Chapter Text
the gravedigger creeps into the crypt, then strips the bed
to find agendas that are hidden like pigeon eggs
instead he finds nothing, only ink-dipped feathers
and a sense perhaps the homie's homing instincts have been severed
sage francis - say uncle
You spend the day in the dark working on remixes and rambling at Rose online, and she helps keep you awake by calling your cell if she goes longer than five minutes without getting a message. Time passes in a miserable crawl, but you're not alone, and even as you're tabbing between Pesterchum and various other software you're trying to make sense of Bro's sage wisdom. You're also not sure if you're trying not to think about that whole encounter or if you never want to forget a millisecond of it ever again.
John does show up off and on but he's busy re-watching Con Air for the trillionth time and cross-examining it to find every specific way in which it is a brilliant movie for a school project. Maybe he'll get an A for effort, at least. Jade's still in some weird place way out in the desert finishing up her need-to-know project for the military.
The weird part of the daylight hours comes when you're desperately messaging anyone and everyone as it gets harder and harder to keep yourself going.
turntechGodhead [TG] has begun pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
TG: yo crocker hows it rollin
TG: and im not talking about the dough cause we both know that doughs getting rolled like a fuckin katamari on acid
GG: The name is Egbert, you know. I'm not really certain why you keep referring to me this way.
TG: reread my last message climb a bigass mountain to meditate or some shit and the answer will reveal itself in time
GG: I'll take your word for it. How have you been, Dave? You and I don't talk much these days.
TG: fine
TG: you know me when aint shit just peachy
TG: mixin dope beats, listenin to your dork-ass lil bro flip his shit over nic cage, slowly gettin over this concussion, pondering the mysteries of the universe, the usual stuff
GG: Oh gosh! Where did you get a concussion? Were stairs involved?
TG: of course stairs were fuckin involved who do you think i am somebody who isnt falling down stairs every day
GG: Obviously not, but that's not what actually happened, is it? It's not exactly normal to be constantly injured, you know! I don't care if "thats just how striders roll", something is very wrong in that apartment.
TG: girl i do not have a goddamn clue what youre talkin about
TG: why dont we just talk about somethin else like
TG: whatever you talk about i dont know, gimme your version of the events of the cake batter garden hose incident or somethin
GG: It's Dirk again, isn't it.
TG: see above where i mention the zero clues as to whatever it is your talkin about because i sure as
TG: god damn it
TG: of course its fuckin dirk who else would it be
TG: piece of shit kicked my ass up and down the block and then all the way into last week
TG: like i know i shouldnt be complainin on account of i got the best fuckin convoluted clusterfuck of a family in the universe but i think maybe things over here might go smoother if one of my brothers didnt hate my guts and show it by diggin his foot into said guts repeatedly
GG: He doesn't hate you, Dave. I'm not sure if Dirk hates anyone, really. He tries to stay above that sort of tomfoolery.
TG: yeah well ill buy that when i see any evidence like at all in any way whatsoever
GG: Dirk is doing what he always does, which is to say he's repressing his feelings and trying to be the ultimate mysterious ninja. He wants to be like your Bro, but he can't be, because he's not your Bro, he's Dirk Strider.
GG: He can't copy the good things about Bro, because he has his own good things already. All he's been accomplishing lately is making the bad parts of himself worse.
TG: well great so mr perfects apparently actually mr dumbshit that completely fixes my own problem
GG: He loves you. He really does. Dirk is my friend, and I know he's going through a lot right now. Whatever he's doing isn't okay, and I'm sorry. But he doesn't hate you, Dave. I know that for a fact.
TG: i gotta go
TG: not sure what to think of all that but hey who knows
TG: peace
turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
turntechGodhead [TG] has begun pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
TG: yo crocker
GG: Yes?
TG: thanks
turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]
Horizontal cut: blocked -- flash step feinting a backstab, dodge the counter, diagonal cut: blocked -- a rain of blows, relentless, masterful. He takes your finely honed skill and makes you look like an amateur, like an anime protagonist fighting his nemesis for the first time, the curbstomp on hold while he humiliates you without even having to move most of his body.
And then suddenly he's on the attack and he's perfect but you're still the fast one so you block it and your sword snaps in half and blisters your hands as the grip's torn out of them by sheer force.
That wasn't a shitty katana, either. You got this one out of the fridge where it was waiting along with the rest of the quality weapons.
By the time you've managed to get your eyes off the wedge of metal careening along the rooftop, his fist's become best friends with your jaw. Hell, your jaw and your brother's fist have officially become downright matrimonial. It barely even registers in terms of pain, at least at first; just a jarring impact, a crack from your neck that couldn't have been louder if you'd been cracking that neck yourself.
Now you're on the ground, and while you're there Dirk walks over to the AC unit and picks up a spare blade, tosses it to you almost gracefully. You tilt your head and let it land behind you.
"Pick it up," he says.
"Nah, I'm cool," you say, and you think his eyes might have widened just a little bit, because you definitely saw his eyebrows twitch.
"What do you mean, you're 'cool'. Pick up the sword and fight me."
"Nope, don't got the time to waste on chumps who go breakin' perfectly good swords for no reason."
He kicks you and you cough. Everything feels strangely simple, like a lot of things are colliding at the same time and with every complicated piece that clicks together it's looking more and more like they were just one simple thing all along.
"What kind of Strider gives up on a fight, lil' man?"
"I don't know how you expect me to give up on a fight I'm not part of. Lil' man. Maybe you oughta go get your head checked out cause you ain't makin' --"
He kicks you again and you feel yourself starting to curl up into a ball.
"-- m-makin' a lick of damn sense. You're the one who's fightin', man. I'm just having a nice night on the roof, you know, watchin' this Dirk dude try way too hard to be like some bizarro version of his Bro --"
Twice this time. If this really was an anime, you'd definitely be spitting blood.
"All I'm doing is trying to have a friendly strife with my little brother," he says. "Like the Strider I --"
"Aw, the fifteen year old prodigy's beatin' the shit outta his thirteen year old kid brother, I bet Bro's real proud of how you're turnin' out, nothin' says Strider like 'lack of honor' --"
Three more. It's hard to talk, hard to think. Something's changed in his posture; before he looked like a swordsman, but now he looks dangerous.
"Don't. Insult. My. Honor. I'm more of a Strider than you'll ever be. One more word about Bro or my honor and I'll kill you." The point of his sword presses up under your chin just enough to draw blood.
"So kill me then 'cause I just got done lookin' up 'honor' on this online thesaurus and the whole antonym section was a bigass high-res photo of you."
The blade moves, just a little, a shallow cut all around the front half of your neck oozing red.
"I'll kill you," Dirk says, and you chuckle.
"No you won't. You're a bag of fuckin' dicks and a goddamn disgrace to this family but you ain't gonna kill me, now or ever."
The sword moves away just enough to give him leeway to kick you again. You really might have to go to a hospital after this because you can't just wait out internal bleeding the way you did your head injury.
"You know why you ain't gonna kill me?"
"Enlighten me," he says, and gives you some time to think by occupying himself with another barrage of kicks.
"Because I'm your brother and whatever the hell dumbass thing it is you think you're doin' here, you fuckin' love me."
The next kick is so savage you can barely inhale again afterward.
But he isn't saying anything.
"Yo, Dirk. Earth to Di-Stri. Fight's over already." Wheezing, scratchy. "Say uncle already so we can get a move on, man."
"Pick up the FUCKING SWORD!"
This is definitely the first time you've ever heard Dirk Strider lose his cool.
"Nope, that fight's been over for a while, and I won this one, so say uncle. I wanna hear you say it."
"You didn't win anything," he says, and when he kicks you in the ribs this time, you can hear something crack and your vision goes black and white and iridescent for a second.
"Just say uncle, dude, this shit's gettin' old faster than milk somebody forgot to keep cold."
You lose track of time as he beats on you, bruising your chest, gut, arms, legs, and every time you catch your breath you say the same thing.
"Say uncle."
After the sixth time, you can hear him moving away, a thud as he collapses to the ground, a loud scraping clank as his katana smacks against the AC unit. Your head is swimming -- hell, your head's drowning in the Marianas fucking Trench -- but you manage to get your eyes open and move just enough to see him. He's making this weird chuffing sound, face in his hands.
Break him, Bro told you, so you do.
"I said... say... uncle," you manage one last time, and there's silence.
"... Uncle. Fucking uncle, are you happy now? Are you fucking happy?" His voice comes out trembling and weird and his breath hitches every time he inhales.
"Be happy when you start bein' yourself and not a piss-poor copy of Bro," you mumble. "'member when we were real little, usin' those shinai to get the basics down, I was just learning how to mix and, and you had that fuckin' robot thing goin' on. What happened to that? You built a workin' robot when you were ten years old and now what've you got left? You threw away your life, man. And... I don't know. I guess I miss the real you. You even know who the real you is anymore? 'Cause I sure don't."
He doesn't say a word.
"Love you, bro," you mumble, "so come home already," and you're only half-awake to hear him fall apart. Never thought you'd hear a Strider make a sound like a little kid seein' Bambi's mom get shot for the first time. Sure as hell never thought you'd pass out, bit by bit, to the growing rake of your brother's sobs.
And suddenly you're in a hospital bed, complete with all those IVs and shit just like in the movies, it's crazy, doctors are fuckin' everywhere, total madhouse. There's a note pinned to the wall by the bed that you don't notice for a long time. You too, it says, and under that, in a shaky hand, I'm sorry.
When you make it back to the apartment Bro's chilling on one side of the couch. It's basically crazy how good it feels to be here again after a week of nothing, and when you slump down next to him you see that the TV's on, showing the title screen of a video game and a blinking cursor next to RESUME CO-OP CAMPAIGN.
"Kick some ass with me, lil' man?" You look over at Bro, who's expressionless like always.
"Hell yeah."
The next time that either of you sees Dirk Strider, you're eighteen years old and the solar system is soaked with blood.
the coupe's been fled to recoup on these boots of lead
can't hear the primal screams or see through the red
i represent the late bloomers with great rumors to spread
sage francis - say uncle