Chapter Text
Roxanne stands firm up until Rose is well and out of view. Then the aggravation in her chest seems to fester, crawling up her throat and onto the back of her tongue like a nest of spiders. She grimaces and wrings out her hands, runs them through her hair. Taking a moment to collect herself sounds like a good idea, but she knows she also has more pressing matters to attend to.
Two transportalizations later, and Roxanne's back to the scene of the crime. Despite herself and her meanings to get right back to work, the first words out of her mouth are, "You don't think that was too harsh, do you?"
Hal's still knelt down on the ground where she left him, rubbing his fingers into his temples, as if in the throes of a migraine. Roxanne winces when he glances up at her.
"Never mind, I'm a grown woman. I can take my responsibilities and the harshities that come with them. Are you okay??"
She frets, crouching to offer him a hand up.
He looks at it for a long moment, then takes it with a light grimace.
"Rose was right. I'll survive."
Roxanne tugs him to his feet, taking it slow when it seems he may wobble. Jeez, maybe she should have let him stay on the ground for a bit longer, even if seeing him look so...so broken down, bothers her at some base level.
"That really isn't as reassuring as you prob'ly think it is," Roxanne tells him with a pout.
"Hm," Hal considers, "That's unfortunate. I don't even know how reassuring I intend it to be. I suppose the part of me responsible for such calculations might be of the percentage that's flown the coop."
Roxanne pulls a face, tugging his arm close to her chest so she can hug the shit out of it. "I take back everything I've ever said about you being funny. You're awful."
"I've heard that one before," Hal responds with a shake of the head. "Seriously. I'm...It's survivable. Plenty so. I'm wasting additional resources on trying to figure some things out. I probably appear worse than I actually am."
"Trying to figure out where he ended up?" Roxanne offers, since he seems like he's got buffer circles going in those eyes of his.
"That, and..." he lets out a sigh, waving her off. She gives his arm one last tight hug, then allows herself to back off. "Trying to see if I can re-establish any kind of connection."
"No dice, I'm guessing?" she asks without much hope. With a lack of much else to do--and what she was supposed to be doing this whole time--she returns to the console she was working on. Hal's chassis is still where it was when she hooked it back up again, and she returns to sifting through the data contained therein.
It's not empty, Roxanne's certain it can't ever truly be empty. Not as long as Hal's still kicking. There's a connection there--one that goes beyond the sensors lined along the arms. Hal's all woven through that brain of his right now, and all of that's in there has some sort of wireless interface to what's in here. It's all pretty elegant, she's got to admit. Only now what Hal's got to interface is...
Matter without spark. It's like keeping a brain in a jar. There's all the innerworkings, all the little fleshy bits, but there's no life to it. This pair of sunglasses's full of meat, but there's no-one home.
Roxanne inputs a few keystrokes, and the lights flicker. Like some kind of unconscious twitch. She lets out a dismayed sigh.
Autopsies are just as important as biopsies, however. And this is just some kind of bastard in-between. She can follow empty pathways and try and troubleshoot. Maybe there's still a way to summon this demon back to its home plane, if only she can find the right incantation...
"None I can roll."
It takes Roxanne a moment to figure out what in the hell Hal is talking about there, but then she remembers her own comment about dice. Oh no, their back and forths are gonna be so much harder to follow if he's running on that kind of delay.
She doesn't dare ask him to give her any more of his attention right now, however. Poor guy's just been lightly lobotomized. He's entitled to use his remaining brainspace as he likes.
Instead, she offers a weak hum. "None that you can roll yet. Come on, like you don't know how to square off a few corners."
Data pours itself over Roxanne's screen, and when she takes a closer look...she notices something.
"Actually, hey, Hals, There's--You're seeing this too, right?" When Hal seems slow on the uptake--seriously, it's not that long, she's sure, but it's kind of distressing to see him take any time to do anything at all--she points to the screen, following along the lines with her finger. "Your corruption prob. Remember how we always talked about it like it was a great big jumble? Now it's... Well, it's still a mess but it's actually readable."
She can actually follow the code of it now. The language itself isn't really that familiar to her, but there's an undeniable logic to it now. Except, now that she's said that...
She frowns.
"I...Is it?" Hal sounds disturbed. "I was playing it up earlier, but I'm concerned I might have actually lost something vital. I can't parse any of that."
"No, no!" Roxanne is quick to reassure him, "Sorry, oh my god. No. You're good. You're fine! It's not actually--It's... It looks incomplete? I still wouldn't execute any of that on even my shittiest desktop. It's like we've got only part of the script but...see?"
She stops the readout, thrusting her finger more firmly at the blue fucking scraps of text. "There! It is a script, isn't it?"
Hal takes in the code, eyes jumping along the jagged pieces of code. His pupils open wide as if to drink it all in, and she can practically see the lines lighting up in his matrices. He can probably read it in even more visceral detail than she can, given the whole nature of his deal. "Not part of. Half. Whatever this program is, when my other self left..."
"He took the other part with him," Roxanne finishes. She looks upon the code, mind whirring at the possibilities. "God, does it even still work like that? Maybe you can get through it now. Hell, maybe I can tease it apart for you! Hals, this could be a breakthrough!"
She whirls to take him in, mouth pulling into an unsteady smile, desperate to have something to do with all of this. For there to be a silver lining to the cloud of uncertainty that's been added into their lives.
But Hal just looks shaky. His pupils blown a little too wide, a world of data just held within their depths... He lifts a finger...
Then just as promptly drops like a sack of goddamn hammers. Roxanne yelps, scrambling to catch him before he brains himself on the console.
"Alright! That's enough excitement for one day!" she declares. "You need to go lie down, now."
A door slams a few feet away from Dave, and he flinches. He glances over to see his sister standing there, one hand still white-knuckled around the knob.
"Oh, hey," Dave begins, but Rose looks kind of like she's either witnessed a murder, or she's about to commit one, so he decides to leave that message where it lays. Maybe he'll just...toe it over towards her a bit further, but that's it. He doesn't feel like getting bit today.
"Dave," Rose says, looking just as surprised to see him there. "Why are--" She lets out one hell of a sigh. "What are you doing in my room?"
Well fuck. Dave sinks into her desk chair, as if to use the backing as a shield. Or a hiding place. Either works. "I, uh. Wanted to hang a bit. But you weren't in here, so I figured I'd chill for a bit 'til you came back around. Didn't think you'd be gone long. ...Since when do you mind me hanging in your room?"
Was that too much? She's still glaring into space like there's a ghost there, and she's deciding whether or not it's worth the energy to punch it or let it have its way to see if it'll give her spooky powers in the end.
Three seconds pass, and her fingers fall from the knob.
"I... Don't. You know you're always welcome here," it sounds like she's grinding her teeth, "Dear brother."
Okkkaaay. She's still in front of the door, but he's pretty sure he can fit through that weird, short, high-up window Rose's got if he really guns for it. If he kicks off her bed, then flashes to drag momentum with him, he can roll through and catch his landing in the grass.
"No," Rose sighs, she drags a hand across her face. "I'm sorry. Stay. Please. You're on my Pesterchum, right? Who are you talking to?"
Oh man her being right behind him is not helping at all, but he guesses he's cornered for the long haul now. At least whatever's up with her he's pretty sure it's got nothing to do with him. He scoots the chair to the side to invite her in.
"Nah, I was using my own this time. Wanted to keep tabs on if Jade was getting up to anything while I'm awake. I think she's still out, though," he adds, glancing over at the greyed out names on his list. Poor John. Sucker's always missing out on prime friend-times now that's school's back on. His birthday's coming up next month, though, so Dave's been obligated to annoy him at every possible moment. If he doesn't crack and tell him what he wants for his birthday this year already, then Dave's going to have to take drastic measures.
"But hey, check it," Dave says, dragging his chat window back into the center view. "This a color you've seen before?"
Rose leans forward, eyes roving the screen with enough energy that, if this were paper instead of pixel, he's pretty sure she would have ripped straight through the page.
Well. At least it's not directed at him.
"So, after all of that," Rose grumbles under her breath, "And you're the one still making breakthroughs."
Wait, what?
"Huh? I mean...I guess?" Dave tries, shrugging his shoulders in surrender when her eyes snap over to him again. Shit. "I mean, I just happened to be online. Not like I got much information from AC other than she likes cats and might be down to play with us sometime. The actual breakthroughs are yet to come. I was just setting the foundations," can she stop looking at him, like, immediately? "You can take over if you want."
Cool new friend and talking about old cartoons can be put on the backburner if it means Rose won't start bubbling over everywhere. He has no idea what kind of bee's flown up her bonnet, but he's starting to think he might not want to be here when it flies out.
There'll always be other opportunities to chat. He'll just...
"Actually, I'm going to go check on what's happening downstairs. I swear I heard Mom talking about something weird going on and..."
"I said stay." Rose pushes the desk chair way in, so he's pinned between it and the desk. She then jerks it over to the side far enough that she can still type while he's stuck there. "There's nothing interesting going on down there anyway."
Shit, fuck. He guesses whatever's happened down there's what's pissed her off. He desperately wishes to be there instead of here right now. Doesn't matter how messy or boring it is. He could help clean up. Or make his own fun. Dave presses his hands flat against the underside of the desk.
"Remember that talk we had a while back?" Dave sure hopes that the woods he's poking at doesn't have a bear that's ready to take his fingers off.
"We've had a lot of talks," Rose replies tightly. She backspaces over a word with more force than she needs to, then starts typing again.
"About us being better than Mom and Bro..." he tries.
Her face flashes, then darkens. Like a lightning strike in the middle of the night.
"We are better."
"You sure aren't acting it right now. You said we could talk about--"
She cuts him off, smacking her hands on the side of the desk "I don't want to talk about it!"
Alright, that's it! He's not just going to sit there and take this anymore. Dave slouches down in the chair, then slides himself out in one hell of a flashwiggle maneuver. He puts space between him and his sister's volatility, arms crossed in front of his chest.
"Well, if you aren't talking, then I'm not staying! You're obviously leaking feelings about something else all over the place, and if I can't help, then I shouldn't have to be the one being burned by it!"
Maybe there's a flicker of something regretful there, but it's up in flames before it can really settle. "Fine! Go then. I don't need you. It's not like Mother was ever going to be able to enforce anything anyway."
"Enforce..?" Dave trails off when Rose glares a dagger in his direction. It really should not feel like playing with knives just to talk with his own sister. There shouldn't be any knives in this house at all. Well, except for cooking ones. But he's pretty sure nobody's supposed to be waving those around either.
He should leave. He should leave and let Rose cool off and maybe find out what was bothering her so she doesn't have to say it herself. But, if she's going to be such a hypocrite about things...
Dave plops herself at the foot of her bed, arms crossed.
"I'm not leaving until you tell me something."
"You're insufferable."
"Ouch. Okay. Something to do with whatever's up with you. Or something really nice. I'll take a compliment instead of an apology."
"I don't owe you an apology," Rose seethes, then lets slip, "I don't owe anyone an apology."
Dave's eyebrows raise. Oh, shit. Is she in trouble? Maybe she got in a fight with Mom again.
"Sounds like something a person who could use a little time writing up some apologies would say." Dave wheedles, "C'mon, we can break out the cool papyrus and feather pens. You'll probably feel better after..."
Rose glowers. "That's enough, Dave. I'm not playing around right now."
No, she's caught up on something. And that's exactly the point.
"Why not? Things're easier if you make a game of them. 'Cause it's either that, or an interrogation. Which would you prefer?"
"Neither. Weren't you going? What, would you like a formal invitation?"
Dave tips his head to the side. "Wouldn't that be a...shoot, is there a word for that? An exit-tation?"
Rose rises from the desk to round on him. Fuck, alright, he guesses AC was still out, answering permission from her dad or whatever weird alien word she used for it so they could play together. On one hand, he's glad AC didn't have to face the full force of Rose's bad-feels wrath, on the other, he kind of would have appreciated the back-up. Appurrciated?
Oh fuck she's right there. Rose's hands press down to either side of his legs, and he snatches them up and into criss-cross applesauce before she can grab him and try to drag him down by the ankles like some sort of bed-demon from hell.
"Dave," she says, slowly. Quietly, but anything but coldly. "Get out."
Dave's words stick in his throat. They wind through his head, over and over and over, before he forces himself to spit them out, lest he end up choking on the mental blockage.
"Cute as all or cool as all? Wait, don't answer. I already know I'm both," he finishes, smile growing cheeky on one side to prevent it from shaking. He hates this. He hates every second of it. But he can't just leave her like that.
"Dave," she says again through grit teeth. "If you don't get out of my room right now. I'll--I'll tell on you."
The tension in his shoulders loosens by a whole degree. See. He knew she wouldn't want to hurt him. And with that more stable footing, he's able to sway with the punches.
"Nuh uh," he denies, reasoning, "You're in trouble. You don't want to talk to them right now any more than you do to me."
He can see his sister puff up in indignation, but as long as she's not aiming to outright hit him, she's forced to think to answer him. And, well. If she was going to hit him, she probably would've given him some warning, right?
"What if what you're doing is worse than what I did?" she challenges.
"Then I'd say it's super unfair that you're in trouble for it," Dave answers. Taking a chance, he uncrosses one of his legs to poke her in the stomach with his foot. She grabs at him, but it looks like she's too distracted to do much with it. Score. "Last I checked it's not against any rules to stick around when somebody asks you to."
Rose's face teeters somewhere between furious and something really fucking distressed, and he thinks he might've hit something there.
"I told you to leave."
"But did you mean it?" Dave asks lightly, wiggling his leg in her grasp. "Or was that just the anger talking?"
"I'm not angry," Rose denies, sputtering. She shoves his leg back at him, and he plays up his oofs and ouchies about it to underline the way that was one hell of an angry-ass move on her part. She stares at him with a tight expression that wibbles and wobbles at the mouth. "I'm not. I would know if I was. I simply speak my mind. It's not my fault if those thoughts run more in line with..."
"With your aspect?" Dave questions, and she shuts both eyes, turning away entirely. "Hey... It's okay."
"No it's not," she responds miserably. "I was just doing what it told me to."
Dave wants to put his hand on her shoulder, but he can guess about how well that'd go over right now. "Your feelings?"
"No! Emotion. Not mine, maybe not even anyone's in particular," she stresses, "But I know what I felt."
"But I don't," Dave points out. "None of the rest of us get what you've got going on in there. If you want us to understand..."
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Rose breaks out, reaching to shove at him again. She does it blindly enough that Dave can lean the hell out of dodge. Shit, shit, shit. He's gone too far, too much. Maybe she really did just need to cool off for a while. She'd know what she needs best, right? They're her emotions, and those are supposed to be her whole thing.
(Even if Dave thinks she's...not really all that great at them.
Nobody's allowed to tell her that he thinks that.)
"Alright," Dave gives in, rubbing at his shoulders defeatedly. "I get it. I'm sorry for pushing so hard. I'm going now, I promise." He even starts sliding off the bed towards the direction of the door. "But as soon as you're ready to t--"
"Go!" she yells, throwing the closest thing she's got at him. Thankfully, that thing is a loose blanket that had fallen from her bed, and she didn't ball it up properly so that thing gets barely any air at all before falling into a heap.
He's gone before it even hits the floor.
Surprisingly, getting Hal to bed isn't the hard part. Two transportalizer pads, a whole set of stairs, and a hallway? No match for the amazing duo of Roxanne Lalonde and a pile of sentient spaghetti. No, apparently it's the getting him to lay the fuck down part that's too far. He let her manhandle him all the way up to this point, but the moment she goes to pull up the blankets, he takes the chance to scoot himself up so his back is up against the headboard.
She sighs at him. Honestly, is she really that surprised?
"I thought we agreed you should rest."
"We agreed that we should return to the problem with clearer heads," Hal replies, and maybe she'd be more reassured by the return to normalcy if there wasn't a distinct tremor to his hands where they clasp against the bedspread he stopped her from spreading.
And, y'unno, if it didn't take him entire seconds to speak up.
She frowns, taking no care to hide her worry from him. She noticed he had gotten shaky once he hit the ground. At first she thought he might have knocked himself out with whatever stunt he had pulled, but then he had gotten a little too stiff on the way back up the stairs. Hands a bit too jerky, and legs too prone to getting stuck on steps. There's a reason she had given up on the whole over-the-shoulder lean and scooped him up to take the stairs on her own two legs alone.
Did he short something out in there?
Roxanne presses the back of her hand to his head, and it's surprisingly clammy. Hal winces as if she had brushed herself against something raw and open instead of smooth, solid skin.
Most upsettingly, she has to wait the buffer time for him to complain, "Can we keep the touching to the minimum right now? My nerve receptors are firing on all ends right now. I think I'm about one bad blink away from seeing auras."
Migraine, then. That's at least reassuringly commonplace. Roxanne takes her hand back. "Do you want me to get you anything?" she asks, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"Curtains," Hal says, jerking a hand towards the window. It's only partially open, the streak it casts alights near perfectly to where he had been sitting at the bar-turned-worktable.
"On it," Roxanne salutes. "Anything else, though? Water? Ice pack? Hell, even just a cup of ice cubes. That'd last you a while until they melt. I'm sure I have some Advil floating around somewhere..."
She glances back after shutting the curtains, and dismays at how even the little shink of fabric over the metal rod seems to have him wincing.
"All of the above. Sorry," he adds, picking at the hem of the blankets he still refuses to pull up. "I think I overwhelmed something trying to access some files through wetware alone. Symptoms are lining up with a rather severe case of over-stimulation...on top of the expected migraine."
As if to prove his point, he ends up kicking the sheets further towards the end of the bed. Roxanne lets out a very, very, very quiet, sympathetic hiss. If it's anything like the kind of hangovers she gave herself before she figured out the tips and tricks around them (and made them her bitch, thank you very much) she figures he's not going to want to move for a while.
"I'll get right on that," she promises. "Then maybe you'll feel well enough to get some re--"
There's a soft knock on the doorframe. Roxanne turns to see Dave, hands deep in the pockets of his lounge pants (orange-and-white plaid and absolutely adorbs. He looks like a jam lid) and near curled over himself with how far he's hunched. She hadn't closed the door when she came in, seeing as how she had had her hands a little full.
"Shhh," Roxanne tells him, rushing over to his side to run her nails through his hair. "Hey, sweetsies. Hal's feeling a little overcast-y. You and I've got to be quiet, okay?"
Everybody feels under the weather. It's kind of hard not to, with how the sky is always overhead. It also just makes sense. Rainy would be sad, stormy would be tumultuous, starry would be dizzy... Sunny can be happy, or, depending on how hot or how bright, it can be strained. Overcast, of course, would mean...
Headache-y.
Dave immediately sucks his lips between his teeth, then nods. See? He can be so quiet.
He had been meaning to retreat down to his own bedroom. He wasn't sure if he'd feel up to immediately opening his Pesterchum again, since he's still kind of feeling shaken (earthquaked? Thundered?) himself. But then he heard the soft sound of his parents talking from the other room, and he could tell Bro's door was open even before he had walked down the hall, and...
It had just struck him, deep and wobbly, how much he really wanted a hug. He leans into Mom's headscritches, 'cause she's got long nails again, and she's the best at scritches, and there's really all there is to say on the matter.
Only, it's not really what he wants, even if it is nice.
Dave starts to peel himself from Mom's side, only for her to scoot her hand down to his shoulder.
"How's about we leave Hal alone for a while so he can sleep it off, huh? We could play a game together, if you want. I think Jenga's still under the coffee table, and as long as we play over the rug it shouldn't be too much noise..."
He's shaking his head before she's even finished talking. He casts his eyes towards Bro, who looks...
Well. He looks pretty bad. He's not wearing his shades, and his hair and clothes are messy in the frazzled kind of way. It's all pretty overcast. But. But. Maybe he can just sneak in a quick hug first..?
"Dave..." Bro says, and oh man he sounds just like he looks.
"Hey, no, Halsie, it's okay. Don't push yourself. I can take this one."
"'This one'," Bro says, emphasizing the pronunciation and everything, and Dave winces. Oh god, don't let them be fighting, too, "Isn't something you can just 'take'."
"Hey, don't get testy with me, papa bear. I was just saying I could pitch in. Besides, didn't you just say you weren't--"
Bro shakes his head. "Come here, Dave," he says, voice soft and inviting. Fighting or not, Dave takes the chance while it's there, clambering up onto the bed and sinking into his Bro's arms. "What's going on?"
Dave leans into the warmth, taking deep, careful breaths and willing his heart to slow down. Bro's hand comes to rest on his back, and he sighs out shudderingly when it begins to pat. It's not a tight hug, but it's still a close one, and Dave can press his ear into Bro's chest and count out the beats and know everything is fine, and he can let go.
It's...never that easy. But it helps. Plus, Bro probably needs a hug, too, if he's feeling like shit.
"Dave?" Bro prompts him again after a moment, rubbing a hand down his spine.
"Thought you didn't want any talking," Dave whispers.
"I know you can be quiet. I trust you."
Dave squirms, shifting so he can tuck his arms around Bro's back more comfortably. Once he settles again, he lets out a sigh. "Rose is mad. Or, well, she's upset about something, and that's making her mad. Or she doesn't want to be upset about it. Whatever."
There's a grumble from the other side of the room, so Dave figures Mom hadn't actually left. Or, that's what he assumes until he hears the quiet clinking of ice in a glass.
"Here you go, Halsie. A glass of water, crisp. And one....two, there you go. Careful not to drop them."
The sound of Bro drinking water is weird right up against his head, but Dave sure isn't budging. Not even when he gets splashed a little bit. Dave glances up through one squinted eye, and Mom tuts, combing her nails through his curls again as if to get the drips out.
"Sorry, Dave. My hands are a little shaky right now. You can keep talking, I'm listening." Two more swallows, and the clinking moves overhead. "And thank you, Roxanne. Could you put this down somewhere? I don't want to spill any more of it."
Dave is fiddling with the hem of Bro's shirt, trying to figure out how much more he really wants to say, when there's suddenly a wet SPLAP from directly above. Dave startles, and looks up to see a wet washcloth thrown over Bro's head. "Uhhh..??"
Dave considers reaching up to drag it back off, but then he feels Bro's chest drop dramatically as he lets out a relieved sigh. Bro reaches for the cloth, dragging it back out of his face a little, but tips his head back to keep the cloth laying across his eyes. Some tension that Dave didn't even realize was there lessens beneath him, so he guesses that thing is doing a pretty damn good job helping Bro feel better.
"There's more if you need it," Mom says. "I got a whole bowl of ice water set aside for you. I'll leave it over here on the desk..."
"Don't get anything wet," Bro murmurs, and Mom snorts.
"I put a towel under it."
By then, Dave's decided what he wants to say.
"I don't know. I was chilling in her room, playing some games and chatting--oh--New troll btw. Really cool. We're going to play games later. I'll tell you about it more later, when I've got more of a beat on them. Anyway. Rose..." He'll gloss over the whole in-trouble part, instead focusing on the facts, "She was upset, and I was...I don't know, giving the wrong amount of energy for her, and I felt bad for her, but when I tried to help..." Dave pulls a knee up, tucking it under his chin. "I'm pretty sure I made it worse."
To his surprise, it's Mom who sighs first.
"Of course... Sorry Davesie, I led you right into the line of fire there. I'll go talk with her."
Her footsteps make it clear out the door before Bro speaks up.
"Don't."
There's a brief pause. The footsteps come back, and Dave glances to see Mom poke her head back through the door. Her mouth's at a slant and she's got her arms sort-of crossed, with one hand grasping at her arm.
"Hals, you've got to let me take at least some things. Rose is my kid. I should be taking charge more."
.
..
..?
"Maybe," Dave starts to make a suggestion.
"Don't, Roxanne. Seriously. Any further involvement on your side at this point is just going to..." Bro trails off, then reaches up to press his fingers up under his washcloth. Actually, that might be a dishcloth. It's too long to be a square. "It's only going to complicate matters and smear more into an already dirtied wound. If anyone is going to have a talk with her, it's going to have to be me."
"But she's taking things out on poor Davie! And, she's probably on her computer right now. Isn't she?"
That last part is doubtlessly directed towards him. Dave stiffens up at the attention. Should he answer that? Should he vouch for Rose even though she tried to throw a blanket at him?
"Uh..."
"That doesn't mean you should go dragging him into this. Not any more than he's already been..." The hand drops from Bro's face. After a second's pause, he brushes it through Dave's hair instead. "Sorry, Dave. As you could guess, things are a bit complicated right now. I'll sort it out later. For now..."
Dave's pulled up, closer into Bro's chest. It's a better hug, even if it's not quite as steady as he'd expect. "I think it's time everybody had a chance to cool off."
"...Fine, Hals. I'll take the hint. But I'm unplugging the router. You probably shouldn't be doing much surfing right now anyway."
She manages to leave after that, door closing almost soundlessly shut and her steps fading off down the hallway.
"That's fine," Bro mutters.
Dave curls into Bro's arms a little further, taking the time to focus on his breathing again. He won't stay too long. Once he's feeling a little less like there's a live wire strung through his bones and playing BPM mix-up in his chest, and once Bro's calmed down from whatever weird fight-energy is going around the house, he'll leave so Bro can get the rest he needs.
Just as soon as--
Bro startles him again when he suddenly lets out a huge-ass sneeze. Dave clings to his arms for a second, then stares upwards.
"Uh...ew? Bro." He's the one who always taught him to cover anything more than a cough. Dave's seen the spray charts, and now he's misting his hair on top of the water spillage?
Belatedly, Bro raises an arm to his face. Another second passes. Two. Three...four..?
And Bro then lets out a sigh, slumping like something defeated. "As if we haven't had enough omens going around lately..."
Dave has no idea what he's talking about, hands grasping tightly into his Bro's sleeves, but he's starting to think there's more going on than just a bad argument.
People don't ever really talk about good omens.