Walter leaned against the wall, a boyish smile flashing across his face as he felt the smooth surface that was his mother press lovingly into his back. He watched his younger form, fast asleep on the couch. He'd been asleep for a long time, he noted to himself. He'd been studying the child's breath for quite some time, actually, wondering why they were still separated. He'd been expecting them to become the same person again...

Ah, it didn't really matter, did it? He was finally there, with his mother. That was what counted. Strange, though, he'd thought she'd be, once she woke up. She hadn't spoken a single word the entire time they'd been there. She hadn't moved. He knew she was awake, for he'd completed the 21 sacraments. There was no possible way she couldn't be awake. Then why didn't anything?

He folded his arms, the first movement he'd made in what must have been days. Not one person was left in the entire building. They'd left, due to chest pains, nausea and other unpleasant symptoms. If they hadn't, they died. Only a few had been that stubborn, however.

He sighed, and closed his eyes, quickly opening them again, as the darkness seemed oppressive.

After what seemed an eternity, he moved away from the wall, toward the still sleeping form on the couch. "Little Walter?" he said quietly, repeating himself when he got no response. He nudged the boy with his hand, and still, nothing. He was alive. He was breathing, his heart beat slow and steady. But he wasn't moving.

Walter moved away from him and began exploring the rest of the room. Everything was still and calm. He came upon the large trunk that sat next to the television, and curiously opened it.

It was full of several odd objects which, he assumed, had belonged to Henry. A gun, some bullets, a baseball bat, a golf club...

And a doll. His doll. The doll Eileen had given him all those years before. He took it out and held it gently in his hands, the memory still fresh in his mind, as if it had only just happened.

He'd been alone, forgotten, filthy. Just another young man, lost out in the streets. And there she'd been, a little girl with a soft toy. He'd ignored her stares, knowing that she'd be gone soon enough. After several moments, he'd checked to see if she'd left yet. She'd been right there, in front of him, a friendly smile on her face as she held the doll out to him. He'd accepted it with a shy little 'thank you' and off she went to hold the hand of a woman he'd thought to be her mother. He'd cried long after she'd gone, because he hadn't expected such a kindness to ever be presented to him.

He wondered if she remembered. He wondered if she'd even recognized him. She'd been so very young when it had happened. It was why he'd chosen her, bestowed upon her the most honorable title out of the 21, 'The Mother Reborn.'

He stood and returned to his position against the wall, the dirty, yet still soft object in his grasp. He stroked it's face, it's hair, it's dress, water dampening his eyes as he gazed at it. He was...happy, to see it again. He hadn't thought he would, after he'd given it to Henry.

He held the doll close to his chest, his eyes closing once more as he sighed softly. Lovely Eileen, innocent Eileen, he'd wished he hadn't needed to kill her, but mother was more important.

Why wasn't she doing anything? He'd waited his whole life to finally be with her, and she did nothing, said nothing. Did she not care? Was she angry for some reason?

Perhaps...perhaps, for the moment, she simply wanted to be with them, to hold them within her. He allowed himself to slid down to the floor. He would wait, surely she would do something eventually. Surely his younger self would wake. This...nothingness couldn't last forever.

...could it?