The mystery about his new nickname Daddy B was soon to be uncovered. Once Brendan climbed up the flight of stairs to his apartment he was greeted with an odd sight upon stepping in.

There was a humongous stench of alcohol lingering in the air like someone had left a few bottles of booze and vodka open overnight—perhaps even spilled it somewhere into the carpet or cushion of the couch he planned on sleeping in. And that would've been very unfortunate but it didn't look like he'd be sleeping anytime soon anyway.

Brendan closed the door silently behind him, keeping the knob in his fist as he glanced around the living room. Something wasn't right. "Gran'pa?" He called. "G, you in here?"

It didn't seem like he was. That meant Brendan was alone with the freaking baby someone had left abandoned on the table where it sat inside a seat carrier, making shapes with his tiny hands as if he was playing with dough.

"G, what the hell, it ain't even April yet." Finally he decided to step inside and search around for his grandfather who surely must've knocked up some girl despite behind an old fucking grandfather.

"Do you know where that damn old man is?" Brendan asked the baby, not expecting an answer back but then he got a squeak in return. Well, he meant he didn't expect to get a coherent answer back then, that is.

Brendan went over to pick up some documents that were scattered all around the table; Some overdue bills which his Grandpa of course didn't bother to pay up, he just always waited till Brendan did the job for him; A letter from school; a retirement check; and the results from a paternity test.

Just when Brendan scanned over the latter a picture dropped from all the paper he was holding, flopping onto the table. It was an old photo paper of Brendan which had fingerprints all over the glossy surface and was yellowing on the backside.

Well, wasn't that just strange.

He leaned over the table, stemming his elbows against it as he stared at his younger self in gloss; smiling widely with his toothgap showing, his eyes heavily squinted with those baby pouchy-lids, but you could still see that he was looking to the left like some sneaky maniac that just made a wicked plan. He must've been the same freaking age as this damn baby.

His eyes cut towards the seat carrier where the baby in it was happily wiggling his feet around inside black sneakers, staring at Brendan with bright wonderment.

When he suddenly burst out laughing it was almost like the photo Brendan just studied came to life in his little face. Holy fuck. So was this maybe not the fucked up business of his grandpa... but his own?

There was not much else he could do to figure this out so he brought the paternity test back to his sight and nearly swooned when he saw his name on it.

No way in freaking hell was he a teenage father. Brendan slapped the document back on the table and resumed shouting after his grandfather.

This old prick was messing with him, he surely thought a little prank that would keep him from doing stupid shit like going to juvie.

"What the fuck, G! Just what the shit is this!?" He called, his voice echoing harshly as he walked through the hallway into the kitchen. When he reached the door he saw a figure lying sprawled out across the floor and jumped backwards. "Holy shit!"

For a moment Brendan feared this was some slack jack who broke into their house to steal and drink everything that's got an alcohol percentage in it then tragically ended up blacking out in a pool of bottles. But after quietly creeping closer towards this drunk Brendan realised with terror that this was not a drunk. This was his goddamn father.

"D-Dad...?" Brendan called meekly, scratching his head awkwardly as he stopped by his head which was covered in tight braids that braided down to his shoulders and always looked like they hurt his scalp. He tapped him with the tip of his sneaker. "Dad, you awake?"

"Mh,"

Brendan lowered himself, squatted and brought his hand on his dad's shoulder, shaking it lightly. He knew that if he did anything too harsh or spoke up too loud the only thing he would be waking up were his dad's reflexes which would tense his arms up and hit at him so he treated him like that baby over there at the table.

Maybe it was his father's after all and his dad just made a test on him, or something. He didn't want to think about that while his freaking dad—who was supposed to be in prison for five more years—was dazing it out on the kitchen floor.

"Daddy say something if you're awake." Brendan waited for a response but when the only thing he heard was a short snoring noise he stood up and walked over to the fridge. This was all highly weird.

The fridge wasn't really used for anything besides alcoholic beverages or sodas so Brendan grabbed a meatball from a Tupperware container and ate it on his way to his room. But when he passed that baby again there was the slightest bits of worry forming in his guts. Who knew how long it had been here or when it was fed last. Can babies eat meatballs?

He didn't wanna end up poisoning him or something if he was wrong but it didn't seem like there were that many options left. Of course he could head down to the bodega and grab some formula but that would come off kinda weird and surely spread rumours that he had a fucking kid if Baby Freddie's mom was around. This noisy bitch.

Also this kid was kinda funny, it would keep holding eye contact with you and thought it did you a favour by paying you attention, probably. Maybe his brain was already built out enough to be able to think like that because that's what Brendan thought this kid would think. He had some hair too, dark, black, and very curly, very playful. This would definitely be a waste if it were poisoned.

Brendan looked at the meatball he was holding, stopped chewing the half he had in his mouth which caused him to momentarily look like a chipmunk.

"You hungry?" Brendan called over to the kid, wagging the meatball in the air. Man, it's honestly such a shame that you had to wait five years till you could talk to a human, add ten year if you want that conversation to make sense.

Their conversation was put on hold for the next five years so Brendan realised he had to take matters into his own hands. He walked over to the baby, hesitated then tore off a piece of meat and pressed it lightly against the toddler's mouth.

It screwed up his eyes, blocking the food by pulling his lips into a taut line that looked like a smile.

"You're a meanie, huh?" Brendan glanced at the paternity test. "What've you got in your pants anyway? Oh, a boy then, that right? A boy named...Aaron?"

He put on a shocked expression before he burst out laughing, cracking himself up. That would've been too funny if his name was actually Aaron, because the gay tradition he'd made up in prison thanks to Sotoson, where parents name the son they suspect to be gay Aaron.

But whatever, he couldn't believe Simone named this critter Clyde. Because apparently that's his mother. Fucking Simone. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen her, she probably kept hidden after finding out she got a little Brendan seed growing in her belly.

He swore if this was a prank he'd snitch his dad out on the next cop he bumped into.

Brendan didn't force the meatball down Clyde throat but he did pick up the seat carrier and took it over with him to the bathroom. He didn't know why he decided to do it right then, the idea just flitted into his mind like a sudden breeze through an ajar window.

He placed Clyde on the dirty laundry bin and allowed him to watch while Brendan grabbed a pair of scissors and began slaughtering into his playful curls which had grown a bit since he'd been to juvie and now met their end as they

Needless to say, Brendan regretted this impulse decision the moment he couldn't snip off more hair because the length didn't allow that. So to remedy those awkward tuffs he brought out his dad's old clippers and buzzed it all flat and even.

And goddamn it, he looked like a total idiot. This was really stupid and impulsive of him. Why did he have to be so stupid and impulsive at times? That was a total Dave thing.

Frank Peterson's words gloomed over his mind.

'And match up to your surname.'

Smart.

Dead fucker was right.

"God fucking damn it!" Brendan flung the clippers across the room where they bounced of harshly from the walls and landed on the tiled ground.

For a moment this was somewhat satisfying and dimmed his frustration over this bad haircut, but the little critter in the seat carrier exploded with such high notes of wails that the frustration rebounded right back with twice the amount.

Brendan looked around helplessly, he had no fucking idea how to calm a baby.