Of course, this is never going to be something that would reach Dave's ears or even vaguely in the vicinity of his mindspace, even ironically, because there's just some shit that can't be funny to the kid you raise. It wasn't just the child rearing thing, although some of his most terrifying memories were of Dave standing up in his third-hand crib, eyes glowing red like hot gears in the dark, pale skin lit by the flashing neon lights outside, saying Bro's given name in perfect enunciation over and over and over again. It was the times he had to dodge his neighbors, once he got them in a better neighborhood, heart pounding, because he's starting to run out of excuses as to where their parents are, and it's just not legal for someone at 17 to be raising an infant that isn't even their own.
The way that at 17 up to 20, not a goddamn person would hire him on as a steady worker. The way that he's had to make up that sideline of puppet porn, after being on the waitstaff in way too many late night bars, overhearing the kinds of creepy shit people think is hot. And by the time Bro's old enough to drink, he doesn't even need to work at a steady job anymore, though for some reason, that right there is a sad goddamn thought indeed.
The way that he had a crisis right in the middle of the baby food aisle, Dave riding his hip because he doesn't have a carrier, as he stares in a sense of overwhelming dread at the brands of canned food stacked in orderly rows, marching in front of his vision. (Although that one was short lived, because he figured if it's on the shelf, it's safe enough to feed the kid. Right?)
When he was mugged and hospitalized for a night when Dave was a toddler, and he kept trying, desperately, to tell whoever would listen to him, that he had a kid at home that needed taking care of, he couldn't just stay at the hospital, even as they took his vitals and staunched the cut in his scalp, a souvenir from his encounter with a board wielded by the thief. They tried to placate the teenager, asking his address, saying they could send over a policeman to bring Dave to the hospital, and it took them three goddamn hours to clear him, and just as he was checking out, a policewoman approached him with a terrified-looking Dave on her hip. The kid only started crying when he saw Bro's battered face, reaching out with his little chubby star-fish hands to touch the blood and bruises. Bro let him, feeling that at that moment, their blood was as thick as oil.
The days his stomach spasmed from hunger, as he skipped meals constantly to make sure Dave had enough to keep him sated. The twenty pounds he lost as a result, in one month. (Though that was partly because of the parasites he picked up from drinking from the same bar he waited. Worst job ever.)
The days where the power went out because Bro just didn't have enough to cover food, rent, clothing, and utilities. The one time they got evicted, something that Bro swore would never happen again, as he went from associate to associate, friend to friend, begging for a place to crash. They mostly turned him away, unwilling to deal with a kid in their domicile.
The sicknesses. Oh, God the sicknesses. While he understood in retrospect that Dave had been a remarkably healthy baby, he still had his fair share of infections and colds. The night that his temperature had soared to 110 degrees, and Bro was out of his mind, frantic with fear, and he had no money for cab fare to get to the hospital and he'd rushed to other apartments banging on doors and demanding ice, and he'd attracted a crowd by then, who mostly collected at their doors to stare at the teenager's frenetic conduct. And Jesus how Dave had screamed when Bro put him so gently in that mixing bowl full of ice, and he'd cried as he laughed because the kid was going to be okay, as he squalled and fought the cold, because no dying baby would have the strength to let it all out like that.
The years that it took for him to be old enough to be considered by the state to legally adopt Dave, those sucked It was a pain in the ass enrolling him in school without a whole lot of legal shit. Dave went to a couple different schools as Bro managed to climb his way of of poverty and into better neighborhoods and apartments, and by the time the people were rich and naieve enough to care about a child living without a legal guardian, Bro had managed to wrestle the system in granting Dave to his custody.
These were the kinds of things Bro would never tell Dave about.
Of course, there were others that Bro just kept to himself, memories that he knew he cherished himself, but would probably invoke the self-conscious disgust of the pubescent boy. Times when he lay on some shitty, sprung couch that smelled like old upholstery and mold (because goddamn if he were actually going to let the kid sleep on any of the surfaces in that vermin-infested place), Dave sleeping like a rock on his chest, and he could feel the tiny beat of the heart thumping against his chest. And although moments like these, and there were many before Dave became a cognizant, talking human being, were frustrating at the time, Bro would never have changed them.