divorced dad!simon being forced to tell you about ghost long before he’s ready to. things have been going so well, you’ve become special to him, and to his baby, and the two of you have been toeing that line between friendship and more for months now, and then lottie shows you that damnable stuffed rabbit and, suddenly, everything is at risk.
munchkin was a gift from johnny during the divorce, and lottie’s been painfully attached to it ever since. the fat, beady-eyed bunny has lost countless chunks of fur, an eye, and whatever dignity that it might’ve had in the first place, but is still the girl’s most prized possession. the kicker, though, is that munchkin ambles around wearing an old mask. specifically, one of simon’s balaclavas, tattered and bloodstained and all.
a few years ago, she went through a phase where she was terrified of everything, all the time, after the sergeants let her watch chucky with them while babysitting. at first, it wasn’t a big deal. simon was upset, sure, but all kids fear the dark at some point, and he knows that soap and gaz didn’t necessarily mean to traumatize his little girl. they were only doing their duties as her uncles, building character. the problem was that this phase went on for weeks. she crawled into his bed more often than she didn’t, and on the rare occasion she slept in her room, it was with all the lights on and every blanket pulled up over her head.
so, in a moment of exhaustion and sheer helplessness, simon did the only thing he could. he improvised.
“no monster’s gonna wanna get near you so long as this guy’s here,” he assured his daughter, after fishing the mask out of a dusty box to don her little friend. it was admittedly rather horrific. one-eyed, ratty munchkin wearing a killer’s statement piece. but, it soothed her well enough.
“s’got magic, daddy?” sure it does. why the fuck not. anything to get her to sleep through the night.
thus, munchkin became her protector as well as her friend. she didn’t go anywhere without it, dragged him with her to the park, and to the bath, and probably would’ve brought him to school, too, if simon had not put his foot down.
he was only slightly bothered by it. he didn’t like the thought of lottie lauding the part of him he loathes the most, not that she knows any better, but it brought her comfort, and that’s all that mattered, in the end. until she decides to introduce the wretched thing to you, during dinner one night, and you’re too perceptive to miss those suspicious stains and the sweat gathering at simon’s brow.
he spills his guts once lottie’s in bed, munchkin tucked in with her, as always. he tells you the nitpicked, watered-down version of the story, the only one he can manage to verbalize without it killing him, and he prays it won’t be the thing to drive you away.
he knows it’s risky. you’re young, pure in this way that confounds the former lieutenant, and the things he’s seen, the things he’s done, will surely rattle you. besides, this whatever it is between you two is all so new still, tentative. one wrong move and it’ll all come crashing down.
he half-expects you to get up and walk out before he gets to the end. but you don’t. you sit with him, attentive and steady, and you listen to everything he has to say without criticism. at some point, without his notice, his hand ended up cradled by both of yours. he doesn’t have it in him to complain.
and, when it’s all out in the open, his mangled bits and pieces laid out before you, you’re still there, and you’re still holding his hand. simon’s not sure how to feel about that, but he certainly doesn’t resent it. not one bit.
“…you washed the mask before you gave it to her, right?”
“of course i fuckin’ washed it, kid, what d’you think i am?”