Your name is Dylan Merrick and you know for sure you won't live to see the birth of your second son.

Well, you'll be living, just on a technicality. Your brain'll be dead but the rest of your body'd be working. They said you'd be a vegetable, but you'd much rather be something else. Fruit would be worse, though.

They're calling it Hunting guns or something, you can't be bothered to listen, but all you can see is the look on Grace's face when your arm jerked out, knocking Ethan's dinner off the table. You'd gone to the doctor, who'd told you you'd inherited it, since it's genetic or some crap like that. Apparently your grandpa had it, but you got Ethan tested as soon as you could. Kid's clean. Well, Grace is clean, so even if the baby had some markers, he'd be fine too.

Well, you're a shit father, you know that much. Your memory's failing too, considering you woke up one day to find Ethan lying on you and called him some rather unsatisfactory names, since you didn't remember who he was. Ethan cried for almost an hour after you got your hold on reality back, telling you that he didn't like this and that you needed to get better. You want to sit him down and tell him that it's only going to get harder from here, but you know that's not something you tell a four year old, so you let go.

You're right, it does, and you start getting days when you can't even get out of bed because your limbs won't obey you anymore. Ethan only gets further disturbed as time goes on and attaches to you, trying his best to remind you who you are and where you are when you get lost. Grace stays by you as best as she can, and when the seizures start, she's right there, even though she looks like she's just about ready to explode now.

She's really fucking pregnant, so this kid better make it out fast.

They're forced to hospitalize you around the end of June and give you a couple months to live, something that sends Ethan into a rage and Grace into her overprotective state, always leaning over you and making sure you feel okay every second of the day. You forget her one morning and come back to see her crying. You ask why and instantly wish you hadn't when she tells you

what you've said to her. You reach out your arms, thin and fragile, to try and hug her, but can't even make it halfway before falling back, exhausted. She pets your head and tells you it's okay, but you know it's not fucking okay when you can't even hug your wife or see your baby cry for the first time or watch Ethan graduate preschool(that's in a week and you know it's a load of bullshit, but you wish you could go).

Ethan climbs up onto the bed with you and excitedly discusses the thousand piece puzzle that Uncle Lucas dared him to do in an hour and how he's won bragging rights forever. You laugh and let him snuggle into your side, since you can't quite hug him either anymore. "You totally kicked butt, didn't you?"

"Forty-five minutes." He grins and you can't help but wonder what great things this kid is going to do, because you just know he's meant for more than just plowing through life without a thought like you did. Are doing. Is this even life anymore?

It's the afternoon of September 20th and Dryden calls to let you know that Grace is in labor. You can't get up out of bed, much less go, so you tell him to stick by her and never let go of her hand, even if she asks. He promises he won't, obviously remembering the talk the two of you had while you were still well enough to walk.

Ethan closes the phone and puts it down on the table next to your bed. You feel like you're going to black out, but this isn't seizure blackout so much as I really can't think anymore blackout. Ethan shakes you, but you're not seeing even though your eyes are open.

"Daddy?!"

It's the last thing you hear before your brain activity dips dramatically, just like they told you it would.

Your name is Dylan Merrick and your son was born the instant you died.