Father puts a finger to his lips as his hand hover on the doorknob to the master suite, his own bedroom.

"You need to be quiet, alright? There might be complications if he doesn't wake up when he's ready." Ready for what, he does not say.

He waits until both of us have nodded; Kent being dead serious. Still, Father's eyes linger on him some extra. Surely to taunt him. To underline that he is the one in control of when Kent gets to see James; and that he will remove him if he steps out of line.

The room is dimly lit, but I can make out a bundle of blankets on the bed when we come in.

"There he is", Father announces in a whisper.

Kent gasps. By the size of the lump James, too, have been subject to the serum. Father carefully sits down on the bed. Kent sits down on the floor with his arms propped up on the mattress.

"Isn't he cute?", Father asks me.

I have never spent much thought on the cuteness of babies. I can barely recognize my half brother. His dirty blond hair is lighter, and like my own his features have been softened to pudgy cheeks and a small button nose. He looks relaxed. His slumber is peaceful. Completely unaware of the reality he is about to wake up to.

"I would have liked him better if he stayed a ten year old", I say.

Father shakes his head, smile on his lips.
"That would have messed up the order. It wouldn't be fair to Adam to suddenly be the youngest", Father protests.

I don't bother pointing out that Kent would probably also have liked James to remain a ten year old. Kent isn't listening to us, however. He only has eyes for his little brother.

Suddenly there is a noise. Soft. A mewl. A shift underneath the covers.

Father quickly hushes us, despite him being the last to speak. We watch in silence as James settles down. It looks like he's going to slip under again, but I can tell his dreaming has stopped. Which is why I'm not surprised when he throws his arms out and stretches. His little toddler face scrunching up in a frown at having to wake up.

"Oh!", Father exclaims; excitement flashing through him.

"Could it be…?", he muses as he reaches over and tugs at the blanket. Kent also leans in to see, but reluctantly keeps his distance.

Father turns to me.
"Aaron, go open the curtains."

While I'm off by the window I can hear even more huffs and hums from James and Father is only getting more and more excited.

I turn around just in time to see him stand up.

"Come to your Daddy!", he says as he picks up the toddler. He holds him in the air.

James' big blue eyes open fully, and he stares at father. While Father waltzes around the room for a bit, James still high above his head, I return to stand next to Adam.

"Hello there!", father says before readjusting him so that James rests more securely on his arm.

James just stares, a perplexed look in his eyes as he's being held by this strange man he doesn't recognize.

Adam stands straight as a rod next to me; ready to rush up and take James out of our father's arms if need be.

James looks at father for a few more moments before looking around. His eyes land on Adam, and they stay glued there before he declares:
"Addie…!"

"Yup, it's me, bud...", Adam confirms.

"You're small!", James remarks. And I have to say, his voice is tiny and adorable.

I can't help but take note of the fact that I'm taller than Kent now. Not that I was bothered by the height difference before.

"How old are you?", I ask Kent. It's the first time I've addressed him.

He tears away his gaze from James for just a moment to give me a look.

"Eighte-" He stops mid word as he understands what I'm really asking, and his face goes pale; which I actually feel bad for doing. I hadn't meant to upset him.

"Nine or ten", Father answers in his stead.

James stares at Kent some more. Just like Adam James hasn't caught up with the fact that this is reality yet.

"Say Aa for Daddy", father suddenly prompts.

James looks a little confused, but he obliges, opening his little mouth as wide as he can.

"Aaaaa..."

Father looks inside and lets out a laugh.

"Look at those pearls!", he says and pulls a little on the child's cheek.
"But no big-boy molars", he concludes.

I can't help it, but I feel around my mouth with my tongue. And sure enough, my second molars are smaller, and the third molar I had in my upper jaw on the right side isn't there. Buried underneath my gums once more.

Adam must have done the same, though he, being only nine, is supposed to still have a few of his baby molars. His second molar isn't supposed to have grown in either. He gains that expression of disbelief once more.

"How the hell does that work?", he whispers to me.

I shrug. It should be impossible. I never asked my father whether the tooth fairy would visit our house, I knew better than that. When I lost a tooth it was swiftly disposed of into the nearest garbage can.

But if one thing is for certain it's that my baby teeth can't have made their way back into my gums.

But the word impossible has lost its meaning in the last few days and I can't bring myself to waste the brain power trying to understand it. I have better things to concern myself with.

James closes his mouth again as our father looks him over. He dandles him a few times, testing his weight against his arm; knit his eyebrows together in consideration.

"What do you think Adam, how old is he?"

Adam frowns, still unfamiliar with this new concept.

"Isn't he supposed to be eight years younger than you?", I ask, for once remembering a fact from before four days ago.

I look at James.

"He's looks larger than a one year old, though...", I say.

Father laughs. It's hearty and contagious, and James smiles as well.

"Yes, and thank God for that!", he declares.

"You may be cute, but I don't want an actual baby on my hands; no, no", he tells James, using a babyish tone I don't recognize. He even rubs his nose against James' cheek, making the toddler giggle in delight.

"We had to be very careful with the dosage", he continues in his normal voice glancing at us. "Don't know what would have happened if it went too far."

It takes us a second to understand what he's suggesting, but once we do Kent and I simultaneously gag.

"Ew, don't make me think about that…!", Kent pleads.

"Agreed", I clip.

Dad laughs again and James just blinks in confusion, the entire concept flying straight over his head.

"I really hope you're still potty trained, though", father says.

I don't know why, but Adam stiffens a little beside me.

"But, two maybe? Three? I guess we'll have to compare."

"Compare?", I ask.

"Yeah", father answers.

There were so many photographs.

Most of them were obviously taken on a phone, judging by the vertical frame.

"Mama!"

"Yes that's right, that is your Mama!", our father had praised as James tapped his toddler hands against the photos. Dad had him on his knee, album propped up on the other.

Kent was sitting next to them on the sofa. Conflicted on whether to lean in to have a better look or to try get James away from our father, based on his body language.

I didn't really know what I expected as I myself leaned in over the back of the sofa.

What I know I didn't expect was for my father to look so… happy.

The tenderness in his gaze as he sits with one arm wrapped around a young woman with brown hair. She's looking at the camera. Both her sons have inherited her deep blue eyes. They were selfies taken on terrasses, restaurants, a baseball game judging by their matching dark blue caps.

Dates.

Father carrying two boxes. Moving in day, is written underneath.

"Is that?", Kent suddenly perks up.

"Your mom's house? Yeah."

And there are more pictures. Ms Kent in a hospital bed. A twenty year younger father sitting in an armchair next to her looking like he was about to pass out, a bundle of blankets in his arms.

"You were there?", Kent asked. Disbelief in his voice.

"Yup. I was in Washington with five missed calls. She gave me a real earful about it. I was on time for this one though", he says and makes James bounce up and down on his knee; which makes James squeal gently.

He flicks a few pages forward. Past countless of baby pictures of Kent.

How deep did he have to look to unbury these treasures?, I wonder. He must have had another phone. A secret phone Ms Kent would send pictures to. How by some miracle that he didn't just delete all of them on arrival is beyond me. I wonder if anyone got paid to write the dates in the margins, to assemble all of this chronologically. But perhaps not, after all, my father is one of the subjects.

Or maybe it's from Ms Kent own phone. Someone must have retrieved it when she died.

Another hospital. A more tired looking Ms Kent. Kent, looking only a little younger than he is now, looking amazed as an infant grips his fingers.

"Addie!", James exclaims.

Father is on one of the pictures as well. Looking like he wants to be anywhere else.

Which is how I remind myself that this, this, is all an act. He pretends to enjoy having a toddler in his arms. Pretends to want to comfort Kent when he cries. Pretends to not mind wasting his time by kissing me goodnight.

"Mhm, and do you know who that is?", Father asks, pointing at the infant.

James blue eyes go wide in consideration, but when he doesn't figure it out he looks at father expectantly.

"That's you!"

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"And who's that?", father asks, pointing at himself.

"That's your Daddy", he says when James shakes his head in bewilderment.

James furrows his brow at the picture, a look in his eyes I've never seen on a toddler. Then he suddenly turns to Kent.

"Is that my Daddy?", he asks.

I can tell Kent doesn't want to confirm it. But father is looking at him intently from over James dirty blonde locks.

Adam nods.

James looks at the picture again. At his mother. At Kent. At father. James then looks up at Father and stares for a moment. I can't help holding my breath. We all do. Then he reaches out and taps him on the cheek.

I can tell the moment he realizes father is the man on the picture, albeit ten years older. He turns back to Kent, still with his hand on our father's cheek.

"This is our Daddy!"

"I know", is all Kent says.

James looks back at Father again, who is smiling triumphantly.