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Chapter Text

Dirk Strider is not okay and hasn't been for a long time.

He's good at avoiding his emotions, though. Denial is strong and it's probably the only thing truly keeping him together and moving. Many years ago, back when he was younger and dumber, he'd had a little brother. That ended... not well. Once he was old enough to move out of their less-than-ideal living situation he'd wanted to bring his brother with him. The kid had refused full stop no matter how hard Dirk begged. The begging and trying to convince him had gone on long enough to make his brother snap and an argument break out. They both said hurtful things.

Dirk hasn't seen him since.

But like he said, he's good at denial. Good at avoiding obvious problems. The only times he'd allowed himself to think about it were nicer thoughts- like where his brother ended up. He'd liked photography and writing and movies, maybe he was an anonymous director? He'd liked dead things as well, was morbidly fascinated by life and death, maybe he was a thanatologist or paleontologist?

...None of those guesses were correct.

Recently Dirk switched locations for his job, a promotion he hadn’t expected, nothing too strange. The only real problem is that - well... it's close to the old apartment he used to live in before moving out. He'd have to pass it on the way to his new place.

He's not fine.

Walking down the streets under the hot Houston sky is nostalgic, even as he desperately beats back memories with a bat.  Fine and normal and – not terrifying. It’s fine... until it isn’t. A strange sort of chill passes through him, one that nobody else seems to notice, a tug pulling him along. He's practically hugging himself from the cold.

Then he feels that something beckoning him to look up and into that painfully familiar alley he passes.

And the world stops for a horrible, terrifyingly frigid moment.

A figure stands in the alley, dark wings sprouting from their back. Their near white hair - just like his own - is a shock of bright color against the dark of the alley. He's young, far younger than he should be after all these years. 

"...Dave?" It's barely a whisper, eyes wide behind his shades. It can't be. He can't be- But there's no other explanation. The chill, his transparency, how nobody else seems to be able to see him... 

Dirk Strider was not someone who believed in things like ghosts or spirits or religion. He needed to see to believe, and what he's seeing now...

Dave Strider is dead.

Crow... doesn't know where he's going. He has a feeling he hasn't known that for a while - but he can't exactly... remember for sure.

He has a feeling he can't remember a lot of things, actually. It's hard to tell - how do you remember what you can't remember? How do you hold a forgotten memory? - but... that feels right. He has a lot of feelings, actually. And yet, at the same time - no real "feelings"? It's weird. It's definitely weird as hell, but. Hey. What's he gonna do about it?

What's he gonna do in general?

...What's he even doing right now?

Walking, mostly. Trying to find... something. Someone? No, that doesn't feel right. Maybe a place? Yeah. Yeah, he's trying to find a place. Somewhere. And it has to be just around this corner-

Or it's a street he's somehow never seen before and yet seen a million times. Another weird feeling-not-feeling. A forgotten memory rushing through his fingers.

...Goddamnit.

Well. Only one way to go. Can't exactly go through the wall, so all he can do is-

Freeze. And tense slightly at the prickle of warmth on his neck, somehow achingly familiar and entirely new.

...Is someone watching him? Slowly, he turns around, and- huh. Yeah. 

They're really just... staring at him, huh. That's not weird at all. Shit, does he say something? Why does it feel like it's been so long since he's done this? (He can't remember, can never remember, but- he feels like he has. He feels like he missed it, and... how do you miss something you can't remember?)

"...Hey?"

The voice echoes off the walls, unnaturally quiet and yet somehow still audible. Still achingly familiar. That's his brother . Dirk stumbles forward and reaches for him, reaches for Dave , his baby brother he missed him so much-

His hand goes straight through him as if nothing were there. A cold feeling on his fingers being the only proof he even touched anything.

No…

"Dave? What- What happened ?" His voice wavers and breaks and he can't even bother hiding it, not now. Dirk's brother is dead and has been dead for years and he didn't know. For years Dirk had hoped that Dave got to get out of that apartment and made friends, found his passion- got to grow up.

Dave is barely older than when Dirk last saw him. He never fucking got out. Dirk left him all alone to die .

It's his fault.

Crow quickly ducks back, blank eyes studying Dirk silently for a moment before he gives him an awkward smile and an apologetic, "I, uh- I think you got the wrong person there? I don't know a..." shit, what was the name? "..Dave?"  

Shit. He looks upset. Did- did Crow say something wrong? Fuck . He knew he was out of practice, but- he didn't say anything that bad, did he? Just in case, he adds a quick, "Sorry, dude."

God. Okay, this is awkward as hell, and Crow should definitely want this to be over, but-

But he doesn't want him to leave. And he has no fucking clue why.

"Hey," he adds quickly, stepping forward slightly to close the distance he put between them. "You look like you know your way around this place, which thank fucking God for that because I... have no clue. Swear to god I could wander in circles for the rest of my goddamn life, and I wouldn't even notice." He snorts awkwardly, glancing down at his hands- and huh, he's gesturing a lot with those. Does he normally do that?

...It feels right. Even if he can't remember it.

"Anyway, I- uh. I was hoping I could get some- help? I've been trying to find..."  Crow seems to... fade slightly at that, whatever energy he'd built up during that ramble disappearing in an instant as he looks down at his hands again. "Uh. Trying to- to uh, find..."  His voice is quiet, unsure, brow furrowed in confusion as he stares down at his hands. "I- shit, I know this. I..." 

He's... what? "I should know this..." he added in a mumble. "Why can't I..."

He can't fight the chill of unease, Dirk seemingly forgotten as he hunches in on himself. He- he should know this, he does know this. Why can't he just...

"What? No- no you're Dave, my brother-" Dirk is cut off as Dave starts rambling. It's so painfully fucking familiar. The same hand movements, the same, the same inflection- it's all the same . That's his brother- his brother is there and he's dead and Dirk doesn't know what happens and apparently...

 Apparently, Dave doesn't know either, remembers nothing .

He's always been good at putting on a mask.

"It's okay," it's not, but it must be for now. He reaches out again but stops himself, instead leaving his hands hovering sort of awkwardly. "What can I do to help?" There must be something . A way to help him remember, a way to help him move on and rest.

...A way to bring him back .

Crow finally looks back up at Dirk, seeming to... relax slightly when he sees him - his wings gently drop back into a resting position, his shoulders lowering slightly. His face is just as blank as ever, but... There's a strange hint of relief there.

"I... unless you can kinda force me to remember shit, not much you can do." He laughs awkwardly, adding, "Not like you're a psych or nothing, right?"

There... is something, but- but he has no right. But he can't just… ask some random stranger that.

...But he can't shake the feeling that he's the best person to ask.

"Do you... maybe have somewhere I can crash? Just for a day or two, I-" he glances away, looking embarrassed as he adds, "I... can't really remember where I live right now - I don’t- I don’t think its good, anyway, and... fuck, I'm tired."

Everything is so close yet so…wrong, like something is missing. It's more obvious now than ever.

Blank eyes - dull and lifeless - stare back at him, not the ruby red he's used to. Dirk remembers their brightness when he smiled, how they'd go sharp when focused, how they’d dim when he was upset or sparkled from tears. Life poured through every crack.

There's no life here.

"Just got a new place nearby," he has no idea how he's keeping so calm, everything feels like it’s falling apart around him. "You're free to stay and... and rest for as long as you need."

The wings make his brother look almost angelic, yet the colors remind him of the crows he'd so often feed. It's the only thing he can focus on without driving himself insane. "My name is Dirk. Dirk Strider," because he needs to introduce himself to his brother, apparently. Because his brother doesn't remember him or anything and he's dead.

Oh, thank God. Crow- Crow can't fight the feeling that's all he's been looking for. Somewhere to rest.

...He's so fucking tired. How long has it been since he...?

"I- fuck. Thanks, dude. Genuinely can't thank you enough - if there's like..." shit, what can he do? "Uh. Anything I can do to help, I guess? Don't really have... anything on me to pay you back with. I... think? I have money at home?"

(Is that what he's looking for? Home? All his mind can give him is a metaphorical shrug, a silent 'yes-but-also-no'. Great. Very helpful.)

"...Dirk." He says the name like it’s his first time saying it, strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, before nodding slightly. "Cool. I, uh. I... don't think I have a name?" 

He frowns slightly, shaking his head as he corrects, "I mean, obviously I do, that's like- a thing that everyone's meant to have, right, can't just walk around without a fuckin' name, but..." He shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah. I don't know. I, uh- people call me Crow, I guess? Or... I call myself that. Don't know if..." He trails off for a moment, seeming lost in thought - has... anyone ever called him that? It... doesn't feel like it-

Before quickly getting distracted by movement in the corner of his eye, whipping around to see- his wing. Goddamnit. "Shit. Huh. Yeah, I...  forgot those were there." He seems... completely unbothered by the distinctly not human wings sprouting out of his back, turning back to Dirk with an embarrassed half-grin. "Anyway, yeah- that's why they call me that. And if we can just agree to pretend that I definitely didn't get scared by my own wings that would be fucking fantastic, thanks."

The name hits hard, like a punch to the gut. Dave doesn't remember, but there must be something there because.. because...

Dirk snorts as he catches his little brother snooping through his little jewelry collection (just rings and some earrings.... ignore the fact he shoplifted most of them. They were from big chains anyways, who cares.) The kid was always fascinated with shiny things, much like the birds he'd feed and care for. "Maybe I should call you lil' Crow, you might as well be covered in feathers already." He laughs as he gives Dave a noogie the kid desperately tries to escape from, unable to stop his own giggles.

He still lets Dave take a ring. In return, Dirk wakes up the next day to a colorful pebble on his bedside.

He still has that pebble, worn smooth from rubbing his thumb along it.

"Considering it forgotten," he says with a nod, a hint of a smile. (He remembers a kid who'd trip and eat shit, embarrassedly looking around to make sure nobody saw, then got up and kept walking like nothing happened.) "Come on, follow me." He doesn't look back once as he leads... Crow. Leads Crow back to his apartment. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, like if he looked back then his brother would disappear and never come back. He just needs to keep walking, keep going. Maybe it will all be a hallucination.

…It's not.

He walks into his small apartment, still covered in boxes he needs to unpack, and there's still a chill following him. He looks back and the ghostly apparition of Dave Strider is still there, staring blankly and following dutifully. It makes his heart twist painfully.

"Sorry for the mess, still settling in." The hand in his pocket fiddles with his phone, considering if he should call one of his friends. He... doesn't know if he can do this alone. "Make yourself at home, kid."

Crow seems to... hesitate. To pause for a moment, even if only briefly, as Dirk steps out of the alleyway. He- he's not meant to leave.

He's not… meant to leave?

He's meant to follow Dirk.

And follow he does, settling his wings tight against his back in an attempt to stay out of the way as he trails behind Dirk, a cold shadow at his heels as they walk down the street. He doesn't notice the way that no one around him tries to get out of his way. He doesn't notice the people walking directly through him. He doesn't notice anything, gaze fixed on Dirk as he leads him- home?

This isn't home. It's wrong, weird and unsettling, and- it takes Crow a moment to remember that Dirk wasn't taking him home - not to Crow's home, anyway. How can he take him somewhere neither of them knows?

"It's cool. Better than mine." Crow shakes out his wings, scattering stray, ghostly feathers onto the floor that quickly melt into the shadows. "...Probably." Maybe? He feels like it is. "Cold in here," he adds thoughtfully, wandering off to go look at a half-opened box, full of clothes. Boring. "You got any snacks?" he adds hopefully, moving onto the next box. "Can't remember the last time I ate."

 He's not even hungry, oddly enough. Just... hollow? Kinda? Not the kind of hollow that comes from not eating for days on end (and he swears he remembers feeling it, although he has... no clue how) , but… food can't hurt.

Dirk feels like he's going insane. The sight of feathers on the floor has him wondering for a hysterical moment if he'll have to be cleaning up feathers (like when he was younger, like when Dave would sneak the crows into their room) before they just… disappear. He kind of wants to disappear too. "Yeah. Cold for Houston this time of year." His voice is strained with emotions even he can't name. He can't lose his cool in front of Crow, not now. "There's a- uhm. There's a box in the kitchen labeled snacks, go wild, dude," he says, distracted, "I need to make a call."

And just like that he's fleeing into his room, pulling out his phone. He needs- he needs help. He can't call Jake or Jane, they’re busy with travel and work; can’t call Roxy either, she doesn’t need the stress; lord knows Rose would try to exorcize him, and even if it's for the greater good he doesn't want that.

He's blindly tapping out a number without thinking. There's really only one person he could call.

The phone rings a few times, Dirk thinks maybe he won't answer. Panic squeezes his throat.

The phone clicks when Hal picks up and the floodgates open.

"Fuck- I need help," his voice is wrecked with tears he refuses to shed, his pacing and hair pulling obvious through the phone. "I think- I think I just found my little brother? He's dead- He's a ghost and he doesn't remember anything. I didn't even know he was fucking dead- "  

Dirk Strider is a private man, kept his life and past under lock and key. Unless someone knew him from childhood (like his cousins) he kept that shit hidden. He doesn't think most people know he's an older brother.

… Was an older brother. Past tense. He can't- he can't breathe.

...Huh. Dirk... doesn't look good. Sounds even worse, actually. Should Crow... do something about that? What the fuck does he even do- ask, maybe? Just a quick "hey, you cool?" sounds like the polite thing to do - but shit. What if it isn't? What if it's something he doesn't want to talk about, especially not to some random kid that just followed him home- and huh, yeah, he really is just... in some stranger’s house, isn't he? He should... probably be more concerned about that.

And then Dirk mentions snacks, and he's immediately distracted. With a quiet, hissed, "Fuck yes-" he's off to the kitchen, making a beeline for the box-

And watching as his hands just phase through uselessly. Shit. Right. He'd... forgotten about that.

Man. He'd really wanted those snacks.

( He still tries a few more times, just for good measure. He even sticks his head through at one point, which he immediately regrets - it turns out, seeing the snacks just makes it all the more disappointing to realize he can't eat them. Man.)

Hal should have known something was wrong when he saw the number - Dirk never calls, and never this early. Fuck if he isn't still tempted to ignore it, though. Fuckin- it's too early for this shit. He's got better things to do. He lets his phone fall back onto the bedside, rolling onto his back again-

Before rolling back over with a groan, picking up the phone again and answering. "What-"

And- shit. That's a lot. Dirk... really doesn't sound good. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dirk. Shut the hell up for a second. I know you struggle to remember that other people that aren't you exist, but it's 6 in the fucking morning here - either tell me what's going on without the flood of bullshit like a normal person, or I'm hanging up and going back to sleep."

Hearing Hal's voice is a relief even if he's being a major fucking asshole. Especially because he's being an asshole - it's grounding, in an odd way. Makes his pacing slow at least. "Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, princess?" It's a knee jerk reaction to bite back, takes the bait and start an argument. He knows he sounds weak though, he won't be able to keep up much.

...How the fuck does he explain this ?

All he can really do is try repeating himself more slowly, eloquently? Fuck if he knows. He's still one more push away from a full-blown mental breakdown. "I think I'm going insane," his voice breaks, the hand previously in his hair now scrubbing his face, trying to breathe deeply. "I have- had. I had a little brother." It's somehow worse every time Dirk says it, it makes him feel cold and hollow. "...I think I was just followed home by his ghost."

Dirk is quiet for another moment, biting back a sound that might be a sob, might be a hysteric laugh. "I didn't even know he was dead, Hal." This is insane- is any of this even real? Did he inhale one too many fumes at his job or some shit? "I'm going crazy, fuck-"

...Christ.

This is... fuck. What the fuck is Hal supposed to do about this? All he can do is stare up at the ceiling as Dirk's voice rushes over him - clearly panicked, clearly about five seconds from losing it completely.

"...Okay, well - first off, you were already crazy, so there's nothing to worry about there." Hal sighs, running a hand down his face as he tries to think. "And- fuck, I don't know. Do you even know if he is dead?" That seems like the easiest part to focus on - no ghosts, no weird supernatural bullshit, just... facts. ... About a dead kid .

Jesus Christ it's too early for this.

"You're back in Houston, right? Just- I don't fucking know. Check the records. See if there's a death certificate there. Get a carbon monoxide detector for your apartment."

Dirk doesn't respond right away, so eerily quiet you'd think he hung up. Even his pacing slows to a stop. He wishes it were that easy.

"...I can't ," his voice is hardly a whisper, yet somehow still loud in the quiet room. "Our living situation wasn't- wasn't good... I didn't legally exist until I got out..." Those were some difficult hoops to jump through. Who knew getting a legal identity would be so hard? He doesn't want to say the next part; some little part of him still hoping he'd escaped. "If he never got out… There'd be no death certificate."

His laugh is verging on hysteric, hugging himself tight to try and get some pressure. He's going to flip off the fucking handle. "Hal, that was the first thing I did when I got my new apartment. Fully functional, batteries are good - hasn't made a fuckin’ peep."

"...Jesus." Fuck . What the fuck is Hal supposed to do about this? He's not even in the right fucking "God fuckin'- Fuck. I don't know, Dirk. Are you anywhere near your old apartment? Can't you just-" But if it was a shitty situation, he can't just- God. Fuck. With a heavy sigh, Hal pushes himself upright, hand scrubbing down his face as he forces himself to wake the fuck up. "Or- maybe he got out. You're not the only one who could do that shit, asshole - he might have a record. Just- check."

At least it gives him something to do. Hal knows that goddamn idiot - if he doesn't have something, he'll just let anxiety practically consume him. At least then he's still up, still moving - Hal can figure shit out in the meantime.

Dirk almost argues with him about that. Dave was young, a kid- his ghost doesn't look any older than the last time he saw him. There's no way he got out alone and survived.

...But anything to keep his hands busy, any distraction, is welcome.

"Fine. Jesus, sue a guy for panicking after possibly meeting his brothers’ ghost." He sounds a little better now that he has a task. After a little more time he hangs up with the mental note that he owes Hal - he hates owing him, ugh.

Now there's an itty-bitty problem. A distinctly angel shaped problem.

Now out of his room and feeling... mildly better, Dirk faces Crow . "I have to do something very important, stay here," he tells him, voice carefully neutral. "I'll be back soon."

...Of course, the kid doesn't listen.

Dirk is stuck for the next few hours with Crow very badly trying to hide and follow him around as he visits every police station nearby. He asks about his family registry, for a Dave or David or Crow Strider, and... Nothing .

Each one comes up blank.

There is no Dave Strider. He doesn’t exist - not legally, at least.

"Mhm. Legal summons are already on their way." Hal rolls his eyes, adding, "You'll be fine. And if you aren't, that ain't my problem." Of course, he stays on the phone with him for a little longer, just in case - he's not a monster. God knows what that idiot would do otherwise.

Crow had... almost forgotten that Dirk was there, distracted with snooping through all his shit (although he couldn't fight the faint feeling of unease, the feeling that something was wrong. Something was missing. ...It instantly goes away when Dirk comes back out.)

Cool. Okay. He can stay here. Easiest shit in the world. Even if being told what to do like a little kid kinda sucks (is he a little kid? How old is he?) . Even if he's already kinda fucking bored of the apartment.

...Even if the idea of Dirk leaving - leaving Crow alone - cold and dark and scared and hurt and-

Well. That's... a little dramatic. But it's enough for him to settle on following Dirk - what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? And he absolutely won't know. Crow's a goddamn master of hiding, holy shit. Not a single person on the street notices him as he sneaks his way through the crowd, even when he swears they're bumping right into him.

Win.

He... eventually forgets that he's meant to be hiding, after hours of trying, hours of watching Dirk walk out looking more and more upset. Shit. Something's... wrong.

"Who are you trying to find?" he asks casually, quickly folding his wing in to avoid hitting a passing woman. "Y'know where they live? It might be easier than hitting up the cops." He blinks, blank eyes widening in alarm as he adds, "Unless they're a criminal? Shit, what did they do?"

Dave- Crow coming up to him doesn't get easier, no matter how many times Dirk sees him. He thinks he's getting a little better at not looking like he was run straight through with a sword, though - that's a win in his book. He keeps walking as Crow talks, doesn't look back. At least with the day and age talking to himself doesn't look too crazy, people will just assume he's using earphones. 

"He doesn't live here," it's said with that same careful neutrality, trying to hide the intensity of his emotions. "He's not a criminal either. I was trying to find him but..." he doesn't exist in any way I can find him. He's right behind me and doesn't remember anything. He's dead . Obviously, he doesn't say any of that, just shakes his head and leads them back to his apartment.

...It's not home; probably never will be.

"Do you want to hear a story? It's one written for the boy I'm trying to find." Dirk can't make Crow remember, can't just force him into being Dave again, but... Maybe telling him about their past will help. An indirect way to tell him about himself. It might also help retrace their steps and find out what happened.

Crow slows slightly, blank gaze furrowing in worry as he stares at Dirk. "You're not just... going to leave him, are you? You're gonna find him. You have to - you can't just-" He shakes his head slightly, wings hunched as he glances away. "...It's not cool," he adds in an awkward mutter. "Leaving people alone." But- Christ, why does Crow care? He doesn't know Dirk. He has no fucking clue who this guy is, or who he's looking for, or- or why. Maybe he deserves to stay lost! Maybe he deserves worse!

...And yet, Crow can't fight the way his chest tightens at the thought, the shiver of pain that runs down his spine. Hands shoved into his pockets, he forces his wings back down, folding them tight against his back as he follows Dirk down the street. He doesn't say anything as they head back up into the apartment, casually hopping up to perch on one of the still closed boxes. A... story? He's way too fucking old for that little kid bullshit (however old that is) - Dirk... knows that, right? He's not just trying to get Crow to shut up and go to sleep or some shit? He should just tell him to fuck off.

...Instead, he tilts his head to the side, studying Dirk curiously. "A... story." He shouldn't care. He doesn't. He doesn't.

.... He weirdly does. "What's up?" he adds, shifting to get comfortable on the box, gaze fixed on Dirk.

Christ, Dirk will have a lot to tell Hal later. The bird mannerisms are both strange and familiar- how much of it was something that crossed over from life and how much of it is new? He’s... ashamed that he doesn't quite remember. The bad thing about being so good at masking yourself, your feelings, your being – is that, sometimes... you block off your own emotions to the point of forgetting. 

"It's not a very happy story, has an even worse end," probably, "but if you wanna hear I'll tell you." Seems like Crow took the bait. The kid was always far too curious for his own good . "I won't tell it all at once, gotta take this slow."

Dirk sits on the couch and leans back, thinking for a moment. "Once upon a time - yes we're starting this shit Disney fairytale style - in the faraway land of Houston, Texas, there was a man who really shouldn't have had kids. He was big, scary, and the meanest, manliest motherfucker you'd ever meet-" Talking about all this is going to be a bitch, but for his brothers... he'll do it . "Unfortunately for everybody he had not just one- but two kids 3 years apart, apparently never heard of 'wrap it before you tap it'," he huffs a humorless laugh, arms crossing, "two little boys, our protagonists, one with ruby red eyes and the other citrine orange. They didn't exist legally, their father made sure of it- he couldn't let the world know about the accident he had twice or the shit he'd put them through."

"The older boy had been excited to be an older brother, though he wound up being more of a father than his own. The younger was endlessly curious and creative, so deeply loving, like his heart was too big for his little body- it something the elder tried so hard to protect. Something their father tried hard to destroy." Dirk feels his throat close up, nails digging into his arms even as he doesn't change his expression. He did this on a whim, and he is not fucking ready. "And that's all for today, folks. Come back next week for part two."

He has a lot to tell Hal. Not that his past was any of the guy’s fucking business, but- still. Keeping everything a secret may or may not be biting him in the ass. "Gotta extend this shit as long as possible, keep you entertained, yeah? Got nothin' better to do." With a shrug and wave of his arm, he says- "Feel free to tell me your own story in exchange, kid. Doin' this for free is tough work." Not that he'd stop if Crow had nothing to give.

Crow can't hide the way he rolls his eyes at the fairytale ass opening - shit, it's like Dirk read his mind there - but... he still finds himself leaning forward, getting drawn into it. The dad, the brothers... he feels like he's heard this story before. From a movie somewhere? A really shitty movie - he feels like he saw a lot of those. It still eludes him, though, right on the tip of his tongue - if Dirk just keeps going, he might-

"That's it?" Wow. Holy shit. He should not be this disappointed about that. It's just some lame ass story, but- "Fuck, man, that's just when things were getting good." Or bad. Or very bad, it feels like. He leans back against the boxes with a slight huff, wings hunched as he mutters, "Just fuckin' blue balling me and then expecting a free story out of it." 

The guy... is letting Crow stay with him for free, though. Goddamnit.

He lets out a sigh, head tipping back to study the ceiling for a moment. "God. I don't know. Once upon a time- God that sounds so fuckin' stupid," he mutters, before continuing, "there was a, uh. A kid. Just one. He's just a really cool guy like that, y'know, solo rider over there, doesn't need anyone else." He's quiet for a moment, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as he adds, "...Not like he could... get anyone else. Feels like the rest of the world is just playing one giant game of hide and seek, but like- the lame ass version you play with babies who don't have the basic fuckin' survival instincts to hide, right, you look right at them and pretend you can't see them." He pauses, picks absently at the loose feathers on his wing, before adding, "That might be a shitty metaphor, actually. Implies everyone's pretending not to see him because they like him, which..." He lets out a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Ain't happening."

God, what the fuck else? "Uhh. And... that's. Kinda all he has going for him at the moment?" Crow shrugs. "He's got some big shit coming up, don't even worry about him. Big fuckin' projects cooking in the oven, everyone's gonna have no choice but to look at him. That's when he finally makes it... out." What... the fuck is he talking about?

...Himself? That doesn't- he doesn't have anything going on. Or- maybe he does? Is he working on something? Why could he only remember then? Why does he want out of somewhere- is that the same place he's trying to find? He- He lets out a long breath, sitting forward again and leaning against his leg. "Sorry. I-" don't know what that was. Where that came from. What that meant. "...That was a pretty shit story. So was yours, though, so..." He shrugs one shoulder awkwardly, wings protectively folding around himself.  "...Yeah. Anyway."

"Gotta be patient, kid," he shrugs casually, trying to hide the stiffness in his movements. Dirk needs to do this, but he needs to be prepared, needs to do it slowly. Who knows what will happen if he gives Crow too much at once and then doesn't have the mental strength to help him through it? No, he won't let that happen. He needs to be patient as well.

Dirk didn't actually expect Crow to start telling his own story, but he quietly listens anyways. He speaks in the same long rambles from his memories, the point getting lost halfway through before somehow landing right back at the start. The familiarity hurts as much as it comforts.

...He never thought he'd hear him again. He just wishes it hadn't been like this.

The story sounds like what Crow has been going through all these years, unable to be seen by regular people. Ignored and walked through.... Then he reaches the end, and it feels like Dirk finally gets something, somewhere to start. Was Dave planning to escape? Or have people finally notice the abuse?

If only he'd just say a little more.

"I think it has potential, both yours and mine ," he says, voice quiet. "I'd like to keep hearing if you ever come up with something else. Think of it as an equivalent exchange." So, they're doing this, he supposes. A story for a story- one of a past shared and one of an end unknown. He hopes his own helps Crow remember even just a little.

...Dirk also discreetly shoots Hal a text, just telling him what he found- which was absolute jack shit. He also tells him his carbon monoxide detector is working great, thank you, and the brotherly ghostly apparition is still right fucking there.

He's doing so great right now, actually. His skin totally isn't crawling and buzzing and he totally isn't holding on by a thin thread. He's fine .

Hal helpfully replies with a link to the nearest psych ward, and a thumbs up.

Crow shrugs dismissively, studying the floor. "I don't know. It was pretty fuckin' stupid." He scowls at a loose feather floating down, looking away as it melts into the shadows. "...Pointless."

"Whatever. Not like I'm some master storyteller. Best stories out there are just the biggest fuckin' piles of trash you've ever seen, I swear to god." And for a brief moment, he feels his fingers itch for- something. ...Even when that urge fades, there's still... something else. Muted and faded, buried beneath the static, but- still there. Still strong. He- he needs... what?

He needs to move, for starters. He can't just- sit here. Can't just do nothing. Without a word, he hops off the boxes, restlessly shaking his wings out as he starts pacing the room. It feels... better, but only slightly, his skin is still buzzing anxiously. He needs to move, to go... somewhere. Where? "...Can we go back to the alley tomorrow?" He's speaking without thinking, surprising himself with the words. "I... I feel like I left something behind there. Don't know what, but..." He shrugs. "'M sorry. It's stupid. Just- nevermind."

The link almost makes Dirk snorts, chest loosening just slightly. He replies with an emoji flipping the bird. Asshole.

"Not to me." Nothing his brother says is pointless, it's all important to him. "You're listening to my shitty story, least I can do is listen to yours too." The words are similar to what Bro would tell them though, that fucking hypocrite. Arts and crafts and stories and movies were all fine for him , but never his kids. He made that obvious. 'Piles of garbage that'll rot your brain, soften your edges, ' yeah sure- because children are supposed to be master swordfighters.

He nods with zero hesitation, smiling slightly. "We can go back, I don't mind," and he sounds truthful. Whatever Crow needs, whatever will help him remember, Dirk will do. That alley... Could that be where he...? It makes dread sink deeply into his stomach, but he keeps his expression as soft as possible. He's used to putting on an unfeeling mask, especially when expressions naturally weren't his strong suit, but he must comfort his brother. For good measures, he even puts his shades on top of his head. "No need to apologize, lil' man. We can go in the morning."

Crow pauses for a moment, head tilted slightly as he watched Dirk take his shades off. Huh. He looks- "...Safer," he says thoughtfully, voice quiet as his wings relax, drooping down by his sides. He's not sure why - maybe being able to see Dirk's eyes? Orange on- red, his mind helpfully supplies, but that's Dirk's story. Orange on whatever color Crow's eyes are. It's good. "Dumb shades anyway," he adds in a mutter, barely stifling a yawn as he goes back to pacing. "Cool. In the morning. And until then - I'm sleeping."

God, that sounds good. He never realized just how fucking tired he was until he said it - or maybe he did, and forgot? Whatever. He's too tired to give a shit. It's like his entire body is just desperate to stop, to do nothing for...ever. Forever sounds great, actually. World’s best nap. "You cool if I steal the couch?" He pauses for a moment, eyeing off the blankets scattered across it, before adding, "...And the blankets?" He... remembers but not quite remembers, a blurry memory of making piles of blankets. ‘Nests’? They were... safe. Nice. Soft and comfortable, a warm weight pressed against his side - someone else?

...Fuck, Crow's so cold . And tired. And as childish as it sounds - man, a hug sounds really fucking good right about now. How long has it been since he...?

Of course he'd feel more comfortable when Dirk isn't wearing his shades. Despite everything, Dirk somehow ended up with the same tastes as his father, not to mention he's practically a carbon copy of the guy- same hair, same shades, same eyes...

It's probably not fun for Crow to see, whether he remembers or not.

Dirk makes a note to take them off whenever he can, it's something he always did with Dave anyways. Unfortunately, he needs to wear them out - sensitive eyes and all that. Shades were probably the only good thing Bro ever did for them. "Of course, take all the blankets you need." He'd give anything to Dave if he asked, even his life. Especially his life if it meant it would bring his brother back. "Get some rest." On instinct, he reaches over to pat Crow on the head- only for his hand to phase right through. His hand is freezing cold, the only evidence that he even touched anything. "If you need anything else just- just let me know, alright? I'll leave you to your nest building, gotta get some rest too...."

The sounds of quiet giggles fill the room as Dirk and his brother build a 'nest.' It was a bad day, Bro being harder and crueler than usual. This, though – quiet, safe moments together - always made things better. Pulling their mattress into the middle of their room and building a huge blanket fort with their sheets and blankets and anything else they had in the closet.

It always fell apart far too quickly, looking more like a nest than a fort, but that's okay. Dirk just got to hold his baby brother close surrounded by warm blanket, ease the pain and hurt with kind words and gentle hands, fall asleep safe and loved.

…He wishes he could still do that.

On instinct, Crow pretends to duck out of the way- only for Dirk's hand to completely phase through.

...Yeah. Right. He'd... forgotten.

He forces himself to nod, draws his slumping wings back up so he doesn't look too pathetic. He's fine. He's cool. "Uh- yeah. Yeah, you go... sleep." ...How did he know about the nest?

Whatever. Crow's got more important things to worry about - like how the fuck he's going to make this nest. He can't... touch things - him waving his hand through the blanket only proves it - but...that's bullshit. That's so bullshit. Ghosts can touch shit in movies all the time!! And if they can, why the fuck can't he? It's not even that fucking hard - he should be able to do this. He's just- just gotta try harder . Be better .

...On his fifth attempt, he manages to pick up a corner of the blanket - which immediately phases through his hand again when his concentration shatters. Fuck yes.

It feels like an eternity of work, of straining to focus on keeping his hand solid, moving blankets the tiniest distances, but eventually- he has a really shitty nest. More a loose pile of blankets than anything, half falling off the couch, and so many left discarded on the floor after he gave up. Better than nothing though! Fuck yes. Fuck. Yes. He's so fucking exhausted, and the pile of soft, warm blankets looks fucking perfect. He practically throws himself in, and- and…

...Nothing. It's like the blankets aren't even there - all he can feel is the same chill he always can, like he's lying on cold hard concrete. There's a faint warm spot from where Dirk was sitting, but...he can't sleep like this. ...Fuck, being alone feels wrong, too. The apartment's gone silent by now, dark and empty and- it feels uncomfortably familiar. In a... not fantastic way.

Maybe that's why Crow ends up slipping from room to room, wings wrapped tight around himself to try and fight off the chill. It doesn't take him long to find Dirk's room, cautiously reaching out and shaking his arm - his hand only stays solid for a moment, but it's long enough.

"Hey. Um." Fuck. Why did he even come here? "I- I can't sleep? And it's really fuckin' cold."

Dirk is startled awake by someone touching him, on instinct reaching for a weapon he no longer has, panicking until...

Until his vision adjusts and all he sees is his little brother.

If he tries, the wings on his back melt into the background and ruby red eyes stare back at him full of life. It’s easier like this, familiar. He takes a deep breath and forces his heartbeat to slow, shoulders slumping. After a moment, he smiles, small and a little hesitant, before scooting back towards the wall and lifting his blanket. "Cmere," he murmurs, keeping his voice soft and quiet. Like so many times before, back when they were kids- opening his arms and his blanket and letting Dave snuggle into his side, holding him close and warm and protective.

Every day he wished he could do it again. Seems like it's coming true, even if it's under the worst circumstances.

Crow flinches back, bracing himself for an attack, a weapon, anything- and there's.... nothing. Of course there isn't. Dirk wouldn't...

...He doesn't know that. He doesn't know Dirk.

And yet... he barely hesitates when Dirk lifts the blanket, silently crawling in and curling up tight by his side. He's still so cold, Dirk's warmth faint and far away, even when he's pressed against his side, but- it helps. ...It takes him a moment to place what the burning feeling in his eyes is, the cold trails running down his face and leaving no mark on the mattress below him. Is he...?

...Oh.

He tries scrubbing them away, but more takes their place, seemingly never ending. He- he can't stop them, can't hold them back, can barely hold back the sob threatening to tear its way out, and he doesn't know why .

It's fucking terrifying.

As much as he tries, Dirk can't touch Crow. And he tries – he tries so fucking hard. Even as the cold chills him to the bone, he still tries wiping his tears and kissing his head; all instinctual, all things he thought he'd forgotten how to do. All things he can no longer do. He makes sure the blanket is tucked well around them and gets as close as possible, both their heads on his pillow. Their hands are something like being clasped, the chill of Dave's hand in his own almost a comfort. "I'll fix this, I promise" he whispers. He will, he has to. Dirk refuses to leave his brother like this- refuses to let him go. He'll help his brother remember and... and everything will be okay.

He'd close his eyes, but... he can't stop looking at Crow. At Dave. That far too young face, terrified and crying and so, so tired. "Get some rest, bud. We'll head back to the alleyway tomorrow."

Dirk trying so hard just makes things even worse - why does he care? Crow- Crow doesn't even know who he is, but Dirk does, Dirk clearly knows him and yet Crow can't fucking remember-

His hands are in Dirk's and they're still cold. Warm arms wrapped around him do nothing when he's chilled to the bone. His head rests against Dirk's shoulder, rests through Dirk's shoulder, and it still feels like he's lying on cold hard concrete. He clings to the promise as tight as he can, desperate for any sort of relief - and finding none. He doesn't know Dirk, has no reason to believe him, to find comfort in him. He can't shake the feeling that he's supposed to, and yet he can't and it's-

It's scary. It's so fucking scary and he hates this. He wants it to stop.

"...Okay."

...He can't even sleep. He's so, so fucking tired, and all he wants to do is sleep and he can't. All he can do is lie there through the long, silent night, watching Dirk sleep and desperately try to fight the fear of being alone.

Chapter Text

The next morning isn't much better.

Freezing cold even under warm blankets, the tips of his fingers numb, and yet when he looks… Crow is still awake. Still so obviously scared and now, with the way the light seeps into his room it's hard to ignore- The black wings, puffed and frazzled in fear, the wide, blank eyes, the transparent look of his body.

No matter how much he wishes and prays and hopes, Dave is still dead. Crow is still a ghost.

Dirk still smiles and whispers a hoarse, "Good morning." Forcing himself out of bed and starting his usual morning routine, he shoots Hal a text as he brushes his teeth - the guy is an asshole, but he knows him better than anyone, if Dirk goes radio silent that's a surefire way for police or an ambulance to suddenly show up at his apartment. He gets dressed, styles his hair, makes breakfast, and everything feels- wrong. It's normal. His brother’s ghost is sitting right there , and Dirk is making fucking toast and tea. He can barely stomach it, forces food down less because he wants to, and more because he knows he has to.

…Time to do this.

"Let's go, kid," he gestures to the door, shades back on because he can't go outside without them, unfortunately. Dirk hopes it isn't scaring Crow too badly... He tries to be more expressive just in case, softly smiling even if he wants nothing more than to cry. The walk back to the alley is silent, too silent for him. The streets feel empty with how early it is, and they reach the location without a hitch. He can pull his shades back up, at least- the sunlight doesn't reach.

"Feel any better here?" he asks quietly, glancing at Crow.

Crow doesn't say a word all morning, silently following Dirk around the apartment like, well... Like a ghost.

...Is this just what he's stuck as now? Never remembering, never touching, forever separated and forced to do nothing but watch as the world moves on without him? That- that can't be it. There has to be something else. There is something - the same thing in his chest pulling him towards Dirk… towards that alley.

Being there, having Dirk around- it helps. If only the slightest amount. "...I. I don't know." It still isn't enough, though. There's something- "I- I need- I need to find..." What? He's moving without thinking, wandering further into the alley and searching the shadows for... something? "I- it has to be here, it- it is- I lost my... my...” He trails off for a moment, staring at a patch of shadow in the corner of the alleyway- before… Before there's something darting across his mind and he's lunging for it-

"My sword!" He turns back to Dirk, wings fluffing up in excitement. "I- I lost my sword; I need to find it before I- before...." And just as quickly as the excitement came, it leaves. Confusion takes its place, wings drooping. "I... need it for.... something.”

Dirk watches Crow move around, unnerved by his silence. Dave used to fill up the quiet with his rambles, rarely ever went so completely dead silent. It makes his chest feel tight.

And then something almost alive crosses Crow's face. Excitement is obvious in his expression and for a moment Dirk shares that excitement. Did he remember? Are his memories back? Is his brother back? -

...

...He isn't.

Dirk's stomach sinks. "Your sword?" he questions quietly, taking a few cautious steps closer. There's something almost there, maybe a hint to how Dave died. Maybe if he pushes just a little ... "I have another part to the story, couldn't leave you waiting for too long." He leans casually against the wall, looking up at the roofs.

"The father did everything he could to destroy the love within the boys, especially his soft-hearted youngest. He often used the care the two boys had against each other." He remembers bruises and cuts, scars that don't fade. He still flinches when people get too close too quickly, when someone raises their hands. Dirk attacked someone once when they startled him - they were wearing a baseball cap. He'd been fired from his job at the time and he's lucky he even found a new one.

…The story must go on.

"The father was ruthless in his cruelty, masking it as 'doing the right thing' for his sons," he scoffs, arms crossing, "said he was doing it to make them strong enough to face the world, as if that would mask his enjoyment of their suffering. All the two boys had was each other - red and orange like a sunset, like gems. Yes, I know - Super cliche, but it's the truth." Dirk takes a breath and doesn't know if he wants to continue, doesn’t want to get to that part… Keep going, keep talking. "The two had always wanted to escape together, sometimes they could only do once the elder was 18, and when that day finally came the youngest... didn't wish to come. The elder wanted nothing more than to bring his little brother with him, even if that meant working himself to death, and an argument broke out." God, that fight still haunts him. His last words to Dave, their final conversation… was a fight.

"...If we’re getting poetic? The sunset quickly turned into an inky black night, not a star in the sky. The elder in citrine orange left the younger in ruby red behind." Because that's what he did, wasn't it? Dirk left Dave all alone to die. Didn't fight hard enough, wasn't strong enough or capable enough to care for them both.

He smiles, just a small and sad grin. "There's another part, one I'm still working on. I'm hoping that our outing will help me finish it."

"...Yeah. My... sword." Crow echoes quietly, turning back to the shadows for a moment. "I... had a sword...?" That- doesn't sound right. Doesn't sound wrong, but- it feels wrong, all of this feels so painfully wrong. In a strange way, Dirk's impromptu story is almost a relief - Crow glances back at him, nodding slightly before leaning against the opposite wall. "The two boys?"

Something in his chest... hurts at the story, wings folding protectively around himself. He- he's not sure he wants to hear this story, but- he can't stop Dirk, even if he wants to.

(.... Does he want to?)

"...Why didn't he come?" Crow's voice is quiet, laced with panic. "He- he can't stay there, not alone - he could have gotten out! He wouldn't have had to be... alone." (And the thought fucking terrifies him, cold concrete pressed against his back and he's alone and scared and so, so tired -)

…He doesn't want to think about it.

Instead, his gaze drifts up, fixing on the edge of a roof near the deepest end of the alleyway. "...What's up there?" he asks quietly, brow furrowing slightly. "It feels..." Familiar. Dangerous. Like home. "...Bad."

'Why didn't he come back?' Such a simple question with such a simple answer. One that hurts all the same.

"...Because the younger told him to leave and the elder would do anything for him." He would hang the stars in the sky for him, would bring him diamonds and pearls and all the fossils and dead shit he could ever want, would have killed their bastard of a father had he just asked . Dave told him to leave and so... Dirk left.

He shouldn't have.

"Something scary," he replies quietly, gaze locked onto the one roof he remembers vividly. "A bad man - a monster - once lived up there. I don't... I don't know if he's still there. I hope he isn't." Dirk is quiet another moment, unable to make himself look at Crow. Unable to look for Dave. "Do you have another part for your story?" Anything he could use to solve what happened. He hopes he doesn't have to face his father.

That's...that's not a good answer. Why did the younger ask him to leave? Why did he want to be alone? Bad things happen when you're alone, terrible things, and he... He was alone.

...He hates being alone.

A cold chill seeps through to his bones, and his wings seem to weigh so heavily on his back that it hurts, and he just wants to sleep but... He can't. Not until he finishes his story for Dirk.

Crow is silent for a long, long time, blank gaze fixed on the roof. "...I think it's up there," he finally says - and even though his voice is quiet, it seems to echo off the walls in the otherwise silent alley. "With the monster."

The words ring in his head like a broken record, the puzzle begins to look more complete, and the image is fucking horrifying . He thinks he knows what happened. He really hopes he isn't right.

"...Guess it’s high time I faced that monster, huh?" He stands straight and pushes his shades back down, a mirror image of who he's about to face. "I've run long enough." Dirk can't run from the truth, can't keep deluding himself into thinking everything is fine when it clearly isn't.

Dirk doesn't look back to check if Crow is following him- whether he is or isn't doesn't change what he has to do. Walking into the apartment complex he finds that the landlady is still the same after all these years, is still the nice old lady she'd always been. She asks about Dave and Dirk has no answer for her, just questions if Dietrich Strider is still living in the same apartment.

...And he is.

Walking up to the door feels like walking to his death - and maybe it is. Maybe he'll join his brother. Maybe his knocking on the door and calling out to that motherfucker will finally get him fucking killed- …Or Bro will poke his head out, older and with greying hair. Even with his cap and shades, his expression is no longer unreadable - he's stressed, anxious... paranoid. It's the very expression Dirk had mastered hiding under that very roof. "Father," he greets through gritted teeth.

Somehow, he lets Dirk in- or more accurately, Dirk pushes his way in. The apartment is a mess, more so than when he left it. The smuppets are worn and torn with age, the walls and futon stained with years of neglect - the most care put into the apartment is the security system which somehow seems better than before. "Where's my brother?" No use in mincing words or dancing around his real reason for being there. That's not their style. Bro just snorts, replying with a dark, "little late, aren't ya?"

Dirk wants to strangle this man, but he won't. He's almost… pitiful, a shell of his former self - his hulking form is gaunt and hunched, almost as ghost-like as the ghost that's been following him. Yet still he still looks like the monsters from his memories when he looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. It’s a strange dissonance, especially with how Dirk now matches him in height. "I'm not joking."

"Neither am I. The lil’ shit left and hasn't returned." It would make Dirk almost hopeful if he didn't know any better. If he didn't already know his brother was dead. "Bullshit," Dirk hisses, fist slamming into the wall, "what the fuck happened?" Bro jumps, not quite able to mask himself quickly enough. Dirk feels sick satisfaction settle in next to the fear.

"It wasn't my fault." And it instantly drains out of him at those worlds, unable to say anything as Bro keeps going. "He was the one not careful. The brat was always so fucking clumsy- "

A badly timed sword strike and a badly timed dodge. Ruby red eyes widened with horror, a little body far too close to the edge.

He never heard the landing. He didn't stick around long enough to see.

"If anything- it's your fault anything happened," Bro’s voice is cruel, a slight smile on his face - like he's happy to finally be taking control of a situation. "If you hadn't left, I wouldn't have had to fight him so often; if you hadn't shielded him, I wouldn't have had to toughen him up." Each word is like a knife.

"You- killed him- “ Dirk mutters it through grit teeth. "He killed himself," Bro sneers back, " you killed him. It's not my fault." It's not. He's not at fault- Bro is completely blameless. The kid should have known better, should have been stronger, should have tried harder- Dirk shouldn't have shielded him so often, shouldn't have kept him soft. It's not Bro's fault that Dave died

His death lays on Dirk's shoulders.

Dirk doesn't know how he doesn't fucking kill that man then and there. Doesn't know when he makes it to the roof and just... kneels at the edge, almost dangling his feet off. All he knows is the familiar chill of death that follows Crow. “...I think I know how our stories end."

Crow shrinks back at that, instinctively shaking his head- he can't, Dirk can't , he'll- he'll get hurt-

He can't bring himself to speak. Can't stop Dirk. Can't do anything but silently follow him into the apartment, wings tucked tight against him as he stays behind Dirk. It's stupid. It's stupid, and childish, and dumb- But when he sees... whoever it is at the door- he's so glad he's hidden.

...There's something, something about this that's so achingly familiar - hidden behind Dirk, facing down someone with eyes hidden behind pointed shades, a threat, a danger- He's terrified. He's still fucking terrified, even now, even after- everything he can't remember. Nails dig into his arms as he stays ducked behind Dirk. Safe. Home, or as close to home as he can get.

The conversation passes in a blur - he hears arguing but can't make out the words, hears a slam but can't bring himself to jump - idly, he's aware that something important is happening, that he should be paying attention- but the fog in his mind drowns all that out.

He's so tired. So scared. So close to... something . Something he can't quite grasp. Something that terrifies him. Something he needs. He only begins to come back into himself once they end up on the roof, once Dirk is-

No.

"No- no nono, you can't-" desperately, he tries to pull Dirk back, cold hands passing through him as his wings bristle with fear. "You have to be careful, you have to- you can't-"

...If he didn't know before, then the fear in Dave's voice is enough confirmation. Dirk doesn't want to get back, honestly. He’s... tired. He was always moving because of Dave and he's- he's gone , but... He's done so much harm already; he can't keep scaring Crow like this.

Scooting back a bit, he stays on the ground and cross-legged, glancing at Crow before looking back at the ledge. "The older boy with citrine orange eyes moved on with his life," he begins quietly, trying to will away his tears away, "he learned how to be an adult, made friends. He lived... the lonely boy with ruby red eyes did not." His chest tightens and he forces himself to look at Crow, face the manifestation of his grief head on. "The boy in red died not long after the argument, he never got to grow up like his brother. His body and sword lay broken on the ground, a bird unable to take flight." His voice breaks and he clenches his fists.

Keep talking, keep going. He has to, for his brother.

"The elder returns to their old home after many years, unaware of his baby brother’s passing and... he meets the ghost left behind." Dirk wants to cry. What will happen when Crow remembers? Will he stay? ...Will he rest? Neither feel like a good option. "Citrine meets moonstone instead of ruby, but the elder loves him all the same. He helps him find the truth and finish his story, no matter how difficult."

A well-timed swipe of a sword, a badly timed dodge. Wide, ruby red eyes. Worn, red sneakers slipping on the edge and a little body falling. A final desperate plea to not be alone.

“...I never told you the brothers names, did I? Want to guess?"

Crow still looks wary, but... he slowly nods, lowers himself to sit down next to Dirk. Maybe... maybe this is okay. He can trust Dirk. He wants to, at least. And that has to count for something.

Crow stays silent as the story is told, blank gaze fixed on Dirk as he hugs his knees tight to his chest. It feels... wrong. Right . A warm blanket wrapped around him on a cold night. The sickening rush of cold air screaming past. He wants to make it stop. Needs to hear the end. He's so, so scared, so, so tired - he wants to go home . He doesn't know where that is.

Something... clicks as the story nears its end. He's long since looked away from Dirk, now, unable to meet that grief he can't mirror, but- But as he finally looks back at Dirk, there's- something . A spark of red in his eyes, no matter how brief, and a quiet, "...Dirk?"

He- he can't be. He can't.

He is.

"...You came back."

Dirk flips his shades back up, even if the sun hurts his eyes. He needs to be able to see Crow, for Crow to be able to see him.

And for just a moment… he sees Dave.

  "Yeah." His words are quiet, choked with grief and tears and love. "I came home." His home was wherever Dave was, he left his heart and home behind for so long, too long. The weak smile on his face crumbles and once again he tries to reach for Dave, can't hold him no matter how much he wants to. "I'm so sorry, Dave," he says, voice breaking, "I- I didn't know . I would have come back sooner if I had known."

He would have killed their father, but there's no point in that now. He just wants to hold his baby brother like he did when they were kids. "I love you so much." The exhaustion on Crows- Dave’s face is obvious, and Dirk thinks he knows what he has to do.

...He doesn't know if he can, not alone.

Dave instinctively tries to push himself closer to Dirk, to try and feel that warmth, but- there's nothing. There's nothing and maybe there never will be, never again, but- But at least Dirk's back. Dirk's here. He- he isn't alone anymore. "It's not your fault. I- I should have been better." He can't stop the tears welling up in his eyes as he adds, "I should have listened to you. I shouldn't have left you alone."

" I miss you. I’m sorry." The words are so simple, but- fuck , it feels incredible getting to say them out loud. How long has he been waiting? How much did he forget? He can already feel it all slowly fading away again, and he- he doesn't want to forget. Doesn't want to lose his brother again, even if he'll still be right next to him. He-

 "I'm scared," and it's small, ashamed, and he can't stop himself from trying to curl up against Dirk's side, even when he knows he can't. "I'm- I'm scared, and I'm so fucking tired, and- I hate this. I hate it so much and I should have just gone with you and now I'm stuck-" his voice breaks as he shakily adds, "I'm so sorry."

Dirks heart breaks further with each word, swallows back a sob. It hurts so fucking much. He still tries to wipe away his little brother’s tears . "Don't apologize, I'm the one who left you." But there's no point in playing the blame game, is there? Not now. He holds his baby brother close, so small and fragile in his arms. They're both bruised and hurt after a strife, they're exhausted. He gently wipes away the tears and murmurs-

"It's okay, bud- you'll be okay," he smiles as reassuringly as he can, eyes soft and full of tears he isn't shedding, voice wobbling. "Let go, rest. I'll follow you soon." He needs to let Dave go. He can't just... hold the kid here no matter how much he might want to. Dirk needs to put him to bed one last time. "If you're tired go to sleep. I'll be here until you do."

Dave should stay. He's already lost Dirk once - already left him once. He can't do it again. He can't…

He can't keep his eyes open. He's so fucking tired, more tired than he's ever been - it can't hurt to just... close his eyes for a little bit, right? Just... just a little while. "...I'll see you when I wake up..." His voice is quiet, so, so quiet as he finally lets himself lie down, curled up with his head in Dirk's lap. "Promise..."

Even with the cold concrete under him, all Dave can feel is the warm blankets, carefully wrapped around him as Dirk tucks the two of them into their nest. Today fucking sucked - another shitty strife, another set of cuts and bruises and scars - but... his brother's here, and for now he's warm, and soft, and safe.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

...Dave finally leaves the alley.

For just a beautiful, heartbreaking moment. Dirk can touch his brother. He feels cold skin under his fingers, smooths down unruly hair, and pets soft feathers. It takes everything in him to keep his smile on his face, keep his fingers from trembling. Quietly, he hums a lullaby, just anything that comes to mind. He relishes in the nostalgia of his baby brother’s weight in his lap for as long as he can.

For a wonderful, painfully short moment… everything is as it was before. Dirk is younger and Dave is with him, alive in his arms and resting after a long day.

…And then he starts to fade and Dirk- let's him go. Just keeps humming and moving his fingers through his hair and feathers until there's nothing to touch. Until the weight in his lap is gone and the cold is just a lingering chill. Until all that's left is a single, black feather cradled in the palm of his hand.

Dirk feels numb, dull gaze lifting from his lap and the feather towards the edge of the roof, the very roof that Dave... he looks straight down into that empty alley, clutches the feather close to his chest. He doesn't know when he grabs his phone, but he's scrolling through missed calls and unanswered texts, all of them from one person. He calls back.

"...He's gone..." is all he can whisper, voice hollow. "My brother is gone."

Hal's always been logical above all else, hyper focused on the facts to a fault, so when he couldn't stop himself from thinking about flying over to Texas- Well. Fuck . That's just a sign that things are bad , isn't it? He has to do this. That's what he tells himself as he spends ridiculous amounts of money on a last-minute flight (the earliest he can find) . That's what he tells himself when he boards the worst fucking red-eye flight of his life. That's what he tells himself when he lands in Texas and-

And Dirk isn’t answering his calls.

Fuck.

He's texted once since this morning, must've been while Hal was in the air, but- he knows that asshole well enough to know that text isn't good news. He seems upset, overwhelmed- and now he isn't answering his phone? Something is wrong. Something's incredibly fucking wrong, and all Hal's been able to do is to pace the streets of Houston, trying again and again and again to call that fucking asshole-

And then his phone rings.

"Holy shit- fucking finally . Sixteen fuckin' missed calls and that wasn't enough for you-" Hal forces himself to pause, take a breath. It's definitely just frustration and not worry in his voice as he snaps, "I'm in Houston. Where the fuck are you?"

The voice on the other end of the line is almost comforting. Worry is clear in his voice, hidden as it might be by anger and frustration. …Dirk caused that. He can't even work up the energy to apologize.

"...Roof," he mumbles. The feather is still clutched in his hand. It feels too heavy.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before Hal shows up. He has the same red eyes Dave did... if he hadn’t already been on his knees, gaze locked right over the edge of the roof, he might have collapsed. His grief is fucking suffocating ; tears he can't stop beginning to rapidly roll down his cheeks. "I didn't know he was dead." It feels like an excuse. He should have done more, would have done more. "My little brother, he- he's gone ." His world is gone ; everything feels like it's shattering around him.

...What even is the point of continuing if he couldn’t protect his brother?

Hal definitely doesn't freak out too much at that, quickly tracking Dirk’s phone. He’s so fucking glad he put a tracker on that damn thing years ago. "Okay. I know this is asking a lot of you, but just- don't do anything stupid until I get there." Fuck. Hal nearly sprints up the stairs when he finally finds the apartment complex, half expecting the worst- and what he finds... isn't reassuring.

It hasn't been long since Hal last saw Dirk face to face, and yet- he looks like he's aged a thousand years, gaze dull and distant and tearful. He looks like he’s going to-

...Shit.

Silently, Hal grabs Dirk by the arms and tugs him away from the edge, doesn’t dare let him go for a second - fuck, the concrete is fucking freezing here - casting Dirk a brief glance before looking away. "...If he was a ghost- which, I'm still not sure I believe that, but- if he was. He was already gone." Hal's silent for a moment, before adding, "He just... needed to move on."

Dirk is silent for a long time, shoulders trembling. "He was so tired , I had to let him rest," his whisper hitches at the end, a quiet sob nearly cutting him off.

That's what finally opens the floodgates.

He doubles over, trying his best not to crush the delicate feather, and wails . The sound rips through him, loud and ugly and so fucking painful - he can barely breathe through his sobs, can hardly see through his tears, can hardly think through the grief threatening to swallow him whole. "He died right after I fucking left- he was a kid, he was just a kid- " he cries, anger and despair swirling in his mind and it's overwhelming after feeling nothing for what feels like forever. "Dave never got to grow up, Hal. I didn't- it's my fault. I left him, I let him die- "

Hal catches Dirk when he doubles over. Of course he does. Of course he practically holds him up, arms shifting around Dirk to press him close as he wails.

"You did what you had to," and his voice is oddly serious, no trace of his usual smugness or annoyance as he quietly adds, "You did what you could . Sometimes… that’s all you can do, even when shit goes wrong." And there's no fucking doubt in his mind that Dirk tried so goddamn hard - he doesn't know the situation, but he knows Dirk.

"You let him rest," he murmurs quietly, squeezing Dirk oh so tight. "What more could you have done?"

It's maybe a little surprising when Hal holds him so close, so tight and firm, but... fuck . It feels nice to be held.  Like the string keeping a balloon from flying away. Dirk can only cry harder.

"All these years- all these years I thought he had escaped, that he'd grown up and gotten to live and become the person I'd always thought he'd be." His voice is muffled in Hal’s shoulder, sobs heartbreaking. "If I'd just come back sooner- " Dave would still be dead. The only way to change the past is if Dave had come with him.

Dirk cries and screams and wails until his throat is sore. Until his cries are hoarse and raspy and nearly mute, hanging limply in Hal's arms and dully staring at the roof edge. It feels... oddly relieving to cry. "I want to go home..." he whispers, near inaudible. He's exhausted and just wants rest, wants to go home , but- Dave was his home. Dave is gone now; Dirk doesn't have a home.

Hal doesn't say a word the whole time, just silently holds Dirk up as he goes limp. He'll do what he can, and if this is all he can then... That's what he's doing. Even after Dirk finally calms down, cries and screams and wails fading to silence, he doesn't speak. Not yet. All he can do is stare at the edge of the roof - is that where Dirk's brother died? Or is that where he...

...Hoping for one over the other feels- wrong. All Hal knows is he wants to pull him further away from the edge. "Let's go, then." He silently stands, firmly but gently pulls Dirk up to his feet. "Before it gets dark."

Dirk doesn't reply verbally, just nods and clings to Hal as he's lead home. His heart hurts like he's left a piece of it back in that alley. The walk back is silent, save for Dirk's occasional sniffle, feeling far too long and far too short. Time doesn’t mean much like this. Once inside, they’re both hit with the remains of that ghostly chill, sinking deep into their bones. He just quietly tucks himself closer for warmth.

He's too tired to keep going, but Hal is here... Maybe it's a good thing he was pulled from that roof, who knows what he would have done.

"...Dave loved crows," he mumbles suddenly, voice hoarse. "He'd sneak them into our room... the feathers got everywhere." There's slight amusement cutting through the grief, a small smile through the tears. He feels like he has to talk about Dave, to tell his story. Dave is dead, but the least he can do is remember the good, not just the bad. "He'd steal my shit all the time just like those damn birds," he snorts quietly, gently thumbing at the feather in his palm. "Called him my lil' Crow. He'd bring me rocks and pebbles and any shiny thing he could find in exchange..."

Hal doesn't believe in ghosts. He never has, and he'd always thought he never would. But...

When they walk into that apartment and he feels the chill on the air, the same chill he felt on that roof that seemed to creep into his bones - it's harder to convince himself. "Yeah?" Hal sits Dirk down on the couch, tries to fight the slight chill of unease he gets when he sees the loosely arranged pile of blankets (for a moment it feels like a memorial, something he shouldn't disturb. Sitting on it feels like sitting on a grave.) "Must've been a smart kid to get them in there. Crows are smart ass birds."

He pulls one of the blankets up, tucks it around Dirk's shoulders . "Y'ever figure out why he was stealing it?" It's not the greatest question out there, but... it feels like Dirk just needs to talk about him. Hal can work with that. Anything to fill the silence of the empty apartment, more tomb than home. Anything to keep Dirk going, push back that uneasy, terrifying nothingness Hal caught glimpses of before.

At least Hal was there to pull him back from the edge. He doesn't... want to think about what could have happened.

"No, I think he just liked my rings." He slumps back against Hal once they've sat in the nest, blanket pulled tight around his shoulders. It feels like honoring Dave, finally doing this one childish thing again. "Maybe he wanted to copy me, no idea why." Talking hurts, but... its grounding. There are good moments tucked between the bad and the scary. Dirk made damn sure Dave was as happy as possible in that godforsaken apartment

"We'd make huge nests just like this after a bad day and just... hold each other. Never told the kid he was pressing against my bruises, or his bony limbs were digging into me-"

Dirk just talks.

"Lil' man was morbidly fascinated with dead shit, had jars of the stuff. Was creepy, but fuck- I'd help him collect bones when he asked-"

And talks...

"He was creative, the most creative kid I've ever known. He was publishing a comic; it was fucking amazing. I loved watching him draw and ramble-"

...And talks.

"Dave rapped and mixed music so goddamn well, was half convinced he'd end up with a record label. Getting us a turntable was one of the only good things our father ever did-"

Until there's nothing left to say. Until his eyes shut and breath evens out and tears are only quietly rolling down his cheeks.

He falls asleep warm for the first time in years.

Hal doesn't say a goddamn word as Dirk talks, doesn't dare interrupt a single word of what he's saying. It feels... important. Sacred. Honoring someone who never got to grow up by dedicating every moment of their (painfully short) life to memory. Hal listens to every fucking word. Of course he does. And when Dirk finally falls asleep... Hal can only stare into the silence of the apartment for a while and wonder if someone is staring back.

He sleeps peacefully that night, the first time in a while, and yet he still finds himself waking up first - he always did, even back when he and Dirk were roommates and he'd be up half the night working on god knew what. He's never been more glad for that than he is now.

The silence of the apartment is suffocating, the thought of sitting here uselessly even more so. And so, he gently eases himself away from Dirk, adjusts the blankets to keep out the slowly fading chill, and shoots him a quick message (TT: Getting coffee. Be back soon. Don't freak out.) , before slipping out onto the street. The world outside feels practically fucking vibrant compared to the apartment, so filled with life and light. It almost feels... insensitive. Wrong. The dissonance grates against Hal- maybe that's why he follows the tug in his gut, detours down the alley behind the building he found Dirk at yesterday, and finds...

...Oh.

Thank fuck Dirk's already awake when he gets back - he'd hate to wake him up with... this. Silently, Hal passes him his coffee, before shrugging his bag off his back and pulling out half a sword, dusty to all hell and back and yet... strangely clean for something Hal found in an alley. The blade is completely shattered off past the halfway point, the remainder chipped and scratched, and the grip tape is only half wound around the hilt, the remainder hanging loose (and Dave can almost be heard complaining about it falling off, while simultaneously picking at it) , but...

But Hal can't help holding it like it's something important.

Maybe it is.

"...Found this in the alley you were near yesterday," he says quietly, passing it to Dirk. "Don't know if it belonged to..."

Dirk wakes up that morning and he's alone, wrapped up in blankets but so cold . For just a moment, he panics - he can't be alone, not now don't leave him too.

And then he looks at his texts, calming back down slightly.

Hal had always woken up earlier than him, back in their roomie says Dirk was half convinced the fucker just didn't sleep. He wishes for once he'd slept in.

He doesn't move from the next, just carefully tucks in the loose edges and lays back down. Moving feels too hard, just breathing feels too hard. It fucking sucks and the cold, quiet apartment doesn't help. He almost forces himself to fall back asleep.

Until the door opens and Hal walks in looking... strangely somber.

A coffee is handed to him (can barely be considered coffee at this point, full of sweet syrups and milk and creamers. Hal knows he can't stand the stuff any other way), grateful for warmth in his hands and in his stomach when he drinks.

And then Hal pulls something else out and he nearly drops the coffee.

It's Dave’s sword. Broken and dusty, but so obviously his. 

Gently, he uses a corner of one of the blankets to wipe away the dust and see his reflection in the blade. For a moment... for just a single moment, he swore his reflection had ruby red eyes.

"...Our father fought us every day," he says quietly, eyes going a little distant as he remembers. "Said it was for our own good. That he was preparing us for the world... a load of bullshit, he just liked the control and power."

He's silent for another moment before tears fill his eyes, he didn't even know he could cry this much. "Dave hated fighting, his heart was always too big for his body..." With a quiet sob he presses his forehead to the flat of the blade, eyes shut and a small smile on his face. "He doesn't have to fight anymore."

Something in Hal's chest twists slightly as Dirk takes the sword, gently taking the coffee from him so he can hold it in both hands.

He'd- obviously, he'd known Dirk had a shitty childhood  - they both had, after all. You don't end up in the cheapest apartment you can find with a complete stranger unless you're running from something, and- the constant nightmares, the tension clear in every line of their bodies, the unspoken but clearly understood agreement to never acknowledge any of that - it was obvious.

But- fuck. He hadn't thought it was... that bad. Not 'daily swordfights' bad. Not... not potentially killing a kid bad.

He doesn't know what to say.

"...He doesn't have to fight anymore." As gently as he can, he sits back down on the couch next to Dirk, gaze fixed on the blade. "He's okay. You took care of him."

Dirk almost instantly slumps against Hal's side, gaze still fixed on the sword. He remembers just how much Dave hated them, how Dirk always had to be fixing his grip tape because of his picking, how gracefully he moved from years of practice.

He remembers his brother and cries. He mourns his baby brother, the little boy he raised when their father refused to - the boy he abandoned.

At least Dave can finally rest.

 Time doesn't have much meaning. He doesn't know how long he spends there, but... moving is damn near impossible. Dirk just remains limp against Hal, eyes almost hollow as he remembers things he thought he'd forgotten.

It's a little easier with Hal here.

 ...He doesn't think he can be alone.

Hal shifts on the couch so Dirk can get comfortable, completely slumped against his side. He doesn't do much - just adjusts the blanket back around his shoulders, carefully brush a loose hair off Dirk's forehead. There's no point speaking, not when he can tell just from looking at Dirk that he's somewhere Hal can't reach, but...

He'll do what he can. And if all he can do is be there physically for Dirk, hold him up when he can't - then he'll do it.

He's not sure how long they stay there, wrapped in silence, but.. eventually Hal breaks it.

"Am I correct in assuming you don't have a spare bed?" Hal doesn't even wait for him to answer, not looking up from... whatever it is he's doing on his phone as he adds, "Because I can't be assed trying to ship mine over, so... new one it is." He grimaces slightly, adding in a mutter, "Christ, they're more expensive than I remember. How the hell did I afford one on that salary?"

The words don't fully register at first, just sort of.. bouncing around in his head. In one ear and out the other.

When they do it's like a slap of cold water, jolting him from his not quite there state. Spare bed? Shipping? Expensive? Wha-

Hal is planning to stay.

"You don't have to-" It's instinct to deny whatever care Hal is giving him, something so unfamiliar. Not to mention Hal has a job and a life somewhere else, he can't just drop everything because Dirk can't get his shit together. (because Dirk is understandably not doing well after finding out his brother died) "Don't you have a fucking job? Christ, you can't just- drop everything for me." He hates how wrecked his voice is, how he still sounds like he's going to cry.

He doesn't want to be alone, of course he fucking doesn't, but he'd rather die than hold Hal back. He'd face this alone if it meant Hal could continue on without worrying.

...Is this how Dave felt all those years ago?

Hal just shrugs, not even looking up from his phone. "Shit job. I was planning to quit soon, anyway. You're just giving me an excuse."

Goddamnit, he knows Dirk will never buy that. Stubborn fucking asshole-

"Look." He sighs, glancing up and finally meeting Dirk's gaze. "You're not... you're not doing great." Nice work, Hal. Keep being a blunt asshole to your grieving friend. "I'm not just going to up and abandon you while you're in the middle of dealing with some serious shit. You're..."

Christ, does he really have to say it?

Goddamnit.

"I'm not just leaving you stranded when you need help." He shrugs, adding, "What are friends for, right?"

All that emotional honesty seems to be getting to him, judging by the way he quickly goes back to his phone and mutters, "Plus if I leave you alone and you off yourself, I know for a goddamn fact you'd name me in the note. Fuckin' asshole." Hell yeah. Perfectly balanced.

Hal is an asshole. A horribly emotionally constipated asshole with all the tact of a gently lobbed hand grenade.

It's exactly what Dirk needs.

He snorts quietly, finally showing an emotion other than 'disassociation' and abso-fucking-lutely miserable'. "I would. 'To the asshole who flew halfway across the world I leave 69 cent and this shitty puppet I never finished." ...Dirk would leave him a lot if he ever passed. 'To the asshole who knew me best and always stuck around,' it'd say.

He bonks his head against Hal's shoulder, wishes he could express just how grateful he is. Instead, he just quietly mumbles "..thanks."

They'd always been friends, he supposes, even if they'd never called each other such. It's... nice. He'd like to think Dave would be happy he found someone to be so close with.

"You fuckin' wish you had 69 cents." Hal rolls his eyes, although he can't hide his quiet snort, the faint shadow of a smile on his face. "Goddamn brokeass. How many times did I have to cover your share of the rent?"

And he'd do it again, and again, and again if he had to. He doesn't like the guy. It's just... basic decency.

"Never even paid me back," he adds in a mutter. He’d never let him.

Chapter Text

That's how Dirk and Hal started living together in Dirk's shitty apartment.

Dirk helps him get a job with his company and they split rent, even eventually able to find a bigger, better apartment. They grow closer and... Dirk might call them brothers.

They honor Dave in every way they can. Movie days every week with old films he used to like, they still buy his favorite brand of apple juice, Dirk turned his feather into a necklace he always wears. He even makes nests with Hal where they'll spill their secrets - talks about their pasts, people they've loved and lost, that was even the first place he admitted on being head over heels for a certain guy in their friend group. (Hal claims it was obvious and everybody already knew. Dirk smothered him with a nearby pillow.)

For years... Dirk lives. Painfully and wonderfully and fully, he lives. It wouldn't have been so easy if Hal hadn't been by his side. Sometimes he swears they were supposed to be twins with how similar they were.

Time passes and Dirk is successful in his field, well known across the world for everything he's done. He haunts his father with his success and celebrates the day he does, pouring a drink for himself and both his brothers.

Time passes and he's old. He's married and never had kids, never wanted any, but according to reliable sources he's an amazing uncle. That's all he ever wanted. He's loved and he loves in turn and he lives.

Time passes... and he's sick. Years of abuse and neglect, both inflicted on him by his father and himself, catch up to him. It's okay, though. He has his family by his side. He loves them, but there's someone waiting.

A clock ticks, comes to a stop. Dirk's eyes close...

..And he wakes up in one of his blanket nests. Odd, he'd been feeling too bad to make any this last year. Not to mention he was still in the hospital. A sunset blazes above him and a field around him, it feels like a picnic.

Dirk.. doesn't feel any pain? He stands and his joints don't creek and his neck doesn't hurt. There's no pain, no stiffness, just existing.

Just a little further away he sees a figure, stark white hair against a bright sunset.

Citrine meets ruby.

And Dirk is running, hasn't run in years. But he recognizes that figure. He doesn't even realize he's getting younger either each step.

"Dave!"

Dave... isn't sure how long he's waited. Time doesn't seem to exist here, not in any meaningful way - days pass. Maybe months. Maybe years. He's not sure.

He waits. He waits, and watches, occasionally sees old friends, bittersweet reunions haunted by the fact that they both left long before their time, but- eventually they leave. They have other people to see, other places to be.

...He sees Bro once, only for the briefest of moments. Neither of them speak - what is there to say? Their gazes meet for the first time in years - just as cold, just as terrifying, nothing but the promise of pain and terror and the promise of reliving those last few lonely months of Dave’s life-

And Bro looks away first.

Dave doesn't see him again.

And still, he waits. Waits and wanders and watches, as time passes somewhere he can never reach. It feels like it's been an eternity by now.

But... that's a good thing, isn't it? The longer he waits, the longer Dirk stays alive. Gets to live, to thrive.

He's glad. He misses his brother more than anything (that agonisingly brief time with him feels like nothing more than a faint dream), but... if it means Dirk gets to live... Dave would wait until the end of eternity for him.

And then-

And then he hears his name, hears a familiar voice, hears-

He's running before he even realises, desperately trying to close the gap between them and crashing into his brothers arms- he's here, he's here, he made it-

"Dirk-" and it's part choked breath, part sob, a strangled laugh muffled as he buries his head in Dirk's neck.

Dirk feels like a kid again- is a kid again. He's 19 again and it's like that horrible fight never happened, like Dave never pushed him away.

His baby brother is in his arms again and he can finally hug him tight. "I'm home," he sobs, a smile wide on his face. Dirk presses kisses to every inch he can reach, practically smothering the kid.

The feather necklace still rests against his chest.

"I missed you so much, I love you." Every day he missed Dave. It got easier to bear, but it never left him. That grief became a quiet part of him- familiar and almost comforting.

He's tired, ready to rest, but...

There's one more person he's missing.

"..Can we wait a little longer?" he asks quietly, squeezing Dave tighter. "There's someone I want to wait for and introduce you two. I think you'd like him."

Dave somehow ends up in Dirk's lap, clinging onto him as tight as he fucking can, and it's stupid, and childish, and dumb - and the greatest fucking thing he's done in a long time.

"You're home-" he can't stop the way his shoulders shake with badly muffled sobs, tears streaming down his face - and the widest fucking he's ever worn, one he doesn't even try hiding. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I- I should have gone with you- I missed you-"

He missed him, so fucking much. His brother. His brother, the only steady ground he had in a life where the world felt like it was constantly collapsing around him - he'd forgotten what it felt like to feel stable, to feel safe.

But here? In his brothers arms? He finally feels okay.

"Yeah." He sniffs quietly, thumps his head lightly against Dirk's chest. "Yeah. I- I can wait. If you're here." He's here. He's here and- and not okay, not technically, but-

"You're here." He can't keep the disbelief out of his voice, the pure fucking joy. "You- you gotta tell me everything. What did I miss?"

Dirk presses a kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, the corner of those bright red eyes he'd missed so dearly. He finally feels almost complete, almost at peace.

 "Shush, no apologizing," he shushes, playfully pinching Dave's lips closed. God, he'd missed touching his brother, the lil shit. He loves him. "I'm sorry that I- that I left you. I wish I could have seen you grow up."

It's his biggest regret in life, no matter how much he's come to terms with the fact he was just a kid. They both were.

They deserve to feel safe now, after everything.

He laughs, wet with tears yet full of so much fucking joy it's insane. "I can do that." He smirks, leaning in as if telling a secret, "I got married. Do you remember Jake?-"

For a long, long time Dirk tells Dave everything. From the animals he'd fostered to the foster fails (Lil Seb was one, a bunny. Destructive little guy, Dirk loved him- Jake not so much.), to his job and how he made it big. All the ways in which he'd helped the world and rubbed it in their fathers face.

He also tells Dave about Hal. The asshole who was always with him, always a steady shoulder he could rely on. The man he’s waiting for now.

 They see familiar faces in their wait; he gets to see Jake one last time. A sweet reunion as he passes on, knowing Dirk’s waiting for someone else. Time feels infinite and small, held tight in his arms and lap, staring up at him with ruby eyes.

The only time he parts from Dave is when Hal shows up.

Dirk takes off running down the field like a jet, laughing out loud and tackling that motherfucker to the ground. They roll until Hal is flat on the ground and Dirk is seated smugly on his stomach above him. His grin is wild and wide and full of so much life he never had when part of the living.

"You took your sweet ass time," he snickers, citrine on garnet.

Now Dirk feels complete. This is peace, his family all together. He doesn't even try to resist it, just leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, his feather necklace tickling Hal's face. "I want you to meet my little brother. Come on."

Hal... had never really thought there was anything after death. It was a nice thought, comforting in a way, but- he could never bring himself to believe (not that he would ever say as much, not to Dirk - if he needed to believe he had a chance of seeing Dave again, then... fuck. Who was Hal to take that from him?) 

...After Dirk died, he'd... thought about it. About Dirk's insistence, up until the day he died, that he'd seen Dave's ghost. And when he started losing more and more friends-

 Well. It would be nice to believe.

It really fucking would.

...He's never been more glad to be wrong in his life.

He barely has a chance to get his bearings before- before he hears that achingly familiar laugh, before he's being slammed to the ground, rolling over and over- he doesn't even feel himself shrink, growing younger and younger until he's flat on his back, staring up at-

At-

"You fucking asshole-" He can't stop the way his voice breaks slightly, the scowl he shoots Dirk even as tears well in his eyes. He'd long since mellowed out as he grew older, that indignant rage at the world slowly dying down - but now here it is, burning just as bright as when he and Dirk first met.

"You- you goddamn piece of shit, fucking leaving me the moment you got a chance like the world's biggest fucking-" Without warning, he pulls Dirk down into a tight hug, voice muffled into his shoulder as he snaps, "I fucking hate you. I missed you."

Dirk rolls with it, instantly wrapping his arms around Hal and holding him close. His fingers run through wild hair he buries his face into, unable to stop his own tears.

Hal is here and in his arms. He's dead and that's- that's not good, but... He's lived a long life. A good one he hopes, even if he spent most of it taking care of Dirk.

"I love you," he speaks honestly, something that had been so difficult to do in life. There's no point in lying or hiding, they're dead- might as well just fuck it. "I missed you too, I'm sorry I left you."

For a long while they stay like that, Dirk practically in Hal's lap just... hugging him close. Gently wiping away tears and pressing kisses to the top of his head. But there's one more person he needs by his side.

Slowly, reluctantly, he gets up before instantly pulling Hal up with him. Dirk holds his hand tight and leads him to Dave, bright reds and bright orange. His family finally meet.

"Hal, meet my baby brother Dave." He pulls Dave in, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Dave, this is my brother Hal."

He smiles, not even hiding his tears. "I've always wanted you two shitheads to meet."

"I love you." There's no hesitation to the words, muffled into Dirk's shoulder - Hal does. He really, really does. And he never fucking said it enough - the last time he can remember is when Dirk was in the hospital, so sick and so tired. When Hal was quietly telling him to let go.

...Was that what Dirk felt like with Dave?

"I love you so fucking much-" and it feels so good to say it now, when Dirk's okay and here and- and more alive than Hal's ever seen him. "Even when you're the world's biggest fucking prick." He is. He fucking is, and God, Hal loves him so much.

He doesn't even try hiding the stray tears as Dirk pulls him up to his feet, leads him up the hill to the wide eyed figure watching them curiously, bright red eyes so close to Hal's own-

And, without warning, Dave's wriggling free of Dirk and throwing himself as Hal, arms wrapped tight around him. "Thanks," he mumbles into Hal's chest, squeezing tight. "For lookin' after him when I couldn't."

Seeing them together is all Dirk ever wanted. His brothers are right here with him, not alive, but.. they will be soon, he supposes. They'll be alive and together and maybe they'll be okay.

All he has is this faint, cautious hope, wary about whats to come but willing to try for his brothers. It feels like he's done this before.

"For your information, I was perfectly capable of caring for myself," he snorts, pulling both of them into the tightest hug he can. "But... yeah, glad I had him lookin' out for me."

He was never truly alone in this life. He hopes he isn't alone in the next.

"He absolutely wasn't," Hal stage whispers to Dave, who laughs... probably the loudest he's ever laughed before, wriggling in between- his brothers. They were always his brothers, weren't they? Even Hal, even if he's just met him.

This is... nice. Comforting. He's safe, and warm, and pressed between his brothers, and- he could stay like this forever. He could, now that they have all the time in the world. But-

But he's always been restless, hasn't he? Always on the move, always looking for something new. He's been waiting for years, and he doesn't think he can stand another moment of it.

"C'mon-" He squirms free of his brothers, grabbing each of their hands and trying to pull them back, grin bright and eyes even brighter in the warm light of sunset. "Let's go! Don't you wanna see what's next?"