Countrywhatever oneshots

America is a good dad for once

Just fluff, beware of slurs. Only two were used, but just be careful.

"Vee, hold still." The sound of a child managing out a hold on was the only response, and the man sighed heavily. What followed was squirming and adjusting that was heavily akin to a fish out of water, and if he didn't know that the boy was more than comfortable close to him, the man would have assumed he was writhing to escape something, to escape him. But no. The man wheezed and hissed through his teeth as a particularly bony appendage — a foot, maybe — dug into his thigh. "God- easy kiddo! Your bones are menacing!"

    This earned him a giggle from the little boy in his lap, who curled up into a little ball around his midsection and his ribs, right on top of his torso. Since he had propped himself up against the arm of the couch, this allowed the snuggle position to be possible, and comfortable. Once the boy shifted once or twice, the man grabbed the hem of a blanket and pulled it up over most of the boy.

    The man sighed with relief, his hand finding its way up into the boy's short, dark hair, and he gently threaded his fingers through it. "There. All cozy."

Well into the movie they were watching, the boy piped up from his fetal position on the man's torso. "Hey papa?" He asked, his little inquisitive voice rather soft and a little hoarse. This earned a low hum from the man.

"Yeah? What's up, kiddo?" The man rubbed his son's back reassuringly, as if that would bring forth his question or his concern.

"Can I tell you something?"

The man's face softened. "Anything, champ. What's going on?"

    The boy looked away from the man. "Some people are being mean to me at school." He mumbled weakly, his voice small, and based on how he curled into himself even more against the man's midsection, he felt even smaller. Dread and some sort of parental fear dropped into his stomach, one that he had hoped so bad wouldn't happen, but only some dreams may come true.

    "Oh, buddy, I'm so sorry," He began, his hands and arms pushing the boy further up onto his chest, letting his head rest where his heart should be. His hand ran up and down, up and down his back. "How are they being mean to you?"

    The boy whimpered softly. "They.. they call me mean names, and they tell me I'm not good enough to play with them in kickball. They tell me I'm a crybaby.." He sniffled, and the man could swear that when he heard his voice break, he felt his heart break in turn. The boy tried to gulp down a sob, and the man pulled up the blanket further to hopefully comfort the little boy. "They say I can't do anything cool because I play with the girls and, they.. they say they don't play with fags."

    What?

    "Who." The man's voice was sharp as a knife. It was flat, it didn't raise at the end like a question would, wasn't even a question. It was a command. His tone got cold and dangerous within a heartbeat, and the boy tensed. He knew that this anger, that this.. coldness wasn't directed at him, but it was still scary nonetheless.

    "C-Cody. And Max. And Tyler." The boy whimpered.

    The man's low grumble sounded like a growl. He shut off the tv and the movie playing in an instant, setting down the remote with some sort of robotic calm. His arms bundled the boy into the blanket and he carried him off to his room, pushing open the door to the room decorated with Nerf gun posters and astronauts and rocket ships. A typical six-year-old boy's room.

      The man tucked the boy well into his bed, leaning down to kiss him between the eyes and wipe some hair away from his face. "I'll talk to the principal about it, mkay?" He rested his hand on the side of the kid's face, gently stroking his thumb over his cheekbone. The boy nodded, and the man sighed. "Sleep well."