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The entity formerly known as Davesprite (ne Dave Strider) was relatively sure by this point that he was in hell. Had, in fact, been in hell for a little over four months, now. His last major hope had been that he would at least get to fade away in peace after discharging his duty to get the reforged royal deringer sent to his alpha self. And yet, he somehow managed to fuck fading away up, too, because it turned out that if you'd had a dreamself at any point on your timeline, you got a dream bubble when you kicked it. Who knew?
That wasn't the hellish part. He could've handled the dream bubbles with no problem. It was actually kind of nice to be back in the old apartment he'd once shared with Bro, just chilling and playing shitty games and relishing in the idea that his part is finally over. He particularly enjoyed how his chest no longer felt heavy with the weight of his doom pressing down on him, because his doom had already come and gone.
But then the troll came.
As far as alien chicks go, he guessed she was a cutie. Her hair was long and wild and barely contained under her silly god-tier hoodie (which made him a little glad he never got god-tier, since he was pretty sure he'd never be able to live with himself wearing something so ridiculous), and she had ram horns that framed her face kind of nicely, and she smiled a surprised little smile that lit up her whole face when she saw him. Okay, so she was definitely a little cute, but that wasn't the main thing he noticed. She was also very much alive.
Even that wasn't the worst part, though it sure as shit was unsettling to have someone with a pulse in his personal little afterlife.
No, the worst part was that she told him on no uncertain terms that his job was not done. "There's so much we have to do, Dave, and we all have to work together," she said, extending a hand. His insides twisted, and he curled in on himself, pulling in his remaining wing and ghostly tail. "Come on, I have to introduce you to the others."
She didn't even have the decency to let him put up a fight. Her little fairy wings twitched, the apartment blurred and shifted, and Davesprite found he no longer floated in the comfort of his old living-room. In fact, his surroundings looked distressingly like the Land of Wind and Shade. "Hey, no, lady, take me back. I am done with this 'saving my friends' horseshit, I gave my life for them, I am done."
The troll girl shook her head. "You'll learn how to go back to your own bubble once we're through, I promise, but you have to meet your new teammates first."
"Oh god, you are a real pill," he snarled. "I'm not playing along with this."
It was this particular moment that the entity formerly known as Davesprite (ne Dave Strider) noticed something about ten yards away. On some level, he had known it was there since he recognized where the troll had taken him, but his brain (if dead game constructs that had once been people actually had brains as such) refused to acknowledge it. His throat tightened. "I'm not in the mood to deal with literally flighty broads right now. Take me back." But it was too late; he'd already seen the scorched body of one (1) John Egbert lying next to a busted rocket-pack.
He was pretty sure he didn't have a stomach anymore, because he would be puking his guts out if he did.
"John, what did I tell you about this?" the troll girl said, glaring at the crumpled heap. "Why don't you get up and say 'hi' to our newest Dave?"
The burnt remnants of John Egbert sighed, stood, and dusted themselves off. "Oh, you're no fun, Aradia! I totally had him! I would've filled up my prankster's gambit like a million times." He picked up his glasses and situated them on his nose. "Hey, New Dave! Don't worry, I'm not alpha John or anything. I just skipped right to--"
"I know what happened," New Dave (ne Davesprite, ne Dave Strider) said with a little more heat than he'd intended. "Aradia, will you kindly get me the fuck out of here? Please?"
John blinked twice, his dead eyes finally focusing on the newcomer. "Dave? Uh, why do you have wings?... A wing? Actually, more like one-and-a-half."
"No. Fuck no." New Dave floated back, away from John. "I'm not having this conversation. You can just usher me into the next bubble already." Unfortunately, it seemed that his troll guide had disappeared, leaving no one but John to hear him speak.
"What's wrong, New Dave?" Despite being blank and white, John's eyes filled up with worry. He took a few tentative steps toward the ex-Davesprite, one hand outstretched as if to touch him. "It's okay. I'm not alpha John, but that doesn't mean that we aren't still best bros." When he got close enough, John's fingers brushed the downy feathers at New Dave's neck before settling gently on his shoulder.
It was like a million swords stabbing his insides. Ex-Davesprite twisted out of John's grasp with a strangled "caw" and glared at him. "No, Egbert, you do not get to fucking do this." The sheer variety of emotions that bubbled up at the touch took him by surprise and absolutely shredded what was left of his dignity. The words started spilling out like his weirdly yellow ectoplasmic blood, and he didn't have it in himself to stop them. "You went and you left me, you useless shit! You ran off and got yourself killed and you let Jade die and left me-- Rose and me alone for four fucking months in a fucking doomed timeline! D'you really wanna know why I have fucking wings? After you died and Rose and I lived alone in our timeline trying to figure out how we fucked up and how we could keep from fucking up, I finally had to abandon her and come back and prototype myself so I could save your sorry ass and make sure no one screwed the pooch that bad ever again!" His voice cracked, but he continued undeterred. "You left me. You left us, me and Rose.
"And then, after I've gotten the shit kicked out of me by fucking Jack Noir (who fucking killed Bro right in front of me, by the way), and after I've done everything I can to make sure things go okay, I think, 'Welp, being dead won't be that bad.' But no, evidently once I'm done being alive, I get to be dead and face to face with you. Fuck you, John. Fuck you."
He regretted saying it almost as soon as it left his lips. John's eery white eyes grew wide behind his stupid-looking glasses, and he brought both hands up to his face to hide the dawning expression of horror. "Oh, oh jeez," he muttered from behind his hands. "Oh, Dave. I am so, so sorry."
Dave (just Dave now) clenched his fists at his side, shaking like a leaf in the wind. That was about how he felt right then: worn, brittle, and fragile, with a tenuous grasp on the stupid fucking handle he always threatened to fly off of. He tried to keep his mouth shut; he did not want to risk saying more stupid shit to his best friend again.
Unfortunately it seemed that death had robbed him of his cool, or maybe it was just being confronted with his (dead) best bro giving him a teary-eyed look. It didn't really matter. "Fuck, John, I'm the one who's sorry," he said, voice uneven and raspy. "I could've done something, said something, and you wouldn't be here." His vision blurred, but he refused to acknowledge it by wiping at his eyes. "I... fuck, I should've done something. I've spent more time just cleaning up my own goddamn mess, and there was so much shit I wanted to say, but I didn't because it was alpha Dave's show. Fuck, I'm so sorry..." He hiccuped once and trailed off, feeling like the biggest, most feathery tool in the history of the tool shed.
Suddenly, Dave found himself pulled close to John's chest in a fierce hug, with John's face buried in his hair. "I'm sorry too," he whispered. One of his hands curled in the feathery ruff at the base of Dave's skull, while the other rested in the space between his wings. Dave reflexively returned the hug, wrapping his arms around John's slender chest, winding his ghostly tail around one of John's legs, and folding his one good wing around them both. He didn't make any noise-- he refused to make any noise-- but the shuddering was evidence enough of the wracking sobs.
The hand in his ruff began to stroke his feathers. "Shh, it's okay," said John in a soothing tone that would have befit someone without an orange feathery asshole making like a tangle buddy with him. A tiny part of Dave's mind commended him for being able to keep what passed for cool in Egbertopia even under such circumstances. "Well, I mean, we're both dead, but other than that it's okay. Shh..."
After what might've been forever or could've been a little while, the sobbing subsided. John never stopped making little reassuring noises, and now Dave found himself facing the overwhelming urge to answer with a warble in the back of his throat. He refused to give in to it, though, reasoning that bawling on his dead friend was the furthest he wanted to descend into the depths of uncool. Instead, he just floated there, wrapped around John.
"Y'know," said John tentatively, "this isn't alpha Dave's show anymore. You've got another chance to say all that stuff you've been wanting to say."
There existed a moment, brief but intense, in which Dave considered laughing it off and finding Aradia. It would be simple to just disengage, downplay what he'd said, and just let the subject go. But John had made a good point: it really wasn't alpha Dave's show anymore; in fact, he was the only Dave present now. The worst that could happen was something he'd already made peace with (never seeing or hearing from John again), and while that would suck some very mighty smuppet dong, at least he'd know that alpha John was still alive and this John still existed, so it wouldn't be as bad.
The moment broke, and Dave (the only Dave here, the only one that mattered) let go.
"Listen," he said, voice husky and throat tight, "I... shit. There's no way I can say this shit and keep my dignity here. My dignity is a thing that vacated this building three hours ago after running up a huge tab and buying two hookers and a kilo of blow. So what it comes down to is the fact that you are the most important person to me. It is you. And I totally get it if you are disgusted since I'm kinda a guy and sorta missing some limbs here, but hey, at least I said it now."
He moved to drift away from John on a breeze, feeling lighter than he had since before he became doomed, but John's fingers digging into his feathery ruff and the down at the base of his wings stopped him dead (no pun intended). "Oh no you don't," John said. "You are not going to abscond on me!"
Despite himself, Dave felt a hopeful little warble (just like the ones he'd sometimes hear the crows outside his window make) bubble up from the back of his throat. At the sound, John pulled him closer and began to stroke his feathers. It was the most uniquely pleasurable sensation Dave had ever felt, and he couldn't stop himself from warbling again.
John laughed. "Oh, hey, you're like a little Dave-bird. That's so cute!" He grinned and nuzzled the top of Dave's head. "You're too cute for me to be disgusted, especially when you make those adorable little sounds."
"Oh my god, no, this is the most embarrassing shit ever," Dave groaned. "Don't call it fucking cute."
In retaliation, John massaged the sensitive skin just below the downy fluff where his feathers started, eliciting an incredibly undignified chirp from Dave. "Hey, that's a new one. What other bird noises do you make, hmm?" He laughed again, holding Dave tight. "It's okay, Dave, we're okay."
Funnily enough, Dave believed him.