The Anchor [Brallon-ish]

14

[college is great and I love my schedule but let's give it up for my past self for pre writing the rest of this story and getting halfway through the next one]

I think it upsets Dallon when we get a postcard from Hayley and Jake, addressed from the Bahamas, to tell us their vacation started a couple days early. They'll be coming back sooner and will be able to continue training quicker, but the nurse said we still need to wait two more weeks before he gets back to normal, and even then he needs to take things slow.

She even gives him a list of things not to do.

"No jumping, sprinting, ducking, changing more than one physical characteristic at a time. No excessive stretching or exercises, no coffee..." he pauses and squints at the writing, "no coffee? What?"

The only thing I can think of is too much energy from the caffeine, but it still doesn't make too much sense. "It's only two more weeks, you can deal with it. Anything else you can't do?"

He skims his finger along the paper and comes to a stop near the bottom. "This should be recycled."

"Save the environment." I say and he agrees with a quiet grunt while crumpling the paper and dropping it into the trash. He knows it's for the best, but he isn't too excited about staying in for a whole fourteen days. His collarbone has to finish healing, because my dad has mashed potatoes for brains.

When I reach for his hand, he doesn't give anything back, not even after I squeeze twice. His eyes stay glued to the floor. "Is everything alright?"

He nods but doesn't look away. "Just thinkin' about what I'm going to do when I have to go back for training. I can't just tell them I'm camera shy and expect them to be okay with the tapes never seeing the light of day. I also can't pull electricity out of my ass just for your dad because then I'll be busted. Electricity and shapeshifting doesn't coordinate like telekinesis and telepathy does."

I know what he means, I do, but I don't have a straight answer for him. There is no easy way out of it, but it'll come to us eventually. That isn't something he should hear for the time being. "We can think about that later. For the next two weeks all we need to give a shit about is getting you better, alright?"

"I mean, I guess you're right. I'm just worried." Out of the corner of my eye, he starts fidgeting with the adjustable strap on the sling. He isn't just messing with it, he's moving it up and down inches at a time.

He jumps when I slap his hand away. "Good joke if you think you'll get better any quicker from that."

Dallon keeps eye contact for a few second before he completely rips off the sling and chucks it in my lap. There's blood, but only from the stitches he tore open again. "Wow, look. It's all better. Now we have to think about what we're going to do about the training tapes your dad will see." He stretches his arm out, flexes his fingers, and lets it fall to his side.

It's interesting to have to recall the day I took him to see the nurse and the surprise magical healing dude. It's also interesting to remember he didn't bring his gloves.

I mean, there's only one way to find out if he did figure out how to replicate that one. He doesn't understand what I'm doing when I grab one of the small kitchen knives from the block near the sink and drag it across the inside of my arm. He does freak out when the cut starts gushing waterfalls of red immediately, and rushes over to hold his palm over it.

And sure enough, a bright light flashes, and when I tear his hand away, there's nothing there anymore.

He realizes what he's done immediately after. His hand moves to mine and his eyes are filled with fear. "B, I didn't—"