Ima be honest, this is mostly gonna be LightningWolf, but it's all fluff. All character descriptions based off the 2006-2007 cartoon. Please watch it if you haven't, I'm dying alone over here.
Tiny hands made grabby motions for Garth's attention, tugging at his sweatpants leg. Dusting flour off his hands, the Alpha looked down to find Gail squeaking impatiently at him, tiny black ears pulled back into the fluffy mop of his hair.
"What's up bud, did Dad and Bubs leave ya? That's awfully mean of them." Garth wiped the rest of the flour off on his shirt and picked the chubby little furball up off the ground, settling him into the crook of his hip. "You wanna hang out with me? 'M making some sugar loaf."
Gail, with his mission accomplished, blew a halfhearted raspberry at the lump of dough on the counter. Garth rolled his eyes and set the baby down on one of the barstools that was really more of a mini armchair. "Well, too bad. I don't trust you on your own and the Grams aren't back yet."
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——— "No, sweetheart, you're gonna roll it off the edge if you do that. Like this." Garth painstakingly showed Gail, for the fifth time, how to properly knead dough. It wasn't for lack of trying, he was just overly excited and kept pouncing like it was a runaway mouse.
"No m'not!" He squeaked, proceeding to to do exactly that, for the fifth time. The dough smacked down onto the cold stovetop, adding to the slowly growing flour spot. Brin snorted from somewhere behind them, his and Finn's game pieces clicking across the holoboard.
"Doin' great, bubs, keep at it."
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——— "...Thris is poppin' through this robots chest like that movie Uncle Clark showed us, Io's cacklin' while tearing apart another, and poor Cham is havin' a mental breakdown on the sidelines!" Gail snorted, gloves squeaking as they worked away at the sourdough before him with practiced ease. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his father, their hair tied up and mirthful grins firmly in place, he looked like the spitting image of Garth.
"You know, I fully believe those two are gonna bring about the death of the Legion. Not my can of worms to deal with anymore, though." Brin hummed, slowly working his way through a stack of practical exams.
"C'mon, give me and Finny some credit, we're adding at least fifteen years to that total."
"Fifteens being generous, I've seen you two with civilians."
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——— A single light was on in the kitchen, had been on for the last three days, illuminating dark red ears and grey threaded curls. Garth's broad shoulders lay slumped and defeated, wracked on and off with sobs.
Brin brushed a hand over his back on his way around the kitchen counter, already strained hum cracking a bit from the rawness of his throat. His eyes glazed past the loaf pans in the fridge and settled on the tub of soup, reaching hands doing the same and setting the container on the cold stovetop. Avoiding the terrifying feel of standing still, he tugged open cabinets and drawers for a ladle and soup mugs. On autopilot, Brin felt the chill of four cups against his knuckles, coming down to rest one after the other.
It didn't register until the fourth clicked across the granite that'd he'd pulled one too many.
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