Sanders Sides One Shots

Pastel Patty and his Punk Papas - familial analogicality + romantic analogical

Patton is a pastel young boy waiting for his punk daddies to pick him up after school.

Warnings: none

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Parents came in all shapes, sizes, and varieties. Patton knew this. Yet he knows his daddies are different. Not a bad different. Just a different.

So, sitting here after his after school gymnastics class, on a chair far too big for him, he's waiting for his daddies. Except they're a little late. He watches, a big grin on his face, as his friends and classmates leave with their normal looking parents - those in office clothes or high vis jackets, in sweatpants and vest tops or in three piece suits. He knows his daddies aren't like that but they're going to come.

He sits and swings his legs, the little pom poms on his pink boots swaying with them, his light blue jeans tucked into them awkwardly after changing after gymnastics, and his pink t-shirt ruffled awkwardly, the pink and yellow backpack on his back far too big for him. But the pink, blue, and yellow hair clips are precisely placed by his teacher to hold back some of his unruly dirty blond curls from his face.

The teacher reappears, crouching down to his level. She's young, younger than his daddies, but nice and she teaches the gymnastics beginners class at the school. So, Patton is fond of her; he usually likes most people, he's a very friendly child - a bit too friendly as his papa would say.

"Did they say they'd come tonight, sweet?" she asks, voice worried and soft. But Patton takes little notice.

"Uh huh, my daddy said he'd come right from work but I don't know if papa is coming," Patton explains, voice all high and happy, almost oblivious that his fathers are late.

"Okay, sweet," she says. Obviously concerned for the lateness of his parents' arrival, or their absence of arrival, she's never met them before, of course, he's not Patton's year teacher, so she's never met his parents at parent teacher nights.

"What do your daddies look like, my sweet? Just so I can keep an eye out for them," she says, shuffling to get a little more comfortable in her awkward squat position.

Patton only looks at her briefly before looking back at the door eagerly.

"My daddy has light brown hair but with blue bits in and he sometimes wears those fancy jackets that office guys wear but sometimes he wears his favourite jacket that papa bought him, the one with the spikes on. And papa has purple hair, all of it." He gestures to his own hair, ruffling it all up. "And- and papa likes purple so he wears purple t-shirts or his purple and black jackets if he's not wearing the- the other one with the things on it and he has the, um, the tattoos on his arms. Oh! And daddy wears glasses too just like me!"

Patton's hands are flying as he eagerly describes his fathers, those very pink, circular frames sliding down his nose a little so he clumsily pushes them back up, much like how his daddy does.

"Okay, sweet, I'll keep an eye out."

Then she's standing back up and helping another kid into their coat.

Patton can't help rocking back and forth on the plastic chair, still full of energy, as the minutes pass.

Finally the doors to the gym open and Patton is out of his seat in a moment.

"Daddy! Papa!" Patton yells, voice echoing off the almost empty gym's walls, and he's immediately clinging onto a very tall man's leg and making grabby hand to the man next to him.

The man with the small child attached to him is the one with naturally fair hair and dyed blue tips, his face a little too serious but eyes fond behind those square frames and his lips pulled into a smile. He's wearing smart dark blue jeans and a black shirt under a leather jacket with metal spikes on the shoulders.

The other who's crouching down to Patton's level and smiling softer than the other as he gives him a hug, his purple hair obscuring his face and his eyeliner smeared eyes and his hair almost exactly matches the purple in his leather jacket. His t-shirt is black as are his ripped jeans, far less formal than the other man's attire.

"Patty!" The purple haired man says, his voice quieter than expected, and he squeezes Patton tight, "we're so sorry we're late, darling, your daddy was late out, silly daddy, so I had to wait and we had to stop there was a problem with the car, well, we're here now, bean."

He pauses to take a breath, Patton looking at him with wide eyes and such love, and the other man puts a hand on his shoulder seemingly calming him.

"Is okay, papa," Patton babbles, "I knew you'd come for me, daddy wouldn't forget."

And Patton hugs him clumsily, trying to get his little arms as far around his papa as possible.

"I wouldn't dream of it, star," the other man - Patton's daddy - says, hand ruffling Patton's hair, not enough to disturb the clips there.

All of a sudden Patton wriggles out of his papa's grip and bound towards the young teacher.

"I found my daddy and my papa," he explains, pointing in the direction of the punk couple watching Patton, "so I can go home now, right, Miss?"

"Sure thing, sweet," she says, putting a hand on Patton's shoulder for a moment, "I'll see you next week and maybe make sure your daddies come a little earlier next week."

Patton utters out a quick, "okay!" before bounding off to his fathers, grabbing one of their hands before grabbing for the other, his little backpack bouncing as he skips out the doors.