Work Text:
You're standing in a field, just out of sit of the other dads and your sons. You just need a moment. Just a second away from the fray to gather yourself, you've had a rough go of it recently. You shut your eyes as a strong wind passes through, relishing in the feeling of the way it tickles your skin and makes your hair dance, and the music of the leaves tapping against each other.
When you open your eyes, a man you've never seen before stands in front of you. He is no longer young and is not yet old, but he looks at you with sharp blue eyes that seem impossibly ancient. Suddenly the air feels stale like it has completely stopped moving, bringing the world to a standstill with it. The hair on your arms stand on edge, trying to warn you of something you can't figure out.
The man before you sighs, squares his shoulders, and sticks his hand out. "My name is John. It's nice to meet you, Darryl."
"Uh, hello, I'm Darryl Wilson," You say, grabbing his hand for a handshake like any father worth his salt would do, before faltering. "You know that. How do you know that?"
"Paradox space, it's a whole thing." He shrugs. You blink. Once. Twice. Wait for him to elucidate, but you shortly realize he has no plans to do so.
"Uh, sir, I don't mean to be rude, but what does that mean? Is it some kind of druid spell or something?"
He scrunched his brows, slightly confused, which makes you feel slightly better about the situation. "No? Honestly, I'm not sure if I could explain it. All that kind of stuff always goes over my head. If Jade or Rose were here I'm sure they'd be able to explain it but. . ." He pauses, moves his hand as though he's trying to catch something in the air, and it starts moving again. "I'm really not that smart."
"I know how that feels." You chuckle awkwardly, and think of your wife, think of Henry. "Can I help you with something?"
John gives you a lopsided grin, it lights up his eyes and you can't help but be reminded of when Grant was still a little kid. Back before everything happened. When he saw the brilliance in all of the little things in life. "I think I'm supposed to help you, sir."
"I mean, not to toot my own horn but I've been pretty much got everything under control at the moment." John gives you a look that strongly suggests that he's aware that isn't strictly the truth, no matter how many times you say it. "Ok, fair enough. How are you supposed to be helping me?"
"Don't know." He gives a half-hearted shrug. " Figured we'd just talk until the Author decides he's satisfied."
You stare at him. "The author?"
"Yep." He doesn't elaborate and you don't feel like asking him to would do anything other than confuse the both of you.
"So. . ." You trail off, not sure of what to say, but not totally comfortable with the idea of silence with this stranger. You briefly consider calling over the other dads, but then he begins talking.
"I know it's been pretty rough for you recently, Darryl." He bends down and picks a piece of something that looks like clover out of the grass, and starts mindlessly picking at it.
You stare at the clover as he does this. Unsure of what to do with your own hands, or with the rest of your body for that matter. "It's fine, we just gotta keep trucking through."
John smiles again, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I know what that feels like." There's another silence that you're not sure how to fill, it sits there for a moment, and you open your mouth, before you've even decided what to say, he starts, "When I was 13, my friends and I played a game." He chews on his bottom lip and rubs his eyes hard like he's trying to erase memories that are playing behind his eyelids. "It was probably the worst decision I ever made. The world ended, we all lost our parents, our homes. We ended up growing up way faster than anyone ever should."
You think about Grant. His time before you found him at For Knights, and after. About pretty much everything that had happened since you had found yourselves in Faerun. The air rushes out of your chest so forcefully that you have to sit down if you plan on not passing out. Which is something you'd rather not do. So you find yourself sitting on the ground, your legs becoming boards you can barely move, sticking out straight like an old doll. You vaguely notice John moving to sit nearby you.
He leans back on one arm, the other hand still fidgeting with the clover, as his eyes watch the horizon carefully, like it might tell him something. "It's hard, growing up like that, but I promise you can get through it."
You glance over a John, and he's looking back at you with a level of intenseness you hadn't expected. " He will get through it."
You pull your legs to your chest. It feels like moving lead. "I love my son so much. More than anything or anyone in the world, but I keep messing up. Keep messing him up. I don't even notice until it happens and I can't fix it and I don't know what to do."
John is facing you, but his eyes are glazed over like he's looking at something past you, that you can't see. "It happens, Darryl. You can't be a perfect parent, no one can."
You curl further into yourself and shut your eyes so tightly it's painful trying to forcefully prevent tears from falling. When you finally speak, your voice is so small that you're not sure the man beside you can even hear you. "My dad was. He was the perfect father, the perfect husband. I don't know how I fucked up so badly."
John puts his hand on your shoulder. "For a long time after my dad died, I felt the same way. I was so stuck in everything I missed about him, that I got blinded to the bad parts, but everyone has them. My dad fucked up raising me, Skaia knows I've fucked up raising mine."
You try to remember anything bad about your father and come up empty. You can't even remember a particularly annoying habit, and you feel so guilty even trying to that it feels like an elephant is standing directly on your heart.
John seemingly reads your mind and says, "You don't tear down a pedestal you've built for someone in a day. You've spent years building him up in your mind to be something bigger and better than what he was. It's normal, but he doesn't gain anything from you thinking he was perfect. Neither do you or your son." He takes his hand off of your shoulder and looks back at the horizon. "Everyone has their demons, Darryl, don't let your father become one of yours. I don't think he would have want that."
"I think, maybe, I've already made myself that for Grant." This is a confession you're surprised to hear come out of your mouth. But it does and it doesn't feel like a lie when you say it.
"I don't think you have yet." John says this with a level of certainty that surprises you, but he seems sure about a lot of things.
"I'm not sure I can avoid it for much longer at this point." You rub the back of your neck, and finally, look up from your chest.
"Talk to him. It's probably not going to be easy at first. It's definitely not a muscle you've built yet, but it's a step you've got to take." John says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe it is.
"I've got a friend who keeps telling me that.'' You think of all the times Henry had given you that exact advice.
"Sounds like you've got a smart friend. Always good to have one of those." John is smiling again. You want to see Grant smiling like that again, and seeing John almost gives you hope that you will.
"I think I do." The resignation in your voice is clear. While Henry and you are certainly on better terms than you were at the beginning of this journey, and you definitely consider him one of your closest friends, he still annoys the crap out of you in a lot of ways.
"Is this going to be easier when we get back home?" You ask, you've been so focused on getting back homes but sitting here, you're starting to wonder if it's just going to get worse.
"I don't know." He looks down at the clover in his hands. "We never got to go back. We had to build each other back with the pieces we had leftover. Hopefully, find some new ones to fill the gaps."
You frown. "I think we might be doing that too." You feel like you're being suffocated under the weight of that idea. You just want everything to go back to the ways they were before all of this. Even though they were crumbling, nothing was broken yet. You're not naive enough to think they wouldn't have broken anyway, but it doesn't stop you from wishing.
John waits for a bit of wind to stir up and drops the clover into it. The two of you watch the clover dance across the sky, making loops and twirls before disappearing into the trees at the edge of the field. "There is beauty in rebuilding. So much value in that journey. It's not going to be fun, or easy, but it can be worth it if you let it be."
You stare at the spot where the clover disappeared. "Maybe." He squeezed your hand and you look over at him.
His body seems to blink out of existence for a split second. You're not sure if you would have noticed if you hadn't felt the weight of his land leave your own. John laughs softly, "I think this is it, Darryl. Good luck."
"You sure you can't stick around for a bit more advice?" You ask.
"Do all you can, and that will be enough."
"I'm not sure it will." Your throat tightens.
John's eyes are full of light and you can feel how much he believes in you. 'We both know you're going to try anyways." And with a strong breeze that rustles the grass and leaves in the field. He disappears.