Dragon Age One Shots

Daddy, Dad Cullen

"Ethan, don't touch that," Cullen ordered to his eldest. The six-year-old's fingers snaked away from the hissing frying pan, but his eyes were full of mischief. Just like his mother.

"I wasn't gonna," the boy insisted, despite his father easily seeing through the lie. To back up his claim, Ethan scrabbled up onto a stool overlooking his father's final preparations. "Whatcha doing?" he asked, as he had been asking for the past twenty minutes.

"You know the answer," Cullen responded, scooping the last of the slightly burned eggs onto a plate. There was something he was missing... He hunted around the ransacked kitchen, hoping the answer would appear by magic.

A pop resounded through the air, followed by the squeaky voice of his youngest, "Daddy said no!"

"You're such a tattle tale, Laila!" Ethan scolded the three-year-old while once again removing his hands from the tempting frying pan. She shoved her thumb back in her mouth while the other hand cuddled the nuggalope tight to the chest of her nightgown. Ethan too was still in his pajamas, the sleeves being dragged through the floury mess Cullen left on the counter.

He should have dressed the children before starting, though then they'd have simply covered their day clothes in slop. There was also the matter of time ticking away faster than he anticipated. There was no chance he'd be on time now. Rushing about the kitchen covered in bowls, pots, and pans, Cullen darted around his two children who were more road blocks than helping hands.

"Am not!" Laila shouted at her brother, her words muffled by the thumb. "Am I Daddy!"

"No, Lay, you're not," he answered automatically, barely listening to his children bickering. There was something he was forgetting. Something he forgot about in the...

The scent of burning fat struck his nose along with realization of what slipped through the cracks. Grabbing up a towel, Cullen yanked open the oven door. Sad, nearly blackened crisps of bacon were all that greeted him. Damn it. Maybe if he hid them under the eggs she wouldn't notice?

Anger bubbling in his veins, he hurled the wasted food onto the counter, the tray crashing from the force. He reached for a glass, prepared to accept the more or less failure, when a heartbreaking wail rose from behind him.

Cullen turned just as Ethan's tiny hand dropped the cast iron frying pan, the boy screaming in pain. Fear ransacked Cullen's body, the pins stabbing into his flesh, seizing his heart cold, and his lungs collapsing in his chest. "Ethan!" he cried, watching gigantic tears slide down the baby cheeks.

His boy wailed, "I didn't!" while trying to back away. When his spine bounce against the door, he froze, flexing his fingers in pain.

Not caring that his orders were disobeyed, Cullen plummeted to his knees to wrap comforting hands under his boy's injury. "Let me see..." Ethan tried to yank his fingers free, as if Cullen couldn't see the sting of pink where he picked up the pan's handle. "Here," digging into a case stashed inside the cabinets, Cullen unearthed a brown salve.

As he plopped the burn-soothing unguent onto the vengeful red sting, Cullen gasped, "What did I tell you about touching the pan?!"

"I'm sorry," Ethan mewled, "I'm sorry, Daddy. Don't be mad. Please. I didn't mean to. It hurts so bad!"

Cullen's arms wrapped tight to his injured boy, tugging him against his chest. While the burn-induced tears slowed in his son's eyes, Cullen's rose. He felt them with every bump and bruise his children earned. They were little daredevils, all thanks to their mother, stumbling and curious in a world that so easily struck back. It hurt Cullen to bare witness to each cry from the cradle to now.

"Dad?" his son asked.

"You should..." Cullen pinched off his tears, cupping that small hand in his own. "Bandage it."

While he wound the white linen around his boy's salved palm, Ethan asked with tears still in his voice, "Are you mad at me?"

"No." He should be. Look at what the boy did! Disobeyed. Injured himself! It could have been worse.

But it wasn't.

"Just swear to me you won't do that again," Cullen knotted off the bandage and looked directly into his son's eyes. The mischief, the ever present orneriness that looked as if it could take on a would-be god vanished. In its place was the fear few saw, the crushing concern of what would happen should she fail. He was so much like his mother.

Ethan gulped deep, his cheeks stained in tears. Bobbing his head, he promised, "Mkay."

It was the best Cullen could hope for. He laughed a moment at the child's answer, when even tinier fingers tugged on his shirt. Spinning in place, he watched as Laila yanked her thumb out and demanded, "I need b'ndige too!"

With a chuckle, he pulled his daughter to him, her blonde curls flying from the tug. After placing a kiss to her forehead, he said, "Very well."

In the end, Laila got a wad of linen wrapped around her head because there was a very bad boo-boo there no one could see. Cullen scooped up what little of the cold breakfast he could manage onto a plate, and the three of them crept towards the master bedroom. Ethan was up on his tiptoes, the pain of the burn forgotten in the excitement. He was even trying to help Laila onto her toes, his hands wrapped around her sides to hoist her up.

At the door, Cullen counted with his fingers to his children. One. Two. Three. Shoving the door open fast, all three dashed inside. The woman in the bed pretended to open her eyes as if she'd been sleeping, her hand cupping to her mouth in surprise.

Together, the little family shouted, "Happy birthday!"