Tronnor One-Shots

Children of the Storm

A/N: So I accidentally deleted my family one-shot Bundle(s) of Joy, so here's the (admittedly better) replacement for that :) Enjoy!

Some people's minds treat thunderstorms like a natural tape of calming noises. Those people love when the rain falls and the lightning flashes, because the snaps and crackles and pitter-patters heard within their homes are soothing. Comforting. A way to be lulled to sleep.

But, in other ears, there are no snaps and crackles and pitter-patters; only bangs and roars and the impact of water bullets on glass. Rain as thick as a strong tension in the air, the clouds shout angrily as their inappropriate co-worker, lightning, snaps the bra of their friends, the earth and all her trees. The flashy cracking strikes with worldly harassment, the noise and raging darkness a boiling tantrum.

For a family like the Franta-Mellets, four young kids curled up in the laps of their fathers, that is exactly what it was like. A violent brawl between thunder and lightning, two bloody knuckled fighters brawling on a rain-slicked mat. Nobody was winning, especially not the frightened children.

When lightning sounded like a cartoon piano falling from a five story building, eight-year-old Ramona and four-year-old Delilah hid their heads under the blanket Connor had over his lap. Both girls and their middle sister Marilyn, age six, covered their ears to block out the storm and the screeching cries of their baby brother, Holland all the same.

Troye smiled softly at Connor, leaning his head on his shoulder the best he could with a baby in his arms and a little girl in his lap. "Shh." He kept cooing, rubbing Holland's belly as Connor kept a hand gentle on his thigh.

Thunder yelled verbless threats and Delilah gripped Connor's sweater. "Daddy, make it stop." She whimpered, snuggling in so tightly, her dark complexion dull with fright.

"It's not that bad, Del! Don't be such a ba-AH!" Ramona screamed, the violent crickle-crackle of the sky cutting her teasing short.

His arm slung around Troye's shoulders, his head resting on his head, Connor stroked her hair. "It's okay, Mona. It'll be over soon, Del." He reassured, admittedly finding peace in the storm. However he was a nature-lover, and a thirty-two year old man, so he kept his daughters close.

"But what if the lightening hits the house?" Marilyn gasped, the short, blonde curls that had inspired her name shivering along with her small body. "What if we all get electrocuted and DIE?"

Delilah's neck elongated in terror. "ELECTROCUTED?" She yelled, her naturally loud voice hitting an entirely new level of stridency. She wrapped her arms around Connor's neck. "I DONT WANT TO DIE, DADDY!"

Connor tried to tell them that everything was fine, but the girls promptly descended into utter chaos. Marilyn started screaming all these detrimental, overexaggerated storm facts, Delilah wouldn't stop yelling bloody murder, Ramona had begun to hyperventilate. Connor removed his arm from behind Troye just to calm them down. "Girls! Girls! Calm." He placed his hands on top of their heads, gently, until they quieted down. "Calm."

All three girls latched themselves to Connor, and soon there was not a sound. Except Holland bawling his eyes out, having been frightened by his sisters' raised voices. Troye kissed the baby boy's head, rocking him and singing softly, like he did when all their children were weeping babies. "Hush little baby, don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird."

He went on with the song, verse by verse, his magical voice lulling the children to peace. Holland switched his antics from wailing to cooing, watching his Papa sing with giant, hazel eyes and his fingers in his mouth. With a smile, Troye gently removed them from between his gums, and Connor's heart melted as the infant held Troye's finger in his tiny hands.

His heart melted like that nearly every day, and yet it did nothing but augment each time. The cute baby things Holland did, the way Marilyn had her face pressed to his ribcage, or how Delilah sat right between his legs or how Ramona held his wrist; his children gave him an unfathomable amount of joy. As did his wonderful husband, whose smile radiated with light as he finished the song.

All the kids were drowsy, and the room was alight with silence. Connor put his arm back around Troye. "Storm's over." He murmured, feeling the steady heave ho of sleeping bodies against him. Troye leaned towards him in response, and they kissed, neither long nor quickly.

They kissed like the lightening and thunder after it'd settled down. They weren't loud, they weren't a blinding light show anymore; they were focused on being parents. They gave up the exciting flashes and hoots and deafening noise of a youth to sustain four other youths. To start a family, and now they had curls of grey in their hair and crowsfeet in the corners of their eyes, but to them it was a sign of living. Of growing old together, with their children of the storm which had since turned into a nice, calm drizzle.

"Shall we get these munchkins into bed?" Troye suggested, holding sleeping Holland securely in his arms.

Connor took in his husband's beautiful face all at once, then was flooded with the emotions he felt every time this precious man was in the same room as their precious children. And even when they were apart, and he was thinking about them. He smiled a lot these days. "Yes, we shall."

This was the life he'd always wanted.