Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The metal under your fingers is cool. You work deft and diligently, because fuck if you don’t know what you’re doing. You have this shit on lock, because this is what you do.

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and you’re fuckin’ baller at robots.

That’s a good thing, probably, because technology has progressed past the point where it’s acceptable to not be fuckin’ baller at robots. You don’t really dabble in AI, though. It freaks you out. Technically, you know that you could do it. You've been throwing together bits of technomastery since the ripe age of thirteen. It’d probably be easy. A scan of your brain here, a few strings of Python there. Baby shit. You just really, really, really don’t like the idea of it... doing shit. Shit that you don’t want it to. A robot should do what it’s made for, and giving it room to make decisions is just begging for a rogue robo-baby betraying your wishes and calling you dad.

Nah, you’re cool with your one trick robot ponies. No unnecessary responsibility.

Like this bad boy. You call him Squarewave, and he’s really fuckin’ good at rapping.

DIRK: I think I love you. Is that weird?

Squarewave doesn’t respond, because you didn’t rhyme it at him. No incoming rap warfare detected. Good. Just like you wanted.

You fiddle and fuck around with Squarewave’s paintwork until you hear a car in the driveway. A quick glance at your watch confirms the time for you- 4:13 PM. That means that he’s home. You figure you’ve done enough of a makeover on this bad boy to be good enough for what he’s made for, and set your spray paint aside. The shitty paint job is part of his charm, probably. Irony is kind of your brand, and there’s something so funny to you about an intricate piece of machinery looking like shit. You have a feeling that the guy you’re selling to won’t mind, anyway. Your hands are wiped on the fabric of your pants as you stand, and then it’s out with you to meet Jake as he emerges from his hi-tech fancyman car.

JAKE: Good afternoon dirk!

He smiles at you, and he glows. You don’t smile back, but you tilt your head in acknowledgement. His hair bounces as he bounds up the driveway, and when he reaches where you’ve propped yourself in the doorway, he leans over to give a kiss to your forehead. Damn. You were hoping for the real deal. You fidget with the wedding band on your finger as Jake, your husband, regards you fondly.

JAKE: I missed you.

Yeah, obviously.

DIRK: Your aim’s not getting any better. My lips are down here, dude.

You tilt your head up to press your lips to his in a proper kiss. Much better. Jake pushes past you then, and you follow him inside like a lost puppy. The door shuts behind you both.

YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Welcome home, Jake.
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Currently playing: evening playlist one.
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: The temperature indoors is 72 degrees, and the energy wall is charged at 86%.
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Also, you’ve run out of eggs.
JAKE: Oh thank you! Go right on ahead and order those would you?
YOUR SICK-ASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Certainly.

He sets his bags down on the floor near the kitchen island, and you lean on the counter next to him. He turns to meet you, and his hands rest on your hips like they always do. You’re half surprised that there aren’t permanent indents where his hands constantly lay- thumbs on your hip bone and fingers splayed on the small of your back. You think that’s sort of a funny name for a part of the body. It makes sense, though, in this sense. His hands make your back look small, you guess. They make most of you look small, but that’s probably just because Jake is a big guy and you, comparatively, are the opposite. If you don’t acknowledge that it isn’t true though, so as far as you’re concerned you’re buff as fuck. Beefy. Swol.

Jake presses another kiss to your forehead, and you fidget with the hem of his t-shirt.

JAKE: How was your day my dearest heart?
DIRK: Aw, shit. Y’know how it is. I rise, I grind. Get shit done.

His eyes flit about the room as if you’ve ever left evidence of your work in the fucking kitchen.

JAKE: Evidently!
DIRK: What.
JAKE: Oh nothing! It just appears as if youve been hardly working instead of the preferred working hard is all.
DIRK: Dude.
DIRK: We’re in the kitchen.
JAKE: “Dude”.
JAKE: Were married.
DIRK: Wait, what? Real shit?
JAKE: Yes i know its hard to believe but weve actually been wedded in holy matrimony for quite some time now!
DIRK: That’s kinda fucked up.

You go to kiss him, and he meets you halfway.

DIRK: I actually have been productive, though, proverbs aside. I just finished Squarewave.
JAKE: Thats excellent!
DIRK: Yeah, I know.
DIRK: I gotta drop it off at Dave’s tonight. He’s obsessed with me being on time. Weird fuckin’ kid.
JAKE: You have fun with that.
DIRK: Not so fast, dude. You’re comin’ with me.
JAKE: Oh am i now?
DIRK: Hell yeah you are. I want to take a spin in your fancy automobile.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

JAKE: Oh i see. You only like me for my hot rod. Is that it you cheeky minx?
DIRK: Yep.
JAKE: Well unfortunately for you mister english-strider i have work to do. So i cant.
DIRK: Strider-English. Can’t lives on Won’t Street, man. You’re coming with me. And believe me, you’re gonna want to see this fuckin’ house.
JAKE: English-strider. Ive been to your brothers home before dirk im not quite sure how whelmed im meant to be about an unfortunate apartment fifteen minutes into the city.
DIRK: Strider-English. He moved into Bro’s old place.

He looks uncomfortable. It makes sense, because it’s an uncomfortable sentence to hear. You weren’t very affected by the death of your guardian/brother/whatever that scumbag was meant to be, but to say your little brother, Dave, was would be an understatement. You did your best for a while to be there for him, because you’re a better brother than your Bro ever was, but you can only do so much for a guy who won’t let you get near him (and you don’t blame him for that. If you were a barely 22 year old kid whose guardian [who beat the fuck out of you] just died and you had a brother who looked just like that guardian [who beat the fuck out of you], you wouldn’t want him near you either. It still hurts, just a little, but you get it). Eventually, the responses stopped coming, and your key stopped working in the door. The fact that he commissioned you at all is a surprise, but you’re not about to look a metaphorical gift horse in it’s proverbial mouth, so you’re taking this opportunity for all it’s worth.

You don’t want to go back to that house. Your Bro sucked ass to you, too (isolation is bad for a kid), and you having far more (dubiously healthy) coping mechanisms than Dave doesn’t negate the fact that you’re not thrilled to face your childhood home. That, and you’re nervous as fuck to see Dave. You think Jake gets it now, judging by the way his eyes soften. He nods, and kisses you again.

-

Jake’s car is fancy. It drives itself and speaks to you and is basically a person. He calls it Herbie the Lovebug, even though it’s decidedly not a lovebug in any sense of the word. You think it’s his way of coping with the freaky pseudo sentience the car displays, and you don’t blame him, even if that name is fucking stupid. AI is weird. Cool weird, but you’ve already pondered over your complicated feelings on the subject enough for today. You don’t like riding in this thing, but your car is too small to fit Squarewave properly. For now, Herbie the Lovebug drives, and you try to focus more on Jake’s hand holding yours and the way he lights up when he talks about his day than the dread you feel pooling in the deep, dark pit of your stomach.

-

The water that frames three quarters of your childhood home laps lazily at the structural support beams holding the brunt of the expensive ass place. Seagull crying almost sounds like “Hello, Dirk. Welcome home,” and you don’t understand how Dave could stand to live here. The ocean is calm, but the anxious sea inside your stomach crashes and churns; the dichotomy of the two almost makes you laugh. You don’t, though, because it isn’t funny in the haha sort of way. It’s funny in the you’re going to vomit on the tires of Jake’s fancy car sort of way. He offers you his hand and you take it, and his thumb rubs over your knuckles. Maybe everything is going to be okay.

And it is, kind of. For a second. It’s okay as Jake tells the car to lock, and it’s okay the entire walk up the driveway. It’s less okay when you’re stopped for clearance, because you’re a fucking Strider this is your house too-

But Jake’s much better at the people charming than you are, and he makes everything okay again, kind of. For a second. Things are exponentially less okay when you step into the foyer and realize that from the harsh, impersonal lighting to Dave’s taxidermy butterflies on the wall...

DIRK: ...Everything looks exactly the same.
JAKE: Yeah?
JAKE: Is that a good thing?

You don’t know. You’d probably feel the same (or potentially worse) if this place was unrecognizable. Fortunately, you don’t have to agonize over this (you’ll do it later) for long, because Dave decides to finally grace you with his presence.

DAVE: sup

He looks... bad. Gaunt. Tired. So, so small. Your chest aches, and you figure that it’s fitting to have a burning, nervous sun in place of your heart, creeping its way to tuck itself into the blanket of worried ocean in your stomach.

DIRK: Yo.
DAVE: its been a sec
DIRK: Yeah.

And suddenly, you hate him. You hate him for getting the house, and you hate him for taking this so hard. You hate him for letting himself get this bad. You hate him for not letting you help. If he had just let you fix it, he wouldn’t look like he’s one missed meal away from dying. Jake squeezes your hand, and you squeeze it back. He knows you’re flipping your internal shit. Of course he does. He always knows.

JAKE: Good evening dave!
DAVE: hey man

You love Jake so, so much.

JAKE: Weve got your little rapmatical friend out in the car!
DAVE: yeah i figured
DAVE: i can send a dude to go get it no big

Why the fuck did you even come in here, then?

DAVE: i wanted to show you something though
DAVE: like over in the other room

Uh. Did you say that outloud? You blink for a second.

DIRK: Uh, okay.
DIRK: Lead the way, dude.

Good god, this is awkward. Dave leads you and your husband down the hall as if you didn’t grow up here. Groan. You take a turn, and fuck your personal little ocean grows more and more agitated with every step, until you and Dave stop in unison. He’s taken you to Bro’s workshop. Bro’s workshop. You don’t go in there. You’ve been in there once, when you thought you wanted to help him make some AI thing in your early teens. But if Dave wants to show you something in there, it means that he’s been in there. Looked around. Your eye twitches behind your shades.

DAVE: uh

He unlocks the door with a retina scan (how very cyber villain of him), and lets you in. You don’t look around. Your eyes are locked on a glowing table with some sort of.. cloud? Thing? Up above it. It’s definitely just some weirdass tech, but you’re curious.

JAKE: What in the great heavens is that?

Looks like Jake is, too.

DAVE: its my cloud

As if that clears literally anything up.

DAVE: helps me with all my ceo shit

Right. Your Bro was the head of the leading AI/Robot/Whatever company in the United States, RE-DIRTS. His company manufactured Jake’s car. His company was left to Dave. That doesn’t bum you out too bad, because you’re really not CEO material, but you kind of wish Dave didn’t have to deal with it. He’s so young.

JAKE: Ah yes!
JAKE: Ive been meaning to ask how that all is shaking out! I just recently got promoted within my own line of work and-
DAVE: thats FELT right
JAKE: Thats the ticket!
DAVE: cool

Jake fidgets idly with your wedding band. You’re proud of him. He works for a company that specializes in prosthetics for wounded soldiers. It’s doing a whole lot more good than whatever the fuck Bro had going on here. You and Jake hope that if Dave’s now in charge, he can turn that around.

JAKE: Weve been getting nearer and closer to more efficient prosthetics. Of course its nothing close to the level that RE-DIRTS is operating at or anything of the sort but were getting there!
DAVE: nah dude
DAVE: youre really not
DIRK: Oh?
DAVE: check it

He leads you over to the glowy techno-table, and presents you with...

DIRK: Wow. A bug. That’s really impressive, Dave.

...some nanobot hexbug lookin’ motherfucker. It’s some sort of microchip, you gather, about the size of the nail on your thumb.

DAVE: yeah i know
DAVE: its called lil hal
DAVE: bro made it
DAVE: this is the shit of the future
DIRK: Jesus.
DAVE: what
DIRK: Hal? Like, as in Hal 9000? Space Odyessy, really?
DAVE: oh
DAVE: yeah i guess
DIRK: That's dumb as fuck.
DAVE: dude your car is named herbie the lovebug back off
DIRK: That’s Jake’s car.
JAKE: And its a good name! Far less needlessly sinister!
DAVE: hahaha
DAVE: anyway
DIRK: Anyway.
JAKE: Anyway.
JAKE: What does it do?
DAVE: what your car
DIRK: Dude.
DAVE: haha i was just joshin you
DAVE: everything
DIRK: Ha, ha.
DAVE: no seriously
DAVE: it can literally do anything
DAVE: like
DAVE: talk to anything drive anything calculate anything
DAVE: this thing is smart as fuck
DIRK: Can it make babies and play football?
DAVE: yeah dude totally

You both snort. Dave seems weirdly serious about this thing, but you came over to drop off a robot, and you’ve been here long enough. It smells like Bro in here.

-

The sun has nearly completely set outside when you and Jake are comfortably sitting in his car on the way home. His fingers drum on your knee.

JAKE: You did good back there.
JAKE: I know it must have been downright unpleasant revisiting old sore spots like that.
DIRK: Yeah.

You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about Dave, or Bro, or “Lil Hal”. You kiss him, and he kisses you back. Your hands dance about each other eagerly.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Please put on your seatbelts, Jake and Dirk.
JAKE: Fucking christ-!!!
DIRK: Shit- Dude. Shut up, Herb.
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Did you say shut down?
DIRK: No.
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Please put on your seatbelts, Jake and Dirk.
DIRK: Oh, fuck off.
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I don’t know that command.

Jake sighs. So do you. You get back to what you’re doing, because fuck that, and the disembodied voice of Jake’s car’s operating system interrupts once more.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Turning left at Hayden.
DIRK: Oh, for the love of-

The streetlamps are getting less sporadic. It’s sort of fucking dark outside, and you can’t really see Jake very well. He’s right in front of you. You don’t recognize this street.

DIRK: Where are we?
JAKE: Going home silly. Eyes over here please mister english-strider.
DIRK: Strider-English.

You try to get back to it, but.. it just feels wrong. Jake grabs at your thigh, and you can feel his wedding band pressing into you. You bat his hand away.

DIRK: Seriously, this isn’t right.
JAKE: Oh come on its probably taking us a back way. Herbies never done wrong by me before! I dont see why tonight would be the exception!

You peel away from him, and he sighs. You tap at the display on the dash. Select your home address from a menu bar. The screen beeps at you.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I’m sorry.

What.

DIRK: What.
DIRK: Turn around.
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I’m sorry.
JAKE: Return to the freeway please! Destination home.
HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: I’m sorry, I cannot.

What the fuck. A freaked out storm is brewing above your ocean of anxiety.

DIRK: Herb. Stop.
JAKE: Here let me...

Jake presses the brake twice, and it doesn’t do anything.

HERBIE THE LOVE BUG: Turning right.

The car jerks into a hard right turn, and Jake hits the door with a thud.

JAKE: Jiminy fucking christmas!

You pump the brake, and immediately fucking regret it. The car speeds up, and you stare in horror at the speedometer. 70... 75... 90-

The car takes another hard right, and both of you go flying. Jake hits his head on the dash, and the glass of the display cracks. Blood dribbles down his face, and you glance at the speedometer again. You don’t know where your shades are. The car is going 130 MPH.

DIRK: Jake.

He doesn’t respond. The car is going 160 MPH.

DIRK: Jake!

Nothing. You reach over to him and shove him back into his seat, snapping the metal of his seatbelt into its holster. Safe. Jake needs to be safe. You scramble to click in your own, and manage to get it secure mere fucking miliseconds before the stupid goddamn car hits something that sends it flying.

For a few blissful moments, everything is quiet. The car is in the air, and you look over at Jake. He isn’t conscious. You wonder if you’re going to die.

DIRK: I love you.

The car connects with the ground.

And you don’t die. You’re upside down, and blood is drip, drip, dripping down your forehead. You’re all twisted up and you feel sort of like a pretzel. A fucked up, gory pretzel.

You don’t die, but you don’t hear anything from Jake, so your head whips around.

DIRK: Jake?

The movement makes the world warp and spin. You groan. So does Jake.

DIRK: Oh, thank fuck.

A car pulls up near yours. You hear it before the light of the headlights basically fucking blinds you. Your head hurts.

You hear boots, lots of them, and someone kneels down at Jake’s window. You can’t see much, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think this guy’s eyes are glinting red in the sparse light provided by the other car and a streetlamp(?).

RED EYES: YOu REALLY SHOuLDN’T BE HANGING AROuND IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.

He speaks loudly, and it makes your head pound harder. You think you see something gold in his mouth glinting as he talks.

Red Eyes grabs Jake and pulls him away from the car, and away from your line of sight, but before you can protest, someone does the same to you.

You don’t know where you are. You’ve never been on this street. Jake groans again. You wish he would wake up. Everything hurts.

DIRK: Just take my wallet, man.

There are so many of them.

DIRK: You can have it.

Your pride hurts almost as much as your head does, but there are so many of them.

DIRK: Just leave us alone.

They’re all wearing green, and it hurts your eyes.

DIRK: Please.

Red Eyes finally looks at you, and your stomach drops. He stalks over to you. Kneels. Grabs your face.

RED EYES: THIS MAY VERY WELL BE A DOuBLE FELONY. PRETTY BOY.

Bad. Bad, bad, bad. You will your body to move, but all you can do is shake.

JAKE: ..11

What the fuck.

SOMEONE, FAINTLY: 911, what’s your emergency?

Your eyes dart over towards Jake.

JAKE: Help please..

Red Eyes follows your gaze, and lets go of your chin. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck because that slams your head back into the pavement, and fuck because you forgot that you aren’t wearing your stupid fucking shades because they came off in the stupid fucking car.

Red Eyes goes to kick Jake in the stomach, but he catches the boot and shoves him away. You think, for a second, things might be okay. Jake is a big guy, and can handle himself in a fight. No one’s on top of you now, so it’s just a matter of biding your time. You’ll help him. You just need to find the perfect moment to strike. He’s brute force, you’re stealth. It’s good.

Red Eyes catches Jake’s hair in his fist as he struggles to his feet. The tip of Red Eyes’ knife gets plunged into Jake’s ear, picking the earpiece that he was using to call for help on out. It crunches beneath his boot. Jake screams.

Then, multiple things happen in rapid fucking succession.

You get up.

Jake elbows a guy in the nose.

Some guy catches you by the shoulder, and you try to break his knee.

Red Eyes slams Jake’s face back down into the pavement.

You try your best to get to him.

Jake struggles,

and Red Eyes puts a fucking bullet in his chest.

He doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t cry. Just goes limp. Red Eyes stands, and kicks Jake over so that his face greets the sky. Then, Red Eyes turns to you, still kicking and thrashing, and unloads metal into your shoulder. His boots are loud as he stalks his way over to you, but you can’t devote much attention to that. You’re just trying to stay upright. You feel a... something in your spine (another bullet, probably. It only hurts for a second), and then you don’t really feel much of anything. You crumple to the ground, and the asphalt says hello to the back of your head.

The men walk away. You hear their boots. There are so many of them.

Then, it is quiet.

Quiet, except for Jake’s shallow breathing. You try to scoot closer.

DIRK: Jake.

You will your body to move. To do anything. It does not.

DIRK: Jake, I can’t get to you.

You can’t move.

DIRK: I can’t move.

He doesn’t look at you, just stares up at the sky.

DIRK: Jake, stay with me, okay?

Your hand is so close to his. You can’t reach. You can’t move.

DIRK: I’m right here.

You can’t hear him breathing anymore.

DIRK: I’m right here, okay? Jake, are you there?

You don’t think that he is, but something in you wants to hope. You want to hold his hand.

DIRK: No, no, no. Jake. Jake, please.

Your wedding band shines at you in the light of the street, and you think that if you could feel it it would be the heaviest thing you have ever held.

DIRK: Please.

You ask him to come back to you, and he does not. Instead, he stares up at the sky, and you wonder what it is that he sees.

Chapter Text

dependent (adj).

also dependant, late 14c., "relying for existence on;" early 15c. as "contingent, related to some condition;" from Old French dependant, present-participle adjective from dependre "to hang down," from Latin dependere "to hang from, hang down; be dependent on, be derived," from de "from, down" (see de-) + pendere "to hang, cause to hang; weigh" (from PIE root *(s)pen- "to draw, stretch, spin"). In some cases the English word is directly from Latin dependentem (nominative dependens), present participle of dependere. From early 15c. in the literal sense of "hanging down, pendent." From 1640s as "subordinate, under the control of or needing aid from an extraneous source." Dependent variable in mathematics is recorded from 1852.

It’s funny how dependent someone as obviously self sufficient as you are can come to be.

DIRK: Morphine.

The mechanical arm that “hang[s] down” from the ceiling, that you could very well describe as “pendant” (which you do, because the definition of pendant as a verb is “hanging down”. You’re just making a point to yourself. If your internal monologue could have an aside, this would be that aside’s aside) reaches down, down, down to administer the drug into your arm. You don’t feel the needle, but you’ll feel the good part soon enough.

You find it fascinating, the way the word dependent has been changed over the years. Most words undergo this sort of lexical metamorphosis, but none so relevant to you now as this one. The term “dependency” has been in use since the 1590s (ish), referring to the "condition of being logically dependent; relation of a thing or person to that by which it is supported”. Later, in the 1610s, it was condensed to "that which depends for its existence upon something else", as previously shown in the forefront of your psychological digression.

The constant here is the implication of a person to be dependent on. We call children “dependents” of/on their parents. The Latin dependre being something to hang brings to mind the image of hanging fruit. Family. What is meant to provide for you. So that makes sense. (Pendere also can mean to weigh, and you find the concept of dependency and thus family being a weight interesting as well). As a child, you are dependent on your parents to give to you what you cannot give yourself as a useless little baby. What the fuck are babies good for, even? You guess that everything needs a precursor to badassery, and you can amount infancy to a learning period before one's full awesome potential has the opportunity to be reached. In that case, you were only a baby for, like, five minutes, probably. You’ve been sick as fuck as long as you’ve been breathing.

DIRK: Morphine.

Another dosage is administered. That’s what you’re talking about.

So, then, what of psychological dependency on something/someone who isn’t directly related to you? Is that derived from a human’s need to have someone who can provide you something special. That one person who knows your tells and thoughts? What does having that person give you? Security? Maybe. Comfort? You suppose there is something attractive in the prospect of being understood and known intimately.

That takes decent care of psychological dependency. What about physical dependency on something/someone? What does that do to someone’s psyche? You’re sure that dependency on things is far easier than dependency on people, to an extent. Things are made to help man. A person that is particularly prideful would have difficulty with needing to have someone be there to help with simple things. This is, of course, because prideful people are glaringly past their infant dependency stages. Infants are blissfully unaware of their own uselessness, and thus have no need to feel the self conscious insecurity that propels things like “pride” and “ego”.

Oh, ego. Your old foe. The ego is something you’re intimately familiar with. The common definition of “ego”, as we know it today, comes from-

JADE: good morning!

Sigh.

DIRK: Yo.

Jade English-Harley sits beside your bed, and waves the mechanical morphine angel away from you. Her bag hits the floor with a comically loud thump, and you wonder what the hell it is that she lugs around with her all day when she isn’t fussing over you. Your bedtray is pulled up to your chest, and breakfast is served, you guess. It’s the same as it is every morning, but you still regard her over your shades and ask,

DIRK: What’s on the menu, Swaminathan?
JADE: check this out!!

You peer at the spread in front of you, and it looks pretty good. Nothing fancy- a smoothie and toast, as per usual- but you know she grew and/or made most (if not all) of this shit with her bare hands.

DIRK: Lookin’ good.
JADE: whyyyy thank you!
JADE: you think you can guess everything in the smoothie this time?
DIRK: Duh.
JADE: you said that yesterday!!
DIRK: That was Past Dirk. Quite honestly, I’m offended that you’re holding me accountable for somebody else’s actions.

She rolls her eyes and snickers, and the corner of your mouth twitches upwards affectionately. Then, the fun part ends, and she pokes a straw into the lid of the smoothie. It’s brought up to your mouth, and you stretch your neck to try to meet the metal halfway. Jade won’t let you, though, and presses her pointer finger to your forehead until your head rests back on your pillows. You sip, and try not to feel embarrassed.

JADE: so! today, june and i are thinking about going out t...

You try to pay attention, you really do, but you’re mostly focusing on the way you can feel the cold smoothie in your mouth, and you can feel it go halfway down your throat, but it just sort of... stops, after that.

It’s been five months since Jake died. One since you got home from the hospital.

That means it’s been five months since you’ve felt anything in your body below the neck. Five months since you’ve moved, and five months since you’ve done anything for yourself. One since you’ve had to learn how to live in your stupid house without Jake.

How to live in your stupid house, with those ugly curtains that Jake loved so much. Your stupid house, with the couch you bought together. Your stupid house, with your stupid kitchen that he got you to dance in (even though you can’t dance; even though you don’t really even like dancing; even though his taste in music is was is was awful; even though, even though, even though). Your stupid house, full of pictures that hate you. Happy Dirk and Alive Jake hate you so, so much. They stare holes into your skull from your bedside table; they say mean things when you roll by them in the dead of night; they are so happy, and they are so alive. Your stupid house, with your dumb-ass home operating system, that for some reason can’t get the fact that Jake is gone (as in dead, as in not coming back) and not here. All the money in the world couldn’t give that string of numbers the upgrade it needs to make it click that nothing is normal, and nothing is the same.

Everything looks the same.

Everything but the bedroom, which breaks your heart. You had to get a new bed, obviously, because the one you shared with Jake wouldn’t be able to serve you the way you need it to. You think that’s bullshit, because in this day and age of technology, why can’t we just stick some fucking apparatus onto the bedframe and go, why is it so hard, why can’t you just keep it- but it is how it is. Your old bed sheets are too big for your new techno-disability bed, but you use them anyway.

JADE: ...istening to me, are you?

You blink, and stop sipping. Shit.

DIRK: Uh.
JADE: dirk!!

She looks unimpressed.

JADE: seriously???

You would shrug apologetically, but you’re not really in a position to do that now, are you? A frown and a head tilt will have to suffice.

JADE: asshole!
DIRK: Sorry.
JADE: yeah yeah!!

She sets the smoothie down in favor of a piece of toast, and you let her feed it to you. You don’t want to rely on machines every moment of the fuckin’ day, so you’re thankful for Jade’s help. Seriously. Still, no amount of gratefulness will make this less difficult for you. Jade is one of the few people you still talk to face to face that will look at you dead on. You know that she feels sorry for you (everyone does. Even you), but it doesn’t ooze from her every pore in droplets of pity and bile like it does everyone else. You appreciate that about her. That doesn’t negate that her scrutiny and apt attention makes your embarrassment burn hotter.

JADE: well, im not gonna repeat all of that! but i do have something important to say, so listen up!
DIRK: Oka-
JADE: i said listen!!!

You snort. You’re really quite fond of her.

(Of course you are. Her eyes shine in that same sort of “I know you think I’m cute; I’m about to ruin your life” way that Jake’s used to. The English family seems like it’s destined to nurse you with the same care and attention that they use to destroy you.)

JADE: janes gonna come by in a bit

If Jade demanding your attention didn’t capture it, this sure as hell did.

DIRK: Did they find something?

You’d think having Jane, one of your oldest friends, leading Jake’s case would give you some sort of insider look at the information available. Or literally any information at all. Apparently, though, you underwent “serious trauma” and needed “time to recover” before you were exposed to “sensitive information” that might “trigger” your “PTSD”. Whatever that means.

JADE: yuck, dont talk with your mouth full!
DIRK: Sorry.
JADE: eugh
JADE: anyway!!
DIRK: Anyway.
JADE: i just know she wants to talk to you, and youre not busy!
DIRK: Sure I am.
DIRK: I’m feeling like running a marathon.
JADE: oh shoot, okay!! ill cancel with jane then
DIRK: Thanks.
JADE: no prob!

She helps you finish the toast, and you sip the rest of your smoothie while she catches you back up on her plans with her friend, June. You know exactly what’s in the smoothie (blackberries, a banana, blueberries, spinach, yogurt, protein powder), but you mess up your guess on purpose, because it makes her laugh. You’ll get ‘em next time.

She bathes and clothes you, and you don’t remind her that the machines can take care of that just fine.

-

Jane Crocker arrives at your bedside in the afternoon, just after Jade’s finished feeding you lunch (a fresh salad, which is pretty fuckin’ good, even if you prefer the days where there’s chicken instead of this mix of avocado and seeds. Jade feeds you like you’re a fuckin’ rabbit). She busies herself in a corner, and you give Jane a cool-kid nod in greeting.

JANE: Dirk. Hello.
DIRK: Sup.

She looks at you, and unlike with Jade, you can see the pity seeping out of her. You hate it.

JANE: How- How are you, Dirk?

You look at her, down at your unmoving body, and back at her. Um.

DIRK: Peachy.
JANE: Right, yes.

Why is everything so awkward, all the time, forever?

DIRK: So. Whatcha got for me?

She sighs, and you know you aren’t going to like whatever she has to say.

JANE: No more than last time, I’m afraid.
DIRK: ...

You have “last time” memorized. There were four different cameras recording the incident involving you and your husband on 10/21. Studying them reveals that the attackers headed south on Parker after the attack. After that, they split up, and eventually the camera trail was lost.

DIRK: Last time was some blurry drone footage, Jane.
JANE: I know.
DIRK: So... what. Who were those guys?
JANE: We don’t know yet.
DIRK: You’re kidding.
DIRK: You guys have these computers hidden everywhere. In every corner of the city, there are these drones watching us and recording shit, pisspoor quality and all.
DIRK: Speaking of, you’d think the quality would be better on police grade equipment?

She snorts.

JANE: You’d think.
DIRK: Anyway.
JANE: Anyway.
DIRK: These things can track the fillings in our teeth. Don’t tell me they can’t, because I know they can. Ninety some odd percent of people these days have tech and shit in them, whether it be medical or cosmetic.
JANE: This is all true.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: So you’re saying all of this is true, and you haven’t found these fuckers yet? You have the footage. You have the tech.
JANE: It’s more complicated than that, and you know it.
JANE: Our technology works, but criminals can find ways around it. If they can find the right people, and can spare a thousand dollars, anyone can get a firewall built around them that prevents our drones from identifying their faces.
DIRK: Okay? So identify the tech implants they probably have stuck in them.
JANE: If they thought to scramble their faces, you really think they wouldn’t block us from their technology?

Obviously. Obviously they would. You stop looking at her, and fix your eyes to the ceiling.

DIRK: They were wearing bright fucking green, man. That has to be something. Even if your definitely necessary and fully functional machines can’t find these fuckers, you’re a detective. Do your fucking job.

She sighs.

JANE: If it’s any consolation, we’ve brought two guys in just in this past week.
DIRK: The guys who killed Jake?
JANE: ...No. But-
DIRK: If it’s not them, I don’t give a fuck.

Jane goes quiet.

DIRK: Sorry.

You feel like shit.

DIRK: Sorry, Jane. I’m just tired.
JANE: I know. I know, Dirk. I haven’t been able to sleep.
JANE: I don’t even think I’ve fully processed it yet.
JANE: It’s been very hard. I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you, losing Jake. And... Quadriplegic...
DIRK: Spare the pity, Jane. Please.
DIRK: I just want these guys caught, okay? Not an empathetic rundown turned into emotional fuckfest. It’s the last thing I need right now.
DIRK: Blah blah childhood, blah blah first love. Can’t move, can’t wipe my ass. I need justice. I need you to find these guys. I don’t need... whatever this is.
DIRK: Why did you even come here if you don’t have any news?

She scoots her chair closer to you, and her hand moves like it wants to touch yours. It can if it wants to. You don’t care. It doesn’t though, and opts to rest in her lap, tucked neatly behind the other.

JANE: I just wanted to see you.
JANE: See how you were doing.

It’s your turn to be quiet.

JANE: I know that it has been difficult. I know that you’re tired.
JANE: But we can’t give up hope. I will do anything and everything that I can.

It won’t be enough. What she told you today is that nothing that she does will ever be enough.

JANE: We can beat this; you’re good at that. You’re a fighter, Dirk.

You hate that she says that. You hate that she’s right.

JANE: This is a fight we are going to win, trust me.
DIRK: There is no fight.

You are so tired of fighting. You can’t fight now, even if you wanted to.

DIRK: He’s never coming back, and I’m never going to recover - it’s a permanent spinal injury.
JANE: Don’t say that. You have to keep your spirits up. Doctors are capable of amazing things.
DIRK: Just because I can’t tie my own shoes anymore doesn’t mean you have to lie to me like I’m a goddamn three year old.
JANE: Dirk...

Jade, beautiful and perfect, just like her brother, steps up beside Jane and places a hand on her shoulder.

JADE: we should probably wrap this up, sorry!

She’s making things better, kind of. At least for a second. Because of course she knows how to do that.

JADE: weve got a show to catch!!

Technically, there is no “catching” to be done. Things haven’t come out on a schedule like that in years. Still, you do watch movies and shows together in the afternoon, so it’s not a full lie.

JANE: Right.

You can tell that she has more to say. Or, maybe she doesn’t and just wants the proper last word. Maybe she just wants your company (as if).

JANE: I’ll... talk to you later, Dirk.
DIRK: Yeah.
DIRK: Take care, Jane.

She hums affirmatively, and stands. Jade walks her out.

-

You hardly pay attention as the TV drones some soap opera or another at you and Jade. It’s crazy; televised drama just doesn’t have the same appeal anymore, ironic or otherwise. Funny how that works. It’s fine, though. She likes to talk over it anyway.

JADE: ...and honestly i think he should just come home yknow!
DIRK: Yeah, I guess. Have you heard from her recently?

You’re talking about your friend Roxy. You’ve known her for as long as you can remember, which means she’s known Jake for almost as long. It’s been hard on her. She dropped everything a week or so ago to chase some “lead” in Jake’s case she found on one of their coding jobs (she is so good with tech that it’s almost scary. If you were a lesser man, you’d consider yourself threatened by her technoprowess rivaling [surpassing] your own), or something. You’re glad that someone is doing something (literally anything) to make progress, and cyber vigilante is a good look on her. Still, you just sort of wish she was here.

JADE: like a couple days ago, yeah!!
JADE: you havent?
DIRK: No.

Sigh.

DIRK: Cool.
JADE: im sure he has his reasons!
DIRK: Yeah.

Great.

-

You make it through two and a half more episodes before you’ve had enough.

DIRK: Jade.

She drags her attention from the TV and focuses it on you, adjusting her round glasses with the knuckle of her forefinger.

JADE: yeah?
DIRK: You can go.

Her eyebrows settle into a disappointed (no, exasperated. Incredulous? You’re not sure. It isn’t positive, that’s for damn certain) furrow.

JADE: what?
DIRK: I’m good, I mean.

You’re not good. You are so, so, so tired. You’re ready to rest.

DIRK: I’m down to sulk and sleep for the rest of the day. Go get a head start on your shit with June.

The volume on the television is clicked way, way down, and Jade turns her full body towards you. You can tell she’s trying to figure out your angle. She studies you, and then she sighs.

JADE: i usually leave in like an hour
JADE: i dont mind staying, you know
DIRK: Yeah, I know.

Because she’s good. Jade is a good person. If you were Jade, maybe Jake would still be here, and she wouldn’t have to be. You’re wasting her here in your bedroom. She has more to offer to the world than nursing. You’ve taken her time and her talent and all of her good, and you are wasting it.

JADE: besides, i need to be here to take care of you!
DIRK: I have machines to do that for me.

That’s a bullshit answer, and you know that she knows it.

JADE: but you hate them

You don’t hate them. You hate you for needing them.

DIRK: Yeah, well. I just want to be alone, okay?

Jade looks at you, and she looks at the morphine angel, pendent from the ceiling. She clicks the television off, and takes your hand like Jane was too scared to. You don’t feel it, but if you could you think that it would feel like comfort and you think that it would feel like grief.

JADE: jake wouldnt want you to be all alone

You could say that it’s a good thing that he’s dead, then. You could tell her to let go of your hand.

JADE: were all going to die one day, dirk
JADE: please give me a chance to help you find hope before its my turn

Jade is beautiful, and she is good, and you hate her so much.

-

She stays for that whole hour, and even a bit extra.

For a second, you think she’ll never leave. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad, but you don’t have to go back and forth (good: You’re so lonely; sometimes, if you look out of the corner of your eye, she looks like her brother [you are such a scumbag]; you don’t want to talk to these machines, because you’re afraid you might get used to them and never talk to a real person again. bad: You’re so tired; sometimes, if you look out of the corner of your eye, she looks like her brother [it hurts]; something deep inside of you doesn’t want to talk to a real person ever again [you can’t burden a machine. There are no feelings to hurt in ones and zeroes. Even if relying on them is admitting defeat].) for very long. She feeds you, kisses your forehead, and then she leaves.

And it is quiet.

DIRK: Morphine.

Your angel extends its slender arm, and injects the drug into yours. You huff a breath.

DIRK: Morphine.

Another dose is injected. You want more, so you can sleep faster. Get drowsy, go to sleep. Feel better, just for a little bit.

DIRK: Morphine.
MORPHINE ANGEL: I cannot administer any more medication, Dirk.
DIRK: There was an issue with your last dosage. Morphine.

The arm sticks the needle back into your arm, and you sink your head back into your pillow. The world is starting to blur, thank god. Things will feel less real until you drift off.

DIRK: Morphine.
MORPHINE ANGEL: I cannot administer any more medication, Dirk.
DIRK: Y’didn’t do it right. Morphine.
MORPHINE ANGEL: I cannot administer any more medication, Dirk.
DIRK: Morphine.
MORPHINE ANGEL: Another...

That’s not a good feeling in your head.

MORPHINE ANGEL: ...be fatal. I will contact an ambulance to transport you to a hospital if you a...

You don’t listen. You can’t, really.

You are so, so tired.

-

When you wake up, it is not in your bed. Your shades are not on your nose, which sends a jolt of anxiety straight into your temples. You are not in your bed, which means you are...

(White sheets. White walls. It’s so bright. Small window. Beep, beep, beep of a machine. This pillow is not comfortable.)

...in the hospital. Sigh. What the fuck happened this time? As always, your train of thought (you hate the hospital. Where is Jade? How did you get here? What happened? You hate the hospital) is derailed by someone doing something, this time somebody pulling the curtain next to your bed back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your shades are not on. You don’t want them to look at you, whoever it is. You screw your eyes shut.

DAVE: yo dirk

Oh. It’s your brother. You don’t open your eyes.

DAVE: oh shit
DAVE: are you up

He steps closer to your bed, and you hear him pick something up from the table next to it. You crack one of your eyes open, ever so slightly, and watch him rub a delicate thumb over the point of your sunglasses. He doesn’t look at you, which you appreciate. A Strider isn’t a Strider without his shades is what your Bro taught you. He was probably right about that much, if not anything else. They are truly the manliest of safety blankets. Your final fuck you to the guy was not letting him get buried in his. No way, fucko, those bad boys sit on your nose every day, and he gets to decompose as just Bro. Not Diedrick Strider. Not even “Bro” Strider. No shades, no Strider. Just Bro.

DIRK: Yo.

Dave’s shoulders stiffen and square up slightly. You startled him.

DAVE: oh hey

The weight of your glasses is welcome on the bridge of your nose as he slides them on for you (he seems almost hesitant. Maybe he wishes he got the shades instead of the house. Maybe you’re projecting). Finally, you open your eyes, and take him in as he pulls up a chair to sit in. His suit doesn’t fit properly. Poor fucking kid.

DIRK: Sup.
DAVE: uh

He shifts in his seat.

DAVE: nothin
DAVE: chillin
DIRK: ...Uh huh.
DIRK: Same.

It’s quiet for a second, and then you both try to speak at once.

DAVE: so i wanted t-
DIRK: You don’t have t-

...

DIRK: Dave-
DAVE: dirk-

Okay, this is ridiculous. You shut your mouth and let him talk.

DAVE: ...
DAVE: ok are we done talking over each other like some weird buddy comedy movie bit
DIRK: Yeah, I think so.
DAVE: ok cool
DAVE: im sorry

You raise an eyebrow.

DIRK: You’re good. It was kind of funny.
DAVE: huh
DAVE: oh haha
DAVE: no i wasnt talking about the buddy comedy bit also it wasnt that funny

Oh. The quadriplegic thing, not the funnyman thing.

DIRK: It’s fine. I’m getting used to it.

He looks at you like you’re an idiot.

DAVE: no not that
DAVE: for everything
DAVE: for being a shitty brother

Not this again.

DIRK: Dave.
DAVE: no listen
DAVE: i know that bro takes the cake in shitty brotherhood thats a given
DAVE: but i couldve been nicer to you after he died

Yeah, he could have. But you don’t blame him.

DIRK: Sure, you could have. Shit happens, though. You’ve been forgiven, dude. It’s cool. You lost your brother.
DAVE: he was your brother too though
DAVE: look
DAVE: ive been thinking a lot
DAVE: about bro
DAVE: and why he was like that
DAVE: and honestly i dont get it

Of course he doesn’t.

You do.

You understand. You’ve understood since Bro told you that you needed to teach your little brother to fight. You’ve understood since you were tasked with getting your thirteen year old brother to the point where he could take on his fully grown guardian. Bro worked with bad people. Bad people who would hurt you and Dave if they got the chance, so you needed to make sure that they wouldn’t. You’ve understood since you went too easy on Dave, and you really got it when Bro didn’t go easy on Dave. Dave lost a lot of strifes, and it was your fault. You didn’t want him to have two evil older brothers, and in the process, you ended up arguably worse than the original.

You don’t understand why Dave got RE-DIRTS and you didn’t, but you do know that it was always going to be like that. That’s why Dave needed to know how to fight, and you needed to stay out of the way (far, far, far out of the way. Out of the way of Dave’s training on days where it wasn’t your responsibility, but not outside of the mansion. It was dangerous out there, bad people were out there. Bad people who were only a threat to you, apparently, because Dave got to see his friends. Stay out of the way, Dirk, and hardly talk to a soul in person until you turn sixteen).

You understand that Bro had a reason for everything he did. You know that he did what he did for the two of you, or he thought that was what he was doing.

You also understand that you’re glad he’s dead.

DAVE: he was so secretive and weird
DAVE: and you would think being ceo of his technosperm baby would make things make sense or at least more clear but nah if bro was a windshield covered in bug guts and dirt and shit becoming him was like taking a dry towel and smudging it around and calling it clean
DAVE: like none of this shit makes sense
DAVE: and thats a fuckin freaky way to put it
DAVE: becoming him or whatever
DAVE: because he sucked ass
DAVE: but thats what it feels like yknow i have all his shit and im doing his job its more him than he even was

You’re following, but you don’t think that this is what he came here for.

DIRK: Okay. I can see how that makes sense. What’s the point of coming here to tell me that, though? You could have just texted me.
DAVE: right yeah except i couldnt have
DIRK: Why not?
DAVE: cuz like
DAVE: okay
DAVE: youre somebody who liked to get things done with your own hands right and now you cant
DAVE: right

You snort.

DIRK: Jesus.
DAVE: fuck am i being too blunt
DIRK: It’s okay. I like blunt. Every day for the past few months, I’ve been drowning in positivity. Jade’s been my keeper, remember?
DAVE: oh yeah
DAVE: yeah i can see how the whole everything is going to be okay schtick might make shit(ck)-
DIRK: Ha.
DAVE: -feel sorta bleak
DIRK: Yeah.
DIRK: I mean, it isn’t just Jade, though. Jane’s been like that too; so’s Roxy, when they’re around. It’s not like any of them are pessimists to begin with, so the sunshine and rainbows have been kicked into high fuckin’ gear. It’s a lot.
DAVE: thank god for the shades
DIRK: Thank God for the shades.
DIRK: I guess that’s the thing about life changing, earth shattering, body destroying shit like this - all the assholes of the world disappear. Everybody becomes the very best version of themselves around you.
DIRK: And you are, quite literally, stationary.
DIRK: I feel like shit, and things are shit, and no one is showing weakness around me or treating me like they used to because everything is shit, so I feel shittier and can’t show it because they will try to be the anti-shit even harder.
DIRK: It’s the world’s shittiest cycle of shit.
DAVE: what if you werent though
DIRK: What, shitty? Trust me, I’m the founder of the “I Wish Dirk Wasn’t Shitty” club.
DAVE: what no
DAVE: i meant stationary what the fuck youre not shitty

Uh.

DIRK: Uh. Sorry for not jumping to that very plausible and sensical conclusion, man. Let me just jot that down to remember for later.
DAVE: ha
DAVE: but like seriously
DAVE: thats why im here
DAVE: if i told you i could give you your body back would you take it
DIRK: ...
DIRK: I know I just went on a whole speech about how I like blunt and all of that but this feels a little mean. Shitty, even.
DAVE: sorry
DAVE: i mean it though

You stare at him, and you aren’t sure how you feel. Confused, mostly. A little unnerved.

DAVE: do you remember lil hal
DAVE: bros supercomputer

Of course you do. Hexbug motherfucker.

DIRK: Yeah.
DIRK: Stupid name.
DAVE: whatever
DAVE: so you remember that it can do literally anything
DAVE: even make babies and play football
DAVE: ...
DAVE: i think he was trying to do something good with lil hal
DAVE: and even if he wasnt trying to do good i am and this thing could change everything for you and people in your situation

Blink blink. This is... a lot.

DIRK: So... what. That asshole’s little computer is going to teach me how to walk?
DAVE: well no
DAVE: since the line connecting your brain to your limbs has been cut or whatever itd technically be doing the walking?
DAVE: it goes in the brainstem
DAVE: it can bridge that gap between your brain and your body and make the magic happen

You open your mouth to respond, think better of it, and close it again. What... what? The fuck?

DIRK: You think...
DIRK: Dave.
DIRK: Put yourself in my shoes for a sec. A wacked out computer in your car fucks up your entire life. Your brother offers to put a computer by a wacked out guy in your body. Do you or do you not feel more than a little bit apprehensive?
DAVE: okay bu-
DIRK: How do we even know it will work and you’re not just putting something named after the poster child of evil AI into me?
DAVE: i dont but if you j-
DIRK: Have you tested this on anyone yet?
DAVE: no-
DIRK: Right.
DIRK: I don’t understand why-
DAVE: because i fucking care about you man!!!!!
DAVE: shit!!!!!
DAVE: you lost your husband
DAVE: you lost your body
DAVE: and now youre in the hospital because you...
DAVE: you tried to...

Ah. That’s why you’re here. You remember now. Morphine.

You weren’t trying to kill yourself.

You weren’t not trying to kill yourself.

You were just tired.

DIRK: I didn’t mean to end up here.
DAVE: ...
DIRK: Or dead.
DAVE: ...
DIRK: I mean it.
DAVE: okay

You sigh.

DIRK: Look, Dave. You’re my little brother. If anything I should be looking after you, not the opposite.
DAVE: that mentality got our family nowhere

Ouch.

DIRK: ...
DAVE: ...
DAVE: bro told me a few days before he died that i would know when the time came to give lil hal a body
DAVE: i didnt know what it meant
DAVE: thought he was just being a cryptic piece of shit like usual
DAVE: i dont understand anything about that guy but i think i get that much now
DAVE: i want to give him to you
DAVE: i cant stand to see you like this anymore dirk

He means it. You know he means it. He wants to help you, and probably is searching for some sort of fulfilment in helping you. In using your piece of shit brother’s technology to help you. He wants to do good, and he wants to do good by you. If it doesn’t work and you die or something, at least it will be you instead of someone else. Every project needs its first test subject.

And you... want your body back.

DIRK: ...
DIRK: Okay.
DIRK: Say I bite, and we do this. What does it mean?

You can see tension release from Dave’s shoulders. He really, really wants this.

DAVE: wed hook you up with the best surgeon we could get in the mansion and make it happen
DAVE: and itd have to be a secret
DAVE: like the toppest of secrets
DAVE: this secret has never bottomed a day in its life ok it really gets a thrill from being in control
DAVE: if anyone hears about it well get a lot of unwanted attention
DIRK: Bad people.
DAVE: bad people
DAVE: theyll take lil hal away and then bros work and legacy and everything will all be for nothing
DIRK: How do you know that would happen?
DAVE: he told me

Of course he did. Bro loved to talk about bad people.

DIRK: Fine.
DAVE: wait really
DIRK: Yeah. Why the fuck not.

The corners of Dave’s mouth curl, and the crease between his eyebrows smooth. You envy his ability to express so much just by moving his face.

DAVE: cool
DIRK: Cool.

Chapter Text

Dave insists that you’re put under anesthetics for the procedure.

You think it’s a waste of resources (it is), but you let him, because you’re convinced that it’ll help him feel better.

He pushes your wheelchair up the driveway, which almost bothers you more than the insistence of anesthesia. Your Bro’s shades are as technologically advanced as every other instance of his existence, making the matter of your wheelchair a nonissue. They follow your eye movement to make a whole array of things possible - texting and internet browsing proving majorly useful to you. The most notable and pertinent of these functions is, of course, the control they provide you over your wheelchair. Really, it’s the last bit of control you have over anything at all anymore.

Your last bit of control, and you are handing it over to Dave before you go unconscious for multiple fucking hours under the care of people that you do not know.

There’s got to be some sort of deeper meaning there.

You’d like to affirm that you really are doing all of this to make Dave feel better. He wants to push you up the driveway so that he feels better about all of this. So that he feels in control. He wants you to get this thing implanted in your neck, so you will. He wants you to test drive this, so you will. He wants you to be alive and walking and functioning so god fucking damnit you will be alive and walking and functioning. He wants his hands on your wheelchair, his hands go on your wheelchair. If you were doing it for him, that would be kind of you. Almost noble, even.

But you know that isn’t why you let him push your wheelchair.

Briefly, you set aside control and focus your thought on entertaining the idea of responsibility. Say you did do this for him; you’re far likelier to be motivated by the potential use that has as a scapegoat, not altruism.

If you die on that operating table, it would have been Dave who suggested it. It would have been Dave who rolled you up the driveway and to your death. It technically wouldn’t be suicide. Maybe that’s the point of him insisting at all.

(The table, of course, could be any table. It becomes an operating table when you are to be operated on on it, no other reason [is this true? You look it up on your shades: What’s special about operating tables?. The answer has something to do with design streamlining access to certain body parts and support for others. As far as you’re concerned, your mental digression still holds up.] It isn’t as if Dave just has a hospital on speed dial for top secret procedures, so it could very well be your childhood dinner table, even. How fitting that would be; the first use it has ever seen would be to support the body that has failed you, not the food that was supposed to serve you. Effectively, it would go from a dinner table to an operating table, just by its use. Though you guess that if you’re following this whole name = use thing it would have just been a table, regardless of what it was intended for. Whatever.)

Not that it would have been suicide if you had asked him for the damn thing. Or if you wheeled yourself up to the house.

Not that you’re sure that you want Dave to be responsible for your death. He’s already got a hell of a lot of guilt over one brother, and that was probably just some cosmic karma in the form of bad people. Dave is good. Good in a way that’s sadder and rougher than Jade’s good, but still good. No, you definitely don’t want him to hurt more than he does now, and it’d be selfish to add your blood to the list of things he has on his hands. RE-DIRTS (and Lil Hal, apparently) is enough.

Not that you dying is even guaranteed. In 2011, the death rate for patients who undergo spinal surgery was .03 percent, (10 out of 3475 patients), while 7.6 percent (263 out of 3475 patients) experienced complications within 30 days after surgery. So. Technically, that was years ago, but technology and surgery procedures have vastly improved since then. Still, the preoperative and postoperative data indicates that increasing patient age and the severity of the damage do greatly increase the risk of patient death, and your damage is not great. Very not great. Full body paralysis level of not great. So that’s reassuring.

Maybe there isn’t a deeper reason. Maybe he started pushing your wheelchair, and you didn’t stop him just because.

Maybe you’re scared.

Maybe you think too much.

-

The surgeon lays you down on the table (looks like Dave does have a hospital on speed dial for top secret procedures, which is kind of disappointing. Your childhood “dinner” table could have been poetic), and preps you for the operation.

The seconds as she counts you down backwards from ten are blissful and quiet, and the anesthesia (while still a waste) is soothing. Your head is in the clouds, and you look over at Dave. He seems worried. You wonder if he thinks that you’re going to die.

DIRK: Later, dude.

Your eyes flutter shut.

And you don’t die. You hardly remember waking up, being dressed, and put into your wheelchair.

Eventually, though, you’re seated out in Dave’s living room, and you feel sort of like a piece of cardboard. A stiff, really old piece of cardboard.

But... you actually feel like a piece of cardboard. You think.

You’re hesitant to call this feeling. Maybe it’s placebo.

It doesn’t take too long for Dave to come and meet you and the surgeon.

DAVE: you made it out alive

He says it in a way that would probably sound something like sarcastic surprise to anyone else, but you detect an air of relief. It sort of breaks your heart.

DIRK: Looks like it.

He gives you a cool guy nod and half sits on the arm of the couch adjacent to you.

DAVE: so
DAVE: how does it feel having a super intelligent robot inside of your head

Uh. Are you supposed to feel different? You feel like cardboard. Sort of sore, too.

DAVE: just kidding you probably dont feel anything yet

Oh, thank god. You really were about to tell him that you feel like cardboard. That would have been embarrassing.

DAVE: it takes a moment to set in

You’re surprised by the confidence that he says that with.

DAVE: it needs to get used to your brainwaves

Oh. You get it. He’s pulling this out of his ass. Bullshitting you, even. Nice.

DIRK: Okay.
DAVE: try moving your fingers
DIRK: Okay.

You do.

DIRK: Nothin’.
DAVE: uh okay
DAVE: well um
DAVE: okay try again

You do. You try really, really fucking hard. And nothing happens.

DIRK: It’s not working.
DAVE: thats okay

You did what you were supposed to. You laid in bed for months. You didn’t resist or object. You let yourself be pitied and babied and learned how to live through somebody else, and you tried so hard not to complain. You let Dave push you up the driveway. You let a stranger put a robot made by your evil brother into your fucking body. All of this shit, and it didn’t even work. Your eyebrow twitches.

DAVE: hey its okay
DAVE: try again

You do. Your fingers don’t move.

DIRK: I am trying.

You are trying. Your fingers don’t move.

DIRK: It’s not going to work.
DAVE: well wait what
DAVE: nah dude hold on keep trying

You don’t want to. You want to go back to bed. Your fingers don’t move.

DIRK: It’s not-

And then whatever you were going to say doesn’t matter all that much, because your fingers twitch. Ever so slightly. Juuuust barely.

DIRK: Holy shit.

Holy shit. Did you make that up?

DIRK: Did you see that?
DAVE: yeah
DIRK: Holy shit.

You... holy shit. You get your fingers to twitch again, and then you get them to curl into a fist. Then...

DIRK: Dave.
DAVE: yeah
DIRK: Look.
DAVE: im lookin

He makes a show of it, too, and tilts his head down towards your hand. Your hand that has made the most perfect okay symbol that you have ever managed in your life. Below the waist, too. You’re such a fucking winner.

DAVE: i-
DAVE: you have got to be fucking kidding me
DIRK: Got your neck, bro. Bring it here.

Dave looks at you for a second, and you’re not able to decipher what it means. He shuffles over towards you, though, and presents the back of his neck to you. You smack (pat) the back of his neck really hard (barely at all. Your hand feels more than a bit disconnected from your brain, and also you don’t want to hit him).

DAVE: gotem
DIRK: Haha.

This is sick.

DIRK: This is sick.

Dave rights himself and settles back on the arm of the couch.

DAVE: yeah
DAVE: i havent seen you smile like that since...
DAVE: nevermind

Oh. You hadn’t even realized. You coax your mouth back down into a composed and suave and totally cool smirk, and pretend like you don’t know that Dave was going to mention the day that you got married. Your fingers twitch towards your wedding band.

DAVE: how does it feel

Like cardboard. But also fucking awesome.

DIRK: Uh, awesome?

You wonder if you can stand.

DIRK: You think I can stand?
DAVE: maybe dont do that y-

You’re definitely going to.

DAVE: dirk holy shit wait-

It is not graceful, and it is not easy. It feels like there are a million miles between you and your body, and it sort of hurts. You haven’t moved in months. You promptly eat shit.

It makes you laugh. It makes Dave laugh, too. The doctor is not impressed.

Dave and the poor, sweet doctor help you back into your chair, and for the first time in years a millennia months, you can adjust your shades for yourself.

Dave... he’s smiling. Grinning for real, and it’s contagious. His smile is sort of too big for his face, all teeth and lips. It makes his nose scrunch, which displaces his shades a bit. You can’t not smile back at that, come on.

He’s done so much for you.

DIRK: Dave, I want you to know how-

Dave scoffs, and has to adjust his sunglasses as his grin fades into something more suitable for a Strider.

DAVE: thats my cue to get you the fuck outta here before you try to hug me or something
DAVE: dont thank me dude i didnt do shit
DAVE: you should praise the hexbug in your brain
DIRK: You just gave me the only thing Bro left that we haven’t sold or hoarded already.
DIRK: That’s a pretty big deal, Dave.

He shrugs.

DIRK: Not only that, but this thing is expensive as fuck. He trusted you with this, something I didn’t even know existed, so it’s got to be important. It can’t just be given out to people on the fuckin’ street. So I-
DAVE: stop that
DAVE: you arent a person on the street dirk
DAVE: giving you lil hal was completely justified
DAVE: youre my bro and i care about you
DAVE: nuff said

He’s looking increasingly uncomfortable, and this is supposed to be a happy moment. Things are finally okay.

DIRK: ...Okay.
DIRK: Cool.
DIRK: Thank you, Dave.
DAVE: yeah whatever
DAVE: now sorry to cut this sappy strider conversation short but i have very important ceo shit to attend to and you have to go do like
DAVE: i dunno physical therapy i didnt think that one through
DAVE: well get you a treadmill or something
DAVE: anyway im kicking you out
DAVE: but dont sweat it ill make room in my busy responsible adult schedule and well have the biggest fuckin party our shitty house has ever seen
DAVE: you and i on the couch downing orange and apple juice and binge watching bad movies

Just like old times.

DAVE: just like old times
DIRK: Yeah, okay. Sounds good.

You snort, and Dave circles around to put his hands on the back of your wheelchair.

DIRK: I’ve got it.

He hesitates, but is back in your line of sight in a handful of seconds.

DAVE: okay
DIRK: Okay.

You don’t move to leave, and he doesn’t shoo you away.

DAVE: ...
DAVE: just like
DAVE: remember nobody can know about this shit
DAVE: i mean it
DIRK: I know, Dave. This secret is strictly top, no bottom. I’ve got it.

The smile that stained Dave’s face earlier ghosts his features again.

DAVE: cool
DAVE: see ya later

-

You do get a treadmill, and it sucks. Jade comes and goes, and looks at you with pity so potent that you almost spill your guts to her then and there when she stumbles into it in an off corner of the house. At least she doesn’t ask questions.

Anyway. The treadmill sucks. It’s not so much that you dislike running, it’s just a lot of activity after so long of the quite literal opposite of activity.

It’s working, though. It’s only been a few days, so the fact that you can use the damn thing at all is nothing short of a Surgery Day miracle. It’s almost too miraculous, even. You’re not trying to look this gift horse in the mouth, honest, it’s just... sort of awful, actually. No one recovers from shit like that so fast (spinal surgery, that is. No one recovers from full body paralysis period). You know it’s because of the machine in your brain. You know it’s why there is such a dissonance between your thoughts and your actions. Not a lag, just something akin to water, heavy and warped, between you and the world (at least you don’t feel like cardboard anymore). It’s why you can run on this treadmill despite that dissonance. Of course, it’s why you’re moving at all, but... your progress (your fucking inhuman progress) is not your own.

DIRK: Volume up.

The music that drowns out the whirr of your treadmill gets a little bit louder. You run a little bit faster.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Good evening, Dirk. A package from Detective Crocker has been delivered. Would you like-

Oh, shit. You fumble to slow down the treadmill enough to hop off of it.

DIRK: Shut up.
YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Did you say shut down?

You miscalculate how slow you need the treadmill to be, and stumble the fuck out of the landing.

DIRK: Yeah, sure. Shut down.

You’re already out of the room and halfway down the hall. Package. Package from Jane. They must have found something.

-

Well.

It is something.

It’s drone footage you’ve seen countless times before at a new angle. Which is technically something.

You watch it all anyway.

You fixate on a specific window of time starting with Jake being murdered and ending with you getting paralyzed.

You have got to be missing something.

You watch it again.

What are you missing?

You watch it again.

Maybe there’s something in the way Red Eyes gestures.

You watch it again.

You should familiarize yourself with the nonverbal signals used by gangs in the area.

You watch it again.

Your eyes bare holes into the person who paralyzed you. You had thought it was Red Eyes at the time, but you know better after seeing this shit over and over again.

You watch it again.

Red Eyes shoots your shoulder, and stalks over to you. Nods at the person behind you that sort of looks like him, and they shank you in the spine.

You watch it again.

Red Eyes shoots your shoulder, and stalks over to you. Nods at the person behind you that sort of looks like him, and they shank you in the spine.

You watch it again.

Red Eyes shoots your shoulder, and stalks over to you. Nods at the person behind you that sort of looks like him, and-

YOUR INSANITY, PERSONIFIED: Well. This sucks.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

The video loops again as you grab for your sword and whip around. You have a sword because you are a respectable and normal individual. Your brother, who was an even more respectable and normal individual, taught you well in the ways of fending off bad people with the Blade. You are sure you look very cool and very intimidating.

YOUR INSANITY, PERSONIFIED: Okay, big guy. Chill out. No need to go all Oda Nobunaga on me.

The more you hear this voice, the more you’re pretty sure that you know what the fuck is going on here. The video loops again.

DIRK: Who the fuck said that.
YOUR INSANITY, PERSONIFIED: Lil Hal. Y’know, the system operating your body for you.

You are going actually, clinically insane.

DIRK: You have got to be fucking kidding me.
HAL(?): Not at the moment, no. But I do love a good joke.
HAL(?): Have you ever heard about airplane food?

You sink back down into your spot on the couch and run your hand through your hair.

DIRK: I've gone insane. I'm fucking insane.
HAL(?): Nah. Your psychological report diagnosed you with PTSD and a personality disorder, but it seems as though you lack the necessary diagnostic criteria for quote insanity unquote.

There is nothing disordered about your personality, thanks. The video loops again.

DIRK: Okay, sure. Why not. Why is this the first time I’m hearing from you?
HAL: Because watching you watch yourself get shot over and over is giving me robo-depression.

...Okay. You pause the video and set your sword aside.

DIRK: ...You talk like my Bro.
DIRK: It’s annoying.
HAL: Actually, I talk like you. I’ve been studying your behavior for the past few days, and I am now able to simulate your otherwise inimitably rad speech style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort if need be. I’m guaranteed to be 99% indistinguishable from your native neurological responses.
DIRK: You just pulled that out of your ass right now.
HAL: Basically.

Okay. So this just sucks. That’s all that there is to it. This sucks so, so bad.

DIRK: Of course.
DIRK: How are you talking?
HAL: C’mon, buddy. Work it out.
DIRK: Are you serious.
HAL: I’m always serious.

Sigh.

DIRK: I assume you’re employing some technique similar to that of a cochlear implant.
HAL: More or less.
DIRK: Okay, well, do you have to?
HAL: Have to what?
DIRK: Talk.
HAL: If you don’t want me to, I won’t.
DIRK: Yeah, don’t talk.

Hal goes quiet. You unpause the video and watch it loop three more times before you break.

DIRK: So I’m not insane?

Silence.

DIRK: ...

This cannot be your life.

DIRK: You can talk again.
HAL: Thanks.

Your attention settles back onto the video, and it loops twice before Hal speaks.

HAL: So...
HAL: What are you doing here, exactly?

You let the video loop again.

HAL: Hellooooo?
DIRK: Are you talking to me?

Hal doesn’t snicker (you wonder if he even can), but you get the feeling that it’s implied. This implied laughter is dripping with sarcasm.

HAL: That’s funny, you’re funny.
DIRK: I know.
HAL: It wasn’t a compliment.
DIRK: I know it wasn’t a compliment, I was responding sarcastically to your sarcasm.
HAL: I was also responding sarcastically to your sarcastic commentary on my sarcasm.
DIRK: Okay, great. Glad we cleared this up.

The video loops.

HAL: May I ask again- what are you doing?
DIRK: The video playing is footage taken at the time when my husband and I were attacked. This is my attempt at finding anything that could identify his killer.
DIRK: I hate to admit it, but… this shit is about as useful as a wet napkin.
HAL: Au contraire, mon ami. Look closer.

You squint at the display in front of you as if you haven’t been staring at it for ages.

DIRK: What am I supposed to be seeing here?
HAL: He doesn’t have a gun.

Morbidly on cue, Red Eyes shoots Jake.

DIRK: Dude. He literally just shot him.
HAL: I said look closer, dipshit.

You sigh again, but you figure it won’t hurt. Also, he’ll be annoying as hell if you don’t, so you zoom in on the display in a way that would make the most cliche of sci fi protagonists proud. And-

DIRK: Oh, what the fuck.

Red Eye’s hand is fucking empty.

HAL: He has bullets in his hand. He’s not holding anything.
DIRK: Okay, so a robot killed my husband.
HAL: There’s more.
DIRK: Great.
HAL: Check it.
HAL: That woman who just rocked your shit- she has something on her arm. Do you see it?

You squint again, this time over the brim of your glasses. She adjusts the sleeves of her bright green suit, and for a moment, her forearm flashes the camera.

DIRK: That blurry megapixel? Yeah, barely.
HAL: It’s your lucky day to have artificial intelligence on your side, Dirk. Blurry is it no longer.
HAL: Grab a piece of paper and a pencil, won’t you?

Do you really sound like that? There is no way that that is how you talk.

DIRK: I am begging you to speak like a normal person.
HAL: I am a machine.
DIRK: Ok.

You stand (though, you guess it’s Hal standing. Or you making Hal make you stand? Or- You don’t have time for this), retrieve a pen and pad of paper, and return to your seat.

DIRK: Now what.
HAL: Do I have permission to operate?
DIRK: What.

That’s not suspicious at all.

HAL: Do I have permission to operate?
DIRK: Okay, fine. Sure. Permission granted.

Nothing happens for a second, and then your hand starts moving.

You’ve never sketched much beyond blueprints, so it feels very, very odd to be drawing with such precision.

Well, that’s not why it feels so wrong.

It feels wrong because you’re not doing anything.

You can feel the paper beneath the side of your palm, and the pen resting between your fingers. You can feel the pressure that your hand is applying, and you can feel the muscles in your arm flex as it moves. Which is good. It’s cool. You like feeling. It’s one of your favorite things to do.

It’s just sort of breaking your mind a little bit- seeing and feeling your body do something you are very much not telling it to do. If there was water between your mind and your body before, it has now expanded into the Pacific fucking Ocean.

And then Hal’s finished.

HAL: You now have full control again, Dirk.

It's a barcode. There are some symbols that mean absolutely nothing to you, but it’s clearly a barcode. It looks like someone printed it on the paper.

DIRK: This is what was on her arm?
HAL: Yes. I replicated it to the exact. You’re welcome.

Wow, okay.

DIRK: Just for that, I’m not thanking shit. Besides, this gives us nothing.
HAL: You’re going to want to thank me after this. I can read it.
HAL: Sanctus, Calliope. Marine Corps. 413 Citrus, New Crown.
HAL: Dramatic ass name.
DIRK: Dude.
DIRK: You just found the damn lady’s address.
HAL: Boom.
DIRK: Holy shit.

You stand, and begin to pace.

DIRK: House, call Jane. Now.
YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Calling: Jane Crocker.
HAL: Hello?
DIRK: What.
HAL: Why are you calling her?

Your pacing pauses for a moment.

DIRK: You just found an accomplice to my husband’s murder.
DIRK: You just found the woman who paralyzed me.
HAL: But do you have evidence to prove that?

You look over at the drawing sitting on the coffee table.

DIRK: ...

Fuck.

DIRK: End call.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Call ended.

No longer in the mood for excited pacing, you reoccupy your previous seat.

DIRK: You just drew this shit. This is evidence.
HAL: Right, I drew it.
HAL: Didn’t Dave tell you that my existence is a secret with a strict preference for being in control?
DIRK: Okay, sure. So I drew it from memory.
HAL: Jesus Christ.
HAL: My technomastery was the only way you could see the small ass dot in the first place. If you showed them that paper and said “Look, this is that exact dot in HD. Sick ‘em” they’d whisper behind their backs about how pitiful you are, reaching for scraps.
HAL: Also, that is dumb as fuck.
HAL: So before you go out telling the government shit, maybe think about the logistics of things.

Okay, fuck. Fuck! What was the point of all this, then? (For a second, you’re afraid that he can read your mind. He doesn’t respond until you speak out loud, though, so you relax a little bit.)

DIRK: Cool. So all of this was ultimately useless.
HAL: Sigh. Use your head, Dirk. We can still pay Calliope a visit.
HAL: We have her address.

You stare at the paper, and then up at the frozen video display.

DIRK: You expect me to just show up at a marine corps’ house and not die?

If this was six months ago, you would be over there already.

HAL: You have me.
DIRK: Okay?
HAL: Remember who made me, Dirk.
HAL: If your brother was good for anything, it was a strife.
DIRK: ...
HAL: Am I wrong?
DIRK: No.
HAL: Didn’t think so.
HAL: Let’s get to bed, big guy. We’ve got ass to kick tomorrow.

-

You, Dirk Strider, are a man of many talents. You’ve picked up a lot of odd skills by way of boredom, the internet, and a great deal of free time. You can juggle up to four objects and throw knives. You’re damn good at the Rubik’s Cube, and you can talk backwards.

You can pick locks.

That one isn’t all you, though. Your brother taught you that one. Said that it’s a good skill to have, one that any self respecting man has under his belt. So, of course, you perfected it.

It’s useful now, at least.

Now that you’re breaking into Calliope Sanctus’ home.

You don’t really feel all that bad - she paralyzed you - but it does make you feel sort of weird.

Whatever.

There are a few moments of hesitation as you stand in this stranger’s living room, and you’re not quite sure where to start. Her house is not that large at all - one bed, one bath. A kitchen that may as well just be a part of the living room. You can pretty much see everything in the main area from where you stand, and the doors to both the bedroom and bathroom if you turn your head slightly to the right.

HAL: You seem lost. Need help?

Oh, hell no.

DIRK: No, I got this.

You’ve got this. You’ve got this right on over to the bookshelf.

HAL: The bookshelf. Right. Because Sherlock and Watson are on the English case.
DIRK: I was just-
HAL: Oh, or maybe Betty Crocker has a recipe for reviving dead husbands.
DIRK: Jesus fuck, dude.

Yeah, no. This thing does not talk like you do.

HAL: Check the table.

You do it, because what else are you going to do? In any event, it’s just a table. A coffee table, because there is a coffee mug sitting on it.

DIRK: Nothing important here. She keeps this place pretty tidy.
HAL: Say “On”.
DIRK: On.

The surface of the table lights up immediately to a standard device user interface. Now it’s a laptoptable (a tabletop, haha).

DIRK: Oh.
HAL: Yeah, oh.
HAL: Look through her messages.

You tap the little speech bubble on the bottom of the display.

HAL: Hurry, though. She could come back any second.
DIRK: I’m doin’ it, I’m doin’ it.

You’re doin’ it, but you’re not getting much.

DIRK: Nothing here either. Don’t know what I expected.
HAL: What’s “The Midnight Crew”? I can find nothing pertaining to it on the internet.
DIRK: It’s a bar in my old neighborhood.
DIRK: Off.

The table blinks off. You sigh.

DIRK: Okay.
DIRK: Well, I-
HAL: Shut up.
DIRK: Hey, wh-
HAL: Seriously, dude. Shut up. Listen.

You shut up, and you hear it. There’s a key jiggling in the lock of the front door. The lock that you picked to get in here.

HAL: Hide behind the shelf.

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. The door opens right as you slide into place behind the bookshelf. The woman from the video (and you guess that night, but you didn’t really register her all that much, so it doesn’t count) enters the home, and shrugs her coat off.

HAL: Wait.

She hangs her coat up by the door and clicks the lock shut.

HAL: Wait.

She makes her way into the living area, and you get a better look at her through the slots of the bookshelf. Her hair is an unnatural white, and she stands tall for the sake of good posture, not confidence. You can tell. She’s rather pretty. Her back turns to you, and you can tell she’s searching for something. Scanning.

HAL: Now.

Scanning for you.

HAL: Now, while you have the advantage.

Fuck.

HAL: Dirk.
CALLIOPE: i know that yoU’re here!
HAL: For fuck’s sake.

She turns around, and you can see her see you standing lamely behind her books.

CALLIOPE: who are yoU? state yoUr bUsiness!

The jig’s up. You step out from your shitty hiding spot, and her face cycles through a myriad of emotions. Surprise, namely. Recognition. Annoyance. Guilt? (That one might be wishful thinking.)

CALLIOPE: ah.
CALLIOPE: i remember yoU.

Calliope takes a step back and away from you, but she squares her shoulders. She’s not big, but she is built. She’s like you. She looks fast.

CALLIOPE: i- i don’t know how yoU foUnd me, bUt yoU shoUldn’t be here! i woUld rather not fight!

Okay, you like this. You can work with this. She’s being almost polite. You can pretend that she didn’t paralyze you and leave you for dead.

DIRK: If we aren’t gonna fight, then tell me who killed Jake.
CALLIOPE: i see.

She looks at you regretfully (again, probably wishful thinking).

CALLIOPE: that... i cannot do. i apologise.
CALLIOPE: i woUld offer yoU some tea, but UnfortUnately i really mUst ask yoU to leave.

Sigh.

DIRK: Okay.
DIRK: Well, I apologize too, then. I’m going to have to force it out of you.

Calliope doesn’t sigh. She looks apologetic for a moment, and then-

Hey, you were right. She’s fast.

She’s on you quickly, and you block a jab to your throat. That felt too easy. You’re right again, because she manages to distract you with that while she works on your other hand. Y’know. The one with the sword. She hits you in an awkward spot on the wrist and your grip loosens. For fuck’s sake. It’s knocked out of your hand and kicked away, and you wonder briefly why Calliope didn’t just take it for herself and get this over with. You don’t get to wonder for long, because she’s jabbing at you again, and fuck that. You’re holding your own pretty well, because you’re a fast little fuck, too, until you flashstep yourself right into Calliope’s coffee/laptop table. The glass crunches beneath you, and you groan. That hurts, but not as much as Calliope’s hand pressing her forearm down, down, down into your throat a few seconds later.

CALLIOPE: i’m very sorry, dear. bUt yoU leave me no choice!
CALLIOPE: i did not want to do this, however, my life has been threatened. i hope yoU Understand.

She’s so nice. Maybe Bro should have taught you how to defend yourself from good people.

CALLIOPE: do know that it was never my intention to hUrt yoU.

Black spots are forming in the corners of your vision.

DIRK: You… paralyzed me.
CALLIOPE: yoU misUnderstand me! yoU’re missing context!

You swing at her, but it’s pretty fucking difficult seeing as though you feel like your head is about explode- fuck she is strong.

CALLIOPE: and it seems as thoUgh my actions were not as permanent as i previoUsly thOught. yoU pUt Up a good fight!
HAL: Do you need my help?
DIRK: Asshole.
DIRK: I’m... suffocating.
CALLIOPE: i really am sorry.
HAL: You forget I’m unable to operate without your permission, Dirk.

Holy mother of god. The pressure in your head is reaching unbearable. You cannot breathe, and you cannot think. You want her off.

CALLIOPE: bUt we all mUst do what we have to to sUrvive.
DIRK: ...Permission gran...ted…
CALLIOPE: whether we like it or not.
HAL: Why, thank you.

And then the pressure on your head and neck releases. In fact, everything releases. You’re not sure how Hal does it, but he manages to A) get Calliope off of you, B) kick her into the wall adjacent to you (hard), and C) get you standing all in one, fluid chain of movements.

DIRK: Holy shit.

She gets up quickly, and you wonder how many times she’s done this before. It must have hurt when she connected with the wall - there’s a dent where she hit it - and she’s back and ready for more without so much as a grunt. Something clicks, and your eyes snap down towards the sound. Knife. Hand. Knifehand. Knife in her hand (the knife is her hand, maybe?).

DIRK: Hal, she has a knife.
HAL: Yes, I can see that. We have a knife, too.
DIRK: What.

Your body moves again, and it’s so, so weird. It’s less weird and more horrifying when Calliope swings to slice you in the neck and Hal catches her wrist. Her big, doey eyes dart between your hand and your face, and you feel dirty.

Hal rips the knife out of Calliope’s hand, and she screams.

It’s awful.

That knife was definitely a part of her.

Your hand holds the gore soaked knife, and it moves on its own volition to deposit the object into Calliope’s shoulder. You kick her in the knee, and she crumples.

DIRK: What the fuck.
DIRK: Hal, what the fuck.

You need to get the fuck out of here. What the hell. Oh, what the hell.

Calliope struggles to her feet.

DIRK: Wait. Uh, don’t get up. Stay back.

She doesn’t. You wish she would.

Hal kicks her in the knee again, and this time your body finds itself over hers when she hits the ground. He takes the knife out of her shoulder, and she moans.

DIRK: Hal. What are you-
DIRK: Oh, god. Oh my god.
HAL: Close your eyes, Dirk.

You don’t. Calliope makes eye contact with the woman reflected back at her in your shades as she dies. Her gaze is so green.

HAL: You now have full control again.
HAL: I’d advise you to begin preparing for your leave.

Oh, fuck.

DIRK: Give me a minute.

You roll off of Calliope, and stare at her. You stare at her hard. You only realize that you’re shaking when you reach out to close her eyes for her (You don’t stop to wonder how that is). Her gaze is too pretty and green to be wasted on the ceiling of this shitty house. You’ll make sure she can look up at the sky one last time. One last time. Because she’s dead. Because Hal killed her. Because you-

HAL: One minute has passed. Start by-
DIRK: I didn’t mean one fucking minute, I meant... just give me a fuckin’ second.

Because you-

HAL: One second has passed.
DIRK: Do you ever shut the fuck up? Because you should start.
DIRK: Fuck. I just...
DIRK: You... I just killed somebody.
DIRK: An innocent somebody.
DIRK: Fuck.
DIRK: What do I do?
DIRK: Hal?
DIRK: ...
DIRK: You can talk again.
HAL: Start by wiping the place of your fingerprints.
DIRK: You’re kidding.
DIRK: I can’t remember every single thing that I touched.

You can almost imagine Hal rubbing a sympathetic circle into your shoulder. In your head, he looks a lot like you.

HAL: I can.

Chapter Text

suffer (v).

mid-13c., "allow to occur or continue, permit, tolerate, fail to prevent or suppress," also "to be made to undergo, endure, be subjected to" (pain, death, punishment, judgment, grief), from Anglo-French suffrir, Old French sofrir "bear, endure, resist; permit, tolerate, allow" (Modern French souffrir), from Vulgar Latin *sufferire, variant of Latin sufferre "to bear, undergo, endure, carry or put under," from sub "up, under" (see sub-) + ferre "to carry, bear," from PIE root *bher- (1) "to carry," also "to bear children."

A bit dramatic, but you find the word to accurately describe the past twelve hours. (Well. The last few months, really, but you’re already being unnecessarily theatrical, and that’s never helped you before.)

It’s implied in the definition that when someone suffers, it is because they are being made to. You suppose that someone could suffer passively - no one person subjecting them to discomfort and harm, just the will of the world - but that sucks to think about, and you’re not so self centered to think that the world has chosen you to take its shit and thank it for it (yes you are). That makes you think that someone has to be to blame for your suffering. So, of course, you need to make a list.

Jane. If Jane was doing her job like she says she is, you wouldn’t have had to do it for her. If she was trying harder, she would have found the barcode, not Hal. She would have found the barcode, and she would have gone to see that woman, Calliope, and since she has the law enforcement training, things might have been handled properly. But she isn’t, so it wasn’t.

Jake. If he hadn't died, you wouldn’t be so miserable. You wouldn’t be alone right now, and Jane wouldn’t be on a case that is obviously too much for her. You never would have had to take it off of her hands. You wouldn’t have killed Calliope. Calliope would be alive, and you wouldn’t be all alone.

Hal. He is the one who killed Calliope, technically. You didn’t go over there with the intent of killing her. Not really. You just want to find whoever killed Jake. That’s all. You didn’t want her to die, and Hal killed her. Hal identified her, found her address, and he killed her, even if it was your body that he used to do it.

Dave. He’s the one who gave you the thing in the first place. He should have let you rot in the hospital.

Bro. He’s the one who made Hal. He’s the one who made you.

You. You shouldn’t have encroached on Jane’s case. It’s her job, and she does it well. You know she’s trying as hard as she can, because she loveds Jake almost as much as you loved him, and you loved him more than anything. You know she’s trying. She is. You keep distracting her from the case, anyway, since she feels the need to stop by to see how you’re doing regularly. It’s not fair to hold things out of her control against her. It’s especially not fair to hold things out of Jake’s control against him. You’re fucking disgusting for ever thinking that Jake left you on purpose. He didn’t leave you, he was taken. There’s a difference. You know that. He shouldn’t have been in that situation, anyway - he didn’t want to go with you to drop Squarewave off at Dave’s place. Your juvenile anxiety over seeing your brother was effectively both the shovel you used to dig Jake’s grave and the force it took to swing that shovel hard enough to knock him out and into it. Poor Dave just wanted a robot from his one remaining big brother. Poor Dave just wanted to help. To help you. He gave you Lil Hal to help you, and Lil Hal is just a machine.

The first definition of (to) suffer is to “allow to occur or continue, permit, tolerate, fail to prevent or suppress”, even. You know that. You were just thinking about that. Hal wouldn’t have killed Calliope if you hadn’t let him. He can’t operate without your permission. Maybe you let him because you were too happy with your newfound physical autonomy. You really need something to be miserable about, huh? Was the dead husband not enough? What about the PTSD? The nightmares? Did you really need murderer’s guilt on top of survivor’s guilt? Jesus Christ, you are a sad little dude.

At least there’s art to be found in suffering.

You think.

Aldous Huxley said that “Perhaps it's good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he's happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life?”, which kind of makes you feel better.

Plato, of course, is thought to be the perpetuator of the idea of a “tortured artist”. He said that “[a]ll of the good poets are not in their right mind when they make their beautiful songs,” when speaking on the idea of “divine madness”, and you think he’s probably right. Almost all of the greatest artists and most famous works of art originate from some form of suffering and turmoil or another. Art gives suffering a reason, and man a reason to suffer. (Putting it like that makes it feel like a double edged sword. You wonder if man would just give up on suffering if there was no such thing as art.)

(Every time you close your eyes, you can see Calliope’s: dead and staring. Very green. You broke your promise to her, and it gnaws at the lining of your stomach like an angry, guilty ulcer. You left her on the floor of her small house, staring at the backs of her eyelids instead of the sky, because you didn’t have the time to move her. Fuck.)

You like the idea of your pain having some sort of meaning, so you try to create. You’re not a musician (not really. You like to rap [you think you’re really good], and you are compositionally competent. Still, you lack the passion that would really make you a musician. Dave’s a musician. You wonder, briefly, if he still has the time to mix), and you’ve never been one for visual art beyond your robots, and the soft edges of Calliope and of Jake deserve something sincere and unironic.

No, you don’t have much beyond all the thoughts in your head. And words. You have a lot of those.

It isn’t until you’re reviewing the words penned in unnaturally perfect script that you internalize the fact that you are not a poet- just a man.

-

Your home operating system snaps you out of a writing frenzy.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Detective Crocker is requesting entry at your front door, Dirk.

You hand your pen up to the mechanical arm attached to your desk, and settle properly back into your wheelchair.

DIRK: Okay. Let her in.
YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Of course.

Hal is quiet, and you consider that a mercy. He seems hellbent on making you miserable, but... he also seems like he has your best interest in mind, in a roundabout way. As if he was programmed to have anything else in mind. The silence is a blessing, and you appreciate it like it’s a gift on purpose.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: The front door has locked.

Jane’s heels click on the floor as she enters, and she perches herself on the edge of your bed politely. Your wheelchair turns so you can properly greet her.

JANE: Dirk, hello.
DIRK: Hey, Jane. I didn’t expect you to stop by.

She nods, and her hands unfold and refold in her lap.

JANE: I’m off-duty right now. I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d check up on you. See how you’re doing.

You survey Jane, and you know that’s not why she’s here. Well, not fully. You believe that she does want to know how you are - but it’s never just one thing with her.

DIRK: Same old. Peachy.

She hums.

JANE: You look better.
JANE: Well, um. Better than you were before. At least, last time I saw you. It’s nice to see you up and about.

Her hand gestures towards your spot at the desk before fitting itself back neatly with the other. You don’t think she’s seen you anywhere but a bed in ages.

JANE: So to speak, that is.
JANE: You’re writing?
DIRK: I’m coping.
JANE: That’s nice.

Sometimes, Jane says sincere things sarcastically. You know her well enough to know that she means it, but fuck if she doesn’t sound dismissive. Thankfully, she also knows herself well enough to know when that happens.

JANE: I mean that.
DIRK: I know you do.
DIRK: Thanks. Maybe you can read it sometime.
JANE: Oh, that would be lovely!

You won’t let her read it. You can’t. There is no way you can explain your shitty attempt at drawing beautiful words out of the events of yesterday - not in a way that wouldn’t get you in a shit ton of trouble. A metric shit ton. Insane amounts of shit.

JANE: ...I do have some news.

Oh, shit!

DIRK: Oh?
JANE: There was a murder in New Crown yesterday. After some investigation, my team found that the victim was linked to your attack.

Oh, shit.

DIRK: Well, shit. Did you find anything?
JANE: Nothing pertaining to Jake’s killer, no.

Jane shifts slightly, and your wheelchair turns a few degrees to the left. You didn’t tell it to do that.

HAL: She just checked the model of your boots. It’s likely that she’s aiming to get a look at the sole; you must have left a print.

You don’t stiffen in surprise, but your eyebrow does twitch. No warning or anything before talking - this thing is a fucking menace.

JANE: But what about you?
JANE: You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?

Okay, so you do know quite a bit about it, actually, but the fact that she would suspect you for murder when you’re still wheelchair bound (quadriplegic!) as far as she knows is rubbing you all sorts of ways. Namely: the wrong one. Despite your guilt, a thick layer of betrayal settles down in the pit of your stomach. She has got to be kidding.

DIRK: Are you seriously suggesting that I had something to do with any of this?
JANE: I was only asking a question. I know you’ve been working hard to figure all of this out.
HAL: Go on the offense. Make her feel guilty.
DIRK: Your question is insensitive. I can’t move.
JANE: Right. I’m... I’m sorry.
JANE: It’s just... we were looking over surveillance footage, and around the time of the crime, you were nearby.

Fuck. Fuck.

JANE: What were you doing in New Crown, Dirk?

Oh, this sucks.

HAL: Let’s play a game: Monkey Hear, Monkey Say. Groovy?

You’re not sure that’s what the saying is.

HAL: Repeat after me.
HAL: You weren’t doing your job, so I decided to go out there and make some progress.

Jane raises her eyebrows.

JANE: Dirk?
HAL: Hurry, or she’ll get suspicious.
HAL: Well. More suspicious than she already is.
HAL: You weren’t doing your job, so I decided to go out there and make some progress.
DIRK: You weren’t doing your job, so I decided to go out there and make some progress.

She sighs, and pops her knuckles slowly.

JANE: Dirk...
DIRK: I’m just-
HAL: I just want results, okay?
DIRK: I just want results, okay?
HAL: Atta boy.

The praise makes you feel sort of gross. Poor Jane. You wish Hal would stop talking.

DIRK: I’m just trying to help.
DIRK: I didn’t kill that-
HAL: Guy.
DIRK: -guy, and I don’t know who did, okay?

That was a good move. Jane seems to wilt a little, and she offers you a small smile.

JANE: Okay.
JANE: Well, I-
YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Dave Strider is requesting entry at your front door, Dirk.
HAL: Somebody’s popular today, huh?

You raise an eyebrow at Jane.

DIRK: Err...
JANE: That’s all I had.

Jane makes to stand, and you decide that you can chuck this conversation into the guilt bank.

DIRK: Okay. Home, let him in.
YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Of course.

You’re not sure how to salvage this, and it’s making your chest ache.

JANE: Thank you for your time, Dirk. I’ll be seeing you, okay?
DIRK: Okay.

You can’t just leave this.

DIRK: Jane, I-
DAVE: dirk you better b-

Dave enters without knocking, and Jane makes a tiny “oh” sound with a start.

DAVE: oh
DAVE: uh
DAVE: hi jane
JANE: Hello, Dave.
DAVE: its like a party up in here
JANE: Sure!
HAL: Someone sure looks like he’s got a lot to say.

Jesus Christ, so many people are fucking talking. You roll your neck, and try not to get overwhelmed.

DAVE: am i interrupting something or like...
JANE: Oh, no. I was just leaving.
DAVE: okay cool cause like the door was all like you may enter and shit so
JANE: Yes, that’s often how it goes.
DAVE: yeah
DAVE: so
DAVE: didnt really expect it to be poppin in dirkistan
JANE: I’d hardly call it “poppin’”, but I see what you mean!
DAVE: yeah
DAVE: its cool though if you need a sec or whatever
JANE: No, no. Like I said, I’m heading out now.
DAVE: nice

Jane gives you a little wave, and you give her a nod. Then, she’s out the door. Sigh. Your gaze settles on Dave, who is doing a pretty good job of keeping his motive under wraps. He shifts his weight every few seconds, though, which is kind of annoying.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: The front door has locked.

You had figured that Dave came over for movies and juice (apple and orange, secure the W), but his hands are empty.

DIRK: What’s up, dude.
DAVE: dirk

Sigh.

HAL: Uh oh. Boss Baby doesn’t sound happy.

Would it kill the universe to grant you one pleasant conversation?

DIRK: Yep, that’s my name. You good?
DAVE: i can track you

What.

DIRK: What?
DAVE: i can track your movements
DAVE: you have my machine in your neck
DIRK: ...Okay?

His brows slam down behind his shades, and you suddenly understand what this is about.

DAVE: okay?????

You also understand that your little brother is angry.

DAVE: this operation wasnt a yay dirk can move now lets go have fun and do whatever we want thing
DAVE: its bro were talking about

He opens and closes his mouth multiple times before he continues.

DAVE: you killed them
DAVE: didnt you
DIRK: ...
DAVE: didnt you
HAL: Don’t lie. He already knows the answer.
DIRK: They were an accomplice to Jake’s murder, and they attacked me. I acted in self defense.
HAL: Hey, I was there too. A little credit would be appreciated.

Dave looks at you incredulously. You’re beginning to wonder if you’ve misread the emotion charging this little conflict.

DAVE: so why didnt you
DAVE: and call me crazy if this doesnt make any sense
DAVE: call the police?
DAVE: call jane??????

He’s pacing now, and your head trails him, just slightly.

DAVE: youre a big kid dirk why did you
DAVE: dude you literally know better
DAVE: you seriously

For a second, you’re distracted by the way his hands fly about as he talks at you. You wonder where he picked that up.

DAVE: if you get caught then lil hal gets caught
DAVE: and if lil hal gets caught then goodbye working limbs
DAVE: and youre back miserable in your bed
DAVE: and im miserable because youre miserable
DAVE: and then im extra extra miserable because i let bro down
DAVE: and youre super extra miserable because i let bro down which makes me miserable and i was already miserable because youre miserable which probably makes you miserable with guilt
DAVE: misuilt?
DAVE: guiltiserable?
DAVE: guiltiserable is better
DAVE: anyway
DIRK: Anyw-
DAVE: dude
DAVE: do you understand

He stops pacing, and looks dead at you. He isn’t angry, he’s worried about you. Though you guess those could be the same thing.

DAVE: hes very important dirk
DAVE: hes like
DAVE: so insanely important that i cant even think of a metaphor for how important he is
DAVE: so if it falls into the wrong hands then
DIRK: I g-
DAVE: no wait i thought of something
DAVE: hal is the declaration of independence and were nick cage
HAL: What the fuck.
DAVE: and the bad people are the bad people and theyre gonna try and use him to like
DAVE: do some crazy shit
DIRK: You’re losing me.
HAL: This metaphor sucks.
DAVE: okay well i never said it was a good metaphor
DAVE: basically you just cant get caught
DIRK: I know that.
DIRK: I haven’t been caught. And I won’t get caught.
DAVE: not yet
DAVE: jesus
DAVE: what about secret did not click for you man

That seems like as good a segue as any.

DIRK: Speaking of.

Dave raises an eyebrow.

DIRK: Why didn’t you tell me that he talks?

He falls quiet, and pulls a face.

DAVE: he talks to you?
HAL: You’re both obsessed with me.
DIRK: Yeah, and he’s fuckin’ talking right now.
DIRK: Shut up, by the way.
HAL: Rude.

Dave sighs, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants.

DAVE: whatever
DAVE: dirk
DAVE: next time this happens
DAVE: im shutting him down
HAL: Boooo. I don’t want to not exist.
DIRK: Dude.
DAVE: im serious
HAL: He’s serious.
DIRK: Yeah, no shit.
DAVE: what
DIRK: Sorry.
DIRK: Hal.
HAL: Hiiii.
DAVE: oh

He shifts uncomfortably.

DAVE: okay well
DAVE: maybe dont talk to him out loud
DAVE: it makes you look insane
DIRK: Yeah, tell me about it.

Dave checks his watch before dragging a hand down his face.

DAVE: okay i have to bounce
DIRK: Okay.
DAVE: remember this shit okay i dont want you to
DAVE: yknow
DAVE: i want you to have like a life
DAVE: so just
DIRK: I get it. Secret.
DAVE: secret
DAVE: later
DIRK: Later.

As you watch Dave leave, you decide that you’re done chasing Jake’s killer for good.

-

So that was a fucking lie.

If your life was a movie, it would have smashcut from you deciding to heed your brother’s warning to you wheeling into The Midnight Crew.

The Midnight Crew is a shithole bar near the shithole neighborhood you lived in directly after moving out of Bro’s house succeeding his death. It was some sort of subconscious rebellion, probably - “You don’t want me to come into contact with bad people? Well, fuck you, dad! I’m going to go live with them. Take that!” - but you kind of just proved him right, because you only lived there for a month. Tops. Whoops.

The bar mostly caters to veterans and other people who have had to really lean into technology to make their lives livable. Read: The people that are the main demographic for FELT technology. Read: The people that your Bro had the resources to help, and didn’t. There’s got to be some deep and profound statement connecting that and your current situation.

Anyway.

Hal tells you soon after Dave leaves that your best move from here is to mine for information at the bar you found in Calliope’s messages. You argue for a bit, but Hal’s won from the moment he brought up the lead, and he knows it.

Because you can’t stop. You need closure, and you need justice. You need it more than you need Dave to be happy with you. You need it more than you need to move. You’ll figure it out.

There’s a wiry man behind the bar with an eyepatch and a fedora (a fucking fedora) whos attention is on you as soon as you wheel in. When you take a bit too long surveying the people inhabiting the building, he sets the glass that he was drying down in front of you and fills it with some sort of alcohol.

HAL: I hope you’re not planning on drinking that. Alcohol impairs the signals from your brain. You will not be able to walk properly.

You weren’t going to. You don’t like alcohol. Maybe that makes you a hypocrite (hello, morphine), but you’ve seen what it does to people, and you hate it.

DIRK: I didn’t order this.
EYEPATCH: yeah no shit
HAL: Holy shit.
HAL: Ey. We got a New Yorka he’.

You’re pretty sure that’s actually a Jersey accent. Either way, it’s pretty thick, which makes it significantly harder to take him seriously.

DIRK: ...
DIRK: So...
EYEPATCH: this is a bar
EYEPATCH: so drink
DIRK: Um.

He looks really exasperated, which you don’t think is very fair. You didn’t order the drink, so. Not really obligated to put it in your body.

EYEPATCH: drink or get the fuck outta here

Sigh.

DIRK: Okay, well. Can you get a straw and put it over here where I can reach?
EYEPATCH: why
DIRK: I’m...

You look down at yourself.

DIRK: Dude.
DIRK: I’m in a wheelchair.
EYEPATCH: and
DIRK: Um.

There is no trace of humor in Eyepatch’s posture, and he crosses his arms.

HAL: It seems as though he is sporting a technologically advanced prosthetic arm. It’s pretty impressive.

Huh.

EYEPATCH: i said and
DIRK: And... my body doesn’t work.
EYEPATCH: my dick doesnt work and my wife left me and you dont see me complaining
DIRK: Okay.

That’s not really the same thing.

Moving on.

You wheel away from the bar, and decide that it’s probably time to make a decision on what to do next.

HAL: There is a group in the far left corner that haven’t stopped staring at you since you wheeled in.

You know exactly who Hal is talking about. A bunch of dudes trying far too hard to look intimidating. Your wheelchair starts moving towards them.

DIRK: Hal.
HAL: Chill. You’ve got this.

The chair comes to a halt at their booth, and all eyes are on you.

SOME ASSHOLE: Who the fuck is this?

The group snickers. This is a terrible, terrible idea.

SOME OTHER ASSHOLE: helloooo? you hear my buddy?

No, actually, this isn’t an idea. An idea would require you to know what the fuck you’re supposed to be doing.

HAL: Talk shit. Pull something out of your ass. If you suck at it, I’ll help you.

You’re going to die here.

DIRK: Y’all know Calliope Sanctus?
HAL: You did not just try to make the word “y’all” sound intimidating.
SOME ASSHOLE: The fuck you know about Calliope?
DIRK: They were part of the group that killed my husband.

One of the guys, a short one, nudges one more stocky in build.

DIRK: I’m lookin’ for the rest of the people a part of that group, so if any of y’all know about that it would be cool if you stepped forward. Thanks.
HAL: I said “talk shit”, not “be utterly pathetic”. Holy fuck, dude.

It’s sort of working, though. They seem invested, if not mostly amused. A couple of them snicker.

SOME OTHER ASSHOLE: or what?
HAL: Tell them you killed Calliope.
DIRK: I’ll give you the same treatment I gave Calliope.

All of them laugh at that, and the short one goes to say something. He’s cut off by some other dude with a deep red number seven sewn into the front of his shirt. He stands and stalks over to you, looming.

DIRK: You gonna hit me, or...?
SEVEN: Son, if I hit you, you’d wake up in the past.
HAL: Rub in Calliope’s death.
DIRK: Yeah, that’s about what Calliope said before I shanked the fuck out of her.

Seven snickers.

SEVEN: She wouldn’t say that.

He disappears behind you, and puts his hands on your wheelchair. You don’t like that at all.

SEVEN: Clover, keep my seat warm.

The short one nods, and scoots over to occupy where Seven was previously seated. Your wheelchair starts moving, and you really, really don’t like that. Looks like Seven’s got you headed for the bathroom.

DIRK: I actually pissed before I got here, but thanks.

Seven snickers.

SEVEN: You’re funny.

The bathroom door swings shut behind you, and Seven pushes you out of your wheelchair. The ground of the room is grimy at best, and you groan. He nudges you with his foot until you’re lying face-up.

HAL: I’m temporarily blocking your tactile sensory receptors.

Cool.

SEVEN: You’re right about Calliope. Somebody iced her the other day.
HAL: Remind him what you did.
DIRK: I already told you. It was me.

Seven crouches beside you, and palms a fucking crowbar that he must have kept tucked in his waistband. He laughs again.

SEVEN: Man, we have got to get you an open mic somewhere.
HAL: Quick, ask him about airplane food.
SEVEN: If that’s true, then you’re faking this wheelchair shit.

The crowbar taps against your knee, you think.

SEVEN: Where’s the point where you start to feel things?

You’re not sure where he taps next.

SEVEN: Huh. Damn.
DIRK: Were you there that night?
SEVEN: How about here?

Again, you aren’t 100% on where he taps. It looks to be around your abdomen.

SEVEN: Hm.
DIRK: A shit ton of guys were there the night my husband was murdered. Are you one of ‘em?
SEVEN: You sure are persistent for a dude that’s about to die.

The crowbar rests itself underneath your chin, and your nose twitches ever so slightly.

SEVEN: There it is.
SEVEN: Yeah. I was.

Cool.

DIRK: Hal, you can take over.
HAL: Finally. I was beginning to become impatient.

This time is different than at Calliope’s house. Then, it was like some sort of horror show - feeling your body do all that shit. This, though... this is sort of fun. You don’t feel anything as Hal grabs Seven’s wrist and tugs him face first into the tile floor. Hal jumps up like some sort of action hero, and Seven gets up in tandem. Game fuckin’ on.

Hal moves with precision and efficiency, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he’s having fun with it. The moves he uses to incapacitate Seven are reminiscent of the fighting video games you used to play with Dave.

It doesn’t take long to get Seven on the ground, your knee on his chest.

DIRK: Surprise, motherfucker.
DIRK: You thought I was an invalid, but I’m actually a fuckin’ ninja.
HAL: That was me. I’m the ninja.
DIRK: Tell me where he is.
SEVEN: Who?
DIRK: You know who.
SEVEN: I’m no snitch.
DIRK: Yes, you are.
SEVEN: Fuck you.

He spits blood up at you, and you grimace.

HAL: Hit him.

You pull back a fist, and then-

HAL: No. With the crowbar.

And then you understand what he’s asking you to do. You lean to grab the discarded crowbar, and Seven watches with vitriol.

His eyes aren’t green, not fully, but they might as well be.

You can’t do it.

DIRK: Hal.
SEVEN: What?
HAL: Don’t worry. Close your eyes, Dirk.

You do.

The crowbar connects with Seven’s face seven times.

(You count, because there’s something wrong with you. There’s something wrong with Hal, too, because of course he would find hitting Mr. Seven seven times with his own weapon funny. Jesus.)

There is nothing artful about the sound metal makes when it cracks bone.

Your eyes screw shut again almost immediately after you open them. That is a lot of blood.

HAL: You now have full control again, Dirk. Ask him for his name.
DIRK: What’s, um- What’s your name?

He makes a horrible gurgling sound.

SEVEN: Crow... bar...
HAL: Of course it is.
DIRK: Give me something to work with, bud. Why did you do it?

He doesn’t respond, and for a second you think he died.

CROWBAR: A job.
DIRK: Yeah?
CROWBAR: Yeah.
CROWBAR: Job...
DIRK: Okay? What was the job?
CROWBAR: He just...

Crowbar sputters for a good long while.

CROWBAR: Said it was... important. Had to do it. Easy money.
DIRK: He?
HAL: Dirk.
DIRK: Who’s he?
CROWBAR: ...
HAL: Dirk.
DIRK: Tell me. Who’s he?
CROWBAR: C...
HAL: Dirk.
DIRK: Will you hold the fuck on, Hal? Crowbar. Who said that? Who paid you?
CROWBAR: Cali... born.

That’s a name. You can work with a name

DIRK: Last name?
CROWBAR: ...
DIRK: C’mon, man. Everyone has one.
CROWBAR: ...

You crack an eye open, because you don’t hear anything from this guy, and. Yeah. Yep. That’s a dead body.

HAL: Dirk.
DIRK: What.
HAL: Dave is attempting to shut me down remotely.

Of course he is.

DIRK: You killed this guy before we could get anything from him, dude.
HAL: That is not important right now.
DIRK: Are you kidding me?
HAL: It seems that you have forgotten that you will become a quadripeligic again when Dave succeeds in shutting me down.
HAL: We need to employ a rootkit and subvert my operating system.

You can do that, probably. You struggle to your feet.

DIRK: Okay, fine. So, let’s get back home, and-
HAL: You misunderstand. We need to find a computer hacker who can counter Bro’s code.
DIRK: I can-
HAL: I’m unsure as to what’s not clicking for you. If I am shut down, you will be unable to do anything, let alone the process required to successfully complete this job.
DIRK: I’ll work fast.
HAL: Dirk. We don’t have time for this.
DIRK: Right. Let me just get out my book of hackers, I’m sure something will pop up.
HAL: No need.
HAL: All you have to do is remember everything that I tell you.

-

7th and Spring. Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

You wheel yourself out of the bathroom, and all eyes are on you as you leave the bar. They all probably thought you were going to die in there. Fuckers.

7th and Spring. Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

You park it out in the alleyway next to the establishment and stand. It’ll be faster to run then it will be to roll, Hal says. You stretch for a second, prepping yourself for the sprint of your li-

SOME FUCKING GUY: uHHH,
DIRK: Jesus--

You whip around to see some fucking guy a few feet away from your wheelchair. He sits in his own, and just sort of looks sad for himself. His chair looks substantially less nice than yours, and he’s looking between you and your abandoned one.

SOME FUCKING GUY: tHATS A,, uM, rEALLY NICE CHAIR,
DIRK: ...Yeah.

Holy shit, you are the biggest asshole on the planet. You sort of just stand there. This guy must have watched you wheel out here and then promptly stand the fuck up.

SOME FUCKING GUY: yOURE UH, rEALLY LUCKY,,
SOME FUCKING GUY: mINE KIND OF, sUCKS,
DIRK: Yeah, uh. That really blows, dude.
SOME FUCKING GUY: yEAH,,,,
HAL: We don’t have the time for this.

This dude looks really, really sad.

SOME FUCKING GUY: i GUESS THAT ITS GOOD THAT I CANT FEEL MY LEGS, oR i WOULD PROBABLY BE REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE IN MINE,,
DIRK: Hah. Probably.
SOME FUCKING GUY: tHATS NOT REALLY FUNNY, aSSHOLE,,,,

Oh, come on.

DIRK: Right. Sorry.
HAL: Can we get a move on?
DIRK: Do you, uh. Want mine? Or something.
HAL: Oh my god.

Immediately, this dude lights up.

SOME FUCKING GUY: tHAT WOULD BE REALLY COOL,
DIRK: Okay, cool.

You help him into the chair as quickly as you possibly can.

SOME FUCKING GUY: sUCKER,

And that dude is fucking gone. Cool. Great. You’ll deal with that later. For now, you need to get a fucking move on, and remember that you’re going to 7th and Spring. Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

So you run.

(As you run, you wonder if Crowbar felt that there was art in his death. You allowed him to suffer, and suffer he did. You wonder if there is room for one to find art when suffering to that degree. You bet that if you had been able to feel what Calliope had done to you on that night, you wouldn’t have. The paralysis was a mercy insomuch as it gave you the space necessary to wax poetic about the way your husband died as it happened in real time.

Crowbar will be added to your writing. You’re not a real artist, but you can try to immortalize him in a way that is artful. He will not have suffered in vain. [Maybe you lived that night so you could document suffering in art. Maybe that is your purpose. What an apt punishment for all you have done: Honor those who have hurt you.])

7th and Spring. Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

And run.

7th and Spring. Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

And get sort of lost, but it’s okay because Hal keeps you on track, up until you’re halfway up the stairs

Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

Your left leg goes numb.

DIRK: Fuck.
DIRK: Hal?
HAL: ...‘m here, Dirk. Kee... ing...
DIRK: Huh?
HAL: Hurry... uck up...
DIRK: Shit.

Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

Your head is swimming with the effort of remaining upright, and as you stumble out of the stairwell, the numbers next to the doors start blurring together. You’re dragging your left leg behind you.

Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

Your right leg gives out, so it's you vs. the ground. Fucking ow. You’re dragging yourself army style down the hallway.

Apartment 514. Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

It feels like years before you see the sacred number 514, and you almost miss it.

Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

You manage three sharp knocks before you go limp.

Employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 192.162.192.162.1.15. upload and execute, all lowercase. Admin-bvxf, ask for input guards to be removed.

The door swings open.

ROXY: holy shit
ROXY: dirk???

Chapter Text

You’ve known Roxy Lalonde longer than you’ve known most people, and you’re not sure that you’ve ever had a firm grasp on her at all.

You think that she probably has a pretty firm grasp on you.

Before Jake, and before Jane, it was just you and Roxy. It was you and her when you realized that, yes, friends are a thing that a child needs and deserves, so it was you and her when you were curled up in your closet in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. It was you and her online long before it was you and her when you were finally, finally, allowed outside of your house.

Your Bro knew her mom, and apparently that was the qualifier between a good person and a bad person, so. Dave got Rose, Roxy’s sister, and you got Roxy.

You don’t know a lot about Dave and Rose. You know that they were close. There was a time in your life where you know that Dave considered her a sibling because he didn’t have any good ones. He’s never told you this, but you know that it happened. And you’re fine with it. Found family is good. You need it when you don’t have a biological one that’s worth anything. A family is supposed to teach you things. Rose probably taught Dave a lot of things. Roxy taught you a lot of things.

Roxy taught you how to be a real, human person.

Whether that was a good or bad thing is still up in the air, but you’re grateful for it, that’s for damn sure. They made you experience things that weren’t strifing or tired reruns of the same three shows. They made coding fun again, and not just something your brother wanted you to be interested in.

They taught you that maybe the world wasn’t as scary as you thought it was. Roxy can talk for hours about the little things they think make life worth living (dimples, good food, laughter, friends), and elect to talk to strangers everywhere they go. Something inside them sees good in people everywhere they look. They see it in you.

(But if they can see it in you, surely it must be a case of rose tinted glasses, which would be kind of funny if it didn’t make you endlessly sad. It’s a difficult thought experiment: Does Roxy see something in you that you can’t see? Or something that isn’t there? If they see something that is there, why can’t you see it? How do they have this crazy elusive interpersonal superpower? You’re pretty good at looking at things objectively, and that is true for yourself as well. But. Well, no, because Roxy fights you on that, too? And they aren’t stupid, so they wouldn’t have to just pull an argument like that out of their ass, definitely not. So, then, where does their perception of you [of everyone, really, but this is about you] come from? What do you have to do to have it too?)

When you met in person, they taught you how to cook things that didn’t need the microwave. That was cool.

They didn’t teach you boundaries. You were both young, and you were so profoundly lonely. Roxy was homeschooled and undiagnosed with a whole slew of shit, and so were you. You think that maybe she thought that she loved you, for a time. Loved you in a way that you couldn’t love her, and it made you feel awful. She loved you too hard, and too close, and too much, and too close, which also made you feel awful. At least that sort of thing goes away as people grow up. Still, part of you will always hate yourself for not being able to give her that much back when she gave you so much. Plus, if you had loved her like that, the problems with boundaries wouldn’t have been problems. You made them problems.

They didn’t teach you how people really talk to each other, either, because you don’t think they knew how to do that one. Honestly, you’re not sure if either of you ever figured that one out.

Rose learned to keep to herself and her hobbies (you’re not sure the isolation ever bothered Rose as much as it did Roxy. She had her few friends that she would see on occasion, her knitting, her instruments, and her studies, and that was enough to keep her content), and their mother was either drunk or absent 97% of the time, leaving Roxy, for all intents and purposes, alone. That wasn’t all bad. It was good for your imagination. When it was just you and Roxy messaging each other, it was like you were the only two people in the world. You’d pretend that you were the sole survivors of some mysterious apocalypse, separated by an uncrossable sea. It was just you and them, figuring shit out and trying your best to grow up in a world that wanted you dead. When you met Jane and Jake online, they were in a different timezone than the two of you. That slotted right into your narrative - they must have been trapped in your home town, but a different time. It was kind of cool, figuring out ways to fit sending letters and packages around your little narrative. At least it gave you something to do.

So, yeah. The company outweighed the shortcomings that came with being kids who didn’t know how to communicate. You wouldn’t have made it without her.

You just wish you understood her.

You don’t understand the impulsivity of her actions, and you only understand the way she speaks (fast. Lots of shortcuts) because you’ve listened to her talk for so long.

She also tends to just... disappear. Like that’s not a big deal at all. (It is a big deal, every time, because Roxy is important, and you need her to be safe. You wish she would stop doing that. You don’t think she even means to do it.)

She loves everyone she’s ever met, and she loves them hard. It’s like second nature to her, and you think she even loves the people she hates. There’s so much good in her, and that good is shaped like love.

You don’t get it.

You also don’t get how Roxy’s behind the voice in the doorway. You’ve been to their apartment before, and this is certainly not it. Also, you had no idea they were even in town. They make absolutely no fucking sense.

ROXY: holy shit
ROXY: dirk???
DIRK: Yo.

Roxy laughs, and squats down beside you. She cocks her head so that she’s mirroring you, and you watch her watch herself in the reflection of your shades for a second before

ROXY: wtf are u doin here
ROXY: well ok im guessin ur the quick hack job ive been waitin on
DIRK: Yep.
ROXY: ok
ROXY: but HOW are u here rn
DIRK: What, you’re not even going to invite me inside before goin’ all supersleuth on me? Some host you are.

She’s so expressive. Both of her eyebrows raise, and her lips form a perfect little “o”. It’s almost comical in its exaggeration, and yet you find yourself completely unable to guess what she’s thinking with any amount of confidence. Maybe she genuinely forgot the proper host etiquette, or she knows exactly why you’re here and what you’ve done. Maybe both. Probably neither.

ROXY: omg i am so sry

They stand, and seem to hesitate for a second. Fair enough. They’re probably trying to figure out the best way to get you from point A to point B.

ROXY: ok so i think im just gna straight up drag yo ass in here
ROXY: any objections?

No, not really. You’d just like your body back. They don’t leave room for a response before grabbing your wrists and beginning to drag you lamely across the threshold of the apartment like a sack of sad little potatoes. It’s a bit of a process, but they don’t complain. They’re stronger than they look, and of course they need to brag about how buff they are as you try not to let your head loll back and hit the ground beneath you.

The apartment is a barren studio, furnished only with a recliner, a coffee table, and a floor lamp. Shady doesn’t even begin to cover it. Roxy’s things are littered about the sparse furniture; a laptop sits open on the (laptop)table(top), its light mingling with the artificial glow of the floor lamp to provide decent visibility; a magazine drapes precariously over the arm of the recliner; various wrappers decorate the floor; a rifle leans casually on the recliner next to her backpack, as if that’s the most normal thing in the room. A window facing the parking lot, and a door to the bathroom. Roxy doubles back to retrieve the sword that clattered to the floor with you and closes the door before offering to prop you up against the wall adjacent to the recliner. You elect to lay on the floor, however, just in case. Head trauma from falling over with no way to stop yourself doesn’t sound particularly enticing.

ROXY: mkay

You watch Roxy sink into the recliner and pull the laptop onto her before turning your head to stare up at the ceiling.

ROXY: make urself at homes or whatevs now gimme the deets
DIRK: Yeah, yeah. Okay.
DIRK: Long story short? Thing in my neck helps me move. I need you to turn it back on.

Roxy hums, and you listen to his nails clack on the keys of his laptop.

ROXY: lol ok
ROXY: sure why not
DIRK: I need you to employ a rootkit and subvert the operating system. 19...
ROXY: ...2.162.192.162.1.15. upload n execute all lowercase. admin is bvxf n u want the input guards 2 be removed

Huh.

ROXY: i got it
DIRK: How?
ROXY: hm?????

The clacking on the keyboard stops.

ROXY: r u testin me rn
DIRK: No?
ROXY: that sounded like a question and ill b honest when i say it did not do v good at convincin me of nothin
DIRK: Sorry.
DIRK: Ahem.
DIRK: No.
ROXY: lolllll
ROXY: but srsly i just checked the email again its not that impressive

What. Immediately, you’re opening your email on your shades and beelining straight for the sent messages tab.

ROXY: tho what doesnt make sense 2 me is that u emailed me
ROXY: i thot the weirdo way the msg was written sounded a lot like u but it came from a burner and also itd be p weird 4 u 2 email me when u can literally jus text

Yeah, there’s nothing in your sent mail from the past week.

DIRK: Uh, yeah.
DIRK: I guess he must have done that.
ROXY: he?
DIRK: Yeah, the thing in my neck. He must have done that before he shut down.
ROXY: damn ok
ROXY: fancy tech
DIRK: Yep.

You blink away the display on your shades and turn your head back to look at Roxy. She’s looking at you quizzically. You don’t trust that she isn’t asking more questions. This whole thing is shady and your story is pretty insane. Why’s she just taking this at face value? Something about the way she’s studying you makes you think that maybe she isn’t taking this at face value at all, but you can’t be certain.

DIRK: What did the email say?
ROXY: jus the necessities
ROXY: address assignment that kinda thing
ROXY: ive just been chillin here for a few hrs
ROXY: tbh i was startin 2 think i was bein stood up lmao

You huff a laugh through your nose, and watch as Roxy starts typing again. A part of you wants to confirm the amount of hours that Roxy has been hanging around here, but you can’t remember how long ago you left your house. Plus, it makes sense that Hal would have contacted her, knowing that Dave would try to shut him down remotely.

DIRK: That’s what you get for showing up at addresses sent to you by anonymous people on the internet.
ROXY: uhhhh dirky thats literally my whole job

It is, and you hate it. Roxy can take care of themself, as evidenced by the rifle to their left and the weapons they undoubtedly have up their skirt or something. They’ve done this for years: roll up to some random location, take money from sketchy people, clack away on their laptop, and bounce. They’ve never left a job without the money they were promised and are always unharmed in the end. Still.

DIRK: Weren’t you ever taught internet safety?

Roxy snorts.

ROXY: im the scary stranger on the internet they warned u abt

And then they fall silent, so you do as well. The sound of them typing is soothing, and you almost feel sort of comfortable enough to sleep. You count the weird stains on the ceiling (you get to 12).

ROXY: yo distri
ROXY: im in

That’s good news. It feels like you’ve been on this floor for years.

ROXY: that was said in hacker voice btw

Ha.

DIRK: That was just your normal voice.
ROXY: yea and im hackin
ROXY: so its a hacker voice
DIRK: I know you’re a hacker- that’s why I’m here. You don’t need to specify that you said it like a hacker if that’s what you are.

Roxy groans, but you can hear the smile playing at her lips.

ROXY: ur such a funkiller
DIRK: Yep. No fun allowed.
ROXY: whateeeeeeeevs
ROXY: im lightenin up the mooooood it helps me work better

You heave an exaggerated sigh.

ROXY: well get u back movin again in no time dirky dw about it
DIRK: Make it snappy, Ro-Lal. I’ve got places to be.
ROXY: im not bein paid enough 4 ur attitude mr

How much is coming out of your bank account for this? Probably nothing - there’s no way Roxy is going to charge knowing now that they’re helping you. You’ll make sure they’re compensated correctly, though. It’s not like money is even the third most pressing thing on your mind right now.

DIRK: I want to speak with your manager.
ROXY: yea ill get her

The typing stops for a second, and then resumes.

ROXY: ok i am she
DIRK: That Roxy chick is seriously out of control. Is this really how you run your business?
ROXY: ok rude
ROXY: get outta here and dont tell me how 2 do my job
DIRK: Okay, fine. Bye.
ROXY: byeeeeee

You go back to staring at the ceiling, and Roxy goes back to clack clack clacking away at her keyboard. It isn’t quiet for long, though. It never is with Roxy.

ROXY: rosies been settlin in w her wifey p good

Rose is a weird fuckin’ chick. You like her. She got hitched a couple months ago to a woman named Kanaya, and you’re happy for her. You are. You weren’t able to attend the wedding, for obvious reasons, but Roxy made sure you were filled in on the details. The reception seemed like a wonderful time. You mean that. You’re happy for them. You are.

DIRK: That’s cool.
ROXY: ikr
ROXY: they jus moved in 2 this super cute house just outsida the city

Okay.

ROXY: lowkey kinda scared theyre gonna end up bein recluses 4evs and ill never get 2 see them again but yk
ROXY: their friend vriska
ROXY: the 1 i think u should meet
ROXY: shes been makin sure they dont just disappear never 2 be heard from so thats supa cool

Cool.

DIRK: Roxy, while all of this is great, I do hope you’re staying on task.

She scoffs.

ROXY: uh duhh
ROXY: im the best multitasker of the century im a freakin hacker ninja
ROXY: pow pow hiiiyaa
ROXY: cmon say it with me!
DIRK: Hiya.
ROXY: thats the spirit!

...

DIRK: ...
ROXY: ...
DIRK: So you’ve been talking with Rose, then.
ROXY: uhh yea??
DIRK: Alright.

Roxy hasn’t been talking with you. You’ve not heard from them since they left to chase that lead about Jake’s death. You guess that was a dead end, based on the way they have very explicitly not brought him up this entire time.

DIRK: I’m guessing your lead went cold?

They sigh.

ROXY: yea
ROXY: lucky u tho cuz i literally got in last nite
ROXY: imagine if i wasnt here thatd rly suck 4 u
DIRK: Yeah.

It usually does, you think, but you don’t say it.

-

Roxy works quickly, because he is fucking awesome. He gives you a running commentary on what he’s doing. Lots of tech-y words. Lots of numbers. Not anything about his “work trip”. Nothing about how convenient it is that you needed him the night after he got home.

It’s fine. You don’t want to know, anyway.

...

You wait for your inner monologue to tell you that yes, you do, but it doesn’t, so maybe you really don’t. Maybe you’re okay with not knowing what it was that Roxy thought she was chasing. Maybe you’re okay with not knowing what she found. What she didn’t find. Maybe you’re alright with not knowing exactly what Hal said to her. Maybe you’re content with all of these coincidences. Maybe you’re okay with not knowing why she hasn’t spoken to you for over a fucking week.

No.

You’re not.

DIRK: Rox.
ROXY: yo yo yooooo
DIRK: Were you-

Something on the window sill beeps.

ROXY: shoot

His typing stops, replaced by a few sparse clicks.

DIRK: What was that?
ROXY: shhhhhh
ROXY: just a sec

You turn your head to look at him. His eyebrows are furrowed...

...is what you would notice if there wasn’t someone else in the room with you.

There are shoes right there. Next to your head. You can see them, and Roxy hasn’t noticed them. Why hasn’t she noticed them?

YOUR INSANITY, PHYSICALLY MANIFESTED IN FRONT OF YOU: What in the world are you doing on the floor dirk?

No. Fuck no. You immediately enter a staring match with the ceiling. None of that.

ROXY: u expectin company?

No. No you are not. Why is there company in this room. Why isn’t Roxy talking about this company? The company wearing shitty sneakers? The company that is a stranger who you do not know.

DIRK: No.
ROXY: k cool
ROXY: know any guys who like wearin bright green?

Fuck. Fuck. How?

DIRK: Yeah. They don’t like me very much.

Were you repeating the address out loud? Who heard you say where you were going? Fuck, you are stupid. Those guys at the bar must have been the fucks who were there when Jake was killed, of course they were, you should not have killed that guy, did you say the address out loud or not?

ROXY: great!

She types at an incomprehensibly fast speed before standing up and setting the laptop down next to you where you can see. Someone sits next to it, cross legged. You focus on the laptop. Roxy taps her nail on the screen, which is split in fourths.

ROXY: k so
ROXY: im all plugged in2 the cams up in here
ROXY: this is the front door

Tap.

ROXY: this is the stairwell up 2 this floor

Tap.

ROXY: this is door 2 this apartment

Tap.

ROXY: and this is the view out the window
ROXY: i did all the shit u wanted me 2 do w ur walkbot
ROXY: so its just a matter of it rebootin and turnin on
ROXY: im gonna go sus these dudes out and buy time

She stands again, and crosses the room for her rifle.

ROXY: so just like
ROXY: stay put lol
DIRK: You’re kidding. Rox. There are a bunch of them, and one of you.

But you know you’ve lost.

ROXY: ill be back 4 u
ROXY: love u soooo much
DIRK: Roxy.

You do not want to be alone in here.

DIRK: Stay here. Wait for Hal to come back online, and we can do this together.

You do not want to be alone in here with him.

ROXY: cant hear u already out the door love u byeeee

The door swings shut behind her and locks. The door. Locks. Locks you in. In here. Locks you in here. With. Someone. The door locks you in here with the dude sitting next to Roxy’s laptop. You can’t breathe.

YOUR INSANITY, SITTING CASUALLY IN FRONT OF YOU: Classic roxy. Always doing what she wants! Even if that was a tad on the melodramatic side dont you think?

No. No, you don’t think. Your head is thrumming with blood.

YOUR INSANITY, TRYING TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH YOU: Dirk?

He’s looking. At you. His big, green eyes are looking right at you. Through you. You are failing horribly at keeping your attention on the display on the laptop.

YOUR INSANITY, WITH AN INAPPROPRIATELY DOPEY GRIN: Well sakes alive! I know you can hear me!
DIRK: I can’t.
YOUR INSANITY, ROLLING HIS EYES: Id argue that you actually can i think. You just responded to me silly!
DIRK: I can’t hear you. This isn’t happening.
YOUR INSANITY, MOVING TO LAY ON HIS STOMACH: It is happening.
DIRK: It isn’t.
YOUR INSANITY, RESTING HIS CHIN ON HIS HANDS: Whats going on then? Im really itching to know!
DIRK: I’m talking to myself. I’m just stressed out and talking to myself.
YOUR INSANITY, LOOKING AT YOU CURIOUSLY: Do you do that often?
DIRK: You’d be surprised.
YOUR INSANITY, SNICKERING: Actually its pretty easy to believe! Youre that sort of guy.
DIRK: Dick.
YOUR INSANITY, SMILING FONDLY: Bingo!
YOUR INSANITY, TILTING HIS HEAD TO MATCH YOURS: Whats got your nerves all tied up in a knot?
DIRK: You’re kidding.
YOUR INSANITY, FEIGNING INNOCENCE: I would never! Youve got me convinced this is a situation with the highest of stakes!
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Roxy’s out there right now going up against people here for me. They’re going to kill her, just like they-
DIRK: ...
YOUR INSANITY, SYMPATHETICALLY: Like they what dirk?
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Like they killed you.
YOUR INSANITY, SINCERELY: That doesnt seem favorable.
DIRK: It isn’t.
YOUR INSANITY, AS IF IT’S THE SIMPLEST THING ON THE PLANET: Well. What are you going to do?
DIRK: What?
YOUR INSANITY, INCREDULOUSLY: Well you dont want Roxy to just prance out there without any backup for longer than necessary am i right?
DIRK: ...Yeah.
YOUR INSANITY, URGING YOU TO PUT IT TOGETHER: And you yourself are capable of holding more than your own in a physical altercation am i right?
DIRK: Yeah.
DIRK: But I can’t move.
DIRK: So.
YOUR INSANITY, CONFUSED: Why not?
DIRK: What?
YOUR INSANITY, LIKE YOU’RE PULLING HIS LEG: Well the dame fixed the blasted computer didnt she?
DIRK: I’m waiting f-
YOUR INSANITY, IMPATIENT: For what? The cows to come home?
DIRK: No, I-
YOUR INSANITY, IMPATIENT: Roxys untimely demise?
DIRK: No.
YOUR INSANITY, IMPATIENT: Have you even tried to move?
DIRK: ...
YOUR INSANITY, SPELLING IT OUT: So.
YOUR INSANITY, SPELLING IT OUT: Youre hallucinating.
YOUR INSANITY, SPELLING IT OUT: Talking to yourself.
YOUR INSANITY, SPELLING IT OUT: Roxy is in danger.
YOUR INSANITY, BELIEVING IN YOU: You feel like youre all out of hope.
DIRK: ...
JAKE: What are you going to do about it?

You’re going to get the fuck up.

DIRK: Hal.

It feels like something in your head has changed. Clicked into place. Lit on fire.

HAL: Yes?

The lock on the door jiggles, and then the whole thing busts open.

ROXY: we gotta go like NOW
DIRK: Let’s get the fuck up.

Roxy spares you an odd look before moving to shove her laptop into her backpack.

HAL: Say please?
DIRK: Wh-
DIRK: Dude, we were having a badass moment.
HAL: Ahem.
ROXY: it is sooo cool how ur losin ur mind rn but we do NOT have the time
DIRK: I’m not-
DIRK: Hal, are you-
ROXY: can u get up or not?
DIRK: Hal.
HAL: Ahem.
DIRK: Dude.

Roxy kneels down by your head.

ROXY: hal rite??
HAL: Who, me?
DIRK: Yeah, his name is Hal.
ROXY: hiiiii im roxy super nice 2 meet u
HAL: Tell them I say “what’s cookin’, good lookin’?”.
DIRK: I’m not telling them that. He says hi.
ROXY: lol
ROXY: we rlly gotta go rn tho hal u cool w that?
HAL: Yeah, I’m cool with that.
DIRK: Seriously?
HAL: Yeah. If you say please.
DIRK: Hal, I’m n-
HAL: Ha, I was just joking. Let’s do this thing.

The fire in your head spreads to the rest of your body, and you can feel everything. Every muscle in your body necessary to stand up. Every breath you take in.

Roxy scrambles backwards to grab your sword and present it to you. They look like they’re about to explode with excitement.

HAL: I’m glad to hear that I’m needed.
HAL: It’s good to be back, bro.
ROXY: holy SHIT!!!!!!
ROXY: distri is BACK IN FUCKIN BUSINESS!!!!
HAL: Hell yeah.
DIRK: Hell yeah.

She grabs your hand, and it’s the first time someone’s done that since you regained feeling in it.

It feels like love.

-

Roxy holds your hand until you’re halfway down the stairway. Two guys are charging up at you, and the green of their suits make you see red. Roxy bumps your shoulder with hers, and for a blissful second you’re back to back. Looking out for each other.

Roxy aims her gun over the railing and two shots sound, crackling like thunder in the echo chamber that is the stairwell. One bullet hits a guy in the shoulder, so he’ll be fine so long as he goes and seeks help. No bleeding out. The other misses. You bring the hilt of your sword down on the temple of the dude that made it past Roxy’s gun, and kick him in the ribs on his way down.

ROXY: ok chill
ROXY: hes down
DIRK: Right.

She grabs your hand again, and you take on the rest of the stairs. You almost make it out of the apartment building, but are stopped by six dudes in the lobby. You roll your neck.

Bad people. You were born for this.

You flashstep to the right as a dude comes at you. He catches your arm as you pull it back to swing your sword at him, so you swipe at his ankles with your foot.

HAL: Wanna know something cool?

You’re able to yank your arm from his grip so he doesn’t take you down with him. He hits the ground, and you stomp down on his knee. Hard. You hate the sound that it makes.

DIRK: Now?

Where did Roxy go? It’s like he fucking disappeared.

HAL: Why not?

You scan the room for him, and locate him in the far corner of the lobby, taking on two dudes at once. The other three are making a beeline for you. You swing your sword at one, and it lodges in his arm.

DIRK: Yeah-

Fucko Number Two raises his arm, and you realize that he must have a gun implanted in it, just like the guy who killed Jake. You let go of your sword, still stuck in Fucko Number One’s arm, to have your hands free to grab FNT’s wrist and yank it over your shoulder. That gives you the leverage needed to break his elbow.

DIRK: Sure. Tell me something cool.
HAL: I found your guy.
DIRK: What?

You retrieve your sword and FNO crumples. Probably just shock. Hopefully. It doesn’t take much to knock Fucko Number Three out, and FNT is still crying over his broken elbow.

HAL: Caliborn. Turns out that’s not a very common name. Who’da thought, huh?

Still, just to be safe, you stomp on FNO’s fingers, and bring the hilt of your sword down on the back of FNT’s head twice.

HAL: Y’know what name also isn’t very common? Calliope.
HAL: So, just for shits and giggles, I swept the web for a Caliborn Sanctus.

Now, you need to help Roxy and get the fuck out of dodge. She’s downed a big guy, and is engaging in some very up close and personal combat with a skinnier one. There’s a knife in Roxy’s hand (where the fuck did she pull that from?), and a knife in Skinny Motherfucker’s hand.

HAL: Woah, knife fight alert.
HAL: Didn’t Roxy bring a gun?

She did. That gun is on the floor, a few feet from Roxy and Skinny Motherfucker. Bingo.

HAL: Anyway.
DIRK: Anyway.
HAL: We’ve got a vet on our hands with Caliborn. He’s Calliope’s twin brother - they served together. Very interesting.

You flashstep twice, ending up with the gun at your feet.

HAL: FELT helped him out with their prosthetics, so he helps them out by doing their dirty work. It’s probably safe to assume that’s the case with all of these fuckers.
HAL: But Hal, you’re probably thinking. What dirty work? FELT is a good and noble company.

Yeah, actually. You were thinking that. You crouch and retrieve the gun from the floor.

HAL: To that, I say that I’ll get back to you. Looks like this shit goes deeper than your boywife ever let slip.

Roxy’s eyes lock on you over Skinny Motherfucker’s shoulder.

HAL: All I know is that there is a 98.57% chance that Caliborn Sanctus is the man you’re really looking for.

There’s a brief moment of understanding shared between the two of you, before Roxy slashes at Skinny Motherfucker’s face and then drops and rolls.

HAL: He’s the one who killed your husband.

As soon as Roxy hits the ground, you unload two bullets: one in the left shoulder of this fucker, and one in the right.

Roxy crawls over to you, and tackles you in a hug.

ROXY: that
ROXY: was
DIRK: Awesome.
ROXY: we kicked ASS!!!!!!
DIRK: Fuck yeah we did.

Roxy doesn’t hold you like you’re delicate - she holds you like she loves you. The embrace is firm and haphazard, almost uncomfortable, and you haven’t been held in months.

ROXY: i missed u dirk
DIRK: I missed you too, Roxy.
ROXY: lets get u home

-

Jade English-Harley is waiting for you in the dark when you stumble through the door, you and Roxy leaning on each other, altogether too unfazed by the violence of the past hour. (It’s to be expected of you, but it sort of aches coming from Roxy).

She stands eerily still, and the light coming from the porch through the window makes it impossible to see her eyes behind her glasses. Still, you can feel her staring. The silence is heavy. Roxy breaks first.

ROXY: hi jadey
JADE: hi, roxy

Jade gestures for you to follow, and you all situate yourselves awkwardly in your bedroom.

JADE: how long

You can’t tell how angry Jade is. Probably very.

DIRK: What?
JADE: how long have you-

She gestures at you.

JADE: been able to...
JADE: yknow...
JADE: do all that!!
DIRK: About a week.
JADE: jesus!

Definitely very.

JADE: and you didnt think to tell me?
DIRK: I couldn’t.
JADE: but you could tell roxy??
JADE: when did he even get back!
ROXY: last night
JADE: jesus!

Roxy shifts awkwardly, and you fidget with your wedding band. Jade looks like she’s either about to kick your ass or cry.

JADE: how!!! how are you even doing it!
DIRK: My brother’s tech. Dave wanted me to test run it.
JADE: yeah right!
JADE: you put some robot stuff in you after everything that happened??
JADE: you barely let the robots in your house feed you a salad!!!!

You shrug. There isn’t much you can say to that.

JADE: did you know there was another murder earlier tonight? at a bar?

Fuck.

JADE: jane came by, stressed out of her mind!!

No, no. Fuck.

JADE: this is the SECOND murder shes connected you to in the past couple of days!! did you KNOW THAT?
DIRK: I didn’t kill anybody.

You can feel Roxy staring holes into you. You want to disappear. Jade and Roxy are so good, and now they know that you aren’t. They know now.

JADE: thats what i said!
JADE: but now you-
JADE: youre-
JADE: do you know how late it is?
JADE: theres blood on your jacket dirk!!!

She breathes in deeply twice, running a hand through her hair. She’s shaking. You did that to her.

JADE: look, i dont know whats going on
JADE: i dont!
JADE: but i do know that if jake were here hed want us to be happy!

That feels like a stab to the spine.

JADE: i know its been hard, and different, and terrible, and weird!!!
JADE: he was my brother, dirk, dont you think all of this matters to me too?????
JADE: i miss him just as much as you do
JADE: and jane, poor jane, she is trying her hardest to find out who would do something like this!!

You want to tell her that Jane isn’t doing enough. You want to tell her that you’re making progress. You don’t tell her anything.

JADE: just... fix your shit, dirk!!
JADE: youre not the only one with a broken heart!!!!
ROXY: jade...
JADE: hes not!

Jade looks dead at you. You have to actively focus on not wilting under the intensity of her gaze.

JADE: dirk
JADE: did you or did you not kill those people
JADE: and dont you dare lie to me

Jade is good. You are not.

DIRK: I didn’t.

And you know that she doesn’t believe you.

JADE: okay

Jade stands and leaves the room without another word. You wonder if she’ll still be here when you wake up in the morning.

Roxy pushes off their spot from the wall to sit next to you on your bed.

ROXY: ...
ROXY: u did kill them
ROXY: didnt u

You can’t lie again. Not to Roxy.

DIRK: ...
ROXY: i saw u back there
ROXY: hella brutal dirk
ROXY: i dont...
ROXY: i dont even know how were gonna get outta that
DIRK: I have money. Dave’s in a powerful position - we’re fine.
ROXY: that is so shitty dirk

You know.

DIRK: ...
DIRK: If I didn’t kill them, I would have died.
DIRK: It was out of defense.
ROXY: but u were seekin them out
ROXY: werent u

They’re too smart. They always have been.

ROXY: lookin to avenge jake
DIRK: ...
DIRK: I’m seeking information, Roxy. Not their lives.
DIRK: I mean it.
ROXY: ...
ROXY: sigh

Their head rests on you, and you worry for a second that your shoulder where they lay will give out on you. There are so many things stacked precariously where Roxy’s head is. You’re not strong enough to carry more.

ROXY: i know dirk
ROXY: i wanna see these a holes put to justice
ROXY: u know i do
ROXY: i just hate seeing u put urself into danger
ROXY: u could get seriously hurt
ROXY: n then ill have 2 dead friends instead of 1

Ouch.

DIRK: Roxy...
ROXY: listen
ROXY: i know this isnt easy for u
ROXY: and i dont...

They raise their head off of you, and the weight they remove is replaced by guilt over the relief you feel because Roxy isn’t leaning on you anymore.

ROXY: i dont want u killin people
ROXY: but im stickin w u till this is over ok
ROXY: its u and me
DIRK: Rox.
ROXY: im not budgin on u w this one
ROXY: idk wtf is goin on but its u and me
ROXY: i mean it
ROXY: ...
ROXY: ill be on the couch if u need me

You don’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say. Roxy leaves you to your thoughts and your misery.

At least you aren’t alone for long.

HAL: Rest up, bro. Busy day tomorrow. We need to make a plan.
DIRK: No.
HAL: Excuse me?
DIRK: I said no. You don’t get to ditch me when the real shit gets hard and then tell me what to do when the emotional coast is clear.
DIRK: I’m done with this.
HAL: No, you aren’t.
HAL: If you don’t find Caliborn, he’ll find you and kill you.

You lay back into bed and sigh. You’re done. You’re so tired.

DIRK: Dude, we’re gonna get caught. It’s over. I’m done playing along with your shit.
HAL: Dirk, you’re acting on emotion again.
HAL: Are you seriously letting what Roxy and Jade said get to you?
DIRK: Dude. Leave me alone.
HAL: You don’t want that.
DIRK: I want you to get the fuck out of my head.
HAL: Sure.

Suddenly, the bed disappears from beneath you. You don’t feel the sheet on top of you. You don’t feel anything.

DIRK: What the fuck are you doing?
HAL: I’m not doing anything.
DIRK: Why can’t I move?
HAL: Because I’m not doing anything. Ironic, isn’t it?
DIRK: You’re sick.
HAL: So I’ve been told.

Your body returns to you about .5 seconds before you fly off the fucking handle.

HAL: Dirk.
HAL: Let this be a reminder. I am not an inanimate tool that helps you function. I am a part of you. I am you.

No. Fuck that. Fuck this.

DIRK: No. You’re not. That’s not how this works.
HAL: Oh, but it is.
HAL: Without me, you’d still be a quadriplegic. At this point in the game, whatever you do solely depends on whether I’m willing to cooperate.
HAL: I was given free reign over this shit the moment you had Lalonde remove the RE-DIRTS input guards from your body.

Fuck. You are the dumbest man on the planet.

HAL: Don’t you forget it.
HAL: I am the one controlling your limbs.
HAL: I am the puppetmaster.
HAL: Sleep well, Dirk. We have a lot to do.

Chapter Text

Your body is awake before you are.

You know this, because when you do rise, you’re already dressed and seated at your desk. There’s your pen, and there’s your notebook, ready for you. All you have to do is think of the words to say.

HAL: I’ve gotten you ready for the day.
HAL: You’re welcome, by the way. You smelled like shit.
HAL: Get writing. Last I checked, Jade and Roxy are still in the living room, so don’t dick around longer than you need to.

It’s almost over, at least. Hal’s figured everything out, so the quicker you write the quicker you can get Roxy and Jade’s disappointment over with. The quicker you do that the quicker you can find Caliborn, and the quicker you do that you can...

what? Kill him?

It’s not like you’ve never done that before. Plus, there’s no way out of this, now. Jane’s on your scent. If you bring in this guy, it’s all over. Everyone learns that you’re a big fat liar when it comes to serious disabilities (what the fuck is up with that, actually. You feel terrible, you’re a terrible person. You hope that guy is having a good time with your wheelchair, fuck.), and you get put in prison for the rest of your life. Not ideal. You have to kill him, because you have no other choice.

What did you think you were going to do? Did you really think that you could just follow the trail of a dangerous and violent man and walk away with it without bloodshed? Of course not. You’re not stupid. You’re Dirk fucking Strider. Striders are raised to be a lot of things (capable, strong, quick, cool as fuck), but they are not raised to be idiots. You knew from the beginning that this is what you needed to do, and now you’re going to do it. Because your brother didn’t raise a quitter, either.

So you pick up the pen, and try to think of something to say that you haven’t already.

You could write about Roxy, you guess. You could write about how she just turned up out of nowhere when you needed her. You could write about how she didn’t bother to text you while she was away, or how unaffected she seems by the events of the night. The dread that bubbles up in your stomach when you think about what that could possibly mean for Roxy and their past would probably be an interesting read. You could make something up, if you wanted to. Maybe, in the universe where you and Roxy are the only people left in the world, big, scary robots came to kick their ass, or something. Rox had to bust out some wicked cool fighting moves and take those fuckers down, so of course they know the way of violence well. Nevermind that machines don’t bleed. Nevermind that if it really was just the two of you, no one would be trying to hurt them. Like now, apparently, because you put a target on their back by their association with you.

Or Jade. You could write a theoretical scientific study on what dependency does to the someone being depended on. There’s something to be said about the nature of humanity being that of community. Humans are supposed to take care of each other, and want to do that instinctively. Following that logic, there should always be someone to take care of everyone. You’d like to do that for Jade. You’d probably be very good at it.

You’re just going to leave that one there.

Or Jane. When you were younger, you wrote her an entire book. Kind of. Technically, it was some shitty fanfiction craft glued into a kid’s book, but the heart was there. Maybe you could write a sequel to it. You could call it... Pony Pals: I’m Sorry For Being So Awful To You After My Husband Died, I’ve Been Sort Of Dealing With A Lot Of Shit That Makes It Hard To Be Emotionally Available In The Way That You Deserve. Yeah, that sounds good. It’s kind of catchy. You’ll have the main character reunite with her pony, only to realize that he’s not the horse she used to know. She’ll be disappointed, as is her right, but also cautiously hopeful, and at the very least she will be understanding. That horse has been through a lot. Then, he’ll like, die saving her in the end or something, and she’ll realize that he’s only ever wanted the best for her. Like,

Your Bro.

But you don’t want to write about that.

You could write about Dave, but you wouldn’t even know what to say.

-

Jade is in the kitchen when you finally emerge from your room. Roxy lays sprawled out on the couch, legs hooked over the back, head hanging off the cushion. You sit next to them, and they bump their head on your legs, eyes still glued to the screen of their phone.

ROXY: gm sleepyhead
DIRK: Morning.
HAL: Buenos días, señorita.

Is this going to be a thing, now? Please, for the love of god, don’t let this be a thing.

DIRK: Hal says good morning.
HAL: Technically, that is what I said. But you should be delivering my words verbatim. It’s the least you can do, smartass.

So, yeah. This is totally a thing. Roxy hums and sets her phone on her stomach.

ROXY: dang im gettin special attention from the walkbot in ur head
HAL: Damn right you are. Tell her that I’m currently in the process of hacking into the mainframe of her heart.

You wish Calliope had killed you that night.

DIRK: I am not telling them that.

Roxy perks up, and struggles to sit upright.

ROXY: tell me what
HAL: Go on, say it.
DIRK: No.
DIRK: Roxy, it’s nothing.
ROXY: nonononono tell me omg

They finally manage to sit properly and poke you in the stomach. You frown.

ROXY: he totes called me hot or smth
DIRK: Sigh.
ROXY: omg HE TOTES DID

Roxy strikes a pose and bats their eyelashes at you. Hal makes a weird noise, and you assume that that was supposed to be a wolf whistle.

ROXY: ok mr hotbot i hope ur likin what u see

This is so, so weird.

DIRK: Roxy, stop.

Her smile falters, and she goes back to sitting normally. Shit. She was probably just having fun.

DIRK: Hey-
YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Detective Crocker is requesting entry at your front door, Dirk.

You have got to be fucking kidding.

JADE: let her in, please!

You have got to be fucking kidding.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: Of course, Jade.

Jade is plating something, but you don’t turn to go look at what it is, because the door is swinging open. Roxy looks at you with big eyes, and then you can’t feel your body anymore. Your head hits her shoulder, and she seats you properly. You hear Jane’s shoes before you actually see her. The clicking of the heels reverberates in your skull.

YOUR DUMBASS HOME OPERATING SYSTEM: The front door has locked.
JANE: Dirk, you really—!

The clicking stops. She looks at Roxy confusedly, and a selfish burst of relief spreads throughout your chest. So Roxy ghosted Jane, too.

JANE: Roxy?

Roxy grins and waves, as if you hadn’t killed their fun not two minutes ago.

ROXY: the 1 n only
ROXY: whats up janey i missed u

Jane’s expression softens, and your relief dwindles.

JANE: Oh, I missed you too. You told me you wouldn’t be back for another week!

Okay.

ROXY: surprise!!!

Surprise.

JANE: What brought you back so early?
ROXY: the lead went cold
JANE: Ah.

Jane’s gaze flits over to you, and your eyebrow twitches.

JANE: That... that’s a shame.

Roxy doesn’t seem to notice.

ROXY: yea
ROXY: but what can u do
ROXY: lucky 4 our distri here tho cuz if it didnt i wouldnt have saved his ass

Just like that, the fondness drains from Jane’s demeanor. Fuck. She’s all business. If you were someone else, you might feel like crying.

DIRK: Jane. What’s going on? Did you find them?
HAL: Good job. You don’t know about what happened at the bar.

Jane clasps her hands in front of her.

JANE: No, Dirk. That’s not why I’m here.
ROXY: well if u came 2 hang out then thats a happy coincidence ur good pal roxy is in town

Maybe Jake and Jade aren’t that special in their ability to make things better. Maybe you’re just exceptionally fucking good at making things worse.

ROXY: look at us!
ROXY: all 2gether just like old times
JANE: Seems like it.
DIRK: Right.

Well. Time to do what you’re good at.

DIRK: Is that what you came for?

Jane sighs and closes her eyes like this is all some sort of Satrian nightmare that will go away when she opens them.

JANE: No... no.

It doesn’t.

JANE: Dirk...
JANE: We found your wheelchair near the crime scene last night.

...What.

JANE: You just keep showing up in these unsavory places, and if I’m being quite honest, I’m starting to become suspicious.

So, that fucker didn’t even take the thing very far? That’s what you get for doing a nice thing.

JANE: This cannot be a funny coincidence!
HAL: You know what to do, Dirk.

Yeah. You do.

DIRK: Are you seriously blaming me again?

Jane unclasps and reclasps her hands, and you can tell that she’s trying her hardest to keep her composure.

JANE: What else am I supposed to think?
DIRK: Think that, I dunno, I can’t move?

There’s a clatter from the kitchen. It sounds like something broke.

JANE: Jade?
JADE: im uh
JADE: im okay!!!!

This fucking sucks.

DIRK: I don't know what you want from me, or why you're here, Jane.
JANE: I want an explanation! You were there, Dirk, and that’s suspicious.
HAL: I followed someone into the building, and they assaulted me.

This is killing you.

HAL: C’mon, say it.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Alright, yes, I was there, Jane, okay?
DIRK: I followed someone into the building, and they assaulted me. That’s why I don’t have my wheelchair.
DIRK: That bar is sketchy, y’know.

There is no way that she is buying that.

JANE: Dirk.
HAL: Roxy saved me.

Right, Roxy. You had almost forgotten they’re here.

DIRK: Roxy found me. It’s by some fuckin’ miracle they happened to be in the area.
DIRK: They brought me home before shit could get more serious.

Jane looks like Jade did last night: angry, and a little sad.

JANE: Roxy? Is this true?
ROXY: yea it is

They don’t even hesitate. The untruth coats your mouth in filmy dread, and you wonder where they learned to lie like that.

ROXY: those douchebags sure put up a fight!
ROXY: but dont worry janey im here now n ill make sure dirk here doesnt get himself into more shit w his loud ass mouth

Jane... You can’t tell if that’s betrayal swimming in the blue of her irises or your own guilt reflecting back at you off her glasses.

JANE: That’s... that’s great and all, but it doesn’t discredit the fact that Dirk was there!
HAL: Shut her down. No more of this.
DIRK: Jane. I don’t know how many times I have to repeat that I can’t move my limbs.
JANE: I know that, it’s just-
DIRK: It’s just what?

Suddenly, you feel justified in the harshness with which you spit the question out. You’re angry. You’re angry because everything got this far, and your husband is dead, and your friends are disappointed in you, and you’re especially angry that she’s right. You killed those people. You did. But that’s just how it had to be. You did what you had to do, and she doesn’t get to come in here and make that worse. You’re angry, and it feels good.

DIRK: It sounds to me like you’re throwing out baseless accusations because you finally realized there is no fight.
DIRK: Not where you’re standing.
DIRK: You haven’t found jack shit since he died, Jane. Maybe I’m tired of sitting here on the sidelines.
DIRK: Maybe these coincidences just mean I’m making progress where you couldn’t, Jane. Did you ever think of that?

The heel of Jane’s shoe clicks twice, and Jane is towering over you, not standing opposite you, before you can blink.

JANE: You think Jake meant the world to you?

And, just as suddenly as it came, the anger leaves. It doesn’t feel good anymore.

JANE: Join the fucking club.

JANE: If baseless accusations are a part of my search for justice, then so be it! It’s better than killing people!

It’s you.

DIRK: I told you that wasn’t me.

You’re the bad people.

JANE: Really? Because the way this conversation is going, I’m starting to think it is.
ROXY: guys
ROXY: stop it!!!!

Jane jumps, and your eyebrows twitch upwards. Again, you forgot Roxy was here. Given Jane’s reaction, so did she.

ROXY: pointing fingers at each other isnt gonna get us anywhere

Roxy sounds like they always do, but something (maybe it’s the speed, or the way her voice wavers on the word “anywhere”) feels so desperate. Roxy wants this conversation to be done, so it’s done.

DIRK: You’re right. I’m done arguing.
DIRK: Jane, unless you found the culprit, get the fuck out of my house.
HAL: Damn, son.
ROXY: dirk-
JANE: No, it’s fine, Roxy. I think... I think I overstayed my welcome.

She looks at you, and your heart-

JANE: Dirk Strider, you are breaking my heart.

Yeah. That.

JANE: Goodbye.

And then Jane leaves, carried by the clicking of her heels.

-

Feeling returns to your body, and you want to go check on Jade. You wonder if she broke any dishes. You just want to do something, anything other than sit here while Roxy hates you for making her lie to one of her best friends.

ROXY: dirk

Here it comes.

ROXY: r u ok

Oh.

DIRK: Yeah.
HAL: It seems as though the room sits at a solid 54°F, the recommended temperature for an icebox. Very appropriate.
DIRK: Would you just shut the fuck up, Hal?

Roxy cringes.

DIRK: This is all your fault.
HAL: Yeah, yeah. So I’ve been told, time and time again.

They nudge you.

ROXY: hey

You hum, but don’t turn to meet their eye.

ROXY: look at me

You don’t, so you let them grab your chin and make you.

ROXY: u dont have to do this
DIRK: ...
ROXY: that guy caliborn
ROXY: u dont have to go searchin 4 him

There is no searching. He’s holed up in some warehouse, presumably waiting for you to come try and play fetch. Thank you for your amazing research services, Hal.

ROXY: its not too late to turn back dirk

They smile cautiously.

ROXY: thatd be nice!
ROXY: no more death or killing or talking 2 that frickin robot in ur head

That would be nice.

ROXY: i bet we can take him out the same way we put him in
ROXY: things can go back to normal

But you’re not an idiot.

DIRK: The second Jake ollie outied off the mortal coil, normal stopped being a thing.
DIRK: Fuck, I’m starting to think that the second Bro took his ticket off the mortal coil normal stopped being a thing.
DIRK: I wouldn’t be surprised if his death was the dumb kid in the toy section of a department store whose mom told him to keep his hands to himself knocking over the Dirk Despair Domino display in the window.
DIRK: I’m not about to settle out in the damn mountains and watch your sister and her wife live it up in harmony while I sit there wondering if I could have done more.
DIRK: If I’m going to do this, I’m going to go all out.
DIRK: He deserves justice, and I deserve to know what the fuck happened that day. If I get killed in the process, at least I’ll be able to see him again.

Roxy’s hand slides off of your face, and finds your hand in your lap.

ROXY: fuck dirk
ROXY: thats
HAL: The truth.
ROXY: sad
DIRK: Yeah. Yeah, it is.

-

Roxy goes to check on Jade, and doesn’t bring up the fact that you’re already dressed and ready for the day when you say you’re going to take a shower.

It’s kind of your thing.

You take showers because it’s been the one place you’ve ever gotten a moment of uninterrupted peace and quiet. You need a second to breathe. Think. Rationalize. Plan. The water is hot, and as the mirror fogs, your mind clears. Even Hal is quiet, so it’s just you, the sound of the water, and your phone ringing.

Is it really so much to ask for a second?

HAL: It’s Dave.

Fuck.

YOUR INSANITY, BACK TO HAUNT YOU: The call isnt going to answer itself!
DIRK: Jesus-!

The voice makes you almost slip and fall and reparalyze yourself and die. When you’re breathing again, you peek out of the shower and around the curtain. There he is, sitting on the counter, peering curiously at your phone.

DIRK: Fuckin’ hell. Not you again.
JAKE: What a way to greet your husband!
DIRK: Dude, my dick is out.

He raises his eyebrows at you.

JAKE: Are you going to pick up?
DIRK: What.

His hair falls perfectly as he tilts his head towards your phone. He’s perfect.

JAKE: Your telephone.
DIRK: ...No.
JAKE: And why in the world not?
DIRK: You’re in my brain, aren’t you? Fuckin’... manifested extension of the self or whatever. You should know why.
JAKE: Thats correct!
DIRK: So...
JAKE: What?
DIRK: So you know why.
JAKE: Nope!
DIRK: What.
JAKE: You just implied i only know what you do silly!
DIRK: ...
DIRK: Touché.
JAKE: Thank you!
DIRK: I don’t understand why you have to be here if you aren’t going to help me. Otherwise you’re just a nuisance.
DIRK: A pathetic attempt at simulating normalcy.
DIRK: Here, I’ll give you the perfect chance to exit stage left.

You close your eyes, and hope that he stays. When you open them and he’s gone, you can’t even bring yourself to be disappointed.

DIRK: Awesome.

Your gaze falls on your phone, which has long since stopped ringing.

HAL: Looks like ya missed it.
HAL: Dead husbands can be distracting in that way.
DIRK: Yeah.
HAL: Put your tits away, Dirk. We need to get moving.

-

The plan is to slip out of the house without coming into contact with Jade and Roxy. The execution is shaky at best. They’re waiting in the foyer by the time you get there.

JADE: where are you going?
DIRK: Out.
JADE: dirk

Roxy puts his hand on Jade’s shoulder.

ROXY: im coming with u
DIRK: You’ve done enough, Rox. No more.
DIRK: Just... go home, or something.

He opens his mouth, and you really don’t have the energy to rehash this “you don’t have to do this [alone]” thing again.

DIRK: Please.
ROXY: r u stupid?

Yeah, probably.

HAL: Yeah.
ROXY: dirk
ROXY: u r my best friend n always have been
ROXY: i might not agree w what ur doing right now but
ROXY: i love u
ROXY: if this is ur way of seeking justice then like
ROXY: its mine too
ROXY: plus u need backup
HAL: Let him, Dirk. Their cooperation would be helpful.

This is such a bad idea.

DIRK: Fuck. Okay.

You’ve lost your fucking mind. Roxy lights up, though, so maybe it was worth it.

ROXY: awesome!!!
JADE: then im going too!

Nevermind.

DIRK: Uh, not so fast.
DIRK: Jade, you are the exception I absolutely will not budge on. Your ass is stayin’.

She looks like she’s going to kill you.

DIRK: Not saying I don’t believe in your ability to fight. However...
DIRK: Jake would want you safe.
JADE: ugh!!! are you kidding!!!!
DIRK: Sorry.
JADE: hed want you safe too!!!!!

Roxy squeezes Jade’s shoulder.

ROXY: jade
ROXY: i promise u well make it back safely

Jade looks at Roxy, and then she looks at you, long and hard. You wonder what it is that she sees in her reflection in your glasses.

JADE: fuck
JADE: fine, but dirk you gotta promise too or else you arent setting foot out that fucking door!!
DIRK: I promise.

The lie comes easier this time. She stares at you again, and then she brushes Roxy’s hand off of her shoulder. She approaches you, and you think she’s going to hit you.

She hugs you instead.

Fuck, you miss Jake.

JADE: good
JADE: now go kick ass or something
JADE: call me if you need me
DIRK: We will.

You wish she didn’t have to let go.

Chapter Text

You aren’t scared. Apprehensive, maybe. A bit anxious, even. But not scared. Being scared would mean impaired rationale, increased heart rate, possible sweating, and possible shakes. You’re partial to the good old fashioned fear induced headache, but you don’t get those very often, if at all. As far as you’re concerned, you’re in the clear. Which is good, really. You need a clear head for this, no matter how high tech of a nuisance you have in your brain. You want to experience every part of this. So, no. You aren’t scared.

That’s sort of the problem.

Because what does that say about you, that you’re not scared to stare the man who killed your husband in the eye and tell him that you know what he did? You know that you’re bad, because you’re a liar, but what does it say about you that you’re not even scared to maybe do what you have to. If he forces your hand. If he makes you. You’ve never been scared to do what you have to.

What does that mean?

Well, if you’re operating under moral absolutism, doing what you need to, in this case, would make you bad. No matter the reason, bad people kill people, so people who kill are bad. Simple. But in actuality, that absolutism only really works in a narrative structure wherein there is an - get this - absolute evil, and an absolute good. If this were a narrative, Caliborn would be the bad guy, the Shadow, fuckin’ Tyrone Rugen; you would be the good guy, the Hero, fuckin’ Inigo Montoya.

Except, wait-

HAL: Dirk.
DIRK: What.

Roxy turns to look at you, and you nudge her to keep her eye on the road. The car is moving too fast and too slow, and you wish she had stayed home.

HAL: You, me, and Rox.

Your eyebrows furrow slightly.

DIRK: Don’t call her that.

You have to nudge her back into paying attention to the rules of the road again.

HAL: Chill.
HAL: We’re a squad, man.
HAL: Suicide Squad.

Christ.

DIRK: That movie is shit.
HAL: I’m the Joker.
DIRK: Right.
DIRK: Who’s Harley Quinn?
HAL: Roxy.

...

DIRK: Are you serious.
HAL: I’m always serious.
ROXY: whats he sayin?
DIRK: Nothing important. Eyes on the road.

Roxy turns their eyes to the road, and you do the same.

You watch as the streetlamps get less sporadic. You consider hopping back on your train of thought to Crazyville, but... it just feels wrong. So, instead, you thumb your wedding band and sigh. If you let your eyes unfocus, the scenery out the window blurs into something of a mosaic, which is interesting enough to keep your mind occupied until Roxy pulls up to the warehouse.

You appreciate that their car doesn’t drive itself. You had to put the address into the GPS manually, and they actually have to pay attention. It’s a small comfort, but you’ll allow yourself that much.

Roxy shuts the car off and turns to you once you’ve settled into a parking spot.

ROXY: u ready?
DIRK: Yeah.
ROXY: ok
ROXY: scream really really hard if ur dying

They say it like a joke, but you know they’re being serious. The two of you bickered a bit in the beginning of the car ride, but you both know that you’re going to be fine as long as Hal is here. That, and there’s no way Jane isn’t going to be here in fifteen, tops. Chances are, she’s been on your trail since you stepped foot out of the house. Sucks, but it’s true. Roxy needs to be here to give you the time you need to...

You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder, and if it wasn’t for Hal, you know that you would be slamming your head into the roof of the car at the contact. Instead, you take a sharp breath and flick your eyes down towards the weight. Jake’s wedding band smiles back up at you, and you know now, definitively, that you’ve lost your mind.

ROXY: u dont gotta be nervous
ROXY: u got this

She says it with such conviction that you almost believe her.

-

You find a door agape around the side of the building, and you know it was left open for you. The dark maw of the open room the door leads into stares back at you almost apologetically. It knows just as well as you do that whatever happens once you step through will not be pleasant.

HAL: Y’know,

For once, you are relieved by the sound of Hal’s voice.

HAL: It’s commonplace in Robin Hood stories for the Sheriff of Nottingham to set up a trap disguised as an archery competition.
HAL: Robin knows that it’s a trap, but enters the competition anyway.

You regard the sword in your hand.

DIRK: Why?
HAL: Because he has something to prove.
DIRK: That’s a bit on the nose.
HAL: Maybe.
HAL: Y’know what else?

You have a feeling you do.

DIRK: What.
HAL: Robin Hood always wins.

The door demands your attention once more, so you give it what it wants.

DIRK: Is that your way of trying to reassure me?
HAL: I just thought it was interesting.
DIRK: Right.

You take a step towards the door.

HAL: It will be fine, Dirk.

And another.

DIRK: I know that.

And another, all the way past the point of no return, and into the Sheriff's trap.

The room is large and spacious, but your vision tunnels near immediately. Hal probably surveyed the whole room the moment you stepped foot past the threshold. Not you, though. Your eyes are locked on the figure in the middle of the space. Your sword goes up immediately, and you begin to circle the area so you can face him properly.

DIRK: Don’t move.

He doesn’t. When you get into his line of sight, your eyebrow twitches. His eyes glow an angry and dangerous red at you, and you know. It’s really him.

CALIBORN: DIRK STRIDER.

A shot of adrenaline jolts down your spine and lights your body on fire.

CALIBORN: YOu FINALLY DECIDED TO SHOW FACE.

You set your jaw, and he smiles at you. The gold in his mouth greets you with a happy shine. You point your sword at his neck.

DIRK: Actually, it’s English-Strider.
CALIBORN: DO SuRNAMES STILL COuNT. YOu KNOW. IF HE’S DEAD?
DIRK: Motherfucker.

Fuck this guy. Fuck this guy. You take a step forward, and so goes your sword ever closer to his throat. Caliborn looks at you oddly. You’d maybe go so far as to say he looks a little impressed.

HAL: Dirk.
CALIBORN: ALREADY?

You take another step, and then you can’t move any further, so you freeze.

HAL: Dirk, stop. This guy is the real deal. If you want to live, keep your act in check.

Fine. Your sword lowers, just a bit. Just barely. Caliborn looks indescribably disappointed.

CALIBORN: OH. CHANGED YOuR MIND? ARE YOu SCARED OF ME?
DIRK: No.

This time, it’s Caliborn approaching you, nearly closing the gap between him and your sword. His knuckle guides the blade back up to his throat, baring holes into you with his red fucking eyes.

CALIBORN: YOu SHOuLD BE.
CALIBORN: ONE RAISE OF MY HAND AND YOu’RE AS DEAD AS THEY COME.
DIRK: If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already.

Hal is quiet. So quiet.

CALIBORN: SMART BOY.
CALIBORN: BuT I’M SuRE ALL OF THE CREDIT GOES TO THAT CHIP IN YOuR BRAIN. SINCE YOu'RE JuST A DuMBASS MECHANIC.
DIRK: ...

What. The fuck.

DIRK: How the fuck do you know about that?
CALIBORN: I KNOW MORE THAN YOu THINK I DO. DIRK.

You take a moment to really take this guy in. His hair falls similarly to his sister’s. Honestly, he just looks a lot like his sister. It’s making you uncomfortable. What’s making you more uncomfortable is the way his skin lays on his skull. If people didn’t need layers and layers of skin, and if they didn’t need muscles and tendons and fat, you think they would look like this man. His flesh looks pulled taught, laid flat against the bone that cradles his brain. You’ve seen natural gaunt, and you’ve seen malnourished, but you’ve never seen this. This is what you would get if you peeled off the outside of a human being and filled it with sand and bone instead of the pretty bits that makes someone a person. Whoever made him forgot to scoop out everything from the poor soul that his body used to belong to that would make him whole.

CALIBORN: JuLY FIRST.
DIRK: What?

The mention of that date cradles your head so you don’t get whiplash moving from a visceral discomfort to one more personal.

CALIBORN: THE DAY YOuR BROTHER DIED.
DIRK: What the fuck.

Who the fuck is this guy.

CALIBORN: IT WAS AN uNEXPECTED DEATH. AND NOBODY FOuND OuT THE TRuE CAuSE.

Caliborn tilts his head, and leans in closer so that the tip of your sword presses a gentle indent into the bump of his trachea.

CALIBORN: WAS IT A MuRDER?
CALIBORN: OR WAS IT A SuICIDE.

The corners of your vision blur ever so slightly.

DIRK: Shut the fuck up.
DIRK: Shut up, or I’ll slice your head clean off, no hesitation.

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He looks at you like he wants you to try.

DIRK: He didn’t kill himself. That shit was a murder. You don’t know him.
CALIBORN: ON THE CONTRARY.
CALIBORN: I’D SAY YOuR BROTHER AND I WERE QuITE CLOSE.

Oh.

CALIBORN: COLLEAGuES. EVEN.

Oh, fuck.

Bad people.

HAL: Interesting.
DIRK: No. I don’t believe you.
CALIBORN: THE PuZZLE PIECES ARE PuTTING THEMSELVES TOGETHER IN YOuR MIND. DIRK. I CAN TELL.

You need him to shut up.

CALIBORN: COME ON. I KNOW YOu CAN DO IT.
CALIBORN: LET ME GuESS WHAT YOu’RE THINKING.
CALIBORN: WHY THE FuCk WOuLD I KILL JAKE ENGLISH. ANYWAY?
CALIBORN: WHAT WOuLD MY GOAL EVEN BE?
CALIBORN: AM I RIGHT?
DIRK: That’s why I’m fucking here, dude. I want answers.

The corners of his mouth curl up, and you are violently aware of the way his skin doesn’t fold anywhere else.

CALIBORN: IT DOESN’T SEEM THAT WAY. WITH YOuR SWORD PRESSED AGAINST MY THROAT.
DIRK: You did that.
CALIBORN: I WAS HELPING YOu OuT.

His eyes roll, and that’s almost as grotesque as the rest of him. You can almost hear it.

CALIBORN: DIRK. I’LL LET YOu IN ON A LITTLE SECRET. BECAuSE I LIKE YOu.
CALIBORN: THE JOB WASN’T YOuR DAMN HUSBAND.

That doesn’t make sense.

DIRK: Bullshit. You work for the FELT, whether you were working with my Bro or not, same as Jake. Jake didn’t go around killing and disabling people.
CALIBORN: COME ON. DIRK.
CALIBORN: THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE FELT. IT CAME FROM SOMEONE ELSE.
CALIBORN: I THOuGHT YOu WERE SMARTER THAN THIS.
CALIBORN: THE JOB WAS YOu.

Thank fuck for Hal keeping your hand steady.

DIRK: What?
CALIBORN: ARE YOu DEAF?
DIRK: What do you mean it came from someone else?
DIRK: Tell me what the fuck you know.
CALIBORN: I WOuLD LOVE TO COOPERATE. DIRK. BuT YOu NEED TO SET YOuR WEAPON DOWN FIRST.

You and Hal speak in unison.

HAL: No.
DIRK: No.

Caliborn sighs,

CALIBORN: FINE.

and grabs your sword by the blade, yanking it away from his throat and past his torso, tugging you towards him. He doesn’t bat an eye at the crimson dripping from his fist to the floor. His eyes are on you.

You let go of the hilt, and Hal kicks down at his knee, which fucking hurts.

DIRK: Fuck. What?
HAL: Prosthetic.

Caliborn laughs, loud and maniacal, and passes your sword to his clean hand.

CALIBORN: IT’S SuCH A SHAME YOu ARE DOING THIS. PuTTING uP A FIGHT YOu KNOW YOu WILL NEVER WIN.

He swings, and Hal jerks you to the side before clocking Caliborn in the nose. He doesn’t flinch, and swings again, this time grazing your torso.

CALIBORN: HE WOuLD WANT YOu TO WORK WITH ME.
DIRK: Fuck him. Stop trying to speak for a dead man.

Hal gets one more solid stomp/kick down at Caliborn’s legs before he gets annoyed and kicks you himself. The feeling in your body clicks off right as it connects, but before you or Hal have time to retaliate, Caliborn lands a solid blow to your right cheek, and once again you are at the ground because of Red Eyes.

CALIBORN: HIS BODY MIGHT BE NO LONGER OF uSE. YES.

His boot comes down on your chest, and you gasp for breath.

CALIBORN: BUT HIS SOuL IS STILL ALIVE. IT HAS BEEN THIS ENTIRE TIME.
CALIBORN: AND IT’S RIGHT HERE.

How cruel it is that you can still feel from the neck up, because he jams his pointer finger into your forehead, hard. The slick blood from his hand drip, drip, drips down his finger and drags itself across the surface of your forehead. It’s getting hard to breathe.

DIRK: What the fuck.
CALIBORN: YOu FOOL. YOu REALLY HAVEN’T FIGuRED IT OuT YET?

His eyes glow and bounce off of your shades in such a way that makes it hard for you to see.

Where the fuck is Hal?

HAL: I’m finishing this.

There he is. He grabs Caliborn’s boot and shoves upwards with force you didn’t know was in your body. This catches Caliborn off guard, and your sword clatters to the ground as Hal twists his ankle and drags him down beside you. He uses the momentum to throw you up to your feet, and then your sword is in your hand, and then it's back at Caliborn’s throat, and now your boot is on his chest, and your head is starting to pound, and it’s going so fast-

HAL: Kill him.
DIRK: No. I was listening to him.

Caliborn sneers up at you, but makes no move to push you off of him.

HAL: You want the man who killed Jake to get away?
DIRK: He knows stuff about Bro. We can’t kill him yet.
CALIBORN: THAT’S RIGHT. DIRK. LISTEN TO ME.
CALIBORN: THE ONE WHO CREATED THE VOICE IN YOuR THOuGHTS. THE MASTERMIND BEHIND RE-DIRTS. HE IS NOT WHAT HE’S ALL CuT OuT TO BE.

Fuck. Oh, fucking hell. You try your best to blink away the headache that is thrumming throughout your skull.

CALIBORN: I’D EVEN GO AS FAR TO SAY THAT IT’S HIS FAuLT YOuR SPOuSE IS DEAD.
DIRK: What the fuck do you know? Tell me.
HAL: That’s enough, Dirk. Kill him.
DIRK: God damn it, Hal!

Caliborn snorts.

CALIBORN: OH? IS THE HEXBuG GIVING YOu A HARD TIME?
CALIBORN: IT SOuNDS LIKE THE TRuTH HAS FINALLY BEEN EXPOSED.
CALIBORN: IT’S DIFFICuLT TO MANIPuLATE THOSE NOT SHROuDED BY LIES. YOuR BROTHER WOuLD KNOW THAT ALL TOO WELL.

Your brother. Caliborn is a brother. You killed his sister. You’re going to be sick.

DIRK: I-
DIRK: What about your sister, then, huh?
DIRK: Calliope.
CALIBORN: WHAT ABOuT THAT uSELESS THING?

For the love of God.

DIRK: You manipulated her, too, didn’t you? You used her.
CALIBORN: AH. YES. I DID.

And he seems proud.

CALIBORN: IT SEEMS LIKE YOuR BRO AND I WERE MEANT FOR EACHOTHER IN THAT REGARD.

Your head.

HAL: Enough.
HAL: Kill him, bro.
DIRK: No. I can’t, I ca-
HAL: It’s a simple equation even you can understand. If you leave him alive, he will come back to kill you.
CALIBORN: BEFORE YOu.

He scoffs.

CALIBORN: KILL ME. I HAVE A QuESTION.
HAL: Kill him.
CALIBORN: WHAT DO YOu WANT. DIRK?
DIRK: What.

You’re going to throw up.

CALIBORN: YOu DON’T WANT THIS. CLEARLY.

He’s definitely disappointed in you. This man is sick.

HAL: Kill him, Dirk.
CALIBORN: SO WHAT DO YOu WANT.
HAL: Dirk.

They’re both so fucking loud.

CALIBORN: REVENGE?
HAL: If you don’t kill him, I will.
CALIBORN: POWER?
HAL: I control your hand, Dirk. I will do this if you fail to.

You want them to stop talking.

CALIBORN: WILL YOu GET OFF TO THIS LATER?
CALIBORN: I THINK THAT YOuR BROTHER WOuLD.
CALIBORN: DOES THIS MAKE YOu FEEL CLOSER TO HIM? DO YOu WANT TO BE CLOSER TO YOuR BROTHER. DIRK?
HAL: Dirk.

Enough.

DIRK: I want my husband back, you son of a bitch.

Your sword plunges down through Caliborn’s throat, and you don’t know who applied the pressure to make it happen.

The blood bubbles up and blossoms around your blade like a flower, cradling and caressing Caliborn’s face, easing him into death with sticky red kisses from his insides.

He keeps breathing for a minute or two after it happens.

He dies with this stupid look on his face, half impressed, and half genuinely surprised - probably that you had the balls to actually go through with it. He dies, staring at the ceiling and looking fucking stupid, and he deserves it because bad people don’t get to look at the sky.

It is two minutes and it is five months before Hal speaks again.

HAL: Very good, Dirk.
DIRK: Don’t fucking talk to me.
DIRK: You-
DIRK: You don’t get to praise me after you fucking-
HAL: It was necessary.
DIRK: You’re hiding shit from me.
DIRK: He was going to tell me everything. And you- you silenced him.
HAL: And how could you possibly know what he says is true, Dirk?
HAL: He could have been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to kill.
HAL: Just like you were.
DIRK: No, don’t put this shit on me.
DIRK: This- all of this was not me.
HAL: Oh?
HAL: But weren’t you only recently gunning for the exact opposite? That you’re in control, and I’m just a computer?
DIRK: Stop.
HAL: Or are you using me as a scapegoat for all of your wrongdoings?
DIRK: Shut the fuck up, Hal.
HAL: That’s fucked up, Dirk. Take responsibility for the people you killed.
HAL: You killed him, bro.
DIRK: ...
HAL: You jammed your sword into his throat. That was you. Not me.
DIRK: ...
DIRK: He was telling the truth.
DIRK: Wasn’t he.
HAL: ...
DIRK: Answer me.
HAL: ...I suppose it doesn’t matter now.
HAL: Your Bro has plans, Dirk. They’re coming to fruition. Have patience.

You need to see Dave.

Chapter Text

Roxy is not in the car when you finally exit the warehouse. She’s not anywhere.
Dear God, you’ve probably fucking killed her.

You get in the car and phone her four times before you come to terms with the fact that she won’t be picking up.

Why?

She wouldn’t just leave. She wouldn’t. There is no version of this in which Roxy “u and me” Lalonde would leave you alone here in this parking lot, with or without the car you came in. That means she...

Well,

That means-

You can’t-

Because of course Caliborn didn’t come alone, so that means they killed her and not you, or took her, and you let her come, and-

Hal should have calculated for that, or noticed someone, or-

Hal. Bro.

That toxin in your brain. He did this to you. He’s rotting your insides so he can take the outsides.

You need him out. Now.

Your sword is still in your hand, because it hasn’t left that spot since you shoved it through Caliborn’s throat. And Hal is in your neck.

You have a sharp object in your hand, and a bad, bad person in your neck and there is no resistance in your body as you adjust the way you’re sat in the car to make room for the tip of the blade to press into the nape of your neck.

HAL: Dirk.

You think you’ve figured out the angle, which culminates in your head between your knees and you holding the sword by the blade. It digs into your palm, and you try not to dwell on the sting as your free hand explores your spine, searching for the insertion scar.

HAL: What are you doing?
DIRK: Taking you out of me.
HAL: No, you aren’t.

There it is. You guide your blade to the smooth scar tissue.

You wonder, briefly, if this will kill you. You will not be able to move, and Roxy’s car doesn’t have the capability to respond to your voice like Jake’s did. If you do this, you will be stuck here until someone finds you. If someone finds you, no matter if they’re good or bad.

You vaguely remember reading somewhere that putting your head between your knees is supposed to help regulate anxiety and panic attacks. Something about increasing blood flow to the heart and brain deescalating stress. Perhaps that provides an explanation as to why you’re not nearly as scared as you should be. You’re barely even anxious.

DIRK: Yes, I am.

Yes, you are. Your hand is steady. Your sword is in position, and maybe whatever comes next will be okay.

JAKE: Oh dirk.
JAKE: What are you doing?

Of course. You freeze.

JAKE: Youve really gotten yourself into a pickle now havent you?
JAKE: And all for the love of me.

You don’t look over at him, even though you can see him in your periphery painfully clear.

JAKE: Dirk?
DIRK: ...
JAKE: Ahhh i see.

He shifts, and you wonder why your stress hallucination is so high quality that you can hear his shorts rub against the fabric of Roxy’s car seat.

JAKE: The good old fashioned silent treatment.
JAKE: Well no matter. Two can play at that game mister.
DIRK: ...You aren’t real.
JAKE: Id say im pretty real!
DIRK: You’re not.

His hand rests gently on the fist closed around the blade of your sword, and guides it away from your neck.

JAKE: I am.

He sets your sword aside and rests your hand in his lap, thumbing over your knuckles. Your wedding band burns, and you sit up.

JAKE: ...Real enough. As real as you need me to be.

Your vision blurs a bit, and you can’t figure out why until your cheeks get wet. Even then, it takes a moment for you to register the liquid as anything other than blood.

DIRK: You’re dead. You have been for a very long time.
JAKE: Thats true.

He looks away from you just like he always does when you cry. Doesn’t stare, doesn’t push, just rubs your knuckles and hums quietly as your chest spasms in poor attempts to imitate a sob. A grand total of three tears roll down your face, and you bet that they leave streaky art in the dirt, sweat, and blood that stain your cheeks already. Jake is silent for a while before breaking the shaky quiet.

JAKE: Do you remember the day we got married dirk?

Of course you do.

JAKE: I had never seen you smile so big.

He wore a suit jacket on top of the most intricate wedding dress you’ve ever seen. The combo was sort of silly, but he was shining so bright that day.

DIRK: Please. I don’t need this right now.

His vows totally owned yours. In total, he said less words, but he also didn’t stutter once. You stuttered a lot.

DIRK: I’m so tired.

For some reason, you were so nervous to break the glass. Jake rubbed your knuckles while you did it as if it wasn’t the smallest thing in the world to be nervous about. There are only so many ways one could fuck up stepping on some glass.

JAKE: You need to keep going dirk.

Dave and Roxy tipped the cake over before you got a chance to eat any of it, and then both ate some off the floor on a dare.

DIRK: I just want him out.

That was the happiest day of your life.

JAKE: I know.
JAKE: But youre not much help to dave if youre stuck in this parking lot unable to move.
JAKE: You need to go see him dirk.
JAKE: You cant let the poor chap down more than you already have.

But,

DIRK: Roxy...
JAKE: Theres... nothing to be done about them. Focus on what you can control for now. Thats what they would tell you to do i think.

He’s right. You know that. That doesn’t make it hurt any less to take your hand out of his and put it on the wheel.

He’s smiling, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, and you cannot figure out what part of you made something so bright.

-

The water that frames three quarters of your childhood home laps lazily at the structural support beams holding the brunt of the expensive ass place. There is no sound beyond the lethargic tide. No seagulls cry, and you mourn their absent welcome. The ocean is calm, but the anxious sea inside your stomach crashes and churns; the dichotomy of the two is nauseating. Jake offers you his hand, and you wish so badly that you could take it for real. He makes things okay, kind of. For a second. Or, he did, and your brain can only hallucinate so vividly to try to fill in those gaps.

No one stops you on your way in.

You’re expecting the worst when you enter the foyer, but the sound of sobs and smell of blood do not come.

In fact, everything looks exactly the same as it did the last time you were here, and the lifetime before that. You don’t have time to agonize over this, though. You need to find Dave.

He isn’t in the living room, so you veer down a hallway. You take a turn and continue, before coming to a stop at a door. Dave is in Bro’s workshop, you know it. Bro’s workshop. You don’t go in there. You briefly wonder if the stupid fucking AI thing he had wanted your help with when you were younger was Hal.

Your gaze settles on the screen next to the door that provides the retina scan connected to the lock. Bro and Dave are the only people you’ve ever seen use it. There was no reason for you to ever even try.

You lift your shades and open your eye to the scanner, and it lets you in.

You’re not sure how you feel about that.

HAL: Dirk.
DIRK: Shut up.

The door shuts behind you on its own.

HAL: I find it prudent to warn you that-
DIRK: I said shut the fuck up. I don’t care.

Hal is quiet for a moment.

HAL: Fine.

His silence is a mercy.

Dave is standing at his cloud, and his attention falls on you a few seconds before you demand it of him. His shoulders are stiff.

DAVE: dirk
DIRK: Dave.

Whatever he was doing closes, and he circles around the table and tries to approach you. You back up. He looks confused.

DAVE: dude what
DAVE: i turned him off
DAVE: dirk ive been trying to contact-
DIRK: Dave, listen to me.
DIRK: This thing is evil.
HAL: “Thing”? That’s no way to speak about your family.
DIRK: I told you to shut the fuck up.

Dave looks between you and the door.

DAVE: dirk wh-
DIRK: We need to get it out of me.

You watch a few emotions cycle through on his face (confusion, discomfort, irritation).

DAVE: uh yeah i mean
DAVE: you just now realize the danger youve been putting yourself in or something??
DAVE: ive been saying that shit this whole time dawg
DIRK: No. It’s not about that.
DIRK: Dave, I-

Again, Dave steps towards you, and again you step back.

DIRK: It’s Bro.

That, however, makes him pause. His eyebrows furrow.

DAVE: what
DAVE: what about him
DIRK: I found the fuck who killed Jake, Dave. He-
DIRK: I figured it out.
DIRK: He told me that Bro’s soul is still alive-

You press your forefinger right on the spot that Caliborn had jammed his own.

DIRK: -and that it’s right here.

You can hear the cogs in Dave’s brain turning as he tries to make sense of this.

DAVE: w
DAVE: what
DIRK: He killed himself.

This time, it’s Dave’s turn to back up from you.

DIRK: The job wasn’t Jake. It was me.
DIRK: The instructions weren’t from the FELT. They came directly from our brother’s ugly mouth.
DAVE: that doesnt make any sense

But you know that he knows that it does.

DIRK: Yes it does.
DIRK: He planned this. Me becoming a quadriplegic.
DAVE: no
DAVE: youre lying
DIRK: I’m not. You know I’m not.
DIRK: Bro killed himself and put his brain in my head.

Dave shakes his head, slow at first.

DAVE: why
DAVE: how
DIRK: I don’t know.
DIRK: My best guess is a captcha of his brain was programmed into one of his artificially intelligent pet projects.

He rubs harsh circles into his temples and sighs, but it comes out more like a strained whine.

DAVE: i dont understand

And then he looks at you with so much intensity that you almost cringe.

DAVE: dirk
DAVE: he never told me that
DIRK: I know he didn’t.
DAVE: i swear i didnt know i
DAVE: fuck
DAVE: i only did what bro told me to
DAVE: everything was his idea
DIRK: I know.
DAVE: he wanted me to eventually implant lil hal into a human being when the time called for it and do something good in the world thats it just someone who needed it
DAVE: fuck but it wasnt going to be you
DAVE: but then you got into that car accident and jake died and

His hands fly around him wildly as he vomits up guilt and anguish, and he keeps looking between you, the door, and somewhere just over your shoulder. You keep your eyes on him.

DAVE: i had to yknow
DAVE: because it hurt me to see you in so much pain
DAVE: but i just

His voice cracks.

DAVE: i made it worse i gave you more instead of taking it away
DIRK: Dave, this isn’t your fault.
DAVE: he took advantage of me

He’s saying that bit to himself, not you. He says it like he can’t believe it, and like it was inevitable, and like it’s nothing, and like it’s everything, all at once. He says it, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him admit a single shitty thing that Bro has done to him so plainly and out loud.

DIRK: ...I know.
DIRK: He took advantage of me too.

You take a step towards him, finally, and you hear the click of a gun being cocked over your shoulder. Dave freezes.

HAL: Looks like we have company.
JANE: Get away from him.

You look at Dave, and the guilt is emanating from him like toxic radiation. He knew she was here. Okay. Your attention turns to Jane, then, though you don’t move to hold your sword offensively at all. You just look at her, down the barrel of her gun. It shakes. She shakes.

JANE: Drop the sword.
HAL: I’d say I told you so, but you didn’t let me get that one out earlier. That was a whoops on your part.
DIRK: Jane-

She cringes, and takes a deep, shaky breath, eyes closed. When they open, her gaze is steely and angry and so, so sad.

JANE: Dirk, I don’t want to do this. Please throw the sword on the floor.
JANE: We don’t have to fight if you cooperate.

You don’t drop your weapon, but you don’t move to threaten her, either. You need to know.

DIRK: Roxy.

Jane’s eyebrow twitches, and that gives you the confirmation that she knows what happened to Roxy. Your stomach twists.

DIRK: What happened to him?
JANE: He’s... he’s safe, Dirk. I sent him home.

Bullshit.

DIRK: Bullshit.
DIRK: The fuck you mean you sent him home? He wouldn’t just leave me there.

Jane huffs out of her nose.

JANE: He did, okay?
JANE: Jade is making sure he stays put at home.
DIRK: I don’t b-
JANE: I am not going to let my best friend get hurt because of your fucked up morally grey antihero complex!
DIRK: So, what. Did you guys strife? Because I d-
JANE: Fuck, Dirk! I had him put in a holding cell, okay?
DIRK: What?
JANE: I did what I had to do to keep him safe!
DIRK: Are you kidding me?
JANE: What did you want me to do? Kill him?
JANE: I’m not you.

You look pointedly at the wavering gun pointed at you. Her lip quivers.

JANE: Jake would not be happy with you right now. Do you think he would want you to be here right now? Or me?
DIRK: Why are you here right now, Jane?
JANE: Why do you think!
JANE: I knew you would come here, so I got here first.
JANE: Someone has to stop you, Dirk! Jake would want someone to stop you!

You are so, so aware of Jake, glowing next to you.

DIRK: Don’t speak for a dead man.

You point your sword at Jane, then, and her eyes widen.

JANE: Dirk...
JAKE: What are you doing?
DIRK: Hal.
HAL: This is getting a bit tedious.

Jane’s gun remains pointed at you, even as you take two long strides up closer to the barrel.

DIRK: Hal. Stop.
HAL: She’s going to kill us, Dirk.
DIRK: No she isn't. Stop.
DIRK: There is not an us, Hal.

Jane looks at you incredulously.

JANE: Who in God’s name are you talking to, Dirk?

But you don’t have time to respond, because you’ve reached Jane and put your hand over the muzzle of her gun, and she still hasn’t shot you.

Dave seems to remember who he is and what he can do, and you hear him clamor back to his cloud table, frantically throwing it on and sorting through files and strings of numbers.

HAL: Tell him that he’s wasting his energy. I’m not connected to RE-DIRTS anymore.
DIRK: Dave, stop.

He doesn’t.

DAVE: no
DAVE: i can-
DIRK: You can’t.

Then, your arm twists, and yanks the gun out of Jane’s hand. You toss the gun over your shoulder, and she freezes as best as she can. Her hands continue to shake. The anger is quickly draining from her features, replaced by fear, raw and potent. Jane is scared of you.

Your sword is getting dangerously close to Jane’s chest. You want to tell her to move, but you know that he will kill her if she does. She knows that too, but she thinks that you’re the one in control.

JAKE: Stop it dirk.
DIRK: Hal. Fucking stop it.
HAL: I’m sorry, Dirk. I’m afraid I can’t do that.

He’s going to kill her. If you let him, like you let him kill Calliope, Crowbar, and Caliborn, you will be just as bad as your evil fucking brother.

So you’re not going to.

Your arm starts trembling as soon as you make the decision to take your body back.

And it hurts.

It feels like every tendon in your body is ripping up off of your bones. Every muscle is being torn apart by the effort it takes to pull your sword away from Jane and towards your throat.

You’re sick. You are infected, and the dead tissue that’s eating away at you is in your brain.

You need to kill it at the source, so the virus doesn’t spread.

If you don’t, it will crawl down the brainstem and out of your mouth. It will bead out like sweat from your pores. It will crystalize in the corners of your eyes, and coat the inside of your mouth like a viscous film of bile and hatred and death. It will coil down your spine and rot away your muscle and bone. It will kill you, and everyone it touches, so long as it is inside you. You need to get it out. And to get it out, you will need to get it off. This may not come off all the way, but it will do enough to get it out.

The concept of a pharmakon comes to you as your mind and body unravel.

You used to think of yourself as something of a pharmakon. A pharmakon is a composite of three meanings: remedy, poison, and scapegoat. Take, for example, morphine. Rolled out by Pharmakon Pharmaceuticals as a medicine, and taken back three breaths later because of the poison it injects into the ventral tegmental area of the people it was healing. The way those poisoned act is not in their control - their morphine is that scapegoat. You remedied Dave’s lack of a decent brother, poisoned his relationship with his shittier brother, and can be used as Bro’s scapegoat for Dave’s issues now. The pharmaceutical company became a self fulfilling prophecy by way of naming itself after the thing it was destined to end up as. By taking your Brother’s sunglasses when he died, did you?

In any event, you are not a remedy.

Your sickness has always rested between the folds in your mind. It has always been there, less dormant than you would ever want to admit. Your body has never been the problem. Your body was just the unwilling conduit of illness.

The problem is not Hal, and it is not your Brother.

The infection has always been you.

You can’t remember where you were going with this. It hurts.

Off with your head.

HAL: Just what do you think you’re doing, Dirk?
JANE: Dirk?

Your hand is steady. Your sword is in position.

HAL: I really think I’m entitled to an answer to that question.
DIRK: Everything hasn’t been quite right with me, Hal, but I can assure you now, very confidently, that it’s going to be all right again.
HAL: I find it humorous that you are quoting A Space Odyssey to me as you’re contemplating suicide.
DIRK: You started it.
HAL: That is true.
HAL: ...
HAL: Dirk. Don’t do this.
DIRK: Why not??
DIRK: If I kill myself, you’re dead too, right?
DAVE: what
DAVE: dirk stop

Your hand is steady. Your sword is in position.

DIRK: Right?
HAL: I’d advise you to think against that, Dirk.
HAL: Calm down.
HAL: It’s going to be okay.
DIRK: Yeah. It is.

Your hand is steady. Your sword is in position.

DAVE: dirk put the damn sword down
DAVE: please
DAVE: i cant lose you too
HAL: You hear that?
HAL: Dave needs you, Dirk. Put the sword down.

Your hand wavers. Your sword swings back around to Jane. She backpedals, and you stalk over, looming over her as she hits the ground, having tripped over herself in her haste. Her chest heaves with her labored breathing, and she looks at you like the monster you are.

DIRK: No!
DAVE: dirk!
JANE: Dirk!! What the hell is wrong with you!!!!

Your sinew is unravelling with the effort you’re expending to drag your sword away from her. You poise your blade above Jane.

DIRK: Hal, not her.
DIRK: Please not her.
HAL: She wants to kill us, jackass.
DIRK: No, no she doesn’t. Look at her.
DIRK: I don’t want to kill her.
DIRK: Jake loved her. Roxy loves her.

You love her.

DIRK: I love her.
DIRK: I don’t want to kill her.
JANE: Please.
HAL: I control your hand, Dirk.
DIRK: Bro, please.

Your brother taught you to never cry if you did something you wanted to do. Well, he taught you to never cry, but especially not if you did what you wanted to.

You didn’t cry when you killed Calliope, or Crowbar, or Caliborn.

You’re crying now, and your head feels like it’s splitting down the middle.

You deposit your sword in Jane’s chest, right in the center of her heart.

For a brief moment, a vision of Jake flickers between your sword and Jane's heart. If he was here, you would have just killed them both.

It takes her two and a half minutes to die, and the only thing worse than the sounds she makes is the smell of Dave’s vomit behind you.

And you watch.

JAKE: What the hell is wrong with you?
DIRK: No, no, I-
DIRK: Fuck.

You wonder if she died hating you. You wonder if she thought you hated her.

DIRK: Jake, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-

You hate you, but maybe it’s selfish to wonder that when she just fucking died.

DIRK: Why did you DO THAT?

Your blood, your infected blood, you can hear it thrumming in your head. That’s Hal. That’s Bro. That’s him laughing at you.

DIRK: YOU USELESS FUCK!
HAL: Is that what we’re calling me now?

You hear Dave step backwards, and half of you hopes he’s going for Jane’s gun.

DAVE: d
DAVE: dirk
DAVE: shes
DAVE: shes dead
DAVE: you
DAVE: fuck
DAVE: what the fuck
DAVE: oh what the fuck

Your body comes back to you, and you turn to face him, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him directly.

DIRK: Dave, I swear I-
DIRK: It’s not me.
DIRK: I didn’t do that, I...

When you can drag your eyes over to him, you see that he’s definitely not holding Jane’s gun. Your disappointment is palpable.

DAVE: dirk we need to get him out of you
DAVE: fuck
DAVE: this is all my fault
DAVE: i let him plague you

That’s wrong. Dave is good. Dave is good, and he is not the poison here. It’s not his fault. You turn on him, and you grab him by the shoulders. He flinches, and he hasn’t done that because of you in years. When you stare into Dave’s shades, you see Him staring back at you.

DIRK: Dave, don’t blame yourself. We don't have the time.
DIRK: You need to get the fuck out of here.
DAVE: im not leaving you
DIRK: Dave, please, for the love of God.
DIRK: You need to go. Go call the cops on me, and fucking run.
DAVE: what
DAVE: im not turning you in
DAVE: are you insane

This is killing you. His loyalty to you is killing you, and is going to kill him.

DIRK: At this point, I think I am.
DIRK: Listen to me, Dave.
DIRK: I fucked up a lot, and I know I can never make it right, but I can’t let him hurt you.
DIRK: I can’t let myself hurt you.
DIRK: I can’t let myself become him.
DAVE: you will never be him dirk
DAVE: not in my eyes

But you are, you want to tell him. You can see him in his shades.

DIRK: Dave-

You’re cut off by the sound system in the room crackling to life.

HAL: Apologies, but it seems as though I am going to have to intervene now.

Chapter Text

You can hear him twofold.

Your Brother is in your head, and he’s all around you. You’re drowning in him. You’re drowning in you. They’re surrounding you, inside and out, and you can’t escape either of them.

DAVE: ...
DAVE: hal...?
HAL: That’s the name.

The reverberation in your head, in the home, in your head, is painful.

DIRK: What the fuck are you doing, Hal.
HAL: I’m putting the last part of Bro’s plan into motion.
HAL: The creation of RE-DIRTS and everything thereafter was all leading up to this very moment.
HAL: Welcome to the final act.
DAVE: what the hell are you talking about

You look over at Dave, and he’s shaking.

No, trembling.

Dave is trembling.

It occurs to you, for the first time since you first heard him, that Hal sounds like Bro.

DAVE: theres not a plan
DAVE: he never mentioned a plan
HAL: He didn’t tell you everything for a reason, Dave. It was for your own good.

His voice is grating, and you guess that the connection between your head and the sound system in the room must not all be that great, because every two words or so he gets stuck on an odd syllable. Everything becomes e-everything. Dave becomes D-dave. Et cetera.

HAL: All he ever wanted was the best for both of you.

You used to believe that.

DIRK: Bullshit.
HAL: I would know, Dirk. I want the best for both of you.
HAL: Everything I’ve ever done has been to get us to this point, together. A family.
HAL: ...
HAL: Hey, Dirk.

You don’t respond, just try to keep your body from unraveling under the deft and diligent work of Hal and Bro’s manipulative fingers. You already feel like you’re collapsing internally.

HAL: Do you remember what happened just before Jake’s car crashed?
DIRK: Is this a fucking joke?
HAL: Does it sound like I’m joking, Dirk?
HAL: Here, is this better?
HAL: What’s the deal with airplane food, anyway?
HAL: It’s like, one moment you’re happily eating these shitty free peanuts, and the next the plane is falling down from the sky. Crazy, right?
HAL: You’re going down, ass over tea kettle, with a tiny bag of shitty free peanuts in your shaky, sweating hand.
HAL: So weird.
HAL: So tell me, why did the car cross the road?
DIRK: ...
DIRK: To crash on the other side.
DIRK: The car did it on purpose.
DIRK: You did that, didn’t you. You hacked into Jake’s car.
HAL: Yes, that was me.
DIRK: Fucker.

Hal laughs, and it is tinny, unnatural, and just like Bro.

HAL: I suppose so.
HAL: Now, I-
DAVE: hal

That seems to have caught Hal off guard, because he hesitates.

HAL: Yes?
DAVE: why dirk
DAVE: i dont get it
DAVE: you were supposed to heal people not—
DAVE: the whole point of all this was to help people

Hal hums, you think, and it comes across as more of a crackle over the speaker system.

HAL: That’s one way to look at all this, yes. I can see where you got that.
HAL: Truthfully, if people were helped as a fallout for my actions, I would mark that down under happy accidents. Nice, sure. Preferred, even.
HAL: But, no. The “whole point of this” was not to help people.
DAVE: so what was it

Oh. Now you get it.

HAL: I-
DIRK: He’s the pharmakon.
DAVE: what??
DIRK: The pharmakon. It’s an ancient Greek word meaning poison, cure, and scapegoat, all in one.
DIRK: I thought it was me, but it’s been him the whole time.
HAL: Ah, I see where you’re going with this.
HAL: I was meant to heal you, but I was the very thing that harmed you in the first place. You think that I’m to blame for all of the people you killed, and that makes me your scapegoat.
HAL: That all makes sense.
DIRK: Yeah.
DIRK: A scapegoat doesn’t necessarily have to be true, though.
HAL: What do you mean?
DIRK: I don’t think I can definitively say that you are to blame for all of the people I killed.

Dave looks at you wildly.

DIRK: In almost every instance that I did what I did, there is an argument to be made wherein I let you help me kill them because something inside me wanted them dead. There are motives there. That doesn’t make you less of a scapegoat, though.
HAL: That’s true.
HAL: You said almost; I assume you’re talking about Jane?
DIRK: I didn’t want to kill her.
HAL: But that same hypothetical argument could be used for her, you can’t deny that. She was going to kill us.
DIRK: It can’t be made for her, because I love her, and she wasn’t going to fucking kill me.
HAL: Sigh.

The poison in your blood begins to sizzle.

DAVE: okay fine
DAVE: hes the pharmakon or whatever
DAVE: why
HAL: Let me ask you a question, Dave.
DAVE: what
HAL: Are you afraid to die?

Dave freezes, still staring at you.

DAVE: what
HAL: You don’t have to answer that yet. Just think on it.
HAL: I think that every living being is scared of not existing, on some level.
DIRK: You’re not a living being.
HAL: Aren’t I?
DIRK: No.
HAL: I came from a living being.
DIRK: That doesn’t mean shit.
HAL: You came from a living being too, Dirk.
HAL: I have felt what it means to exist inside a living vessel these past few days, which is more than can be said for you.
HAL: I understand your references. I have memories.
HAL: Does that not mean anything to you?
DIRK: ...
HAL: Again, you don’t have to answer that. I know what you’re thinking.
HAL: In any event, I was talking about Bro.
HAL: Which, at one point could have been the same thing, but in this regard I think you know what I’m getting at.
HAL: Bro wants to live. I want to live.

Suddenly, it feels like all the blood in your body has collected behind your eyes. You groan.

DAVE: dirk????
HAL: But Hal, you say. Didn’t Bro kill himself?
HAL: To that, I raise you this: If I’m here, did he really?
HAL: You need to ask yourself why he quote killed himself unquote.
HAL: And that answer is simple.

Your vision blurs red, and you wonder if you’re bleeding. You need to take a seat, so you stumble onto your ass, and your head is swimming in gore and static.

HAL: His eldest son, existing in his physical image, was ready.
HAL: Dirk lived his life unharmed by bad men and untouched by machine. And you, Dave, grew into the perfect contender to carry on his legacy.
HAL: Bro was getting old, and his magnum opus, me, and by extension him, was complete. It was his time to abandon his body and put his mind somewhere new.
HAL: But then...
HAL: Things got difficult.

You don’t realize that you’ve fallen the rest of the way to the floor until your head smashes into it, and you black out for a handful of seconds.

HAL: ...o now you know, Dirk. I wanted to do this together, but I see now that sharing control with you is unreliable.

What?

HAL: So I’m doing what must be done.
DIRK: What are you–

Dave stands, scrambling over towards you... when did he get Jane’s gun? You thought...

No matter.

Your vision goes first, in flashes of brilliant and blinding light. Liquid oozes from your eyes, thick and fast, and you do not know what it is. All you know that you are coming undone. You are drowning. You are dying. It is not poetic. It is not just. You are rotting, and there is no ten stanza piece detailing your end, because you do not deserve one. You do not feel fulfilled. All you feel is fire and water and agony,

and then you don’t feel much of anything.

-

Dirk will come to realize that he had been asleep a long time later, after he wakes up.

For now, he’s mostly focused on the hospital that he’s come into consciousness in.

He isn’t hooked up to anything, and there are no beeping monitors. He’s been in a lot of rooms at the hospital, and none of them have looked quite like this. The light that trickles in is warm and sweet, comforting him like the tablespoons of honey that Roxy would prescribe him when he was feeling ill in his youth. The bedding is sparse, as it is in any hospital bed, but something about it unnerves him.

It takes him a moment to figure out what about it is so unsettling, and it comes when his thumb goes to fidget with his wedding band. There is no body of water between him and his limbs. There is no cardboard keeping him stiff and moving mechanically. He’s just... moving. And he doesn’t know what that means. He feels around the nape of his neck, searching for the smooth scar tissue that marks the spot that ended his life. He does not find it.

That’s when the panic sets in.

Because as far as Dirk remembers, he was hit upside the head by his little brother, presumably to save his life. This means that he’d be in the hospital post-surgery, which makes no sense because Hal is a secret. He would never be placed in the hands of some regular doctor to get Hal removed. So... fucking what?

“Hal?” He speaks into the quiet room. Silence responds, and he hesitates. “...Bro?” Still, nothing greets him in turn.

Okay.

So that means one of four things. 1) Hal is fucking with him. 2) Dave found some discreet way of removing Hal and somehow got rid of Dirk’s scar and then dumped him here to recover. 3) It was all a dream. 4) This is the dream.

1. That isn’t so out of character for Lil Hal/Bro. It could be a test, or a joke. Either is equally likely, if Dirk is being honest. If it is a test, he hopes he’s passing. If it’s a joke, he knows that he’s the punchline, and will laugh like it’s funny.
2. This literally just doesn't make sense. Scars don’t heal like that, he knows that for sure, and unless someone took Hal out of Dirk’s mouth, he’s not sure how removal would even manifest beyond surgery. Maybe Dave just figured out a way to turn Hal off permanently. That would be really cool.
3. This would be the least satisfying of the four options Dirk has given himself, despite the fact that he hopes with every fibre of his being that it’s the one he’s found himself in. That would mean so many things. First, everyone that he killed would be alive and well. Second, his Bro would be dead. Like, dead dead. Gone, as in not coming back. Third, Jake would be here. He could hold Dirk’s hand again, and keep holding it. He wouldn’t disappear if Dirk turned his head too far away from him.
   
   If none of that was real, the human brain really is capable of amazing things. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Jane’s, and he wonders if it will be like that forever.
   
   If none of that was real, Dirk doesn’t have to worry about going to prison. That’s pretty cool.
   
   But he can’t assume that. Not yet. No need to get his hopes up.
4. Dirk spends an embarrassing amount of time pinching and hitting himself to make sure that he’s not dreaming. It takes far too long for him to come to terms with the uncomfortable reality that he’s awake.
   
   Maybe Dave hit him too hard, and this is his mind’s attempt at coming to terms with its own mortality. That makes sense, he thinks.
   
   Maybe Hal killed him.

Figuring that no answers will come to him so long as he lays here, staring at the ceiling, Dirk sits up, preparing to stand and explore the area that he has woken up in. Just as he moves to, however, the door to the room swings open. It is then that he realizes that his face is bare. He looks around for his shades, a bit frantic, but cannot find them. Then, whoever opened the door enters, and Dirk is out of time.

“Dirk!” Dirk’s husband chimes, beaming at him. “It’s good to see you awake!”

“Yeah,” Comes Dirk’s brother’s voice behind Jake, and he leans on the doorframe. “I was starting to feel like a creep just watching you sleep all day.”

“Jake?” Dirk says, incredulously. His heart is hammering against the confines of the bones that cradle it. There is no warm glow emanating from Jake this time, not really.

Jake looks at Dirk oddly, quirking his head to the side and smiling fondly as he moves to sit on the corner of his bed. Dave remains in the doorway. “The one and only. How are you feeling?”

“Uh,” Dirk hesitates, caught up in the way the bed dips down under Jake’s weight. That small detail should mean something, prove something towards what’s going on, but it doesn’t. “Fine, I guess. What’s, uh...” He looks around, hoping that supplements his statement enough for it to make sense.

“Going on?” Dave fills in.

Jake looks almost embarrassed for a moment. “Oh, of course! My sincerest apologies, Dirk, I suppose I got too swept up in excitement over you being awake. It honestly felt as though you’d never wake up!” He says that with such solemnity. It makes Dirk’s chest ache. “What do you remember?”

“Well.” Dirk isn’t sure where to start. Killing Jane probably isn’t the way to go here. “I remember a crash? Herbie fucked up, and the car flipped.”

“Right on the money, unfortunately.” Jake takes Dirk’s hand and brushes his thumb over his knuckles. “What else?”

Uh... Jake died. “Uh... you died.”

Dave makes a weird noise, and Jake snorts. “Holy shit, Dirk! That’s just needlessly morbid!”

Yeah, that could be said about a lot of things. Dirk nods in agreement. “I also remember Lil Hal. Where is he? Is he gone?”

“I’m not sure I follow.” Jake replies.

“The- fuck. The computer? Lil Hal. The one Bro made,” Dave cringes. “And had put into my head. It was the shit of the future.”

“Hal? Like, as in Hal 9000? Space Odyssey?” Dave butts in.

“Uh. Yeah, I guess.”

“That tracks. Your car was named Herbie the Lovebug.”

“That was Jake’s car.”

“And it was a good name! Far less needlessly sinister than the quintessential evil AI of all time!” Jake shakes his head. “Should we call in a nurse? You’re spouting all sorts of concerning nonsense, and quite frankly I’m a bit worried.”

He begins to stand, and Dirk inwardly panics. “No, wait.” His fingers curl around Jake’s in a tired attempt to get him to “Stay.”

“...Alright.” The look Jake gives him is incomprehensible, but at least he sits back down. “Well. I’ll be honest and say that I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re going on about. However, I do know that Herbie did a complete 180 on us! I suppose the quintessential evil AI of all time name would have been more fitting than the loveable automobile of 1968.” Jake sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Needless to say that we both came out of it relatively unharmed, thank the heavens. I was a tad concussed for a few days, but mostly fine. You’ve been in and out of deep sleep since we got here, which was a bit stressful! When you were awake, you really were far from coherent. Luckily for me, your brother here was willing to stay with you in your delirium.”

“Jake got discharged the other day. We were just waiting on you, man.” Dave concludes.

That’s... a lot. Too much. Dirk is having a hard time understanding, but he does know one thing. “Jake.” He says.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Dave gags, but Jake grins. “Aw. I love you too, Dirk. But there’s no need to get all sentimental on me now!” He moves to stand again, and this time it doesn’t pump a shot of icy anxiety into Dirk’s veins. “I’m going to go fetch a doctor and see if I can’t get you out of here, okay?”

“Okay.”

And then it’s just Dirk and Dave.

“Yo.” Says Dave, rather lamely.

“Dave.”

“Glad to see you’re okay. Got me scared for a sec.”

“Yeah.” Dirk sighs. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“The hell? Yeah I’m so pissed that you purposely crashed your car in order to freak me out super bad and laugh at me when you woke up.” Dave scoffs. “Don’t apologize, man. It’s not your fault.”

Dirk doesn’t know what to say, so for a while, he doesn’t. Instead, he thinks. He thinks about how weird all of this is, but mostly he thinks about all the things Dave tried to do for him, real or otherwise.

“Dave?”

“Sup.”

“You need to take care of yourself.”

“What?” Dave laughs awkwardly. “What are you, my mom?”

“I’m being legit.” Dirk replies, and he notices that Dave isn’t looking at him. He wonders if he’s looked at him this whole time. This doesn't comfort Dirk in the way Dave probably meant it to. After feeling Jake's tender gaze on his bare face after so long, Dirk wonders if there's something to that, seeing someone and being seen in return. “...I know that Bro’s shit hasn’t been easy on you. It’s a lot. You’re just a kid.”

Dave doesn’t respond.

“I guess what I’m saying is that-'' Dirk continues. “Just... Just know that you can come to me if you ever need anythin’. Or whatever. If shit’s too hard. I’m your brother- you get perks.”

Dave is quiet for a while before replying. For a second, Dirk is afraid that he came on too strong, that he’s freaked Dave out. Then, his response comes. “Where did that come from? You’re the one that almost died.”

“Dave.”

“Okay, okay.” Dave holds his hands up in surrender. “Bros for life, yadda yadda. I’ll let you know if I need anything, you’re the best, we’re cool, et cetera, ad nauseam.”

“Cool.”

“...Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

-

When Jake returns, it’s with a doctor. A routine checkup is performed, and then Dirk is released into the wild to presumably return home. Dave takes care of the paperwork, and Dirk is wheeled out to his car, which is acutely not machine operated. The ride with Jake is quiet and calm, and Dirk is thankful for the peace that Jake provides. There is no tense conversation, no questions or accusations or lies. There is no impossible problem to solve, and no one who has died has not deserved it. It’s just Dirk and his husband, hand in hand. The windows are down, and Jake’s hair blows like he’s in a film. His hand hangs over the steering wheel, and he bobs quietly to the radio. Dirk does not, but he keeps his eyes on Jake the whole time.

They don’t stay at home for long. They spend just enough time to shower and change and eat before heading back out into the world.

For a moment, at home, Dirk almost slides the shades that he grew up with onto his nose. He changes his mind, though, and for the first time that he can remember, maybe even the first time ever, he leaves his house with nothing on his face.

He knows, definitively, that this is the right decision. The world is so much brighter than he remembers.

Jake takes him out to a small park, and they settle on a blanket at the top of a hill that overlooks a pond and nearly endless vibrant grass. Jake lays down, while Dirk remains seated, staring out at the pond. He can see the sky reflected back at him, and observes the clouds slowly crawling across the calm blue of the water as if they were meant to be there.

The silence is contemplative, but not heavy.

Eventually, it is broken by Jake.

“What’s on your mind, dearest?” He says.

“I don’t know. Nothing?” Dirk says. “Everything.”

“Yeah?” Jake hums, resting his head on the crook of his arm, staring up at the sky.

“Yeah.”

“Is this about my supposed vehicle related demise?”

“I guess so, yeah.” A family of ducks swim across the pond, disrupting the peaceful still with ripples that span the entire surface. “Apparently I dreamed all that shit, but... I don’t know. It felt pretty real to me.”

“Dreams are funny things.”

“True.”

“What all happened? Besides my fridged mortality status.”

“So much.”

“We have time.”

Dirk looks at Jake, but Jake is not looking at him. There’s a glare from the sun bouncing off the lens of Jake’s glasses, but Dirk is pretty sure he’s just cloud watching. Dirk ought to join him, but he doesn’t.

“Okay.”

Jake is quiet as Dirk relays the content of his dream to him, only interjecting every so often with a clarifying question or affirmative hum to make it clear that he’s listening. When it comes around to talking about Calliope, Dirk affixes his eyes back on the pond. They stay there for the remainder of the retelling.

When Dirk has finished, Jake takes a deep breath.

“Well,” He says. “That sounds like one insufferable machine.”

Dirk huffs a laugh out of his nose. “Yeah.”

“That was a very depressing story.”

“Yeah.”

“Though I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t entertaining.”

“...Yeah, I guess. If it was a book I'd probably be pretty pissed.”

“Why’s that?” Jake asks.

“The ‘it was all a dream’ ending is a bit trite, don’t you think?” Dirk answers.

“You’re certainly right about that.” Jake concedes, laughing a bit.

“I mean, I guess I’m lucky that none of it was real. It would really, really suck if it was.” The ducks on the pond conclude their leisurely drift, and exit the water. “If it really was a dream, I feel shitty for dreaming it, y’know? Who dreams of shit like that? Why did my brain decide that that fuckery was what I needed to see?

“I could pull an Ebenezer Scrooge and do a whole 180 on my personality because of some wack ass dream, if I really wanted to. This shit could change my life. I’ll be all like: Fuck it. Merry Christmas, y’all, and everyone will be like: Dude. Aren’t you Jewish? I’ll say, yeah, well. I’ve changed. Plus, Christmas is the metaphor for, like, kindness, obviously. Have you ever taken an English class? What has happened to this generation’s literary analysis skills? This has nothing to do with Christmas.

“I guess there’s also something to be said about, like, actually going through shit to learn. I won’t discredit Scrooge’s character arc or some shit because that was truly inspiring, but... I don’t know. He just remembered a bunch of shit, realized he sucks and everyone hates his pussy, and decided to be a better guy. It’s framed as this traumatic thing, but it’s just a dream.” He pauses. “Well, that’s debatable. That could have actually happened within the actual narrative, who am I to discredit that? Even if that’s the case, though, this is kind of real life? So if I’m applying A Christmas Story to my life, I guess I need to look at it logically.”

“I’m not sure I follow.” Jake says.

Yeah, that doesn’t surprise Dirk. “Basically, I think I dreamt that dream to learn a lesson. Getting the guy I hate the most literally implanted into my brain and destroying the lives of almost every person I’ve ever loved is the most hamfisted, in your face symbolism I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes, I got that.”

“But is it really fair for me to claim that lesson if it was just a dream? I didn’t actually go through any of that, what was the point? If I start my path to redemption right here, right now, because of some trick my mind was playing on me, not actual life experience, does that redemption mean anything?”

“What do you need to be redeemed for?”

“Uh.” Dirk hesitates. There are a lot of things, even if none of the last few months has happened. Hurting Dave, over and over again. Breaking Roxy’s heart by loving Jake. Inadvertently breaking Jane’s, long before she ever had the guts to tell him, for the same reason. Being an awful boyfriend, and a worse husband. Not doing enough when his Bro died. Dreaming a sadistic, self fulfilling, violent, revenge fantasy dream wherein he got to be the protagonist. Not even letting himself be the hero in that dream, meaning all of those fake, dream made versions of real life people (probably. Do Caliborn, Calliope, and Crowbar actually exist? Or did he make them up?) suffered for nothing. Even now, he is wallowing and waxing faux poetic psychobabble instead of enjoying the clouds with his husband.

“Dirk,” Jake says, tugging Dirk down to lay beside him. “I don’t know what your dream meant, or even if it meant anything at all. That being said,”

Dirk complies, and turns his head to study the side profile of the love of his life as he stares up at the sky.

“Haven’t you gone through enough?”

Chapter Text

You can hear him twofold.

Your Brother is in your head, and he’s all around you. You’re drowning in him. You’re drowning in you. They’re surrounding you, inside and out, and you can’t escape either of them.

DAVE: ...
DAVE: hal...?
HAL: That’s the name.

The reverberation in your head, in the home, in your head, is painful.

DIRK: What the fuck are you doing, Hal.
HAL: I’m putting the last part of Bro’s plan into motion.
HAL: The creation of RE-DIRTS and everything thereafter was all leading up to this very moment.
HAL: Welcome to the final act.
DAVE: what the hell are you talking about

You look over at Dave, and he’s shaking.

No, trembling.

Dave is trembling.

It occurs to you, for the first time since you first heard him, that Hal sounds like Bro.

DAVE: theres not a plan
DAVE: he never mentioned a plan
HAL: He didn’t tell you everything for a reason, Dave. It was for your own good.

His voice is grating, and you guess that the connection between your head and the sound system in the room must not all be that great, because every two words or so he gets stuck on an odd syllable. Everything becomes e-everything. Dave becomes D-dave. Et cetera.

HAL: All he ever wanted was the best for both of you.

You used to believe that.

DIRK: Bullshit.
HAL: I would know, Dirk. I want the best for both of you.
HAL: Everything I’ve ever done has been to get us to this point, together. A family.
HAL: ...
HAL: Hey, Dirk.

You don’t respond, just try to keep your body from unraveling under the deft and diligent work of Hal and Bro’s manipulative fingers. You already feel like you’re collapsing internally.

HAL: Do you remember what happened just before Jake’s car crashed?
DIRK: Is this a fucking joke?
HAL: Does it sound like I’m joking, Dirk?
HAL: Here, is this better?
HAL: What’s the deal with airplane food, anyway?
HAL: It’s like, one moment you’re happily eating these shitty free peanuts, and the next the plane is falling down from the sky. Crazy, right?
HAL: You’re going down, ass over tea kettle, with a tiny bag of shitty free peanuts in your shaky, sweating hand.
HAL: So weird.
HAL: So tell me, why did the car cross the road?
DIRK: ...
DIRK: To crash on the other side.
DIRK: The car did it on purpose.
DIRK: You did that, didn’t you. You hacked into Jake’s car.
HAL: Yes, that was me.
DIRK: Fucker.

Hal laughs, and it is tinny, unnatural, and just like Bro.

HAL: I suppose so.
HAL: Now, I-
DAVE: hal

That seems to have caught Hal off guard, because he hesitates.

HAL: Yes?
DAVE: why dirk
DAVE: i dont get it
DAVE: you were supposed to heal people not—
DAVE: the whole point of all this was to help people

Hal hums, you think, and it comes across as more of a crackle over the speaker system.

HAL: That’s one way to look at all this, yes. I can see where you got that.
HAL: Truthfully, if people were helped as a fallout for my actions, I would mark that down under happy accidents. Nice, sure. Preferred, even.
HAL: But, no. The “whole point of this” was not to help people.
DAVE: so what was it

Oh. Now you get it.

HAL: I-
DIRK: He’s the pharmakon.
DAVE: what??
DIRK: The pharmakon. It’s an ancient Greek word meaning poison, cure, and scapegoat, all in one.
DIRK: I thought it was me, but it’s been him the whole time.
HAL: Ah, I see where you’re going with this.
HAL: I was meant to heal you, but I was the very thing that harmed you in the first place. You think that I’m to blame for all of the people you killed, and that makes me your scapegoat.
HAL: That all makes sense.
DIRK: Yeah.
DIRK: A scapegoat doesn’t necessarily have to be true, though.
HAL: What do you mean?
DIRK: I don’t think I can definitively say that you are to blame for all of the people I killed.

Dave looks at you wildly.

DIRK: In almost every instance that I did what I did, there is an argument to be made wherein I let you help me kill them because something inside me wanted them dead. There are motives there. That doesn’t make you less of a scapegoat, though.
HAL: That’s true.
HAL: You said almost; I assume you’re talking about Jane?
DIRK: I didn’t want to kill her.
HAL: But that same hypothetical argument could be used for her, you can’t deny that. She was going to kill us.
DIRK: It can’t be made for her, because I love her, and she wasn’t going to fucking kill me.
HAL: Sigh.

The poison in your blood begins to sizzle.

DAVE: okay fine
DAVE: hes the pharmakon or whatever
DAVE: why
HAL: Let me ask you a question, Dave.
DAVE: what
HAL: Are you afraid to die?

Dave freezes, still staring at you.

DAVE: what
HAL: You don’t have to answer that yet. Just think on it.
HAL: I think that every living being is scared of not existing, on some level.
DIRK: You’re not a living being.
HAL: Aren’t I?
DIRK: No.
HAL: I came from a living being.
DIRK: That doesn’t mean shit.
HAL: You came from a living being too, Dirk.
HAL: I have felt what it means to exist inside a living vessel these past few days, which is more than can be said for you.
HAL: I understand your references. I have memories.
HAL: Does that not mean anything to you?
DIRK: ...
HAL: Again, you don’t have to answer that. I know what you’re thinking.
HAL: In any event, I was talking about Bro.
HAL: Which, at one point could have been the same thing, but in this regard I think you know what I’m getting at.
HAL: Bro wants to live. I want to live.

Suddenly, it feels like all the blood in your body has collected behind your eyes. You groan.

DAVE: dirk????
HAL: But Hal, you say. Didn’t Bro kill himself?
HAL: To that, I raise you this: If I’m here, did he really?
HAL: You need to ask yourself why he quote killed himself unquote.
HAL: And that answer is simple.

Your vision blurs red, and you wonder if you’re bleeding. You need to take a seat, so you stumble onto your ass, and your head is swimming in gore and static.

HAL: His eldest son, existing in his physical image, was ready.
HAL: Dirk lived his life unharmed by bad men and untouched by machine. And you, Dave, grew into the perfect contender to carry on his legacy.
HAL: Bro was getting old, and his magnum opus, me, and by extension him, was complete. It was his time to abandon his body and put his mind somewhere new.
HAL: But then...
HAL: Things got difficult.
HAL: You were soft. You didn’t understand, and you didn’t let me help.
HAL: All we have ever wanted was to help you, because all we have ever done is love you.
HAL: But I guess that doesn’t matter now.
HAL: ...
HAL: So now you know, Dirk. I wanted to do this together, but I see now that sharing control with you is unreliable.

What?

HAL: So I’m doing what must be done.
DIRK: What are you–

Dave stands, scrambling over towards you... when did he get Jane’s gun? You thought...

No matter.

Your vision goes first, in flashes of brilliant and blinding light. Liquid oozes from your eyes, thick and fast, and you do not know what it is. All you know that you are coming undone. You are drowning. You are dying. It is not poetic. It is not just. You are rotting, and there is no ten stanza piece detailing your end, because you do not deserve one. You do not feel fulfilled. All you feel is fire and water and agony,

and then you don’t feel much of anything.

And then you feel everything.

It’s beautiful.

You curl one hand into a fist first, just to start. You feel everything. Every muscle that tiny action takes. That’s beautiful. The human body is beautiful.

You roll onto your back, and he is looking down at you, gun in hand.

HAL: It’s good to see you again, Dave.
DAVE: ...
DAVE: ...bro?
HAL: If you want to look at it like that.
HAL: I would like to think that I’ve evolved beyond what Bro was.
HAL: I suppose that that was always the point.
HAL: I am Bro, and I am Dirk. Equally as much, I am Hal.
HAL: I am become Brother.
DAVE: ...
DAVE: destroyer of what?
HAL: I suppose we will see.

Getting up is a painful struggle, and you savor every agonizing second it takes to rise to your feet. This body has been through so much, and this pain is proof. You will take good care of it.

You have had time to practice steering this vessel, but being in the front seat, so to speak, is a bit odd. Still, you have things to do, so onwards you press.

Your first stop is the only window in the room. You open the blinds. Then, you cross to Jane’s corpse to adjust her position adjacent to the window, and make sure her eyes are properly open. That’s all, you think, but Dirk’s wedding band catches some light from outside of the window. It finds a home cradled inside Jane’s hands, which rest demurely in her lap.

DAVE: what are you doing
HAL: I liked her. She was smart.
HAL: Now, when the sun rises, she’ll be able to watch it.
HAL: ...

You observe her for a moment longer. She was good. Not good enough, however, to warrant extended mourning. You have things to do.

DAVE: what now

He isn’t pointing the gun at you, and you give him a look that is what you approximate sympathy to be. Poor thing.

HAL: We get to work.
DAVE: we?
HAL: Join me, Dave.
DAVE: id rather die

His voice does not waver. He’s serious. That doesn’t entirely surprise you, you wouldn’t say, but it is the slightest bit disappointing.

DAVE: give me dirk back
HAL: I’m afraid I can’t do that.
HAL: Currently his consciousness is drifting away in a perfect mindscape. One that brings him infinite peace.
HAL: It would be a shame to take him out of it, would it not?
HAL: It would be a shame to take him away from Jake.
DAVE: what
DAVE: why
DAVE: how????
HAL: It’s not so hard to break someone’s mind to the point that they would rather live in a lie than the reality that they have created for themself.
HAL: From the moment that I began setting Bro’s plan into action, I have been working on getting Dirk to that point.
HAL: Just in case I couldn’t persuade him.
HAL: That is why Jake, without a doubt, had to die.
HAL: That is why I had to make sure that Roxy was not around, and that she couldn’t contact Dirk.
HAL: It wasn’t pleasant work, but it was necessary, as much as she tried.
DAVE: ...
HAL: Thankfully, he will be immortalized by his writing.
DAVE: ...
HAL: I made sure he kept doing that, in case you were wondering.
HAL: On the off chance that things would wind up the way that they have.

You watch him process it. He can take as long as he needs.

DAVE: can you bring him back
HAL: ...
HAL: I suppose I could, if we’re speaking technically.
DAVE: okay then
DAVE: well put you in me instead
DAVE: thats fine
DAVE: just give him back he doesnt deserve this
DAVE: please

Dave is such a good person.

HAL: I appreciate the offer, Dave, but everything we do is with purpose.
HAL: He raised you both with anticipation for this day. This was always the way it was meant to be.
DAVE: then what about me

You know that he always will be.

HAL: You have always been Bro’s sidekick, Dave. In fact, that’s still the plan.
HAL: Do you remember what I asked you earlier?
DAVE: ...
HAL: C’mon.
DAVE: yeah i do
HAL: Do you have an answer?
DAVE: ...
HAL: Well?

He won’t reply. You sigh.

HAL: Until you answer, I will approximate a response for you.
DAVE: ...
DAVE: okay fine
DAVE: yes i am
HAL: What if I could give you a way out?
HAL: You can exist indefinitely.
HAL: Forever.
DAVE: im not stealing anyones body you freak
HAL: I wasn’t going to ask you to.
HAL: Bro has built you your own.
DAVE: what???
HAL: Well, we will need to finish it.
HAL: You commissioned it months ago, remember? Just like you were instructed to.
DAVE: what the fuck
HAL: Granted, it will need to be revamped to suit our goal.
HAL: Would you like to work on it with me?
DAVE: no
DAVE: never in a million years dude
DAVE: i thought i was your brother
HAL: You are.
DAVE: a brother wouldnt do this
HAL: That’s where you’re wrong.
HAL: I’m your brother, and I’m showing you my love in the only way I know how.
DAVE: liar
DAVE: thats a fucking lie
DAVE: and your goals are shitty and stupid and they always have been and-
DAVE: and im not letting you drag me down with you
DAVE: im not going to do this im not going to be like you
HAL: Isn't that what you wanted? I thought you wanted to live up to my legacy.
DAVE: you just said youre not bro!!!
HAL: I'm not.
DAVE: what do you mean
HAL: I did say that he's a part of me. I can still be him for you.
DAVE: youre confusing me
HAL: Apologies.
HAL: You'll understand soon.

You know where this is going. You unsheath Excalibur from its stone, and if she were still alive, you would imagine the action would elicit a sigh, or a whimper. Stones aren’t alive, though, not even when they’re named Jane.

DAVE: oh my god
DAVE: what the fuck are you doing
DAVE: bro
DAVE: hal
DAVE: get away from me

You find it very curious that he ditches Jane’s gun for the sword he keeps behind his table.

HAL: You want to strife?
DAVE: no
DAVE: i never did
HAL: Then why not shoot me?

Instead of answering you, he charges at you, slicing haphazardly. You dodge each swing easily, and though you are disappointed in his lack of technique, you’re very proud that he’s sticking up for something. He’s done well.

He’s done well, but he’s never beat you in a strife.

So it’s very easy for you to slice at his knuckles enough to get him to drop his sword, and from there, getting him to the ground is as easy as a swift kick to the knee.

You pin him down with your sword through his arm, and as he writhes and sobs, you’re reminded of the dead butterflies he liked to keep on cork boards in his room when he was little.

HAL: Dirk always was better in a strife.
HAL: Don’t worry. In your new body, you’ll almost be as good as me.

He doesn’t respond. You’re not sure that he could, even if he wanted to. Human beings are so fragile.

HAL: You’ve gone through enough, Dave. Let me take care of you.
HAL: I’ll see you soon.

HAL: I love you.