Little Damian didn’t start off pretending to be retarded, nor did he feel good about doing so. It was a fact though, that his father was a strong warrior who, despite his gentle demeanor, used a fucking sword and shield to fight fucking monster for a living, which made the fish face with sound effects he was making that much more embarrassing. Since little Damian was not actually a brand new person experiencing existence for the first time, he felt it was his moral obligation not to encourage that kind of behavior in any way. Little Damian merely looked away from his father's attempts to entertain him, and stared at the wall.

“He doesn’t seem to interact with people like a normal child does,” Dillon said in human speech, no longer speaking in his fake fish language.

“Maybe he’s just the strong silent type,” Rose speculated.

“Maybe, but isn’t there something we can do for him? In case he’s having trouble learning. What do you think dad?”

Old Dean paused his whittling and said, “Well, when he gets older we can give him intelligence potions. That, along with ample tutelage, would be what we can do for little Damian, if he is developmentally challenged.”

“Intelligence potions and ample tutelage sound great. When can we start?” Little Damian wondered, pretending to watch an imaginary TV in the wall.

Dillon took a long look at his unusually quiet boy. His unease was evident from the complicated expression he wore.

“This isn’t easy for me neither,” little Damian thought, feigning amusement over the shape of his fingers.

“Well, he might also be just fine. Either way, we won’t know until he gets older,” old Dean said.

This type of exchange was common. Dillon and Rose would worry, and old Dean would be the voice of reason. Little Damian thought this whole “him being retarded” business was overblown. It wasn’t like he was pretending to be a vegetable. He did not cry, but he did do some normal baby things, like looking at sudden noises and flailing his arms and legs around occasionally. It was enough for an Earthly physician to be able to declare him fine, which he considered to be sufficient to meet his moral obligation of not making his parents worry.

He was keeping his options open. It seemed like pretending to be an artistic kid could be easier than pretending to be a normal one. This wasn’t a nice thing to do, and he knew it, but if he was really was facing a thousand years of suffering, what would happen to these innocent people who are unwittingly caught up in whatever this is? Possibly for their own good, keeping his secret was little Damian’s highest priority at the moment. Even if it meant these people thought their son might be retarded.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

A wrap on the door brought a much desired change of pace.

“Come in,” old Dean said casually, and even though little Damian didn’t think his voice was loud enough to be heard outside, the door opened.

The Black Paws had come over for a visit. Vance, who seemed to trail his company, was the first to enter, leading little Damian to suspect the Rascals’ scout had particularly sharp ears.

He’d been looking forward to this ever since he overheard old Dean’s comment a half hour ago. “It seems Vance has news,” he said, seemingly out of nowhere. Little Damian was beginning to suspect his grandfather had particularly sharp ears aswell.

The common greeting around there was to state the other person’s name, often with a nod acknowledging the named person. When all the name calling and head bobbing was over with, the Daggers and the Black Paws settled at the kitchen table for a meeting. A bench wide enough for three sat on either side of the crude table. All of the furniture was made from the same untreated, splintery hardwood as the rest of the house. Though he had to take care of that to get splinters, little Damian appreciated his infrequent independence from his mother’s bosom as he and little Theressa sat next to each other on the table.

Unfortunately, little Theressa did not seem to be an adult in a baby’s body. She seemed to only do three things eat, sleep, and cry. Currently, she was sleeping.

“Awe, little Theressa’s getting even cuter,” Rose said.

“She is, when she’s asleep,” Victor said grimly.

“It is normal for newborns to cry. She will likely grow out of it soon,” reasonable old Dean assured the weary cat. No one really knew why little Theressa spent almost every waking moment of her waking life crying thus far, but it was clearly taking a toll on her parents.

“You guys are really fortunate little Damian is so well behaved,” Mary said. Victor and Vance both made a single solemn nod in agreement.

Little Theressa’s crying was far in excess of what could be considered normal. Little Damian thought on it. Maybe she did have her memories, like how he sort of became retarded, her excess of crying could just be part of her cover. He hoped it wasn’t something bad, like she only got pieces of her memories and what she remembers is making her cry. Maybe her thoughts got scrambled during whatever this transfer process that got them there. She might not understand what’s happening and… “It could be anything,” he thought.

Maybe he should listen to his grandfather on this one. It’s normal for babies to cry. She’ll likely grow out of it soon. Other than coincidental arrival times, he didn’t have reason to suspect she’s in another worlder at all.

Suddenly, Mary gasped, pointed a finger at little Damian, and said “Look.”

“Fuck! What did I do?” Will Damian shouted in his head as he stared into the distance.