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When they finally met up, it was mostly tears and joy and what have you. Dave got hugged by John and nearly had his spine broken by Jade, even allowing himself a small smile at seeing his old friends again. Even the Trolls seemed happy to see the two other remaining humans, Karkat growling in his least-angry way when John approaches. It was basically exactly the sort of shit you could slow down, put a happy song to, and make the perfect reunion montage for Hollywood, if Hollywood still existed, that is. However, hanging towards the back of the crowd was a wholly familiar, if somewhat surprising, face. Cheeto colored feathers, black shades, and a big white bandage around his waist, Davesprite floated behind the rest, not partaking in the festivities.
Dave walks up to his self-prototyped sprite. They fist bump with the utmost coolness.
“You made it.” Dave says, nodding at the bird man.
“Yeah, pretty much everyone thought I was going to keel over and die once the game realized we were basically finished, but I guess some things just don’t fucking work that way in paradox space.” Davesprite intones, face completely blank and unreadable.
“Or you’re infused with nothing but the coolest of Strider blood and are simply impervious to death by shitty game over.” Dave allows.
“Uh huh. Could we maybe talk in private, man?” the feathery boy asks, eyes shifting under shades. He motions to the inner lab. Dave looks over his shoulder. Everyone else was involved in talking, catching up, exchanging stories.
“Sure thing.” the human says, leading his counterpart deep into the lab, twisting hallways growing colder as they venture deep into the asteroid. They end up in a rarely used room off to one side of the main “living” quarters. Dave shuts the door. The sprite boy is the same height and build Dave was when he was thirteen, so Dave is a head taller and a good bit more filled out, muscle defined instead of the orange whip-thin bird. “What’s up, man?” he asks.
“I need you to kill me.” Davesprite says, poker face in place.
“What the fuck?!” The human exclaims, disgust crossing his features for the smallest of increments. “No. Are you out of your mind? I’m not killing you.” he says, backing away again.
“I’m useless now, Dave. The game is long over. I’m stuck at thirteen for the rest of my existence, basically just a orange torso with lots of game knowledge that you guys already know anyways. I’m worthless, useless, and you guys would do well to be rid of me once and for all, it’s not like I can do anything for you anymore.” by the end of his speech he is crying, yellow tears streaking down his cheeks. “I want to die, Dave. Can’t you see that? I’ve had three years to think about it, and this is what I’ve decided. You’re used to taking care of the extra Daves, the doomed ones. You clean all of them up, you should be able to finish off one more.”
“I’ve never killed a Dave in my life.” the Knight counters, eyes welling up as well. Davesprite is right, there’s nothing for him to do here anymore, and no matter how much you want to sugarcoat it, being a perpetual game construct, stuck in one age, in one body, with a fucking sword stuck through your chest, has to be a form of Hell. He draws his one half sword, not used since the end of the game, save for some annoying instances where a pair of scissors couldn’t be located in a timely manner. Which, for the young man who literally has all of the time in the universe, is no small feat. The metal gleams a little in the dim light, and Dave holds the handle with a death grip.
“Kill me,” Davesprite begs, “please, do it quick man. I need you to do this for me.” Dave is shaking where he stands, watching Davesprite cry and plead with him. “Do me this one, last favor, ok?” A couple tears drip down Dave’s face, much to his dismay. He wipes them away with the back of his sleeve, letting the sword fall from a battle ready stance.
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Do it. You need to do it for me.”
“I told you, I fucking can’t!”
“JUST DO IT. KILL ME DAVE, KILL ME!” Davesprite screams, grabbing Dave’s shirt and shaking him. Dave steps back, pushing the sprite off of him. He draws his sword.
Time slows as he thrusts the sword forward. The blade is slicing air before Dave even remembers telling his arm to move,whistling softly. A slight resistance at the skin, tugging and pulling away from the metal intruder, followed the smooth descent through the thin layer of fat beneath. The blade scrapes the edges of Davesprite’s ribs, clinks against the metal of the sword already embedded in his stomach, and there is a tear and the tough, leathery feel of living muscle as he goes through the heart. Davesprite’s face is frozen in an expression of agony, shades falling off as he tumbles backwards, bleeding profusely, before hitting the floor.
Time starts again. Davesprite is sputtering on the floor, blood pooling in his mouth, around his wound. His heart is still beating, and every pulse pushes out more bright orange blood against the grey of the lab’s floor. The boy motions for Dave to come over to him. Dave drops to his knees beside his creation, holding his head in his hands, sword discarded. The sprite is still crying, coughing up the last of his blood. He smiles, the faintest smile, and his eyes are distant and glazed.
“Thank...you.” he says. He breathes out, softly, no pain or suffering on his face, before going limp and still, his head rolling to one side.
Dave cries, loud, racking sobs that fill his entire chest and ricochet off the walls. No one is around to see him. No one would care, anyways.