Me: Oh wow, I hadn't realized this one was so short. Um, I apologize for that, and promise that there will be chapters that are over 500 words again soon, really.
This chapter might not make a whole lot of sense, mostly because I still haven't written out what happened that led to this chapter. Haven't quite figured out how I want to go about it, but it'll be added eventually. Probably as either a separate story, or when the main plot of this is done.
For now, have rageful!Papa Tiedoll and Cross actually acting his age for once. And don't worry, he gets older as the fic goes on. He won't be this awkward, gangly thirteen year old forever. He'll end up as an awkward, gangly OLDER teen! :D *shot*
Warnings: Alluding to things people shouldn't do with/to minors. Remember folks, pedophilia is wrong, even when the character grows up to be a trollop.
This was becoming a hazard to his health. Every time the little scientist threw open his door and dove under the covers of his bed he felt like his heart would just up and give out. He was only twenty-five, far too young to be having minor heart attacks almost everyday, sometimes twice a day. Standing up and shutting the door, which the lad had forgotten to shut and lock for once, he made sure to make his footfalls noticeable as he stepped up to the bed and carefully peeled back the blankets to find wide green eyes staring up at him in utter terror, the boy even paler than he normally was and what looked suspiciously like tears in the wild eyes glancing around his room like a rabbit about to flee at the smallest sign of danger. He couldn't help but frown, reaching up and carding his hand through the boy's hair carefully.
The smaller male gave a visible shudder before practically collapsing against him, unintentionally almost falling off the bed until Froi managed to maneuver them so he could sit on the bed with the small boy curled up against him, hiding against his chest. He had to wonder what Winters had done to garner such a reaction from the normally reserved lad. Even when he was running in here and barricading the door, Cross Marian had never broken down or looked so utterly lost when he came to hide in his room. And he'd never initiated any sort of contact, barely allowed it when Froi pulled him out from under the bed or ruffled his hair in amusement.
At the feeling of his shirt being soaked through and the slight shaking of the boy's small frame, he decided he needed to have a talk with his Mexican friend. If there was one thing he would fully admit to being, it was paternal. Having two children of your own would do that to you, though.