their first halloween bub gets dressed in a baby sized version of his day to day farming outfit 🥺
ok but years later, bub decides to go through his things because why wear a baby sized version when bub can just wear his?
she comes tumbling down the stairs, wearing his balaclava like a costume, swinging his jacket on like a cape. she's playing soldier, spy, hero— whatever her imagination lets her be.
he hears her laughter before he sees her. it's just noise, then; bright, familiar, harmless. then the footsteps, heavy and clumsy and wrong, boots too big hitting the floor. he turns the corner and sees his old mask, sees the shape, and for a split second, the world tilts and his body forgets where he is.
his breath snags, his vision narrows, and his hand twitches toward the wall, toward the rifle that used to hang there. his heart is the drum of an old war, already bracing for impact, for orders, for blood. but then—
it's bub, and that is a shock to his system, sharp as gunmetal.
eyes bright, laughing through the wool. tripping over his old work boots she grabbed to complete the look.
"look, i'm you", she says, muffled, proud.
the words shouldn't matter. they don't. his body doesn't obey reason. he crosses the room fast, too fast, and takes the mask off with a gentleness that doesn't match the tension in his jaw. his fingers are trembling and his voice is low, but tight, like it's being forced through a locked door.
"don't touch my things."
bub blinks, startled, the laughter dying in her throat.
he kneels, eye level with her. there's no comfort in it, and his hand is hovering, not quite touching her shoulder. he's trying to breathe through it, harsh and unsteady, trying to be the man she knows.
"that stuff's not for play. y'hear me?"
bub doesn't truly understand but nods anyway, and learns to get her next halloween costume from the laundry basket instead.
