This is actually based off a headcanon of mine that's featured in another story (this just happened to be written first) but it's mostly based on the comment in Cliffhanger: "Thanks to you, I don't sleep. Recurring nightmares..." And Cabe's response (which is what the other is also based off of.) I went a little bit of a different route, but I hope you enjoy all the same!

Warning: Implications of past child abuse.

I also played around a little with the timeline/their ages, so please forgive my liberties. I don't own Scorpion (if I did, there'd be a lot more hurt/comfort).

Toby's skin itched.

He knew what it was- they were hurting for money, barely keeping their heads afloat. He hadn't gambled for a while- a month, maybe two. He was pointedly ignoring how long.

But the itch wouldn't go away.

He shouldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't take such a risk.

But a risk was exactly what he needed to scratch the urge.

He glanced over at Walter, splayed out on the couch. The kid was out like a light, head tilted back, mouth wide open- he wouldn't notice if Toby left, would he?

Nightmares had kept the both of them awake on and off all night, and if he was honest curling up and napping didn't seem like such a bad idea to Toby- but his skin itched. Had itched for a few days now. Would it really hurt either of them if he finally silenced the buzz under his skin?

...But he couldn't leave Walter alone- especially because he was technically a minor (no matter how adamantly Walter denied it) and if something happened to him, it was on Toby. Toby was responsible for the kid. Not to mention if he was seriously hurt they wouldn't be able to pay for the bills...

Nah, he was sleeping. He'd be fine. For Christ's sake- Walter was technically smarter than him (even if he lacked some experience and common sense) and the chances of him doing something stupid were almost none. He'd be conked out for the rest of the day- especially if the nightmares last night were anything to go by. He probably wouldn't have them again for a couple days.

(Because even Walter's brain realized that the young genius was balancing delicately on the breaking point, and one little gust of wind would be enough to send him over.)

Nah, he'd be fine. Toby'd be gone an hour- two hours, tops. He'd be back lickety-split and have some more cash to pay the rent and then he'd sleep some of his exhaustion off like Walter.

"Okay kid," the twenty two year old gambler said as he grabbed the keys to the dingy apartment, "I'll be back in about an hour. You know the rules- no parties, no alcohol, no drugs." He chuckled quietly to himself as he said this- because Walter hadn't touched a drink as long as Toby'd known him, despised the hypothetical effect the drugs would have on his brain, and was most definitely not a party goer. (Probably because Toby was the only person he knew well enough to invite.)

With this sobering thought, Toby grimaced and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, throwing it over Walter's thin frame and tucking it in best he could. (Not because he cared, mind you- this stupid little apartment lacked heating. It got cold.)

"Be back soon pal," he murmured, and locked the door behind him.

It was dark by the time he returned.

He cursed quietly as he fumbled for his keys, hands numb with the unfamiliar cold of Los Angeles, finally managing to get the door open and himself inside. He may have been gone for longer than he'd first estimated- but they could afford to eat, and maybe stay here for a bit longer.

Throwing his keys onto the counter and stashing the thousand dollars he'd earned into the coffee container, he glanced around, a pleased little smile on his face-

That abruptly fell when he caught sight of the couch.

The couch which was quite clearly sans Walter O'Brien.

Licking his lips as his eyes darted around the rest of the room (it was a tiny freakin' room, but maybe he'd missed something), he tried to pretend his heart wasn't thudding against his ribcage at such a speed, pressing a hand to his chest as if to calm it down.

"Walter?" He called, and hated the strained quality his voice had adopted, clearing his throat and picking up the discarded blanket to fold it neatly, placing his hand against the cushions. Cold.

Walter'd been gone a while.

"Walter?" He tried again, his mouth dry. "Walt, pal, I need ya to answer me, okay?"

Silence.

His heart thumped faster, renewed panic surging through his veins and electrifying his blood. He could be anywhere. Someone could've found him. Taken him. They could be doing-

"Stop it," he told himself aloud, opening the pantry. Nothing. "He's fine- probably just had to see a man about a dog."

But when he glanced, the bathroom was empty.

"Walter buddy, I really need you to answer me," he said in the calmest tone he could manage, inhaling deeply.

Nothing.

He cursed under his breath and continued searching, looking in Walter's room, under his bed- no stone unturned, so to speak. But Walter wasn't there.

"Walter!" Toby shouted, running a hand through his hair when no one replied. "Walter I swear to God if this is you getting back at me for the pudding thing I'll never do it again!" Still no response. "Goddammit!"

Slamming a hand down on Walter's mattress, he stormed into his own room, ducking to look under the bed and cursing when nothing but a few dust bunnies were there. He turned and slumped against the headboard and buried his face in his hands, his heart working a mile a minute. He couldn't believe it. He'd lost a kid. An innocent kid with so many demons he couldn't even count 'em, a kid smarter than even Toby, one of the smartest people alive...and Toby'd let him slip away.

There were no signs of a struggle, nothing to indicate Walter had been taken against his will, and Toby was forced to face the fact that Walter had probably woken, figured out what Toby was doing, and left. Dropped him. And all of a sudden Toby hated himself, his inability to stop, his need for just one more round. It has cost him...well. He really cared about that kid.

Fighting the lump in his throat, he couldn't even find it in himself to be angry at Walter for abandoning him. It was all his fault anyway; he should've controlled himself better. He was twenty two years old, should be able to take care of himself, and Walter was just seventeen, yet it felt like Toby was the one who always needed picking up. Walter came with nightmares, yeah, but he wasn't an addict. He didn't have a problem like Toby did. He didn't have the power to fight his subconscious against nightmares- not like Toby did against his urges. Walter was- well. He definitely didn't deserve Toby dragging him down.

Sighing and gaining his feet, Toby turned and began rifling through his drawers for his pajamas, reaching in-

A shirt was missing.

"Oh, I am an idiot," he breathed, eyes darting to the closet at the very back of the room. It was shallow and very, very small, but maybe curled up- "oh, Walter, I'm such an idiot-"

He almost flung open the door- almost. But he knew what was going on now, and he knew what to do. He cracked it open, a beam of light flashing inwards, swallowed by the darkness. "Walter? Walter, buddy, it's me. It's Toby." The beam across the floor only revealed a sliver of Walter's face, buried in his knees, which were folded to his chest. "Hey pal, what are you doing in the closet?" No answer.

Toby's heart sank.

"C'mon buddy, gimme somethin' here." Walter still didn't move, but there was a faint noise- maybe he cleared his throat?

One little gust of wind was all it took for Walter to take a tumble over the edge. And Toby was the one to blow it.

God, he hated this. He hated this.

And he could only think of one way to fix it. "Scoot over then," he said good-naturedly, squeezing his shoulders into the tight space and curling up beside Walter O'Brien, smushing his back and right shoulder into the corner to give Walter as much room as possible. Toby had been right, Walter had curled up; cramped in the back of this closet, he looks very, very small. And he was clutching Toby's shirt close to his chest, nose buried at the neckline, Toby's scent clinging to the fabric.

Because that was who Walter was- he was sensory. He needed things like this- smell, touch, sight, tone of voice. He didn't like to acknowledge it, but it was true.

The silence was getting stifling. "Well this is cozy," Toby said to break it, turning to get into a more comfortable position, figuring they'd be a while. That was okay. It was all okay.

Finally Walter seemed to stir, minute movements that helped Toby track Walter's return to awareness. When he registered someone next to him he stiffened, but Tony shuffled his hat and placed it in the tiny space between their legs, and haltingly Walter spoke, clutching the shirt closer.

"Toby."

It was shaky and weak and filled with tears, and Toby felt shame crawling around his insides.

"Yeah, pal, it's me. It's just me."

Walter trembled, taut as the string on a bow, his whole body wracked with vibrations- and all at once Toby knew what to do. Reaching out into the small personal space they had, he wrapped his arms around Walter and drew him close, tucking the young genius' head under his chin, pressing Walter's ear to chest so he could hear his heart.

Walter took a stuttering breath.

"There we go," Toby said after some time had passed, a smile in his voice. "Hey, buddy. It's all cool. I need a hug just as much as you."

Permission.

It was all Walter seemed to need as he grabbed onto Toby tight, squeezing hard enough that the behaviorist felt his ribs creak, and he squeezed back (if a little softer, because Walter wasn't made of metal, not like Toby was) but it was squeezing nonetheless. Walter needed to be grounded. Told he was here and now, and not wherever that big brain took him.

Walter made a sound at the back of his throat, like maybe he wanted to pull away, and Toby let him, scooting over as far as he could (re: jammed his shoulder further into the wall).

"Could ya tell me what happened, Walt?" He ventured, and Walter didn't clamp down like he expected, but he did make a face that pretty clearly suggested he'd rather not talk about it. Silence reigned.

"My sister," he said abruptly after a few minutes of quiet, Toby shifting gears right along with him, "she always...me da, y'know, he was always very..." Walter still had remnants of his accent on a good day, but when he was upset it jumped right back, and at the moment it was so thick Toby was having trouble understanding him. "She...me da never really...Gallo, he. He just. And I got to thinking about me da, because of- last night..." Evasion. "And...um. Closets. They were- safe. From...him."

Oh- oh. Oh.

Toby didn't speak.

Walter continued, uncharacteristically chatty tonight. Oh. "An' they're- small. Safe." He didn't seem to know what else to say.

God, he shouldn't have left.

He was silent as he thought about what to say, what wouldn't throw Walter off and make him retract into himself like he had done on so many occasions. For all his intelligence, Toby Curtis didn't know how to handle things like this.

(And when he got his hands on the man Walter called Gallo, he was going to wring his neck-)

He didn't know how to handle things like this.

So instead, remembering the thrashing and the terrible pleads that fell from Walter's lips throughout the night, he asked, "that what kept you up?"

Walter pursed his lips. Nodded, just once.

It was all Toby needed, and he swallowed as he settled back down. (And after he was done wringing Gallo's neck, he was going to rip his heart out and show it to him, maybe then he'd understand what he'd put Walter through-)

"It's nice back here," he commented conversationally, shifting gears himself after more silence. "I mean sure the spiders and the dust bunnies get to be a little much, but I really do think they set the mood- especially with the darkness. Could be roomier," he conceded. "But not too much, I don't think. That'd just defeat the purpose. No, this is nice. I can understand why you come back here."

He looked Walter dead in the eyes, his tone curiously serious. "Might have made a closet buddy out of me, Walt."

Walter swallowed and looked away.

Because in the dark, Walter O'Brien didn't know who he was meant to be. The Walter O'Brien of the daylight would scoff at him and scowl, say something witty and confident and cocky and strut away like he owned the very planet. But the Walter O'Brien of the dark was still just an insecure little kid, hiding from his fears in the back of a cramped closet, trying desperately to learn what had never been shown.

Toby was determined to show it in any way he could.

"We might need to invest in somethin' a little bigger," he thought aloud, squirming. "And with some carpeting. My butt's goin' numb."

It startled a laugh out of Walter, the hints of a smile pulling at his lips, and with one last exasperated huff, Toby managed to reposition himself. "...Well now other parts of my body are going numb," he complained, and then Walter was laughing and Toby was too, two goofballs in a closet together, them against the world.

"Don't be getting any ideas now, O'Brien," Toby warned teasingly. "I'm talking about other parts. Like my legs."

More laughter from the both of them.

"...Hey Toby," Walter said after they'd managed to rid themselves of the incessant giggles. "...Thanks."

Toby smiled. "Anytime, pal. What you say we go grab some grub and conk out for a few days?" He waggled his eyebrows. "On me."

Walter shook his head, but amusement lurked beneath his grimace. "You were gambling again."

"To be fair, it was poker," Toby said, beginning to work his way out of the closet. And it was never meant to replace you.

Walter, somehow, seemed to hear what was unspoken. "Well at least this time it wasn't something stupid." Will it?

"Hey!" Toby defended. "My decisions are never stupid to me." No. I can't. I chose you, and you'll never get away from me now, no matter how hard you try.

Walter stared at him for a few more moments in silence, and Toby thought maybe his point wasn't getting across, so he said, "listen kid, you got on the Toby Train, and now you're stuck with me. Just how it is." He shrugged as he stood, reaching out a hand to pull the lanky seventeen year old to his feet.

Walter smiled at him, something young and full of sunshine, taking his hand. Yeah, okay. I know.

The shirt was left behind. It'd be there when they found themselves curled up in the closet next time.

And as they both made their way to the couch (because they both knew deep down this would inspire some grand ol' nightmares for Walter later) and Walter was drifting off on Toby's shoulder, he said something Toby knew he'd never forget.

"Thanks for helpin' me back out, Toby. No one's ever done that for me before."

And, well. At least the Toby Train went down rabbit holes, too.

He'd go anywhere for that kid.

Alright-y! What'd y'all think? Good? Bad? Was the situation right? (Honestly Walter just curling up in the back of the closet seems kind of adorable and sad to me, especially clutching Toby's shirt). But thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!

To Angie: I usually don't respond to one chapter reviews unless I can PM them, but your review brought up a really great point. Why IS everyone so pissed at Cabe? I agree, he was just doing his job to protect the country (and Walter) but I do believe that it is more than just a tantrum about "Cabe you didn't tell me and you lied, you're such a meanie". It's a betrayal- Walter trusted Cabe more than he trusted anyone else in his life. Cabe was one of the few people who cared, who weren't scared off by Walter's brashness or his brilliance, and then Cabe turned around and pretty much showed Walter that he had done all that to use him for technology. Now as watchers and third parties, we know this isn't the case; Cabe cared about Walter since he was a little boy. No way he could have foreseen so far into the future that they would need Walter to build a device that, evidently, would kill over 2,000 people in Baghdad (which, as displayed in Cliffhanger, Walter blames himself fully for). Now in this fic Toby, as Walter's friend, only knows Walter's side of the story- Cabe used him, didn't care, lied to him, and caused him to kill 2,000 innocent civilians. Imagine what that does to a person. Just imagine. If you had killed 2,000 people and had been used by the hand of the man you consider your father, you'd be pretty upset. Scarred. Nightmares and these things? Aren't just about killing people. It's having someone who cares ripped away from you and having your trust spat back into your face. And it sucks. So that's why everyone is so pissed off- from Walter's POV, Cabe practically stabbed him in the back. So that's what the loyal Scorpions think. Thanks so much for your review, and I hope you enjoyed!