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Groaning, you roll over and grab your phone to silence it. It takes you a couple of tries to get it turned the right way so you can read the name on the screen. You groan again as you answer instead of turning it off, knowing the phone will simply keep ringing until you pick up.

"What the fuck?" is your blunt greeting.

"(Name), come here."

"Fuck off, Bro." You lay flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling with the phone pressed to your ear. "It's three in the fuckin' morning."

"Two forty five," he corrects you snarkily.

You roll your eyes. "What do you want, asshole?"

"It's Dave," Bro tells you, and you think you hear a note of panic creep into his normally stoic voice. "He won't stop crying."

That makes you sit up instantly. "Hold on," you say, groping around in the dark for some pants. "I'll be up in a minute."

Luckily you live only a few floors down from the Striders and it's just a matter of climbing some stairs to reach their apartment. Ending the call, you succeed in getting hold of some pants and pulling them on. As you shove your phone into a pocket, you click the lamp on so you can find some things in the mess that is your room.

Across the floor is a small bag containing a collection of things for Dave- namely medicine, diapers, and extra formula because Bro is hopelessly incompetent when it comes to kids. You grab it and head out.

You remember to take your keys and lock your front door, but not to put on shoes, a fact that hits you rather suddenly as your bare feet touch the freezing tiles in the hallway.

"Shit," you hiss, picking up the pace and jogging up the first flight of stairs.

Four flights later, you give one solid rap on Bro's front door. It opens less than a second later to reveal a harried-looking Bro with a red-faced and crying Dave in his arms. You toss your bag into the living room and take the fussing child from his brother, holding him close and rubbing his back. Bro shuts the door behind you as you pace the living room.

"Did you feed him?" you ask bluntly.

Bro nods, and you move on down the list of possible issues. Not his diaper, he's not hungry, he took his nap on time with no trouble, and you yourself have tried burping him so it's not gas.

Since you've held him, however, Dave has calmed down a little; his sobs have reduced to little hiccups and whines as the tears roll down his flushed, chubby cheeks. There's only one other thing you can think of to cause him crying so much, but you didn't think he was old enough for it yet. Shows how much you know.

"Hey, Davey, honey," you coo at the boy, "what's wrong, huh?"

He's not quite old enough to answer you clearly- it's a jumble of whines and gibberish- but the next time he opens his mouth you spot the tell-tale white nub poking out of his gums. A tooth. So that's the problem.

You gesture for your bag and Bro hands it to you without a word. Unfortunately you don't have what you need in there because you weren't expecting to need it just yet.

"Bro, get your keys," you instruct him.


"Because I said so, you twat. You're gonna take me to that 24/7 drugstore around the corner."

"Why?" he asks again.

"What are you, five? I need some shit for Dave and I'm not walking there at 3 am."

He blinks, looking slightly offended, and goes for his keys while you search the apartment for some shoes to borrow. You find an old pair of flip flops and shove them on, still holding Dave.

The three of you head down to the parking garage and to Bro's rusty old truck. You buckle Dave into his carseat while Bro struggles to get the engine started. Finally it cooperates and Bro backs out of his parking space.

The trip down to the drugstore is quiet except for your murmured comforts to Dave and a faint mumble of static from the radio, and by the time you arrive you've got him mostly calmed down. You carry the now-drowsy child into the store with Bro wandering behind you, looking kind of dazed.

"Can you grab me some soda?" you ask, and he meanders off without complaint.

While he does, you make your way to the baby section to find some Ora-jel or something. Dave is dozing, his head resting on your shoulder as you join Bro at the register after a few minutes. He puts two bottles of your favourite soda on the counter, along with some other things that cause your eyebrow to rise curiously. He takes the Ora-jel from you to pay as you continue to eye the extra items being scanned. The cashier gives you a peculiar look as he bags your order; you suspect it's due to the strange assortment of items and the fact that Dave looks nothing like you but is apparently your son based on how well you handle him. You hide a faint smile by kissing the top of Dave's head and cuddling him close.

Bro finishes the transaction and picks up the bags. He offers you his free hand and you grasp it with yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Out by the truck, you make him dig out the Ora-jel and squeeze some onto your finger. Dave doesn't fight as you nudge his mouth open to give him the medicine and once it's applied, he falls deeply asleep in the few minutes it takes to buckle him in and get the truck started.

By now it's nearing 4 am and exhaustion is kicking in now that Dave is okay. You lean your head on the window as Bro turns into the garage and parks the truck, struggling to keep your eyes open.

Back in the Strider apartment, Bro puts your sodas in the fridge while you see to Dave. The child is sleeping soundly so you feel more comfortable leaving him on his own. After kissing his forehead, you leave his bedroom door open just in case, and head back to the living room where Bro is waiting.

"Teething?" he asks incredulously, and you shush him. "He's not old enough!"

"Apparently he is, so shut up," you grumble. "We'll get stuff for it later, but if you wake that baby, I will murder you. With your own smuppets."

He adjusts his shades with a faint huffing noise. "What now?"

"Right now," you reply, dropping onto the futon, "I am going to sleep. You should too."

Bro huffs again and gives you an almost desperate look. He then glances toward Dave's open door and you blink in surprise. You get tiredly to your feet and close it before coming back; he lays down on his futon and you join him there. He wraps an arm around you and you relax against his chest. The steady beat of his heart lulls you closer to sleep- right up until you feel Bro's hand resting firmly on your hip, fingertips digging into the dip just below the slight protrusion of bone.

You hiss at him. "Fuck you, jackass."

"That's what I was hoping for," he chuckles, not moving his hand but digging his fingers harder into your skin.

"Later," you growl. So that's what that other stuff was for... You're flattered, but too damn tired to deal with it right now.

His hand moves from your hip too your shoulder, and you relax. After a while, you slip into a doze, then slowly into a deeper sleep with Bro's heartbeat once again steady in your ears.
Matured for language, but ehhhhhhh. There's just more of it than usual so I figured it's better to be safe. 
Do I need to mention these are all in an AU where Bro isn't a shitty guardian just yet? 
Also I think I managed to avoid anything too specifically gendered in this one, so it should work for anybody. I'm trying to do better about keeping these gender-neutral for you guys. 
What are titles. 

Homestuck (c) Hussie
Story (c) Ximona

UPDATE: changed some things around to follow the canon layout of the apartment.
UPDATE 2: the ages in this are kindy fucky. Teething actually can start at 4 to 6 months but Dave's written to be about a year and a half old. Ignore that inaccuracy for the sake of plot, yeah?
Kawaii-Diana Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2016
Ximona Featured By Owner Jul 17, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Aww, thank you! <3
Kawaii-Diana Featured By Owner Jul 18, 2016
Eheh, np!! <33
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Submitted on
July 15, 2016
Mature Content


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