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tuliptired · 10 hours

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He's Good People Ch.2

Chapter 2: We Could Steal Time, for Just One Day (We Can be Heroes)

Pairing(s): Gn!reader/Ray, Gn!reader/Egon, Gn!reader/Winston

Summary: (Egon centric) You get to spend most of the day with the quiet scientist, as per his out of character invitations.

Warnings: talk of having a baby, though reader biology is never specified

Thank you for all the support so far!

read it on Ao3!

There was a soft light hitting your eye, lulling you back awake. You were safe, in your own bed, in your own house, about to go to work.

Oh. These aren’t your sheets. This was not your house. You sat up. Ray was still asleep, curled up in extra blankets beside you. You looked around, Peter and Winston were motionless, the clock reading 7:22. Egon’s bed was empty.

Normally, you didn’t wake up in beds that weren’t yours. Normally, you didn’t wake up in beds that weren’t yours in houses that weren’t yours. Normally, you didn’t wake up in beds that weren’t yours in houses that weren’t yours that belonged to some men you had only just met. And you don’t wear their spare clothes, and sleep in close enough proximity that you can hear their snores catch in their throats. You ran a hand over your face. It all felt so shameless. Not respectable. What were you doing?

The door opened softly and Egon stepped in, holding a stained piece of fabric. He appeared to have showered and dressed in the earlier hours of the morning, and he pulled a drawer open for a new tie. You felt awkward in his space, as he went about his business. Thankfully, he broke the silence.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning…sorry, Ray told me I could sleep in here.” You unconsciously pulled the sheets over yourself, despite the fact your body was fully covered in baggy sleepwear built for the physique of a 50 year old firefighter.

“I don’t mind.” He pulled a tie out and examined it.

“You didn’t sleep?” You ask idly. His fingers made ease of the garment, smoothing it out.

“I’m fine.” He looked over at the sleeping forms of his friends, dead to the world. “They won’t be up for a while. It’s a Sunday.” He paused for a bit, pondering something, shutting the drawer.

“Would you like breakfast?” The question takes you by surprise, but the emptiness in your stomach is starting to ache.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” He freezes up, as if he didn’t expect your answer. He blinks, gears turning, the offer coming out beyond his own volition. Egon shakes his head slightly, as if wiping a thought away. He and Ray had habits of doing that, you noticed.

“None at all.” He starts out the room. When he reaches the kitchen space, he stands there for a moment, hands at his sides. Robotically, he pulls out eggs, butter, sugar, and a few other things from the fridge, managing to lay them all out methodically, in an organized chaos.

You feel a bit rude, just standing there. “Is there any way I could help?” You unconsciously roll up the sleeves of the sweatshirt.

Egon keeps working, mixing something intently. “No.” You blink. Hesitantly, you move to sit at the table somehow feeling a little ruder. As Egon notices you pulling a chair out slowly so as to not disturb him, he sighs, slowing his work.

“Not because I think you’d be inadequate. I just have a system.” He lit a pan on the stove, pouring a small amount of oil into it.

“A system for pancakes?”

“Mrs.Stantz taught me how to make them in graduate school.”

You got a little thrown at that. “Mrs…Stantz?”

A silence. His arms are suspended in the air, batter flowing into the hot pan. “Ray’s mother.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He held one.

“Your parents never taught you to cook?” You try to alleviate some of the palpable tension still in the air.

“My parents were fans of quark on their gruel,” is all he said. “But. The Stantz family was different. They…put sugar in their coffee. Had big ‘sundee’ dinners.”

He seemed to think hard before speaking again, measuring each word like they could betray him. “Mrs. Stantz told me that…cooking for others was a way of saying you wanted them to live.”

That’s why he offered. You could smile at that. In the short time you knew him, you’d gathered that he didn’t seem as skilled as his friends in the ways of sociability. You really didn’t know him as well as you’d liked- he hadn’t shown you much, but you could appreciate the gesture.

“Thank you, Dr. Spengler.” He stilled again, ever so slightly. You hadn’t noticed until then that the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows. Maybe you ought to call him that more often? If you planned on sticking around. You didn’t know what your plan was anymore

There was a comfortable silence as he continued to work, diligently managing pancakes in one pan, potatoes and eggs in another. After a while, he pulls a small container out from the back of the fridge.

“Do you feel strongly about mushrooms?”

“Do you want me to?”

“These are top shelf. The Hennessy of the mycology world.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Eventually, he was plating food for the two of you, potatoes and eggs (with Hennessy mushrooms) on one half, steaming pancakes on the other. Before you could smile and thank him, he stops you.

Swirling around a small pitcher one final time, he carefully crouches at the front of the table. A light, yellowish liquid pours out of it and slathers onto the pastry, making you unknowingly drool.

With delicate precision, he adds a heap to his own. When he decides it's enough, he takes a seat, gesturing for you to start. You take a bite and…

Good god, this was the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The pancakes were cooked thoroughly, the texture of it all feeling like clouds in love on your tongue. The mysterious syrup was the best part- it was homely, and almost like a candy that melted down your throat. You stared up at Egon in disbelief as you swallowed.

“Holy cow”

‘More or less. Buttermilk syrup”

It's safe to say you dug in, making quick work of the stack that was once on your plate. Wiping your mouth, you had to sing his praises. He had the slightest hint of an indulgent smile, watching you eat. One of pride, maybe?

“These are incredible, Dr. Spengler. What do I have to do to get Ray to give me the recipe?” You asked earnestly. To that, his smile quickly fell, and he hastily dismissed the idea.

“Don’t bother. His mother says I’m the only one who can replicate them.” He speaks as if you’re discussing nuclear codes. “Besides, I’ve got it memorized.”

“Are you willing to share?”

“I’d have to kill you.”

You made pleasant conversation for a while, even after both your plates had been cleared. Nursing a pot of coffee, he recalled something.

“Your bag ended up in the laundry chute. Here.” But he misjudges how secure the latch was- and as he holds on to the wrong part the contents spill onto the table. The worn, brown bag of candy from the day prior rips, and Crunch Bars, hard candies, and fruit chews tumble out in front of you. Embarrassment engulfs you as you apologize, just short of lunging over the table to clean up the mess, detesting how weird you must look carrying around a bag that had nothing but sweets.

He helps you rather the treats up wordlessly, before handing you one of the many blue wrapped chocolate bars.

“Would it be optimal to keep candies in my flight suit?” He voiced.

“Don’t patronize me,” your face burns still, your hands crumpling up the paper packaging.

“I’m serious. It would keep my blood sugars high.”

“Go for it, Dr. Spengler.” You grinned, sliding him a Crunch Bar. Something twinkled behind his eyes. Was this the first time you noticed that he and his arms looked strong, under all that clothing?

“Hey noise machines. You woke us up.” Peter stands in the doorway, Winston and Ray behind him sleepily.

“Sorry,” you pardoned yourself. Like a pack of bears, the men made their way to search for the delightful smell that was wafting towards them from down the hallway.

“Don’t be. I’ve never heard the professor talk so much so early,” Winston yawned.

“Hey! You left us with the dishes!” Ray whined, holding up the dirtied mixing bowls and oily skillet.

“There’s raisin bran in the pantry.” Egon conducted you out of the room. He had you follow him back to the bedroom, stopping at the door to think to himself. You were used to it at this point. He emerged, with a light blue sweater and an unworn pair of track pants.

“I’m assuming you’d like to shower now. Here’s a change of clothes-” His voice got a bit worried at the end as you thumbed through the garments, musing at a dark blue fabric sandwiched between what he had handed you.

He couldn’t meet your eyes, his pupils darting in different directions. He fumbled with his folded hands. “They’ve never been worn. It was either those or long johns.” He shuffles past you, in a hurry to leave you be.

Opening up the pile, you see a dark blue pair of boxers, making your face ignite with embarrassment. It's the thought that counts?

“Dr. Spengler!” You call over your shoulder.

He’s halfway down the hall. “...Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He nods, and disappears into the corridors of the firehouse.

The showers are in one large bathroom, reminiscent of a locker room. A wall of sinks and mirrors, opposite a wall of spacious shower space, where curtains separate each showerhead. Well, you´re already there. There's a small bottle of coconut body wash staring you down as you do your business. Of course a little bit wouldn't be missed right? It's a lot more liquid than you expected- and that ´little bit´ went a long way. As you exit the shower careful not to slip on the slick tile, the coconut scent wafts into your nose pleasantly.

You stared at the pile of clothes neatly folded on a bench, like it's a dragon to be slain. In a way, it was. You pulled on the boxers- they fit better than you thought. Ignoring how the image in the mirror made you feel. As your skin still dried, you felt the blue sweater in your hands. The knitwear was delicate in your palms, the yarn a bit worn. It felt more personal than the spare loungewear left in the basement. It felt like a person.

It was fairly large, dwarfing your body. The fibers carried a similar coconut and sandalwood smell that the soap had, making your body feel protected. There were the sweatpants, too, but whatever. They weren't like this.

You left your pajamas in a neat pile as you dropped it down one of the laundry chutes, hoping your undergarments didn´t tumble out into the open. As you crept down the stairs, Janine was working at her desk while Winston gave Ray a hand repairing the Ecto-1. You sat with her for most of the morning, as she insisted on your presence as she handled clerical work and gossipped simultaneously. The 2 men listened to your conversations fondly.

“You smell nice,” Janine commented questioningly.

It was around 12 when a woman walked into the firehouse holding a baby, greeted by Ray and Winston while they worked on the underside of the car. Winston seemed a little less enthusiastic as he held the bright hot flashlight.

"Hi Dana. This is Peter´s keeper,” Janine filled you in. The woman, Dana, gave you a kind smile. "The little bald one is Oscar."

The baby sat patiently, if not curiously, in her arms, a hand in his mouth. Dana joked at him to say hi, and he blew a small raspberry in response.

“He's adorable," you cooed, letting instincts take over as he reached out for your finger, which you gave to him. "How old?”

"10 months, and already very handsy." Dana bounced him in her arms as he tried to replace the hand in his mouth with your own. "Is Peter around?

"Somewhere." Janine yelled for him, and he beckoned for her to give him a second. Egon emerged at that point, wondering what all the noise was. His features relaxed at the sight of the infant.

"Hi, Egon." Dana greeted him, as he stood peering at the mother and her child.

"May I hold him?"

She blinked, a little dumbfounded. "I thought you said babies carried pathogens detrimental to your lymphatic system?" Oscar seemed very interested in him.

"Normally." He held his arms out, expectantly. Dana slowly concedes, and he takes the baby awkwardly. Oscar didn't seem to mind the weird angle, held almost like a freshly caught fish on his back. He kicked his feet and stretched his arms out, and Egon looked as if he was scared to move.

You laughed, though partially concerned for his stability. Babies got heavy fast. "Have you ever held a baby, Dr. Spengler?" You repositioned him so that he sat comfortably against Egon´s shoulder. "May I…?" You asked Dana, to which she nodded warmly.

Taking Oscar, you held him with ease, as he reached up to grab your nose. Bouncing him in your arms, he hit you on either side of your temples, exploring your face. "What´re you looking for?"

Unbeknownst to you, Egon was gazing at you playing with Oscar. So was Ray, across the garage. As you walked in a circle with him in your arms, Dana also watched on, amused.

"You're a parent?"

The question catches you off guard. “Oh, no. Not yet at least.”

“Waiting for ‘the one’” Janine cuts in, eyes not leaving her computer.

“Among other things.” Oscar plays with the collar of the sweater, tugging on it. Peter hopped off the last of the stairs then, exclaiming at the spectacle.

“You’ve got some hairless monster on you,” he feigns fear. Oscar looked at him once, before going back to your collar.

Ray crosses to you both, cooing at the kid in your arms. Peter stopped him halfway there.

“Wash.”

Ray looked down at his motor-oil covered hands, and defeatedly sulked over to the garage sink. Peter turned to you, opening his mouth to say something, before snapping it closed. He narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at you.

“Is that Eges’?”

You look down. “Is it?”

Egon went rigid, as usual, and swallowed silently. “Today’s forecast predicted a cold front.”

“We’re in the middle of the warmest spring in a decade. Mr. Softy’s outside.”

“Inaccurate journalism, then.”

While Ray’s eyes turned into slits from the sink, Peter’s widened. He put a hand on Dana’s shoulder and steered her towards the door. “I’m gonna have a quick walk with my girl here.”

“I was only stopping by for-”

“A quick walk.”

Oscar looked confused at seeing his mother go. He balled his fists in the front of your shirt. “The baby?”

“Keep it,” Peter called over his shoulder before the door shut.

As Winston packed up all the tools under the elevated vehicle and Ray vehemently turned the pipe off, the phone rang. Janine took it, listening with “uh-huh’s” occasionally, before scribbling down an address on a notepad.

“There’s a client at,” she ripped the paper out and held it out for Ray, “this address. Golf course- she says there’s a puppet ripping out the green.” His eyes grew to the size of saucers as he read it to himself.

“Man! Are you sure this isn’t out of our zoning?” He pleaded with the tiny woman.

“I don’t know, Mr. ‘We’re ready to believe you’.” Janine resumed her typing.

“The day barely started and we’re already driving 2 hours out the way,” he grumbled., “Isn’t it Peter and Egon’s turn?”

“It’s not. Last month we went down to that beach in Jersey.”

Ray’s incredulous glower deepened. “And you got ice cream afterwards!”

“And we’re very sorry yours melted.”

He muttered a few things, before surrendering and pulling on his flight suit, Winston behind him begrudgingly. They repacked the car, pulled out the garage, and they were off.

Peter and Dana still weren’t back, so you sat back in the chair at Janine’s side. Oscar reached out to grab her sleeve.

“I’m returning this later, he’ll stain it.” She rolled her chair an inch away, sharpening a pencil.

He babbled at her. “Don’t worry about Janine. She’s mean and old.” He tried leaning out of your reach to touch her face, entranced by something, before you spun the chair around. “She’ll steal your youth, Oscar.”

He looked a little bored, as he hit your temples for the second time. His brow furrowed as much as a baby could manage, as he examined your face again. “What?” You asked. He looked sad, making small whimpers at you. You turned the chair around again, showing him Egon. “He looks constipated, Dr. Spengler.”

Oscar suddenly got very excited, bouncing up and down and grabbing the air. You laugh, using your foot to bring a wheeled-stool over, waving Egon along to sit. He sat, legs comically too large for the tiny chair.

“Sure, let’s have a meeting at Janine's desk,” the woman commented dryly.

Egon looked a little bemused as the boy exclaimed for him, sitting in your lap. You scooted closer to him, so much so that your knees touched and formed a bridge, his skin getting warmer as you did. You place Oscar on the ledge you created, and he eagerly leans into Egon. He reaches for his face like he did you and Janine, but falls onto his butt in the process. Egon’s stiffness is endearing. It’s like there was a baby bear on his lap rather than a baby child. Jeez, he’s gonna burst a blood vessel at this rate.

Putting him out of his misery, you lightly grab each of his hands, steadying them on each side of the sitting baby marveling at the man in front of him. Egon’s skin is still warm, even more so now, as you coax him to pick Oscar up. The backs, at least, were a little rough and worn, but you expected no more from a scientist. He was still a man, at the end of the day. You glanced up at his panicking face, and you didn’t know any better, you’d say his chest was rising and falling more than normal. You held Egon’s large hands under your own as you aided him in raising him to eye level.

You leaned to the right, keen on teasing his bewildered face from behind Oscar’s rear end. “Was that hard, Dr. Spengler?” Oscar starts gleefully hitting his temples as he did yours.

“Do you want to have a baby.”

Janine’s typing stops. Egon’s glasses go flying off his face and land behind you, as the baby in your hands erupts in a fit of giggles before you could say anything. His hands recoiled from yours like you were a burning stove as you gently set him down, back on your own lap.

Egon looks like his brain is short circuiting and melting out his ears, which, for all you know, it was. Even with his glasses off, his face never failed to absorb you. He definitely had the face to make a few college girls lose their humility.

He remembered human interaction and cleared his throat. “What I meant was. Oscar has a larger than normal head and large eyes. He also has an upturned, small nose.” His tone regained the scientific timbre it normally had. “Many people of,” he fished for the words, “child-rearing-age find these features…’cute’.” Janine snorted a laugh, then got up to search for his discarded eyewear somewhere on the floor.

“He’s to die for, no doubt. I just…” he’s resided lying against your legs now, his wonder satisfied for one afternoon as he teethed on one of Egon’s fingers, “Unfortunately, it takes 2 to to make a baby. I’m not exactly properly equipped to complete that job on my own” You sighed. How was your life gonna go back to normal, once your apartment was safe again? You hate to admit, but that job was you at your peak. Janine pressed the eyeglasses into Egon’s palm.

The door opened then, and Peter entered with Dana in tow. She smirked at the sight of you and Egon, knee to knee with a baby in between you.

“How cute, we’ll call up JCPenney and they can take a family photo,” she took to teasing Egon as you handed her back her son.

He sat limply in her arms, about ready for a nap. “He’s delightful, Dana.”

“Makes you wanna have one?” Janine turns in her chair to face you.

At some point during the afternoon, Janine sighed heavily at the idea of running around and completing the list of errands she’d let fester over the week as you ate together upstairs. Egon was tinkering with something at the workspace near you when he spoke up.

“Do you want me to do it?” He put the contraption down on the desk.

“You would?” Janine let her head fall on the back of the couch, holding the list out to him.

“I might as well. I can’t focus today.” He folded the paper, placing it in the pocket of his coat. As he started down the steps, he slowed, and turned his head towards you.

“Y/N? Would you mind joining me? I don’t get to the store much.” You had no objections. After washing the last of the wares you both had dirtied, you dried your hands off on a teatowel before descending the stairs on Egon’s heels.

He held the door for you as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, and the humidity hit you like a brick. It had been a pretty warm spring, but the recent light rain seemed to cool the earth off, just a bit. It was getting gray and wet outside the longer you walked, clouds ghosting over the sun every now and again. You both walked together in comfortable silence, in an arbitrary direction (you’ve never been shopping in this area), as gentle drops on your head slowly turned into genuine precipitation.

Before you could suggest turning back, or grabbing umbrellas, the rain above you suddenly stops. As you look up, he’s holding his overcoat above your head. Head and shoulders undoubtedly getting soaked.

“There’s a bus stop down the block. We can catch it if we run.”

With that, you’re off. Running like little kids down a hill, you narrowly avoid deep puddles and streetlamps as you giggle uncontrollably. As your feet hit the sidewalk with every step, the petrichor in the air fills your lungs like it’s your soul. In a way, in your adrenaline rushed mind, you equate it with the man next to you.

When you finally reach the stop, the bus is lurking from the end of the street. Doubled over, you catch your breath, the air now feeling like fire leaving your esophagus. But you laugh through it all. And the man who shielded you from the rain lets out a weak, barely there chuckle. You straighten to thank him, when you notice how bad mother nature got him. Egon’s usually pomaded, high and tamed hair had fallen out of place, curls now coming loose on his head. He looked wonderful, other than most of his upper body being stained by the sudden downpour.

You can’t speak, staring at him, at the almost Grecian picture in front of you. His lips were parted slightly as he regained his energy, almost curled in a simper as the strong hands you felt earlier wiped some of the dampness from his forehead. His tie was a sky blue, unlike the sky that had dominion over you now. And god, he looked nice in blue.

As he noticed your staring, an eyebrow quirked up, only slightly. There was nothing for you to do but laugh, leaning into the tall man in front of you. He was stiff at first, and confused, but he succumbed to it soon enough, holding you as well as he couldn’t hold himself back from the ridiculousness of it all. You both probably looked like idiots, losing your minds on the side of the street. But for the first time since yesterday, you were sure of something. If this was what it felt like to be an idiot with him, you never wanted to be smart again.

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