《A/n: Oh damn, 2,700 or so words... not really as long as I hoped it to be since I haven't updated for so long. But you know... life kicks ass and it sucks, but here - I finally did it for all of you. [EDIT: IF YOU GOT TWO NOTIFICATIONS, I APOLOGIZE, WHEN I TRANSFERED THIS CHAPTER FROM GOOGLE DOCS IT DIDN'T LOAD IN ANY BOLDED OR ITALICIZED TEXT]

Before you read; I love you all for reading this in the first place and getting me this far ;-; 》

You took a seat on your stool. Carefully and slowly reaching a hand out. Fingertips brushed against dried paint, your tongue anxiously running over your chapped lips.

“Lollipop.”

You take a breath, right, I can do this. Your other hand lifts to feel the canvas. Your last painting left unfinished.

Michael stood behind you, silent for the while. Being home for three days now, you finally pushed yourself to enter your art room of solitude.

Your wound has been healing nicely too, other than the sting or pain you get whenever you accidentally lay on it during your sleep. Freddy Krueger has also seemed to leave you alone, you hadn't experienced any further dream encounters with the killer. Nor has any sign of injury to Elena or Elier has appeared, but you stayed alert either way.

Sometimes you expected to wake up back in the Entity’s realm, just one big hopeful dream. That wasn't the way you wished it turned out to be, having to continue on with no eyesight and two children who need you, and Michael. Sometimes you wondered what would've happened had you not broken free, would you have been able to give birth to the twins? No doubt it'd be far more dangerous.

But you were here, the hand placed on your shoulder confirmed that, a squeeze assured you that.

“Lollipop.” Michael mumbled, breaking you from your trance. So you continue, mapping the canvas from what you remembered. No, perhaps you wouldn't paint on this one. You aren't confident in completing it.

So turn to Michael gesturing to the painting behind you, and then to where you knew the wall would be. The room was untouched, so you were still vaguely familiar to its layout.

Michael takes an audible step closer. He had instructed Keith to watch over the twins while you wanted to do this. A part of you knew he was worried for them. Though you knew nothing bad would happen as long as they were monitored by one of you in the house.

So, Michael helps you move the canvas. You can hear him place a new one on the easel, the word, “smaller,” being mumbled. Michael steps back, and you turn back to your canvas.

When you reach out, your fingers brush against the material your easel. So you lower it, until you feel the top of the canvas. Mapping it out in your head for what was probably a few long minutes or so. You slowly turn to your right to reach for the palette, a brush being placed in your other hand gave you a smile.

You hummed in thought, feeling the surface of your palette and held it with the brush, while your free hand was reached to the side, open. You just wanted to experience it, vision or not, you craved for the feeling to paint again.

“Dark blue,” you whisper, loud enough for Michael to hear. Then a small bottle was placed in your hand.

“It’s open.” He replies, his voice audibly less tense when speaking.

You mumbled a thanks, taking moving the bottle over near the right corner of the palette. Squeezing the bottle, hearing the strangled noise it gave before flipping it over and closing the flip cap. When you handed the bottle back, you ask Michael for the white.

•▪°○°▪•

Michael watched silently as you poured white paint onto the palette. Getting your brush from your other hand to hesitantly dip it into the blue, lifting your hand to the smudge the blue on an empty spot on the palette, between the two pools of paint that were there.

You mixed the two, making a lighter tint of blue that you proceeded to brush against the canvas.

He watched silently behind you, as you traced curves and lines across the canvas with several tints of blue you made. He knew you couldn't see where you put what, but the abstract look you painted with your mind was certainly breathtaking in ways.

Michael wasn't a big person for art, yet he could stand here forever just watching you paint.

He took his eyes away from you and your work to look around the room. Walking over curiously to a think white cloth, draped over a quite large sized canvas. His head cocked to the side, leaning and reaching a hand to lift the gauzy fabric. Surprise flooded his features, a painting of him, in his infamous and coveralls. The painting of him had his head tilted down, looking as though rain had been pouring down over him. The background several swirls of dark blue tones.

When had you painted this? Michael was flattered, something he didn't feel very often. Taking the drape off the canvas to look at the painting.

“Michael.” He stopped, glancing your way. “Come here,” you beckoned. He placed the fabric back, certainly keeping a note to ask you later, before walking to your side.

“How… ho-w does it l-look?” You ask with a small stutter, your words hesitant. He saw a distant look in your eye, but there was a small smile on your lips, and yet the corner of your lip wavered.

He moves up the mask he came so comfortable with, pressing his lips to your head carefully. His actions speaking up instead of the use of his voice, but he still mumbled to you, “it's lovely.”

You smile more confidently, and Michael commend you for not frowning when you voice your own thoughts; “I wish I could see it myself.”

Your brush strokes left a light tint of blue in swirls, mixing with the darker shade of blue you used.

“Come, lunch now.” Michael carefully takes the items from your hands. His actions of putting them aside were interrupted by your words.

“I need to wash them, please?” You said, standing to your feet. Michael rolls his eyes, humming as a ‘yes’ and holds the paintbrush and palette in one hand. The killer guided you by the arm, bringing you to the bathroom sink. You had, however, also asked him to bring along a small bottle from the desk of materials.

You fumbled with the paintbrush, insisting you wanted to try washing it yourself. A small drop of soap, circling the soaked brush on the palm of your hand. He watched as some of the paint was washed away.

“It's oi..l pa-int, I just pre-efer washing a bit out b-before using the paint… remover…” You tell him quietly, “paper to...wel? You accepted the piece he offered, wiping away at your hand and the brush. You asked slowly for the bottle from earlier, Michael moves to hand it to you, before he realizes you want him to help do this part.

“Pour a li-little on the b...brush, then do what I did… no water or so-ap first.” You instruct. So he sighs, placing down the palette and does what you told him without a question.

“Hey you two,” Michael glances at Keith, who pokes his head through the doorway, “lunch is ready.” You smiled to your brother, signing a curt ‘thank you’, before he took his leave.

Michael finished cleaning the brush, wiping the leftover paint from his fingers. You thanked him before Michael left to put the items away.

When he placed them down on the desk, he glanced to the painting. Before turning to leave, not giving it another thought as he picked you up.

“You… don't al-lways need to do th-is y-you kn...ow?” He watched in amusement while you puff your cheeks, yet not protesting as he carries you down the stairs.

His eyes meet Meg's, who was sitting and watching the two babies. The athlete paused, blinking, before turning her attention to the twins with a smile. While the tension between them was thick (Michael still having flashlight blinds and pallets being thrown down on him; fresh in his mind) but as she made no move to anger him, he made no move of being provoked.

•▪°○°▪•

Meg glanced at her phone, waiting for it to ring, or chime. Waiting for any sign of a notification or call.

Received 11:46 -
Claudette: I'm here, should I ring the doorbell?

Meg grabbed her phone in a swift motion, “hey can you watch them for a minute? Thanks.” Jess sputters as the athlete gets up, stepping around the twins and ran to the door.

The ginger swings open the front door, stepping out and shutting it to a crack. Eyes wide and hopeful as they land on the figure walking down the sidewalk, approaching ever so slowly. The winters cold nipped at her skin, causing goosebumps to rise on her exposed arms.

“Detty!” Meg called out, ignoring as the socks on her feet stepped in the thin layer of snow on the pavement. Running up to the other woman excitedly, accepting the bear hug from the ginger survivor. “Ahh I've missed you!”

Claudette smiles widely, “it's only been a week or so.” She laughs, returning the hug with an arm as she had a bag in the other, “I've missed you too though.” Her expression turns stern, “you run outside in your pajamas often?”

Meg grins sheepishly, patting Claudettes back and nudging her towards the front porch. A chuckle leaving her lips, “yeah, uh - the cold is kicking in now, let's go.”

She pushes Detty up the staircase to the front porch. “Inside, inside, now!” She tells her in a hushed whisper. “Also be careful not to startle the twins!”

Claudette stumbles inside, Meg hurrying to shut the door behind them from the cold. A large smile on her lips.

“Take off your jacket and stuff, I'll go call for them.” The athlete gives the botanist a thumbs up, cringing at her socks as she pulled them off her feet.

I'll throw this in my laundry pile, really quick…

•▪°○°▪•

You sat, cheeks puffed out as a spoon poked at your mouth. Michael had - in some way - insisted on feeding you. Much to your own dismay, you reluctantly opened your mouth, accepting the soup that was well cooked by Keith.

Michael let out a sigh, heard loud and clear by you despite the mask over his head. A laugh escapes Keith who stood off somewhere near the counter.

“Hey hey guys? Hope you don't mind too much but I needed this to happen sooner or later.” You hear Meg walk in the room, accompanied slowly but another light pair of footsteps.

You hear the steel spoon falling into the bowl, a splatter of soup hits your cheek, and you wonder why Michael reacted so.

“Hey.” The voice greeted, and you were suddenly filled with recognition.

“Cl...au-dette?” Your slow voice filled the sound of silence in the room. Michael, wiping away the soup from your cheek apologetically with a tissue.

“Yeah, sorry for stopping by unannounced. I brought a gift with me for the two babs.” You hear a smile in her happy tone. So you smile back, nodding.

You mumble Keith’s name, signing for him to say out loud. “Tell them that Michael insists on feeding me first, show her to the living please?”

“She says that Mikey insists on feeding her first,” he muffled a laugh when you narrow your eyes towards him. “We can wait in the living room, unless you'd like some food too, in which case we have extra.”

Claudette coughs, “no I'm alright, I had already eaten before coming here.” Keith walks past you, something both he and Michael seem to keep in mind around you. While the others (Meg and Jess) tend to forget, you knew they still tried to remember it when they could. After all, you were adjusting still; to everything.

Two pairs of footsteps leave the room.

You glare at Michael, who had brought the spoon to your lips once more. You hear Meg let out a laugh by the doorway.

“Aren't you two just a cute pair.” Her laugh dies down, “hurry up so we can reveal the present Detty got.” Meg sighs.

“O-kay.” You roll your eyes, accepting the spoonful.

Meg snickers, before you hear her, too, leave the room. You swallowed the soup in your mouth, pouring when you heard Michael mumble quietly; “open.”

You grumble incoherently, complying as the next few minutes were used to finish your meal.

•▪°○°▪•

“Wh-at’s n...new De-tty?” You ask Claudette, cradling Elier in your arms, Elena being with Michael.

“Well,” she hums in thought, “I got you guys a gift as you know.” You hear the crinkle of wrapping paper from the bag. “Michael…” She says, trailing off, and you guess she had given the bag to him.

•°•

Michael stared at the bag, coloured pastel pink and blue stripes, covered over by different sized circles of black. Poking out of the bag was pale cream coloured tissue paper.

He grabbed a corner of the tissue paper after setting the gift down next to him. Michael pulling it out to reveal neatly folded clothes, and a rectangular shape wrapped in several layers of tissue paper.

He glanced up questionably to the ex-survivor, who gives him a look to continue. So he did, pulling out one of the baby clothes, a soft pink, tilting his head at the green bunny on it, which was leaning on the ground to nibble at a carrot.

“For Elena, and the other is for Elier,” Claudette says with a smile, “I hope they fits. It’s a matching set.”

He places the one-piece clothing onto your lap, patting on it so you were aware it was there if the bit of weight wasn't enough. Michael watched as your hand was rested on the fabric, the other arm holding Elier steady. You felt over the soft clothing, and a smile grew on your lips. “It's… lov-ely.” You murmur.

Michael takes the other one, a slight darker sky blue, a carrot in the (sitting up) light yellow bunny. He laid that one over the last on your leg for you to inspect yourself. Thus, much like before, your fingers traced it carefully. Mapping it out with care, you thanked Claudette aloud.

Then Michael looked at the last object in the bag. Not wanting you or the ex-survivor upset, he picked it up carefully and sat it on his own lap. Doing his best to unwrap it, was a picture frame, made from clay with the protective glass layer. The frame was decorated with clay shaped into different flowers, all was painted, and glazed.

“Woah,” Meg says, clearly impressed, as she pats Claudette’s shoulder with a grin.

Michael looked at it, glanced to the small baby in his hands, and the other two he cared for. Appreciation.

He gives a nod to Claudette (something he wasn't sure of doing at first), and seemingly happy by his response, she smiles wider. It almost looked as though stars were in her eyes.

Michael leaned forward to your ear, “careful with this one, Lollipop.”

You blink, nodding, and held your hand out. Michael pauses for a second thought, instead nudging your knees together so he can place it safely on your lap. Whether the gift was from a survivor or not, he already knew he wanted to use it. The childish spark of having a picture of the four of you in it.

You do what he silently asks, so he places the picture frame on your lap. You carefully touch it, a very quiet ‘oh...’ leaving your lips as you realize what it is.

“Th..and you, D-Detty.” You tell her again, because Michael was aware for how grateful you were. He was surprised the botanist put so much work into the present.

He watches Claudette smile, watches as you let out a genuine, breathless, and quiet laugh. He watches this along with Meg, Keith, and Jess, who are content with the sight of you happy.

He hears a noise from Elena, tilting his head down and seeing through dark eye holes that Elena was smiling too.

Maybe he'll truly be okay here, Michael Myers could settle into this life to support you, and the twins.

A glance at the frame, shaking the image of you four… as a family… Had he been told something like this would happen in the past - well - he'd kill the person who said that with obvious doubt. Yet here he was, something a killer - a person - like him, who was referred to as ‘The Shape’, as a representation of ‘evil’, holding a small and fragile baby… yes, it was hard for him to truly believe. He did not deserve someone like you, but he'd glad he has you.

So yes, he'll do it all for you, and for Elena and Elier.