Chapter Text
He will be fine.
(One. Two. Three. Four. In.)
He always manages them fine.
(One. Two. Three. Four. Out. )
He's been a part of this routine for far longer than you. For 10 years to be exact.
(One, two, three, four-)
He can handle his bro alone. He's been handling his bro alone since he was 2. Maybe younger, at the exact age a child can hold a sword without cutting itself is unknown. You didn't have a proper concept of time when you finally managed to lift one of his pristine katanas.
(One two three four one two three four-)
You weren't paying enough attention. You were so engrossed in the info-gathering on Prospit and the conversation with your collaborator afterward that you didn't notice the slip of paper meant for Dave pushed under the cracks until it was far too late. Your only warning was the door swinging open with a burst of displaced air before his guardian barged into the fragile safety of your room in a cold, calculated frenzy, reaching for the stiff bundle that was your suddenly wide-awake brother. Despite you drawing your blade to halt him, he merely blocked you and knocked your weapon to the side, grabbing Dave by the scruff of his pajamas with his other hand. Your Bro weakly protested that he's up and there's no need to drag him to the roof, he can walk damn it, but in another flash, both of them were gone. You sprinted after them, sword and phone in hand, ignoring the lesson hammered into your brain by countless tumbles down the stairway that you're not welcome to participate in this kind of strife, but it was already too late. The door slammed into you, knocking you back with harsh wood meeting skull, and the sounds of crashing metal could be heard from the other side already in the brief moment of weightlessness falling brought on you.
That's where you find yourself right now. At the bottom with new bruises painting your skin, listening to the ear-ringing sound of strife audible even through the locked exit.
You have nothing to be freaking out about. Dave's guardian is sadistic, but even he knows not to break his toys in a way that can't be repaired. So you don't. You don't catastrophize. You don't think about Dave being cut open, or thrown off the roof, or impaled with his own sword, laid in a pool of his own blood-
(ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. One. Two. Three. Four.)
GG: dirk, are you still there?
Instead, you focus on more important projects at hand.
TT: Yes.
TT: Sorry, just got distracted.
GG: is daves brother being mean to you again?
An innocent way to word it, but you wouldn't be surprised if she knew the full extent of what your tormentor's bullying consists of. Especially if she gets an insight into your future and past through the clouds she dreams of on her moon.
You can't hide it from her. You don't even really want to.
TT: Just to Dave. I'm off the hook right now.
TT: Scenarios like this have been getting more frequent, unfortunately.
TT: I got it easy, being pushed down the stairs for my brash attempt at interference.
GG: oh noooo D:
GG: that mustve hurt too!
TT: I walked it off without a concussion this time.
GG: yes but youre still hurt!!! dont brush that off like its nothing!
TT: It is nothing.
TT: Again, Dave is having it worse right now.
GG: i know but still! :(
TT: Jade, I'm fine. I promise. It was my own fault anyway, I should've known better by now not to challenge the guy's decisions on strife schedules.
GG: if you say so...
GG: i hope daves okay
TT: He'll be fine. He can take whatever that bastard throws at him.
Are you really trying to convince her, or yourself about that?
(ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. FOCUS.)
GG: if you say so :(
GG: its just unfair
GG: why does daves guardian gotta be so mean to the two of you???
TT: The man is as enigmatic as David Bowie's relationship to his musical supporting cast of goblinish muppets.
TT: I gave up trying to find rhyme or reason in his actions about half a year ago.
TT: I think he just gets off on seeing us suffer.
GG: :(
GG: not for much longer he won't!!!
Jade is enigmatic, as are you, but you appreciate the vague confirmation that your tormentor's getting what's coming for him in the future. You hope it's a graceless death, like falling from the rooftop after a harsher strike you landed on his infuriatingly nimble form. You're nowhere near his level of speed and expertise yet, but... you'll get there. Eventually. And when that day comes, you're going to make him pay.
You shared everything you learned and everything you're still speculating about after your trip to Prospit with your uranium-green-colored ally who was abruptly awoken and is now lingering with you in the waking world. She was, as expected, here to deliver similar news about the joint structure of your sessions, which culminated in an exciting discussion before your carelessness led to you getting jumped.
GG: my queen didnt know what our journey would entail
GG: but she did say the state of our session will never allow us to win
GG: something is wrong with the battlefield
GG: some kind of sickness?
GG: she looked really sad about it :(
TT: I'm guessing the only way to secure victory is to start from scratch. Wipe the slate clean.
TT: Our session will essentially serve as the perfect starting board so that you may attempt to create the frog again.
TT: If the Queen's words are to be believed, it will be found by your group as a husk vacant of any tools required to win it. A void. Perfect for you to deposit what you bought and we lack, namely the new universe, and complete the necessary steps to see it grow.
GG: so well begin both sessions at the same time and send you home?
TT: I think that's the only way it could go.
TT: There's just one problem with that.
GG: and what is it?
TT: Our Sburb doesn't come out until 2011.
TT: And it will still be in Alpha when we're set to play.
GG: but the world ends in 2009! on johns 13th birthday!
GG: how... how is that possible?
TT: I could simply have the dates wrong. Or perhaps the meteor shower does happen, but Jane and Jake will survive to begin entry later.
TT: But if that's the case, how was such an extraterrestrial phenomenon never accounted for in humanity's records? And how does history carry on like nothing happened until the late 2050s?
GG: i dont know...
GG: but you have to make it into your game before the meteor hits daves apartment! otherwise...
There's a pause. A silence you fill with the truth she doesn't want to immortalize in words.
TT: Otherwise you don't know what will happen to me.
GG: :(
Despite your cemented inclusion in the future of your collaborative gameplay, how you will actually connect and enter is a whole other can of worms you're still trying to figure out. Jade knows this as well. But with the clouds mysteriously hiding not only you, but the rest of your companions' future from her, and your other available Prospit dreamers being either asleep or unreachable due to various reasons, you have little guidance on how you will be retrieved, or travel back.
It doesn't matter. Prophetic cloud visions or not...
TT: I'll find a way out. Worst case scenario, I'll just permanently migrate my consciousness to my dreamself.
GG: is that possible?
TT: It is meant to be an extra life system. Would be a pretty stupid one if there wasn't any way to utilize it. A game meant to kickstart existence itself is surely constructed better than that.
GG: i thought it was only so that we can access the game early!
GG: can we really die while playing?
TT: I'd wager yes, it's a possibility. We are playing with mortal bodies in a highly aggressive environment, after all.
GG: oh........
TT: What? Did you never realize that before?
GG: i
GG: i feel pretty stupid, but
GG: with all the magical stuff going on i guess i never....
GG: thought about it like that
TT: ...
You remember the description of the yard and the meteor. You remember the count of gods, pronouns plural, in both cases.
TT: You'll do fine. Don't worry. The prophecies stated that all of you will make it.
TT: Along with a couple new allies.
GG: right! i wonder what the people from the other two sessions are like :O
TT: Hopefully cooperative.
GG: awww dont be like that dirk, i bet theyll be really friendly! :D
Her splash of optimism after a dark patch of discussion reminds you painfully too much of your best bro. The conversation doesn't last long enough, because after your slip up and dis- then reappearance, she excuses herself to tend to her garden, feeding herself and her loyal hound during the labor. You can feel yourself start to spiral again (one two three four just breathe just breathe he's fine, you're FINE-), before another handle lights up green on Pesterchum.
-- ghostyTrickster [GT] began pestering terminableTardiness [TT] --
GT: dirk? what are you doing up this early?
An off teal, innocent, and welcome distraction.
TT: I could ask the same of you, John.
TT: What time is it for you in Washington state?
GT: bluh bluh, my name is dick and i'm a fucking hypocrite.
TT: Yep. That's my name. Was christened as such, had holy water sprayed on my bald baby bottom as the priest announced to the crowd that a new believer by the phallic name had joined their ranks.
GT: pff
GT: its barely midnight for me dude. dave logged off four hours ago, why aren't you asleep?
TT: Isn't your bedtime at 10 pm sharp?
GT: yeah, but what my dad doesn't know can't hurt him, hehehe. :B
He's getting bolder. Testing the limits of his confines. As the rebellious influence his parents would likely warn him away from, you couldn't be more proud.
TT: Seems like my tutoring is giving rise to the most diabolical problem child.
TT: What's next, stealing cookies from a jar?
GT: UGH i WISH i didn't have to deal with cookies at all, but my dad keeps baking them!
GT: seriously, what's with his obsession with baking?????
TT: Don't you think you're being a bit ungrateful there, John? I'd sing odes to the man who showered me with pastries every day.
TT: Well, except if they were using only the Betty Crocker brand cake mixes and such concoctions. I would very swiftly abscond from the household who's residents have already been enthralled by the Batterwitch's spell.
GT: URGH, TELL ME ABOUT IT!!!
GT: that conniving baroness has her claws in EVERY THING!
GT: and my dad just KEEPS BUYING THOSE STUPID CAKE MIXES!!!
TT: Oh snap.
TT: Stay vigilant John, you don't want to end up brainwashed too.
GT: never gonna happen dude. i fucking hate cakes.
A kindred spirit in the campaign and war against the pastry tyrant of the West. You still doubt John's revilement against the Baroness extends further than overexposure to her sugar-drowned confections, but you enjoy bashing the products sold under the extremely nationalist messages, even if you can't get into the political and future historical side of your hatred. You have to wait with that until your story becomes more believable with the concepts of time travel and reality-breaking-slash-creating games out in the open.
GT: i GUESS it's fine when he makes those chocolate chip cookies from scratch, but then he goes and experiments with putting in stupid stuff like raisins and orange peels. stuff that doesn't belong in cookies at all!
TT: John.
GT: what?
TT: Can you get your dad to adopt me.
GT: HUH????
TT: I need to know what those orange biscuits taste like. I'm on my knees now.
GT: omg dude you're NOT serious.
TT: The adoption part? Of course not, that bit was ironic.
TT: Cookies on the other hand? Hell. Fucking. Yes.
TT: Stuff me with that citrus goodness.
GT: you're so weird, dude.
TT: Thank you, I aim to confuse.
There's a pause there, which you use to immerse yourself further in the quiet moment, feeling the air enter and exit your lungs in an even rhythm, while running your fingers along the edges of the small device in your grip. It's... strange. How close to breaking apart you were before and now find yourself smiling at a friend's midnight shenanigans. It's odd how calm you feel, despite how intensely the paranoia was affecting you before. Perhaps it's simply John's nature of ignorant, laid-back fun that's rubbed off on you here and pulled out of the storm brewing inside your head.
The ocean hasn't lost any of its strength in the past year, you're not fooled, and will never allow yourself to be for a second. It's only that you've gotten better at containing and stopping the leaks and earthquakes from rippling onto the visible surface. It's exhausting, leaving you gasping for air still, although less than before, the memories of counted seconds and soft, grounding touches keeping the catalyst of stress under the surface.
It is just about to resurface (your main anchor, Bro, is on the roof right now getting his ass handed to him because you fucked up and didn't pay enough attention-) when Jonh starts texting again.
GT: uh oh.
GT: i think my laughing woke my dad up...
GT: gotta go!
-- ghostyTrickster [GT] ceased pestering terminableTardiness [TT] --
TT: Have fun in homosexual infant prison Egbert.
Seconds later, you feel a gust of wind move past you as you hear the exit to the roof slam open, so you pocket your phone and rush up the stairs. You see Dave lying in a dusty heap on the floor, arms and legs spread as he rests on his back, red cuts lining his arms and splitting his jeans. He hasn't moved to address you even as you enter his field of vision in an instant, blocking the sun from his sensitive eyes.
"Dave. Dave are you okay." Your voice is rushed and monotone as you fiddle with your hands, unsure if contact is welcome right now or if you should get the bandages instead. Dave's head turns a few degrees in your direction, whispering something you can't quite catch. You lean in, hearing Dave urge you on with a quiet 'closer' each time you move until your ear is inches from his mouth, and he-
He blows into it, making you recoil with an embarrassingly high-pitched sound of indignation. Dave just cackles at your misery as you rub at your assaulted ear canal.
The.
The little shit.
"Man oh my god I'm gonna die. I'm actually gonna die what the fuck was tha-hat-" Dave wheezes out between barks of laughter. "Dude holy shit I wish I could've recorded that, oh my god-"
This fucker made you think he was actually hurt. Just to make you lower your guard. Clever ploy, Bro, teaching you to always be on your toes even if your opponent seems down, but it could hardly be interpreted as a lesson in vigilance coming from his kid version. The prankster's gambit swings in Dave's favor as he rolls on the floor, struggling to breathe, and you can almost hear the ghosty Trickster laughing in the wind alongside him.
Well if that's how it is...
"I'm deleting all your experimental tracks." You pull out his phone and start going through his library, even as he protests for you to reconsider your options. Too late Bro, your shittiest rendition of apple cider cinnamon hour has been wiped from the records. Good luck digging it out of the trash bin, asshole.
"Come on man, don't do this to me, I'm dying over here. Those tracks are the only fingerprints I leave on this world. Hardly even got to finger the world and I'm already leaving it like some disappointed babe under the sheets." You roll your eyes at the pathetic act Dave is putting on, dramatically putting an arm over his temple and sticking his tongue out. He's fucking fine, so fucking fine in fact that you don't even dignify his Freudian slip with a response.
You simply reach out a hand for him to take as you fiddle with his device in the other, but you can't feel any effort put into helping him sit up on his part. You let go and he unceremoniously flops back down, arms sprawling back out. "Can't do it, bro. You're gonna have to carry me back downstairs."
You stare him down as if he just suggested you chug 20 liters of battery acid in one go. "I'm not fucking carrying you."
"You have to bro. I can't carry myself. My legs turned into jelly, Bro disintegrated my bones and now I'll be confined to a wheelchair forever-"
"You don't need a goddamn wheelchair bro, stop being a baby." You reach to help him up again, but the asshole doesn't even grab your hand this time. He just stares at you slyly from behind his shades.
This. This motherfucker's real adamant about getting on your nerves today.
You hold eye contact with him for five seconds before moving to grab his legs instead. Fine, if Dave wants to be a petty little princess today, you'll be damned if you don't treat him like one.
His stunned silence betrays his shock as you start dragging him along the rough concrete of the roof, making him look up at you in confusion. "What? I said I ain't gonna carry you. If you wanna get back down you either haul your ass up yourself or I'm gonna drag you like this the whole time." You answer his unvoiced question with a deadpan.
"You don't have the balls." Dave spits the challenge at you with faux confidence and oh, it's on from that point forward.
"Last chance to get up before the stairway Bro!" You kick the doorway to the apartments fully open with one leg, and when Dave doesn't move a muscle, you start pulling his limp body down with you. Your brother lets out a squawk as his head hits the first step and starts protesting louder with each consecutive one that digs into his back as you descend backward. He kicks and trashes against your hold on his legs, but his exhaustion from the earlier strife hinders him a lot in his escape attempts and you are way too committed to the bit to stop now. You swiftly cross the living room in silence, careful not to disturb Dave's brother too much from his horror movie marathon, but despite your best efforts, you still get a blank stare as you're halfway through. He does nothing, but you still respond to with a blank glare before disappearing behind the wall and shutting the bedroom door behind you.
"You didn't have to do it the whole way dude, jesus, that hurt." Dave miraculously recovers the strength in his upper body and legs, getting up to rub at his back in agony.
"Come on Bro, what kind of Strider would I be if I didn't commit to a bit with my whole heart and soul? Plus, I took the time to warn you about the stairs, dog." You pass him the first aid kit and some aloe, your brother already tearing his filthy and abused shirt off to reveal the red scrapes underneath.
"Maybe a Strider who's less of a dick. Seriously, we should change your name to that, it would fit you way more."
"Man, my real identity is just getting unveiled by the masses now, that's two for two today alone." You dip your hand into the tub of cream and start spreading it on your brother's back as he lets out a hiss of pain.
"Oh yeah? Who was the first to hit the bullseye? Wait, lemme guess, was it John?" Your silence speaks volumes as Dave chuckles despite the aches of treatment. "You were talking when I was getting my ass handed to me upstairs, weren't you? Damn, my twin bro's stealing my best man right from under my nose. You traitor."
He gives you a cold glare from over his shoulder, but its insincerity is betrayed by his struggle to contain a smile. "Seriously, you two are better bros than me and him are at this point. I'm gonna get left behind at this rate. Sorry Dave, found a cooler Strider to crack homoerotic jokes with, you've been replaced with version 2.0."
"You're still in the number one spot for both of us Bro, don't you accuse us of disloyalty. Especially after the stunt you pulled up there." You finish applying the cream and move to hand him the bandages for the disinfected wounds he's been tending to on his own. He wraps them around the biggest ones, concealing them but also giving them a layer of protection.
"Man, come on, it was fucking hilarious, and you already got back to me for that tenfold." Dave takes a towel from the closet to clean his face, heading for the bathroom to get some water on the rag while you check your messages again. Rose still hasn't pestered you since your slip-up two days ago, and you feel the anxiety of the implications boil in your gut.
It carries over to your reconsideration of the punishment you put Dave through just now. Perhaps... yeah, you did overreact. Brotherly playfights and serious hurt are so hard to differentiate, and the bruising on his back surely wasn't there before you decided to haul him around like a sandbag. Maybe... maybe you should apologize.
Your train of thought is interrupted as Dave flashsteps back into your shared room with that forced poker face he only wears when upset not even ten seconds after he left, a barely splashed towel in his hands, and an expression devoid of the amusement your banter caused moments before.
"You. You got a little something on your shoulder." You point out the stray mini smuppet clinging to his shirt, which he tries to bat away and tears at when that doesn't work with a yelp as soon as he catches sight of the bastard.
When it finally gives, Dave only spares it one second of examination before tossing it to the side. "Fucking- Bro put velcros on these things, shit, are there more?"
You rush to help him out with the stray gremlins clinging to the back of his clothes as Dave tries to get his nerves back in order, and just like with the rest of the parasites, these too end up thrown out the window and onto the head of unfortunate passerby.
You turn back to see Dave shudder once toe to head from disgust, scratching at his bandages in discomfort. This isn't the first time one of your tormentor's less lethal traps got a reaction like this out of him, but he always seems to take the ones that set off a mountain of smuppets worse than throwing stars or fireworks.
You don't understand why. It's illogical to be freaked out by unmoving plush more than the actual dangers lurking in the apartment, especially when the place is covered with the things perching and crawling on every available surface. It always gives you secondhand embarrassment when you watch your one-day larger-than-life Bro freeze up whenever he spots a beady set of eyes or a flash of colorful felt in a strife, getting another bruise or cut for his slip in concentration. It's humiliating for him. It's hindering him in battle. It leaves him rattled and in a sour mood despite your best efforts at cheering him up, whenever he springs a (in your opinion) more lighthearted trap.
Perhaps... perhaps now's the time to do something about all that.
"Hey... Bro?" Your voice is quiet and gentle, trying to coax Dave out of his strange episode before he can move to sit down at his computer and distract himself from it. "Can. Can I ask why you hate puppets so much?"
"Wha- I don't?" Your brother whips around and answers too fast, face wiped clean from emotions and arms placed nonchalantly in his pockets from being crossed against his chest before. "Puppets are awesome, what are you talking about?"
"Dave." You employ the needed drastic measures against his attempt to shut you out, pushing your shades into your hair to expose two orange eyes that fix on his squirming form. "You don't have to lie to me. You know that, right?"
"...I know, I do, shit." Dave fiddles with his own glasses with one hand, the composure he manages to scrape together getting blown away like a fragile tower of cards as he slowly removes them and closes the flaps.
"Sorry, I don't want to upset you, I just..." he hesitates for a little more, gathering strength, you presume, covering the lower half of his face with both hands as he takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I. Can't. Fucking. STAND PUPPETS!"
You school your features and refuse to flinch back from the rage Dave displays as he rants on. "They've always been everywhere and always been watching me, I never get a goddamn minute of peace. from them! I wake up and there's a smuppets nose in my mouth or I step wrong and suddenly there's a dozen plush rumps in my face! I hate how Bro keeps making me drag Lil'Cal up the stairs, I hate how he fakes out and throws the bastard in my face every time I read him wrong, I hate how that grinning motherfucker follows me even to my dreams-"
"Hey." Using a gentle call, you try to snap him back to reality, and out of his spiral. Dave's hands are shaking, and he has to capthcalogue his glasses to make sure he doesn't accidentally drop them.
"I don't know what part I'm not getting! Bro's been playing the same jokes on me since I was a fucking toddler, and I still can't figure out what he finds so ironically hilarious about burying me in literal sex toys that creep me the fuck out with their soulless beady eyes, even if they can't even begin to compare with the horror factor of Cal. Seriously, how does he fucking sleep with that thing??? How does he not get goosebumps just by being in the same room as him for more than two seconds?! Does he seriously give more of a shit about those felt demons than... than about..."
He trails off there, frustratedly wiping at his face to make sure no liquid pours out, slumping down in his desk chair with a resigned, hundred-yard stare. "I know you like them too, it's so uncool of me to be dragging your hobby so much, I just-"
"Hey, it's fine." You cut him off there, a hand on his shoulder gripping the fabric of his clean shirt to help him through the session. "Puppets are the shit, but what you've been exposed to since childhood is the bastardization of the craft. No wonder you're reacting this way. If I had to deal with my guardian manufacturing props for porn..." You trail off there, trying to put yourself in Dave's shoes. "Yeah, I'd probably think them less cool, maybe not to the level you're taking it, but we're different people. We react in different ways."
"How can you stand working on them?" Dave turns towards you with furrowed eyebrows and disbelieving red eyes, pinning you down like a butterfly fixed for examination.
You shrug in response. "I don't think about it too much. It's just sewing. Where that plumpy ass ends up later is not my concern, nor is it any of my business."
Dave tears his gaze away and sinks into himself. "So I'm just overreacting."
"Maybe." You answer honestly, and his glare snaps back up at you. "Or maybe, we are different people with different triggers and different reactions. It's not that outlandish of a concept. I wouldn't be repeating myself if it was."
"I don't- this isn't a trigger." Dave jumps to his own defense. "I'm not traumatized or some shit like- dude I deal with enough psychoanalyzation from Rose, don't fucking add to my plate. You've been talking with her too much, fuck, she got to you as well."
"I'm not assuming anything, nor am I trying to headshrink you." You finally move to take a seat on the cinderblock desk, seeing as this conversation is going to be a rather long one. "This is just us being honest with each other since we can't do that with anyone else without compromising our awesomeness factor. So be honest with me Dave. How many times has your bro left you high up on the roof to dry?"
Dave looks to the side, eyebrows furrowed. "He always does that."
"And you don't think your developing brain could somehow link puppetry to how he beats you within an inch of your life, utilizing puppets as decoys during it?"
Dave narrows his eyes, squirming under your scrutinizing gaze, and while that doesn't translate to him physically acting or deflecting, him freezing up and refusing to answer is pretty much the same thing in Striderspeak. You've stumped him, he can't deny the high probability of what you're insinuating, yet he can't admit it to himself.
You know that feeling too well. You've learned to live with it these past year, and will live with it for more.
Perhaps showing some vulnerability will give him the push he needs?
"I'm scared of the color green." You sigh, looking away so you can't see Dave's reaction. "Or, well. It's not that I scream bloody murder whenever Jade messages me, it's more like..."
Sickly, radioactive, all-consuming neon green, green, green-
"...when it's all I see."
Dave remains silent next to you, and when you turn to look at him, he has his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern that threatens to burn you with humiliation. It's the same expression he wore when you first tried telling him the Truth.
When he started writing you off as insane.
"So..." You clear your throat of the tension that tried to nestle in and choke you, as you avert your gaze once again. "You're not the only one with irrational phobias."
Dave still refuses to speak, which is puzzling behavior coming from him. Usually, when he's nervous or uncomfortable with a topic, he starts rambling your ear off to divert the conversation away from-
"So, it's like, you walk into a green room and you freeze up like you did when we first went shoplifting? Is that related somehow? Like, did you catch sight of the flashing green lights on the street and start losing it without me catching on?"
Ah, there he is.
"No," you answer him, shaking your head. God, recalling that memory is so embarrassing now. You can't believe you freaked out like that on your first trip outside to see actual humans, it wasn't even that big of a deal, looking back, your brain just dramatized that into the biggest fucking deal imaginable. "That was different. The trigger was the crowd, not the lights. Again, it's when I'm..."
Your voice abruptly leaves you when you recall stepping onto the transportalizer earlier and began changing location to who knows where, you were weightless and floating and had no idea-
"Dirk." Dave is standing up and grabbing your shoulders in an instant, tearing your out of your head and overtaking your field of vision. "Dirk, breathe, you're okay, you're alright. You don't have to talk about it anymore."
Fuck, how long did you zone out there? Shit, recover, pivot to-
"I'm fine." You insist, drawing in a breath after a few seconds on unconscious delay, counting the ticks and syncing your breathing up with his until your insistence on that phrase convinces him enough to let you go. "I'm fine. We can drop it. This feelings jam started focusing on you after all."
"Yeah, but I'm not... I'm not traumatized like you." Dave crosses his arms and begins examining a particularly interesting spot on the floor.
He brushes his own experiences off like they're nothing, and yet he refused to let you be until you admitted to your own psychological issues back around a year ago. The hypocrite. The absolute tyrant.
You want to keep needling him, but you can recognize a losing battle when you see one. Dave isn't ready to tackle this particular can of worms yet, and it doesn't seem like you'd be able to work the opener on your own. You've busted open your fair share of tin cylinders back in your day, but it looks like you're going to need help with this metaphorical one.
That, however, doesn't mean you can't start damage control yet.
"I suppose if your aversion really doesn't coincide with anything psychologically severe..." You start, flicking your shades back down onto your face. "Then it should be no problem for you to see some actually good representation of the craft."
You push yourself off the plank and breathe life into his monitor with a single button press, immediately pulling up YouTube and clicking on a playlist you've been cultivating for this exact moment.
Dave's eyes widen a bit as you show him your collection, but otherwise, his complexion remains chill. "Those are..."
"Videos and films utilizing puppetry, yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to check some out with me? I promise all of what I collected is safe for work."
Dave flicks his shades back on with a blank expression, giving away nothing. Nothing of his fear, or discomfort, or disagreement. "Sure man. Hit me." Like it's no big deal at all. But you can see the microscopic twitches on his face.
Fine then. Admission or not, you're going to fix this for him. One stitch and beady eye at a time. You start with the easiest to consume, and a cast of characters Dave's already familiar with based on his reaction to the gift from your shared blue friend.
Physical puppets are held off for now.