Chapter Text
Back in the drowned remnants of the world, when Dirk was only six and stupid and way too careless when it came to taking safety precautions, he’d started dabbling more and more in the world of robotics. Eager to finally do something that could possibly help him get closer to leaving his humble concrete abode, unsurprisingly he messed a couple of steps up in his hurry. Working on the prototype of Squarewave had gone well-- blueprints robbed straight off of skaianet servers-- up until he accidentally failed to block the power off from the core so it wouldn’t run through the cords. He’d ended up electrocuting himself as soon as his hand landed on the live wire.
It hadn’t hurt too much, not really, but he’d been young and at the time it seemed a lot scarier than it actually was. In turn of that singular slip up, he had developed a slight, unreasonable fear of electricity (and lighting, for whatever reason his mind had to connect the two together). Or, what he’d thought was unreasonable.
Now, after having felt the power John wielded run through his body like thunder at its raw, painful core, Dirk thought to apologize internally to his past-self for having mocked the fear. After Dirk had tried to grab John (whose eyes had been brimmed with tears, liquid light dripping down past his lips and onto the concrete) and shake him, or anything-- he didn’t really know what he would have done, just knew he had to help-- Dirk had felt the same feeling he once experienced when he touched the live wire, times a hundred. Like every molecule in his body had been picked apart and realigned.
He recalled how the two of them had fallen with the debris, but things blurred, blacked out, and reshaped after that.
Dirk woke up nauseous, in a new terrain, a darker place-- to something sharp and painful digging into his back.
With a groan, he searched with his hands for leverage to push himself off of what he realized was a (now) broken television. He squinted at it as he righted his shades (that had previously been sitting askew on his nose), uncertain of how the hell it had gotten there. It was one of those old and boxlike ones, crumpled from his weight (which, what the hell, didn’t make sense because he was about as heavy as a malnourished chicken). And as he caught sight of the bloodied shards of the shattered screen, his hands moved to his back.
He dragged a hand up and under the hem of his hoodie, carefully feeling along the skin for any stray shards. He plucked the few pieces out that he could find with his fingers and hissed at the sting that followed. He flicked them away. Ignoring the slight trickle of blood down his spine, he took a couple of breaths in an attempt to orient himself, scanning his surroundings for anything familiar.
Dirk felt his heart drop into his stomach as he realized where he was.
All around him were fields of purple flowers (lavender. He recalled Jade showing him these before, and the strong scent was easily recognizable) stretching as far as the eyes could reach, only disturbed here and there by flat rocks jutting out of the ground and stacking upon themselves like dull daggers. Littered randomly in both clusters and not, were televisions, just like the one he’d woken up on. They were the only source of light around, seeing as how the sky was obscured by clouds that, just like the fields below, went beyond the horizon.
And as if on cue, a white text flickered into view across the clouds.
Welcome to the Land of -͢͞-̡҉-҉ -͟-̸-̧-̶̴ -̨̢ and - --҉-̢̛ -̕҉͢I--- , Hero of Heart
He ground his teeth together. Shit.
Dirk stumbled to walk, itching with a need to work the jitter out of his legs. Aimless, like if he just moved enough he’d be able to pretend he wasn’t on the verge of panicking. His head raced with questions. Questions like, what in the fuck had the universe decided to fling at him this time? And were the others okay? Why was there so many goddamn televisions? What did John even do?
His eyes widened behind his glasses with the sudden thought.
Hands cupped in front of his mouth, he called out, “John? Where the hell are you?”
When nobody answered, Dirk frantically scrambled to search the area. He looked behind the piles of televisions, flash-stepping (even though his head twinged with pain every time he did so) to check around the rocks, eyes seeking that familiar fucking bucktoothed jackass. He parted the lavender as he skimmed through the fields, squinting over the rim of his glasses to try and see anything through the dim light.
He raised his voice again, ignoring the slight waver. “Anyone?”
Dirk’s heart powers weren’t responding, either.
Usually, whenever he focused in with his powers, the world went dark and souls would alight in different colors, making it easy to find people. This time, all he got was another twinge of pain ringing through his head. He felt inexplicably empty. Like a encompassing presence he’d had his entire life had disappeared, leaving him hollow. The constant, sometimes overwhelming awareness of everyone around him had been cut off, blinding him.
Dirk swore-- If he just got dropped off into some kind of hell dimension on his own without any prior warning, robbed off of his aspect, he will piss in John’s shoes.
There came a faint groan behind him, and Dirk’s head swivelled towards the sound.
He scanned the general direction he’d heard it from, the only thing that stuck out to him over there a large, flat boulder that appeared as though lit up by tv-screens pointing at it, centered at the spotlight. He jogged over to it, nearly tripping over an unassuming rock jutting out of the ground in his hurry.
As he pushed the last flowers out of the way, he faltered, stopped in his tracks.
John was leaning against the side of the rock, one hand clutching at his forehead (headaches for the both of them, yay) and one arm attempting to push his weight off of the ground, even though trembling limbs left him ass-bound to the ground.
And it was weird, seeing John in something that wasn’t the usual windsock getup. Nobody really knew why he took to wearing it all the time, but at this point it was just so usual to see him in anything else that it felt like spotting a rare cryptid. Instead of eliciting the urge to whip out a camera to get a blurry picture for the sheer irony of it, it only served to crumple whatever sliver of familiarity Dirk had left. Having lost the heir attire, John was instead clad in a forest-green jacket, jeans, and a grey ghostbusters t-shirt which was stained at the middle with red.
Blood?
Dirk swallowed his unease, stepping forward to crouch down on his knees next to John, whose head snapped up to look at him, before instantly pulling a grimace as he seemed to remember his apparent headache.
He let his head loll backwards onto the flat stone, eyes closing. “You’re here.” He mumbled, voice hoarse, “are you okay?”
Dirk considered this for a second, reminded of the way his back stuck slightly to his undershirt with slick blood, before settling on “...I’m living.” Then, “not certain if that’ll last long, though, if this place is really what it appears to be.”
John cracked a wary eye open to peek at Dirk. “What.” A question and a statement. An inquiry as to what the hell he was on about, and a declaration of dread.
“I think we’re back in the game, or something close to it.” He sighed, “I mean, look around for yourself-- tell me this doesn’t look fucking skeevy.”
John raised his head, and Dirk watched silently on while he scanned the surroundings. A furrow in John’s brow grew deeper with each passing second. “No.”
“Yup.”
John placed a hand on Dirk’s shoulder to steady himself, and pushed to a stand. He took a couple of cautious steps forward, to the side, back again, eyes anxiously flitting over the fields, and Dirk realized he was starting to pace back and forth.
What was first mumbled and incoherent, grew in volume as John took it all in. “No... no, no no no, this has got to be- this isn’t... This is-- fuck....”
“So I take it you didn’t move us here intentionally, then.”
“What? No.”
“Hm.” Dirk shifted on his feet, alarms going off in his head at the grim confirmation. “May or may not have thought you knew what this place was. I assumed that from the lightshow from before that you brought us here with the... juju stuff. That was the uh, the retcon powers, right?”
“Yeah.” John frowned. “But I don’t control them. And I wouldn’t have just brought us to some… random stupid field where I don’t even have the godtier powers!”
“You don’t?”
“No. I can’t feel the breeze or anything.”
“Shit. Mine wasn’t working earlier, either, I-” Dirk paused, hesitated. Maybe it just didn’t work because he was too far away?
He tried to focus in on John’s soul before him, jaw clamped in an attempt to get his headache to subside and for his mind to just work with him, searching for the familiar blue color that always shrouded John’s heart-- to no avail.
“fuck, if neither of us have any powers then how are we... how... ” He trailed off.
Dirk didn’t know what to say or how to continue where that sentence was heading, not wanting to voice his worries, and the silence hung heavy in the air between them.
What now?
After the game had ended, Dirk had been forced to learn how to… wind down, more. Not always be so damn tense, as Roxy had called it. She’d said he needed to stop planning for everything to go wrong, to not always expect the worst out of every situation. And with the help of his friends there to remind him and give a hand, he’d managed to quell the urge and not always jump to extremes whenever some mild inconvenience hit. Tried to reason with himself, disregarded the wandering thoughts that made everything seem like an abysmal crisis. But considering he had lived by the same frame of mind for sixteen years, it wasn’t surprising he had a hard time breaking the habit.
And Dirk wondered if he should have tried breaking it at all, seeing as to where that had placed him. Stabbed in the back by a television.
John seemed to notice he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes, then. “Wait-- oh my god is that fucking blood?”
He was staring down at the mess on his chest, and carefully, slowly-- as though it would suddenly grow fangs and bite his finger off if he moved too hastily-- reached a hand up to touch at it. “It’s… dry. And there’s a cut in the fabric here.” He dragged a finger over the ripped edges. “Weird.”
“Remarkable,” Dirk said, decidedly not letting him there was an even bigger gash at the back of his jacket, “You got your phone on you? I’m trying to contact the others through my shades and it’s... not working.”
His attempt at trying to pester Dave with an ‘I lived bitch’, proved futile, with his screen immediately flashing ‘this chum has yet to be created!’ back at him in a blaring yellow text. Dirk refused to think about it.
“Um, I don’t know?” John patted down his pockets and rattled through his sylladex. “...Nope.”
“Shit. Well that settles it, I guess.” Dirk sighed.
“Huh?”
“We’re fucked, irretrievably.”
“Oh.”
---
They had, for lack of any other ideas, began to wander the planes in silence. Dirk followed in John’s wake, watching the screens of the televisions with ample curiosity as he passed them by.
There were video snippets displayed, weirdly enough.
Some showed everyday life back on old earth, some not-- the session they played being showcased here and there, if you looked closely enough to recognize it. Distant, unexplored galaxies looped in short sequences, crackling with static that Dirk knew was usual with the old VHS tapes he’s seen referenced and copied through effect editing in both movies and games. He found it half charming and half stupid that for whatever reason, as soon as humanity had access to better technology, they wanted to emulate the older, more flawed kind. Like replicating nostalgia.
It made the clips that would have been boring oddly familiar-- near personal. Reminded him of the shitty video tapes that Dave had left behind in the ocean apartment, taken with an old-ass camera from the ancient days of 1995 or something just because the ironic quality of the videos looked like the type that a stereotypical dad would find in some lost corner of their storage while scouring the house in boredom, bringing them up for the whole family to watch and weep in embarrassment over. As you do.
(He’d always wondered if it meant Dave had wished they could have had moments like that-- normal life cliches be damned.)
A flash of color broke the static, someone sitting in a study painting the same stroke over and over again on their canvas, like a broken record. Stuttered movements that never amounted to anything but existed as a pretty prop to something irrelevant. The top of a grass-hill that looked out over a sleeping village, and on another screen, a hand pulling on the string to close an array of blinds, shutting out the scowling daylight. A woman flipped a pancake with her spatula, a cat watching from her shoulder.
Maybe that would have been nostalgic for him, hadn’t he grown up alone in the remnants of a drowned society.
Then, there was a giant disc spinning, spinning along forever against a backdrop of red-hot lava, bubbling thick as syrup underneath. Rain, bright and colorful as neon drizzled against white, chalk-like beaches. A golden moon drifted in its orbit around Skaia, like it always did and always would, in every universe. A pair of orange wings bristled.
All on repeat.
The complete silence (which was weird-- he recalled distantly that during their session, soundtracks played in different areas of the incipisphere, like a part of the background noise) apart from their footsteps was stifling. Downright eerie. Not a single rustle of wind passed over the fields to rustle the flowers.
Dirk thought, absently, that he was distracting himself. Both from the steadily growing anxiety at the pitch of his stomach, and from John.
He wanted to cut the quiet between them.
Though, he knew he couldn’t open his mouth and start talking just for the sake of filling the silence. Mainly because he was aware he’d mess up even the most Basic Conversation for Dummies what with his usual social tact, and partly because he was a coward and John was giving off some major ‘one step from snapping’ vibes he didn’t want to fuck with.
Rigid shoulders, movements too sharp-- John’s entire demeanor was tinged with frustration, even in the way he walked.
Dirk wanted to know if he’d done anything wrong, and if he could fix it, somehow. If John was mad at him, he’d understand. He wouldn’t want to be stuck with a jackass like himself, either. It wouldn’t be past him if he’d missed some vital, implied piece of communication and accidentally insulted like seven past generations of John’s family in the process. And maybe John was smiling along amiably because he was just polite like that.
Though the thought seemed unlikely.
After the game, along with the other three of his friends, he’d had time to get to know the pre-scratch humans better. In short terms? They were the improved versions of themselves. Rose was similar to Roxy in a lot of ways, like how she gave advice and her inherent drive to aid others. He liked her, but she was too much like himself to really make him want to get too familiar with. Out of the four, he particularly admired Jade. Jade was like Jake, driven with endless optimism and determination, yet still with enough scepticism and a sense of leadership in her that traces of Jane shone through. She was kind, selfless. Perfect in the way Jane and Jake would never be.
John was a lot like her. He was… hard to pinpoint, honestly, just as much of an enigma as Dirk always wished he could be. While incredibly emotive, Dirk had never been able to get a good read out of John-- never quite figured out what his intentions were. One thing was for certain, though. John hasn’t ever been the cruel kind. He had a reputation of being unable to hate anyone in that raw, platonic way that made your blood boil, never held anything against his friends without telling them.
At least as far as Dirk knew.
His thoughts were cut short when John slowed to a halt before him, and flowers rustled as he turned around.
“Something up?” Dirk asked.
John’s gaze was unfocused, trained on nothing in particular and not meeting Dirk’s eyes as he replied, voice oddly subdued, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about... all of this.”
“Huh?”
He looked up, and Dirk was relieved to see John’s anger dissipate in the dim screen light as he did so, eyes so slightly softening around the edges. But then he looked more downcast than calm, and Dirk-- didn’t know what to do with that.
“I could have prevented this,” he said, finally.
Dirk leaned back to sit on one of the televisions, crossing his arms. “How?”
“It’s, I mean, I… if I would have stayed away from everyone it would have been okay, and you wouldn’t have gotten swept up in this, whatever this stuff is.”
“It’s not as though you could have known that the juju was going to pull a stunt like this all of a sudden. It’s not your fault.”
John looked away and chewed on his lip, a nervous tick if he’s ever seen one. “No, it really is my fault. There’s been, um, occurrences? Sometimes, like every few days, I get these…” he paused, seemingly mulling over his word choice. “Attacks.” he made a face, backpedalled, “No! Not attacks, because they don’t hurt or anything it’s usually fine and all but--”
“Dude,” Dirk interrupted, “what the hell are you on about?”
A sigh, “You don’t… I think I should just start from the beginning.” John said, sitting down beside him. “Right after we won the game.”
---
“I didn’t mean to really keep it a secret from anyone, okay? But everyone was so happy! People were so much more… i dunno, better, together with the people they like. They didn’t need me to come in and take their time because I couldn’t deal with my problems on my own like everyone else could.”
Dirk frowned at him. “The- we’re your friends, John. Why would you assume we wouldn’t want to know about this, especially if it was hurting you-- not physically, at first, maybe, but it deliberately made you stay away from us because you wanted to keep it hidden.”
John brought his legs up on the tv, and hugged them to his chest. He shrugged. “It didn't bother me. They-- I mean... I thought it would stop soon, anyways.”
“Well, it fucking didn’t.” And what if it never would have? Would you have kept it a secret for eternity? he bit back, unsure of his place.
He knew he should have said something else, there. Something reassuring. Nobody else was really handling what the game spit out at them well, but. They were handling it together, right? He couldn’t understand how none of the others, especially Jade and Rose and Dave who were so close knit to one another, hadn’t noticed John was acting weird. They talked to each other a lot, right? They always spoke so fondly of him.
What had he been missing?
“There’s no way you kept this to yourself just because you didn’t think it was necessary to tell them.” Dirk said, more of a mumble to voice his thoughts rather than an accusation. He realized John must have heard it anyway, from the way he tensed up. “It’s something about the others, isn’t it.”
John paused, giving Dirk a sideways look that he couldn't decipher-- empty yet scrutinizing, calculating. Then, letting go of his legs, he scooted forward until he promptly pushed himself off of the television.
The flowers crumpled beneath the soles of his shoes.
“There isn’t anything wrong, like I said,” John stated, voice even, “and you really don’t need to keep track of what I do or do not tell my friends.”
Dirk wasn’t exactly a long-since childhood friend that John grew up and faced the end of the world with or anything, but the thought that John apparently didn’t regard him as a friend at all was, well. Disappointing.
“Evidently not,” said Dirk, resolutely uncaring if he sounded bitter, “though you not telling anyone about it is how we got into this bullshit in the first place.”
He expected John to tell him off, but. Instead he just took a deep breath-- and Dirk thought he saw his hands flicker with white light for a split second-- before exhaling a sigh.
“Okay, yeah, I’m sorry.” He turned to Dirk, who snapped his gaze back up from John’s hands to meet his eyes-- even though he probably couldn’t see what Dirk was looking at behind the shades. “There’s probably like a bazillion better ways I could have handled it, and I should have told you and the others that everything wasn’t… that the retcon powers were acting up. But I didn’t, so.”
“...So?”
“What I’m saying is, what do you expect me to do about it? Because as far as I know, we’re pretty much stuck here.”
Dirk shrugged, feeling his irritation seep out of him as he sighed, “I don’t know. I really wish I had a plan or something, but I don’t.”
“Okay.” John shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain, “Okay yeah, then I don’t see why we don’t just like, continue. I’m sure we’ll find something if only we walk far enough.”
There was a pause, a silent contemplation, and Dirk nodded. John seemed to think that was enough of an agreement and turned on his heel, starting down the same direction from before with Dirk following right in his tracks.
“Hopefully we’ll find that something soon!” John voiced over his shoulder.
Dirk grunted a non-committed reply, watching the way John’s jacket rode up along his arms-- honestly looking a little too small on his built frame.
Near to everything about the way John carried himself, tone to word to movement, seemed too calculated to be genuine-- a manner Dirk was familiar with from own experience. Though, it wasn’t like he had much past interactions to compare from. Had he known John better, maybe he would have been able to get more out of him, but it wasn’t his place. If someone was giving off every major hint that they didn’t want to talk about something, he should probably take the cue, shut up and let it go, but.
Somehow, that thought did nothing for Dirk except make him more curious.
During the session-- right before he and Dave had flung themselves into battle against the three Jacks together with Terezi-- he recalled (though it was brief) how he’d listened to Dave talk fondly about John, who he still thought of as his best friend even after they’d been parted for three long years. Dirk remembered how he’d wanted to learn more about him at that moment, the leader in blue with the kind, old eyes.
An idea started forming in his head.
He fell into step beside John and nudged his arm with his elbow, and John inclined his head towards him with an inquiring “Hm?”
“You know how Roxy used to pull lightening rounds on everyone she hadn’t gotten to know yet on the lilypad, after we won the game?”
John nodded. “Yeah, she and Aradia went on forever with that.”
“Right.” Dirk fought the urge to rub the back of his neck-- a habit that not only made him look like a ridiculous shonen anime protag, but reminded him of his (more) awkward past interactions from when he was sixteen. “Well I was thinking, if you’re up for it, we could do the same? This is the first time we’ve ever been alone together, after all.”
“Huh. I guess that’s true for you, yeah.” John said. Then, smiling at Dirk, “But sure! Not like we have anything better to be doing.”
“Alright. I’ll start,” Dirk said. “What the fuck do you mean with ‘for me.’”
"Oh, um.” John shrugged with a shoulder, “It was in a different timeline… but I’ve actually been alone with you before! Briefly. Though everyone was all dead and stuff except for you and Roxy, but like we didn't know that she was alive so you told me to leave you alone to the um, glitchy stuff. Then you just sort of, like, disintegrated."
Dirk stared at him, bewildered. "The fuck?"
"Haha yeah, tell me about it! It was really dramatic," John chuckled, as though he hadn't just told Dirk that he literally watched him die once. Then, "I guess it's my turn to ask, now, huh?"
"I... Yes. It's your turn." He thought it better not to ask further. “Go wild.”
"Hm. What's the best thing about living on new earth?"
“That I can just go places.” He responded, nigh instantaneously. “Wherever and whenever I want.”
Dirk had considered this topic before. He’d sought out, over the years, what was inherently different between his old home and Earth C-- carefully testing out the boundaries of the new world just to find that there was none. Even if the crowds and the constant reminder that there were souls, living people, surrounding him at nearly all times, he could always just disappear to the ocean, to familiarity. Or, should he remember his inherent immortality, into space, where everything was silent but for his own heartbeat.
“That’s understandable.” John conceded. Then, “I mean, it makes sense with how much of a social recluse you were when we lived in the shared house, haha. Like, did you ever leave your computer? Glad you finally figured out you could go outside!” He said, snorting in amusement at Dirk’s affronted expression.
“Fucking rude, John, what the hell did I ever do to you?”
“Aww haha, I didn’t intend to be mean or anything! But really though I think your skin was shrivelling up from the lack of exposure to the sun at one point. It was sad.”
“Oh what fucking ever, it’s my turn to ask anyway,” Dirk said, furrowing his brow as he thought. “How come you… okay, so Dave told me the glasses you got for him were Ben Stiller’s. Where the hell did you get them?”
John grinned. “Oh man, I actually just found them on some random internet bidding site! I spent too much money on them, honestly. I’d meant for him to wear them as a stupid dare or something, but he’s literally like, genuinely attached to them now. It’s pretty funny.”
“He told me something similar once. Still, I guess I thought there’d be some connection to how my bro acquired them. Or more about why, really. I know he got them as a gift from Stiller-- but, yeah. I don’t know.”
“Huh.” John looked away from him, shrugged. “I can’t say I know enough about your guardian to tell. Maybe there’s a connection to be made there that I don’t know about.”
Sincerity never sounded quite right in his voice, always ended up slightly off at the tone or delivery, but, “To tell you the truth I’ve sort of… given up... at trying to get to know what my guardian was like,” Dirk said, “Used to wonder if he’d live up to my expectations. But if he’s anything like Dave, then that’s even more than I could hope for.”
At the same time, he also knew that they’d always be different, and that he’d always feel different about the two. He loved Dave, he really did, but Dirk didn’t think he’d ever stop wondering about the alternate version of him, and how he was unlike the others. He’d felt like a distant older brother to him before, during the time he spent a throwaway in the deserted sea, but after he’d gotten to know this Dave, it was like… he worried about his ancestor. Carding through the story of how he’d faced the apocalypse and the finned devil who caused it with a sword in hand and dying as a hero in the process, but viewing it in a different light. Had he been happy, knowing that he’d inevitably die one day in a futile last stand to try and save humanity? Because he must have known something about the future if he knew Dirk was going to be born. Did he even have any friends? Was he and Rose friends as though bound by blood, or had the universe taken that away from them, as well?
It had been a weird thing, to have lived his entire life up until meeting Dave with an idealization of how his brother would have been like-- the smooth-spoken hollywood director from interviews who was the absolute textbook definition of inscrutable-- to then find out that no matter what, he would only be human.
Weird, and definitely jarring.
John smiled at Dirk, eyes crinkling at the edges as he spoke, “Aw, you really do care about him a lot, don’t you? That’s really... nice. It’s what he deserves, you know?”
Dirk nodded, afraid he’d ruin the moment if he opened his mouth to point out the fact that his presence was probably the least of what Dave needed around. He couldn’t really help looking like a copy of his alternate self, but he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t, either.
Whenever Dirk accidentally slipped back into his usual habit of keeping his expression plain (gained from months upon years of never having to react to anything because there was no-one around to see or care), it made Dave anxious. He’d try to make amends for it, to better himself and pay more attention-- but it was never, ever, enough to make up for the bad years. He’d always, inevitably, misstep somewhere along the line, and Dirk would have to rewind, start over. Plan again.
It was an unspoken subject, obviously, but everyone who loved and cared for Dave (which is a safe category to assume John fell into) got at least the gist of what had gone down in his past, with his shit guardian and the shittier abuse.
He thought it awfully selfish of himself for being unable to just get done with it and leave already, to save Dave the trouble of asking. Maybe, he thought, being displaced in this desolate version of the game was a good thing, then. He couldn’t hurt anyone he knew as long as he was stuck here.
Well, except for John. He wondered how long until he inevitably fucked up this time, as well.
His eyes averted and trained on the passing televisions, watching them with idle interest as he avoided John’s gaze. Like if he let him see too much of his eyes, he’d see right through them and pierce his shield, pin him down and pick him apart. Find out what he really was like, and hate what was there.
Disregarding the fact it was a sudden change of subject, he spoke up again, quietly.
“It’s your turn.”
“Wha- Oh! Right.” John said, and hummed in thought for a moment as he searched for a question. “So… like. Dave denies it, but are you aware that your shades just look really, really stupid?”
“Like hell they do.”
---
They wandered, chattered, and walked even more-- walked until their legs ached, and carried on persistently throughout even though their ankles bent painfully when they misstepped on the uneven ground.
Since when, Dirk wondered, had the soft soil turned into rocky plains? There were still flowers, and if possible, more televisions, but somewhere during their path, the amount of pebbles, rocks and gravel had started to increase a ridiculous amount.
They had walked for what felt like hours-- Dirk tried to set a timer in his glasses since they began walking, but for whatever reason the application glitched out and wouldn’t open. Eventually, Conversation had trickled down into a few remarks of strange things they see on the televisions as they walk by. He realized soon enough that John, just like himself, was growing tired.
It wasn’t until a fateful moment in which Dirk had caught his foot and tripped on a rock jutting out of the ground, that John proposed that they should stop to rest for a while.
And so, they had found an unassuming plot of land, circled by a dozen televisions whose screens all conveniently faced outward, their backs forming some sort of shoddy replacement for walls. The light was dimmed immensely within them.
“You’re completely sure your ankle isn’t sprained?” John stressed, prodding carefully with a thumb over Dirk’s foot joint as he checked for any swelling. “I’d rather not have to carry you, you know!”
“Alright first and fucking foremost, I said I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Secondly--” Dirk retracted his leg from John’s lap to bring them closer so he could fold his arms over his knees, and scooted over to rest against the side of a tv, “nobody said anything about any carrying.”
“Pfft, okay fine, Mister Strong and Totally Invincible, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Great.” Dirk mumbled, letting his head fall forwards into his arms.
They lapsed into comfortable silence.
His mind wandered, like it usually tended to do. Dirk had questions which he knew all too well he wouldn’t find any answers to for a long while-- if ever.
He mulled over the possibility that it was some kind of dream bubble ripoff, but in that case they would either be sleeping or have died. Death seemed unlikely, considering their pupils hadn’t gotten glazed over with white, and Dirk had always been able to control when he left and entered the dreaming dead's world.
He wondered if their retracted-- stolen?-- immortality and godhood meant they had to die on the quest beds again. Or perhaps they were still gods, and this place just worked as some kind of dampener.
The land was strange, which wasn’t exactly any riveting fucking news, but was more clear now that he really thought about it. The televisions had access to footage from beyond the game, from different moments in time-- there’s a slight possibility that they’ve travelled back in time. For all Dirk knew, this place could change their lives on Earth C via butterfly effect on a universal scale.
But for all that the land was, it wasn’t very cold. Maybe the static from the many screens emanated some kind of heat, maybe not. Either way, Dirk was far from freezing. The warmth inside his hoodie felt like it seeped, thick as molasses, into his bone marrow, making his eyelids lead-heavy.
Dirk reached back and pulled his hood over his head, electing to try and catch some sleep. Though he knew he’d usually have a very hard time straight up doing so on the spot, exhaustion had worn him down significantly.
He cast a side glance towards John, who he saw was lying on his back in the lavender, breathing deeply.
Dirk shut his eyes, warm sensation enveloping him as he nodded off.
---
He’d think of himself as forever thankful of his past and lingering habit of sleeping too lightly, when he was roused from sleep by a nearby hissing noise. Groggy, mind still clouded, Dirk cracked open his eyelids.
At first he found he was unable to detect anything but the blurry glow of distant screens as he tried to adjust to the darkness. Then, perched on top of the televisions, Dirk was able to make out an ink-black shape, shifting in its place. Long fangs protruded from its jaw, hanging like icicles and dripping with black goop. A colorful jester costume, hat and all, adorned it.
It took him a split second to process what it was, snapping awake.
First, with a muttered rap, he whipped his arm out to grapple the hilt of his katana buried in his strife modus. Second, a step like a flash, and he’s bringing the blade down onto the spawn in a vicious arc.
Cut in half, the imp made a distinct poofwas that oil?
He leaned down, cautiously drawing his index-finger against the liquid, catching some of it on his skin. Dirk brought it up to his nose, smelling it. Like he expected, the stark scent of petroleum was clear as day-- just like what fuel used to run his generators and miscellaneous machines back in the ocean apartment, before he’d stolen the uranium cores from the evil fish-bitch’s drones.
“Sheesh.” came a voice from behind him, and Dirk spun around, startled.
Leaning against the colorful handle of the Zillyhoo, John stood, looking at Dirk with a crease in his brow-- wasn’t he fucking asleep? “It looks like we weren’t alone here, then. Huh, It was ages ago since I last saw one of those things.”
“...Do you make it a habit of keeping that ugly fucking thing in your sylladex?” Dirk said, nodding pointedly towards the warhammer.
John grinned, grabbing it and hoisting the entire thing like it was nothing over his shoulder. “Yep!”
“Jesus.”
“Anyways,” John walked up to him, tone settling into something more serious as he motioned with his other hand past Dirk. “Look.”
He turned his head.
The sea of electronics that they’ve been navigating through previously was flickering at the border of the horizon.
Darkness-- holding nothing, blank and just as terrifying as void-- crept in like ink bleeding through paper, destroying their only source of light as it made its way across the map, slowly but surely nearing.
“We should probably get going.” John said.
“Dude I only got like two hours of rest. At best.”
“Well. Too bad!” He said, placing a hand on Dirk’s shoulder as though the chipper dipshit was giving him any kind of reaffirming pearl of wisdom. “But unless you wanna get super duper familiar with the approaching void-- which may or may not hold enemies, I don’t really care?”
“What if I suddenly pass the fuck out, then, leaving you to drag my unconscious body across the map lion-and-prey-in-the-serengeti style, not unlike the valiant hero that handles a drunk yet fair maiden? I feel that my integrity, as well as ego, would crumble with that knowledge. It’d be devastating and I may sue-- then what?”
“Then I’d say maybe work on your rambling tendencies, you sound too much like Dave, and also shut up. Please shut up.” John retracted his hand, starting to turn away and walk again, hopping over the circle of tv’s as he went.
Dirk followed, reluctantly, keeping his distance from the pointy end of the hammer. “Can I revoke my earlier statement? Please carry me.”
“Nope! No take-backsies.”
“Damn.” Dirk sighed-- as though he’d be able to sleep anyways. He hooked his katana into his belt loop, figuring it would be quicker than if he kept it in the sylladex.
They moved along.
Somehow, as though it was some kind of punishment for even daring to try and catch a wink in this place, enemies had started to form. By tenfold.
Imps, basilisks, liches and even the odd ogre in the far distance, swept along the plains. Some black, dripping with tar or fossil fuel, some blue as cobalt.
John mostly let Dirk do the killing. Now that they weren’t god-tiered anymore they couldn’t risk getting the attention of an ogre with too much noise, even if it would be a stupid death. Cutting through the enemies with the blade, cleanly, simply, was much quieter than if John would smash them into bits.
As they fell into an adequate monster-slashing pattern, it all suddenly struck Dirk as somewhat familiar.
During the session, back when he hadn’t yet fucked things up (or before he’d realized he had) with Jake, he and Dirk had raided the ruins of his planet and hunted the skeleton creatures for grist. Mainly because he’d wanted time alone with Jake, and partly just to waste the hours doing bullshit and getting ready for the next big thing to happen. Not unlike what the two of them were doing, currently.
That had been comfortable, something that he’d expected to get out of the game. Fighting enemies and gaining loot and winning, winning winning, until they didn’t, anymore.
Game Over hit, obviously, but that wasn’t the point he was getting at.
The whole, like, and-then-they-lived-happily-ever-after ending to it all had seemed so fucking backwards in hindsight to what Dirk really deserved, when he’d woken up on the peaceful green fields of Earth C. He hadn’t grasped the thought that they’d done it, actually won, with him still alive. He’d expected to be left behind, at best. What use could he have to anyone, now that everything he’s worked for had been completed and his friends were alive?
It had taken so much effort to try and let himself believe that he wasn’t living in the end-credits of some way overdue story. So much time spent on mending things between his friends, between those he’d wronged without meaning to, because he’d thought that finally he’d get to have a chance to be happy. Not that he could ever really get to the point of believing he deserved it, but. He berated himself, though let down, for thinking he’d be safe after they had won the game.
Should have seen something coming, and prepared for it.
Dirk realized as soon as he took a too-drastic swing at one of the basilisks (a fatal cut through the neck) that the spots dancing at the edge of his vision should indicate exhaustion and hunger was messing with his head. The thought of stopping to rest again occurred to him, which he then ignored, buried it deep down so it wouldn’t have the grounds to be anything close to a suggestion so he could keep on pushing forward.
He stabbed through the (supposed) heart of an imp that had been in their path, piercing through its chest and out on the other side. Drawing the blade-- which dripped with black-- he stepped away quickly before the underling poofed like a sad, anticlimactic burst bubble. Took a breath through gritted teeth.
Dirk couldn’t help but startle slightly as a hand was placed on his shoulder.
John slid in front of him, expression soft but eyes a pinpoint of focus, boring into him with not an unkind scrutiny. His hand squeezed slightly-- a gesture he’d learned was meant to be reassuring-- before pulling away, settling to stand in front of him close enough that Dirk had to tilt his head slightly back to face him. The rest of the world is drowned out, null to the two of them.
“It’s going to be okay,” John said, genuine enough that Dirk let himself believe he wasn’t soothsaying things for his sake. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Dirk nodded, unable to think of anything to say in return.
And when John whispered, “I’ll find a way out of here, trust me,” he believed him.
---
Maybe the case was that John had some reality-defying intuition, or maybe he was just lucky, but it took approximately two hours (what else was he supposed to do other than count the minutes) before they found something.
After the terrain had gone from Rocks With a Sprinkle of Flowers to Pebble Hellscape, Dirk and John had found-- carved right through the highland-- a gaping, glowing crater. Wider than a football arena, it was shoddily cut out of the ground, as though someone had tried to make a circle by punching it in with a giant ungodly fist. The edges were steep, reaching about fifty feet down, until it met white matter.
A familiar spirograph shape, green and shifting, was circling in its place at the bottom of the glowing pit. Light particles stirred, drifting upwards a ways until they dissolved into nothing.
John broke the silence. “A gate? Really?”
“That’s even more proof,” Dirk sighed, leaning back against a nearby boulder and letting his body slide down to a sit, legs folding underneath him, “We’re definitely back in the game.”
“Jeez...”
“Yeah. You think it’ll take us out of here?” He glanced towards John, who stood overlooking the gate with a frown.
The lighting coming from the crater below lit his features in a peculiar way, his thoughtful expression emphasized as shadows formed over the bridge of his nose. John’s eyes couldn’t be seen, hidden behind the white light reflecting on the surface of his glasses-- and Dirk found he couldn’t catch a single hint of what John was thinking.
He took a breath, face turning towards Dirk, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, to jump headfirst into it. We don’t know where it’ll take us, so I mean, for all we know it could make it even harder for us to leave!”
“Honestly, John, I do not have the capacity to grow a singular fuck to give if we do, I’m convinced my stomach will become self aware and implode in on itself-- It’s only a matter of time.” he placed a hand on his stomach absentmindedly. “If there’s food on the other side, I’m already halfway through jumping in. And you know what? Even if there was a bullshit hell-pomegranate kind of deal and it traps us here for eternity, I’d still eat the metaphorical forbidden fruit. I’m on the verge of starvation, here.”
John snickered, captchalogued his hammer and sat down beside Dirk with a huff. “Way to be dramatic! If you were hungry you could have just said so, I have a bag of taco chips in my sylladex if you want some.”
“I’d ask why you have a bag of taco chips in your sylladex, but also, gimmie.”
“Pfft alright, dude.” John struck his hand out, grappling at nothing for a split second until suddenly, with a rustle of plastic, he held a package between his fingers. He gave it to Dirk.
Dirk, who immediately sliced it open with the katana.
He ignored John’s snort of amusement in favor of reaching into the bag and seizing a good handful of chips. Turning his hand around as he pulled it out, he cupped his hand to be more like a bowl. With his other hand, he picked and raised a chip to his mouth.
He had tried tacos before. Jane, though a greater baker than cook, had tried to recreate them from memory one evening, practically locked herself within the confines of the kitchen until the recipe sufficed and stayed true to her memory-- and it had instantly become a favorite amongst everyone, both human and alien. Especially Roxy, who claimed she could probably eat nothing but tacos for the rest of her life and be perfectly content with it.
Only Dirk didn’t have any topping, and so the chips pretty much tasted like nothing but salt and bland nothingness. Still, he ate near half of the bag, the ache in his stomach subsiding, if only slightly.
He paused, glanced at John. “You... don’t want any?”
“Huh? Oh, no I’m good.” He said-- sounding distracted, scuffing his foot absently at the ground and sending pebbles rolling down the hill.
“Really.”
He sighed, facing Dirk, “Seriously dude, keep it! You need it more than me, with how much you were whining earlier.”
Dirk opened his mouth to protest-
When for a split second John’s eyes flitted to the left, over Dirk’s shoulder. They widened with a sharp, terrified gasp, and then John had snapped a hand up to cover Dirk’s mouth, the force of it pushing his head against the rock.
Bewildered, he grasped at John’s arm and tried to pry it away from his fucking mouth, what the hell-- until Dirk caught the frantic “shhh!” coming from John. His index finger was pressed to his lips, eyes pleading for him to supposedly shut the fuck up.
Dirk, confused, slackened his grip and mouthed a ‘what?’ as John withdrew his hand.
He leaned in, voice a sharp whisper.
“There’s um,” He squinted towards the fields behind Dirk, “three ogres walking around over there.”
Slowly, Dirk turned to peek around the boulder. And he had to wonder, then, how the everloving fuck he hadn’t been able to hear them coming. They were making their way along the hills, purposeful steps carrying them with a droning confidence that reminded him more of cpu’s carrying out code commands-- pushing rocks out of the way and crushing televisions under their feet as they moved. Tar dripped from every part of their bodies, skin oozing the stuff like their veins were trying to rinse out the disgusting grime. It soaked through the colorful jester clothes and ran down their gritty, uneven white tusks, leaving black liquid to pool between the rocks and crevices in their wake.
The smell of them hit his nostrils, suddenly, and Dirk felt his face contort at the dizzying fumes.
The ogre farthest to the right opened its jaw and let out a growl that reminded him of marbles rubbed together and forks on chalkboards. Found himself flinching when he saw the many rows of shark-teeth shifting like waves inside their maws.
He wouldn’t be able to take all of them down without losing a limb in the process. There’s no way.
He felt the impulsive need to back down and press himself against the rock behind him-- to sink into it and hide until they had passed-- run down his spine. He gripped his katana beside him, turning a wary eye to John.
“Please tell me you have a plan.”
WIth his teeth worrying at his bottom lip, John leaned away to press the heels of his palms against his temples, frowning. “I don’t know. Well. I mean-- it’s either we sneak up behind them and try to take at least two down by surprise attack, where you stab one or something and I put my hammer to good use, or we could--” he paused, jerking a hand up to motion with a thumb behind him and tone dropping low into disdain, “--jump through the gate.”
“I’m guessing you’re not too sold on the latter.”
“No,” John stressed, “We don’t know what’s in there! What if that’s where the monster dudes are coming from, huh? That’d be really shitty. Do you want us to have it really super shitty?”
Dirk scowled, “Obviously not, John, I’m just saying that I’d rather not risk getting my ass fricasseed and served to me on a silver fucking platter by these guys, alright?”
“They’re not that b--”
Cut off at mid-sentence by an all-encompassing CRACK in the air, John didn’t get to continue. Like lightning, it was loud enough to make both of them flinch, and Dirk’s head whipped around, searching frantically for the source of the noise.
There was a moment where the enemies grew silent and the televisions paused their looped sequences, everything coming to a standstill as though the land held its breath. Then, with a pitch sharper than needles, came a vicious scree from the heavens, a coiling shape descending through the stormclouds.
Dirk stilled, caught off-guard by the sheer size of it-- no other word to describe it better than indisputably colossal. A slithering shape with a tail that trailed behind like a silk streamer, emerald in color. Circling where the neck would be was a twirling halo in the shape of a green sun, a symbol he has previously seen embroidered on Rose’s god-tier clothing. Its iridescent lizard-head split at the mouth into a snarled hiss.
“Typheus?” said John, managing to sound both incredulous and reverent at the same time. “Oh dude, we are… beyond dead.”
Dirk would have just about shat himself right then and there.
The ogres certainly seemed to share the same sentiment, because in the next second they’re all scrambling to run away as fast as they could-- which wasn’t very fast, for as far as beings made of tar went. To his surprise, following them came a handful of imps that had seemingly popped out of nowhere, darting between the televisions away from John and his hiding place with panicked urgency. In fact, several other underlings scuttled after, some letting out dismayed gurgle-screams as they ran for their lives.
The noise and movement snatched the denizen’s attention, and its head snapped towards the monsters. Dirk saw the tail flick to the side, coiling like a spring, before it lunged itself forward, looping once in the air as it shot in the direction of the monsters, jaw opened to make that awful, shrill scree again.
Except, emanating from under the scales of Typheus’ throat, Dirk’s eye caught sight of something glowing within. Before he had time to process this, from the mouth of the denizen a beam of white light was fired into the hillside.
The bedrock fractured with another crack, and his head started ringing with a single, deafening tone.
John appeared to be yelling something at him, shaking Dirk by his shoulders, but whatever it was he said fell on flat ears.
Though the beam had hit a good deal away from them, the following shockwave kicked up clouds of grey debris which washed over the planes. Dirk had just enough time to inhale deeply and grab John by the shoulder-- tightly holding onto him as the wave of dust swallowed them whole. He held his breath for as long as he could, brow pressed against John’s sleeve in an attempt to protect his eyes, but once his lungs started contracting painfully in his chest, Dirk gasped, then immediately choked on air and fell into a coughing fit.
A hand clapped repeatedly against his back in a soothing notion, and after his chest stopped heaving, Dirk slowly opened his eyes to see John kneeling beside him as the dust settled around them. John’s head was still turned, gaze set on where the denizen was floating suspended a short distance away from the ground, nose down as it circled the charred remains of monsters and flowers-- as though it was sniffing after something like a hound dog.
John said something, tone urgent with words that Dirk couldn’t make heads or tails of.
He realized it must have been some kind of warning, when he’s suddenly grabbed by his collar and dragged upwards to a stand. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he stumbled after John, who was pulling on the sleeve of his hoodie to make him follow. Dirk complied wordlessly, head swimming with equal parts confusion and resignation as John led him away. He tried to gain a grip of the situation, but it was disorienting to feel the way his heartbeat thumped against his chest when he couldn’t fucking hear it. His feet landed on the ground in an uneven tempo, the silence making it hard to focus and repeat the motions.
It wasn’t until John hesitated in front of him that Dirk realized where they were going. He cautiously stepped forward, peering over the edge while John gripped his sleeve tighter.
The gate, imposing in its shifting place, seemed to glare right back at him, accusing. Where will you go now?
Dirk threw a glance backwards, and then wished he hadn’t.
Typheus’ head raised from the ground with a final puff of air from its nose before inclining towards John’s and his place at the border. A singular slitted, golden eye scanned the planes, before catching sight of the two of them-- pupil instantly dilating.
Through the muddled clouds of his thoughts he realized his hearing was returning. Either that, or the ground shook enough by the force of the piercing scree Typheus let out that Dirk simply picked up on it through some kind of reversed echolocation.
And he felt his heart drop, past the stomach and through the bowels, because when he flinched and stumbled back, his foot was met with nothing but air.
Reflexes kicked in, arm shooting out in a frantic attempt to grab onto something, anything, and John-- oh no-- didn’t seem to expect to be yanked by the belt with such fucking force that his knees give out from under him, and he yelped in alarm when they both tipped over the edge, yelling incoherently.
The last thing Dirk saw before he hit the swirling center of the gate was a singular golden eye, glaring down at him with ire hot enough to boil blood.