Work Text:
The quiet is what wakes Dave up, has him vaulting up from the bed with his heart pounding. Duke hasn’t been a quiet kid, in his few weeks of life: breaks between bouts of screaming that didn’t involve him mangling Dave’s poor tits have been rare and precious.
Also, scary as fuck, because a screaming baby is alive, you know?
Duke isn’t in his crib in Dave and Karkat’s room. Okay, don’t panic, maybe Karkat has him downstairs.
Except Karkat is next to Dave, sound asleep.
Dave walks out of the room at a measured pace. A numbing calm settles over him. He needs to check around the house. He–
Dirk waves at him from the living room. Dirk, who has Duke sleeping on him, like it ain’t no thang.
Dave manages to drag himself to the couch before collapsing in sheer relief. “When did you get in?” he asks Dirk, hushed, barely more than moving lips.
“Two hours ago.” Dirk’s voice, while quiet, is audible. Dave tenses, waits for the wailing to start again, but Duke is calmly sleeping. Drooling on Dirk, which Dirk doesn’t seem to give the least of his fucks about. “I told Karkat we should wake you up and tell you I have the kid, but he said you’ve barely been sleeping at all.”
Dave considers travel times. “Shit, dude, did you seriously just get off a twenty five flight and settle down to do babysitting duties? Go the fuck to sleep, I got this.”
“I slept on the plane.” Dirk’s got one hand on Duke’s back, his fingers spanning the narrow width. “You go to sleep, you look like hell. I’m good.”
“I don’t really feel tired,” Dave argues. It’s true: he’s stopped feeling fatigue. He can tell he needs some shut-eye when his brain slows down too much, when thoughts are sluggish and reluctant, but he doesn’t feel the need to lie down and close his eyes.
Dirk gives him a look. “That’s not really helping your case.” Duke makes a slight noise, and Dirk jiggles him until he’s quiet. “Go back to bed. I can handle this.”
Dave exhales slowly. “I don’t know if I can,” he admits.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust Dirk. Dirk literally kept Dave’s stupid ass alive since he was born: fuck knows Bro didn’t particularly care to. How can he not trust Dirk with his life?
It’s just that now there’s something that matters more, and if Dave doesn’t have tangible evidence that Duke is okay, sleep is not going to happen.
Dirk gives this serious thought. “Would a nap on the couch work? You’ll be right here if anything goes wrong, it’s not any different than him sleeping in his crib.”
“Sleeping in his crib, ha,” Dave mutters darkly. “This is not a sleepy boy.”
Dirk’s mouth quirks in the tiniest smug grin.
“No, seriously, how did you get him to do that? Did you just bonk him on the head?” Except just saying the words fills Dave with pure terror. “Wait, no, don’t do that. His skill is still, like, not together.”
“I didn’t hit him on the head,” Dirk says, more gently than Dave feels his stupid panic merits. “I’m not going to hit him anywhere. He’s fine.”
Duke picks that moment to start fussing, face twisting up – not a full cry yet, but definitely thinking about it.
Dave sighs. “Hand’im over.”
Dirk doesn’t. In a smooth motion, he repositions Duke – cradling him in the crook of his arm – and puts his hand over Duke’s tummy, rubbing a bit stronger than Dave would. Dave would object, except that Duke’s expression smooths over, and he slumps into Dirk’s hold, asleep once more.
Dave stares. “Okay, are you sure he’s actually asleep and not, like, fainted because he’s bleeding internally?”
“I’m sure.” Dirk still sounds gentle. It’s fucking with Dave. “You made it okay, didn’t you?” His mouth twists briefly. “Or, well. I’m pretty sure that’s not what fucked you up.” He shifts Duke to the position he started in, flopped over Dirk’s chest.
Still asleep. What the sweet mother of fuck.
Dave is getting pretty floppy himself, spreading on the couch like a puddle. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks Dirk, but he’s pretty sure if Dirk says no, he’s going to pitch a fit.
Dirk kisses the top of Duke’s head, inhaling his soft, downy hair. “He’s just like you when you were tiny,” he says, sounding wistful. “I’ll be fine. Go the fuck to sleep.”
Dave wakes up because his tits are informing him it’s feeding time. He opens his eyes to see Dirk and Duke, in the exact same position.
“Okay, time to get the sweet milky manna,” Dave mumbles as he shuffles to sit upright. “Give him here.”
Pulling up his shirt and shoving down his nursing bra, Dave half expects Dirk to crack some stupid joke. But all he does is hesitate for a moment, hands curling over Duke, before laying him in Dave’s lap with utmost care.
It makes Dave nervous, so he overcompensates. “Man, I bet you wish you had these jugs when you were raising me,” he says, getting Duke to latch on. He winces – his nipples haven’t been un-sore since Duke was born, pretty much.
“Yeah,” Dirk says simply.
Duke is sucking, so Dave is free to stare at Dirk. “Dude. You were like, eight. Also cis,” he says, just for completeness’ sake. “But seriously. Eight.”
Dirk shrugs and looks away. “Still.”
“That’s fucked up,” Dave says, in all due honesty.
That gets Dirk to smile, a tiny bit, though he’s still not looking at Dave. “Yeah, well. What isn’t, about your childhood?”
“Yours too.” Dave is not the only traumatized motherfucker in this room.
Hah. Though if Karkat were here, he’d be a traumatized literal motherfucker. Shut up, gender bullshit, Dave can be a mom if it’s funny. Not that they’d gotten back to their groove yet, since Dave’s bits are still healing. But conceptually. Does fucking a pregnant person make you a motherfucker?
“Thanks for that,” Dirk says, pained, “I definitely needed to know that, ugh.”
Dave curls up slightly around Duke. “Shut up,” he mumbles ineffectually, possibly at himself. Who can tell? In a desperate attempt at a diversion, he asks Dirk, “How long are you staying for?”
Dirk shrugs. “How long do you want me around?”
Dave stares. “Dude. You can make Duke sleep. You’re lucky we’re not duct-taping you to the chair until he’s three.”
“My ticket back is open-ended,” Dirk says. “There’s nothing urgent. Just tell me when you get tired of me cramping your style.”
After a moment’s processing, Dave says, “We can manage, you know. You don’t have to put your life on hold just because I had a baby.”
“Got it.” Dirk’s gaze is steady. “If he’s done feeding, you can give him back.” He holds his arms out.
This pretty much seems to be the case. “I could burp him,” Dave says, a feeble suggestion he doesn’t really mean.
Dirk doesn’t waver. “So could I.” He doesn’t move until there is a baby laid in his arms, upon which he throws a cloth diaper over his shoulder like an old pro – which Dave supposes he is – and sets about burping Duke.
Dave is asleep before he can see his older bro getting spit-out at, which is a tragedy the world will have to endure.