Chapter Text
It was too early in the morning for this.
Bobby rolled over in bed, groaning in response to the sound of his doorbell being pressed repeatedly. Whoever was downstairs was both determined and inpatient, despite the fact that the sun had yet to fully rise over the horizon. He stared at the ceiling blearily for a full minute, silently praying that the unwanted visitor would give up and leave; when it became clear that whoever it was had decided to commit to their choice until he answered, he swung his feet to the ground and began searching for his pants. After he was fully dressed--albeit with a shirt thrown on inside-out and backwards--he made his way groggily down the stairs and to the front door.
"What the hell--" he swung the door open, stopping midway through the tired rant he had composed in his head on the way down. Whoever he had expected to see at his door in the early morning, it was certainly not the tall, irritated man standing before him now.
Saint Dane crossed his arms, scowling at his rival with obvious dislike. "It certainly took you long enough."
Bobby stared at him for a moment, perplexed and stunned, then shook his head and began to close the door. "No. Not doing it. Nope."
"Just listen." Stopping the door's movement with his hand, Dane glared at his own feet as he spoke through visibly gritted teeth. "I'm not here to fight."
"Uh-huh." Bobby sighed, opening the door fully with reluctance. "You wanna tell my why you're on my doorstep at 4 am, then?"
"It's five. Nearly six, actually."
"I can't tell you how little difference that makes. I hate mornings, I hate you, what do you want."
Dane continued glaring at his feet, shifting uncomfortably. "As much as I loathe to admit it, I need your help. I don't exactly have any close connections anymore."
"You're joking."
He looked up from his feet, the glare softening slightly as he crossed his arms back over his chest. "I'm pregnant."
Bobby watched him for a moment in stunlocked silence, processing the statement he had just heard. "You're..."
"Pregnant."
The sentence rolled its way slowly around his brain, the early hour not doing any favors to his ability to react. Saint Dane, his enemy, the man he just fought an entire war against, the man who tried to kill him on multiple occasions, was standing at his door at five in the morning saying he was pregnant. Where did he even start trying to understand that situation?
Dane sighed, and ran a weary hand through his hair. "Can I come in, or are you just going to stare at me for the rest of the morning?"
"So lemme get this straight."
Bobby was still having a lot of trouble processing the events of his morning. The fresh cup of coffee in his hands was helping, but he was a long way away from having a handle on the situation. The anxious man in front of him--also holding a cup of coffee, which he had sipped once, grimaced, and not touched since--was glaring downwards and avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Even the idea that Saint Dane would come to him for help or advice sounded laughable, and yet there he was, sitting at the kitchen table, doing just that. During the war five years ago, he wouldn't have considered it plausible, let alone possible.
It was so bizarre to see Dane sitting in his kitchen, holding a coffee with both hands, hunched in on himself in an almost exact reverse of his usual posture. He wasn't wearing a suit, just a black turtle-neck, and his black hair had streaks of gray running through it. The bright lightning blue of his eyes was dimmer, more human and natural than Bobby remembered them being, and he looked more than anything like a tired man who had realized he had nowhere left to turn. It was hard to put a word on it exactly; it was certainly different than his appearance on Third Earth at the end of the war, when he had felt the last of his power leaving him and practically begged to be saved, but in some ways it was still possible to see that same fear and desperation in his expression. He looked... vulnerable. And in the peaceful surroundings, it was an uncomfortable sight.
Bobby took an awkward sip of his coffee. "Run this by me again. I mean, forgetting everything else, I didn't even know you could..."
Dane shot a glare in his direction. "My bodily specifics aren't exactly something I was going to discuss with you, are they?"
"Yeah, that's fair." They dropped back into silence for a moment. "You, uh, have you told the dad? About... this?"
The ex-demon sighed heavily. "It would be preferable if he didn't have to know. Why do you think I came to you instead?"
He nodded silently. It was obvious that this wouldn't be happening unless he had literally no one else to go to, and even then it was still unexpected. "I mean. I'm barely 20, man. I'd love to help, but I don't really know what advice to give you. I could call Uncle Press, or--"
"No." The response was loud and immediate, with an intensity that made Dane slam his coffee mug into the table. The hot drink spilled over his hands slightly, and he swore and pulled his fingers away. "The last thing I want is for Press of all people to find out about this. We... you know we have a history."
"Understatement of the century."
He let out a humorless laugh. "You don't know the half of it."
Bobby rose from the table, grabbing some paper towels and cleaning up the spilled coffee before it left a stain. Determining that it wasn't likely to be consumed, he took Dane's cup and dumped out the rest in the sink. "Okay. So that just goes back to the first issue. I'm barely out of my teens, I'm still in college, how am I supposed to help you?"
Dane was silent. After a moment, he slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. "... I don't know. I suppose I panicked. I've been up all night, pacing back and forth, trying to decide what to do, and I just don't know. Do you know how long it's been since I didn't know what I should do? How I should react to something? It's maddening."
The room fell into silence. Bobby reached out to pat his shoulder, then stopped; this was still Saint Dane, after all. Sure, he was sitting at his kitchen table years after the war was over, nearly crying, sleep deprived and exhausted, but it was still difficult to disconnect the man from the awful things he had done over the years. After a minute or two, Dane rose to his feet and turned toward the door.
"Just... forget I was here," he mumbled. "This isn't something I should have burdened you with."
"... Wait." Bobby caught up with him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You said you've been up all night, right? I know I'm kinda useless, but maybe you should get some rest? And I can... think about this for a while."
Dane looked back at him with evident surprise on his face. "You don't have to do that."
"But I am," he replied. "Because you're worn out, and stressed, and god knows you're desperate if you're asking me for help. Neither of us are going to be able to think of something without sleep. So you're gonna go down the hall to the guest bedroom, and I'm gonna go back upstairs, and we're gonna talk about this in a few hours. Got it?"
His former nemesis regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Understood."
He watched the tall figure move slowly down the unfamiliar hall--turning first into the downstairs bathroom before backing out into the hall and finding the bedroom--before starting his way back up the stairs.
"Pendragon?"
He stopped and turned back, poking his head back into the hall. "Yeah?
Dane stared nervously at the wall, crossing his arms in discomfort across his chest. "I... Thank you."
Bobby lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and running what had just happened through his head. He had fully intended to go back to sleep after his conversation with Dane, but the events of the morning kept replaying in his head, suggesting solutions and responses until going back to sleep was a definite impossibility. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts for someone that may have good advice if he was tactfully vague about the situation.
He couldn't ask Courtney or Mark--they'd both be more than willing to help, but they would also be likely to show up in person to find out the details, and neither would react well to their worst enemy sleeping in the guest room. His other friends weren't as close, and considering most of his Second Earth connections were other college-age students, they wouldn't be much help. Besides that, there was always Uncle Press, but Dane had specifically asked him not to tell Press. Considering the years of bad blood between the former friends, it wasn't surprising that he wouldn't want Press to find out; but it was looking like the only option...
He opened his Messages and started typing. It shouldn't be a problem if he was vague, right?
[hey can i ask you some advice?]
A moment passed in silence, then a response pinged through. At least Uncle Press was the one person he could count on to be up this early.
[Sure, bud. What's up?]
[so someone i know needed some advice and youre the best person i can think to ask]
[theyre pregnant and dont know what to do]
Another moment, and then his phone began to ring. He picked up, and immediately heard his uncle's voice on the other end.
"So, what did you do?" he asked. "Is she at least your girlfriend?"
"What!? No! It's not like that!" Bobby responded quickly. "Unlike this idiot, Courtney knows how to use protection! I mean, um." He could feel the burn beginning to spread over his face as he spoke.
Press let out a laugh. "I'm just messing with you. You're more responsible than that. So, why'd this friend go to you? She doesn't want the dad to find out?"
"Well," he took a slow breath, choosing his words as carefully as he could. "They said they'd prefer if he didn't know. I think that's why they asked me, they don't really have a lot of friends. I mean, it's not surprising, considering--" He stopped himself, realizing he was about to add "considering what he did" to his comment.
"Hm. Doesn't sound like you're really their friend, either."
"Yeah, we're not. It was kind of a shock, really."
"Mm-hm. Bobby... I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me."
"Yeah?"
Press took a deep breath. "If I'm wrong, you're gonna think this is insane. But I don't think I'm wrong right now, and if I'm right, it's a good thing you texted me."
Bobby made an attempt to keep his voice level. "Uh... what's up?"
"Is Saint Dane in your house right now?"
He choked back a yelp of surprise, nearly dropping his phone in the process. "What--I--um--that's ridiculous!"
Press sighed. "How about you come downstairs and let me in, and we can have this conversation in person?"
"... You're downstairs."
"Yup. Now let me in or I'll ring the doorbell and get your new friend's attention."
"I... Got it. I'll be right down."
He moved double-time down the stairs, taking a quick peek down the hall to see if Dane had emerged from the guest room before opening the door. Press was standing on the front step, hands in the pockets of his jacket, a serious expression on his face.
"So, where is he now?" Press asked.
Bobby considered momentarily playing dumb, and almost immediately gave it up as a lost cause. "In the guest bedroom. He said he'd been up all night. He, uh... he also really didn't want me to call you."
His uncle nodded, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind him. "Well, that's not surprising. I appreciate you telling me anyways." He stepped through the kitchen toward the living room, and beckoned for Bobby to follow. "How about you catch me up on everything?"
Bobby followed, casting a nervous glance back toward the guest bedroom. "I mean, I pretty much told you everything I know. He showed up, told me he was pregnant, said he didn't know what to do and didn't have anyone to talk to, he looked wrecked so I told him to get some sleep."
Press removed his jacket and went to sit on the couch, nodding as Bobby spoke. "And he didn't tell you who the father was?"
"Nope. Just that he'd prefer if the dad didn't have to know."
Another nod. "Not too surprising, all things considered."
"Why, do you know who it might be?"
His uncle's response was a silent, stern look. "I'd think it was pretty obvious at this point."
"Is it?" Bobby racked his brain for a potential answer; it didn't seem likely to be anyone he knew, considering the people currently on good terms with Dane was close to zero, and the only person he knew that had ever been close to Dane on Second Earth was--the realization hit him like a sack of bricks, and he sat down in a chair across from Press. "Oh." Press nodded soberly. "So, you're..."
"In my defense," Press began, holding up a hand, "He didn't tell me this was a possibility. And it's not like it was our first time, either."
Bobby stared at him, flabbergasted. "Hold on. It wasn't? This is how I learn that not only has my uncle banged the guy that tried to kill me, but has been regularly banging him??"
"Well, you don't have to put it like that."
"Uh, how exactly should I put it? I'm just a little thrown that you've apparently been dicking down Saint Dane on the regular, I guess."
At this, Press started slightly and broke into sudden laughter; Bobby stared at him, affronted by the reaction but still unsure of how to respond. His uncle composed himself, relaxing back onto the couch.
"When it comes to Dane," he said, "Our relationship is... complicated. I didn't go into too much detail before, because it was more important to stop what he was doing. But I don't think I really realized until that final day of the war, I didn't want to lose him entirely, either. I'm not saying he was in the right, or that anything he did was forgivable. He wasn't. But I've started seeing a change in him, some little glimpses of what he used to be like. Back on Solara. And when I see him like that... I can't explain it. But it makes me happy, going back to how we were for all those years."
Press smiled lightly as he spoke, staring off into the distance in a way that suggested he was thinking of events that had taken place an infinitely long time ago. It was an expression that Bobby had never seen him make before, full of nostalgia and sadness, and more complicated emotions that were struggling to fight their way to the surface.
Bobby wasn't entirely sure he could comprehend the situation he'd been haphazardly placed in, nor was he entirely sure how he felt about any of it. But he knew that he wanted to help, in any way that he could, even if he wasn't sure there was any way he could be helpful. To keep the peace, or maybe to make things even more peaceful. To make everyone that he could happy and comfortable.
To finally make things the way they were meant to be.