AN: Hiya, guys! I'm back with another chapter of Bhac (Branch has a child) au! Deal with it, cause this is my new obsession! Anyway, hope you like it, reviews are always appreciated!

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Parenthood

Branch sat at the table, his movements mechanical, devoid of any warmth any parent would muster as he stared at the baby in front of him.

"Eat," he said flatly, offering a spoonful of bland porridge to Rosiepuff. The baby troll stared at the spoon, uninterested, her hands clutching at the flat surface of the table. "It's food," Branch added, his voice lacking any inflection, as if stating a fact rather than encouraging a child. Rosiepuff blinked, and with a sigh, Branch attempted again, "You need to eat to grow."

The silence of the bunker was punctuated only by the clinking of the spoon against the bowl as Branch removed some of the portion. "Here," he offered again, the spoon hovering in front of Rosiepuff's mouth. She took a tentative taste, her arms flailing slightly.

As he continued the feeding, Branch's mind wandered, not to stories or songs as one might think, but to the more important things. Food. Provisions. He was going to need to collect more of everything if he really was willing to keep the baby in. Why didn't he just leave her at anyone's?

Right, because of their reckless, carefree lifestyle.

They wouldn't keep her safe.

She was just a baby. He couldn't leave her to trolls who thought they were safe, that life is all cupcakes and rainbows. Branch cringed at the thought.

He glanced into her eyes for a mere second, before focusing on the task at hand, and he carefully placed the spoon near her mouth, waiting for her lips to seal around it.

"Open up," he said, his tone softer. Rosiepuff babbled something in return, a sound that once might have sparked a smile from Branch, but now only elicited a nod.

The routine continued, each spoonful a repetition, each moment blending into the next. Branch found no joy in the act, maybe only a slight - very slight - sense of fulfillment in the caretaking. It was a duty, one he would do because it was required, not because it brought any light to his gray existence. "There," he said as the last of the porridge was finally accepted, "you've eaten now."

Rosiepuff's blue eyes, large and round, looked up at him, but Branch had already turned away, his thoughts on the next task, the next day, the next… step in his life.

The gray troll reached out, lifting the girl into his arms and to the sink to clean up the mess she had done to her face. He turned on the tap with one hand, the other supporting Rosiepuff, as her fingers, in return, clutched at his vest. Her mouth broke into a grin as her caretaker's hand made contact with her face, wet and refreshing, and a small laugh escaped her.

Branch smiled faintly.

His movements were automatic as he picked up her towel, making sure the small piece of cloth brushed softly against her skin. "All cleaned up," he said, though he didn't feel like talking. Yet he knew he had to speak around the baby so she would learn how to talk, something he'd read somewhere in one of the many books he'd read.

Like the one he was reading now.

"Okay, after eating, it says here to... burp the baby." He glanced at Rosiepuff, who was smacking her lips contentedly after her meal. "Alright, Rosiepuff, up you go," he said, hoisting her gently onto his shoulder. He patted her back with a rhythmic thud, his eyes still on the book that laid open on the table. "It's supposed to help you feel better," he explained, more to himself than to her.

Rosiepuff let out a tiny burp, and Branch checked the book again. "Good, that's done." His face fell as he read the next line - playtime to stimulate the mind.

He groaned. "This is gonna be harder than I thought."

He looked around, looking for something suitable for the little girl to play with. Whittled sticks? No. Arrows? Nope. Knives? Definitely not. He cursed under his breath, feeling his anger mix with his helplessness. This wasn't a place for babies. He looked up.

Jars.

It wasn't the best idea, but they are stackable. Glass, yes, but the floor is soft, and he wouldn't leave her alone, anyway.

"Here, these are... um, jars," he said, picking out some and setting them in front of the girl. "You stack them, see?" He demonstrated, his movements stiff and uncertain. Rosiepuff watched, her gaze following his hands. "Now you try," Branch encouraged, though his voice lacked conviction.

He watched as Rosiepuff's small hands clutched at one jar, but, instead of placing another one on top of it, she simply let out a faint, "Hm," drumming on the glass.

Branch shrugged. "That works too."

The book lay open on the next step, 'Engage in baby talk to encourage language development.'

Branch sighed, "So, Rosiepuff, say… uh… Branch?" He cringed at the sound of his own voice. "This feels ridiculous," he admitted, rubbing his temple. Rosiepuff babbled back, undeterred by his discomfort.

"Might as well get something to eat." Branch pushed himself up, heading to treat himself with some berries.

Until a pre-crying scream escaped the girl's lips.

He spun around. First, one wail, then another, and suddenly, Rosiepuff's shrieks filled the room. Branch hesitated, his heart heavy with the realization that Rosiepuff relied on him now.

He stood frozen, the sound of her cries echoing off the bunker walls, amplifying his uncertainty. "Hey, hey, Rosiepuff, please don't cry," he said, his voice tinged with desperation. He rifled through the pages of the book for guidance, but the words blurred before his eyes. "What do you need? Are you hungry? Tired?" he asked, each question more to himself than to her.

But the baby's cries only grew louder, and Branch's heart raced. He tried to remember what the book said about soothing a crying baby, but panic clouded his thoughts, and he couldn't even flip the pages right. "Okay, okay, let's try this," he muttered, bouncing her gently in his arms. "They say this helps, right?" But Rosiepuff's cries didn't subside, and Branch felt a wave of helplessness wash over him.

He paced back and forth, the screams seeming to pierce through the very fabric of his being. "Shh, shh, it's alright," he attempted to console her, but his own voice broke. Since when has he been like this? He's never been like this.

"Rosiepuff, please," he pleaded, as if she could understand him, "I don't know what you need." His pacing continued, and the crying intensified, reverberating against the walls, a cacophony of distress that he felt ill-equipped to soothe.

He tried everything the book suggested, from gentle rocking to soft patting, but nothing seemed to work. "Why won't you stop crying?" he asked, the frustration evident in his tone. He looked down at the book again, but the words seemed to mock him, offering no real solution to the present turmoil.

Branch's mind raced with thoughts, the fear that he might never be the guardian Rosiepuff needed standing on top. "I'm trying, I really am," he said, more to himself than to her, as he attempted another technique, throwing her into the air, even if his hands still gripped her. He always calmed down whenever Floyd did this. "Isn't this what you want?"

But all Branch received was a high-pitched scream that made him want to cover his ears.

The room felt smaller with each passing second, the air thick with the sound of unceasing tears. Branch felt a sense of panic rising within him, a tide of emotions he had long since buried. "I can't do this," he whispered, the admission a weight he had not expected to voice.

He stopped pacing and looked at Rosiepuff, her face red and scrunched, her tiny fists clenched. "I'm not cut out for this," he said, the defeat heavy in his voice. He sat down, placing Rosiepuff gently in her crib, his hands hovering over her, unsure and hesitant.

Branch closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to find a semblance of calm in the chaos. He couldn't afford having a panic attack, not now. "Okay, let's start over," he said, opening his eyes and meeting Rosiepuff's tear-filled gaze. "I'm here for you, Rosiepuff. I don't have all the answers, but I'm here."

He stood by the crib, his eyes tracing the soft rise and fall of Rosiepuff's chest as she cried. "I can't sing to you," he said, his voice a mere whisper, filled with a sorrow that had settled in his heart years ago. "I stopped singing a long time ago." He reached out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the crib, a barrier between him and the child who needed more than he could give.

The cries that filled the spaces between his words were heavy.

"It's just... after everything, the music just left me," he continued, his gaze fixed on the little one, her face scrunched in discomfort and need. "But I'm here, I'm trying to be here for you." His eyes shone with unshed tears. "So help me."

Rosiepuff's cries softened, as if sensing the struggle within Branch, her guardian who stood lost in a sea of unspoken lullabies. "I can tell you stories, though," Branch offered, a compromise she couldn't understand, as he wiped his tears. "Stories of… of anything…"

He, with a gentleness born from mere fear of triggering more fears, lifted Rosiepuff, cradling her awkwardly in his arms. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

"Hey, Rosiepuff," he began, his voice wavering slightly. "I know... I know this isn't easy. For either of us." He paused, looking into her wide, curious eyes. "But... I'm trying. I really am."

Rosiepuff gurgled in response, her tiny hand reaching up to touch his face. Branch managed a small smile, feeling a strange warmth in his chest.

"I never thought I'd be doing this," he admitted, his tone softening. "Taking care of someone else. But... you're here now. And I guess... I guess we're in this together."

He rocked her gently, feeling a bit more confident with each passing moment. "We'll figure it out, okay? One step at a time."

Branch settled into a chair, holding Rosiepuff close. He cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. "Alright, Rosiepuff, how about a story?" he began, his voice uncertain.

"Once upon a time, in a... uh, in a forest, there was a little troll named... um, Twig. Yeah, Twig," he said, glancing at her to see if she was paying attention. "Twig was... different from the other trolls. He liked to be alone, and he built a big, strong bunker to keep himself safe."

Rosiepuff's eyes stared at him, and Branch continued, seizing the opportunity to hopefully put her to sleep. "One day, Twig found a tiny, lost creature in the forest. It was scared and alone, just like he used to be. So, even though he didn't know how, Twig decided to take care of it."

He adjusted her position, ensuring her head was now comfortably resting against his shoulder, and his voice softened. "Twig learned that taking care of someone else wasn't easy. He had to find food, keep them warm, and... tell them stories," he added with a small smile. "But over time, Twig realized that maybe he wasn't so alone anymore."

Branch felt Rosiepuff's tiny body grow heavier in his arms, finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, her soft breaths steady and calm. He lowered her back into his lap and looked at her peaceful face, a stark contrast to his own troubled thoughts. Gently, he stood up, careful not to jostle her awake.

"Let's get you to bed," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He walked over to her small crib he had set up in the corner of the bunker. As he laid her down, she stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open for a moment.

"Shh, it's okay," Branch murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

Rosiepuff's eyes closed again, and she let out a contented sigh. Branch pulled a thin blanket over her, tucking it around her tiny form. He stood there for a moment, watching her sleep, a mix of emotions swirling inside him.

"Goodnight, Rosiepuff," he said softly, his voice tinged with a warmth he rarely showed. He turned off the dim light and retreated to his own corner, the silence of the bunker now feeling a bit less oppressive.

"How am I going to keep her safe?" he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I need more supplies. Food, water... what if there's an emergency?"

He glanced at the sleeping baby, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

It wasn't fair, for both of them.

"She deserves better than this," he whispered, his voice breaking. "But I can't let her go. Not to those trolls who think everything is perfect."

Rosiepuff stirred slightly, and Branch's heart skipped a beat. "Shh, it's okay," he said softly, more to himself than to her. "I'll figure it out." He sighed. "I always do."