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He’s quiet about it. You think that’s the worst part, really. Dave was never quiet.
He’s quiet; but you have sharp ears, and you don’t sleep deeply, and you see pretty well in the dark. Slipping out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you pad over to the pile of cushions he’s built in the corner of your room. You kneel down beside him. “Sol,” you say. “Hey, Sol. Wake up, kiddo, it’s okay, you’re cool, everything is cool as can be,” and when you reach to touch his shoulder the blue-scarlet spark that jumps to your hand is bright enough to kill your goddamn visual purple.
It’s impossible not to hiss—that felt like the world’s worst dryer spark—and yet you regret it immediately because he does that huddling thing that you know means he’s feeling guilty. “Th-thorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
When Dave did this, back in Houston when he was a little kid, he didn’t zap you with his brain, but he also didn’t apologize for having nightmares. He’d just flailed and thrashed around and yelped when you woke him up, and then as soon as he was over the fright pretended the whole thing hadn’t happened, with a kind of cocky insistence that you pretty much had to applaud. Sol just huddles, eyes bright in the darkness, and you want to punch something hard enough to damage your fist.
Oh my god this is wonderful
Oh damn. Hey there, John Madokabert.
I don’t suppose you’d wanna make a deal with me, huh?
Pretty sure I could cover most of those wishes, kid.
you sure this isn’t actually granting your wish?
Never claimed to be an altruist. Doesn’t mean it can’t go both ways.
Mutual satisfaction and all that.
So tell me, John:
What do you wish for?
TG: not in this timeline
As a kid I’d always give my brother and parents presents to cheer them up. It worked every single time.
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