July 4, 2017
Five years and another lifetime ago.
Somewhere in Arizona, along the United States-Mexico Border
Sean Diaz stares at the wall of police cars between him and freedom. The broken handcuff hangs heavy on his wrist. He turns off the engine of his mom's SUV and sets his head on the steering wheel, wincing as his brother asks what they are going to do.
"You know, that day in Seattle," he says slowly, using what feels like the last of his strength to sit up, "the day Dad was shot . . . I think about it every day. And I would give anything to change what happened. But I can't. I'm sorry for my mistakes. I tried my best. I swear."
"Sean . . . " Daniel barely gets the word out. There's no bullshitting this kid anymore. He knows this is the end of the road.
"I'm so proud of you, enano," Sean says. "Just like Dad would be. We both learned a lot together, but you can make your own rules now. If we surrender, they will separate us, Daniel. And if that happens, promise me that you will always do the right thing, okay? Don't waste your power. Be smart. Like you already are."
"I don't wanna be separated."
"Whatever happens, always remember that you're Daniel Diaz."
"I promise, Sean."
The FBI agent shouts orders at them. It all sounds like noise.
"So," Daniel asks, "how does the story of the wolf brothers end?"
Sean takes a long time to answer. "I . . . I think their story ends right here . . ."
# # #
April 14, 2023
Now
A cheap motel not far from Away, Arizona
Sean Diaz stares at the wall of the shower, wrestling with how to cross the chasm between him and his brother. The water is turned as hot as it will go and stings his shoulders, but he stands under it long enough that it grows cold. A canon-shot of thunder shakes the tiny motel.
He has really screwed things up. Like Max said he would when she came to him in the prison. Just before he changed the past.
Sean turns off the water but doesn't get out. He rests his forehead on the wall, stands there wet and naked.
I shouldn't have lost my temper. I shouldn't have said those things to Daniel. But Sean's little brother pushed and pushed until he lost it. Daniel is only a kid, though. Kids act out. And Daniel just found out that why his mother left him doesn't make the pain worth it, and his older brother kept being dishonest with him even if it was for "good" reasons.
However, Daniel is sixteen. Sixteen was when Sean had to grow-the-fuck up. Daniel doesn't have to be such an infuriating little brat.
That's not fair, Sean thinks. This is why I sacrificed everything twice. So Daniel could be a normal sixteen-year-old. And normal sixteen-year-olds are shitheads, like I was before dad died.
Shivering, Sean finally wraps a towel around himself. The bathroom is poorly ventilated, so the mirror is steamed as he steps onto the cold, tile floor. A frowny face has appeared on the glass; Daniel showered first and must have drawn it. Sean pulls on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and picks up his cell phone.
While Daniel was in the bathroom, Sean texted Max Caulfield. It turns out, David is Chloe's stepdad. Or was. Max seemed to think it was just a weird coincidence, said David was a real douche, didn't want to hear about how he is a good dude now. Sean can't shake that there must be some meaning to him, though. Like David is a sign that people can change, that they can take the shitty things they've done and the shitty things that happen to them and become better.
Sean's past doesn't make him better, though. His past only seems to make him worse.
Max was cool, didn't chastise him for choosing to go on this road trip with his brother instead of accepting the C-minus life. The last thing she sent to him was: Just be careful, Sean Diaz.
But he's tired of being careful. Enough of the fog has faded from the mirror, that it shows part of his face, but only half of it; his left eye is still covered with the steam. His face isn't as sallow as it was in prison, but he can still see that same, broken boy behind his one visible eye. "What do you want, Sean?" he asks the boy in the mirror.
"I want Toby," he says. "And for my job at Nickelodeon to work out. Because I like Toby. And I have worked hard at school."
"I want to not be in jail," he says. "And to not be a criminal. Because I try so, so hard to do the right thing."
"I want my dad," he says. "And my little brother. Also my mom. Because I love them. I don't think it's too much to want my family."
Then he bends over, sets his forehead on the cool sink. He knows this last thing is the big one, the one the universe could punish him for. When he rises again, the fog has cleared. He can see both of his eyes. "But right now, I just want someone to believe me. I want someone to help me carry all of this weight that is breaking my back. I want this misery out of my heart before it poisons everyone."
Just before he opens the bathroom door, he thinks: This action will have consequences.
# # #
Sean's little brother lies on his back on one of the beds. He's wearing a Captain America t-shirt and a pair of boxers. His hair is still damp and kind of stuck to his forehead. His earbuds are in, and he holds the Power Bear action figure from the campsite, slowly moving its arms and legs, like he is trying to figure out how it works.
Sean's bed creaks as he sits down, folding his hands, kind of like his father does when they are about to have a 'difficult' conversation. "Hey, Daniel, can we talk?"
Daniel pulls out one of his ear buds.
"I, uh, shouldn't have said those things to you," Sean says. "Back at Mom's . . . back at Karen's."
"It's whatever," Daniel says. "I was pissed. I was trying to piss you off. I shouldn't have said what I did either."
"Well, I didn't mean what I said," Sean says, "about how my life would be better if you hadn't been born."
Daniel's chest rises then falls. He closes his eyes. "Yes, you did."
Sean stares at his bare toes. The carpet is too thin for him to dig them into it. "Look, I'll be honest," he says. "Sometimes . . . sometimes I do think my life would be easier if I weren't your brother. But I know for a fact it wouldn't be better. Because you're my favorite person, enano. I know you don't believe that. But I need you to trust that I do."
Daniel sits up, pushes his hand through his wet hair, and it turns into a shitty fauxhawk. He takes out the other earbud. "How can you say that, Sean? I'm nobody's favorite person. All my friends bailed on me. And you and me, we have never been close. Like, ever."
"We were," Sean says, tracing the road walked by the boy tattooed on his arm. "In another time. In another life. We were close enough that we took on the entire world. Together." Sean stands up, walks over to where his backpack rests against the wall. He pulls out the sketchbook, the one with everything from the other life. He hands it to Daniel. "Everything in that sketchbook is true. Well, except for the stuff about, like, zombies or whatever. But Dad getting shot by a police officer. Us going on the run. You having superpowers. All of that is true."
"Sean, come on, man."
"I know it sounds crazy. But it's how I knew Claire and Stephen would be happy to see us, even ask us to stay the night. Because they welcomed us when it was hard, when we were on the run. It's how I knew where to find Mom. Because she found us five years ago. It's why those guys jumped me in the desert even though I've 'never been to Nevada.' I fell asleep on their land in a car that I stole to get back to you. It's why I know how to steal. It's why I do shady-ass shit. Because for a long time, doing that shady shit was how we survived."
The pages of the sketchbook rustle as Daniel flips through them, not really lingering on any of them long enough to truly see them. Daniel must think this is total bullshit. Sean expects another fight when Daniel looks up, but instead, Daniel's eyes just appear worried. "Sean, you have to know none of this happened, right? Our Dad isn't dead. I think we would have noticed if you just left for the border when you were sixteen."
"None of this happened. You're right," Sean says. "Because you're not the only one with a superpower. I can travel through time, travel through my sketches. I can change the past."
"Dude, bro. Hermano," Daniel says, and his palm rubs his forehead so hard it reddens the skin. "I'm not making a joke here . . . but did Andrew, like, touch you or something? He was always kind of creepy, and I heard that sometimes when kids are abused, they have these breaks from reality and create, like, alternate worlds in their heads, and—"
"I'm not making it up," Sean says. "I'll prove it." He grabs a pencil and a marker from his bag. He takes the sketchbook from Daniel and turns to one of the few remaining blank pages in the back. "Okay, I'm going to draw this room, draw this moment right now. While I am doing that, think of something you have never told me. Something I would have no way of knowing. Then, once I'm done with the sketch, tell me the secret. I will travel through time, tell it to you, and it will be like I read your mind. Except I won't read your mind. You just will have told me. In the future. Does . . . does this make sense?"
The room flashes from the lightning outside. Then thunder booms.
"I don't know, man," Daniel says. He picks up his phone "I think we should—I think we should call Dad. I think you should tell him all this stuff you just told me. Then we can get you help or whatever you need. . ."
"Please, Daniel, don't call Dad," Sean says, and he reaches for the cell phone. He stops himself as Daniel pulls away. The frightened, worried look on Daniel's face stings. "At least, don't tell Dad just yet, okay? Just . . . humor me. Let me try this. And if it doesn't work, then you . . . then you can tell Dad I'm crazy, okay? You can have me committed or whatever, alright?"
Sean watches as his brother unlocks the phone screen. But Daniel doesn't press anything in his contacts. Instead, he sets the phone back on the bed. The kid sighs. "Okay, Sean. I guess let's try this."
# # #
Daniel rubs the bottom of his foot with his thumb, but Sean is too busy sketching to tell him touching his feet is gross. Daniel's stomach feels sick. As much as Sean pisses him off, Sean is still his brother. Daniel cares about him, wants him to be okay. And before, he thought Sean was full of shit, a liar who completely committed to his falsehoods to deceive others. But now, Daniel watches his brother's pen scratch against the page of the sketchbook, and he sees a guy who is broken so badly he does not know what's real anymore.
"I'm done," Sean says, and he turns the image he's drawn in the sketchbook towards Daniel. Sure enough, it's the room.
Daniel sees himself in the image, his phone and the Power Bear action figure beside him on the bed. Sean even captured him playing with his foot but didn't say anything. "It looks good, bro."
"Thanks," Sean says, turning the sketchbook back towards himself. "So do you have something you can tell me? Something I wouldn't know?"
"Yeah," Daniel says, pulling his legs under him, crisscross applesauce. "I do."
"Well, save it," Sean says, looking up from the sketchbook. "Because we have already done this five times."
"What?" Daniel says.
"I have already traveled back to this moment five times. The first time," Sean says calmly, closing the sketchbook over his lap, "you told me that your first kiss was with Min Reilly. You were in seventh grade."
Okay, sure, this is exactly the thing Daniel was about to say. But Sean probably guessed. A really lucky guess. It was in Daniel's bedroom while they were working on a project about William Henry Harrison for Mrs. Jackson. "I probably mentioned it at some point," Daniel says. "And you just remembered. Or wrote it down in one of your journals. You write everything down in your journals."
"The second time," Sean continues, "you told me that the first time you smoked weed was when you were eleven. You got it from my room. It gave you a headache, and you have never smoked it again."
"You probably noticed it was missing!" Daniel says.
Sean smirks. "Yeah, I was super careful with my weed as a kid, kept a close eye on it, which is why Dad was able to find my stash."
"Whatever." Daniel crosses his arms. "Lots of kids smoke in middle school. My older brother was a stoner. Of course I was going to try it at some point."
"The third time," Sean continues, "you tried to tell me that you still keep Mr. Bunny Bunny under your bed, and if you can't sleep, you cuddle with him. But I already knew that. So, instead, you told me that you actually like Dad's tamales. I thought we just ate them to be nice because making them reminds him of Mexico."
"Okay, obviously they are bad tamales, but that doesn't mean that they are bad food. You just have to think of them as damp burritos."
Sean cringes. "That is the third time you've said that, and it just gets grosser every time. The fourth time we did this, you told me that you asked Claire back in Beaver Creek if you were the reason Mom left. And Claire made you say you didn't ruin anything. She told you Mom left because Karen Reynolds is a deeply flawed person." Sean taps his sketchbook with a knuckle, as another round of thunder rumbles outside. "Claire is right about that. I mean, it's more complicated, but that's the gist of it. Mom couldn't love you enough to stay, but she couldn't love me enough to stay either. That's not a fault with either of us. It's not really a fault with her, but it's . . . staying is something she couldn't do."
"I think it's one hell of a fault with her," Daniel says, crossing his arms. "I don't get how you can accept her."
"I've had five years. You've only had a few hours." Sean smiles. But it fades when he asks, "Do you want to know the last thing you told me?"
"I'm not sure what it would be," Daniel says. "I feel like I'm running out of things you couldn't guess."
"You said that last time," Sean says. "And you got a little flustered and blurted that the black eye you had back in December . . . your 'friend' Noah gave it to you. You went to his house to talk to him. And he punched you in the face."
Suddenly, Daniel feels cold, like the blood has fallen out of his body. Hearing Sean say this out loud is like being hit again. It wasn't even Daniel's face that hurt; it was his heart. It hurt more that his best friend did it than the actually being punched.
"Did I, uh, tell you what I wanted to talk to him about?" Daniel asks, interlocking his fingers between his toes.
"No, you didn't," Sean says. "But you can now. If you want to."
"I don't want to," Daniel says, and his voice cracks. A sniffle betrays him. He crosses his arms, puffs out his chest. Tries to look tough to make up for the stupid feelings he's having about this.
The bed shifts as Sean sits down beside him. He feels his brother reach out for him, but Daniel pulls away. He does not want to be touched right now.
"You know," Sean says, "before we left, Dad talked to me about how the things going on with me, I might feel better if I shared them with you. And Mom said something similar. She said this thing about how keeping pain inside yourself doesn't make anything better. It just poisons you, and then it can poison the people around you. Look, I know you haven't felt good about whatever this is with Noah. And talking about it might help. And I'll listen. And I promise, what I am about to tell you is more fucked up than anything you could tell me. I am a much bigger fuckup than you."
"Yeah, the honor-roll student with a sort-of boyfriend who is about to work at Nickelodeon is totally a fuckup," Daniel says, trying to smile. It feels hard. Everything has felt hard with this stupid shit with Noah taking up so much space in his head for months. "You promise not to tell anyone?"
"I promise, Daniel," Sean says.
He takes a breath. Then closes his eyes. Something about not looking at Sean makes this seem easier. "So . . . I was spending the night at Noah's house. Like I always did a couple of times a month. And we were just messing around on his laptop, and somehow we ended up on a porn site." Daniel winces. "And so we started watching stuff. It was late. No one else was up. And Noah suggested we 'take care of ourselves.'" Daniel sets his head in his hand. This is so cringey to say out loud. "And so we did. But then we kind of started touching each other. And everything seemed fine. Noah was kind of into it. I thought it was awkward but kinda fun? I don't know. But when we finished . . . I kissed him. And he got . . . really weird. He didn't talk to me the rest of the night. I slept on his couch instead of in his room like usual, and I left, like, first thing in the morning. Even before his parents were up." Daniel sighs. "And I kept trying to talk to him about it, to tell him it didn't have to mean anything. But he wouldn't even talk to me. So it's just confusing and frustrating and awful. And when I finally went to his house after him ignoring me at school, he . . . punched me in the face. Told me to leave him alone. That's the last thing he said to me."
"I'm sorry, bro. That really sucks."
"I'm okay with being into guys or bisexual," Daniel says. "But the thing is, I don't even like Noah like that. I don't think he's cute or anything. He's just my friend. So I don't know why I kissed him or even why we did stuff in the first place. It just . . . happened. And it makes me feel like I'm a creep, like I have no self control." Daniel chews on his lip, and he stares down at his bare feet. They are the same size as Sean's, but they seem so much smaller. "It makes me feel like there's something wrong with me. Which maybe there is. It makes sense. It's why I ruined my most important friendship. It's why my mom couldn't love me. And it's why my brother didn't want anything to do with me."
"Hey, we've already been over this—Mom didn't leave because of you. She left because of herself. And your brother . . . I was a shithead who, if I had been more mature, I would have spent more time with you and realized you were a pretty cool little kid. And I would have told you that, like, so much that you would have turned into an overconfident little shit."
Daniel laughs, even as his eyes feel hot and wet.
"And as for Noah," Sean says, "look, dude, I think you should be bummed out that your friend won't talk to you. And that it sounds like he isn't your friend anymore. That for-real sucks."
"It does," Daniel sighs.
"But the other stuff . . . you're not a freak for kissing him or fooling around with him. Stuff like that happens. Was this your first time doing something like this with another person?"
Daniel nods. "It's the closest thing I've ever done to sex with someone, if that's what you mean, yeah."
"I think everyone's first sexual experience is awkward. And messy. And confusing. I know both of mine were."
"Both?"
"Because of the time travel thing, I have two. And they are both embarrassing as hell. In this life, it was with Jenn, and I kept freaking out about my bed making noise because you were home and might hear us. So we did it on the floor on a pile of blankets, like, right next to a pile of my dirty laundry. Then you totally almost walked in on us. God, I could have murdered you."
Daniel chuckles. "I remember that. You actually threw your jeans at me, which made it pretty obvious you didn't have them on." He watches Sean blush, and there's something comforting about his brother being embarrassed.
"In the other life," Sean says, "there was this cool girl who went by Cassidy. I met her in Beaver Creek, then again when we were hopping trains. She and I did it in a tent in the middle of a redwood forest in California, and I was . . . I was really, really bad. You know what's awesome? Handing someone your v-card then spending more time apologizing than actually having sex. She was . . . understanding."
Daniel almost rolls his eyes at "in the other life." He isn't sure why Sean made up this story, but there's a note in his voice that sounds like honesty. It can't be true, but Sean thinks it's truth.
Sean's been quiet for a few seconds. When Daniel looks up, Sean's face is pale and vacant, staring through the wall across from them. He doesn't move until Daniel says, "Sean?"
"Sorry, bro, I was just . . . thinking about Cassidy and our friend Finn. You . . . really liked Finn."
Back in the car, on the way out of Beaver Creek, Daniel mentioned the thing that Stephen said about some hippies getting hit by a train. Was Sean thinking of these people he made up when he got weird and quiet?
Sean shakes his head. "Anyway, I think most people's first time doesn't go like they plan. And your embarrassing, awkward, messy sexual experience? It's fine. It's normal. It happens. Don't beat yourself up about it. It's okay, enano."
"It still sucks about Noah," Daniel says. "I hate that I can't . . . it's like playing a videogame, and you just can't beat the very last boss. I wish he would just talk to me, even if he said he never wanted to see me again. It's the not talking that's the worst, even more than the black eye."
Sean sighs. "He probably doesn't even know why he stopped talking to you. He probably got uncomfortable, and now things have gotten so messy, it seems even harder to talk about it. I kind of did that to Sarah, the girl I was dating before Thanksgiving. I ran away because avoiding a breakup seemed easier. It was shitty. I was shitty to her, and Noah is being shitty to you."
"You're not going to stab him with a broken bottle, are you?"
Sean laughs. "Not unless you ask me to."
"I can't believe you got me to talk about this," Daniel says. "But you were right . . . talking about it, I do feel a little better. Dude, can I be honest with you? I get really pissed at you, and it isn't because you're a bad brother. It's because you're actually a pretty good brother, when you try. I'm happy for you, that you worked really hard and have friends and went to art school and are making your dreams come true. It just sucks that you were usually too busy for anything else. I know you are trying now."
"I had to do some growing up," Sean says. "And it took me a little longer to do that here."
"It's cool. You were a kid, right?" Daniel says. "Dad always says part of growing up is that kids are allowed to make some pretty big mistakes."
"Yeah. They are," Sean says, and Daniel lets his brother rest a hand on the back of his neck. "They're not supposed to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders."
# # #
Daniel turns the pages of Sean's sketchbook, this time pouring over each page. When he was a kid, he would have flipped over Sean handing him a sketchbook, but now he studies it like a detective, trying to piece together this alternate reality his brother has constructed. And why.
On the opposite bed, Sean sits, scratching at the tattoo on his forearm, curling his toes until they disappear against the carpet. "I, uh, have no idea how to start," he says. "This is hard to talk about."
The page Daniel turns whispers against his finger tips, and it's the image he saw at Christmas of him as a kid, energy swirling around him. "Most of Dad's stories start with 'once upon a time,'" Daniel says. "I guess you could try that."
Sean makes a noise that's half-scoff, half-laugh. It's a corny suggestion, but he rubs his bony knees, and his chest inflates with a deep breath. "Well, okay . . . once—once upon a time, in the wild city of Seattle, I guess, there were two brothers—Sean and Daniel. They lived with their papa and had a good life until . . . until a cop's bullet took their dad away."
Sean stumbles getting started, but once he is talking, he drops the framing of it as a story. He tells it as something that happened to him. And it is pretty wild. Dad getting shot. Daniel killing the cop with super powers. Them going on the run. Daniel isn't sure how to react to most of it, especially when Sean looks at him, expecting him to feel something about Claire and Stephen's neighbor Chris.
Apparently this dead kid was Daniel's best friend, but Daniel has never met him. How is he supposed to react to the death of someone he has never met?
Sean continues as Daniel follows along in the sketchbook like a child being read to at bedtime. Occasionally, Sean's voice cracks. Other times, it comes to a dead stop like he has hit a wall. Sean sniffles. Rubs his eyes. But he manages to keep it together and finishes with how he went to jail and learned he could travel through his sketches. "And so I went back to the day in Seattle, the day Dad was shot. Because, even years later, I thought about it every day. And I changed it, so none of that bad stuff ever happened."
Daniel closes the sketchbook and sets it down next to the Power Bear figure and cell phone beside him on the bed. "You still get panic attacks, though. You have nightmares and cry in your sleep."
Sean drags a hand over his eye, the one that he said got shredded by glass. "All of that stuff still happened to me. It still hurts. I'm . . . broken, I guess. Maybe forever." He raises his head; his eyes meet Daniel's.
Daniel has never seen his brother look so small. Or scared. So quietly desperate, like a child who has lost his parents, who does not know how to get home, who has no idea how to ask for help.
"You didn't really say much during all of that," Sean says. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking you should stand up," Daniel says. At first, Sean looks confused. But finally he stands, and Daniel steps over to him and wraps his arms as tightly as he can around his big brother. At first, Sean is still, like a wooden board. Then, Daniel feels all of Sean's weight against him. His brother's nose presses against his neck, and Sean's breath is hot and wet. Silent sobs held in for far, far too long shake Sean's body.
So Daniel hugs Sean tighter, feels ribs against his biceps. Keeps hugging and holding Sean up with all of his strength. "I got you, bro," Daniel whispers. "You're okay, Sean."
When Sean finally pulls away, he wipes at his eyes. Daniel gives his brother's shoulder a squeeze. He has to be careful with this next part. Daniel thought Sean opening up would clarify things; instead, there are more questions than ever. The biggest is how to get Sean help. "So . . . have you thought about talking to a therapist about this?"
"I don't know how I would talk about this without lying. No therapist is going to believe this."
Daniel chews on his lip. "Well . . . it does sound pretty wild . . . "
Sean blinks. His face crumbles. "Oh my god . . . you still think I'm lying."
"No!" Daniel says, taking his hand from Sean's shoulder. "No, I know you aren't lying."
"So, what, you just don't believe me?"
"Listen to your story, Sean. It has superpowers and time travel and alternate realities. There's cults and Dad dying, and it's all just a lot, bro. I don't know what happened to you that was so bad that you came up with this story where the world is falling down on you, but I can see that you're hurt. I believe the pain that you're in."
Daniel reaches out for his brother.
But Sean pulls away.
"I'm not making it up," Sean says through gritted teeth. "What about earlier? When I proved I could travel through time? How could I know all that stuff? How could I know about Noah?"
"I don't know. Maybe someone posted shit on social media? There's probably a dozen explanations that make more sense than time travel."
"What about how I knew where to find Mom? Or any of the other things that have happened on this trip?"
"Sean, I know you are being honest," Daniel says. "I know you believe what you told me."
"But I need you to believe me!" Sean pleads like he's drowning. "All of this is eating me alive, and I need my brother to help me, and he can't do that if he thinks I'm full of shit. Please don't look at me like I am full of shit. What—what about your headaches?"
"They're nothing. I've had them off-and-on since I was ten," Daniel says. "They just got a little worse recently, but it's not a big deal. I'm pretty sure it's related to how much caffeine I have."
Sean pauses. A seriousness comes over his face, and he mutters something about actions and consequences. "I'm pretty sure it's your powers."
"Come on, man, I don't have super powers."
"You did. And I think you do here. Try. Please. For me." Sean points at the bed. "The Power Bear figure. Move it with your mind."
"Dude, this is crazy," Daniel protests. But Sean keeps begging, so Daniel gives in. He stares at the Power Bear figure resting on the bed. Points at it with his finger. And of course, it doesn't move. "See, Sean? Nothing."
"Because you didn't do it right," Sean says, exasperated. Daniel's brother stands behind him, chest against Daniel's back. Sean's hands rest on Daniel's shoulders, sort of bracing him like he is standing against a strong wind. In the distance, thunder quietly growls.
"Relax your shoulders," Sean says. "Extend your arm, palm out, fingers open. Take a deep breath and kind of picture yourself grabbing the figure. Imagine what the plastic feels like. Imagine the weight of it in your hand. Then . . . lift."
Daniel feels dumb. But his brother seems so upset, so desperate. Maybe trying again will placate Sean. Or maybe it will just feed his delusion. Daniel follows his brother's guidance, but, again, nothing happens.
"Keep trying," Sean says, like some kind of addict begging for a fix. "I need you to keep trying. I need you to believe me."
Daniel notices how tight Sean's grip is on his shoulders. Notices that Sean's stance has his feet on the outside of Daniel's. Daniel's heart skips a beat. His big brother has him trapped. He doesn't think Sean could ever hurt him, not physically, but Sean almost stabbed a guy. And Sean is pretty far from reality. Daniel should pick up his phone, call Dad. He eyes it. Calculates how quickly he can get to it. How long it would take to make a call.
I have to get to my phone. More than anything, I need my phone before this gets bad.
Maybe he can dive for it, ninja roll across the bed. Then call his father.
Call for help.
He holds out his hand. Imagines the phone against his fingers. The weight of it. Its cool surface. He reaches for it with his mind.
Soundtrack: "Get Better"
by Frank Turner
And the phone jumps from the bed. It leaps into Daniel's hand.
"What the hell?" Daniel mutters, palm stinging, eyebrows stretching to his forehead. "How did . . . how did the phone do that?"
"The phone didn't do anything—you moved it! With your mind!" Sean laughs, patting Daniel on the back. "Try it with Power Bear again."
Daniel stares, mystified at his cell phone in his right hand. There is an electric buzz in his brain, like feedback on a speaker, but he extends his left arm, concentrates on the action figure as hard as he can. Imagines its texture. Pictures its weight.
And the Power Bear figure rises, slowly and shakily, until it hovers two feet above the bed. It floats there, held by unseen hands. Except, Daniel watches with awe as it turns, back and forth as he wills it to.
"Whoa," Daniel gasps. "Am I—I'm doing this!?"
Suddenly, Power Bear explodes. Shards of plastic fly in dozens of directions like little bullets across the room. Daniel and Sean duck as the superhero's foot flies at their heads.
Sean laughs on the motel floor and hugs Daniel so tight he can barely breathe. "Dude, you are powerful. You are awesome, enano. You are a superwolf."
"Holy shit," Daniel mutters, staring into his brother's grinning face. "That crazy-ass story . . . it was—was it really true?"
# # #
It's almost 2:00 AM, and the storm has passed. The Diaz brothers dress then drive to the middle of the desert where Sean coaches Daniel on how to throw rocks with his mind, like some kind of Marvel Comics little league. Daniel is stunned he can hurl something the size of his fist twenty feet through the air; Sean tells him this isn't even half of what he can do.
Sean fills in the details of his story that he glossed over. But mostly, they laugh, like two kids who have never been burdened by the weight of the world, exhilarated at their freedom and power.
And, in the middle of the cool desert night, far from every bad thing that has happened to them, the two wolf brothers howl at the moon.
they threw me a whirlwind
and I spat back the sea
i took a battering
but ive got thicker skin
and the best people i know are looking out for me
so im taking the high road
my engines running high and fine
may I always see the road rising up to meet me
and my enemies defeated in the mirror behind
im trying to get better because I haven't been my best
she took a plain black marker started writing on my chest
she drew a line across the middle of my broken heart
and said, 'come on now, lets fix this mess'
we could get better
because we're not dead yet
