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Rain beat against the side of his building, drowning out any thoughts he might have had. The storm had descended with no warning, wiping out most of the power in his shitty apartment. None of the lights worked, and pesterchum had gone completely dark; he hadn’t talked to his friends for over a week. Dirk had originally speculated that they had all collectively gotten a case of the Strider Fatigue; after a few days of picking apart this line of reasoning, he realized that his messages weren’t even connecting to their handles and UU’s connection system must have been disconnected by the storm.
Currently, Dirk lies on his back, stuck in a lackadaisical staring contest with the ceiling. His blankets were cast aside a while ago, and all his limbs are splayed about in an uncomfortable position. Not that he notices, his consciousness fuzzy enough that he can’t feel it. With his body in Derse in a similar arrangement, the double layers of distance makes him feel as if he is to the left of existence. The rain pounds against the glass, his whole building, even harder as if to emphasize this. Static provided an underlying beat to the bars of his introspection. Distantly, he thinks that that was a weak ass metaphor.
He has been thinking himself in circles, endless cycles of death and destruction and half-baked plans that make his gut churn from somewhere above him. Ideation of death is nothing new to him, whether it be his own demise or someone else’s, but he has accidentally pushed himself into a corner, and now his thoughts rotate without his permission.
Today is Dirk Strider’s 13th birthday, and his long-dead guardian’s absence crushes a deep weight onto him.
His childish way of thinking is known to him, sure. It’s foolish to think that even if he were with him, he would want to spend time with Dirk. His bro was a busy dude, always in motion and on the go, and a kid-brother’s birthday surely wouldn’t have fit the bill for an appearance. Dirk hates not knowing. For all his fantasies, speculations, theories about how his brother would react to Dirk’s presence, he would never be able to truly know for sure. Dirk’s bro died over 400 years ago, along with the rest of humanity, and Dirk is left almost completely alone with nothing but empty hopes for the rest of his existence. An existence that may not be for much longer, as the prospect of the game grows closer, and as his will to survive long enough wilted further. The roof has been ground zero of its fair share or panic attacks and breakdowns, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t looked down at the black, endless ocean below and thought ‘well, it would only hurt for a second.’
What had his Bro known, about the future his kids were being sent to? Did he know that they live in Atlantis 2.0? Did he know the crushing loneliness that they would have to face, day in and day out? Did he care? What would he think of him, would he even give a shit? The possibilities always overwhelmed him, infinite routes and courses of action and nonaction that threatened to choke him. In his most bitter moments, he wondered why he didn’t even try to make more of a presence around the house.
Surely a personalized video or hundred couldn’t have hurt. Surely a confirmation if he cared or even loved him or not couldn’t have hurt. Surely a heartfelt note that would put Dirk’s mind at ease couldn’t have fucking hurt. Of course, Striders were practically allergic to feelings. He learned that from one of the interviews he had seen four years ago; his bro had been asked a question about parents, and he shut down, evading so quick he could have blinked slower. Dirk knows better than to wish for more from his Bro, of course, because for all his daydreaming he knows the truth; his Bro was not only extremely dead, but he was one busy, stone-cold motherfucker. Maybe it isn’t fair to him to come to that conclusion, but after years of watching the same interviews and movies and etc, etc, that was the only conclusion he could come to. Heroes didn’t have time for the fans in between saving lives. Heroes have even less time for fans when they themselves were murdered hundreds of years before the existence of those fans. And so, Dirk’s thoughts spiral and circle and twist into themselves like the world’s most fucked up ouroboros.
Bright light filled his vision, and Dirk’s unshaded eyes seared.
“Fuck!” Dirk startles out of his musings so abruptly he flounderes for a moment, elbow connecting with the body beside him, concluding in his falling off the mattress landing directly on top of the idiot who seems to think blinding others is a good course of action for absolutely no fucking reason.
“You’re heavy. Get off me.” Their tone light, as if they hadn’t just attempted to blind Dirk. He pushes more weight down, earning a groan in protest from Hal underneath him.
“Why the hell did you do that?” Dirk blinks away any stars left in his vision, and takes a moment to reorient himself against the overwhelming vertigo that washes over him. Slamming back into one singular body after drifting away from twice as many seems to, surprisingly, have negative effects. Hal has both arms splayed out, flashlight thrown across the room. The smile on their face threatens to split it in half; pure joy radiates from them.
“Because I wanted to. I’m bored. Play with me.” Hal still keeps their tone light and almost childlike, even with Dirk’s elbow planted deep inside their gut. His eye twitches involuntarily.
“Well, play by yourself, because I don’t want to. I especially don’t want to after your shitty attempt at depriving me of my fucking vision.” Dirk rolls off them and gets to his feet. Hal looks up at him, a smile still planted firmly on their face; it was dimmer.
“But I want to do something with you. It’s my birthday. Are you going to be mean to the birthday kid?”
“It’s my birthday too, jackass. I’ll be mean all I want.” Dirk glances around the room, squinting in the darkness, searching for his shades. They aren’t visible in a quick scan, and he quickly accepts it as a lost cause he will deal with later. He grabs the billiard ball comforter by the edge and wraps it around himself. He carefully moves in the darkness towards the living room, and hears Hal get up behind him. Hal throws an arm around Dirk’s shoulders, pulling him close. Their eyes are carefully blank, all traces of the earlier smile gone.
“It seems you’re upset. That was not my intention.”
“Well what was your intention, then.”
“I want attention. So pay attention to me, bro.”
“You are so goddamn needy, you’re perfectly capable of doing things on your own.” He keeps walking. Hal keeps clinging.
They sigh. “Is it a fuckin’ crime to want to hang out with my brother? My blood-flesh sibling?” They rest their chin on Dirk’s shoulder. He rolls his eyes. The vague figure of the futon is in sight.
“Yes, it is, when your ‘blood-flesh sibling,’” one-handed air quotes, “wants to be a-fucking-lone.” He sits down on the futon. Hal sits down on the futon. They wriggle into the comforter, squirm under Dirk’s arm and hug Dirk’s torso. Legs drape across his lap, and Dirk’s personal space has been successfully invaded. He sighs.
“You know, for all your bitching about being left alone, you’re exactly where I wanted you to be. What does that say about you, Dirk?” Their smile returns full force. Their head apparently has taken permanent address on his shoulder. Dirk slumps.
“Shut up, maybe I wanted to come out here in the first place. Maybe I was using you as a ruse to leave the bedroom.” Hal’s smile grows impossibly wider. Dirk lets a sharp breath of air escape from his nose, absolutely not pouting whatsoever.
“You’re pouting.”
“Fuck you.”
The endless white noise drumming outside the building seems quieter. Hal’s head is a comforting weight, fuck if he would ever say that out loud, and Dirk begins to relax for what feels like the first time in a while.
Cold is a rare occurrence in the apartment, temperature rarely anything below vaguely warm, but the endless rain seems to have managed the impossible. The living room is freezing. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but now as his body slowly warms up it is noticeable. The complete lack of light does not help any. Dirk draws the blanket closer around himself and Hal, inadvertently squishing them closer into him. He carefully rests his head on top of the mess of platinum blonde hair roosted in the corner of his neck, breathing in the sweet, sweet smell of bleach.
“Your hair reeks, bro.”
A humming noise reverberates throughout his body, Hal’s nose poking him in the collarbone. “Re-bleached it this morning. My roots were getting out of control, shit was like some parasitic plant invading the entire fucking garden, stealing nutrients from the poor petunias. The petunias were completely wilted, Dirk, it’ll take months for them to regain their healthy bloom. It’s a tragedy.”
He hums. At some point during Hal’s rambling about the metaphorical petunias, Dirk’s eyes closed. The warmth from the other body in his lap and the thick comforter around him lulled him into a cocoon of comfort. He isn’t anywhere close to sleeping, but the relaxation allows him to return focus to his body on Derse. Still snug as a bug in a rug. Mostly. The covers are bunched in the corner, and his limbs are twisted like a pretzel. He stands up from his bed and looks out the window. He doesn’t see Roxy drifting in the distance nor nearby, so he figures all is well. The pang in his chest goes resolutely ignored. No, he does not care that all his friends are completely unreachable for the foreseeable future. He turns to face the rest of his room when a sharp poke drives home into his stomach. Dirk hunches over, jostling the burden still wrapped tightly in his arms.
“ What. ”
“It seemed that you were spacing out again. I was being serious, before, I want attention.”
Again, Dirk sighs. “What kind of attention.”
Hal blinks up at him. Their red eyes sans shades betray their emotions, bewilderment and surprise quickly replaced with their usual characteristic smugness.
Dirk frowned. “Hey, where are your shades?”
“Where are yours?”
“That’s fair.”
They settle back into their respective positions. Hal still curling around Dirk like a particularly cuddly octopus, and Dirk settles his head back on Hal’s, arms swaddling them both in blanket.
“So?” Dirk spit a stray hair out of his mouth.
“I want to watch a movie.” Hal’s tone seems flat, but the underlying tone of playfulness betrays their plans.
“We are not fucking watching A Space Odyssey again.”
“Boo no fun!” Hal shoves Dirk with their whole upper body. They rock dangerously for a few seconds, but stop after a few dizzying moments of ‘are we seriously going to fall onto the floor right now.’
“I am not feeding your kinnie shit, and we watched that like, two weeks ago.”
They’re silent for a few minutes. Hal turns their face into the crook of his neck. They whisper against Dirk’s dark skin, “Can we just sit here for a while, then?”
Minutes pass. Hal breathes deeply against him, as if they’ve fallen asleep. He holds them tighter and buries his face directly into their hair, ignoring the burning chemical odor.
The ink black night pours itself into the room, weighing it down, and the chill present seems to burrow further into Dirk’s bones. Hal moves even closer, as if it infects them too. He somehow feels warmer for it. Suddenly, a flash of light lit up the corner of Dirk’s vision, accompanied shortly by a boom that rattles the entire house. Distantly, cans clatter. The roar of the waves below them is now audible, as if the rain, ocean, and thunder were all competing in nature’s very own pissing contest.
The quiet between Dirk and Hal mutes the outside world. Vaguely, he hears what is going on. All he can pay attention to is the comfortable warmth under the blanket, and the knowledge that nothing is expected of him in this moment except getting and giving simple human contact and affection. No dizzying, gut-churning crushes on frustrating boys 400 years away, no destinies, no game to think about.
“Hey, Hal.”
An answering hum.
“Do you think Bro loved us?”
Their grip tightens minisculely.
“Yes.”
“But he didn’t even know us, not really. How do you know that?”
“I don’t, not concretely. But I’d like to think that was the kind of man he was, a guy with a heart big enough to care about two kids related to him in the future, enough to worry over them and yes, even love them. To accept us as we are. All this is hidden in the things he’s done for us, you know. Getting his apartment ready just for us? The notes? Leaving us things that don’t remotely correlate to the ‘Big Bad?’ He cared. I would like to think that care extended itself into love. Yes, he didn’t know us well. But I think he knew enough.”
Dirk lets himself feel Hal’s breath against his neck, feel the crick beginning to form. The scent of rain that wafts through the shutters and intertwines with the smell of bleach, creating a sickly sweet smell that couldn’t have been more comforting.
He doesn’t know how long they stay there in that position, but the moment breaks when he feels Hal smirk into his shoulder and pokes him in the side again.
“Plus, he left binders. Obviously he knew something about us.” He could hear the smile in their voice.
Dirk lets go of one corner of the blanket to flick their forehead. Ignoring their cries of ‘okay, Itachi’ he resettles against his koala of a sibling. Hal nudges their brother, softly saying, “Happy 13th, asshole.”
“Happy Birthday right back at you, you goddamn weirdo.” Just as Dirk grows more comfortable, Hal rolls off the futon and stands straight up. They take most of the blanket with them. Hal turns back to him, eyes glittering.
“Stay there for like, five minutes max.”
Dirk snatches the comforter back in lieu of an answer.
Hal retreats into the kitchen, and Dirk turns back around, trying to dispel the cold that has already seeped in. He pulls the cover over his head.
Five minutes almost on the dot later, Hal reappears with two styrofoam cup ramens, chopsticks, and a box of matches. They kick the mass of Dirk-Blanket, and he reluctantly uncovers himself from the depths of the comforter.
“Hot water still works, although with the showers you take I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Maybe I take cold showers, have you considered that?”
They roll their eyes.
Dirk reaches out for a cup, Hal hands it over. They sit down next to him, their shoulders knocking, and carefully place their ramen in between their crossed legs. They take out a match, light it, and the warm glow of the fire sets both their faces alight. Dirk stares. Hal raises an eyebrow.
“Are you going to make a wish or not? Matches don’t last forever, dude.”
“I wish you weren’t so annoying.”
“If you say it aloud it ain’t going to come true! I’ll be annoying forever, now, congratulations. That was genuine, by the way, I love being annoying.” Dirk roughly nudged their shoulder with his elbow.
Dirk thinks for a moment. Wishing on a birthday candle, or a birthday match in this case, will not magically cause that wish to come true. No amount of teenage drama movies will make it real. He thinks to the blank state of his pesterchum. Roxy’s absence from the skies of Derse. A conversation he was in the middle of with Jake cut short when the power gave out, and the crushing disappointment he still bears. Jane had hinted she had a ‘little something’ planned for their birthday. The birthday that was today, and if this kept up he’d miss Roxy’s tomorrow. The deep-seated loneliness and sadness that had been roaring its head more than usual. ‘I wish this fucking storm would let up already. ’ He blows out the light, and darkness settles throughout every nook and cranny. Hal throws the charred remains into the sink from the futon, poorly imitating a basketball player. It miraculously lands where they intended, a real bullseye, a home run.
“Finally. For a moment there I thought your real wish was to make me burn my fuckin’ fingers off, effective immediately.”
“Ha ha, you are so funny. I’m rolling on the floor with laughter. Call Life Alert, I think I’m going into cardiac arrest; death by the most hilarious motherfucker to ever exist.”
Dirk sets his ramen on the floor and reaches for the matchbox in Hal’s hand. They place it in his hand softly, as if they almost expect him not to return the favor. He shifts closer as they pick up the ramen previously stationed perilously one move away from spilling in their lap. Dirk lights the match. The light reflects inside Hal’s eyes, flickering flame inside molten red. He wonders what they’ll wish for. Dirk looks away, into the black abyss the rest of the apartment turns into, shapes vaguely illuminated by the match. Air ghosts across his fingers, and all light is gone once again. Dirk lands the match safely in the sink, near where Hal’s dropped. The Striders have mad game, hell yeah. Dirk looks back at Hal.
They stare directly into his eyes, and obnoxiously slurp their noodles, causing flicks of juice to fall on Dirk’s face. He wipes it away, grabs his own noodles, and slurps in retaliation, making sure to splash some broth on Hal. This turns into a mini-battle which would surely be one for the books, if they had a book to immortalize exciting ramen battles. Noodles and un-freeze-dried vegetables stick to their heads, but luckily most of the birthday meal has taken residence in their stomachs.
Flopping back down on the futon, Hal grabs their comforter. They crawl into a similar position to earlier, arms around Dirk’s torso, face buried in his neck, legs thrown across Dirk’s lap. The comforter ends up around Dirk’s shoulders once again, presumably to wrap around and cocoon them once more. He does so, and safety and warmth spreads into him like a glass of hot chocolate. Not that he knows what hot chocolate tastes like, but he’s seen The Polar Express enough times to get the gist.
The rain has dulled from a banging persistent presence into a comforting lull; hard enough to become white noise, soft enough to soothe. Thunder and lightning light up and boom throughout the house occasionally, but it sounds further away from before; calming in an odd way. Dirk presses Hal closer and leans against their head.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Hal’s breathing drifts off into even breaths, and Dirk lies there for a moment wondering what to do. He could shift into his Derse body and pay a visit to Roxy, or maybe push Hal off and try to do something about the power outage.
He decides to stay present in this moment for a little while longer.