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The babies weren’t born all too long ago, so it’s normal for him to be stressed. Babies are hard work. They cry and soil themselves and cry more, at all hours of the day and night, when people are trying to get some well earned rest. They’re always hungry, always needing something. It’s so exhausting.
Bro Strider is so unbelievably exhausted. Between working his handful of small jobs and caring for Dave, sometimes Rosie too, it’s been hell. A literal hell. He’s finally managed to calm down Dave, lull him into what’s no doubt going to be a short nap, and there’s blissful silence. But he’s shaking. He’s standing in the nursery in the Lalonde house. It’s so much better than the makeshift nursery in his apartment. He doesn’t have to money to get any fancy wallpaper or a nice carpet or big, extravagant toys. There’s a crib and a changing table, a dresser with some clothes and diapers. Ro has all that, but so much better, so much higher quality. So much more than he’ll ever be able to afford. He relies on the goodwill of others.
He wants to tell Ro that he can’t handle this. He watches with uncovered, exhausted orange eyes as she hums the theme to a cartoon. She changes baby Rosie like it’s nothing, tickling her soft, pudgy stomach. Rose giggles, reaching up towards her. Dave does that too. He laughs and clutches at Bro and makes all these dumb little baby sounds. It’s cute. Looking down at the bundle in his arms, he inhales and exhales shakily. Not as deeply as he should be able to. He has to relax. He has time to relax now. Time to chill out and watch TV and spend time with Ro and --
And look through his bank accounts. How much money does he have saved up? If the baby gets sick, does he have enough insurance to cover that? Does he have any insurance at all? He has to ask his bro, he has to plan for the future. School and more clothes and don’t babies outgrow shoes like nobody’s business? And what if he’s allergic to something? What if he gets hurt or what if -- what if CPS comes because he’s such a shitty fucking guardian? He could lose Dave in the blink of an eye. The baby is a handful, harder to take care of that he ever expected, but he would never want him to be taken away. Never. He has to shape up. Has to earn more money. Maybe he could go back to the alley, find that guy again, like he did months ago, get some extra cash in the bank.
He inhales again, practically gasping. He can’t do this. It’s all too much. He holds the baby tightly in his arms as he struggles to take in deep breaths.
Suddenly there’s a warmth pooling in his underwear, his jeans. Pee gushes out of him as if he hasn’t gone in hours and he stands there, horror and humiliation washing over him as his bladder empties its contents all over the plush cream colored rug. He hears Ro gasp, looks up and sees the shocked expression on her delicate features as she watches the puddle spread out beneath him. It’s so big. There’s so much. He didn’t even know he had to go. What happened? How could he allow this to happen?
When his bladder is finally empty, he’s shaking harder than before. Like a leaf in the wind. Tears sting his eyes. Ro, shocked, confused, concerned, precious Ro, steps towards him, but not close enough that she steps in the puddle.
“Bro… what happened? If you had to go, you could’ve just said something.” Her voice is soft, as if she’s afraid he’ll start crying any second. Or maybe she’s just afraid he’ll drop the baby. He doesn’t know. His mind is everywhere, trying to find a cause for this. He fucking ruined her carpet.
“What’s going on in here?” It’s Ro’s older sister. She pokes her head in, her expression going from calm neutrality to barely restrained anger. Bro doesn’t blame her. He doesn’t blame her when she marches up to the both of them and starts scolding, pointing to the puddle, the ruined carpet, his pants. He doesn’t blame her because he’d be angry if someone ruined his carpet too, but he can’t help the hitched breaths he’s taking, how his limbs feel weak, how he can’t suck enough air into his lungs. The only reason he’s still upright is because of the baby.
He sees his older brother’s head peak into the nursery next. David stands there, awkward and out of place as his girlfriend goes on about how they need to get the carpet cleaned now, and if he had to go, why didn’t he just put the baby down and go? He can’t just go where ever he feels like it.
“‘m s’rry,” Bro slurs, voice thick with barely contained cries. And then everything is a million times worse when Dave, pressed a bit too tightly against Bro’s chest, disturbed by the arguing going on around him, wakes up and starts crying. It’s the last straw. Bro starts sobbing.
“Nno, no, please.. p-please don’t cry... please, ‘m s’rry, I didn’t even know I h-had to go, ‘m s’rry…” His knees buckle and he barely registers David rushing towards him, holding onto him and slowly lowering him to the floor. The puddle has cooled now and he’s sitting in it, slurring out apologies to everyone, begging for the baby to stop crying. Please, please, just make it all stop, it’s too much.
David wraps his arms around Bro and Ro leans over to take the crying baby away. She hurries out of the room, hushing him and bouncing him in her arms. She’s so much better at taking care of him; the very thought makes Bro cry harder, burying his face in his hands as his body is wracked with sobs.
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay. Bro -- Bro, c’mon, it’s okay, it was just an accident.” David is saying, somewhat panicked. This isn’t normal for Bro. It’s normal for Dirk, but the kid is just that -- a kid. A baby. Bro isn’t a baby anymore. He’s sixteen. David bites his lip, trying to figure all this out. Bro has been horribly stressed lately. Maybe it’s a stress thing? Can that happen?
He looks up at Rose, brows furrowed in concern, and she stops her triade long enough to sigh deeply at the scene before her. “Please explain what happened.”
“I -- I d-didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t know, I s-swear I didn’t know --”
She puts a hand up, the other going to pinch the bridge of her nose. Bro is slurring quite a bit, but she understands enough that she’ll stop pressing. For now.