Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I am calling your lightening
Down from your dark hiding place
Go ahead and show me
Your face”
Implicit Demand for Proof - Twenty One Pilots

Today has definitely been a day.

You sit and stare at your computer screen. You haven't unlocked it, and a terribly jpegged image of Rainbow Dash stared back at you unyieldingly. Everything feels soupy, time and space and yourself. You feel very blank– not quiet, not walled off, not a million other synonyms for depressed and/or apathetic you can think of. Just, blank.

You get like this sometimes. Sitting and staring blankly while you wait for…something. You’re not even sure what. Something to prompt you into action, you guess, like a sim left without anything in its action cache. Usually the program will automatically fill some arbitrary task in to fill the nothingness, but evidently, someone turned that option off for you a long, long time ago.

Your name is Dirk Strider, but that feels so very far away right now. Along with the blankness usually comes the instinctive urge to just…not. Don’t think, not about anything, not about yourself, not about your ‘brother’, not about your hands or hair or eyes or how they look. You’ve never really had a reason to think about all of those things very much anyways, so it’s pretty easy.

You sit, staring at the rough contrast of the rainbow colors staring very accusingly at you, and let yourself drift. There’s nothing that needs doing, nothing in your action cache, so you do just that. Nothing at all.

That is, until your computer screen flashes and there’s a familiar chime. It takes you a second, but your eyes focus as you blink harshly. You do a full body shudder to try to root yourself back into your body, back into your limbs, and actually look. Someone’s messaged your group's discord server.

# general

whiskey pixie
ssup my doodse
who tf is sawke
awake*
i knwos someone hasta b
*points atu al*

Janester
Roxy, are you drunk?

whiskey pixie
nooo!
promie i am sobre as a
hm
a wal
made outt of the ifnest brikcs adn moret
finest bricks abd mortar*
and*

Janester
Somehow, I doubt that :/

whiskey pixie
somebboby save me janey is being a stight ass agigsn
again*
She is being simbley so so so mnean to me

You watch the messages appear with an odd sort of numbness. Roxy being drunk at– you swipe your mouse down to check the time– half past midnight on a Thursday should be concerning, but it’s unfortunately common now. You’re not her mother, though, so you’ve promised to not be a, and you quote, “tattle-telling tight ass” and keep her secret.

For now. The rest of you also made the quiet agreement to go to Mrs. Lalonde if it goes too far, or if Roxy ever looks to be a danger to herself. And besides, it’s not exactly like you can judge her for staying silent in her misery. There’s a reason you’re awake, after all.

You shake yourself, realizing you were zoning out, and focus back in on the conversation. “whiskey pixie is typing…” disappears and reappears a few times before you decide that now would be the opportune time to jump into the conversation

# general

sunglasses
I’m afraid i might have to agree with Roxy on this one, Jane
It appears that you are, in fact, being tight ass
Sorry, the truth cannot be held at bay

whiskey pixie
!!!!!!!!!!!
dirkns
dibrsk
derpds
sitbs
shibt

You ignore the mildly uncomfortable feeling in your chest and decide to let Roxy attempt to type your name correctly.

Janester
Oh good gravy

whiskey pixie
sdnflakjnfaf f;akfnaf;a alekf
Dirk!!!!

The uncomfortable feeling drops into your stomach and you fail to resist the urge to physically recoil. You then immediately berate yourself, because what the fuck? Usually you're good at ignoring when things don’t feel right, when you don’t feel right.

That thought makes you pause, because– well, you don’t feel right. It’s not like it’s an uncommon feeling, but for some reason, this time feels different. Maybe it's just the stress from starting high school, or the fact that your Bro has been getting worse, lately. Usually, you’re very good at ignoring how viscerally wrong and different you feel, (you’re so good at it, in fact, that you didn’t even realize that was a thing you were feeling up until now), but for some reason, this feels different.

# general

Janester
How many times did you type and delete that before getting it right, I wonder?

whiskey pixie
shhsshs
janey
u r biegn
the tighset
of asses

Janester
Sigh :/

whiskey pixie
:(((
diiiirk
My kniggbt in sihgnning shaadesd
shining*
dirkety dirk dirkster dirkingtosh

You try to unstick your hands from where they’re gripping the edges of your desk, to lay your hands on your keyboard and assure the clearly drunk Roxy that you’re still there. You try, but every time Roxy says your name, or any iteration of your name, that sick wrong feeling in your gut grows. Suddenly, alarmingly, your mind jerks back hard and you hear yourself– you sound different, what the hell– mentally say ‘that is not my name’.

That thought, as well as the sick feeling in your stomach that’s steadily turning into anxiety, have you clicking out of the discord server with a speed rivaled by none. You don't even register where you’ve retreated to until you see all caps text that tell you you’re in you and Cal’s dm’s. You read through the old messages, attempting to distract yourself from…whatever the hell you’re even feeling. You had been messaging Caliborn about y’alls project in your shared digital imaging class. That is, until his sister switched out–

Until they switched out.

Huh.

That’s a thought.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Hey Cal
To whichever it may concern
I know it’s ass–late slash early in the morning, but can I ask you a question?

You have several questions, actually. You remember when Roxy introduced you all to the Cal’s– even though you’d already known one of them– and they had explained that they had DID and were a binary system. Calliope had at the time said that they were open to answering any questions any of them might’ve had. You’d had a shit ton, but you’d kept them to yourself. You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to overwhelm them, or didn’t want to come off as a dick, when you were perfectly capable of researching the topic on your own time to better understand your new acquaintance.

You never did end up doing that research, just shoving the knowledge the Cal’s had given into the back of your mind so you didn’t have to think about how relatable some of the things they said sounded. How much it sounded like your life, like your childhood. How much it sounded like you.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
dirk, hello!

You try to ignore how seeing your name (not your name) makes the panic flare up inside you again.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
yoU can in fact ask a qUestion, if i can in tUrn ask why yoU’re still awake so late?
althoUgh i sUppose i have no room to jUdge as i am also awake :U

timaeusTestified
HI Calliope
Just the good ol’ insomnia for me

You stare at the chat window for a long moment, trying to formulate a sensible question in your mind. You realize that you don’t actually have any specific questions, just a vague sense of “what the fuck is going on” an the sinking suspicion that the Cal’s, for some reason, might be able to answer said question.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Sorry, I just realized don’t actually know the question I want to ask
More just a vague sense of “what the fuck is going on”
And the feeling that you, for some reason, might know and be able to tell me

undyingUmbra
that’s alright! i’m happy to help in whatever way i can
can i ask if something happened?

timaeusTestified
In all honesty, not really
]Roxy messaged our discord in her nonsensical way she does when she’s tired
I responded, she said my name, and then i freaked out

You leave out the actual reason behind the freak out, which might be counter productive. You’re defensive on instinct, though, and you figure if it’s pertinent to giving you answers that Calliope will be able to pry the necessary information out of you. She’s certainly disarming enough, even if she herself doesn’t realize how she could use that to her advantage.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
oh, im sorry to hear that.
do you know the reason why yoU freaked oUt aboUt it?

timaeusTestified
I think i had some sort of weird existential crisis
When i read the name, it just felt intrinsically incorrect
]Like a part of my existence chafed against something that should be an irrefutable fact

undyingUmbra
ah, i see
hmm

timaeusTestified
What’s even weirder is that i'm usually much better at ignoring the feeling that has now mixed into a weird combination of existentialism and anxiety

undyingUmbra
so yoU’ve felt this feeling before?

Oh. you freeze, hands hovering over your keyboard. You hadn’t even realized you’d admitted that. Calliope’s question makes you think, though. You’d already admitted to yourself that you had felt this feeling before, this feeling of inherent intrinsic wrongness with your identity. Calliope’s message pushes your mind further though– remembering times where your voice sounded too high, or too low, or a different accent. When you inexplicably dressed differently, for some reason. For some reason, one memory sticks out to you, the memory of trying to style your hair wildly different from how you always wear it. You didn’t even realize you had that memory, and don't remember ever wearing your hair any different from how it is now.

For some reason, trying to focus on the memory makes everything blur. Your head feels like someone’s slowly filling it with cotton wool. The more you focus on the memory, the worse it gets, and the worse it gets, the more anxious you feel. Your fingertips are buzzing by the time you realize it's been nearly 5 minutes and you still haven’t answered Calliope’s question.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
I think so?
Apparently my brain decided to stuff itself full of cotton candy

undyingUmbra
I see
Is it hard to remember other times yoU’ve felt like that?

timaeusTestified
Kind of
I feels like someone’s trying to drag me away from them
Or that i'm walking through maple syrup to get to them
I mean, i still feel like me, but i don’t feel like myself
That makes no goddamn sense, does it

undyingUmbra
no, it does make sense
I often times feel like that if me and my brother are sharing front for too long
we can get a bit mUddled at times U_U

You try to think of a clever response, or even type one, but your hands have started to shake. The Cal’s likening their experience to what you’re describing was kind of the opposite outcome you were hoping for. Your mind starts drawing forward more and more evidence for– what. You don’t even know what your own mind is trying to prove to you. It feels like your brain is trying to fight against itself. You’re starting to have a headache.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Oh

undyingUmbra
are yoU alright?

You start to say yes, but when you read back, and remember seeing “dirk!!!” underneath Roxy’s pink nickname, and feel a little bit like you might vomit, or fall out of your chair, or cry. Maybe all three.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
If i’m being honest?
No, not really

undyingUmbra
yoU don’t have to figUre everything oUt right now
trUst me when i say, i know how overwhelming this all can be

They say that like they know what’s going on. Like they’ve experienced it before.

With a sinking feeling, you realize that they do, that they have.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
If some weird shit is going on with my brain, i’m gonna figure it out

You hesitate, scared to ask the question at the forefront of your mind. You think you're scared of the answer, not the question.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
The feeling i got when Roxy called me ‘dirk’
Is that the same feeling you get when someone calls you ‘caliborn’?
Or when they call either of you by y’alls legal name?

undyingUmbra
It is a qUite familiar feeling, yes
I think it helps that now we know oUrselves apart, but before we pUzzled it oUt, that is very similar to how i felt when being called the wrong name U_U

You stare at your computer screen, reading and rereading Calliope’s message over and over again. You try to come up with a different explanation for why you’d be feeling something nearly exactly similar to what a person with DID felt when they were referred to as the wrong person, but you come up short. The sinking dread in your chest distracts you until another message pops up on screen and your PC pings softly at you.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
yoU mentioned feeling wrong when Roxy called yoU “Dirk”
do yoU have a name, dear?

You freeze. You blink, blink again. You’re reading the words, but you’re not really processing them. Calliope is addressing you like youre a different person. A person other than Dirk. but you are Dirk. you don’t feel like Dirk, but you are. You have to be– there’s no other logical explanation.

Except, you think, there is. Calliope and Caliborn aren't the same person. They may inhabit the same physical space, the same mind and body, but they’re still two separate people. They have their own personalities, their own interests, their own styles. Their own names.

You feel...very odd. Everything is floaty and heavy at the same time, and vaguely, you realize you're leaning to the left very, very slowly. You feel like you're being pulled inside your own head. You also feel a presence– you shakily turn around, maybe your Bro had come into your room when you were mid freakout– but no, you're alone. The presence feels like it's inside your head, and maybe that should freak you out, but it's a little reassuring.

You put your head in your hands, elbows on your desk, and close your eyes. Suddenly, you can see inside your head– not literally, it's more of a weird metaphysical awareness. You see the backs of your eyelids, but you can also see a blank void, an old xBox controller, a floating tv screen, and a door.

You can also see Dirk. That's what really surprises you.

He's leaned up against a wall (how can an endless black void have walls?), and he looks like he's asleep. For some reason, it strikes you how different yet similar he looks to you. It's a startling and surprising thought– you look like Dirk, but you also look different. You're different.

You can also see– or feel and be aware of, in that weird way of seeing-but-not-seeing- a horse. There's literally a horse, deep brown coat and a caramel-colored mane with a pink ribbon braided and woven into it. Its long muzzle is pressed into Dirk's hair, pale blond strands stirring as it huffs gently.

You stare at it for a moment, the weird sight-but-not wavering as you float far too far from your body. Suddenly, you feel seen. Not watched, that creeping feeling over your skin you get when you know Bro’s cameras are trained on you, but seen. You look and see the horse looking at you. It's suddenly much closer, and you feel warmth wash over you. You think it's breathing over you, but in that weird brain meta way, all you feel is warm reassurance. It's telling you to be calm, to breathe. You don't know how you know that, but you do.

You look at Dirk again, sitting down with his arms around his knees and asleep against the non-existent wall. Suddenly, it striked you how odd that is. That's Dirk, and this is Dirk's head. Dirk should be in his head- or more specifically, his body. You think that's how it's supposed to work for normal people. Generally speaking, They're the ones in their bodies, controlling them, and there usually aren't other people up in there.

And it hits you. You're another person. You aren't Dirk. You're looking at Dirk, inside of your head. Inside of Dirk's head.

You're inside of Dirk's head. And you are not Dirk.

Very suddenly, you feel much more solid and present. You open your eyes and your vision is much less blurry than it was a moment prior. You can still feel an odd sort of almost metaphysical warmth, like a person sitting next to you, patting your back reassuringly. You feel...much more like yourself. Yourself, who isn't Dirk. Fuck.

You straighten, wincing and stretching your back out when it twinges in protest. You still see Calliope's question on your computer screen.

do yoU have a name, dear?

Your eyes catch on a drawing shoved to the side. It's of Dirk, but for some reason his glasses are red instead of black.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Hal.

undyingUmbra
pardon?

timaeusTestified
My name is Hal.

It feels almost like confessing a sin, which is nearly the stupidest thing you think you've ever thought in your entire existence. It also feels weirdly gratifying. Freeing.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
oh!
well it's lovely to meet you, hal! ^u^

You inhale shakily. You think you should be able to make some smart remark about how excitement and anxious dread feel the same because of them being the same brain chemical, but you're a little busy accepting the reality of the fact that you exist.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Nice to meet you, too.
This is, I think, the weirdest thing I have ever experienced, ever.

undyingUmbra
hehe, yes it is qUite off to admit at first, isnt it.
how do yoU feel thoUgh? I know first hand how difficUlt something like this is

timaeusTestified
Uh.
If i'm being honest?
Werid as fuck.
I am, surprisingly enough, freaking out marginally less than before, however.
which, all things considered, is a vast improvement.

undyingUmbra
well, i'm most certainly happy to hear yoU're feeling a bit less mUddled, Hal ^u^

Something bursts bright in your chest when you read your name again. It feels suspiciously both like something nervous and ecstatic. That's your name. Your name. Not Dirk's name, yours. You're a different person. You are your own person.

You are Hal, and you are not Dirk Strider. And it's really fucking weird, but it might not be the complete end of the world.

—————

You wake up with a headache, which is unfortunately common for you. You also wake up with only a fuzzy recollection of the night before, which is also unfortunately common. You’ve come to recognize it as your mind protecting you in some way, blurring out nights which vary from silent meals filled with charged tension, to fake swords and cameras.

What is a little but abnormal, though, is the fact that you can vaguely remember messaging people over discord last night, but nothing else. You usually get an impression of what you’re blocked from– a sort of hazy recollection, or the objective statement without the trauma and emotions. Blackouts are thankfully rare, but not unheard of.

That being said, you have the fuzzy recollection of your pc screen and discord notification noises. If you focus, you can remember…Cal’s discord handle? You don’t usually message them that late, you know Calliope tries to keep them on a consistent schedule, so even if Caliborn's fronting, you try not to bother them to not perpetuate any bad habits out of respect to Calliope.

Calliope…

…Oh.

The memory of the discussion between Calliope and…you(?) hits you like a ton of bricks to the head. You’re out of bed so fast you get a head rush and have to grip the edge of your makeshift cinder block desk lest you eat shit and break your nose or something. As soon as you can see more than technicolor again you’re stumbling into your desk chair, yanking the nearest shirt you can grab off the floor over your and booting up your pc.

Your leg jerks rhythmically as anxiety grows like a parasite in your chest, squirming down your body and overturning your guts. Every second it takes for your computer to start up feels like a combination of ticking doom and fleeting hope. Maybe you’re misremembering. Maybe nothing happened last night. Maybe you didn’t freak out all up in Calliope’s dms at twelve forty six am. Or maybe you already know, and the sunset–orange of your discord dashboard will do nothing but reveal your sins.

Finally, your home screen blinks onto the screen, and you punch the pin in so fast you’re scared you might’ve mistyped it. You unlock your computer and discord is the first thing you see, the back and forth of you and the Cal’s profile pictures making your anxiety flare like a crashing wave.

You scroll up, eyes rapidly flicking over dark colored text. Your anxiety turns into mounting horror as you read the words and get the distinct feeling that the person who sent these messages, who said these words, was not you. You can remember saying them, but you don’t remember actually saying them.

This– this can’t be happening. Maybe you were pretending and didn’t realize– you’ve heard of code switching before, you’ve heard plenty of people turn their thicker accents on and off without a thought. But– part of your mind argues that this was different. The feeling of wrongness with your name is dragged to the forefront of your mine. You don’t feel anything like that now, your name is Dirk, you picked it yourself, and it might be weird but you couldn’t give a rats ass if it is. You’re Dirk Strider, you’re you, there’s no denying that.

But you have the memory of a feeling that you’ve never known before, a foreign disconnect with the identity that you objectively know to be true that you’ve never felt. You– you remember feeling it, but– but not. You remember someone feeling that feeling, someone other than you.

Again your mind drags forth the memory of– well, the lack thereof. The memory of waking up and not remembering what you’d done the previous night, or the previous day, details of days growing fuzzy, things becoming hard to think about. The week you and Dave both came out to Bro– completely whipped from your mind, other than the fact that you did and that it was bad.

Distantly, treacherously, you remember when the Cal’s told you all that they were a system, that they had DID. you remember phrases like ‘dissociative amnesia’, ‘greyouts’, and ‘repeated childhood trauma’.

You realize, abruptly, that the words on the screen are blurring together. You feel far away from your body, and you can’t get your eyes to focus properly. There’s– there’s no way. You can’t have DID, you– you don’t have very many holes in your memory– but then again, you technically shouldn’t have any– you’ve– you’ve never felt like this before– but, no, you have– but– but there’s no way– there’s no way you–

You–

You feel a presence in your head. Or– two, actually. if you focus– the burning pit of dread doesn't want you to, but something inside you is urging you forward– you can see-but-not a person that looks...startlingly like you. His eyes are red, though, and his hair is different. Next to him is-

Is that a fucking horse?

There is a literal fucking horse inside your head, standing right next to your fucking mental doppelganger. The sudden absurdity startles a laugh out of you, one which you physically stifle and hope to god no one heard.

"I know, weird, right?" you...you don't really hear it as much as you just know the words were communicated. You imaging it's how telepathic communication would work if it didn't involve words.

"What the fuck...", You mutter, barely audible to even yourself.

A sudden wave of calming reassurance washes over you, smothering the crawling anxiety in your gut and making you almost bodily feel warmer, like your brain placebo-affecting your body temperature. You're mentally much more focused on the horse, who is now a girl, another teen, older than you– how you know that, you have no idea. She has warm brown skin and maple colored hair, and you can't really see her but you somehow know she's smiling reassuringly at you, patting your back.

Your mind distantly remembers an imaginary friend you had when you were six. A girl who was also a horse who you'd talk to when Bro locked you in your room. Oh. Huh.

You get the distinct feeling that, no matter what’s happening, no matter what this is, it’ll all be ok. A wave of mental ‘you’re not alone’ makes you physically reel back, and for some reason, the assertion almost makes you cry.

The assertion. From the horse in your head. Who is now a girl. Who you’ve known since you were six.

…you should probably do this incrementally, lest you freak the absolute fuck out again. Take a deep breath, one step at a time.

Step one: massage the Cal’s

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Uh, hey Cal.
Whichever one is awake right now.
If y’all’re awake at all actually.

You wait for a few agonizing minutes for Cal to respond. You hate to admit that you’re a little relieved when you see lowercase text instead of uppercase.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
good morning! ^u^
i hope yoU slept well, it was qUite late last night when we both called it a night
or i sUppose this morning :u

timaeusTestified
Yeah, slept about as well as I usually do.

You hesitate for a moment, scrolling up momentarily to re read past messages sent by…someone. Someone that wasn’t you.

One step at a time.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
So. last night happened.
Or this morning like you pointed out.

undyingUmbra
this morning did indeed happen!
woUld yoU like to talk aboUt it at all? im always here to lend a listening ear or give information or advice, whatever yoU need.

timaeusTestified
Thanks, Calliope.
I don’t think I want to talk about it right now.
I kind of had a small freak out about it when I woke up and remembered a few details.

You hesitate, surprised by how calm you’ve been throughout this conversation. A thought occurs to you and you try to think of what you look like, not physically but…you guess inside your own head. You can see yourself inside your head, sitting down on a floor that is also a void, with a keyboard in your lap, hands poised to type much like you physically are now. You can also mentally see two other people– the horse-girl, a calming presence sat at your side, and your look-alike, sat with his knees drawn to his chest just a bit behind you.

You’re urged to scroll up again, and– oh.

“Your…your name is Hal?”, you whisper, out loud, and you can mentally see the figure nod and smile. Huh.

You valiantly ignore the squirming feeling that draws up in your stomach and give into the urging of the presence at your mental-side.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
There’s currently a girl who was a horse and a dude who looks nearly identical to me sitting in my head.
I think the horse girl is keeping me from fully freaking the fuck out again.
Oh, not–me is Hal.
It’s Dirk by the way.
If that wasn’t obvious.

undyingUmbra
hello dirk!
and im glad whoever is there is helping yoU keep calm, hal seemed qUite spooked last night u_u

You’re reminded, suddenly and seemingly randomly, that you and Calliope have mutual friends.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Hey um could you maybe
Not mention this to anyone else?

undyingUmbra
oh! of coUrse!
i know this can be both very personal and very difficUlt information to divUlge
i woUld never dream of oUting yoU before yoUre ready to tell anyone
caliborn wont tell a soUl either ^u^

You breathe a sigh of relief, nearly slumping over your keyboard with relief. You don’t even know what all of this is yet, you certainly don’t want anyone else to find out.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
ah one moment my brother wants the chanee to speak with you

There's a pause in where the little indicator saying Cal is typing pops up and disappears a few times before a new message appears on the screen.

@ undyingUmbra

undyingUmbra
HEY DuMBASS
uGH. MY STuPID SISTER LEFT ME A NOTE.
SAYING TO NOT “BE INSENSITIVE” OR WHATEVER
I AM THE MOST SENSITIVE. FuCK YOu CALLIPLE.

timaeusTestified
Hey Caliborn.

undyingUmbra
HEY FuCK FACE.
CONGRATuLATIONS ON FINDING OuT THAT YOu ARE NOT ONE. BuT TWO. STuPID IDIOTS.

timaeusTestified
…
Thanks?

undyingUmbra
YOuRE WELCOME.
uuGH. THIS “EMOTIONS” SHIT IS SO CHEESY AND DuMB.
BuT IF YOu HAVE QuESTIONS OR WHATEVER. YOu CAN ASK.
AND I GuESS I CAN GIVE ANSWERS.
IF YOuR QuESTIONS ARENT STuPID.

Despite the harshness of his tone, Caliborn’s words genuinely do warm you. No one would deny that it takes time to get used to his…brashness, but you can see in the statement that not only Calliope but Caliborn as well are both willing to help you through this. It makes you glad that you don’t have to do it all alone.

@ undyingUmbra

timaeusTestified
Thanks man.
I really do appreciate it.

undyingUmbra
YOuRE WELCOME.
FuCK. I HAVE TO GO.
CALLIOPE WANTS uS TO STuDY FOR OuR BIOLOGY TEST ON MONDAY.
FuCK BIOLOGY. IT IS SO DuMB.

timaeusTestified
Awe shit, good luck man.

Neither of the Cal’s respond, so you minimize discord and stew in your thoughts for a moment. You can still feel the horse girl and…Hal in your mind, and you just sit and mentally stare at them for a long moment. You don't see them exactly, but the more you think about it, the more knowledge you gain about their appearances. Kind of like when you notice smaller details when looking at someone’s face for a long period of time. You sit and look at the two people in your head, and you breathe and stay calm.

Fuck, you’re so glad it’s a Saturday.

You don’t really know where to start. You don't particularly want “why are there people in my head” to be in your search history. You don’t think that would yield many answers, anyways.

You remember again the phrase ‘dissociative amnesia’, and the phrase DID. Dissociative identity disorder.

You get up, stretching your back out and getting properly dressed before sitting back down. You open an incognito chrome window, and type “dissociative disorders” in the search bar. You’ve got research to do.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you have OSDD. This is an objective fact that is irrefutable, and you have page upon page in a google doc worth of evidence to prove it. You have OSDD type 1b. You are the host of a system, a system which, as far as you know at the moment, has eight different people– alters– including yourself.

It’s still a little bit odd to you. At first, you’d thought it was just you, Hal, and Maple, the horse who turned into a teenage girl. Your own fucking brain had been quick to prove you wrong– it was like now that the door was open, it couldn’t be shut again. Random people kept cropping up within the first few weeks of you knowing, like it was an ongoing housewarming party and they were popping in to meet the new neighbor. You freaked out less and less each time, which you think is good. You’re adjusting. You’re getting used to it.

(the fact that there’s now a version of your favorite character from My Little Pony in your head probably helps. Or doesn’t. You’re genuinely not sure which. That was an interesting day for sure.)

The Saturday in which this whole shit show started, you’d done pretty much nothing but research. Different disorders, symptoms, terminology, both academic and vernacular used by the community. You’d found an entire youtube channel dedicated to spreading information and awareness about DID, a channel which you now have the name for written on a piece of paper hidden under the circular stand for your computer screen.

Even though it felt like some world ending revelation, not much actually changed. It was more like realizing things were happening around you rather than those things being different. You were more aware of what you remembered, what you didn’t. Sometimes others would sit in your head with you throughout the day– mostly Hal, Maple, or Cal. Sometimes, during those times, you’d be able to remember more things, because they were things that those alters could remember, and that wouldn’t fuck you over mentally to know. It was a little bit weird, knowing that you had been able to remember something a few minutes prior, but not actually remembering any details of it.

(You’d had a full blown breakdown when you discovered that your brain had superimposed a mental copy of your Bro’s puppet. You still don’t really remember much of that afternoon, or the hours both leading up to it and after it. It had taken a lot of Maple calming everyone down and you walking through logic to acknowledge and accept the fact that the version of Cal as a comfort object that you remember is not the same version that your poor excuse for a caretaker used to terrorize your baby brother.)

But now, you’ve got tons of evidence and notes and as many recounts of past experiences that you and a few others could remember enough to write down, all neatly organized. The 13-and-counting pages feel a little bit damning, and you try to remember that there’s nothing wrong with this. You were put through shit that your mind couldn’t handle, so your brain did what it could to keep you alive. Considering it’s achieved that goal and you are not dead in a ditch somewhere, you think you’re all doing a pretty good collective job, relatively speaking.

At this precise moment, however, you are not in your room as you would usually be at 8pm on a saturday. You are instead sat in your little brother Dave’s room, back dutifully turned (but still facing the door) as he runs around getting his present for you ready.

It’s a tradition you started a few years ago when y’alls Bro declared that Dave was “too old for birthdays”. Dave, still in elementary school and all of 11, had been understandably upset. Since your cousin Rose’s birthday is the same day as Dave’s, Rose got your aunts to include Dave in her own birthday parties after that year, further perpetuating the joke that the two of them were twins. You and Dave also started your own tradition of exchanging gifts privately on the saturday after his birthday. You had originally just given him a present, but seeing as how you hadn’t had a birthday since you were 11 either, Dave insisted on giving you one too.

The little kid logic of “but that’s not fair!” will forever and always prevail.

The gifts were always little things. As much as you wanted to go out and buy Dave something you know he’ll like, you don’t exactly have the disposable income to do so. The two of you make due with what you have, though. One year, you collected a box full of random trinkets and things that would ordinarily be considered trash, and called it a treasure box. This was not long after Dave had befriended the flock of crows that roost on your apartment building’s roof, and Dave was absolutely ecstatic to have things to trade with them with. Another year, Dave had gotten one of his friends to teach him how to make friendship bracelets and had made the two of you matching ones. You haven’t received a gift you’ve treasured more than that bracelet, and you still wear it tied around your wrist over a year later.

This year, with the help of your cousins and a whole lot of youtube videos, you’d manage to crochet Dave a half decent beanie (since Bro had torn his last one beyond what was mendable). He’d marveled at the soft yarn before promptly shoving it right over his messy hair and demanding that you turn around so he could grab your gift. He’d claimed that it wasn’t something he could wrap, and when he tells you to turn around, you see why.

Dave’s gift to you is a piece of art. You can tell he drew it himself, his own personal style shining through the obvious attempt to imitate a specific art style. It's a drawing of your favorite characters, from one of, if not your favorite anime (the one you have an introject of inside your head, but you don’t say that out loud). It actually makes you choke up a little as you gingerly take it before putting it down again to pull Dave into a hug.

After silently ducking into your room to stash the art work away safely, you return and sit on Dave’s bed and listen to him ramble about anything that’s on his mind. The cool rock he found at your cousins’ house, music he’s trying out remixing with, the new kids he and his friends met this year. You listen, adding input here and there to let him know you’re engaged. Dave’s always been a chatterbox where you were more reserved, but you’re more than happy to listen as he offloads information about the things he’s interested in. You and Roxy both have punched more than one dumbass shitheel for calling your younger siblings annoying or pretentious. You don’t know how your Bro skipped out on it, but being highly protective seems to be a genetic trait of the Strider–Lalondes.

It’s as Dave’s saying that he wants to try mixing his own music when you realize that now would be a perfect time to tell him about what you discovered back in October. You knew you wanted to tell him the second you figured it out, but you’d wanted to wait both for when you actually had enough information to properly explain it to him, and until the right moment.

“And, I saw someone on youtube do a thing where they, like, recorded grasshoppers jumping and put it– uh. Are you okay?” Dave abruptly asks, and you realize you might’ve zoned out, or had too thoughtful of an expression. Or both.

“Uh, yeah. I’m all good.”, you try to say, but Dave narrows his eyes at you. Damnit, he’s way too observant for a 13 year old. You sigh, shifting in your seat on his bed, “I…there’s something I want to tell you.”

Dave’s eyes widen a bit before he hops off of his makeshift table where he’d been sitting and walks over to sit next to you on his bed. He doesn’t say anything, just watches and waits until you’re ready to speak. Fuck, he really is much more observant than any freshly-teenaged boy should be.

“I…figured something out a while ago.”, you start after a moment, absently picking at the black nail polish on your fingernails. You’re not really sure how to approach the topic, until you remember your little cousin’s consuming interest in psychology.

“Do– has Rose ever talked about something called DID?”, you try, posing it as something less foreign. Dave has spouted psychological knowledge more than once, only for you to later find out that he was parroting Rose.

Dave tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching as he thinks. “I think so? It’s, uh, it used to be called multiple personality disorder? I can’t remember what the acronym means now.”

“Dissociative identity disorder.”, you supply, and Dave lightly up in recognition and nodding. You expect him to comment again, but he stays silent and waits for you to continue. Right. Ok. Rip the bandaid off. You take a deep breath and just–

“I have something similar.”

You almost feel like a puppet cut from its strings, the tension dropping from your shoulders as you just say it. Dave’s eyes widen marginally, but he stays silent, so you power on.

“It's…I have OSDD. Otherwise specified dissociative disorder. There’s four types– the kind I have is sort of like…halfway DID. It's different from DID b’cause you either don’t have as clearly defined– uh, people, or you don’t have as severe holes in your memory.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, before realizing you should probably specify further and scrambling to do so, “I’m the second. I, uh, I have the different people. Very distinctly different people. The– my memory isn’t as fucked as it would be.”

It takes several moments of sitting in silence for you to be able to brave a look at Dave. he’s got a thoughtful expression on his face, and you sit as he organizes the information in his mind.

“So…there’s different people in your head?”, he finally says.

“Yeah. they’re called alters, I think.”

“How did you find out?”

You think for a moment. You know if you told Dave it was too personal to share that he wouldn’t question it. You then decide that, while a little embarrassing, you want to be honest with your brother, and you don’t mind sharing most of the details you might not with anyone else (if you ever tell anyone else).

“A different alter was fronting– that’s what it’s called when they’re controlling our body– and– well, he basically had an existential crisis because Roxy said my name in discord, and he was like “well shit, that ain’t me”.” You say the last part in a drawn out version of your own accent for dramatic affect, which makes Dave giggle.

He goes quiet and thoughtful again.

“Are the rest of them my older brothers too?”, he asks, so quiet and in a tone that sounds both hopeful and shy. It both warms your heart and breaks it a little.

“Siblings.” you say, almost instantly. “They’re not all boys. And– well, one of them’s a fair bit younger than you.”

Dave’s eyes go wide and he lets out something just short of a gasp, “Does that mean I’m an older brother now too?!”

You try not to laugh at his enthusiasm. “I…guess it does. In a roundabout sort’a way.”

Dave does the dorkiest fist-pump ever. It makes you grin and ruffle his hair.

“You’re still my baby brother though.” you tease, making him groan and push your hand away.

The moment passes and the two of you return to sitting in silence. Dave shifts, and you can tell he wants to ask for a hug, but doesn’t know how to. You silently open your arms in offering and he all but dives into them, face hidden in your chest.

“Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell anyone, promise.” he says, muffled by your shirt.

You hug him back just as tight, smiling. “‘Course. And I know, I trust you.”

The two of you end up playing pokemon moon on Dave’s 3DS, and by that you mean Dave plays and you watch and offer both advice and teasing, because Dave sucks at strategizing in battle and tends to just over level and power his way through. Hal ends up fronting halfway through, in which you have to clumsily explain switching to him mid-switch. You’ll later remember Dave being a little bit awkward at first, until Hal introduced himself and then immediately launched into a rant about why Jolteon is the best Eevee evolution. Dave immediately made the most offended expression and stated that Hal was wrong, vehemently arguing in favor of Flareon.

They’re both wrong. Sylveon is the best, and that is a straight up fact.