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."

He stood from his bed and walked towards his door, his hand mere inches from the handle before the boy caught his attention. "Papa?"

    The man turned around and faced the boy, blue eyes nearly glowing in the dark. "Yes?"

   He tried to find the words, maybe to say it nicer, but he ended up going with "I love you."

    The man's face softened, his blue eyes filling with love. "I love you too, Vee."

    Through the pristine halls of the school, the man held the boy's hand in his own, despite how much of a height difference they had. His hand clasped the boy's gently, the calloused and warm surface was a grounding force, one that gave him enough bravery to stay by his father's side as they walked down the hall.

His little legs worked like hell to keep up with that man, whose steps were even, controlled, and intimidating. The soles of his beige buckskin boots added an extra inch to the already massive man that was the boy's father, and his boots made intimidating thun thun thun that shoes of those caliber usually did. The man squeezed the boy's hand, and the boy held on just as tight.

    "Papa, we passed my classroom," The boy began, looking over his shoulder with that anxiety and indecision that questioned if your parent knew what they were doing, or if they were lost. However, the slight tug on his arm suggested otherwise.

    "I know." The man said, his voice even and calm. "We're gonna go back, but not right now. I wanna talk to Mr. Withers for a moment."

    Mr. Withers. The devil himself. To the little kids in the boy's class, going to him or the office was like a death penalty. Kids who went in never came out. Some kids say that they left the school that day, or that they got expelled. The most ridiculous theory the boy has ever heard was that Mr. Withers eats kids who get sent to the office. Obviously, it was fake, but it tugged at the back of his mind as they got closer and closer to the office.

     Well, papa wouldn't let Mr. Withers eat him, right? Papa's scary and papa's strong. He'd protect him. The light chuckle that arose from the man signified that he almost understood what he was thinking. "You're not in trouble, Vee. I just want to have a little talk, and then you can go back to class. That sound okay?"

    The boy nodded, and they stopped outside the office's door. The man knelt down to the boy's height and kissed his forehead. "I'll be done before you know it."

    The boy smiled, and the man took this newfound bout of confidence and took him hand in hand again. The boy gripped the man's hand tightly as they got closer to the office, and as the man's hand gripped the handle and opened the door, the boy was sure his heart caught in his throat.

    A woman was seated behind this huge desk, tapping away at a keyboard and staring dead into the computer through her baggy eyes and half moon glasses. Her dead grey eyes only diverted their attention to the man when he cleared his throat, and loudly.

    "There something you need?" She croaked, like an old crow and a dying frog. The boy tried to conjure that image in his mind, of a frog-crow hybrid that was old and dying, hunched over with a cane and tiny glasses. the man squeezed the boy's hand. "Yes. I'd like to speak with Mr. Withers."

    She blinked at him, then she motioned to the chairs that were stationed next to a different door, the door to the monster's cave. "Sit there, he'll be with you for a moment."

    The man nodded, leading the boy towards the chairs and sitting down in one. Papa took up the whole chair with his legs closed, but he didn't take it as there being no more room. Instead, the man lifted the boy onto his lap to sit there and mess with his collar. "You're wearing a blue shirt today!" The boy remarked, distracted by the bright blue polo shirt with chick yellow stripes along the edges of the sleeves and a light pink accent as well. "It looks pretty!"

    This brought a warm smile to the man's face, and his muscled arms moved from the armrests to wrapped around the boy. "Thank you," The man's voice, so soft and sweet, murmured to the boy, rubbing up and down his back. "I'm glad you think it's pretty. Do you like the blue?"

    "No, the pink looks good!" The boy grinned, pointing to the stripes on his collar, and his sleeves. "It looks like peeps! Peeps are tasty!" The man couldn't help but grin.

"They are indeed."

   About thirty minutes later, the adults were still talking in the office. And if you know anything about little kids, 30 minutes feels like 30 years to them. The boy had been left in the seating area while the man went to talk to Mr. Withers, and he played flappy bird on Papa's phone while they talked. It was quiet, as it usually was. Whenever adults talked, it was always quiet.

Until it wasn't.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" A voice roared, and the boy nearly jumped two feet into the air. Fear jolted his system, and his head snapped to the side to glance nervously at the door. The window didn't show much, but he could see that Papa was not happy. "THESE FUCKING KIDS, PRESCHOOLERS, ARE CALLING MY SON SLURS FOR THE SMALLEST THINGS, AND I LEARN LATER ON THAT THERE WAS MORE THAN JUST A LITTLE NAME CALLING, AND YOUR ONLY RESPONSE IS 'BOYS WILL BE BOYS'?!"

    Papa was really mad.

Mr. Withers must have tried to say something, but the man wasn't having it. "No, let me get this FUCKING straight, you limp-dicked bastard. My son, Vietnam Washington, came to your staff about the bullying, cried in this office, had to be sent to the nurse numerous times for injuries from these boys, and I was not called ONCE. NOT FUCKING ONCE. EXPLAIN THAT. wait, no, don't do that. Because if you do, I swear to FUCKING GOD, I will have your head MOUNTED ON MY GODDAMN WALL BY THE TIME I AM DONE WITH YOU."

   "Now, when I leave with my son today, I want you to meet with these boys, I want you to resolve this fucking issue by tomorrow. TOMORROW. If it is not fixed by then, and my son comes home with one more story about how these six-year-old DIPSHITS are calling him a faggot, I will pack your ass full of gunpowder and fireworks and have you squat over a fucking campfire." The man snarled. His voice was like flaming razors and boiling venom, so angry and harsh and unforgiving that it sent chills of fear down the boy's little spine. "Do I make myself clear?"

    "Y-Yes sir.." Mr. Withers stuttered.

"Good." The man snarled. "And from now on, it is General Washington for you."

    The handle was turned and the door was opened, and before the man could say anything to the boy, he noticed his slack-jawed and wide-eyed expression. And based on that evidence alone, the boy heard the yelling part.

    "Hey kiddo." He began, but the boy was already running to his side, embracing his leg and pressing his cheek to the man's knee. The man chuckled fondly. "Hello sweet boy. I'm sorry it took so long."

    "Issokay." The boy muttered, handing the man's phone to him.

    "Whaddya say we go and get you hopped up on goofballs? Wanna go to Baskin Robbins?"

  "Yeah!" The boy's little eyes lit up with stars. Ice cream and getting rid of bullies? Yes please! "Can I get two scoops?"

    "Two?" The man seemed a little taken aback. "C'mon, you can do better than that. What about three?"

    "Of bubblegum?"

    "Sure."

    "Yeah! Thank you papa! I love you!"

    The man took the boy's hand and walked him out of the office and down the hall to leave the school. He smiled down at the overjoyed kid, his eyes so full of love and adoration.

"I love you too, Vee. I love you too."

Context: couple years after the whole incident in "hide and seek".