Brahms Heelshire x Reader
Requested by Anonymous
Tysm for this request I've been trying to work in a one-shot that deals with little space forever and you've given me the perfect excuse!
Edited by Yourlittlefriend2021, Tysm!
"Of course Mrs. Heelshire. Enjoy your night!" you called as you watched the old couple happily get into a car from the front steps of their home. You couldn't deny that the couple had been looking much happier as opposed to when you first arrived.
It had been a few months that you had been employed as Brahms' babysitter. It was an odd case but you had stuck to it. After all, it should have been an easy gig. Thankfully for you, however, you weren't a complete idiot and when strange things started happening like your items just miraculously disappearing or moving around the home, your first train of thought was an intruder had been living in the home without the couple's knowledge. I mean they would have let you know if someone else was in the home with you, right?
One night you realized how wrong you were and that the nice old couple would definitely leave you alone with a dirty, 6 ft tall, grown man without your knowledge.
You still remember the day you had found Brahms rummaging around the kitchen, looking for the leftovers from lunch while desperately trying not to make a noise. It was the first time the couple had employed you for an overnight job with them: wanting to go to a festival hosted a few towns over. Brahms looked shocked to see you standing in the kitchen, mouth open wide as you stared at the man. To Brahms' surprise you didn't run away from him. No- instead you just stood there and screamed at the poor man, berating him with questions before pointing an accusing finger in his face, making him back up till his back was against one of the kitchen walls. His hands held in front of him despite; your obvious height difference Brahms was terrified of you at that moment. He had never heard you yell before and it shocked him.
After Brahms had gotten over his initial shock, the man lowered his head before speaking in his little kid's voice, eyes watching you carefully.
Poor Brahms didn't know the way he was looking at you caused you to freeze, mouth clamping shut as a chill ran down your spine- he looked insane.
The memory still brings a smile to your face, even as you stand in the home's library putting away a few stray books from that day's lessons that got left out. You almost felt sorry for Brahms, he was so terrified as he sat on the couch watching as you called his frantic parents who were quick to assure you everything was all right. He looked terrified, scared witless that he was in some sort of trouble, that you were angry at him.
At first, you were angry at the man, but you couldn't blame him for what his parents did, so you put on your best poker face before turning to the man, determined to see the rest of the night through. After all, you were still his caretaker until his parent arrived and after all this man hadn't caused you any trouble the countless times you had been in the home. So why should all that change now?
That night you had stopped the man as he had tried to retreat to the walls instead of grabbing his hand and leading him upstairs. You had given him a fresh pair of clothes and after a small argument, he begrudgingly entered the bathroom, exiting clean and dressed in surprisingly comfortable pajamas. Brahms would never forget the way you smiled at him when he had listened to you and after that night he would make it a conscious effort to try and keep up with the hygiene routine you had taught him if only to see you smile again.
After that night had ended you had thought over what to do now. The couple watched you leave in the morning with sad eyes as they thought their only chance at any freedom had been snatched away but as you meet Brahms' eyes through a window you knew you wouldn't be away for long.
"[Y/n]?" Brahms' was in the doorway of the library fiddling with his hands as he watched you slide books into the shelf, making sure everything was put back in the correct order as his parents had requested. You looked to the man with a smile only for it to drop as you see him nervously wringing his hands in front of him. "What's wrong Brahmsy?" you asked, setting the pile of books down on a nearby end table and walking up to him before taking his hands in your own. "Can we have some hot chocolate maybe?" his voice was quiet and you found yourself chuckling at his bashfulness. "That depends, Brahms. Did you clean your room as I asked you to do earlier?" He nodded his head after thinking about your question for a few seconds "What about your dishes from dinner. Did you put them in the sink?" Once again Brahms thought about your question but this time he muttered a sounding sad "No."
"Once you get your dishes cleaned up and I get these books put away we can make some hot chocolate together and have a little movie night." You released Brahms' hands. "How does that sound to you?" you asked placing a hand on his cheek.
"That sounds amazing," he said, his own smile breaking out on his face, happiness shining in his eyes. You gave his cheek a pat before he walked away, hurrying to put away the dishes as quickly as possible.
Brahms has done this countless times; it was a simple minor task that should take no effort. All he had to do was take the delicate porcelain dishes and place them in the empty sink, a no-brainer. But as Brahms excitedly grabbed the dishes, his mind preoccupied with what movie you both should watch, Brahms stumbled sending a mug tumbling to the floor before it crashed shattering into a million little pieces. Brahms watched as the pieces bounced on the floor scattering around and he felt dread settle into his stomach.
His eyes were blown wide and he quickly moved to set the dishes into the nearby sink before dropping to his knees, his mind growing hazy as tears formed in his eyes. He felt like he was losing control as his hands tried to grip the first pieces, pulling back as his hand was sliced open, blood slowly dribbling to the floor. He scrambled continuing to try and pick up the sharp glass, every Tears continued falling down his cheeks, you would be mad at him he thought as he heard your footsteps approaching. You would hate him and leave.
"Brahms?"
You would leave him all alone.
"Brahms!"
You were rushing to his side before sinking onto your knees and grabbing his hands. Brahms was shaking slightly as tears fell from his face before dripping down his chin. He sniffled as you slowly took what glass he was able to pick up from his hands, setting it to the floor "I'm sorry [Y/n]," he said in his kid voice catching you off guard momentarily. You had never seen Brahms look so vulnerable and it broke your heart as you caught a glimpse of his bloodied hands.
"You hate me now!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking when he shocked you with the untrue accusation "We're not going to have a movie night anymore, and you're going to leave me,"he said, crying as his lower lip quivered with the attempt to keep full-out sobs from escaping due to the thought of him making you disappointed enough to leave.
Your hands were gentle against his face and your eyes met his "Brahms, baby. It's okay. It was an accident." you kept your voice calm, and even as you addressed him, not wanting to spook the distressed man despite your shock over the whole situation. "I would never hate you for an accident." He seemed to calm down slightly when you pulled him close to you, encircling your arms around him in a warm embrace. His bloody hands gripped the back of your shirt, bunching up the fabric there, along with staining it with blood from the cuts in his hands. The wounds stung as Brahms flexed the muscles in his fingers to keep you close to him but he could care less at that moment. His fear-riddled brain was more set on not letting you disappear. He couldn't lose you.
"You mean it?" he asked, his voice oddly high-pitched but quiet. His words were almost inaudible as his face was still pressed against your chest. "I mean it. I won't leave you, Brahms."
Your words had lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders and slowly he pulled back from you letting his hands fall from your crumpled shirt before resting in his lap. Once Brahms had started pulling away, you had mimicked his actions, letting your own arms fall back down to your sides. Almost desperately, Brahms had grabbed one of your hands in his, missing your warmth as soon as the both of you had pulled away from the embrace. The weight of your hand in his worked wonders to comfort him as your own hand warmed his.
"Brahms." He looked up to your face watching as you turned over his hand, eyeing the blood that swelled from the wounds before dribbling down to the floor. "Let's get you cleaned up." you had stood helping him off his knees. "What about-" he asked while looking at the pile of glass that sat in between the both of you. "I'll take care of it," you quickly replied, your tone gentle but final as you began pulling him towards the sink in the kitchen.
He hissed lowly as the cold water splashed his damaged skin, the water red as it swirled and ran down the drain. The bits of glass had to be removed you figured as you went to work pulling out the delicate shards, placing them on the counter to be thrown away later. Your hands were gentle as you rinsed and dried his hands before pulling out a small roll of bandages kept in a spare cupboard for emergencies. Brahms watched curiously as you wrapped the brittle fabric around each finger along with his palm, leaving just enough slack to allow limited movements so Brahms wouldn't be completely without his hands.
You released his hands, allowing Brahms to bring them closer to his face where he examined them in awe before trying to bend one of his fingers. He had yelped a sharp pain from a few cuts shooting through his hand.
"They hurt." he whined before looking back to you a child-like innocence in his eyes as his voice mimicked one of a child's. You hesitated on asking your next question but you were curious
"Brahms- how old are you right now?" you had excepted confusion, maybe for Brahms to even chuckle before asking you what you were insinuating. Instead, Brahms had looked to his hands counting his fingers like a young child would before holding up 6 the other 4 fingers only slightly bent.
You had heard about little space before from a colleague but never had you experienced caring for someone in little space. Brahms was busy playing with a few stray ends dangling from the bandages around his hands, lost in his own little world.
"Brahms," you said, pulling him from his imagination as he let his hands drop, resting them gently on his lap.
"How about you stay here while I clean up the glass and after that, we can work on making that hot cocoa?" His face lit up at the mention of hot cocoa
"You mean we can still have some? I thought you were gonna be mad at me and send me to my room," he admitted sadly.
He watched from where you were sitting, wiping a few stray tears from his eyes, as you went over and began cleaning up the glass. After tossing the shards into the garbage, you turned to the cupboard and pulled out two new mugs before setting them on the counter. The thump of the glasses hitting the surface got Brahms' attention and he was quickly by your side once again curious eyes following your every move. You pulled out a jar full of cocoa powder before setting it on the counter next to the mugs.
"Can I help?" Brahms asked, his eyes wide in awe as he watched you scoop a few spoonfuls of the dear, brown power into one of the mugs. "Of course," you said as you handed Brahms the spoon holding the jar as he scooped out half a scoop before half hazardously spilling it into the mug. He smiled, laughing lightly before going in for another scoop. You had to stop him after a few more to ensure that he didn't overfill the glass. The last thing you needed was Brahms on a sugar high when you went to put him to bed. Brahms had watched as you grabbed a metal kettle, filling it with water before setting it on the stove, the heat from the burner quickly working to heat up the water.
It wasn't long before you and Brahms were in your room, dressed in comfortable pyjamas, while watching an older cartoon. He sipped happily on a cup of hot chocolate as he let his eyes stay focused on the television screen. The both of you had constructed a fort of pillows and blankets per Brahms' request. He was laying with his head against your chest as one of his arms was securely wrapped around a grey, cat plushie with black spots named Pepper. Your hands were lazily running through his brown curls as you watched a cat chase a mouse on the screen in black and white.
The lights in the room were off, leaving the only source of light being the Tv and a nightlight Brahms had also requested after detesting the idea of being in a fully dark room.
Despite Brahms being in his little space the evening together wasn't horrible in the slightest. By the time his parents came home early in the morning you and Brahms were fast asleep, the television still on, and your arms holding the man, the both of you surrounded by the pillow fort. The both of you still knocked out in a blissful sleep.