"Hey, check out the babe in the Hello Kitty onesie," you say, motioning with one finger towards a woman with long brunette hair sitting on a bench with her baby a little in front of you on the bike path.

"Ay bay," Dave answers. "You're a regular Fonz in training, Dave." You grin and pedal past, letting out a catcall as you do. You don't get to see the look on her face, or know if she realized it was you, but it was still worth it.

At this point in your life, you'd found some form of security. You were doing minor odd jobs to help make ends meet as you started really doing what you loved; making puppets. Of course, you'd always loved voicing your puppets, but where would you go as a ventriloquist? When you were younger you'd been bestowed with your most beloved possession, Lil Cal (a one-of-a-kind, handmade puppet, originally named 'Calvin' by his creator), and taught to sew. Puppets offered a companionship you'd never really had and couldn't ever explain, and though you'd mostly kept this talent and love in secret, you were a master puppetmaker.

It didn't take too much effort to have started selling your puppets online for excellent prices. You could craft Reborns or ventriloquist dolls or puppets of any design. Though you've only just recently started, you're making enough money now to support yourself and Dave, who is just past the age where you can stop counting in months. He talks now, though mostly in wonderful phrases like "hungry" or "Cal!".

There was a huge benefit in working at home (aside from the difficulty of keeping needles and thread away from the kid), since you could actually be around. You never took yourself for much of a parental type, but it had turned out that you were, more or less. Mostly, you just didn't want him to be a fuck up. You want him to turn out okay, to be happy. And regardless of the sneers from happily married young mothers gave you on the bus, you're doing a damn good job.

And Dave seems happy.

"Cal!" Dave exclaims as you let him totter inside while you turn on the light. You'd flashstepped in front, holding Cal in front of him. "Hey buddy!" You voice, moving Cal's jaw. "Hoo hoo, hee hee!" You wrap Cal's thin blue arms around Dave's little form and the kid hugs him back with a giggle.

Time marches on at a pace you almost can't keep up with. Dave is this little weed, growing fast and keeping up with you better every passing day. You don't talk to your friends any more. You guess that's because you or they or someone realized you had nothing in common anymore, or maybe you never really did in the first place. Not Mack, not Julie, not Jay. You keep to yourself mostly, now, occasionally checking in with Lalonde and Egbert.

You look over at Dave to make sure he hasn't gotten into anything, and he's just sitting there on the floor with Cal, shaking his hand like they've just met. The kid looks up and meets your eyes behind his shades, then waves his own hand and Cal's at you. You make a two-fingered salute and go back to sewing.

Some days Dave pats your hair and notes how spikey it is. He's a real observationalist. Sometimes he grabs your things and declares "mine". Most of the time he clings to your leg, your shirt, anything. He's clingy.

But he's normal, mostly.

After a long moment of thought, you set down the needle and thread, sticking the end in the puppet of your own design (you call them smuppets, and probably shouldn't elaborate on what they were designed for), and pick up a piece of paper and pen. Admittedly, you have to look around for a good seven minutes before you actually find a pen.

dear rox,

i don't have anything 'unusual' to report about dave. he's mostly a normal kid. clingy and cute, i guess. but that's not what i'm writing about. i keep having these dreams about him. i'd dismiss it as me being a whackjob but i figured you might as well know, if you're not too busy macking on your egbertian boytoy or 'doing science' (whatever the hell that entails).

in my dreams, dave's pretty much grown. he's a teenager. sometimes there's a lot of him and sometimes he's with others and sometimes he's all alone in this hot place. i dunno where it is or what it is. it's just hot and metallic. i'm normally not there, just looking down at him. most of the time he's talking on some kind of thing – i think it's a cell phone. and then he's dead. a sliced neck, ten or twenty bullet wounds.

and sometimes he moves unnaturally. fast and quick and through the sky, like an angel. i think he has wings, sometimes. i'm always there when he does. just before i wake up he's leaning over me and i think he's crying. dunno if it's the product of a troubled conscience or whatever but i thought you oughta have the input, whatever you may do with it.

– di-stri.

You look down at Dave again as you finish your letter, then slip off the couch so you can sit next to him. You pull Cal onto your lap and the kid looks up at you with wide red eyes.

"Hey kid," you greet him, mussing his blonde hair. He makes a protesting noise and grabs your wrist with both of his hands to pull your hand off of his head. "How about you and me make a deal?"

He makes an affirmative, if questioning, noise, so you go on. You poke him on the nose; he goes crosseyed. "How about you never grow up? Stay little and cute forever. I can do without the crying, though."

Dave just looks at you, confused. He's got no idea what you just said, but hey, you tried. You give him a little smile and pull him onto your lap with Cal, then lay back and lift him in both of your hands.

"Superman!" You tell him. "The city needs you!" You feel his weight in your hands and know you can support him, and so you move him around like he's flying. At first his little eyes bug in fear before he starts smiling and both of you are making 'whoosh' noises, his wet and more like blowing raspberries than anything.

"Never fear," you tell him, "your sidekick Cal is here to help!" With Lil Cal carefully balanced on your knee, you bring it up next to where you're holding Dave and the boy breaks into giggles, reaching out to hold Cal's hand.

Moments like this, you feel like a real family. You can't imagine it being any other way. You can't imagine life without your little brother. But with the light against his back, feathering his silhouette, you can see him as vividly as you do in your dreams. You can see him like he has wings. Leaned over you, crying for a reason you can't fathom.

"I love you, little buddy," you tell him.

"Love yoo!" He answers.