PowerSwap -Juxtaposition [Sean]

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon had almost been late to work that morning.
His alarm had gone off at the normal time and he'd rolled out of bed with a grump as usual, but beyond his slightly cotton-wool brain from having one too many bevvies last night little seemed different to every other day. It was only when he'd gotten into the shower that he'd realised something was not quite right. Yesterday he had felt better than he had for a while, with the aches in his body somewhat less than usual, but today he had felt... lighter, like the usual weight pressing down on his weary joints and muscles was gone. He hadn't yet downed his breakfast of toast and orange juice with a side of codeine, and he had been quietly pleased to think that he must have slept well and the warm shower had done him some good.

It had only began to sink in fifteen minutes later, as he had been sat in his boxers in his kitchen eating said toast. All his usual aches and weariness had gone. The warmth of the shower could be soothing and ease them temporarily, but this time they seemed to be staying gone. After abandoning his half-eaten toast the Brit had paced around the kitchen, stretching and twisting in ways that would normally have made him wince, the hesitant upwards curl on his lips slowly morphing into a wide grin.

The microwave had been moved to the place he'd been itching to put it for weeks, the fridge had been shoved out of the way so he could clean behind it properly later and half the rest of the furniture had been rearranged with giddy enthusiasm. He'd had absolutely no clue where the pain had gone, and frankly he really didn't care. It was gone and that was all that mattered! As Devon had been shoving the sofa across the living room grey eyes had caught sight of the clock on the wall. He was rearranging his house, still in nothing but his boxers, and he should have left for work fifteen minutes ago. Shit.

Despite having barely made it into the art studio before the start of the first lesson, Devon had practically skipped through the morning classes with all the joie de vivre of a kid on Christmas morning. It had been over fifteen years since Devon had last woken up without any kind of pain, and his usual spirit and enthusiasm had magnified tenfold into an almost tangible mass of borderline manic energy. A break between classes was spent power walking down the corridors (and maybe a little bit of skipping where he knew he wouldn't be seen), and Devon eventually found his way into the staff lounge.

He hadn't expected to see Sean in there. Pausing abruptly in the doorway and almost tripping over his own feet in the process, Devon tried to shush some of the giddiness in his mind. The look on the telepath's face was disconcerting, but not quite as worrying as the sight of him shoveling down Ben & Jerry's like the end was nigh. The Brit hesitated before asking the question with the obvious answer. “Umm... Doct- Sean? You feelin' all right?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was having a bad day.

Yesterday had also been a bad day, in fact, the worst day that he could remember. At least since he had reached his full emotional maturity and his brain had reached that of true adulthood with the final development of his frontal lobe.

While his fight with Josh two years ago had been terrible from an emotional standpoint, while the estrangement from his sister had hurt, while the battle with M.S.A.D. had taken an unprecedented emotional toll, and while the loss of each of his parents and of Robert had been painful (albeit inevitable as part of the cycle of aging and death that came part and parcel of life), none of those prepared him for the day before. And today followed in the footsteps of yesterday, with no resolution to the woe that plagued him.

He had lost his telepathy.

He didn’t know how or why. He only knew that it had happened, and he had no method by which to rectify the situation.

Yesterday, when he had realized, he had essentially lost what ability he had to set aside his emotional turmoil in order to focus on the tasks at hand. The psychiatrist had taken a personal day, because he otherwise would have only worsened the moods of those around him. He’d needed to take the time to pull himself together.

A full day had passed, and he was able to leave the house, which was...something. It was less than ideal, but it was still progress from where he had been in the immediate aftermath of the loss the day before.

Still, he’d kept his schedule as light as possible, which gave him seemingly endless time to pass. He migrated between his office, and then, when he found that stifling, the staff lounge. Then he would return to his office if he thought he might find an audience.

Unfortunately, without his telepathy, Sean had no means by which to know when someone was nearby until he met them face-to-face.

The psychiatrist had settled into the staff lounge with a cup of tea (that was doing little for his nerves), and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Peach Cobbler ice cream. The ice cream did little for his peace of mind, but he continued to eat it, primarily because it was there, and the ritual brought a sense of comfort.

Surprised to hear Devon’s voice, Sean turned to look over at the younger man. “I’m coping,” he replied honestly, because to lie and say he was fine would be so transparent as to be insulting. He sighed and set down his spoon. “How are you doing?”

[Devon Wentsworth]

To be so completely without pain was such an exhilarating feeling, but it was also rather disorientating. For so long he'd moved and carried himself in such a way as to prevent any sudden twinges or aches that the movements had become natural and engrained, he did them without even thinking about them. To suddenly be free of that made him very aware of how it had changed him physically – despite the giddiness he felt weak and unfit, like he hadn't actually used his muscles properly for many years. There was clearly a definite truth to that, but for now he was happy to shrug it off as just being a touch too over-enthusiastic with the furniture rearranging that morning.

Every now and then the art teacher's mind would flit to the contents of the little card package in his bag, the one containing the painkillers which were normally half-gone by now. He hadn't taken a single one all day. Part of him wondered if he should pop one anyway, just in case the pain came back worse since he'd aggravated his muscles that morning.

Devon didn't particularly like having to take medications, especially not as routinely as he had been doing for the past few years, but he knew he had little choice, especially in winter. He had pondered over it for a while but the thought had soon been discarded when he'd been able to finally shove the art studio filing cabinet out of the way to get to the pen that'd rolled behind it three weeks ago.

As much as he knew it would be a dick move, Devon's first gut instinct on seeing Sean was to try to sneak away before being seen. He didn't dread seeing the therapist like he had done after their first meeting, but there was still a slight unease about the situation and Devon had always been a little wary of telepaths in general. As someone who had always greatly valued his personal privacy he'd always been very conscious of himself around them; there were some things about himself he simply never wanted others to know.

Still, since the staff outing Devon's unease around the psychiatrist had settled somewhat and after a moments hesitation he stepped properly into the staff lounge. He tried to calm his internal giddiness, which was easier than he thought it might have been when he was met with the sobering disquiet that seemed to hover around the normally fairly mellow-seeming shrink. Padding into the lounge, Devon leaned on the back of one of the empty sofas.“I'm doin' pretty good, thanks.” In fact he was doing much better than pretty good, but he didn't want to flaunt that in front of the man who seemed to be really troubled about something.

As wary as Devon still was about the man and what he could do, Sean had never really been anything other than polite and friendly to him, and the shrink had helped him out a great deal during the utter chaos of his first few weeks at the school. Devon hated to see anyone hurting, and he was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear. “Coping's a good first step.” Devon knew that if the doctor was listening to his mind he'd know that he actually wanted to help and try to repay some of the kindness that had been shown to him. “Is it something you wanna talk about? Or do you just want some company for a bit?” He shrugged a shoulder. “Or I can go if you want some quiet instead.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean couldn’t hear any of Devon’s thoughts, and thus he couldn’t judge the younger man for his impulse to run (even though doing so wasn’t in his nature to begin with). Instead, he sat in silence, waiting for the art teacher to answer his question. It was so difficult to reach conclusions when his most reliable sense was absent.

“Good,” Sean said upon hearing Devon give his personal status update. Truly, he was glad that the younger man was doing fine, considering the sheer amount of chaos and misery to be had since yesterday morning. Although, without his telepathy, the psychiatrist had no means of determining whether Devon was doing pretty good because he had retained his powers or because he had lost them and preferred that to the side effects of his shapeshifting, or if he had lost his powers and gained something that he found better than the abilities that were naturally his. Sean wouldn’t ask, because that would be to dwell on the matter more than he already was, which was more than the older man could stand at the moment.

Instead, he took another two spoonfuls of the ice cream. His tongue was becoming number than he’d like (or could remember it being since he was typically a man of moderation, sweet tooth notwithstanding). Perhaps, he decided, he should take a break from the comfort food, although he’d need to find something else to do with his hands to serve as a distraction from the deafening silence.

The question gave him pause, and he didn’t provide an answer right away. He couldn’t gauge the other man’s thoughts, which was a marked disadvantage when it came to interactions, and Sean felt the need to take even greater care than usual in choosing his words. Finally, after several moments of silence, the older man said, “You don’t have to go anywhere; this is everyone’s lounge. I fear I don’t know if I make the best company right now.” That was true; it was one reason that he tried not to spend too much time with his partner, since he didn’t want to burden Josh with this.

Then, after another moment’s pause, he added, “It’s difficult to be plunged into silence.”

[Devon Wentsworth]

As someone who didn’t make use of his ability every day Devon was not yet aware of the true extent of what had happened to him. He of course knew that a lot of people seemed to be having some sort of issues with their abilities, but as far as he was aware all that had happened to him was the pain going away. Devon hadn’t even tried to shift since his last run as a tayra four days ago, and he hadn’t tested to see if anything had changed with it since yesterday. He was just happy bobbing along in the quiet bliss of being completely pain-free for the first time since he was a teenager, and he didn’t want anything to ruin that just yet.

Though if cornered and forced out of his bubble of blissful ignorance, Devon would admit that he was a little afraid of trying to shift in case it had gone away.

It was strange seeing the psychiatrist so clearly downhearted, and Devon’s buzz was quickly burning out at the sight of the older man being so obviously in distress about something. For as much as he was trying to keep his thoughts quiet and under control Devon couldn’t help but wonder, his natural curiosity flying through the who, what, where, when and why of what could have caused this. The silence was uncomfortable to the Brit and he shuffled awkwardly for a moment before leaning off the sofa and heading over to the kettle, fishing out his mug from the rack and flicking a teabag into it before turning back to the shrink.

In response to Sean’s eventual answer Devon gave a soft shrug of his shoulders, his voice quiet and sedate. “Maybe not, but that’s fine.” He gave a quiet breath of a laugh, trying to lighten the mood a touch even though he felt it probably wouldn’t work. “You’re not bleeding on me, turning to concrete and passin’ out or trying to mindfuck me; you’ll hardly be the worst company I’ve been in since I got here.”

It still stunned Devon to think that all of that had occurred within the space of one week. If it didn’t sometimes seem like it had been some form of extreme hazing, it could no doubt compete for the title of worst first week in a new job ever. To this day the only people who knew exactly what had occurred were him, Sean and Cade. “I’m not sure I follow…” The statement from the psychiatrist had caused a confused look to cross the art teacher’s features, but it slowly morphed into obvious surprise as the weight of what he had said triggered in Devon’s mind. “Is this to do with all the ability mess-ups? Is yours glitching too?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean acknowledged that all of those descriptions were true, as he was doing none of those actions. Additionally, he knew that all of those had happened to Devon within the span of his first week at Hammel; the psychiatrist remembered with vivid clarity his first interaction with the younger man. That Devon had survived a week as terrible as that and had continued to work at Hammel only furthered the esteem of several people, since it demonstrated the art teacher’s dedication to the students and his job. It was admirable.

“I can promise I won’t do any of those things.” Even if he lost consciousness, which was unlikely (an ice cream headache hardly qualified), the older man was certain that he would not turn to concrete in the process. As far as he knew, he had only lost his telepathy; the possible emergence of a secondary power instead had not crossed his mind.

If Sean were in a slightly better mood, or if he was in the habit of outward expressions of bitterness, he might have laughed. To categorize the complete loss of his telepathy as a power glitch was almost offensive in its comparison, although he knew that Devon meant nothing by it. A glitch was a minor inconvenience, a situation where his shielding wasn’t at maximum, or, as when he had been training, when he would project or affect memories without meaning to do so. This utter desolation and deafening silence couldn’t compare with that relative trifle.

However, Sean knew what Devon had meant, and so he replied, “I was affected by the same event.” Which was the most he could say, since he didn’t know what the event was, and thus he didn’t know how to begin to go about rectifying the situation. He barely knew how to cope, which was what had brought him to the staff lounge and this container of ice cream in the first place.

Shaking his head to himself, the psychiatrist said, “Being a telepath reformats one’s brain, and the loss didn’t format it back.” Not that he could remember what it was not to be a telepath, not with any sense of clarity that would benefit him in this situation.

[Devon Wentsworth]

The fact that Devon had survived that first week and not just thought ‘sod it’ and gone back home was still something of a surprise to him, and perhaps even more so to his brother. The Brit wasn’t weak willed, not by a long shot, but the barrage of chaos hitting him all at once while he was still recovering from his move abroad had been enough to seriously spook him to the point where he had honestly considered turning tail and running back to the relative safety of Leeds Elementary.

To this day Devon still wasn’t certain what had stayed him. His rational mind told him it was because of what had happened with Sakiya; suddenly moving away again might have seemed very suspect in light of just what had (or rather, hadn’t) occurred in that classroom on that day. Another part of him was pinning it on pure stubbornness and arrogance – he’d worked damn hard to get to this point and he wasn’t going to throw it all away just because of a few bratty kids, he was better than that. In his lighter moments of reflection he pinned it on the fish and chips that the head chef had been so kind to donate to him.

“I didn’t for a minute think you would.” Devon leaned against the wall as he waited for the kettle to boil, facing the psychiatrist with his arms loosely folded across his torso. It was so strange, surreal almost, to see Sean in such a state. It put him in mind of a cowering grizzly bear; the untouchable power left shrinking in the face of something it couldn’t quite comprehend. It was an uncomfortable sight to behold. “If you were all shoutin’ and swearing all over the show, then I’d be worried and makin’ leave.”

Devon of course hadn’t meant anything by his poor turn of phrase, he was just unfortunately in the habit of occasionally opening his mouth without spending the time to think about what might actually come out of it. The loss of such an acute, constant ability wasn’t something he was able to comprehend, nor was anyone who hadn’t held it as long as Sean had. His brow did, however, furrow into a confused and concerned frown when Sean confirmed that was indeed what he had meant. The art teacher was silent for a long moment, absorbing the full weight of that, and his voice was quiet when he spoke. “Sorry, I just… You seem to me like… masterly. Totally in control of it, y’know? It must be bad if yours has gone too…”

As Sean tried to explain Devon gave a soft nod of his head, trying to imagine just how much it had affected the psychiatrist’s life already. “So you’re just sittin’ in silence? All the background noise gone.” The closest Devon could get to even beginning to comprehend was by imagining how he would react if he suddenly went deaf. It was not a pretty image; he had no doubts at all that he would be screaming hysterically into the unyielding silence. “Shit, I didn’t realise. I’m so, so sorry.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s lips turned upward, but his expression could hardly be called a smile, given how bereft of mirth it was. That was an opinion that he had heard many times before: from students, from coworkers, from Josh. He was masterly, he was saintly, he was above all petty mortal concerns and emotions, and he was expected to play that part despite his very human failings. For the most part, his reputation was advantageous, because it lent additional gravitas to his opinions. However, it also made displaying vulnerability difficult, because he was expected to be a rock, to be unflappable, to be perfectly capable of handling whatever came his way regardless of whatever it was and the impact that it might have on another person. “Whatever caused this is far beyond what we know about meta-human powers.”

Certainly, whatever the cause, neither raw power nor practiced skill were enough to ward off the cause, as was the case with him. At the same time, there were newly recruited students who had managed to retain their abilities, and plenty of non-powered people were unaffected as well. It had only been a day, and thus far, the Hammel researchers had yet to find a pattern among those afflicted.

At the question, he nodded a single time in both assent and resignation. The background noise was gone, and with it his ability to do so many things that most people rarely considered when they imagined telepathy. He used it to read other people when engaged in conversation; he used it to gauge his surroundings; he used it to communicate privately and to offer reassurance; he used it to know what his friends and loved ones wanted or needed so that he could play host. That sense was absent, which meant that so many of his social abilities (which relied upon his telepathy) were diminished. Worst of all, he was uncomfortable because he hadn’t been alone with his thoughts in four and a half decades. “I didn’t expect you to.” That was honest, and it was what he could honestly say, since it most certainly was not all right and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

Then shaking his head to himself, he ate another spoonful of ice cream. “The worst is yet to come, I fear.”

While he was thoroughly depressed about this, he had no delusions that he would progress to the last stage of grief – that of acceptance – in the near future.

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon was hardly as well informed and versed in the world of meta-human powers as the psychiatrist was but even he knew that this sudden wave of powers issues was bad. It had been about fifteen years since he had first been plunged headlong into this world and he had never heard of such a thing happening to one person, never mind to a whole school full of people at once. It was a very worrying thought, and the seemingly utter hopelessness of the psychiatrist leant a deeply troubling weight to it all. Suddenly Devon felt a little ashamed for being so thrilled about his pain disappearing; it hadn't really occurred to him that perhaps not everyone had been so fortunate. “So you've got no clue what might'a caused this? Have you never heard of this kinda thing happening before?”

As the kettle clicked Devon slowly poured the boiling water into his mug, indicating with a long finger to one of the empty mugs on the side. “Do you want one?”

“The worst is yet to come, I fear.”
That was a very sudden, very chilling thought and Devon was very quiet as he gently stirred the tea bag around in his mug. He found it a little difficult to imagine what could be much worse that a load of people suddenly having power faults, for want of a better phrase for it, and his over-active imagination started racing down roads he'd rather it didn't. Devon also tried to hold back the train of thought suggesting to him that the particular phrasing of that sounded a bit like Sean was holding something back, that he knew about something that no one else did. It sounded remarkably like the seer in a fantasy movie predicting the oncoming storm, the end of all things.

Trying his best to brush that incredibly worrying thought away as nothing but his own natural instinct to jump to dramatic conclusions when Sean was likely referring only to his own reactions to what was happening to him, Devon dumped the tea bag into the bin and went to retrieve the milk from the fridge. “So... is this happening to everyone?” He halted his steps, brow furrowing. When Devon spoke again, you didn't have to be a mind reader to pick up the worry in his tone. “Actually, I'm not sure I wanna know the answer to that.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean shook his head before glancing back down at his ice cream. The negative expression and his utter resignation were answers to both the first and second questions that the younger man had asked. He didn’t have the slightest indication as to what had caused this in the first place; to his knowledge, there was nothing that could cause this. Not for a full day and not on the massive scale that involved more than one person at a time, out of the line of sight of a power suppressor. Additionally, no meta-human power could grant abilities to others, temporarily or permanently, nor could they force development of an individual meta-human’s power before their proper manifestation.

At the offer, the psychiatrist had to lift his head, because he no longer had instantaneous knowledge of what other people referenced when they spoke. Verbal cues and body language were so unreliable, because so few people put the requisite consideration when using them. Or else they actively engaged in subterfuge, which the telepathy could undermine, but the older man lacked that now. But, he saw it was tea. “Please.” Tea had always calmed his nerves before, better than sweets did.

At the question and then the other remark, he shrugged his shoulders in bitter resignation. “Then you’re in luck, because I don’t have an answer for that.” The psychiatrist shrugged slightly and then said, “It hasn’t happened to literally everyone, but I don’t know how widespread it is.”

It had affected him, but Bailey had been unaffected; Sean couldn’t begin to guess the reason to one of them but not the other. They both had mental powers, after all; not that power type was the underlying reason. Those with kinetic and physical powers were affected as well. “More than me, more than a handful of people.”

[Devon Wentsworth]

Devon tried to remain completely calm and rational about all of this. It was his natural tendency to jump to dramatic conclusions and, as much as he tried to shove the thought back, there was the worrying possibility that, just perhaps, he might have lost his ability too. He didn't feel any different from usual though. Granted the pain that normally plagued him was gone, but beyond that he didn't feel strange or weird or anything. Maybe that had been his hiccup; just as Sean had lost his telepathy, Devon had lost his pain. That seemed bizarre even to him though... but Devon had absolutely no desire to try it out and see if he could still shift. If he had lost his ability, he would rather live in ignorance of the fact.

It was childishly stubborn, but that was how it would be.

Devon responded to Sean's resigned shrug with a brief nod of his head, even if the psychiatrist did currently seem to be too fixated on his ice cream to notice. If Sean had never heard of anything like this happening before then it certainly did not bode well. But Devon was English, and if there was one thing he could do well it was make a decent cup of tea. He prepared another cup for Sean, slowly stirring the teabags around in the mugs. “It's odd... I never heard of anything like this happening when I was at Kocher either.”

Discarding the teabags, Devon retrieved the milk from the fridge. “I wonder if it'll be permanent” Devon muttered, mostly to himself. “It could just be a temporary thing, like, caused by some natural event maybe.” And maybe he had been watching too much sci-fi lately. Solar flares and lunar cycles tended to be the causes of every unusual disaster ever. After finishing off the brews he took them over to the seating area, settling one down on the coffee table in front of Sean before sitting cross-legged on the opposite sofa, cradling his own mug in his hands. He indicated to the tub of ice cream. “Is that actually helping any?”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“It’s never happened before.” Sean could speak with authority on the subject. Never in meta-human history had there been any person or event that could affect meta-human powers on this scale, nor to affect the baseline human population in the way that it had. This was unnatural, and it was gravely disconcerting that it had happened at all.

The psychiatrist dearly hoped that this was only a temporary development. It was a natural coping mechanism within the human mind to hope that all unpleasantness was temporary. At the same time, there was no logical reason to believe that it was temporary, given how Earth-shattering and unprecedented it had been. After all, while war was temporary, the effects were felt for decades and generations.

Sean shook his head to himself, because he couldn’t focus on the war metaphor. He didn’t think that this had been a deliberate act of hostility against the meta-human population, and he couldn’t allow his thoughts to drift down that rabbit hole.

“I don’t think this is caused by a natural event.” While nature had an effect on mental health and certain aspects of physical health, hurricanes didn’t cause people’s gender identity or sexual orientation to change, it didn’t change their racialization or ethnicities, and there was no reason that it would change their meta-human abilities or status.

The question caused the older man to look down at the carton of ice cream. “It’s comforting, so it helps.” It wasn’t actually achieving anything for his health, aside from possibly hastening Diabetes, but it was the illusion of comfort that he craved right now. “There’s nothing else for me to do since I feel inside out.”

And if he reverted to childish comforts, then so be it.

[Devon Wentsworth]

As Sean announced that it had never happened before the Brit gave a short nod of his head, keeping himself busy with what he was doing. Devon had no reason at all to doubt what Sean said and the definite way in which the psychiatrist said that left no wiggle room on the matter. It was a deeply troubling scenario and Devon was actually a little surprised there was no wider scene of worldwide chaos and panic. Maybe the true realisation simply hadn't impacted everyone yet, or maybe they were trying to keep it on the down-low until they got it under control. Who would be 'they' in this situation? The government? The heads of places like Hammel? It was troubling.

Still, there was a part of him that was bubbling with a quiet curiosity. Yes this was an incredibly bad situation and would dramatically impact the lives of many more than just Sean, but he couldn't deny that it was oddly fascinating at the same time.

Though, of course, he would still carry on in the stubborn ignorance about himself personally for now at least. Devon wasn't certain how he would cope without his ability after so many years of relying on it. That thought just served to add even more depth to his understanding of just how shit Sean must have it right now.

“Maybe it wasn't a natural event, but it had to be something didn't it? People can't just change like that; genetics don't work that way.” Not that Devon had ever claimed to be a whiz on such matters, but even he knew that the genetic make-up of a person couldn't just change willy-nilly. And surely there was nothing on Earth that could have such a huge widespread impact. “There has to be some kinda reason; once they work out what, maybe they'll be able to put it right again.”

Devon did feel sympathy for Sean – it was disconcerting to see the great man brought so low and he couldn't really grasp just how distressing this must have been for him. To have suddenly gone deaf like that... It was difficult to imagine, and yet Sean's current state made it all too clear that he really wasn't coping well at all. “Hey mate, I know there's not much I can do to help, but if you think of anything at all you'll let me know, yeah? You were there for me when I needed ya, and I've got no intentions of leavin' ya in the dirt if there's something I can do to help you out.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean couldn’t hear the other man’s thoughts, and the lulls in the conversation felt awkward to him for the first time in his adult life.

“No, genetics don’t work that way,” the psychiatrist agreed. While traumatic events could have genetic consequences, they couldn’t turn off meta-human abilities, they couldn’t change meta-human abilities, and they couldn’t create meta-human abilities where they hadn’t previously existed. By all logic, none of this was possible, certainly not natural, which meant that it had to be the cause of some massive interference. The thought of what government or private-for-profit research and development had yielded this was terrifying.

In a better state of mind, he could process more fully the implications, not just for himself but for everyone around him. However, it had taken the combined efforts of himself and Josh to get him to Hammel today. And for what? To sit in the staff lounge, eat ice cream, and trouble the other faculty. He began to regret coming in, since the reversal of concern was bad enough at home; he truly didn’t need it here at Hammel. He was supposed to be the helper, and the beating his reputation was taking would come back to haunt him in the future.

Sighing to himself, he declared, “We can only hope.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I know the researchers are working full speed to find some sort of solution.” Whether they would be successful in that endeavor, Heaven only knew.

At the offer, he turned to give Devon his full attention, or as much of his attention as he was capable of bestowing upon another entity at this time. He couldn’t smile, not even a pale, shaky imitation of a smile, not at this time. However, he was grateful for the offer of assistance, and he wanted to convey that. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and then cleared his throat. “I...don’t think there’s much to be done right now but the offer means a lot.” Which it did.

After another pause, he added, “If I should get worse, I might need someone to cover for me.”