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Eda could be almost alarmingly good at recognising footsteps. At least, that was what she’d heard; Lilith had always gently called it weird, in the way that only a sister could, and Raine always seemed a little impressed that Eda could tell their soft footfalls from the patter of her sister or one of the kids.
She told herself it was just maternal intuition, of course, mixed with the streak of owlishness that had been burned into her by the curse in her veins. But deep down, she was also acutely aware that she’d spent her childhood learning to tell which parent was coming upstairs, so she could brace herself if the talk was to be about ‘fixing’ her, and over the years since she’d often had to pick out the clomp-clomp of Coven boots from anything else as a matter of survival.
Thankfully, all of that was gone now, thrown out with Belos and rightfully burned to the ground. That night, she only felt a quiet prick of worry on the back of her neck when she heard soft padding at the door, because that definitely wasn’t heavy enough to be Lily or Raine, and it was far too far past midnight for her kids to be up and about.
The footfalls were quick, but uncertain, too heavy to be King but too light to be Luz, and that could only mean one thing; her middle child was the one up. So she turned to the doorway, glancing over from her perch on the owl house’s familiar couch. Sure enough, there her gaze found a small shape she’d come to know far too well, hesitating on the threshold.
Even when they had the choice, they’d taken clothes that were oversized; their shirt was large and loose enough that the sleeves hung open like it was a robe, and their trousers, dark pajama bottoms patterned with blue diamonds, stolen from Luz, were so long the cat faces on the cuffs crumpled against the floor. On top of it all, the hat was the same one the kid always wore, his white hair tufting out beneath a fabric sea of night-sky stars.
A fond, sarcastic remark died in Eda’s throat as she looked at his face, small and round and split half-moonwise between yellow and freckled blue. Normally it was crinkled with mirth, but that night, instead, a small frown crossed the boundary between light and dark, and the red glow of their eyes seemed dimmer than usual.
“Bad night?” was all that escaped Eda’s lips, her voice gentle with concern. The Collector’s eyes turned down for a moment, boring into the floorboards, and she saw tension rattle through his shoulders before his gaze flicked back up.
Most witches would have called it a blank stare, but Eda knew the kid well enough to see the mixture of emotions in his eyes, suppressed hurt and momentary agreement. She couldn’t help the thought that that pretty much summed up why she’d taken him in; everyone else had only seen a thing, a monster to be feared or a source of knowledge and power, and never what the Collector really was.
Even King, as much as nobody blamed him, had only let them out so they’d put a stop to the Day of Unity. In however many millennia the Collector had been around, he’d never had real friends, never had a family, and never had the chance to understand how destructive he could be, how pain and death were real, tangible, awful things to everyone else, because nobody had ever taken the time to hear the poor kid out, and actually get him to understand why people didn’t want to play.
Until Eda; she’d taken one took at that little shape, bouncing and whooping for joy at the thought of ‘playing Owl House’, and known that she was dealing with a genuine little kid. An incredibly powerful little kid, sure, but a kid who had been lonely and bored for far too long, and just didn’t understand that they hurt people sometimes. A kid who just needed someone, just like King and Luz did.
She sighed softly, stepping up off the couch and forcing a smile. “Well,” she said gently, stepping towards them, “c’mere, kid.” He still didn’t say anything at that, but he did start walking towards her; that wasn’t the best sign.
Normally his voice could fill a room, whether he was happy and laughing or angry over some perceived unfairness. But when he was really hurt, when he remembered how it felt to be trapped, and feared it would happen again, or when the guilt she’d taught him to feel flipped too far the other way and tried to eat him alive, he just shut down like this, and didn’t, couldn’t, speak at all. And that always worried her.
Luz, of all people, understood; apparently she’d been the same when she was younger, going nonverbal whenever bad feelings overwhelmed her. Eda didn’t understand all the details, but it made something familiar twinge in her chest nonetheless. She hated knowing that one of her kids was hurt, and she felt a swelling of concern as the Collector’s little steps matched her own.
They almost met in the middle, under the faint glow of the few candles she’d left burning to read by, but the kid stopped short. He looked down again, blinking, and Eda felt another, deeper twinge as she caught a brief glint of pooling tears. But before she could say anything, he reached up, and one little hand tugged on the end of her sleeve.
In a moment, she knew what they needed, the unspoken request passing down a channel carved by familiarity. She forced a smile, reaching out with her one good arm, and she didn’t miss the swelling of relief in their eyes as they watched her move.
“Upsies, huh?” she asked softly, getting the tiniest little nod from the kid. It was all the confirmation she needed; in one motion her arm stretched under him and pulled him up, cradling him, safe and comfortable, against her front.
The Collector sniffled at that, and she felt her concern only grow as he shivered in the embrace, sniffling and burying his face in the soft purple fabric of her top. She squeezed him gently in return, and as she turned back towards the couch, she felt those little hands grab fistfuls of old fabric, and hold on just as tightly as she did.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she muttered softly; she didn’t often miss her other hand, anymore, but part of her did wish she could gently run her nails through his hair, “I’ve got you, kiddo.”
All she got was more sniffles, and another shiver from her small passenger. So she carried them on, holding them tightly as she reached the sofa again, and sat down as slowly and carefully as she could. They squirmed a little as she got comfortable, hearing the cushions creak and feeling her lap take over most of their weight, but she knew better than to let go of them.
“So…” she asked finally, feeling the Collector shift in her embrace, “do you wanna talk about what’s hurting?” He squirmed again at that, pulling his face away from her, and she felt something cold settle in her gut at the look in his eyes and the smudged tear-marks on his cheeks.
She went on quickly, giving him a brief squeeze. “I totally get it if you don’t.”
The Collector swallowed hard at that, and he met her gaze for one, long, uncertain moment, as if he wanted her to understand without getting the words out. But then his eyes moved, down and over, travelling slowly and deliberately enough that she was sure he wanted her to follow his gaze. And sure enough, he seemed to be fixated on…
“My arm…?” Eda muttered uncertainly; she was sure that was where the kid’s gaze lead, those eyes staring at the withered, encrusted stump where her right arm ended. She blinked; she’d lost the rest during the Day of Unity, when Raine had pulled it free to cut her loose from the draining spell. Why would that…?
But when she looked back to her kid’s face, it all fell into place. Those red eyes met hers again, and their whole expression crumpled under a sudden surge of hurt and fear. But what really got to Eda, what set something awfully familiar turning over in her cold gut, was the guilt.
The Collector had given Belos the spell he’d tried to use that day. They’d stopped it, too, in the end, but only after King had persuaded them to. Eda knew they felt guilty over that now, knew it ate them up on some nights, that was why this little ritual was so familiar to her. But it had somehow never clicked in her mind until now that her kid felt bad for hurting her.
A deep, almost uncomfortable sympathy rose up from her gut, which felt like it was tying itself into knots beneath her stomach. Because she could never understand everything about this kid, just like she could never understand the awkward angles of Luz’s relationship with her mom, or how King felt being the last of a race most considered deities. But she could understand far, far too well how it felt to hurt someone you loved.
She had been there, with her own father, and it had taken most of her life, running and hiding from that, before she’d finally come to terms with what she’d done and how she’d been forgiven. Scarring her dad and snatching away his skill had eaten her alive for so long, and she was determined, in an instant, not to let the Collector bear any of that. She had forgiven Lilith for the curse, she had forgiven Raine for abandoning her so many times, and she had forgiven herself for everyone the Owl Beast had hurt and driven away; the kid needed to understand they were forgiven, too.
“Hey, kid?” she began softly, only to frown when his gaze turned away, and his grip on her loosened. “Kiddo? Collie, look at me?” The nickname did it; reluctantly he looked back, shivering again, and her frown deepened. “I’m not mad, and I mean that.”
The look on his face, silent as ever, told her she wasn’t being believed. “I’m glad that you realise you made a mistake,” she went on earnestly, giving him what she desperately hoped was a reassuring squeeze, “honestly, kiddo, that makes me more proud than I like to admit. But beating yourself up about it won’t bring my arm back.
“What happened, happened kiddo, and you’re forgiven. It’s okay, really.” She felt him relax a little at that, and didn’t miss the quiet breath of relief against her side. “Besides, I’m better of without that Coven brand anyway.”
One hand pulled away from her, and as she watched, the Collector balled it up into a fist. Then he raised it, slowly, uncertainly, as if afraid of what he was trying to say. His pinkie curled out warily, turning a promise into a question, and in a moment she understood.
“Well, I don’t have a free hand to show it,” she joked softly, feeling her worries recede just a little, “but yes, Collie, pinkie swear.”
And at that, their face crumpled. Suddenly tears welled up all over again, shining like stars over yellow and blue skin, and for one awful beat Eda was afraid she’d said the wrong thing. But then they launched themself against her, burrowing into the embrace, and she felt something settle in her gut as they started to cry.
Letting it out was good; letting it out meant they felt safe, meant they trusted her. So she just held them tightly as they sniffled and cried, letting those tears carry their guilt out and into the night. She found herself muttering as she did, quietly promising again that it was okay, that they didn’t need to hold that in, and that she didn’t hold any ill will over them.
“…after all,” she finished finally, when she heard their sniffles die down all over again, “would I be treating you like my own kid if I hated you?”
The crying stopped with one sharp sniff. At the bottom of her vision, she saw him pull back again, and she looked down in time to see him wipe his eyes on one oversized sleeve, leaving a damp smear of saltwater and mucus. Then he shook his head, a little, relieved motion that meant so much more, and looked up at her once again with something close to hope in his eyes.
She felt a new, growing warmth swell in her chest at that, but before she could let it out, the Collector shifted. He opened his mouth as if going to speak, and then closed it again, only to try again and similarly come up short. Finally he screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and tried one final time to force it out. Nothing came.
“Hey, hey,” she said quickly, giving them another squeeze, “it’s okay. You don’t need to say anything, kiddo.”
It was almost reassuring when he pouted at that, a little more of his usual self bubbling up to the surface. But then he stiffened, and she saw the glint of an idea in his crimson eyes. He pulled his hands away from her, holding both up towards her face, and as she watched his fingers uncurled, forefinger and thumb each meeting their counterparts to form a simple heart.
And just like that, she felt the warmth inside overflow.
“D’awww; I love you too, kiddo.”