Bane

November 15, 1993

"What?"

"What do you expect? You'll get faster with every set?"

"I need to be faster now."

Bart shook his head. "Ain't how it works."

David sat up again, more slow than the last time, and rolled his shoulders. "Says who?"

"Oh, I don't know. Science I suppose. Limitations of the human body."

"Our enemies don't know much about limitations, do they? Science sure as hell don't know much about Coven. That monster out there," David pointed in a random direction. "The one that killed dad. It doesn't know much about limitation, and it doesn't seem to care about science."

"You'll get better, and stronger after the rites, and blessings."

"I need to be better, and stronger before I take the rites, and blessings. That was the problem with everyone who's gone so far, right? Everyone gets to depending on the rites and blessings, and not much for being stronger, and better on their own."

"When you say everyone who's gone before, you mean my boy? Clay was a strong man, and I know you won't believe me, but he was strong before he took them rites."

David was quiet a long time, just trying to catch his breathe again. "I don't mean you any harm, grandpa. I don't mean any offense. Maybe dad was strong, but if Dad was strong on his own, then I need to be stronger. It wasn't enough to be strong."

"I'ma go on in for now, boy. I know you don't mean no harm, but if I'm honest, I kind of want to choke the hell out of you right now. Clay was my boy."

"...and my dad. That thing out there was what killed him. Not you, or me. If you don't wanna bury a grand son, you need to let me train harder. If I break, you put me back on my feet, tape me up, and tell me to get back to it."

"I'ma go inside."

"I'll be here." David lowered himself back, collapsing on the weight bench, and drew in a deep breath. He pulled himself under the barbell, and gripped the bar.

"You get yourself killed by a damned weight set, and I'm going to kick your ass."

"You'll have to get in line behind Karen, I'm sure." David grunted, pushing the barbell up, and over his chest.

Bart passed him, tossing the stop watch on the floor next to the weight bench. He stared at David a moment longer, admiring his son's features in the boy, and then continued on into the house.

The Walkers were a strong line, with strong women, and strong men, and they had strong hearts. Rampant emotions at tines. They loved strong, they lost strong, and when they suffered, it was an emotional holocaust on the heart.

No one got to see them break.

No one got to see them cry, but if anyone did, it would never be his grand son.

Bart left the room, hearing David roar each time he pushed the bar up, and shut the door behind him. He looked once over his shoulder, and continued in past the hall, through the den, the kitchen, the dining room, and into the living room.

He sat on a handsome, old and comfortable couch - older than he - and slumped back into it. The television was off, the room was quiet, and he stared into empty space.

Sometimes the room smelled like Clayton, and if he concentrated enough, he could still smell Jonathan. He could look in the dining room in this very moment, and imagine young Jonathan sitting at the table next to Nadjia, arguing over cartoons, or discussing what games they would play this year at Twin Knolls before the New Year.