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you wake up with a hatchet over your head

Summary:

Everything hurts. Your sliced bicep screams with every movement and your battered chest throbs sharply each time you take a breath. Your entire back burns fiercely. There’s a nasty bruise forming on your jaw, you can feel it.

Bro is standing a good few feet away, coolly assessing you. It’s obvious that you’re not doing too hot and you wonder when this fight will end. The answer is not now, because he’s raising his sword and gearing up to swing.

OR

Dave sees absolutely nothing wrong with his home life. His friends do.

Notes:

happy 4/13 guys

both the main title and chapter title are from exxus by glass animals

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: gone in the blink of my eye

Chapter Text

Your life is pretty good.

The thick, hot, Texas air outside is hard to breathe, but that just makes you appreciate the cold, stale AC air all the more. Five o’clock light streams down in rays from the kitchen window, landing on scuffed linoleum tiles. Tiny pieces of kicked up dust float around as you walk past, making your way to the row of cabinets lining a small portion of the upper wall. You’re feeling lucky today, so you set your sights on the middle cabinet, feet padding softly and slowly across the creaky floor, like an animal stalking prey. Or prey trying its hardest not to be seen.

The cabinet door is inches away from your face now, and you place your fingers softly on the handle, and steel yourself. Now or never. Yanking the door open, a soft and nearly inaudible click throws you back on instinct, and thankfully out of the line of fire. How completely unexpected. You don’t even look back to see the shurikens buried in the wall, you snatch your prize from the cabinet and dart back into your room.

Yeah, things are going great.


 

The muted sounds of crows and city life drift in through your window. You sit on your bed eating, sheets tousled at your feet. The bag crinkles softly each time you reach in and grab another dorito between two fingers. You got lucky this time. Pre-set traps like today are child’s play and predictable as hell. It’s hard not to get used to living easy like you have been for the past week, but your Bro has to come back eventually. Unfortunately, eventually means today.

Your phone buzzes and you lean over to grab it, seeing that you’re being pestered once you thumb the home button with slightly cheese-powdery fingers. John apparently has something to say.

--ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at ~17:23--

EB: so i have something really cool to tell you but i already know what you're going to say.

EB: “egbert i would rather die than watch one of your dumbass movies,” or something super dramatic like that.

EB: but just hear me out!

TG: absolutely

TG: even kings give their jesters the time of day

EB: not appreciating the subtle clown dig! but anyways,

EB: rose, jade, and i are going to try and have a movie night over skype and talk to each other LIVE!!! and we really want you there!

EB: you gotta come, man! it’ll be so fun and i've already got a great movie picked out!

TG: egbert you hit the nail on the head with your first message

TG: i would rather slowly cremate myself with a yankee candle than watch mac and me or any other dumbfuck movie you worship like religion

TG: that mcdonalds movie made me feel like id been roofied in my own home and i still havent recovered

TG: if youre wondering yes you should feel bad for showing me that movie and yes i am accepting reparations.

EB: ok fine. even i’ll admit that mac and me was a little weird, but i promise this movie is like ten times better!

EB: come on man, you can’t honestly say you’ve got anything better to do.

TG: damn you got me there

TG: what time

EB: YES!!!

EB: i don’t know yet, actually.

TG: i cant believe this

TG: never organize anything ever again youre so goddamn bad at this

EB: it’s because of the timezones, fuck off.

EB: im asking rose, hold on.

TG: ok

You were never not going to go. You wouldn’t pass this up for the world and, like John said, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do. You can never pass up an opportunity to razz the poor fucker, though. While you wait for John, you crumple your empty chip bag into a ball with your fist and toss it across the room, aiming for the wastebasket near your desk. You miss, but not badly enough that you have to get up and fix it. As you stare down your own crippling failure, your phone buzzes.

EB: ok she said sometime around 12 for you, which is kind of late, sorry man!

EB: it’s kind of the only time that works for all of us.

TG: yeah nah that works

TG: dont worry about it im a big boy i dont have a bedtime

EB: you sure, dude? by the time we’re done it's gonna be like three in the morning over there!

TG: i dont care id probably stay up late anyways doing fuckall

TG: and even if bro gets home before twelve he will not give a shit i promise

EB: woah… you're home alone until twelve?

TG: yup

EB: my dad almost never goes out without me so i think the longest i’ve ever been home alone is like an hour, tops.

EB: and i used that hour to set up a devastating prank, which kinda discouraged him from ever leaving me by myself at home again. :(

EB: done anything crazy yet?

TG: its been kinda tame

TG: fucked around with some shurikens in the kitchen

TG: sliced the dick nose off a smuppet this morning

EB: ...

EB: i still don't think i believe you actually have deadly weapons and fight with them regularly.

TG: thats the beautiful thing about facts, egbert

TG: they’re true regardless of whatever you think

TG: but fyi i absolutely am highly trained in swordsmanship and general weaponry

EB: i don't know hahaha! it kinda sounds like you're just saying that.

TG: how can you not believe me youve seen my sword

TG: thats what she said

TG: i am the fucking greatest, award for funniest man alive goes to me

TG: mail it in obama

TG: seal it with a little kiss for me

TG: off topic but what movie are we gonna watch tonight

EB: it’s a surprise! :B

TG: god the secret is tantalizing

TG: the suspense will eat at me for hours until i collapse is that what you want egbert

EB: you just want to know what it is so you can bail if it has nic cage, fuckass, so no. i won’t tell you.

TG: i cant believe you think so low of me

TG: id bail for way more reasons than just nic cage

TG: anyways just text me when you guys are ready i guess

EB: definitely! :B this is super exciting, see you then!

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at ~19:46—-


 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] tentacleTherapist [TT] gardenGnostic [GG] at ~23:39--

EB: okaaaaayyyyy! we’re FINALLY all here for the movie night!!!

GG: yay!!!! this is going to be soooooo fun!

TT: Seconded. Personally, I look forward to seeing everyone’s faces live for the first time. I have several theories pertaining to David’s true appearance and I believe that tonight will prove them true.

TT: Somehow the “completely undoctored” images you sent me of your pro-wrestler physique don’t sit quite right with me.

TG: nah this is all 100% fucking genuine shit right here

TG: anyone can confirm that this shit is as real as gossip at a 16 year old girls slumber party

TG: shits getting spread around about susan here and every single bit of its true no need to make things up about this bitch susan who kissed tommy behind the bleachers last tuesday can you believe that

TG: its almost as if shes asking the popular bitches to socially crucify her

TT: It amazes me how little effort is required for me to get you to prove my points. I wonder if you ever tire from making a fool of yourself.

EB: GUYS!!!! if you guys don't stop you're going to go on FOREVER! and don't bother trying to deny it because we all know you do.

GG: yeah, come on guys! :(

TT: That’s fair.

TT: Believe me, I have no desire to try and rebuke the claim that our bullshit could and will go on forever with no intervention.

TG: me too

TG: hey what kind of weird ass movie did you pick anyways egbert

EB: hey!!! :( Little Monsters is a classic and one of the best movies ever!!!

TG: oh god i dont think i can take this

TG: i dont think i can handle watching that movie again it was so fucking heinous

TG: also you cant just call shit a classic cause you like it egbert that movie was atrocious in a bad way

TG: please i cant fucking watch fred savage and his extremely punchable face and all those other wretched fuckers a second time

GG: nooooo! dave you have to stay!

EB: you have to stay dave!!! don’t bail on us now!

GG: we need your stupidly weird analysis for every scene in the movie!!!

TG: hahaha ok

TG: you got it boss

TG: i am on the motherfucking case

TG: no slightly suggestive detail in this g-rated movie can or will escape me

EB: by the way it’s totally a classic!! fred savage was fucking awesome and i found out that jade hasn't seen it so we need to fix that RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!!

GG: whos fred savage?

EB: see?!?

TT: Jade, I am so goddamn jealous.

TT: Little Monsters is what can only be described as the worst movie I have ever seen.

TG: rose youve seen it?

TT: Half of it.

TT: I did not watch long enough to see the infamous piss scene, which I was, lets say, “surprised” to hear that it entertained you both greatly.

TT: By the way, the call has started and I will be on in a second.

EB: okay maybe not me, but i can definitely see that in dave.

TG: oh my god what a crushing blow

TG: someone catch me and lower me down onto one of those fucking fainting couches from the 1800’s where i can lay dramatically until i take my final breath and all the bitches that worshiped me during my lifetime will be absolutely fucking bawling at my funeral

TG: itll be open casket and ill be laying ass up so they can admire my fine ass one last time

TG: itll be the death of a legend and the whole town will suffer the loss for years to come. the economy will never be the same without my genius behind the scenes

TG: children will weep with the sense of loss they got from never knowing me

GG: DAVE!!!! SHUT UP!!!

GG: you need to join the call! Everyone else already did while you were talking!

TG: damn ok then

You exit the chat and open up the call. It takes a few seconds to load, and you tilt your head to look at your closed door. He’s not here right now, but it makes you feel better to have the door tightly shut regardless. Today was an easy day so far, with Bro out of the house. He’ll be back to hassle you in a few hours without a doubt, but you get to talk to your friends uninterrupted right now and for that you can’t complain.

The audio on the call kicks in suddenly after what you feel was an ungodly amount of loading. John is talking animatedly about the main character of the movie, while Jade stares, taking in the information reverently, nodding every few seconds. You can see the top of Rose’s head as she sits cross legged on her bed, bent over her psychoanalysis journal and writing faster than you think you’ve written anything in your life. You can’t blame her though, John’s really giving her a lot to work with. Jade notices you pop up on screen and seems to break out of her trance.

“Dave’s here!” She exclaims, grinning at the camera. Rose whips her head up from nose-deep in her journal and smiles.

“Yes! It’s movie night go-time, guys!” John cheers, pumping his fist. You give your adoring fans an exaggerated wave to not leave them hanging. Jade is still smiling like its her birthday as John pulls up the movie and Rose closes her notebook with a nearly inaudible thunk and sets it carefully aside. Like the man said, its go-time.


 

The movie lives up to everyone’s expectations. Your expectations for it to be a coked up shitfest, Rose’s expectations to give her a headache, John’s to be a great fifth rewatch of a classic, and Jade— well, Jade just wanted everyone to have fun.

“Man am I tired!” John exclaims. You and Rose both look at him sort of incredulously. It’s only about 1 a.m. for him over in Washington, but it’s 3 a.m. for you and you know it’s even later for Rose. You have no clue what time it is for Jade, but she looks about as tired as the rest of you. You struggle not to laugh as he gives you all a dramatic yawn and leans back in his desk chair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, John,” Rose says with a smirk in her voice. “I feel fine.” She’s trolling him, obviously, because you can see how tired you all are. Rose has been pausing in her brutal analysis of the movie to yawn for the past hour or so, and at one point Jade fell asleep. Although that didn’t necessarily mean she was tired. You’ve let your eyes rest periodically underneath your shades a couple minutes at a time without anyone noticing for almost the entire time.

“Wh—are you kidding? It’s so late!” John exclaims, shooting up straight in his chair to look at Rose like she’s lost her mind before seeming to realize something.

“Wait, that's not fair! We’re in different timezones!” He says. You laugh silently as Rose goes for the throat.

“You’re right, John. That means it’s about 4 a.m. here in New York,” Her steely eyes glint with mischief as she looks at his dumbstruck face. “What time is it in Washington, John?”

You love your friends.


 

It kills you, but eventually everyone leaves to go to bed, one by one. You’re the last to leave. You stare at the empty call where their faces used to be for a few moments before closing the program yourself and heading to bed. The apartment is still silent, but it's gone dark in the hours you spent chatting with your friends. You close your eyes and listen to the sounds of traffic and nightlife bustling far below your apartment as your exhaustion takes you over.

You ignore the noise you just heard in the hallway.

It’s a few minutes before another, louder noise wakes you with a start.

Something is in the hall outside your door.

You feel your senses snap back to awareness and your heartbeat thumps fast and erratically in your chest. He’s doing this again, then. You start to slowly reach your hand down the side of your bed and are relieved to feel the familiar handle of your sword, still where you stashed it for the night. Thank fuck he didn’t take it this time. You hate those days.

You grip the handle of your sword and slowly open your eyes. The fucking puppet is laying down right next to you, staring you in the face with it’s huge ass creepy blue eyeballs. You definitely do not jump, or shriek, or anything of the sort. Anyone that tells you differently would be lying through their teeth.

This is a summons for a strife. You wrestle your legs out from the twisted up blankets, jump up out of bed, away from the puppet, and grab your shades from the table beside your bed and silently slide up against the wall by your door.

You know this door was not open before you went to bed.

It is now.

The hallway is pitch black. You freeze, clutching the leathery grip of the sword handle with sweaty hands and stare at the darkness, eyes searching for movement. Seconds go by, then minutes, and nothing happens. Your grip loosens on your sword for a precious few seconds.

It's a mistake.

Something moves too quickly to see in your periphery. A suppressed flinch rolls across your shoulders as your sword jerks upwards involuntarily. You glance back at the bed.

Lil Cal is gone.

You mourn the loss of your sleep as you break your feet off the floor and step away from your bed. The floor creaks under your softly padding feet and you wish for the thousandth time that it wouldn’t. You stop a few feet away from the door and take a deep breath. The handle of your sword is slick with sweat, so you roll your shoulders and adjust your grip. It would be the lamest fucking thing to drop your sword like a five-year-old during a fight and leave yourself completely open. Speaking of fights, he’s going to be pissed if you make him wait too long.

You step out of the doorway. The hallway is dark and your senses fight to pick up anything other than darkness as you make your way slowly towards the living room. As you stumble your way through the dark, you feel your foot catch on something. There's a sudden click, and you barely dodge the throwing knife that flies out of the wall, slicing through the air, whizzing right by your head. That was so stupid of you. You’d already seen that trap earlier today, and managed to avoid it a couple times. Now you stupidly set it off in some kind of idiot shuffle down the hall. You don’t get a free pass because you can’t see shit and you know it. You both know it. You pray to gods you don't believe in that Bro didn’t see you slip up.

The strife will be so much harder if he did.

Out of a sort of morbid curiosity, you turn your head and look at the knife embedded in the drywall behind you. It’s by far not the biggest knife thrown at you through the years, but the sight of it fixed deeply in the wall makes it hard to swallow for some reason. You decide to shrug it off in true Strider fashion, but you hear the telltale swivel and zoom of one of the hallway cameras. God fucking dammit of course. He’s been watching you act like some sort of shitheaded monkey about this trap the whole time and now you’re going to pay.

You’re not supposed to freeze up or fuck around in the hallway when you need to be on the roof.

Now.

With a renewed sense of urgency, you walk with purpose to the apartment stairwell through the dark apartment. You already have two strikes and you know he won't be happy about that. The door to the stairs seems shrouded in darkness with the light from the kitchen window not quite managing to reach it. You feel your feet freeze to the floor at the sight of it, your legs refusing to move. You cannot afford to freeze up again. You can feel your own heart pounding in your throat, faster and faster every second you can’t move.

You needed to be up there yesterday.

You need to move.

Now.

Your urgency kicks your feet into motion, hauling your ass up the stairs to the roof.


 

The night air is warm, musky, and oppressive. The cool concrete scrapes your feet and— oh shit. You’re wearing socks. This is fantastic. This is, without a doubt, the best thing that could happen to you in this situation. In fact, you would go so far as to say that this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Okay, no. This fucking sucks.

Your soon-to-be shredded feet are something to mope over later, though. You pause your internal lament to focus on the more important things at hand, namely, Bro.

He’s standing on the edge of the roof, a silhouette with his back to you and what you can guess is Lil Cal slung over his shoulder as always. You try to examine the back of his head for a clue of how mad he is right now, but you get no answers. If he found that smuppet you brutalized this morning you can guess that he’d be pretty mad, but you also made him wait, which is arguably worse.

Before you can dive too deeply in the semantics of the back of his head, he breaks the silence.

“You’re late.” You almost flinch at the sudden, cold statement. Almost. He didn’t raise his voice, but his voice carries perfectly across the entire roof. It’s almost as if the atmosphere obeys him, in awe of how rad he is. Bro’s silent for a moment longer, and he turns to you. You can’t see them, but you can feel his eyes scanning you under his shades. His mouth seems to tick downwards into a disapproving frown, but it's gone before you can even wonder whether or not you imagined it. Regardless, he raises his katana.

The freshly sharpened steel glinting in the pale moonlight makes your blood run cold.

He’s on you in a second. You’re not even sure you saw him move. One second he was standing on the edge of the roof and the next he was two feet in front of you, slashing his blade at you with deadly precision.

Years of training are the only thing stopping you from trying to run. Muscle memory and adrenaline take over in a familiar effort to keep you alive.

Swords clash together in a flurry of metal as you block your Bro’s aggressive hits. Each impact sends another vibration through your arms and you feel them getting more and more numb. The concrete rubs your feet raw as each hit pushes you back.

You are not going to be able to block him much longer.

Once he gets a hit in it’s over for you.

You’re shaking and you don’t quite know why.

Your luck, predictably, runs out. You see him gearing up to finish you off, leaving the smallest opening.

You take it.

He blocks your pitiful swipe and retaliates with a harsh, diagonal slice to your bicep. You stumble backwards, swallowing a scream from the sudden violent sting. That’s going to be a bitch to patch up later. It’s deep, you can tell. You would try to put pressure on it, but you need both hands to hold your sword. Honestly, it’s what you deserve for such a stupid, weak attack. Unluckily for you, though, Bro isn't done.

He’s advancing on you now. You try to steady your shaking hands and raise your sword, but thick lines of blood run down your arm mixing with the sweat on your hands. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get a firm grip on the lubed-up handle. You can feel your heart pumping as your sword clashes with his, but this time your frictionless hands and stiff fingers are no match for the force behind his blow.

The sword hits the concrete with a clatter.

You almost try to make a run for it, but a fist hits the side of your chest and you stumble backwards, trying to steady yourself regardless of the intense throbbing in two different places. Bro doesn’t care, though. He comes at you swinging. He’s not aiming for your face, but his fist connects with your jaw at the same time he kicks out your knees.

It feels like you go flying across the roof. You yelp as you land half on your side. The concrete slams against the back of your shoulder and you can feel grit tearing up the back of your shirt, digging into the skin of your upper back.

You try to orient yourself, rolling onto your side and trying to push yourself up with weak arms, but Bro doesn’t give you the chance to get up. Well, that’s not fair to say. He gave you plenty of chances not to fall down in the first goddamn place, so you really have no one to blame but yourself.

His boot slams into your chest, pushing you down, and the back of your head thuds against the concrete. He grinds your back into the rough concrete, forcing a sharp gasp out of you as you feel a few well-placed rocks cut through what's left of your shirt and into your skin. Your shoulder blades beg for mercy, and you would too if you could breathe.

Just as the world starts to go dark and wavy around the edges, Bro’s boot mercifully leaves your chest. You inhale raggedly, and though the world still looks kinda spinny, you can breathe again. Not for long though, apparently, because mere moments after Bro’s boot leaves your chest, he punts you with Lil Cal, who slaps you with his floppy limbs and dances on you, sharp pains running through you each time he hits an injury.

You flail your arms around stupidly, trying to grab the accursed puppet and throw him off, but your scrambling hands never reach the damn thing. It’s hard to think with puppet limbs all over you, but you manage to register the sword you dropped earlier in the fight only about a foot away. You throw your arm towards it and your fingers just barely close around the edge of the handle. The sweat and blood on the handle is less slimy and more tacky, so you’re able to get a semi-firm grip. You don’t know how the hell you managed it, but you swing your blade, flinging Lil Cal away, and you scramble back up to your feet.

Everything hurts. Your sliced bicep screams with every movement and your battered chest throbs sharply each time you take a breath. Your entire back burns fiercely. There’s a nasty bruise forming on your jaw, you can feel it.

Bro is standing a good few feet away, coolly assessing you. It’s obvious that you’re not doing too hot and you wonder when this fight will end. The answer is not now, because he’s raising his sword and gearing up to swing.

You try to raise your sword to block, but your weak arms don’t quite manage in time. The cold metal blade meets the top of your shoulder and slices above your armpit to your chest. It’s shallower than the cut on your bicep, but it stings like hell regardless. Bro sets aside his sword again and punches you in the gut, knocking the wind out of you and you gag a little as your weak knees give out. You try to brace yourself for the fall, but you don’t manage to do more than twist a little to the side. Your sword clatters to the ground at your side and you can’t quite manage to reach it. Bro is standing over you one moment, then a soft plush thing hits you with a good deal of force behind it and falls on the ground behind you.

You look up and he’s gone.

A moment passes where you close your eyes and let the bustling sounds of the late-night city wash over you with short, gasping breaths. You have to get up eventually, but for now you try to pretend nothing hurts. You twist to try and look at what Bro threw at you, the scratches on your back burning as you do.

Oh.

It’s the smuppet you maimed.

You didn't think he’d be mad enough to bring it up. Or he might not give a shit. You have no fucking clue. It’s best not to lose sleep over Bro’s enigmatic ways, although considering it’s probably now about four in the morning, you’ve already failed at that.

Staring up at the blank, foggy sky, you realize it’s probably time to get up now. If you let these cuts go without treatment any longer it’s gonna hurt worse. You peel yourself off of the cool concrete with no small amount of pain. Short puffs of breath come ragged and pained. You steady yourself on your hands and knees, trying to stop the world from swaying.

You’re finally able to push yourself to your feet, wobbly and unsteadily, but standing nonetheless. The roof whirls around you and you feel a little nauseous, but you manage to put one foot in front of the other and stumble like an eighty-year-old grandpa without his walker towards the door. You’re going to have to come back in the morning for your sword because you don't think you can bend down and grab it without passing out or falling over.

Walking down a flight of stairs proved to be a herculean effort, and by the time you’re back in the apartment you’re exhausted beyond belief. You stagger to the bathroom and hop in the shower.
You gasp as the water runs across your skin and burns the cuts fiercely. The water turns a rusty reddish-brown with a mix of dried and fresh blood as it flows to the shower floor and down the drain. You clench your teeth hard and start to wash the dirt and crusted blood off your back.

After you finish, you grab a towel and walk to your bedroom with your hand steadying you on the wall as you go. You step into your room, throw on a pair of sweatpants, grab the first aid kit under your bed, and get to work.

The deep cut on your bicep ended up needing stitches. You put them in, slapped some ointment on it, and bandaged it. You did something similar for everything else, put on the softest t-shirt you own, and crashed, laying on your bed staring up at the ceiling. Your eyes are blissfully slipping closed, but since the universe will never let rest, you realize something.

You have school in four hours.

Fuck.