Eleven years old. She could scarcely believe it, but it was true. He had grown so fast she felt like she had almost missed it, maybe because this felt like the longest she'd ever been allowed to stay. So many children through the years, their faces and names blending together until one was as indistinguishable as the next. Oh, sure, there was the Hall of Fame and the Hall of Infamy, and they stood out in her mind well enough, but all the ones without pictures felt about as substantial as a dream.

It had surprised her the day her husband spoke aloud the very same thought she had dancing on the tip of her tongue. There they were, not even three months in, she at the vanity brushing the knots out of her winter pink hair, her husband hopping around with his foot stuck in his pajama leg when he suddenly struck the floor and said it. She supposed it must have been the shock of abruptly having a clear thought at the end of such a long day that caused him to fall, but she had set down her brush, helped him untangle his foot, lovingly brought her eyes up into his vivid green ones and agreed. This child was different.

She couldn't pinpoint what exactly made the small boy a cut above the rest, something inside her simply said he was. Sometimes she wondered if it was his passing resemblance to her husband, minus the buck teeth of course, that made him so. Of course, his coloring made her think of her father. She always shook her head at that. It was silliness. Not all children looked like their natural parents, and it wasn't unheard of to resemble someone without sharing the same genes. Other times she figured it was due to similar interests like extreme sports, which both males were overtly fond of. Then there were the little things like the garbage fiasco last year, or the times they tried to give her a day off but couldn't keep out of trouble. The little things that had made them a makeshift family of sorts, all the little stolen moments that rightfully should have belonged to his parents. It was all those tiny pieces of his life that he shared with them that let her stop musing long enough to admit that she didn't need to pinpoint a thing. She already knew.

The sleeping boy before her knew how special he was, the Hall of Timmy was proof enough of that. She doubted he understood the full scope of it though. What child would? With each passing day he endeared himself to them that much more. When they thought they couldn't possibly care for a child more, they realized they loved him. Hearing their feeling reciprocated in his tiny, nasally voice, brought smiles to their face so large one might have thought they had just cheated Death. To have your child wrapped in your arms saying he loves you all the while clinging to you, was a beautiful thing. Then to wake up one day and have him wish they had a baby, it made her eyes swell.

A little over a year had passed since then. Timmy had turned eleven and through all the craziness, mad schemes, and wishes, he was even more infatuated with his baby god brother than before. That was another thing she wasn't sure he was aware of, that he constantly referred to the baby as his little brother, or just his brother, and to onlookers they were. Timmy and Poof acted the part perfectly, alternating between joy and complete irritation. She had even heard Cosmo refer to Timmy as Poof's older brother, as if he were their natural son.

A sigh escaped her bare lips, unconsciously running her hand through Timmy's messy, mud brown hair. The boy responded in turn by nestling deeper into his covers, and pulling closer to where she sat on the bed. She pulled her hand back beside her, fearing she might wake him. As much as she knew in her heart of hearts that Timmy was more than just her god son and as much as the knowledge brought her joy, it brought a hint of guilt when her thoughts unwillingly turned to his parents. His mother should be the one in her place, messing with her son's hair, answering his questions about life. It broke her heart that she wasn't. It was herself, always. Mrs. Turner never watched her son simply to watch him, and did her best to avoid questions in general. Such a sweet child, he didn't deserve such distracted parents. Yet the selfish side of her was glad for it, happy for the small gift of stolen moments with her god son.

The moonlight in the room played against her and the boy, illuminating them to an almost ethereal status, even more so for the man with shocking green hair who silently came up from behind her. His feet made not a sound as he walked, matching her uncommon choice of size. Indeed, it was hard to tell if he was touching the floor at all regardless of the steps he took. Clad in race car pyjamas and bare feet he half reached out to touch his wife, then frowned, as if trying to decide on something important. Perhaps he couldn't fathom her strange behaviour and it frightened him. Perhaps he knew what had brought her to the boy's side. Either way his voice was soft and kind when finally spoke her name.

"Wanda?"

She brought her eyes up off the bed to meet his as he came closer, a small smile brightening her face as she felt his hand on her arm. "I'm all right. I just. I feel guilty, Cosmo."

He embraced her, his arms loosely holding to her, head on her shoulder. His hand drifted and received a playfully admonishing smack. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. It's not your fault, you know."

Leaning back against him she felt his knee lean in against her leg to better support them both. "I know. If anything it's Jorgen's, but I still don't see why it was necessary. It's so, so selfish." Her fist sank into the mattress. "How are we going to tell him? How can we?"

She felt a shift in his breathing, and knew he was giving it all he had to think of an answer for her. Eventually, he started rubbing her arm and placed a light kiss atop her head. "The same way we tell him anything."

Breaking out of her husband's hold, she hung her head only to meet him eye to eye. "I don't know if that will work this time."

"It will work, Pumpkin. We just have to trust Timmy."

She resumed her position against his chest. "That's your answer for everything."

He brought his lips in close to her ear. "Hmm, not always, sometimes it's cheese."

She smiled at that. "Cosmo, did you check on Poof before coming out here?"

Cosmo eyed her ear like pudding and quickly latched on as if it were a delicate candy, the sudden 'wet willy' feeling causing her to squirm.

He hadn't heard a thing she'd just said.

"Cosmo," she said a little more forcefully.

An incoherent playful little "hum?" was his reply, and she elbowed him in the gut forcing him to relinquish her ear. Again, he looked like a kid who got caught raiding the cookie jar.

"Did you check on Poof?" She reiterated, speaking slowly and purposefully.

He smiled. "Of course I did. He's sound asleep. Speaking of which," he trailed off and went for her ear again only to brush the side of her neck as she moved out of his way.

"Cosmo, don't. What if Timmy were to wake up and see us?"

"He's out pretty good. I don't think we have to worry, especially since he's coming off that nasty flu bug. Although you're right, it is weird being next to his bed, let's move it to ours."

A light chuckle at his enthusiasm bubbled up from her. "We sleep in separate beds, silly."

"I could fix that. It's a dumb rule anyway."

"It's there for a reason." Wanda paused, considering the boy in the bed. He no longer had a fever, but he was still colourless in his cheeks. "Do you think he noticed what type of flu he caught?"

Cosmo frowned. "I don't think so, it hit pretty late in the evening. He's slept through the worst of it somehow."

"You don't think he'll question it?"

"My guess is he'll be too happy to stay home from school to care."

Wanda smiled. "You're probably right."

Cosmo blinked. "I am?"

Her tender smile quickly grew into a teasing one as she stood to face him, bringing her arms round his neck. "Hmm, and do you know what else you're right about?"

Cosmo smiled at her. "Not a clue, but if I get to hold you, who cares?"

Wanda laughed into his shirt and pressed her cheek to his, whispering softly in his ear. "You're right about the bed thing."

"Oh yeah?" The merest flash of pride at being right twice in one night washed over his gentle face before being replaced by another look entirely, with an accompanying, "oh yeah!" and a wider smile.

Wanda cast one last glance at Timmy, assuring herself that he was well enough to sleep without her there. She ran her hand over his forehead just to be sure, as Cosmo was tugging lightly on her other one. Silently, she made a mental note to see to it the boy took his medicine when he woke in the morning. Cosmo was right, everything would turn out, even if she couldn't see it. Her light giggle was the last trace of the two as they vanished from the room.

If you're lost or confused, message me. Heck, message me anyway! FYI, I'm not crazy about parts of this, but my editors said they couldn't find anything wrong with it. Maybe it's me. I'm the author, I think I'm allowed to be picky. The title is a direct reference to a W.B. Yates poem by the same name, I highly recommend it.

Thanks for reading! Now review darn it!