Chapter Text
Michael’s perched on the bed and all Walt can think about is how he looks like a bird about to take flight.
He’s been told a messed up story about the kid and though he’s grateful for him to be out of those hell places, there’s a difference between knowing a thing’s going to be hard and having it sitting perched on a makeshift bed in a makeshift bedroom clocking the exits. Michael’s eyes are focused on him even before he knocks on the wall to ask for entry. Michael says nothing and Walt fights the urge to smack his head against the wall. He’s lost his damn mind doing this.
“You gonna let me come in or should I try again later?” He asks and Michael flinches.
“It’s your house,” he says.
“And it’s your room,” Walt reminds him. Michael looks down and mumbles something along the lines of thank you and it makes Walt want to build a time machine, go back and kick his own ass until he gets his shit together a lot sooner, “you don’t gotta thank me.”
“Sorry,” Michael mutters.
“You don’t gotta apologize either!” He winces at the own exasperation in his voice. This kid needs professional help and neither of them is in a position to do that. Michael seems to curl in on himself, his eyes squeezing shut and his fingers clenching on the bed sheet, “be careful of your—“
“I need to get some air,” Michael says and scrambles to his feet.
“Don’t—“
“Excuse me.”
Michael doesn’t make it an option as he barrels past him and scrambles out. Walt hears something thud and fights the urge to reach for the bottle. He can tell why someone would think the things that are in Michael’s too thick file. Demons are a easier sell pretty much anywhere that isn’t here. Walt scrubs his face and looks over at the shape watching from the couch. The damn dog is more judgmental than the people of the town but she helps.
“Well don’t get up and help or anything,” he says and goes after him.
Michael’s standing a few feet away breathing hard. Walt walks past him and looks at the other side of the car, the one that was facing the house. He sighs at the massive dent in it and looks back at Michael who looks like he’s going to be sick. At first Walt thinks it’s with fear, but then he doubles over and spews the contents of his stomach. No-one’s puked here since he went through withdrawal but he supposes that’s as good a run as he’ll ever get. He waits for Michael to be done and collect himself before he straightens up.
“Can you pop it back out?” He asks. Michael goes pale, “the dent, can you pop it back out?” He asks.
“I didn’t do that,” Michael blurts out.
“I’m not deaf,” Walt snaps, “or as stupid as your other fosters,” Michael looks stunned and it’s an odd look for such a young kid, “and I’m not going to hurt you.”
It’s clear Michael doesn’t believe him and Walt can’t say he blames him. The world’s a messed up place, he figures he knows that better than most people. He was probably younger than Michael when he learned it, but Walt’s not one to compare. No-one should be in that fucked up contest. Walt sighs and scrubs his face and pushes the itch for a bottle out of his head.
“I can help you fix the car,” Michael says abruptly, “I’m good with my hands.”
Briefly Walt wonders if the feeling of ‘this is never going to work’ is ever going to go away. Maybe it’s just part of being a parent. Walt remembers that he never wanted kids for a damn good reason. But one’s here and he’s gonna have to deal with it.
“Let’s go inside,” he says.
“You don’t have to call them,” Michael volunteers abruptly, “I didn’t mean to lie—“ he freezes as the sound of groaning metal echoes, “that’s not me!”
“Would you stop lying long enough to catch your breath? I know damn well it’s you,” Walt says, “why the hell else do you think we’re in a junkyard?”
Michael’s so surprised that whatever he’s doing cuts off and Walt hears something snap. He looks over to see one of the racks has cracked and watches one of the cars slide off and land on it’s roof. It looks almost comically like a bug that’s been turned over. Walt’s known for a long time he wasn’t cut out to be a parent to a regular kid. He’s got no idea what he’s going to do with a god damn alien. He figured this was a good place to start but he wasn’t expecting it to involve so many broken cars from the onset.
“How—“
“I knew your mother,” Walt says, figuring it’s best to rip the bandaids off in one go. Michael sways on his feet, “you gonna be sick again?”
Michael manages a nod before he hurls this time.
It might be the first honest thing he’s said.
Walt supposes it’s as good a start as any.
He steers the boy back inside and gets him into the chair. Nora hops off the couch and trots over, laying her head on his lap. Walt doesn’t have ginger ale but he’s got ginger beer which he guesses will have to do. He sets the can in front of Michael who looks ill at the sight of it.
“What do you need?” Walt asks.
“Acetone,” Michael says.
“You better not be killing yourself in this house,” Walt mutters, getting the bottle out, “what’s this do for you?”
“It makes things hurt less,” Michael says.
“Don’t drink too much then,” Walt tells him. Michael takes a few mouthfuls under his watchful gaze and then sets the bottle down. Some of the color has returned to his face. Walt takes the acetone and reminds himself he’s gonna have to lock it up and hope the kid respects him enough to listen, “well you don’t look half dead.”
“Is my mom dead?” Michael asks abruptly. Walt winces at the swerve but Michael’s apparently not done, “when did you see her? Do I look like her? Did she talk about me? Who was she with? Was my dad there? Could she move things with her mind too or did she read thoughts or channel electricity?”
He cuts himself off breathing hard. It’s the most desperate Walt’s seen the kid since he’s been back. He’s got no business dealing with a desperate kid like this. He can picture his own old man’s reaction. Michael keeps look at him like a starving man and Walt has to remind himself he’s a kid who just found out someone knew his mother.
“I don’t know is the answer to most of that,” Walt says, “I saw her when I was about your age. She wasn’t the worst last thing to see with two eyes,” Michael looks surprised, “she mentioned you. Said you had her whole heart. You do look damn like her,” he leans back, “she said her name was Nora.”
“Did she say what my name was?” Michael asks. Walt shakes his head and Michael looks down, disappointed.
“Michael’s a good name,” he says.
“What about her powers? What could she do?”
“Well I saw her make fields grow,” Walt says. Michael perks up, “and some other things but that was the most impressive,” he looks at the boy, “can you do that?”
“Kinda,” Michael says, “I’m not good at it though, I usually make the planters explode.”
Walt blows out a breath and tries not to think about how this is going south faster than he could have thought.
But they’re here and they’re just going to have to deal with it.