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Daniel shifted under the thin blanket, feeling Mushroom pressed against his side. She’d burrowed close overnight, warm and heavy, a small anchor in the quiet, cold cabin. He absently scratched behind her ears, listening to the soft, steady rise and fall of her breathing. She’d been with him through everything—always patient when he wasn’t, always there when he needed her most.
“Morning, Mushroom,” he murmured. She lifted her nose, sniffed him, and gave a soft nuzzle before settling back down. Her little heart thumped against his chest, rhythmic and warm, a stubborn pulse of life in the cold cabin. Daniel pressed his cheek to her fur, and for a moment he let himself relax, leaning into the comfort of her warmth.
Then came the sound of boots scraping against the floorboards. Daniel’s eyes snapped open. Sean was already moving, the morning light catching on the worn edges of his jacket, the rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The clinking of cans and supplies being packed filled the cabin, blending with the smell of cold wood and lingering smoke from last night’s fire.
“Morning, enano,” Sean said without looking up, calm but firm as always. “I’m heading to town. Couple hours, maybe more. Don’t wander off while I’m gone.”
Daniel groaned, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably, and his head throbbed. “How do we… how do we even buy anything?” he asked, voice small but sharp, trying to sound tougher than he felt. “We don’t have cash.”
Sean crouched in front of him, resting a hand on his shoulder. The weight was meant to reassure, but it made Daniel bristle. He hated how small it made him feel, like he had to behave, like he couldn’t just act on his own.
“Found some cash in one of the rooms we cleared out yesterday,” Sean said gently. “Not a lot… twenty dollars or so. Enough to get some food, some medicine.” He gave Daniel a faint nod. “And I think we’re done with just eating canned ravioli for a while.”
Daniel’s stomach growled, and he glanced down at Mushroom, curled against his chest. Her little tail wagged faintly, her eyes bright and warm. “Finally,” he muttered, relief sparking in his voice. But it faded almost immediately, replaced by the tight coil of frustration in his chest.
“But… what about training?” His frown deepened, and he pushed himself upright slightly, ignoring the ache in his chest that made every movement heavy. “I need to get stronger! I need to practice! We can’t just sit here while you go do everything!”
Sean sighed, shifting slightly. His eyes softened with worry. “Not right now, Daniel. You’re sick. You’ve barely been eating. You’re burning energy faster than your body can handle it. The food won’t gather itself.”
“I’m fine!” Daniel protested, voice rising. “I don’t need—” He coughed, sharp and wet, making him double over, head spinning. He swallowed hard, forcing himself upright. “See? I’m fine! I can train! I have to train!”
Sean’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder. “Enano…” he said, voice low and careful. “You’re not fine. I can feel it. You’re burning up, you’re pale as a sheet. You can’t just push through it like nothing’s wrong. If you overdo it, you could make yourself worse.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed, frustration mingling with panic. “I don’t care! I can handle it! I can do it! I just need to—” He swung his legs out of the blanket, wobbling weakly. Mushroom whimpered softly, pressing closer to him as if trying to shield him from his own recklessness.
Sean crouched closer, careful not to crowd him, voice soft but firm. “No, Daniel. You can’t handle it if your body’s breaking down. I won’t let you push yourself while you’re sick. Not if I can stop it.”
Daniel scowled, chest tight with irritation and the ache in his throat. “I’m not a baby! I’m not some… kid you have to carry around!” His fists clenched, little tremors of frustration running through him. “I can train! I can fight! I can—” He coughed again, weaker this time, and winced as his chest burned. “See? I’m fine!”
Sean’s eyes softened further. “No, Daniel. You’re not fine.” He reached out, brushing damp hair from Daniel’s forehead. “I know you want to get stronger. I know you want to help. But if you push yourself while you’re sick… I could lose you. And I can’t.”
Daniel’s scowl faltered. He hated feeling weak, hated how much he depended on Sean sometimes. But even so, the fire inside him burned bright. “I can do it!” he insisted. “I’m fine! I just… I just need to get stronger! I can’t just sit here!”
Sean adjusted the straps on his pack, giving him a long, tired look, full of love, worry, and exasperation. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be back before you know it. And enano?”
Daniel’s stomach tightened. “Yeah?”
“Try not to break anything,” Sean said, faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Daniel muttered under his breath, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” but he leaned forward impulsively and pressed a quick hug to Sean’s side. “I… I’ll try to be good,” he whispered, his small hands gripping Sean’s jacket. “Don’t… don’t worry too much, okay?”
Sean’s hand hovered over Daniel’s head, reluctant to break the hug but needing him to release. “I can’t promise I won’t worry,” he murmured. “I just… I want you safe. Always.”
Daniel let go finally, sniffing, cheeks warm. “I know,” he said softly. Then, after a pause, he added with stubborn determination, “But I’m going to see for myself. I’m going to try.”
Daniel watched Sean disappear down the trail, the crunch of boots fading into the distance, but the warmth of the cabin and the scent of last night’s fire offered no comfort. His chest ached, not from sickness alone, but from a tight, gnawing worry he couldn’t shake. He pressed his forehead to the window, eyes narrowing at the frost-lined path. Every step Sean took seemed measured, careful, and Daniel felt the pang of helplessness grow inside him.
He thought about everything that had happened so far. About the gas station, the old man with his hateful eyes and words like knives, screaming at Sean, blaming him for things he hadn’t done. Daniel had been terrified and all he could do was hide behind Sean, watch the man’s hands swing, and then run. He hadn’t known what he could do then. He hadn’t understood the strength that pulsed inside him.
He shivered, not from the cold but from the memory. How Sean had been shoved, pinned, accused, locked in that office while Daniel cowered in the shadows. He hadn’t even realized until later what a coward he’d been—what a failure. That old man had hurt Sean, and all Daniel had done was run into the woods like a scared little kid.
Sean had told him afterward that he’d done the right thing. That he had survived, that he had protected himself as best as he could. But Daniel couldn’t believe it. Right thing? He hadn’t done anything. If only he’d known about his powers back then—if only he’d been strong enough to stop that man before Sean got hurt. If only he hadn’t been weak, scared, and small.
The weight of it pressed down on him, heavier than the sickness in his chest, heavier than the ache in his head. Sean was all he had left now. His father gone, his life shattered, and Sean—the one person who had been constant, the one person who actually cared—had been forced to bear the brunt of the world’s cruelty. And for what? For being there for Daniel. For trying to protect him.
Daniel’s small hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. He thought about Seattle, about the cop. About the fear, the fight, and the moment he had lost control. Sean had said it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have known what would happen. But Daniel felt it in every fiber of his being: it was his fault. If he hadn’t panicked, if he hadn’t been weak, maybe things could’ve gone differently. Maybe Sean wouldn’t have had to endure all that, and maybe… maybe the world wouldn’t be so unfair.
His eyes darted back to Sean, who was now a tiny figure threading through the trees, and a spark of anger mixed with determination flared inside him. Why did everyone have to hate Sean? Why did the world treat him like he was the problem when all he’d ever done was care, protect, and try? Why couldn’t anyone see that it was Daniel who should feel the blame? That it was him who needed to fix things, who needed to be stronger?
Daniel’s chest ached—not just from sickness, but from grief, from guilt, from the desperate longing to make everything right. He thought about his powers, the raw, untamed energy that pulsed in his veins like a promise. If he was working on controlling it… why not use it? Why let Sean shoulder all the danger, all the risk, all the blame? He could help. He had to help.
The decision came like fire igniting in his chest. No more weakness. No more sitting back while Sean—his brother—bore the brunt of the world. He could be strong. He could be fast. He could fight. And maybe, just maybe, he could finally make it right.
Daniel’s hands shook slightly as he pushed himself off the windowsill, the blanket falling around him like discarded armor. Mushroom whimpered softly from the cabin, but he ignored it, pressing his palms to the doorframe. He could feel the cool morning air on his cheeks, the frost crunching faintly under his sneakers. His head ached, his chest burned, his throat was raw—but none of it mattered.
Sean had said he was supposed to stay behind, that it was his job to be careful, to be a kid while Sean handled the dangerous stuff. Daniel hated being treated like a kid. He hated being weak. And he hated the thought of Sean out there, doing everything, risking everything, without him.
“I can handle it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone. “I’m done being weak. I’m done letting Sean get hurt. I’m done letting people blame him for everything… for me.”
Mushroom let out a whine, pawing at the doorway, but Daniel shook his head, forcing himself forward. “Go on, stay,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’ll be back. I need… I need to do this.”
He took a trembling step onto the trail, boots crunching on the frost, heart hammering, chest tight with both illness and resolve. Each breath burned, but each breath also strengthened his conviction. He would catch up to Sean. He would prove he could handle himself. He would prove he could protect his brother, protect Mushroom, and maybe… finally make himself feel like he wasn’t useless.
The woods stretched wide and threatening around him, but Daniel pressed on, shivering, sick, and stubborn as ever. Sean was just ahead, unaware, and Daniel’s small, furious heartbeat synced with the rhythm of the trail. He didn’t care that he was only ten, that his body ached, that his fever made him dizzy. He was done with weakness.
He was a superwolf. And today, he would prove it.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
Daniel’s legs ached almost immediately. Each step through the frost-crusted trail felt like trudging through lead. His fevered body betrayed him, muscles trembling and lungs burning with each inhale, but still he pressed on. Every crunch of frost and snow under his sneakers was a reminder that he was doing something he shouldn’t, that he was supposed to stay behind. But Sean—Sean was out there, doing everything, risking everything, carrying the weight of the world alone. Daniel clenched his fists, pressing them tight against his thighs to keep from wobbling. He couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when Sean needed him—even if Sean didn’t know it.
The woods stretched gray and endless around him. Bare branches scraped against the pale morning sky, and the faint haze of frost made the forest feel unreal, like he had slipped into some half-dream where danger lurked behind every tree. He ducked low whenever Sean’s shadow fell across a bend in the trail, pressing his back against rough bark, eyes fixed on the ground ahead. Mushroom’s whine from the cabin echoed faintly in his memory, a tether pulling him back to safety. But he shoved the guilt down. She would be safer there, warm and sleeping. Sean would be safer if he didn’t know Daniel was following.
He stumbled over a root, almost toppling forward, and hissed through clenched teeth. His chest burned. His head throbbed. He wanted—needed—to collapse, to let the cold forest floor swallow him up and ease the fever, to let the silence cradle him while he rested. But he couldn’t. Not when Sean was out there. Not when Sean carried the blame and the world’s hatred while he had done nothing but hide.
Hours passed—or at least it felt like hours. The trail twisted and curved, sometimes steep, sometimes flat, leading him past frozen streams that shimmered in the pale sunlight, past clusters of trees that seemed to whisper in the wind. Every so often, Sean would stop to adjust his pack or glance around, scanning the horizon with careful eyes, and Daniel would freeze, heart hammering, pressed low behind a tree or crouched behind a boulder. Every time, he felt the burn of shame and fear, the sick ache in his body forgotten in the rush of adrenaline.
The forest began to thin, the shadows stretching longer in the low morning sun. The smell of cooked food, exhaust, and humans pricked at his nose—town was close. Daniel’s stomach twisted painfully, but he ignored it, forcing his legs forward even as dizziness spun at the edges of his vision. He could see Sean now, a steady figure weaving between stalls at a small flea market. He was hunched slightly, focused on a box of canned goods, muttering under his breath about what they could afford. He looked… tired. Concerned. Always careful, always burdened.
Daniel ducked behind a crate, trying to shrink himself as small as possible. He pressed a palm to the rough wood, feeling splinters dig into his skin, as if that tiny pain could anchor him, could ground him in the moment. His chest heaved; each breath burned. He longed to step closer, to reach out, to help somehow. But he knew if Sean saw him, there would be scolding, there would be worry, and maybe he’d be forced back to the cabin. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to see, to watch, to learn, to make sure Sean was okay without needing anyone to tell him to.
The hum of the market filled the air. People moved past, voices overlapping, vendors shouting over each other, cans clinking and baskets scraping the ground. Daniel felt exposed and tiny, but he forced himself lower, keeping his fevered body pressed against the shadows of crates and tarps. He watched Sean reach for some bills, muttering to himself, counting, making careful calculations about what they could afford. Daniel’s chest tightened with longing. If only he could help. If only he could do more than watch.
He felt the power thrumming under his skin, wild and untamed, like a coil ready to spring. He had barely begun to understand it, barely begun to control it—but it was there. Always there. And if someone tried to hurt Sean, if anyone dared lay a hand on him… Daniel knew he could stop them. He could protect Sean. He could make them regret it.
A smell of fried dough and roasting meat twisted through the air, making his stomach twist painfully, burning hunger coiling inside him like fire. He resisted the urge to step closer, to snatch something, anything, from the stalls. He had to stay hidden. He had to be careful. One wrong move and the whole plan would collapse.
Sean adjusted the straps on his pack again, moving to the next stall, unaware that Daniel was so close, heart hammering with a mix of excitement, fear, and fevered stubbornness. Daniel pressed his cheek to the crate, eyes sharp, sweat prickling his fevered skin, listening to every word Sean muttered, every movement, every careful calculation.
He whispered to himself, barely audible over the hum of the market, “Just a little closer… just watch… make sure he’s safe…” His hands twitched at his sides, muscles trembling. His head spun, vision blurred at the edges, but he forced himself to focus. Sean had carried so much. Sean had done everything right. It was Daniel’s turn now, in his own way. Somehow.
The crates scraped under his palms as he shifted, inching forward, trying to stay in shadow, trying to make himself invisible. He imagined what it would feel like to step into Sean’s line of sight and just… help. Just do something right for once. His chest burned with fever, with guilt, with stubborn determination. He was tired. He was sick. He wanted to collapse. But he couldn’t. Not now.
Not when Sean was out there, oblivious, doing everything, carrying everything. Daniel clenched his fists, teeth grinding. He had powers. He could do something. He would do something. He would make sure Sean didn’t have to bear the world alone anymore.
Daniel pressed himself tighter against the shadow of the crate, fever heating his skin, limbs trembling as he watched Sean approach the pharmacy stall. The vendor, a tired-looking woman with streaks of gray in her hair and a permanent crease between her brows, stacked bottles and small boxes carefully, eyes flicking up as Sean neared.
“I need some cough syrup and pain relievers,” Sean said, voice calm, polite, trying not to show the tension coiling in his chest.
The woman gave him a sharp look. “You’re back again, huh? You were here not too long ago.” She tapped a clipboard with her long nails. “Same stuff?”
“Yeah,” Sean replied, shifting the strap of the pack on his shoulder. “My brother’s sick. We’re running low on food and meds. Just… the basics.”
She nodded, reaching for the small bottles, then hesitated. “That’ll be twenty dollars.”
Sean’s brow furrowed faintly. “Twenty? That’s… that’s almost all we’ve got.”
The woman shrugged, tilting her head. “Sorry, kid. Price’s fixed. You want it or not?” Her tone wasn’t cruel—just firm, weary. Like she’d been through enough trouble for one morning.
Sean dug through his pack, producing the crumpled bills and coins with careful hands. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ll manage. It’s just… twenty.” He counted it slowly, carefully. “Here.” He handed it over, eyes flicking toward the tiny bottles. His lips pressed into a thin line as he listened to the clink of coins.
Daniel’s stomach churned, heat flushing his cheeks. All our money… gone on medicine he doesn’t even need that badly! His fists clenched. Sean was too soft, too careful, too… stupid sometimes. Daniel could handle himself. He could make them stronger. He could help.
The woman handed over the small bag with the bottles. “Take care of your brother, okay? Kids shouldn’t be out in this cold alone.” She gave Sean a pointed look.
Sean nodded. “Thanks. I will.” He adjusted the strap of his pack again, rubbing the back of his neck, and cast a quick glance around, his face softening as if he wished he could do more for Daniel but knew he had limits.
Daniel’s chest tightened. Kids shouldn’t be out in the cold? He felt the familiar sting of indignation, the heat from his fever amplifying his anger. Sean had spent nearly all their money—twenty dollars—just to get medicine for him. And now… food was running low. They didn’t have enough for a proper meal until Sean came back. And Sean, being soft and patient, hadn’t even argued. He’d just paid, kept calm, let the world slide past.
Daniel’s small hands curled into fists. Too soft. Too careful. That’s not going to help us survive.
He shifted slightly, peeking past the crates at a nearby stall. Bundles of bread, jars of jam, small sacks of beans—just enough to help them get through the next day or two. He knew he shouldn’t, that Sean would be furious, that it was wrong—but his fever-bright brain buzzed with determination. They needed food. He needed to act.
Sean nodded politely to the woman behind the pharmacy counter, placing the bills in her hand. “Thanks. Really. I’ll make sure this lasts us for a while.”
“You take care, okay?” she said again, softer this time, as if she could sense Sean’s exhaustion. “Don’t overdo it. Don’t want you getting sick too.”
Sean gave a faint smile, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “I know. Thanks. I’ll be careful.”
Daniel’s breath steamed in the cold air as he crept closer to the stall, his fever making the edges of the world feel fuzzy but his anger keeping him sharp. Sean was still talking to the woman at the pharmacy, still being polite and careful, like he always was. Too careful. Always careful.
That’s why he’s spending all our money on medicine instead of food. That’s why he’s always the one getting hurt. He’s not going to let him keep carrying everything alone.
The stall in front of him was piled with bread and jars and cans—real food. Food that could last them longer than another can of ravioli. Daniel’s fingers twitched. His powers hummed faintly under his skin, but he didn’t even need them for this.
He slipped forward, quick and deliberate, grabbing a loaf of bread, then another. A couple of cans of beans. His small arms strained but he didn’t hesitate. His heart was pounding but not from guilt—no, it was from the thrill of doing something. Taking what they needed. Helping.
“Hey!” the stall owner barked, voice rough and indignant. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Daniel didn’t flinch. His arms ached from holding the food, but he didn’t let go. He clutched it against his chest like treasure, like proof that he wasn’t useless.
The stall owner came around the counter, his face red, his voice booming. “You little thief! Drop that right now before I wring your damn neck.”
Daniel’s lip curled. His fever made his body feel heavy, but his head was burning with anger. “You don’t even need it. You’ve got a whole table full of food! We’re starving. So shut up and let me take it!”
The man stopped for a second, startled that a kid had the guts to say it. Then his face twisted even darker. “Brat. Where are your parents? Huh? Sending you to steal for them?”
Daniel’s throat burned. “I don’t have any!” he yelled back, the words tearing out before he could stop them.
And just like that, Sean was there, pushing past a couple staring passersby, the little white paper bag of medicine clutched in his hand. His eyes went wide when he saw the bread clutched in Daniel’s arms, the cans sticking out awkwardly.
“Daniel.” Sean’s voice cracked sharp, low and panicked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Daniel winced but held his ground. “I’m helping us,” he snapped. “You waste all our money on pills when we need food. We can’t just keep starving, Sean!”
Sean froze, staring between his brother and the stall owner, who was advancing fast. His face was pale, his body tense.
“Listen,” Sean said quickly, raising one hand toward the man. “I—I’m sorry. He’s just a kid. He didn’t mean it. I’ll pay. We don’t have much but—”
The man barked a humorless laugh. “Pay? You already spent your money, boy. I saw you at the pharmacy stall. So now you send your brat to steal from me?”
“No!” Sean’s voice was desperate, cracking under the pressure. “It’s not like that—he—he’s sick, I just—please, just let us go, okay? Here, take it back—”
“Bullshit.” The stall owner’s face darkened as he loomed closer, jabbing a thick finger toward Sean’s chest. “You little punks think you can play me? Think I don’t know your type? Freeloading trash. Thieves.”
Daniel’s pulse hammered in his ears. The world felt too hot, too sharp, too loud. His hands trembled against the food but he clutched it tighter, glaring up at the man.
“Don’t talk to him like that!” Daniel snapped, his voice raw. “Sean’s not trash. He’s—he’s the only good person left! You’re the bad guy here, not him!”
“Daniel, stop,” Sean hissed, his voice tight, begging now. “Please. Put it back. Just put it back.”
“No!” Daniel shouted, his eyes flashing. “I’m not letting you do this anymore! You always give up, Sean! You always let them hurt you! But not this time!”
Sean’s face went pale. “Daniel—”
But the stall owner had had enough. He shoved past Daniel, moving straight toward Sean, his hand curling into a fist. “You think you can mouth off to me, you little punk? Let’s see how tough you are when someone actually—”
“Stop!”
Daniel’s voice cracked like thunder, and for a split second, the air itself seemed to pulse with his anger. His whole body shook. His powers stirred, raw and dangerous, thrumming under his skin.
He could see it all happening at once: the man’s fist raised, Sean’s terrified eyes, the memory of the gas station—Sean bloody and tied up, helpless, while Daniel had run like a coward.
Not again. Not this time.
Before the man’s fist could swing, a force ripped outward, invisible but violent, knocking him off balance. He stumbled back into his stall, crates of fruit and jars crashing to the ground with a deafening clatter. People screamed.
Sean’s mouth fell open, horror carved into every line of his face. “Daniel—what did you—”
Daniel was panting, clutching the bread so hard his arms hurt, but his voice came out steady, sharp with rage.
“I’m not letting anyone hurt you again,” he said, eyes locked on Sean’s. “Never again.”
The stall owner groaned, struggling to push himself up. Sean grabbed Daniel’s arm, practically dragging him back into the crowd, his voice shaking as he hissed, “Run. Now.”
And Daniel ran, but not because he was scared of the man—no. He was scared of the look on Sean’s face.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
They didn’t stop running until the shouting behind them was just an echo swallowed by the forest. The man’s curses, his threats, his rage—all of it faded into the skeletal trees. Still, Sean didn’t slow until Daniel nearly stumbled, dragged along by his older brother’s iron grip. Sean’s hand was clamped so tight around his wrist it hurt, and Daniel’s other arm clutched the stolen food like it was treasure he’d die before giving up.
When Sean finally stopped, bending over with his hands braced on his knees, his breath poured out in clouds. His face was pale, tight with something between fear and fury.
He whipped around on Daniel. “What the hell was that?!” Sean’s voice cracked with the kind of terror that sounded like anger. His eyes—dark, frantic—searched Daniel’s face like he was staring at a stranger. “Daniel—what did you just do?!”
Daniel’s arms tightened protectively around the food, chest still heaving. “I protected you,” he shot back, his voice raw. “He was gonna hit you, Sean! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there?”
Sean straightened, his hands flying up in a sharp gesture. “You almost killed him!”
“No, I didn’t!” Daniel’s voice rose, shrill with frustration. His cheeks were hot, his whole body trembling. “I could have—but I didn’t. I just knocked him back. He deserved it!”
Sean gaped, disbelieving. “Deserved it? Daniel, you don’t get it—you can’t just throw people around whenever you feel like it! Do you even realize what you just did?! You want the cops to find us tomorrow?”
Daniel’s throat burned. “Why does it always matter what they think?” His words tumbled out fast, furious. “The cops are already after us. Everyone already hates us! At the gas station, that old geezer locked you up and beat you—” His voice cracked as tears threatened. “And I just ran. Like a coward. I didn’t help you.”
Sean’s breath hitched, his face crumpling like he didn’t want Daniel to keep going.
But Daniel couldn’t stop. He had been holding this in for weeks, and now it was spilling out, ugly and sharp. “I just ran off into the woods like a baby while he hurt you! And when I found you after—you told me it was okay, that I did the right thing. But you were lying!” He shook his head, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I should’ve done something. I could’ve stopped him. If I’d known about my powers then, I could’ve protected you.”
Sean shut his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He looked older, exhausted. “Enano…”
Daniel’s hands clenched around the food. “Not this time. I’m done being weak. I’m done watching them hurt you while I hide. You’re my brother. You’re all I have left. And I won’t let anyone take you from me again.”
Sean’s voice dropped low, ragged. “Daniel… you’re nine. You’re still a kid. You were just scared. None of that was your fault.”
“It was my fault!” Daniel snapped, eyes blazing. “You keep saying it wasn’t, but it was! And I’m not some scared little kid anymore.”
Sean stepped closer, trying to meet his eyes, his voice straining to stay calm. “Listen to me. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. You can’t just decide you’re the one in charge now because of your… your power.”
“Why not?” Daniel shouted, cutting him off. His voice carried into the trees, sharp as broken glass. “Why can’t I help? Why do you get to decide everything?! I’m not useless! I’m Superwolf! You can’t keep treating me like I’m too little. I can help. I have to.”
Sean dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “God, Daniel, you don’t understand. Every time you use your power, it’s like—you’re waving a giant red flag. People are gonna notice. They’ll come after us. They’ll—”
“They already are!” Daniel screamed, his voice breaking. His tears were hot on his cheeks now, but he didn’t care. “No matter what we do, no matter how nice you are, they hate us! They hate you, Sean! They’ll never stop! So why should we keep playing fair when nobody else does?!”
Sean’s chest rose and fell fast, his hands shaking as he pointed at him. “Because that’s not who we are! I don’t care what they think—we’re not monsters, Daniel!”
Daniel’s lip curled, voice cracking as anger tangled with pain. “Maybe we have to be. Maybe being ‘good’ doesn’t work anymore.”
Sean’s breath hitched. For a second, his face twisted like Daniel had punched him in the gut. He turned away, running both hands through his hair, cursing under his breath. “God, Daniel…” His voice dropped low. “I just don’t want to lose you too.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. His arms ached from hugging the stolen food so tight, but he didn’t let go. He blinked fast, refusing to let Sean see how much his chest hurt.
“You won’t,” he muttered, low and stubborn. “I won’t let you.”
Sean stared at him for a long moment, like he wanted to believe, but couldn’t. Finally, he turned back toward the trees, muttering again under his breath, his shoulders tense.
Daniel followed, clutching the food like proof he wasn’t useless. For the first time since Seattle, he felt like more than just the little brother tagging along. He was the one who’d made a difference.
And no one—not even Sean—was going to take that from him.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧
By the time they reached the cabin, Daniel’s legs felt like lead. Each step burned, his chest ached, and his head throbbed from the lingering fever. He was trembling, but not from fear—he was tired, sick, and furious at himself for feeling weak even for a moment.
Sean stepped inside first, keeping a careful eye on him. “Sit,” he ordered, voice firm but tinged with exhaustion. “On the cot. Now.”
Daniel sank onto the cot, dropping the stolen food beside him. He was shivering, chest tight, but his stubborn pride kept him upright. Mushroom padded softly after him, curling up at the foot of the cot, her warm body a quiet anchor against the cold floorboards. Daniel reached down to scratch behind her ears, feeling her soft fur under his fingers. She gave a small, approving nuzzle, tail flicking lazily, and Daniel allowed himself a faint, fleeting smile.
Sean crouched beside the cot, eyes blazing with frustration. “Daniel,” he said sharply, “what the hell were you thinking out there?”
“I‘m—” Daniel tried to speak, but a cough tore through his chest, raw and wet. He bit back the next words, glaring instead at Sean, still clinging stubbornly to the food in his arms.
Sean ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “No, I don’t want to hear it. You broke one of the most important rules we have: you cannot just throw people around whenever you feel like it. You understand me?”
Daniel nodded, barely, pressing his forehead against the cot mattress. “Yes, Sean,” He wanted to say more, to argue, but the cough and the ache in his chest stole his voice. His mind, though, was ablaze. He’d do it again. And again. If it keeps them safe, He’d make sure no one touches Sean. No one touches him. No one touches this cabin.
Sean’s hand moved gently to brush the damp strands of Daniel’s hair from his forehead. “You’re burning up, Daniel. You’re pale, weak, sick. You cannot keep pushing yourself like this. Not like this. Do you hear me?”
Daniel sniffled, leaning against Sean’s hand, drawing comfort from the steady warmth. “I… I just wanted to help,” he whispered. His voice was soft, but it held all the stubborn fire of his small, feverish body.
“I know,” Sean said, voice softening, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t fully ease. He lifted Daniel carefully, helping him lie back more comfortably on the cot, tucking a threadbare blanket around his small frame. “Helping doesn’t mean throwing yourself into danger.”
Daniel pressed a small hand against Sean’s arm, gripping the fabric as though it were a lifeline. “I’ll… try,” he whispered.
Sean’s hand rested gently on the back of Daniel’s head, smoothing damp, fevered hair away from his flushed forehead. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, voice soft, a low hum of affection threading through the words. “Even when you’re impossible, enano.”
Daniel giggled softly, a weak little sound that was punctuated by a cough he tried to stifle. “You love me because I’m awesome,” he teased, pressing a small hand against Sean’s chest. “And because I do stuff that makes you mad.” His voice had that stubborn edge that refused to be tamed, even with his body burning and weak.
Sean groaned, shaking his head, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite the fatigue. “Yeah, that too,” he said, his voice a mixture of exasperation and warmth. He leaned back slightly, letting the tension in his shoulders relax as he watched Daniel snuggle further into the blanket, head pressed against his chest.
Mushroom padded over, the soft thump of her paws against the cabin floor filling the small space. She nudged Daniel’s arm, tail wagging lazily. Daniel reached down to scratch behind her ears, murmuring, “Yeah… you’re good too, Mushroom. You always know what to do.” Her tongue licked his hand briefly, and Daniel let out a small, contented sigh, leaning back into Sean’s side.
Sean crouched nearby, retrieving a small bowl and spoon from the counter, steam curling from the hot liquid. “You need to eat something, enano,” he said, setting the bowl in front of Daniel. “You’re burning through energy, and this sickness isn’t going to get better on its own.”
Daniel pouted, cheeks pink from both fever and stubbornness. “I’m fine,” he whispered, though a weak cough broke through. “I just—” He paused, pressing his hands to his chest as if to contain the ache, “I just need to rest… maybe.”
Sean’s gaze softened, his dark eyes scanning Daniel’s flushed, tired features. He could see right through the stubborn front, the little boy’s pride clashing with his need. “Fine,” Sean said finally, settling beside him on the floor, pulling the blanket around both of them so Daniel’s small frame would be warm and contained. “But I’m not letting you starve yourself either.”
He dipped the spoon into the soup, careful not to spill any on Daniel, and handed it to him. “Eat. Just a little.”
Daniel accepted it, murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” before leaning back against Sean’s shoulder, his fevered body pressing into his brother’s warmth. He lifted the spoon weakly to his mouth, then lowered it, letting his small hands brush over Sean’s arm, lingering longer than necessary. He sought comfort in the familiarity, the steady, solid presence of the person who had never left his side. “I… I’m glad you’re my brother,” he whispered. “Even if you get mad at me all the time.”
Sean’s hand came down to cover Daniel’s, squeezing gently. “I’m glad you’re my brother too,” he said softly, voice low and tender. “And yes, I get mad at you because I care. Always. Even when it’s hard.”
Daniel’s eyes drooped as the warmth of Sean’s presence wrapped around him. The ache in his body softened slightly, fevered limbs resting, and he murmured, almost to himself, “I care too… about you… about everything.”
Sean smiled, brushing his thumb across Daniel’s cheek, lingering over the damp strands of hair sticking to his skin. “I know, enano. I know.”
A soft nudge at Daniel’s side made him lift a tired hand. Mushroom pressed her nose under it, tail wagging lazily, demanding more affection. Daniel laughed softly, a weak but happy sound. “Yeah… yeah, you too,” he said, stroking her fur gently. “Don’t worry… I’ll try not to get us both killed again.”
Sean chuckled, a low, relieved sound. “Good enough for me.” He wrapped an arm around Daniel, letting him rest against his chest fully now, the blanket cocooning them both. Outside, the forest stretched cold and silent, but in the cabin, warmth and safety held firm. For the first time in days, Daniel felt grounded, protected, and a little invincible.
He pressed closer to Sean, small hands clutching at his brother’s jacket. “Promise you’ll stay with me forever, okay?” he whispered, voice raw and small.
Sean’s free hand rested over Daniel’s, rubbing in slow, reassuring circles. “Always,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Daniel’s eyes fluttered closed as he let himself drift, warmth and comfort threading through every ache of his fevered body. Mushroom rested her head against his side, tail brushing along his legs, completing the small circle of safety.
Even in his stubbornness, even with his pride burning hot, Daniel felt it: he could be brave, he could protect those he loved, and he didn’t have to face the world alone. Not with Sean here. Not with Mushroom here. Not ever again.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, being small and sick didn’t mean being powerless.
✩₊˚.⋆☾𐦂𐀪☽⋆⁺₊✧