The next morning little Damian woke in an unfamiliar place. “Am I in a cage?... No, it’s a crib.... Fantastic!” he thought. His nights playing third wheel to his parents intimacy seemed like a thing of the past.

Little Damian’s grin became a frown as he recalled the events of the night before. Randomly passing out was not a good look. The rewards were worth it this time, but he didn’t want to have to pretend to be narcoleptic as well as retarded. Typically he would strain his brain at naptime, a practice he should stick to, but right now he was too excited to wait. He was determined to use his ability. He just needed to eat something first.

That was the first time he woke up without Rose diligently noticing, and providing nutrition. He was in a predicament. He had not yet made any noise voluntarily. It was his intention not to, until he was old enough to plausibly speak properly. “That might not be a reasonable plan,” he thought while his tummy rumbled. If he was going to be sleeping in a separate room, he would need to make some kind of noise to inform his mother that her baby was awake and hungry.

He was wrestling with this idea when the door opened. It was not his mother.

“You must be hungry,” old Dean said, holding an unfamiliar bottle.

“Did he hear my stomach grumble? It definitely has to be enchanted hearing,” little Damian thought, eyeing the new glass bottle. It had a nipple that looked unsettlingly like a real one and was filled with whitish fluid. He assumed it was breakfast, but that prompted one big question, “Where is my mother?”

“You were sleeping when your mommy departed for a quest,” old Dean said, scooping up little Damian, “This old man will care for you for the next few weeks.”

“Wow, that was refreshing,” he thought, impressed by his grandfather's straightforward answer to the question he was thinking. “He doesn’t read minds does he?” he worried.

Old Dean shoved the nippled bottle into little Damian’s mouth. It felt like a pickled nipple and tasted like raw cow’s milk. The nipple was weird, but the cold milk was delicious.

“Ho, it seems somebody was hungry,” old Dean said, with exaggerated surprise like his mother would use regarding the size of his samples.

“He’s probably not reading my mind,” little Damian thought while he savored the least awkward meal of his life thus far.

It was going to be a quiet few weeks with his parents away, but unfortunately, it was old Dean who’d be babysitting him. Little Damian rather liked his grandfather, but with his keen intellect and sharp ears, old Dean was the last person that he wanted to spend time with. For the next few weeks he would have to be especially careful.

“You slept like a log last night. Sleeping soundly for eight hours gave your mommy and daddy some concern, but you seem perfectly healthy this morning,” old Dean said with a soft expression while he fed his grandson.

“Crap,” little Damian thought. He should be on a three to four hour nap cycle. He must have overexerted himself yesterday. He should avoid doing that again until he gets a bit older. In four more months he could start sleeping throughout the night, but until then he’d have to be more gentle with his blessing.

When he was finished eating, old Dean carried him across the house, “It might not be as much fun without your mommy and daddy around, but we'll make do,” he said, and stopped in front of the locked door to the one room that little Damian had not yet seen inside of.

The Dagger house was a thirty six-foot by forty eight-foot box separated into three sections. The northern twelve by thirty six feet was the parents bedroom, the baby room, and the washroom. The middle twenty four by thirty six feet was an open room. The mainroom had a window and a front door in the eastern wall, seating around the fireplace, a table, and a window above the eight foot long counter on the western wall. Little Damian did not know what was inside of compartment number three. He only knew that it was his grandfather's rather large bedroom.