Fandom: !Fanfiction, Glee
Personaggi: Leo, Timmy
Verse: Broken heart syndrome
Genere: Slice of life
Avvisi: Fluff
Rating: PG
Prompt: Written for the COW-T #7 (prompt: fear)
Note: Baby!Timmy! *squee*

Summary: It's time for Timmy's vaccine, but he doesn't want to have it. Why? Because it hurts. Flawless toddler logic. What he doesn't know, though, is that Leo knows how to beat that logic. By being the closest thing to an adult toddler himself.

“I don't want to,” Timmy says, crossing his tiny arms against his chest in a way that would be incredibly cute if Leo weren't so incredibly out of ideas.

“That much was clear the first ten times you said it, Timmy,” Leo sighs, crouching down in front of him in a feeble attempt to be at his eye level, but it's not an easy task when you're 6'1” and you're dealing with your tiny five-year old almost-adoptive son. “But sometimes we have to do things even if we don't want to.” For example, I had to take you to the doctor and now I have to convince you to get vaccinated, Leo thinks, and it's not like I wanted to do any of these things or have any idea of how to succeed in doing the second.

This doctor's appointment was taken long before Blaine knew he was going to be out of town for work, and there was no way to reschedule before three months, which is what you get when you insist on taking your kid to a luminary in pediatrics whose availability depends on the right alignment of the stars. But Blaine's very strict with Timmy's vaccination schedule and postponing the injection was unacceptable. Luckily, Leo was free to take the kid.


Blaine told him it was going to be good practice, that if Leo was to adopt Timmy in about four months, he'd better get used to take him to the doctor too. Problem is, Timmy took one step inside the doctor office and then refused to move any further. They've been here for ten minutes now, and the good doctor is starting to look restless.

“I don't want to,” Timmy repeats again.

Leo sighs and sits down cross-legged on the floor. “Why don't you want to, sweetheart?”

“Because it hurts.”

“Only a little,” Leo says patiently. He knows you never lie to kids. “No more than when you pinch yourself, sometimes even less.”

Timmy shakes his head. “I don't believe you.”

Leo blinks a couple of times. “Why? Did I ever lie to you?”

Well, he did. Once. And he also locked him in a closet, but this is something they don't talk about, ever. For a five-year old Timmy has an incredible understanding of how important it is that the event must be never brought up. “No,” he says.

“Then why don't you believe me now?”

“Because it hurts,” Timmy says. Flawless toddler logic.

“Well, try, then,” Leo invites him, pinching the back of his own hand. “Pinch your hand, come on.”

Timmy looks warily at him. He's not really sure that Leo is not tricking him. And yet, Leo is the one who dares him to taste all the food he doesn't think it's good and, instead, it is. And Leo is never wrong. So, why should he be now? He extends an arm tentatively, offering Leo his hand.

“Do you want me to do it?” Leo asks. Timmy nods. So, Leo pinches the back of his hand, looking straight at him. Timmy keeps his eyes shut, expecting to feel a lot of pain. His whole body is so tense that he would go down rigidly if Leo pushed him. “So, how was it?”

Timmy looks at him for a very very long time without saying anything. He was clearly expecting pain and didn't feel it, so now he's trying to decide what to do. “It didn't hurt that much,” he admits in a whisper.

“Neither will the injection,” Leo says.

“You promise?” Timmy asks.

Promises are sacred. If you promise and then you lie, you're done. Leo knows that much. He trusts the good doctor to be really good at his job on this one. “I promise.”


“Are you still scared?”

Timmy shrugs. “Yes.”

“But will you do it?”

“Yes,” Timmy nods solemnly and starts walking on his own towards the little chair waiting for him. He looks a bit like a very tiny inmate. Leo has to bite his tongue not to say dead man walking in a cold voice a couple of times.

As the doctor rolls up Timmy's sleeve, Leo goes sitting next to the chair, on the floor again. “Look at me,” he tells the kid. Timmy turns toward him, a pinched look on his serious face. “I told you that if you do this, we go get ice cream, right?”


“Okay. So, let's do this. If it hurts, you get to choose my flavors. And you can get the grossest ones ever!”

“Really?” Timmy beams. Leo really hates mango. It would be nice to watch him as he tries to eat it all.

“Yes,” Leo nods, with the appropriate seriousness for such an important matter. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Timmy nods.

Leo smirks. “Then, put your jacket on, we're getting that ice cream now,” he says, nodding towards the doctor, who's done and is already throwing the syringe away. “I think I won.”

Timmy's eyes grow so big it's almost comical. He looks at the doctor, then at Leo, then at the doctor again. He can't believe the vaccination is over and he didn't feel anything. “Is it done?”

“Yes, it is,” Leo says, helping him with his jacket.

“Are you sure?”

“Most certainly so,” Leo opens the door and waits for him to pass through before following him. “I was there.”

“But I was there too and I didn't feel it,” Timmy insists.

“Isn't that wonderful?” Leo says, skillfully maneuvering Timmy into the car and onto his car seat. The trick is always distracting him with something else. “What flavors do you want?”

As Timmy starts making a list of flavors that would require more cones than his small body can handle, the memory of his fear is already fading, because some fears are like ice cream: they make you cold, they can freeze your brain, but they also melt pretty quickly.

And yes, as far as Leo is concerned, they probably taste like mango too.

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