Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dave Strider was a cool kid. Sometimes, his best friend-who-happened-to-be-a-chick (because best bro was reserved for John Egbert), Teresa Pyrone would call him that rather than his name. Usually, though, it was just a fact of life.

Sometimes, when Dave was home alone, as was common, and he let his facade fall for a while, he'd find it hilarious how he had come to be seen as one by the student body at his high school. He did the things cool kids did. Missed loads of school but passed, dangling by a C. Skipped gym. Was most teachers' favorite and rarely got in trouble when he refused to participate in activities. He was so high up the popularity heirarchy, that his God Tier could be King of Cool.

Except that would be stupid because god tier isn't a thing that normal people have, and Dave was normal.

Or at least, those who knew, tried to convince him as much.

Teresa and Dave were the only two present that day for gym. Often, kids who didn't have to participate were free to go to the library and get on the computers. Teresa and him were the only ones who had decided to skip out on a chance to peruse the interwebs.

Dave was leaning back in the upper seats of the gym's stands, where fans usually sat during the school's basketball games. His hands were behind his head, his feet kicked up on the seat below him. His eyes were closed behind his shades, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Only Teresa, with her hyper-active senses due to lack of eyesight, and her close proximity, was able to detect the subtle wheeze underneath his breething.

Teresa Pyrone, with her retro red-tinted shades, messy brown hair, and legal blind status, would normally have been an easy target for vebal bullying. However, she was a surgeon when it came to smacking people with her cane, and was generally labeled as "batshit insane."

The friendship was born from a simple compliment of her shades one gym period in the library. She paused in her chalk drawing, took a deep breath in and out of her nose, and, without turning to face him, said "Red's the most delicious color. Anything so deliciously candy-apple is automatically something I like, hehehe." Her tone implied so much that Dave, with his candy-apple eyes, decided he'd continue the conversation.

She was sitting behind his seat, on the floor above his row. Her legs were crossed and she was leaning against Dave, back to back, and had previously been mouthing gleefully as she toyed with her scalemate keychains. However, at this moment, she was frowning.

"It's pretty hot today, don't you think, Cool Kid?"

He knew what she was implying. He didn't show it. " 'Course it is, TZ, where do you think we are, fucking Canada?" Dave snorted, folding his hands across his stomach.

She rolled her eyes, her voice even more sharp next she spoke. "Is your asthma acting up? I know it gets pretty bad around this temperature."

He mentally winced. "I'm fine, Teresa, fuck."

"Objection."

"The judge overrules you objection, Miss Redglare."

"Dave I will tattle, I will call Dirk right now and tell him you are dying and you KNOW he will drag you home by your banana creamsicle hair." It was a little more than embarassing that Bro always handed out his number to Dave's friends. If they didn't know about Dave's asthma, Dirk would simply say it was for 'just in case.' He couldn't really hold a grudge against Bro for it, though, since after John broke his wrist and Jade had panicked without knowing what to do, John's dad made sure Rose, Dave, and Jade had his number memorized.

Dave groaned, tiling his head back, blonde resting on brunnette. "TZ, shit, it's just a little pressure. Bronchial tubes tightening and all that shit. I doubt a little extra sun will murder me."

She grins in thought, swinging her keychain around her finger. "I wonder how that would hold up in court, hehehe."

"I believe you have a few questions for the accused, Legislator Redglare?" Dave was game for a little verbal roleplaying. It, naturally, meant he could divert the conversation away from this unsavory topic.

"Mister Sun, although deliciously lemon flavored, I believe you to have murdered dear Dave Strider. As many may know, lemon does not taste well with strawberry and banana. Where were you at eight-twenty AM two weeks ago?"

"Hey, wait wait wait, why the fuck am I some feminine smoothie?" Dave frowned, sitting back up and opening his eyes. Teresa cackled behind him, turning to sit on her knees and sling her arms around Dave's shoulders.

"You make me want to go to Braum's every time I smell you, David. You are the most delicious of strawberry banana smoothies." Teresa leaned down and dragged her tongue across his cheek.

"Fuck, TZ, don't start this."

She flicked her tongue across his freckled nose. "With caramel sprinkles."

"TZ, I swear to gog—"

She grinned and stuck her tongue out, practically crawling on top of Dave in an attempt to get at his shades, which he defended with his life. The two were practically sprawled over the seats by the time John Egbert returned from the library. "…most delectable of black licorice, Dave, you have to let me have just one taste!" Teresa was half-whining, half-cackling.

"Teresa, no, no one touches the shades, not even the best of girl friends."

John grinned. By now, he knew that the emphasis on friend meant Dave was far too occupied to think of a better way to word himself.

"Oh wow, Dave, you finally admitted that you and Teresa are a thing?" John asked, walking up to them, blue-casted wrist stuffed inside his hoodie pocket. Teresa snickered and used Dave's shock to her advantage, tonguing Dave's glasses.

Dave groaned, giving up, simply laying there awkwardly across two seats. "Forget it, the sun can go ahead and murder me." John was confused, but he chalked the sentence up to The Big Secret that Teresa Knows but Not John. The two of them tended to refer to it alot.

Teresa looked affronted and slapped Dave's shoulder. "I will call Dirk. He is my speed dial three."

Dave frowned. "It's still gross how you and him are friends."

Teresa rolled her eyes and John laughed as the bell rang for next period. "But Dave, Bro and me are friends, too!"

"You both watch enjoy watching lame movies, that's different."

Teresa had pulled out her phone, holding it out to Dave. "Don't make me push call. So help me, I will, Cool Kid."

Dave snorted as he stood up to finally leave the gym. "Fine, TZ. I take back saying I wish a ball of gas, in a galaxy far, far away, would murder me."

"Dave, the sun isn't the same as Star Wars."

"Egbert, I swear—"

As the day progressed, however, the temperature only rose. Dave started walking slower in the halls between passing periods, lest any remote level of exercise aggravated his asthma even worse.

One or two teachers called him up to speak out in the hall about his tardy, while the class was preoccupied. However, Dave simply had to say the magic words "trouble breathing because of the stupid heat," and they gave him that understanding look that always felt like pity. His niece, Rose Lalonde, gave him that same look during lunch when he said to their little group of friends that he'd prefer to stay inside than the courtyard.

Rose was one of the few people who knew he had asthma despite him not wanting them to. Teachers? If they knew, he got out of having to sit under heaters and was allowed an infinite amount of trips to the water fountain out in the hall. Teresa? Well, she generally stroked his ego more when he was having mild difficulties, and knowing she could call Bro if Dave had an asthma attack generally eased his mind. Bro and their sister (although she was older than Almost Thirty Dirk), Roxy? They knew how to administer his inhaler or, if need be, a breathing treatment, and had the equipment for such an occaision on hand.

But Rose?

She came with the knowledge and none of the progeleges, plus an extra pinch of pity. Her and Bro had been the only ones in the surviving Lalonde-Strider family who had escaped the asthma genetics. Most likely through her mother, she had found out the true reason Dave despised the summer, besides simple temperature discomfort.

"Would you like me to call Mother?" She questioned while she stood with him by the vending machines. Her, Jade, and John all had daily packed lunches, while Dave received a twenty to last him the week.

He focused on the buttons of the soda machine as if he was a seven-year-old Mexican girl, not sure if snow shoes or a snorkel would benefit her and her monkey companion to navigate a magic castle better. Finally, he practically punched the topmost button, and a Diet Sprite tumbled down to the tray. While it tasted like shit, it was the lesser of the many evils that the public school system served under the guise of "healthy and delicious carbonated drinks." Rose sighed and crossed her arms as he proceeded to continue ignoring her, repeating the heavy debate of what to get from the packaged goods machine.

Dave looked up, a sarcastic look of shock on his face. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you had asked me a bullshit question. Clearly I was mistaken."

Rose sighed again, the look of pity now buried under distaste and muted concern. "You do realize that our friends connect through the rumor mill, yes?"

He faltered as he moved to punch in D6, his finger hovering over the numberpad. However, he punched in the digit with determinsion after a moment of thought. "Teresa wouldn't blab to people about me. She kept Vasquez's albinism under wraps until he spilled the beans himself."

"I hope you recall that Carson Vasquez had been her boyfriend at the time."

"Are you implying my best friend in the dame department will sell my soul to the highest bidder simply because we don't have sloppy make-outs under the bleachers during football games? Because, ask John, she was damn close today."

Rose sighed and held up her hands in surrender. "Strider, I will let this topic drop simply because we have wandered away from more important matters. Teresa told Veronica Spinneret, who told Terrence Nilsam, who told Gamzee Makara, who told Carson Vasquez, who told Anaya Mirian, who informed me that you 'tasted like stale air and rotten fruit all morning because of the heat.'"

Dave raised an eyebrow without looking at her, preoccupied with deciding whether a rice crispie treat and bottle full of liquid nausea would sate him until he could order take-out that night. "Any time Carson or Veronica get pissy, she says the same color-coded shit. Which, by the way, is fucking always." They began heading back towards their table, where John was pretending to have not been curiously eyeing the Stri-Lal family, and was attempting to immerse himself in the amiable story Jade was chattering on about.

Dave rolled his eyes. John was obvious.

"Well. My offer still stands, and you know you can call hers yourelf any time you may need her."

Dave snorted, but said nothing until they sat back at the table. "Ever need the drunken broad? No thanks, yo."

Dave's class period after lunch was hellish. As soon as he stepped inside, his facade broke for a moment and he felt the oncoming dread that generally accompanied more-than-mild chest pressure. It only got worst as the minutes dragged on, breathing becoming more and more difficult.

Heat-induced asthma was a horrible thing to bless upon a baby born in Houston, Texas. At first a simple shortness of breath, Dave could feel his control on the situation quickly spiraling out of his grasp. He was close to hyperventilating, which was something he knew would only make things worse. He had to keep his cool. The whole reason Bro had taught him to keep his cool was this right here. Fear led to panic led to hyperentilating led to no air intake led to asthma attack. And his fast-acting inhaler was on his dresser at home.

Fuck Bro for making Dave attempt to get to school on time. Fuck him up the goddamm ass with a spiked metal-smuppet's nose.

It was becoming blatantly obvious that he wouldn't survive twenty more minutes of broken air conditioning. He pulled out his cell phone as slyly as possible in his condition and quickly shot out a text to Teresa, the only number he had on speed-dial sans John.

Teresa was in the library, doing her library aid duties, which consisted of absolutely nothing, when her phone vibrated. She frowned, pulling it out and opening up the read-aloud app, sliding her bluetooth into her ear.

"One new message from Pink Banana Kool Aid. Read?" Teresa rolled her eyes. Dave was going to get in trouble texting her during class.

Nevertheless, she held her phone to her mouth and spoke. "Yes." Her voice command repeated "yes?" to her, confirming what it heard. Teresa did nothing for a moment, which the program accepted as confirmation.

"Message sent one minute ago. Reads 'tee zee call bro.' Respond?" Teresa frowned, curious and slightly worried.

"One new message received. Message from Pink Banana Kool Aid, sent two seconds ago. Read?"

"Yes."

"Message sent five seconds ago. Reads 'please'. Respond?"

Dave said please. Cool Kids never said please.

"Speed-dial number three."

"Would you like to call Mister Orange Creamsicle?"

Teresa never hated the fact she was blind. She had been this way most of her life, ever wince a childhood accident involving a magnifying glass, the sun, and one Miss Veronica Spinneret. Her mother was blind herself, and Teresa soon found she was gifted with color hypersensitivity.

Being blind was part of being Teresa, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Sometimes, however, her voice command program felt like a handicap she could do without.

By the chain of events that was the clusterfuck of bad luck, Dirk Strider wasn't able to take off work. He gave Teresa Roxy's number and told her to have her pick Dave up.

After it was all said and done, it only took two minutes for Dave to receive three texts. Teresa, informing him "H3LP 1S ON TH3 W4Y D4V3," Roxy, telling him she'd "swong by witnin a few min h oney xoxxo," and Rose declaring, "Mother has informed me that I must come and retreive you from class to supervise your condition out in the hall. Remain calm, Strider, and try to hold off on losing respiratory abilities until you are safely in Mother's care."

He was close to doing the exact thing Rose told him not to do. The longer he dwelled on his difficulty breathing, the more close to panicking he was. He flexed his fingers on his desk, the skin under his fingernails beginning to gain a faint blue hue. Rose appeared within the minute of her response, a pass in her hands. The teacher let him be excused, and it took nearly all of Dave's remaining strength to not abscond at the speed of lightning.

After Rose lead him as close to the front doors of the school as possible, speaking kind and calm words of encouragement and basic asthma advice, they finally stopped in the hall that contained the front office, where Roxy would have to go to check Dave out of school. Dave practically collapsed on the floor, his lips blue and his breath coming in gasps despite the halls' slightly cooler temperature, and with Rose's help was able to sit leaning against the wall. As Rose tried and failed to get Dave to breathe in and out, the professional sound of heels on hard flooring was to be heard, and within moments, Rose's mother was instructing Rose to get Dave standing.

The sight of her helped him calm down enough to stand and make it outside, but as the sudden barrage of heat hit him as he left the barely air-conditioned school, he began hyperventilating. He was barely able to walk, much less to her car, which felt miles away, despite being parked at the curb a few feet away.

Roxy scooped him up and carried him to her car, despite the fact he was a sixteen-year-old boy fueled by pizza and apple juice. She didn't bother buckling in, instead tucking him into the back seat and instructing him to focus on breathing. The car ride was a blur of brisk driving and Rose's mother instructing him to breathe in and out.

Panic was not something easily quelled once it began, and Dave was barely getting air into his lungs. Each breath was like sucking molasses through a straw, and he was swimming on the fringes of consciousness.

Dave couldn't remember how it happened, but he found himself sitting by Rose's front door, the faint whir of a nebulizer from beside him. Roxy was kneeling in front of him, and she informed him, slurred but stern, that he had to open his mouth.

He obeyed, and the cool and humid taste of albuterol flowed across his tongue the second he breathed in after wrapping his lips around the mouthpiece.

Chapter Text

When all was said and done at the end of the day, Dave was not a normal kid. And not even because of his status as cool kid.

It was just hard to consider yourself normal when you were blind.

Laying on his bed after dumping his bag by the door, music already playing from his computer's speakers, eyes closed, Dave thought about his life. At age five, Bro's, Dave's, and Roxy's mother died. Roxy's daughter (Bro and Dave's niece), a young girl Dave's age named Rose, had been more sad than Dave had. Which was saying something, considering Rose had read during the entire funeral.

Dirk had taken care of Dave from age one to then, because their mother was generally off doing her own thing. Roxy had already moved out and, through a divorced marriage, had Rose to take care of. However, Roxy and Dirk had spent their childhoods with their mother, and before she bore Dave and then abandoned her family, she had supposedly been a wonderful woman. It was hard to believe as such, when the entire situation sounded to Dave like she didn't even want her own fucking child.

At age five, Roxy and Dirk were in the living room of Roxy's house, and while they were crying and boozing it up, Dave had found his way into the kitchen cabinets. It was only Dave's screaming and Rose's yelling for help that cut Roxy and Dirk's mourning short. Apparently, never having cleaning products in their apartment was sometimes a bad thing, because Dave had never been taught by Bro that bleach was not a thing to be played with. After spending pre-school and kindergarten at home with Dirk, figuring things out and learning from scratch how to manuever the apartment, as well as how to read braille and walk without needing a cane, Dave felt ready for school.

Granted, elementary school was spent at a school for the blind and deaf. Dave easily became best friends with another girl in his second grade class, with his charm and all-around cool evening out Teresa Pyrone's wild and over-bearing behavior. Teachers figured out that Teresa didn't creep Dave out with her sniffing and licking, and soon they were officially switched to being each other's class partners.

They were placed into a "normal" middle school in the sixth grade, where Dave easily trumped the social heirarchy with his dark shades and cool attitude. Teresa got dragged along with him up the popularity chain, nothing she minded, but soon it became obvious where their similarities ended.

They both loved drawing, usually with the most horrendous of colors. They both loved music, despite their cotnradicting tastes. They both wore shades, they both had guardians that were rarely there, they even both had homes filled with way too many plush creations.

They both were blinded by a childhood accident.

But Teresa Pyrone, with her retro red shades and whip-like cane, was perfectly fine with herself, and even proud of her inability to see.

Dave Strider, was not.

He didn't make it an obvious fact during school, with some of his teachers not even knowing about his lack of sight. Teresa, the ever good best friend that she was, kept his secret for him. They had all the same classes, which wasn't shocking since their classes had been specially picked to be manageable, where the paperwork was rare and their textbooks were just props. Everyone thought that Dave, with one hand holding Teresa's and the other stuffed in his pocket, was simply walking with his blind girlfriend to class. No one even realized that it was one blind girl leading her blind best friend around the school, because she wasn't too full of herself to use a cane.

When high school came around, Bro and Roxy put their heads together to create a cell phone GPS app for Dave's iPhone. When orientation came around and Teresa had to tag along with them because her mother had a meeting with her client in prison, teachers thought that Dirk was simply a disrespectful parent, spending the entire time fiddling around with his phone. What they didn't realize was he was inputting each of Dave's classes, key location landmarks like his locker and the boys' bathrooms, and his schedule onto Dave's phone so that Dave wouldn't be completely helpless the days Teresa wasn't there.

Gone were the days of hand-holding and discussing their shitty comics. Although Teresa would still sometimes walk with him, since they had the same schedule like always, he was mostly on his own.

With the app, Dave could maneuver the halls with his earbuds in, listening to the sound files Dirk, Roxy, Rose, and Teresa recorded for his program. It was sometimes frustrating to hear his Bro suddenly yell, "You fucking moron, turn around, you walked right past the damn door!" or Rose remind him that "Class starts in three minutes, Strider, pick up the pace."

But usually, each walk to class was spent with Dave frustrated that all he had of Teresa each walk to class was "Turn left, and watch out for the stairs. I warned you about the stairs, Cool Kid, hehehe."

He missed Teresa.

Dave didn't think he was ever capable of loving someone romantically, but damn, how he was jealous of how much Carson Vasquez hogged Teresa for himself.

He could understand why Teresa liked "KK" so much. The guy was tough on the outside and soft on the inside, a candy pun just waiting to happen, and one Teresa wouldn't pass up the chance of.. Easily, she could disable his anger by simply taking one of his off-handed comments and turning it into something it wasn't, acting offended when he let slip a "Sometimes, it's so aggravating that you fucknuts don't even see what the hell is going on around you!" while discussing how stupid the school's student body was.

Yes, Carson Vasquez, with his schizophrenia and easy submission, was a toy Teresa would want to play with.

Dave opened his eyes once more, and just like every other time before, his world was still dark.

When Dave, sitting in the courtyard during lunch, listening to music on his iPhone, felt Teresa slink her arms around his shoulders and lay her head on his shoulder, he wasn't surprised. "I'm assuming Vasquez is busy yelling Makara's ear off," he commented off-handedly, turning down his music slightly.

She paused for a moment, silent, then spoke. "Actually, he's busy making out with his new girlfriend. The one who smells like dog and neon green limeade."

Dave lost thought, before quickly back-pedalling and pulling his headphones out of his ears, music completely forgotten. "What. Fuck, where's the little asshole, I'll kick his ass right now." And, Dave be damned, he would. Didn't the idiot realize that he was generally most of what Teresa talked about?

Dave would pound Caraon Vasquez into the asphalt, and Bro would probably help. When Teresa's mother, a hotshot lawyer despite her similarly odd—but more restrained—habit of tasting and smelling the world around her, was busy at her office over a case, and Carson's dad was back from a missionary so Carson was spending time with him, Teresa would have nowhere to go after school. Bro would generally take off work early to keep an eye on her, sometimes even if Dave wouldn't be home. Despite how Dave was uncomfortable with it, Teresa and Dirk were friends, and anyone who's hurt her, well, they can expect a complimentary Strider beatdown from Dirk.

Teresa chuckled, forcing most of her weight on his back when he attempted to stand. "Cool Kid, calm down. You're acting like he ran off behind my back with another woman."

"But he did, obviously."

"Dave, you are so stupid, Carson and I broke up on Monday."

That floored Dave just as much as the initial declaration had. His best friend had been broken up with, and he was only finding out four days later? Dave couldn't help but feel his cool mask fracture a little as he realized he was probably the worst best friend ever, too busy pining for his best friend to even care to find out how her and her boyfriend were doing. "Oh. I'm…sorry." Dave didn't know what to do. Had it been long enough that she didn't need comfort? Or did she want hugs, comforting words, or a shoulder to cry on?

"Cool Kid, for someone who tastes like strawberry ice cream, you suck at comforting, hehehe. How about I make this easy? I'm sleeping over at your apartment tonight and we are going to listen to weepy movies and draw shitty comics and walk around the city and get Bro to bake caramel apples and cookies for dinner."

"Wow, TZ, way to invite yourself over. What if Bro doesn't want to bake cookies and isn't okay with a chick ruining the sanctity of the man-cave."

"I already texted him about it."

Dave would murder Bro.

"What if I wasn't okay with you ruining the sanctity of the man-cave."

Teresa snorted and licked his cheek. "Too bad."

Well, good thing Dave wasn't opposed to spending his time with his best friend.

It had been quite a few years since co-gender sleepovers were socially allowed between the two. Last time either of them had slept at each other's house, Teresa and Dave were nine and neither Ms. Pyrone nor Bro had been aware of it until the kids had already fallen asleep.

So when Bro personally came to pick them up after school, Dave was more than a little on edge. Only Bro could tell that Dave's facade was slipping. "So, lil man, do I need to put a deadbolt on the bathroom door?"

"What. No. Why."

"Dave, face it, at some point in time, TZ is going to want to take a shower. Presumably after the make-overs. I'm sure she doesn't want you being a peeping tom."

"Oh my gog. Why would you even…" It was only after he spoke that he realized it was a jab at his eyesight. Teresa was cackling while Dave began to plan Bro's murder. Maybe Teresa's mom would be up for being his lawyer. Not likely, since the Pyrones were big on justice.

"Bro, don't tease Dave! He has had a very rough day, especially with finding out my boyfriend broke up with me."

"Hey, I was just sharing your pain."

Bro snorted from the front seat as he drove out of the school parking lot and began the drive to their apartment building. "So, how has your GPS been?" His tone was casual, but Dave could recognize that Dirk was more than a little interested.

"So it was you. Gogdammit, Bro, TZ had to walk me around like a dog after it crashed."

Teresa cackled. "Ooh, is Bro pleading guilty?"

Dirk snorted once more. "Bull. For your information, our sister is to be blamed."

"Objection," Dave stated blankly.

Terezi giggled. "Judge Cherryglare recognizes Dave's objection. Please continue, Mr. Strawberry Soda."

Dave paused a moment to smirk slightly at the never ending nicknames, even though Teresa couldn't see it. "I believe Dirk to be guilty due to lack of evidence for his case. Would Bro like to fess up and plead guilty?"

"Dave, she hacked my computer and now it's frozen with the message 'The Roge is bozz, your shit id wrecked' in pink." Sometimes Dave was jealous of how bored Dirk seemed to be with everything. If Roxy had royally fucked up his means of making money, Dave would pirouette off the handle.

"Clever how your only evidence is conveniantly something the court can not read, Mister Orange Sherbert!" Teresa called.

Bro's phone rang as they pulled into the apartment complex's parking lot. "Yo."

Dave rolled his eyes and unbuckled, hearing Teresa already doing the same. They were halfway out the car when Bro said, "Yeah, you can talk to him."

Dave found a phone thrust into his hands. He held it up to his ear. "Sup?"

"Daaaave?" Roxy crooned. Dave could hear Bro unbuckling and shutting the car off.

Dave sighed as Teresa began lightly kicking his back. Dave's door was the only one that worked in the backseat. "Speaking."

"I jus' wanted ta say sorry I broke yer GPS app, but I had ta 'cause Dirk an' me are in this haxxing—hacking—war an'—"

"Naww, it's fine, Roxy. I can understand wanting to piss off Bro."

"Oh. 'Kay."

"Is that all?" Teresa had begun trying to grab his glasses.

"Yeah. Wait, no, remember ta use protefkin—protection—sweetie."

Dave hung up on her and threw the phone at Bro, who laughed and presumably caught it. "Judge Cherryglare, the jury finds Dirk not guilty of any charges except being an inssufferable prick."

"The court recognizes the jury's verdict. Any words from the accused?"

"Guilty as charged," Dirk said, finally pulling Dave out of the car by his collar. "Let the lady out of the car, douche."

"Hey, I'm blind, you can't expect me to know what I'm doing, Bro."

As the three of them made the journey to the Strider abode, Teresa kept "accidentally" whacking Dave's legs with her cane. He had a feeling it was her way of saying "you wouldn't be so helpless, Cool Kid, if you'd just use a cane!"

Dave was the judge when it came to deciding what they would do first with their day. Naturally, Dirk and Teresa were the jury, and Dave had to follow with their verdict. Cookies and caramel coated apples came first, the cookies supposedly made with red food dye, according to Teresa, and the apples made with those little caramel sheets that they sold at the dollar store. After that, Dave and Teresa listened to Twilight, with Dirk narrating what the actors were doing. ("No facial expressions. None whatsoever." "He sparkles? Gaaaaaay." "I'll admit, the whole 'money, sex, money, sex, cats' line is kind of amusing.")

They only had three hours left of sunlight, so it was soon decided to go out and about the city, chaperoned by Bro to make sure they didn't get run over. Teresa apparently smelled the garish colors of a playground, because soon she was leading the way through pebbles and sand. She was cackling, dragging Dave to the swings while Bro opted to sit on the benh, surfing the web on his phone. Teresa started up a little verbal roleplay, before it turned into full-out LARPing, Teresa chasing Dave around with her cane, screaming about how justice must be served no matter how delicious his eyes and hair were.

If there had been any one else at he park, Dave could understand why they would've left by then.

Dave and Teresa soon ended up laying on the merry-go-round, Teresa sticking out her cane every so often to make sure they didn't stop their lazy spinning. Dave was lost in his thoughts as she chattered about this and that, something about chalk and how her mother bought it for her during Take-Your-Child to work day when Teresa was three. Dave frowned as something clicked.

"That was before you were blind, wasn't it?"

Teresa titterred. "Duh, Cool Kid."

He mulled his words over carefully before speaking. "And you don't miss it."

"Dave, you don't have to pretend to be swag or whatever bull you'd describe yourself as. Bro left a while ago to get dinner from McDonald's."

"What. Fuck, he left two blind kids alone at the park without saying anything? Parent of the year, it is him."

She cackled, smacking his forehead with her cane. "He did, you were too busy moping to listen when he came over to tell us."

"Bull."

She giggled, and she rolled onto her side, facing him. He could feel her breath on his face as she spoke. "And was that your real question or were you leaving details out?"

"What."

"I believe you asked if I miss being able to see, hero."

He closed his eyes, a habit that he kept from when closing his eyes helped him focus. "I would like an answer to that, yeah." No, I want to know how you can deal with it.

Teresa chuckled. "Well, then no. Back then, I didn't really have an opinion on blindness. I mean, I was three. I probably would've wanted to be able to see if I had been given the choice, but right now? No, not really."

"But…why."

"All of the reasons, Dave. All of them."

"And?" He was kind of tired how she strung things along for full dramatic effect. But he did the same, and she'd probably picked it up from him, so he couldn't really blame her.

"Well, back then, I could only sense colors through sight. And, believe it or not, pink was my favorite color." He snorted. She had always had such a boner for the color red for the entirety of their friendship that it was hard to imagine her liking its weaker cousin. "Now? It tastes like pink lemonade, bluh. Apples and strawberries and cherries are way better."

"Is that the only reason?" It wasn't helping his case much. He never had and never would have her hypersensitivity.

"No. It helps a lot that my mom is blind. She taught me how to see the world through my senses and, hehehe, you know how much I want to be like my mom. It helps so much that she's blind and still the best lawyer at the firm." Dave nodded. He could sympathize with wanting to be just like your parental figure. Too bad his role model was able to see.

"Plus, I never would've been best friends with you if I hadn't been blind."

Dave snorted, even though his stomach was twisting up in knots. "Bull. Teresa Pyrone, never say that again because you are the coolest fucking chick in the city and even if I wasn't blind, I would easily pick you up on my swagdar."

She snickered. "I'm pretty sure we're only such good friends because you became immune to me tasting your delicious caramel-and-vanilla-ice-cream skin at such a young age."

"TZ, that is the dirtiest thing you have ever said, ever."

She giggled, flicking her tongue across his cheek. "You taste like strawberry milk right now, though. I maaade the Cool kid bluuuuush," she sang, spinning the merry-go-round a little faster than she had originally been.

Dave rolled his eyes, easily pulling his cool kid facade back in place, forcing the blood out of his face. "Breath a word of it to Bro, and I will serve your head on a platter to Ms. Pyrone."

Teresa cackled, but soon their world was quiet, both of them now knee's deep in thought. "Dave," she finally said after a few moments of listening to birds and cars.

"Sup."

"Why do you miss seeing?"

He snorted, letting it roll right over his cool kid facade. "Because it is mortifying having to let Bro pick out what I wear." She scoffed.

"I probably look lame every day. I just wear whatever is most delicious. Judge Cherryglare does not recognize your claim as legally withstanding." Dave rolled his eyes. "Besides, wouldn't you miss having better senses?"

Dave had to admit, he'd miss being a music god. Bro had verbally acknowledged that Dave was "pretty good with the turntables for a little snot." That was like receiving the nobel prize. "Sound? Sure. Never really had any reason for anything else, though." Taste? No, pizza and chinese take-out didn't really cater to that very well. Smell? If anything, if made a bachelor's pad in the middle of summer even more unbearable.

Touch? Well, he wasn't exacty rolling in girlfriends to mack on him, even though he probably could be. But keeping his lack of eyesight underwraps was a full-time gig. Plus, crushing on your best friend, who had until recently been off-limits, was a full-time thing as well.

"Not even touch? Cool Kid, please, you are the lady's man, it is you."

Dave rolled his eyes, frowning slightly. It was always a little off-putting when her and him thought about the same thing.

"Oh my gog, Dave, I can feel the disagreement practically dripping off of you. You haven't even kissed anyone since you rubbed bleach in your eyes?"

"On accident. My eye itched and I didn't know that splashing in a puddle of bleach and then rubbing your eyes was bad." The situation was getting out of hand, and fast.

"You haven't! Oh my gog, Dave, so uncool."

"TZ, shut up, at least I didn't let Veronica hold a magnfying glass at my eyes in broad daylight." Immediately, he felt like he'd been puched in the gut.

Dick move, Dave. He could practically feel Dirk's disappointment in him. Good job, kid, insult the blind girl. That's definitely something you do to the girl who calls you hero.

She was silent, and Dave felt bad. He felt so extremely bad. He turned to face her, opening his mouth to speak. "TZ, fuck, I shouldn't have said that, Veronica's a bitch and I—"

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

(Why is she kissing me there is no way she's kissing me after that douchebag bull I just pulled what THE FUCK is going ON.)

Fireworks exploded in his head, something he didn't even remember seeing before age five. He just knew that the faint explosion of light was exactly that.

For two teenagers in the tenth grade, they were pretty bad kissers. Teresa was all tongue while Dave was pretty sure his lips were doing the entirely wrong thing, and their teeth and glasses clacked together so many times that it soon became a metronome for their sloppy make-out, but Dave didn't care.

Teresa tasted like caramel apples, cookies, and a taste that was entirly her own, the closest example on record being blueberry muffins. He could feel her breath across his skin, hot and slightly quickened. He could smell the soap of her hair, eucalyptus because she probably loved the smell. Her skin, this close, was suddenly an explosion of scents.

He recognized the heavy, sweet smell of the liquid, butter-scotch-like soap she used, because she had shoved it in his face earlier that day when she was unpacking, as well as what was simply Eua de Teresa. She smelt like spring, and lime salt water taffy, and cherry blossoms, and forests.

And how he felt. Her lips were soft, and everything was wet. Despite the teeth clacking and the sensory overload, he suddenly realized why she was so strung up on her senses. Kissing was probably twenty percent hotter when you could bask in everything that was uniquely the other person.

They finally pulled away when breathing became impossible, Dave's heart thudding in his chest and the roof of his mouth tingling. He closed his eyes, rolling onto his back, unable—for the first time in his life—to figure out what to say. For a few moments, he had understood what it was to sense colors, because Teresa was her own unique shade of aquamarine. Teresa was giggling, a small titter slowly escalating to full-out cackling. "You are the worst kisser ever, Cool Kid, it is you."

"Hey, hey, I wasn't expecting to be attacked by my best friend who's boyfriend broke up with her." Was mentioning her ex-boyfriend allowed after making out with your best friend? Probably not.

She snorted, both of them too high in ecstacy to be offended by the other's words. "Dave, we broke up by mutual agreement." He didn't really have words for that, at least not in the state he was in. "He was clingy, waaaay too jealous over everything."

"Why? You never shut up about him the rare moments you blessed me with your presence." His sarcasm didn't affect her, which he was thankful for. Sloppy-make-out etiquette was not a thing he excelled at.

"I never shut up about you around him, stupid. When he broke it off, he was the one who told me to go try to hang out with you. 'Even I, despite distaste in your stupid fucking choice in douchebags, can see a good match between two idiots, without the influence of bias,'" she imitated, her voice scratchy in an attempt to mimic Carson's ever-present anger.

"Dude, if my girlfriend was all up in another guy's business, I would flip my shit. How does anyone take him seriously."

Teresa snickered, pressing her forehead against his and humming. "Good thing I won't be all up in another guy's business, because the metaphorical shit should not be flipped in this scenario."

"I would fucking fly off the handle, you don't even—" His brain finally processed her words. "What. Way to automatically assume we're a thing, Teresa, what if after that horrendous macking I didn't want to date you."

Teresa chuckled, licking his nose. "Too bad."

Well, good thing Dave wasn't opposed to spending his time making out with his best friend.

Chapter Text

Dave ran his tongue along his teeth, jaw slack as he slouched on the futon, his legs, torso, and arms resting on the coffee table. His head was the only thing sitting up, one hand over his stomach while the other boredly flicked through the channels via duct-taped remote.

As commonplace as it was, Dave still had to pass off his wince as intentional movement when Bro randomly spoke from behind him on the couch.

"You wouldn't happen to remember what we did half a year from yesterday, would you, Lil Dude?" Dave moved his arms upward, pretending to stretch.

"Kicking ass?"

"Language, kid." Bro boredly spoke as he jumped over the back of the futon, smoothly landing beside Dave. It was a bit of a running joke in the household. Both of them knew that Dirk didn't give two shits if Dave swore like a sailor. In fact, he was a bit proud of it. Or at least, Dave assumed he was.

Ooey-gooey words of encouragement were like poison to Striders. Dave was pretty sure that was the reason Dirk never actually openly stated any mush.

Bro put his arms behind his head, kicking up his feet on the table. "Sit up, kid, your gonna fuck up your back sitting like that."

"Fuck you."

"I dare you to say that to me again."

Dave rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically as he pulled himself into a normal Strider sitting position.

"So what were we doing yesterday half a year ago?"

"If you must know," Bro started as he reached forward and snatched the remote out of Dave's hand, flipping to My Little Pony, "we were at a dentist appointment."

"Really? Why the fuck would you have dragged me along?"

"Language. And it wasn't my appointment, fucknuts. It was yours. And you have another one tomorrow."

"Sweet. No school."

Bro rolled his eyes. "I'll kick your ass if you try to stay up late tonight."

Dave knew that was empty. Bro wouldn't even get home until four in the morning, and that was around the time Dave crashed each night.

Sometimes, Dave wondered if his and Bro's relationship was one big ball of bullshit lies to make both of them feel like Dave wasn't neglected.

Not that he'd care. Striders don't give a fuck about that gross family bull.

Right. Dave Strider didn't wish his brother would pay more attention to him.

Nope.

Not at all.

Most of the drive to the dentist's office the next afternoon was spent making fun of the songs that played on the radio and slapping each other. At one point, Dave had to grab the wheel himself because Bro was too busy attempting to grab Dave's shades. Naturally, they eluded the police well enough, acting the perfect family any time a cop car was nearby. Once out of the vicinity, however, the hair pulling and insults began again.

Bro flirted with the young man who was manning the receptionist desk, who was easily flustered and stumbled over his words as he informed the doctor they were finally there. Almost immediately after Bro finished filling out the forms, they were called back.

Dave spent most of the time on his phone, ignoring Bro as he tried to embarrass Dave by saying he never brushed his teeth, that he poured bleach on his teeth to clean them, that one time he turned his teeth completely black from pigging out on Oreos.

The dentist ignored them both and simply did his job, while Dave texted his best bro via iPhone.

Dave was innocently playing Toontown with Jade when it happened.

Dovahkiin, Dovahkii-

"Moshi moshi?"

Dave rolled his eyes, leaning farther back in his desk chair, keyboard in his lap as he attempted to keep up with Jade's character, ignoring Bro. Damn, why did he have to leave his door open?

Oh, right, because they ordered pizza and Bro would ignore it until thirty minutes were up unless Dave went and opened the door.

"Excuse me?" Sigh. "He does, I make fun of him for it all the time." Wait... "And how much will this cost? ...Uh-huh...Uh-huh..." Wait, wait, wait.

Dave was practically scrambling out of his chair, ignoring the psst of Jade messaging him over toontown about his inactivity. He leaned in his doorway, arms crossed, studying the back of Bro's head over the futon.

"Will insurance cover it? Like, company dental?" Oh, gog, no. "Yeah, I think so. Is it going to be one of those huge bulky head-cage-things? No? Well, can it be? Oh, you guys don't do that anymore? Damn, alright. Yeah, yeah, the tenth is fine."

Dave sincerely hoped he could get away with making plans on the tenth.

Bro calmly tilted his head back, the familiar sense of hair raising on the back of Dave's neck when shaded eyes met shaded eyes. "Sup, Metal Mouth. Something you need?"

Dave wondered if he could vault out of his bedroom window before Bro even knew what happened.

Not likely.

The eleventh was a Sunday. Dave spent the entire day on the Strider futon, scowling at the TV. Dirk stayed home from his day job waiting tables, instead spending the day alternating between forcing Dave to eat and throwing magnets at his mouth.

Dave's scowl worsened as Dirk sing-songed, "Davey, your little buddy John was worried about you so he called me. Wanna talk to him? I'm sure you two can think of plenty to talk about."

Dave found an orange bedazzled iPhone thrust into his hands. He held it up to his ear, pausing as he attempted to think of a greeting that didn't have any Ss in it. "Yo."

"Hey Dave! Where have you been, man? Rose, Jade and me were all worried about you!"

"Oh really now?"

"Yeah! What have you been up to?"

"Cool ki' thhhenaniganth." Fuck.

"...Dave?"

"Hm?" Monosyllabic answers it is.

"Did you just...lisp?"

"What are you talking about John, why woul' I lithp." Abort mission, abort mission!

He could just hear John snickering on the other end of the phone. "Oh my god. Did you get braces?"

"What. No. Where woul' you even get thomething like that from."

"Oh, man, what color are they? We can be brace buddies!"

Bro's supersonic hearing clearly had no limitations from the other side of the futon, because his lips tilted just slightly upwards and his hand flew to cover the lower half of his face.

"John. 'on't ever thay that again."

"Did I make Bro laugh?" John stage-whispered.

"John I am hanging up. I am hanging up the phone right now, an' never thpeaking to you again."

The twelfth was a Monday, which meant school. Dave stubbornly kept his mouth clamped shut up until the pep assembly. The other kids assumed he was giving them a taste of what life would be like if he really gave his coolitude all he had. The teachers assumed he was having "family issues" and offerred to discuss matters with Bro.

John laughed every time he saw Dave.

The pep assembly rolled around near the end of the school day. As per usual, Dave skipped out, flashstepping into the boy's bathroom and hanging around there until the teachers were too busy with the assembly. As he ducked out, phone in hand, fully intending to call Bro and ask for a ride home, he nearly bumped into someone.

"Dude, ditching doesn't make you cool."

"You know what elthe ithn't cool, Eg'erp? Ghothbuthterth." List of words to not say until he adjusted to his braces. One: Ghostbusters.

John snickered, easily keeping step as Dave strode out of the school, hands in his pockets. "Soooooooo lame. So where are you going?"

"I wath going to hea' home 'til your lame ath thowe' up. Now I'm jutht going to the library."

"But Dave, that's twenty minutes away from here!"

"No one athke' you to come along, 'oofuth."

With a sigh, John followed behind.

It became obvious John wasn't going to abscond, so Dave continued on to the public library. He supposed he could finally put his (ironic purposes only) library card to use and pick up some children's books. Or maybe something about art history.

As they finally arrived, school possibly already over, their bags over their shoulders, they both couldn't help but relax a little as they stepped out of the hot Texan sun and into the cool air-conditioning of the library. Dave immediately bee-lined towards the manga, deciding that its hidden location at the back of the library was least likely to get them turned into the DA. And also, irony.

And maybe a joke check-out for Bro.

Does Boku no Pico come in manga?

They sat down, leaning against the back-most wall, Dave's eyes lazily scanning the titles, recognizing bedtime stories from his childhood in the manga. John sat beside him, eagerly talking about this and that, just droning on and on.

Every once in a while, Dave would glance over at John, watching how animatedly he spoke about a new game or a specific Betty Crocker product he despised. Dave felt that familiar rhythm in his chest as his heart ached for something off-limits.

Damn John. Damn him with his friendly flirting and overall dorkiness and his constant babbling stream of no-homo, like some sort of demon-worshipping, ritualistic chant. Dave found himself gravitating closer and closer to John, being pulled in by the simple sound of his voice. Amused, he noticed John's eyes continuing to flicker down to his lips, the younger teenager's voice quieting with each inch of distance closed between them.

In the end, it was John that made the first move, dipping forward to press his lips against Dave's. His cheeks were flushed, black eyelashes resting against red skin as he attempted to move his lips in time with Dave's.

Dave scooted closer, one hand gripping John's forearm, the other resting on the slim space of skin between ecto-ghost t-shirt and black cargo shorts. He tilted his head, running his tongue along John's lips, knowing fully well that his best friend, while supposedly immune and new to homosexual encounters, was still fairly well-versed in the language of sloppy make-outs. John pressed their lips closer, head dipping slightly in the opposite direction, deepening the kiss when-

Clink.

Both of them attempted to pull away, only to have their foreheads rammed bck together. Dave's shades were askew, and for a moment his wide red-irises met John's equally shocked blue.

"Fuck."

"Thith ith not happening," John groaned as he struggled to speak with his upper jaw connected to Dave's, moving his teeth in tiny incriments, attempting to unlock their braces.

"We're fucke'," Dave sighed, trying to lean back onto his palms, only to tug John forward onto him, both of them landing in a painful pile on the floor, their jaws aching.

"'ave! 'on't 'o that, man, ow!" John grimaced from on top of Dave, his elbow digging harshly into the cool kid's ribs.

Working together, they managed to get back into their original positions. Dave and John both pulled out their cell phones, before locking gazes once more. "Try Rothe an' I can try Jake?" John suggested. Dave nodded, opening up his contacts.

TG: roxy yo you busy
TG: as a matyer of gact i am
TG: *matter *fact
TG: im dure dirky can hep you swesty
TG: *sure *help *sweaty
TG: omg laughing my a off!!!
TG: *sweety

Dave groaned, closing his eyes in frustration. "Any luck, Eg'erp?" John shook his head.

"I can try calling 'ad. 'id you try 'irk?"

Dave snorted. "Yeah, becauth we 'efinitely nee' thomeone to thow up just to kick us while we're 'own." Nevertheless, he shot out a text, calmly stating that if his ass did not appear in the manga section of the library, that Dave would ring up CPS and tell his life story.

"'ad? Lithen, I-yeth, I'm fine, I jutht-Yeah, I'm having ithueth with my braceth, you coul' 'efinitely say that. Can you 'ive 'own to the library an' help me out? Uh-huh, near the back. Thank you."

Dave was certain that John and him were not only joined at the teeth, but also at the heart.

That is to say, judging by the bright color of John's cheeks, John shared Dave's desire to curl up in a ball and die. Between Mr. Egbert's amused smile and Dirk's downright obnoxious laughing, both of the boys were certain they'd never live this down.

"Let me guess, lil man, you tripped and in a magic swirl of cherry blossoms, your lips happened to meet Egbert's?" Dirk asked as soon as he calmed his laughter.

"Bro. Back the fuck off an' get uth unthuck."

"'ad, pleath, can we juth get thith over with?"

John's dad chuckled, shrugging and spreading his palms. "I don't know. This certainly is a suitable punishment for skipping school, John. I'm extremely disapointed with you." Dave was pretty sure that was bull, according to the smile on John's dad's face.

John groaned, attempting to tilt his head back in anguish but instead knocking their foreheads together again. "Ja'e tol' you, di'n't the?"

Dirk smirked, shaking his head at Dave and clicking his tongue. "An' here I thought lil' 'ave Thrider knew better than to go kithing an' macking on nerdth. Tho uncool, 'ude," Dirk mocked, moving forward and finally analyzing the situation.

Mr. Egbert stepped forward as well, gently taking John's face into his hands and leaning down to inspect their predicament. "Do you boys promise to be more careful next time you decide to 'spend quality time' together?" He asked, half-teasing.

"What. Hol' up, Da'y Egbert, juth what the fuck 'o you think-" Dave attempted. However, he was interrupted by John furiously nodding, their teeth and jaws moving in pained and unharmonious agreement. "John, du'e, 'on't juth thell out, we weren't even-"

"'ave juth thut up an' thay yeth tho we can get untangle'." Dave sighed and mumbled something that could be considered an affirmative, and the Strider/Egbert parental team swooped forward to remedy the situation.

Chapter Text

Dirk worked hard to care for Dave, despite what the little brat may think. He ran two jobs, he let Dave have the only bedroom, and he attended every parent-teacher conference and school graduation (even if Dave assumed it was for ironic reasons.) When Dave was born, he was constantly crying and constantly had his eyes shut. The doctors thought it was photophobia. Nope. They thought it was seperation anxiety and recomended keeping Dave near his mother. Nope. They thought there might be something in the hospital nursery that was irritating and recomended taking him home as soon as possible.

Nope.

It was only when, as a joke, Dirk placed his shades over baby Dave's red eyes, that Dave stopped crying. Their mother was upset. Roxy had hung around for the birth but had soon left when tension began to build up in the family. Dirk, irresponsible Dirk, the same Dirk that partied all night long and skipped school more often than he went, knew what was wrong when Dave's own mother didn't.

Dirk still didn't know if that was why she just up and left, but it felt like it was.

Dirk got Dave a pair of his own shades and kept them on the baby's face. He soon gained a normal infant routine, sleeping when tired and crying when he needed to be changed or fed. Dirk dropped out of high school and got a job to keep them stable. When they were evicted out of their mother's home, they stayed for a while with Roxy, her husband, and Roxy's daughter Rose, until finally Roxy gave him the money to get an apartment.

Every time Dirk tried to get Dave's glasses off his face, as soon as ivory eyelids opened up to frame red irises with golden lashes, Dave would tear up and start to scream. It didn't matter if Dirk taught Dave to always keep his cool, it didn't matter if the only time Dave ever cried was when he was in pain. If Dave's eyes were revealed to the world, he would throw the biggest temper tantrum in the world. When pre-school was just around the corner, Dirk finally decided to get down to the bottom of this whole predicament.

"Hey, lil man, can I have a sec?" he asked from his spot on the futon, eyes trained on the television, when Dave emerged from the kitchen with a soda.

"Sup," was all Dave said as he sat down on the other end of the futon.

Dirk hesitated slightly, moving barely an inch toward Dave. Immediately, the kid knew something was off and tried to bolt. Within moments, Dirk was on him, pinning him down, the lights kicked off. He picked up Dave's shades from his face, taking off his own to show him that coolness, in that moment, didn't matter.

Dave stared up at him, confused yet defiant, hiding any fear he might be feeling.

Holding Dave's arms down with his knees, Dirk pulled a black flashlight out of his pocket. It was weak, but it was bright enough and the default setting's light wasn't colored, so it was the best he could get his hands on. He turned it on and shone it in Dave's face. Dave winced but otherwise didn't react to the sudden light in his face, squinting up at Dirk with even more confusion.

"Bro what the hell-" Dirk flicked a switch on the side, and the light began to slowly flicker between various shades of the rainbow.

Dirk knew all about fight or flight and adrenaline reactions. That day was the only time a five-year-old had managed to be stronger than him.

Although Dirk usually teased Dave for his weaknesses, he knew this one was a serious issue. He bought Dave gray tinted goggles and simply told him they were waterproof. Soon, it was commonplace for Dirk to see Dave come out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, goggles firmly around his eyes, or Dave sitting at his computer an hour after midnight, goggles firmly in place. Each new teacher, Dirk made sure Dave was allowed to wear his sunglasses. Sometimes he made up bullshit excuses, sometimes he told the truth, sometimes he seduced the teacher into letting Dave do whatever. Every time, Dave got away with wearing his anime shades to school.

Dirk did his best to cater to Dave's phobia, leaving behind the bright orange outfits and graduating to white polos and black slacks. The only brightly colored things they owned were the things Dave wanted and Dirk's smuppets.

Dirk was pretty sure the smuppets were okay because Dave avoided them like the plague anyways. Soon, Dave started bringing around friends. Teresa, a blind girl with bright red glasses and a fondness for a colors. Jade, with her simply colored clothes and enthusiasm for everything.

And John, with his bright wardrobe and sky blue eyes.

At first, Dave didn't understand why Bro was so harsh when it came to his friends. Teresa and Rose were the only ones who knew about his chromophobia. Teresa usually begged him to wear his goggles when it was just them, half because she was nervous around him wearing simple sunglasses during their coloring sessions and half because she knew he was more relaxed with them on. Rose generally stuck to simple blacks and grays when she came by, wearing her usual black lipstick and dark hair band.

At first, Dave assumed it was because he knew msot of their families. There was some deep-rooted emotional trauma bullshit hovering around and their kids would have to suffer his hate. Then Dave remembered Bro didn't have any friends.

In the end, he finally realized what it was. Bro was more lenient with Rose and Teresa, while most on edge around Jade and John. And he knew why.

Because they didn't know.

They didn't know that jokingly making a grab for his sunglasses wasn't funny, they didn't know that roughhousing was a strategic war for Dave, they didn't know that he turned invitation after invitation to sleep over down for a reason. And yet, Dave didn't care too much about it. They were his friends, and fuck if he had issues to deal with just to keep their adoration for him safe from the marring of pity. He wasn't going to wallow in his little corner of pity and safety nets, he was going to take life by the goddammed reins and he was going to have friends, whether his douchebag brother liked it or not.

Naturally, it was with that mindset that after turning down yet another invite, Dave turned around and invited John over for a sleep over.

He informed Bro of this ten minutes before John would show up.

For the most part, the afternoon went by smoothly, the two playing video games and discussing whatever popped into their minds. Sometimes, it was hard for Dave, wondering if his glasses would fall off or slide slightly down his nose each time John jokingly shoved him after a particularly tense round of gaming. Bro made up bullshit excuses, constantly popping in to check on Dave under the guise of accusing Dave of stealing his records or drinking all the apple juice.

When it started getting dark out, they moved on to watching movies, alternating between the hilariously ironic and the frighteningly Nic-Cage-centric. Dave winced each time John jostled him to blather on about whatever was happening, but soon even that died down as John grew more and more tired.

Soon it was two in the morning, and Bro unplugged the TV and politely informed them that it was time to go to bed. Which means he grabbed Dave by his collar and picked a sleeping John up with one arm, respectively dragging and carrying them to Dave's bedroom.

It was awkward as hell for Dave to have to share his bed with John, but Bro had the futon and both of the Striders be dammed if they had to wake John up to ask him where his sleeping bag was. After getting over the tension of being a few inches away from his sleeping best friend, Dave rolled onto his side to face the wall and focused on drifting off.

Dave knew the Strider lifestyle was, at its core, based upon reflexes. He knew that if he had something Bro wanted, he better be prepared to defend himself against anything Bro threw at him. He knew that he had to be prepared for avalanches of smuppets, Lil Cal hanging out in the sink while Dave was in the shower, and a fridge full of shitty swords. He had to be prepared to fight on a moment's notice, prepared to deal with Bro randomly flashstepping in front of him with a can of shaving cream in hand, fingers already pressing down on the pressurepad.

Just as Dave had to adapt with being a Strider, he had to adapt with Chromophobia. He had reflexes at par with a hummingbird, ready to deflect any attempts at dislodging his shades. He could detect the subtlties of color differences through his shades and knew when the best time would be to switch between his sunglasses and goggles with the minimal amount of colors reaching his retinas.

Unfortunately, Dave knew a lot of things. He knows that reflexes take conditioning to hone. Applying that logic, it was probably obvious that without much practice, soon reflexes die off.

It had been a long time since Dave had slept without his goggles. So when he woke up a few minutes after the sun began to filter into the room, he automatically opened his eyes as he sat up. Even if he had knowingly fallen asleep with his sunglasses, he had overestimated his skills. He caught barely a glimpse of aviator shades on the sheets before he screamed, eyes screwed shut, his entire body trembling. He could barely hear John groggily waking up over his hyperventilating.

Dave wanted to punch himself in the face. This was insane, this was uncool, there was no way he was acting like this in front of his best friend. He could feel the heavy thump of Bro's footsteps scrambling to get to Dave's door revertebrating from the floor while John tried to get Dave to calm down, attempting to pull the cool kid's palms away from his eyes.

The room was too dammed bright, the light filtering through his eyelids as a harsh, sharp red. He felt like his chest would explode from how fast his heart was racing, and his lungs would collapse from how constricted they felt.

Thoughts of how lame he must seem were drowned out by his panic.

John was shocked. He immediately sat up, scrabbling around the dresser before finally locating his glasses. Dave was against the wall, legs against his chest, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes.

John could hear Bro croak "Dave?" from the living room before he heard the elder Strider stumbling out of bed. John's eyes were wide and confused as he attempted to get Dave to calm down.

"Dave, dude, what's the matter?"

Bro slammed the door open, shades askew, hat missing, barefooted, and sweatpants clad. Tangerine met ultramarine, their eyes reflecting their worry. John was unsettled, certainly, because he rarely saw Bro without his shades. And when his eyes were visible, it meant the shit had hit the fan.

The moment of tension was broken as Bro sweeped forward, forcing Dave's hands away from his eyes, replacing them with his own shades. While Dave looked a bit awkward with the pointy sunglasses in comparison to his normal aviators, with a few minutes of Bro simply sitting next to Dave, bright orange irises keeping an eye on the youngest Strider, Dave's breathing began to level out.

Another unnerving thing to add to the list of things that make John feel awkward: when the Striders communicated in silence. Dave and Bro kind of just stared at each other for a few moments before Bro sighed and stood up. "Hey, Egbert, how about we let the princess get her beauty sleep? I'll get pancakes or some shit from McDonald's."

While the thought of having to spend time with Bro who, frankly, scared John, and the idea of anything from any fast food chain made his stomach crawl, he glanced at Dave, nodded, and quietly followed Bro.

In the end, John found some pancake mix, a box that looked like it was barely holding itself together, of which Bro commented "oh, Roxy gave that to us as a housewarming gift." John didn't know if pancake mix could survive a few years without going bad, but in the end he decided that it was unopened and any bacteria would be killed while he cooked. Despite the Strider diet of greasy foods and sugary drinks, John realized that maybe Dave's lack of appreciation for good food wasn't genetic, because Dirk ate the pancakes as they were finished, paying no mind to the fact his fingers were turning red from the countless amount of times he snatched them piping hot off the plate where John was stacking the finished products.

Finally, as John managed to keep a few pancakes away from the elder Strider's wandering hands, both boys having eaten their fill, they both sat awkwardly on the couch, My Little Pony playing on the TV. Although John was pretty sure Bro's bored lounging, feet kicked up on the coffee table and all, wasn't awkward. It was more douchebaggish than anything else.

John flinched when Bro finally spoke, the heavy, lazy drawl startling John out of his anxious stupor. "Chromophobia."

"I-what?"

Without his shades on, Dirk seemed like even more of a jerk to John. Orange irises rolled up to the ceiling before settling back on the TV. "S'what made Dave freak out. He has Chromophobia. Colors get his panties all in a twist."

Well, it certainly filled all the blanks in John's mind. The cool kid facade, the shades, the constant avoidance of any physical activities. Suddenly, John didn't think Dave was a total idiot with his constant bravado.

"Does he freak out every morning?"

John watched as Dirk's jaw clenched. "No. Usually he has goggles he wears to bed 'cause of some science shit he found on the net 'bout how people wake up durin' the night an' don't remember it 'cause their mind is still asleep. But obviously he thought he could be tough an' didn't wear them."

Even though it wasn't written out in plain sight, John knew he was being accused. John knew Bro was a jerk, no matter what, but, golly, he still understood that Bro cared about his brother, and he felt bad that Dave had put himself through an anxiety attack for John's sake.

Well, John be dammed if Dave ever chose not to wear goggles around John again. He'd just have to do the best friend kind of thing and kick Dave's butt every time he made stupid decisions like that again!

Chapter Text

Your name is Dirk Strider, aka "Bro," and if you weren't in a public place right now, you'd probably slap that exasperated look off of Dave's face.

You know that's a lie. You wouldn't waste your time smacking your little brother around. It wouldn't have any purpose because, face it, he couldn't feel it. "Bro, fuck, I'm fine." The doctor looked at Dave's gushing arm pointedly, while you glanced down at his (most likely) broken arm.

"Doctor, we have a room ready for him." The doctor nodded, accepting the clipboard she handed to him before keeping a careful eye as she wheeled your little brother off into the elevator, that stupid left wheel of the wheelchair squeaking the entire way. It didn't matter that he still had his shades on, something they'd take away in an hour or so, you could tell he rolled his eyes before the elevator doors slid shut.

Fucking teenagers.

"So, due to the special nature of David's admission—"

"Dave. Dave Strider is the kid's full name, no more no less."

The Doctor raised a curious eyebrow at you but nodded, continuing on. "Due to the special nature, I'll have to ask you a few questions so that we can have his details on file the next time he has to be admitted. Will that be alright?" There's no if. It's a definite thing that will happen in the future. Dave will fall and hurt himself, or cut off a finger, or burn his fingerprints off, and he'll need to be admitted to the hospital for constant surveillance over his condition.

Because you can't trust a kid with CIPA to know when he has a fever, or when his food is too hot, or when 'reaching for the remote' turns into 'reopening a wound.' Especially if it's Dave Strider, who thinks this entire thing was a waste of your's and his time.

This whole thing, this "telling the hospital the sob story that is Dave Strider's life" thing, is something you have to do every time you move, because if they don't know the full extent of Dave's faulty nerves, they can't properly treat him every time. "Of course," you say boredly, preparing yourself for yet another boring interview.

"Brilliant." He smiled kindly at you, and you mentally recoiled, practically feeling the pity roll over your skin, the hairs on your arms standing up as if they had been dipped in acid. He leads you into one of the triage examination rooms, and gestures for you to sit down across from him. "When did you first realize Dave might not be like every other kid?"

"When he first began teething."

Your name is Dirk Strider. You are nineteen years old. Your mother, only a few months ago, told you and Roxy that she was leaving. The two of you had to pitch in together to raise Dave, until Roxy had her baby a week later and finally married her daughter's father.

At first, you assumed Dave was just cool like you. Ever calm, he never cried for food or a diaper change, although he did get moody when he wanted attention. Mostly, he slept, and sometimes you had to wake him when it was time to eat.

At first, you had thought his tiny baby mind had comprehended just enough to understand that if you were going to be saddled with caring for a kid, money was going to be hard to come by for a while.

However, when Dave started teething, that's when you knew something was wrong.

You were watching TV, Dave propped up in your lap, a pair of your old shades on his face. When you felt something wet start to trickle down your arm, you assumed he was drooling. When you looked down, however, you realized it was blood.

He'd stuck his fingers in his mouth unconsciously to relieve pain he didn't realize he was feeling, and he'd gnawed on them for so long that he broke the skin with his budding teeth.

You immediately pulled his hand out of his mouth and trapped them in your grip. He moved his attention away from the TV, where Pinkie Pie said something about a party, finally looking up at you. You slid the glasses from his face and, after a moment's hesitation, pinched his arm sharply.

His red irises didn't so much as dilate, despite the red mark now fading into existence on his arm.

Still making sure his young baby self wasn't mutilating his tongue or lips, you fished out your cell phone and called Roxy to come take you and Dave to the hospital, because you couldn't keep a careful eye on him and drive at the same time.

She left Rose with her husband, despite how she didn't really trust him to watch her properly, and quickly whisked the two away to the hospital, where you both were told that a few tests would have to be run, but it was likely baby Dave had Congenital Insensitivity to Pain and Anhidrosis.

"Has he ever needed treatment while not under your supervision, such as during school, daycare, or being watched by a babysitter?"

You shrug and shake your head, and he opens his mouth to ask the next question when you pause, grunting as you scour your brain more carefully. He waits patiently, eyes focused on your shades.

"Well, one time while he was stayin' with our sister, he electrocuted himself with the Christmas lights."

He smiles patiently at that, and waits for you to continue.

"Dirk, Dirk, oh em gee I'm so sorry I waz makin' the kids some frinks-drinks-an' I jus'-"

"Roxy, calm down," you say patiently into your cell phone. As Christmas rolled around, Roxy decided that two-years-old was the age where Dave needed to learn about real family time. Although her husband had walked on her, Roxy was managing well, taking good care of Rose. When Roxy offerred to take Dave off of your hands until January, one look at pristine and polite Rose Lalonde had told you your sister would be able to manage Dave as well.

Of course, you wondered days later where the hell you had gotten that idea from. After Roxy's husband left her, she'd turned the teenage habit of "occaisionally boozing it up" to full out permanent intoxication. Although she still managed to show her daughter love, even if Rose would probbaly grow up fucked in the head, assuming it all was bullshit or something, it still wasn't right for little Rose to have to mind herself because Mommy was passed out on the couch, a sticky trail of wine dripping down the side of the leather upholstery.

And why would you trust your drunken older sister to properly care for Dave? Dave who had CIPA, Dave who thought it was cool to attempt to crawl out the window or reach into the garbage disposal.

"I'm tryin' Dirk but I jus'-"

"Roxy, deep breaths." It sounded more like hyperventilation, but she managed to calm whatever part of her was too terrified to answer you. "Lalonde, what happened?"

Any left over panic was quelled by the old habit of using her last name. "Rosey an' Dave were in their playpan-playpen-an' I was unravlin' the lights but 'en Dave said Rose wan'fed-wanted-sometin to drink an' Rose nodded an' so I stopped an' went ta go make 'em some sippy dups-cups-an' then Rose starts screamin' an' I go to check on 'em an' Dave got out of the playgen-playpen, dammit-an' stuck my car keys in the 'lectric socket-"

"How did Dave get a hold of your car keys?"

"I let 'im play with them?"

You could've called that one from a mile away. Did she not realize that was something really stupid to do with a kid that wouldn't feel any pain if he shoved a key up his nose? "Is he still conscious?"

"Yeah. His left fingers are burnt an' they keep flexin' but-"

"Are his eyes open? Does he respond when you say his name?"

"Strider calm yer horses, he's fine-"

"Lalonde, hold the damn phone against the kid's ear."

After a bit shuffling, you heard Lalonde distantly say "Davey, sweetie, say hi ta Dirk."

For a few tense moments, you can feel your heart start to pick up the pace, before finally after a few heavy breaths from the receiver you hear the familiar garbled attempt to say your name. "Bruh?"

"Yeah, kiddo, i's Bro! Wanna tell 'im how yer doin'?" She sounded like she was starting to panic again.

"Gogdammig, I wan' juice!" You sucked in a breath as you heard the familiar sound of your little brother slapping his thighs angrily.

Roxy pulled the phone away and spoke once more to you. "Strider, wha' do I do?"

"Lalonde, you live thirty minutes away. Just, dammit, take him to the hospital. I'll get up there as soon as I can, alright?" She drew in a shaky breath and mumbled an affirmative.

After that little incident, Roxy became much more restrained with her drinking. She limited her all-day binges to days where Rose was quiet and calm all day, but otherwise kept her drinking down to a nightly thing. While your sister was serious and quiet by the time the kids were in kindergarten, your personality eventually shifted towards being more aloof and guarded by ironic humor and borderline-abusive teasing.

Roxy graduated out of childish dress-and-legging combos to a mature sciencetist get-up when she got a job at a nearby research facility. Even you moved on from your daily immature jeans and t-shirt outfit, preffering dress pants and shoes, polos, and a cap over your messy blonde hair.

Not that you got a job that called for it. You just developed a bad habit on hitting on single moms and teachers. Partially because it was hilarious to watch thirty-something ladies get their panties all in a twist that someone as young as you (though you weren't younger by much) would flirt with them.

And partially because, after all the stress of dealing with Dave, you needed to get laid, badly.

Flattering Dave's teachers helped, however. His preschool teacher made sure to instill the buddy system that year, and coated everything in the classroom with a layer of padding.

"Have you ever had any instances where his care was handled the completely wrong way by a proffessional?"

You stretch your legs out in front of you, crossing your ankles and leaning your arm on the armrest, your chin in your hand as you think. "Of course. Some people don't know how to deal with the little shit's issues." Your right arm rests on the other armrest, your fingers tapping a random beat on the plastic.

And it was true. When Dave started preschool, you tried the usual blunt-facts-forward maneuver.

When the stuck-up fifty-something woman told you Dave would be treated just like every other kid in the class until you put forward some paperwork, you tried to shower her in compliments.

It still didn't work.

For the next two weeks of school, Dave was sent to the nurse's office on a nearly daily basis, while you scoured the apartment for any sign of the paperwork, frantic in your own silent way. In the middle of his third week of school, you received a call from the principal.

While you were used to seeing the nurse's extension show up as she gave you daily updates on Dave's school life, it was a little frightening to see a completely different number with Dave's school as the caller ID.

"Hello?" You asked, muting the TV. It was probably extremely unproffesional to have Jersey Shore going on in the background of a call from your little brother's school.

"Hello, is this Dirk Strider, Dave Strider's father?"

"Older brother, but his legal guardian, yes." It was one of your biggest pet peeves, being called Dave's father.

"I'm the elementary school principal, Dolores Mirian, and it seems there has been an issue between Dave and his teacher. It would be best if you could come to my office as soon as you can."

"What the fuck did he do now?"

She paused, probably startled by your language (what was with these adults and their aversion to cursing?) before clearing her throat. "Well, fortunately enough the majority of the issue at hand was not his doing."

You sigh, whether from relief or exasperation, you don't know. "Yeah, fine, I'll head up there."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Strider. I apologize for any conveniance."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." With that, you hung up and got up from the couch, stretching and scratching your stomach as you tried to decide what to wear.

You swung the door open after the principal acknowledging your knock, striding in as relaxed as you could be while in a suit. Granted, it didn't have a tie and all of the buttons except for two-thirds of the shirt were undone, but it still felt awkward and formal to you.

You sat down in one of the seats in front of her desk after shutting the door behind you, Dave occupying the left. He seemed determined to keep his eyes on the principal, given you a grand view of him in profile. You could tell he continued to glance at you from his peripheral, however.

"So, what the hell happened?"

Dolores reminded you of a mom, the kind that had three school-age kids and a baby at the supermarket, the youngest wailing and the others either arguing or begging for various products. All in all, she looked wise beyond her years, slightly apologetic, and always maternally compassionate.

It rubbed you the wrong way.

Dolores had her red-brown hair, cut in a proffessional yet stylish layered bob that accented the tan of her skin. She wore a jade shawl over her ivory blouse, and while you couldn't see your legs you were pretty sure there was a jade green pencil skirt under there to match. Her eyes matched her shawl, and right now they were trained on you.

"According to Dave's teacher, he went on a rampage and tore up the classroom, taking out his anger on the equipment and his fellow students. Apparently, she had to restrain him." Her voice was clipped, as if someone tried to take an entire conversation and crop it to a few pieces to form one sentence. Her words were annuciated dramatically, however, and for a split-second your mind wandered and wondered if she was foreign.

"I didn't-" Dave piped up, and you could see the furrow between his eyes that showed he was on the verge of crying. You decided to defend him, since crying was lame and you didn't want your longer brother to carry on that kind of legacy.

"Dave, shut up." His mouth closed stubbornly, and you knew you had diffused his distress, replacing it with anger at you for interrupting him. You faced Ms. Mirian once more. "That doesn't sound like my little brother."

She gave you a sad kind of smile, as if she regretted to speak next. "A few of Dave's classmates, including my daughter, informed me that this is not the case." You narrowed your eyes, mentally preparing for what she would say next. Obviously, it was something much worse than Dave pirouetting off the handle in class, and anything more serious than that was wandering into bad territory. You lean forward slightly, jaw locked in determination.

"What happened, then?"

She glanced between Dave and you before finally focusing on your brother. "Dave, would you like to tell your brother what happened?"

He wrinkled his nose before putting on probably the best pokerface he's ever wore. "I said a bad word."

Dolores pursed her lips. "And then?"

He sighed. "And then I got in trouble."

"And what happened?"

He simply looked at the teacher, focusing on her, mouth stubbornly clamped shut.

Pieces in your mind were sliding into place. With an almost audible click as the gears began to roll as one, finally in the right locations, you leaned towards Dave and took his face in your hands, sharply turning his head towards the right. His glasses were knocked askew, red irises squeezed shut.

On his cheek was a fat, swollen red handprint.

You took a deep breath and dropped his jaw, and he quickly returned to staring forward. That teacher, that stupid teacher, had slapped your younger brother. And not just any slap, no. You were a master at reading body injuries, partially from a lifetime of fighting with your older sister and partially from Dave's lack of pain.

Dave's teacher had pimp slapped him.

No one was allowed to pimp slap Dave except for Roxy and you, and even though both of you did it gently and jokingly.

You closed your eyes and took off your shades, resting your elbow on your knee, massaging the bridge of your nose.

"She's been taken out of the classroom and told to go home for the day, another one of the teacher's taking on her students as well as their own. However, while we've never had this happen before, according to our rulebook, the standard in this situation is to have the parent and student determine what the reprimandations should be."

"I think she should be fired. She's a bitch," Dave piped up, his lips twitching downward and his eyebrows drawn together, holding back an expression of anger from crossing his face.

You glance over him, supressing the urge to glare. "Language."

Dolores pressed her lips together before looking at you. You felt naked, sitting there without your shades, looking someone in the eye. "Well, we have Dave's opinion."

You close your eyes in thought. What would happen if you got her fired? Certainly, any of the moms of the students in Dave's class would be frustrated by the change. It was only a few weeks in, but they'd summed up the teacher and developed an opinion. Just to repeat the process would make them a little uneasy and on edge.

However, if you showed mercy, they'd be tripping over their feet to get at you. Ooh, Mister Strider, ooh, I never would've been able to show such kindness if she had slapped my child ooh take me now.

And besides, if word got around that she was slapping kids, it would be better to let all of the moms band together to take her down rather than lone you.

"Is this her first offense?" you finally ask, putting on your shades before you meet her gaze again.

She simply nods, waiting for an answer.

"Then just...give her a slap on the wrist. Get her into anger management classes or retake some teaching lessons or something."

"What. Bro, no, what."

You glance at him, sighing in exasperation yet keeping your poker face on. "Dave, you didn't even feel it."

"I'm emotionally traumatized. I'll never be able to look at her again." You knew why Dave spoke like an adult. Somewhere along the line of raising Dave through his preschool years, you read somewhere that children speak in the way they are spoken to. Naturally, you started speaking to him as an equal rather than belittling him. It was probably what made him pick up on your cursing, but fuck if Dirk Strider would ever be caught censoring himself.

"What matters is making sure she doesn't do this again, dude, quit being selfish."

Dolores cleared her throat, and you two stopped your bickering to look at her again. "If it helps, we can transfer you to a different classroom, Dave."

Dave's lips twitched. "Would I be in the other kindergarten class?" You knew what that meant. That meant being in the same class as the John Egbert kid. Dave had been silently heartbroken when he found out his preschool best friend wouldn't be in his class that year.

Dolores nodded. Dave shrugged and leaned back in his chair, slouching. "I don't care what happens anymore. This problem is officially solved."

A week later, the PTA moms-plus you, because you joined for ironic reasons-held a meeting to "take a stand" against Dave's previous teacher's "outrageous behavior."

It's like you'd forgotten to take your swag off before stepping into the building, and you found yourself covered in bitches.

[+]

The doctor opened his mouth to ask another question when his pager started beeping. He pulled it from his belt and looked at it, before frowning. "Seems your brother's having some issues."

He stood up and somehow it became the unspoken rule you would follow. Easily, you matched his long-legged stride with your's, and after a few flights of stairs and some ID checks, you were inside. The doctor strode forward to stand beside Dave, while you stood by the doorway with your arms crossed, studying the scene.

Dave was on the hospital bed, cringing away and fighting off anyone who came near him. When you saw what the nurse was holding, you knew exactly what was happening.

You moved forward, standing on the opposite side of the bed, glancing up at the intravenous stand with the blood transfusion hooked on the rack. Dave was pale and his eyes were faintly rimmed with purple. Red irises focused on your shades.

"Dude, you can't let them stick a fucking needle in me."

You never understood why the fuck a kid with no sense of pain was scared of needles. You never would.

"Shit, Dave, that doesn't fucking matter. You know who I just got off the phone with? Our sister. And you know what she just told me?"

His eyebrows drew together, confusion written in his eyes. "What. What the fuck are you-"

You noticed that the nurse and doctor caught on, and Dave barely noticed as she gently gripped his arm and slid the needle into the crook of his elbow.

"No dude, shut up, listen. Apparently, Roxy got herself knocked up, and she gave birth to the baby while high on pain medication, and she named it after us. There's a little Davey Dirk Mcnuggie Lalonde running around. And it's a girl."

"Bro, what the actual fuck."

"No, dude, legit. And you know who the father is?"

"God dammit Bro, what the hell-"

"Obama. Obama is the father of Davey Dirk Mcnuggie Lalonde."

Dave glanced back at his arm, only to find the needle taped firmly to his skin. He shuddered, glaring up at you. "I hate you. I hate you and will murder you in your sleep. I will shove a goddammed smuppet down your throat and watch you suffocate. When the police come to question me, I will tell them all about your websites, and-"

"Dave, dude, shut up." In the middle of his rants, the doctor himself had personally administered God knows what into Dave's arm.

The doctor moved to stand by Dirk's side as Dave continued to glance warily at his arm. "A mild sedative to get him to sleep before we take a look at his arm and led the new blood work its way into his veins."

Dave looked up at you, shocked. "What? I just got motherfucking sedated? Dude, I'm not a fucking elephant, why would you even let them do that. You are the worst fucking brother ever and I swear, I am going to fucking tattle on you to Roxy and she will personally kick your ass."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright. I guess I'll hang around until then." The doctor nodded, and soon it was just you and Dave.

You pulled up a chair and sat down next to him, leaning forward. He glared at you, but already his eyelids were beginning to droop. "I hate you. This is pointless."

"Continuing whining like a little bitch, Dave. Soon I'll have to hide my credit cards because I can't trust you to not spend over my limit, all on shoes."

"I really will murder you," he mumbled, eyes sliding shut, Dave finally giving in and leaning against the back of the bed.

Only when Dave was fully asleep did you stand up and mumble, "Love you, too, lil dude," and lean in to plant a kiss on the top of his head, before leaving to go home until further notice on your little brother's condition.

You simply sat in the waiting room once more while the nurse worked on x-raying Dave's wounds. You sighed, taking your hat off and rubbing your eyes. You were sincerely tired of all of this. Of Dave thinking he was invincible and not caring for the consequences. Of having to school Dave how to fight just so he didn't take so many hits when someone got angry at him for being the little douche he was.

Of seeing your little brother bleeding and not knowing if there's fatal wounds somewhere where you can't see.

After a few moments of listening to some news lady discuss whatever irrelevant crap was going on in the world, the doctor showed up once more, sitting beside you in the stupid chairs and and watching the TV. Finally he spoke up, not even looking at you.

"Is it hard?"

You sighed and shrugged. "You got a kid?"

He pursed his lips and nodded. "Daughter."

"Imagine never knowing whether she's dying or not, every time she smiles at you." Not that Dave smiled much.

He nodded and finally faced you. "I'm sorry."

You shrugged again. You didn't want his pity. Dave didn't want his pity either. "So, did you have more questions?"

He glanced around the waiting room, and unsurprisingly for the time it was, it was empty. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and grabbed the clipboard from where he had set it on the chair beside him. "Yes. Where were we..." you watched his scan down the list and you decided to put your hat and glasses back on, carefully hiding your emotions away from this stranger.

"Oh, right! Has Dave ever had issues with kids his age?"

You snort, leaning back and crossing your hands on your stomach. "The kids a fucking brat. Of course he has."

Especially with one particular kid.

While early on, Roxy and you had attempted to get the two kids on good terms, Rose and Dave weren't having it. Rose constantly analyzed Dave and Dave constantly used her as a sort of verbal punching bag. The relationship between the two didn't shock you, however. If Rose was anything like Roxy as Dave was like you, then the kid wouldn't be able to deal with the Lalonde's snarky bullshit. The two bickered their way through the years, and only occaisionally spent time playing nice, and that only occurred after a particularly bad verbal (and sometimes physical) battle between the two.

You remember visiting Roxy before the two started fourth grade. Neither of you were very good at shopping for the kids, and so you joined forces each year to get school supplies. You and Roxy sat in the living, sorting out who's was who's and labeling everything with the kids names. You both heard the shouting coming from Rose's room, but that wasn't a surprise. Both of you simply ignored it, not recognizing that this was one of their bad fights. It's only when you hear the crack of wood being split that both of you realize that you'd have to intervene. Both of you scrambling, you pulled open the door and burst into the room. Immediately, Roxy swooped forward and kneeled in front of Dave, her already having processed what had occurred. You first looked at Rose, who had tears in her eyes and her hands over her mouths. You ignored Dave for the moment and pulled the door closer to you, looking at the back of it.

One familiar purple and black knitting needle was wedged into the wood.

Dave huffed and Roxy was pulling out her phone. Only then did you finally look at what you were scared to see. Wedged into his leg was the other knitting needle, blood slowly pooling in a circle around the wound.

Only after Dave was treated and you were waiting for the news of how bad it was, did Roxy interrogate Rose for what happened. Rose had been asking Dave what it was like to have CIPA. Dave had gotten angry when she wouldn't accept his answer of "I don't know, it's what's normal for me." The two began to yell about it and soon fell into their normal routine of trading insults. When Dave had called her a particularly vicious name, one which she refused to repeat, she'd lost it and threw her neeldes at him. She hadn't meant for them to hit him, only to head in his direction and startle him enough to stop.

But naturally, children didn't have the best of aim.

Rose was much more cordial to Dave after that, and slowly it rubbed off on him, leading to the two only occaisionally arguing, and never past verbal warfare. Nevertheless, the annual family shopping trips were called off, and the kids soon only ever saw each other once Roxy moved closer and Rose went to Dave's school. He nodded as he wrote things down, then looked up at you, expecting more.

You raked your brain for anything else that would be a good example. The kid got into fights all the time, but it would be redundant to explain all of them. Instead you settled for the first time he was bullied.

You began to label the various school's extensions in your cell phone contacts, rather than wonder what was going on each time it simply stated that the school was calling. Each teacher had a place, the principal's extension had a spot, and you had the nurse on speed-dial. So when the principal of Dave's middle school called you, you knew what level of worried to be.

"Yo."

"Hello Mister Strider, I believe it's been quite a while since I've last called you."

"Sure. So what'd he do this time?" Just straight to the point.

She cleared her throat but followed suit. "It seems David-" you grit your teeth but dealt with it, "got into a fight with an upperclassmen. He almost bled out and has several bones broken. He is being rushed to the regional hospital and by law we have to inform you of the situation."

You blinked. This wasn't the first time Dave was hurt. This was just the first time he almost died. After a few moments of silence, you quietly asked for the address and hung up after receiving such. In the end, you'd rushed over there, and somewhere in your mind you had automatically assumed that Dave was hurt and scared and possibly crying.

When you got to his room you found, instead, Dave bored and uninterested with the world around him. His uncovered eyes swiveled away from the TV mounted on the wall and instead moved to smirk at you. You swooped forward and gripped his collar. You didn't know if you were aggravating his injuries. You didn't care.

"Why the fuck would you do that to me and then have the nerve to look all smug about it, you little shit?" you growled, teeth bared and jaw clenched. Red eyes met your orange irises through your shades, and you could easily read his confusion and shock in his eyes.

For a few moments, both of you were still, simply staring at each other. Finally, however, he wrenched himself from your grip and grinned. "Yolo."

Looking back, you could piece together why that particular situation had sent him spiralling out of control, putting up no effort to keep himself from getting hurt. He saw your weakness. He saw that you cared about him and that it pained you to see him injured. And he tried to make you stronger by trying to force you to get used to it.

The doctor noticed you were getting agitated, so he stood up and pat your shoulder. "I think that's all the information we needed, sir."

You nod, glancing up at the TV. From somewhere through the doorway leading to the hospital rooms, some sort of alarm was quietly going off. You knew it wasn't for Dave since the doctor's pager hadn't gone off, but it still made your stomach knot up and your heart stop beating for a few moments.

You slide your phone out of your pocket and text Roxy.

TT: Dave's at the hospital. Take care of him for a while.

Chapter Text

Dave was used to Bro bullying him in that No One Can Hurt Him Except Me kind of way. Dave was also used to having to wear prescription glasses, even though both he and Bro had opted for prescription shades instead.

So, needless to say, Dave was used to Bro stealing his shades.

As the sun began to filter into his window, one of which faced west, Dave rolled out of bed, fingers fumbling at his bedside table for his shades. Most mornings (albeit, afternoons in the event of summer vacation), it was all one fluid motion, a tuck and roll with his hand automatically grabbing his shades. This time, however, his hand slid across the smooth wood surface of his bedside table, setting his entire routine off. His knees and palms landed awkwardly on the carpet, forcing his entire body down due to imbalance, his eyes wide as he stared under his bed, his vision fuzzy and the breath knocked out of him.

Dave grunted as he pushed himself up, squinting at the floor around him for his shades. He knew every inch of his messy floor, and unfortunately his shades weren't to be seen. When he finally caught his breath again, he stood up and picked his way over to the door, swinging it open and narrowing his eyes, just barely detecting his brother's blonde hair over the top of the futon.

"Bro."

Dirk simply grunted in response. What Dave assumed was Bro's head tilted back to look at him upside down over the futon.

"Where's my shades."

Bro snorted, moving to look back at the TV. "Yes, ask the person who has nothing to do with your shades, where your glasses are. Real smart. Want to ask me where mine are?"

"No, Bro, I'm-"

"Dave. Ask me before I whoop your skinny ass with a smuppet."

"My ass isn't skinny."

"Dave, you don't even have ass. You have extended back with crack. Now ask me where my shades are."

Dave sighed. It was pointless to argue with Bro. "Where are your prescription Kamina shades, Bro?"

"On my face." Dave could practically hear the grin in his voice. "And do you know where they were before I went to bed?"

"On the coff-"

"ON THE COFFEE TABLE! Maybe you should put your stuff in the same place every time."

"But I did-"

"Now go clean your room."

Dave made it a point to go to the kitchen and make a bowl of cereal as loudly as possible. It wasn't the dirtiness of Dave's room that Dirk wanted remedied. It was his status as alpha male. Dave tore that to shreds by blatantly disobeying him, but that was how the world worked when you lived in the Strider household. You either fought back or had your entire personality scrubbed out of existence by smuppets and shitty swords.

And fought back Dave did. The next morning, Dave made sure to wake up long before Dirk would be. At seven, the sun already filtering into the living room through the blinds over the curtains, Dave crept into the living room. Bro's breathing was barely audible over the TV, which was really just static turned down low enough to let Dirk sleep but loud enough to provide white noise.

Despite the delusion Dave held as a child, he knows that Dirk was a heavy sleeper and didn't, in fact, wake up when there's even a slight "disturbance in the force." Sure enough, as he felt his way over to the coffee table, mentally patting himself on the back for not making too much noise, his fingers found familiar Kamina shades. While Dave and Dirk didn't have the same exact prescription, Dave be dammed if his sight wasn't slightly better after putting on the shades.

He snuck back to his room, and after thirty minutes of fighting to keep Bro's shades hidden by taping them to the bottom of his desk, he was able to return to bed, because he'd be dammed if a Strider was found to be awake before noon.

However, just three hours later, Dirk kicked the door open, katana drawn from what Dave could see between the fogginess of sleep and haze of his bad eyesight.

"Dave, I will kick your ass. Strife, right here, right now."

"Bro what the hell."

"You stole my shades. We will fight for them, winner keeps all."

Dave yawned and got out of bed, scratching his stomach. "Fuck that," he mumbled as he shouldered past Bro, heading for the kitchen.

"Dave, we are both men, and we are both Striders. I thought I drilled it into your head that Strider men strife when they have issues." No matter how many times Dave tried to dodge Bro on the way to the kitchen, Dirk was always in front of him, flashstepping in front of Dave, katana always precariously close to impaling one of them.

"Bro, I am going to starve to death if I don't get some Cheerio's in five seconds."

"Pull out your katana, dammit."

"I don't need a shitty sword. I am pretty sure I've already won." Finally he had his hands on a bowl and a box of cereal.

Dirk's eyes narrowed, and with a few crafty steps of the flash variety, Dave's Cheerio's were replaced with a bright red smuppet, it's bulging eyes staring down it's nose at him.

Dave stared blankly at the puppet before glaring up at his older brother. "This is war."

With the decree of war, the house became a battlefield.

Naturally, it was the ironic kind, with both brothers building unneccessarily complex pillow forts, claiming territory and key objects by extending their troops to guard it (smuppets for Bro, empty apple juice bottles full of piss for Dave), and from what Dave could see when he snuck out to nab the Xbox, Lil Cal was Bro's war advisor.

In the end, Dave wasn't going to complain. While Bro had the kitchen and bathroom, two key-points in Dave's survival, the youngest of the Striders held fort in his bedroom and the living room. While he had to resort to peeing in whatever bottles and cointainers he could find, he at least had the front door as part of his territory. Dirk may have the food, but it would be hell when that ran out, because he would have to go through Dave's turf to leave the house.

However, Dave couldn't survive on his dwindling apple juice supply forever, and he wasn't about to leave everything unguarded by leaving the house to go to the corner store for chips.

TG: tz
TG: you and me
TG: my house
TG: now
GC: 3XCUS3 M3 >:?
GC: 1'M BUSY
TG: k
TG: bring chips

He turned his phone off rather than listen to her rant about why she couldn't come over. She would make time for him. They were best bros, after all, and no one leaves their best bro without chips.

Sure enough, as he began to boredly wonder if he should start up some gaming or snoop on what Bro was doing, the familiar smacking sound of Teresa's cane on the door reached Dave's ears. Bro peeked his head out from the kitchen, poker-facing but obviously curious as to who it was. Dave got up to let her in, swinging the door open only to find himself face to face with Teresa and her mother. Although he rarely saw the two side by side, it was obvious the two looked alike. It was only when he saw the two together, however, that the similarities were thrown into focus.

They both had the shades, which Dave was pretty sure was a Pyrone key trait. Behind Teresa's, Dave knew lay burnt red eyeballs, the poor things seared from concentrated sunlight. He didn't know what made Teresa's mother blind, however. Besides all of that, they both had a mess of brown hair, Ms. Pyrone's in a sloppy bun held together with pencils while Teresa's was down, as well as the same round nose, pudgy cheeks, and ever-present sneers.

Dave realized Teresa didn't have her cane, but her mother had her dragon walking stick.

Which was basically the same thing, what is even the big deal about differentiating between the two Pyrone's objects.

Dave nodded at Ms. Pyrone, even if she was blind. "Sup, Nina," he said to her mother. It was kind of an unspoken rule that coolkids called their friends' parents by their first names.

You could hear that Bro whipped back into the kitchen behind you from the bang of bone on countertop.

"Hello, David," she cooed sweetly, despite the smirk on her face. She reached forward and pat him ontop the head before thumping her the bottom of her walking stick on the carpet of the apartment complex's hallway.

Teresa sighed dramatically and pulled her backpack forward before pulling out a bag of doritos and thrusting them into Dave's hands. "Theerrreee," she sighed before leaning forward, sniffing Dave.

"You smell like pee."

"Yeah, bathroom's now Bro's turf."

She wrinkled her nose and stepped inside, nearly stepping on Dave's feet as she did so. "And why is there territories now? I thought you guys shared everything in the name of irony or whatever it is Cool Kids do things in the name of these days."

Dave shrugged and shut the door after Ms. Pyrone stepped inside. While they most certainly shared facial features, they were dressed completely different. Teresa was in black shorts, a teal t-shirt, and red flip-flops, while her mother wore what Dave assumed was part of her work wardrobe: a red pencil skirt, a pastel aquamarine blouse with lots of frills, black pantyhose, and red heels.

If she had just come back from the office, that would explain the pencil bun.

"Bro stole my fucking shades."

"Hey, the little snot stole mine. And language." Dirk said after stepping back out of the kitchen, pushing it by stepping right up to Dave's boundary line.

"Bro, who gives a fuc-"

"Language!"

Dave narrowed his eyes. Bro better not be-

"Hello, I don't believe we've met," Ms. Pyrone (Dave needed to kick the habit of calling her that in his head) said, grinning wide, showing off her sharp canines. She stepped over to him, tapping her cane left and right with each step, following her nose to make sure she didn't knock over any of the bottles of urine. Finally, as she stood in front of him, she held out her hand.

Teresa moved to stand next to Dave before elbowing him in the ribs. "Cool Kid-"

Bro's lips twisted up into a smug smirk, and he reached out to grab her hand before attempting to bring it to his lips. Teresa immediately scurried forward, accidentally knocking over a few cans of piss, launching herself over the boundary line. Ms. Pyrone automatically stepped back quite a few steps, attempting to keep her good work clothes out of the aftermath.

"Bro, can I be on your team?" Teresa nearly shouted, latching onto Bro's arm. Dave wasn't surprised to see Bro had already regained his cool. "Sure. But that means your mommy has to be on Dave's side because it would be four against one."

Ms. Pyrone leaned towards Dave as Bro and Teresa absconded to the kitchen. "Four?"

Dave simply shrugged as he began walking to his bedroom for a strategics meeting. "Yeah, Lil Cal is Bro's advisor."

Dave sat boredly at his desk, Ms. Pyrone sitting on the floor, her legs tucked under her because it was wrong to show teenage boys between your legs. And Ms. Pyrone was one classy lady.

They needed plans. By now Teresa was probably replacing the smuppets with scalemates and hanging all of the ones that went AWOL. Her and Bro were probably broing it up, drawing maps of the apartment and roleplaying whatever one would roleplay in that situation.

Finally, just as Dave was about to suggest just making a run for it, Ms. Pyrone spoke up. "Do you know where he has your glasses?"

He blinked, running his fingers a few times through his hair. "Yeah. Prick told me and made a big show of it. He has them in his back pocket. Said some shit about not able to catch him to grab them or whatever. Asshole."

She raised an eyebrow before sniffing around his bedroom. She paused as she moved closer to his closet, then started cackling. "Dave, if you get Teresa out of there, we can kick totally kick his ass."

Yup.

One classy lady.

It was that reason why Dave put on a red t-shirt and skinny jeans while Ms. Pyrone headed to the store, put on red war paint, and wore red socks on his hands.

He casually strode up to the boundary line, waving his hands at the doorway a few times.

Sure enough, moments later, Teresa peeked her head around the corner, nose upturned as she tried to locate the cherry-scented bomb that was Dave Strider.

"Oh hey TZ, sup. What's Bro up to?"

"He keeps mumbling to Lil Cal. It's so borrrinng." She stepped closer, crossing her arms. "Where's Mom?"

"Well, I can't give out enemy secrets like you just did. But I can tell you this, you will want to be as far from the kitchen as possible in the next few minutes, bro."

Teresa frowned at that before saying loudly "Bro, I have to use the lady's room!"

"You know where it is," Bro called back.

Teresa proceeded to flop on the couch, albeit low enough so that Bro wouldn't see her if he looked into the living room from the kitchen doorway.

Ms. Pyrone came back just as Dave scooped up two of the oldest of the piss bottles. After a bit of creative and borderline disgusting preparations, one Miss Nina Phyte Pyrone was walking into the kitchen, hips swaying.

Being a mom was hard. It was hard, and probably every other mom in the world understands. That was why Nina Pyrone found herself trying to keep justice in the unruly Strider household. While Dirk was the one who started it all (and thus the one who would be punished), it would be right to get each boy their glasses back.

And then pull Teresa out of the aftermath afterwords.

That was why she was wearing a bra two sizes too big, two cold and naseuatingly precarious water ballons filled with urine in the place of her nonexistant breasts. Woe was the flat-chested gene that ran in the Pyrone family.

She tried to seductively walk through the messy kitchen to stand by Bro, but it ended up with her waddling.

Walking with ballons full of pee in down your shirt was hard to do when you were scared to death they would pop on you.

He glanced up at her before double-taking, orange irises squinting down at from his place on one of the counters. His pokerface was in place sans two bushy blonde eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

She relocated her retro shades to clip on the hem of her skirt and pulled the pencils out of her hair, shaking it out a few times before blinking her eyelashes at him in what she hoped was a seductive manner.

Nina wasn't even sure she was facing the right way. He smelt like tangerines and orange soda, but her nose wasn't as strong as her daughter's, and the entire plan would fall apart if she had to have her cane.

"Hello, Bro."

Both blonde eyebrows raised, his lips twitching upward. "Yo."

She moved forward before standing between his legs, palms pressed against the countertop on either side of his thighs. "You are the most sugoi of men I have ever smelt and heard, Bro. Ever since I heard you speak, you have made my kokoro go doki doki." All of the words felt foreign on her tongue, but it was what Dave had told her to say. She slid her hands down his arms and sides, before her fingers found the shades laying behind him on the counter.

Now Dirk was just blinking, obviously flabbergasted. As erotically as she could manage, she slid her hands into her bra, before quickly launching the water balloons at him and jumping out of the way, Dave's glasses in hand.

Bro made a choked sound as she absconded out of there, cackling. Her hands smelt like pee and her pantyhose were probably ruined, but damn that was fun.

She handed Dave his sunglasses just as Bro made it to the kitchen doorway, clearly angry and very drenched.

He opened his mouth to speak before Teresa scurried forward, standing on tiptoe to slide Bro's own Kamina shades onto his face.

Bro kept a stoic look on his face, though Dave could tell he was struggling.

"How about we all go watch a movie," he suggested loudly.

Bro turned to face him, and Dave could practically feel him glaring. Finally, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "A man better be allowed a shower before you all force me to watch something ironically."

Dave snorted while Teresa giggled. Ms. Pyrone grinned. "As long as I'm allowed to take Teresa home so we can change."

Chapter Text

Dave felt trapped.

Which wasn't a shocker since he almost always felt this way.

The only time he didn't was when he was at home, and even then it was only slightly diminished. His mind was a constant raging firey storm of emotions and loneliness, and being with Bro only softened the flames to a quiet flicker.

Bro had long since adapted to Dave's hearing issues. He spent 24/7 of a week learning sign language for him when Dave was a toddler and within the month both of them were fluent enough to speak through it. Dave learned how to lip read and was able to speak monosyllabic words without sounding like he spoke through a mouth full of marbles.

That's why when he reached Middle School, he begged Bro to not enroll him with an IEP. Bro rolled with it, thankfully, and Dave was free of being escorted around with a sign language interpretter. Those who had spent elementary school with him questioned it at first, but slowly it died over the years, until in High School everyone had forgotten he was deaf.

He was just a normal high schooler who was angsty and failed his classes.

Until Jade Harley joined. She was apprently cousins with the Egbert kid, someone Dave rarely paid attention to. John was the kind that acted like a kicked puppy when you didn't respond as enthusiastically as him. So naturally, Dave tried to never cross paths with John.

She transferred into school and was placed two seats in front of Dave in Physical Science. He was pretty good there, and it was the only class he had over a C in. The class was full of idiots who forgot what they learned as soon as they saw a pair of tits, and so the class had been stuck learning and relearning and relearning balancing equations.

Rhythm was something that came naturally to Dave, rhythm, time, and in turn, math. He ignored the assignments and sat in his seat all day, slouched, using his letterman jacket to hide the fact he was texting.

TG: so have you done it yet
TT: I sincerely hope you are not discussing Anaya and my personal business.

Dave's eye twitched at that. While he felt more at ease and felt more of himself when he was typing to others, conversations with his niece often made him want to puke.

TG: lalonde do you honestly think i want to know if you and mirriam do the nasty
TG: jesus fucking christ woman
TG: i was asking if you came out to roxy yet
TT: Then no, I have not in fact spoken to mother about this matter.
TT: Why do you inquire?
TG: why havent you already
TG: are you scared of her
TG: youre scared of roxy damn
TT: Strider, I am not scared of my own mother.
TG: are you worried shell disown you or some shit
TG: because if theres any lady whos openminded over everything
TG: its your mom
TG: also me and roxy both think bros homo and shes not worked up over that
TG: the woman will probably give you a pat on the head
TG: give you a martini
TG: and then cry over her baby growing up
TT: You are a neverending fountain of knowledge.
TG: sarcasm
TG: how original
TT: Shouldn't you be getting an education rather than sitting around discussing why your niece prefers breasts that lactate over the variety that does not?
TG: i would rather get an education than listen to you talk like that yeah
TG: peace

TG: so bro
TT: Do your schoolwork.
TG: fuck you too

TG: hey roxy
TG: dave hoeny shoudlnt yuo be doin yoru schoolwork

He silently groaned and put his phone back in his pocket, laying his head on his desk and closing his eyes. However, after a few dark moments where his only senses consisted of smell and taste, he felt something touch his palm. Lifting his head just slightly, peeking his eyes open from behind his shades, he found a folded piece of paper laying on his desk, beside his hand.

He stared at for a few moments, wondering if he should actually read it, before finally returning to slouching in his seat, reaching out and pulling the paper foward, unfolding it and skimming over the bright green handwriting.

Meet me in the hall after class!! :) -GG

Dave wasn't dumb. He'd seen enough cheap movies to know that looking around the room for who it was, was the wrong move. He simply pursed his lips and folded it back up, sliding it into his pocket and simply laying his head back down.

Maybe he could take a nap instead of deal with whoever that was.

The bell rang, he noted as everyone around him began packing their things and getting up. He didn't carry around a bag, so he simply stood up from his desk and headed for the door, eyes on his phone as he checked for any messages. He rolled his eyes when he saw familiar purple text, and he manuevered to lean against the wall outside the classroom door.

TT: I know for a fact you are not doing your schoolwork.
TG: whos the snitch in science ill kick their ass after
TT: For your information, it's Terrence.
TG: wow that is a new low for you lalonde
TG: spying on me with a kid i cant beat up
TT: I am simply good at managing my resources.
TT: That, and I offerred to collab with him in a writing project for English and I knew he was struggling with the topic.
TG: you bribed ter
TG: i need to kick your ass inste

Dave accidentally hit send as someone touched his shoulder, the closest to a flinch he's ever had since he was a kid. Automatically his eyes looked up, his pokerface in place as his eyes met lime green irises.

Jade Harley grinned at him, her fingers wiggling at him in a wave as her lips moved in a greeting. He nodded and mouthed sup, before being confused as he realized he was conscious over his voice for the first time in a long while.

Her lips were moving already as she spoke to him, and between how animated her expressions were, the wild hand gestures, and the buck teeth, he wasn't sure where to look.

From what he could pick up from her body language, she was explaining something and there was a hint of hesitancy in her eyes, but by the time he realized he should be watching her lips, she was already halfway through a question.

What, he felt his lips moving. She sighed, rolling her eyes and clearly exasperated. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, her lips moving too quickly as he struggled to piece together her words. Jade was asking something, asking Dave something about doing something, but he couldn't for the life of him follow her sentences.

Uhh.

Yeah.

Sure.

Apparently those were the magic words, because her face lit up and she smiled, showing off bucktoothed pearly whites.

Great!

That was all he picked up as she turned and sauntered off.

Furrowing his brows, completly uncertain on what the hell just went down, Dave put his phone back in his pocket and headed to his next class.

The day passed by unceremoniously after that. He ignored his teachers, they ignored him, and he only had one encounter with Rose, who pulled him aside when the halls were nearly empty due to passing period nearly ending. She asked him in sign language why Bro was spamming her phone. He shrugged and quickly signed back no clue. Afterwards she questioned if he needed any help with his homework and told him about how she'd like him to be there this weekend when she discussed matters with Roxy.

A student walked by when it was time for Dave to answer, and it didn't pass Rose's attention the way he tensed in their presence, casually gesturing and mumbling a reply. She simply nodded and mouthed I will text you before finally parting ways.

Soon the school day was over, and Dave found himself once more walking home. Sighing, he paused to text a complaint to Bro, passive-aggressively whining about having to walk home. Once more he felt someone touch his arm, and he glanced up once more to see Jade in front of him.

He frowned slightly, putting his phone away and making a very forced effort to read her lips, forcing himself to ignore her hand gestures.

You must be doing something really important with your phone.

He shrugged. Not really. He didn't know what a mumble was besides Bro and Rose's vague explanaitions, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't putting as much velocity into his speech.

She smiled at that, before pausing as the Egbert kid walked up and asked her a question. Only when she gestured at Dave did he realize she was mentioning him. --gonna hang out with me for a while, sorry.

That's (somethingsomething jesus christ I hate their stupid buck teeth) maybe another time, Jade.

She nodded and waved him off before gesturing and asking something about a place and his opinion. He furrowed his eyebrows before gesturing vaguely. Don't care.

Jade nodded before reaching forward to grab his arm, leading the way to wherever.

Never in his life had Dave felt so helpless. Here he was, stuck with a pretty girl who spoke a mile a minute and apparently wanted to spend time with him. His head swam with self-loathing, and not for the first time in life did he hate himself for being unable to hear.

If she was speaking to him, he didn't know, because all he could see was the organized, chaotic mess of black hair in front of him. She turned to look over her shoulder at him, her lips moving to ask a question, one which he almost missed studying her face.

Dave hadn't given Jade Harley much attention; he didn't give anyone attention. All he ever saw was lips and hands, and occaisionally facial expressions when it involved people outside of his family that signed to him.

But with her, that was useless. He could rarely figure out what she was saying, so why bother?

He noticed the lighting made her eyes seem like a neverending field of green. Her skin was a soft tan, giving him a mental image of an exotic animal, a brown hound in a herd of sheep. Her face was round, and her lower jaw was a little further back than was average, which he figured accounted for her overbite.

Dave snapped out of it as he remembered she had asked a question.

Can I ask why you're always so quiet?

He shrugged and put on a small smirk, trying to pretend he was participating in the conversation fully. Why?

Dave was pro at this, at dodging questions by retaliating with his own. It was a good way to keep from having to say too much, yet still participating in the conversation.

She had a thoughtful look on her face, and he completely missed all she began saying as she turned her head once more to look where she was going.

Jade continued doing whatever she was doing while Dave simply followed. At some point she stopped holding onto his arm and simply led the way like a normal person, Dave trailing behind with his hands in his pockets.

He lamented on what he had landed himself in. He was with a beautiful girl. He was with a beautiful girl named Jade Harley.

And he knew nothing else about the situation.

Other than apparently she had led him to stand in front of a fast food joint. He raised an eyebrow before following her in. She turned to him and spoke, and he was thankful that she was speaking at a slightly slower pace.

What would you like to eat?

Thank you, Bro, for being such a shitty parent. I don't have to think about what to get.

Number 4 and coke.

She smiled and nodded then gestured to the tables. You opened your mouth to ask what she was doing, but she cut you off.

Stop right (something something) able to pay for my (I really want to know what she said) go sit down.

He frowned but finally turned and picked out a booth, watching as she sauntered up to the cashier and placed her order. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he ignored it. A few minutes later she came back toting a tray with their food, sitting down in front of him and sliding his food to him.

Dave took it and took a few bites, eyes trained on her as he watched her talk about something or another while she ate.

Dave didn't know what it was about her. Although he hated how he couldn't understand what she was so excitedly talking about, it was refreshing. Bro was a stoic mask, emotionless with his signing. Rose was always cynical and sarcastic, and Roxy was incoherent in all forms of linguistics.

Even if he couldn't hear her or understand what she was saying most of the time, Dave found that he enjoyed watching her.

Halfway through the meal she apparently switched topics, a more serious look on her face (though only by a fraction) and more questions. Dave could follow Jade better, however, and within a few minutes he was able to determine that she was talking about guns and asking him if he's ever worked with any.

He shook his head, leaning back. Swords.

Her eyes lit up at that. (something) you really? That's so cool! He watched her laugh, and for some reason it made his stomach flip flop.

Where do you train?

He shrugged and happened to glance over her head.

His blood ran cold as his eyes landed on a bright and chipping orange truck.

Dave slouched low in his seat as a familiar (and obviously angry) older brother walked into the food place, eyes scanning around the room before landing on Dave.

Dave silently prayed for Bro to not yell as he slinked over to stand in front of the table, arms crossed. Jade looked startled and confused. Dave could feel Bro's eyes boring into his.

Dave's prayers were answered.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop Bro from signing.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Dave's jaw clenched and he chanced a glance at Jade. She kept glancing back and forth between the two Striders, and Dave could tell she was piecing things together. With a sigh, Dave replied, hands working in quick movements as he attempted to keep the answer as short as possible.

What do you mean?

Bro's eyebrows narrowed. You completly up and disappeared. No one knew where you were, you little shit.

Calm down, fuck. Do I have to announce it to the world any time I wanna hang out with a girl?

Dave couldn't see Bro's eyes, but he had been around him long enough to not have to. He knew Bro glanced at Jade. He knew he sized her up.

It made his stomach twist up into knots to know that Bro was judging her for Dave's mistake.

Bro's eyes snapped back to Dave as he made a frantic shooing motion. Bro's jaw clenched, and Dave knew the older Strider was holding back from yelling. Since when.

Since when what.

Since when do you have a social life.

Dave winced. He physically winced. It felt like he'd been stabbed right in the core of his emotions.

Since when do you care if I have a social life.

Bro scowled at that, and he crossed his arms, simply staring at Dave. Dave glared back, daring him to force Dave to leave.

Dave could tell the comment had made Bro feel guilty, however, and finally Bro sighed. He turned to Jade and although he could only see part of Bro's face, he was pretty sure he said something to her about getting Dave home by a certain time.

Dave finally looked at her. She nodded at Bro, an understanding smile on her face as she spoke. Of course!

Bro nodded before glancing back at Dave, and then finally leaving.

It was a few minutes after Bro had driven off that Jade spoke, Dave's eyes automatically moving to her lips as soon as he saw her out of his peripheral.

Can you hear me?

Dave slouched further in his seat, the material of his jacket bunching around his neck a bit. He lay his hands on the table and absentmindedly toyed with the record phone charm on his cellphon. He shrugged, keeping an eye on her lips as he attempted to not look like a moody teenager.

No.He felt his lips move on his own accord, and he was pretty certain he had spoken.

She furrowed her eyebrows before reaching out, taking his hand into her's. You fucking idiot.Her words contradicted the smile she was giving him.

Dave frowned at that. How am I...He didn't continue, certain that if he did, his voice would come out wrong.

She chuckled. I could've (something) slower for you.

He assumed she meant talking. He tried to think of a reply, except he was too distracted by the fact she was still holding his hand.

Jade must've noticed because she grinned. (something) learn sign language (something) you. Alright?

He raised an eyebrow, finally sitting up again. Why?

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. You fuckass, because I like you!

Dave didn't know why, but that sentence made his stomach knot up. He simply furrowed his eyebrows at her. She sighed again before standing up, gesturing to the food. Do you wanna go to the park?

He was still just as confused as he was when he didn't know what she was saying.

Dave wondered if that was just part of associating with her.

Sure.

She grinned and tossed what little food they had left into the trash before grabbing his hand once more and tugging him along to folow her.

It was only when he noticed that she kept turning her head to speak to him, that he realized he didn't feel completely lonely anymore.