Chapter Text
Droid had never thought about pups much. Growing up, it was something alphas and omegas worried over - heat schedules, rut compatibility, the constant questions of when and how many. Betas were expected to drift outside of all that, solid, steady, unfazed by biology. And he’d been fine with that - until Pezzy.
He loved Pezzy. Loved him with every part of himself, with every ordinary beat of his heart. But sometimes, when the laughter of pups drifted in from Puffer’s place down the street - when Smii7y and John brought their newest little one over to visit - Droid would catch Pezzy’s gaze, and in that quiet, he knew Pezzy wanted it too.
They both did. A little one with Pezzy’s sharp grin and Droid’s soft hair. Someone they could tuck into bed, someone who might run to them after nightmares, someone who would call them Dad.
Pezzy, with his soft smile and his clumsy laughter, who liked to sit on their couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and talk about “what-ifs” in a way that made Droid ache.
The truth was cruel in its simplicity: betas couldn’t have pups. No matter how badly they wanted, no matter how fiercely they loved. So Droid learned to live with the sting of it, a quiet bruise in his chest, because loving Pezzy was worth anything - even this.
That's what he told himself, at least.
But things came out in slips, usually when they were visiting their friends. Watching Puffer wrestle with his little one, or Grizzy balancing a squirming toddler on one arm while still managing to make everyone laugh. Droid would see the way Pezzy’s expression changed, softened, and then cracked, like glass under too much strain. He’d force a smile, pat some child’s head, tell the others he “couldn’t imagine the chaos of having kids” in that lighthearted, dismissive way he’d perfected. Everyone believed him.
Everyone but Droid.
Because sometimes Droid would wake in the middle of the night to muffled sounds. He’d turn over and see Pezzy sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed, shoulders shaking. Crying quietly, because he didn’t want Droid to hear.
Droid always did. And he always went to him. He’d wrap his arms around Pezzy from behind, pressing his face into the nape of his neck, whispering soft nonsense. He never said, 'don’t cry.' Because how could he? They had lost something they’d never even had in the first place.
The talk of adoption came once, late at night, after another long visit with their friends. They’d curled together on the couch, the TV flickering quietly, half-forgotten.
“What if we…” Pezzy’s voice had cracked before he even finished. “…adopted?”
Droid’s heart lurched. For a second, he let himself imagine it - tiny socks in the laundry, a laugh echoing through their home, a small hand in his. But reality weighed heavily. Adoption wasn’t simple. It was years of fighting systems stacked against them, questions of whether they were “enough.” And it wasn’t the same.
Not to Pezzy.
“I don’t just…” Pezzy had struggled for the words, clutching Droid’s shirt like it could anchor him. “I don’t just want to be a dad. I want-” His breath hitched. “I want to be there from the very beginning. To hold them when they’re barely breathing, to hear their first cry, to know they’re ours in every way.”
And Droid had kissed his hair, tasting salt, wishing he could break the universe in half to give him that.
The idea of surrogacy was brought up once by a well-meaning friend, tossed into the air like it was simple. Droid had watched Pezzy’s face fall in silence, had seen him nod politely, thank them, then later close the door to their room and sit in the dark for hours. Surrogacy wasn’t right - not for them. The thought of someone else carrying their child made Pezzy feel like a stranger in his own dream.
So they learned to live in the spaces between. They doted on their friends’ children - spoiling them, babysitting when asked, sneaking sweets and toys into small hands. And those kids loved them back, clung to their legs, called them uncle. It was sweet, and it filled something in both their chests. But never enough. The sting was always there.
Every time Pezzy said, “Oh, no, kids aren’t for us,” Droid’s chest broke a little more - because he knew the truth Pezzy was burying. He knew he was choosing Droid over the life he wanted most.
So Droid held him tighter, every chance he got. Whispered, “I’m here. Always.” Pressed kisses into his skin, poured comfort into every touch, because it was the only way he knew how to make up for what he could never give.
And though their house would never echo with the patter of a pup’s feet, it echoed with their love - loud, unshakable, and enduring. A love that was both grief and joy, both loss and abundance.
Even if the world had said no to them, Pezzy was still Droid’s everything. Droid would spend a lifetime making sure he never forgot that.