Your name is Dave Strider, you are twenty-nine years old, and you think this is the closest to being a father you're going to get.
Your legs are crossed on the by-now stained carpet of the Egbert residence, swinging your hands as they're going with the now three-year-old Casey while she swings back and forth on wobbley legs. Blathering at you in toddler dialect she says, "An' I 'ave t' show you all the ghosties daddy got me!"
"Yeah, yeah, you showed me on the call on the computer, remember? Your ghosts are sweet," you're laughing a bit - you laugh around this kid almost as much as you do around John.
She's huffing and planting her chubby little fists on sundress-clad hips at you, "Tha's not the same, silly!"
Another smile, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't know I was dealing with the International Ghostie Specialist."
"Well, y'are!" and she's off into the toy bin, scavenging for every last stuffed ghost John's apparently gifted her with.
It's funny, you predicted something like this years ago - as soon as Molly and John became "The Egberts" you figured you'd end up watching their on-the-way child constantly. When the days of it came closer, you realized how ludicrous is was, because despite your decent amount of travel funds, you are far away, and it'd honestly just be way easier for them to get a nearby babysitter. And that was the plan - until you met her at six months, that is.
First thing, she took a liking to you. Her big infant eyes stared up at you as her fingers clenched around the fabric of your black button-up, and she had refused to let go. By the time she was able to frequently talk, she always demanded that when her parents were out, she be watched by her "Uncle Davey" because he was her "favorite". It was a shock to everyone, but mostly you, seeing as you'd always been less-than-frequent about interacting with kids, so it made no sense for one to like you so much.
But then again, she was like her dad, so you guess it makes sense that you're her best friend too.
Not that you really mind anyway, it's always nice being able to hang out with Casey when the 'rents are out; it keeps your mind busy instead of dwelling on how great their weekend getaway must be. She's young enough too that she still likes falling asleep with you on the couch, and really, that's just great. You'd never admit it, but you really fucking hate sleeping alone - the few times John used to fall asleep next to you were just, really great.
"So this un's green, and this un's pink, and this un's white! Daddy won't let me bring th' white one to the table cause I might stain 'im," and she's giggling, making you hold and squeeze each one to see how soft they are.
You raise your eyebrows and have her lean in, like you're going to tell her a secret. You then lean to whisper in her ear, saying, "Listen, don't tell your dad, but if you're real chill today, you can take the white ghostie to the table when we eat some pizza tonight. Sound cool?"
And she's jumping and clapping before leaping into your lap. "Yaaay! Thank you, Davey!"
"But no taking them in the bath with you."
"Aww, come on!"
You find yourself always really enjoying her company. She makes you feel special, like you're important to someone. You know you aren't her dad, or anything like that (even though you'd sure as hell like that), but the way she treats you and the way you get to play around with her is the way you imagine most parents do with kids (you wouldn't know with the way you were brought up, but you guess Bro was kind of just a really big, badass kid who wasn't quite sure how to play yet.)
You're watching Casey for the weekend right now, because it's been four years now since the lovely couple got married (a very important day that you like to forget if you can), and they wanted a weekend alone. John smiled at you before he left, telling you he was nervous and it was going to be a good one, but you have no fucking idea what that could've meant. Was he going to beg her for oral or something? You don't fucking know.
Things have both been easier and harder in the John department - easier because you're getting better at managing your feelings (at least you think so), and harder because any slight reference to them makes John a little awkward and ask if they're still there. You say no, but you figure he knows you're lying because he keeps on asking.
"Daaaavey! When ya ord'rin' pizza?" Casey yelps after some time making you play ghosties with her, grabbing your hands to swing with yet again.
You chuckle, standing up and hoisting her up into your arms. "Right now. Stop readin' minds, kid, god," you say, shaking your head before switching her into one arm to scuffle your phone out of your pocket, and order one up. Really, it's mostly just for you - she can only manage so many pieces, and even then you have to cut them up into little edible bits for her. Things like this always make you wonder if Bro did them for you, or if he even knew to. You sure as hell didn't until Molly gave you a third degree on every little safety precaution. Honestly you throw most of them out the window, but you admit having her not choke is probably for the best.
Somewhere during the call to Domino's, she managed her way out of your one arm, and is now resting on your shoulders with her chin on your head. You pull her down, noogying her black head of hair. "You have some potential kid, maybe it's about time I start training you," you jest, though not entirely. You've totally thought about bringing this kid up nice and tough - until you remember that she isn't yours to bring up.
And she keeps playing along with you, trying to pinch your cheeks because she's learned by now that it really pisses you off, and you even let her a time or two. Time passes quickly when you're taking care of her. So much so that you only barely notice through the front door's window that a car is pulling up, and you hear a slamming of cardoors.
"Look's like our grub's here, kid," you affirm, seeing her clap excitedly, and carry her over to the door to open it, even before the pizza guy gets the chance to ring the doorbell.
But it's not the pizza guy, it's Molly and John walking up the doorstep, and you're terribly confused because it's only Saturday night. They both look quiet, and none-too-happy.
"Mommy, daddy!" Casey exclaims, reaching her arms out to both of them. John goes to gather her on up, a sad smile on his face (God you just want to hold him like you've been holding Casey, you want to know what's wrong and you want to make it all better again). But before he gets the chance, Molly's snatching her away first, going to walk up the stares silently.
John sighs, standing where he is and looking down at the sidewalk. You want to hug him, tell him that whatever happened, it's okay, you're here, you've always been here, but you can't do that so easily. So instead you just frown, stuffing your hands in your pockets.
"What happened?"
He laughs, smiling that sad smile at you again. "It's uh... kind of a long story. Sorry for making you come all the way out here when it's been such a short stay but I... think me and Molly need some time on our own for now, I guess, haha." And you know that's such bullshit, and he shouldn't just be alone, but you aren't about to fight with him, not when he's like this.
"I get whacha mean, man," you nod, patting his shoulder. "Call or pester me if ya need me, a'ight?" He nods, smiling, before leaning in to give you a hug. Not a brohug, not a quick little 'Hey, long time no see!' hug, just a real, honest, hug. And it's the best thing you could ask for as you hug him back, patting his coated back heartily.
Then you're leaving, hands back in your pockets after you've grabbed your things hastily. He waves at you, before closing the door behind him.
And it hurts that there isn't more you can do, but that's that, and you know that's all there is to it. So you're driving off in your rental car, trying to find a decent hotel to crash at until your flight on Monday.