So what if Sy and Walter are discussing plans to organise their nieces’ 8 birthday party and can’t decide on the theme?… 👀
Word count: 500ish
Warnings: fluff, men fighting (literally), uncle!Sy, uncle!Walter, dad!?👀
a/n: Yay I write again!! Thank you for the ask, Freya 🖤no beta'd
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“Fire engine.”
“Police car.”
“Fire engine!”
“Police car!”
“FIRE ENGINE!”
“POLICE CAR!”
“The fuck she'd do in a police car, Walt?!” Sy drunkenly bellowed at his cousin over the lawn table littered with empty beer bottles and whiskey tumblers.
After a beat of silence, Walter haughtily said, his words slurring a little, “I'll have you know she was having an amazing time riding in the patrol car when I picked her up from school a week ago”.
Sy snorted which further fuelled Walter's annoyance so he continued, “And what would you have her do in a fire engine? Make her carry the heavy fire hose around? Great party idea,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Now it was Sy's turn to bristle.
“Her favourite colour is red! Fire engines are red! She'd want one at her party”.
“She chose one red skirt instead of a blue one, and suddenly it's her favourite colour? Give me a break,” Walter said dismissively, then added,
“You're just jealous because I'm her favourite uncle, not you,” he added with a malicious grin, knowing it would majorly piss Sy off and within seconds he'd do something stupid, and then he'll be forbidden to participate in their niece's party planning.
Like a clockwork, Sy jumped up, his chair getting knocked back, his hands in fists.
“I'm gonna punch ya for this, cuz,” Sy hissed under his nose, but Walter slowly stood up and looked at him with a bored expression. His hot-headed cousin was almost too easy to taunt.
“After all this booze you can't even raise your fists, asshole,” Walter provoked him further.
“Well,” Sy said with a cocked eyebrow, wobbling a little, “at least I've been to all the seven of her birthday parties so far. How many have ya been to? One?”
Walter's face reddened from anger and embarrassment.
“You bastard,” he spat and pounced at his cousin, the two drunk men tumbling over on the lawn with grunts and curses. Fists flew, legs kicked as they were wrestling on the pristine grass of the garden.
“ENOUGH.”
The voice of August slashed through the noises of their fight and they both looked up at him, their fists stopping mid-air. August was standing at the porch door, relaxed, his hands in his pockets.
“Athena Walker is not going to play a dumb bastard cop or a do-gooder fool of a fireman on her birthday” he declared calmly, his tone proud and reverent at the mention of his daughter.
“Daddy, daddy! I heard my name!” The little girl appeared at the porch door next to her dad's legs, her rich chocolate curls bouncing around her beautiful little face, bright excitement shining in her steel blue eyes.
Walter and Sy were rendered speechless when they saw that the little girl was wearing one of her dad's ties around her neck, the bottom of it reaching the skirt of her pink princess dress and she was holding two toy guns in her hands in a frighteningly expert grip.
August lazily turned toward Athena, lowered his big body to squatting position, and as he adoringly gazed into her fierce eyes, his mouth slowly stretched into a wide smirk as he announced,
