(no subject)

[bubblewrapped]

Who: Bash & Lucas & their impressive herd of families
When: Late Summer
Where: Luna Park, Coney Island
What: The Kowalskis and Lacroixes get together to day drink, Lucas and Bash do a passable job as babysitters.
Warnings: Language and domesticity. Also, it long.

Mr. Kowalski tries for approximately forty-five seconds to remind his son the importance of being careful when running around alone as a teenager so far from home - just because it’s an amusement park doesn’t mean it’s completely safe. Then, he remembers his son is a wizard, and he trails off, expression settling flat into something you might call consternation. Do wizards need to actually be careful about anything? Could Lucas have brought them all up here for their vacation magically? Did they really need to take a plane? He’s honestly not sure.

The look on his face does not stop his wife from doubly reminding him, “E, my love, Lucas can teleport. He’s better off getting mugged than we are.”

“I’m not gonna get mugged.” Lucas interjects, not sounding entirely convinced. Actually, probably, based on the way his words goes up a little at the end, he sounds a little more like he’s asking for confirmation.

“You’ll be fine, honey,” his mother responds, placating, and then returns her attention to chatting with her husband about something or other that’s mildly embarrassing while they approach the park.

Lucas thinks about telling them it’d be totally, completely cool if they just wanted to head back to the hotel today and hang out and not, like, embarrass him in front of the Lacroixes. But he’s clever enough to reason that that will probably only make things worse. So he fires off a text to Bash - Gonna die of embarrassment. Can feel it. - and then immediately spots him and the rest of his family in the distance and feels silly for not just waiting. Only briefly, though, because Lucas’ gait quickens to reach him, a pop in his step. He can hear his parents laughing about it behind his back.

Family excursions with the Lacroixes are an Event. Also, they don't happen that often because there are too fucking many of them and ain't nobody got the kind of cash to take that amount of people out to dinner, let alone to a theme park. But pretty much all of everybody's got themselves a job this summer, so if they all take care of their own tickets, swinging a day at Luna Park is a manageable affair. Financially, at least.

Behaviorally, it's kind of like a day trip from the insane asylum, but that's cool. That's fine. That's totally great and he isn't going to "lose" at least one of his siblings before Lucas even gets here. Which, okay, Beth and her husband had already taken Megan off to do teeny-baby things and Georgia had disappeared with Winnie and her girlfriend to get in line for the Steeplechase, so that's gone and shaved off a decent amount of humans - but Gracie's attached to his leg like a leech and Sarah's whining about getting Nathan's and his dad should really be made aware of the fact that laughing at your son while he has a nervous breakdown is really very unsupportive. They are supposed to be cool today.

"You're being very unsupportive," Bash mumbles in his father's direction. "You were supposed to be cool. This is not at all cool. I feel strongly like you are being the direct opposite of cool right now." There. Yup. Got that point across neatly.

"Sebastien," his mother sighs, lips doing that thing that totally indicates she isn't trying to laugh right along with her husband. "Breathe." Then her head turns, quick and decisive, every inch the terrifying predator she is. "Sarah Jane, you will stop that immediately or I'll let you starve until your mother comes back." A beat, placid, before she turns back to her son. "You're going to be fine."

His father chuckles, adjusting his traction glove and waggling his eyebrows. "Seriously, Gup. If the kid was going to dump you, if would've happened long before this."

His phone chimes loudly and Ariel, much like a great white shark - in that her eyes are dark and unfathomably evil and she is able to sense even tiny amounts of blood in the water up to three miles away - has it plucked from his back pocket before he even has enough time to protest. Ariel. His father. Somebody. He is totally going to protest somebody doing something. Has his mouth open to do it and everything -

And then he spots Lucas, and he sort of forgets what he’s protesting exactly? Grin splitting straight across his face and immediately going a bit stupid, one hand raising above his head in a crooked wave. Ariel snorts and he only flips her the bird a little. And completely behind his back. Which is practically not doing it at all.

He doesn’t quite jog - Lucas only runs in life-or-death situations - but it wouldn’t be inaccurate to call his speed ‘fleeing his parents,’ who, for what it's worth, continue their leisurely pace, Alice with her arm looped ‘round Ernie’s elbow. Lucas lets his head get worked up about ridiculous things on the short trek over - being social and his parents being mortifying and getting mugged. But when he reaches Bash, he’s beaming.

“Hi,” Lucas says, a little thin, breath coming raspy. He stuffs his hand in his pocket, produces his inhaler and clicks a dose into his mouth before trying again. “Hi.” A bit better this time. So, he dips his head to the urchin clinging to Bash’s leg, next. “Hey, Gracie.”

Back into the pocket the inhaler goes. And then Lucas turns his attention to Bash’s parents, ducking his head a little. His smile goes shy. Social graces are still not quite in his reach. “It’s good to see you.”

Sarah's eyes widen at the sound of Lucas' voice, her renewed attempt at wheedling sputtering out on a squeak that makes her grandmother laugh brightly. Mrs. Lacroix drops her hand lightly onto the top of Sarah's head, which has gone and buried itself in her skirt in mortification, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a manner that makes her look an awful lot like like Bash. "You too, sweetheart."

Before Bash can get in a word, Grace has unwound herself from around his calf with a beaming grin and a chirpy, "Hi, Wucas!" Bash flushes, grinning sort of helplessly and scrubbing a hand through his hair, and he barely has a chance to get his mouth open again when Ariel chimes in with her own, sing-songy, "Hey, Wucas." - which prompts Bash to jab an elbow into her stomach and Ariel to snag a set of fingers through his belt-loop and pull. Hard.

"You're absolutely certain you don't want to turn around right now?" Mr. Lacroix asks, tilting his head and sounding very encouraging. "Maybe pretend you didn't see us here?"

“Hi Ariel,” Lucas tries not to sound timid when he greets her. It doesn’t really work. But the exchange of elbows and jabs between the twins makes laughter bubble up out of him, easing his nerves somewhat.

With tight shoulders and his arms tucked against his sides, he panics only a little at Mr. Lacroix’s advice. “Oh, no, I like this just fine,” wide-eyed he bobbles his head. Then he looks at Bash, smile going wide, when he adds, “I’m good.”

“That eager to get away from us, Luca?” Lucas' mother teases when she and his father finally step up behind him. She drops her hand on her son’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Her grin is bright and crooked. “Greetings, Lacroixes! Pleasure to see you all.”

Lucas makes an effort to not look like the world is ending. Again, success is middling. But seeming like he’s about to jump out of his own skin is not an unusual look for Lucas Kowalski to wear in public, so at the very least his uncomfortable posture doesn’t stick out anymore than usual.

“I’m certain he just wanted to make sure this lot was suitable for polite company,” Mrs. Lacroix replies, fingers still running through Sarah’s hair, her gaze cutting to her children and smile edged with one of the most well-mannered murder threats Bash and Ariel have had the pleasure to receive. It’s - well, if the speed at which they step away from one another and look like butter wouldn’t dream of melting in their mouths is anything to go by - super effective.

“Ah,” Oliver sighs, just the right side of dramatic. “Look at our darling children, Rosie. What angels. It’s so hard to believe they were physically assaulting one another just moments ago.”

Bash, feeling like he isn’t entirely certain if he wants the ground to open up and consume him whole or to just start laughing, ends up looking hopeful for the first option and biting his lip to ineffectively stopper the second. His eyes settle on the width of Lucas’ smile and he flushes brightly again. Okay, just - maybe belay the all-consuming hell pit. For a little while.

“I hope your trip was okay, Mr. and Mrs. Kowalski,” he manages, words going up a bit on a hiccup as Ariel gets the last jab in, a much more subtle sock of her knuckle into his spine.

“Polite company?” Mr. Kowalski glances over his shoulder, as though expecting more people to arrive. “Huh.”

Meanwhile, Lucas’ mother turns her grin on Bash, and Lucas, himself, braces for impact. “Thanks, honey. Went off without a hitch - impressive for Southwestern.”

A heavy puff of air escapes Lucas when the line he was sure his mother would go for - ‘nothing a little xanax can’t fix’ - fails to materialize. Snickering, Mrs. Kowalski ruffles her son’s curls, maternal telepathy evidently activated. He deflates a little beneath her hand, one eye squinting shut.

“Well, I doubt these kiddos want us around harshing their chill,” Alice says, clasping her hands together as she addresses Bash’s parents. That was almost as bad as the xanax line and Lucas wishes he were dead. “Shall we?”

Lucas’ expression goes impassive, but he does take one small step closer to Bash.

Mrs. Lacroix blinks, hand pressing to her chest and lips twisting into a grin, “And here I wasn’t aware that Sebastien had any chill.” Sarah, snickering like the pint-sized ratfink she is, finally unearths herself from her cotton-blended hiding place to grin obnoxiously widely in Bash’s direction. He resists the urge to stick out his tongue. Because he’s a mature young man who makes good life-choices in front of his boyfriend’s parents. Barely.

“You’ll give the girls back to Beth?” Rose asks, her hand already falling to her husband’s shoulder. Though, if the way Bash and Ariel straighten up, parroting back an eerily on-point: “Yes, mom - we’ll give the girls back to Beth.” is anything to go by, it isn’t very much of a question.

Then they’re off - with one last, ninth-inning pinch to Bash’s cheek as they pass by that, while mildly humiliating, isn’t quite enough to stop his shoulders from slumping in very clear and visible relief. His muttered “thank fucking Jesus” trails off on a yelp, however, when Gracie tugs on the end of his shorts with an admonishing: “Uncle Guppy, that’s not a nice word.”

“Yeah, Uncle Guppy,” Lucas agrees as he watches their parents depart. He kind of has to fight back against the urge to yell after them to be careful. To not get too drunk. Or talk to strangers. Please don’t talk to strangers - he hates when they “make friends.”

Lucas shakes that nagging worry from his head, hair bouncing, and returns his attention to Bash to finish his thought. One corner of his mouth tugs up, ruining his flat delivery of: “Language.”

He regards the theme park laid out before them with perhaps more courage than he might have four months ago. His head still sinks into his shoulders, though. “So, um, where to first?” He asks the group at large.

Well, their parents are doomed. His mom’s going to order them a round of Fish Bowls and none of them are going to eat anything more substantial than hot dogs and funnel cakes and they’re all going to make terrible choices for the rest of the day. He can feel it in his bones. (Holy shit, being a Prefect is slowly ruining him from the inside out.)

“Well,” Bash drawls, scooping up Grace with one arm and snagging Lucas’ fingers with his free hand. “Ariel’s going to abandon us to make out with the guy she totally isn’t dating behind the Cyclone.” The air-quotes don’t quite materialize, but they’re pretty damn audible. Ariel rolling her eyes only serves to put the final nail in that coffin for her. “And Gracie’s going to want to go on the Mermaids eight-hundred times. But -”

“We have a guest,” Sarah finishes for him, looking the brand of exasperated only quite managed by six-year-olds. “We have to pretend to be nice people.”

With their fingers laced together, the unrest in Lucas’ chest goes from anxious to fluttery. The faint worry in his expression fades. He can worry about his family later. He turns his smirk to Ariel, first. “I mean, I guess making out is better than hanging out with us,” Lucas allows with a shrug. “Make sure he’s the one with his back to the ride. Easier to make him a human shield in case someone loses a cell phone or their gum or their lunch.” He delivers this advice serious-faced. It’s hard to tell if he realizes he’s being weird.

After a beat, he looks down at Sarah, letting his smirk pull into a somewhat friendlier grin. “You don’t have to pretend. I think you’re plenty nice. And, in present company,” He gives Bash’s hand a squeeze. “I’m content to be dragged anywhere. Who doesn’t want to ride Mermaids?” That sounds safe.

“Oh, Gup.” Ariel laughs, eyes crinkling up delightedly, and she reaches forward to tweak Bash’s nose before moving to press a kiss to Lucas’ cheek. She has to go up on her toes even more than her brother does to pull it off, but she’s a goddamn go-getter and she’s going to get this shit done. “Guppy, I like him so much better than I like you.”

Gracie’s fingers quickly chase after Ariel’s in an attempt at being helpful that mostly just ends with her indelicately poking Bash in sensitive face-places with chubby little fingers, giggling as he wrinkles his nose and squints his eyes shut. “Oh man.” The words are a bit garbled, but he’s unwilling to let go of Lucas’ hand to keep grubby little hands out of his mouth. So, y’know, whatever. “Agreed. Hundred percent. Your taste in my boyfriends is impeccable.”

Lucas face scrunches and he receives the peck on the cheek with a timid smile and a remarkably friendly, “thanks.”

Once he’s recovered from that moment of sheepishness, there’s Bash valiantly tolerating a toddler shakedown of his face. And it’s, honestly, one of the greatest things Lucas has ever seen; he knows it immediately - a pleasant, warm feeling resting in his chest. So, naturally, his smile goes all broad and admiring and goofy in a way that is not even in the same galaxy as subtle. With a soft laugh, he runs his free hand over his curls, pushing the front of them into his face like a dope before letting them all spring back into place, again. “Gracie’s such a good helper,” he observes.

It takes him a moment to recover. He could probably just stand there watching this all day. And be absolutely no help to Bash at all. Because this is cute as hell. But that’s a bad idea - they’re in direct sunlight. “Let’s, um, let’s...go, uh, check out those mermaids, then?” He swings their joined hands forward and takes a step, leading. “How about it, Grace?”

Ariel tugs her phone from her back pocket and thumbs it on before tipping her head in the opposite direction. “I’m that way,” she says, hitching her thumb to point back over her shoulder. “I’ll text Beth for you, fishface. Tell her to come pick up the monsters in a bit.” She smirks, walking backward the first few steps as she starts off the other way. “Let you make out under a roller coaster.”

“I love you,” Bash calls out as Grace starts chanting about mermaids and Sarah skips a few steps in front of them, happily chirping something about being an expert at directioning. He blinks, then adds: “I’m not making out under a rollercoaster!” Probably. He’s probably not making out under a rollercoaster. It doesn’t really seem like it’s safe or like it’s a particularly Lucas thing. So it’s probably not a thing that he’s doing.

He stumbles a bit, cheeks red and shoulders slowly unwinding with the gradual lessening of his family members. “I mean, we’re not making out under a rollercoaster, right?”

Lucas puts a hand out to steady him, face reddening at the question. But then he bites down on his grin and inhales. A thoughtful, “hmm,” while turning the prospect over. He bobbles his head from side to side as he weighs the pros and cons. Chief among his concerns is the potential for violent death (this is always chief among Lucas’ concerns). But there is the decidedly neutral factor that this would be extremely illegal - this has officially stopped being an overt con for Lucas and that is dangerous.

“Ehhhhhh,” Lucas continues to mull it over. The longest he’s ever thought about doing something that was immediately stupid and dangerous. He almost says, “Maybe.” Gets about half a phoneme out, at least. And then he looks at Bash and, common sense defenestrated, says it anyway, “Maybe?”

Oh. Well, that’s - Huh. Something goes all unexpectedly fizzy between his ears and Bash grins down at the ground for a moment like it’s gone and done him some sort of personal favor.

“Oi.” Bash jostles his shoulder upward, bouncing his passenger in an effort to get her attention. Then he sighs, bounces a bit harder and tries again. “Hey, boobear.” Which - success! She blinks in his direction, looking vaguely puzzled to no longer be singing about mermaids, and he rubs their noses together long enough for her to giggle and look personally offended with him before instructing firmly: “See no evil, Gracieface.”

She slaps her palms over her eyes obediently and Bash snorts before tugging sharply on Lucas’ fingers and leaning up to finally steal a kiss hello. And that’s - Yeah, that’s definitely nice. Though the loud “Ew, Uncle Guppy!” being squeaked into his ear a few seconds later makes him laugh and ruin the whole thing.

It’s alright, because Lucas laughs against Bash’s lips pretty much immediately, snorting when he tries to hold it back. At least they’re in this whole 'bad at this’ thing together.

“This is great,” Lucas says over Gracie’s complaints, voice low and sincere and a little dreamy. His fingers tighten around Bash’s hand, again, tone tilting up, jokey. “I mean, I’m sure we’ll come to regret letting our parents get bombed together.” And then back down, again. “But...it’s cool for now.”

He gawks at the park's offerings, expression running the impressively wide gamut between mildly intimidated and 'who let you build this.' He looks particularly nauseated by the Slingshot towering overhead. Not in a billion years. Not to save the world. “People do that,” he says, awed.

Bash groans at the mention of their parents - who are, no doubt, going to be getting themselves up to some shit and talking about horrifically embarrassing things that he really doesn't want to think too hard on. It's one of those Catch-22s. On one hand, his parents like his boyfriend's parents. Which is great! But, on the other hand, his parents like his boyfriend's parents. So they're going to act like themselves. Which is horrible.

"Aunt Ariel says it feels like you're going to throw up and die," Sarah interjects, wide-eyed and sounding a little bit too eager at the prospect, and Bash nods his head in confirmation.

"It's super cool, y'know, until the dude hits the start button," he shrugs. "Then it just feels like your insides really want to become your outsides."

“A feeling I am very familiar with.” Lucas drawls with a slow nod.

Lucas tends to feel like he might to throw up and die whenever he walks into a crowded elevator or is called on in class. A little different than the sling shot. He’s not sure what new heights of terror voluntarily launching himself skyward on a big rubber band would take him to. Probably actually vomiting and dying, though. Almost definitely.

When the ride launches its passengers up into the sky, Lucas glances in the opposite direction, feeling a little light-headed. Still, he can’t help but let his gaze wander back to Bash, looking impressed. “So, you’ve been on it?”

"Ariel dared me," he says immediately, as though that explains everything. Which, to be entirely honest, it probably does. There's really no need to look impressed. At all. Please. "I've made a large number of regrettable life choices that way."

Grace leans into his space again, pressing her wrist to his forehead in an indelicate imitation of someone checking for a fever. "Did you throw up an' die?"

Bash shrugs, a wistful 'what can you do?' sort of shrug, and he veers the lot of them slightly to the right. "Yup. I'm totally a zombie," he replies solemnly. "You can ask Lucas, his parents study zombies."

“Sure do.” Lucas dips his head, about to go on, but has to tuck himself to the side to avoid walking into another group of teenagers that veer into their path when they get especially loud. Careful to avoid knocking against any of them as they pass, he breathes a relieved sigh before going on. “They’re always thinking up ways to keep people safe from things like …zombies.” Lucas grins at Gracie, but the pride in his voice is genuine.

And then he jabs his boyfriend lightly in the soft spot above his hip. “Look at you, though. You might technically be more of a lich, Bash. Since you’re not all gross and mouldering,” he grins. This is the worst compliment ever and Lucas should feel very bad. “Where you keep that phylactery, huh?”

If the highly pleased grin that crosses Bash’s face is anything to go by, there have definitely been worse attempts at compliments made about his general person. Both his attempt at replying and his general smugness fade quickly as he yelps and twists to the side to avoid Lucas’ fingers in an uncoordinated motion that has Sarah sighing like someone who has suffered far more than they deserve from where she’s already waiting for them at the end of the Mermaid Parade line.

“What’s a moulderin’?” Grace inquires. “Izzat like on fire?”

“No,” Bash clarifies, laughing brightly at the dawning look of disgust crossing over his niece’s face as he continues to speak. “That’s like when your dad’s lunch gets bad at the back of the fridge.”

“Ew.” Gracie reiterates, looking even more displeased at this than at having to watch Bash kiss people. Her tiny face wrinkles up and he arches her back at far away from him as possible, like she thinks his arms might very well start falling off immediately. “You can’t hold me no more if you’re gonna be a moulderin’,” she declares, bracing the heels of her hands against his chest and shoving. “Wucas is gonna hold me. He’s not gross.”

Lucas goes wide-eyed at the suggestion, grin angling hard as he bites down on his lower lip after a sharp laugh escapes him. He’s never held a baby before. She seems delicate. He’ll probably damage her. The fact that he conflates a child with a vase is probably not so great either? This is almost definitely a bad idea. And - oh, no, okay, she is really squirming out of Bash’s arms there.

While he’s is still pondering the matter, Gracie seems to have made up her mind for him. So Lucas reaches for her - to steady her - and she grabs for him, instead. Unsure of what else to do at this point, he lets Grace climb from Bash’s arms into his, brows shooting up at the sudden weight. It takes some fenangling to get situated, but he figures it out. Mostly. He isn’t quite sure where his elbow should be going.

“I don’t know about gross,” Lucas says as he settles. “Your Uncle Guppy seems pretty handsome to me.”

Something sort of flips a bit in Bash’s stomach, crashes all wavy and sea-foam fizzy and he has to lace his fingers together into tight knots behind his back in some sort of effort to keep it from spilling everywhere. That’s - He doesn’t know, but that’s a whole lot of his favorite people in the exact same place. He’s a made completely of unhelpfulness, doing very little but grinning like an idiot and watching 25 pounds of toddler spider-monkey her way into his boyfriend’s personal space.

But Gracie’s good. Gracie’s got this. And, anyway, Gracie’s reached the awesome age where you can drop her on her head a bit and she’ll be mostly fine. Probably unhappy about the situation, but mostly fine.

“Yeah, but his face is gonna fall off,” she informs him, meeting Lucas’ eyes and looking very serious. This is her Bad News voice. She uses it a lot when playing doctor. It’s very sympathetic - but, sorry, he’s doomed. Ain’t no way around it. “And then he’s gonna be all as’gusting.”

Lucas grins as he receives this information. A tiny bit flustered, he laughs at first, but he still plays along, expression going somber as he nods in understanding.

“Your face is going to fall off,” Lucas echoes to Bash, peering down at him over his glasses, just to make sure he is aware of his impending fate. Dreadfully grave. “It’s a good thing I like your brain so much, too.”

Becoming incrementally more confident in his ability to carry a tiny human, Lucas bounces Gracie in his arms, carrying her over to join Sarah in line. “You sure there isn’t anything we can do to save him?” He stage whispers, glancing over his shoulder at Bash. “Lost cause, huh?”

The soppiness of his grin eases its way into a crooked, amused smirk. “I like your brain too,” Bash agrees, nodding eagerly. “I’m sure that it tastes delicious.” Sarah rolls her eyes at him, very clearly trying not to smile, and he braces his elbow on the top of her head, using her as a leaning post but not putting any real weight behind it.

Grace gestures vehemently, a fluttery motion of one hand to indicate the very obvious symptoms. They’re probably getting worse. “Nope,” she replies, quick and clipped and factual. “Grandma’s gonna have to get us a new Uncle Guppy. That one’s broked.”

“Can’t believe he treats you like that.” The sympathetic cluck Lucas makes at Sarah is undercut by the lopsided way he grins at her. And then Gracie grabs his attention with her flailing and his smirk cracks wide, delighted. He nods along with everything she says as they move through the line, doing his best astonished gasp at her assessment.

He half-glances at Bash, as though looking for confirmation that he’s doing this right. “He’s broken?” The question comes out choppy, cut by a laugh. “Where d’you even go to get a new Uncle Guppy? Maybe Amazon?”

"Aunt Ariel's right," Sarah sighs, pursing her lips and swatting at Bash's hand as he tugs lightly on the end of her ponytail. "He's way better than you."

"I know," Bash says, delighted. He smiles at Lucas and, yeah, he's pretty sure that he should be able to think of twenty different reasons to knot himself up right now - this is a lot to deal with, but Lucas is still here and he can't manage to come up with any of them. "Better hope he doesn't dump me, then."

"We'll just keep him instead," Sarah suggests and Bash slaps a hand to his chest, staggering back for a moment as though he's been dealt a deadly blow before rallying and snatching Sarah up around her waist and throwing her - with a screeching giggle - over his shoulder. The couple in front of them turns around to eye them and Bash turns his grin on them instead, heedless of the mess of his hair and the little girl hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"We got Prime," Gracie chirps, unphased. "Mommy says we get anything in two days."

It’s very hard to do anything but laugh at all the erupting chaos, especially since they are in the eye of it. Ducking his head, Lucas eventually manages a chirped, “sorry,” to the family ahead of them, but judging by the fact that he keeps laughing and keeps looking at Bash like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time, he’s probably not that sorry.

Lucas goes right on laughing, even as Bash’s words go kind of heavy in his head. “Better get insurance, then. You don’t want the new one getting damaged in the mail,” he says to Gracie while he adjusts his hold on her. He frees one hand, which he immediately uses to grab for Bash’s fingers and give them a firm squeeze as soon as they’re close enough.

Ahead of them, the couple finally move to load their children onto a tiny boat.

The fingers knitting back up with his make him duck his head, attention thoroughly diverted from smiling obnoxiously at the family in front of them. He squeezes back, all heart-trippingly automatic motion, and bounces his shoulder, making Sarah squeak and poke her fingers into his side. "Hey, whoa! Chill. It's almost your turn, wide-load."

Sarah stills obediently to let Bash put her back on the ground and Gracie, momentarily distracted by giggling at her sister, turns big eyes back to tip her head at Lucas. "You gonna watch us go 'round, Wucas?"

"Nope, we're running away," Bash interrupts, laughing as she pokes her lower lip out in a pout. He rolls his eyes, flicks her in the forehead lightly. "C'mon, boobear. Really? Like I'd ever run away from you."

The teenager manning the cue opens the gate and clears his throat expectantly. Which, really, hold up dude. The Mermaid Parade ain't going nowhere.

“We’re gonna watch you,” Lucas says, head wobbling in the affirmative. How do you even say no to that face? This is rough. He ignores the barely-older-than-him kid at the gate for a beat more before letting go of Bash’s hand to usher him through first and follow in after.

In terms of getting children into an amusement park ride, Lucas rates at a solid C-. Not quite failing at anything, but mostly just playing gawky assistant, standing around uselessly until it comes time to lower Gracie to the ground. He does so gingerly, and then offers his hand for her to steady herself on while she climbs in. A gesture to which she responds: “Thanks, Wucas!”

Lucas glances at Bash, smile going all crooked again.

Once the girls are set, Lucas takes Bash’s hand again as they walk back out and find a place to lean. Strictly speaking, once they get there, Lucas leans a bit more heavily into Bash’s shoulder than he does against the fence. “I, um,” his gaze drifts down to the ground and he goes quiet for a beat, thinking. “If they want to ride this thing eight-hundred times, I’m up for it so long as you’re here.”

"I -" He peters off, takes a quick second to bounce on his toes and shake all of the jittery energy out of his limbs so Lucas has something solid to lean against that isn't vibrating with a whole lot of everything, before sliding back into place. "Yeah. That's - yeah."

He tips his head to let it rest against Lucas' shoulder and grins, "Though I'm sure Beth'll come back for them before we make it to eight hundred."

As Bash settles, Lucas slips an arm across his back, hooking fingers around the other boy's side. A smile, quiet and contented and full of affection, draws across his face and Lucas presses a kiss to the top of Bash’s head before leaning his own against his crown.

“Want to move to Hawaii when the Day Drunk Parent status reaches code red?” He asks as he waves at the girls when they pass. “Or Alaska?”

Ugh. God. Bash groans into his free hand, visions of drunken parental shenanigans dancing in his head. He should've told them to go to a spa. He should've gotten them a spa certificate and guilted them into going to a spa. This shit probably doesn't happen in spas.

He sighs, heavy and resigned, "We may have to leave the country. Change our identities entirely."

“Oh yeah,” Lucas agrees, nodding against Bash’s head. The sort of information Lucas’ parents could divulge would ruin him in an instant. This is already dire. But then there’s also the prospect of the Lacroixes and the Kowalskis forming some kind of unholy team and Lucas doesn’t even want to think about what that might entail.

His brows raise slightly. “I have no doubt that we’re going to need new names. New faces, maybe. If we’re going out of the country, I vote for somewhere with good internet. Sweden, maybe?”

"Is Sweden also good at plastic surgery?" Bash asks, lips twitching to the side thoughtfully. "Or are we just going to see if we can pull off the Clark Kent sort of secret identity thing? I'd get some glasses, you'd slick your hair back." A beat, contemplative. "I'd be really sad about it."

He pulls back a bit, just enough to flick up a finger. "Poll: Does it count as drunk driving if my dad gets bombed and starts recklessly rolling down the boardwalk?" He grins, shrugs shamelessly. "We are a family divided on this issue."

“I could bleach it, instead.” Lucas muses, grabbing one of the spiral locks directly above his nose and pulling it straight. His eyes go crossed when he stares at it. “Which would be worse?”

The curl springs back into place when released. Lucas looks Bash over, humming thoughtfully. “I say it’s not drunk driving until he takes something out. An ice cream cart, a display of sunglasses, a person.” A pause. “Before that it’s probably just a good time.”

Bash's finger curls back into his palm, loose fist hovering and nose wrinkling up in vague horror. "You can wash out gel," he insists, looking very certain about this hypothetical. "You can't wash out bleach. And, contrary to popular belief, there's no real statistical evidence that blondes have more fun."

Still eyeing Lucas a bit warily, nods along with the guidelines agreeably, before adding a clarifying point: "What if there are passengers involved?"

Snickering at the look on Bash’s face, Lucas withdraws the idea immediately. “No bottle blonde for me, then.” He tilts his head. “Which is good because I definitely can’t pull it off. Hard enough not causing traffic accidents when the sun reflects off my skin.”

He doesn’t spend as much time thinking about the next question. “Depends on the state,” he sounds pretty confident in this. “Although pretty much everyone is culpable in the event of a wipe out.” Lucas’ grin tugs to one side. “Got some experience in team-based drunken wheelchair races?”

Bash snorts. "Ain't a lot of people that pull that off half as well as they think they do." Then he elbows Lucas lightly in the side before wedging himself back into his personal space, gaze fixed forward while his arm loops around the other boy's waist, "Hardly think that's why people are lookin'."

He laughs, rolling his eyes fondly as Sarah expectantly brandishes her 'Ride All Day' wristband at the attendant like a tiny dictator, dubious and unimpressed until the kid gives up and backs the hell off. Probably for the best, man.

"Witnessing them?" he asks, tilting his chin to meet Lucas' eyes. "Tons. Participating? Yes, but not drunkenly.” A beat. “Can pop one helluva wheelie, though."

Lucas exhales through his nose, side-eyeing his boyfriend. The content he feels in his chest sizzles to something somehow warmer and his grin widens despite himself. He delivers a light hip check in response to the compliment, anyway.

After, he nods in Sarah’s direction, chuckling. “She’s going to run the world, someday.” And then, brightening, “Sounds like something that could be a competitive sport. Like roller derby. You’d need a good nickname.”

The Mermaid Parade starts up again, tinny music playing through old speakers. "Kid's a damn beast."

Then a laugh bubbles out of him, tripping in the heels of an errant thought, and his shoulders shake a bit with it. "Gonna be real sad when Gracie figures out how to say your name right, though." Not that enjoying your niece's speech impediment is particularly charitable. No matter how cute it is.

"That's nothing," he shakes his head vehemently, free hand careening through the air in front of him. "Remind me to take you to see some murderball next time we're on break."

Lucas clicks his tongue, quirking a brow. “You don’t think Ariel’s gonna keep the spirit of Wucas alive?” Just saying it makes him laugh.

“Murderball.” Lucas repeats, corners of his mouth twitching as his gaze tracks the movement of Bash’s hand, eventually falling on the boy, himself. “Well, gee, that sounds right up my alley. I like a game that doesn’t lie to you about what’s going to happen.” He lists his head to the side enough that it knocks gently against Bash’s. “What is murderball? Besides the big new date night activity.”

"Ariel quit bein' that cute years ago," Bash replies dryly, trying to bite down on a laugh of his own to very little effect.

His eyes light up, clearly excited - which, when it comes to sporting events, is a bit of a deal - and he turns his head to press their foreheads together. He has to do some adjusting to make it work, yeah. (And most of it's on his part. In the standing on his toes department. Whatever.) "Quad-rugby," he explains. "Rugby with wheelchairs. It's some violent shit."

Lucas slouches, mostly to make reaching his forehead easier for Bash - honest - but also because he’s laughing. A fizzy chuckle that pours out of him, eyes closed until he grasps either side of Bash’s shoulders and locks their eyes.

“You make that sound amazing?” He says - or asks, maybe. That’s really something. Because Lucas can’t watch quidditch without closing his eyes, half the time. “Regular rugby’s pretty violent. I can’t imagine what adding wheels does. Does your dad…?”

There's a very clear moment where Bash's whole body stutters and restarts - a split second of hesitation before his cheeks flood with warmth and he rubs their noses together. It's something his mom does to them sometimes, which is - yeah, wow. Embarrassing. And, sure, maybe it's stupid and maybe it doesn't exactly fit with the conversation but it's an action that feels warm and soft and affectionate and he sort of feels that way? So he's going with it.

"Not really," he replies, a bit hushed. "I mean, once or twice? For fun. But some of the guys from his PT do? Like - kick the shit out of each other play."

Bash is only able to finish his thought because Lucas is preoccupied with his stomach doing somersaults. Everything in his head shooting off like fireworks from that one little gesture. And as soon as the feeling of being shaken up starts to settle, he closes what little gap is left between them and brushes his lips against the other boy’s, so quick and so light it almost seems like a nervous twitch. But then he’s barely drawn away before following up with another kiss, still quick but much firmer. More urgent.

And then the laughter starts, again, his face going red in an instant. “I--I--you--I, um,” he stammers uselessly. Between the laughter and the overwhelming sense of Yes, this boy, in particular - yes to him, Lucas can’t come up with anything useful to say. So, he dips his chin and laughs some more, instead.

Finally, he pulls himself together long enough to mumble, “That, um, sounds completely dangerous? I’d love to go with you.”

It's kind of ridiculous to still be surprised every single time that Lucas kisses him. Like, it happens. That's a thing. A thing that they actually do. Normally. A normal thing that they normally do. But he still feels sort of startled by it - eyes squeezed shut and grin small and crooked and amazed. Because it's still a thing they're doing.

"Thanks," he starts, voice still a tiny thing he doesn't know what to do with, so he clears his throat and tries again. "Not for - for wanting to come to that, I mean. Um." Wow. That went - that was amazing. Restart. "Thanks. For coming. Here. For - with the girls and my family and well, me too. Thanks for being here?"

“Of course,” Lucas says, soft and bright. His smile cracks open and he bites down on it, chewing his lower lip and just taking in his boyfriend’s smile for a moment before blinking and realizing, hey, he should probably keep talking and not just stare like a dope.

He lets his hands slide down the length of Bash’s arms, snatching both sets of fingers at the end. “You, um, you know-- This is great. Your family is great. You are great.” Everything kind of rushes out of him, a little breathless, last bullet point emphasized with a squeeze of his hands.

All of the bright-edged joy rushing its way through his veins could very easily turn into laughter - and it does, in a quick burst of noise - but he pulls himself back together and it spills its way out and into another quick kiss instead, smile pressed right in between.

"And you're nuts," Bash says, freeing one hand in order to carefully straighten Lucas' glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "Or the Stockholm Syndrome's really starting to set in."

“Maybe a little bit of both.” Lucas shrugs, touching the corner of his frames. Trying his best to not look as light and giddy as he feels - the warm color in his cheeks ruining the effort. “Either way, thank you.”

He straightens himself, glancing back over to the ride in time to see the girls convince the attendant for one more go ‘round. The dejected look on his face as he returns to his terminal to start the ride again makes Lucas snort.

Bash leans himself back into his boyfriend's space, grinning widely as Sarah harangues the poor bastard running the Mermaid Parade. "What a little demon," he murmurs in bemused agreement with Lucas' snort, propping his hip against the gate and slipping an arm around the other boy's waist, cheeks heating a he slots a hand into his back pocket.

"Sebastien!" a voice gasps, loud and scandalized and far-too-similar to his mother's for the sake of comfort, and every single inch of him jolts like someone's gone and dumped a bucket of ice-water down the back of his shirt - hands free and held up like he's being held at gunpoint. And there's his sister. The other sister. (Christ on a cracker, he has too many siblings. Sweden's looking better by the minute.) The one that's actually supposed to be a mature human being, doubled over and gasping for air.

"Holy shit, Beth!" he sucks in air, skin still buzzing with shock. "The hell is wrong with you?"

His brother-in-law smiles from where he's standing next to her, hands curled around the handles of the stroller and expression not nearly as sympathetic as it rightfully should be. "Ariel texted?" he shrugs, when Bash flails a hand in Beth's general direction. "Said you needed us to come get the girls."

Which - fine. Great. Thanks a lot.

"We're leaving," Bash asserts, grabbing Lucas' hand and tugging in a way that comes off more apologetic and less forceful. "You're a terrible person," he says, adding an admonishing: "You shouldn't have been allowed to have children." He takes a step backward, trying very hard not to smile at Beth wiping tears out of her eyes. (What a jerk.) "You're - I'm - totally going to go make out under a rollercoaster now."

“That’s...what we’re... going to do!” Lucas agrees, cadence disjointed - almost jazzy; the words lifting at the end as he allows himself to be pulled in a new direction. Although his face is a bright, lobstery shade of red, he can’t keep his smile from pulling crooked, my-boyfriend-just-had-his-hand-in-my-back-pocket mischievous, across his face.

His heart might’ve stalled in his chest after that start, but he eventually remembers his manners and chirpily adds: “Good seeing you, Beth! Anthony!”

He glances at Bash, brows up, and bites down hard on his lower lip. Time to go make out under a rollercoaster?