Author's note: I think that everything is pretty explained through exposition for this oneshot. I'm doing pretty good with that, so far! I was expecting to have to do a lot more explaining. If you haven't read the authors note in the first chapter (though if you made it this far without questions then you're either amazing at inferencing or just really good at mind reading) then that should explain everything.
Once again, I wouldn't have published these if it weren't for thebookhobbit! She is an amazing and wonderful beta (and just an awesome person in general!)
Picture: A two year old John, on the beach, wearing shorts, a t-shirt, sandals… and a life jacket. He's completely dry, except for the hem of his shorts, and has clearly not gone in the water enough to need a life jacket, but he's buckled in securely. He's just carrying around a little plastic bucket, presumably picking up shells.
As of right now - although his mom said he'd be a big brother soon - John was the youngest of the Brown family, by quite a lot. Luke was eight, and the cousin that was oldest after John was seven, and as a result, John usually didn't have anyone to play with at family reunions. If they were at the house, or at his aunts' or uncles' houses where there were parks nearby that the kids could walk to, then Sarah or Luke would push him on the swing for a little bit, but he was really pretty good at amusing himself for quite a long time, especially when it came to beaches or lakes, or even swimming pools, where he would not let anyone drag him into the water. The last time Luke had tried, he'd clung to Grandma Rose and screamed bloody murder until Luke let go. It worked every time.
Grandma Rose had suggested that he go collect shells so she could make something for the new baby, and so off John went, toddling along the beach picking up any that caught his eye. He'd have to be quick about it near the water, otherwise the waves would come up and wash it away. He got a little wet, too, but nothing more than a little above his knees. But it was Australia, the water was always nice, so he wasn't complaining.
"John?" He turned around and looked up at his Aunt Caroline, who'd just walked over, holding her sunhat on her head so the wind wouldn't blow it away. "Don't you want to go in the water?" She knelt down and asked.
"No ma'am," He shook his head "I can't swim."
"But you have your life jacket on," She pointed out.
"Because there might be riptide," He said. "Riptides happen on shore and drag everything caught in it out to sea. I read it in one of Grandma Mildred's books. If I'm not wearing my life jacket, I could drown."
"I don't think there'll be a riptide, do you?" She said.
John shrugged, "Grandma's book said it was really hard to tell. And Mom always tells me to be safe."
"Well… okay," She sighed, and stood up, walking back to the rest of the adults.
John went back to looking for seashells, now watching the tide carefully. He really didn't want to get dragged out to sea… he'd read that sharks couldn't see very well, and might mistake his legs for fish.