Dungeons & Daddies fic 3/∞ (season 1&2 spoilers)
Part three to my Grant & Marco origins fic. I almost don't hate this :D If you see typos or grammatical errors no you don't, English is my second language gimme a break <3
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I lean right and ease off the throttle, guiding my motorcycle into Dad’s driveway. The engine hums under me for a moment longer as I come to a halt and I flick the switch to silence it. I find the kickstand with my foot and prop the bike up. The hum of the ride-on lawn mower greets me when I take off my helmet. Next comes Dad’s singing. This is his favourite thing to do on a Saturday morning, belt out Taylor Swift and make funny shapes in the grass with the lawnmower.
I walk between the house and garage to get to the backyard. It’s small enough it shouldn’t warrant a ride-on mower, but that wasn’t up for discussion. The Craftsman T100 is his prized possession and there’s no way out of it.
Cupping my mouth with my hands I try to shout and catch his attention. No luck. Soon enough he’ll turn around and see me. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who’s so unbothered by everything. Even when mom left, it just wasn’t a thing. Well, except for him buying the Craftsman. I guess that was his call for help.
Dad turns around and his eyes light up. “Hi there!” he yells through his music. I wave and wait for him to drive to me and take off his headphones. He has a knowing smile that immediately tells me what’s up. Henry has ratted me out.
I hug him back, and for a moment there’s just silence in my head. But as I let go, the thoughts come flooding back in. Duty. Doom, but not the game, unfortunately.
“Out with it already,” I say. “We both know what you’re thinking so might as well say it.”
He pulls back and smiles. “Don’t know what you are talking about, son.” Dad takes my helmet and walks ahead to open the back door. “Come on in, I have hot coffee on the stove.”
He makes the absolute worst coffee. It’s dark and bitter, but it’ll keep you up alright. Luckily his skills in front of the grill compensate for what he lacks in the beverage department. Last summer he bought the Ooni pizza oven, no one made a remark it was his and mom’s wedding anniversary, but it was. The pizzas were good, though.
I take my Fortnite mug and cover the coffee with a long slosh of milk. Visiting this house is a mixed bag. In part, I’m glad Dad hasn’t sold my childhood home. There are good memories too, most before Forgotten Realms. Sparse few after. Often I think it might do us some good to move on. But that’s not Dad’s M.O.
“Beef Jerky?”
I turn to see Dad seated behind the kitchen island, he’s fiddling with a white plastic dome. I file through our texts in my memory, this must be the dehydrator he was talking about.
“I’m good,” I say, and take a seat opposite him.
“How’s work?” he asks.
“No deaths today as of yet.”
“That’s a grim way to look at it,” he says.
“It’s a grim world you’ve left us,” I counter.
We sit in silence for a moment. It’s hard to remember what life was like when the sky wasn’t red, and when my phone buzzing in my back pocket was a reminder of a new mod in the game, not coordinates of a new incursion point.
“So, Henry-,” dad starts.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I say on top of him.
He takes a contemplative sip of his coffee. “Isn’t that why you’re here though? You never come in on Saturdays.”
He’s got me there.
Before I’m forced to come up with a response, the doorbell rings, followed by a rhythmic knock. I’m saved by the bell. While Dad goes to open the door, I check my phone for any new alerts. None. But there are messages from Marco.
I had fun yesterday (Marco)
I’m at D.A.D.D.I.E.S today, promised to be on call for the weekend. (Marco)
Thinking of you (Marco)
I can feel a blush spreading across my face and neck at the last message. I look up from my phone, and all I see is Dad’s back. I think it might be Uncle Ron he’s talking to. I hear the word business mentioned multiple times. I stare at my phone and try to think of a reply. I didn’t altogether hate our time together. Okay, that’s a lie, I actually enjoyed myself a lot. That’s the scariest thing.
Me too (Grant)
Which part? (Marco)
What? (Grant)
Which part of my messages are you agreeing with? Did you have fun time or are you thinking of me? (Marco)
Both (Grant)
Be still my beating heart (Marco)
I can’t think of an answer before Dad walks back into the kitchen, carrying a case of beer. The side of it reads “Beer on Tap, Pants on Point”. I shrug it off, I gave up following the details of their brewery probably three re-brandings ago. I lower my phone on the table and take a sip of cold coffee.
“How’s Uncle Ron?” I ask.
“Oh, he’s okay. On his way to open the TBBE for us.”
That’s Dad and Ron’s bar, The Businessman's Beverage Emporium. I’m not sure what’s up with dads and these abbreviations.
“He asked me to say hello, and remind you that riding a motorcycle is not a sound business decision,” Dad continues. We’ve had this discussion before with Dad, and Ron. If he is allowed to buy a horde of machines to cope with his divorce, surely it’s my prerogative to ride nearly 200 miles an hour on the highway with nothing around me to protect me if I crash. When I get pulled over, all I need to do is to show my D.A.D.D.I.E.S badge and I’ll be soon on my way again.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I ignore it, thinking it’s Marco. When the alert sounds only seconds after I grab my phone. The message is splayed right on my home screen, accompanied by a loud alert that ignores any silent setting on your phone. Dad stands up and fetches my helmet. They’ve been retired from duty for a few years now. It’s all on us now.
New incursion point located at the D.A.D.D.I.E.S HQ, all agents report to base.















