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I’m Alright, I’m Okay

Summary:

The kids have finally beat Sburb, but instead of sending them to Earth C, a game glitch sends them back to pre-game earth, trapping the Alphas in their splinter-selves bodies.

 

Aka, a Strider Feelings Jam That Also Has Other Characters In It

Notes:

Hi. I can’t write Homestuck fics, but by god I’m gonna try.

Also there is no beta for this. If there are any mistakes in grammar please tell me!

Tw: body dysphoria, panic attacks

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

Chapter 1: [edited]

Chapter Text

Jane>> Wake.

 

Your name is JANE CROCKER, and a few seconds ago, you are very sure that you WERE NOT IN THIS BODY. This body that feels weak, brittle, and far too ancient to be yours. Even if you are technically a god.

 

You are laying on the ground, having just opened your eyes, to a too-bright ceiling, and walls, and EVERYTHING, and are now staring at the house that is yours, and at the same time, not. You try and move, and feel an ache in your joints that was not there before. And then you look down at your hands.

 

They’re wrinkled, and spindly, like you soaked them in soapy water for too long.

 

Oh boy.

 

Something is wrong. Something is SO wrong, you don’t even know where to start. You feel your breathing picking up a little as you stare down at the rest of yourself, now in a sitting position.

Calm down, Crocker. You can do this.

 

You’re still in your god tier maid outfit, which doesn't quite fit you right. It’s too loose around your shoulders, which is WRONG because your god tier gettup has always fit you PERFECTLY, thank you very much.

You take a few deep breaths, which appear to be futile, but the rhythm is familiar and grounding, so that’s..... something?

 

This house is NOT yours. That’s for sure. Not the one you lived in at least. There are jesters. EVERYWHERE. You don’t like it very much. You appear to be seated in front of the fireplace, an urn toppled over, but there are no contents inside. Odd, but not the oddest thing.

 

There’s footsteps on the stairs, and you tense, just as a young man comes around the corner.

 

It’s John. He stares. His mouth is open, glasses askew.

 

You stare at each other, your heart hammering in your chest, until he finally manages to say, “Nanna?”

Chapter 2: [edited]

Summary:

Visiting some of the others :))

Notes:

Tw: dysphoria, panic attacks, implied/referenced child abuse

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

Chapter Text

Nanna>> Proceed

 

Nanna? You’re not Nanna, you’re Jane! And you tell John so!

“N-no! No. I’m Jane. Young, teenage Jane—we met, I just—“

Nanna. He called you Nanna, and oh god, you can’t breathe. There’s a portrait above the mantle. Fuck. Fuck.

You curl in on yourself, trying to inhale. Breathe, Jane, breathe.

“I don’t—“ you break off, voice cracking. “I don’t know what’s going on.” A choked sob escapes your throat, and John’s face turns from confused to concerned. Well, he’s still confused, and his fists are clenched, like he isn’t sure if you’re a part of the game, a boss to beat. But then steps forward slightly from where he’s been standing, stuck it seemed, and looks almost like he wants to hug you.

 

You want him to.

 

“Jane,” he says as if testing to see if you’ll respond.

 

You look up, and see he looks almost as bad as you feel. He looks like he’s about to cry.

 

“Oh,” you breathe, as you both reach for each other. “Oh, jimmeny crickets.”

 

>>BE THE LALONDE GIRL

 

You are now the LALONDE GIRL, though it is UNSPECIFIED which one. Taking into account the pattern the author wants to continue, let’s say you are the Rogue of Void.

 

Your name is ROXY LALONDE, and your head is THROBBING. You’re used to headaches, but considering that you haven’t been drunk recently—you QUIT— and this definitely isn't a hangover, it worries you.

 

You're on the floor, the floor of YOUR kitchen, which you haven’t seen in a long time.

 

Hold on. IS this your kitchen?? It’s different somehow. You’d probably be able to deduce exactly how, if you payed attention, but your head hurts, and your arms and legs are too long and gangly, even for your skinny build, and you can’t bring yourself to focus.

 

There’s shattered glass on the ground, and something wet all over, and it smells like alcohol.

 

You sit up, groaning, a hand on your temple.

 

After a moment, you chance standing all the way up. You don’t fall over, which is something you guess.

 

You are suddenly acutely aware of how TALL you are. You’ve always been tall for a girl— something you didn’t realize until you entered the game. Never had anythin’ to compare to— and now you are inches taller. You’ll bet that you’re that you’re almost six feet tall now. Your cute lil god tier outfit is too short in several places, and too tight (that wasn’t particularly shocking though. You’d always been underweight growing up).

 

Where are the others?????

 

Looking around, you have trouble taking in your surroundings. God. Your brain feels fuzzy.

 

What the FUCK is this?

 

You flop back onto the tile floor, which is less than graceful, considering your extra height, and bury your head in your hands.

 

“Mother.”

 

The voice is tense. You recognize it. You look up.

 

Rose is standing in the doorway, staring at you. Her face is almost blank, save for a pinch of lips and eyebrows.

 

Oh. Oh NO. Oh no no no no no.

 

“Rose, I’m—“ you don’t know what to say. “I’m just Roxy.”

 

>>BE THE KNIGHT OF TIME

 

You are now the Knight of Time, otherwise known as Dave Strider, because that is your name. You honestly have no idea what the fuck is going on, and you almost don’t want to know. Except that’s stupid. Of course you want to know what’s going on.

 

Dave>>Wake.

 

You are already awake, and currently in the process of freaking out. You’ve already pestered Rose, who seemed almost as freaked as you, if hidden behind a wall of cold sarcasm. But.. not as much as usual. She must be flipping her shit just about as much as you right now. But she had to leave to go and investigate a noise in her house, which she is apparently in now.

 

And you’re in your apartment. Just as it was when you left it.

 

The orange sky makes the animal skulls on your desk glow slightly. It’s jarring, even if it looks cool as fuck. The crows are cawing outside, over the cacophony of city life, undisturbed by any type of world-ending activity, or meteors, or whatever the fuck was happening last time you were here. Abusive brothers. Fuck.

You’ve been awake for almost 20 minutes and 15, 16, 17– seconds, and you refuse to leave the room. For some reason. You aren’t sure what you're afraid of. (You know exactly what it is, you were just thinking about Him, don’t LIE).

 

Just do it, Strider.

 

So you do. Quietly. Being back in this apartment makes you want to be as stealthy as possible. You skirt down the hall, and tiptoe into the kitchen.

 

It’s the same as you remember it, unfortunately.

 

Cold puppet eyes watch you from counters spread with weapons. You suppress a shudder, and continue your silent adventure..... to.... the living room.

 

You’re frozen. Sweating.

 

HES HERE.

 

He’s here. On the floor, but here. You remember how fast he was. On the roof. Moving that fucking puppet when you weren’t looking. Just doing ANYTHING, because apparently he couldn’t just be normal. If he comes at you, you won’t be able to do anything. And you don’t want to relive that again. You can’t.

 

You don’t know how long you stand there. Panicking. But it’s long enough that you realize he isn’t moving.

 

Not only that, he’s on the floor, face down.

 

Also— and this is the weirdest fucking part —he’s wearing Dirk’s stupid fucking princely god tier cosplay, which is SEVERAL sizes too small— Dirk was fucking tiny —and damn, this is all kinds of fucked up.

 

You stand there for too long. You know it. You’re frozen in fear.

 

But something is wrong with the clothes. And so, with every nerve screaming, you step forward.

 

You can’t tell if he’s breathing. You don’t want to check.

 

Hesitantly, you toe him with your foot.

 

He grunts, and you leap about a foot in the air.

 

Reflexes like a cat.

 

He’s stirring, which you guess is what you wanted???? Except no, not at all.

 

Bro pushes himself up a little, shades falling off his face.

 

You’re back almost in the kitchen now, heart about to explode out of your chest, wishing you hadn’t touched him.

 

He looks at you with those uncovered, bright orange eyes, and you squirm.

 

“...Dave?”

 

Bro doesn’t talk like that. He doesn’t sound lost like that.

 

“What the fuck,” you say, really meaning it. “What the fuck, Bro.”

 

He sits up, clothes constricting, what must be painfully, given his wince.

 

“Bro—“ you break off. He’s studying his hands and chest like they’re exhibits at a fine art museum.

 

“Bro.”

 

He looks, and you regret existing.

 

Fuck.

 

“No,” he says.

 

RUN, your mind screams.

 

“No... what?”

 

“Not... Bro.” He’s frowning, almost pouting.

 

“Not—“ it hits you. It hits you so hard you almost fall over. “... Dirk?”

 

He nods. And you absolutely lose your mind.

Notes:

Please leave a comment :)

Chapter 3: [edited]

Summary:

Continuing the Striders, and a checkup on the Harley-English family..

Notes:

To my one friend who kins Jake,,,,, this one’s for you boo

 

Tw: DYSPHORIA, panic attacks, sensory overload, implied/referenced child abuse, self deprecating thoughts

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

Chapter Text

Dirk>>Lose your shit

 

Your name is DIRK STRIDER, and this is NOT your body.

 

Dave is standing a little ways away, ands up by his head, looking like he wants to say something.

 

You don’t know what he’s going to say, and it scares you what it might be.

 

Everything hurts. Everything is TOUCHING you, your clothes are too tight, biting into you, and this ISN'T YOUR BODY.

 

You can feel yourself grabbing at your chest— wrong, not yours— but you aren’t consciously doing it. You can’t see, and you think you might be hyperventilating. You aren’t sure.

 

Fuck. Your skin is tingling, this skin that isn’t yours, and you don’t want to be HIM. The him that Dave told you about.

 

You can feel your composure crumbling between your fingers, as you try and rationalize with yourself. It’s fine. This is fine. You can work with this, you can fix this, but isn’t “fixing” things how you spiraled in the first place? Trying to figure things out just made them worse, because you just made things worse. Every time. Like you’re going to make Dave worse, ARE making him worse, from just existing, which just fucking figures. You don’t know what you’re going to do. The composure you were losing finally slips away completely, and you bury your face in your hands, and begin to cry.

 

You aren’t even embarrassed. You don’t have to energy to be embarrassed about breaking down like a baby, in front of your brother, while occupying the body of his dead, abusive guardian.

 

You sit that, weeping into your hands to the point where your body is taking involuntary gasps to make sure you’re still breathing.

 

Once you’re cried out— which takes a while —your hands are still up covering your face, so you can’t see Dave. But you know he’s still there. Who knows what he’s thinking. Probably hates your guts for not even trying, before you’re losing it.

 

Your skin hurts. You want to tear it off.

 

Now that you’ve calmed down a little, NOW you start to feel embarrassed. Fuck, this isn’t ABOUT you, fuckass. Dave is still standing there, while you look like THIS. Why do you always fuck everything up?

 

Dave>>Observe

 

You don’t really want to observe this.

 

Your Bro— not Bro—DIRK— rapidly just broke down before your eyes, while you had no idea what the everloving fuck to do, so you just stood there like a dumbass. While he hid his face, pathetic mewling noises erupting from behind his hands.

Bro never cried. He didn’t like crying. And you know that this isn’t him, but it’s still. Jarring. To see him this pitiful.

 

You aren’t sure how long he cries—thats a lie, you know exactly how long—but when he stops, he still doesn’t look up, and you continue to stand awkwardly, trying to think what to do.

 

But you can’t focus. You should be comforting him, you think. You would, usually, you’re pretty sure. You’ve never been in this situation with him, but it seems like something you’d want to do. But you can’t. You can’t and you HATE it.

 

THATS NOT BRO, STUPID.

 

That’s not Bro, but it LOOKS like Bro, and so you can’t move. Stupid trauma brain.

 

You’re still panicking, but trying to reign it in. Failing. At long length, you say, “hey.” And then you mentally kick yourself, because that was the lamest thing you could have said right now.

 

Dirk doesn’t look up, but he shifts his shoulders, so you guess he’s listening.

 

“Slow breaths,” you say, unable to follow your own advice.

 

This is a really fucked up situation, isn’t it?

 

>>BE THE PAGE

 

You are JAKE ENGLISH. You have just AWOKEN on the FLOOR, in front of a FIREPLACE.

 

This is a startling development. You weren’t here before, you’re quite sure.

 

The next thing you realize is that you are quite a bit taller, and wider than before. Your clothes have basically torn off of you, unfortunately.

 

You think maybe you’ve grown suddenly, before realizing that’s moronic.

 

Standing, your bones creak oddly, and you grunt.

 

You grab a blanket off the nearby armchair, and wrap yourself in it.

 

Your head hurts. You run your hands across your face, and realize you have a mustache.

 

For some reason, your spontaneous facial hair shocks you more than change in body type.

 

You blunder around until you find a mirror and are able to see your face, and peer intently at yourself, outlined by the gold frame.

 

“Fiddlesticks,” you exclaim quietly.

 

That’s not your face, only it is. It’s your face, just old, wrinkled, shoved sideways and warped. It’s kind of terrifying. You look down at your hands, and then make yourself STOP. This will not do.

 

Where are your friends? Are they experiencing the same body warping madness as you?

 

Shaken, you wander around a little more, peering at the many stuffed beasties settled around you.

 

You walk up some stairs, and through rooms, with a sort of detached disinterest. Everything felt unreal.

 

You enter a room, and freeze.

 

There is a bed, and on it, a sleeping girl.

 

Jade Harley, your teenage grandmother, and ecto-daughter.

 

She’s curled on her side, red shoes peeking out from inside her fluffy black witch skirt. Her chest rises and falls gently, seemingly calm.

 

You consider waking the little lady, but decide against it. You don’t know how she’d react to a strange man standing over her while she slept. You know YOU wouldn’t take too kindly to it.

 

Too late.

 

Her eyes slowly open behind huge glasses, and they land on you. They stare in an unseeing way, and then widen.

 

And she launches herself at you.

 

“Grandpa!”

 

You barely manage to catch her, as you are currently wrapped in a blanket, and she buries her face in your chest. You stand still in shock.

 

Grandpa.

 

Oh. Not a strange man. You are an IDIOT.

 

Guilt envelopes you. You allow yourself to set a hand on her shoulder, and try to look her in the eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, little miss—“ that’s too PARENTAL, NO—“Jade, I’m not... I’m sorry. I’m not your grandpa...”

 

She stares up at you. Her face falls. You have never felt like a shittier person.

 

“Jake?” she asks, lip trembling.

 

“I’m afraid so.”

 

Her eyes are filled with tears. She looks up at you. Just. Stares. And then she breaks.

 

She buries her face back into your chest, and sobs into it.

 

You don’t know what to do. What she wants you to do.

 

“Can you just—“ she hiccups finally, pawing at you, “—can you just... h—hold me? Please?”

 

You do. You don’t say anything.

 

She clings to you, and you her, and you can feel your heart break.

Notes:

HI I LOVE JADE AND JAKE

 

There will be happy chapters i swear they are just overwhelmed.

 

Leave a comment :)))

Chapter 4: [edited]

Summary:

A mini chapter with the lalondes :)

Notes:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! (If you celebrate). Its been a while since I’ve updated because Rose’s pov is surprisingly difficult to write?? My brain is just too small.

Tw: implied/referenced child abuse

PLEASE EXCUSE BAD PESTERLOGS I CANNOT CHANGE THE TEXT COLOR IM SORRY

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

Chapter Text

Rose>>Wake

 

You are Rose Lalonde, and you have been awake for approximately two minutes.

 

You lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You had gotten up a moment or so ago, seen where you were, and immediately fell back, wishing you could float back into the Medium(you can’t).

 

You are so angry. You had, in the past, briefly considered what could happen once the game ended, provided you managed to beat it. But this was too much.You whip a pillow against the wall angrily, then become angry with yourself for losing your cool so easily. Oh, lord, you’ve become Dave.

 

Finally, you grab your laptop off your desk. Maybe your friends have been pestering you. And if they haven’t, YOU surely have more than enough to say on the matter of being stranded back on earth with no warning.

 

Though now that you are able to think without being engulfed by rage, you don’t actually know that you’re stuck here. You haven’t even left your room.

 

Opening your laptop, you find that one of your chums HAS been pestering you. Your brother.

 

turntechGodhead began pestering tentacleTherapist at 10:02

 

turntechGodhead: rose
turntechGodhead: are you awake
turntechGodhead: hello
turntechGodhead: guess not
turntechGodhead: what the fuck man
turntechGodhead: i feel like ive been flung through the vortex of time but its also lined with razor blades and the razor blades only cut you emotionally and mentally
turntechgodhead: psychic damage and all that shit
tentacleTherapist: That is also about how I feel as well
tentacleTherapist: This is some bullshit
turntechGodhead: wow you were even brief
TurntechGodhead: yeah this sucks
turntechGodhead: whats going on
tentacleTherapist: I dont know
turntechGodhead: yeah well why would you
turntechGodhead: none of us know anything
tentacleTherapist: Have you contacted our other friends?
turntechGodhead: no
turntechGodhead: not yet
turntechGodhead: have you left your room
tentacleTherapist: no, I have not
tentacleTherapist: I only just gathered the mental energy to answer messages. I have contemplated, but
tentacleTherapist: I am afraid what I may find
turntechGodhead: yeah.
turntechGodhead: do you think
turntechGodhead: you know
turntechGodhead: hes here
tentacleTherapist: ... I do not know, dave
tentacleTherapist: I wish i could tell you
tentacleTherapist: but I would like you to know that I’ll be here

 

There’s a smash from downstairs, and you jump in spite of yourself.

 

There’s someone else in the house.

 

You don’t know if you want to find out who, or what (thats a lie), so you sit on your bed, staring at the door, and when you look back at your pesterlog, you have a few more messages.

 

turntechGodhead: yeah
turntechGodhead: thanks rose
turntechGodhead: and you know
turntechGodhead: same goes for you
tentacleTherapist: thank you
tentacleTherapist: This may be the worst possible time to say this, but I have to go
turntechGodhead: hey no problem
turntechGodhead: whats going on
tentacleTherapist: there was a large crash across the house, I assume from downstairs
tentacleTherapist: I will talk to you again soon
turntechGodhead: alright
turntechGodhead: good luck
tentacleTherapist: thank you. I believe I may need it
tentacleTherapist: I love you
turntechGodhead: damn you do?
turntechGodhead: you too

 

turntechGodhead ceased pestering tentacleTherapist at 10:11

 

After your conversation with Dave, you are feeling no less uneasy, perhaps even more so. You do not wish to investigate, but simultaneously you must know what caused the sound.

 

You contemplate for a second or so, and then slide off your bed, bright blue god tier shoes stepping to the ground with narry a sound.

 

You slip out of your room, and find your way downstairs to the living room. Nothing. Just before entering the kitchen, you hear movement. It sounded like something limply hitting the floor.

 

Not allowing yourself to think, you walk in.

 

Your mother is sitting on the floor.

 

Your heart jumps.

 

“Mother.”

 

She looks up, pink eyes wide. You stare at each other for a moment, your heart pounding, and those large eyes grow sad.

 

“Rose, I’m—“ she stops, swallowing. “I’m just Roxy.”

 

“Roxy,” you repeat. The name feels wrong in your mouth, and you resent that.

 

She nods a little desperately.

 

There’s a long silence, until—

 

“May I... may I hug you?”

 

Roxy in your mother’s body gets up quickly, almost overbalances, but steadies herself.

 

“I know you aren’t my mother,” you manage weakly. “At least not in the way I...... but please, would you mind—“

 

She crosses the kitchen and pulls you into her chest.

 

You allow yourself to lean into her.

 

“You don’t have to ask,” she whispers in her New York accent.

 

You laugh, halfway to a sob. But you don’t cry.

Notes:

I JUST FINISHED TYPING THIs WHILE AT AN OUTDOOR HALLOWEEN PARTY MY HANDS ARE FREEZING IM GOFIFMDMDMDNS

Chapter 5: ANNOUNCEMENT

Summary:

(NOT A REAL CHAPTER)

Chapter Text

Hellooooooo! Happy homestuck day! I came back to reread this today in the hopes of continuing, and I’ve decided that i want to rewrite the whole thing.

The story will be the same, with many of the same plot points, i just think that I’ve gotten better, and would like to do justice to the characters.

I will post another announcement chapter once the others are edited and rewritten, and then continue the story from there!

Until then, if you want to check out my royal AU, called the Throne of Bleeding Hearts on my profile, that would be appreciated!

Thank you for reading what i wrote, I’m excited to improve it, and hopefully make it more satisfying:)

Stay healthy! Kisses!

 

— Jelly <3

Chapter 6: ANNOUNCEMENT 2

Summary:

(NOT A REAL CHAPTER)

Chapter Text

Hello! This is the last announcement chapter before we return to normal ones.

I have finished rewriting the old chapters! There were very small changes, but I think it made all the difference. I will be outlining the next few chapters soon, and posting when I can.

 

Thank you to everyone who stuck around through my long hiatus. It means a lot.

 

Drink water, sleep well, and stay tuned for more of the story:))

Chapter 7

Summary:

Just dirk bein dirk

Notes:

Hihihi this is a short chapter, just to get back into the swing of things.

 

Tw: panic attacks, self depreciation, dysphoria, sensory overload

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

Chapter Text

>> BE DIRK

 

You are Dirk. You are sitting on the roof, surrounded by the noises of a very much alive city. It hurts your ears, and you want to escape into the apartment that isn’t technically yours, but you think that may be the WORST thing you could do right now. Or ever.

 

Dave was a mess. He was shaking, wouldn’t come near you, fucking terrified.

 

To be fair, you were also a mess. You haven’t cried like that in a long time. You haven’t CRIED in a long time. By choice, mostly. You hate the feeling. So you just. Don’t.

 

You are so goddamn embarrassed. You fell apart. Couldn’t try and pick up the pieces, or put yourself back together, and it was too late anyway, because Dave had already seen.

 

He’d tried to calm you down. Told you to breathe, even as his voice shook, and he stood frozen by the kitchen. You didn’t deserve it. But he did it anyways. You feel guilty about that. You feel guilty about a lot of things. So once you could BREATHE—barely—you fled to the roof. Ran away, because you’re good at that.

 

Your head feels fuzzy, like you’ve got cat hair on your brain. Your eyes hurt, and you’re exhausted by post-meltdown fatigue.You can’t go inside. You can’t face Dave, not with this face.

 

You want the guy to feel better.

 

You pull a phone out of your pocket. It’s password protected. You checked. You could probably figure out the code is, but you feel like that would take too much energy that you DONT have right now. Especially since it would mean getting inside the head of a version of yourself you would rather avoid being, now and forever. Even if that head is technically yours now.

 

You breathe in deep through your nose. You should be doing something. You don’t know what, because you’re not really in a place to be doing much of anything except listen to the noise below.

 

It ties your stomach in knots, and you focus on breathing, and NOT on the hammering of your heart. You could talk to someone. But you don’t know who. You don’t know if your friends are in a similar situation. But you breathe. And you make a decision.

 

You should probably go inside before you break again.

Notes:

Next chapter will probably go back to Dave. Also they may interact so pog

 

Comments are very appreciated!!

Chapter 8

Summary:

Dave talks to Dirk

Notes:

Hey, im. Uh. Alive. Allegedly.

 

Tw: anxiety, implied/refrenced child abuse, mild self-depreciation, scars(not SH)

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

Chapter Text

DAVE>>THINK ABOUT THE THING IN THE LIVING ROOM

 

You are Dave, and you are definitely thinking about the thing in the living room. Though calling your ecto-biological brother-dad a “thing” probably isn’t the nicest. And you feel bad about that. But it’s a mindset you’re having a tiny bit of trouble getting over after all the years wondering why. Why he did what he did. You probably won’t get answers now, which sucks, but you had sort of come to terms with that. Barring the idea of an alternate version possessing his body and reminding you of him every time you see him.

 

Not that you’ve really seen him since you got here…. He absconded to the roof—shudder—pretty quickly after his little…. Freak out.

 

Which was really weird for you, your Bro never showed you anything going on inside if he could help it, and usually he could. Just goes to show how different they are…

 

You’ve been in your room all day. Hiding? Maybe. But you don’t trust yourself to not flip your shit as soon as you see him. He hasn’t technically done anything wrong—as you told him during your heart-to-heart on the roof—so you curl up. In your room, and ignore the nerves creeping up your arms.

 

How long has it been? You’re starting to get hungry. Which presents another problem because Bro never bought shit.

 

You checked to see if your stash was still there when you arrived. It is. Not super moldy, as you would have thought—you haven’t checked the date yet, maybe today’s John’s birthday. The day the game started. Holy shit, that idea is trippy as fuck.

 

But when you found the snacks, you thought, ‘okay, I’m set for a few days at least.’ Until you remembered Dirk.

 

Fuck. Well, he’d lived on his own for a long time right? He could manage. He’d be okay, find something. Right?

 

No, fucking christ, that was an awful thing to think, and you should be ashamed. You are. You’ll have to share, which you guess isn’t technically a problem, except you only have so much.

 

Think about it later. Food later, reconnecting now.

 

You’re sitting at your computer, staring at the glowing screen. Time to hit up the buddy, the good pal, the bff-forever.

 

turntechGodhead began pestering ectoBiologist

 

turntechGodhead: hey
turntechGodhead: john
ectoBiologist: woah!!
ectoBiologist: DAVE!!!
turntechGodhead: thats right its me motherfucker. i survived
TurntechGodhead: you cant get rid of me bitch

 

You smile to yourself—just barely, considering the situation you can’t muster up more than a little tug of the lips—but its there. It’s good to talk to John again.

 

ectoBiologist: hehe i guess i can’t.
ectoBiologist: rose told me that some CRAZY stuff is going on! Like her mom being there but not really.
ectoBiologist: guess the two of us are in the same boat :B

 

Woah, Rose’s mom is there? Oh. Oh wait.

 

turntechGodhead: does it happen to be some weird ass Invasion Of the Body Snatching Alternate Family Members situation
ectoBiologist: yeah!!!!
turntechGodhead: fucking figures
turntechGodhead: wait, youre in the same boat? Did your grandma-mom show up
ectoBiologist: yep! She looks like an old lady though
ectoBiologist: which is weird because there wasn’t a body to take over! She was. Yknow. Cremated.
turntechGodhead: idk man this whole thing seems pretty fuckin weird

 

You take a deep breath.

 

turntechGodhead: my bro is here
ectoBiologist: oh
turntechGodhead: fuck no hes not thats a lie its dirk
turntechGodhead: he just looks like bro
ectoBiologist: im sorry Dave:( that must be hard for you
turntechGodhead: fucking hell it is
turntechGodhead: but you know. its not his fault.
turntechGodhead: he seemed pretty freaked out about it too
turntechGodhead: cried and everything

 

You sigh. You don’t really want to think about it again, when you can’t fix it.

 


turntechGodhead: what about your problem
turntechGodhead: her name is jane right
ectoBiologist: I dont think calling her a “problem” is the nicest Dave >:B
turntechGodhead: fuck you know what i mean
turntechGodhead: shes not a problem the problem is the situation, and we are all experiencing it, even our parents
turntechGodhead: so is it just you two there
ectoBiologist: well…
ectoBiologist: no. Not really.
turntechgodhead: is your dad there man??
ectoBiologist: yeah. He’s around i guess!
turntechGodhead: damn that was a vague answer. you alright man?
turntechGodhead: you dont sound super stoked
ectoBiologist: i am!!! I just….
ectoBiologist: i don’t really want to talk about it now ok? Maybe another time
turntechGodhead: fuck yeah i get it man. i dont really want to talk about the bro-shaped-dirk-shadow either.

 

You’re going to have to face him. You know that. Christ, that will be awkward. You’d even tried to console him earlier, while standing several yards away, like the dumbass you are. You’ve been putting off coming out of your room despite not even knowing if hes out there or not.

 

Just move, Dave.

 

turntechGodhead: hey i gotta go
turntechGodhead: keep me updated alright
ectoBiologist: will do!!

 

turntechGodhead ceased pestering ectoBiologist

 

You keep sitting at your computer. The sun is setting outside, the room glowing orange. Just move, dave.

 

You stand, joints popping a bit, and stop at the door, which is shut, blocking out the outside world. You grip the handle and breathe in. Out. You can do this.

 

You turn the handle.

 

The hall is quiet and dim, the light not quite reaching this part of the apartment. Creeping down the hall as quietly as you can, you get ready to crack the door open a bit. You just want to peek and see whats going on. See if he’s back inside yet. You don’t really know what answer is preferable.

When you look out, you’re surprised. He’s sitting on the futon, faced away from you, and the living room is a bit cleaner than you remember it. Did he fucking CLEAN??? If so you didn’t even hear him moving around. If anything though he’s just picked up some of those horrible puppets and put them somewhere.

 

He’s pretty still, and you can just see the back of his head, white hair, and shoulders clad in dark pink.

 

After a moment you open the door a bit farther, and his head moves slightly.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

 

Calm down, you tell yourself. CALM DOWN. You don’t know Dirk very well, but you talked about this, and you’re fairly confident he won’t hurt you. He even let you uncoolly throw yourself into a hug before your fight with Jack. Put his arm around you and everything. He WILL NOT hurt you. You keep telling yourself that as he turns his head a bit so hes looking over his shoulder at you out of the corner of his eye, which you can kind of see around his shades.

 

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t either. You’re kind of frozen. His face shows nothing, and it reminds you of before the game.

Don’t think about it.

 

“Hey,” you say, and mentally punch yourself for such a lame conversation starter.

 

He shifts, like he hadn’t seen you—even though he was looking at you—and says, “hey.”

 

There’s another silence. It is extremely awkward. You want to run and get out of here, but you instead actually step out into the living room, and don’t even trip on a smuppet.

 

“Did you… did you clean?”

 

He wriggles a bit, like he’s sitting on something uncomfortable. “Yeah. I did.”

 

“Oh.”

 

And that’s it. Looks like neither of you are good at this. You shuffle forward a bit and your skin crawls as he turns to look at you dead on. You can’t see his eyes.

 

He doesn’t say anything. Like he’s sizing you up. You don’t know if he is or not. “S-so-“ you start before you can stop yourself, “-what now? Like are we going to do bro shit, not the Bro Shit that my Bro had me do, capital B, but like cool shit? W-who gets the groceries.”

 

You cringe at yourself. Half of what you said didn’t even make sense. Dirk says, “uh,” and you want to cry and laugh at the same time.

 

“I. Uhm. I didn’t.” He reaches up and rubs at his jaw, something Bro didn’t ever do. There’s a scar from the middle of his cheek down to the hairline on the back of his head, behind his ear. On the left side of his face. “I forgot about groceries.”

 

Well. That’s not surprising, but apparently he’s taking your panicked rambling to heart.

 

“Nah, that’s cool man, did you even go for groceries? Like—growing up.”

 

“No.”

 

You stand there. Goddamn you can’t do this. It’s all HELLS of awkward, and your little brain can’t handle it.

 

He moves slightly on the futon, and you see his pink Heart shirt constrict across his broad chest. It cannot be comfortable.

 

“Dude, that’s gotta- that’s gotta be uncomfortable.”

 

Dirk’s mouth turns downwards at the sides, giving him a slightly pouty look. You don’t know why you’re so up in his business, but you keep talking anyway—

 

“I mean— the god tier shit, its WAY too small for you, isn’t that, i don’t know—painful?”

 

His eyebrows scrunch together a bit, and he says, “a little,” very quietly.

 

“Bro’s clothes are still here.” Why did you say that. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT. You don’t actually know that, but its a safe assumption. But its kind of weird to think about. Okay, really weird. No weirder than Dirk in your bro’s body, but weird nonetheless.

 

Dirk seems to agree, because he stares at you, mute.

 

“I’m just saying,” you clarify quickly, “you could use them, you wouldn’t have your clothes cutting off circulation anymore, you were like, what, 5’2 before? And my Bro was 6’4? I’m surprised they haven’t ripped off you, and no one wants that, I’ll be more traumatized than I already am.”

 

Dirk looks a little shell-shocked—you don’t know why—but nods.

 

You are suddenly acutely aware of the room and your place in it, so you make some half-assed excuse and abscond as fast as you can without seeming suspicious.

 

Once in the safety of your room, you sigh. Then you giggle a bit and fall back onto your bed. That was a disaster. But it went a bit better than you expected.

Notes:

Please leave a comment on your way out! Let me know what you want to see. Reminder that this fic is mainly centered around the striders, so they will be getting the most POV:))

Thanks for reading!

Notes:

This was just a mini chapter btw, so others will be longer