There is just literally so much Walter/whump material and I love the idea of brotherly Toby, so forgive me...

Warning: Nightmares, mention of throw up, mentions of gambling. Fluff. More fluff. Drowning in the fluff.

Hope you enjoy!

~"Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn. My God, do you learn." -C.S. Lewis~

Toby's startled awake by nothing short of a shriek.

Only sparing a second to glance at the clock and to throw the covers back, he darts from his room and rushes down the hall, his heart in his throat. That's not a shriek of pain, that's a shriek of fear, and Walter's never shrieked before, not even in the worst situations, and Toby's only been with the kid for a month, he doesn't- what if the kid's being attacked or something?! He's a minor and Toby's not and he's Toby's responsibility-

He barges into Walter's room with such a panic thrumming through his veins he can hardly contain himself, but he's immediately paralyzed by what he sees.

Walter's thrashing on the bed, so violently he's almost hurting himself, limbs flailing as he kicks out and struggles against his sheets, pain twisted his features. For a minute Toby thinks he was wrong about the fear thing- maybe Walter's appendix was bursting or something and he was going to die, what would Toby do then-

He doesn't know what to do-

And Walter opens his mouth, his face screwing up further, and lets out the most gut wrenching wail Toby's ever heard.

Something instinctual registers in his brain and Toby's moving before he can process it, taking Walter's jerking limbs and trying to subdue them, but this makes him thrash worse; he's sobbing and incoherent and apologizing, apologizing in such heartbroken tones that Toby's ever heard- "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I didn't know!"

"Walter!" He shouts, and grasps the younger genius by the shoulders, giving him a good shake, "wake up, Walter, wake up!"

It doesn't work; Walter just snarls something spiteful at the people in his terrible dreams, and Toby, doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what to do, so he shakes Walter so hard the bed creaks-

Walter's eyes snap open and for a minute, Toby's relieved-

But then he surges over the side of the bed, and throws up.

...

When Toby blinks himself awake, it's one o'clock A.M.

He sighs and rubs a hand down his face, exhaustion gently wrapping itself around him again with the intention of pulling him back into its murky embrace, but he rolls over and resists. Sitting up, he knuckles at his eyes and untangles his shirt from where it's bunched up, lightly kneading the back of his neck where it's going stiff.

He's got a pretty good idea what's woken him even if it isn't to screams this time- there's bound to be some at some point, he figures, and blows a tired breath out of his cheeks. Christ, this kid can't get a break.

Standing and padding over to the hallway, he waits a minute and listens, but his sleep addled mind can't distinguish anything amiss. Pushing his door open all the way and nimbly making his way to Walter's room (which pretty much means ten feet down the hall in their tiny apartment), he knocks gently on the door.

No answer.

Welp, that settles it, then.

Going for the doorknob and gingerly pushing the door open, he squints in the darkness of Walter's room, though he doesn't really need to. He already knows what he'll see.

There's a figure quietly thrashing on the bed, little jerks that send his limbs jumping from the mattress, tangled up in the covers and choking on his own screams. Someone reaches in and pulls on Toby's heartstrings at the sight.

"Walter? Walter buddy, it's Toby," Toby cautions, approaching the bed slowly (having learned his lesson), hands outstretched pacifyingly should Walter wake to his calls. "Walter…it's okay…"

Walter lets out a barely audible whimper, finally turning his head so that Toby can see his expression in the bleak, silver light of the moon. It's twisted and creased and so, so pained, and something in it makes Walter look very small and frightened, like maybe he's seven and not seventeen-

"Oh, Walter," Toby murmurs and slowly begins to reach out for his friend, "it's alright, Walt, it's me- it's Toby. It's okay, buddy. It's okay. You need to wake up now, pal." He gently grasps Walter's flailing wrist so he doesn't end up hurting himself or Toby, barely a brush of skin against skin-

Walter thrashes so hard he almost jolts off the bed, snarling and clawing at Toby's hand as he sobs, loud and anguished and afraid. Toby releases Walter as if he's been burned (and something in him has been, if he's honest with himself, because he would never hurt the kid, and for some reason it bothers him Walter jerked so violently even in sleep) and scoots back a little to give his young friend space, watching his chest rise and fall with heaving, horrified breaths.

"Okay," Toby says softly, gently, like he's talking to a wounded animal or a small child. "Okay, Walt, it's okay. My fault, totally my fault. Sorry about that, pal. My fault."

Walter's fingers twitch against the sheets, clutch at them in the dark in panic and pain and Toby doesn't know what to do-

"This is ridiculous," Toby murmurs to himself as he studies Walter. Kid's not big at all; he's all lanky limbs and awkward proportions that he hasn't managed to grow into yet. Toby's fully grown, about a hundred pounds heavier, and with the strength of consciousness behind him. He could grab Walter's wrists easy and pin him, wake him up with a few good shakes.

"Sorry about this, buddy," he mutters and then he's lunging, clamping down on both of Walter's wrists tightly, crossing his arms over his chest and effectively pinning Walter's hands between them.

Unfortunately, Toby forgot about the kid's legs, which are long and strong and meant for fighting, and Walter kicks out so violently he catches Toby in the back of the head. Cursing as he maneuvers himself carefully to sit on them (because wow, Toby's an idiot but he's not that stupid), he pins them and starts to call Walter's name, his heart wrenching when Walter utters a desperate whine.

"Stop, stop!"

"Wake up, buddy," Toby commands calmly, body jerking slightly with the sudden force of Walter's movements. "Wake up, Walter. It's Toby. Open your eyes- you're home, you're home, you're safe. You're with me. You're with me, it's okay, it's just Toby."

For a few frantic minutes Toby isn't sure if it's working, but finally, finally, Walter's struggles begin to die down. "Walter?" Toby asks hopefully, his voice scratchy and throat dry from talking so loudly over Walter's thrashing. "You with me, pal?"

Walter turns his head and lets out a shuddering sob, and Toby's heart sinks.

"Oh, Walt," he says, and his voice is strained. "Oh, Walter." And he does the only thing he can think of to do- draws the poor kid to his chest and tucks his head under Toby's chin, holding him tightly, trying his best to comfort even when he didn't know how. "Okay. It's okay."

Walter garbles something- "Gallo, Gallo" and Toby shushes him, clutching him tighter, and Walter just curls up listlessly in his arms, forehead pressing against Toby's collarbone as he settles down. He isn't awake, not fully, anyway, and Toby suspects this is for the better. He continues whispering assurances even after he knows Walter's fallen back to sleep, and once he's sure the nightmare is gone for good he tucks Walter back in, smooths back the wild curls from his forehead, and pads back to his own bed.

Twenty minutes later, Toby does it again.

...

Toby wrestles himself awake at the first audible whimper, ears alert and eyes wide open as he takes to his feet and dashes his way down the hall, quiet footfalls and soft movements, creaking Walter's door open as gently as he can.

Walter's barely started moving, just tossing and turning and restless, and Toby sighs. It isn't annoyance; he can't find it in himself to be mad at the kid for something he can't control. But Toby's tired.

Making his way over to the bed, he says softly, "Walter, buddy, it's me. It's Toby." There's no response- just a confused noise made in the back of Walter's throat, and Toby can hardly swallow back the sheer relief crawling up his own. He's finally done it. Finally gotten to Walter before the hellish nightmares start. "Hey, pal. It's just me; just Toby. You're home. You're safe. You're lying in bed. Remember what we did today? We actually went out to the supermarket." He pauses. "Granted we got eggs and bread, but we actually got some edible food, not the crap takeout we usually get, and that's something, huh?"

He's made it to the bed and gently lowers himself down onto the mattress, Walter twitching at the dip caused by his weight. "Hey, Walt. It's just me. Just Toby." He reaches out, hesitates- reaches out. Tenderly presses his fingertips to Walter's collarbone.

Walter's skin jumps where Toby touches him, but the older genius doesn't remove his hand. Just lets it linger. "It's alright, you're all good. Everything's fine. It's just me, Walter. It's just Toby."

Gradually Walter stops his minute, stressed movements, and Toby allows his hand to press more firmly against Walter's skin. "There ya go. That wasn't so bad, huh? Not nearly as bad as usual- that's a good sign."

He keeps up the gentle tone and coaxing until Walter's calm enough for Toby to pull him closer, against his chest. He watches as Walter's nightmare fizzes out to nothing and still keeps up his stream of words until Walter's begun to wake. Toby usually wouldn't wake him, but it's been three months and he's starting to get a handle on how these fits work, and if he lets Walter so much as keep his eyes shut, the process will start all over again.

"T'by?" Confused. Awake. Alert.

"Hey, Walt," he says and lowers Walter against the mattress before the kid can process he was being held, "you were having some pretty wicked nightmares, man. Just woke you up."

Walter ducks his head, and Toby knows he's ashamed. He shrugs. "I was awake anyway," he lies, and Walter peeks at him through his curly bangs. He'll have to cut them, Toby thinks absently, or else they'll dangle in Walter's eyes before long.

"You were?"

"Psh, are you kidding?" Toby exclaims. "Late night television's the bomb."

"...We don't have a TV," Walter points out, pursing his lips.

"No, but remembering during the day is never the same," Toby says with a grin, and knows he's got Walter beat.

There's silence for a few moments which Toby takes as his cue to leave, but Walter's voice, timid and very bashful, stops him.

"Thanks for...for waking me, Toby."

He throws a glance over his shoulder, and smiles.

"Anytime, Walt."

...

Toby bolts into a sitting position, a terrified scream echoing around the apartment, and doesn't even waste the time to throw his covers back- he just jumps out of bed and lets them cascade to the floor, wrenching his door open and barging through Walter's, making sure to stop it before it bangs against the wall and panics him further.

"Walter? Walter, it's Toby," he tries, but Walter's writhing and his face is warped in agony and he's screaming, and once again Toby doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what to do-

So he grabs Walter's lashing limbs and draws the kid close as best he can, and Walter's screaming, God he's screaming, loud and terrified and anguished and "I'm sorry, Gallo I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry my fault my fault my fault" and he's sobbing and there are tears and Toby is frozen with terror, embracing Walter as hard as he dares, and Walter is shaking so badly that Toby wonders if he's going to throw up like that first month when Toby hadn't known what he was doing-

But he just sobs and sobs and sobs and doesn't seem to know how to stop, and at some point he must wake up but Toby doesn't know when, because Walter's clutching, clutching, fisting Toby's t-shirt and burying his face and pleading, "don't let go, please don't let go, I can't, I can't-" and Toby's babbling right back that he won't, he won't let go, I won't let go I promise-

When it's over, tears have fallen from both their eyes, and Walter's still trembling.

"Okay," Toby whispers to Walter's curls, because Walter's face is hidden in the crook of Toby's neck, "okay, Walt, everything's okay. It's okay. I'm here, I'm here, I won't let you go."

They stay, sitting motionless, for an immeasurable amount of time.

Until there's a knock at the front door.

Walter stiffens, and begins to pull away.

"Who the hell is knocking at this hour," Toby scoffs, glancing at the clock. It's three thirty two A.M. on a Thursday night, who hell wants to bother them now?

He answers it in a huff, expecting some sort of robber/murderer/assassin (to which he'll obviously overpower), but it's surprisingly their landlord.

The scowl immediately disappears from Toby's lips.

"Err, hello," he says, awkwardly because he's quite forgotten their elderly landlord's name. "This is a bit of a weird time, but okay- I know that our latest payment is a little behind, but we'll have something by Sun-"

"No, ya idiot," the landlord snaps, "that's not what 'm here about. Where's the other boy, huh?" He asks, peering around Toby to look into their apartment. Toby shifts accordingly to block his view. "He's the one always makin' all that racket."

Toby's blood runs cold.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, boy! All that screaming and yellin', it's disturbing all the other tenants," the landlord growls. "Listen, kid, I wanna help you boys, I really do." A lie if ever Toby saw one. "But if he keeps that screaming up, I can't house ya anymore. Sorry."

And before Toby can protest, can argue on he and Walter's behalf, the landlord pulls the door shut in Toby's face.

Groaning as he leans against the wall, he bangs his forehead softly, turning around-

To find Walter standing there, hands twisted in his shirt, gaze to the ground.

"It's alright, Walt," Toby says, shaking off the annoyance as quickly as it had come. "Half of that is my gambling problem, anyway; he caught me sneaking out and in last week. Wasn't too happy about it. Come on, let's go back to bed."

...

Toby's awake before it starts.

He pads down the hall periodically to soothe Walter, who's been having the start of nightmares on and off all night, sometimes garbling things at Toby, sometimes making incomprehensible sounds. But Toby manages to wake up before Walter starts having one in time to stop it, sleeps during the day, keeps vigil all night.

It's not a good system, but it works.

Until one day, it doesn't.

It's probably around three A.M. when Toby falls asleep- his body's finally had enough of this "stay up all the time and exhaust yourself" bullshit and forcibly knocks him out, and he thinks that he probably won't wake up for- oh, say, twelve hours.

He's wrong.

He wakes up about an hour later to Walter timidly nudging his arm, eyes wide and bottom lip trembling, but Toby's too exhausted to move, so he just lifts his arm slightly and lets Walter nestle under after a moment or two of hesitation.

It's not as strange as Toby thought it'd be; it's different, having a platonic body pressed up against him, but not unwelcomed. Walter's relaxed and seemingly asleep again, and something slightly unnerved finally calms in Toby, and he sleeps easier knowing Walter's not far if he needs help.

They don't do it after they're inevitably kicked out anyway (Toby wasn't lying about the landlord catching him gambling) and don't ever speak of it, but Toby thinks that, while it lasted, it helped.

...

He learns- by God, he learns. Since that first month when he shook Walter so hard he threw up almost every night, to the violent pleads of the second month, to the horrified sobs of the third and fourth and fifth, to the restless sleeplessness of the rest. He's learned. He's usually up before they get too bad; sometimes he wakes to shrieks and apologies and horrified admissions, all about Gallo, and Walter finally, finally confides in Toby what happened with Baghdad, how it's all his fault, how it was his software, how he should have seen something-

All Toby can think to say at the end of Walter's terrible tale is, "oh, Walter." Because that's all there is to say.

The nightmares taper off a bit after that, and Walter must realize that talking has helped because he starts telling Toby more, and more, always guarded and always in the dark because during the day he has to have that safety blanket of heartlessness. But everytime he does tell Toby something more, it's like a small weight lifted from Walter's chest, so Toby listens. He listens with all he's got.

And even though they don't stop completely, the nighttime reign of terror begins to grow fainter, like a distant stain in both their memories. But Toby knows Walter won't forget. Can't forget. Couldn't even if he had the brain for it.

Because you don't wake up screaming every night for three years over something you can forget.

scorpion

The first time it happens again, Toby isn't surprised.

Walter's the only one sleeping upstairs at the moment- it's around nine o'clock in the evening, and though everyone should be home, they aren't. They're still hovering, still protective. It's only been four days since Walter nearly died, and Toby has a sneaking suspicion that they're all a shaken up, no matter what they say, and are reluctant to go far.

Walter's been a little wonky for the past few days, mostly because of the pain meds; he's awkward and slightly stilted, like he doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing or saying because the pain meds make it impossible to think correctly, and they usually knock him out for a few good hours. He took his last dose around seven; it'll be wearing off soon, Toby figures, and makes a reminder to wake Walt up to give him more. As a doctor, he knows that it's helping keep the pain at bay; as a behaviorist, he knows it's doing the same for the nightmares. But his dose is almost up.

So when the shouting comes, it's not much of a surprise for Toby. He's been familiar with that shout for ten years (even if it's a little deeper, a little less shrill, a little less full of terror now. It's still the same.)

Every single head turns, though Happy and Sly look determinedly down at whatever they were doing beforehand, gazes ducked low to ignore it. He knows they're fighting every instinct to run up the stairs and comfort him themselves- after all, it was their job when Toby was -preoccupied- but they hadn't had to do it for a few years. They looked...not uncomfortable, but uneasy.

Paige meets Toby's eyes, panic bright in them, and Toby knows what she's going to do in about three seconds if he doesn't stop it-

Cabe (because Cabe is here too, obviously) immediately takes out his gun and goes to dash up the stairs, but Toby beats him to it, standing in front. "I've got this, Cabe," he says calmly, and when the older man starts to protest he shakes his head. "I've got this," he stresses, looking from Cabe to Paige and back, and when he gets the affirmative nods he's looking for takes the stairs three at a time.

"Walter pal? Hey. It's me. Toby." Old routine words, old routine actions. But Walter wakes a little easier now, and the pain meds sweep him back to undisturbed slumber faster than Toby'd expected after he calms down.

He pads back down the stairs ten minutes later- and Paige and Cabe are staring. Toby pointedly says nothing, goes back to training Ferret Bueller (who even Walter has taken a liking to, no one'd have known) but Cabe and Paige keep sending lasting looks up the stairs and Toby figures he owes them some explanation. (If, at least, it will prevent them from pestering Walter for one.)

"Listen," he says. "I've been doing it for as long as I've known him. He'll be fine; pain meds kicked in before he was even really awake."

Paige's eyes soften in understanding and sympathy, something in her face that- it's not pity, and Toby can read that she wants to help from her body language- oh, but it's a feeling of uselessness. She wants to help, but she doesn't know how. Well that's alright. He's been doing this longer than she has.

Cabe hardens with something cold- maybe it's anger.

"I didn't know it was that bad," he says stiffly, and out of the corner of his eye Toby sees Happy and Sly go still, listening intently. "You have to trus- you have to believe me. I didn't know."

Toby just gazes at the agent with something knowing in his eyes. It's not anger at Walter. "We know."

"What was he shouting, anyway?" Paige asks with furrowed brows, concern shining in her eyes. "I couldn't...couldn't make it out."

Toby shrugs. "Sam thing he always shouts," he dodges, and turns his attention back to the ferret.

"Which was what?" Cabe says roughly, and Toby looks up again.

"Doesn't matter." It's not his to tell, and if Cabe wants to know then he's just going to have to ask, because Toby isn't saying.

Cabe looks away, and something savage and triumphant crows in the behaviorist's chest.

Because it was Toby who had to learn.

Alright-y! Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!