WHO: Drystan & Bess Fawcett (and Brian!)
WHAT: Something momentous is happening in the Fawcett Household!
WHERE: FAWCETT HOUSEHOLD lmao
WHEN: Today! Sure!
Don't blink.
Don't blink, don't make a sound, don't even breathe.
Drystan repeated this mantra to himself in a horrified whisper inside his head as he watched the scene unfolding before him. Of course, his eyes were burning in that way that only happens when one knows they cannot close their eyes, but even the 300 milliseconds it will take to briefly achieve comfort are too much. His heart was an uncomfortable pounding in his chest, a deafening drum in his ear. Vaguely, he felt a prickle along his hairline, like a bead of sweat forming.
Don't blink.
His eye twitched. Gulping nervously, he noted the interior of his mouth was something akin to sandpaper. Surely this would be over and second now. His fingers curled and uncurled helplessly, and though he felt frozen in place, it seemed that there was a barrelful of frogs leaping in his stomach.
If he could only take his eyes away for one second, he was so sure he would be all right—could go that much longer. But still, he dared not avert them from the sight in front of him. Don't blink, don't blink. Don't make a sound, a move. His lungs felt like they were about to burst, his heart doubling in its beat as though about to burst. Was this, he wondered dazedly, what a panic attack felt like? Was it his life flashing before his eyes, as he felt as though he were floating, suspending in mid-air as the room mildly threatened to collapse around him?
Watching the little face screw up in concentration and slide a socked foot tentatively forward, Drystan jerked his gaze away, screwing his own face up in a wince.
"Did he fall again?" Drystan squinted open one eye as his grimace slowly eased away, and saw his son staring in befuddled alarm at the ground he was currently sitting on. "Merlin, I can't watch this."
“Baa
aaaaby!” Bess whined, desperately reaching out for Brian, who now stared as if they’d just sprouted extra heads. She didn’t know how long they had been sitting there on the floor, anticipating what could quite
possibly their son’s first steps, but it felt like ages. It felt like
forever. Drystan was stuck in a petrified stupor, and her voice was reaching octaves she hadn’t known she could hit. They’d just been playing! Rolling a toy quaffle back and forth, and all of a sudden,
suddenly, quite suddenly, Brian pushed himself up in the middle of the living room like he had never done before.
Time just seemed to stop!
Sure, he pulled himself up against the couch and followed his siblings around the room by clinging onto furniture, but this was the first attempt that Bess had seen (and apparently the first Drystan had as well) to do it all by himself. He just went and got up! All by himself! When had he learned to do that? With no support, their baby was getting ready to take his first step and begin the next stage of his life. Soon he would be walking, next, running! Climbing (though he did a bit of that already, found him hanging outside of his crib the other morning sans diaper---), and climbing led to jumping, and jumping led to a desire to
fly, and with a quidditch playing father and two siblings who were now
obsessed with the game and a mother who acted like she knew what she was talking about when they went to matches it was only inevitable that he would pursue a career in the sport and become the next captain of the Puddlemere United and then the Irish national team and then----
She should probably make sure he could walk, first.
Bess clenched her fists in anticipation as Brian pushed himself up again, looking determined. She slapped Drystan’s thigh hard and quickly as if trying to rev her son up, and then put her hands out to Brian as if she could summon him with her wiggling fingers. He
had to walk, she had to
see him walk because before she knew it he’d be off to Hogwarts never to cuddle with her again. It seemed like the second Sadie had started walking (a feat that Adam had witnessed alone while Bess was on a late-shift), life began to move at the speed of light. Bess wanted to have this moment happen and let it stay here and linger for as long as possible, she wanted to get stuck right
here and keep her boy a baby, brand new to walking and the world around him.
“Briii
iiiiaaaaaan,” she cooed, pinching Drystan’s leg to get some support.
"I don't want to startle him!" Drystan protested lowly, afraid the comparatively booming deep timbre would distract his son's thus-far feeble progress. Luckily, he'd become accustomed to Bess's lovingly enthusiastic abuse at the prospect of one of their children's amazing feats, like Stephen speaking, or watching Sadie fly. He couldn't even recall being aware that walking was some giant milestone for Stephen; one day, Drystan turned around, and there he was, taking short, wobbly steps from the sofa to the table leg before collapsing. Drystan was belatedly shocked, happy, then relieved, and Stephen also looked vaguely shocked but also pleased with this relatively new-found ability. And it was done. No stress, no big to-do about it.
Nothing like this, where his mouth was the new home of the Sahara desert and his eyes were practically charmed to stay open.
"He doesn't need to walk," Drystan said weakly, placing a hand on his stomach which rebelled at the nerves it might soon again be subjected to as Brian struggled to stand and attempt this debilitating process again. "We'll just carry him everywhere for now and then he'll by flying in no time." It was completely feasible. He'd been sneaking Sadie onto a broom since she was—what was it, three? And now, he thought, she'd be—
five, oh, Merlin. This time, when his stomach turned, it was only half from the suspense of watching his son. How had time passed so quickly? How was his newborn son
walking right now? How was Stephen carrying on conversation when the mood struck him... and how was his daughter going to be turning five years old?
"Are you sure he's old enough to be doing this?" Because Drystan wasn't at all.
Bess scoffed, turning to Drystan to glare, “Of
course he needs to...”
Her words faded away as out of the corner of her eye she saw Brian steady himself, and as if he didn’t notice (or care) that his parents were ready to pass out with anticipation, put his arms out to the side as if walking a tightrope and the tiny,
small step he took seemed to send earthquake-like vibrations through the floor of their flat. Her hand had struck out to keep him from falling, but there was no fall. There was another step, and another, and instead of coming to one of his parents like Bess had been envisioning, Brian made his way to the quaffle and pushed it away, squealing in delight.
She had not realized that her other hand had been digging into Drystan’s arm, sure to draw blood any second now. At her son’s shriek of joy Bess’ face contorted from shock, to happiness, to something like distress. Brian had just
walked, halfway across the living room like it was nothing. Nothing! Her baby boy could get along on his own now, he was mobile, he could follow his siblings around and that just opened up a whole big world for him. Bess’ vision went blurry with tears and she clamped her free hand over her mouth because her
baby was not a baby anymore.
“He doesn’t need to walk!” she choked out from behind her hand, unable to take her eyes away from the toddling baby.
He didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that Bess was undoubtedly going along the same line of thought as he. Feeling a little choked up himself, he placed his hand over the death grip she had him in and squeezed lightly. It was thrilling, these faltering steps to independence, but it was also sad because it was yet another thing that had to change in a time where Drystan keenly felt the lack of any constants in his life. Then he saw the constant wicked glint in Brian's eyes brighten as he realized his equilibrium was going to shift, but also realizing he could take the quaffle with him. Pushing his forward momentum into it, he rolled a short moment on it toward Drystan before flopping tummy-down on the floor, the red ball bouncing up and into Drystan's lap, where he caught it.
Just delighted with himself, Brian was laughing and squealing and Drystan gently rolled the ball back in his direction.
"Lead chaser for the United," he said in only a slightly strangled voice. "Mark my words."
