Chapter Text
It was an unusually hot April day; the sun was blazing, reflecting hot papery light on the streets. Cozy dandelions sifted through the windows reflecting as a painful glare into the eyes of all who didn't have their blinds pulled taught. Lush green afros dotted the outside of homes and the occasional mud-colored forks stabbing the saturated periwinkle around it. The streets were a still, empty void, except for one part of the neighborhood where the outside of the house invited celebration which was quite literally written all over it’s exterior. Pillowy silk billowed in the wind, words etched across declaring the 21st birthday of a man named John. Noise from inside the house filled the void of noiselessness outside the house.
A smoke colored boy with candy corn on his head played tug a war with the birthday boy over a blu-ray case of Face Off, their words clashing like swords in a battle. Another boy with black hair coating his head stood behind, clad in the deep colors of jungle leaves popping multi-colored sprinkles across the floor, booming loudly like fireworks ringing. A cheap, plastic table propped up in the middle of the living room hoisted a cake on its back held up by collapsable skinny legs. A girl with long inky black hair with a dove white lab coat on and nerdy glasses lit 21 blue and white candles aflame and an orange creamsicle colored boy internalizes the memory in the form of a photo. Other people litter the background, some behind the couch, others on the sides of the table shouting the tune of happy birthday, and you, who was sitting on the couch with a pale face and a double-lensed black shield covering your eyes wincing in pain from the overwhelming noise. You try to join the crowd and blend in by singing happy birthday despite not feeling so happy.
You do a good job of sounding happy though.
“No no, we have to watch Face Off, it's a classic, on top of that sweet Cage is the perfect mood setter for my birthday, what with his heroic look and -”
“JEGUS GRIST JOHN YOUR INFATUATION WITH THIS CAGE ACTOR KNOWS NO BOUNDS, LETS JUST FUCKING WATCH A EDDIE MURPHY MOVIE INSTEAD. YOU AND I BOTH KNOW FULL WELL HE IS THE SUPERIOR CELEBRITY AMONGST YOUR PILE OF ROTTING GILLED SEA CREATURES. WHY DON'T WE WATCH COMING TO AMERICA INSTEAD. YES I’LL EVEN LET YOU WATCH THE HUMAN VERSION OF IT. SEE? I CARE ABOUT YOUR HUMAN MOVIES BECAUSE I EVEN CARE TO REMEMBER THEIR NAMES!”
“What the hell is that even about anyways?”
“YOU KNOW THE ONE, IN WHICH EDDIE MURPHY PLAYS A PRINCE FROM ZAMUNDA AND HE COMES TO AMERICA AND HE-”
“Hey no give that back!” John sharply interrupts as Karkat swiftly snatches the disc from John.
“NO NOT UNTIL YOU DECIDE TO WATCH SOMETHING OTHER THAN STEAMING HOT EXPLODING PISS PUSTULES ON A MOVING SCREEN!”
“Oh hell no, cage is awesome and you know it, what with his rugged looks, grease stained wife beater and dadish charm…”
Dirk’s smartphone clicks as he takes the photo and the torment of a choir of garishly out of tune birthday singing reaches its end at last. Dirk then slides next to Dave noticing he’s alone on the couch. Dave instinctively leans away slightly at the sudden introduction of a person invading his physical space.
“So hypothetically speaking, if you were to bet your freestyle rap privileges for 2 weeks on any one person in this room to hit a piñata blindfolded who would it be?” Dirk asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Jade if it was filled with meat. Bet with her keen ass dog senses she could just sniff it out even if she was blinded,” Dave answered.
“And what if it was not filled with meat and instead something else.”
“Like candy or…”
“Yeah anything goes to be honest”
“Well I'd still stand by my statement if she could still sniff it out.”
“Ok fair. Now say she's not only blind-folded but now her nose is plugged up. Then who would you say?”
“If I'm going to be honest, you. You and you're fucking ninja training could probably just hear a piñata rattling from a ceiling from a mile away. Like one of those shitty mobile fruit ninja apps but the fruit is replaced with the face of some outdated sweaty smuppet’s wet dream that coincidentally starred in most shitty 90’s action films. You'd probably pull of some fucking move where like Neo finally acquires those godly fucking matrix powers at the end of the movie where he just moves so fast that nobody can see him. Shit would be so fast that John Candy’s fat ass would shit miles of heart failure into the air. Like oh whoops gotta lug the old' blood pushed back into my chest because that shit was just too hot to handle apparently! Boy howdy that shit was like a jumpscare right outta FNaF. What next, William Afton pops out of the screen all 4th wall bullshit like and stalks me for the rest of my life? Hell no I’d rather not be watched constantly. Definitely not like I was as a kid. Definitely not some uncomfortable as fuck shit here to see. After all there's nothing weird about being stalked right? No need for me to feel afraid or anything right?”
Dave looks at Dirk with widened, desperate eyes. He was frantic and he looked like he was either shaking or about to start shaking out of the nervousness of his true emotions coming out. Dave’s sunglasses slip off his face slightly but he catches them and slides them back up into their proper nasal resting spot in record time. He takes a deep breath and tries to regain his composure for a bit.
“Hey no need to get so worked up,”
Dirk calmly states as he wraps his arm around Dave’s back. Something about Dirk always helped him. He wouldn't feel as much emotional pain anymore. It was still there but in the moment he would just feel numb emotionally. It was just a good way for him to gain more time before he eventually and inevitably erupted hot fiery lava in the form of emotions spewing out rapidly.
“Yeah…”
“A-anyways” Dave’s eyes rapidly darted all over the room.
“I uh… to continue what I was saying…”
“Shit what was I saying again?”
Dirk sits patiently waiting for Dave to recall his train of thought since he had nothing in mind to change the topic. In the midst of the silence he takes another few swigs of his beer.
“Oh! Umm right I was talking about… y'know what, scratch that. What's your favorite sword bro?”
Dirk sat jarred and visibly perplexed. That was unexpected both in topic and coming from Dave of all people.
“You mean one I own or just in general? Or do you mean brands”
“Oh anything you think is good.” Dave replies.
“...Why do you ask?” Dirk rubs his forehead in complete and utter confusion and Dave leans over him looking unusually happy, this time returning the favor and putting his arm around Dirk.
“I’m just… curious. Yeah. Curious.”
“Hey uh, bro, you seriously going to be ok?”
Dirk lightly nudges Dave's foot prompting him to sit up more.
Dave doesn't answer for a few seconds then lightly shakes his head “no” dejectedly.
“Uh… scratch that.” Said Dave. “You probably shouldn't have heard any of that. Sorry. I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
…
Dave uses his arms to push himself up off the couch slowly. He struggles quite a bit. Not the kind of thing you'd expect to see coming from a man who could punch a robot to death with his bare fists just a few years ago. It became very much apparent to the friends around Dave that he had lost a considerable amount of weight and strength on top of his already jarringly tall and thin build.
Dave slogged his feet through the house, feet choking in the stairs, bones crushed by the exhaustion caused from lifting one foot on top of the other. It had already been a long day for him and the constant sounds of mayhem ringing in his ears wasn't making that any better even as he distanced himself from the source of the stress. He kind of just wished sound and time would stop altogether - never having to deal with either the potential consequences of the actions he knew he was about to commit and the lessened stress of just staying frozen in time. He knew full well he was capable of doing such a thing too but he's fully aware of the consequences of that too and that there would be no reverse unless another alternate timeline Dave came to meddle. Which would happen.
He finally finds himself spaced out at the foot of John’s bathroom. Cans of Barbasol line the walls in rows and columns of OCD. Neatly packed and pristinely tidy. He locks the door to ensure nobody enters and fails. It was busted. He'll just have to make do. Other paraphernalia layed disorganized on the floor. Magazines, a bible, even some movie discs.
Dave runs the faucet, violently rips the shades off of his face unleashing a grunt of anger and despair; the sunglasses crashing into the other side of the room, utterly devastated by the sheer force of his throw. Tears leak from his eyes forming glass rivers hanging from his face as he looks at his deteriorating state in the mirror. Dark grey moons dwell under his eyes and freckles line his face more visible than ever, some unevenly reddened by the hot summer sun.
In his own mind he thought he was so hideous the mirror crack'd from the sheer sight of him. In reality it was from the forced contact of his fist with the reflective painting that painted his hands the same red that was reflected from his eyes in between the cracks of the broken mirror. He rips off his shirt in a fit of frustration, his chest tense with emotion and the inability to breathe.
The past few years had been rough on Dave. Gradually creeping up the past few months and then culminating into the hell he endured the past two weeks. Ever since he was stranded for three years in the meteor, Dave had more time to reflect on his past, eventually waking up to the reality that he was severely abused. Once on Earth C, especially after his conversation with Dirk, he wished more than ever to just never have realized his abuse. The more he thought about it, the more he got anxious and realized how differently he perceived everything and everyone around him - especially his new dudebro, Dirk. Something inside of him never forgave Dirk for things he never did. Regret, anxiety, depression, loneliness, stress, desperation, detachment, rage all bubbling up within him all trapped in by his need to wear shades. He mostly tried to not think of it to avoid the pain.
To his friends recommendations he tried going to therapy, something Rose had much of a say in the matter of. Something that more so involved the tactics of being so insistent that Dave would go just to shut her up about it. Two weeks ago he started therapy and it was a miserable experience. Miserable, in fact, was a severe understatement as the only rug under him that kept him sane was now pulled out from under him forcing him to confront everything all at once. Everything he neglected to look at for years, all built up with the consequences of it coming full force.
His strained relationship with Dirk 2 years ago, his crippling self isolation, his repressed emotions leading to occasional violent outbursts, his constant panic attacks of the media covering him let alone the stalkers leading to some encounters leading to controversial actions further spread by more media visiting him in a vicious negative loop. All of it came up at once leading to not one, but 6 mental breakdowns in the past week alone, all of which garnered more media attention, all during the most heavily packed couple of weeks for meet ups with his friends for political meetings of the kingdoms, public appearances all fueled further by his friends relentlessly asking how therapy was going for him.
Empty beer cans piled up faster than before and failed suicide attempts all led to him being called into the hospital for more therapy, more media attantion, more questions from his friends, more face-to-face encounters with Dirk that showed him just how much he looked and acted like his abusive guardian who he was still dude bros with online, but felt the polar opposite of in person. He was breaking. And the world knew it. And he knew that they knew it too. But he knew his friends didn't know as none of them would bother watching a TV with their own faces plastered all over it front and center constantly.
Then lo and behold he gets invited to the birthday party of his childhood friends who were clueless to his mental state. There was no way he could skip out on it without there being extraneous amounts of fuss over the matter, his friends wondering if he was ok once more and stabbing the already sore spot of therapy once more. That and the possibility of one of his friends post about it in their socials leading to more controversial coverage of Dave Strider. Which brings us back to now.
John and Karkat were still fighting over what movie the two would watch down in the living room. The chaos scaring most of the people in the room. Hell even Jake was starting to get himself involved and this war of passionate lovers of terrible to mediocre films was going from argument to bloodbath. The tug-a-war over Face Off now audible from well outside of the house even capturing the attention of the neighboring salamanders and the already sensory overloaded Dave getting more frantic and erratic than even before.
“NO JOHN I DIDN’T COME HERE YET AGAIN TO WATCH HOT STEAMING TRASH LIKE I DO EVERY TIME I COME HERE!”
“Yeah! Well it's still my house!”
“Let…. GO!” Jake’s grip on the disk tightens alongside the two others holding it until silence fills the room with the weight of what they’d just done sunk in.
They broke the disc.
John throws up his hands, the shards he was holding on to for dear life now plunged into the air above him, “OH WELL ISN’T THAT JUST FANTASTIC!”
“We're watching Con Air. No more debating.”
“You two first ruin my birthday by throwing a hissy fit over what me, the birthday boy wants to do, then break my copy of Face Off.”
Dave equips a blade from his strife specibus and proceeds to plunge it into a smuppet tattoo stretched out by puberty as he grew into an adult located on the left cheek of his ass.
John, now fuming with rage begrudgingly storms his way up the stairs.
The nose of the smuppet tattoo conveniently pointing to the package of a very underage boy at the time for indescribably malicious purposes. That thing was a shackle on his very soul, destroying it in its very essence.
John takes a deep breath and tries to free himself of his emotional shackles.
Dave was more than ready to cut his ties with it and his past. Fuck laser removal. Now he'd at least have a scar to be proud of.
John slows down unsure of the sounds he is hearing as he approaches the top of the stairs.
The quick suckling of air through teeth. Faint sobs. Sounds of pain. Sobbing. Wailing. An opening door. Dave.
Pale flesh exposed in a dreary, lightless, grey claustrophobic bathroom. He looked not much more than a skeleton cut open with gills. Gills being pecked at by the beaks of red crows flying downwards in murders gathering as one circular entity scattering across the tiled floors. Cracked shades fell to the floor long before entering this closeted domain. Dave pouring out red not in the form of long messages of rap, but gushing red that is rapping the words of self loathing. A silvery blade reflecting bright spots of white staring into your eyes, pleading to the eyes of the heir of burden. The heir whose breath has escaped him in a moment of shock.
John shows a yearning to rebel against his very nature, to call out for help for his dear friend and tend to the obligations and responsibilities attached to it.