Stronger With Those Daddy Issues

[missrecalled_mods]

Waking to bird song isn't exactly shocking in Auradon, but it seems... louder than usual on the first morning of the event. And there is a reason for that. Auradon has been visited by a rather large flock of Golden pheasants. An odd flock as experienced birders might notice there are only the brightly coloured males in evidence. But there isn't much time to think about that because with them comes... a complication.

Now this is Auradon, of course, so the only mess the birds are dropping are bright colourful feathers. But the feathers, like the flowers last month randomly trigger a memory. Once again the memory shows in 3D, looking the most solid to the one who touched the feather - and unwittingly contributed the memory. No one can interact with it, and no matter how solid it looks, the figures and places and things in the memory can be walked through with ease. Well, physical ease, anyway. The memory, once again, will not be from the perspective of the one it belongs to; they and their companion or companions will be observing from a third party perspective, thus allowing a person to see their own face in the memories without the aid of a mirror.

The memories this time are memories of fathers and paternal figures. Generally good memories. After all, this is Auradon.

If one interacts closely with the birds or their feathers they might also have strong vivid dreams of their paternal figure. Again, genrally happy dreams given this is Auradon. While the birds will fly away after two weeks, and the feathers will lose their power to share memories at the same time, for every day spent handling the birds or feathers during the event, the character might have up to that many day of intense dreams after.

Comments

[gregorydeegan]

The first

Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did. But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."


The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with an older man in a bright pink coat.

"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."

"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird being up on both legs."

"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, dad."

His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."

Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"

"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.

Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."

"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.

He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that in tune with each other.

Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.

Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.

He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"

"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."

"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.

For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.

Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.

Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.

"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.

"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.

Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."

Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"

"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.

Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.

-----------

Battle of the banned?

Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.

Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.

A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.

Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.

Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. "OBLIVION FOLDER!"

On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.

The concert went on for hours. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.

At one point near the middle the pace changed, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.

It didn't take them long to get back to high energy songs, though.

Then it was time for the drum solo. Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back. Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc

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<b>The first</b>

Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself <i> in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did.</i> But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."

<i>
The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with <a href="https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/dominicdeegan/images/3/3b/Donovan_Deegan.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120417041248">an older man in a bright pink coat</a>.

"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."

"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird <b>being</b> up on both legs."

"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, dad."

His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."

Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"

"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.

Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."

"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.

He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that <b>in tune</b> with each other.

Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.

Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.

Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.

He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"

"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."

"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.

For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.

Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.

Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.

"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.

"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.

Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."

Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"

"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.</i>

Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.

-----------

<b> Battle of the banned?</b>

Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.

Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.

<i>A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.

Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.

Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1066_20051203.gif">"OBLIVION FOLDER!"</a>

On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.

<a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1067_20051204.jpg">The concert</a> went <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">on for hours</a>. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.

At one point near the middle the <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1069_20051206.gif">pace changed</a>, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.

It didn't take them long to get back to <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">high energy</a> songs, though.

Then it was time for the drum solo. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1072_20051210.gif">Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back.</a> Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1073_20051211.jpg>answered.</a> (Warning for one bad word.) The other orc leapt onto the stage. The drummer moved to a long staff and the two did a <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1074_20051212.gif">duet</a> of drumming and dance. The dancing! The drumming! It was <a href="YOUR LINK HERE">a hit.</a> With an <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1077_20051221.gif">unexpected development</a> when the drummer leapt, as no human could, into the crowd to hug one of the other orcs. When she returned, Greg invited the dancer to dance for the rest of the show, and the crowd went wild with glee over the idea.

The concert went long. A few people, like the one legged man and the girl with the fangs left for a bit, missing when Greg tossed his jacket to the crowd in a fit of adrenaline.

On and <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1089_20060103.gif">on</a> the concert went. Long into the night. And the crowd loved it, most of them sticking through to the very end. And with the dimming of the stage lights, so too dimmed the memory.</i>

"Wow... I... wow. Shame it ended when it did...." Greg shook his head. "And I didn't realize Dominic and Szark and Luna left the concert for a while. Wonder why. And did you see where he had his "I'm having a vision" face? I missed that from the stage. A little mixed that Siggy left in the middle... but why did Jayden? Oh well, I won't tell you what happened after the concert, after al, I'm not one to kiss and tell....."

------------

Greg | OTA | Warning for bad puns, bones, injury, little kids being creepy little snots. | Part 2

[gregorydeegan]

Lessons

Greg was generally a happy person and he loved his family. Especially his parents. And he and his father had always been super close. So He'll be spending pretty much the whole event chasing feathers, hoping to trigger more memories. Memories like....

A fairly decent sized living room, though low tech compared to the worlds most of the Missrecalled were from. There was what was probably a sofa, but its cushions were rearranged into a structure anyone who visited the room Greg had claimed here would know all too well. A couch fort. Little Greg, and he was little in the memory, maybe ten, maybe younger, was not in the couch fort. He was sitting on a chair too tall for him, at a table, drawing. Leaning against the table was a child sized walking stick forked at the top to work as a crutch. In a corner of the room an older boy with long black hair was playing with what looked like small bones.

an man in a bright pink shirt and pants walked in. He stood beside Greg. "Whatcha doing, kiddo?"

"Workin," he said, lisping a little from a lost tooth. Hints of darkness, like blackened veins showed from the cuff of his pants on one leg, poking out of his sleeve a little on the same side and up out of hie collar.

"I see that. What are you working on?" he asked taking a seat beside his son.

"Comic book," Greg said. He held up a page of a childish drawing of a stick figure in a cape laying down. Or flying. Or jumping? It was a kid's drawing, adults trying to figure it out are just doomed to be wrong by nature. "Dom'nic read me his c'mic book last night, an I wanted to draw my own."

His dad smiled warmly and ruffled his red hair. "Wonderful. A lovey way to tell a story. What's your comic book about, kiddo?"

"It's about a lil boy named Greg. An Greg has a secret. When he says his secret word, abrakaboom, he gets super powers an can fly around and save people."

"That's wonderful, Greg," he said warmly, kissing his son's hair. "What about my super Greg though?"

"Huh? What about him?" Greg asked.

"Have you been practicing your powers today?"

"Uh huh!" he said happily, dropping his papers and pencils. "I learned a new trick! Wanna see it daddy?"

"I would love to see it, my boy."

"OKAY!" With a lot of effort, and clearly a lot of pain, little Greg twisted and picked up his walking stick. He threw it towards the older boy.

"HEY!" the older boy protested. "You hit me with that I'm gonna leave a dead foot in your pillow!"

"Jacob!" a female voice scolded from the other room.

Jacob flinched but also glared at the doorway.

Greg frowned. "How would you put a live foot in my pillow?"

"Never mind that," their father said quickly. "How is throwing away your walking stick a trick?"

"Oh, it 'snot. This is!" Greg focused on the stick. And focused. And focused. Then he slumped. "I can't do it."

"Do what, exactly?" his father asked.

"Float it to me," Greg said.

"That's not how white magic works, dummy," Jacob muttered.

His father gave Jacob a look for a moment then looked back to Greg. "Hav you don it before and it worked?"

"Yeah huh."

"When?"

"Last night!" Greg said, proudly.

"So it was a dream then?" Jacob asked, sneering a bit.

"Uh huh!" Greg said cheerfully.

"Well, we learn new things about magic all the time. Maybe there is a white magic spell that will let you move things with the force of your mind, and maybe you'll be the on to figure it out."

"YEAH!" Greg said. "I just gotta practice lots!"

"Yes, but maybe not with your walking stick?" his dad suggested gently. "You should keep that with you."

"Okay, daddy! I'll go get it!" He started to squirm his way out of the chair.

"Greg! You need your walking stick to..."

"I know daddy! that's why I'ma get it!" He held onto the seat as his feet hit the ground. He took one step to the walking stick and... collapsed. He began crying at once, as kids often do.

His father sighed and got his walking stick and then knelt beside him. "Alright, let me see, where does it hurt new?"

Little Greg looked up at him and poked himself in the chest, over his heart. "Why didn't you catch me, daddy?" he sniffed, voice hurt and accusing.

"Because," his father said gently, "I can't always catch you."

"Can too! You were just being mean! You hate me!" he sobbed. He grabbed his stick from his father and used it to hobble over to the couch fort. He squirmed inside.

His father sighed and walked over, then sat beside the couch fort. "You know I don't hate you, Greg."

"You coulda caught me!"

"I could have," he agreed. "Do you remember last month when Mr. Miller stayed here for a while?" he asked after a moment.

Greg peered out from between two cushions. He nodded. "He took my bed and I got to sleep in my couch fort the whole time!"

"Yes. Do you remember why he was here?"

"Um..." Greg said.

The other boy inched a bit closer. "Cause his daughter messed up her elemental homework. She messed up a fire spell and got hurt and destroyed a whole wall in his house," he said.

Their father nodded. "That's right, Jacob. He stayed with us while we helped him fix his wall."

"Couldn't momma have fixed it with magic?" Greg asked.

"Of course she could've, st.... silly," Jacob said changing words quickly. "Momma is the most powerful mage there ever was."

"Then why didn't she?" Greg asked.

"Because what then?" Donovan asked.

"I don't understand," Greg said.

"What then?" Jacob mocked his father. "Then he'd have had a fixed wall. And I wouldn't have had to share my room with him. He snores!"

Another boy, between Jacob and Greg in age, carrying more books than he could easily handle, came in. "Teach a man to fish?" he asked, putting his books on the table. When their dad held open his arms, he went and sat in his dad's lap. Their dad offered an arm to Jacob who ignored it.

"That's part of it, Dominic" their dad said.

"Teach a man to fish?" Greg asked.

A small orange cat head poked out of the space behind the sofa, followed by the rest of the cat's body. "Fish? Did someone say fish?"

"'Lo, Spark," Greg said.

"A story about fish, Spark, not actual fish," the father said.

"I got up fur a fish tale?" disgusted the cat left the room.

The father chuckled. "Anyway, the saying is give a man a fish you feed him for a day, teach him to fish and he can eat for life."

"Think we can teach Spark to fish?" Dominic asked pushing up his glasses as they slid down his face. Like his green sweater they were too big for him.

Their father laughed. "If ever there was a cat-fish it would be Spark. But what the saying means is that if you give a man a fish, he'll be hungry the next day and you'll have to give him another. Give him a fish every day, and soon he can't survive without you." Something glinted in Jacob's eyes at that, but none of them noticed. "IF you teach him to fish however, he doesn’t need you any more. Your mom could have magicked the wall complete but then what happens the next time there is a broken wall?"

"She fixes that too, it is easy for her!" Jacob insisted.

"So every time a wall falls, your mother should stop her own work to go fix it? While those of us without magic sit here helpless and lazy?" their father asked.

"Why not? She can! She's just bing selfish with her power!" Jacob said.

"JACOB DEEGAN!" their father snapped. Then, calmer, "You know your mother isn't selfish. In fact, helping him rebuild the wall the manual way was more effort for her and I both than her magicking it fixed. She selflessly gave him far more time than if she had cast a spell."

"Then she's stupid?"

"Jacob," the father said sharply.

"I think... she wanted him to learn how," Dominic ventured.

"Very good. Your mother is a teacher to her core, and that is part of it."

"What's the rest?" Greg asked.

"While we taught him how to build a wall and worked with him, he also learned more about us, and we learned more about him. Like the fact that his wife had to take their child out of town to find a strong enough healer to tend to her burns, so even if his home were physically whole, he'd be there alone. He couldn't go join them because his job here is important to keep us all safe. So he'd have been home all alone. But this way he got to come hav dinner with us, and stay with us. And he learned how to build a wall and do repairs on his house, with the skills he has inside himself, and basic tools he can easily get anywhere."

"Daddy?" Greg asked.

"Yes, Greg?"

"Are you just tryin to distract me so I stop being mad you didn't catch me?"

He chuckled. "Not this time, kiddo. The wall, and your stick, they're the same."

"I thought Mister Miller's wall was stone..."

Their father laughed. "It is, Greg. That's not what I meant. When you were a little kid, even littler then you are now, and you were first learning to walk. You fell down a lot. What do you think would have happened if every time you were about to fall, your mother and I caught you?"

"I'd have less ows?"

"You never would have learned to walk. Then whenever you wanted to go anywhere... you'd be stuck unless we carried you. What would happen then if we were busy and you needed the bathroom?"

Greg thought about it, but then he shook his head. "But I can't walk on my own. I need my stick or I fall down."

"Yes, that is the sticking point," their father said.

Dominic looked up at him horrified. Jacob looked disgusted. Greg giggled.

Their father grinned, then sighed. "You need the walking stick now, yes," he said. "But a stick isn't a person it doesn't get busy. That's not your parent, it is an actual crutch. And if you are in the woods and it falls in the water, you can grab any other stick to use. Maybe it won't work as well, maybe it will work better. But you can always find another crutch so long as you've learned what makes a good one. And you learn that the way you learn everything. By trying, failing, trying again, failing in a different way, and up and up until you stop failing."

"So by falling down I'm failing up?" Greg asked.

Jacob smirked, Dominic face palmed.

Their father grinned. "Well put my boy. I can't catch you every time you are going to fall because there are lessons you would not learn if I did. How to fall so that it hurts less. That you need to hold something when you stand so you don't fall at all. And how to get back up. When you were first learning to walk, every time you fell down you got right back up. That is an amazing trait, Gregory. I don't want you ever to lose that. Even now, when most kids your age are playing with toys all day, you do homework for your mom in white magic. Why?"

He smiled brightly though the sofa cushions at his dad and brothers. "Cause the healer woman, who is very pretty, she says that white magic is the strongest magic an if I get good enough at it, maybe one day I don't hafta go to her every week and maybe even..." His little eyes went wide. "She wasn't trying ta get rid of me?"

"No she wasn't," their father said. "Like us, she wants you to be able to stand on your own two feet for your own sake. Step by step."

Dominic groaned. "Daaaaaaddy," he whined. "That joke was lame." He seemed to realize what he said, cause he glared at a wall like it had offended him.

"Put your foot in your mouth did you, Dominic?" their father teased.

"So..." Jacob said, cutting in, stepping a little closer, "magic should never be used to help people?"

Their father gave him an odd look. "How is that the lesson you took from this, Jacob? Of course you should help others! But sometimes what helps the most isn't what seems to be the most obvious. Like when your mother helps with your anatomy homework. She knows the answers an could do it for you, but that wouldn't help you. It would make things worse for you in the long run."

"You're saying it could cripple me?" Jacob asked with a smirk.

Greg giggled. He was the only one who did, and that clearly confused him from how he stopped and looked at his dad and brothers.

Their father sighed. "It is a hard lesson, and one that you learn most by seeing it in practice. I know, why don't you each find a story for me, for tomorrow, about someone who helped someone else by seeming not to help."

Jacob snorted, disgusted and gathered his little bone toys and stalked out of the room. Dominic looked intrigued. Greg pushed two cushions aside to shove his head through. "Daddy, are songs that tell stories okay?"

"Always, kiddo, always."

"Wow... context... really does change everything," Greg said softy, rubbing at his leg on the side that had been darkened in the memory.