfather.”
Luna, at last, lets the topic go. Turns out they don’t need to find Erik—he comes behind them. His smart, sensible, and strategic father has indeed bought twice the normal amount of everything, and—
“Ice cream!” Luna leaps at Erik, hugging tight. “Grandpa, you’re the best!”
He’s bought way too much ice cream. Sure, even with their fast metabolism, this was still around fifteen? Kilograms? Fifteen kilograms of ice cream would kill anyone in their family. If not from a sugar overdose, then at least from brain freeze.
“Oh, child, nonsense,” Erik brushes off the compliment, but he’s looking down at Luna with unmistakable fondness. “It’s the least you and your cousins deserve.”
The adoration in his eyes is so foreign to Pietro. The exchange turns him into a stranger to his own life, unable to recognize this—this reality where his father dotes on his daughter and he’s open, and loving, and he hangs out with Pietro as if it’s something they’ve always done. His stomach churns, uncomfortability filling his gut to the brim. Is he… jealous of his own daughter? Is he trying to protect her? Don’t get attached to him. He’ll leave when he stops feeling sorry for himself. He’ll stop trying soon.
But isn’t that applicable to Pietro, too?
He shakes himself off.
“How are you paying all of that?”
Erik shrugs. “This small purchase would not budge Charles’ bank account in the slightest.”
Pietro squints. “He’s like, ridiculously rich. Can you even estimate how rich he is?”
“At most, I can say—whatever number you can imagine, it probably is not even close to the actuality of it.”
“Unlimited ice cream!” Luna beams.
Erik breaks into laughter. “Yes, indeed.”
Back in the car, with it being extremely loaded—so much that Luna could get lost under all the groceries in the backseat—Pietro insists on driving, even after Erik offers again. Giving credit where it’s due, Erik backs off without much of a fight, although Pietro could swear his eyes glinted with the need of arguing against him again. Old habits die hard, or maybe he’s projecting.
“I think your sister will have enough to last for a while,” Erik says conversationally, looking out as Pietro drives. “Or at least, she’ll have enough to make the same two recipes for two months.”
“That’s great,” Pietro replies automatically.
Immediately, the regret comes at him. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t want to give him a dry answer, but it’s… instinct, almost. But why? They’ve talked, seriously and with the care Pietro had always wanted to talk about his issues, and he could have sworn he put it behind him already. And yet here he is.
It’s that fucking stubbornness of his.
“Either way, I could always just get more,” Erik continues. He’s trying so hard. Pietro tightens his hold on the wheel, wills his breathing to be normal. “You know, I would not mind paying for you two to have your groceries delivered—”
“That’d be lovely,” he says, still automatically. What’s wrong with him?
The hint seems to accidentally come across. Erik shuts his mouth, looks away, and continues to look at the road. Pietro continues to drive in complete silence.
Upon their arrival at Wanda’s, though, Luna is the first one to run off inside; eager to greet Billy and Tommy again. Pietro moves to the back to unload the groceries, and of course, Erik has it controlled better than he could—his bags float all the way to the house, held together by the paperclips he always carries. Show-off.
“Pietro,” Erik calls. Pietro turns his head towards him, lowering his bags. He looks serious. Stepping closer, Erik continues: “I just wanted to say— I can… I can sense you are still uncomfortable around me.”
Shock runs through his body like a deer caught in headlights. “Father, I—”
The explanation stumbling out of his lips is interrupted by Erik raising his hands.
“You don’t owe me any explanations, Pietro,” he continues. Not what he expected at all. “I hope, though, that next time—you let me know. Had I known you felt like this, I would not have tagged along.”
What is he supposed to say to this? Your presence still unsettles me? I don’t like how it feels as though there’s always going to be a part of me craving your approval? Some nights, Pietro dreams of being back in the Brotherhood, unable to fully drift off even though he’s been ready for bed for an hour. Someone could kill him in his sleep if he lowered his guard. He could not fall asleep around Magneto. Those nightmares always end in the same way: the assassins succeed, and the last image he sees as he loses his consciousness is Magneto’s disapproving stare, eyes glowing underneath his helmet.
Pietro blinks, and Erik is standing in front of him, concerned. His eyes are never the same as he remembers them.
“Pietro?” he says, getting closer, taking his hands into his own. A fatherly gesture.
Like this, the warmth seeps to his own hands, the callouses finding his knuckles, and the age of his father making itself present in the texture of his skin. It’s all so paralyzing.
“I am trying, father,” Pietro manages to say. Some of that adoration he saw earlier is directed at him now, albeit tainted with regret, and Pietro tries to hold his gaze. He fails. “I really am trying.”
He lets go of Erik’s hands.
Erik nods. “I… appreciate it. Offer still stands, Pietro. If you don’t ever want to be with me—if you ever feel like not trying—I will not take offense.” He smooths his own shirt now, like he hadn’t said anything of tremendous magnitude. Moving on, he says, “I would not want to keep your sisters waiting. I will see you inside.”
Erik steps in with the bags Pietro was meant to take, and Pietro remains outside for a second longer. He brings his hands to his face, inhaling deeply, and when he does he still has the uncharacteristic warmth of his father’s hands against his cheeks.
Pietro’s quiet.
Wanda looks at Lorna. Did any of them have telepathy as a secondary mutation? Without words, Wanda hears clearly what her sister is trying to communicate: What's up with him? Shrugging back, Wanda continues to chop vegetables. Lorna has the advantage of sitting on top of the counter, snapping her fingers. He hadn’t spoken a single word since stepping into the kitchen. It wouldn’t concern her—had she not been grabbing the knife the wrong way, knowing Pietro wastes no time to tell her and correct her and complain about how responsible he’s being for the both of them.
“Okay, spill it out,” Wanda stops chopping the vegetables. “What happened when you went to the grocery store? I’ve been about to chop my finger like three times and you haven’t said a thing.”
“I knew you were doing that on purpose,” Pietro answers, rolling his eyes. “Nothing happened.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing happened,” Lorna chimes in. “Otherwise you’d be showing off how fast you can cook.”
“I wasn’t going to do that to Wanda,” Pietro continues, offended. He adds hastily, “Now. Today. I wasn’t going to do that today.”
Lorna laughs like she won the argument and Wanda bites back a smile as she says, “I won’t ask again, Pietro. But if we’re going to be in the kitchen, at least I expect some sort of talk.”
Pietro drags out his sigh as much as he can. He brings a hand to his temples, rubs it, closes and opens his mouth multiple times within one second. Wanda waits.
“Don’t you feel uncomfortable with him, sometimes?” Pietro asks. “I know, I know, that makes me sound terrible because he’s suddenly nice and he hasn’t done anything and—this and this and this—but sometimes I look at him, and I wish to never be in the same room with him ever again. Then ten seconds pass and it’s fine again, but he was so nice to me when we came back. I just don’t know what to do.”
Lorna tilts her head, probably understanding about seventy percent of that. To the untrained ear, it’s probably gibberish, but to Wanda it sounds perfectly normal. She places a hand on his shoulder. “That didn’t sound terrible.”
“It doesn’t?” Pietro frowns a little. “You don’t have that problem with him.”
“I do, it’s just that every time it comes up, I brush it off. I don’t have time for that.” Wanda goes back to her recipe. She turns on the stove and begins the dutiful job of stir-frying onions. “Look, of course we tend to jump and flinch at extremely normal situations with Magneto. He’s been terrible to us for decades, and nice to us for a collective amount of ‘a few months’. It takes time.”
“Wait,” Lorna interrupts. She hops off the counter for this. “You both experience this, and both of you only brush it off every time you feel it?”
Wanda stirs the pan. Pietro starts cutting up the chicken at full speed.
“You guys are brushing it off right now!”
“Well,” Wanda starts. She eyes the onions—still a bit more before she drops the other vegetables. “What else am I meant to do? I can only talk about it so much. At some point, I have to put the work in. Father’s putting the work in, so I just—”
“Repress it,” Lorna supplies.
“I don’t like it when you say it,” Wanda puts a hand on her hip. “Yes. Maybe.”
She lifts a finger. She starts and cuts herself off. “I’m not even going to say anything. You both can figure it out.”
“Therapy is not that helpful,” Pietro bemoans. “I mean, it is, but we’ve had such complicated lives. It’s weird.”
“Was the last time you had therapy when we were in X-Factor together?”
Pietro squints at Lorna. “Not really. I continued it very consistently. It’s been hard finding a good therapist nowadays, though.”
“My last therapist wasn’t even an actual therapist,” Wanda says. “But I do see my psychiatrist to keep my meds up to date.”
“Are you in therapy, Lorna?” Pietro asks.
Lorna crosses her arms. “I have a PhD.”
“All the more reason to get therapy,” Wanda reasons with her. “So you’re not?”
“Well, no, technically, but I’m super self-aware.” She pauses. “And I usually yell at Dad if something bothers me. And every time he fucked up with me, you know. Some things I haven’t forgiven him for, some things I’ve let them be.”
She’s not self-aware at all, is she. Still, that’s a good point.
“You spend a lot of time with him,” Wanda says. The history between Lorna and Erik is complicated to her—she wasn’t around most of the time when Lorna was, and even then, it sounds as though Lorna had bigger issues to focus on than whatever their father was up to. “And you knew him later in life. Maybe that’s why you get along well with him. You weren’t a teenager when you met him.”
“Probably, yeah,” Lorna nods a little. “This isn’t about me, though. All I mean to say is that I want you guys to be okay and comfortable. I can yell at him for you, if you need me to. But it’s going to keep hurting if you keep pushing it down.”
Wanda sighs. “You’re right, Lorna. Thank you. It’s just…”
“Hard,” Pietro says.
And instinctive, she doesn’t add. There’s a part of her that talks big about accepting things, moving on. The side of her that logically embraces the negative sides, the ugly, because you cannot coexist without them. Lorna is right, it’s going to hurt if you push it down. Still…
Her fingers light up a little with her magic as she continues to finish her recipe. Speedsters, magnetic fields being manipulated, and reality being altered just a tiny bit made cooking go by smoothly. And it’s these uses that she doesn’t mind; that her power feels good. When she’s happy, when she’s powerful, when she rises above the emotional claws scratching at her. But when she indulges in the less pleasant sides?
When she indulges in the days she does not want to get out of bed?
The days where she looks at the calendar and notices it’s Billy and Tommy’s birthday, and the first thing she does is wonder if they’d notice if her ‘Happy birthday!’ message felt a little odd.
There’s danger in that, in the negatives. She knows better—she knows it’s nothing more than catastrophizing. She has her powers under control; they could never hurt anyone like that ever again. But much like Pietro, despite knowing it—it doesn’t make it easy to do so. It’s easy to think about it, sure. It’s easy to tell herself all those affirmations, to tell herself this every time something in her head wants to go against her. It would be lovely if it just came naturally.
When will she wake up and not have to go through these processes, again and again?
“I’m trying,” Wanda finishes saying. “I—”
Their heads turn as the door opens, Erik stepping inside.
“I came to see if anyone needed help,” he explains when the three of them keep gawking at him. “I just had the most interesting conversation with Thomas.”
“Oh, yeah? What’d he say?” Lorna asks.
For a second, Erik looks genuinely disconcerted. “Baby… hands…?”
“Ah,” Wanda breaks out laughing. “Yeah, he loves saying that one.”
“W-what does baby hands mean?” Lorna asks again, now more confused. “I need to ask him.”
“Please do,” Erik encourages her. “Nothing I could tell you would even begin to explain it.”
Pietro follows Lorna out of the kitchen, so it’s her and Erik again. She resumes cooking like no interruptions have happened—now she can probably begin focusing on the hähnchenschnitzel. She sets the pots with the rest of the food aside and begins heating up the oil.
“You bought so many ingredients,” Wanda says. Erik chuckles. “I can make these same two recipes forever.”
“Your brother said he had a big appetite, and so did his nephew,” he shrugs. “I simply did what’s logical. I have to say, what a wonderful choice for a family meal. It reminds me of—simpler times.”
Wanda smiles at him. “It reminds me of simpler times, too.”
Back in those days, where it was just Pietro and her with their family at home, making the most out of their warm meals and the laughter as they sat around each other.
“Anyway,” she inhales, taking herself back to the present. Erik looks at her with a bit of concern, gentle, but keeping his distance. “Family meals. It’s nice to have everyone together. I don’t usually have this many guests.”
“Oh?” Erik dutifully begins cleaning the kitchen after her, piling up the pans she doesn’t use anymore, even without her asking. “You could have fooled me. Your sons look very comfortable.”
“That’s all them, really. They’re great. We don’t actually do this often,” Wanda says as she lowers the chicken into the oil. It sizzles pleasantly. “I—if they hadn’t been so nice about it all, we wouldn't be here today.”
“I had thought… After the children found you, you said you would start being with them. I thought I was the one who didn’t fulfill their promise.”
“Let’s just say you weren’t the only one,” Wanda flips the food, checking the color. Still a few more minutes to be fully cooked. “I—didn’t mean to. I thought I really could do it. That’s what I had wanted—reunite with my children and be there for them. They were—and this isn’t their fault, I’m not blaming—”
Erik places a hand on her back. “Wanda. You can start justifying yourself after you say it. I am not going to think you are a terrible monster.”
She exhales out at that. “They weren’t my children. Of course, it’s their souls, and I know them. But do I? So much of their life passed by without me. We might as well have been strangers. It… terrified me. They’re my children, but not, simultaneously. I know it doesn’t make much sense—”
Erik gives her a look.
Wanda tilts her head.
He gestures between them. Wanda tilts her head a lot more. “I’ll give you a second.”
A second… Oh.
Wanda bursts out laughing. “I suppose you understand it.”
“More than you know,” Erik smiles softly. “It’s alright, Wanda. I know how complicated it is. I think you’re doing a wonderful job, however. Those kids adore you.”
“I wish I felt like I deserved it,” Wanda takes out the fried pieces now, letting them dry up. The smell is so hypnotizing. “Do you feel like that, too?”
“At times,” Erik answers. “It would be preposterous of me to assume my children liked me.”
The urge to protest is there, but isn’t that true? She still doesn’t feel comfortable saying she loves her father, but the spectrum of emotions leans a little towards ‘positive’ than ‘negative’, and yet it’s hard to put into words. It’s hard to put into executions.
“But I do feel undeserving of your willingness to try to be with me,” Erik places his hand on Wanda’s shoulder once more; a light, warm touch. “I don’t take it for granted. I don’t. The least I can do is to deliver my promises and keep my word.”
“I suppose all of us are trying,” Wanda concludes. “Thanks, father. It’s a little enlightening to hear it from you.”
“Oh, child, you need to raise your expectations,” he grins a little, dropping his hand. “If anything, you are doing so much better than me at your age. You came around faster than I ever did. Take it from me, Wanda—you do not want to take that for granted. You’re young, your children are young. You have a lot of time.”
Against the maelstrom of thoughts threatening to form—how much time does she have? Billy has an entire life without her. So does Tommy. She doesn’t belong with them, but she wishes to. They are family in symbolism only—she starts to smile once more. It was still hard to get used to Magneto being a good conversational partner, someone who listens. A father who actually gave advice. Perhaps it’ll never be normal, and she’d always be wary of sharing. But when the opportunity arose to be listened to…
Why not?
“You should tell that to Pietro sometime,” Wanda moves to turn off every stove as Erik finishes washing everything. “He’d appreciate it.”
“If he lets me,” Erik winces. “I don’t wish to overstep with him. Speaking of… I saw Pietro enter the kitchen earlier. I think I upset him, but I don’t know how. Is he… did he talk to you?”
“Yes, he did. He’ll be fine.” Wanda opens the cupboard, starts getting the plates out. “Just like we’ll be when we finally eat. Mind plating everything with me?”
“It’d be such an honor.”
We’ll be there! Wherever we are, there’s some fun to be found!
“We’ll be there when you turn that corner, we’ll jump out the bush, with a big bear hug and a smile!” Luna sings along with, surprisingly, Tommy.
“Dude, this show is so fucking good,” Tommy says over a mouthful of ice cream. “Me and Master P binged all seasons in like three days.”
“I still think it’s weird you’re like, Master P’s nurse,” Billy tells him. “Like, heartwarming? Sure. Weird? A little bit. Am I proud of you? Yeah, sure. Still.”
“Hey, you weren’t the butt-scratching hand. You don’t get to feel weird about this,” Tommy punctuates with his spoon. Billy takes the ice cream from him anyway despite having a tub of his own, and Billy shoves him, so Tommy shoves back—
“Anyway,” Luna snuggles closer to Erik on the sofa. “This is the show I was mentioning, grandpa. I think it’s very progressive.”
Erik hums. “From your descriptions, I am extremely sure it is.”
“I think it’s a mutant metaphor situation,” she explains seriously. Pietro snorts from the other sofa. Luna glares at him. “It is.”
“I’m not questioning that,” Pietro placates her. “It’s an objectively funny thing to say, though.”
“Grandpa will see my vision,” Luna promises. “You’ll see.”
“Hey, I believe in my niece,” Lorna says. “We can wait and see.”
“I understand,” Erik says ten minutes later. “These bears are trying to survive in a society that favors humans, while they themselves aren’t.”
Luna lights up. “Yes! And look how differently they’re treated. No one is offering help. And they’re siding with humans over the bears!”
“Such a creative way to express an important message,” Erik comments seriously, deeply immersed. On Erik’s other side, Tommy sits up straighter.
“I didn’t even think about that,” Tommy says. “Bad. Ass.”
“You can extend the metaphor to every marginalized group, too, if you wanted,” Billy pipes in, too, sitting on the armrest. “The use of bears as the main characters lends itself to filling in the blanks as they please.”
“We’re really reading too much into it,” Lorna says.
“Nonsense. That’s the point of art, isn’t it?” Erik makes himself more comfortable between his grandchildren. “It’s meant to be taken and interpreted to one’s heart’s content.”
“And it’s funny,” Tommy adds.
“And it’s funny,” Luna agrees.
Erik is asleep twenty minutes later. Luna is next to him, napping against him, and Tommy already extended his whole body to rest his head on Erik’s lap and play mobile games at the same time. Billy is playing the same game, just on the floor, resting somewhat close to Tommy.
“This is so weird,” Pietro whispers when he walks back into the lounge. “I’ve never seen him asleep.”
“I don’t think he’s ever been comfortable around us to let us see him sleep,” Wanda whispers back.
Lorna is angling her phone at them. “I have to send this to Charles. He’ll be so mad he’s not here to see this. He’ll reply, This is a lovely picture, child, but written in a way that just sounds like he wants to fight me so bad.”
Wanda laughs quietly. “What is their deal, anyway?”
“Who knows?” Lorna shrugs. “Should we wake them up?”
“No,” Pietro says. “We should let them sleep. Father looks… harmless, like this.”
“He’s like a declawed tiger,” Wanda nods. “He can’t hurt you that much, he’s probably in pain, but you still flinch when you see him.”
“I’m trying to not flinch,” Pietro’s voice sounds quieter.
Wanda reaches out for his hand, takes it, and gives it a small kiss. She understands.
Lorna smiles at both of them, bringing them closer to a hug, and for a moment it all seems to be fine.
a few hours earlier
“Anyway, nothing much is going on with me,” Tommy waves his hand around. Something Erik has noticed is that his grandson gesticulates a lot. “Other than living with Master P and working full-time, I’ll say I’m like the normalest family member you have, grandpa.”
“Thomas, you are extraordinary. You shouldn’t sell yourself so short,” Erik says, trying to not sound like he’s scolding him. No grandson of his would ever forget his worth. But… “Who is this ‘Master P’?”
“Master Pandemonium,” Tommy answers. Erik must still be frowning, because Tommy elaborates, “He’s this guy who used to be a movie star and then Mephisto did bad things to him and then he took over our souls when we were babies and turned us into his baby hands.”
“What?” asks Erik.
“Yep, baby hands,” Billy confirms.
That doesn’t explain anything.
“Could you… elaborate on that?”
“Oh, grandpa, it was so fucked up,” Tommy begins. Billy makes himself comfortable as Tommy starts. “So there’s some bits of footage of when me and Billy were babies and Master Pandemonium turned us into his hands. Like as his hands babies. And you can clearly see a part where Master Pandemonium had to scratch his own butt and it wasn’t Billy who had to be the butt-scratching hand, no, it was me! And I mean, really, just what was his long term plan?! Were we just going to be his hands forever? Like if I was eating a cheeseburger would we have had to hold it in our baby hands? And how does he stop us from eating it with our own mouths—”
“It was pretty fucked up,” Billy cuts in again.
Tommy sucks in a breath. “Yeah, it was.”
Erik blinks slowly. “And, Thomas… you’re taking care of this man? He put you and your brother through what appears to be a horrible ordeal.”
“Oh, y’know,” Tommy waves his hand around. “He needs me. And I’m above forgiveness.”
“How so?”
“Well, it doesn’t change anything, does it?” He crosses his arms slightly. “Whether I forgive him or not, it doesn’t change the past. It doesn’t undo anything. So I might as well do what I can do now and help him. It’s all very stupid to hinge decency on something as arbitrary as that. To me, anyway.”
Erik sits with that for a second. He stands up, then, ruffling Tommy’s hair. Forgiveness doesn’t undo the past.
He should go help in the kitchen.