Work Text:
His room was unnaturally quiet, no loud music blasting or a television blaring or anything of the sort. He refused to eat, to speak, to acknowledge that there was even a world outside his wreck of a mind and his mess of emotions. Dirk had welcomed the peaceful atmosphere and how he was alone for once, but it hardly lasted very long; he felt as though something was off, that something was not right.
The youngest had been rocking a little bit in bed all day with his door shut but not locked, refusing to wear his shades or wear actual clothes as opposed to pajamas: a loose white t-shirt and a pair of blood red boxers.
Their parents were left to work, as always. Dave was left to take care of his brother, as always. Dirk was left to stare at his brother, as always.
"What are you doing?" The elder of the two stood in the entryway of Dave's bedroom, eighteen years old with a toned build and a tattoo on his shoulder. He wore only a black tanktop and a pair of orange and grey shorts, no socks or shoes, a white anklet on his right. He was met with silence, then a quick sob that was concealed by a hand. Dirk had never seen this before and was uncertain how to approach him; he was the one with a shaking mentality, not his strong willed younger twin. He wrinkled his nose and glanced around for something to try to cheer him up, but his body felt frozen and ice borne from helplessness pricked his temples. "Dave?"
"This is fucked up," He cried, smashing his fist against his thigh, again and again until a bruise formed and was hidden below his boxers, "Why can't I take care of you? Why do you keep sufferin'?"
"I'm not suffering." He consoled softly, lifting a hand feebly before letting it fall to his side helplessly. "Dave, where is all this coming from?"
He didn't answer, just opted for furious wiping of his eyes and pitiful sniffles that he hid with the back of his hand. Dirk sat down after watching him long enough from the doorway, and he curled an arm as comfortingly as he could over his shoulders. "Um. If it makes you feel any better, I don't necessarily need to be taken care of anymore. It's been a long time struggling, but I think I'm okay, Dave. You don't have to feel responsible for my happiness or my state of mind."
Rubbing at his eyes and stopping his rocking, the younger twin laid his head against his chest and let a shuddering breath wrack through his body, identical nearly to that of his brother's, "It could have been me," He muttered, "It could've."
"Could've been you with what?"
"With the..the mental faults," He gestured offhandedly, nose red and his eyes puffy, "I mean, what sense does that make? How come we've spent every waking moment together, even before we knew what awake was, and you're the only one that had to deal with shit like this? Why is my head sound and yours isn't?"
Dirk let his brows come together in thought, then he patted his shoulder and cleared his throat, "It's just the way it is." While he would be lying if he said he had not thought about it before; the oldest of the two often had to be pampered like the youngest, and the youngest was forced to grow up much too fast. "Ain't no changing what's already been done. Just improving."
"But it doesn't make sense." Came his insisting, and Dave pulled back to look at him, "I've been trying to figure this out for years, Dirk, and it doesn't make a lick of fucking sense."
"It doesn't have to!" He snapped, an uncharacteristic action on his part. Standing, he turned to move away but felt a similarly sized hand grab his own and tug him back towards the bed. Dave began softly, "What're you cryin' for?"
"Because you were crying."
"You know I can tell when you're lying."
Gradually, Dirk sat down again and tried blubbering excuses for his weeping but Dave just let tears of his own slide down his cheeks and mingle with his brother's on their laps. Hands awkwardly fumbled to try to wipe the other's face, half-hearted chuckles arose from sniffling and the strange sensation of witnessing tears while simultaneously producing them, and Dave plopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Dirk followed suit.
Gently, they held hands, spoke nothing at first and felt the other's pulse fall into sync with theirs. Dirk had long since taken off his shades and placed them to the side in favor of bare-faced honesty. "Well. That didn't resolve much."
Dave pursed his lips, "I don't think either of us were tryin' to solve a puzzle or nothin', Dirk."
"...I do feel a lot better."
"Me too. I was holding in a lot. It felt good to be. Uh." Here, a quiet blush pinkened his cheeks, "Held. And acknowledged."
"Yeah. Sometimes you can't cheer somebody up, but just gotta cry with 'em." Scooting over on the bed until they were shoulder to shoulder, he kissed his blushing cheek and chuckled against his ear when the blush worsened, "I'm sorry y'had to suffer yourself, Dave."
Turning a bit to return the kiss, daring to be place his lips against the corner of his mouth, he laughed and laid back down, "I don't care about that." He boasted, "I just care about you."