The living room smelled faintly of spilled milk and lentals, a battlefield strewn with plush toys and board books. Late afternoon light slanted through the blinds, casting stripes across the carpet where Creighton and Sawyer sat, their chubby legs splayed like fallen soldiers. At 15 and 14 months, they were cousins in mischief if not in blood—Creighton with his wild red hair, Sawyer with his wide, unblinking stare. The laundry basket loomed nearby, a wicker fortress tipped on its side, spilling socks and onesies like surrendered loot. And there, dangling from the rim, flapped a single gray sock, its heel worn thin, its toe pointed like a taunting tongue.
“Look!” Creighton squealed, his voice a high-pitched war cry. He jabbed a toy ring toward the sock, its plastic edges glinting in the sun. “Dragon!”
Sawyer’s head swiveled, his water bottle dropping with a soft plop. He squinted, then nodded solemnly. “DRAGON,” he agreed, the word muffled but resolute. A flapping dragon it was—gray scales, a wicked tail, daring them to tame it.
DoDad—their grandfather, all wiry gray hair and creased flannel—watched from the couch, his water mug steaming in his hands. He’d named himself DoDad years ago, a title born of whimsy and a refusal to be just “Grandpa.” His knees creaked as he shifted, but his eyes sparkled. “A dragon, huh? Better get after it, knights. It’s got some fight in it.”
Creighton didn’t need convincing. He was the faster one, always tumbling headfirst into chaos. He wobbled forward on his knees, the carpet scuffing against his corduroy pants. “I get it!” he declared, though his crawl was more a lurch, arms flailing for balance.
Sawyer hesitated. He clutched his own toy—a blue star with chewed edges—close to his chest. He stared at the sock, its flapping a menace, and his breath hitched. “Noisy,” he murmured, a warning to herself.
“Come on, Sawyer!” Creighton called, already halfway across the carpet. He didn’t look back—couldn’t, really, not with the dragon in his sights. His hair bounced as he lunged, fingers brushing the sock’s edge. It slipped free, tumbling to the floor with a taunting thwump. “Nooo!” he wailed, collapsing onto his belly, fists pounding the carpet. The failure stung, sharp and familiar. He wasn’t fast enough, strong enough—not yet.
DoDad chuckled, setting his mug on the side table with a clink. “That dragon’s sneaky. Takes more than one knight, I reckon.” “Teamwork, maybe?”
Sawyer’s eyes darted between Creighton and the sock. It lay still now, a gray heap, but he didn’t trust it. Dragons didn’t just stop. He inched forward, his crawl a cautious shuffle, teething ring dragging like a shield. The room felt too big suddenly—too many shadows in the corners, too many places for a dragon to hide. His heart thudded, but Creighton’s giggle, sharp and bright, cut through the haze. He was up again, undeterred, lunging once more.
“Help me!” Creighton said, glancing at Sawyer with a grin that showed his two tiny teeth. It wasn’t a command, just a plea, and something in it tugged at Sawyer. He needed Sawyer. He wasn’t invisible, not to Creighton.
“Okay,” Sawyer whispered, gripping his star tighter. He crawled faster now, matching his pace, his fear still there but quieter, drowned out by the rhythm of their mission. The sock twitched—caught in a draft from the vent—and Sawyer yelped, diving forward. His hands closed on air again, and he rolled onto his back, giggling through his frustration. “Slippery!”
Sawyer stopped beside Creighton, his breath shallow. The sock was close now, inches away, its toe curled like a claw. He could hear it rustling, a faint hiss in his mind. “Bad dragon,” Sawyer muttered, raising his toy ring. He swung it down, a clumsy arc, and the star grazed the sock, nudging it toward Creighton.
Sawyers’s eyes widened. “You got it!” Creighton scrambled up, fingers snagging the sock’s edge before it could escape again. He yanked it free, tumbling backward with a triumphant “Ha!” The sock dangled from his fist, limp and conquered, and he waved it like a banner. “We did it!”
Sawyer blinked, then smiled—a rare, slow bloom across his face. The world didn’t feel so dangerous just then, not with Creighton’s laughter filling it, not with the dragon tamed. He dropped his toy ring and clapped, a soft pat-pat of victory.
DoDad leaned back, his grin softening into something tender. “Well, I’ll be. Dragon-slaying skills, right there. You two could take on anything.”
The cousins sprawled on the carpet, the sock between them, giggling as they poked at it. Creighton’s red hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and Sawyer’s toy lay forgotten, his star clutched instead. The living room settled around them, the light dimming as the sun dipped lower, but the air buzzed with their triumph. The laundry basket stood upright again, a silent witness, its contents no longer a threat.
Later, as DoDad scooped them up—one under each arm—they squirmed and laughed, the sock still clutched in Creighton’s hand. He carried them to the kitchen, humming an old tune, the kind he’d sung when their mom was small. The cousins didn’t know it yet, but they’d faced something bigger than a sock that day. Creighton had proven he could be enough, even when he stumbled. Sawyer had stepped into the unknown, his fear shrinking with each step.
“Dragon’s gone,” Creighton mumbled, half-asleep against DoDad’s shoulder.
“GONE!” Sawyer echoed, his voice a sleepy sigh.
DoDad kissed their heads, the scent of lavender clinging to them. “For now,” he said, smiling into the dusk. “But you’ll be ready next time.”
