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Trick-or-Treat

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Roman charged in with a wild battle cry, swinging his sword furiously.  “Surrender, villain!”

“As if you could ever take me on, Your Majesty.”  Virgil smirked, raising his dollar store rapier in response.

The prince and the pirate dueled as a tiny Medusa sat and watched them, arms crossed and chubby cheeks puffed out.

“Papa,” D.C. complained.  “Dad and Da aren’t being weird again.”

Patton giggled, scooping D.C. up and pressing a kiss to his wild mess of curls.  “Your dads are always weird, baby boy.”

D.C. grumbled.  “Papa, the snakes.”  He pawed at his head, trying to make sure the plastic snakes Roman had painstakingly pinned into place were still intact.

“I object, Patton.”  Logan descended the stairs, adjusting the tie over his unicorn onesie.  “I am completely ordinary.”

“Say that when you don’t look so uni-corney, Lo.”

Logan blinked owlishly then slowly began to ascend the stairs.

“Get down here, specs,” Virgil laughed, ducking a swipe of the sword from Roman.  “It’s Halloween, and da" – Patton cleared his throat - “ rn if our son isn’t going to love the spooky season.”

“Am I to be assaulted with more puns?”

“Don’t be a hallo-weenie, George not-Wells,” Roman called, lunging at an opening in Virgil’s defense.  “Of course you will be.”

D.C. started squirming in Patton’s arms, tugging on his papa’s cat-eared headband.  “I don’t wanna go.”

“He’s right!”  Patton chirped, gently setting him down.  “Time to get some candy!”

D.C. cheered and started toddling towards the door.

Logan arched an eyebrow cooly.  “Where do you think you’re going, young man?”

D.C. blinked up at him innocently.  “Not outside!”

“Look,” Virgil snorted, finally smacking Roman’s sword out of his hand.  “He takes after me, biting sarcasm and all.”

“You need a coat, my dashing princeling!”  Roman proclaimed, scowling at Virgil before digging a small, puffy coat out of the hall closet.

D.C. scowled.  “Medusa so wore a coat.”

“This Medusa does,” Logan said firmly, taking the jacket and a kiss from Roman before kneeling down in front of their son.

He puffed his cheeks out, obstinately backing up and scratching at the eczema patch on the side of his face.

“Damien Carreon Sanders!”  Patton exclaimed, fixing his son with a Dad Glare.  “I’m surprised at you. Is that how you treat your father? And you know the itching just makes it worse.”

D.C. stood firm for a moment longer before deflating, plump arms swinging down to his sides.  “No,” he mumbled, “‘m sorry, Dada.”

Logan pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek.  “I’m quite alright, Mr. Medusa. Now, we’d better bundle up if we’re going to acquire candy, concurred?”

“Conquered!”  He chirped happily as Logan slid his coat over his shoulders.

“Concurred. It means to be in agreement.”

“Cornered?”  D.C. tried.

“Close enough,” Virgil interrupted before the entirety of Halloween slipped away from them.

“Urs-lame is right, Bore Segar!”  Roman proclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically.  “Darkness falls, the sweet smell of candy beckons, the air is filled with ghoulish howls, and it is time… to trick-or-treat!”

Their son and Patton cheered, and Virgil smirked, dangling a orange bag with a leering pumpkin face between his fingers.  “Don’t forget your bag, kid.”

D.C. smiled, toddling over to Virgil and hugging his leg.  “Thanks, Da.”

Virgil’s smirk melted away, a soft smile taking its place.  “You got it, kiddo.”

Patton cooed, snapping a quick picture on his phone, and Virgil coughed, flushing at the way his husbands were staring at him, hearts in their eyes.  “Come on, squirt. Let’s get you on the path to early diabetes.”  He handed his son the bag - “got it?” “mhuh” - and reached for his hand.

“Very well then.”  Logan nodded.  “Onwards.”

 

Theirs was a small neighborhood, a few cozy houses dotted around a paved cul-de-sac.  D.C. practically vibrated in excitement, tugging eagerly on Roman’s hand.

“Slow down there, killer of men.”  The prince smiled at the tiny Medusa.  “There’s plenty of candy for everyone.”

He shook his head emphatically, curls and snakes bouncing.  “Nuh-uh!  Papa’s not gonna eat half of mine.”

Virgil and Logan turned two twin glares on Patton, who smiled innocently.  “What? Me? Never.”

“I am entirely convinced he gets the lying from you,” Logan sighed, a small, fond smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, buddy, how ‘bout this."  Virgil crouched down to look his son in the eye.  "We get the candy and let Papa eat all the yucky bits.”

D.C.’s mismatched eyes widened, as if in a great revelation.  “Candy corn?”

“All his,” Virgil pledged as Patton squawked indignantly.

D.C. took a moment to consider it, tiny face the portrait of serious contemplation before he nodded.  “Okay.”

With that, they set off.

Their first stop was the house to their left, where a man with a shock of purple hair and his platonic wife pretended to turn to stone, much to D.C.’s delight.  He hissed, a wet blubbering of air, and they assured him they were very scared as they cooed over him and dropped a handful of candy into his awaiting bag.

He grinned, dimpling, and scampered off, Dads trailing behind him.

“Slow down, Dee!”  Patton called.  “Be nice to your old men.”

“That was a reach,” Virgil commented.

“I thought it was a pun!”

“Incredible, look, we have arrived at another house,” Logan proclaimed loudly, resolutely ignoring any and all wordplay.

“Trick-or-treat!”  D.C. exclaimed in his loud, clear voice, holding out his bag expectantly.

“Aww,” the woman inside cooed.  “Well, aren’t you just precious?”

“Evil,” D.C. muttered petulantly.

“Here you go, cutie!”  She plopped down a heavy bundle in his sack.

“Wow,” he said, forcing a smile. “It’s an avocado. Thanks.”

 

They traversed from house to house, D.C.’s bag and eyes growing heavier and heavier as the night wore on.

“Hey, kiddo, you want one of your big, strong dads to carry that for you?”  Patton asked, eyeing the orange bag dragging behind his son.

He yawned.  “Tell me when I get one.”

Virgil made a choked half-laugh, half-cough as Roman stared into the distance, reevaluating his entire life.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Damien,” Logan scoffed, and Roman perked up hopefully.  “Patton’s right there.”

“My son and my husband?!”  Roman wailed, throwing a hand against his forehead dramatically.  “Why must my very family betray me?!”

“We’re trying to create noise pollution,” Virgil deadpanned, tugging at his eyepatch.

Patton giggled.  “I don’t know. Roman’s plenty strong, last time I checked.”

“Patton!”  Virgil hissed lowly.  “Our son! Right there! In front of you!”

The son in question yawned, steps slowing as he rubbed at his eyes.  “Are you flirtin’ again? Uncle Thomas told me you’re always doing that.”

Logan pursed his lips.  “Yes, well, your Uncle Thomas has a tendency to tell stories.”  He made frantic hand gestures behind his back, trying to stop Patton and Roman’s eyebrow wriggle-off.

“Come on, kiddo.”  Patton laughed and lifted their sleepy snake, hoisting him onto his hip.  “Let’s go home and get into some of that candy, okay?”

D.C. nodded sagely, resting his cheek against his papa’s shoulder.  “I cornered.”