Bro Was His Brother Too
...okay, so you probably could have given everybody just a lil' more warning before you closed pesterchum and dropped your phone on the table. Or maybe it's more accurate to say that you should have, because you just...you couldn't stay in that chat. Not really.
Dirk and Hal, Rose and Roxy, they're all gonna be in deep shit. Because of you. D literally just said they were going to be in trouble very fucking soon, and they just fucking accepted it. Fuck, Hal just casually changed the subject to something irrelevant—like this shit doesn't fuck with him even a lil' bit.
It fucks with you enough that you spend the whole day not checking your phone hardly at all. Like, it takes a good hour of fucking around in John's minecraft server before you can get up the fucking courage to open another chat.
Wade's out of the hotel room right now—he snagged the trash bag you've been stuffing all the shit that you can't bring yourself to wear another day in, made sure you had his phone number before he left—so you manage to convince yourself not to retreat into any lockable room, at least. You settle on the floor next to the bed, your laptop on your knees, and type with one hand because you need to tap your fingers against bare floor like you're the world's lamest air piano player.
At least Neet seems entertained with your stupid nervous habit. Then again, the way that she's huddled down into a ball of black feathers just out of grabbing range could totally mean she's gonna attack your hand in a couple minutes.
Eh, that's future Dave's problem. You need to focus on the ones you have now.
turntechGodhead [TG]started pesteringtechnicolorGladiator [TG]!
TG: uh
TG: hey d
TG: shit youre not online huh
TG: yeah thats what i fucking get for not checking the activity thingy
TG: yes sir the defendant is one hundred percent guilty of not knowing the difference between a red dot and a green one
TG: he pleads guilty by reason of stupidity and probably colorblindness
TG: since when are you colorblind?
TG: oh shit
TG: hey why the fuck is your activity for still red if you're online
TG: you do know the only time its automatically a color is when youre offline right?
TG: like red is either "i lost my phone again" or "i set this shit to red so yall dont talk to me"
TG: are you serious
TG: one hundred percent kiddo but that shit doesnt apply to you
TG: you get a fast track to attention anytime i promise
TG: great
TG: awesome
TG: i regret this so much
TG: ouch
TG: didnt think i was THAT bad at making conversation
TG: whats up? deadpool giving you problems n shit? because i can have somebody be there to pick you up in like three hours if you need out
TG: no hes fine lets not call in the cavalry oh my fucking god
TG: i kinda wanted to talk to you is all
TG: ask you some shit
TG: cool
TG: go for it
TG: ...
TG: you still there dave?
There's like, six good ways to phrase the question. All you need to know is how he's gonna punish Rose and the others; it's simple as fuck. Instead of, y'know, doing that, you're still sitting here with one hand resting on the keys, tapping the fingers of your other hand hard enough against the floor that your fingertips are already going numb. D's going to give up and actually disconnect at this rate.
You take a (kind of)deep breath and type something (the wrong thing) out into the message box.
TG: are you like pissed at me
Stupid, selfish piece of shit.
TG: what
TG: shit dude whatd i say that made you think that
TG: whatever it was im sorry i swear
TG: im not pissed at you
TG: god why would i be pissed at you
TG: lets think this through for like half a second d
TG: i got him killed
TG: ...bro.
TG: yes fuck bro
TG: jesus fucking christ on a kabob that came out wrong i didnt mean it like that
TG: the one fukcing time i need commas
TG: fuck bro
TG: and i DO mean it that way
TG: i wish wed both stayed in fucking california instead of him fucking off back to texas and me coming up to wrangle reaux
TG: dirk never woulda thought of hiring fucking deadpool and do you know why?
TG: is that like a rhetorical question
TG: because i have no fucking clue why
TG: the fucking second he put a collar on you i wouldve killed him and buried the body in the goddamn desert
TG: maybe idve done it before that
TG: the twins wont tell me a whole bunch of shit about what that fucker did and im pretty sure that means its pretty fucking bad
TG: but like. thats the one thing you admitted and i feel like you dont feel like its the worst thing and im telling you that that one thing would have been enough for me to take you away from him
TG: that make sense?
TG: yeah
TG: why
TG: why what?
TG: why me instead of him
TG: you gotta see the choice youre saying youd make here d
TG: fuck dave its barely even a choice
TG: he made a fucking choice and that choice was to be a piece of shit to his goddamn kid
TG: i love you okay? like i have no fucking clue if you remember when you were little and bro and me lived together because neither of us were actually with your and dirks other parents and we were individually shit at keeping track of toddlers
TG: but until he decided to fuck off back to texas you were as much my kid as dirk is
TG: you still are as much my kid as Dirk is
TG: that never stopped being a thing
Neet takes two steps forward and hops up to perch on your wrist, basically pinning you down so you have to stop tapping. That's a bit unfortunate, because it means you have to take your other hand off the keyboard to rub your eyes clear.
Well, try to rub your eyes clear. Doesn't really work too well at first; you have to just sit there and keep wiping and listen to the way your breath hitches every couple inhales.
Maybe you could put some words to why you're crying, if you really tried, but that's too fuckin' hard right now.
TG: still not gonna call you dad
TG: oh god please dont call me that
TG: my own fucking kids dont call me that
TG: thats weird
Oh look. Just the opening you needed. Now to slide this into the topic you want, hopefully without letting him realize you're trying to change the subject...
TG: oh yeah speaking of your own kids
TG: how much shit are they in for this
TG: family therapy again
TG: with somebody who knows how rose is so we dont end up getting kicked out
TG: and no electronics that hal n dirk can zone out in
TG: roxy is literally the only one whos gonna go along with this quietly so you KNOW this is as much a punishment for me as anybody
TG: is that it
TG: thats it
TG: wait shit and they have to rearrange whatever funds they already played connect four with so we dont get arrested somewhere down the road
TG: kinda think they already did that though
TG: bro had a shitton of money and im pretty sure hal wouldve been smart enough to use that to patch any gaps he made
TG: okay cool
TG: thanks d
TG: no problem
TG: tell deadpool to hurry his ass up and get the hell up here before i get bored and come find you myself
TG: i miss you and im worried about you and i want you home
TG: yeah man ill tell him
D might have more shit to say, but this is the point where you carefully lift the computer off your lap with one hand and set it gently on the floor, just as carefully shoo Neet off the artist of your other hand, and pull both legs up to your chest so you can press your face into your knees. Bro would be fuckin' pissed that you're giving up on the struggle to keep your cool this easy, but honestly? He's a fucking asshole. You're gonna just cry for a minute here.
More than a minute.
More than a couple minutes. Probably more, anyway; if Wade's right about what you can do, linear time just kinda takes a vacation when you get upset, and this...whatever this is counts as upset.
Doesn't count as bad, though. You don't know what it counts as, but something about that last message D sent puts you into a sobbing tailspin, and you stay in that tailspin until something acts to pull you out.
"Something," in this case, is the door opening. That's enough to shut you up, at least; even though you know it's just Wade coming back from the laundromat, you still instinctively freeze, stop making any noise, stop breathing because you can't let him know.
(Which is stupid, yeah. You admit it.)
"Dave?" There's other sounds going on right now, mostly what you're gonna guess is him stripping off the too-fucking-many outer layers that humans need to survive outside for more than like five seconds in this weather. "Dave? Hellooo?"
Pause. Then, a lot more quietly, "Shit."
Wait, is he seriously worried right now? Is that what that tone is? That possibility throws you for another loop on top of the tailspin you're already in, which means that even though on some level you hear his footsteps coming around to the side of the bed you're leaning against, you somehow don't connect that to any possible consequence.
To be fair, though, him saying "Shit!" significantly louder than the first time and just scooping you up off the floor and onto the bed like you don't weigh a damn thing wasn't going to be on the list of possible consequences anyway. It's startling enough that instead of curling into a tighter ball you actually relax, raise your head and look at him...
And immediately burst into a second round of gross sobbing at the look of mixed relief and concern on his face. Wade's reaction to that is to just wrap you up in the tightest fuckin' hug you can imagine, and you give that right back; you hook your arms over his shoulders and just...cling. Leaves you with your face pressed up against his collarbone, which is somehow more than okay.
"What happened?" he asks, once you get quieter, and damn, there's that worry again. That's got to be what that tone is. "Who do I need to challenge to a nice old-fashioned duel?"
For some godforsaken reason, that makes you choke out a laugh. Neet echoes it with a cackling caw from somewhere behind you. "Dude...somehow I think Rose might—might dock your pay for that or some shit..."
Wade snorts and shifts enough that he can ruffle your hair with one hand. "Like I'm here for the money. I'm not stupid; I transferred enough from a couple of Strider's accounts to make sure I can take care of you as long as I need to."
"So...like another week?"
"Technically yes. Or for like ten years. I like Option B better, personally."
...holy shit? Pulling away from his is the last thing you wanna do, but you do it anyway. Your vision's still fifty-seven varieties of fucked up from the tears in your eyes, but you still make a decent attempt at eye contact with him.
"Are you fucking serious."
"I'd say as serious as cancer, but I've been informed that's in poor taste." Wade rolls his eyes at his own joke, flashing you that quick grin. "What, you still haven't figured out that dropping you off and calling it good isn't on the agenda?"
You take a minute to process that. Like, a literal minute for you. Less for Wade. Definitely less for him.
He probably doesn't really get why you sob again and latch onto him like a crow on a chunk of broken mirror, but that doesn't mean he tries to make you get off.