Unexpected abundance can be difficult to process

  He opened the interface as he swung his legs off the bed, noting that he'd been out cold for three days. That explained why his stomach was trying to eat itself, though it looked like his passive had kept any actual consequences of starving at bay. With a tired sigh, Brom slowly began the task of sorting through the notifications. The first few were simple, just updates to the quest Greg had given him, the ones he'd stopped paying attention to after Sabbath had died. There was the congratulatory message for hitting Level 9, a message about the rewards, and then right behind it was a different sort of notification.

  Congratulations, Player Brom Jones! You are eligible for the Level 10 Trial! You will proceed to the Trial immediately. Please prepare yourself!

  So, he'd gone right from point A to B. That must have been part of the notification deluge he'd seen when he'd finished absorbing the pearl. His fingers smoothed their way through Sabbath's fur, the old man bunting his head insistently against Brom's abs. He didn't care that his human was having a mild crisis, he wanted his meal. Abruptly Brom pulled him up, buried his face in his fur, and held them like that until Sabbath had enough and pulled himself free. With a flip of his tail, he hit the floor and sauntered to the door, squeezing out of it. If his human wasn't getting him breakfast, he'd find it himself.

  Brom stood, looked into his poor, anemic closet that was missing so many pieces of comfortable clothing, and set about choosing something simple. Briefly his eyes noticed a certain denim jacket, now a bit more battered than it had been before, dangling on a hanger. Jonesy had kept his word, what a pal. But his hands skipped past the jacket for more practical things, just a henley and jeans to get through what he hoped would be a lazy day.

  He put off looking at any notifications while he shaved, giving up partway through. The beard didn't look all that bad once he trimmed and styled it. It kinda fit with the shoulder-length hair he had going on, very 'divorced dad'. He could always change his mind later, it was just hair after all. He did recognize he was delaying the inevitable though, finally opening the Level 10 notification as he brushed his teeth. It was a very grandiose thing, far more stylized than any of the previous ones.

  ~~Congratulations, Player Brom Jones! You have completed the First Trial! You've reached Level 10! You are the first player to reach the Level 10 milestone! Class Advancement is Available! Ability Evolution is Available! Skill Expansion is Available! Rewards have been sent to your inbox! Please check your notifications at your leisure!~~

  He half expected there to be confetti when he opened it. Class Advancement. Ability Evolution. Skill Expansion. They might as well have been Klingon to him.

  Then there were the inbox notifications. The rewards he'd earned. They were like presents wrapped in razor wire, gifts he'd already bled for, and he didn't have the emotional spoons to deal with right now. That drawer was fucking empty, and he, well he was going to do his self-care dishes at his own sweet pace. They could sit in his inventory alongside all the monster drops he'd ignored since the beginning.

  He rinsed his mouth, spat in the sink, and decided he'd done the order of operations backward. He should have done breakfast first, it was still early enough for breakfast after all. His stomach gurgled at the prospect of food, rumbling with a fury that nearly shook his abs. He yawned, scratched his ribs, and started downstairs. Marble wasn't there to murder him, nor was he draped nearby to watch for anyone coming down, strange for the big guy.

  No Alice on the furnishings. No Brulé near the window. For a brief, panicky moment, Brom wondered if something had happened to them all. Then he heard the distinct noise of the condiment bottles in the fridge rattling as it opened, and realized that the only thing that had happened to them was breakfast. He moved toward the sound, hands in pockets, and observed the scene that presented itself to him.

  TJ had gotten a haircut, the young man's previously shaggy hair had been shaved almost to the skin on the back and sides, leaving only the top long. He was wearing a tank top and sweats, showing off arms that had a few new scars from his escape from the cult manor. Brom rested a shoulder against the doorframe, posture relaxed and casual as he peered past the other and into the fridge.

  "Hey kiddo, want some 'end of the world' eggs?" Because whenever something big happened in this house, the only proper solution was to make some passable scrambled eggs and bitch about it. It had become a habit.

  TJ's head came up so fast he slammed it on the top of the fridge, the whole appliance shaking as he stumbled back, rubbing it as he turned. For a long second, he just stared, eyes wide to take Brom in, mouth in a tight line. Then suddenly his arms were around him, fingers digging into the fabric and flesh of Brom's back as though TJ were laying anchor bolts in rock.

  "You bastard. You fucking bastard." He wasn't crying, but TJ's voice did funny things, breaking in that way that happened with teenage hormones and strong emotions.

  Brom wrapped his arms around his nephew, assuming an invitation from the way TJ was hanging on him, and put just a little strength into it. Just to reassure the teen that he was here, he was fine, and everything was going to be alright going forward. "Yeah, that's me. Brom 'Bastard' Jones, at your service."

  "Oh shut up, Uncle B." TJ's voice was only a little thick as he pulled back, punching Brom on the shoulder and getting away with it because the Grip was currently inactive. He stayed leaning there, like he was six and not sixteen, abandoning all pretense of being a grown man, or well, semi-grown, in the face of his relief. "You almost died."

  "I almost died." Brom agreed solemnly. "But almost only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and tactical nuclear strikes."

  TJ choked on his breathing, punching him again.

  "Stop that, I'm an invalid. This is elder abuse." He ruffled the other's hair, smiling so wide his jaw hurt. "Eggs?"

  TJ stepped back, giving Brom space to enter the kitchen. "Yes, god, please. Feed me. I had no idea how hard it was to make food."

  The raw honesty of the teen's confession made Brom laugh hard. It was true, microwaves didn't work anymore not like a range did at any rate. TJ had probably been surviving off salads and fruit. Or, as Brom discovered when he opened the fridge, casserole. Because even the end of the world couldn't stop the 'family tragedy casserole' from appearing. "You don't look like you've been starving."

  "Your Guard buddies. They've been keeping an eye on me."

  "I seriously doubt Ramirez made you casserole." He couldn't picture her being the kind to make anything as bland as that casserole looked, no offense to whoever had made it. It just had the look of white suburbia all over it. The soccer mom of food offerings.

  TJ laughed from his usual spot at the breakfast bar. "No, she brought tamales the first night. She promised me they weren't spicy." There was a quality to those words that made Brom laugh.

  "Kiddo, I hate to break it to you, but you think garlic is spicy."

  For a moment they chuckled together, then TJ sobered up. His next words were a little quiet. "She was so angry at you, she swore at you for like... four minutes."

  Brom had done his time in California, the band trying with futile hope to get noticed in that talent-rich environment. He didn't know a lot of Spanish, but he knew the cadence of Spanish. He knew the difference between getting a scolding and needing to take shelter. Four minutes of being sworn at by a determined Latina woman? Brom was lucky he hadn't caught fire and burned to a crisp. He hadn't realized Ramirez cared about him like that, they hadn't had a lot of contact once the dungeon runs were over.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The same had been true for Logan and Quincy, they'd just gone their own way once the assignment was over. But it seemed that, just like he'd called Jonesy that night, if he'd called them, they would have shown up too. Damn, he hadn't been planning to put onions in the eggs, but if his eyes were going to burn this badly, he might as well.

  A comfortable silence blanketed the kitchen as he cooked. TJ seemed comfortable just watching Brom bustle about, and Brom was soothed by the familiar motions of cracking, whisking, stirring, and plating. The cats milled nearby, their food finished, smelling something extra in the air but knowing they wouldn't get it. They all padded off, following their own feline schedules, just as Brom set a plate of fluffy eggs and a couple pieces of toast in front of TJ.

  The first couple bites were had in the same warm silence. Brom was starving, his mouth otherwise occupied as he forced himself to take small bites. You could get sick if you ate heavily and fast after a decent amount of time without food. It was one of the reasons he picked eggs and toast, for the practical nature of it, and not entirely the ritual of making it.

  "So," TJ was the first to break the silence, "I guess we should talk."

  Brom raised an eyebrow. "After breakfast. This sounds like a conversation that needs us both to be sitting down, and I'm going to need at least one mug of tea to get through." Brom usually ate standing in the kitchen. He didn't know why, there were plenty of chairs available, he just... did.

  Plates were abandoned in a sink of water, the dishes put off in a way Brom usually would have had opinions about. Pausing to wash them, though, would have only felt like delaying the inevitable. So he said nothing about it, he just made his tea instead, before following TJ back out into the living room and settling himself in his usual chair. A moment later, Sabbath decided that warm sun plus Brom's lap equaled the place he wanted to sleep off breakfast, and the old man made a decorative blanket of himself.

  Brom idly flexed his fingers into the fur at the scruff of that dark neck, the collar Sabbath refused to wear still around Brom's own wrist. The tag had fallen off at some point, leaving only the tarnished medallion with its dull alexandrite behind. An 'Amulet of Ancestral Protection'. He should probably look and see if it was equipment now. Staring at it once again triggered the memory of his Grandma Pearl telling him it would protect him. She'd been gone for over a year now, and she was still looking out for him in her own way, it seemed.

  TJ cleared his throat, drawing Brom's attention and leaning forward. "So..."

  "So?" Brom raised an eyebrow.

  "So... okay, I don't actually know how to start this." He ran a hand through his hair. "Like, I want to know what happened. But at the same time, I don't."

  "You mean with Alex?" He could remember the way TJ's eyes had burned back to life in the Guard waiting room as he'd asked Brom to end the other teen's life. "Because I'll be honest, the last thing I remember about Alex is knocking him into a dragon's corpse. Sorry, didn't manage to punch him in the face like you wanted."

  TJ puffed out a laugh. "That's actually okay. I've had some time to think since then, and I realized that it wasn't fair of me to ask you that."

  "No, maybe not, but I was willing to do it. I care about you, TJ-"

  "Theron." The teen interrupted him firmly. "I filed the paperwork while you were asleep. Emancipation and a formal request to change my name. I can't change who donated sperm, and I can't erase the past, but I don't have to be Jason Maxwell Jones Jr. anymore. I like Theron. It has a good ring to it." He looked all embarrassed as he said it. "The System makes it a lot easier than it used to be. Changes it all the way down. No callbacks. No sudden 'oh but you were born with this'. If you didn't know from before, you won't learn afterwards."

  It was an incredibly mature decision to make. Brom realized, in that minute, that his nephew was growing up incredibly fast. He had chosen himself, his own mental stability, and his future happiness in one fell swoop with a swift clarity that Brom envied. It was also the perfect revenge. Jason was losing not just his son, the perfect little checkbox on his perfect life, but his legacy and the living monument to his own ego in one fell swoop.

  "Theron, Theron Jones. It does have a nice ring to it." Brom smiled. "But are you still okay with being called TJ?"

  "Course I am, Jason never fucking called me that. It was 'Junior', always 'Junior'. Like, I didn't have personality beyond him." He drummed his thumb on his knee. "I realized I was letting a lot of people treat me like that. Friends that only needed me because I had a car, because I knew the test answers, because I 'looked good'. A boyfriend who always avoided the hard conversations, who never planned to bring me home, never even introduced me to the family. Not even as a friend from school." He shook his head. "I deserve better... You taught me that."

  "As a cautionary tale, right?" Humor, deflect with humor, Brom, because he did feelings like an unlicensed contractor did drywall. Visually fine and structurally like shit.

  TJ knew his uncle's habit and forgave him for it. "No. You showed up, you gave a damn, and you showed me how much that can matter. So thanks, Uncle Brom. And, uh, the next time I tell you to kill someone-"

  "I'll tell you to do it your damn self, kiddo. You definitely don't need my help as much as you think." He pointed to TJ, shaking his head. "You shot your way out of a hostage situation. Anyone who thinks you're a helpless princess needs to reevaluate things. The only reason I agreed to go punch your ex in the face was because I had my own bone to pick with him." They both glanced down at the cat in Brom's lap, the one who was now snoring instead of purring.

  "I freaked out when he showed back up... but that was also when I knew you were going to be okay. Because why would they give you back your cat if you weren't going to wake up?" TJ's leg bounced. "Like, when Jonesy said there was nothing to heal, a lot of people just kinda wrote you off. They said they were sorry. They offered me 'thoughts and prayers' and, holy shit, I didn't realize how useless those were until now."

  "You're looking at it wrong, TJ. There are two types of people who are going to offer thoughts and prayers. The first type is doing it for them, performative support, performative grief. The second type, they're genuine, they're offering emotional support and stability you might not realize you need. They're standing with you in the darkness because they want to offer you something, and all they can offer is that tangible presence. So don't call it useless, just recognize which is which."

  The teen rolled his eyes. "You haven't been awake three hours, and you're already trying to give me a lesson."

  "Would you rather we have the talk about the higher threshold of necessity for safe sex as a queer man?" Brom's gaze pinned TJ. "Because that is a conversation we're eventually going to have to have Theron."

  TJ's face instantly turned the shade of thermometer fluid. "How about we talk about you being Level 10 and why that's a big deal instead?!"

  He laughed, warmly, closing his eyes and sinking a bit deeper into his chair. "No TJ. I'm tired and that can wait just a little bit longer." He'd deal with it tomorrow, when he felt a little more himself. "I think that I'm going to spend today just existing." Brom let out a content sigh, popping the recliner into recline mode. "And if anyone has a problem with that, tough titties."

  Because after all he had been through, Brom Jones had earned the right to a quiet afternoon with a cup of tea and a warm cat on his lap.