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He stared at his shaking hands (hands, warm and calloused and alive, not clunky rotting metal), eyes twitching. This had to be some memory or - or joke! There was no way he could be…here…
Small, clumsy knocks on the door made him jump. The voice he feared hearing, the one that would make this real, spoke quietly.
“Daddy?”
If you were to ask Michael what the hell just happened, he would be…intrigued at the question.
Due to some really odd voodoo magic he didn’t have the energy to care about, he was sitting next to his siblings at the breakfast table, staring at the man who he had called a father, in his childhood home.
And now, surprisingly enough, said “father” was making pancakes.
OR
William and Michael, cut from the same cloth, end up in 1982 with no idea how they got there. William has confidence that he can fix things. Michael isn’t so sure.
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Bookmark Notes:
3/?