Chapter Text
”This house has never been the same as before
It’s never felt warm, never felt warm
There’s something moving through the windows and walls
I’ve seen it before, seen it before
You left me living with a lingering soul
How little you know, how little you know”
Paint - The Paper Kites
Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you are currently being awoken by the obnoxious alarm clock by your bedside. And you were having the best sleep you’ve had in months. Damn.
You let the noise grate on your eardrums for a few seconds as you actually wake up, running your hands down your face and rubbing at your dry eyes probably a bit too hard. A yawn escapes your mouth as you stretch out your arms, flopping them back down onto the bed in a t-pose. After a bit you reach blindly over for your clock and squint as you try and read it, clicking the big button on the top to silence the alarm. The clocks with blue numbers against black background are always the hardest to read. The numbers always blur together even when they’re like, three inches from your face. You really need to get a new clock.
5:45 A.M. Some day in March. You don’t remember the exact day, you just know because that the stupid time change was last week.
You set the clock back down on your bedside table and click on the lamp. The nightlight plugged into the wall opposite to your bed isn’t quite enough to see everything in the dark, but it’s enough to calm your nerves. With the dark. And the box fan on the floor that your neighbor and best friend John Egbert got you when you first moved in sits in the corner of your room to your left continuously, as always, keeps whirring. Because you need the sound. For sleeping.
Yeah. You love lying to yourself.
The Egbert family also got you a black metal bookshelf from IKEA— which was a terrible fucking idea, just by the way— to put all the shit you collect on. You’ve got shiny rocks, cool rocks, and regular rocks. Because rocks are literally the only thing ever. Let’s be real here. There’s also a long, flat terrarium littered with the skeletons of a variety of different class pets you had in elementary and middle school. When those pets died, the teachers would always just throw ‘em in the yard or flush ‘em down the toilet so of course you had to step in. It’s just such a waste. All the skeletons have labels taped onto the front of the terrarium, with the species name, the name of said pet, and the year(s) they had been alive.
You also have a few books on the bookshelf so it lives up to its name. You’ve never gotten around to reading any of them, really. Too busy with art school and working your ass off.
There’s a dresser next to the shelves wedged in the corner of your room. It doesn’t have much on it. And to be completely real, incredibly honest and transparent as one of those glass fucking frogs where you can see its insides, your apartment isn’t really… lived in, per say. The walls are all bare besides a few paintings that came with the place. Hell, there’s still boxes full of shit from when you first moved in, like, three fucking years ago. You store them in the large closet in the hallway which connects the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitching room. (Or at least that’s what you call it. Everyone hates you for it. What, are you supposed to be normal and say, like, kitchen slash living room? Nah. Too many words. It’s a kitching room, baby.) And, once again being honest, you don’t intend to unpack those boxes, either. You tell yourself that you’re just lazy.
You digress.
You throw the comforter off and tug on the loose, dark red shirt you hung on the headboard the night before. You heave yourself out of bed with much effort, smooth down your shirt and shake out your hair. You start your morning routine with a quick shower and eating breakfast, which usually consists of toast with butter and home-made jam that John’s nanna from Washington sends every few weeks.
As you sit on the countertop and scroll mindlessly through your phone while finishing your second piece of toast, there’s a series of knocks on the door to the apartment.
“Dave?”
It’s John, as you expected.
He raps on the door again after a second of ignoring him. “Dave! Come on, are you even up yet? We have to leave, like, five minutes ago!”
You slide on your shades and stuff the rest of the toast in your mouth, hopping off the counter. “Dude.” you say as you swing open the door. “It’s 6:45. We don’t leave for another twenty minutes.”
“You’re not even dressed?” He asks you incredulously and gestures to you with his hands. “We have to leave!”
“It’s not even seven in the a’s of m’s.” You hold up your hand to silence the idiot. “Chill.”
He takes that as an invitation and pushes past you and enters your apartment, shutting the door behind him. “I’m going to be late for work, and you, my friend, are going to be late for school. Get dressed, dumbass.”
“You say ‘school’ like I’m still 13.” You huff, turning to the bathroom to brush your teeth. “What, you gonna ask what I want to do when I grow up? Make me a nice PB ‘n J to put in my Power Rangers lunch box? Don’t forget to cut it into triangles, John. I can’t eat if they aren’t in triangles.”
John opens his mouth to answer, but he knows you so he shuts up and just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “Just hurry up, Dave. We’re already late.”
You pause in the middle of brushing your teeth to wipe your chin and roll your eyes. You fish your phone out of your pocket with your clean hand that doesn’t currently have the toothbrush and hold it up to him. “On’y ‘ix ‘orty ‘ev’n,” you mumble, trying your best not to spit everywhere.
John takes your phone and frowns, furrowing his brows. You spit in the sink and wash your mouth out with water to get rid of the excess toothpaste so you don’t swallow fluoride and die. Or whatever they say fluoride does when you ingest it.
“Dude, you’re gonna burn a hole in it,” you say, holding out your hand for the phone. He places it in your hand and takes out his, showing you the clock on his lockscreen.
Huh.
7:26 A.M.
You look at it for a few seconds before the screen turns off again. “You sure yours is like,” you point at it and twirl your finger in a circle, “a satellite clock or whatever?”
“I mean, yeah, it is. It’s just never been… wrong before.” John sighs and crosses his arms. “So should we still go or..?”
“Eh, why not. Gimme five,” you say and go put on appropriate clothes. After that and a minute of fussing with your hair, you’re ready to leave. You never really take too long to get ready in the mornings anyway.
You and John walk to his baby blue Chevy Malibu (you always make sure to say the full name because the ring to it is nice) and pull out of the apartment complex’s parking garage.
John is the one who breaks the silence a few minutes into the drive. “I have to work in the lab a bit later tonight. So if you wanna get home at the normal time, you’re going to have to ask someone else to drive you. Or you can just hang out somewhere for a bit and wait for me. Whichever works,” he informs you, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Who else would drive me.” You look over at him, peering above your shades dramatically. It’s more of a statement than a question.
“You still haven’t even talked to your fellow classmates? I’m shocked, really,” John teases. He knows how you never talk to anyone in the art and animation classes you’re in. Because you really don’t see the need and you just… don’t want to. At all, really.
“Nah.” You sigh and audibly bonk your head against the window. “Haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
John visibly thinks for a few more seconds. You almost tell him not to hurt himself. Almost. “What about Jade?” he asks, “she has that one class you’re in close to the end of the day at Skaia too, doesn’t she?”
You should have told him not to hurt himself.
You let out an exaggerated groan and put your head in your hands.
And John just laughs at you. The bastard. “I thought you two were on good terms again.”
“It’s complicated,” you explain in detail.
Listen. You love Jade. You’ve been friends with her since, like, in middle school. It may have been just internet friends and only a couple thousand miles for most of the time, but her and John were the only two friends you ever really had. And the only people that could actually stand your ass.
As for family, that’s a whole other story you don’t want to dwell on at the present moment.
But about Jade. You had a HUUUGE crush on her for the longest fucking time. When the Egberts moved to New York with you after you turned eighteen and left that god damn house in Houston, she and her grandpa moved from fuck knows where for health reasons and to be closer to family. She used to live out on an island in the middle of the Pacific– her grandfather liked to study the creatures and plants there while she tagged along. That’s what got Jade into all that science shit and a whole fuckload of other things, too, but mainly the science shit.
Anyway. She’s really pretty, smart, can be a bit silly at times, and fucking loves her dog more than anyone. You had it bad. BAD. The two of you ended up dating for a bit, around two years, until things started to… not work out. You had a whole sexuality or whatever hangup-thing that happened (and pairing that with all your trauma you still haven’t touched with a fifty-foot pole, it doesn’t seem to work out too well), and that same night she said she wanted more from the relationship since the two of you had been dating for so long. Which was something you couldn’t really give her due to all of the above and then some. So the two of you mutually decided to break up and stay friends.
But it never really works out that way, does it? You couldn’t look her in the eyes for weeks, and then you just. Stopped talking to her for a while. She was understanding, and honestly, you hated that. You basically shut her out, and she was fine with it?? How does that make any sense? Everything about it was completely humiliating and made you feel like shit, and it probably made her feel like shit without you knowing cause she wouldn’t tell you which dredged up that soul-eating regret. And then you got stuck in your uni art classes at Skaia with her, and have to sit beside her because fuck assigned seating. Why would there be assigned seating in a college? That forced you to actually talk to her. It was extremely awkward for a while, and then it got a bit easier. But it isn’t the same closeness as before, and that’s something you really, really miss.
So talking to Jade one-on-one in a car? Without the distraction of class or the other person you sit beside so you don’t have to worry about awkward silences? Terrifying. No thanks.
John’s smile turns down a fraction and he adjusts his glasses for an unknown reason. “I see.”
“I can just hang out in that cozy and overpriced as fuck coffee place for a bit,” you reassure him, “take all the time you need, bro. I’ll be nice and cozied to the max while I draw or do homework or whatever, impatiently waiting for one of the hot baristas to sweep me off my feet like all of those ‘hundred thousand word slow-burn coffee shop fanfictions. No need to worry.”
“If you’re sure—“
You shrug. “I really don’t care how long you stay at work, man. I can find things to do, y’know.”
“Okay.” he concedes with a sigh and nods to himself. You know for a fact that he wants you and Jade to be normal again and to work out your differences, etc.
You don’t feel like talking anymore. It’s silent for the rest of the drive.
————
Jade wasn’t in class today. At first you just thought she was a bit late like she usually was since she had to drive between schools. But then after half an hour, she still hadn’t shown up. She has never skipped a class unless she’s literally on her deathbed breathing her last. And when she is, Jade has always made sure to text you when she won’t be in.
So yeah, you’re a bit worried. But you’d never tell anyone that.
After the class has finished and you have all your junk packed up, you decide to text John and ask about her.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:26 --
TG: hey john
TG: so uh
TG: did jade say anything to you about like
TG: not coming to class or whatever cause she wasnt here today at all
It takes him a few minutes to answer, of course, because he’s working. Or interning. Whatever he’s doing these days.
EB: no, she didn’t say anything to me. that’s quite odd!
TG: well do you think i should text her
TG: cause shes never missed a day without like
TG: telling me first
EB: go ahead! checking in on her couldn’t hurt.
EB: i have to go back to work now. bye dave!
TG: cya
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --
You walk across the street and head towards that cafe as you text Jade.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 16:40 --
TG: yo jade
TG: you like doin alright
TG: you werent in class today so i assume your like sick or something
TG: but i just wanted to check in because you usually tell me when you are sick or whatever
TG: so
TG: are you bleeding out on the floor
TG: did you brain yourself in the shower
TG: did the overwhelming urge to change your phone number to get rid of me finally become reality
You order your usual white chocolate mocha (shut up, you’re basic as fuck) and apple cinnamon muffin, then sit at your usual dark-wooded table in the back corner of the cafe and with the red beanbags and those cliché fairy lights hanging from the cieling. You like the privacy there, and you also love people watching. Perfect spot.
TG: but for real tho
TG: you good dude
-- gardenGnostic [GG] is an idle chum! --
There’s no response for the time being. You try and let yourself not be taken over by the creeping dread that's rearing its head like the most batshit ugly goddamn horse you’ve ever seen. Whatever. For now, you just enjoy your coffee and muffin and work mindlessly on your laptop and sketch out a few things in your notebook. You search for a solid five minutes for a part-time job, then promptly give up. The Egberts say you don’t need one anyway— they’ll support you financially with whatever you need because they’re stacked. It makes you feel a bit useless and guilty, but whatever. They’re what you call aggressively nice. You can’t say no to them anyway, so.
The Egberts took you in when you were forced into the streets at the ripe old age of eighteen and paid for all your shit even though you had just been some friend of John’s from the internet. When you had finally told John about your situation, he immediately asked his dad if they could take him in. John’s Dad, the most absolute definition of Dad a guy could be, almost immediately agreed. He had spoken to you while you called John multiple times, and Dad trusts his kid, so he knew he could trust you as well. And now here you are in your mid twenties, still mooching off your best friend’s family. It made you feel a bit like a lost puppy that was thrown into one of those shelters and had finally found a home with people that loved you. It all felt fake at first.
After about an hour of doing fuck all and getting no homework done, you forget about Jade until your phone buzzes on your lap.
GG: hi dave!!! im so so sorry that i worried you! :(
GG: my phone was dead so i couldnt tell you where i was!
TG: thank fuck
TG: where the hell are you then
GG: wouldnt YOU like to know….. ;)
TG: i would in fact like to know
TG: thats why i asked where you were harley
GG: i know that silly!
GG: i was just bringing out the suspense!!!
GG: but……
GG: i cant quite tell you where i am… yet!!
GG: you will find out in due time :)
TG: put that smile away
GG: nope! :)
GG: the smile stays!!!! :)
TG: harley i cant take the smile
GG: darn it!! i have to go dave :(
GG: ill talk to you later!
TG: hey no
GG: <3
-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --
Huh. Well ok. A bit odd but ok.
At least Jade is safe, you guess.
You put your phone screen-down on the table and rub your palms into your eye sockets. Whatever. You don’t have time to worry about Jade. Well, you do, but having the time is just the problem, isn’t it?
Y’know what else it’s time for? A walk!
You stuff your shit into the backpack you brought, throw the empty to-go cup away, and abscond out of there. You have to deliberately not make a scene and rush out of there like the place is on fucking fire. Oh well, it was all cozy for a while at least. Sad about the hot baristas though.
You decide to just walk aimlessly around the city, looking for niche trinket shops, authentic foreign hole-in-the-wall restaurants that look absolutely fucking amazing but nobody has ever heard of besides a couple of old people, etc etc. After passing about three different ice cream places, you decide that ice cream sounds absolutely banger at the current moment. It may be like thirty to forty degrees but who cares. You stand behind some older couple and shoot John a text with your location because he should be off work soon.
You stuff your hands in your jacket pockets and lean over to peer through the slightly frosty glass at all the flavors. There’s only two that sound good to you, so you order a waffle cone with those— cotton candy and caramel apple. Yes, again, you’re a basic bitch. But at least you aren’t one of those people who just order vanilla when you could get literally anything else. And maybe these two don’t seem like they would go together at all, but you’ve also been told that you’re taste buds are weird as all fuck. One of the employees hands you your ice cream as you pay with the credit card Dad gave you. You nod your thanks and sit down at one of the two-person tables with the wire chairs. And with that you start your people watching again.
————
After about another god damn hour of waiting and watching and scrolling through your phone, you start to get restless. John should’ve been off work by now. You put your phone on your lap for a total of five seconds before it buzzes.
You look at the notification, thinking it will be the blue name you so desperately want to see because you need to go home, but it’s just your luck that it decidedly is not.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 19:06 --
TT: Good afternoon, dear brother of mine.
TT: I have recently acquired some vital information from an incredibly trusted source that you have been in New York for five years now, Dave.
TT: That source being none other than our mutual friend, John Egbert. Who, of course, has also been living in the same city as you and I for the same amount of time.
TT: This begs the question, though: what is the reasoning that led you to decide to relocate to New York, and not think of contacting me or Roxy? Or even our mother, for that matter?
TT: Well, I guess I do not entirely blame you for not jumping at the prospect of contacting our dearest mother.
All you can really do is stare at the purple text slowly filling your screen.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] is an idle chum! --
TT: I assume that you are just watching me type out and send you these messages, and you do not know how to respond. I can wholeheartedly understand and empathize with that feeling.
TT: Though, your decision to not contact your family is confounding to me, to say the very least. So, tell me, brother.
TT: Why are you here in New York, where Roxy and I have lived for nearly two decades, if you did not wish to speak with us in the first place?
Fuck. Fuckety fucking fuck. Insert incoherent panicked thoughts here. Keyboard smashes. The whole shebang.
You close your phone and set it face-down on the metal table again with an all-too-loud clang. A few other customers in the ice cream shop turn their heads to you and look at you like you’re a fucking idiot. Which you are, really. You are the idiot, it is you.
You have your reasons for not texting Rose or Roxy— you really do. And you also have your reasons for moving to New York, where they also live, and not saying anything to them for five years.
You do. You swear.
For one, how did Rose even get John’s number? They only knew each other through mutual relationships with you, right? Rose never asked for his number and you never gave it to her, and he never really even talked to her besides when you all had played games together when you were young teenagers. Right?
And of course it’s John of all people who goes and opens his big mouth like a dolphin waiting for fish before they do a fucking dance at the first chance to tell Rose anything about you. You haven’t talked to Rose since Bro cut you off from speaking to the Lalondes when he shoved you to the streets. And, well, you didn’t really have a working phone. Bro smashed it before you left. (Saying that you “left” is being extremely generous.) You had to use a pay phone to call John, for fuck’s sake. You didn’t want to prove Rose right about Bro by calling her, or prove Bro right about… you for running back to the Lalondes. And you called John with what money, you ask? That’s a great question! You didn’t get it from a broken vending machine outside a gas station. You are a law abiding citizen, god dammit!
Anyway, you had to sneak into a hotel to actually sleep somewhere that night. Washington is a long drive to Houston, especially since you can’t really book a last-minute flight that late.
TT: Dave? I know you are there.
You guess you should respond to her. It’s the least you could do since you’ve been avoiding her for like. Years.
TG: yeah im here lalonde ya caught me red fucking handed
TG: my hand is currently submerged elbow deep in red shit
TT: Get to the point. I don’t have the patience for your winding metaphors at the current moment.
TT: Also, that wasn’t one of your best.
Man. She always kills your fun.
TG: yeah yeah ok look
TG: i know i shouldve like told you i was here im sorry i really am
TG: i swear i was gonna tell you guys ok
TG: i just
TG: fuck idk
TG: i just couldnt
Eugh. A bit too genuine for your taste, but whatever.
TT: And why couldn’t you?
You can almost see those eyebrows raising above that headband that she most likely still has.
To be quite honest with yourself, (you’ve been doing that quite a lot lately, god) you have no idea why. Your brain just flashed giant red warnings signs that say something along the lines of “DO NOT TEXT HER EVERYTHING WILL GO WRONG AND YOU WILL REGRET EVERY SINGLE CHOICE YOU HAVE MADE UP TO THIS POINT SHUT THE HELL UP” every single time you had her contact open and ready to message her.
TG: im gonna be so real with you rn ok rose
TG: i even used your first name thats how real im being
TG: i have no fucking clue why i just couldnt man
TG: i really wanted to i really did cause you guys are like the only family ive ever had besides john and dad
TG: wait fuck you know what i mean by that right
TG: youre my original family i know that but like
TG: fuck that still sounds terrible
TG: im just digging myself a deeper hole arent i
God, you need to get home.
TT: Yes, Dave. I understand what you are trying and ultimately failing to communicate.
TT: But I still do not understand. If you still consider us to be family, then why not contact us? Does this have to do with a certain someone’s manipulation? Bad experiences with family could lead you to come to the conclusions that you have. Or, is there some other reason you have also decided to purposefully exclude as to not show the real excuse for not saying anything?
Nope. You are not letting her go there right now.
TG: so anyways how did you even get my number like i know john didnt just hand it over pff he would never do that
TG: ahaha
TG: right.
TT: Oh, he most definitely would do that.
TG: yet you still wont tell me this makes me feel hells of safe yknow
TG: john giving out my number to random people
TG: not that youre random people
TG: fuck today is just not my day at all
TT: You’re avoiding the question.
TG: no im not
You can just hear the exasperated sigh. You tend to get those a lot.
TG: whatever i dont have time for this bullshit
TG: i have work to do yaknow
TT: Ah, yes, of course. That job that you definitely have. John explained everything to me.
The bastard.
TT: Since you do not seem to be in the mood to talk to me, I guess we can try later. Or, we could even meet in person if you would want to do so. But for now, I will leave you to your extensive amounts of work.
TG: ok thanks bye
TT: And Dave.
TG: yo
TT: You’re still my brother.
TG: that is how biological families work yes
TT: Shut the hell up when I am trying to be genuine, Dave. It may never happen again.
TT: You’re my brother. I would like to know what you’ve been up to for the past years, okay? John told me some of it, but I want to hear it from you.
You have the sudden urge to peel off your skin and hide under a million layers of blankets.
Ok. You definitely should catch up with Rose and Roxy. You really do want to, despite the overlaying sarcasm you have to cover anything sincere you want to really say. You want to do a lot of things but that also takes emotional capacity that you do not, in fact, have.
But god, it’s Rose. She was the only one who was always there after Dirk got to escape. You don’t know where he is now. At least he got out. Roxy had her own problems, so she didn’t talk to you as much as Rose.
It was only Rose, John and Jade who could get you through your shit.
TG: ok.
TT: Ok?
TG: ok as in yes we can catch up
TG: but can we like do this later? i dont really
TG: god words suck ass man
TG: just
TG: ill talk to you later ok
TT: Thank you, Dave.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
And you have a feeling that saying that is all you would need to do for Rose for her to be proud of you. You never really had the time to realize how much you missed her.
You close your phone and sink further into the uncomfortable metal, tightening your jacket around your torso. Now you just need to wait for John to finally come and pick you up.