OBX Boys imagines

The Saturday morning soccer game had gone off without a hitch, and Barry was feeling pretty good about himself. Riggs, now seven years old and full of energy, had played his heart out on the field, even scoring a goal. Barry had been the loudest parent on the sidelines, cheering and hollering like it was the World Cup.

"That's my boy! Show 'em how it's done, Riggs!" he'd shouted, earning a few amused looks from the other parents.

After the game ended, Barry let Riggs run off with his teammates while he hung back, chatting with one of the other dads near the snack table. Riggs had said something about grabbing his soccer ball, and Barry had waved him off, figuring he'd be close by.

Except when Barry looked up a few minutes later, Riggs wasn't there.

"Riggs?" he called out, scanning the field. A quick glance at the playground and the snack table revealed nothing. His easygoing demeanor faltered as a flicker of panic crept into his chest.

"Riggs, where are you?" Barry called again, louder this time, as he started walking around the soccer field. The crowd of families was thinning as people packed up to leave, and his unease grew.

He checked by the benches, the playground, and even the parking lot, his voice rising with each call. "Riggs! Come on, buddy, don't mess with me!"

His heart was pounding now, his mind racing through every worst-case scenario. What if he wandered too far? What if someone— He shook the thought away, forcing himself to stay focused.

"Hey, have you seen my kid?" Barry asked a nearby parent, his voice sharp and urgent. "Seven years old, black hair, blue jersey?"

The woman shook her head, glancing around. "No, I'm sorry, I haven't. Do you want me to help look?"

Barry didn't even wait to respond, already jogging toward the other side of the field. His hands were shaking, and he muttered under his breath, "Where the hell are you, kid?"

Then, finally, he heard a familiar voice.

"Daddy!"

Barry whipped around, relief flooding through him as he spotted Riggs standing by the far goalpost, holding a soccer ball under his arm and looking completely unfazed.

"Riggs!" Barry shouted, striding toward him, his long legs covering the distance quickly. When he reached him, he dropped to one knee, grabbing Riggs by the shoulders. "What the hell, kid? I've been yelling my head off looking for you!"

Riggs looked up at him, wide-eyed but calm. "I just went to get my ball," he said, holding it up like that explained everything.

Barry let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping Riggs's shoulders. "You can't just wander off like that," he said, his voice still tinged with panic. "You scared the crap outta me, Riggs."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Riggs said, his voice small as he glanced down at his cleats.

Barry sighed, pulling him into a quick hug. "It's okay, kiddo. Just... don't do it again, alright? You gotta stay where I can see you."

Riggs nodded, his head resting against Barry's shoulder for a moment before pulling back. "I won't. I promise."

Barry stood, ruffling Riggs's hair with one hand and taking the soccer ball with the other. He glanced around, checking to make sure no one was listening, before leaning down slightly.

"Alright," he said, a hint of his usual smirk returning. "Here's the deal: don't tell your mom I lost you for five minutes, and I'll let you pick where we get lunch. Deal?"

Riggs grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Deal!"

Barry laughed, slinging an arm around his son's shoulders as they walked back toward the parking lot. His heart was still racing from the scare, but he'd never let Riggs know just how shaken he'd been.

"You're gonna stick to me like glue from now on, got it?" Barry teased.

"Got it," Riggs replied, beaming.