cisskabob

Bart sniffed unattractively, trying to stop the tears that were busy drenching Cissie's pretty shirt. He remembered why he hated crying as a teenager: he could never seem to manage it in the stoic, neat way that he always imagined someone like Tim would do if he ever cried, he always ended up crying like a six year-old, all snot and drool and huge, hiccuping breaths. "What kind of father abandons his children, Ciss?" he asked between sobbing breaths. "They'll grow up without me. I'll never see them graduate college, buy a house, get married... I'll never hold their first child and claim completely falsely that it looks just like me, isn't that lucky?" He hiccuped a rather hysterical laugh. "Time moves so much faster in there, Cissie... They were already nineteen when I left. Who knows how old they've gotten since I ran away?"

He sighed, trying to calm his breathing. "Even if I do manage to see them again, they'll be old. I'm already younger than them--which is still ridiculous--in three or four years here, they'll be grandparents. How am I supposed to deal with that if I can even find a way to get back?"

He shook his head a little, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm scared, Ciss. I'm really fucking scared."