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Walt was... hm. It vacillated wildly between horrifying and interesting watching Walt pilot his body. If Hollis pushed aside his genuine concern about Walt’s long-term intentions, his fear of becoming a Sam-husk, and the disorienting experience of watching Walt do things he couldn’t, it was starting to feel more educational than anything.

Walt ignored his demands for sweet potato bread and instead forced him to eat boiled eggs, muttering something internally about increasing Hollis’s protein intake. Walt used some of their preciously guarded olive oil in the boiled egg water and the peel came off easier than Hollis had ever seen in his entire life.

Then Walt scanned his entire house for things that needed repair. The screen door was squeaky, their carbon monoxide detector had been beeping for months, one of the legs on their kitchen table was loose. Hollis’s father didn’t want to spend the precious time he had with his family doing chores, and Hollis’s ma was busy living. Walt set upon fixing what he could with what they had.

Why are you doing this stuff? Hollis asked after a silent hour of work.

He got back a frisson of an emotion from Walt that he couldn’t name. Frustration and something else.

All you people love doing is buying new things. People used to fix what they owned, maintained it. We worked longer hours too.

Walt tightened a screw on their kitchen cabinet, then shook it to make sure it stuck.

You need to start mending your clothes when they tear or get worn.

I don’t know how to sew. You have no idea how creepy it was watching you do that.

You should learn. It’s not hard. Everyone should know how to sew, knit, or crochet, darn, and do some basic tailoring. How can you look your best without it? What if you couldn’t afford warm things for the winter? A few balls of yarn are cheap in the summer but priceless in the winter months.

I’m not fucking... Laura Ingalls Wilder, Hollis spat.

Walt laughed dryly.

I’m surprised you even know who that is.