Stephen didn't dream anymore.
He could if he wanted to, maybe. But sleep felt like turning off a machine that didn't need rest. There was always too much to think about. Too much energy coiled up in his bones like springs.
So most nights, while the rest of the house drifted into quiet, Stephen just… stayed awake.
_ _ ♛ _ _
He tiptoed past Mark's door—quiet snoring. Past his parents' room—soft rustle of a page turning. His mom never finished her books, always asleep before chapter three.
He drifted down the stairs like a ghost in socks.
No one stopped him. They never did. He'd been "a light sleeper" since he was a baby, and his parents had stopped asking questions years ago.
In the kitchen, he made himself a cup of hot cocoa.
With three marshmallows. Two was polite. Three was victory.
He stood at the window while the microwave hummed, watching condensation crawl across the glass. A moth tapped gently against it, then gave up and fluttered off into the dark.
The cocoa beeped.
He grinned and burned his tongue on the first sip.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Stephen's room wasn't messy, but it was full.
Books stacked sideways across his shelves. A plastic container full of wires he was absolutely not allowed to play with (but did anyway). His Switch dock, glowing faintly beside a half-built LEGO X-Wing. Socks on the chair. Notebooks on the floor. A glow-in-the-dark solar system hung from the ceiling, still spinning slightly from last night.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, cocoa steaming beside him, and opened his favorite notebook—the red one with the sticker that said PROPERTY OF DOOMBRINGER STEVE in big, shaky marker letters.
He'd written it when he was six. It felt important at the time.
Inside were charts, ideas, doodles of wings and suits and laser gloves. In between equations, there was a crude sketch of Mark with sunglasses and "nerd laser eyes" scribbled over his face.
Stephen smiled at it. Mark would kill him if he saw it.
He flipped past it to a new page.
What if solar energy could be stored like juice in a battery?
→ Use sunlight now, save the rest for nighttime?
→ Body already does this, maybe? Need more tests.
→ Still no x-ray vision. Lame.
He scratched that last one out twice, then drew a frowny face next to it.
_ _ ♛ _ _
After an hour of note-taking (and drawing a solar-powered toaster that also shoots waffles), Stephen needed a break.
He rolled over and reached for the Switch.
Brawlhalla. He'd been obsessed for the last few weeks.
He wasn't allowed to play super late on school nights, but if no one knew he was awake… did it count?
He logged in.
Ranked match.
Opponent: BananaBoss99. A Val main. Level 90.
Stephen picked Orion. He always picked Orion. He liked the way the armor looked, like a space knight with a spear. Also, it reminded him of a comic he couldn't remember the name of.
The match loaded. The stage was Shipwreck Falls—his favorite.
He grinned. "Let's go, Banana Boss."
_ _ ♛ _ _
He moved fast. Clean. He didn't even realize how much faster his fingers had gotten until last week, when he started dodging hits he didn't even see coming. His brain just… knew.
But BananaBoss was good. Like, really good.
Stephen leaned in.
Val dashed forward with a combo. He dodged up. Threw his spear. Missed.
"Aw, come on!" he whispered.
Val hit him with a recovery, knocking him off the platform.
Stephen blinked, then grinned wider. This was fun. Really fun.
He focused harder, predicting BananaBoss's habits—overcommitting on ground pounds, double jumps too early. He baited. He punished. He adapted.
In two minutes, he'd won the set.
Victory!
The chat popped up.
BananaBoss99: gg! ur cracked lol
DoombringerSteve: gg! u almost got me with the wall spam XD
BananaBoss99: nah u read my soul like a book bro
Stephen laughed.
He almost typed something else, then paused.
The laugh had felt real. Like, all the way in his chest.
He leaned back on the bed, holding the Switch above him, arms aching a little. His muscles didn't burn like they used to—but they still remembered being human.
He stared at the ceiling, the planets gently spinning above him.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Sometimes he wondered what his parents would think if they really knew.
Not about the games. Not about the tests. About him.
What he was becoming.
What he already was.
Sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, he didn't see a kid anymore. Not fully. His face hadn't changed, but the eyes looking back at him?
They were older.
Heavier.
_ _ ♛ _ _
He sat up again and opened his window.
The air was cold, but he didn't feel it like he used to.
The stars were bright tonight. The moon hung low and silver, brushing the tips of the trees with light.
He climbed out onto the roof. Carefully. Slowly. Like he'd done it a hundred times.
He lay flat on the shingles and watched the sky.
Somewhere out there, his dad's people were waiting. Watching. Planning.
But here?
Here he was just Stephen.
Ten years old. Hoodie zipped up. Cocoa in his chest. Marshmallows melted too fast.
A boy with too many thoughts.
A boy who couldn't sleep.
End of Chapter 18 – Rewritten