||[Feb. 7th, 2010|06:41 pm]
Title: Heart Attack|
Rating: PG for one swears
A/N: Caden loves his Peyton.
The ribs at the grocery store were never as good as the ones from the butcher. John dug through them anyway, looking for something acceptable. They'd lost track of time at the zoo and the butcher closed at noon on Sundays, but John had promised Caden that he'd cook ribs tonight, so prepackaged product of USA/Canada/Australia/Mexico ribs would have to do. He flipped one package into the cart and was searching for another when he heard Caden call, "Daddy, we need you!"
John looked up and saw Caden two aisles down, eyes big and arms waving frantically. "Hurry, Daddy!" He dropped the package in his hand and ran, pulling an epi-pen out of his pocket as he dodged the other shoppers. Had there been citrus in something from the sample tables? Rodney usually skipped those for that very reason, but surely it couldn't be a reaction to lunch this late?
Caden had disappeared down an aisle when he spotted John running, but he was easy enough to find, hanging on the side of a cart next to Rodney. John ran up behind Rodney, taking him by the shoulders and pulling gently. "I've got you, Rodney. Sit down and I've got a pen - "
Rodney pulled away, objecting. "What? What are you talking about?"
Caden grabbed a box out of the cart and thrust it towards John. "Look, Daddy!"
"Caden, back off, I'm trying to help Papa here."
"Who isn't in need of any that sort of help right now, thank you." Rodney answered.
John took a closer look and saw that indeed, Rodney wasn't pale or shaky or having trouble breathing. In fact, he looked just fine. "Someone," John said, pointedly looking at Caden, "was yelling for me like there was an emergency."
"Daddy, I'm trying to tell yous." Caden handed him the box. Cereal. Okay. Wheaties. With a football player on it. John was still trying to adjust to the fact that Rodney wasn't dying before his eyes. "Daddy, Peyton is on the Wheaties and there are only two boxes left. We need more!"
"Peyton. On the Wheaties box. That's what you called me for."
"Yes. Can we go to the other store and see if they have more, please, we have to!" Caden was practically vibrating.
John was livid. "Caden, you scared the hell out of me!"
"John. The offspring is merely being enthusiastic."
John turned to Rodney and bit back a retort. Instead, jaw set, he paced away, counting to ten in Ancient. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, you're really upset." Rodney was quiet.
"I only thought you were dead. No big deal?" John snarked.
"Well, yeah, we can let that be a big deal. But, um, over it yet?" Rodney asked.
"Not quite. I'm still harboring thoughts of burying your child in one of those Wheaties boxes where no one will find him."
"Okaay. Shall my child and I take the truck home and you can maybe go for a run and meet us there?"
John took a deep breath. "Nah. I'll let him live."
"Good of you."
There was a tug on his jeans and John looked down. Caden's big eyes melted the rest of the panic-adrenaline pumping his system. "Daddy, are you mad at me? I'm sorry."
John hefted Caden onto his hip. "Nope. Not mad."
"Then can we go gets more Wheaties?"