Disclaimer: I do not own inFAMOUS: Second Son

Rating: T

Warnings: language (for one f-bomb), mentions of acrophobia and basophobia.

Summary: Delsin isn't the only one who does something special their parents. Reggie does something he never expected to do for his father for Father's Day, which leads to some interesting consequences.

(So I'm really dumb—I was so busy with my family on Father's Day that I actually forgot to post this. Whoops)

Happy Father's Day

June, 2001

It was the Saturday before the holiday, and rather than be out and about looking for a gift for his father like most teenagers his age, here Reggie was spread on his back in the yellowed grass of their dusty baseball field. The thirteen-year old panted, pawing a heavy hand towards the half-empty water bottle next to him as the sun's heat began to bake him like a chicken in the oven. His baseball cap only did but so much keeping the sun's rays out of his face. He groaned as he rolled over and sat up, gulping down a long drink and taking in his teammates.

They all looked like him, tired and dirty, uniforms smudged with dust and grass stains. To an outsider's perspective, they should have looked worse considering they just lost one of their most important games of the season. Next game would be the real decider, but this was the game that could have afforded them some slack. Considering they took a heavy loss, 0 – 9, he supposed their shoulders should have been slumped and they should have been grumbling or whatever, but that was not the case.

Yeah, sure, they lost, but the game wasn't going to be the highlight of their day. Only an additional bonus.

Nope, the real treat today was seeing their coach's expression when he saw what they had been working on.

Martin, somehow the most energetic one of their team, sprang back up after the water had rejuvenated him and gathered everyone to their feet. "C'mon slowpokes, I know we're all pretty much zombies right now, but the Coach is gonna be back any minute! I don't want him to ruin his surprise if he comes back as we're half-way pulling out his gift." Reggie also suspected that the red-head wanted to get out of the sun. The beginnings of a sunburn were starting to appear on the pale, freckled skin on his nose and cheeks.

As they all began shuffling to the dugout, some purposefully stomping on the bare patches in the ground to kick up more dust. Jess, their resident planner, leaned over to Reggie. "You got it, right? It came in the right size and everything?" he asked, wringing his hands together. Jess was only a few months older than Reggie, but the younger boy swore that his friend would get grey hairs early in his life.

"Yeah, yeah, I did!" he replied as they slumped their exhausted selves back to the shade of the dugout. He dug through his bag in order to pull out a bundle of cloth in a clear plastic. His teammates gathered around him, as animated as a ring of eager but sweaty boys could get, as he pulled out the bundle with a dramatic flourish.

"Holy crap, that came out really good!"

"I'm sure he's gonna love it!"

"I'm just glad we saved up enough money for it!"

Just as Reggie was about to give his own input, a familiar voice sounded across the field, and he was quick to hide the now-unbundled fabric behind his back. "Now, where's my team? I don't think this cooler full of ice-cream is going to eat itself!"

"Coach Rowe!" At the mention of ice-cream, Reggie's teammates zipped out of the dugout with him following at a more sedate pace. They were all clamoring around his father when he got there, asking him excited questions about what kind of ice-cream he bought and how much everyone could get. His dark brown eyes were beaming as he ruffled heads and patted backs, trying to get the team in order. The thirteen-year old took a moment to look at his father smiling and grinning at his team. He knew that his father loved helping people and offering the best advice he could, which is why he became a coach in the first place.

He had told him that himself when he'd first started coaching Reggie's team.

His father set down the cooler he was holding before crossing his arms and raising a playfully inquisitive eyebrow. "You know, for a bunch of boys that just lost their game, you all seem pretty excited. I've been coaching you grass-stained kids for a while now, so I know it's not just the ice-cream."

Reggie caught his attention when he cleared his voice and looked at all his teammates. "Bad," he started, designated speaker of the team, "you've done a lot for us and we just want to say thanks." (1)

His father blinked, surprised at the naked gratitude, but immediately smiled at them. "Nothing to thank. I do what I do for you all because I want to, but thank you for telling me nonetheless."

"We aren't done, Coach!"

"We got more to say!"

The man jumped a little at two of the boys' volume, surprised. "Oh, whoops! I'll let you guys speak, haha."

Reggie continued, glad that his teammates had moved to stand next to him otherwise he would have died from embarrassment. For goodness sake, he was thirteen, and he was pretty sure it was dipping into the 'uncool' category to get all touchy-feely and junk. "Y-Yeah, like I said, you do a lot, Bad. You always encourage us to do our best, you make sure we're okay, you—"

"You buy us ice-cream!" Martin chimed in.

"You buy us ice-cream, and you do a whole bunch of other stuff that other coaches wouldn't even bother taking their time to do. For me, you're a super amazing dad and for all of us, you're the best coach we could ever as for," his face definitely was on fire at this point, "so we just wanted to say thanks." From behind his back, he presented a what he had been hiding the entire time.

He watched his father as he stared with wide eyes at what he was being show. He slowly walked towards Reggie, putting one hand on his shoulder and using the other one to grab the gray t-shirt that was his gift. With a blooming grin, he held it up in front of him to get a better look. It was a short grey t-shirt, similar to the one he had on right now, that had tiny black and white baseballs patterned onto the collar and sleeves. The words 'Malcolm Rowe: World Best Coach (and Dad)' were printed on the front in a cheery light blue. (2)

"Aww, you boys are going to make this old man cry!" The man was like a living sun as he gathered up all of them as best as he could in his strong arms in a group hug, ignoring the complaints of 'Coach Rowe, we can't breathe!' and 'You're gettin' all girly, Coach Rowe!' and 'Bad, it's too hot outside for this, we're going to suffocate!'

After a few moments he released them, smile still on his face. He was quick to pull on his brand-new t-shirt over the one he had on, fixing the few stray hairs that had escaped from his short ponytail in his haste and paying no attention to the fact it was like one-hundred degrees outside. (Reggie was positive that he'd hear the complaining of the heat when they got home, though.)

"You know, other than the ice-cream, I actually came with news of my own." He then gestured to the dusty, sad field they were on. "I've been talking with the others at the station, and they said they would help me run a fundraiser along with the teachers at you school to renovate the field for you guys and get more funds for the team!"

There was a three-second long silence before the entire team screamed with joy and squashed Reggie's father in another hug. His teasing 'But I though you guys said hugs were too girly?' was left ignored. Personally, Reggie felt like he could explode from happiness. They had been struggling to get money for their equipment and new uniforms and playing on this sad excuse for a field often left him and his friends in a mood. It didn't help that when they played as visitors on the opposing team's home field, the lush green grass, shiny bleachers, and not caterpillar-infested dugout left them with a feeling of envy.

"You're the best coach ever, Coach Rowe!"

"Oh my God, we're gonna get new stuff, oh my God!"

Cheers and exclamations like that resounded nonstop as they gathered up their stuff to leave. His father not only got them ice-cream, but he was treating them to burgers at the local diner about ten minutes from here. It was one of them few that didn't care about the cleanliness level of a pack of energetic, gross, sweaty teenagers and their one equally energetic but cleaner coach.

On their way to the parking lot connected to the field, he snuck in an extra quick hug when his teammates ran ahead of them and no one was looking. "Happy Father's Day, Bad."

A kiss was pressed to his forehead and a warm hand rested on his shoulder, bringing him closer. "Thank you, son."

The accident that took his and Delsin's parents away happened three months later.

The field never got renovated and the team never got the funds they needed.

June, 2019

"It should be a sin that it's this hot outside," Reggie groaned, skin sticking uncomfortably to the leather seat of the truck. He had long since shed his short-sleeved button-up, leaving him with only his sleeveless tank and shorts. "I'm pretty sure I can feel my body melting." He wanted to honk the horn, but that would have done bupkis in getting the traffic moving faster.

Delsin made an equally pitiful complaint in the seat next to him. His little brother had already been dressed for the oppressive heat, clad in white sleeveless t-shirt and denim shorts, but ripped off his red beanie as soon as the heat got too much. His black hair looked like a crow's nest, which in Reggie's opinion, fit his bird motif a little too well. "I've actually melted," Reggie knew he was referring to the time he had shot water at him in his smoke-form, (3) "and lemme tell you, Reg, this sucks like a hundred times more. God gave us AC's for a reason."

God also decided that today had been the day for his truck's AC to break.

He made a wishy-washy gesture with his hand, gesturing to the dashboard. "Can't you, I don't know, use you video powers to hack the AC or something? Make it work?"

Reggie was rewarded with a flattest glare he'd ever seen from Delsin who looked like he was this close from launching himself out the window. "…Don't you think I would have done so already if I could? My powers don't work like that, especially not in this hunk of junk." He knocked his fist against the dash where his sneaker-clad feet were resting but immediately winced when the truck gave a puttering cough from the exhaust as if insulted.

"Please don't insult the only thing that's keeping us from walking, Delsin."

"At this rate, I think smoke-dashing would be faster. Only reason I'm not wasting my energy is because I'm tired and the only source of smoke to recharge is this nasty exhaust. No neon around and the only video is from our phones. I don't know about you, but I'm using mine so I don't die a sad death from boredom."

To prove a point, the car in front of them shuddered as it let out a black cloud of exhaust before steadying itself again.

The fear of the cars being sentient was not, at this point, irrational.

He sighed, one hand still on the steering wheel and the other propping up his head as his elbow bent on the open window. He supposed he was lucky, having today and tomorrow off (especially considering a lot of today was being eaten away by being stuck in traffic), but he would have rather spent it catching up on the few series he liked watching on TV, reading the novel he's been meaning to that's been sitting on the coffee table for the better of four months, or, hell, even going to that museum with Delsin that he's been bugging him about for weeks now. Instead, he was stuck in this AC-less truck practically adhered to the seat via sweat with the only view of the cars in front of him, Delsin next to him, and the dilapidated old baseball field outside the window.

Wait, just a—

Holy hell, he hadn't passed by the old field in…years.

They avoided going this route because there was often terrible potholes, but this was the fastest way home today, even despite all the traffic. With the congestion at a literal standstill, all he could do was take in the mess that the field had become. The wire fence had been closed shut by chains—placed there by the city when kids kept going in there and getting hurt by the trash (glass, metal pipes, and disease-laden discarded needles) that the less than savory people kept leaving in there—and from beyond the fence he could see the grass had long since died, leaving bare dirt behind. There were a few weeds here and there, but it was practically a wasteland. If he were to guess, the caterpillars that used to plague the dugout areas would most likely be gone with no plant life to support them.

The huge billboard that rose right above the field, that used to advertise the local sports teams and the like, was filled with graffiti (both gang and non-gang related) and was worn down. Weathering and the bountiful amount of dust below left it a mess, and even from his vantage point from the street, he could see pinpricks of birds' nests here and there.

To think…a place that Reggie used to love going with his friends and his father was now left as this atrocious mess… Nostalgia gave way to sadness.

He was jarred out of his thoughts when he heard Delsin calling him. "Reggie," a concerned look was on his face, "Reg, man, are you okay?"

Reggie coughed, pretending to clear his chest of the nasty car emissions in the air. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alright. Did you need something?"

A snort was his answer as Delsin's concerned look changed to something else. "I called your name five times. I know you and I know that look on you face. So, what's wrong?" It was in this moment, the field in his mind and now looking at Delsin, that he felt older than his age. He was a grown man of thirty-years old, but dammit if he didn't miss his parents. The field always brought back memories of their father, and Delsin, with his art and his appearance, reminded him constantly of their mother.

The car in front of him finally began to inch forward, so he lightly tapped the gas. "The baseball field," he spoke in a low voice, "I never realized how bad it had actually gotten."

His little brother turned his gaze to said field, taking a minute to really look at it. "I know what you mean. I've flown over it a few times on my way to and from home, so I've never really taken the time to really look at it, but yeah," he sucked his teeth, "I know what you mean."

"I just really hate that it never had the funds to stay open. Dad had been trying really hard to get the place—and the team—all nice and put-together."

Delsin let out a sigh of his own, looking away from the field as the car began to speed up to a normal traffic flow. "I remember. I wasn't as old as you, but I do remember how much and how hard he worked for it." He slumped in his seat, but not before looking over at Reggie and giving his shirt a little tug. In a quiet voice quite unlike his usual tone, he said, "…You work hard just like him, Reg. I know you do."

His eyes were watering from the exhaust in the air, that was all. "Thanks, Del," he replied, giving his messy hair ruffle which was, surprisingly, not pushed away.

He left his hand resting on his Delsin's head.

"I miss him, Reg."

"Me too, little brother."

They'd so something for their father today, heat or not. "You know, I think there's actually something I'm going to need your help with today," he announced when they got home. "You willing to do it?"

Delsin's confused blink and simultaneous nod was all he needed.

When Reggie had thought about what the two of them were going to do to honor their father today, there was no way on this green earth that he would have ever thought it was going to end up like this. Standing on the ledge of the billboard that was at least fifty feet in the air in the middle of the night was not how he imagined this going. Especially not with Delsin flitting to and from the ground with paint cans and other supplies like a smoky fiend. (4)

(Neon would have been too attention-catching in the darkness of night with the same going for video. Because of that Reggie had to put up with covering his mouth and nose with his arm in order not to breath in the smoke left behind.

He swore on a few occasions that Delsin was making his trails thicker and denser on purpose just to annoy him.)

All he had asked Delsin was to make a poster or something to hang on the gates of the closed field—a memento to a great coach who had tried his best to make something of the field and improve the lives of the kids he mentored.

Painting over the dirty and nest-cluttered billboard like some vandal in the middle of the night was not what he wanted to be doing! As he and Delsin finished cleaning all the trash and feathers and whatnot, Reggie regretted peeking over his shoulder to the field below—the field that was well over fifty feet under his feet and God, if he took one misstep and fell that would be the end of him. The similarities between a fall from here and the one he took into the bay were starting to glare right at him, and he hated to admit that he pushed himself closer to the face of the billboard and further away from the ledge.

"Are you okay, Reggie?" Delsin's quiet voice brought him back to there here and now, away from the cold bay water, the air being stolen from him, the encompassing and crushing feeling of stone suffocating him. His brown eyes like his own looked at him with a knowing gaze. "If you don't want to do this anymore, it's no problem for me to get you down. I'd rather you be alright than get all, you know, discombobulated from the height, man"

The thing that sucked was that he'd never been afraid of heights before in his life. (6)

Fuck Augustine.

He coughed, pretending that his throat was irritated. "Yeah, just fine. I'm good, just the dust and bird stuff getting to me is all."

Delsin narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Okaaay," he drawled, turning towards the billboard face. "Now that we got this thing as clean as we can, we're gonna want to get a good base down for the background. I know you said blue for the background, but do you have any particular hue in mind?"

Now, Reggie was brilliant in many things, but he was just like their father in the sense that he had no talent in art. "I think I'll let you take care of that one, Del. Just tell me what I need to do."

His little brother's grin was bright, even in the poorly-lit haze of the heavy night. "You know, Reggie, my good ol' bro of mine, I would have that you would have arrested me for this kind of thing by now."

"Don't push you luck. It's my day off," he said dryly.

And with that, the two men began on their project. In the beginning, Reggie did his best, he really did. But, the deeper the got into the project, the less it was of Reggie working on it and the more of Delsin taking it into his own hands. This was fine as Reggie hadn't an artistic bone in his body and Delsin was the one that had all the talent. Without the artist taking notice, Reggie took a careful seat and simply watched Delsin work. He had never done so before, childhood projects and such withstanding, but it was now that he got a better understanding of Delsin's mind.

The background had been painting a solid electric blue, serving as a clean slate for the project. Next, Delsin taped large horizontal and diagonal strips of cardboard to the billboard, spraying around them with various tones of grey and white. After that, and the hour it took it to dry, the strips were removed and soon came more stencils and paints and other things that were making Reggie kind of confused. When he grew tired of following the neat spray lines that were being added to the corner, he scrolled through his phone for a few minutes, but balked when he looked up another five minutes later and saw the thing almost done. Where had all that come from! After that, he paid close attention to Delsin: how he mixed clean, neat paint line with purposefully drippy and messy blotches to make a cohesive thing; how he adjusted his stencils when the need arose, cutting and taping here and there; and how he just seemed to be absorbed and excited about his art. His beanie had been long since tucked into his back pocket, and as he took one step far to the right, being silhouetted by the one of the electric lanterns they had brought…

…Oh my God, it's almost like looking at Sk'wuy again.If Delsin had been several inches taller and hair much, much longer, he would have been the spitting image of their mother from behind. She'd be so proud of him, he thought, trying not to sniff as he wiped the corner of his eye. (5)

About three hours and 2 packs of cookies later found them sitting on the platform, looking out at the horizon.

"You told me last year that Mom would have been really proud of me if she was still here," Delsin smiled at him as he wiped his paint-stained hands with a rag, leg dangling from the edge of the billboard platform, "so lemme tell you: Dad would have been proud of every single thing you've done, Reg. Bad loved you and I know he would really appreciate your project idea."

His eyes weren't leaking. It was just all the fumes and dust in the air, was all. He huffed a breath, "You getting sappy on me, Delsin?"

"Don't start, we're having a moment."

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

"Good morning, everyone. My name is Edward Grant, and today I am standing in front of what used to be one of the most well-used baseball fields in the area. As we all know, this field has been closed off to the public for quite a number of years due to lack of funding and safety hazards. However, it seems to be that the well-known street artist, The Vandal King, has struck again!" Grant gestured behind and above him, the camera moving to focus on the billboard towering over the field. "For those that are not aware, The Vandal King took it upon himself to paint a mural of a woman for Mother's Day last year in Denny Park. This year, he has brought this old billboard to life with a painting for Father's Day." The previously grey billboard that had been streaked brown and black with dirt and other various stains was almost glowing in the early morning light. A dark-skinned Native American man with deep brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail was depicted in mid-swing, baseball bat held with confidence. From his bat came grey and black comic-book like action lines as the white ball connected to it. Vertical edifices rose in the background in faded maroon and brown as the city towered over the man, the Space Needle acting as a beacon. In a beige banner at the top, there was print reading: 'For the Greatest Coach, Father to Many'. The second half of the banner led to the bottom, continuing: 'Malcolm Rowe, Greatest Mentor Salmon Bay Has Ever Seen'.

"Although it is such an early hour, I have already seen feedback on several social media sites from principals of the local schools and other coaches of the local baseball teams. In honor of the late Malcolm Rowe, former Sherriff and coach in Salmon Bay, many are petitioning to raise money to reopen the park and restart the little league baseball team which had previously been shut down due to lack of money. More on this at eleven."

Published: 6/20/18

(1) Bad means "father" in Lushootseed, which is the language I base the Akomish language from. (FF won't let me link the source no matter what format I type it in, so PM me if you want the link.)

(2) I headcanon that Delsin and Reggie's father's first name to be Malcom. More info on him here: tagged/malcolm-rowe

(3) This too place in my other fic, Growing Up With Siblings, where Reggie and Delsin fight for the bathroom, Delsin tries to use his smoke-form to dash faster than Reggie, and Reggie retaliates by soaking him in water which leaves him in a puddle of smoke-goop.

(4) Because I love Reggie and for other Reasons, let's say that this fic takes place post-canon where Reggie lives.

(5) Sk'wuy means "mother" in Lushootseed.

(6) In any Reggie-Lives-AU, I headcanon that after such a traumatic event in the bay, he develops two closely related fears: fear of heights, acrophobia, and one he is less aware of, fear of falling or basophobia.