"Everyone dies Cal," David pointed out, sipping quietly on his milk like this was part of everyday conversation at the table during a meal. They were old enough to know of dying, to know that it was the eventual fate of all things that lived and breathed.
That didn't make David any less afraid of dying. But he could take some comfort in knowing that nothing in this world that truly lasted forever.
"But if you're sure, then I'll wait here," he said after he finished his sandwich, glancing down at Mister Schubert who looked slightly disappointed that all his face-pulling and ear-wiggling and alternating-eyebrow movements had failed to secure more food.
It seemed to have forgotten about the food the moment David got off the chair and gave it a pat on the head. It was light, and gentle, and everything Uncle James wasn't, everything that he'd tried so hard to beat out of his nephew. The urge to kick Mr. Schubert was undoubtedly there, but David just couldn't be what Uncle James wanted him to be. David was still alive.