Day two: Favourite guardian: Dad Egbert
Your name is Dad Egbert, why in the HELL would your parents name you Dad? YOU DON'T EVEN WANT KIDS. Even though you don't want kids, you absolutely adore old people, your mother taught you everything you know about your passion. Comedy. Currently, you work at Prankster's Gambit and it's a part-time job whilst you figure just what you're doing with your life. You work there with your loving mother who has been passed down the shop from her mother and her mother before that. You just got off work and are ready to PAR-TAY with some of your college friends… except not really, you are going to go home and go to bed even though it's only seven thirty. Got to get that sleep in!
You close the door to your apartment and get into your pyjamas, just settling into bed you hear a crash outside your window, going to investigate at your window, you see smoke emitting from the general area of prankster's gambit. OH SHIT your mother may be caught in a fire!
Abandoning the idea of getting into non-pyjamas, you bolt down to your car and drive to the shop only to find a massive meteor crater sitting in its place, looking further, you see your mother's clothing lying in the crater. Tears coming to your eyes, you pick up the ash found beside it into your pocket. On the bright side, free cremation? Oh, who are you kidding she was so old she was about to have a heart-attack anyway, at least she died doing what she loved. You look around for any other relics to maybe sell on eBay when you find a baby, A FUCKING BABY just chilling out in the crater. Okay, yeah, you hate kids, but this one HAD to be radioactive or something to survive this, you were going to raise a goddamn superhero.
"Hey little buddy" you say, strolling over to the surprisingly silent youngster. Picking him up and taking him home, buying baby supplies on the way, after feeding him and putting him to sleep, you contemplate what changes you'd have to make for this small human. Getting a serious, office job was a must, as was buying a house, and dropping all that prankster clown shit.
After a week of caring for the kid, you considered yourself a parenting expert, what with all the books and internet articles you read. Finally, you decided the kid needed a name, he was a superhero, you knew that, but how hilarious would it be if a radioactive superhuman had a boring name like… John? Yeah, that's the name.
…
Years later and John is ten, going into fifth grade, and to be honest, you sort of forgot the whole "I'm raising a superhero" about six years ago when you started growing up a bit more, and he didn't show any powers. Recently he's started drawing clowns on the walls of his bedroom, why not embrace his odd infatuation? You dig out all your old harlequin dolls and place them around the house, showing him you care about his interests, he hasn't talked with you about it but you're sure he'll come around.
He made some internet friends and they see nice enough, you've only read a few of his pesterlogs to ensure they weren't creepers but they're good as far as you can tell. At school he has trouble making friends, teachers suspect autism, you know they're wrong. He's just not that sort of kid.
…
It is John's thirteenth birthday, you've baked many cakes for the occasion, though he doesn't seem to want to eat them. Heaven knows why. He seems eager to get playing that new game and- HOLY SHIT WHERE ARE YOU? You seem to have transported to a black abyss, looking out the window you see John destroying imps.
…
You've been on quite the journey and now seem to be taking a load off with a nice lady you met, suddenly, a dog-sort thing appears next to you. Before you can even think you are overcome with pain, stabbed in the heart, what a way to go. Your last thought before you black out is John, god you hope he's doing alright. God, you hope he survives.