"Hey, Tavish, I need your eyes for a second, come here. Tell me what's written in this label."

Tavish might have been still considered a child and so pushed around and forced to obey everyone's orders, but managing to keep one original eye intact in a family of blind had a few advantages. As much as his parents surpassed them in everything, reading, among other things, was something only he could do. And that gave him a little feeling of importance.

"90%? Are you sure?" Da asked when Tavish finished reading.

"Yes, that's what it says." The teenager nodded.

"Alright, then." Da nodded slowly. He didn't need Tavish to be able to find the bottle cap and the tank. He had been doing this all of his life. He knew how to do it even with his sight gone forever. Tavish watched as he poured the substance without spilling a single drop, and his fingers connected the wires with precision. He stopped for a second to feel the bench he was sitting in until he found a tin cup. He gave it a sip and offered it to Tavish. "Try."

Tavish didn't hesitate to drink, and he immediately regretted it. He spat the drink and coughed, making his Da burst out laughing.

"You are a nursling, boy. Just a nursling!" He mocked him. If only he could see the faces he was making!

"How can you drink that ooze from Hell?" Tavish exclaimed, spitting the saliva inside his mouth, which still tasted like the liquid.

"Scrumpy is a drink for men out of Hell! That's why!" Da said, and gave the cup a long sip. After that, he placed a hand on Tavish's shoulder. "Don't feel bad, lad. You are, what? Ten?"

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen? Really? And you still drink whiskey thinking you are a tough rascal? My, my, what do they teach you in those orphanages..." Da shook his head with great disappointment.

Nothing that could be useful in real life; all he knew he had learnt it by himself, Tavish thought even though he didn't say it aloud.

"You're not crying, aren't you?" Da asked, leaning towards him.

"Of course not." Tavish quickly replied, and he was telling the truth.

"Good. I was afraid you were angry at me. I know the traditional child abandonment can be taken badly..."

"It's okay. I understand it's the tradition. I'm not angry or sad about it."

"I'm glad to hear that. I don't care if you can't hold scrumpy, or what your mother says: you are tougher than you seem. You are a worthy DeGroot. I am very glad you managed to find your way out of the orphanage."

And while he said that, he looked for Tavish's shoulder, which he approached to him, so he could pat it.

Tavish wished his father could see him smiling at his words, or watch the sky full of stars above their heads, just like he wished he didn't have so many jobs when the living room clock announced it was ten already.

"Next shift already?" Da sighed, and looked for his cane to stand up. "Well, it's been some nice ten minutes, my boy, but-"

"You've got to go. Sure. I understand." Tavish smiled.

"Tomorrow I will have fifteen free minutes. I know I should fill that space but, you know what, I think you could use that time to tell me about that Sarah girl, huh?"

"W-Who told you about it?" Tavish blushed.

"You can hide nothing from your mother, I thought you already knew." Da smirked, and his hand looked for Tavish's hair to ruffle it.

Had Tavish known this was the last time he would see his father in his life, he would have said something meaningful, like 'I love you' or 'you make me happy', hugged him, kissed him. Instead, he just smiled and watched silently as he grabbed his bombs and sulfur and walked out of the house. He didn't say or do anything special because he was sure he would see him the next day during his break between jobs, like every day. Immediately after that his mother called him to have dinner and nag about him only having seven summer jobs ("like a lazy bum!") and forgot about him.

It was like any other Friday. His bombs echoed through the mountains of the Highlands, like the ticking of the clock—it ended up becoming his nursery song to sleep. Tavish fell asleep soon and didn't notice that the explosions ended way sooner than usual.

He couldn't imagine what happened until a persistent ringing at their door woke him up. He heard his mother mumble and her cane hitting every wall and object in her path. Whoever this was, they'd better have a good reason to show up at this time. When Tavish turned his eyes to the clock on his night table and saw it was one in the morning, he jumped out of bed and eavesdropped.

The men showing up had a good reason to wake them up indeed.

Tavish would try to remember this moment years later and find a big blur. Probably alcohol killed some brain cells, but the shock most probably turned his brains into mush. He did remember a few things, though: his mother taking a seat gravely, holding and touching something in her hands—no idea of what it was, but it was all that was left of Magnus DeGroot; a few words engraved on his brain: "bounce", "accident"; feeling like he had jumped into freezing water; holding his mother's hand with all of his strength. He didn't remember tears from him or her, the widow and orphan kept their composure like a DeGroot, but the house was so deadly silent after the news that it almost seemed like the whole family had taken the explosion.

Tavish wanted to talk about him, but his mother never brought the issue up. After all, this had to happen one day, right? Demomen were exposed to accidents like these; it was a curse, a hereditary condition. She kept on bossing him around like she did before, the only difference being a quieter tone of voice and mourning black dresses. It almost seemed like Da had never been there. Like, he was rarely around, but at least they knew he was somewhere. One day, even just for ten minutes, he would show up to say hello and goodbye. Tavish wanted to talk about this with someone and had no one.

When his mother was not listening, he slipped into Da's cellar. His alcohol, his only vice, the one pleasure he allowed himself after a day of work, was right where he left it. With his teeth, he pulled out the cork of the scrumpy bottle and rose it to the ceiling, to Da. He gave a sip. The drink made him cough, left his breathless, his cheeks burnt, tears ran down his cheeks, but he drank again, and again. He first wanted to vomit, lost his sight for a second, but he managed to leave the bottle empty.