ranting-writer

[ranting-writer]

Abusive Parents are Confusing

An adult Dave stood on the porch of a house located outside the capital of Earth C. He stared at the orange painted door, debating on knocking or not.

Around a week prior, he and the other humans had learned that as what was perhaps intended to be a reward for their fantastic and rapid progress on making Earth C thrive, their guardians had been revived by some cosmic force. Not just Dave’s group’s, but also the Alpha group’s guardians. Though, the Striders and the LaLondes were admittedly hesitant to see them again. Or, rather, in Dirk and Roxy’s case, truly meet them for the first time.

Rose seemed to have an easier time meeting up with her mom, Roxanne, but she definitely hadn’t come away from it happier or feeling better. Actually, she reported that she sort of wished she hadn’t met her. According to Rose, her mom was, as usual, drunk. She wasn’t functional drunk either, but sloppy drunk, and that left Rose angry and hurt. Roxanne hadn’t been able to even try to be sober after being asked. And allegedly the conversation hadn’t gone much better, with Roxanne spending her time crying to Rose about her guilt over the distance her alcoholism had put between them, leaving Rose in the all too familiar position of having to, essentially, be the mother in the situation. Rose had come out of the conversation angry, and she’d told John to tell his father “good luck with her”.

Dave hadn’t even been there, but it definitely left him with the sense that he shouldn’t talk to Roxanne, despite wanting to. He always felt a little bad and a little weird still calling Roxy mom, but now that his actual mom was around, he didn’t want to risk getting his hopes shattered by her drunkenness.

But Rose meeting up with Roxanne had given Dave a little mental kick in the ass to go see Bro. So here he was… On an already messy porch, facing a deep orange door, listening to the sounds of loud music and Tony Hawk’s Project 8 inside.

What was he going to feel seeing Bro again? How was he going to feel seeing that crooked, chipped tooth grin? Or seeing the feral look in Bro’s eyes? Would he end up with a running shoe pressed into his chest again? He absently put a hand on his sternum thinking about that. Just standing here was giving him anxiety.

Before he could break out into full blown panic or something, the door opened.

Staring into his own ruby eyes, through two sets of shades, was a set of familiar tangerine eyes.

Bro and Dave stared at each other for a long moment, both equally as shocked as the other to see each other in person after so long. Neither moved, just staring. Dave finally jolted hearing that familiar drawl. “Dave…?”

Dave swallowed thickly, a deep, forgotten anger pushing bile up into his throat. Memories of his childhood flooded his mind as he stared at the man who had raised him. Well, ‘raised’ was putting it kindly and giving Bro more credit than Dave wanted to give. Bro had seemingly just tolerated him, even when the guy had done things for him or been kind to him. At times it felt like placation over affection… Or perhaps it was the angry mind of the thirteen year old in him that couldn’t understand. Dave’s eyebrows dipped below his shades as he glowered at Bro. “We need to talk,” he muttered. “Now.”

Bro frowned but stepped aside to let Dave in, taking in the appearance of the younger Strider, his baby brother. Last he’d seen Dave, Dave was barely five feet tall and skinny as a rail. Dave was strong for a thirteen year old kid, but Dave wasn’t much to look at then. Barely a gant. Now though… Now Dave was matched to Bro in height, and looked even more muscled and stocky than him. Bro was built for speed and running, obvious by how lithe he was and how long his legs were. Dave, now in this healthier, adult body, was built for strength. Built to withstand force he hadn’t before. It felt weird seeing Dave like that.

Dave was oblivious to Bro’s analysis of him. He was focused on the state of the living room he’d walked into. It was obviously different from his childhood apartment, but nostalgia hit him all the same. The mess was so familiar it was hard to push down the sense of “home” he felt stepping into it. Puppets lined shelves and laid around on tables. The smell of cigarettes and old Monster energy lingered heavily in the air, mixing with Bro’s usual cologne. Smuppets rested in piles around the house and, of course, shitty weaponry was on (or rather in) the walls. Dave felt an immediate sense of comfort standing in that living room, but behind it was dread. He stood still, not allowing a change to his body language as he quickly fell into old habits.

Bro shut the door behind Dave. “J’eat?” he asked, heading for the kitchen.

Dave blinked rapidly a few times, processing the question. Was it a question? He stared at Bro blankly.

Bro raised an eyebrow. “J’eat?” he repeated.

Dave mentally kicked himself. It had been so long since he’d heard a southern accent that some of Bro’s speech was going to be hard to readjust to. “J’eat” was always how people had asked him, “Did you eat?”. Dave shrugged slightly, trying to be nonchalant as he sat on the lonely stool at the kitchen island. The kitchen felt different, but familiar too. A dingy microwave in the corner of the counters, the fridge covered in fun magnets. A sink full of dishes and junk, bags of trash Bro had been too lazy to remove. It was homey, for however gross it might have been to someone else. “I had some pizza for breakfast,” he replied. “What, you gonna feed me now that it’s not actually your responsibility?”

He hadn’t meant to say that, and his blood ran cold as Bro stopped to stare at him. Apparently his anger had given him bigger balls than he thought it would. He further surprised himself by not immediately readying himself for a strife of some sort. He simply stared at Bro, almost boredly, waiting for the older Strider to snap.

Eventually, Bro turned around and started grabbing some things from the fridge. “You wanted to talk…” he nudged.

Dave hummed and nodded a bit. “Yeah. About why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Dave.”

“I dunno. Growing up with you, it feels like you do. Kicking my ass, doing shit in your parenthood that seemed either funny or just fed your desire for some… High level ironic bullshit, not feeding me regularly, lying to me… Kids aren’t things to train for fun, you know that right? It’s important to me, and every other Dave that was raised by one of you, that you know you sucked at being a dad.”

Bro didn’t answer. He was busy frying eggs, frying bologna, and trying to locate some more butter or bacon grease. Whatever it was that he was using to cook. It brought Dave back to parts of his childhood, when he’d be crying or have something major to talk to Bro about, and Bro just didn’t reply. Bro would have ignored him for days, until eventually, Dave had to pick Bro up, literally, and care for him because Bro was sick. Dave growled. “What?” he snapped. “Nothing to say?”

Bro sighed and answered, “What do you want me to say, lil man? That I’m sorry? I’m not. I did what I believed would save your life and let you reach the point you’re at now. A literal damn god, ruling a planet that you fucking made. Am I supposed to feel bad that I taught you to survive?”

Dave clenched his fists, trying to fight angry tears. “You taught me I’m annoying,” he said. “You taught me my sexuality was bad, even though you yourself are a gay man.” He gripped his hair, trying to regulate his frustration. “I’ve thought about all this shit for years now, Bro, and all I come away from it all is that I feel like I was raised by someone who didn’t want me, who hated me.”

Bro set some apple juice in front of Dave, just apparently listening. He didn’t look angry or hurt. Actually, Dave almost wished he did. It would be easier to berate someone who reacted to it over someone who just blankly took it. Dave huffed and reluctantly hugged the juice, continuing his rant. “And whatever it was that you say you were ‘training’ me for, didn’t make me stronger. I don’t like fighting, I hate seeing blood, and I especially don’t like killing if I can help it. The sound of scraping metal sets me on edge and scars the piss out of me.

“God, that’s not even addressing the problems I have with my sexuality! Not like, who I’m attracted to, but how much I have running in my head that’s just outlandishly, intrusively sexual because you couldn’t be bothered to shield your actual son from your bullshit sex toy business! And do you have any idea how weird it felt when I realized I was around people who actually cared about me? How much it made me crave normalcy and basic affection and love? How human I felt instead of being some runty afterthought in a household of smutty puppets?”

Dave stared at Bro, finally done.

Nothing.

No rage or dragging Dave outside for a fight.

Bro simply set a plate of Dave’s favorite (scrambled eggs, fried bologna, toast with cinnamon and sugar) in front of him. Bro leaned on the counter, snacking on his own portion. “Feel better?” he asked blandly.

Dave stared, confused. “Wh… What?”

“Do you feel better? Get it all off your chest?”

Dave swallowed and shrugged a bit. “I… I guess?”

Bro nodded a bit and went silent again as he ate his food.

The two fell into silence as they ate, awkward in each other's presence. Dave watched Bro, comparing him to the version he actually liked.

Dirk could be cold and cruel at times, but most of it was just Dirk having no idea how people actually acted. Dirk wasn’t necessarily malicious, just ignorant. He was doing his best and, unfortunately, was too aware of his own short falls and failings. It had taken a lot more than their rooftop talk to get Dirk to realize he wasn’t Bro. Dirk was sweet and loved Dave for just being Dave. It was so easy to feel safe and relaxed with Dirk.

Bro wasn’t like Dirk, and it was obvious just by looking at the two.

Dirk was scarred and had the same hair color as Bro, but his features were soft, even as he aged and grew into his face. Dirk’s nose sat regally on his face, unbroken. His teeth, while not straight, weren’t chipped and were pretty clean all things considered. He was lean and muscular but soft, not jagged and sharp edges like Bro. Dirk’s eyes rested in a sleepy look, and widened only slightly when he was talking to someone he loved. Bro’s rested wide and manic, constantly in motion behind the shades, and only narrowed for those he hated.

“I don’t hate you.”

Dave looked up to see Bro looking at him, without shades surprisingly. Bro had his usually neutral expression, but his eyes looked all too similar to Dirk’s. Tired and remorseful.

Bro continued. “Look, I know I’m a shit parent. I went into raising you thinking ‘Whelp, shit. My parenthood is gonna teach this kid to hurt’, and lo and be-fucking-hold, I was right. I wasn’t trying to be malicious, Dave. I didn’t know what to do with myself, let alone another human being. I’ve got hella problems I couldn’t fix given when and where we fucking were. Yeah, I did do shit because it was amusing to me, but it never registered to me that it was hurting you.” Bro took a long drink of coffee, basically draining half the mug, before he continued. “My childhood was full of shit. Switchings, yelling, being shoved into bodies of water as a ‘lesson’... I ran away at 19 and into Dennis’s house.”

Dennis.

Dave remembered Dennis. The guy was older than Bro, and his only friend. A white collar guy, working in tech or finance if Dave remembered right. Dave could remember the dingy, ugly kitchen in Dennis’s house. The stains on the stove top, the peeling and dirty linoleum floor, the cabinets that didn’t close right, and the stained fridge with dirty shelves and rotten lettuce in the drawer. He remembered the living room with the worn out, broken blue couch, the busted brown recliner with the cup holder in one arm, and the nasty wooden coffee table with the glass middle, covered in coffee circles and pipe resin. The smell was acrid and biting, and a touch musty and distinctly like an old dog. Dave remembered toddling around in the living room of that place, a woman in combat boots with multi-colored dreads and piercings following him around to make sure he didn’t fall.

In his mind, he could see Bro and Dennis on the couch, shooting the shit, while the woman (Dennis’s girlfriend?) held his little hands to help him. Dennis shot him a dirty look every time he padded by, little feet stomping into the unvacuumed, dog hair covered rug. Dennis hadn’t liked Dave, and Dave hadn’t ever liked the man’s pockmarked sneers. He knew very early on that Dennis didn’t like him, only tolerated him for Bro’s sake.

“You never told me how you and Dennis met,” Dave mumbled, poking at the remains of his food.

Bro shrugged. “I was 18, he was 21, already working in some web start up,” he replied, pouring himself some more coffee. “I was trying to find something to do to earn money to get out of the house I was in, and he offered to let me do the designs and art for his website. Nothing special.”

Dave nodded a bit, thinking. After a long moment he muttered, “So basically, you’re wanting to excuse yourself with ‘my childhood sucked too’.”

Bro actually looked irritated, maybe even straight up mad. He set his mug down, a bit harsher than he meant to. “I’m explaining to you that I don’t fucking hate you,” he snapped. “I love you more than fucking anything in the universe, Dave. But I was torn pretty harshly between being a loving doting parent, handling my issues and problems, and preparing you for the fucking game. On top of that conflict, I grew up with Lil Cal.”

Dave swallowed a bit. Cal. That horrifying piece of shit puppet. Knowing what was done with Cal when they fought Lord English… Dave sighed and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t imagine what being around that thing for 30 some odd years would do to a person. Especially given the presence of Lil Hal inside the fucked up puppet Juju. “Fuck…”

The two Striders sat in silence for a while, picking at their food or sipping their drinks. It felt like old times. Old, tense, angry, stressful times. Nostalgic and terrifying. Homey and comfortable, but messy and painful. Dave couldn’t help the affection he felt for bro, despite everything. Bro was his guardian, his father… Bro wasn’t perfect, in fact he was probably a really bad person in a lot of ways, but Dave but to feel close to him.

Bro sighed after a while. “Dave,” he mumbled. “I don’t expect this conversation to like… I dunno, fix shit between us? I don’t expect us to hug and be close or anything. You have every right to be pissed that you didn’t get a better version of me, or a better childhood. I’m not sorry about training you. I needed to make sure you were strong enough and skilled enough to survive the trials you would face, and I fucking succeeded in that at least… I am sorry for the fact that I never made it clear that I actually care about you. Deeply. You’re my…”

“You can say little brother if son is too much…”

Bro shook his head. “Son is what you are,” he said. “I don’t know if raising you as my son would have changed anything, but I can’t keep pretending that’s not what you are.”

Dave smirked slightly. “You know you have a daughter too,” he teased. “Rose. She’s a lot like you.”

Bro frowned a bit at that idea. “No one deserves that fate.”

“Eh, she’s okay. Just likes making fun of me using her pseudo-psychologist babble.”

Bro nodded a bit, absently moving to finally do dishes.

Dave watched Bro. His anger hadn’t dissipated at all, in fact it might have felt like more than it had been when he saw Bro open the door, but he felt a weird sense of peace. Like everything was going to be okay and he didn’t have to keep holding onto the thoughts in his head. It felt like a sort of closure he wasn’t originally going to get when Bro had initially died. Sighing, with more to mull over, Dave stood up and pushed in his bar stool. “Thanks for the food,” he said, fixing his hoodie. “I… Don’t know if I’ll come back.”

Bro nodded absently, rinsing a plate. “I get it,” he replied. “Just know, you always have a place here. You have a bedroom ready to claim should you need it.”

“Yeah… Okay. Thanks.”

Bro waved over his shoulder as he listened to Dave’s heavier footsteps trail out the door.

[ranting-writer]

"Do you think he hates you?"

"Fuck, I don't know. He certainly likes to avoid me at seemingly any cost. He fell trying to skateboard away from me yesterday."

Rose hummed as she jotted down some notes.

She and Dirk sat across from each other on her purple velvet couches while she listened to Dirk talk about how Dave was avoiding him. He'd come over, something he rarely if ever did, and he'd plopped himself on her couch, bold as brass, and simply stated that Dave was avoiding him and he didn't understand why. Normally the two Striders were thick as thieves, had been since the game's end and Earth C was created, but of late, Dave had started avoiding Dirk. Which was very out of character for him, at least from Dirk's perspective.

Dirk's lips twitched briefly into a frown. "Stop taking notes," he demanded. "You're not a real therapist. I only came to you specifically because you're his friend and you might have insight into his behavior."

Rose sighed a bit, giving Dirk a wry smile. "Dirk," she said. "I know Dave, very, very well. But I need to take the notes so I can remember what to hassle him about at a later date."

"Jesus fuck, Rose. This is supposed to just be a talk between us. You and I. We. I didn't say I wanted you to talk to him. I just want insight, at the present point."

Rose rolled her eyes. Striders... Always pushy and griping and whinging about something. This wasn't the first time one of them came to talk to her about the other. Although, in Dave's case, it wasn't technically about Dirk, but rather about Dave's feelings around Bro that simply happened to be stirred up by Dirk. Not that Dirk would ever make the distinction himself.

"What if you don't like what I have to tell you?" she asked.

Dirk shrugged. "Then I cope and push on I guess," he replied, arms resting on his knees. "I just need to know if I did something wrong or hurt him somehow. So I can apologize."

Rose hummed, sipping her drink. "Well, it isn't necessarily you," she said blandly. "More about who you remind him of. Superficially of course." She watched as Dirk tensed up and clapped his hands together. This might be more delicate than she thought, but she continued. "As we have aged, we have begun to look more like our alternate selves. Roxy has plainly told me that she can easily see, for lack of better phrasing on my part, her mother in me.

"However, I do find it interesting that, despite having been the one to point out at one point that you look really nothing like his Bro, Dave has apparently begun to recognize his guardian in your face more and more. While on the other side of this, you have continued to see less and less of your own Bro in him. It's very peculiar."

Dirk rubbed his temples, groaning a bit. "And so far all I'm getting out of this conversation is that he's scared of me and you actually did inherit the propensity for professional yappery," he grumbled.

Rose sighed softly, watching Dirk agonize. She and Dirk hadn't exactly been close before, and they weren't now. In fact, they outright confided that they reminded each other too much of one another in some uncomfortable ways. Especially after one particularly uncomfortable incident where, in trying to emulate Dave and Roxy's weird mom-son/ bestie bond, Rose had called Dirk dad. That had certainly put a brief wedge in their communication...

Despite that, she truly didn't like seeing Dirk so uncomfortable and distressed. Dave was one of her best friends, and Dirk was very, very important to Dave, thus, Dirk was important to her. She wanted to at least try to help. Smoothing her dress, Rose spoke again. "It must feel odd," she said. "To hear Dave talk to lovingly about someone that he acknowledges hurt him."

Dirk shook his head, leaning back into the plush couch. He sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Yes and no," he said.

"Could you elaborate?"

"It's simple, in my mind. Bro wasn't entirely a monster and Dave genuinely believes the guy did the best with the tools he had available, emotionally and literally. He was also the most exposed to the bullshit paradox space, Lord English time nonsense compared to his fellow guardians in your timeline. And thinking of the portrait Dave drew, the guy was severely mentally ill with a lot of baggage.

"However, despite the abuse Dave endured, he is also able to recall plenty of times that he and Bro cooked together, went to events, went to fun locations, and had bonding time. It's difficult to separate the good and the bad when it comes to your abusers, especially if it's a parent. You should know this, Ms. Psychologist wannabe."

Rose smiled softly. "I do, know this," she said cooly. "But I was after how you feel about it, not your own clinical examinations of their relationship."

Dirk went quiet, staring at the ceiling after apparently deciding it was more interesting than the conversation. He sat like that for a long time, and Rose simply allowed his silence. She knew this topic had to be difficult for him to address, especially with her.

Eventually, Dirk spoke again, sounding unusually small and sad. "I worry that he talks about me like that. Dave, I mean."

Rose looked at Dirk, the tone of his voice piquing her interest. "As in... Saying that you've hurt him but loving you anyway?"

Dirk nodded slowly as he tried to reign in his control of his voice and face. Body language was whatever to him, he knew control of that was like trying to get an engine block to swim, but he wanted back some control over his body, even if it meant just his voice and facial expressions. "I worry I'm just gaslighting him into liking me. I did it with Jake and I think Jane."

Dirk sat back upright, leaning forward on his knees again. "Roxy was going to like me anyway, there's hardly a soul she doesn't like," he said. "Jane... Jane was sort of isolated too, but she was naive and she's always sort of been a baby sister to me in a way. But Jake..." He looked up at Rose, face finally schooled back into an expression of blank indifference. "I feel like a pressured Jake into a relationship," he continued to explain. "And that's why eventually our relationship broke down so hard. Because he started to realize I was being clingy and manipulative."

Rose raised an eyebrow. Could Dirk be manipulative? Absolutely. It was a trait she herself and even Dave to a lesser extent had. They liked to mess with people. However, in watching Dirk, she hadn't noticed much in the way of malicious manipulative behavior, or even abuse, that couldn't be chalked up to simply not understanding people and control issues. Dirk had lived alone his entire life, his only reference for body language was films and the put on facades of his version of Dave and whatever prefilled content he could get his lonely hands on. On top of that, Dirk had exceptionally minimal control growing up.

Dirk had spent his developmental years alone in the middle of the ocean, everything bad that had happened to the world was mostly far in the past already, and all he had was his robots, movies, music, sendificator, and a computer with an internet connection. He'd only had control over his machines, and even they had whims of their own eventually.

Dirk was also a problem solver. He was intelligent and quick to find and understand what he needed to do in order to get a desired result, even if he had to go to extremes (like sendificating his own decapitated head to Jake to kiss) to get it. It made his skin crawl and his mind itch when others couldn't see past themselves to the solution.

Of course, perhaps that last bit was due to his nature as a Heart player. Despite struggling with his sense of where he ended and his other versions, or "splinters", began, he still had a very good sense of who he was, what his values were, and where his loyalties lie. To him, it was frustrating that others seemed so oblivious to the fact that their own personal pondering on their identities was obscuring the real issues at hand. This, of course, led to him trying to take control from others at times.

Jake, for example. Jake was a bit cowardly early on, if excitable about adventure and the prospects of a good rough housing. Jake wasn't a strong fighter, if at all. So, to try and help Jake improve and better himself, Dirk took control of the situation and made Brobot for Jake to train with. He'd given it a variety of settings and an affection for Jake so the thing wouldn't kill the guy. He hadn't really given Jake much of a say in the matter, just started sending him the pieces as they were completed.

When they all needed to get into their session and the Medium, Dirk had taken every bit of control in the situation, resurrecting Roxy, getting his head to Jake, resurrecting Jane, and flying himself and the girls back to Jake's island as their session properly began. He hadn't waited on his friends to try anything, not that some of them could have anyway, he simply took action and saved them all.

Rose hummed in thought. "Dirk..." she queried. "Where exactly in your relationship with Dave do you think you're being manipulative and hurting him?"

Dirk hummed and shrugged. "I dunno," he admitted. "Maybe when it comes to things like... I guess everyday things? He isn't good at prioritizing tasks or getting things done, so I tend to take over and I believe that I steamroll what he wants to get my way. I tend to shut down his rambling arguments and I tell him what I view things to be in a... In my mind, manipulative manner and he just... Placidly accepts it."

Rose had a smile slip onto her face, even as she tried to force it down. This made Dirk frown deeply. "What?" he snipped.

Rose giggled. "Dirk," she said. "Has it ever occurred to you that Dave might have issues with ADHD?"

Dirk blinked rapidly behind his shades as he tried to process the question. ADHD? Wasn't that an attention disorder? Dave paid attention to things just fine, especially his interests and conversations with his friends. "That's... No. He pays attention fine."

Rose snorted and shook her head. "No, no, no," she chided, scooting to the edge of the seat. "Dirk ADHD is a dopamine disorder. Dave's brain doesn't produce enough dopamine causing problems with, yes focus, but also balance issues, sugar or caffeine cravings, sleep, overall mood, emotional regulation, executive function, memory, and honestly, so much more. It's part of the reason a good rooftop strife still makes him excited because he's getting a rush of adrenaline and dopamine. He's struggling badly when it comes to things like grocery shopping or organizing chores. He's actually probably grateful when you take things over."

Dirk stared a bit at Rose. That actually made quite a bit of sense, shifting how he viewed Dave. He had never gotten the sense that Dave was as bogged down by his perception of himself as much as other (sexuality and actual emotional expression aside, anyway), so it always baffled him that Dave seemed to struggle to get shit done as much as someone like Jane or John, or even Jake and Roxy. Dave felt weirdly self actualized in many ways to him.

Rose shook her head while Dirk thought. "Back to the original point of your visit," she said. "Dave being a mess of dopamine problems aside, I think you're just looking more like Bro than even he expected, so he's avoiding you. Presumably to try and spare your feelings on the matter."

Dirk huffed in annoyance. That made no sense to him. This was way more hurtful! He wanted to rap with Dave, play video games with him, drink coffees together, laugh at their favorite films... He missed Dave's closeness immensely.

Rose hesitated then murmured, "I recommend simply confronting him. Not aggressively, but simply ask him what's going on and if you can help or fix it in anyway."

Dirk nodded slowly. "Yeah... I can do that."

Before Rose could utter another word, Dirk was on his feet and swiftly walking out the front door. Shrugging, she gathered her things and headed to her office, awaiting an update from either of the Striders.

[ranting-writer]

"Don't you find it hard to look at me? Like, at all?"

Dave looked up from drawing his little comics to look at Dirk across the table from him.

They were in the meteor's library, just getting in some alone time together and drinking shitty coffee while engaging in their respective artistic pursuits. They'd been sitting in silence for a long time, maybe half an hour, before Dirk spoke.

"Sorry, what?"

"Is my strikingly familiar visage not difficult to cast your gaze upon?"

Dave stared harder then inhaled, "Dude, using big boy words doesn't make it easier for my spacey ass to comprehend," he said, setting his pen down. "Though, saying spacey is funny because I am, in fact, not the Space player. You'd think she'd be a lot more all over than I am, but no. I'm the dipshit squirreling out. Can't cross the roads of fucking thought when I need to. God damn abhorrent ass attention span, can't even focus on the topic at hand, which is you asking me if 'your visage is difficult to cast my gaze upon'. Stellar wording."

Dirk didn't reply, just staring while awaiting an answer. Although, he fidgeted quite a bit. His face and voice were under perfect control, truly the model of composure. His body language? Less so. He hadn't had people around to really gauge body language growing up, so his every emotion was on display, mostly through his hands and shoulders.

He was Dave's opposite in that way. Dave's expressions and tone were whatever with Bro. He could pull whatever tone he really wanted, or grin like a giddy bitch all day, but his body language was scrutinized thoroughly. Any flinch or sign of fear was grounds for an immediate visit to the Striders Rooftop Arena.

Dave hummed, resting his chin on his hand. "I mean, no," he said. "Why would I have a hard time looking at you?"

Dirk sighed and shrugged. "I suppose I assumed I look like your Bro. And I assumed such a fact would bring up a lot of negative emotions."

If Dave had learned anything about Dirk so far, it was that the guy was very, very concerned with matters of his own image and identity. Self centered if you will. Not necessarily in a bad way, it was just that his identity and sense of self were incredibly important to him. Typically, he also seemed to assume everyone was as focused on the idea of who they were as he was. It was a noticeable struggle for him to not internalize everything Bro had done as his own actions or responsibility. And it seemed like his literal image was a potential issue as well.

"Well," Dave began. "You do and you don't."

"Elaborate."

Dave shrugged and turned the page to draw something less shitty and cartoony. "You have the same hair, same eye color, same freckles, same shades..." he murmured. "But your eyes, when I can see them, are relaxed and soft. Also, your eyes are more orangey than his. His lean a bit more brown, like honey. Your voice is almost as deep as his, but your tone overall is lighter and more fun. He sounded like someone died almost all the time."

Dirk watched Dave draw, pondering Dave's words as the other Strider spoke. It was simultaneously comforting and distressing to be compared and contrasted with this other him. Everything he knew about Bro was through Dave's jovial explanations and staunch defenses, and Rose's reinterpretations of Dave's information.

Dave continued. "Also, big difference, your nose is straight. Well as straight as our Roman noses can be."

Dirk blinked, absently touching his nose. "Straight?" he asked curiously.

Dave nodded, sketching out a badly crooked nose as he spoke. "Bro broke his nose a lot," he said. "He played baseball growing up and a lot of balls hit him in the face. Two breaks were from that. Last break I remember was from slamming his face into the shower wall when he fell once. Bloody as shit and he raged about it for an hour."

Dirk peered at what Dave was drawing. He guessed Dave was drawing Bro by the nose. It was so broken it sat kind of... Boringly on the face instead of proudly and regally. It was warped to the side, and it honestly looked hard to breathe through. And the eyes Dave started to draw...

Dirk knew his eyes weren't very expressive, so he expected Bro's eyes to be cold and unsympathetic looking. Dead, even. It was something Jake had once complained about (though Dave had once suggested that complaint was bullshit and founded on idealized romance standards). Instead, the eyes Dave drew were widened and intense, almost angry or perhaps manic. The man Dave was drawing looked as ready to throw a punch as he was to skydive without a parachute. He painfully unhinged...

"Your mouth is also pretty different," Dave continued, snapping Dirk out of his staring contest with the paper.

"How so?"

"Honestly, sometimes I forgot he actually had one."

Dirk stared in confusion. How the hell do you forget a person has a mouth?

"As I got older, he kind of... stopped talking," Dave said, sketching a mouth on his drawing. "Also, he his lip piercings were spiked, yours aren't. But if I'm honest, a lot of the difference is your teeth." He drew the mouth as a wide, manic grin. "Yours are pretty straight and clean, I'm guessing your hygiene is top fucking notch given your craving for infinite showering."

Dirk smile a bit and nodded. He did love a good, long, boiling hot shower. He'd actually turned red once from how long he'd been in the shower. It had taken the still young AR blaring an alarm in the apartment to get Dirk out of the shower.

Dave hummed a bit as he drew Bro's teeth. They were crooked and a couple seemed chipped in painful ways. Shading on some suggested cavities. Or discoloration maybe? Dave elaborated without being asked, "Bro was a heavy smoker," he said. "Especially when he felt like shit, which was a fuck load. His teeth got kind of yellowy and he had a few cavities where brushing wasn't doing anything much."

Dirk nodded. He personally didn't understand how anyone could smoke cigarettes. In the bubbles, he'd once gotten a whiff of them and it nearly made him gag. Another time, he watched Dave trying to alchemize some. Apparently it was successful in making at least one because he heard Dave coughing for about ten minutes, and Dave had smelled of nicotine the rest of the day.

Then again... Addiction wasn't something he necessarily could relate to to being with. Roxy was an alcoholic and apparently Rose had, even briefly, ventured down the same path. It wouldn't surprise him if once this was all over if Dave actually picked up his own addiction. After all, genetics played a part, and it seemed he'd also grown up around someone with addictions.

Dave paused his sketching efforts then looked up, almost as if to examine Dirk.

Dirk shifted uncomfortably under the gaze.

Dave eventually looked back down, drawing a scar under Bro's eye. "You also don't have the same scars on you," he said. "I gave him this one when I was six apparently. I throw a knife at him and it cut his cheek and ear pretty bad. He wasn't even mad. He was actually pretty proud."

Dirk rubbed the scar on his throat, watching Dave again. "Damn. Honestly, I might have been too."

"Oh I'd hope so. Like, dude... A first grader accurately slices open your face and ear throwing a knife? Dude, that's hella cool."

"Oh, truly. No doubt about that."

The two smiled at each other and let out little giggles of shared delight over their silly agreement.

Dave started next on Bro's hair. "He always styled his hair too, like yours, but more often than not, it was loose around his face, kinda messy and like he chopped it with kitchen scissors."

The hair he drew was fluffy if, as he stated, choppy. Not bad, "Oh god who let you leave the salon like that" choppy. More intentionally choppy for the most part. Definitely a kitchen scissor job though. The hair framed Bro's face and head like a fluffy halo. "It was strawberry blonde too, like yours."

Dirk blinked and pulled a piece of hair down to examine it. Strawberry blonde? Did that mean more red? He supposed it did, given that Dave and Roxy had more of a gold blonde, and Rose... Well Rose was sort of a non-factor if he didn't know her actual hair color. The girl kept bleaching it platinum. "...Does Rose have...?"

"Rose's natural hair is so strawberry, she's borderline a redhead."

Dirk stared a bit, processing. Huh. Rose really was closer to being like him than Roxy.

"Bro bleached his hair a lot too," Dave said. "Not like... constantly like Rose, but sometimes he'd come back from Dennis's place with white ass hair and weird things done to his side burns or eyebrows."

Dirk screeched himself up in confusion. "Wait, who?"

Dave paused then gasped softly. "Ooooohhhh.... You don't have a Dennis." He looked stunned to realize that Dirk hadn't had his own version of whoever the hell Dennis was. He bounced a bit in his seat. "Okay, so Dennis was kind of like... The only friend Bro had," he elaborated. "He helped Bro on Game Bro, babysat me, and helped Bro with his online businesses. He was kind of a douche, but like... Not really. More like just some knucklehead who didn't like kids that. His girlfriend liked me though. Dennis and his girl were basically our only family."

Dirk nodded a bit, looking at the basically drawing Dave still worked on. "So... No family family?"

Dave paused then sighed heavily. After a moment, he started drawing, presumably, Bro's hands, going oddly quiet. The hands he drew were calloused and sturdy hands, though still the same in shape as Dirk's more dainty looking ones. They had painted nails that looked chewed on and painfully short, and they were covered in thick, ugly scars. Dave spoke after he finished. "Bro's adoptive parents were I think he said Calvinist," he looked up. "I researched that once and basically it says that God picked who has gonna save and bring to Heaven already and Jesus died for them and no one else. Aaaand that even a newborn baby is just fucking riddled with sin."

Dirk felt a knot form in his stomach. Obviously, he hadn't been raised to believe in Christianity or a God or anything like that, but he'd seen some awful things done in planet's history in the name of Christianity and its denominations and their God.

"And keep in mind, Bro was raised in the 1980's by these people," Dave continued. "From what I gather, he wasn't allowed to read anything but the Bible as a kid." Dave took in a slow breath, looking sickened and sad. "...They started to hit him with willow branches as early as four months old."

Dirk felt the knot in his throat tighten as dread washed over him. Bro, this other version of him, was hit with branches as a baby. A literal baby...

He knew what had suffered already in his short 16 years alive was hell. Isolation, ecological devastation, a struggle for food, a struggle to survive... He and Roxy both had pretty massive trump cards if people tried to compare trauma to them. But Dirk had at least seen pictures and some old videos of babies. They were soft and sweet, innocent and unaware of anything nasty in the world. He probably would necessarily like babies himself if he was around any, but he couldn't imagine being so depraved and vile that you believe a baby was sinful and needed to be hit, let alone actually hitting the baby.

Dirk looked at the drawn hands. "So... The scars on his hands... From the branches?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. His "dad" would lure him to touch something then hit him. Apparently to teach obedience." He sipped his coffee. "Oh, apparently, I met his adoptive parents once when I was like, freshly ecto-birthed. His "dad" pulled that with me and Bro lost it."

Dirk growled a bit. "I should fucking hope so," he said, furious that someone would actively assault what was essentially a newborn. "I don't think I even like kids, but they shouldn't be hit."

Dave nodded, in agreement, seemingly unaware of the sort of doublethink he was engaging in that moment. Not that Dirk was going to call it out. Now wasn't the appropriate moment.

"That's not to mention whatever the fuck Lil Cal was doing to him."

Dirk tilted his head slightly in confusion. Cal? Cal was the shit. That was his fucking buddy, his best bro in the whole damn post-apocalyptic world. What was wrong with that friendly face? Then again, Caliborn had said something about Cal being a powerful juju. Was that it?

"What do you mean," Dirk asked. "Cal's just a sick ass puppet. A sweet ass bro."

Dave's mouth contorted into a sort of disgusted sneer. "Uh-huh..." he mumbled. "Yeah, no. Maybe yours is. Bro's was a malicious evil fuck. I don't know what that thing did to him, but I found him more than once in my childhood talking to it. Arguing with it. He had a few breakdowns at it too. I think its why he stopped talking..."

Hearing this confused Dirk. There was a Lil Cal that was an evil, malicious force that tormented someone? That didn't sound right, but... He couldn't exactly argue with Dave. Dave, while more expressive than Dirk, still tended to try and mask his emotions. For Dave to show off that much disgust and dislike of something, it was pretty significant to Dave then.

Dirk nodded slowly, processing the information. Something had tormented Bro for a long time... Enough to have Dave have at least heard Bro's end of what was happening.

Dave turned back to drawing, seemingly finishing up minor details. "Bro had his problems and he wasn't the best person at times," he said. "But he gave a shit. Too much sometimes. He felt his emotions pretty intensely so he shut them down a lot." He turned the finished drawing towards Dirk. "But he tried his best to be good."

Looking at the completed drawing, Dirk felt his anxiety spike. It was him, staring back. A feral, unstable version of himself. For a moment, he felt all his worst fears might be true. That he might be just as depraved and cruel, if not more so, than Bro. He was scared of being manipulative, cruel, abusive, and downright awful. He knew he was these things, but he didn't want to be, and kept trying to fix it when he became aware of it. Seeing this drawing made him feel like his efforts to grow were for naught.

Then again...

The longer he stared the more the face looked... Different. Like another man entirely.

This man, this version of Dirk... He had been severely abused, his earliest memory likely being hit. He'd spent a good chunk of adult life apparently tormented by a puppet. He had no support beyond one or two people. He struggled with addiction, poor impulse control, and possibly a lot of pain if his scars and injuries were anything to go by. He was abusive and cold, distant and brutish. He was a man who had no real guidance his anything in life, except for perhaps the goal of raising Dave. Whoever this was... This wasn't him.

The realization rocked him, like a boulder had slammed into his back and knocked him over.

Bro wasn't him.

Genetically, they were one and the same, yes. But the longer Dirk gazed into the scribbled eyes of Bro, he felt the connection to the older man slowly loosen. It didn't snap or release, just... Relaxed. He would forever be connected to Bro, forever chained to a past he couldn't ever remember, but he could be better. He could learn from Bro's mistakes and grow. And he could be better to Dave than Bro had been. He needed to be better to Dave. Dave deserved better.

Dirk looked up at Dave, tension in his body easing. He smiled faintly at Dave. "Thank you, Dave," he said. "I appreciate this. Really."

Dave smiled warmly, looking like the sun in Dirk's eyes. "Yeah, man," he replied, giddy. "Anything for you. We're bros. We stick together and help each other out."

Dirk nodded happily, letting Dave hold his hand while Dave returned to babbling away about some dead thing he found interesting.

He couldn't totally say yet that he wasn't Bro. Guilt still ate at his psyche like an annoying moth chewing on clothing. Perhaps, one day, though, he could leave his fears behind.

[ranting-writer]

On Mothers and Baseball

“Sir, your son was in another fight at school today.”

No guardian wanted to hear that, but Bro especially hated hearing it. Not because he hated Dave fighting, actually, he encouraged Dave to stand up for himself and finish a fight if it was called for. Sometimes, yeah, he encouraged Dave to start a fight, but never unprompted. No, he hated it because he hated having to go into the damn school to argue with yet another teacher about what Dave should or shouldn’t be doing. He hated going in and bitching to teachers that, yes, Dave does in fact have every right to defend himself should he have to.

“Okay, and why,” Bro had asked as he grabbed his rocket board. “Why was he having to defend himself, yet a-fucking-gain?”

The lady on the other end sputtered, still not used to Bro’s defenses of Dave, or his willingness to back talk to the staff. “I-I don’t think that’s relevant, Mr.Strider,” she stuttered out.

Bro snorted and just hung up on her. He didn’t have the energy tp bitch over the phone to the secretary about Dave. Also, he was going to have to correct people about calling him Dave’s father. Yeah, technically he was, and yes he was on Dave’s birth certificate as the father, but he was adamant, as was Dave, that he was the older brother, not a dad. Bro took a deep breath and headed for the school.

When he arrived, Dave was already in the office, nose and lip bloody, and his broken shades in his little hands. Dave looked up when bro stepped into the office and winced slightly. “Hey,” he murmured. “They broke my shades this time. I’m sorry, I know they’re damn pricey.”

Bro waved Dave off a bit, even as the secretary gasped at Dave’s language. Should Dave be cursing in the fourth grade? Probably not, but Bro hadn’t shied away from swear words while Dave was tiny, so he saw no reason to really police Dave now. Well, aside from a good southern reminder to not swear around old ladies. He took the busted up sunglasses from Dave and tossed them in the trash. He could get new ones later, or dig around for an old pair of his own. He plopped down next to Dave. “Alright, your side before they give theirs.”

Dave sighed heavily and looked at his little red sneakers. “So, it’s Mother’s Day soon,” he started. Oh shit, was it really? Bro didn’t keep track of that shit, seeing as Dave didn’t exactly have a mother, and he himself cut contact with the woman who raised him. “And, a bunch of the other kids in my class know I don’t have a mom,” Dave continued. “They started shit talking to me about it and they didn’t stop when I told them too!”

“So you threw a punch.”

“Yeah… Yeah I did.”

Bro sighed heavily and patted Dave’s back. He didn’t understand Dave’s desire for familial bonds, specifically a mom, but he could try and comfort the kid whenever the topic came up. Hard not to have it come up when Dave started questioning where his own mom was at four. Well, “their” mom. Dave hadn’t, and still didn’t, realize that Bro wasn’t actually his brother, and Bro was content to keep it that way. “Dad” was a high standard he couldn’t live up to. Obviously that didn’t stop him from getting finger painted cards and ugly children’s pottery from Dave every Father’s Day.

No, he didn’t cherish the ugly, half formed “Best Bro” mug that was unable to be drunk from. No, it wasn’t on his desk as a pencil holder, and no the cards weren’t stashed away in a keepsake box under the futon. How dare anyone accuse him of anything but trashing that shit regularly.

The principal called them into the office proper, and Dave led Bro inside, ready to face suspension or, possibly, expulsion. Dave wasn’t unaware of the consequences of getting into fights, but that hadn’t stopped him from engaging.

The principal sighed and looked at Bro. “Mr. Strider,” she began. “I’m certain you are aware of the numerous fights Dave has gotten into.”

Bro grunted, uninterested and picking at his nails. “Yup,” he replied. “I’m very well aware of the frankly ludicrous amount of times he’s been harassed, harangued, and frankly, outright bullied over things that aren’t his fault. I’m happy to start with today, where he was being bullied over his mother.”

The principal took in a slow breath, lips pressed into a thin line. She was used to Bro by now. Very used to him. However, she certainly did not like him. She found him haughty and rude. Perhaps not the worst guardian she’d ever encountered, but he was certainly one of the most annoying. “It does not matter why he started the fight,” she said tersely. “What matters here is that he hit another boy.”

Bro’s jaw tensed. A subtle thing that only Dave really noticed. Bro leaned forward, glaring through his shades at the principal. “You’re wrong, lady,” he growled. “Dave ain’t a violent kid, he has cause when he picks up these fights, or finishes them. You just don’t wanna see what other kids are doing because it's easier on you to throw the bullied kid under the fucking bus.”

The principal huffed and shook her head. “Mr.Strider, I am issuing a three day suspension for Dave,” she said, writing something down. “He will have to complete work for those missed days, as well.”

Bro glared and stood up quickly. “Whatever… Come on, Dave.”

Dave hurried after Bro as Bro left the building. He desperately hoped Bro wouldn’t want a strife when they got home. His hands hurt pretty bad as it was, and he didn’t want another kick to the ribs.

As they walked, thankfully, Bro seemed to be uninterested in him, doing that weird thing where he went completely silent. It was a sign that he was just going to grab his cigarettes when they got home and hide out on the roof for around two hours with Lil Cal and whatever new mobile phone he’d managed to snag (this time it was the Sony Ericsson Z1010, he thought).

Dave spoke softly, “Bro, why don’t we have a mom?” He looked up at Bro, eyes pleading and big.

Bro sighed heavily, pinching his nose bridge. He did not want to have this conversation. He couldn’t just say that he had no mom, could he? That would be pretty shitty. What was a way he could say something without Dave ever bringing it up again? Did he just tell the truth? Did he deflect with bullshit? He could. He was good at it. Really good at it. But he really, really wanted Dave to stop asking. He sighed, deciding to meld truth and bullshit.

“Okay, look, we do,” he said. “But I left with you. Stole you right outta your crib like the Goddamn Hamburglar with those delicious quarter pounders. Mom and dad fucking suck, and I wasn’t gonna give them the chance to treat you the way I got treated. It’s just been easier to say you don’t have a mom because you may as well not, for how she was.”

Yeah, yeah that was good. Divulge just a bit of your own past to appease Dave. Give him some believability and see what he does with it. It wasn’t… Really a lie. Part of why Bro had cut off his adoptive family really was because of Dave. When he’d gotten Dave, he had tried to get support from his adoptive parents, hoping they’d want to bond with their grandchild at minimum. Instead, they’d trashed him for “sex before marriage”, and demanded to know which woman “tempted him away from the path of God” so they could force her to marry him.

On top of that, his adoptive father had promptly used a “training” method on the baby Dave that Bro had been through. He’d tempted the little baby with a toy on purpose, getting him to crawl and reach for it. When Dave’s tiny fingers grazed the toy, Bro’s adoptive father used a familiar, old willow branch to switch Dave’s little hand.

The sound of the branch followed by Dave’s shriek of pain and wailing cry had made Bro see red. He’d pinned the man meant to be his father to the recliner he’d been in, hitting him in the face and breaking his nose.

Bro wasn’t much better than his so-called parents, he didn’t think. He knew his behavior towards Dave was objectionable at best, but he couldn’t imagine putting Dave through the “training” he’d been through. Hitting a four month old baby with a willow branch, pulling a newborn’s hair for biting, pushing toddlers into a pond to teach them not to fall in… None of it was any kind of training for self defense or independence. It was “training” to teach children to fear, to cower, and to obey without question.

Tragically for his “parents”, Bro had been inquisitive, intelligent, and liked to ask “why” for the explicit purpose of finding truth, no matter how irritating he was. He had never been religious and questioned everything. The only reason his “parents”, specifically father, had stopped switching him was because he quickly began fighting back and eventually got too big for them to control easily.

Dave seemed to have finished chewing on the information and he looked at Bro again. “What’d she do to you?”

Ah. The big boy question. The hefty weight he’d have to pick up and either keep carrying it himself, or give some of it to Dave under false pretenses. Bro shook his head. “You don’t get to know, lil man,” he said, leading Dave into their apartment building. “That’s too much for you to process right now.”

Dave huffed in annoyance as he trailed after Bro. He wanted to know why Bro was keeping him away from their mother, his mother… But, if Bro was implying heavy abuse on the part of their parents…

Maybe it was best to let it go, at least for now.

Dave lugged his backpack to his room while Bro retreated to the roof. He hated suspension, but weirdly, he was also excited for the free three days. They were falling right before the weekend, so he was essentially getting five days off of school total. He was mostly grateful that Bro wasn’t mad at him for the fight.

Dave headed to the kitchen to see what remaining snacks he could scrounge up and hide away, things Bro wouldn’t notice. Well, he didn’t think Bro would notice if half of the snacks or food went missing. The man barely ate some weeks. Once, he’d admitted to Dave that he’d been basically surviving off of Monster and cigarettes for days at a time. Essentially, Bro was wildly unhealthy for being as active as he was and forgot food existed, let alone that eating was an activity he needed to partake in. Except the lunch meat for some reason. Bro was bloodhound over the lunchmeat.

Dave grabbed up a bunch of the snacks from the cabinet and carried the armload to his bedroom to stash away in the closet. His rationed snacks and school lunches were a bulk of his meals, but on occasion, when Bro did remember food existed, he’d get hot food. Nothing fancy, but breakfasts in particular always excited him. Cheesy scrambled eggs, tick fried bologna, hashbrowns from the freezer section fried up with cheese, and a Pilsbury biscuit. It was simple and cheap and, honestly, not super well made, but it was a comfort meal for him. It was his favorite breakfast, and his excitement over it sometimes seemed to reach Bro.

Bro would smile just a bit and mess up Dave’s hair affectionately while cooking. A few times, he even had Dave help him and taught him how to crack the eggs. It was one of the few soft moments between them.

Dave plopped down on his bed and laid back after he put away his food. He sighed heavily. The next five days were either going to be the most relaxing days of his school career yet, or Bro was going to make it so he couldn’t relax. He wasn’t sure where Bro’s head was at yet. Actually, he was never sure where Bro’s head was at.

Bro was the kind of person who had a blank face. No, a stone face. Any expression Bro made tended to be pretty neutral or such a minor change to his face that it wasn’t noticeable if you didn’t know him. The shades didn’t help, hiding his eyes and eyebrows. He unnerved a lot of people and he wasn’t exactly liked by most. Bro’s actions also often felt nonsensical and absurd.

Hiding cameras around to film puppet snuff, building puppet cameras to begin with, hiding swords in the fridge, filling the kitchen sink with smuppets, putting a marionette in the shower…

One time, Bro had taken Dave’s old apple juice bottles and decided to melt the glass and make some lenses or something.

In short, Bro was weird and unpredictable, with weird ideas about how to help people. In Dave’s opinion, it was wildly unhelpful to drop him into the building’s laundry room at five and leave him to figure out laundry himself. He’d even left Lil Cal in there to watch him for some reason. Lil Cal was hella cool sure, but damn… It was creepy sometimes, and having it stare at him in the dim, damp lighting of the public laundry room had made Dave uneasy.

Speaking of….

Up on the roof, Bro stared down Lil Cal, who stared back blankly. He wasn’t sure what was up, but he swore Lil Cal was… Talking to him. In the back of his mind, he heard things… Small things, almost passable as intrusive thoughts.

But if there was one thing Bro liked more than puppets or making stupid puppet snuff, it was analyzing patterns. The thoughts weren’t him, he could almost certainly say that. For years, he’d had a voice in his head made up for Lil Cal, and this new voice had sounded similar to that. Nowadays, it sounded less like what he made up as a kid, and more sinister. Frequently, these intrusive thoughts demanded he do things like actively harm Dave, or harass random people. Seemingly nothing odd for intrusive thoughts, but what made him swear it wasn’t him was the fact that this voice got angry when he tried to shake it off.

Bro would hear bitter remarks in his head if he ignored it, and he often felt like something was watching him a little too closely.

Right then though, Lil Cal just stared back with his plastic eyes. Any voices in Bro’s head were silent and he was starting to wonder if he’d just… Made it up.

Bro looked up from his plastic staring contest as Dave wandered outside and over to him. The voice slipped into his head saying he should attack Dave. He shook the thought from his mind, ignoring the little “hoohoohoo” in his head. “What’s up, lil man?” he asked. “Need something?”

Dave sat next to Bro, batting cigarette smoke away from his face, and shrugged. "No, not really,” he admitted. “I just sort of… I dunno, wanted to come see you and hang out?”

Well, that was sort of… New. Typically, they just existed in the same space, but not really together. Dave went about his business as an eight year old would, and Bro did his 28 year old business. Or rather, Bro managed his business ventures and edited videos, photos, logos, icons, music, and more for his weird puppet snuff and online puppet shop. The most that could be considered hanging out in the Strider household was Dave sipping a juice box on the futon while Bro played Tony Hawk or something.

Bro hummed and nodded. “Sure… Hang out.” He put out his cigarette and put Cal over his shoulders like normal, looking at Dave. “Uh… Did you wanna chat or something?” he asked. Damn, he really sucked at talking to Dave when it wasn’t initiated by the kid. He sucked more for feeling like he needed to rely the literal child to start the conversation.

Dave hummed in thought, kicking his skinny little legs. 'Fidgety ass kid', Bro thought. Dave looked over finally. “Can you tell me about your hobbies as a kid?”

Bonding. Right. Bro could totally bond with Dave. Especially over hobbies. Yeah…

Sure they shared hobbies now, like art, music, and sword based strifing. And he definitely knew Dave’s hobbies outside of that. Collecting dead things and photography were huge interests of Dave’s. Hell, Bro had gone out of his way to hunt down weird and interesting dead things for Dave to display, and he’d spent a fortune at that point on disposable cameras and even an old Polaroid camera and film. Dave hung his photos all over his bedroom, a surprising amount of them being pictures of himself or random things he saw in a day.

But as for Dave knowing his hobbies? Yeah, sewing was a hobby, but it was for a business. Puppet making? Business. Music? Business. Robotics or mechanic work? Business. It made sense that Dave didn’t see these things as hobbies because Bro did almost nothing but try to monetize his skills in these things (their quality was frankly debatable, but apparently enough niche groups wanted to see puppet ass). Not to mention, his hobbies now were vastly different to his childhood hobbies. What had he enjoyed as a kid…?

“Well, I used to play baseball,” he finally said, looking at the sky as the sun began to droop below the skyline.

“Whoa, baseball? Really?” Dave asked, sounding stunned.

Bro nodded as he absently lit another cigarette. Habit of being on the roof. “Baseball,” he confirmed. “I was damn good at it too. Fastest bitch on the team with a hell of a swing.”

“Guess that explains how you swing a katana so good. Baseball skills.”

Bro nodded in confirmation, a faint smile briefly gracing his lips. “Never swang anything as heavy as Babe Ruth’s bat, that sucker was 44 ounces. But I had a hefty bat at 34 ounces.” He babbled for a bit about baseball, sort of enjoying talking about the sport. It honestly surprised him how much he had missed it. It had been one of the things he’d abandoned when he’d left his childhood home.

And, boy… Dave was staring at him in awe, little eyebrows way up on his forehead, as he listened to his big brother ramble at him about a sport. Dave wasn’t a sports kid, except for maybe skateboarding, but this topic seemed to have him hooked. Although, perhaps it was less the sport itself, and maybe more about the vigor and knowledge Bro spoke with. Dave was excited to hear more about his Bro, and he didn’t hold back his expression of sheer joy.

Eventually, Bro finished his ramble about middle school baseball, and also his cigarette. The sun was almost down by then, and the only lights up were the lights to the stairs and the ambient street lights below. He made a dismissive gesture towards the stairs. “Go back inside,” he ordered. “It's cold and you need sleep, lil man.”

Dave sighed as he saw Bro’s body language return to its tense and on guard state. He hated not being able to connect with Bro much, almost resenting the dark shades on the man’s face. This man was his only relative and his only real friend right now, his only means of forming a meaningful connection. He had no one else, not really. Despite living with another person, Dave often felt extremely isolated and alone, not that he could necessarily put word to these feelings yet. Reluctantly, he pushed himself to stand and wandered back towards the stairs.

As he opened the stairwell door, he overheard Bro talking to himself. Or was it Lil Cal? Lil Cal was cool, 100%, but was it really worth talking to? Maybe.

Dave shrugged to himself and trotted down to his room, prepared to feast upon a mini bag of pretzels and some cheese whiz for dinner, paired with a lovely apple juice. Motts to be precise. Not his favorite, but it would certainly suffice. Though, perhaps, if he was careful, he might be able to nab some salami from the one slot in the fridge not occupied by unbelievably shitty gas station weaponry.

He paused by the kitchen to contemplate this plan, staring at the fridge as if it would tell him in plain text how many shitty swords were inside its chilly shell, and just how much noise they’d make upon tumbling unceremoniously out of it.

There was also the problem of the shift in Bro’s mood. He’d gone from being a little antsy, to chill, to totally on guard again. A strife would definitely be planned for the morning if Bro found even one sword out of place or the salami missing. Snack food was one thing, Bro would genuinely forget if he ate something or not, or if he’d absently tossed it to Dave. But any actual meat in the house? Bro was weirdly protective of it and basically treated it as a treat for himself, and war rations for Dave.

Food was definitely weird in their house… And not in a fun way, or at least, not fun for Dave.

Dave decided against attempting The Salami Heist, and headed right to his roo

[ranting-writer]

King Shit of Puppet Island

Disclaimer: This has clear depictions of child neglect, and mentions of child abuse.

Derrick "Dirk" Strider, born December 3rd of 1975. Well, born wasn't the right word, but it was easier, way easier, than trying to explain to people around him he'd been found in a crater. It was also easier to say he preferred being called Dirk or D over Derrick instead of trying to explain that, no, his name was never Derrick. Derrick was just what his adoptive family called him.

Of course nowadays, he was going by Bro.

Bro was something he'd picked to be called too, but really only by the two year old asleep in his arms.

Dave "Lil Man" Strider, crashed landed on Earth and into a record shop on December 3rd, 1995.

Bro had known this was ahead of him in life pretty early on, to some extent anyway. Growing up, he knew something was weird about him, abnormal. He was faster and stronger than his adoptive siblings, on top of generally being smarter. It wasn't a brag, simple fact. Bro was teaching himself about robotics, machines, and basic engineering before middle school.

His eyes were orangey amber instead of a normal brown to boot.

Something wasn't right about him, and he hadn't been sure why, but he had an inkling that something other than engineer (or pastor had his adoptive parents had their way) lay in his future. Maybe not exactly greater or grander, but something different. At 15, that was confirmed for him.

One day, while skateboarding down an empty road, he'd been stopped by an older man in what looked like stereotypical "adventuring" gear. Hat included. The man had introduced himself as Jacob Harley, and said he'd needed to explain some things to Bro.

There and then, Sir Harley has explained to Bro that within the next few years, he needed to prepare himself to find a child born under the same circumstances as him. His child, specifically his son. He'd explained that the kid would need to be prepared, one way or another, for what would be a dangerous, but necessary event. A "game of universal destruction and birth", he'd called it.

Bro guessed he was supposed to be flabbergasted and, maybe even aghast at this information, but he wasn't. The information was heavy, sure, but startling? Eh.

Oddly, it had given him the push to pursue his actual passions in life over when his "parents" wanted out of him.

Yet, when the time came, he felt as unprepared as he would have without the heads up. Yes, he'd confidently picked up the baby and the dead horse, he'd strutted away from the crater and up to his apartment, but inside, his stomach had churned. This kid was definitely more agile and active than actual newborns, but he had still felt so fragile in his arms.

And he still did.

Dave was a very healthy (and chunky) two year old. He was active and giggly and loved contact naps. He toddled after Bro constantly, even after Bro was tossing him around to get him to learn self defense as a baby. He guessed Dave was different too.

Dave huffed and whined in his sleep, curling up against Bro tightly. Bro sighed a bit and rubbed Dave's back, staring at the TV as it played a cartoon they both had liked. In moments like these, the quiet ones, Bro felt all too wrong in this situation. He got lost in thought and always came to the same conclusion: he wasn't cut out for parenthood. Honestly, the title of "Bro" felt like a relief. He didn't have to have nearly as high expectations. Fucking up was expected for an older brother, right?

Eventually, Dave woke up and stretched his tiny limbs, yawning. He kicked his little feet and looked tiredly at Bro. He blinked slowly a few times before hugging Bro's face. "Bwo."

"Hey, lil man. Hungry?"

Dave let out a tired little huff, nodding. "Keeto...," he mumbled.

Bro stood with Dave tucked against his chest. "Cheetos for the baby," he agreed as he went for the snack cabinet. "Regular or puffs?"

Dave sniffled a bit, glaring at the cabinet in thought with his round face scrunched in thought. "Boof", he decided. He immediately beamed as he got a Cheeto Puff for each hand, and began gnawing on one.

Bro smiled tiredly, grateful Dave was easily entertained. He wasn't exactly sure what he would have done had Dave been a tantrum thrower. That wasn't to say Dave hadn't been in his own version of Terrible Twos, because he absolutely was. Screaming because he couldn't take random roadkill home. Crying because he didn't understand why Bro wouldn't let him put a butter knife in the electrical socket.

The worst so far had been Dave's complete breakdown over seeing Bro without shades for the first time in his short life. Poor kid had lost his mind, screaming, crying, and trying to run away only to fall on his face. Which made the crying that much louder because Dave's forehead had slammed into the kitchen tile. Luckily, there was no brain or skull damage. Just a bruised goose egg.

Bro set Dave down in the playpen and turned up the volume on the cartoons still playing. "Okay, lil man," he said. "Starting now, I'm gonna be working at the computer. You amuse yourself here with the puffs, your juice, and your toys. Got it?"

Dave giggled and grinned. "Otay Bwo."

Bro lastly put the little shades on Dave's face before going to sit down at the computer. The thing had cost him a pretty penny, but it was how he was going about printing and posting ads for his ventriloquist and music skills for freelancing work. It was one of the only things he could do, and when he did get work, he had to unfortunately drag Dave along. Some places it was okay, like the time he'd gotten asked to DJ for some drag queens. One had carried him around the place and danced with the little guy. Bro wished he could have recorded the loud ass squealing laugh Dave had let out.

Other places, though, he definitely couldn't take Dave. Hole in the wall places, weird frat parties, strip clubs... As much as Bro didn't necessarily see an issue with Dave being exposed to these environments, he definitely saw an issue with the possibility that some jackass high on coke could steal his baby. He couldn't risk it. So one of two things happened.

One, Dennis and Dennis's girlfriend took Dave for the night. Not ideal, but better than the bars or whatever. Dennis didn't like babies or kids in general, but he tolerated Dave for Bro's sake. At least the guy and his girlfriend fed Dave and changed him.

Option two, which he had to employ more than once, was to strap Dave to his chest as securely as possible and just work around the baby. He didn't trust Dave was safe on his back, so it was right on his chest, baby earplugs and baby noise cancelling headphones equipped.

Trying to get these types of gigs was a pain and not as lucrative as he liked, but it was what he could do.

Well... Not really the only thing he could do...

An email through his Hotmail grabbed his attention. It was from Mr. Harley and tilted, "Urgent Need for Robot".

Confused as to how Harley had gotten his email address to begin with, Bro opened the email to give it a look.

"Dear Young Mr.Strider!

It has been a good few years since our last conversation, and I do hope you are doing well. And I hope young Dave is well too!

As to the purpose of my email, I find myself in dire need of a robot for my young granddaughter, Jade. You see, she sleep walks something awful. She's always been a restless sleeper, but she has taken to wandering as she dreams on the odd occasion. Nothing horrid or life threatening, but still. I worry, and suspect, this shall worsen. I was hoping to gain your mechanical and programming expertise in crafting a bot for her to still wander with, but to let her waking body rest fully.

I'm sure you are aware at this point of the dreaming self, actually certain. You had mentioned before this odd behavior you possess of dissociation and "hallucinating yourself as being present on a purple planet". Not a hallucination, my young friend. That would be your Dream Self.

Jade's, I fear, wanders relentlessly so I require aid to keep her waking body safe. You would be paid handsomely for initial construction, the time, and if any need for repairs arises, you will be compensated at time of repair.

Yours Truly,

Sir Jacob Harley"

Bro stared, trying to absorb the frankly absurd things he'd been told and asked of in this message. Harley wasn't exactly the most... Sound of elderly gentlemen, but he was sharp as a tack and not inclined towards fibs or outright lies. Whatever bullshit was in this message was unfortunately legitimate. Unfortunately, there was a couple of pretty big issues with the idea that he could build a robot.

One: Yes, he had built robotics and complex machines before. Yes, he was a pretty handy programmer. His rocket board was his prized creation. However, how the hell was he supposed to build a human robot, when that hadn't been done yet by the leading experts in this shit? Robots were still viewed as these bulky, clumsy, boxy behemoths. Transformers were the closest he could think of when it came to humans conceptualizing human-like robots.

But they were cars and planes.

He was being asked to build and recreate a kid he'd never even seen!

Two: Where in the figure skating actual fuck was he supposed to find the space or materials to do this? He guessed he could do it on the roof... It wasn't like the landlord ever went up there, and he was the only one who ever went up there for a cigarette as far as he knew.

But then materials were still a problem. Coming by that much wiring and computer parts, not to mention tools and metal, would be incredibly difficult without money.

He groaned in irritation as Dave began crying. "Not now, lil man," he grumbled, tossing his hat aside.

Of course a "not now" rarely, if ever, made Dave stop, and today was no different. Dave simply kept crying, pulling himself up to stand at the edge of the play pen to cry for Bro.

Bro spent far too long staring at the screen for his liking, just trying to respond to Harley, but the crying wouldn't stop. It grated at his ear drums and hammered at his brain. Didn't this kid understand that he had to find a way to feed his ungrateful little ass? Didn't he know from being told again and again to not bother Bro when he was on the computer? Eventually he turned and snapped at Dave. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled, startling the toddler.

Dave's face was red and tear streaked, a snot bubble coming out of his nose, clearly very upset. But being yelled at made him be quiet.

The little baby's lip quivered and he hiccupped as he sat back down, looking dejected and hurt. Dave sniffled, crying softly as he scooted over towards his juice.

Bro turned away from the sight, head in his hands. What was wrong with him? Parents or guardians or whatever the fuck were supposed to look after their kids. He was supposed to help Dave with almost everything right? Dave was two and could speak full sentences, but he seemed more intent on continuing to cry. Crying drove Bro nuts.

Multiple times when Dave was a new baby, Bro had had to put him down wherever he was and lock himself in the bathroom or hide up on the roof. He had nearly shaken Dave before, once tensing up to do it before his rational mind kicked in and he'd left Dave on the futon to go hide until he calmed down.

Honestly, most baby things had driven Bro nuts.

The crying, the mess during changing, the teething, the inability to communicate...

Bro gripped his hair as Dave let out a coughing sob. Trying to calm down, he stood and grabbed Lil Cal to go out and smoke. Cal's familiar long, plush limbs wrapped around his shoulders, almost on their own. Cal was a comfort since childhood, a piece of himself it often felt like. Others had said it had a "menacing aura", but to Bro, it had always just been his friend.

Lately, he suspected more was up with the puppet than he'd considered. Staring into Cal's eyes, he could indeed feel a knot forming in his gut. Vague voices and suggestions whispered in the back of Bro's mind stronger than before, altering his view of what he had once thought to be little more than intrusive thoughts.

He was frustrated at Dave, but if whatever was happening with Lil Cal wasn't just in his head, he wanted to minimize Dave's interactions with it for now. At least until Dave could fend for himself a bit better.

Bro sat up on the edge of the roof, lighting a cigarette as he looked over the city below. He pondered Harley's message, devising a plan for what to email back. He'd need to discuss costs for labor, materials, a timeline, what the damn bot was supposed to look like... A lot of factors would need to go into this project. He was considering taking in the job largely because he was going to need money set aside for when Dave got bigger, or when his own futon wore out.

Whichever came first he guessed.

It was almost a full hour before Bro went back to the apartment, having smoked around four cigarettes back to back. He wasn't great at emotional regulation, but he didn't need to unpack why he used nicotine to regulate over proper methods right now.

In the living room, Dave had cried himself out, passed out in the playpen. His tear streaked cheeks were puffy and he looked utterly miserable. He'd thrown off his clothes and diaper and apparently made an attempt to wipe himself with the tissues on the side table.

Oh.

That's why Dave started crying. He'd used his diaper.

Bro sighed and picked up Dave to take him to the bathroom. He muttered to himself about Dave being potty trained and needing to tell him when he needed to go to the bathroom. He thought they'd gotten past the "use diaper whenever" part of childhood already, but apparently not.

He held Dave in one arm as he turned on the shower. He sort of marveled at how heavily Dave slept. Nothing short of a bomb could wake the kid up. He envied that kind of sleep. His sleep was mostly riddled with nightmares and Lil Cal, and was incredibly light. A sniffle from Dave could wake him up, and had several times before.

Once the shower was warm, Bro stripped off his clothes and got into the shower with Dave in hand.

Dave cooed in his sleep as the warm water washed over him and he curled up tightly against Bro.

Bro hummed to himself as he washed Dave, trying to distract himself from the fact that he'd left Dave alone, sitting in a dirty diaper. It made him an awful guardian, but then again...

Dave had enough self sufficiency and independence to try and clean himself. That was a good thing, right? Yeah... He'd raised Dave so far to be a thinker, a problem solver. He'd gotten Dave to look at his situation and try to find a solution when his guardian wasn't around. Net positives. He pushed away any remaining guilt as Dave woke up.

Dave yawned and looked at Bro. He giggled happily. "Bwo," he cried out, clearly relieved he wasn't abandoned. "Hi Bwo! You tam back!"

Bro nodded. "Yup. I came back. Good job trying to wipe your butt, lil man."

Dave wiggled happily, giggling up a storm. He soaked up any praise Bro gave him like a sponge. A weird, roadkill obsessed sponge.

Bro finished cleaning up Dave then set the toddler on the shower floor to clean himself. He closed his eyes to wash his hair, even as Dave pulled himself up to hug his leg. If Dave slipped and fell, he slipped and fell. Another lesson to learn.

Dave looked up at Bro and mumbled, "Dinder?"

"After the shower, kiddo. It'll be macaroni."

Dave giggled, grinning. "Otay."

After he cleaned himself off (getting soap in Dave's eyes at least once), Bro stepped out of the shower and dried himself and Dave. His plan was now to dress them both, pop Dave back in the playpen, make dinner... Oh God, he has to clean up all the poop tissues in the playpen.

He groaned as he headed to Dave's room first. Maybe he should just start sticking a couple baby toilets in areas Dave frequented, including the pen. Or a litter box, that could be funny. Knowing Dave, the kid would absolutely use the damn thing too.

No, no, don't even consider that, he thought to himself. Dave would get sick and die, and it would be your fault. Not an inaccurate statement by any means. It would be his fault if Dave got sick and/or died on his watch.

Despite being lost in thought, running on autopilot, Bro managed to successfully dress Dave and take him back to the living room. He sighed and moved to clean up the mess in the playpen. If he'd just tended to Dave first...

How could he though, right? He was overwhelmed and struggling to handle himself. Better to hide away for too long than to give Dave brain damage by shaking him...

Right?

If he was honest with himself, he might admit that he wasn't built for parenting. He might admit that his adoptive family had been a very bad example of discipline. Hell, maybe he'd even own up to the fact that it was abnormal and wrong to fantasize about packing everything up and abandoning Dave with people who had better control over themselves.

But he wasn't going to be honest with himself. His actions were justified. He had to prepare Dave for the inevitable trials ahead of him. He had to make sure this kid was smart, independent, strong willed, and combat ready. And every parent totally thought about vanishing from their toddler's life and giving them away. Yeah. Normal thoughts. Not indicative of mental problems at all.

Once the play pen was clean, Bro left Dave inside it again and went to cook the promised macaroni.

Later that night, at around 10:20 pm, long after macaroni had been feasted upon and Dave wore himself out running amok, Bro sat staring at his computer again. Dave was in bed, the approaching autumn season cooled the air of the apartment, and there sat Bro, waiting for a response to his own reply to Mr. Harley.

"Harley

I could, theoretically, build a robot for you. I would however need a specifications list. This list would need to include:

-Desired design

-Desired functions and programming

-Desired material

-Size

-And, of course, the desired power source.

Furthermore, it'll be necessary for me to somehow, you know, obtain these materials. I'd need:

-Your preferred material

-Copper Wiring

-Computer chips, memory storage, hard drive, etc.

-Lights/light bulbs

-Glass

-And potentially the power source.

If you can find these things yourself that would be fantastic. If not, I can find a way, even if I am breaking the bank for it.

Lastly, I would like to get an estimate of how much you're willing to pay me.

Thanks,

Strider"

He hoped the email was answered soon. He was desperate for something entertaining to do. Not that DJing and chilling with Lil Cal wasn't fun, but mixing things up was always more fun to do.

Though, thinking about it, Harley was somewhere in the Pacific right? Good chance he was asleep by now. Bro sighed and stared at the computer for another moment before shutting it off, then wandering to his futon to flop down to sleep. He'd handle whatever email he got when he woke up. And whatever chaos Dave's tiny self might bring to his day.

Or whatever problems he himself made. That one was always a fun thing about himself. Sometimes the problem of the day was wholly self-inflicted.

Wrapping himself in his blanket, he resigned himself to sleep and simply seeing what happened in the morning.

[ranting-writer]

On Childhood Neglect and Brothers

Dave sat boredly in the meteor's library, watching Rose and Kanaya flip through books.

He himself had been booted from research duty, Rose finding his lack of focus, doodling, and wandering annoying. It wasn't his fault reading all these weird books was boring! He needed something besides little ass letters on a page to occupy his mind.

Little ass letters on his laptop, now... Now that was something special and worthy of his attention.

He opened up his laptop and plopped on his headphones to listen to music while he messed around with random applications. MSPaint, Minesweeper, his old Type-To-Learn program, Limewire (dear God he was impressed his computer wasn't riddled with a robo-plague from that thing), until eventually that was boring too.

He sighed as he pulled up Pesterchum.

No one was available to pester and no one had pestered him. Not even a screech from Karkat demanding he watch another shitty romcom.

As his eyes trailed the list of chumhandles, his eyes paused on an orange username. It wasn't his messages with Dirk, well, not the current Dirk. It was his Dirk.

Bro.

They hadn't used the chat service much since they literally lived together. They could just bother each other in their respective spaces. However, the service had been useful when Bro was out doing his rap ventriloquist thing, or printing Game Bro, or whatever else Bro did. If Dave needed or wanted something, he was able to just send a message and Bro's pda or phone could pick it up.

Hesitantly, Dave clicked on the chat to read old messages.

" --turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 20:27--

TG: yo

TG: you coming home anytime soon

TG: i was sort of praying for left overs of whatever food denniss girlfriend made

TT: Chill.

TT: You'll get your damn meatloaf and beans, lil man.

TG: oh fuck yes

TG: I haven't had meatloaf in fucking ages

TG: why dont you ever make anything like that bro

TG: can you cook or no

TT: I could if I wanted to.

TT: I just don't want to.

TT: Especially not for your ungrateful ass, like shit. I bust my balls to feed you in the first place and you just take food and abandon me to my futon alone. Like a jackass.

TT: I thought I raised you better.

TG: holy shit

TG: ill come eat the leftovers with you when you get home damn

TT: Amazing.

--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified[TT] at 20:39--"

Dave stared at the chat, gnawing on his lip. In hindsight, he wondered how serious Bro had been in calling him ungrateful and a jackass. Bro had insulted him plenty before, usually during a classic rooftop strife, but that was strifing. This was a casual chat about meatloaf. What weirdly struck Dave then was the fact that he genuinely couldn't remember this chat, let alone the fact that Bro's weirdo friend had a girlfriend who could cook.

That wasn't to say he really knew Dennis well enough himself to say whether or not the guy had a girlfriend, but it felt weird that he couldn't remember it.

Whatever.

Random chat about meatloaf and cooking that was super short. Moving on.

"--timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 8:43--

TT: Yo.

TT: I know you're sick this morning, but I need you to do something in the house. Well a couple things, but yeah.

TT:....

TT: Dave.

TT: Daaaaaaave.

TT: Answer me Dave.

TT: If you don't answer me right now, I will die.

TG: jesus fuck dude

TT: Ah good. Death averted and now I can tell you your chores.

TG: dude im sick dont you think making a sick person do chores is a little

TG: oh i dunno

TG: counterproductive

TT: Chill, lil man. I'm not making you clean the toilet or something.

TT: Firstly, I need you to get the swords out of the fridge. I'm bringing home actual groceries today since I got a little extra from my gig last night.

TT: And since I remembered food exists and is definitely something I eat.

TG: uh-huh

TT: Put the swords wherever, so long as they're out of the way and can't cut us. That is if they can, I know they're pretty shitty. Got a couple from the gas station.

TT: Secondly, I need you to go downstairs one level and ask Mrs. Wilkins if she has our mail. Apparently a package got delivered but I didn't see it and it wasn't in the office.

TT: Got all that?

TT:...Dave oh my fucking God.

TT: Did you fall asleep again?

TG: can you shut the fuck up

TG: im doing what you fucking asked

TT: You wanna try that again, you little shit?

TG:.....

TG: im putting the swords in our storage closet and im about to go check for our mail

TG: im sorry

TT: That's better. No strife tonight.

TT: Get your personal stash ready too. I got you the fancy apple juice and those weird yogurt nibs you like.

TG: yogos?

TG: hell yes

TG: thanks bro

TT: Yup.

--timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 9:22--"

Dave stared at the exchange, terror clawing at his gut.

"You wanna try that again, you little shit?".

He remembered every time Bro had a tonal switch up. Normally, Bro was hard to read, but it was safe to assume he was typically content or even happy. Usually, that made the tension in his voice all that more noticeable when he got irritated with someone, usually Dave. Bro being irritated with Dave usually led to a strife, especially if Dave didn't correct the behavior or apologize.

Dave remembered a time when he was probably seven. He was playing with a ball in the living room, barely big enough to actually get his little hands around the hilt of a sword, let alone strong enough to actually properly lift one. He'd accidentally bounced the ball off a wall and through a window to the street below.

Bro had kicked his ass for it, berating him the entire time. Bro had at one point even called him a "useless brat, better off left in the crater he was found in".

Back then, Dave thought it was a weird way to refer to their mother, but with the new context he had, he knew better. Bro had at one point thought about just leaving baby Dave in the crater with the meteor with the dead horse.

Yet, mixed with the fear was nostalgia.

Bro had bought him his favorite juice and favorite snack, and was letting him keep them in his room. He didn't have to hide it later that night. He remembered the excitement he'd had for that, on top of the excitement for the spaghetti Bro made that night too. Bro had even surprised him with Olive Garden bread sticks!

And that's sort of what sucked total ass about remembering Bro and growing up with him. When things were bad, they were really, really bad. Dave would have bruises and scrapes, hiding them away with tapes and shirts too warm for the Texas spring. He'd take butter sandwiches to school with a Hi-C carton and try to ignore it when people mocked his shades, which hid a black eye.

When shit was bad, Dave had to help Bro be a person again. He cleaned the futon, and fixed Bro Chef-Boy-Arde on the stove, feeding Bro the scalding sauce and ravioli with cold centers. He'd pick up Bro from the shower sometimes and dry, dress, and tuck him in because if Dave didn't feed the both of them, Bro would forget to eat.

But when it was good, man was it so, so good.

Bro taught him to skateboard and even bought him a small collection at one point. Bro helped him turn his room into a red room for developing photos, and even kept up buying film for his camera. They'd eat pancakes and eggs for breakfast and go out to a museum just so Dave could see dead things and prattle on about how something was preserved.

Bro brought him weird, but cool gifts. Bro helped get his comic out to the Internet, advertising it himself, just to help and encourage Dave to continue his passions. Even strifing was fun!

The combination of pain and joy was hard for Dave to wrap his head around. Sure, he knew Bro was a shit guardian. He knew that. But when Bro was kind or loving, or affectionate, he put his all into it. He wasn't an "I love you" type of person, but getting Dave a preserved fetus in a jar had to be pretty close to saying that.

It was hard to accept that Bro was a bad, if not an abusive, parent, but Dave knew it in his heart to be true. But try as he might to feel angry about it, he just couldn't. He loved Bro dearly, despite the shit Bro put him through.

Dave sighed heavily, struggling to process through these feelings, when a notification came through. It was Dirk.

Dave hesitated then opened the chat.

--timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 23:56--

"TT: Hypothetically speaking, if you were to wax poetically about how you describe people, how would you describe our friends or myself?

TT: I ask because Karkat has inspired me.

TT: His rants are truly to be admired for their poetic and analogous nature, if nothing else.

TT: But I do wonder if others, specifically you, as you are, in fact, a Strider, have any ability to describe others like that. Maybe with less insults and profanity but... Yeah.

TT:....

TT: Are you okay?

TG: yeah sorry

TG: i got caught up in the sheer surprise of being messaged at this hour

TT: Fair.

TT: Although, is time even real around here?

TG: through sheer will and hate for shit that's not appropriately timed so help me god i will make it so

TT: Ha

TT: Fair enough, Mr. Knight of Time.

TG: anyway

TG: what the hell are you going on about exactly

TT: Sorry.

TT: I was trying to take a nap because I'm tired as shit, but Karkat was screeching up a storm outside my room about something. And I found it amazing how many analogies he could fit into a single tirade, while being borderline poetic about it.

TG: oh yeah he does that

TT: So it got me thinking.

TT: You are prone to long winded analogy yourself.

TT: I was wondering how...

TT: Whimsical I guess?

TT: You could be about it. Waxing poetic as I said prior.

TT:.....

TT: You okay, man?

TT: Okay I'm a little worried I somehow annoyed you.

TG: shit

TG: no you didn't

TG: sorry i fuckin zonked out trying to think

TT: Oh.

TT: Yeah I do that sometimes.

--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 00:23--

TT: Dave?? "

Dave put his things back in his sylladex and quickly left the library. He needed to actually talk to Dirk in person. He needed an actual voice in his ears that wasn't Rose's picking at his psyche. Again.

----------

In his room, Dirk paced uncomfortably. His relationship with Dave wasn't exactly... Extremely tight yet. Even though this Dave wasn't actually his version, the Hollywood superstar director that is, he still admired Dave immensely. He looked at Dave as if the guy had hung the sun and stars. He didn't want to ruin their friendship by being clingy or needy or whatever else has apparently pushed Jake away.

Dirk stopped and looked up as Dave came in. "Oh. You're here."

Dave plopped down on Dirk's bed, groaning into a pillow. He felt like crap and just wanted the universe to stop for a minute. Well, technically he could do something like that. Obviously on a smaller scale, just for himself, but that ran the risk of creating a time loop he wasn't exactly prepared to track right then. He sighed as he felt Dirk's hand on his back.

Dirk murmured, "Wanna talk about it?"

Dave stook his head and sat up. "No," he started. "I mean, yes, but no, but... I dunno, dude. Family is confusing."

Dirk nodded. "Oh I know," he agreed. "But, I don't really have any experience with it. What's got you all antsy and crawling up your own ass?"

Dave shot Dirk a look from behind his shades before replying. "It's just my Bro."

"Just?"

Dave groaned again, rubbing his face in frustration. "I'm struggling to see him as good or bad."

Dirk tilted his head a bit, confused. "Why can't he be both?"

"Because he was a guy who went to extremes, and I'm struggling to figure out where exactly his feelings around me land on his Extreme Bro-motion Scale."

"Elaborate."

Dave sighed and laid down, explaining his prior thoughts and realizations around the chats he'd read. How Bro was fantastic and fun one day, but could be cold and ruthless the next. He described his complicated relationship with food because of the kitchen situation, but also described Bro's struggles with taking care of himself, let alone Dave.

Dirk listened patiently, letting Dave ramble and rant for as long as he needed. When Dave finally finished, Dirk hummed a bit before speaking. "Hmmm, it sounds like he was a complicated person," he said finally. "Abusive and not at all suitable to parenthood, as it were. But also it seems like he did give a shit."

Dave stuck his hands up in the air. "That's what I was thinking!," he exclaimed in frustration. "But how can that be accurate?!"

Dirk sighed and looked at the wall, trying to avoid looking at Dave. "Maybe he just... I dunno, didn't know better? Maybe he thought it was right? Based on how I am as a person, I can easily see how my messed up sense of what's helpful could actually cause a lot of damage in the long term.

"Now, it was possible he was just acting like every other abuser, and was making you think the good moments were worth the bad on purpose... From what I understand though, parent-child abuse can be more emotionally complex."

Dave stared at the ceiling, anxiety tumbling about on his gut like a heavy load of laundry thunking about in the dryer. This certainly felt more complicated than Bro just wanting a punching bag. It felt manipulative and genuine. It felt real and fake. It felt like...

Like...

It... Felt like Dave didn't really know his guardian's mind well at all.

And that was probably the worst part for him. He just didn't know. Sure, here in the meteor, they could pass through the dream bubbles and maybe he'd see Bro and could ask about it, but would it even be his Bro? Would Bro even be honest with him? Or would the guy shut down and snip at him to ready himself for a strife in anger? But maybe he didn't need to know.

Maybe, hopefully rather, Dave could just put his worries and questions aside. If he got answers one day, he'd be happy, but if he didn't....

Okay, he still needed to work on Letting That Shit Go 101.

For now, he sat up and leaned on Dirk. "I'll probably still end up defending him a lot..."

Dirk nodded and rubbed Dave's back. "That's alright," he assured Dave. "I doubt you've properly processed his death, let alone your entire childhood."

Dave sighed heavily and nodded. He definitely still struggled with seeing Bro's impaled corpse.

But maybe, just maybe, with Dirk at his side,he could process things at his pace, and without judgement or weird Freudian accusations. He smiled as Dirk hugged him tightly. Maybe he could actually forget about the reasons for his abuse one day, and leave Bro and his anxieties (mostly) behind.

[ranting-writer]

A part two to the last fic.

"Bro said you talked to him."

Dirk jumped and turned, scrambling to shove his shades on. Dave stood there, stoic and rigid like the concrete supports that rested below the sea Dirk lived above. "Jesus fuck, dude," Dirk breathed out. "How did you do that?"

Dave shrugged as he wandered over and sat on Dirk's desk. "It's what I did with Bro," he answered, crossing his legs. "He'd get engrossed in something, usually making puppets or fucking with his site, and I could just... Wander up. Not that hard." He tilted his hand back and forth, head tilting with it. "Nothing as fancy as flash step, I was never agile enough for it, but still. Spooked him."

Dirk listened patiently, realizing in the back of his mind that this was the most Dave and him had spoken so far. Outside of the rooftop, of course. He hummed when Dave finished talking. "Did we pass through the bubbles again?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah. Bro was in my room, or I was in his... Anyway, he said y'all chatted a bit."

Oh. There's that drawl. Dirk hadn't heard it in Dave's voice before, but now he did. It wasn't as noticeable as Bro's accent, but it was there. Little pieces, just in the way he said "bit", or "agile". The "i" in his words seemed to drag just a tad, with the faintest twang. Obviously "y'all" was in there, but that was noticeable. Bro's accent wasn't soft like the tiny pieces of Dave's speech that the younger Strider wasn't as easily able to cover.

Dirk turned back to tinkering. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound bored. "We talked some. He's..." He trailed off. He didn't want to upset Dave. From overhearing conversations or the brief chats they'd had before, Dave was very protective of Bro and his reputation. Dirk didn't want to ruin their budding bond over Bro.

"An acquired taste," he finished finally.

Dave snorted and nodded. "Yeah, no kidding."

Dave silently watched Dirk, getting fidgety. He was never good at sitting still or sitting in extended silences with someone. Hell, even with Bro he'd yapped away into the night! Bro, while practically non-verbal 95% of the time, patiently listened to Dave's after school ramblings, or heard him out on his comic ideas. They were close.

Him and Dirk though?

Not close.

Dirk was sullen and distant, more than Bro. Dirk seemed prone to simply isolating himself, especially if someone directly mentioned, or addressed, him in any way that wasn't explicitly neutral. Dirk was always focused on some new machine he wanted to build, or some new way of bothering others into being better people.

Kinda like Rose.

Oh God, was Dirk, or Bro rather, where Rose got all of her weird prying, psychobabble from?

"No, I think she got that on her own."

Dave looked over, confused. "Huh?"

Dirk glanced up and replied, "Rose. She got her psychobabble shit from herself."

Dave blushed, face crumpling in embarrassment. He'd accidentally started talking out loud. He groaned a bit, rubbing his face. "Fuck dude," he muttered. "Sorry. I didn't mean to talk out loud."

Dirk smiled a bit and he shrugged. "All good, man. Besides, I actually think having conversations like that has interesting potential. At least as far as we're concerned."

Dave looked over and teased, "I'm not telling you if Bro's dick is bigger."

Dirk looked over, admittedly concerned and confused. "How the hell would you even know how big his dick is?"

"Unfortunate happenstance in the bathroom. He kinda passed out in the shower after not eating for like a week."

Dirk stared. Did that mean Dave had to pick up Bro, dry, dress, and put him to bed as a kid? How often had that happened? In the dream bubble, Dirk had noticed a suspicious lack of food products about, but it wasn't really something he'd focused on. Besides, the smell of cigarettes and old Monster had overridden any possible food smell.

"He'd eat ramen or Taco Bell when he remembered to actually eat anything," Dave continued. "Otherwise, I think he just kind of, forgot? Or maybe it was another one of his weird control things. Hard to tell with him."

Dirk nodded slowly. "Did you have to pick him up a lot?" he asked, swapping tools.

Dave shrugged a bit. "Meh, not really," he said. "Only when he was spiralling pretty bad."

"Spiralling?"

"Yeah, he'd go through weird phases sometimes. He'd either go way way up emotionally, or way way down."

Dave grabbed some apple juice and an orange Faygo from his syalladex. He passed the soda to Dirk. "Usually when he was dating, but it's why he just stopped dating. Either they'd be his everything and they'd leave because he got intense. Or they'd do or say something that triggered what he called a switch, or something like that, and he'd suddenly act like he never even liked them."

Dirk felt his blood run cold as he took the Faygo. He could sort of understand the feeling. Sometimes he could experience excitement or joy so intensely, at one point Jake had accused him of being manic.

Other times, honestly mostly, he felt sort of hollow and bored. Mostly, his emotions just felt like a lot to him and it was hard to manage.

Oh, shit, Dave stopped talking.

Dave was watching Dirk, an eyebrow raised. Dirk shook his head a bit as if to clear his thoughts. "Sorry," he mumbled. "The train of thought derailed before it reached the station."

That made Dave smile a bit. Dave then nodded and moved to a chair next to Dirk. As Dirk turned back to working on his new little robot, he felt Dave's chin on his shoulder. He suppressed the little excited sound threatening to escape his throat.

He'd lived alone his entire life, and had no physical touch in his life. Even when he and Jake finally met in person, physical contact was limited. Their down time had been spent mostly with Jake whining (sorry, "whinging") about the puzzles, the ruins, the food, his new shorts... About Hal too. Usually Hal.

Sure, Roxy hugged him often enough, but only when he was in close proximity and she got excited. There was no real going out of her way to initiate hugs with him.

So, even this small gesture, a chin on his shoulder, felt incredible to him.

As much as he put on a nonchalant and cool exterior, he craved intimacy and connection. Emotionally, platonically, physically, whatever he could get. It was a little piece of his identity he hadn't really registered before until it really came up.

At some point, his head ended up leaning on Dave's.

Dave made a tiny happy noise and Dirk felt his arms wrap around his torso for another kind of awkward side hug. Awkward though it was, it made Dirk incredibly happy to have Dave be comfortable with him at last.

Dave mumbled, "You should take a break."

Dirk shrugged a bit, humming. "I like keeping busy."

"Okay but hear me out... Cuddling in a comfy pile."

Dirk looked over at Dave and stared for a long moment. Eventually, he stood. "Alright, fucking sold."

Dave stood and pulled Dirk over to Dirk's pile of (totally ironic) smuppets. Dave teased, "You make these too?"

Dirk shrugged as he laid with Dave. "They're fun to make," he said. "I don't make them weird like Bro does, though."

Dave chuckled and put his shades to the side before curling up against Dirk and hiding his face in Dirk's neck. "Suuuuurrreeee," he drawled teasingly. "Nothing weird here, officer. Only vaguely phallically schnozed puppets."

"Shut up, dude."

"M'nah. I'm not good at it."

"I noticed."

Dave chuckled lightly and sighed happily as Dirk held him.

The two laid there in peaceful silence, simply content to just hold each other and be of some comfort to the other. It was an experience neither really had, too isolated (in Dirk's case, from literally everyone) or too wrapped up in stressful situations. It felt nice to just have a calm and sweet moment between them.

Of course, Dirk's big mouth had to go and ruin it. Like he did everything else he touched. "Be honest, Dave, how exactly do you feel about your Bro?"

Thankfully, even as Dirk was mentally kicking himself, Dave didn't pull away. Dave just hummed then answered with, "It's complicated."

Yeah... Complicated sounded right, just based off the one interaction Dirk had had with Bro.

"On the one hand," Dave started to elaborate. "I love the guy. He taught me everything I know, he let me pursue my passions, he didn't force me to get the best grades or anything, and it really felt like he was just my significantly older brother raising me."

He paused and let out a slow breath, his exposed face looking pained and confused. He really wasn't good at hiding his expressions. "On the other hand, though, I had to hide food in the closet. The microwave was storage, so was the fridge. Kitchen appliances were rigged to cameras for puppet snuff that I was inadvertently apart of I guess.

"I was the kid at school having to hide bruises so CPS wouldn't be called, too. But..." Dave sighed heavily, pinching his nose bridge. "I dunno, man. The guy fucked up my sense of self really fucking bad, but I can't exactly find it in me to blame him? He had a shit life before me and... Ugh."

Dirk frowned a bit at the cranky look on Dave's face. He didn't like cranky Dave. Hesitantly, he pet Dave's straw blonde hair, which seemed to help Dave relax.

Dave mumbled, "What about you? Your feelings on your Bro, I mean."

Dirk hummed and pushed his shades up to match Dave's bare face. "Complicated," he said, thinking. "It's not like I had a relationship with him, outside the parasocial fanboy type of bond. I knew early on he was my ancestor, and I called him my Bro for simplicity's sake when talking about him..."

Dirk looked at Dave. "But if I'm honest, he's not much more to me than a genetic donor. Or.. well..."

Dave cut him off. "We're not gonna get into our technical biological relationship."

"Fair. Regardless, I never truly saw him as a guardian, let alone something as close as brother, or father."

Dirk hummed, looking a little sheepish. "Although, I think I saw him as a sort of... Figure of idealized personhood."

Dave stared blankly then laughed a bit. "Dude, do you mean 'a role model'?"

Dirk blushed and shoved Dave's shoulder playfully. "Shut up."

Dave burst into a fit of giggles, grinning widely.

Dirk smiled faintly while he watched Dave laugh. He found that he liked seeing Dave smile, liked hearing his laughter. It eased his anxieties over their present conversation, and about any future conversations. If he could make Dave laugh, maybe their bond could be pretty damn good moving forward.

They returned to a comfortable quiet for awhile, the only sounds being the usual creaks of the meteor and their breathing.

Dirk stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. It was sort of a wonder to him that Dave turned out how he had under Bro's abuse. Sure, Dave had loads of selfish and asshole moments, Dave was 16, they all were. It was bound to happen, especially with all of the trauma they'd all endured, with no true safe space to process and heal yet.

Outside his dickhead moments, at his baseline, Dave was sensitive. He cared deeply about people, he prioritized helping his friends and trying to make things go right over his own well being. A version of Dave time travelled backwards to save John and sacrifice his own existence to prototype himself into the kernelsprite. Dave truly could embody what it was to be a knight. A guardian and protector against all threats.

To top it off, Dirk had yet to see Dave in a position where he wasn't touching someone, somehow.

A knee touching Rose's knee. Fingers holding onto the sleeve of Karkat. Playing with the fingers of Roxy while they babbled together. A chin on John's head. Given an opportunity though, Dave was clearly a clinger.

Dirk had once seen Dave full on koalaed around Roxy while she gladly carried him around, despite the height difference. He'd even seen Dave carrying Karkat around just for the ability to hold someone.

Dave was a lovebug, in short.

And Dirk admired that about him.

Dirk blinked as Dave was suddenly wrapping himself around his body. Ah. A repeat of Roxy, this time with him. Dirk patted Dave's back, chuckling softly. "Comfy?"

He only got a sleepy grunt in reply.

Dirk hugged Dave, burying his face in Dave's hair. They could talk more later. For now, Dirk felt content in just holding Dave and napping with him.

[ranting-writer]

That dirk and bro fic was so good. It was like cathartic to read in a way too

I'm glad you enjoyed it, Anon!! 🧡❤️

[ranting-writer]

To say Dirk didn't want to be there was a massive understatement.

He'd been minding his own business in his corner of the meteor, tinkering with some random piece of machinery he'd found. Then suddenly, they were passing through dream bubbles again, and his room had become his old apartment's living room.

Well, a version of it.

Smuppets and puppets littered the floor, empty apple juice bottles and soda cans were piled in a box, and the air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and week old Monsters. The sounds of a skateboarding game came from the TV in the living room corner, and cresting over the back of the futon was a familiar shade of strawberry blonde poking up under a black hat.

It wasn't until he'd stepped around the futon that he realized who this was.

Him.

Dave's him, anyway.

Dirk "Bro" Strider, the man, the myth, the douchebag himself.

Bro didn't seem to realize Dirk's presence at the end of the couch. If he did, he didn't show it, engrossed in his Xbox.

Bro at once seemed both nothing like Dave's descriptions, but yet every bit like them. When asked about Bro, Dave had given a clearly rehearsed spiel about how cool the guy was. "Aw shit yeah, dude," he'd said. "Bro's, like, the epitome of cool. The god damned Emperor of Irony, and King Shit of Puppet Island. Best ventriloquist rapper in the game."

And, yeah, sure, this guy definitely had an air of "cool" around him. Typical cool guy markers. Shades, a cool hat (everyone knows a good hat adds hella levels to the Cool-Guyometer), a nonchalant demeanor...

Yeah.

He was cool.

Yet, something inside Dirk's stomach gnawed on itself, twisting in knots to get at its own tail. This man before him was a manifestation of all the wrong he could do. Bro was the epitome of who Dirk was or could reasonably be. Manipulative. Cold. Shut off and shut down. Abusive.

" 'Ey. You good there, lil dude?"

The light southern drawl pulled Dirk out of his anxious spiral and he jumped a bit, looking at Bro. Bro hadn't moved an inch.

"Huh?"

"I said, you good?"

Dirk blinked dumbly as he tried to process the question. That was definitely his voice, but lower and raspy, like Bro was a-? Oh, yeah, there it is. Bro was definitely a smoker if the absent tapping of a pack of cigarettes on his thigh during a cutscene was an indicator.

"Yeah," Dirk finally replied. "I'm fine."

Bro nodded absently. He still hadn't looked over. What was this guy's deal?

Before, Dirk hadn't quite understood why his lack of movement, or lack facial expression had unnerved Dave so much, but he was beginning to understand.

Bro spoke again, gesturing to the empty spot next to him. "Then pop a squat, Dirk."

Dirk reluctantly sat, not having much else to do besides tinker again. Maybe this could be an opportunity to learn something about himself, or maybe Dave.

"Aren't you 'Dirk' too?", he asked, curling up as far from Bro as possible. The man was uncomfortable to be close to, if he was being honest with himself.

Bro shrugged a bit. "Depends," he answered. "Who's asking and why?"

Dirk frowned slightly. What the hell did that mean? Two seconds in, he was already confused and annoyed.

"Well, I'm asking, obviously."

"Then it's D', or Bro. Either works fine for me."

Dirk hummed, looking at the TV screen.

What the hell was he supposed to ask? What was your life like? Did you have a good family? Do you use labels for your sexuality, or do you care? Do you like robots?

Unfortunately, what fell out of his face was, "Why is Dave scared of us?"

Bro paused his game and stared ahead.

Dirk flinched a bit.

Oh he fucked up. Perhaps he was going to get first hand evidence as to why Dave winced when he moved, why Dave never looked directly at him...

But nothing happened, not for a long moment.

After a bit, Bro started playing again, speaking lowly. "It ain't you, it's me," he said, voice tight, like he was upset. "I scare him, not you."

Dirk huffed a bit. "Yeah, but why?"

Bro shook his head, pausing his game again. "Are you wanting a verbal answer, or a demonstration?"

Dirk stared a bit as Bro finally looked over. What was this freak on about? What kind of demonstration? Dirk's lips tightened into a line, thinking about what the hell that could possibly mean.

He hoped it wasn't something utterly unforgivable...

Bro, seemingly impatient with Dirk, huffed and stood. "You pop by for a chat," he drawled. "And you can't even hold the damn conversation to save your life." He opened the window and took a cigarette from the pack.

Absently, Dirk realized there was no ashtray about as he answered. "Would you even be able to tell me?", he asked.

Bro shrugged as he lit the cigarette. "I can give you my best guess," he replied. "You could leave it to Dave to fill in the gaps or whatever the hell he'd do."

There was something almost affectionate in Bro's voice when he said Dave's name. Was he proud of Dave? Possibly. Dirk was certainly proud of Dave.

A long silence passed between the two Striders in the dream room, long enough that Dirk thought the bubble might pass before their conversation finished. Luckily, Bro finally spoke up again.

"Would you believe me if I said I genuinely believed I was doing right by him?"

Dirk looked over at Bro's back. Would he believe that? Probably. Dirk himself acted oddly, even badly, towards others in the attempt to help them improve or grow. Brobot, for example, was literally designed to help Jake learn to protect himself and get combat experience in a controlled manner. Ignoring the fact that the robot was also a bizarre attempt at flirting of course...

Bro continued without an answer. "I knew about the game a little, we all did. Rox, Harley, Mrs. Egbert and her son... We all knew. We had to prepare the kids for what was to come."

Dirk hummed as Bro took a drag of his cigarette. "So, what," he began. "You tortured and abused him to, what? Teach him something?"

Bro shrugged noncommittally. "Eh, more or less I guess."

"You kicked him down the fucking stairs."

Dirk really needed to recognize when to shut the hell up. First the question itself, now the angry blurting out? Jeeze, he really needed to take a chill pill. He could defend himself if it came to a fight, sure, but he wasn't sure he wanted to see what this version of him was capable of with twice the lifetime of training.

Bro turned to look at Dirk, something angry in his demeanor. "You try it," he snipped. "You try being 20 fucking years old and suddenly having to be a father without support. Most I had was fucking Dennis, and that guy was borderline useless."

Dirk stared blankly. "...Just because you were 20, without help, doesn't mean you should have treated Dave that way," he retorted. "Dave trusted you for love, support, and affection. You gave him a bruise in the shape of your foot on his sternum at least once."

Suddenly, Bro seemed to vanish. Dirk stood sharply, swearing. He was familiar with his own flash step, but he wasn't accustomed to someone else doing it.

As suddenly as Bro vanished, he reappeared in front of Dirk, making the younger Strider fall back onto the futon. He put his foot up, lightly pressing it into Dirk's chest. "Yeah, yeah I did," he drawled, almost sounding bored were it not for the tenseness in his shoulders. "I left a lot of bruises on him, left a lot of scrapes from the roof."

Dirk squirmed a bit as the pressure on his chest increased as Bro leaned down.

"I was trying to teach him skills he needed to survive that damn game, to persevere and do shit like help your sorry ass."

From the new angle, Dirk could see through Bro's shades. A familiar orange color, perhaps a bit more gold than his own. But more than their color, Bro's eyes were slightly widened. Not enough to really raise his eyebrows over his shades, but it made him look unhinged. Like something in his head had snapped a bit and he was one more comment away from losing his cool.

Was this how others viewed Dirk? As one little thing away from losing it and pinning people to futons under his foot?

Was this an angle Dave had seen Bro from? And, shit, if it was, Dave wasn't the height then that he is now. Dirk frowned as he pictured a much smaller Dave, maybe shaking and scared, with Bro's heavy sneaker pressed into his tiny abdomen. Dirk wouldn't be surprised if crying in fear was one of the things Bro scared Dave from doing earliest.

Bro muttered, "Dave needed to be independent and able, and willing, to draw blood to save his own ass. He needed to be smart, adaptable, and able to feed himself. I couldn't, in good conscience, let him grow up and be scared of weapons or pain. He couldn't be afraid of surprises or the obscene. He needed to have the skills to fucking survive."

So, here were Bro's reasons.

Honestly....

Probably not unlike the reasons Dirk himself would have given had he been in that situation.

And that tore Dirk up inside.

Was he truly so capable of disregarding the actual feelings and affection of a child in favor of hurting them for a long term goal? Was he really so callous and cruel?

Was he really capable of putting a shoe print bruise into the chest of someone he loved?

And that actually brought up a new question...

"Did you even love Dave?"

Bro's eyes sort of slumped into grief before vanishing behind the shades again as Bro pulled away. Bro sighed, "Obviously."

"He doesn't seem to know that."

"He does know that. He's a smart kid, he-".

"Did you ever tell him? Like, outright, 'hey, man, I love you'? Or was it more like, you bought him apple juice and his collectables and thought he could infer from there?"

Bro sat back down, grumbling. "I don't know, okay?"

Dirk let out a little puff of relief as Bro plopped down. He did not like being on the receiving end of a threatening bespatted shoe. Bespatted? Was that a word? Either way, Bro wore spats and that was ominous on its own.

The two sat in silence for a time, ignoring each other, but eventually, Bro mumbled. "Dave was all I had..."

Dirk looked over, curious and confused. Didn't Bro say he had... Who was it? Dennis? Who the hell was that, anyway?

Bro sighed, taking off his hat and shades. He rubbed his face with his hands then left his hands over his eyes, unwilling to look at Dirk. "Sure, my buddy Dennis was around..." Ah, Dennis again. Cool. Cool. New info maybe.

"But he was really only about to help with Game Bro," Bro continued. "And he hated it when Dave cried. Once told me I should lock him in the bedroom to get him to stop."

Bro dropped his hands to let them rest in his lap, letting Dirk see his face for what it was. Sunken cheeks, heavy eyes bags resting under feral orange eyes, freckles dusting his nose, and a few pockmarks on his cheeks. His crooked, broken Roman nose sat almost... Blandly on his face, instead of standing out beautifully. Dirk absently touched his nose, wondering if his was as improperly healed as Bro's from Sawtooth breaking it at least once...

"I know I wasn't 'Dad of the Year', or whatever," Bro muttered as he stared off. "But I would have given anything for that kid. I wasn't warm or cuddly with him for the most part, but... Fuck, I would have sooner burned the world and myself than watch him be harmed in any real way."

And somehow... Dirk believed him.

He understood how it felt to truly care for someone, to want them safe, and to be willing to destroy himself and everything for one person. At one point, maybe that was Jake, but now? Maybe it was Dave, just like it was for Bro. Dirk sighed a bit. "You should consider telling him these things, man," he said. "He doesn't exactly realize how much you gave a shit."

Bro didn't respond, not to that part anyway. He slipped his shades back on and turned back to his game. "Dirk," he started. "Make the best of our second chance. I fucked up our first one. Be a better man than I am."

Dirk stared a bit, swallowing as the meteor began to full pass through the bubble. "I... I'll try."

Bro nodded and then, Dirk was left alone, his room his once again.

[ranting-writer]

me, writing:

i will use “they fought a snicker” to show that they had the urge to laugh, but battled that urge because it was inappropriate or would be detrimental in some way

my brain:

[ranting-writer]

imo the best way to interpret those “real people don’t do x” writing advice posts is “most people don’t do x, so if a character does x, it should be a distinguishing trait.” human behavior is infinitely varied; for any x, there are real people who do x. we can’t make absolute statements. we can, however, make probabilistic ones.

for example, most people don’t address each other by name in the middle of a casual conversation. if all your characters do that, your dialogue will sound stilted and unnatural. but if just one character does that, then it tells us something about that character.

[ranting-writer]

Deaf! AU OTP Prompt

Imagine Person A of your otp is deaf, and Person B is fully aware of this. One day, as Person A enters their school, they see Person B talking to their friends, and A can’t help but notice B doing some odd seeming hand gestures. But once B notices that A is watching, they immediately stop. This goes on for a few days, and after some time, A starts to think that B is making fun of them, by mocking sign language or something. That is until one day, B confronts A, and starts speaking to them in sign language, saying that they think A is cute, and would like to hang out sometime. What happens next is up to you!

[ranting-writer]

Imagine your OTP getting stuck in the rain. Person A wants to kiss Person B like in the movies, Person B just wants to go home because they’re cold and miserable, they let Person A kiss them quick first though.

[ranting-writer]

What food or drink is associated with wealth in your setting?

[ranting-writer]

816

“Sometimes, you gotta cut old friends loose. That’s life.”

“You ditched him at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere!”

“Eh, he’ll be fine.”

[ranting-writer]

Deep Water Prompt #878

Something landed on the roof, with a wet, sickening splat.

[ranting-writer]

Setting Sketch Saturday.164

The streets were alive with the pulsing beat of drums.