#kid!deceit

He needn’t have worried though. Emile had a soft touch. 

The big guy bit his lip, keeping his eyes firmly straight ahead in a way that told Remy he didn’t want to make eye contact. 

That was probably wise for him because Remy could pull a mean puppy dog look when he wanted to. He’d received more than his fair share of drinks on the house from it and he could and would use those eyes against Emile if he thought it would help his case.

Emile exhaled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I just--I don’t know if--if Stitch will like...well...strangers. He’s very shy.” 

Stitch. Like the alien from that kids movie. 

Kids movies that Emile was rather obsessed with once he opened that particular can of gummy worms though Remy was sure he was only beginning to uncover that massive iceberg of an interest. This intimidating mountain of a man had morphed into quite the giant nerdy softie when it came to him talking about his cartoons.  

Maybe that was why the sweater had been comically small. Of course, getting the proper sizing for this gift from Emile had been rather...like pulling teeth. It had taken a full hour of wheedling before Emile had admitted that he was only guessing at the size he needed for this...friend.  

“Sugarbee.” Remy shook his head. “If he likes you I don’t see how little--” and it galled him that he had to call himself little because he was a good five foot eleven inches thank you very much. “Old me would frighten him away.” 

Emile shrugged a shoulder, fingers brushing the string on the package. “He’s just...I don’t want to scare him. I barely have any trust with him as it is and if I bring someone new--” 

Remy rolled his eyes, flexing his fingers around his cooling cup. It was like the guy was talking about a feral dog and not a person. “Trust me, babes. I ain’t gonna scare him.”

The sweater on the other hand?

That was less certain.

Because it had to be the strangest one ever created. 

Like Remy had seen his fair share of Ugly Sweaters over the years.

But this one would probably take the cake if only for the fact that Emile had insisted that said sweater have six arms.

After having to figure out the logistics of that particular snag, and after doing most of the sewing of those extra arms himself, there was no way Remy wasn’t seeing the reaction of this ‘Stitch’ kid to this particular present.

Maybe the dude just liked pretending to be the alien and Emile was humoring him. 

Regardless, Remy wanted to make sure that said monstrosity actually fit. It was a good eighty-two percent of his work after all and he prided himself on his garments fitting perfectly. 

Emile exhaled, still avoiding eye contact. “Just...stay behind me okay?” 

Remy gulped the last of his hot chocolate, tossing the cup into a nearby trash can as he followed Emile around the corner into a tree filled snow covered park. “Three steps back. Got it, Princess.” 

Though seriously, if Stitch wasn’t afraid of Emile, towering giant that he was, he highly doubted his presence would be an issue.

Remy shoved his hands into his pockets, letting the big guy move ahead to cut a swath through the untouched snow like a snowplow on a highway towards a huge pine tree in an out of the way corner that had branches all the way down to the ground, hiding the trunk completely from view. It was an odd spot to meet a ‘friend.’ Especially since said friend had apparently not arrived yet. 

Remy exhaled, hunching his shoulders. “Looks like we’re early.” He commented, glancing around the park, seeing no one else. Which made sense. It was nearly sunset. It was cold. The sky had a dark enough overcast that he was sure it would start snowing again any second. Who in their right mind would be out right now?

“We’re not.” Emile said, glancing over his shoulder. “Remember. Stay back.” He again cautioned before he knelt, letting out a soft three pitch whistle. “Stitch?” He called softly. “Hey buddy, it’s me, Emile. I--I brought you something.” 

Remy frowned, staring at the silent tree. “Did you actually have me help you make a sweater for a mutant squirrel?” That or Emile had a screw loose and he’d just spent three days making a monstrosity of a sweater for an imaginary friend. “Shh!” Emile hissed before again whistling at the tree. “Stitch? It’s okay. This is Remy. He’s a…”

Remy raised an eyebrow as Emile bit his lip, glancing back at him. 

“He’s a friend, he won’t hurt you.” The big guy edged another foot closer, hand brushing the tips of the pine needles sending snow showering down off the branches. “Please come out? I--we brought you something.” 

The pine tree remained silent.

Remy shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, regretting more that he’d drunk all his hot chocolate. “Maybe he’s not home.” Everyone who was anyone in their right mind would be anywhere but outside in this weather.

“Maybe you’re scaring him.” Emile snapped back before wincing. “Ah...could you like...kneel down? Please.” 

Remy scoffed. Him? Scaring the imaginary friend? If Emile wasn’t scary then Remy definitely wasn’t scary either. “And freeze to death?” He asked, awkwardly crouching on his heels. His designer shoes were already feeling the damp chill of the snow working its way in to soak his socks, there was no way he would allow his knees to experience the same torment. 

“Stitch?” Emile pleaded, again whistling as he edged closer. “Stitch.” 

They were gonna be out here until midnight at this point. “Come on, Stitcharoo.” He said ignoring the big guy’s frantic hissing to shut up. “I’m friendly. Emile is friendly. We’re all friendily freezing here so how about you come out an--” Remy cut off as the branches rustled. 

A single yellow eye peered out at them, glinting in the fading sunlight. 

Okay. Imaginary friend out. Mutant feral squirrel back in.

“Meal?” A shaky voice asked. A young shaky voice.

Ooohhh Goodie. Remy pressed his lips together, fighting the way his heart had jumped into his throat. Freaking talking mutant feral squirrel. It had better be a mutant squirrel because if there was a freaking child living in this tree in the middle of a freaking snow storm--

Emile visibly sagged with relief. “Hey Stitch, buddy. You okay?” 

The eye gave a slow blink. “C-c-cold.” 

“Aren’t we all.” Remy muttered, glad that his sunglasses protected him from whatever baleful glare the creature was casting on him now. He gave a two fingered wave. “I’m freezing too, buckaroo.” 

“Remy.”

“What?” 

Emile gave him the patented Will you shut up look that would have made any mother proud. 

Remy made a face. “You never said I couldn’t talk.” He was still behind him wasn’t he? He was crouching in the freaking snow freezing his toes off. He should be allowed to talk to the glowing eye that had better not be a child living in the tree in the middle of winter! 

Emile exhaled, before pulling off the string on the present, unwrapping the black and yellow sweater. “Remy and I made you this, Stitch. To help with the cold.” He said, holding it out in all its six-armed glory. 

A soft gasp came from the tree as the yellow eye opened wide. “Me?” 

“Yah, kiddo.” Emile said, nodding. “Can I help you put it on?”

The branches shifted, the yellow eye glancing to Remy before vanishing. 

Sugarbee hadn’t been kidding when he said his friend was shy. 

“C-cold.” The voice whispered from somewhere within the tree. “Meal. Safe?” 

Remy fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, anger burning in his chest. They’d be out here all night at this rate. “Yah, honeysuckle, you’re safe. Let Emile put the sweater on you okay? I’ll stay right here.” There was no one else in the park. Who would leave a child out here alone! One that had apparently been out here for a while if previous conversations with Emile were anything to go by. 

The branches didn’t move.

Perfect.

“Stitch.” Emile whispered, slowly lowering the sweater, stretching out a hand to the branches. “Please? You’re cold, let me help you this time.”

Remy frowned again, poking Emile in the back. “This time?”

Emile flinched. “He--ah...he hasn’t actually let me...touch him? Before. This is the closest I’ve gotten.” 

Oh for the love of! Remy shot to his feet. “Gurl!” 

The big guy was there, a plate sized hand on his chest holding him back and radiating heat like the sun, before he could take a step. “I said he was shy.” Emile said, eyes wide and pleading. “Don’t. Scare. Him.”

Ah huh. And in the process of not scaring him they were just going to have this mysterious friend freeze to death because there would be no way a simple sweater would help the kid survive the night! Remy growled trying to move around Emile, but it was like trying to move around a mountain. “The sound of that voice tells me that’s a child, Sugarbee. A FREAKING CHILD and you’re just letting him stay here.”

“He doesn’t trust humans!” 

That pulled him up short. “Humans.” Remy repeated, lowering his sunglasses. “HUMANS? Is he not human, Emile?” If this was an actual real life Stitch then--then!! 

Emile had the grace to look embarrassed. “I--I---uhh--” 

Remy threw up his hands. He would burn that particular bridge when he got there, But right now, he needed to see this ‘not human’ child and make sure he was safe. Remy ducked under Emile’s arm, scooping up the sweater in the process. “Hey Stitcharoo.” He said crouching at the base of the tree branches, ignoring the frantic warnings hissing like a teapot behind him as he pulled off his sunglasses, hanging them from the collar of his jacket. “It’s gonna snow again, tonight. You know. Get colder? Freeze. And my buddy here is like this giant heating blanket and wants to keep you warm. You’ll like the warm. I promise it’s--”

He froze as a child’s pale hand, nearly tinged blue, popped out of the tree, visibly shaking as it poked his cheek before jerking back out of sight. 

“It’s--it’s--I uhh Hi?” Remy stuttered out, brain trying to process what had just happened as he rubbed the spot the child had touched. 

Surely. Surely, he hadn’t seen what he thought he’d seen. There hadn’t been glittering scales on that hand. No. No trick of the light. Maybe it was cosmetic? Part of a costume?

The branches rustled before two hands, two scaled covered left hands, parted them, revealing a child’s face half covered in scales, peering back at him. “Hi.” The kid said, eyes -one golden, one a regular brown- shifting to Emile as he knelt down next to Remy before focusing on Remy himself. “Safe?”

“I--” Remy blinked before nodding dumbly as a third hand, a right hand with no scales on the pale skin this time, reached out to Emile’s ginormous hand. 

Suddenly Emile’s insistence that there needed to be six arms made a lot more sense. If Remy had already seen three hands, surely that could mean that there were three more still hidden out of sight. 

“You’re safe.” Emile said, gently taking the boy’s hand and squeezing it. 

The boy bit his lip before he surged forward straight into Emile’s chest. “Wa-warm.” He whispered, multiple hands gripping onto his coat as snow from the branches above showered down on top of them.

Remy tsked, quickly shaking off the white powder, heart pounding like a drum as he took in the ragged state of the kid’s clothes, the so called ‘sweater’ he currently wore was barely worth the name, only having two proper arms and four more holes in the sides for the--for the, Gee Manetti, the kid actually had six arms!!!! as Emile pulled open his tent of a jacket to wrap around the boy. 

“I got you. I got you.” Emile soothed as he scooped Stitch--Remy really hoped that wasn’t his actual name--into his lap, getting his bare feet out of the snow. 

The boy visibly shivered, tucking his toes -normal human toes beyond the left set being more scaled- into the crease between Emile’s shirt and pants. 

Remy bit back a growl. No shoes. Barely any clothes. Some welcome to Earth this kid got. Just because he had six freaking arms didn’t mean that the boy deserved to be abandoned! Even Superman had had a willing farm couple to look after him! 

“I hope you know he is not staying here.” Remy softly scolded, moving cautiously closer. Despite his misgivings about exposing the boy to the weather, he pulled Emile’s coat away so he could get his divine gift of a sweater onto the kid, a difficult feat as Stitch had practically glued himself against Emile’s side. 

The boy made a sound of protest, but didn’t fight him, eyes barely open as he watched Remy finagle the sweater over the rags he currently wore. 

It was pathetic. The boy was practically skin and bones! Remy could feel each individual rib as he tugged the fabric over him for crying out loud! Not to mention the arms themselves were practically sticks! This kid had been neglected for some time. It was--it was---Remy did growl. No one should have to live like this! 

“If you aren’t taking him home with you, by golly I will bring him to my place.” He said, pulling each sleeve over the boy’s ice cold hands. “Crofters! Emile, he needs another three sweaters, new pants, socks, SHOES, mittens--no no gloves. Probably gloves. This isn’t RIGHT!” The boy was COLD. His scales were like ice. How he wasn’t dead yet from hypothermia or frostbite was a mystery but No Ma’am was the kid gonna spend another night out here. “He needs soup, hot chocolate, a warm water bottle, a heated blanket a--”

“I know.” 

Remy jerked his head up at Emile’s quiet words. “Well. Good.” He pulled off his coat so he could slip his own sweater over his head and use it to create some temporary pants for the kid, until he could find something better. At least the boy had two normal legs so he could stuff one into each sleeve. 

“Do--” Emile cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly on Stitch’s hair. “Do you...have a place for him?”

Remy blinked as he slipped his own coat back on. “Do I---of course I do--do you not?!” What had he been planning to do once he got the boy to trust him? Leave him here?

Emile flushed, ducking his head.

Okay. Okay. He took a calming breath as the boy dropped two of his hands down to grab one of Remy’s in a tight grip, golden eye practically glowing as it flickered between him and Emile. “Rephrase. Do you have a place to stay yourself, Em?” 

“Not one safe for him.” Came the soft response. “I...it’s barely safe for me.” 

Barely safe for a guy who could feasibly dead lift a car? Punch a hole in concrete? He’d have to unpack the meaning of that particular admission some other time. Right after he had time to process that this kid had six freaking arms and was either an actual alien or escaped mutant experiment of some sort. 

“Right.” Remy exhaled, running his free hand through his hair. “Right. First. We get you both back to my place. Second. Get him warm and fed.” Maybe to a doctor--did he even know any doctors who could handle this?! “Third. Figure out living arrangements. Capiche?” Oh and Fourth. Figure out the boy’s actual name or give him a cooler one because no way would he be continuing to call him Stitch. 

That was a simple enough list right? Just four things. Nothing complicated about that. 

Emile blinked, adjusting his glasses. “But you don’t know me.”

Remy scoffed, squeezing the boy’s hands. Sure three days haraunanging the guy on how to properly thread a bobbin wasn’t a normal way to invite someone to be your roommate, but it wasn’t the worst way either. “I don’t know the kid either, Em. But I do know that he needs a home and if you need one too then you’ve got one with me.” The dude had a good heart. He’d been attempting to make a sweater instead of buying one and poking holes in it for crying out loud. 

“I--uh--” Emile cleared his throat. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” At least not until he got them all out of the cold. Then they could talk.

The kid shivered again, tightening his grip on their hands. “Safe?” He whispered, resting his head against Emile’s chest, eyes flickering between them both. 

    “You can say that again.” Remy agreed, the husbands falling silent as they followed the various signs to the principal’s office. A few students passed by them, barely sparing them a glance as they hustled to either get home or to practice.

    At the office, they were greeted by a middle-aged woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere that wasn’t behind her desk. “Can I help you?”

    “We’re Darius’s parents.” Emile told her. “We got a call that the principal wanted to see us, some matter regarding him…?”

    The secretary frowned a little as she quickly typed something into her computer, eventually jerking a finger over her shoulder towards a door behind her. “Get in there.” She ordered, as if she were talking to disobedient students. Remy and Emile did as she said, more worried about their son than a grumpy secretary.

    The door lead to the principal’s office, Mr. Edison sitting behind his desk, rubbing his temple like he had a bad headache. Of the three chairs in front of his desk, one was occupied by Darius, who was awkwardly hunched over on himself.

    Emile went to Darius first while Remy stood behind one of the chairs, not bothering to greet Mr. Edison.

    “Hey, Dari, how are yo-” Emile cut himself off when Darius looked up at him, uncurling enough to reveal his hunched form came from him pressing a bag of ice against the left side of his face, and that both his hands were loosely covered in gauze and bandages.

    Noticing Emile’s staggered stop, Remy shifted so he could see around him to see Darius. The moment he did, he turned angrily back towards Mr. Edison. “What the Hell happened?!”

    “That’s what I called you here to discuss.” He answered, sounding tired. “If you could please take a seat, we can get started.”

    Remy continued to glare while Emile gently shuffled Darius into the middle chair, both dads taking a seat on each side of him. Once they were all settled, Mr. Edison leaned forward, planting his elbows on his desk so he could clasp his hands together and lean them forward. “Darius got into a fight.”

    “No shiz, Sherlock.” Remy snapped, Emile reaching a hand over Darius’s shoulders to pat his husband’s. The principal’s frown just deepended a little.

    “Why was he in a fight?” Emile asked, more collectedly.

    Mr. Edison shrugged. “By the time teachers arrived at the scene, both boys were injured. Darius was halfway through throwing another punch when they were broken up.”

    “There’s got to be a reason.” Emile pressed. “Darius wouldn’t just hit a kid for no reason.”

    “From what the teachers know-”

    “He called him a fag.”

    All the adults turned to look at Darius, who was still watching the floor with an expression that was both frustrated and tired.

    “What did you say?” Remy asked, softly. Darius shifted his hold on the ice pack.

    “The kid I hit.” He said. “He was calling Roman a fag for wearing a skirt.”

    Silenced stretched for a moment, Remy and Emile looking between each other and Darius while he remained looking down. Eventually, Emile spoke up.

    “Where is the other kid now?” He asked, trying to keep his voice controlled, though it was clear from his strained tone that he was struggling to do so.

    “His parents already came by and picked him up.” Mr. Edison answered, consulting one of the papers on his desk. “He’ll be suspended from school for one day, as is our policy regarding school fights. For both participating in and initiating the fight, Darius will be suspended for two days-”

    “You’re suspending Darius?” Emile said at the same time as Remy’s,

    “Darius is going to be suspended longer?”

    Mr. Edison only barely flinched at the sudden, and rather loud, questions. “It’s school policy.” He said simply. “All participants in fights are suspended for a day. The student or students who started the fight are suspended for one extra day.”

    “Yes, but this isn’t exactly an average play yard fight.” Remy said with a frown. “You heard what Darius said. He was just defending this Roman kid. If anyone should have to be suspended longer, it should be the little bi-” Remy bit on his tongue, backtracking before he finished with, “it should be the other kid.”

    “Be that as it may, rules are rules-”

    “Rules my foot.”

    “-and Darius shouldn’t have resorted to violence, especially without attempting to deescalate the situation in other ways first.” Mr. Edison explained, ignoring Remy’s interjection.

    “I’m certain that Darius didn’t resort to violence immediately.” Emile said confidently before he turned towards Darius. “Dari, did you hit the other student without any warning?”

    “Of course not.” Darius defended, voice quiet but still firm. “I told him to shut up first. And then twice, and thrice, and when he didn’t I did it for him.”

    Remy nodded his head. “See? He tried to be reasonable. And when that failed, he took care of the immediate issue. I see no reason to punish him more than the kid who caused the issue.”

    Mr. Edison shook his head. “Reasons notwithstanding, he still initiated the fight unprovoked, and policy states that-”

    “Unprovoked?” Emile repeated, interrupting the principal. “The student was using an extremely crude word to insult another one. That’s verbal abuse, Mr. Edison, and it can be extremely mentally and emotionally damaging, especially to adolescents. Stopping that flow of abuse and stopping the use of a frankly repulsive word, albeit using a means I can’t condone, shouldn’t result in a worse punishment than the one using the word receives.”

    Mr. Edison didn’t respond to that immediately, instead glancing between Emile and Remy. Finally, after a minute, he sighed. “In light of the full understanding of the situation that provoked Darius to punch the other student, I can lengthen the other’s suspension to two days.” He said placatingly. “But I still must reside by policy and suspend Darius for two days as well.”

    “Fine.” Remy said, annoyed. “It’s not fair, but at least it’s not as asinine as punishing him more.”

    “Unless you have anything more you need from us, I think we’ll be going now.” Emile said quickly, before Remy could continue.

    Mr. Edison just nodded towards the door as he moved back to looking over his papers. The three of them got up, Emile placing a hand on Darius’s shoulder to gently guide him as they left.

    None of them spoke again until they were out of the school building, heading into the parking lot. Darius cleared his throat, awkwardly wringing his fingers as well as he could given they were wrapped up in bandages.

    “Sorry I punched that kid.” He mumbled, looking at the ground as he spoke. “I know it wasn’t a good choice, I just… I had to do something.”

    “Aw, don’t sweat it.” Remy said lightly, patting Darius’s shoulder. “I would’ve done the same thing, after all.”

    “This is why your father is not a respectable role model.” Emile chided lightly, though he smiled when Remy flashed him a mischievous grin.

    “What can I say, babes, it’s clearly just in his blood!”

    “Hush, before you get yourself suspended.” Emile said teasingly before he turned his attention back to Darius. “And it’s alright, Dari. While I can’t condone violence, I think in these circumstances I can be persuaded to… overlook it. Just this once, of course.”

    “So… I’m not in trouble?” Darius asked, slowly, glancing between his parents.

    “I mean, you already have to deal with that bullsh-”

    “Dear.”

    “-bullstupid, clearly, I was just going to say bullstupid,” Remy saved easily, grinning when Emile playfully rolled his eyes, “that bullstupid suspension. Really, you’ve already been punished enough, in my opinion.”

    “I agree.” Emile added.

    “Plus, you’re going to be stuck at home alone with me, which is really just added punishment.” Remy said. He paused for a moment, as if in thought, before he went on, “Though the likelihood of me doing something stupid and amusing does increase when young, impressionable minds are around…”

    Emile shook his head. “You’re going to burn the house down.”

    “Probably.” Remy conceded as they reached the car. “But at least I’ll be teaching our son important life lessons while I’m at it!”

    “Such as?”

    “How to properly light matches, how to take the batteries out of fire alarms so firefighters don’t show up to spoil your fun, how to get out of a burning building at the absolute last minute- y’know, the cornerstones of father-son bonding activities.” Remy listed off as they got into the car, Darius slipping into the back as Emile and Remy took the driver and passenger seats, respectively.

    “Well, once we get home, I’ll be showing Darius the funnest activity of them all: how to call into work and take the next two days off because your husband simply cannot be left unattended with a child.” Emile said.

    “So I’m going to be stuck with both of you?” Darius asked, sounding disgusted by the idea even though both his dads knew he didn’t mind it at all.

    Remy turned to face Darius as Emile started the engine. “Don’t think of it like that! You’re not ‘stuck’ with us- you’re enjoying a nice two-day break from school and work with us!”

    “More accurately, you’ll be a bystander to the chaos of your father being stuck with me, the only responsible member of this household.” Emile corrected. “Though there is hope for you yet, Darius.”

    “I’m offended that there’s no hope for me.”

    “There hasn’t been hope for you in years, honey, it’s nothing personal.”

    Remy crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, clearly pouting. “If there’s no hope for me, why did you marry me?”

    Emile risked a glance over at Remy, smiling over at his childish husband. “Because you’re too cute. All it takes is one glance at you and suddenly I’ve forgotten the fact that you’re horribly irresponsible and will likely be the accidental cause behind your own death.”

    “Damn gay I will be.” Remy said confidently. “And thank you. I am very cute.”

    “The cutest.”

    “No, that title’s yours.”

    “I thought we just agreed you’re the cute one.”

    “There can be more than one cute on in a relationship-”

    “Guys, if you’re gonna be mushy the whole way home, I think I’d rather walk.” Deceit interrupted them, sticking out his tongue just a bit. “Or get in another fist fight or something.”

    Emile giggled. “Sorry about that, Dari.”

    “And speaking of fist fights- Darius, this was your first proper brawl, yeah?” Remy asked, looking back at Darius. When Darius nodded, Remy went on, “Well, I’d consider that to be a pretty important milestone in one’s teenage years! We must celebrate! How does ice cream sound?”

    “Ice cream sounds good to me.” Darius said enthusiastically.

    “That’s one yes!” Remy said. “And you, darling dearest light-of-my-life?”

    “You just want to try out their new espresso flavor.”

    “Maaaaybe.” Remy admitted. “But have you considered this?” He leaned over the console, planting a kiss on Emile’s cheek. Emile’s face immediately flushed.

    “That is cheating and you know it.”

    “Maaaaybe.” Remy repeated, still in Emile’s space, now simply resting his head on Emile’s shoulder. “Is it working?”

    Emile didn’t respond for a moment, trying to keep his attention on the road even as his eyes kept flicking back to his husband against his side. Finally, he sighed and gave in, saying, “Alright, we’ll go get ice cream. But only if you stop being more distracting than usual!”

    “Whatever you say, doll.” Remy responded, quickly scooting fully back into his seat. “As long as it gets me that sweet, sweet frozen coffee, I’ll do it!”

    “This is going to end horribly, isn’t it?” Darius asked, once more gaining Remy’s attention.

    “Probably.” Remy admitted. “But, hey! You’re getting ice cream after beating a kid up! I’d say you’re pretty lucky, so it probably won’t end horribly for you! Just me and your dad, who insists on sticking by my side through everything for some reason.”

    “I’m obligated to by love.”

    “What’s love got going for it?”

    “Our marriage, for one thing.”

    “Impossible. Our marriage transcends mortal conventions.”

    Darius leaned back in his seat and turned his attention to the window, watching the scenery rush by as his dads fell into a loop of compliments poorly disguised as some sort of discussion. He really wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen after he threw that first punch… but as it stands?