Archive of Our Own ^beta

You've been ghosting around Earth C, which is fucking ironic considering your general shape, at least waist downward. If you’d adopted the bold fashion choice of wearing a sheet over your head no one would doubt your ghost schtick.

The irony of which is only amplified by you being one of the few not dead Daves. There's plenty of actual real-life full-on ghost Daves out there in paradox space. Not that you've ever met any of them.

Back in the game you didn't sleep. Couldn't. Apparently the whole being a sprite thing means being on duty 24/7. So no dream bubbles for you.

Not that you're super sure you'd have been able to get there had you been able to sleep. What with you not being the main Dave anymore. Or a player in any way shape or form.

Dave never told you if there were any Davesprites in any of the bubbles. You never asked either. You're not sure if you want to know. You've got enough you for a lifetime. Plus you got Dave to spare. No need to add another miserable bird asshole to the mix.

When you first left the game, by now five years out, you'd really hoped you might get spared the whole ghost bullshit for the rest of your life, however long that is.

Shit comes with a manual alright, but that little fact is not actually included in that game downloaded knowledge database. You suppose the game didn't think people would take their sprites with them. If the game ever thinks at all.

But when the game constructedness left you, when leaving the game, it just left you with the half ghostness of the sprite variety, though besides the shape and general floatiness you don't have much on real ghosts.

At least you can sleep now. In theory at least. In practice you don't do it much. No dream bubbles here. Just good old regular degular nightmares. So you avoid it a lot.

Another new bonus of out of game sprite is you age again. Which thank fuck. being stuck at 14 for three years longer than you should be was fucking hell. In your opinion no one should be stuck at any age for three years, let alone 14.

That fact alone might clue you in the immortality is less likely. You age you die, them’s the breaks. Unless you’re a God kid. You guess.

You’ve certainly not tried out which of your human (or spritely) needs you can neglect for extended periods of time. You really have no death-wish. It's a wonder you're still around at all. No need to push your luck.

Talking of pushing, it's what you’re currently doing to it on the issue of how long you can go without sleeping.

Which is why you’re haunting Earth C. It's night and you’re floating around, dicking about, biding your time until what you don't know. But you're biding as fuck. Trying to stave off the fatigue cloying at your senses.

You're so busy staving that you almost miss John. You only almost miss him, because you fly directly into him.

He makes an inelegant and sputtery noise and says, "Oh, uhm, er, Dave sprite? Shit."

With that level of eloquence, you're pretty sure he’s half asleep on his feet. (What the fuck is he on if he's flying? He doesn’t have wings. On the air?)

"Shit man, sorry. Didn’t mean to bump into you there. Didn't expect any flight traffic this time of night. Hope I didn't wake you up with it. Kinda sounded like it. You know flying and sleeping is at least as dangerous as flying under the influence. You wouldn't fly drunk my guy, would you? Gotta keep the skies over this here terra firmer C safe. What if you bumped into some less nimble flyer in the middle of the night. You coulda hurt a bat, John. You wouldn't want to do that, would you. You gotta think before getting behind the wheel, and by wheel I mean into the air."

John looks at you with a tired disgruntled expression which looks all hells of adorable. and then he sets one on top by dropping a sick kitten yawn right after.

"I didn't follow any of that bullshit, Dave sprite. What the fuck are you doing here?"

You shrug and build some distance between you. You're now sure he won’t just drop out of the sky if you don't heroically hold him up anymore. But man, you're for sure not close enough to be this close. If he drops, you'll just have to do an acrobatic flight maneuver to catch him.

Or let him, hell live. He’s got that god tier buffer. Falling from the sky from falling asleep is for sure a stupid way to die.

"Hell man, I could ask you the same question. Godhood be damned, I know you gotta sleep. I had first row tickets to you and Harley's grumpies whenever you felt like rebelling against the very concept of your human body rhythms. At least Jade had the excuse of having slept so much before, she had some staying up to catch up on. You just did it for contrarian reasons. Rebelling for its own sake, the whole teen shit. Can't fault you that. But man, haven't you grown out of that by now?"

John blinks at you, slowly, kind of owlishly, behind his glasses. A very square owl.

"Hey man. Maybe you should go home. I thought you didn’t leave that much anyway," you say when he doesn't even manage an answer.

That he does register enough to reply to.

"You make it sound like I'm some kind of hermit. I'm not stuck there. I can leave if I want to."

"Nobody doubts that, man. You're floating proof of that. But maybe you could prove that again when you’re not practically sleepwalking. Sleepflying. For the bat's sake, if nothing else."

John looks further disgruntled and confused. Rubbing his face and leaving his glasses askew.

"I just wanted some snacks. I'm all out and nothings delivering in the middle of the night."

You contemplate his conundrum and your position. How much is this actually your problem? Sure you ran into him. Flew into

him. But you two don’t get along. You have three years’ worth of precedent there. He probably doesn't want you digging around in his shit.

It only takes one look at him, though, disgruntled and rumpled from lack of sleep. Confused and unhappy about the entire situation.

Who are you kidding. You can’t just leave him to his own devices. He's your best friend. Even if he's not anymore. And even if he's not your John. And even if he can’t stand you.

He's still John.

You heave a sigh and go to scoop him up as much as he'll let you. Which turns out to be a lot. Though his grumbling might suggest otherwise, he lets you turn him, and half shove half drag him through the air back to where he came from.

You're not that far from his house, luckily. He had not made it far. It only takes a couple of minutes worth of john-handling to get him back to his front door.

At that point he's given up the complaining and slumped the fuck into you. You're practically carrying him now.

"Keys?" you ask as you come to a stop.

John mumbles something and turns his head towards you. A preliminary glance tells you he’s fucking out.

Well, the old-fashioned way it is then.

You lean his weight onto your shoulder to free your arms, stabilizing him with your

tail, and start digging through his pockets.

In his right hoodie jacket pocket, you get lucky. No groping your asleep friend tonight. Good for you and your moral standing. You need all the points you can get on that probably. You rested on those saved-your-friend's-life-laurels for too long. That shit can't keep you safe forever, from the moral hole you've dug yourself by being a dick.

You shift John in your arms and unlock the door. You gather him up again and fly him inside. By the time you've reached his room you’re very sure he’s out for good. You gently lay him on his bed, just barely resisting tucking him in. That's taking it a bit far. Don't gotta give in to all the sappy shit. Moral hole be damned.

You leave John in his room, dead to the world and resting at last. He clearly needs it.

Exactly 27 hours after you'd last heard from John, your John, you'd made it to Rose's planet. She was already off doing god knows what at the time. Maybe tearing apart her part of the game.

You learned from Jaspersprite, a much sweeter and more useful sprite than your own, that there were ways of revival built into the game. Extra lives if you will.

It took you another five hours to make it through to John’s planet and up into his last gate.

The big castle was cold and dark and all around much spookier than your denizen’s den. Not that you'd made it there at that point. But upon reflection it was all around uncomfortable and uninviting.

You passed by an organ or something, really driving home the haunted castle vibes.

You barely remember most of the descent, just hallways and stairwells. And damp claustrophobic spaces.

You do remember seeing Typheus first. Big and looming in the middle of the very much battle shaped room. He eyed you ominously but didn't approach or attack you where you were hovering in the doorway.

Then you saw him. John. Laying on the ground, unmoving. You didn't even think about the enormous snake god in the room. You rushed over to your best friend's corpse.

He was scorched but not unrecognizable. he wasn't even stiff anymore, that was how long it took you to get to him. About two days out from having died.

You remember his lips feeling waxy and cold against your own.

Nothing had happened.

You weren't sure if something should have happened.

You gave it a few minutes. Kneeling there by John's side.

The empty feeling of the cavern overwhelmed you at some point. That is when you got up.

You tried pestering John for good measure. A last attempt at hope. But he remained, as he’d been for the last 34 hours, in idle.

Typheus watched you, but stayed out of your way, as you dragged John's corpse out of the cold cavern. Having fulfilled its function of killing your best friend, it behaved mockingly docile now.

You'd been angry, horribly unfathomably furious. But you didn’t know if you could take him. And more than you were angry you were sad. Like a hole in your chest that didn't let the anger out. So you'd just left.

It was a horrible 73 minutes, maneuvering john out of the castle. It could have served as a fine crypt, all things considered. But leaving him there, with his killer, felt awful. So you drag the corpse of your best friend out of the creepy castle out onto the dim and gloomy planet.

You wake up tired and bleary eyed with your glasses askew on your face, digging into your cheek.

You're on top of your covers and you have no memory of getting into your room, let alone onto your bed.

You feel like shit. You lay there, a headache weighing you down, heavy exhaustion deep in your bones.

You hadn't been able to sleep. You'd laid in bed, and on your couch, and on the floor, and wherever you could think of, and sleep evaded you. In the daze of sleep that wouldn't come, you'd wandered through the house, you remember that much also. You wonder if you'd been so tired you didn't even remember making it back to your room.

You don't know how long it takes you to get yourself out of bed. It's a while, but you don't have your phone there to give you a specific number.

You find your phone on the kitchen counter downstairs. It lays there, next to three bags of gushers. They're your favorite flavors.

You were gonna buy snacks, right.

Theres a note under the bag; you read it while you stuff gushers into your mouth. You're hungry.

It's scribbly orange text, small and scratchy but surprisingly legible.

"hey man. you have got to clean out your fridge that shit is gnarly. like if you dont get to it, the shit festering in there will gain sentience and do the cleaning for you. so maybe dont clean it up after all. whats one more intelligent species on this clusterfuck of an intergalactic meetcute jumble of a planet.

what the fuck are you even eating man? it better not be the fridgians, those are your new neighbors. thats rude as fuck. way to show them a warm welcome on this here our planet. welcome to earth c, suckers, now get in my mouth.

anyway eat something thats not gushers man"

Now you remember having run into Dave Sprite. Well, flown into him. He'd been all quiet and floaty, as he is, and you'd not noticed until you literally bumped into him.

Shit gets blurry after that. He must have gotten you home. You don’t think you made it to any gas station. So he must have gotten the gushers too.

You look down at the now half empty bag and wonder if this is some kind of prank you didn't see coming. It'd on brand.

It's kind of too late for that, if it is. You're already pretty full of these potentially prankious snakeroos. At this point you might as well commit.

When the bag is empty you do check your fridge, just in case that's where he left the prank. You don't want to be caught unawares when you've forgotten about this again.

The fridge hums at you as you stare inside. There isn't anything new in there, as far as you can tell. And nothing seems to be missing either.

It's not as bad as Dave Sprite made it out to be. Theres some old cheese that's grown some mold – the not fancy kind that's not supposed to be there – and there's some left overs that you should probably not be eating anymore.

But the rest is mostly the stable kind. Some PB, some jelly. A couple cans of pop. Nothing apocalyptic.

Maybe the prank was making you look at your depressingly empty fridge.

You close the door and consider whether you should go to the store. Or maybe order something for delivery.

You'll decide on that later. You sit on your couch with the other two bags of gushers – the two less favorite flavors – and turn on the TV.

Some salamander talk show washes over you. You don’t understand most of what's going on but it’s nice to zone out to.

You blame it on your exhaustion honestly. All of it. That you stopped at a gas station after leaving John at his house. When the gas station wasn't even on your way home. That you went back in the morning to leave the gushers you got, because you know they're his favorite.

Well you know they were once his favorite. You don’t know if they still are.

It's been a long stretch of silence between you. And before that a long stretch of antagonism.

You're not sure if you still know John. He's not even your John anyway.

You're awake again.

You tried sleeping, and it worked for a minute (not literal, the whole time thing doesn't work with you anymore, you're not the player after all) and then the nightmares threw you the fuck out of the house that is sleep. Shit asshole landlord, evicting you from rest and relaxation. How are you gonna get some shut eye in this economy?

So you’re left to haunt the streets again. Or the air above the streets.

You're trying to clear your head but it's more hardly working, all the hard work you're putting in.

You stop at a small pizza place when its exhausts assault you with their beautiful stank. You're hungrier now that you've been lured in. Or maybe you're just tired, but sleep's not available so you'll take the next best thing.

The place is Troll owned, so you get to order all the weird shit Trolls put on their food.

Karkat and Dave invite you over sometimes, and Karkat is always the one who cooks. You're fucking thankful for that. You have enough of your own culinary skills to content with for a lifetime, you don't need that shit doubled.

Karkat will often make something vaguely human, you think Dave requests shit probably, and Karkat does his best, but he'll always put in just a couple of weird stuff that only Trolls eat. Either to be contrarian, his little fuck you to the Human species' demand of conformance; Or because he genuinely doesn't know which Troll thigs are also Human things. The jury is still out. The jury being you, eating weird bugs at the dinner table of the other Dave and his partner.

It's easier to focus on that than trying to figure out how to navigate this relationship with the other Dave. He's a cool dude, of course he is, he's you. But he's also nice, which is surprising because he's you.

You're not sure if you're invited because Karkat insists, or because Dave thinks it's the least he can do, or because of some other convoluted reason.

You don’t understand really, and it's usually not making the conversation much lighter per se.

But you never decline. Sometimes you think it might be polite, maybe thez want you to say no, so they don't have to bother. But fuck that. The food's really good, and you don't get homecooked often. And you like Karkat. And somehow you also like Dave.

So despite whatever might be most proprietary, you go every time.

The Troll at the counter does not acknowledge your very Troll food heavy order. Either it's not as uncommon as you'd think, or he does not give a shit.

Or maybe he doesn't think you’re a human. What with the tail and the wings.

When he asks you the super customer servicy question of if this will be all, you become possessed by questionable choices, or you have a very short fast food order related stroke. Whatever the reason, you order a second pizza, light on the bug stuff, heavy on the cheese.

The Pizza Troll doesn't notice or acknowledge your immediate questioning of your own sanity. What the fuck are you doing? What on Earth C has gotten into you? 

He just gives you the total and waits as patently as any customer service worker ever waits. Which is with the thinly disguised need to get this the fuck over with.

You pay and perch on a barstool by the window to wait for your order. Your pizzas arrive in very lumpy boxes curtesy of the Troll place you’re frequenting.

And then, with your two pizzas, you've kind of locked yourself into going through with this. Because you might have had times in your life when cold pizza (reheated if the microwave was functional) was the absolute top of culinary perfection for you, but you’re not 11 and undernourished anymore, and the nostalgic factor of that is actually pretty slim.

So you move your ghostly ass to John's house. You, as most of your friends, have a key. You were honestly fucking surprised when you were included in that curtesy offer all the way back at the start of Earth C. You'd been of the assumption that you'd filled out your role of unwanted and no longer useful game construct to perfection. But alas, those motherfuckers have yet to let you fade into obscurity. And somehow that also includes John.

Regardless of your theoretical possession of a key to the Egbert abode, you don't have that shit on you. You hadn't planned to end up here.

Instead of politely knocking and waiting for the shut-in of the house to answer the door, you go around the house – well you fly over it and only descend once you're on the backside. The Egberts never lock their backdoor. Or at least John doesn't.

The kitchen is empty and unlit; There's enough of a glow coming from the living room to show the empty counterspace where you left the gushers. Only your note is still there.

You float into the living room. You have to round the sofa to see John who’s slumped over in front of the glowing tv. There's some carpacian dramady running.

They’re going at it, as you walk in UnwieldyDevotee is telling LonesomeStag how he's terribly in love with them and that his love will transcend all of the conflicts they've heretofore gone through. LS isn't really feeling it, they tell UD that love isn't something they have time for in their busy life full of business, and that they have no interest to barter themselves away for a bargain they'll have to abide by. UD pleads with them but they seem resolute in their position. UD cries desperate tears and LS leaves the room coldhearted.

"Damn this stuff is ruthless in their breakups," you say.

John startles and almost falls off the sofa. His eyes are watery and have this deer in the headlights quality to them when he looks up at you.

"Dave Sprite?" he asks. "When'd you get here?" He sounds exhausted. You wonder if he too has been awake since you've last seen each other. At least he slept then. That's gotta count for something.

His eyes fall to the plastic bag the Troll kindly gave you for a buck more. He looks back up at you, doe eyed in a way that looks like he might pass out at any minute.

"Did you bring me more gushers?" he asks.

"What happened to the last ones? Wasn't that long ago."

John gestures to the sofa table in a defeated motion. There lay three empty bags of gushers scattered and un-cleaned-up.

You look back at him. He's sat up, kind of, in a slumpy way, where his back seems to be molding into the cushions and his elbows align with the seat of the sofa. It looks pretty uncomfortable.

He leans his head back, directing his watery stare at the ceiling.

"Is that all you've eaten since?" you ask.

You recall to have written some deeply wise and knowledgeable advice of eating something that's not gushers. But when has anyone ever listened to you.

You suppose John did at one point. That's why he’s here now.

You heave a sigh and settle your ass on the couch next to him.

"I brought pizza," you say and like a magician who’s really keen on ruining his new trick with spoilers you pull that shit out of the bag.

They smell hella good, even if the lumpy boxes are a little unusual.

"I doubt you'll insist on using cutlery. Or sitting at a dining table, or something like that. Have at it." you hand him the less buggy pizza.

He frowns at it, weird angle and all. His heads still on the back of the sofa. You put it in his lap.

"I also brought some Pepsi. You gotta lube that shit up. Don't wanna raw dog something like this."

John scrunches up his face, lifts his head and turns to you to make sure you see how unhappy he is with your word choice. You shrug at him.

"Why is this all lumpy." He's looking down at the box now, frowning more than scrunching.

"It's Troll pizza dude. They do everything with this alien lumpy design. Shouldn't you like it? It's pretty ghost bustery. Slimy, lumpy shit. Thought that was all up your alley," you say.

"Is the pizza slimy?"

You open your own box, the lumps make it feel more like opening a shell. Like you're about to unveil the venus of pizza, all naked and flowy hair in the middle of your pizza box. You hope there’s no hair on your pizza. You're an open-minded guy, but that's a bit excessive.

The pizza is neither slimy nor hairy. It's just pizza.

"Is that a cockroach?" John asks.

"It's a grub, man. You're acting like you’ve not been sharing the planet with a bunch of Trolls for the better quarter of a decade."

"Is that even edible?" John watches your pizza wearily as if that thing's about to pull a face hugger and jump him to make him part of some sick pizza mating cycle.

"Why wouldn’t it be? We're omnivores. Means we eat all kinds of shit. People eat bugs all over. It's like high art cuisine or whatever. In those places that are so filthy rich they've surpassed shock value into some weird dick measuring contest of who can eat the weirdest shit and pay the most money for it. And also like other people eat bugs too. Not just rich weirdos," you say. John looks like he for sure zoned out most of what you just said. "There aren't bugs on yours, dude. I'm not here to make you some kind of adventurous eater. It's normal pizza, man. Don't be xenophobic."

"Not wanting to eat bugs isn't xenophobic," John says.

"Whatever you say, dude. I'm not gonna cancel you. Just eat the goddamn pizza."

Reluctantly John opens his own pizza box. Despite the fact that inside is a very normal pizza, John eyes it suspiciously.

You leave him to it and focus on getting as much of the fist slice of your own pie into your mouth as possible.

Because the universe hates you, the whole bird thing has not improved the capacity of food you can get in your mouth at once, pelican style; Not even the width of your mouth, like those frogmouth birds. You're glad you at least still have teeth. You'd have missed those mother fuckers for sure. 

John watches you which you try to ignore until he says, "You really eat those?"

You make a vague noise past the pizza. You're not usually shy about talking while also eating, but that requires some fucking space in your mouth for articulation. You've just spent all your skill in space efficient assembling of moving parts, you learned as a young boy while playing Tetris, to effectively cram your entire mouth full of pizza. No fucking room for talking.

"Is it like a bird thing?" he asks.

You glance over at him and his skeptical yet still surprisingly wet eyes. What's with his eyes and being puppy reminiscent today?

Your whole space talk ratio has not significantly changed in the ten or so seconds it took him to come up with that, so you can only slightly alter your vague noise to communicate your general disagreement of the question.

The other Dave is just as ready as you to munch on some bugs. That proves that it totally isn't that bird in you that makes you so happy to indulge in this particular cultural exchange.

At last John lets up on you so you can chew on your very recent pizza maxing decisions. He picks up one of his own slices.

"There better not be any bugs on this," he says before he takes the smallest bite you’ve ever seen anyone take of a pizza before.

It takes absolutely all your self-control to not burst out laughing and subsequently choking to death on pizza. But you exhibit never seen before strength of will by gluing your eyes to the TV and focusing on UDs deep sorrow over his failed love life.

UD holds a fucking monologue and you manage to chew your goddamn food enough to swallow.

John has barely even left tooth marks in his slice.

"Jesus Christ dude, do you have to acclimatize your body to it first or why are you creeping up on your pizza like that? You think it won't see you coming and try to defend itself if you just bite it slow enough?"

John gives you the best stink eye he can muster with his big watery blues. It ends up looking sadder than anything.

"I'm not fucking pranking you, or whatever you think should be holding you from getting close and personal with that pie. It's just pizza dude," you say.

"That's exactly what you'd say if you were about to pull a master prank," John mumbles into the tip of his pizza slice.

"Dude, stop giving your food fellatio and fucking eat it. It's gonna get all soggy with how much you’re tonguing at it and who the fuck likes spit soaked pizza?"

John pulls the slice away from his face in disgust. His hand ends up close enough to your face that in a stroke of absolute dumbassery you reach out and take a bite of it.

John looks shocked from you to his pizza.

"See, not poisoned or whatever you thought. Just eat it dude." you say past his pizza.

"That was my pizza, man!" John says with a level of aghast indignation that's super not warranted.

You offer up your own slice, more than half gone already. And he scrunches up his face. You shrug and take another bite, a little more modest than before.

With another frown that’s starting to droop a lot actually; Like he's really close to crying; God you hope he's not gonna cry; He at last takes a proper bite of his pizza.

It takes a second and a half or so (again not the time guy anymore. You now have bird powers, like piss-shitting and cawing at inappropriate times) for him to actually process what the fuck kind of party is happening in his mouth right now then the cheesy goodness catches up to him and he genuinely lights up. It's fucking cliché to call it that, it borders on cheesy enough to second as a pizza. But fuck, it's like the clouds have parted and you're seeing the sky for the first time in weeks. Years honestly.

You remember seeing pictures of him, when he was younger, the real scrapbook kinda types, all picture-perfect single dad taking his sunny toddler to the zoo or whatever. In those pictures, when John was a kid holding his dad's hand, the picture being taken by some stranger probably, the smile on John's face absolutely lit up the whole frame. They probably had to color correct that shit or it would have been over exposed with how bright John smiles in them.

You've never seen him smile like that. John on the ship was a moody teen. Sure, he was happy now and then, but usually when you weren't around. And John before then was lines on your screen. He sent you a couple of pictures, but he wasn't the one to send the majority of pictures between you.

This one might be one of the first smiles you've seen on him in real life, high definition, immersive experience and all. It's probably the first you've seen on him that you caused, even if only inadvertently via pizza delivery. You're the world's best delivery guy, they should put your faces on billboards to advertise your service for the shut-ins who need some happiness in their lives. Or at least some pizza. You're so good at this they should write entire porn plots about you delivering pizza and orgasms just by being baller at bringing the pizza cheer into the house. Like a skimpily clad Santa Clause. Delivering that shit straight down the chimney.

It's not quite as bright as those childhood memory smiles. But isn't that what they say about childhood wonder. You get sword-fought about it when you're young or you live old enough for your dad to die. Something like that probably. Either way it fucks off somewhere along the way.

"This is really good!" John says. He diligently chewed and swallowed his food before speaking.

"Yeah, dude. It's pizza," you say, diligently past your own bite of pizza.

The frown returns, but this time it’s more amused than it is upset. You miss the smile regardless.

He turns back to the TV and to his pizza, and so do you. The carpacian soap gives way to a talk show full of salamanders. They talk a lot with little to say, but the pizza is good, and the Pepsi you split between you two is good too. And the silence isn't awful, filled with blupping from the TV, and the scent of cheese and dough and sauce.

While you hunted down a shovel and dug a grave for him, you were increasingly surrounded by little yellow salamanders.

They, like your own consorts, were small and not exceedingly bright, but somehow their mournful presence helped.

They said goodbye to a hero; Someone they had hoped might save them. You said goodbye to a boy you had hoped to meet one day.

After you buried him, when you were gathering the strength to go back, figure something out. Do anything but this, you sat there, listening to their little stories of legends told, and of hope now destroyed.

You're not sure it helped. But even when you were on a ship going through a whole lot of nothing, you liked their company.

Your phone rings while you’re inspecting the inside of your fridge. It's Nanna calling. You sigh and close the fridge.

You don’t really feel like answering. You also don't feel like going out for groceries.

Maybe you could order something in.

Your phone goes to voicemail. You don’t like listening to people's voicemails these days. It's all inane ramblings from Dave and psycho analysis of your absence from Rose. And sometimes Jade calls to tell you she misses you.

You leave the kitchen as hungry as you entered it.

You should have left some of that pizza for later. It was really good. That's probably why you ate all of it at once. Dave Sprite also should have brought you some gushers. Then at least you'd have something to eat still. There's no way you'd have eaten both a full pizza and a bag of gushers. That'd be way too much.

You slump back into the alcove you've carved into the sofa by your long ass TV marathons sitting there.

You don't know how many episodes of whatever's on TV washes over you before the front door opens.

It's Nanna standing in the doorframe, haloed by the light outside. She's got her hands on her hips. That tells you she means business.

"Oh, hey Nanna," you say.

"John, deary. You didn't call me back," she threatens. Well her tone says it’s a threat. You're not really sure what is being threatened here, besides you.

"Er, sorry," you say with a halfhearted chuckle.

"I brought you something to eat."

Now that’s a threat you know what to do with. You know within the hour you'll be drowning in cookies and pastries and cakes.

At least you won’t have to go out for groceries.

You stand outside John's door and contemplate turning back again.

Maybe you’re sick with some kind of parasite that really likes John, and that's why you keep ending up here. A parasite would honestly be kind of sick. Birds get parasites all the time right. Maybe yours had one before you sliced it in half. And it took this long to reawaken.

Yeah, you're running out of excuses. Even if the John liking parasite is pretty metal. You're fucking reaching. Metal or not, that excuse was so far out you're practically dangling over the edge, barely even on the roof anymore. You're about to plummet several dozen stories down to the hot and unforgiving concrete of reality with how far out you're leaning. You're already feeling your balance shifting.

Honestly this was lowkey how you knew you were gonna go out.

You open the door and enter John's kitchen.

It's light in here and surprisingly tidy. You remember at least some dirty dishes the

last time you were here.

You open the fridge, this time not just to be nosey, but to deposit the three (3!!!!) Tupperwares full of Karkat leftovers into it.

Karkat leftovers as in, leftovers Karkat forced on you after you ate at Other Dave and his yesterday. Not some fucked up Karkat cannibalism soup.

Would it even be cannibalism to eat a troll? You suppose not since they're not Human. But then neither are you anymore. So maybe on the whole health concerns front you might also get away with the whole Human eating shit these days.

Not that you want to. That's nasty. You're not really into vore or even that level of experimental eating.

Also the moral shit. Obviously. Can't eat Trolls, they're people. Plus Karkat’s family, or whatever.

You're not entirely sure what relation you have to Dave. There's not really a convenient term for temporal clone that failed to get offed by being from a doomed timeline and is now just hanging around.

The Tupperware that is not full of Karkat but his delicious, but way too plentiful in quantity cuisine, gets deposited in the fridge.

Like it's a genuine insane amount of leftovers. Karkat always makes food like he's feeding an entire meteor full of starving teens and not three early twenty assholes. Does he think you eat for two just because you got that bird in you. You're not fucking pregnant. Birds don’t do that. Even with the birdussy you're sporting now. You sure fucking hope you can't get knocked up. There wasn't anything about that in the sprite user manual. And you're not really into the hole oviposition thing.

While you're in there, you notice that the fridge too has been cleaned. There goes the new population of Earth C. First recorded extinction on this new iteration of this place.

You find the culprit immediately. Or traces of her. There's cookies in a tin on the middle shelf and a pie on the top one. And you can see some other Tupperwares pushed back further in the fridge.

Nanna was here. If anyone on Earth C, nay in the whole universe would get a pass for eradicating an up and coming species it'd be Nanna. That woman can do no wrong.

But she can make some good ass cookies.

You close the fridge, leftovers inside and cookie tin in your hands. You're immediately munching on one of them.

God, you've missed them. That shit is absolute top tier. One of the only things that kept you the fuck alive during your three-year space boat ride. That and the undecided nature of if your potential immortality spritewise.

With your cookie fueling you, you move on to the living room. John is approximately in the same spot he was in last time you came in here. Only this time a little more upright.

The living room also got the Nanna treatment. The coffee table is clean and

free of any food related trash. You think the floor might have also been vacuumed and the pillows fluffed. Stuff Nannas do.

Since your sample size of Nannas is literally one you've just been taking whatever she's doing as regular Nanna behavior. Even though you're also pretty sure the woman's like way more badass than your average Nanna.

"If you get up from the sofa, is there gonna be a John shaped dark spot where Nanna couldn't clean beneath you?" you say as an opener.

Not great all things considered. Something about being in this house makes you turn into that shitty teen you were during your time on the ship. It kinda sucks that John always gets the worst of you for it. And that you seem to not be able to stay the fuck away from here.

John jumps at the sound of your voice. You don't tend to make much noises with all the floating and shit. You did make a bunch of kitchen sounds back there, so you'd give yourself that much. You tried your best. Not your fault John's barely fucking aware of shit.

He looks at you with that little frown that's pretty much his default expression when looking at you.

"Whu?" he says.

"Your Nannas cookies are the fucking best, man. How have you not eaten all of them already?" you say instead of elaborating on your shit opener.

John pulls a face full of agony and some disgust, that frankly insults you. How can he react like that to the absolute best baked goods ever? You’ve never been able to understand his disdain for them and all baked things.

You're already like five cookies down and you faintly hear Nannas voice in your head telling you you're spoiling your appetite.

The only thing you’re spoiling is yourself. You're fucking treating yourself here. Living the life. Eating like a king! These cookies are having a fucking party in your stomach and as far as you can tell its only warming the whole situation up for the after party, which will of course be Karkat's delicious leftovers. And maybe some of that pie in the fridge.

You should check it's actually edible and not like shaving cream or something.

"Dude, don't hate on Nannas baking," you say and settle next to john on the couch.

he's sat pretty much in the middle, which means unless you want to press yourself into the arm, you're real fucking close to him.

The tin gets left on the now cleared coffee table. It's tight enough as is on this sofa. No need to add to it. Plus you gotta utilize all that freed table space while it's still there.

You wave your half-eaten cookie in his direction from which he turns away vehemently. He tries to kinda shove you but it's pretty weak on account of him being way too close. Not much leverage and maneuverability at this range.

"I will never get your disdain for the baked goods of the world, man. This shit is peak."

Since you've stopped trying to entice John with your half-eaten cookie, he slumps back into the backrest.

"Nanna was here yesterday," he says.

"Dude all that junk lasted you for more than a day? That's crazy. Well it's not gonna last much longer." You punctuate your statement with disappearing the last of that cookie into your mouth. They only get better with each one you eat.

Surprisingly john frowns at that. "If you're gonna eat it all, what am I supposed to live off of?"

"I brought leftovers," you say.

John makes a concerned expression that borders on despair.

"Dude. Not shit I made. What's with you and thinking I'll poison you? It's Karkat made food. It's fucking great!"

"Why do you have stuff Karkat made?" At least he doesn’t look hopeless anymore. Though you're also not a fan of the suspicion he’s leveling at you.

What's he think you broke into Karkat and Dave's house to steal some of their Tupperware from their fridge and now you’re taking your loot on a tour?

"Karkat cooks like he's feeding an army, man. He basically forced the shit on me after dinner," you say. And then because you're not about to sound like a total asshole you add, "Not that I need much convincing. The stuff's the meal of gods. I guess Karkat's not a god. Whatever. It's fucking great."

"You were eating at Karkat's?" John asks.

He sounds confused like he’s suddenly not sure which Dave he's talking to anymore. His scrutinizing looks don't fill you with much confidence that he’s fully sure either.

"Karkat and the Other Dave have guests all the time. Why shouldn't I also be one of them? They're like family or something."

"Oh," is all John says to that.

You don't know if he's one of the people who gets regular invites from the davekat household. You kinda hope he is. But you're also very sure he isn't answering any messages of any kind. From Karkat, Other Dave or anyone else for that matter. You don't even know if he's left the house since you've found him wandering like a week back.

It's kind of depressing to think that even the Other Dave and John's relationship might be wasting away with time. There was a time where he was one of the most important people in your life. And you understand that you kinda fucked that one up hard for yourself. But you'd have hoped there was at least one Dave that was still John's best friend.

You're not sure what inspires you to ask. Maybe it's the thought of another Dave without a John, a burden you think only you should bear. Or how empty his fridge has been up until Nanna and now you filled it. But no matter the reasoning, you find yourself asking, "You wanna come next time? For dinner at the casa Karkat, I mean."

John looks over at you. Face kind of scrunched but you're not entirely sure what that means.

"Why's it casa Karkat. Doesn't Dave also live there?"

So avoiding the question it is. Might be for the better.

You shrug. "Dunno. Just feels like it. Dave's like tagging along wherever Karkat lives I'd guess. So it's like Karkat default since he’s deciding."

"I'd think he’d be like super particular about that," John says. "Like he knows all about the best housing and shit."

"Dude any Dave has never known jack about dick. About housing, but also like most other things. You've been this guy's friend for like a decade now. And you've known me for about that long also. How the fuck have you not gotten the whole full of shit thing yet?" you say. Which in retrospect maybe you shouldn't have said. Maybe he genuinely doesn't know you’re a jackass who just spouts whatever all the time. Woulda given you quite the upper hand.

"I mean I know that about you." Okay well so much about that. "But Dave's always so opinionated. I just thought he'd be like super picky when it came to where he lives."

"The only thing he's particular about is not living in his Bro's abode, man. Anything else is good as far as I know. Like if Karkat was suddenly on some barn life cottage core shit and moved their shit into a shed in the middle of the woods, Dave'd prolly be chill. As long as he's got like electricity for his rig," you say.

You're pretty sure Dave still makes music. He's not using the stuff Bro gave him. That shit's in Bro's old place, where you're using it. You think maybe he alchemized some for the meteor. Or maybe there was a turntable somewhere in the stacks of captcha cards you gave him way back when. He'd have had them on the meteor probably. You don't remember exactly what shit you'd had equipped back during your backward time travel stunt.

John makes that face he makes when he’s thinking hard. It looks kind of stupid. Like he's not really sure how to use that brain of his.

"Rose mentioned they had a falling out or something," he comes up with. On prompting from your confused silence and blank expression he adds, "Dave and his Bro, I mean."

Maybe there actually isn't a brain in there at all.

"Dude. Bro was a huge piece of shit. Like sure he could be cool or whatever. But he like beat the shit out of us. And he like surveillance tortured us. Fucking panopticon in that shit ass apartment. I still sometimes find cameras in crevices. Like the man was a dick. There didn't have to be a falling out. All he did was bite the dust while in the game. All Dave did was realize that shit."

It took you longer to realize that shit. You grieved Bro, though it was probably more along the lines of torturing yourself with guilt, and feeling responsible for his death.

Shit took you a long time to realize and maybe a couple of conversations with Dave. Not full-on pile pale talk bullshit. Just vague remarks on the subject thrown into conversations.

You got there yourself from those clues. All Nancy Drew like. You put the pieces together and found out who done it.

John stares at you like you're insane. Or like he's never seen you before.

How the fuck did he not know.

"Did you genuinely not know man?" you ask.

"I thought he was just kind of a weirdo," John says.

You roll your eyes. "Well he was. But he was also a piece of shit."

"Why didn't Dave ever say anything? Why didn't you?"

"Because Dave didn’t know. Like didn't realize that shit wasn't normal. That's what it was for me, I guess. And because we're closed of assholes. We don't share shit. Like has Dave even told you he's gay? Like no offense, but he's not starting with 'My bro was an abusive bastard and I got hella trauma from that.' It's just not the Strider way man."

John's eyes are huge. It's honestly hilarious. So much blue and white and black.

"Dave is gay?"

You try your best to get your face to do the yeah no shit expression. You're still not great at emoting but this one you feel is important.

"Yeah, no shit man. Why'd you think he and Karkat live together?"

John looks like you've turned his entire world on its head.

"Has he been gay this whole time?"

"Kinda how that works dude," you say. "Like lots'a denial going on. But from what I’m guessing that meteor trip did wonders for that revelation as well."

"Are you also gay?" he looks kind of distressed about that. You're not sure if it's cool that he’s more concerned with Dave's sexuality than his fucked up living situation growing up.

"Idk man. I'm a fucking bird. Birds don’t do that shit."

John’s brows are as furrowed as they can possibly be. There's full ass canyons in his forehead from how hard he’s forcing his brown together. It's plate tectonics in time lapse mode.

"Weren't there like gay penguins?" he asks.

Not at all what you'd thought he'd say. Fuck you will never understand this guy's mind.

"Crows aren’t penguins, dude," you say.

"But do crows do the gay thing? Like is there some heart warming article on that?" John asks. He's already digging in his pockets for his phone and then in the sofa cushions when his pockets don’t produce it.

"I don't know man. Stop trying to guess the sexual preferences of my bird. It's super weird." You shift your weight a little to better cover up where you can feel John's phone sticking out of the cushions. "And answer my fucking question. Are you coming? Next time, to dinner?"

John looks taken aback again. Elbow deep in the couch crevices he looks back up at you.

"Oh. Erm. I guess. Yeah, I could do that."

You'd honestly not expected him to agree. He's been so withdrawn. You doubt your presence helps that urge. But maybe you startled him enough.

Now you don't know what to do. You said that mostly to distract from the question of you and your bird's sexuality. Fuck you, if you have an answer for John about that.

"Right. cool." What a smooth motherfucker you are.

Both of your efforts; John's continuous search for his phone, and your search for what the fuck to do in this situation; Gets interrupted when John's stomach growls loudly enough for you to hear it.

"Shit dude. Shoulda told me you were starving," you say and gratefully take the out the universe granted you there.

You get up maybe a little too quickly and hover awkwardly backwards to the kitchen.

"Gotta give you a taste of that Karkatism. You'll for sure want to come once you taste this."

You have no idea what drives you to keep talking. Not right now but also not ever. It's like a perpetual drive in your brain that needs to fill as much time with words as is possible for you. Like you got a fucking quota to fill. Gotta clock in at the yap factory.

And you're not entirely sure how, but you're fairly certain you're putting your foot in it. The Dave Strider special. Hasn't ever stopped you from talking though.

"I don’t even think there's any grub in this one. Though, dude. I swear you're missing out. Karkat's grub heavy dishes are fucking heavenly."

You get interrupted by John making a small triumphant noise. You can just hear it past the humming of the fridge when you get the leftovers out. While it's probably for the better that it stopped you from continuing to talk, you don't have a good feeling about it.

There's a couple minutes of quiet. You put the Tupperware into the microwave. Dig through the cabinets for shit to eat with and from. You don't know how nicely John will want this plated up. You usually just eat it from the plastic container. Means fewer dishes.

You think about asking him. Think better of it. And then second guess that thought too.

"Ravens are gay, says Wikipedia," John says. Now you remember why that noise was bad news. He found his fucking phone. "Those are kinda the same right?"

"Ravens aren't crows, dude. That's like humans and gorillas," you say.

"Really? Who's which?" John appears in the kitchen doorway. Somehow, despite the fact that this is his house, and you've been in the kitchen with him plenty of times before, it's kind of overwhelming. Like you'd dedicated this your backtracking zone. The prepare to fuck up some more but only once you get out of this place zone. And now John is here and with him the social faux pas come a rushing.

"I don’t know. Ravens are bigger, I guess. So ravens are gorillas?" you say for a lack of anything less dumb to contribute.

"So crows are the Humans of the birds?"

"Nah, man. I don’t know. Don't listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying. I think ravens are like way smarter."

The microwave dings mercifully giving you something to do besides butcher a species wide comparison.

John has entered the kitchen now. He's still tapping away at his phone with one hand but he gets out soup plates and cutlery and shit. That solves that problem for you at least.

"Google says both gorillas and humans are gay, though," John says.

"Did you google if humans are gay? Dude, you knew that." You take one of the plates and put some of the warmed-up stew on it. You sure fucking hope it's all the way warmed through. Would be awkward as fuck to have to put it back in the microwave once you got all settled and shit.

"But does that mean crows are also gay?" John asks.

You poke at the plate a little without outright just sticking your fingers in there. John's probably not a huge fan of Dave finger stank in his food.

From the preliminary poking you can do, it seems alright.

"No dude. That means fuck all." You hand the hopefully sufficiently warmed plate to John. "Stop trying to sleuth my bird up and eat your grub."

John takes the plate and eyes it critically. "I thought you said there wasn’t any grub in this?"

"Not that kind of grub. The Human kind," you say and take your own plate of ungrubbed stew.

Despite his apparent hesitation on account of grub levels, he takes his plate into the living room and sits down again. you follow him back to your seats, though he's left some more space for you this time.

It feels a little silly to sit here with proper plates but not a table to sit at. Not that you have much proper table manner experience. You squirreled most of your meals away during the boat flight. And bro obviously barely fed you at all, let alone at a table. All you’ve got to show for yourself are the Karkat and Dave mealtimes. They have a whole ass dinner table and shit. Karkat's got matching cutlery and sets of plates and shit, the whole nine yards.

"There's a Human kind of grub?" John says. Then he puts his spoon in his mouth. He doesn't seem unhappy about what he's tasting which is a relief to you.

Despite living with him for three years, you're by no means an expert on John's yucks and yums culinarily. Could have to do with you never sticking out those dinners Nanna prepared for the three of you.

"Oh, that reminds me," John says, "Nanna's got her feet back."

"How the fuck did Human grub remind you of feet dude? That sounds nasty."

John elbows you and then has to carefully rebalance his own plate, disturbed from the offensive jostling.

"You're so gross dude," he says as if that connection was on you and not him.

"How am I the villain here? You said, that reminds you. What the fuck else was I supposed to take from that."

"Bluh. You're so pedantic sometimes. You should be paying attention to the feet thing not the grub thing. Dude. Nanna has feet again," John says.

"You're not convincing me that what you're saying here isn't some kind of weird slang for some deeply messed up fetish stuff. The feet thing? Really, dude?"

This time John kicks you, and with the foresight to lift his plate out of harm’s way first.

"Dude stop being a dick. Nanna said Tavros figured out how to like conjure his feet back up. Apparently, he's got like paws now, because of the cat stuff. But her feet are like back to normal," John says.

"That's sick, dude. Love that for them."

John does the probably biggest eyeroll you’ve ever seen.

"You're so dense sometimes," he complains. You pointedly shut yourself up with a spoon of non-Troll grub. "I'm saying you might get your legs back. You just gotta talk to them about it."

You take your time chewing and swallowing your food, and then say, "What if I don't want my legs back?"

You don't know what drives you to contrarianism. This time or most other times when you've fallen prey to it. It might just feel safer than being open. And ain't that the Strider in you talking.

John groans. "What is wrong with you? You've been complaining about the sprite shit since you got it. And now all of a sudden you're good?"

He's not wrong. But you're not easy to give up on a losing battle.

"Maybe i made peace with it. Accepted my body with all its faults. It's called self love, John."

John actually looks kind of pissed off by that.

"I don't believe that. You're full of shit and you know it. I bet you just don't want to talk to Nanna because she scares you."

Nanna has never scared you. Or at least not often. Not more than she's made you feel at home and all those other old lady things she's super good at.

Not that John's fully wrong. You've not talked to her in too long. You're scared she'll be disappointed.

"You've got much talking. You've not talked to fucking anyone in forever."

John pouts into his stew. "I've talked to Nanna. I'm talking to you."

"Because we show up at your doorstep, dude. That's like forced socialization. Doesn't count." You don’t think it’s a good idea to remind him that you're an uninvited guest. And that you're an asshole to boot. You're poking the fragile peace between you with a stick, and you're pretty sure it's moments away from bursting.

You don't want that. But you've also never been good at letting sleeping dogs lie.

"Maybe I should get Nanna to visit you then." John grumbles.

Bad idea. You don't like that idea at all. You don't want Nanna in your living space, the same place where Bro used to fuck with your head. You've barely cleaned up any of his shit, despite living there for years. You don't need her to see that.

That's like the last thing you want. Nanna scrutinizing your and your dead Bro's shit and asking questions and showing you compassion and shit.

Fuck you have to make that not happen somehow.

"Nanna doesn’t even know where I live," you say, hoping beyond hope that it's true. You're not super confident it is. "I doubt you know either."

“I do too,” John says in an entirely unconvincing tone with a pout that doesn’t make you feel any more confident he’s not just lying.

“Sounds convincing dude,” you say dismissively.

John huffs but doesn’t argue further. It's kind of a hollow win.

"Whatever man. I'll talk to her. No need to get all in my business about it." You're giving in too easy probably. He'll know something's up and keep pestering you about it.

You just really don't want nanna to come into your apartment.

The feared scrutiny doesn't come. Instead you're hit with the full force of John's determination.

"Do it now then!"

He shoves his phone at you as if you don't have your own. And as if you'd use his phone for this.

You push his phone out of your face. "I'm not calling her right now. I'm eating."

"Well, then I'll call her." He starts fiddling with his phone.

You snatch it out of his hand. "Dude chill. I doubt nanna wants to hear us make nasty chewing noises."

You hold it out with the hand furthest from him and use your wing to block him from getting to it. You're precariously balancing your meal on your lap.

"Daaavveeee! You're such a coward. Give me back my phone," John whines.

"You can have it back after we've eaten. Just sit back down, man. You're gonna spill your grub."

With an indignant huff John sits back down. His plate hovers just next to him on a little vortex of air, suspended there by John's windy powers. "You sound like my Dad. Don't do that," he says, arms crossed.

Shame washes over you. Well there's that part of the boat trip. The reason he can't stand you.

And he’s right to feel that way.

You lower your wing. Let his phone drop to the sofa. Try not to shrink away too much into yourself.

You've hidden from this for so long. Avoided it like that might make it better.

You see John locking himself away and wonder if that's on you too.

You stare down into your stew. You've thoroughly lost your appetite, but there's not much to do besides eat.

You swallow down one bite and then another. It feels like forcing down cement.

"Sorry about that," you choke out past the stew.

"Are you gonna call her?" he asks.

You're surprised he still cares. Maybe he doesn't. It's a battle to win, you suppose. Not that John cares that deeply about winning. Maybe if it's against you he does.

"Yeah. I'll call her," you say. You feel like if you eat another bite, you might actually hurl.

You get up, put the half eaten plate on the table.

"I'll go do that right now. You can keep the rest of the leftovers," you say and leave through the back door.

You hear John call out something behind you, but your absconding can't be stopped. You feel sicker and sicker the further you get, running from it again. Leaving your fucking responsibilities behind again. Those pesky consequences, like you could ever outrun them. Like the coward John accused you of being.

When you're somewhere above the city, high enough to barely make out what's below anymore, you take your phone out of your sylladex and call Nanna.

John's Nanna found you there, sitting by the newly closed up grave. She smiled at you, sadly as you apologized for not alerting you of her grandson's passing. You'd honestly forgotten about her.

But she was kind. She murmured something about cremation and tradition, but didn't make you do any more morbid corpse related labor.

She took you back up to John's house, fed you cake and didn't comment on your wistful looks around John's kitchen.

You'd seen it in a couple of photos he'd taken, mostly of himself doing whatever preteens do. Getting into shenanigans and pulling mediocre pranks.

It felt bad being here without John. You'd have wanted him to show you around.

Dave Sprite hasn't come back. It's been a couple of days. Enough for you to have eaten your way through the Tupper Wares he left plus the baked goods from Nanna.

Despite what he promised when here, Dave Sprite didn't actually eat any of the pie or even that many of the cookies.

The asshole just left you to fend for yourself with it.

You also haven't heard from Nanna again. Which isn't bad news per se. It means she's unlikely to overrun you with baked goods and cleaning products again. But it makes you skeptic about whether Dave Sprite actually called her after all.

You've abandoned the kitchen, it's now full of dirty tins, plastic containers, and dishes. None of which you have the wherewithal to deal with.

You are hungry though. The desperate misery of being once again out of food drives your thoughts to that invitation.

You half think it was just a prank. One of Dave Sprites infamous ones.

But you'd honestly go for some of Karkat's cooking.

When Jade first moved your house here, and everyone was mostly staying with you for a bit, before they figured out where they were going to live, Karkat cooked sometimes.

Back then, years at this point, he wasn't as good as those leftovers tell you he is now.

But you liked the warm meal and the full house.

Dave texts you sooner than you'd expected. He tells you Rose and Kanaya dipped put on them at short notice and now they have a bunch of prep done and it's gonna be way too much food, so they'll be wasting food either way, and also Karkat's all grumpy about missing out on seeing his friends.

You tell him you're ready to tap in if that's worth shit for Karkat's mood. You're always up for being the way food doesn't get wasted. And you tell him to hold the bugs and set an extra place. If you can get fucking anything done, you'll be bringing John.

His enthusiastic excitement only fills you with a vague sense of dread.

You honestly doubt John will actually want to come. You have the foreboding feeling you're about to make their evening even more of a disappointment than if you'd just said no.

You at least try. You roll up to John's house. The back door remains unlocked and you let yourself in.

The kitchen's a mess, and for a moment you consider doing at least enough of the dishes to take Karkat's Tupperware back to him. It's only a moment, though, because you don't actually wanna do dishes.

You abandon the kitchen in the state you found it in and proceed to the living room.

On the couch, potentially asleep, you're not sure, is John. The TV's off and he has his eyes closed.

Asleep he looks nothing like he did dead. There's an edge to him here, like he's moments away from frowning. And there's a movement to him too, slight but perceptible. Like he's moving in the breeze of his own windy thing.

He looks alive.

It takes you aback. It almost hurts to see him like this. You've missed him, and you don't know what to do with that feeling. You don't think you've earned it. You doubt he will let you rectify it.

You might just have to live with it.

"Are you asleep?" you ask, loud enough that it might wake him even if he was.

John startles awake, or aware. It's impossible to tell. The frown comes to him naturally as he glares up at you.

"Dave Sprite?" he asks.

"I got an invitation to extend, you still in?"

He looks surprised and a little dazed, like he’s not entirely awake yet. Maybe he really was sleeping.

You have the curtesy of feeling bad about waking him. He looks exhausted.

"When?"

"Like right now. Well maybe not now. Karkat'd have a conniption if we came that early. Be in his way while he rages up a storm about us being useless. Might be entertaining though," you say.

John looks wistfully amused, which isn't an emotion you've seen on him in a while. Or maybe ever. You tended to stay out of his and Jade's way when they were doing whatever jibling bonding they did on the ship. You assume Jade could inspire many more emotions from John besides the annoyed and skeptical ones that you tend to, and tended to back then too.

"Hehe, he'd cuss us out so much. That'd be fun actually," he says.

"So, you coming?" you ask, as if it doesn't make you sound desperately needy and insecure.

John clambers into an upright position and this is when you realize that he looks like he's not slept or left the house in weeks.

You do feel bad about waking him.

"Dude when was the last time you showered?" you ask.

John does a whimsically thoughtful expression that doesn't fill you with much confident on the matter.

"Go take a shower. We've got enough time," you tell him.

In his stunt with contemplation he must have figured out that he could be pissed about this, so he draws his eyebrows in and scrunches up his mouth. It's not quite a pout, but it's close.

He must be awake enough to remember how he feels about you.

"You didn't call nanna," he accuses you apropos of nothing.

"I did too," you say, because petulant defensiveness comes like second nature to you when it's him you're talking to.

Suddenly you're fourteen again and annoying John is about the only calling in life you've ever cared about.

"Oh yeah? Then where's your legs?" John asks, rhetorically, you presume.

"Left 'em at home," you answer, regardless. And uselessly.

You didn’t. Leave them. You did call Nanna. You just couldn't do it. She explained and you tried and they just wouldn't come. And then she told you to call Tavros, which you didn't because, no offense to the guy, but that wasn't going to help. But he called you eventually, and he explained, the same as Nanna just less coherently. And you tried again and it wouldn't budge. Your wispy tail stays stubbornly where it is, refusing to split or dissolve or do anything useful besides elongate at your increased stress level.

So you gave up. You told Tavros it'd worked so he'd leave you alone and vowed to just never see either of them ever again. Problem solved.

Except of course it’s not.

"Well you better go pick ‘em up right now, then. I'm not going with you without your legs," John asserts.

Problem super not solved whatsoever.

You sigh dramatically, "Fine, I'll get my shitty legs if you get your shitty ass in the shower."

You're stalling, and that's probably worse. You're making it worse.

John's about as unhappy with this as you are, but after another good glare he relents.

"Fine. I better see some strut poles by the time I’m clean like a baby," he says.

You huff with mild amusement at the trollism, as far as you know he doesn't talk to the Trolls any more than the Humans he knows. There's no way he actually uses that Troll speak. Most of them don't. Not even Dave does it outside of jokes, and he spends literally all his time with the trolloquialism king. But you allow him to have amused you a little. Or maybe you allow yourself.

"Dude, babies are famously filthy, I'm pretty sure," you say

"Oh yeah? What's usually clean then, if you know so much about clean things?" John gripes back. It's sillier and less antagonistic than you're used to.

"The idiom's whistles I think."

"That's dumb. People put their dirty mouths all over those. That's nasty," John says.

"While you mention it, probably also brush your teeth. God knows when you last did that. Your cavities are probably unionizing as we speak, you wanna get in between that before they start demanding shit of you," you say.

John keeps his frown up, but he backs away from you, floating up the stairs without taking his eyes off you.

"I better see some legs when i get back down," he calls just before you hear the door to the bathroom close.

Now you have to figure out what the fuck to do about this.

You could of course just leave. Flee, again, like a loser, and throw in the towel before the fight's even properly started.

But then you wouldn't go to Karkat’s and John probably wouldn't go without you, so you'd be disappointing three more people.

So you sit down on the couch and you try again.

You try to conjure up the image of your legs, what they felt like. That shit's like 7 years back. It feels a little like trying to remember all the pathways of Lohac. The way to your denizen. It's vague and a little confused by time.

The Human part of you never really made it into the coding shit of your sprite self, just kind of simmering in the back. Frustrated at the restrictions, confused by the rules, intimidated by the sheer volume of information the game gave you.

You fell back onto it a lot, in those three years of pure spritehood. But even with your reliance on it, the memory of you as a Human, not as a game construct, got even more muddled when suddenly you were not a code in the game with a bunch of flesh memories shoved inside, but just a person. The edges got blurred between what's sprite, and what's you, and what's bird.

You try anyway. You doubt you spent that much time thinking about your legs back then, but you dig and search.

You find the memory of your stance on gravel on a hot roof. You find the feeling of shifting your weight from sturdy and unmoving into a flash step. You feel the impact of your shin against one of the steps of the stairs down to your front door.

You stop looking.

You open your eyes, get up and float out of the living room. You can hear the shower running upstairs. You turn on the faucet in the kitchen.

You hope that the piping in this house is better than what you're used to. In your apartment you can always feel when someone else is running a faucet while you do. You're not trying to steal John's hot water.

You let the sink fill and listen for protests from upstairs that never come. You wash the Tupperware and then Nanna's tins.

The hot soapy water does well to revert your attention. This isn't a feeling you know from before. This is you now. Washing dishes of all things.

You're pretty sure you suck at it, never learned it and shit. But you do it because that's what you do. In this new world it's what you do.

You let the dishwater take your fucked up feelings with it. Maybe Karkat'll be able to taste it, the next time he uses those dishes. You hope for his sake he won't. You really hope Dave won't.

Terezi would probably be able to smell that shit. But she's millions of miles away.

Floating just like you, but with more purpose than you. And she's managed to save herself from your shit with it too. Props to her.

You consider doing the rest of the dishes too, but hear the shower turn off. You dry everything, captchalouge the Tupperware and leave the tins there for John to give back to Nanna himself. You doubt you'll be seeing her any time soon.

You drift back to the living room as John descends the stairs. He's wearing only boxers and a wife beater of all things.

You have no idea how to react to that. It feels silly that this is even weird. You lived together for three years. How have you never seen John's slimer boxershorts?

"Where's your legs?" John accuses.

"You just missed 'em," you say. You're kind of in shock from how much of John you're seeing. "You're not wearing that to dinner, are you?" You tack on, because all you can think about is how small that shirt is on him. From what you've seen, John doesn't eat enough, so how the fuck is there so much of him?

"Dave! You said you'd talked to Nanna!" The genuine pout is almost enough to get you to stop looking back down at the little bit of stomach that's showing between the shirt and his boxers. Fuck you need to get a grip.

"I did, dude. It just doesn't work for me. It's fine. I can live legless," you say.

John doesn't give a shit what you've got to say to defend yourself. This trial has run its course and the jury finds you guilty of all

charges. The jury that’s one guy, who's also the judge probably.

He's uncaptchad his phone and is tapping away at it as you're still trying to make your case. You should've talked to Terezi more while she was still on Earth C. Gotten some of that lawyerly wisdom. But how could you have known you'd have to be your own defense one day.

Nanna picks up on the second ring and you watch John as he tries to get her to skip the regular grandson to grandparent conversation, so he can get to that info faster.

He's not super successful at it. It takes several tries and a good couple of minutes for him to get that sweet lore from Nanna.

"So you can do it!" he says, to you not to Nanna, though the phone is still at his ear.

You kinda try to close yourself off. Not give shit away. You feel that Striderism activate. "Told you I talked to her," you say instead of actually saying what you should. That lie is unsustainable as fuck.

"No, Nanna, I was- yeah he's here. He's fine, I guess. No, he doesn't. That's the whole problem. I guess. Yeah. I'll tell him. Okay, yeah," John says into the phone.

You contemplate for the you don’t know how many-eth time today, that you could just leave. It'd suck, and you'd let down lots of people. But so what. Isn't that what you do?

John hangs up the phone. "Nanna says hi."

"Oh. Kinda too late to say that back now, huh?" you say.

"She says you should come by and she'll show you the leg thing."

You feel just the slightest expression of discontentment coming on. You're still kind of in Strider no emotion mode. But you let it happen. Not like anyone here who'll mind.

"That sounds like something I don't really want to witness. No offense, but I don't think the birth of Nanna legs is something I need in my life," you say.

"Eww, Dave! You're so gross. God. Why'd you say it like that," John says, but he looks almost amused.

He moves to grab your arm before you've noticed he even got that close, and then he's pulling you up the stairs.

"If you’re not asking Nanna, I'm just gonna have to do that. Not make you watch me birth some legs. That's gross. No, get your leg birthing going. Man. That's such a sucky metaphor. This better not involve excess amounts of fluids. I just showered," John chatters while he pulls you into his room.

It's how it was when you saw it in pictures he took as a kid. And how it was when you first went in here and every other time you went in here on your trip on the ship. And how it was a couple of weeks or so ago when you first bumped into him in the air.

John sits you down on his bed and for some reason that shit makes you all hells of nervous. You feel like a fucking blushing teenage girl, sitting in her crush’s bedroom.

Except that’s such a shitty metaphor, because you're not gay and not at all attracted to John. That'd be so fucked up and would totally not ever happen. Because you're not the Other Dave, so you're not gay, and you're not a teen girl and you don't like John like that. Or at all.

Ok that last one isn't true. You like him. A lot. Too much for how big of an ass you've been to him. And too much for how little he can stand you.

"Now, Nanna said you have to think of your legs. Like picture them." John stands before you, hands on his hips, determined look on his face.

You're kind of face to tits with him. And it’s a little distracting. Because he's still only wearing that shitty undershirt and that shit is famously revealing. It's revealing all kinds of stuff to you. Mostly John stuff. There's a lot of him you’re seeing right now.

"So, Dave has these real beefy legs, right? But you’re not him. You're still scrawny like you were when you were a teen. So your legs would probably be kinda sticky. Like a stick. Not the glue kind of sticky. But also, you've got that bird thing. Birds have like chickeny legs right. Well duh. Chickens are birds. Haha, do you think you'll have chicken legs?" John seems pretty content to just talk at you and laugh at his own jokes. You don't know how you conjured up this version of him. It definitely doesn't feel earned. But god, is it good hearing that shit.

"Dude I’m not gonna have chicken legs. My bird's not a chicken!"

"Well how would you know. You haven't gotten them, have you?"

You can recognize an obvious set up when you see it. and you let him have it. Because what have you ever been good at if not rising to a challenge given by John.

"Dude, I know cause it's my legs," you say.

"Oh yeah. If you know your legs so well, why don't you get ‘em out?"

"Fuck, man. I might just. And you'll see. Dave's beefy legs won't have shit on these. No chicken in sight. They'll be the kinda legs you gotta never skip leg day for."

John laughs, and that feels like a fucking knighting. Only better, because this shit doesn't have all those connotations.

"That would look so weird. your scrawny ass with super muscley legs. Haha! That'd definitely be worse than chicken legs."

"No, dude, you'll see. I'll become a fucking leg model. I'll be putting Jake English out of the job of hottest piece of ass on planet c. You laugh now but soon you'll see."

John is laughing now. A full belly laugh, at whatever bullshit you've conjured up there. Apparently you're doing something right.

"You won't believe your eyes at how incredible these legs will be. Honestly maybe I shouldn't bring 'em out. They're too good. It'd be unethical. They'll be so great they'll blind anyone who looks at them directly. Like a full divine catastrophe in this bitch. Shit'll be so divine I'll god tier on the spot. I'll be lord of legs. And that'll shift the balance of the universe and everything will fucking fall apart under the absolute enormity of the greatness of my legs. I can't do that to the world. John, you can't make me do that. Think of the world. Don't put this on my conscience."

John is trying his absolute best to regain his breath while he giggles helplessly at your dumbassery. He's waving a hand at you, which doesn't do its job of getting you to stop well at all.

At last he takes you by your shoulders, bent over from all the laughter, and shakes you lightly until you stop.

"Dave, stop," he says once you've already stopped. "My stomach hurts, Jesus. Dude. Just get your legs already."

You look up into his eyes, watery from all that laughing, and as blue as any cloudless sky could ever be.

"Did you hear none of what I said. I'd be destroying the universe," you say.

John giggles again, much to his dismay, which is written all over his face. He swats one of your shoulders.

"Stop stalling, Dave. It's just legs. How hard can that be."

"You'll find my legs'll be super hard. From all that muscle."

This manages another full laugh out of him.

"You're playing unfairly. Stop making me laugh!" he complains through his giggles.

"Okay man. I'll do my best. But you seem hella amused by the subject at hand."

John shakes you again. Just a bit and then looks you straight in the eyes.

"Dave, stop being a coward. Just think of your legs and make them appear!" he says.

And what the hell are you gonna do. Refuse? When John looks at you like that?

So you do what he said. You think of your legs. What they'd be like if they were now. Just legs. Whatever that means for you.

You don’t look away from John, hoping he'll keep you here. If anyone could stand between you and your past you think it would be him.

You feel when your body changes. It doesn't feel like a splitting. Just a rearranging. There's a wispy tail at first, and then there's legs after. Just you but different.

John is the first to look down.

"Oh, look it worked," he exclaims excitedly.

You chance a look down and there they are. They're orange and unfortunately scrawny. From the above view they sure look like they're the right size too, which is a relief.

You got all the toes too, a wiggle there confirms them, and moving your legs apart to look at them without kicking John in front of you, reveals to you that that's where the bird part came out. It's not quite talons, and there's five of them, but your toes are a little sharper than you remember them being. And certainly sharper than John's, that conveniently stand in front of them for comparison.

The movement of your legs also draws your eyes to the boxers you're wearing. Thank god for that. They too are orange but have a black bird motif on them. Which is probably more embarrassing because you like it quite a lot.

"And the world didn't end either," John says with a grin.

"There goes my job prospects of leg moddeling," you say.

John chuckles a little at that.

"So did you like turn your tail into them? How did it work?" he asks. "Wait, or do you still have your tail? Did it just turn into a proper tail?" He’s trying to peek over your shoulder to see your back. Shoving you around in the process, bending over you.

"Dude, I don’t have a tail," you say. "Birds don't have tails, dumbass."

"They totally do. Show me your tail!"

John is undeterred by your protest or your subsequent struggle when you try to stop him from getting to your supposed tail.

"Dude, quit it," you say to no avail.

John, more determined than ever, puts his whole body, and you're fairly certain, his windy stuff, into it, and practically wraps himself around you. You feel his hands on your lower back, shoving and scrambling and at last pulling your t-shirt aside.

Theres a little gasp, and then John's fingers on you in a strange and unfamiliar sensation.

"You do have a little tail. That's so cute, Dave!" John says as he keeps petting your apparent tail.

Emboldened by the humiliation, you actually start engaging properly in the fight and wrestle John off of you. It's been a long time since you fought anyone, but that shits like riding a bike. If the only other option is falling and cracking your head open, you inevitably get good at it.

John doesn't seem to have expected your defense and it takes him a moment to react. But then the two of you are genuinely wrestling. Full body contact style.

There's kicking and scratching, and hair pulling, and at one point John tries to bite you.

After a good minute of tussling, you end up on top, with his arms pinned by yours beside his head, and your knees bracketing his hips.

You're both breathing heavily. You're probably gonna get some bruises from that too. You can still feel where his elbow met your ribs.

Your knees hurt from where you're putting most of your weight on them on the carpet, and your legs burn from the unfamiliar activity. And it's exhilarating.

John stares up at you, defeat not affecting him seemingly at all. His face breaks into a huge grin and he starts laughing. And you can't help but join in.

Because it's ridiculous. You're both in boxershorts, and you spent the time you were supposed to get ready wrestling.

"God this is stupid," you say.

"You have a little tail, Dave!" John says with utter delight.

"Shut up, man," you retort and let go of his arms.

Instead of getting up you sit on Johns hips. He grins up at you.

"And you still have your normal butt," he tells you.

"Man, what's your obsession with my butt? And you're accusing me of being gay."

"Well for one, it's sitting on me right now," he says and pokes your hip. But he doesn't actually make any move to throw you off. "Which is, I'll say, is actually kinda gay, so..."

"I'm pinning you, that's not gay. I won the wrestling. That's hella masculine," you defend but you're already getting up, trying to shake the uncomfortability that's settled in you.

"What you’re giving in that easy? You're such a chicken," John says with a shit eating grin.

"You want me to sit on you some more? Dude, that’s pretty gay."

You turn to John's closet. It's kinda sparse, but you'll need clothes. You try to remember if the alchemiter's still there.

"Your butt looks way less weird when you have two legs. I was so right," John says. Still from the floor, where he's apparently ogling your butt.

"Dude, stop looking at my butt. Do you still have the alchemiter? I'm gonna need something to wear."

"What? You're not wearing that to dinner?"

When you look back at him, John's propped himself up on his elbows, grinning at you. Probably because he feels real clever about getting those words back at you.

"Yeah man. I was actually planning on giving these legs some nice show around. But if you're introducing someone to society you gotta dress ‘em up. So I was thinking lingerie. To show off my butt too, while I'm at it. I thought I'd take it to the alchemiter, unless you got some laying around conveniently here somewhere."

John sticks his tongue out at you. "The alchemiters still on the balcony."

You do your best shit eating grin, or at least menacing smirk. You're at least half Lalonde; You should know how to do that.

"Who's the chicken now."

You do alchemize some of the worst lingerie you can come up with. It's got sbahj imagery and too many holes to ever be put to practical use. You don’t put it on, because you're not that committed to the bit, but you do ask John for his opinion about it.

He’s mid putting on pants as you come back into his room, god knows what he did for that long before you got in. He looks up at you, where you’re holding the barely coherent strings of fabric to yourself.

"What d'you say? Appropriate dinnerware?"

He takes a moment to react, probably having to figure out what the fuck he’s looking at. Then he laughs at you.

"Oh god, you actually did that. Dave, that's so weird. Get that out of here."

You smirk victoriously. "What you don't want to keep them as a memento?"

You dangle them seductively from one finger.

"Gross, dude. No! We should burn those in the fireplace!"

If they weren't about the shittiest things you’ve ever made, you'd be super up for that. But you're not even sure these things can burn.

You leave the abomination of a piece of clothing draped over John's dresser, which makes him shout in indignation after you. And you actually alchemize some fucking wearable apparel.

You end up with jeans and a t-shirt. None of which are orange. The shirt does have to be adjusted with your sword to accommodate your wings. Maybe you'll get other Dave to talk to Kanaya about making a more elegant solution for that. You've just been getting by like this with your old shirts.

By the time your clothes are done, both alchemized and wing adjusted, John has also managed to put on clothes.

He looks normal again. There's still rings under his eyes, but besides that he looks like he's doing fine. Not the shut in depressed mess of exhaustion he was an hour or so ago.

"Ready?" you ask him?

He startles a little from where he'd been messing around in his magic chest. It's generally not a great sign when John fucks around in there. It means pranks tend to be incoming.

You decide not to address it, leave him the pleasure should it come to that.

"Yup," he says and gets up to join you.

The flight to Karkat and Daves house is longer than the one to your own house, though not by that much. The whole flying thing does cut down on time.

You're glad your lack of sprite tail doesn't take your flying abilities away from you. It would suck to have to figure out how to use that wing and a half of yours to get airborne after all.

Earth C does come with quite the extensive and accessible public transit system. You've spent at least a little time on it. You don't always feel like immediately getting the fuck into the air if other people are around. The non god kind of people.

And you stand out enough as is, no need to add weird floaty shit to it also. So you'd at least've know how to get around if the whole legs mean no flying thing did still decide to spontaneously develop. Maybe placebo effect wise, now, that you've thought of it, it'll come to pass. Just by sheer bullshittery of the universe considering that last bit of spritehood obsolete now that you're legged again.

It's not come to pass so far, and you're glad of it too. You're in midair, shit would suck major. You're pretty sure you do not have protection from fall damage, hypothetical mortality aside.

You arrive at the Karkat abode with no plummeting incidents thank the horrorterrors. Or paradox space, or whoever is responsible here. Maybe it's your friends, or not friends. Most of these motherfuckers you have a tentative relationship with at best.

Maybe you'll thank Dave, he'll at least think it’s funny, probably.

You knock on the door, Dave is still restless enough to hear, and the doorbell riles Karkat up. Both of which you've found out through trial and error. And both of which you can relate to.

Dave opens the door after a moment and his face god damn lights up at seeing John actually there beside you, in the flesh and outside of his house.

It's a little uncanny seeing your own face so expressive. You've gotten used to seeing him with your own face looking back at you, not mirrored. Sometimes you now startle at your own reflection. How it feels like things are on the wrong side. And the orange of it all.

You're not this expressive though. That meteor, and mostly, you assume, Karkat, really did a fucking number on drawing him the fuck out of the Strider shell that you're still fortified in.

"Holy shit, you're really here. The man, the myth, the legend. My guy, my dude. Holy shit. Man, come here," Dave prattles about, puling both of you in and then hugging John.

He goddamn hugs him. Kind of in the hug bump way. But still. You doubt you'll ever get to his level of emotional openness. Because that's crazy.

John seems much less taken aback. He laughs it off and pats Dave's back, amicably.

In the middle of him prattling still on about how he’s stoked that John is actually here, he abruptly stops and says,

"Yo, legs? That's new! When'd that happen?" Open curiosity is, as strange as it is, an emotion that suits Dave very well.

"Oh man, it was such a hassle to get him to make them!" John answers for you.

"Holy shit, what the fuck does that mean? Make, like did you arts and craft them? Like bust out the ol’ papier mache and go ham on some chicken wire? They look pretty functional. All stand and moveable. Are they like prosthetics?"

You shrug and kick one of your legs a little.

"Nah just legs. Some dumb sprite thing. No idea how it works though. Tavros figured out it was possible."

"He was really stubborn with it. Like it did not look that difficult, but man did he make it a production," John teases.

"Well you wouldn't know anything about sprite business, being a god and all. Not all of us can be real boys, John. Some have to work for it. Easy for you to say it wasn't difficult," you defend yourself.

John pokes you in the cheek and chuckles when you pull back your head with a disgruntled look.

"You seem pretty real too me, Dave," he sing-songs, and you have to fight to stop yourself from grinning.

You're not trying too hard though. You suppose you don't really have to. At least not here.

Dave looks vaguely amused at your antics.

"Well regardless of how you got them, it's pretty cool they're there now. You didn't really like that old tail, right. So now i can tell you to take off your shoes, first time for that one. And come on in."

Once you two've complied Dave herds you into the living room. You know the place well enough to not need to be led, technically. But you don't really want to go rouge on this evening. You're good with just going along with it.

The place smells like food, and smelling all that good stuff, you notice you're pretty hungry.

John's stomach growls and the sound interrupts the conversation, it's that loud. You snort a small laugh at it.

"Didn't know it was that urgent. Should've come earlier after all," you say. "you should've said you were starving."

"Doesn't really matter when you've come. Foods ready when Karkat says. Pressing only gets you cussed out," Dave replies.

"Tell that to John's stomach. He's the one complaining. I'm all good with giving the man of the house as much time with it as he very well needs."

"It's unfair having two of you here," John says with a frown. "How is anyone else gonna get a word in edgewise. You both talk for two by yourself, and now that's doubled also."

"God, fucking finally someone who gets it," Karkat’s voice comes from the door to the kitchen. All three of you look up to see him stand in the doorway.

"Usually it's only me who has to endure this fucking onslaught of oral impositions."

"I'll say I've never done anything as untoward as that. I'm a good goddamn houseguest. I'd never proposition someone like that. Orally or otherwise," you say. And before you've even finished you can see in Dave's posture that he will get on that set up as soon as you've got it standing. Never one to let such nice work go to waste. It's nice having someone appreciate your efforts as such.

"Can't say the same here. I've propositioned some pretty oral impositions in my time. Especially for my main man, Karkat," Dave says. And despite the shades you’re very sure he punctuated that with a wink.

"You better shut that oral imposition right the fuck up, or I'm propositioning you to sleep on the fucking sofa. We don't see John in fucking forever and the first thing you assholes do is make the worst jokes in paradox spaces history. It would not fucking surprise me if we don't see him again in as much time. And all because you Striders couldn't keep your goddamn vile shit to yourself," Karkat says.

"Not applicable to me," you say. "I've seen John pretty frequently. Clearly he's at least tolerant of my vile shit, if not fond of it."

"Oh John totally is fond of our vile shit, man. He's like the goddamn Dave Strider connoisseur. First man of the arts to invest in this little old me. I'd be nothing without his perverse love of my craft. He's a supporter of the culture of the Dave. It's why he was gone. Absence makes the heart grow hornier, you know how it is," Dave says.

"Gross," John says. "I was gonna say I don't mind but then you called me a pervert for your jokes. That's nasty."

"All of you are disgusting cretins, and i can't believe i voluntarily spend my time with you," Karkat says with a contemptuous look at the three of you. Then he adds, "Dinner's ready."

You all get your collective asses up and into the dining room. The table's all set, which was something you had to get used to. It's fucking weird eating at a table, let alone one with neat places for everyone around. Theres little placemats and everything. And the plates look fucking fancy. Neither chipped nor mismatched, and all with colorful borders. And the cutlery's all ornamental and shit. It's like a goddamn castle in casa Karkat. It's kinda nice, actually. And convenient, you'll give them that. Plus the non-disposable cutlery is way more durable than the plastic shit you were used to growing up. Lets you really dig the fuck in.

You sit around the table like a happy little suburban family. Communal meals honestly rule. You're kinda bummed you skipped out on them almost always on the ship. You wonder if shit could have gone better for you if you hadn't. But then again, the whole everyone dying and John turning back time like he's the time player thing still happened. So you suppose it wouldn't have mattered that much. You're not sure if you could have gotten John to warm up to you back then. You're not even sure you've managed it now.

Bygone time that you can never make up from put aside, eating with the three of them is really goddamn nice. Just before getting here, in the quiet lull of your flight, the thought had occurred to you that you might stick out again. Second Dave and all. That you may find yourself at the sidelines, watching as John gets his Dave back and you're left the fuck by the wayside.

It's kind of a shit thought. Mostly because it assumes the people who you tentatively call your friends might do that to you. But also because you wouldn't want to deny John or Dave that. They're friends; They'd be allowed to recommence their friendship. You know first fucking hand how it feels to lose John. It sucks hard. You don't want Dave to also have to do that. You'd go the fuck back in time to stop that from happening. Even now with where you ended up.

But where the fuck you ended up was actually the dinner table at the davekat household. And it turns out that is a really good place to end up. And your worries, as short lived as they might have been, were unnecessary. It's a god damn blast having dinner with them three.

The conversation is great, the four of you taking turns at making dumb jokes and reminiscing over the not shit parts of your past. It's a great time and it only gets elevated because the food is also great.

John is a little hesitant at first, but he gets reassured a multitude of ways that there’s no bugs in the food. Then you tease the shit out of him for being so afraid of eating bugs. Because they're actually delicious. John stands his ground, because of course he does, and you end up talking about culinary differences between species, and cultures. Because honestly, it sometimes feels like you and Dave grew up in a different world than John.

At some point John plays a prank by having a worm of all things creep out of his t-shirt up his shoulder. Karkat freaks the fuck out and you'd feel bad for him if you weren't so fucking busy trying not to fall from your chair with laughter. The irony of John making a fuss about bugs and then bringing some slimy bug toy to dinner and whipping it out mid dinner makes you lose your goddamn shit.

Dinner is over too soon, and then desert (not cake, to John's relief). And after a while you can't keep just sitting and talking anymore. Well, you could probably, you're enjoying this thoroughly, and the dirty dishes aren't gonna jump you if they're not done within the next minutes.

Only Karkat is of another opinion on that. He gets antsy and then starts clearing the table. Because John is a well raised boy with manners and shit, he has to help, and because you don't want to be on Karkat's bad side you also help, you assume Dave helps for a similar reason.

When the table is cleared and Karkat starts the tab to do the dishes, the rest of you simultaneously seem to be running low on politeness. You sort of slink around the dining room, as if there might be more to pick up if you just move slowly enough. You make it to the doorway to the living room, where John is currently saying to Dave,

"Are you and Karkat just roommates or are you like..." You can see him make a vague gesture, which you assume is accompanied with an equally uncommitted expression, but he has his back to you, so you can't see. "Like gay boyfriends?"

Wow he's really nailing that conversation opener. You see Dave notice you in the doorway, and you pretend that barely held non-expression is not a cry for help. You have actually just noticed that you're way more polite than you ever thought.

You give him an encouraging thumbs up and abscond the fuck out of there. You'd rather do the dishes than sit through the clusterfuck of that conversation.

Karkat looks up from where he’s casually leaning against the sink, hip to countertop, waiting for the sink to fill up enough. Big sink and all.

He gives you a questioning look and you salute him.

"Dave ‘Sprite’ Strider reporting for dish duty."

He looks mildly amused.

"What the fuck are you hiding from that you're volunteering for this. Dave hates doing the dishes."

You dismissively blow a raspberry. "Man, you’ve got no idea. Dave and I are like night and day. Especially when it comes to dishes. I had to learn to love the pain, where he was sheltered in the loving arms of a guy who's willing to do the dishes for him."

"Right. How's that treating you?" Karkat asks indulgently. You've still not really gotten used to how he treats you. Both familiar and kind as well as with more

respect than you've gotten from most people ever. It's weird and disorienting. It's probably because he spends too much time with the Other Dave. Makes it weird being near you, maybe.

"Eh, the goings rough, but you get used to the torture labyrinth of modern life eventually. Kinda a perspective thing, I think. Like when you start out it’s like. Oh no, this boulder I rolled up this hill keeps falling back down. But then, idk. You get used to it. Like I know this boulder now, it's kinda grown on me. And oh it's that bump on the upward path, gotta avoid that for soother rolling. And then sometimes you just chill on the hill a bit. It's alright. It could be worse probably," you say.

Karkat hums and turns off the tab. He takes a stack of dishes and submerses them beneath the soapy water.

"Better get ready to roll back up the hill then," he says and gestures a soap dripping hand to a dishtowel draped over the back of a kitchen chair.

The absolute domesticity of this household does tend to hit you every now and then. It's straight out of a fucking 70s soap opera. The real housewives are about to storm onto the scene and bash each other's heads in on the clean kitchen tile.

You wonder if Dave feels similar about it. If he sees this shit and thinks of all the stuff you missed out on when you were younger. Like a mocking reminder of all the things you didn't have.

Only that it's so goddamn kind. And so nice, and gentle. Can't even be mad about it.

You grab the towel and take up station beside Karkat. When he hands you the first plate he says,

"So what's with you and John?"

He tries for casual but you've been trained from a young age to smell blood in the water. It feels like fleeing from the frying pan only to end up in the fire. He fucking tricked you into a feelings talk, the bastard. And you can't even ditch him because you’re holding a dripping dish and if you don't want it to ruin your new clothes, you'll have to start drying the shit out of it.

Fucking conundrum alright.

You shrug and start doing your assigned job.

"We're bros, I guess."

"I'd heard that you didn't get along. Or at least the short-lived versions of you and Egbert that Harley knew hadn't. You've also never talked about him," Karkat probes, not so easily persuaded by a little Strider casualness. 

Damn Harley, ratting you out like that. Can't let dead birds lie or whatever the saying is, can she. God, you miss her. You wouldn't know how to bridge that gap. That, you'll be very honest, is mostly of your making. She doesn't have any of that messy history. But it doesn't erase that you did her dirty and there's no making up for that. Because the Jade you did that to is dead via house.

But the same way you've been avoiding Rose, for the knowledge she'll only ever see you as the lesser option of her best friend and brother, you can't make yourself go and try again with Jade.

You neither trust her to see you as anything else than the other Dave, nor do you trust yourself to be a better version of who you were when you fucked her over.

"What, d'you think I put my entire life on display here every time. Man, you should know better. Striders keep their shit close to their chest. What would the poker face be good for if I laid out my hand like that," you say.

"So you're saying there’s something going on then? If you’ve got something to, and I quote, keep close to your chest."

Well fuck you so hard. He sure got you didn't he. It's real fucking unfair. He's playing home field. He's got the advantage of knowing another Dave, and you're just guessing what he's about. Not like you've got a spare Karkat lying around you could study all his fucking mannerisms on and whatnot.

"Nah, dude. That was hypothetical. Generalized Daveisms. Nothing to do with anything ever," you say, trying your best, valiantly defending your honor. Though even you can admit it’s not your best work.

You can see Karkat roll his eyes out of your periphery. It's a little over the top, so he for sure wanted you to see that. You determinedly keep your head tilted toward the plate in you betoweled hands and don't react. You know how to do this. Reacting as little as possible is the way to go.

"Very convincing Strider. Maybe keep digging down and I'll start believing that

there is totally nothing going on and you've just happened to be the only living being on this desolate planet who’s managed to have a functioning relationship with John, let alone get him out of his fucking hive. And there's totally nothing besides that very deep and profound connection, that I would assume underlies that, going on here. Yeah sounds like nothing to write home about alright."

He's definitely overstating it.

"Nah, dude. You're totally making it into something that it straight up is not. He barely even likes me. He just wanted more of that good Karkat grub. As in your food. Not anything else. Anyway. No profound connection or whatever. And I'm not even to blame for him being here," you defend. You could've phrased that better, probably. But you've definitely done worse too. So all together an ok outcome. And you kinda managed to save it in the middle there.

"You can stuff those compliments, assmuncher. They don't fucking work on me. Don't think I don’t see what you're trying there. Well bad luck. You're not leading me off track. Longwinded, roundabout come on or not. I can't be distracted by this shit. I'm taken and steeled against this kind of bullshit," Karkat says, somewhat belying his own words there. Something about him protesting a tad much. Though not something you're about to point out. That's a landmine you're happy to avoid. You just got these legs and you'd be happy to keep them for a bit longer.

Karkat takes a deep breath that has more of a squaring up quality to it than a calming one.

"Listen, Dave." You can literally hear the restraint he has to force onto himself not to replace your name with an insult. It's audible in every syllable. You don't think it's necessary, you're chill with that, and him. But you appreciate the effort. "I'm not trying to catch you out on anything. I'm just asking. We've been worried about John. And also about you. It's nice that you're helping each other."

You kind of shrug, kind of try to focus much more on the cutlery in your hand than it warrants. You dry it meticulously and put it down on the growing stack of cleaned dishware next to the sink.

"Man, you make it sound like I’m some kind of charity case. Y'all don’t need to nurse me back to health like I’m some fucking stray kitten abandoned by its mother. I'm good. You don't gotta worry about me."

Karkat turns to you, contempt written so clearly on his face that it's almost funny. Man that guy can make a face alright. If you ever needed a coach on how to not stay stone faced, you'd go to him first.

"You're so full of shit. You barely eat enough to keep yourself alive. I know what a well-fed Dave looks like and it's not you. Honestly the legs only make it more obvious. And don't kid yourself into thinking I don’t know it’s only this easy to get you out to us because you get food here. You are not, as you so neatly put it, 'good'. You're a mess, and besides us you don't fucking talk to anyone. So forgive me that I'm glad you found someone who you're willing to talk to."

"Whoa, okay mom. I'll try to be more sociable," you say. You feel weird. Like you're under a microscope. It's strangely personal, and you don't know how to deal with it.

Karkat sighs dramatically and deeply. He puts the last of the now cleaned dishes onto the side of the sink where they're piling, waiting for you to get to them. If you were even remotely good at this shit, you might actually be able to keep up with him.

Karkat pulls the stop from the sink to drain it and then aggressively dries his hands.

You're pretty sure you've just managed to piss him off enough to actually damage that precarious relationship you had with him and Dave. The thought of it sits like a pit in your stomach.

He's right, you don't have that much going for you, and the two of them are nice to you and they invite you over and you get good food when you're here. Why the fuck are you incapable of not being an asshole for a goddamn minute.

You always go and ruin shit. It's the fucking story of your miserable existence. You really should have known it was ought to happen again.

Karkat puts down the towel with some real gusto. He stalks up to you, where you're still drying a glass, slowly and ineffectually. You're holding it between him and you, like he might not act too rashly if some of his prized dishware is on the line.

He takes the glass from you, placing it next to the dry stack, disarming you easily. He takes you by your shoulders and looks you directly in the eyes. Even through the shades. It's uncanny the precision he does it with. He has to kind of pull you down a little for it. You blindly follow what he does. It's the way to go in situations like this.

"I don’t know how you've not gotten this yet, because it's fucking obvious. We're really not trying to pull one over on you. Or hide it like underdeveloped wrigglers with an aversion to emotional connections. But I also know Dave, so this shouldn't surprise me. Because my god you guys are dense," he starts and clearly kind of gets lost in the weeds. You're tensely waiting in anticipation. For what, you're not really sure.

Karkat takes a sharp breath. Getting himself back on track. "What I'm trying to say is, we care about you, Dave. I care about you. That's why we keep dragging your ass back here for dinner. You don't have to become more sociable or whatever you took from that, for us to tolerate you. Clearly. You're part of Dave's Human family and you're our friend. I'm not trying to make you admit anything, or force any kind of bullshit onto you. I'm just happy to see John again, and you talk to someone. Is that so hard to believe?"

You're overwhelmed and a little confused. This is not usually how things go, as far as your experience goes.

And it’s also kind of embarrassing. Because you do care about Karkat and Dave. You care more than you maybe should. And it's hella weird having someone tell you that they care about you too.

"Dude, you’re making it sound like you like me or something. That's kinda gay. Next thing you'll tell me you like having my ass around," you say, trying to look anywhere but at him. Which is a little difficult because he still has you by the shoulders and he's kinda strong.

Karkat rolls his eyes, but it looks good natured. Like he's somewhere between fond and sick of your shit.

"Hate to break it to you, dimwit. But I both like you and like having you around. I thought that was pretty easily ascertained from what I said," he says.

Well there goes any deescalation of mushy feelings you did. All the feels currently in the room are mushed to an honestly kind of unappetizing puree of gooey feel good bullshit. And it's sweeping you right along. You're like a poor bastard that's fallen into a grain silo. You're drowning in this shit and it doesn't even behave like water. Keep kicking your feet asshole you’re only going down faster. No surface tension to speak of and fluid dynamics are out of the window too. You're sinking and no one’s coming to save you. Like a one of those poor motherfuckers who died in that molasses flood back on your Earth. Here comes the sticky gooey death about to rip you off your goddamn feet. Taking your ass with it.

"Fuck," you say eloquently. "I guess if you're gonna spring this on me like that, I don’t really have much of a choice here do I. Gotta return that sentiment or I'll be painted as a hella impolite bastard. Shit man. You're really twisting my arm here. Making a Strider express a genuine sentiment of friendship. Like damn. I'm gonna have to dust off the old tome of broship for this here. All blowing on it like it’s some ancient artifact in some cave I found. Prehistoric writings of brodom over here. Covered in millennia worth of dust. I'm making us both asphyxiate with disrupting all those olden time particles. We're getting lung cancer just standing in the vicinity of the tome, is how dusty it is. And here I go huffin’ and puffin, making that shit airborne. Get ready for all the consumption and plague like illnesses of all of the Earth's history to make themselves at home in our air cavities."

Karkat lets you go with another, even more exasperated roll of his eyes. Though maybe it's more his head that’s rolling than his eyes. That's how much gusto he puts into that.

"Jegus, don't hurt yourself. I wasn't expecting any kind of emotional openness back there. I know how you Striders get. You can stop stalling now," he says.

You're glad he stopped you. There no doubt were many more dumbass metaphors and convoluted analogies in the spinning. But you doubt you'd have gotten to the point any time soon.

You're still disappointed in yourself. He deserves to have you at least try to be open. They both put so much effort into being kind to you, and all you can muster up is being a weirdo and a dick.

Karkat turns back to the dishes, pulls out a towel from somewhere, maybe he's carrying those in his sylladex around at all times, and starts drying the rest of the dishes.

Sheepishly you follow his example. Can't let him do all the shit by himself. Not when it was supposed to be your job.

You work in awkward silence, though maybe it's only awkward for you. Karkat seems pretty chill actually. For him at least.

With his – much more skilled – hands helping, the dishes get dried in no time. And then your job is done.

You don't know the kitchen well enough to be able to help put away the now clean and dry kitchenware. But you still hover around until he's done. Which is kind of harder to do now that you're not perma floating.

With no hoverabiliyty to serve as reminder of your awkward presence you first fidget with your new shirt, discovering that despite your efforts of not getting soap water on it, you still managed to get sauce on it before hand, so the whole endeavor was kind of wasted anyway. Then you move on to futzing with your sylladex, maybe you have some long-forgotten change of clothes in there after all.

What you find instead are the Tupperware containers you washed at John's house. You'd almost forgotten.

You take them out just as Karkat puts away the last of the dishes.

"Almost forgot to get these back to you," you say, placing them on the counter.

You feel delicate and precarious breaking the silence.

Karkat looks surprised, down at the containers and back up at you.

"Shit maybe you were right. Your attitude to doing dishes is obviously pretty different from Dave's," he says.

You shrug. "Like I said. You get used to the boulder of monotony."

Karkat grins at you. "Right, well thanks, anyway."

He turns his back to you to put away the Tupperware and you feel like that was probably your queue to get the fuck out of the kitchen.

Instead, you gather as much bravery as you could possibly be said to have inside you, and say, "Thanks for giving a shit about me. It kinda means a lot. I'm glad you're my friends."

You want to shrink into yourself or maybe sink into the floor. You're not good at sincerity, and it's been a long time since someone's given a shit about you. But you couldn't just let that shit go unsaid.

Karkat looks over his shoulder at you. A genuine smile lighting up his face. It makes you feel a little less awkward about the whole thing.

"Me too, Dave," he says.

And that's about as much honest kindness as you can stand in a day.

You awkwardly gesture over your shoulder and mutter something about seeing what Dave and John are up to.

Karkat laughs at you as you abscond from the kitchen.

When you do made it back, Rose was back in her house. And it was nice seeing her. Actually meeting her in person.

She didn't mention that you were grimy and honestly pretty gross. But she did offer you a shower.

You miss her a lot. 

You practically lived there on her couch for a week. She kept dicking around outside, gathering information, doing anything but that quest she was supposed to do. You tried not to think or remember much that week.

Because Rose lived in a goddamn mansion, she actually had some sick gaming set ups that kept you busy.

Rose didn't ask. Not during the whole week. Not once. You're still not sure if you wanted her to.

She was aware. She had to have been. John and Jade had gone dark, neither of you had heard from either. And so had the Trolls. Absolute radio silence besides the two of you.

Dave Sprite and you fly home from Karkat and Dave's. You've been given way more left overs than seems reasonable. Karkat must have made extra just to give that stuff to you.

Not that you’re complaining. The food was great and you're happy to have more of it.

You chat and joke lightly while you fly over the nightly Earth C. It's dark and the night sky is clear and already full of stars.

They look different here than back on the old earth. Different constellations, kind of a different color even.

"Did you ever notice the stars are different?" you say when there’s a lull in the conversation.

Dave turns to fly on his back to look up. He looks like he’s floating in water, hands locked behind his head, his wing stretched like he’s using it for balance.

"Never thought of it. Makes sense though," he says. "Different universe and all."

"It's pretty obvious with the telescope. Theres different planets around too. My dad used to help me find them at night. Even with the light pollution of Seattle the telescope got some of it pretty good."

Dave turns over onto his side. Facing you, wing folded back against him again.

"That sounds pretty nice. The suburbs were probably better than Huston for that. I think I only ever saw like satellites and maybe the north star."

You keep flying, quietly. It's sad that Dave didn't really get out of Huston to see the stars. Your stars. Not the new ones here. But you don't know how to say that without it sounding kind of silly.

You also miss your Dad. But you don’t want to talk about that either.

"Kind of a bummer, Vriska didn't also grab the planets while she was at it," Dave says into the quiet. When you look over to him he’s still facing you. "We could have totally visited them now. Or y'all could have. I don't know how the spriteness mixes with the vacuum of space."

"The new planets also look neat. From the telescope I mean. I hadn't thought to go look at them," you say.

"You think Jades gone and had a look?"

Dave asks. He looks kind of sad for a second and then he turns to fly normal again. Face obscured by the night and the angle.

"Maybe the Earth C scientists do rocket science. Would be easier now with all the sburb tech, right. They could totally get to the planets now, probably," you say. Maybe Jade is also doing science. She was always really good at that. You don’t know. You've not talked to her in a long while.

She still texts you, from time to time. You never have the energy to respond. Nor do you have anything to say really.

Thinking of her makes you sad. It was so nice seeing Dave again. The Other Dave. The not sprite one. And Karkat.

But reaching out to Jade, or Rose, or Roxy, or anyone else feels like such a big task. You feel tired and sad and overwhelmed just thinking about it.

It's all kind of getting you down. You're so absorbed in your thoughts that you almost fly past your house.

Dave taps you lightly with the back of his hand.

"Dude, Earth C to John. We're approaching the landing zone, gotta get that gear ready. head planet ward."

He shakes you from your thoughts and you stop, just above your house.

You go to land but Dave stays where he is. You turn to him, now from a little below him, looking up. He looks almost gray in this low light. Most of the color being absorbed by the dark.

He used to shine. That vague sprite pulsing, and the bright yellow blood that wouldn't go away, that was slightly luminescent.

You could spot him from quite far away. like a beacon.

Now he looks normal. Just like a normal Dave. Just a guy. With a wing, yeah sure. But besides that, nothing odd about him.

"Weren't you gonna come in?" you ask.

You'd kind of expected him to. Now you feel kind of silly for asking. His house is still further away. He's already taken a longer way, flying you back.

Dave hesitates for just long enough that you notice.

"You'd want me to?" It's kind of a question, kind of a statement. He sounds flat, and a little scared maybe.

Now that he asked, and that you know it'd be silly to tell him yes – it's pretty late already, it'll take him even longer to get back home – you suddenly fiercely don't want him to leave. You don't want the evening to end, and for you to be alone in your house again.

You don't want to not know when he'll show up again. You want him, very badly, to stay for a bit longer.

"We could watch a movie." your voice comes out quieter than you'd intended. Because you could. And you don't want him to leave.

"Yeah, alright Egbert. But i get to choose," he says. He matched your volume, and maybe you're just imagining it, but he sounds a little softer in his monotone than usual.

You nod, and hope he can see it in the dark.

You deposit the culminating leftovers in your fridge and freezer, and then go to make yourselves comfortable on the couch.

He puts on A Time to Kill, probably either for your benefit or to make fun of it. You get about halfway through before you fall asleep.

You wake blearily in the middle of the night. You're disoriented but largely comfortable.

It takes you a moment to realize you're on the sofa, laying half on your side, half on your back, and the warm heavy weight on top of you is Dave.

He has his arms wrapped around your waist; His face is buried in your chest. You feel his shades dig into your skin, through your shirt.

You take off your own glasses, that sit crooked and uncomfortable on your face. The table is close enough that you can reach it from your position.

The hand you use for it had been the one to hold Dave stable to your side, and he moves a little away. A little too close to the edge of the sofa for your tastes. You don't want to wake him like that.

You don’t really want to wake him at all.

The new angle lets you take his sun glasses though. His face without them looks almost foreign. It's very rare to see Dave, either of them, without their shades. But Dave Sprite specifically has always kept his shades closely guarded like a treasure. Or a life line.

Without them he looks young. The dark barely gives anything away. You can barely make out light eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. His dark eyebrows look starker without the shades.

You wish, after all, that he'd open his eyes, so you could see them.

You reach out your hand again and the shades join your glasses on the table and you get your arm back around him.

With the stabilizing hand back in place, Dave snuggles into you again. His wing, soft, and gentler than you'd have guessed, wraps round the two of you, covers what little of your back it can get to, and draws you in a little more.

Your hands find the opening of his shirt, at the back, where he’s had to cut a hole to fit his wing through. There's only one, he didn't even bother for the other one. You can feel it poking through the fabric, small but reactive when you brush over it.

The joining point of his wing to his back is covered in small soft feathers. You brush your hand through them, dig your fingers in and feel Dave's wing twitch as a response.

With your hands on his back, soft feathers in your gentle grasp, and his warm weight against you, you fall back asleep.

When you wake again it's bright out, light falls through the window into the room.

Theres a blanket wrapped around you, that you don't remember having been there before.

Dave is nowhere to be found. His shades aren't where you left them, and while you're not cold, the blanket is a poor replacement for his body next to yours.

You groggily get up, wrap yourself in the blanket and shuffle to the kitchen.

You almost expect to find him there. Rummaging through your fridge, or poking in your cabinets.

But the kitchen is empty.

It's also cleaner than it was before. The dishes got washed, and put away. Dave must have done that.

In the fridge you still find the left overs you put there last night.

It occurs to you, as you leave the kitchen, that he doesn't have any reason to come back to your house, then.

You have no idea if he'll show up again just like before, or if you'd have to ask.

It's a task too daunting. Even with him.

You feel deeply alone suddenly. Your own house empty and cold. You wish he hadn't left.

You make yourself wait for at least three days before going back to John's. You've overstayed your welcome significantly already. He's probably getting really sick of you by now.

You make it for about a day and a half. You can barely sit still. You lose your legs twice with the sheer amount of nervous energy

building in your body.

Two days after your impromptu sleepover, you find yourself in the air, outside. You'd planned to try to make friends with the birds on your roof again; A task that'd felt easier when you were a kid.

Instead you're headed for John's house. You could still turn around. But then you'd just spend another day fucking about, nervous as shit.

You don't even know what you're nervous about. You just feel drawn back there like you're metal and he’s some real big ass magnet. You're feeling that pull like the birds with the earth's magnetic field when they fly south. You're headed to warmer climates for the winter. No need to freeze your alleged tail feathers off in this new ass climate you're still not used to at all. You can just leave and see if the warmer persuasions will do your egg laying any good.

Okay that’s enough of that metaphor. You're not about to lay John anything, let alone a goddamn egg.

It's just past noon when you touch down behind John’s house.

The backdoor is open, as always. You make it to the kitchen but not further.

Your reflexes must not have been tested enough. It's probably like some kind of muscle that'll atrophy when you stop flexing it. Bro was right about that apparently.

You're not sure if even the best trained reflexes would have much of a chance against a gust of wind with hurricane speeds. Your winged ass least of all.

Your feet leave the ground and not even your whole floaty thing can catch on fast enough before your back's already made contact with the ground.

Your head is ringing from the impact and your vision is kind of swimming, but you see John appear in the doorway, wild and upset. Some awful amalgamation of sadness and anger and confusion paint themselves onto his face.

He says something while he approaches you, and you try to listen. But you always found it hard to hear after hitting your head. The spinning messes with your ears.

All you can focus on is John, looming over you, making it abundantly clear that even if you made up for some of the shit you did to him before, it's fucking naught now.  You've broken down any semblance of a bridge you started building back up. That's what you get for trying to build on burned fragments of a friendship.

You should have left it. Now you've made it worse. He hates you again. Probably worse than before.

He's still talking when he reaches you, and you really try to understand. Maybe you can salvage the situation if you could only understand what he's saying.

You don’t get the chance for that. He's only steps away from you when he suddenly stops.

He freezes and his face falls. Anger makes way for some inexplicable mixture of fear and guilt. You get just a glimpse of how devastated he looks, and then he's gone.

He's there one second, and then there's a breeze, and he's not there anymore.

You lay there for a moment longer. Scared and angry with yourself. And sad. You wait for your head to stop reeling, for the world to stop spinning.

You sit up once you've regained your bearings a little.

The kitchen is eerily quiet. You try to ignore your headache. It still takes you another moment to get to your feet.

You only realize your nose is bleeding when you notice the bright yellow drops on the otherwise white tiled floor. You get a paper towel to stuff into your nose, and then get another one to clean up after yourself.

It's too late for your shirt, unfortunately. Shit's ruined. You've no idea how well this stuff washes out. You've never had this problem before. You've always just thrown the rags you’d used as gauze away. Back when that shit wouldn't heal, when you were perpetually stuck in time via game rules.

Looking down also reveals that somewhere in there your legs got lost. It looks dumb, the now useless pants that fall limply around your sprite tail. You take them off and captchalogue them and your abandoned shoes. It takes a good moment to pull your tail out of your pants; You're startled and upset, so that shit's all long and wispy.

You have neither the calm nor the wherewithal, to shorten it right now, let alone get your legs back.

You try to gather yourself a little. John is upset, he's angry and also some other stuff. And he left.

You have no idea where he could have gone off to. You hope he’s just upstairs, hiding in his room. You'll just have to go up there and apologize. You're not entirely sure what exactly you'll need to apologize for yet, but you're ready to run through a list if that's what it takes.

You just have to make this right.

At least you don't have to navigate legs right now. Floating is a much better option when your head is ringing; You know that from experience. That is, you know how fucked up it is to try and get your legs to do what you want when your head is killing you. Especially when stairs are involved.

The door to John's room is open, the room is empty. You check the bathroom and the balcony as well. You stop in front of his Dad's room.

You've been in there. Back when you were still on the ship. Back when you fucked up your friendship with John.

You doubt he’s in there, but you can't fucking go back even if he was. Especially if he was. You've already made it worse. This might just break it forever.

You knock on the door, just in case he's in there, only for the small hope he might hear you out.

"John? If you're in there, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fuck you over again. I'm sorry. Fuck."

There's no sound from the other side of the door. Either he doesn’t want to talk to you, or he's not there.

"You don't have to forgive me. Fuck I definitely can't ask that. I just. Can you tell me if you're in there. I just need to know you're alright."

The silence in the house stretches on. Nothing sounds from behind the door. There's only you, and your shallow breaths.

You feel like crying and that's fucking pathetic, and isn't going to help anything.

You lean your head against the door; The cold wood is soothing against your aching forehead.

"Please, if you're in there, let me know somehow. Knock on the door, move a chair, do whatever. You don't need to talk to me. Just, please."

You need to know he's alright. He was so upset. And you don't know where he is, and you can't help him.

There is no response. You stand there, leaning against the door for a while. Hoping to hear anything, hoping he might just come back.

You have no idea where he might have gone. He doesn't leave the house ever. Where would he go.

You take out your phone, silent as the rest of the house, and call Dave.

Maybe John just went to talk to the not catastrophically awful Dave.

Nobody answers. You let it ring until it goes to voicemail. You don't know what to say, so you hang up.

You try Karkat, but with the same outcome.

You float down onto the floor, lean against the door and try not to fucking lose it.

What you probably should do is call your other friends, see if John went to some of them. See if any of them know where he might have gone.

But you've not talked to any of them in so long. And you don't know if you can bridge that gap right now.

You should also call Nanna. It's not unlikely John went to her. She's his Nanna after all.

But you already fucked up last time you talked to her. You can't bare knowing if John told her what you did. Then she might not want to talk to you ever again.

Out of desperation, because you have no other options left, and because once you have your phone in hand it feels like the most natural thing to do; You open Pesterchum and text Rose.

TG: hey rose

TG: is john with you

You honestly don't expect her to respond. But she does almost instantly.

TT: ...

TT: Can I assume from the color choice that its Davesprite who I’m talking to?

TG: yeah

TT: Hm. Interesting. And to what do I owe the honor of regaining a spot in your social circle?

Shit she's pissed at you. You could have expected that. You should have. But you had kind of gotten it in your head that she probably never thinks about you.

What does she need you for anyway. She's got a Dave already. You've never been anything but excess. You doubt that she still has anything from your Rose spooking around in her mind. And even if she did, it wouldn't be yours. That is you wouldn’t be the Davesprite relevant to her. Hers died on Jade’s ship trip.

You'd figured there wasn't anything substantial connecting you anymore. And even if you miss her. She would have surely forgotten about you.

Now all you can do is hope she'll still help you.

TG: john and i had a fight and he left

TG: he was pretty upset and i have no idea where besides his own home hed go

TG: i thought he might have turned up at yours

TG: or maybe you know something you know the seer way

TT: I've not seen hide nor hair from John in months. Why on earth would he show up at my place.

TT: He's more elusive than you.

TT: Why would you ask me of all people?

TG: idk im kinda out of options

TG: besides maybe asking jade to teleport randomly around the planet in search for him

TT: Right. Where are you now?

TG: im at johns

TT: I see.

tentacleTherapist has ceased pestering turntechGodhead

You stare at those messages for a good few moments. But she doesn't have anything more to add. She's not coming back it seems.

It feels final, in a way you don't really like. You don’t think she'll be helping you. Not if that conversation is anything to go off of.

You feel like you might have just talked to Rose for the last time. You try not to think about that. You try not to despair over how shitty that went.

You try not to miss her. You feel alone despite your efforts.

Maybe you should ask Jade after all. You doubt it would fair much better.

You try to gather the energy, or the will power, anyway.

Or you could at least drag yourself out of the hole you're stuck in enough to do something. Anything besides sit and wallow.

There's a knock on the door, you don't know how much later. It's not very loud, but it rings through the quiet of the house.

You're up before you even know it. What if it’s John, who forgot the keys to his house. And won't just do the windy thing for some reason. You can't risk not getting there before he changes his mind.

On the other side of the door stands Rose. She looks a little winded, but otherwise like she always did.

Only she's older. It really must have been years since you've last seen her. You suddenly feel her absence deeply and pressingly.

It's kind of hard to keep your emotions at bay. God you've missed her. And she's here. She came, if only for John; She still came when you asked her to. When you needed her.

"Dave said you had legs again," she says instead of a greeting.

You look down at your tail.

"I lost them," you say.

Rose scoffs at you, like you’re ridiculous. It feels familiar. She shoulders her way into the house, past you.

"Of course, what else would it be," she says absentmindedly.

"Dave talks about me?" you say, because fuck your brain to mouth filter, apparently.

"And Karkat. How else would I be kept up to date on my temporal sibling? It's not like you ever reach out," she says. She doesn't wait for instructions, and stalks through the house.

She stops briefly to pointedly look at John’s Phone, laying uselessly on the couch table. She heaves a sigh and continues to the kitchen.

You don't know how to respond to that. You'd not been aware she even still thought of you.

She's got a brother. Why'd she bother with you if she’s got Dave. And Dirk and Roxy. What could you possibly add to that.

You hover in the middle of the living room while Rose walks from room to room. She has a determined look to her when she reemerges from John's Dad's study.

"He's not here. Let's check upstairs."

You don't argue. You just follow her.

Upstairs you pick John's room as your new hover spot, and wait as Rose makes the rounds through the rooms.

You've sunken to the floor by the time she's back.

"So, John's gone and we've no idea where he went," she recounts.

You nod.

She looks at you, contemplative. You think she's probably still mad.

"What did you fight about?"

It almost sounds like a challenge. She's expecting you not to tell her, to give her something to bicker with you about.

You don’t have the energy to be anything but honest.

"I'm not sure. I came in and he was furious. We fought and he left."

You look at the wall next to the door. Not quite away from her, but not at her either.

Rose hms. It sounds more like a comment than a simple acknowledgement. She thinks you’re missing something.

"Alright. Well, he wasn't at mine. But should he turn up, Kanaya's still there and will let me know. We should start asking around. Have you talked to Dave?"

You shake your head. "I called him and Karkat, but neither answered."

"Well, try again. I'll talk to Jade."

She leaves the room, and you with the feeling that you didn't do well during that snippet of conversation.

You hear her talking on the phone in the hallway outside soon after. The slow murmur of her voice is much preferable to the deafening silence of the empty house.

Back in your own timeline. When you'd been cut off from most of your friends, with just you and Rose left around, you spent some time in her vicinity. Back then it felt consoling, at least you two still had each other.

Now it feels like nostalgia to something that barely even happened. Your Rose isn't here anymore. You left her in hope that you might save the timeline, and John, and Jade. And with a lingering faith that maybe she was clever enough to go with you, somehow. Get out of it after all.

If anyone could do it, it was her.

It's left you only feeling guilty since then. Leaving her with that kind of a task was definitely unfair of you.

And by now she's all caught up on the whole sibling thing. Back on the ship you sometimes thought of that time, how it was the first time you'd lived with your sister. It wasn’t long for her. And neither for you either, even with the time travel added.

Rose and Dave had three years’ worth of family bonding time on that meteor. In comparison your couple of months feel like barely anything.

You're left as the vestigial Strider in the end. Which fits you pretty well. You might even say you're used to it.

But still. You've missed her voice.

You take your own phone out as well. There's been no missed calls or messages, but it's also not been very long.

You still try again. You call Dave and get his mailbox again. You hang up and try Karkat.

It takes four rings, and you're already convinced he won't answer, when he does.

"What?" he says, potentially as a greeting. you've never talked to him over the phone before.

"Hey." You try for casual, to maintain your monotone and your chill.

"Dave, what’s wrong?" Karkat interrupts you before you even get past the greeting.

Well there goes absolutely all your coolness apparently. So much for a poker face. A poker voice.

You consider trying to talk around it. Make yourself seem less emotionally volatile than you are. But he's gonna call you on it anyway. And you've already called in backup from Rose. Might as well go all in. In for a penny, in for all the money you can still bet apparently. That poker face isn't worth shit and you're about to gamble away all your earthly possessions. Just hope Karkat's a benevolent caretaker, because he's about to own your ass with how you’re putting it all on the table.

"John and I fought. He left and I don’t know where he went. I'm worried."

Wow, that was way worse than you thought it would be. Forget your ass, your fucking guts are on the table and everyone's about to point and laugh at you. Look at this idiot who forgot to put his entrails back inside his body before going outside to talk to people. What a dumbass. We better ostracize him from all future emotional affairs; He doesn't know how to behave himself. Fuck you'd take that sword through your chest again over this. At least then you'd have a reason to spill your guts, without showing your entire ass. No sorry, it's not my ineptitude on an emotional front, it's just this sword, you understand.

"Oh shit. Where are you?" In the background of the call, you hear Dave say something. It's quiet enough to be illegible.

Karkat leans away from the phone to answer him. His voice rings out loud enough to understand despite the distance.

"It's Dave. He and John fought."

Well there's your guts handed one person up. It's fine you didn't need those anyway. You're probably gonna pass away from like embarrassment and shit, so let Dave have your insides. He can put them in jars and shit. It'd be an honor honestly.

You do hear the "Oh shit" very clearly. He must've moved closer.

You wait for Karkat to come back to the phone, though you’re not entirely sure how you'll know. It's not like there’s an easy auditory queue for that.

"Dave?" Karkat says, now again into the receiver, clearly close to the phone again.

Well, that’s your line, you guess.

"I'm at John's," you say. "Rose is asking Jade if she's seen John. He's not turned up at yours, has he?"

"Rose is with you?" You hear Dave but in. Apparently you’re on speaker phone now, because you can hear Dave properly.

"Yeah," you say. You're tired and you don't really want to recount your pathetic need for help. How you didn't know what else to do, so you called your sister. Kind of sister. Who you haven't talked to in forever. Who's mad at you. Who came to help anyway.

God you feel horrible. Like you're thirteen again and she's the only other person. And you'd lay your life at her feet. Or like you're twelve again and she’s teasing you about your shit that you don't want to think too much about, so you make jokes about it that she then picks apart.

It's like you tore a hole in your chest when you left her behind. And the thought that she might just have let you reconcile whenever, ease the pain of that emptiness between your chest cavity and that shitty anime sword in your chest, if you'd just talked to her, makes you feel like an even bigger dickhead.

Did she miss you, not the concept of a Dave, but you, the time-traveling bastard that left her to try and follow you through some dream bullshit so she wouldn't be all alone. You don't know why she would. But even if she's a different Rose, on many temporal levels; If there’s a chance you made this worse for her, you'll actually be incorrigible about it.

Shit you’re in a bad way.

"John isn't here. But we'll come out, see if we can help," Karkat says.

They go back and forth considering if they should call people, if they know anyone who might know where he is. You don't have anything to add to the conversation so you kind of just sit on the line. Maybe they forgot you were here.

Rose appears in the doorway again.

"Is that Dave?" she asks.

You nod.

"Tell him to get his ass here."

You hear Dave say, "You heard her. We'll be right there. Tell her were on our way."

"They're coming," you say to Rose.

Karkat says, before hanging up, "It's going to be alright. We'll figure it out. We've got you."

Then you're alone with Rose again.

You hear her shuffle in place. Not the kind of shuffling you'd do. Nervous and unconscious. Her's is a shift that almost belies impatience. You think she's doing the thing she used to do with her mom. You saw her do it during those months. You've got that on Dave, and even this Rose. That outside perspective, those months in the doomed timeline.

It's a dance of perceived social ques. Where all the perceiving is done on her part. Which is kind of the problem. Because Rose is a bitch, to herself first and foremost. So all she reads is malicious intent that could be explained by idiocy, if she'd only listened to that razor. Rose is famously razor free, though. No hair ever removed, and neither any rules, thumbed or otherwise.

All that tells you really is that she's mad at you, and also convinced you didn't talk to her all this time out of malice.

You have no idea what to say to make her not believe that. A lot of good that extra insight's giving you.

She clears her throat. You look up. She looks awkward there, standing in the doorway, trying to look stern, but not being too obvious about it.

"Did Jade answer?" you ask.

She looks away from you. "She did. John wasn't with her."

You hadn't really expected differently. It still sucks.

You consider an apology. Anything you can think of falls flat or feels fake. You have no idea how you could bridge that gap.

And isn't that just the defining problem of you. The million boonbux question. How to make up for being an asshole. If you flub you lose it all. Better not have bet your whole livelihood on that question. Because there's no multiple choice for this one. Free writing required and you're drawing a fucking blank. Kiss your relationships goodbye. You're about to find out what besides swords you're real fucking good at breaking.

You nod instead, inanely at her statement.

Rose lets out a breath, not quite a sigh, and turns to leave the room. Well there goes that chance.

Impulsively, because you have to say something, you have to try, you say,

"Thanks. For coming, I mean. I didn't know what else to do. I'm glad you'd still talk to me, if only for John's sake."

Well that was kind of a wash, but maybe it was better than nothing.

Rose stands still, halted in her movements, in the doorway. One hand on the wooden frame, her head tilts forward. You don't know what emotion she's having. But then she turns her head, just the slightest bit back. Her chin in line with her shoulder. You can see her profile, mostly obscured by her hair falling in front of her face.

"Of course. Any time. Though, maybe next time call when the world's not fucking ending."

You can recognize an olive branch when you see one. Or you hope you do.

You cling to it, like it's the only thing saving you from plummeting to your death off a cliff. Like how the fuck did you end up hanging here in the first place? Probably some dumbass cartoon shit, where you ran and kept going even though there wasn't ground left and then you fucking realized it and fell with some kind of goofy sound effect.

Thank god for the olive branch. You'd be a Dave pancake by now if not for her.

You don't know if you need to like say something to accept it though.

"You got it, boss," you try and immediately cringe at yourself about it.

You can practically see Rose roll her eyes, even when she’s already turned her head back and is heading out of the room. You hear the small breath she expels, and that one’s not a sigh, that's almost a laugh. Fucking score!

She goes back into the hallway. You don't hear her anymore, but you're at least pretty sure she hasn’t left.

You stay in John's room, kind of crumpled on the floor. You think about trying for those legs, but they just remind you of how you fucked up with John.

So you just wait in silence and torturous inaction.

Eventually there's a knock on the door. You hear Rose walk down the stairs, and as silly as it is, it's good to hear she hasn't left.

You hear the distant conversation of Karkat and Dave arriving, draw nearer as they come up the stairs.

The angle you sit at in the room has obscured your view of the hallway, so you have to rely on hearing to measure their approach.

"Have you called the sprites yet? Maybe he's with Nanna?" Karkat asks.

"I have not. I don't have any of their contact information. Beside jaspers. But he's asleep on my couch last I saw. I doubt he'll know anything," Rose says.

"Right I'll ask if Dave knows that stuff." You hear Dave, closer than the other voices. "I think I should talk to him for a bit. See what’s up, you know." He's lowered his voice, presumably so you won't hear. He pauses and then says, "Alone probably. Just for the moment. You know Dave to Dave kinda thing."

"He called me!" Rose says, both a challenge and an accusation in her tone.

"Rose, just a moment," Karkat butts in.

There’s a tense silence and then she says, "Of course." Bitter but resigned.

Dave appears in the doorway.

"Sup," he says.

"Hey, you know. Just sitting," you say.

"Cool," Dave says.

He moves through the room tentatively, like you might spook. You wonder if this is what you used to look like when tiptoeing through Bro's living area. You wonder if that's still how you look back at home, even with Bro dead, coming on eight years now.

He settles on the floor a little away from you, kind of in the middle of the room. You're wedged close to the closet, so if he wants to be close but not too close, smack dab in the middle's kinda the way to go.

"So, what happened?" he asks. He looks at you, and even through the dark lenses of his shades it feels intense.

You wonder if this could break something. If you may have fucked up too bad.

You shrug. "I came in, he was angry, we fought, he left."

You honestly wish you didn't have to keep reliving it. Or retelling it at least. He was so angry. He was so upset. You can't get his expressions out of your head. All that pain you've caused him over the years painted on his face. You've been aware, you just didn't like thinking about it. Now you can't stop.

Dave raises an eyebrow slowly. He's watching you, you can feel it.

"And when you say fight..." He lets the sentence unfinished for you to complete. It hangs in the air between you.

You swallow heavy. You have no idea how to do this bit. You've only ever avoided it.

The connection there, between where you'd usually have avoided it and John makes you sick. You don't want to connect those. It's not the same. And still the connection builds and chokes you like a fishbone lodged in your throat.

"Dude," Dave says, probably the softest anyone's ever said that word.

You clear your throat. Gotta keep this shit smooth, so better get ready to placate some guys.

"Wasn't anything big. Just some light wrestling," you say.

His eyebrows draw in, his expression is so open, and he looks worried. Which is stupid. You're fine. John's the one who's missing. Why the fuck is this even part of it. Y'all should be out there looking for him. Instead of worrying about you.

"Dave."

You almost flinch. You fight it, sit as still as you can. Try not to breath. That shit's saved you from at least one ass whopping back in the day.

"There's blood on your shirt."

You didn't know Dave knew what your blood looks like.

"It's fine," you say.

Dave looks unhappy. It's that open expression shit again. He's straight up emoting at you. It's super unfair. A Strider's face should not be beholden to emotions and they should super not be directed at you.

"If he’s hurting you..." Dave starts, which is like super dumb and also not at all what this is about.

"This isn't about me. John's missing, and you're asking about a little blood. Yeah, so my nose bled, fucking who cares. I'm not even bleeding anymore and I cleaned it up and all. Fuck man, shit happens. Isn't like he did it on purpose. Plus, I fucked up, you of all people should get it."

So much for not having emotions. Fuck you shouldn't be having a goddamn break down about this.

You have to get your shit together like right now. You try a daring double face palm combo without smudging your shades. You dig your fingers into your skin, trying to will yourself to not fall apart.

A warm hand lands on your back, gently as if you might break under just that if he'll push too strong.

You didn’t notice Dave moving. Didn't hear him; You were busy not flying off the handle.

He looks both pained and reassuring when you look up. All kind and caring.

Theres a knot in your throat suddenly. You've no idea where it comes from. And you don't have the chill anymore to stop your face from getting all twisted and miserable.

It's apparently all Dave needs to see to make good on that threat of an arm around your back. You've no defenses up so it's super easy for him to just wrap you all up in a goddamn hug.

He wraps you real fucking snug too, going full comfort and shit. His arms are broader than yours, and he's pulling you against his warm chest. He pretty much envelops you, drawing you to his soft bosom and shit.

It's fucking weird. You don't know what to do. You don't do hugs. You never have. Bro never hugged you, not since you've been a baby. And even Jade was never too hot on the PDA thing. Even in private. Let alone John.

Not that PDA was ever on the table there. You meant the hug thing. Not any kind of smooching or whatever. Nope. You'd never even think of that.

You've no idea where Dave learned it though.

No scrap that. He totally learned that shit from Karkat.

No wonder it feels fucking great.

Which it does. Fucking safe and secure. You sit there like a goddamn babe in his strong arms. Feeling small and scared, and for the first time in god knows how long, like you're not immediately going to die from feeling like that.

It doesn't take much for that knot in your throat to make itself a nuisance, attacking when you're down. And no amount of restraint you try for can stop the fucking sob from getting out of you.

Dave tightens his arms around you just a little and that’s all you can take before all your not losing it efforts go down the fucking drain.

You've not cried in a long time. Bro didn't do that shit so you learned to keep your shit to yourself. You didn't even know if you still could. But here you are, crying like a baby, sobbing into Dave's shoulder, clinging to his back.

And he takes it in fucking stride. He rubs your back, and kisses your goddamn forehead, and tells you that it’s okay and he's here.

It's fucking cliche, is what it is. And it's a little nice. Not being told off for feeling like shit. Being consoled. God, when's the last time someone consoled you.

Shit, those thoughts just kinda make you feel worse. You're getting Dave's shirt all wet and snotty. It's fucking gross, and really orange, which is a pretty bad look.

"Dude," Dave says, quietly in his low voice; A mumble into your hair. "Not to poke that bear some more, but it's kinda about you. It's your life, man."

You shake your head weakly.

"I don't know if that's you trying to get me to shut the fuck up, but man, you should know better. Gotta put more gusto in it for that," Dave says. "All I’m saying is, you're like hella great at blaming yourself. A lot. All the time. It's honestly kinda pathetic, no offense. But man, you're not the only one in that fucking relationship. Or those. I don’t know. They all seem kinda strained."

You can almost hear him pulling a face.

"It's called a common denominator. You should look that up. Means that, no actually, I am the problem there," you say.

Dave's deeply disrespectful reaction to that is, "Pff." You can feel him rolling his entire head with how hard he must be rolling his eyes.

He ruffles your feathers. Literally. Though maybe figuratively too. Apparently your mental breakdown isn't entertaining enough, because he starts fidgeting with the feathers at the base of your hairline.

They're soft and malleable and you don't like them. You don't like that even that high up there's bird shit all over you. As if the color wasn't enough.

You've kind of calmed down. No more deep sobs, and even the quiet tears have mostly subsided. You should pull away, probably. That's really the proper shit to do.

But you’re super comfy. And Dave's still kind of patting your back and shit. It maybe should be demeaning. But it's mostly comforting.

"See there’s that blamey bullshit. You're so dramatic, man. Super unbecoming of the Strider name. Come on. You gotta lift some of that cool guy weight," Dave says.

"As if Dirk has ever not been dramatic. I've barely talked to him and even I know," you argue.

"Fair. But also, see there. Right, Dirk. He's your brother-dad-son too. So why the fuck is he never talking to you. Okay, bad example. He's a weirdo and a shut in, is why. But the point stands. Like sure you could do some of the work. But like you can't just be expected to do all of it. That's dumb."

"Why would they?" you say, and at last pull away. Dave lets you go easily. It feels a little worse out here, with the harsh light of John's room. And seeing John's room again. In Dave's shoulder you were shielded from all that shit.

But you gotta face the music some time.

"Either I've been an utter dick to them or they don't know me at all. And it's not like they don't already have a Dave."

From here you can see Dave's frown. "You're still on about that?"

"Fuck you mean? Yes. Obviously." You angrily, but not even remotely stealthily enough for it not to kind of undermine your aura, wipe the smeared tears from your face. Forget saving face, you're long past that. But hell, you could do with a little integrity here. Be a tad less of a mess.

"In case you've not noticed there's two of Dave here. Shittiest tarot card to ever exist. Stands for obsoletion and oversaturation of the market. There's just Daves all over. You can get 'em for cheap at any ol' street corner. Nobody's making a profit selling Daves. Because no one's willing to pay fuck all for ‘em."

"First of all," Dave intercepts your ramble flow. He full on holds up a finger to count that shit. It's goofy as hell. Cool guy your ass. "There's no such thing as too much Dave. Nobody can get enough of our fine asses and you know it."

He gives you a full ass look. Like you better not argue kinda look. He looks super dumb, honestly. Like he might start looking over the rim of his shades at any moment now.

He holds up a second finger. At least he's consistent. "Second of all. You're like your own damn guy. You're all acting like we're still clones of each other or whatever. But dude, we've been living separate cool guy lives for like coming on a decade. The only Dave's shadow you should be in is your own. Okay and maybe that Dave from Dirk's timeline. There's no way either of us are ever gonna be cooler than that jackass. But luckily none of our friends, or anybody alive for that matter, ever fucking knew the guy, so who cares."

"Great, and I've just been shitting around, not doing shit with that great ass independent separate Dave life. Why the fuck should anyone care again? Because separate old me has been nothing but a cunt and a loner. Like, awesome motivational speech there dude, doesn't change the fact that I'm a piece of shit."

Dave rolls his eyes. Again. They’re gonna fall out at this rate. Roll off the fucking face of the earth. Join Terezi in space.

"Okay, great pity party you've got there. Want me to get you some strainers and a little party hat. Maybe encourage you to start a Troll orgy with how much pity you've got laying around. Just leaving it for some desperate fools to get their hands on."

You see him physically restrain himself from keeping that shit going. Too bad, really. He was on a roll. Sounded like it could have gotten pretty funny. And like way too raunchy for the conversation you're having.

He takes an honest to god deep breath to reign himself in, and then continues. You wonder if that's some shit he learned in Karkat therapy.

Rose would eat that shit up. Dave straight up fucking his therapy guy. His emotional support therapy boyfriend. Man so many ethical pitfalls. Karkat's nooks gotta be banging for that to just go unconsidered.

Okay actually probably not that much. Not to be super disrespectful to Karkat’s ass, but when have Striders ever cared particularly deeply about ethics.

Also you should not be thinking about Karkat’s genitals. Feels disrespectful.

"Okay, so you're a dick," Dave opens. Strong start there, buddy. Keep it up! "Welcome to the club, dumbass. It's like Strider MO. You got that membership card at birth. Well, at ecto-conception. Like teenaged John handed it to you personally. Oh, baby Dave, I know just what you need, this business card that certifies you as a huge bitch."

All the good the reigning in did him. It's not like you can complain. And you're not complaining. The image of John in that god awful green suit handing baby you a business card instead of the horse is hilarious.

Why the fuck was Rose's horse there, you still don’t know. She never forgave you that shit. Your Rose. You've no idea if this Rose, nearly a decade older, has gotten any better at letting go of grudges.

You should ask her. Or like allude to it and see if she reacts. Asking outright sounds like a landmine you really don’t have to walk straight into. Just full-on body slam yourself onto that explosive. Forget poking a bear, you're tackling a goddamn mountain lion.

"You just gotta compensate," Dave continues. This is apparently where he turns this around. Making it all motivational again. Well, let’s hear it then.

"Yeah, you're an asshole. So put some effort in to make it up to them. Be funny. Or show up for them, or whatever."

He's trying pretty hard, you can tell. It's honestly pretty sweet.

You kinda always thought he kinda mostly let you hang around because he felt bad. Or wanted to keep an eye on you. Make sure you're not doing some bullshit he's then gonna have to take responsibility for.

But man he’s really trying here. Putting his all in this, not just halfheartedly to make an ok impression. Kinda makes you think he really might care.

It's a somewhat tough thought. Flies in the face of your, as Dave'd put it, self-pity campaign. 

It also scares the shit out of you. Because if he doesn't really care, you can halfass this at least a little. But fuck you, if he's for real, you can't fuck this up. You can't end up with another shitty burned bridge.

But you’re still you. So it feels inevitable.

"I don't know, maybe if you, just spit balling here," Dave is still going. Your own revelations and doomsday scenarios go both ignored and unexpressed. Gotta keep it together, dude, "were to show up to your friend’s house on the reg, even if they don't ever talk to anyone and also kinda treat you like shit. Like something like that completely made-up scenario."

"John doesn’t treat me like shit," you say.

"If I'm not entirely mistaken," a voice that is not at all Dave's, and is very much Roses comes from the doorway. You and Dave freeze in tandem. Since when has she been standing there. How much of that conversation did she hear? Shit that's fucking mortifying. "He used to insist on referring to you as the fake Dave. And he was quite hostile about any reconciliation attempts at your end too, at least at the start."

She paints it kinda harsh you think. It probably was not that bad.

Karkat, hovering behind her, makes an affirming noise. Great you've got all sorts of audiences today. Anyone else want a piece of this Dave emotion pie?

"Haha, he was so mad at you all the time. At least in that first year."

This time it's not just you and Dave freezing, but the four of you.

Jade stands at the far side of the room, and apparently none of you noticed her getting there.

Has she at last gotten those crackles under control somewhat? Used to be like fireworks around her. Sparks and noises and shit. If she did that too close to you it'd give you little electric shocks. Or space power shocks. You've no idea what kind of energy that shit is made off of.

But it's also not like you've talked to her in a while. So you wouldn't know how much or how little she's progressed with those powers of hers.

"Hey Jade," Dave says. He sounds almost flat again, but less cool guy and more shocked into losing his tonality kinda case.

"Hi Dave, hi Davesprite, hi Rose, hi Karkat."

She gets a weak little wave from Karkat, and an awkward and somewhat ashamed silence from you.

"I've been to a couple of places, but I've not found John yet. Has anything new come up here?" Jade says.

Proactive as ever. Jade up and at 'em Harley. At least she's not changed that much.

"We were talking about calling some of the sprites. Dave might have some of their contact info?" Rose says, that last bit directed at you with a somewhat intense look.

"I can go visit Nanna!" Jade says before you can confirm or deny.

It's honestly a relief knowing you'll not have to deal with that situation.

"Great, if Dave's got Tavros' shit, we can do that, see if he knows," Karkat says, referring to him and Dave.

Shit's running smooth as fuck here with Harley to get you back onto it. That's Jade for you.

"Yeah, I'll send you the number," you say and dig your phone out of your sylladex.

"Cool, back at it then. Feelings jam over, action time!" Dave says and gets up. It's both more complicated than it realistically has to be, and involves more flying than is even remotely necessary. But he gets to his feet and after a last glance at you that's way too sympathetic and that you could have easily done without, and that you still meet for some reason, he squeezes himself past Rose through the door frame.

Through the door you hear Karkat say, "We're gonna talk about you claiming yourself to be an irredeemable dick by the way. Just in case you'd thought I'd let that shit slide."

You deliberately stop listening to that. You've had enough heartfelt words of wisdom for a goddamn lifetime in this single day already. You certainly don't need a second-hand lesson in Dave self-worth or whatever that is shaping up to be.

And you'd really like to live in at least plausible deniability as to how much exactly Karkat and Rose heard of that conversation.

You're left with Rose and Jade. You've no idea why Jade's not left yet. Or maybe you do and you're trying to avoid having to think about it.

You fiddle around with your phone, send Karkat Tavros' number, and then you're left with nothing else to distract you.

When you look up, Jade is glaring at you.

You gather up all that cool guy energy you claim to have, and say, "Hey, Jade. Thanks for helping."

She does a little scoff and says, "Oh are you talking to me now?"

Yup, she's hella mad at you.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for being kinda MIA for the last years," you try. God, you suck at this. And you're kind of all out of sincerity juice.

Plus what the fuck do you have to say for yourself here. She's right, and she knows it, and you fucked up.

"That's one way to describe it. But who am I to want to talk to my friends who I thought were dead for two years! And who when it turned out they weren't then still apparently didn't want to talk to me ever. Because they were sad or whatever. Like I wasn't sad being alone for so long." She's really fucking glaring. And you feel really fucking bad.

"Yeah, you're right. That was pretty shitty. I'm sorry, Jade," you say. And you should probably tell her you'll be better. But fuck if you know if you will. With how it's going you might just jettison yourself into space as soon as you're done here, make this easier for everyone involved.

She does a little huff, kind of in a dog way. It'd be cute if you weren't lowkey afraid of her right now.

"Great, then I'll go find John now. I'll see you later, Davesprite!" Jade says and she genuinely sounds like she means that. Like this was all that's needed and she's good now. Which, that can't be right. But you suppose that’s Jade for you.

The thought leaves kind of a pit in your stomach. She was like this during the ship-ride too. Moving on as if she'd never been hurt in the first place.

Convenient for the cowardly. But jesus, it can't be good for her.

You should really try to make it up to her. You really don't want to be the drop that breaks the Hearley levy.

You nod to her and she's apparently happy enough with that. She leaves with a little "Bye Rose, bye Davesprite," and is gone with minimal crackle. She really did get better at it.

You take a deep breath in and out.

"And here I thought I'd been hard on you," Rose says.

You allow yourself to pull a bit of a face. Rose laughs at you.

You've missed that noise. God you've missed her.

"She'll come around," Rose says after a moment. Nonchalantly, like she doesn't really care, and like she definitely doesn't make you want to feel better.

You hum in agreement and feel a little bad about it. You're not sure you deserve that. Her moving on so easily. Everyone moving on just like that.

"I'm sorry," you say, vaguely in Rose's direction. Not fully committing to looking at her. "For ghosting you."

From the corner of your eye you see Rose pull a face. Something between uncomfortable and constipated.

You breath out in a barely there laugh.

"Just thought I should say that, too."

"Well, there's not much to do about it now that you have. What's said is said. We can however decide not to linger on it," she says in that tight way she does when she'd rather be anywhere else.

"Right. Moving right along." You have to turn away a bit so she doesn't see you smile.

"I think we should check if Karkat and Dave have heard anything new," she says.

Moving on alright. And you thought you were bad with emotion.

"Yeah. I'll go ask," you say.

You honestly have to get out of this room. Or maybe this house. It's starting to feel suffocating. Too many memories. And most of them of your past mistakes.

And pretty much all of them make you miss John. And subsequently make you more anxious.

You hover yourself upright until you're about at the height you'd be standing up.

You miss your legs. It's almost worse now that you had them for a bit. Your tail is dragging in a way that’s decidedly uncomfortable. Longer than you'd like, curling and swishing agitatedly.

You never quite got it under control. And now it feels worse than ever.

Back on the ship you worked really hard on controlling it. Making it short so it wouldn't bother you, or give you away. Making it stop fidgeting all the time. Making it not be a goddamn tail.

You failed pretty hard in all of the above. It defied you, fought you, and gave you away at all turns.

You had to give in or hide as much as possible. Be as far away as you could on a ship.

It was pretty shitty back then. Just as it is now.

"Alright," Rose says. "I'll hold down the fort here, in case he comes back."

She steps into the room and hovers awkwardly beside the door until you pass her.

Before you leave down the hallway, you turn back to her again.

"I'll see you around." It sounds cringy as hell. And kind of too sappy for either of your good.

"You better," she answers but she smiles at you. A little witty, but mostly fond.

You duck out before you get any dumb ideas. Like smiling back, or hugging her, or saying more sappy shit.

You find Dave and Karkat in the living room, huddled together and talking quietly. Or as quietly as is possible for Karkat. Which is surprisingly quiet.

When you hover down the stairs they look up.

"Hey," Karkat says.

You nod and ask, "Anything new?"

Dave shakes his head. "He's not there."

Not surprising. It's another dead end.

Karkat gives you a look that you have no idea how to decipher. You barely have time to wonder what you've done before he says,

"Dave, when was the last time you slept? Or ate? You honestly look like you're about to break the fuck down right there where you hover awkwardly in the air. And as much as you getting us here all hands on deck style, was great to get this here rolling; You're really not going to be of any use if you can barely keep yourself upright."

He's totally overreacting. You cross your arms, pull up your shoulders. Try to make yourself less conspicuous.

"I'm fine, dude," you say.

Before you can defend yourself any further Karkat's already talking again.

"Don't even start with that muscle beast shit. Do you really think after a horror terror damned decade of living with a Dave, I would not be able to notice you're pulling yourself through this shit by the skin of your bone munchers. Spare me the excuses and get to the point where you admit you're practically a walking, rambling corpse mere seconds away from collapsing."

He levels you with one hell of a glare. It looks a little like a challenge. But the kind you know you'll lose, and regret bitterly after the fact.

Dave, lounging on the sofa, as chill a dude as ever, just fucking shrugs.

"He's not wrong," he says.

You sigh.

"We'll find him, okay. And if we do, one of us will go wake you. It'll be fine. Go home, get some rest, and maybe eat something," Karkat says.

What the fuck else are you supposed to do but comply.

You could mention that all your leftovers are here at John's house. And that you doubt you'll be able to get any rest with all the anxious energy coursing though you. But you doubt it'd convince them.

And you’re kind of out of energy for arguments or emotions or most things honestly.

They probably have a point.

"Alright," you say.

"Text us when you get there," Karkat tells you before you take off.

The flight home is long but uneventful. By the time you get to your apartment you're utterly exhausted.

The place feels empty and claustrophobic. You try not to linger on those emotions. Or the gnawing loneliness and the bottomless sadness. And the anxiety. Clawing at your every thought and breath and movement.

You really should see if you can get some sleep.

You push open the door to your room and freeze.

You don't process what you see for a solid second. You're just frozen, all systems stop, there in the doorway. Hovering like the biggest douche.

Then the world turns back on. Or you do. Either way.

You see, and understand what you see: John lays in your bed, asleep and safe. Not unaccounted for, hidden away god knows where. But here, in your apartment, in your bed. Safe and sound. And asleep like a babe.

You watch him for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed neutral of his face, the way he's wrapped himself into that cards suit blanket of yours. All snug, he could compete with any bug.

You have to convince yourself you're not just hallucinating him, out of some deep desperation. But when you get closer, you hear him. And his shoulder is heavy and warm under your hand.

He makes a light grumbling noise and frowns a little but stays asleep.

Good. You didn't want to wake him. He probably needs the sleep as much as you do.

You settle down next to your bed. It's not entirely comfortable, but you can feel the heat from John’s body a little. And you hear him.

The last thing you do before you pass out is text Karkat that he can call the search off. You've found John.

When you fell asleep utterly exhausted at the end of that week, you woke up for the first time on Derse's moon. Or at least you let yourself be aware of it for the first time.

Once you'd oriented yourself there, found Rose, seen Derse, and the Carpacians, you remembered that Jaspers had mentioned Prospit. And the other two dreamers.

And seeing Rose, asleep and well in her dream bed; It gave you hope. Undeserved and unwarranted hope.

So to Prospit you went. A long flight through the medium. Past the planets and past Skaia. There were the ruins of Prospit’s moon.

No Jade, no John, just rubble.

For them you needed to follow the destruction to Skaia, bright and blue. Shining like hope. It gave you everything but.

You found both of them at the bottom there, in the rubble. The last you'd ever see of what was left of your best friends.

Jade looked almost like she was asleep. John looked too much like his corpse for you to convince yourself of that.

Despite it having been a full week, they looked like they'd died minutes ago. No decomposition. No smell, no critters or creatures gnawing on their remains. Just two picture perfect corpses.

That unnerved you almost more than the destruction and their dead bodies, and your knowledge that you and Rose were alone.

You tried desperately not to think about it while you dragged them out of the destruction and onto the chess board soil.

In your search for a place to bury them you came across more and more corpses. Chess guys slaughtered with no remorse, black and white alike.

It turned your stomach, dread and grief hitting you hard and fast. You collapsed there on the blood soaked earth. You didn't even cry, you just cowered.

This is when you knew your timeline was fucked. There was nothing here that could survive. And neither would you and Rose.

There on the lost battle ground, you don't know how long after you curled up into a ball of grief, a little chess guy found you.

You hadn't thought anyone was still alive on Skaia. But he put his hand on your back, and he recognized you as the Knight of Derse.

He was wearing John's blanket as some kind of cowl. You pointed it out and he asked of the Prospit players.

He told you, once you'd relayed their fate, that he knew a place with good soil for a burial.

Despite being kind of small guy, he managed to carry Jade on his back. Your march over Skaia was long and quiet. An air of shared grief hanging over you.

The place the chess dude took you to was surprisingly nice. There was tilled soil, a little hut, some farming equipment.

War had ravaged here too, clearly, but you still got the idea of what it used to be.

You got a broken shovel and so did he and you started digging. The second time was not easier than the first. The Skaia soil seemed harder to you than that on Lowas.

But with combined effort you got the job done.

Once dirty and utterly exhausted, you ended up with two shallow graves. You lowered first Jade and then John into the earth. Both got more dirtied up by you lifting them with your dirt clad hands than they'd been from being exposed to the elements.

Throwing the unearthed dirt back onto them, shovel after shovel, was the hardest thing you'd ever done.

You felt every speck of dirt covering then like a weight pressing in on your chest as well, constricting it further the further you buried your friends.

You were quiet during the entire process. Working alongside each other silently, in stoic grief.

Only once both graves were closed did you drop yourself next to them and curled back into yourself.

The chess dude sat next to you, but even his quiet comfort could not lessen the pain.

You wake up feeling heavy and disoriented. Like your mind is wrapped in cotton. You're not sure if that is because you're well rested, or because you're not.

You open your eyes to the morning sun streaming into the window.

Through the vague shapes and colors of your unbespectacled eyes it takes you a moment to recognize it as Dave's room.

Right. You went here yesterday, looking for him. Or rather, waiting for him. You didn't know where else to look. But you fell asleep before he came back.

You'd really only intended to take a short nap, but that clearly had gone wrong.

You sit up and try to find your glasses. Theres a stirring at the end of the bed you hear before you see. Slow sleepy shuffling, that once you look reveal itself to be a big orange shape at the edge of your bed.

Once you've located your glasses, on the edge of one of Dave's desks next to the bed, the shape turns out, unsurprisingly, to be Dave.

He's already sitting up when you put your glasses on. He looks rumpled and tired. He must have been asleep as well.

"Did you sleep at the edge of the bed?" you ask.

Dave makes a face of barely awake disgruntlement.

"Can hardly call it that. It was more the floor, leaning on the bed," he says.

"Why didn't you wake me. It's your bed. Why'd you let me sleep in it when you could have?"

Dave yawns deeply and infects you with it.

"Have you never heard the saying 'don’t wake sleeping John's' dude?" he says still kind of through waning yawns.

You blink the tears from your own heavy yawn out of your eyes, and try to wake yourself up a little.

"Shut up, that’s so dumb. Why are you always too cool to answer my questions?"

Dave shrugs. "Who cares. I didn’t wanna wake you."

He pulls back from the bed and gets up. That is, he hovers up. Once he's approximately at standing height it becomes clear that his legs are gone again.

"Where’d your legs go?" you ask.

Dave shrugs again. You kind of feel like with every movement he bars himself off from the world a little more. Or maybe just from you.

"Lost 'em," he says. Which tells you about absolutely nothing.

"How do you lose your legs? That's so dumb, dude. Can't you just bring them back?"

"It's not like I didn’t try. It's just not working."

You frown at Dave floating in the middle of the room.

"That's also what you said last time and then it was super not impossible. If you're being such a baby about it though, I can totally help you again."

Dave shrinks away from you. He even makes a slightly disgruntled expression.

"What? No. Who cares?"

"Pff. Don't even try that. Just shut up and sit down." You pat the bed in front of you.

Dave doesn't unclench himself from the defensive posture, but he does float over and settle on the bed.

"Awesome. How did we do this last time? Gimme your hands." you reach out both hands between you two and make a grabby motion.

"Yeah, we definitely weren't holding hands. What the fuck is that supposed to help?" Dave says.

"Stop whining and give me your hands."

You give Dave a mildly impatient look and he puts his hands in yours.

They’re warm and dry. And a little rough. His nails are kind of sharp, like claws. Maybe his dry skin is also a bird feature.

"Cool. Now close your eyes."

You wait a moment.

"Are they closed?"

Dave sighs forcefully. "Yeah, they're closed."

You lean forward, but his glasses are much less see-through than you thought.

"You sure?"

Dave moves back a tad.

"Dude what are you doing? Can you sit fucking still?"

He pushes you back by your clasped hands.

"I was just checking," you say.

"Well they're closed. Now shut up."

"Okay, cool. Now you have to imagine your legs. All chickeny, in those cute bird boxers. Kind of orange, but way less spritey. More like orange crush."

"Dude," Dave groans.

You snicker to yourself.

"They're kinda too long for how thin they are. But that's probably because you haven't used them much. And you got like talons instead of toes. Clawed tootsies, just like a bird," you continue.

"You're really not helping, man," Dave says.

"I totally am. I can feel them forming."

Dave barely contains a laugh.

"How the fuck would you feel my legs, that's dumb. Now shut up I’m trying to concentrate."

"I don't know, Dave. We got some real connection going on with the hand holding and the sitting on the bed together. I can totally feel your legs vibes getting stronger."

"Keep your feelers off my leg vibes, man. That's personal business," Dave says. Even if he's not smiling, you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Okay, so legs. Orange. Boney. Your butt is also less ghosty. Plus, you got that tail."

Dave leans his head back and you can almost see the grin he’s trying not to show you.

"Stop talking about my butt."

You shake both your hands between you.

"Then get your legs out."

"That doesn't make any sense. And I would if you'd shut the fuck up."

You were so focused on seeing if he’s grinning, catching a glimpse of it even when he’s turned his head away, that you only notice that Dave's legs are already there, when you look down again.

They're just as orange, and just as thin as they were last time. And he's still only wearing the cute boxer shorts.

"Dave," you say.

Dave shooshes at you.

"Dude. your legs."

"They're not coming if you don't shut the fuck up. I'm trying."

"Look down!" you say and tug on his arms.

"I thought I was supposed to keep my eyes-" Dave stops talking mid-sentence. He’s looking down, presumably with eyes open now. "Oh."

"Hah, see my plan totally worked," you boast.

Dave pulls back his hands.

"You're welcome," you egg him on.

"Yeah, thanks. Whatever. How long have they even been there?" He's frowning down. Eyebrows all disappearing under his shades.

"I don't know. I looked and there they were. Last time I full on saw. It was freaky. Like your tail splitting and the legs forming. And like your shit glowing with it. Weird stuff. But I don't know if you glowed this time. I didn't see anything."

"Okay, cool."

You'd honestly thought you'd had him there. It's been only a couple of times, but sometimes you've felt like you saw him crawl out of that shell of his.

It makes you want to poke at it. It makes you wonder what's under it. It makes you want to crawl inside and find out. See what Dave is like on the inside.

That's probably kind of a weird thing to think. And he’s probably mostly orange in there. Or maybe that bright yellow.

The thought of Daves insides reminds you of yesterday. A much less pleasant reminder.

Fuck you should really apologize to him. It was pretty fucked up.

You just think you'll only make it worse.

Your friendship has been testy at best. For most of his spritely existence. And you don't really want to fuck it up more than you already have.

God, are you even friends? He kept coming to your house. But you don't know if that shit even counts. Maybe he just happened to swing by or some shit.

"Can we be friends again?" you ask Dave, apropos of nothing except your own private thoughts.

That was definitely weird. Wow way to make it awkward. Whoops.

Dave looks at you blankly. "Whuh?" he says.

"Sorry. that was kinda lame. I was just thinking. So we used to be friends. Like when your John wasn’t dead. And I mean Dave and I are friends. But we kinda started off bad and got only worse. So I thought maybe I should offer. Or ask, I guess. It'd be cool," you say.

"Oh. Erm," Dave says. He looks kind of startled. It's hard to tell what exactly is happening with his eyes covered.

"I didn't want to make this weird. Fuck. I just was like, oh I fucked up the weird truce thing by like breaking your nose yesterday. And I didn't even apologize first. Like an asshole. But maybe we don't have to go back to being shitty to each other again. I liked not being shitty. Even if I guess I was. Yesterday." You are definitely rambling. And Dave is just staring at you.

"What the fuck do you mean apologize? Why would you apologize? I thought I had to do that? What the fuck?" he says.

That’s kind of a dumb thing to say.

"I broke your nose dude," you explain.

"You did not break my nose. I was bleeding a tiny amount. I thought you were super mad at me. Or like upset and shit. You were just gone. I rallied up fucking everyone looking for you. I thought I would be doing the apologizing."

Dave looks upset. And what he's saying is still pretty dumb.

"Why would you apologize for me giving you a concussion? That's dumb."

"Stop making up conditions you didn't give me. You freaked out when I came in, so clearly, I must have done something. What do you mean it's dumb."

You roll your eyes as dramatically as you feel the situation warrants. Which is moderately to a lot.

"I was acting like a baby because I thought you wouldn't come back or some shit. And I freaked out and my wind got away from me. Haha that kinda sounds like I had some pretty bad farts. Can you imagine farting so bad you give someone a concussion."

Dave puts his head in his hands.

"I. Dude. I was so worried. I thought you were gonna. I don’t know. Fucking follow Terezi out into space. Or some other dumbass analogy for fucking blowing your brains out. And that would have been pretty stupid. But also I wouldn't have wanted you to go through that shit alone, because it’s probably pretty unpleasant. I got fucking everyone involved. Fuck. I called in favors I didn’t even have, man. This is so embarrassing."

You take a moment to process what Dave is saying. Plus maybe some of the shit he's said before.

"Wait who is everyone and what did you get them involved in?"

Dave sighs. "Everyone, dude. When you're home you probably have a fucking butt load of texts and calls waiting for you. I had a goddamn god rescue mission on the job. Fuck, dude."

That seems pretty excessive. And also still kind of dumb.

It also seems like something a friend who cares about you would do. So does that mean you're friends after all.

His reaction to that whole thing wasn't really the wholesale positive reaction you'd expect from someone who's definitely your friend.

It does probably mean he doesn't hate you anymore. Which tracks. What with him hanging out at your place all the time lately. You don't do that with someone you hate.

And when Dave did hate you, which you're pretty sure he did for a while, he avoided you like the plague. Unless of course to play a stupid prank on you.

"That's honestly kind of sweet I think," you say. "Not the hundreds of messages. Fuck that. I'm totally throwing my phone in the ocean or something. But like, aww, you were worried about me."

Dave does a deep and exhausted sigh. He falls back onto the mattress and presses his hands to his face. His glasses get all skewed up and fall onto the mattress behind him.

"Dave," you poke him in the knee. "Come on. I'm trying to lighten the mood. Don't be such a pussy."

Dave speaks into his hands. "I'm not being a pussy just because I don’t laugh at your shitty jokes, you asshole."

That sure sounds like he's doing better.

"I do actually wanna say sorry though, dude. I reacted like super hard and I don't wanna like scare you off or something."

Dave drops his hands to the sides. He glares up at you, his head at an awkward angle that gives him way too many chins. His eyes are a surprising splash of red in all of his orange.

"I'm not a fucking forest creature, man. Nor am I some delicate maiden. I can probably take more than most people without even flinching. Like, I'm good."

You ignore all of that and get closer to him to get a look.

"Dave, your eyes are still red," you say.

The aforementioned eyes are very big right now. He is surprisingly easy to read without the shades.

He's all surprised and startled and unsure.

You grin down at him from where you're leaning over him to get a closer look at him.

"I didn’t know there was anything about you left that’s not some shade of orange," you say.

"I think red could technically be described as a shade of orange," Dave says.

You groan in exasperation.

"That's so lame. I meant a part of you that's not just Sprite, and you know I did." You glare at him. "Plus also don't think I didn't notice what you said there was super fucked up."

Dave’s eyebrows are very expressive when they're not mostly hidden by shades.

"About orange and red?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. It would honestly be cute if it wasn't so fucking stupid.

"No dumbass. About taking more than most? That's weird and fucked up."

The joke announces itself before he even says it. There's a crinkle to his eyes, that he might suppress with his mouth, but his upper face speaks volumes.

"What so now you're homophobic? What's so bad about me taking it? I'm just an overachiever like that. Fucking sue me."

You groan and drop your head, letting it land on his chest.

"That was so bad! Can you not talk about your dick like for once man?"

While you ignore Dave pointing out that he was very much not talking about his dick, but other guys' dicks, your eyeline is pretty much lined up with those silly shorts of his.

You raise your head again and interrupt Dave's dumbass ramble, "Wait, does this mean your dick is back now? Wait hold on how were you peeing before now? Were you peeing out of your butt?"

Dave looks as unamused about those questions as you've ever seen him.

"Dude what do you have about talking about my fucking genitals! God you're fucking obsessed."

"Do birds have dicks? Would you even have the bird parts there? Does your dick have like scales and claws now?"

You look back down, as if those questions might have disappeared the fabric of his birdy shorts to give you a free look at his dick situation.

Dave shoves hour head back by your face. you're definitely getting birdy fingerprints on your glasses.

"Dude, shut up about my dick. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The gesture only serves to make you laugh, which leads to more shoving. Even through your laughter you try to retaliate. But Dave has the benefit of spite and not laughing his ass off on his side. Plus that wing of his sure makes for good leverage.

You end up on your back and still giggling, trying to catch your breath, with Dave leaning over you, glaring and breathing a little hard.

"You didn't answer my question," you say once your laughter has waned to a satisfied grin.

"I'm not telling you about my dick, dude," Dave answers, exasperated.

He gets one last small laugh out of you with that.

"Not that. I mean: Do you want to be friends again?"

"Oh," Dave says again. The frown drops from his face, but it doesn't get replaced by shutters and cool guy images. It just leaves a neutral vulnerability.

He looks younger than he is, like this. Almost sweet with the indecision that crosses his face.

"I..." he sits back, on top of you, which you hadn't expected. You thought he'd back off fully. But he's still close, now even touching you. "I didn’t think I'd get that."

He looks down, away from your face.

You watch him chew on his lip, a habit you had not at all seen on him. All his fidgets are usually in his hands. They're never still.

Now they're resting on your chest, holding him up. Still moving, rolling your shirt fabric between his fingers. But giving away less than his face.

You see him glance over at his shades, still on the mattress, skillfully avoided by Dave when he rolled the two of you around.

"That's not really an answer though," you say. More to prompt him to talk than to point that out.

Dave makes a face, something you're still deeply delighted by. Something like discomfort and reluctance.

"Just, I thought you hated me. I was fully resigned to that." He sighs and meets your eyes again.

You cannot get over how red they are.

"I'd honestly be stoked to be friends again."

Your grin, that had fallen some time in the midst of all that, comes back in full force.

You rear up almost throwing Dave off you, but stopping him from doing so by wrapping your arms around him.

Dave had evidently not expected the crushing hug. His arms are trapped by his side, half pressed between the two of you. His wing, not trapped by your arms, flaps with more strength than you expected but not enough to throw you off.

You laugh at his bafflement and topple both of you over in your hug.

You let him go, once you're again at an even playing field, next to each other on the bed.

Dave looks ruffled and startled. It's pretty funny that his orange darkens from what's probably a flush. It looks more like he shines in the cheeks than it does a normal blush.

"Dude, warn a guy," he says.

You laugh at him again.

He twists where he lays to grab for his shades and puts them on again. It's quite the loss. You liked seeing his eyes. But the angle at which he lays makes them sit skewered on his face which at least is amusing.

"So you'll be coming over again?" you ask him.

Dave shrugs. A difficult endeavor with one shoulder trapped under his weight.

"If you want me to. It'd be cool. I liked hanging out."

You nod at that. A similarly complicated maneuver with your head resting at an awkward angle since neither of you have pillows to rest on.

"Maybe I can dick around here sometimes too. Clean out all those fuckass puppets. They're really not cooler in person. Actually, I think they might be worse."

Dave smiles a small grin he evidently couldn't fight.

"I also gotta beat your ass in Mario Kart," he says.

"Pff, as if I'd let you. I'm a fucking pro. I'm wiping the floor with you!" you claim.

"We'll see about that," Dave says.

A good few rounds of Mario Kart later, which you win overwhelmingly, because of course you do, John convinces you to come back home with him.

It's not a lot of convincing he's got to do. You fold like a fancy towel in an expensive hotel. You're a fucking swan by now is how easily you give in to that.

When you've almost made it to John's place, he stops midair and says,

"I didn’t take a key when I left."

He says it like even if it was an issue, it wouldn't be the smallest one in the world. He literally could just wind himself in the same way he got out. You've not tried phasing through a wall in a while, because it’s really fucking weird and also you don't love leaving your goop behind, but you might still be able to do it. Not than either of those things even need to happen.

"Dude, your back door is literally always unlocked," you say.

John turns a confused frown to you.

"It is?"

"Yeah. That's how I got in every time. How did you think I got in?"

"Do you not have a key?"

"Why the fuck would I have a key for the wash room of your house? That'd be super weird, dude."

The upset at his forgetfulness wanes for disgruntlement at your apparent break ins. Though shit's not breaking and entering if the door's unlocked. That's just entering.

"It's practically a burglars paradise. If it wasn't so convenient for me I'd probably tell you to lock that shit."

"Don't you mean a gangster's paradise?" John says, apparently already over all that.

"Dude, don't even start. I don't wanna hear about rap from you. Don’t even touch that. Your music taste is as abysmal as your taste in movies."

"Oh come on, my movie taste isn't that bad anymore. I got like way better lately," John says.

And there you go, bickering and bantering your way into his house.

There's still some of Karkat's cooking in the fridge that you warm up and eat on the couch. You're watching some dogshit movie, one that John claims is actually not that bad.

Even after you've finished your respective bowls of food, you keep sitting and talking over the movie.

It's getting later and later and you have no idea if you should leave, or if he's gonna ask you to stay. You don't really know which you'd prefer.

When you see John frown at his phone, still lying face down on the couch table, untouched since you got here, you nudge him with your shoe (your shit was safe and sound in your sylladex, and got put back on immediately).

"Dude, I bet we could do like a 'look John's doing fine' dinner at Karkat's house, that way you wouldn't have to like text everyone individually. If you're up for it."

John looks at you instead of his phone. There are little frown lines between his eyebrows and his mouth is doing that funny downturn upset thing.

"Would you come?" he asks.

"Yeah dude. I got you into this mess, least I can do is get you out also." 

"And you think Karkat and Dave would do that? Aren't they busy and shit?"

"Busy with what? All they do is dick around all day and maybe like have make out sessions. I can text Dave and see if they're up for it. But I can almost guarantee they'll be stoked as hell. Plus Karkat is the kinda guy who'll immediately take over the organizing stuff, so we won't even have to do shit," you say.

"Okay, yeah, we can do that." John nods, though it doesn't look super convincing.

You don't push. It is probably the easiest solution, plus a good way to start getting back into good graces with Rose and Jade. And you don't want to fuel any insecurity John might have. You'll just drag him there. No problem.

"Hey, Dave?" he says. "Do you wanna stay here tonight?"

Oh. Well that solves that problem too.

"Yeah, sure I can do that," you say.

John nods and says, "Cool." Which seems kind of awkward for how directly he just asked you. But who are you to claim to be an expert on John's bullshit. "You could even take my bed. It's only fair," he adds, to draw out the awkwardness a bit apparently.

"Dude, I'm not kicking you out of your bed, just because you feel bad about hogging mine last night."

"Nuh uh. That was totally on you. You could've woken me up. You can't put that on me now."

You roll your eyes. "Literally the only person who's putting it on anyone is you."

"Bluh, I'm trying to be a good friend and you're being a dick about it," John complains.

"You can be a good friend by having some sweet ass dreams all snug as a bug in your cute ghost blankies. I'm good on the couch. Just get me a pillow or something and I'm fucking golden."

John seems unsatisfied with that, but concedes regardless.

Once you’ve talked long enough that John is barely able to keep his eyes open, or his mouth shut from all the yawning, he slinks upstairs and you get cozy on the couch.

The blanket John gave you has hats and pipes on them and has an overall fatherly presence to it.

The emotional weight of John giving you his Dad's blanket – or at least one of his, you can't really imagine him sleeping under this every night – lays heavy on you.

You try not to be too overwhelmed by the feelings it inspires. Even having made up, your guilt is still strong.

You're woken up in the middle of the night by John's footsteps on the stairs. It's dark enough that it takes a moment for you to even see his pajama clad ass come into focus.

"John?" you say.

"Hey," he says, which considering the time and place is a demonstrably stupid thing to say.

"Dude," you answer.

"I can’t sleep," he explains as if that isn't abhorrently clear.

"Okay, man. And you’re making it my problem, because...?"

John sighs and you just barely see his silhouette move his head in what is obviously one hell of an eyeroll.

"Can you just scoot over. Damn, dude, why does everything always have to be such a fucking production with you," he says.

Oh, okay. Maybe you should have seen that coming. Fuck, cut you some slack, you just woke up.

You comply without further production; Though coming from John, that seems kind of hypothetical. The guy loves making productions out of everything.

You pull back the blanket and lift your wing to make space for him. Even scooted back as far as you can, the sofa's not super big. But you've slept on it together before. You'll make it work.

John crawls in, slotting his cold feet between yours and wrapping his arms around your waist, even though that means he has to shove one of them under you.

You cover both of you in the blanket and then John in your wing. You pull him a little closer with the movement. You have no idea how he got so cold in the genuinely pretty short walk down the stairs, but you share your warmth with him gladly. 

"Better?" you ask.

John makes an unintelligible noise into your shoulder.

You hide your smile in his hair. A weak excuse considering the darkness of the room. But who's gonna call you on that.

"G'night," John mumbles into the dark muddle of your bodies.

You hum in agreement and close your eyes. You think it'll probably be a good one.

At some point – you don't know how long you sat there – two figures came into view.

Your astonishment over more survivors was overtaken by your abhorrent dread when recognizing them as John's Dad and Rose’s Mom.

You hadn't even known they were still around. You'd not seen hide nor hair of anyone but Rose and the Sprites before coming to Skaia.

You didn't know how to break the news to John's Dad. You stammered and looked between the mounds of dirt marking the graves behind you and him, and then there, during the worst time possible, you broke into tears.

You hadn't cried the entire time. It just hadn’t happened, you hadn't even needed to fight it. You'd barely felt anything but empty crushing grief.

But now of all times, suddenly all of it came rushing in. The sorrow, the overwhelming despair, the guilt and hopelessness. And you couldn't stop any of it.

You tried to explain, you really did, but between the sobs and the tears and the stammering nothing useful came out.

You were rushed to, and there were back rubs, and shoulder pats, and shushes, and kind mumblings. And all of it only served to make you feel worse.

At last with the help of the chess dude, who talked about John and Jade in a revenant tone, you managed to convey the situation.

You had never seen an adult man cry. Bro didn't show emotion at all, let alone cry. That shit was for babies.

But here was John's Dad, crying bitter tears, openly and unashamed.

His tears did nothing to still yours, and when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you despite his own crying, whatever dam you were still holding on to broke.

You sobbed into his shoulder, wailing like a fucking toddler, heaving through misery and grief.

You felt like your heart had been ripped out, laying there with your friends buried in the Skaia ground. Alone and scared.

And John's Dad held you, like he could stop you from breaking apart fully. Like that could bring his son back.

You don't know how long you sat there. Eventually your tears subsided and John's Dad let you go.

Rose's Mom kept rubbing your back for a while, awkwardly, but ultimately kindly. In retrospect you wish you'd maybe hugged her, or spoken to her more. Anything really. It was the closest you interacted with her that entire year.

But after the brunt of the grieving was suffered, at least in tears, you just wanted to leave. Abscond from all this shit and pretend like it wasn't crushing you. Get back to Rose.

If nothing else you needed to tell her what was going on. Maybe you'd even come up with a plan of action. She could be relied upon for that generally.

You bid goodbye to your fellow grievers and woke the fuck up.

You tap your foot (still there and going strong, hell yes) in impatience.

"Jesus Christ, John. How long can it take to put on some fucking clothes?"

John calls back something indistinguishable and mildly irritable.

"It's gonna look so fucking stupid if we're the last ones there," you say though the door.

"I'm coming, fuck," John says through the still closed door of his room.

He's been changing since you got here which was fucking 15 minutes ago. What could he possibly be taking so long with.

"If you need a hand getting into your fucking wedding dress, you could just say so dude. D'you need someone to lace up your corset?"

The door opens to John in a sleek, and frankly far too good-looking shirt and normal ass slacks. His hair is not kempt but it's working for him, because of course it does.

"Dude, shut the fuck up. I'm here, alright."

"This took you half an hour to put on? Did you not find the right holes in your pants?"

John groans and pushes past you. You honestly hadn't known you were dressing up. You're just in a hoodie and jeans.

"What’s with the get up anyway. You know its way too late to make a good first impression on anyone there," you say and follow him down the stairs.

"I get it, you're insecure because you didn't think to dress up," John says, and he's not entirely wrong about that. But also there was no memo for get fancy with it. You'd know, you did the communication with Karkat.

"Nah, man. This is fashionably underdressed if anything. It's only cool to get all the fuck dressed up if no one else is doing it. That shit is Strider 101."

John stops in the doorway out and gives you a skeptical look over his shoulder.

"Didn't your Bro always wear those shitty polos? And if i look at Dirk or Dave I don't think any Strider should have a say in what is and isn't fashionable."

"Oof!" you grab your chest. "You wound me, dude. Dave's only shit at dressing because he likes those jammies too much, okay. That’s not inherit to any Striders. Plus Dirk's Bro was like a movie star. I bet he was fucking great at fashion."

You follow John outside and your argument has neither commenced nor led anywhere even remotely useful by the time you arrive at the Vantas-Strider residence.

You are, as you had feared, the last to arrive. And it is pretty stupid, since your asses are kind of the reason for the season.

But the hello's this time are welcoming and warm.

Rose teases you about your entirely uncoordinated dress code, which is pretty rich, because, Kanaya, when she comes into the hallway to say hello, is far more dressed up than Rose. When you cast a look her way, calling it out, Rose pointedly avoids your eyes.

You get a soul crushing hug from Jade, which is honestly a great change up from the last time you saw her. You really don't deserve someone this forgiving.

You're nowhere as strong as her, but you try to reciprocate the hug in turn regardless.

You refuse to interpret some super un-called-for elbow pokes in the ribs and eyebrow wiggles from Dave, and let Karkat do a little unnecessary fussing over you.

And you even brace yourself for whatever Nanna's got in store for you. Though that turns out to just be a warm hug and a gentle pinch of your cheek.

Dinner is loud and chaotic and great fun. At some point John kicks you under the table, which seems to have been for no reason except to kick off a silent war between you that lasts for long enough to distract you from what Dirk is saying to you. Which might not be that big a deal, since you're not sure he even notices you checked out of the conversation. It then lets up into a stale mate of reassuring contact for the rest of dinner.

It's a great evening. You'd known how much you’d missed them all, but you'd forgotten that having them around could make you feel good; Not just like you’re trying to fill a hole in your chest, but happy in a way you don't think you'd ever been.

Like this was what it was all for. You'd just not realized that you'd been included in that outcome. That you were not only welcome, but wanted in the sharing of the future you won.

After you've all eaten your fill and then some, you move to the living room to continue your conversations, and keep soaking in each other's company.

At some point John falls asleep on your shoulder. You let him, unbothered even by the smiles and teases from your friends and family. You're just happy he's comfortable.

And to your surprise, so are you. His body against yours has become something you've grown used to. It's comforting knowing his weight there.

You carefully wrap your wing around his shoulder as a makeshift blanket. And then you just continue your conversation with Karkat and Jade.

Later you wake John up to take him home. And when you arrive at his house he doesn't even bother asking if you'll spend the night. He just pulls you inside and when you end up in his bedroom you figure you might as well skip that step too.

You tuck into his bed, next to John and you sleep well and deep like you haven't in maybe your entire life.