v.
His brother needed a brother, and he was given as much of a parent as he never had. A twelve-year-old with big determined brown eyes and hair to shame clowns decided that he would raise this kid right. (Who will feed you both?) He didn't think of that. (Where will you bring him when the sun goes down?) He didn't think of that. (Who will raise you…?) He didn't think at all.
She told him he was being childish.
With a quick grin, he knew she was right. (Who will raise the ball player with dreams?) No one ever did. She tried. And they both grew up all too quickly. Never knew the luxury of afternoon mudpies and scabby knees. He never knew that his mother once called him her Little Guardian. (No wonder he was drawn to summoners, they laughed.) Ordinary days were paradise.
He was not a parent. He was not an adult. Not a child. This man was not a bliztball player. He was just a guardian.
And a friend.
And she was thankful for that.