Work Text:
Your name is Dirk Strider and you are terrified.
You shouldn’t be. You already have one kid in the lineup; kid number two should be a snap, right?
The thing is, he’s premature, and so very, very tiny on the other side of the glass.
Jane, thank every deity that might have ever existed ever, is doing just fine. She’s sleeping now. You are standing in the NICU, watching that little baby fight for his life while he’s hooked up to tubes and wires of all kinds, with your daughter balanced on your hip.
“Brother?” Seb asks, tapping the glass for the third time that evening. She’s tired, her eyelids drooping, but you nod along anyway.
“Sure is, peanut.”
“Wanna see,” she whines. You bounce her a little.
“Not yet,” you say. “The baby’s sick right now. He needs to get better before you can see him.” Your voice kinda cracks. You’re not sure how you’re going to break it to her if the little guy doesn’t—doesn’t pull through. She’s been more excited than you and Jane for a baby brother, talked about it non-stop. Her and Dustin both have been crazy about the idea of being big sisters.
Angelique Vantas was born healthy and on-time four or five months ago. Baby Strider is a month early and, well, you don’t know how to articulate the emptiness that fills your gut at the thought of losing him. You hug Seb a little tighter.
Eventually a nurse tells you that your wife is awake and asking for you, and you meander back that way. You can’t do much by just watching, and Seb fell asleep on your shoulder a little while ago so you should find a big chair or couch to put her down on.
Jane has dark circles under her eyes and looks exhausted still, but brightens a little when you and Seb walk in. You arrange Seb on the little loveseat in the corner, cover her with her blankie, kiss her forehead, and crawl in bed next to Jane. She plants kisses all over your face, like you’re the one who went into early labor and delivered a baby that might not make it through the night. His lungs are underdeveloped, according to the doctors. You curl around her because you know it’s gotta hurt her a little to move and you rub her back and shoulder. All parts of her you can reach, really. You know she’s fine, you know your baby is going to be fine, but…it’s scary, okay?
Seb wakes up after a few hours of cuddle time, and you put her in bed between you and Jane. She entertains both of you for a good long while with her baby chatter, but when she starts asking about her little brother again you’re not sure what to tell her.
“Baby Bennet’s going to be here for a few more days,” Jane says, and you figure she grilled them after you left and she woke up. You didn’t ask, so she hasn’t told you the details yet. That’s fine. Bennet, though. “He needs a little more time to finish growing, and he’ll be back home in no time.”
“Oh.” Seb fiddles with a loose string on the blanket. “Then he can play?”
“He won’t be able to play for a long time,” Jane smiles. “He’s just a baby, after all!”
“Oh,” Seb grimaces. Apparently babies are not as fun as she was imagining. You chuckle a little at her disappointment.
A nurse knocks, then comes inside.
“Mrs. Strider?” she says, and Jane shifts around a little. The nurse smiles at you and Seb. You pick Seb up and scoot off the bed. “Your baby is going to be just fine, we’re going to keep him for a few days to make sure his lungs grow the way they’re supposed to and make sure nothing else is wrong. If you feel up to it, we can take you down to see him now.”
“I’m up to it,” Jane nods. “Dirk?”
You put Seb down and help Jane into a wheelchair, then pick Seb back up and walk behind the nurse as she wheels Jane down the hall back to the NICU. You wait on the other side of the glass as Jane is shuffled into a gown, cap, and gloves, and watch as she’s wheeled into the little room where your son is still sleeping.
Jane watches him and then looks at you, her eyes filling up, and reaches out a tentative hand. Her hands have always been tiny to you, but they look a lot bigger next to Bennet (which is apparently what you’re naming him now; you haven’t actually talked about names, but now that Jane’s used it, you love it). It occurs to you, as you watch her gently stroke his skin, that you’re a dad again. You’re not sure why it strikes you in this moment, as it didn’t hit you that you were a dad the first time until you changed Seb’s diaper for the first time and then bounced her to sleep, but you feel a pull through the glass and plastic and tubes and wires. Seb impatiently taps the side of your head.
“Daddy, wanna go see!” she says insistently.
“Not yet, baby,” you say, and kiss her cheek. “Soon, though, okay?”
She sighs, exaggerated. “Ooo-kay.”
He comes home with you about a week later, your little Bennet Jacob Strider, and he’s nowhere near as loud as Seb was when she was little but that’s okay, he’s had a hard first week. You put yourself in charge of Seb while Jane bustles around doing last-minute prep for Bennet you didn’t get around to yourself, and while taking care of an energetic two-year-old is no easy feat, you’re still going to bed less tired than Jane. And also not getting up in the middle of the night like she is. You mean, you do, and you try, but Jane seems overly protective of Bennet, even to you, and that disturbs you somewhat.
Bennet is so, so small, when you pick him up for the first time without Jane’s supervision. He’s a little fussy, and Jane is so exhausted she hasn’t woken up yet, which suits you fine; you want a little one-on-one time with your own li’l man.
You don’t talk, just in case Jane wakes up and starts trying to hover, but you fully examine the little guy. He’s blinking sleepily at you, eyes an indistinct dark blue, and you guess there’s a good chance he’s going to have eyes not a freaky shade of red or orange, like you and Dave. That stuff shows up instantly, it seems like. Maybe blue like Jane’s. You’d love it if that shade of blue got passed down, because you adore it on his mother. He has a mostly-bald head, too, and what little fuzz is there looks peachy-blond. Gonna be a real looker, too, you can tell. You tilt him up and kiss his forehead, hoping your scruff doesn’t scratch him, because wow you love this kid. You were worried for a while that you wouldn’t love him as much as you love his sister, but you see that’s a stupid thought. Your heart has plenty of room for him, because either he’s expanded it for you or your heart was always this big and just didn’t have enough to fill it. You now have at least three people in your life you’d lay down and die for, four if you count your li’l bro, and rather than terrifying you the thought lifts you up.
Once upon a time, the thought of being tied so strongly to so many people would’ve scared you witless. Now, it just makes you feel strong and able.
You bounce your son late into the night and watch him sleep until light starts to creep up on the horizon.