Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was well past midnight at the Townley residency. The air was thick with the smell of stale booze and sweat, the lingering remnants of a night that – in his defense – wasn’t supposed to end like this. Instead of succumbing to deep, delirious sleep that a night on the run usually granted him, he couldn’t shake the chaos in his head. The fog, the noise, the thrumming pulse of his own damn thoughts – nothing was quiet. So there he was, sprawled on the couch, half-conscious, his eyes glued to the cracked ceiling above him, trying and failing to escape the haze.

Under normal circumstances, Trevor wouldn’t be caught dead stinking of booze in the Townley household. The very thought of it felt like an offense against his pride, a violation of whatever tenuous thread he had left of his dignity. The trailer, for all its shoddy walls and peeling metal, had become something of a... shift for him. Whilst the consequences of his actions often went purposefully ignored, it had become second nature for him to associate the cramped little home as an “off-limit zone”. That didn’t make the effort much easier though. The pure recoil of withdrawal hitting hard and fast, always sneaking up on him at the most inopportune times. It was a nightmare. One that he kept coming back to despite his body’s revolt. The kind of visits he was used to, slipping in and out without a second thought, now became a logistical hell. It required a level of planning and… consideration that Trevor would rather gouge his eyes out than deal with, let alone now.

Yet here he was. Stuck. Sticking it out. Like a goddamn idiot. Lying in the mess he created, wondering how much more bullshit could go his way. He was counting his lucky stars that Amanda was too preoccupied to put two and two together. Visits had always been short-lived – as she was more than happy to get him the hell out of there, even on the rare occasions he managed to drag himself into some semblance of civility. But honestly? Everyone knew that civility was a joke. His efforts to stay in her good graces were always half-assed at best. Old habits die hard. Or don’t die at all, in his case. Maybe it was the lingering high from their latest score, or the alcohol still taking its course, but tonight was different - was supposed to. At least, that’s what Trevor kept telling himself.

The score hadn’t been enormous. Even he could admit as much. But it had been just enough that splitting it three ways would make do. For now. It was what occurred afterward that had gotten them into this fucking mess. Even with Lester on board, any score was liable to screw ups - getting a little careless once they had gotten out of the woods scot-free - but this one would have him raving for months on end. He certainly wouldn’t let either of them off the hook when, just as promised, he got himself to the meeting point to cash the tally but found out that both Michael and Trevor were no-shows.
See, the problem with Lester was exactly that. The plans. The constant micromanagement, the self-righteous, holier than thou bullshit. Even when high on adrenaline, living the high life, good times were always diluted by the constant strain of Lester’s arm being so far up your ass that he might as well be wearing you like a goddamn puppet. For once, just once, after having that little shit brought into their lives, Trevor wanted to enjoy himself as he did back in the old days. Michael, good ol’ reliable Michael Townley, was easy enough to convince with a good time after such smooth sailings. A quick detour, what could it hurt? It wasn’t much of a secret that his friend got a little… excited after a good runaround with the law. And boy, had he been excited after this one. It was too easy, roping him into the chaos, just to let loose a little. The cops in this little hick town were so off their game that they’d be doing the department a disservice if they didn’t drag it out. Give them a chance at playing a little cat and mouse – just to preserve their integrity. And who were they to tell him he had no sense of generosity, huh?

The thing is it would’ve been fine. The cops had lost their scent long before they made their first stop. Ultimately, with time to spare after they would have made their grand exit back to North Yankton, those small, porky brains would still be struggling to slap together to form coherent thought and pinpoint their location. Basically foolproof… Basically.

The bar had been nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly, it was the perfect shithole to lay low to keep the show running. The bar was tucked away in a rundown part of town, its exterior plastered with old, crunchy fliers from bands long since wiped off the face of musical relevancy. The joint stank of stale beer and old cigarette smoke, mixing with the sharp scent of spilled spirits on patrons whose existence could easily have been believed to solely manifest within the grubby confines of the room. Inside, the floor was sticky with spilled drinks. The cracked wooden bar front was lined with regulars, hunched over their drinks and slurring their yells across the bar. A jukebox in the corner played a lilted drawl of a song, outcompeted by the laughs and shouts around it. The place was a hunk of junk. It felt like home.

The two of them had been enjoying themselves. Hey, why skimp on the fun when they were already on a roll? So, as usual, “just one drink” became two, became five, became “who’s keeping count?” The night had become louder – laughter growing, bottles knocking over. But as their drinks piled up, their conversation shifted from playful rousing to something sharper, more confessional. They had traded the few stories left untold, of bad times and worse decisions, of jobs they hated, and how the world outside this sticky, stale-smelling dive bar was theirs for the taking. It seemed real. The thought of “the big one” seemed within reach. Any year now. It was only a matter of time before they made it big.

 By the time they’d forgotten what the hell they were even laughing about, the bar had emptied out a bit, the patrons slipping into the night – too tired or too drunk to stick around. Trevor, way past drunk and swaying to keep his balance to execute some grand gesture, accentuating another triumphant spiel, took a step back, his boot catching the uneven floor. Twisting to catch himself, his shoulder collided with someone standing at the edge of the bar, knocking them from behind.

“Watch it, asshole.”

Trevor blinked and turned unsteadily, trying to focus on the man behind him through the fog. A stout figure, thick set with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, stood there, towering to meet his own height. The man had a thick beard, stained with telltale marks, making it come off as patchy. His eyes were hard and bloodshot, the kind that only looked at you with this much disdain when they weren’t blurred from overconsumption. The bar felt warmer now, the noise of the jukebox and scattered laughter twisting and fading into a grating hum as blood rushed in his ears.

“What the fuck did you say to me, huh?” Trevor growled, his face inches from the man’s.

Before he could react, two meaty hands slammed into his chest, sending him crashing backwards into the bar top. The movement was quick, almost instinctive, and Trevor had to catch himself on the edge of the bar to avoid cracking his head into the counter by sheer force. His arm slid on the wet surface it connected to, his arm knocking a glass off the side. The drink collided with the floor in a burst of shards next to its former owner, the sound slicing through the crowd. His head spun with the rush, and the tight knot of rage in his gut finally unraveled. His patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped.

“I said: Watch it, motherfucker.”

Now, Trevor would describe himself as a fair enough guy. Sure, there was no denying that he tended to get riled up, go a little off the rails every once in a while… But not without grounds, and boy, when he had grounds, you’d better be in the good graces of whatever god you pray to. Because trust him, you’d need the divine intervention when he was through with you. So when he and his good pal go hoping for a celebratory case of mild alcohol poisoning after a long day’s honest work, there better not be any funny business. Just two guys living out their glory days, doing it right – and anyone who dared screw that up was asking for it.

But of course, it never stayed that simple, did it? Mike, who had been watching with his usual mix of drunken amusement and half-assed attention span – nodding off, grinning like an idiot, not realizing the storm brewing right under his nose - was too late to intervene. Trevor, after all, was like a pressure cooker on the edge of blowing up, and Mike wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when he was hammered. The situation had escalated far beyond control, and Mike, still trying to catch up, was caught in the fallout. It wasn’t just a minor disagreement anymore. No, no, this was personal. So by the time Mikey had even processed what was happening, when he finally managed to pry him out of the door, the piece of shit’s skull had partially fused to the floor in a pulp of sludge and hair – and those who had half a mind to interject had gone down with him.

So what, he got a little carried away? There had only been four confirmed casualties with a fifth dangling close to the edge – talk about restraint! They got out without- well, too much bodily harm. Scratches. Most of them had been from scrapping with law enforcement called to the scene. That was an awkward reunion. Besides, it was Trevor who took the brunt of the storm with the cops. Sure, the getaway would’ve been much easier without a police shootout to boot… But how the hell was he supposed to know that cops hang around shady dive bars?

Naturally, Lest lost his shit. Big surprise. When they finally got back to the rendezvous, it took every trick Michael had in his bag of diplomacy just to keep Trevor from launching into phase two of his rampage. Not only did the little shit take issue with them deviating from the plan, but he also had the nerve to strawman him - him, of all people! “He’s dangerous, he’s a sociopath…”  Yeah? Well, if he was too much of a pussy to do the heavy lifting himself, who the hell was Lester to tell him what to do? Fuck, the man couldn’t even muster up the chops to descend a flight of stairs without feigning death. He would’ve loved to see him try to do any better. Waddling around, jerking off with daddy’s old Bullpup Rifle, balancing it like some fragile old man against his cane, trying to duke it out with the cops. Trevor snorted to himself as he mulled over the thought. No shit his father was too ashamed to let him in on his gigs. Let his sunk-cost piece of shit son play secretary in his little fantasy land and praise him to high heavens for pushing papers, doodling on maps, playing pretend.

You know, for being a so-called “respected criminal mastermind”, Lester’s dad had been a real wuss. If the boy had had been a Philips, his old man would’ve taken him out back and spared the rest of them the humiliation. But no, he was sitting high and mighty at the top of the food chain. Always out of danger, always out of touch. Hell, even if everything went sideways for his hired muscle, Trevor knew that by some miracle that little weasel would get his fat little legs moving just fine. Precious cargo like him would never put be on the line for the score. No, instead he’d be lounging in some plush ergonomic chair, wherever the hell his “majesty” desired, pushing his tin army men around with his grubby disease-riddled fingers. What a fucking joke.

Trevor grumbled, rolling over on the couch. The thought of his so-called “accomplice” gave him a sinus headache. Even worse, he was too drunk to do anything about it. His stash was at home, and there was no way in hell he’d be able to make it back on his own without breaking his neck - or someone else’s. The problem was that no matter how desperately he wished to punch the living daylights out of him, Lester the Molester would continue to haunt every single job they did for the foreseeable future. All Trevor could do was to hope that one day Michael’s misplaced fondness towards him would finally fade. One thing was for sure: he and Michael would be working jobs together long after Lester’s LifeCall subscription had run dry.

Breaking his train of thought, Trevor turned again to the sound of footsteps from the other side of the house. They were quiet but, even in his half-drunk state, clear as day. Slowly and quietly, he propped himself up, eyes shifting towards the patio door. He would’ve noticed if anyone had broken in –the windows were locked, and the only way into the Townley residency would lead them right to a groggy, yet still pretty pissed-off Trevor Philips. But still, he moved past the kitchen and into the hallway to investigate. Just for good measure.

He took a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness, a series of faint noises pulling him out of his spinning thoughts. Ones that, well- Trevor scoffed, picking apart the sounds. Here we go again. He wasn’t surprised. After all, he knew Michael better than anyone. Years of working with him had made the guy disgustingly predictable. Guy was like clockwork. Every time they were fresh off a successful run, Michael’s post-score routine remained the same. It was as if he had been programmed. Pavlov’s dog, slobbering at the bell. He wasn’t one to complain, though. At least this time, Michael didn’t have to risk his life driving from his place to get home to the missus, the endless, insipid script he’d been playing out for years. Pretending that he hadn’t been with him just minutes ago, doing exactly what he always did after a score – the fucking ritual.

They didn’t talk about it. He didn’t want to, but Trevor knew. He always knew. Because before her it was some other thrill of the night. Usually it didn’t bug him. It was just the quiet, borderline apologetic way Michael would close the door after him, the same goddamn ”I’m-the-good-guy” act, that drove him up the wall. Oh sure, Michael would go home to his wife, his happy fucking family, but Trevor? Trevor stayed behind, left for sloppy seconds. All according to plan.

However, as distracting and goddamn annoying as those noises were, he focused instead on the slim hallway leading up to it. In front of the door leading into her parents’ room stood Tracey. Her hair was messy and tangled from sleep, clinging onto a star-patterned blanket trailing on the floor and her favorite doll under her armpit. Plum. Oh fuck, did he remember Plum. The thing looked like it would slit your throat for looking at it funny. Unblinking, kill-you-in-your-sleep, Plum. The doll’s wide, glassy eyes stared blankly ahead, mouth stuck in a permanent, pouty scowl, like it’s about to start something you can’t finish. A sick little thing for a five-year-old to love so dearly.

Despite the ever-looming threat of becoming Bald Chucky’s next victim, she clung to that fucking thing like a life raft, shuffling her bare feet lightly against the vinyl floor. Her small arm, not quite stretched in order to hang onto too many things at once, hand hovering just at the doorknob and- Oh. Nope. He had no choice.

Without thinking too much about it, Trevor moved fast, quicker than he should’ve. He swept the kid up by the stomach, jerking her away from the door. She froze, and that’s when it hit him: Holy shit, that was probably a terrifying thing to do to a tiny girl standing all alone in a dark hallway in the middle of the night. Fuck. He slapped his hand over her mouth, shutting down the shriek that was about to blow his cover. All Tracey managed was a startled “eep!” soon followed by muffled shrieking as he hauled her away from the door. Far enough away from the ever-persistent creaking horror awaiting her on the other side. His breath came out in a puff. Holy shit, that was close.

“Gotcha, kid.”

He flicked on the living room lights with his elbow, still hanging onto the little squirming terror under his arm. Exhausted, and so fucking tired, he half-stumbled back to the couch, letting out an exasperated huff. His head was like a jackhammer pounding the inside of his skull. He looked down at her, grinning through sheer exhaustion, but it probably came out like a sick joke – more of a grimace than anything.

“I’ll let you go, Jesus. Quit squirming. Just- shh, okay? With a screech like that, you’re gonna wake up the whole damn street.”

“Uncle T!” she gasped as his hand let go of her face, her tiny hands freezing mid-squirm, her eyes frozen with a mixture of fear and surprise.

“In the flesh, princess.” He winked at her, though it wasn’t much of a wink, more like a twitch. His head felt so thick, like someone had packed it with cotton. His face was too rubbery to move right. “Pretty sure it’s past your bedtime. What are you doing sneaking around, huh? Looking for trouble?”

She hesitated, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clutched Plum tightly.

“I thought you were a monster…”

Figures. His grin faltered just a second before a dry huff of a laugh escaped him. He didn’t have the energy to fake it. “Monster, eh? ‘S that what your mother calls me now?”

Tracey didn’t answer right away, her wide eyes flicking to the door. After a beat, she muttered – quiet, fragile like it was taking everything out of her just to get this out. Her face was scrunching up in that way only a child’s could. He knew that face. Aw shit.

“No. But you sounded like a monster.”

For fuck’s sake.

“Well, I’ll tell you something, princess. I’ve got a real strict no-monster policy. Besides, monsters don’t go picking up squirmy little gremlin brats in the middle of the night, do they?”

“I’m not a gremlin!” she protested, her defiance a thin veil over her terror.

“Not too sure, Trace. Seems like something a gremlin would say.”

“No!”

There it was. She cracked. Her defiance, breaking, and that’s when it came. That little giggle, bubbly and warm. For a moment it washed the tension in the room away. Goddamn, thank you, kid. Thank you. “I’m a girl!”

“Oh yeah?” Trevor raised an eyebrow, letting the tiniest sliver of a crazed grin slip through. “You really think there aren’t any girl gremlins? What kind of hick shit are your knucklehead parents teaching you?”

Her giggle was louder this time, and Trevor couldn’t help himself. That laugh. It broke something in him that needed to be torn down. Maybe it was just for a second, but he needed it. He needed to hear it. He leaned back, a small sigh of relief escaping him, feeling momentarily satisfied. Like diffusing a bomb, this one.

Jerkily, he lifted her and placed her on his lap, his hands working hard to maintain stability and wrap her snugly in the starry blanket. It felt like a sad excuse for routine comfort – one he hated, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? His mind was elsewhere, distracted by the ever-unwelcome presence of Plum. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, he couldn’t avoid the glare of that damn doll. The thing was a nightmare cased in plastic. He grimaced as the doll’s much too stiff body brushed against his arm. Christ, I swear that thing’s haunted. With a quiet, almost reluctant noise, he reached over and poked a finger into the blanket, shoving Plum further down into the folds, suffocating her beneath the layers. He didn’t need that creepy fuck staring at him, mocking him from under the blanket. It wasn’t the time.

“Yeah, well, sometimes ol’ Uncle T’s gotta sound like a monster when he’s sneaking around, trying not to wake the whole damn house up. Need to make sure no crotch gremlins sneak into your parents’ room and stir up trouble. They’re supposed to be sleeping, right?” His teeth ground together at the word, the irritation creeping up his throat like bile. Supposed to. Another goddamn failure of the Townley parenting model. Not end up like us, my ass. Trevor’s patience was shot; he needed a drink. Or a good blow to the back of the head. “So, what’s this about a monster? You have a nightmare or something?”

She shook her head quickly, her face serious now, her small voice shaky. “It made a big noise and woke me up. Mommy forgot to close the door, so I got scared. I went to see mommy and daddy, and it… it tried to eat me.”

“Tried to eat you, huh?” His eyebrows furrowed, but his words were slow to come. What the hell do you even say to that? His tone shifted, more serious now. “Did it grab you?”

“Nuh-uh. I was too fast. It just got my foot.” She shifted her little foot out from the blanket wrap to show him, her heel slightly red.

“That’s some battle scar, alright,” Trevor muttered, his lips curling into a tight smile to suppress a laugh. “Sounds like a real jerk, that one.”

He scratched the back of his head, feeling a sharp, electric jolt run through him. What the hell am I even doing right now? He tried to shake it off, but the feeling of being completely lost didn’t go away. Shit, get it together! He couldn’t. His mind was crawling, slipping into corners he didn’t want to go to. He felt itchy. His thoughts felt like static. Focus, focus. Then, Tracey reached a hand up, trembling as it hovered near his face. Her tiny little hand, her eyes locking on him in a way that made everything freeze.
Her fingers lingered over his cheekbone - dark, angry spots, the skin mottled with purples and reds. Cuts, some old, most new, were scattered across his face, barely visible but still raw. Jesus, why does she have to see this? The corner of his mouth was split, a thin line of dried blood still staining it, and there was a faint swelling along his jawline. He couldn’t feel much of it, probably the booze dulling everything down, but he knew something was wrong. It was that look on her face. She didn’t touch them directly, her hand tracing just over them as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. He felt the weight of her stare.

He didn’t even remember being struck in the face.

“Did the monsters get you too?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

The question hit him right in the gut. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He should say something. He should make this fun for her. But what the hell did he even say to that? “Yeah, kiddo, I got into a fight with a real son of a bitch and pulped him flat against the floor” wasn’t gonna do it. Instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly and forced himself to sit straighter, though his whole body felt like it was swaying. He tried to brush it off, tried to act like the anger wasn’t eating him from the inside.

“Nah. Just workin’.” He spit the words out too quickly, hoping she wouldn’t probe further.

“With daddy?”

“With daddy,” he confirmed, then rushed to add, “Yeah, me and your father have been real busy. You know how it is. Driving around, doing things. Got into some… grown-up business, y’know? No monster attacks. Just being clumsy.”

Tracey’s gaze shifted downward, landing on his neck. Her eyes went wide. “Did you bump your neck?”

Freeze. A goddamn hickey. Shit. Trevor’s mind slammed to a halt. His face fell when he realized what she meant. “Err…” He stumbled, grasping for a way to redirect the conversation. He was too far gone to be subtle about it. His head was swimming. Get out of this. “Y’know what, princess? Let’s go back to bed, how about it?”

“No! It’ll eat me!” Her voice rose in panic.

“It won’t eat all of you,” he said, trying to chuckle, but it came out wrong – sharp, awkward, desperate. Joking to get through this in any way possible. “It’ll just have a toe or- “

That was the wrong move. Her face crumpled, and she burst into tears. Trevor winced, cursing himself for being so stupid. What the hell had he been thinking? Not the time for jokes, you idiot. What is wrong with you? His heart lurched as her cries went straight to his chest, the pressure mounting, but he couldn’t fix it. The usual methods didn’t seem to work. He wanted to snap at her, but he held himself together just barely.

Fucking Townley, stop screwing around or by God I will burst into that door and get you myself.

No one was around to help.

“Shush-!” His voice was frantic, but he couldn’t get it right. He wasn’t even sure if he was comforting her or trying to push her away. Really, joking? What the fuck kind of dumbass tactic was that? “Ah, fuck. Tracey- uh…” His hand rested awkwardly on her shoulder, it was shaking, unsure of what to do. He just wanted it to stop, wanted to make it right. His head spinning in all the wrong directions. Focus! Do something, fucking anything! “Hey, hey, pumpkin, I was just joking! It’s not gonna eat you, okay? No monsters are gonna eat you. You’re with Uncle T, the… uh, biggest baddest monster killer around. Yeah. That’s right.” He gave her a half-hearted grin, but the smile felt forced, more for himself than for her. He needed to lie down. Who’s the sick dog now?

She sniffled, her tear-filled eyes still unsure. Trevor swallowed, screaming at himself for making this harder than it needed to be.

“It’ll eat me.”

Trevor let out a long, slow breath, like he was teetering on the edge of something ugly. “Alright, princess. C’mere.” He scooped her up, still snug in her blanket, without breaking a sweat, and carried her to the door of her bedroom. Time to go play hero - even though that image was slipping through his fingers faster than he’d care to admit. “If that monster’s messing with you, it’s messing with me, got it?”

She paused for a moment, studying him. Then her big eyes narrowed slightly as if she was running the calculations in her tiny brain, before she asked, “Not even the one with the big teeth?”

“Especially not the one with the big teeth, kid,” he said, nodding with exaggerated seriousness, a small spark of humor flickering in his tired eyes. “He’s public enemy number one. The top of the shit list. Now, you want to tell me what else that monster looked like?”

Tracey squinted up at him, clearly considering this new intel. Her tiny brows furrowed in deep thought, and, for a moment, Trevor could almost see the gears in her mind turning. Connecting the dots, understanding the stakes. She looked so much like Michael in that moment – serious, intent, determined. It made something sting in Trevor, sharp and unexpected, like another jolt of electricity… or maybe it was just the alcohol shaking him worse than it should’ve.

“Big teeth,” she said softly, nodding to herself as if it were a revelation. “And red eyes… like fire?”

“Red eyes. Shit, that’s bad news,” Trevor replied, his tone darkening just slightly as if weighing the costs of his solo mission. “Red eyes, big teeth, the whole works. Gonna be one hell of a clean-up job when I’m through with it.”

She gave a solemn nod, still clutching the blanket around her, and Trevor felt something in his chest tighten – a soft, protective pang. Despite the fear in her eyes, this little girl was tougher than she seemed.

“Alright.” A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked down at her. “If I don’t come back… Tell your dad he’s a fat turd, eh?”

With a determined expression and a wobbly laugh, she braced herself. “U-huh.”

He straightened up and snapped into a salute, the kind he remembered from his time in the air force. Of course, he botched it. It was sloppy, his arm jerking awkwardly before dropping back down. He grimaced at himself. “Yeah, that was pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, breathing out a terse laugh. It was enough to make Tracey laugh too. Trevor held onto that.

He stepped into her room, closing the door behind him and flickering on the lights. The room looked like a street after a toy-on-toy gang war had waged through it. Plush animals were scattered haphazardly across the floor, some half-buried under piles of clothes, their soft bodies crushed by the weight of the chaos. Jimmy’s bear, apparently seeking an unannounced retreat into an active warzone, had found itself in the thick of it all, its button eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling as if pondering how it had ended up in this mess. And then, the toys – every bit of that crap Amanda insisted on buying, none of which anyone could keep track of. This place was a minefield of plastic hell. Trevor was no saint in terms of cleanliness, that much he understood. But it was a wonder that anyone could sleep in here, let alone avoid getting impaled by off-brand Lego bricks.

He crouched down and gave the space under the bed a look. Clear. The force of the movement made his ears woosh uncomfortably as he whipped himself back to standing and found his bearings. Show time. Picking up a pillow resting at the foot of the bed and weighing it in his hand, he swung his arm back and punched it with as much force as he could muster. The pillow flew through the air and landed across the room with a soft thwack. He stepped away from the bed, taking a dramatic pause. The kid might need a new pillow… It was amazing how he hadn’t burned through the last of his aggression back at the bar after all. Then he took another swing at the pillow. It flew across the room again, the whole thing now feeling like a one-man demolition show with no audience. He – with as much control as possible to dampen the noise - stomped his feet on the floor like he was trying to stomp out a fire, making sure the noise carried across the room.

On the other side of the door, Tracey’s eyes widened with a mix of awe and disbelief as she heard the commotion. She shuffled forward, peeking through the small gap in the door, the blanket billowing at her knees. From her vantage point, she could only see shadows moving and faint glimpses of Trevor’s form as he continued his staged assault on the monster. The occasional muffled thud broke the stillness, enough to make her heart race with fear, worry, and excitement.

“Uncle T?” Her voice, now a little more tentative, called through the crack in the door – small but clear.

Trevor swung the door open, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow, his face a mask of exaggerated triumph. He felt like dog shit. But he had to make it look good. He allowed her to take in the scene – everything back to normal. No monsters, no surprises. Just a room full of toys, a small, scared little girl in her blanket, a fucked-up doll, and a full-grown man doing his damnedest to pretend he hadn’t just come within inches of losing his liquid lunch.

“Mission complete,” Trevor announced in a low voice, trying to mask his labored breathing. He dusted off his hands as if he’d just finished something truly heroic… And not depriving the Townley family of their child’s pillows. “’Twas a close one, Trace. Almost got me. That monster was a real cocksucker, err- Shit.”

“Is it gone?” Tracey’s voice was barely above a whisper. She scanned the room, her attention darting from one corner to the next. Finally it settled on the window, cracked just slightly, a thin sliver of cold air from outside slipping in. She shivered, her shoulders hunched.

“Yup. All clear.” He crossed his arms in front of him as he leaned against the doorframe, passing it off as gloating. “Big scary one with the teeth? Took a dive right out the window. What a puss, huh?”

For a moment she didn’t move. She just stared at him so long that Trevor worried he had broken her somehow. Then, as if some invisible weight had been lifted off her small shoulders, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him. Trevor froze, caught off guard by the sudden contact.

The warmth of the moment hit him harder than expected, her small body pressing against his legs. He hadn’t been ready for this. He blinked a few times, unsure of how to react – if to react at all – before letting out a choked laugh. “Yeah, yeah. No need to thank me, you’ll be fine.” He patted her gently, the playful bravado fading from his voice. “Next time, I’ll teach you how to get them yourself. Lemme see your one-two, c’mon!”

She pulled back slightly, her tiny fists raised in front of her. Tracey’s stance was awkward, her movements uncoordinated. But her determination – hell, it was a mirror of her father’s. She swung one tiny punch after another. One got a little too much force to it, making her body spin in a small circle as she tried to regain balance, her eyes wide with surprise. Trevor had to bite down on his lip to keep from bursting into laughter, but even that wasn’t enough. A chuckle escaped, loud and a little too high-pitched, and he quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, wincing. That kind of sound could send her parents running to the door.

He fought to keep the noise down but couldn’t help it. That kid was a brawler. No doubt about it. “That’s the stuff! Keep at it, kid, and those monsters? Boom! Dead. Every last one of ‘em.” He nuggied her playfully, his grin stretching wider. With laughter still bubbling in his chest, he picked her up and carried her back to her bed. He could feel the weight of the world lifting a little with each step. With her safely tucked back under the blankets, window closed and locked, he stood by the door for a moment. His hand hovered over the light switch, but he hesitated.

“No more funny business,” he said softly, his voice quieter now, the playful edge replaced by something more sincere. “Remember what I taught you, alright?”

Tracey, barely able to keep her eyes open, threw a few more half-hearted punches in the air, her small fists swinging clumsily over the covers.

“Atta girl.”

Trevor watched her for a moment, just as sleep began to overtake her. He stood there longer than he intended, just watching her tiny form settle deeper into the covers. The rhythm of her breathing slowed, her small chest rising and falling gently. She was already halfway asleep, the fight for the night over. He gave her one last glance, then reached for the light switch and turned it off, plunging the room into darkness. But the quiet wasn’t unsettling- no, it was right. It felt like everything was finally in its right place, and for a moment, Trevor actually felt... well, a little something. It wasn’t much, but it was there—something like peace. A long sigh escaped his lips, leaving the door cracked just a little, enough to let a sliver of light fall across her room.

Maybe he’d be okay after all. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to walk home tonight. He could go back to his trailer, try to sleep off this damn headache, maybe clear his head for once. Or he could—nah, fuck it, he was too tired for that.

He tiptoed back into the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, but the creaky floors didn’t make it easy. As he passed the living room, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the dark window—unshaven, face black and blue… A real mess of a man. Yeah, this wasn’t his finest hour. But hell, who else would’ve done it? The monsters were gone, and for the first time in a long while, he could stare back at his reflection and say, that he had done something right.

Trevor couldn’t help but chuckle a little to himself as he went out the door. He had become some twisted, more psychotic version of a nightlight.