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“I don’ need it,” Dennis is saying, chewing on the end of his sleeve, fabric damp with saliva.
He’s been small all day. It started slowly — he woke up all fuzzy and soft, reaching for his daddies instinctively, a thumb in his mouth. Jack wasn’t in bed, but Robby was, and Dennis had taken the opportunity to lie on top of him, nuzzling into his chest as if he could burrow inside.
When Jack came in, Robby was grabbing a pacifier from the nightstand, and Dennis was making little noises of contentment as he popped it in, babbling at Robby from around the teat. He was so happy like this, so beautiful. The usual burdens that weighed on his mind were a distant thought, pushed to the background without a fuss.
Days when Dennis got to regress for his own pleasure were becoming increasingly common. An absence of worry, an abundance of joy. Delighted giggles and soft smiles and even softer blankets. Small, not because he needed a place to hide, a place to protect himself, but for the fun of it. For comfort.
They’re at the store, getting groceries for the week. It’s quiet, not very busy, which means Dennis is more comfortable being himself. Being small when they’re not at home. They pass a row of shelves near the children’s section, and Dennis spots it.
An elephant plushie.
It’s big and fluffy and has the kindest smile, and he can’t tear his eyes away, letting go of Robby’s hand to feel its fur. Jack watches him, affection bleeding from the outline of his shoulders, from every breath taken. “Put it in the cart, baby,” he says, so, so gentle.
And in an instant, it’s like the wave of calm they’d been floating on all day is shattered.
Dennis locks up, wrenching his hand away like he’s been scalded. Because he doesn’t need it. Because if he lets himself have it, then he is greedy. He is selfish. Robby pauses, shuffles over, plucks it off the shelf, and puts it in their cart. Dennis can feel his eyes heating with tears. “I don’ need it,” he insists, practically begging. It’s too expensive. The sleeve in his mouth doesn’t taste particularly appetizing, but the pressure against his teeth soothes, regardless.
“But do you want it?” asks Robby. His eyes glint with something sharp, something knowing. It splits Dennis down the middle, flays him open like a corpse on an embalming table. He’s much too small for this.
Suddenly — startlingly — he is reminded of all the times his father told him off for costing them too much money. For being too high-maintenance. For being inconsiderate of his brothers’ needs. It has panic sparking in his chest, locking horns with the beast that is grief, and it makes for an awful, queasy mix. He tries to remind himself he’s not in trouble, tries to tell himself that he is allowed to have nice things now. It provides very little solace — his body doesn’t catch on to the fact that he is safe here. He shakes his head, takes a trembling breath in. “No. Don’ wan’ it.”
Jack and Robby watch him visibly struggle with himself.
Navigating Dennis’s triggers has been an uphill battle for the past several months. What appears to be a completely harmless question on their end, Dennis interprets as an accusation, as something that will land him in trouble if he answers incorrectly. Sometimes, when they ask him to set the table for dinner or clean up his toys, he trips over himself in his haste to obey, eager to please. It would be endearing if it weren’t so heartbreaking. If they didn’t know that he was in such a hurry to listen to them, because he didn’t want them to get angry with him.
Anger is very difficult to feel towards someone so loving. But Dennis doesn’t know that, doesn’t know that they would sooner chew off their own arms before ever laying a hand on him. Would sooner cut out their vocal cords than raise their voices at him.
And Robby thinks Dennis is starting to understand that. Starting to realize that he does not have to be perfect all the time. But in moments like this, where he shuts down and tries to shrink himself smaller — where an innocent desire is indulged, and he refuses the comfort extended to him, it’s impossible to feel like they’ve made any progress.
Robby glances at Jack and finds what he’s looking for there, written clearly in the lines of Jack’s expression. Bring him to the car. I’ll finish up.
Robby gives a silent nod, leads Dennis out of the store with a gentle hold on his arm, guides him through the parking lot. When they get to the car, Dennis has gone completely silent, tears held back by harsh swallows. He looks like he’s having trouble getting a full breath in.
“Sweetheart,” Robby starts. He helps Dennis into the backseat, lets his legs dangle out the door so they can face each other. “You wanna tell Daddy what’s going on?”
Dennis presses his lips together, shakes his head. He’s not meeting Robby’s gaze. Just staring at his shirt, tracing the words with his eyes to distract himself from the pressure building in his head. If he starts crying in the parking lot, he’ll never live down the humiliation. Never live down the shame of breaking apart where others can see.
Robby crouches, looks up at him with furrowed brows. Dennis feels very small and very childish. Robby and Jack tend to have that effect on him. “Don’ wan’ it,” is all he says. The lump in his throat grows bigger, suffocating. It hurts something fierce, like he’s holding onto the last little bit of his adult mind as he sinks deeper and deeper. Smaller and smaller. The guilt swirling in his gut tells him that his brain is fighting to stay up, to claw him back to the space where he has decisions to make, has responsibilities to tend to. It makes him achy, like he’s running a fever.
“How ‘bout I guess then, hm?” Robby lets a hush swell between them, as if waiting for a response, but when Dennis remains silent, he takes it for what it is. Permission. Acquiescence.
What he wants to say is that he knows Dennis gets stuck in his head about things. That he knows, no matter how much they try to convince him otherwise, Dennis will always have that voice in the back of his mind. Nagging him, rising to a volume that gets impossible to ignore, some days. The one that says he’s a nuisance, the one that was put there by his father, by his mother. Too many parents are their kids' first bullies. It makes Robby sick to his stomach.
What he actually says is a little different: “I think you’re afraid of being a burden.” He pauses, lets Dennis process the words, searches his baby’s face like maybe he can coax the sorrow out of him if he tries hard enough. “I think that you think you’ll get in trouble if you ask for things.” He puts his hands on Dennis’s knees, rubs gently over his jeans. Dennis hiccups, stares at his lap. A tear slips down his cheek. Robby takes one of his hands, runs a thumb over the knuckles. “But do you know what Daddy thinks?”
Dennis finally meets his eyes then, lashes beaded with teardrops, lip trembling. Robby smiles sadly, gently.
“I think,” he says, pushing up from his crouch so he can pull Dennis against his belly. “I think that my baby just needs a reminder, hm? That you’re a blessing. A gift, just for me. For your Papa.” He squeezes Dennis, tender and loving and warm, cradles him close. “You are not a burden. Never have been and never will be.” He says it with such finality, such conviction, that Dennis finds it hard not to believe him. Part of him wants to find something to say in response, something to pick apart his daddy’s words so that he might find the lie in them. But he comes up empty-handed, shivering in the backseat of their car, awaiting a blow that will never be dealt. Robby is gentle as he continues. “Me and Papa take care of you because we want to, sweetheart. You will never get in trouble for wanting things. Or needing them. Okay? Do you understand what Daddy is trying to say?”
Dennis nods against his tummy, pushing closer and letting out a sad little whine. It’s followed by a half-aborted sob, tears soaking through the cotton of Robby’s shirt. “Mm-hm. Understand,” he whispers around his cries. He throws his arms around Robby, breath hitching with each sob, and then Robby is picking him up, setting him on his hip. It’s embarrassing, but Dennis can’t bring himself to feel anything other than relief.
“My sweet boy. Sweet baby. Daddy’s here.” Robby walks around the car like that, rocking side to side, humming under his breath. Dennis tucks his face into Robby’s neck, lets all of his sorrows wash away with his tears. Feels himself tremble in his daddy’s arms.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Doesn’t know how long Robby holds him, but between one hiccup and the next, Jack is exiting the store, shopping cart full of bags. Dennis spots him almost immediately and slips a thumb into his mouth. His eyes are red and watery, his face splotchy, but he looks hopeful as Jack approaches.
“Hey, darlings,” Jack says, hand finding the latch of the trunk and tugging it open. He’s unfazed by the evidence of tears on Dennis’s face, but there’s a flicker of worry in his eyes. A quirk to his mouth that says he wants to reach out and touch, but doesn’t want to overwhelm. “How’s my Denny doing?”
Robby coos softly as Dennis shifts, twisting to see Jack better. “Better. Just needed Daddy to fix it.”
Dennis reaches out a hand, eager like he doesn’t want Jack to feel excluded. “‘nd Papa,” he murmurs, a couple of stray tears finding their way down flushed skin.
Jack catches it with a tangle of their fingers, brings it to his lips in a kiss, holds it for a minute. “Of course, baby. Papa’s right here.”
Dennis pulls back, scrubs his eyes, yawns into Robby’s neck. “We go home?” His voice is so sweet, soft in that way it gets when he’s overtired.
Jack lifts a bag into the trunk, roots around in it for a moment. “In just a minute, sweet boy. I have something for you.”
Dennis perks up from where he’s perched on Robby’s hip, eyeing Jack curiously. He’s so precious, watching Jack with big eyes, shining softly in the daylight. It’ll be naptime as soon as they get home, and hopefully, he’ll be able to sleep off anymore bad thoughts.
After a moment, Jack pulls the elephant plushie out, the one Dennis was so drawn to, and presses it into his baby’s arms.
Dennis stalls, blinks, processes.
When he realizes what he’s holding, he gives a choked sob and hugs it to his face, nuzzling the fur. His mouth finds one of its ears, and he gnaws on it, lets the texture tickle his lips. “Mine?” he whispers, timid. There’s hope there, something raw and uncertain. It makes Jack’s chest lurch painfully.
Jack nods, smoothes a palm through Dennis’s hair. Robby rubs his back. “Yeah, baby. It’s yours.”
And maybe, with more time and patience, they can convince Dennis that he doesn’t have to fight for his place with them. Doesn’t have to earn their affection.
Maybe, just maybe, he will come to realize that he doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.