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You would say that it ticks in the back of your head like a clock but you don’t have that power anymore and that kinda hurts to think about even if that’s not supposed to matter.
You would say that it’s like a faint not-yet-there whisper of a voice but that just reminds you about how quiet his planet was when you found him torn to shreds and that kinda hurts to think about even if you already went back to fix it but he just doesn’t get it.
You would say that it’s like the trickling of a stream in the background of your mind but that makes you think about how his blood flowed and ran like a river over the slabs of your Dave’s planet and that kinda hurts to think about even if you already know that he’s playing the Other Game that nobody but you can see just because you’re a sprite and that you had to be his partner because it was either that or watch him die again and.
You would say that it’s the feeling in the back of your head that someone is watching you, the slight paranoia that is ever present, but that reminds you of how she would like to psychoanalyze you when they died and that kinda hurts to think about even if you needed to leave her to save her but all you did was make her disappear and merge with someone who she used to be but wasn’t anymore and why did you ever do something like tha.
You would say that it’s like the distant sound of a chum pestering you in the middle of the night, the constant ping! ping! ping!, but that makes you think of her last message GG: sorry dave! ): GG: i won’t be able to make it. GG: i love you gu and that kinda hurts to think about even if she is alive and well now you still failed her because how could anyone not be crushed under that huge ass meteor and it’s all your fault if only you hadn’t trusted Tere.
You kinda hurt a lot but that doesn’t matter. You know who to trust with your friend’s lives Dave’s friend’s lives the Player’s lives. So the reason you don’t use any of those comparisons is only because hurting is stupid, especially hurting over nothing. You don’t need to use those comparisons anyway.
The Game is a ubiquitous presence in the farthest reaches of your mind, always present and always there. You don’t know when it started to die down (it was somewhere between the beginning of your party’s journey through the Yellow Yard and now) but now it has come back full force, making you unable to ignore it any longer. Great, just when Bro needs you the most.
You take off after the one of the Black Queen look-alikes as Bro goes after the other. It should be a cinch to catch her, you’re a Game-powered sprite with two newly healed badass crow wings for crying out loud. (Like a juicy bug and no, bad crow brain.)
That still doesn’t stop you from cursing out loud when she evades your snatch-like-a-hawk-from-the-sky swoop yet again.
You have counted three planets in passing already. She fled from the battlefield to LOFAF first, which wasn’t a big deal other than all the fucking trees getting in your way. You couldn’t fly directly after her, the branches in the trees were spaced way too close together, but you could still sense her presence, a dark cloud that drips like the oil of LOWAS onto your soul (or heart or whatever bullshit the Game finally decides to settle) and settles there in the tiny cracks, unable to wash away unless you took a high pressure water hose to it. You figure that it’s some whacked-out sensory power the Game’s given you but something feels… weird about that. You’re not about to complain though.
Following the inky trail that she left behind led you to LOLAR where you almost catch her because she is literally a black carapace on a white as bread sand landscape.(Oooh, shiny, NO, bad, bad brain.) How can you not spot her? But even then, she uses the land against you by throwing a handful of said sand landscape in your face. It’s a dirty move and so totally childish and why didn’t you think of it first?
By the time you get the sandpit out of your eyes, she’s already fled to LOWAS which gives you a bit of headache and her a bit of a start. You really don’t want to visit the place but duty calls and you resume the chase with an inward sigh. Unlike with LOLAR, LOWAS gives her plenty of places to hide because someone up there thought it was funny to paint a perfectly good blue planet with a bucket of motor oil and call it a piece of art. The only reason you’re able to pick up her trail out of all the other oily ones is because a group of salamanders was flipping their shit about seeing an exclusive up-close-and-personal glance of the bitch.
(You secretly resolve to never call John’s fascination with the lizards dumb ever again, holy shit are you so thankful right now.)
The only problem with this now is that she sees your orange glowing feathery ass and books it to LOHAC in double time. (Ha, you made a pun. The sincerity in your voice speaks volumes.) She still manages to escape every encounter on LOHAC too until you corner her in Hephaestus’s forge where the only escape was an immediate fiery death. You figure he won’t mind. Maybe. Probably. Yeah, no.
You smirk but her expression of smug I-am-higher-than-thou never changes. It throws you for a loop but you don’t reflect on it as you lung forward, sword in hand as you gut her like a fish. (Mmm, fish, when was the last time you had fish NO STOP IT CROW BRAIN NOW IS NOT THE TIME.) She collapses but the cool expression never leaves her face.
“What say you now bitch?” you say in your classiest tone of voice, pulling your sword out of her stomach. Blood oozes out of the wound, a bright blue and wait what?
“Shit,” you snarl and her eyes crinkle in amusement, life leaving them even as you turn away from her. Shit, you went after the wrong one, what’s gonna happen to Bro? Shit, shit, shit.
You reach the mouth of the forge’s opening before Hephaestus starts speaking.
Hephaestus: What say you now Hope Player?
His words clash and crash in your head, his name scorched black like his body but his words burning red like his mouth, so painfully that you almost miss what he said.
“What?” you ask, thinking that he isn’t talking about you because Hope Player? Yeah right. But your words don’t come out like you want and his eyes are trained on you as you turn to look at him.
???: what?
???: no wait
???: this is wrong
A deep rumbling fills the air and it takes you a second to realize that Hephaestus was laughing (okay, more like chuckling under his breathe, but still). Anger courses through you and your mouth answers before you brain has a chance to even start thinking.
???: dont even start you oversized burnt french-fry
???: wait shit i mean
He lets out a booming laugh and miraculously decides to *not* squash you flat like the tiny bug (food, no bad brai—forget it) you are.
Hephaestus: I always forget how funny you Players are.
Hephaestus: Especially those that share the name Strider.
???: thats great and all
???: but can you tell me why exactly this chatlog is fucked up two ways to sunday
Hephaestus: I thought it would be obvious to one such as you.
No, no it fucking isn’t. Why do all Game constructs (except you, of course, you are one motherfucking smooth dude) have to be oh-so mysterious and foreboding and shit? This is why you decided to take the high way, not the Game way, and be as forthcoming as possible.
It seems the Hephaestus didn’t get the memo.
???: its about as obvious as johns platonic hate towards nic cage
???: which is non-fucking-existent
Hephaestus: Ah. It seems you need some enlightening on the matter.
???: no shit Sherlock
Hephaestus: But first, please choose a name.
???: wow it seems that sburb and its constructs have forgotten one of their own
???: it leaves me in tears man how could you forget such a sick nasty dude such as me
???: like im part of the family signed the paper with the words davesprite and everything but
???: nope seems like its not computing well in the ol noggin there
???: here ill say it again for conveniences sake
???: davesprite motherfucking strider reporting for duty sir
???: jfc next youll be asking “are you a boy? or are you a girl?”
Hephaestus: That is not your name.
You blink in surprise at the matter of fact tone and open your mouth to argue but suddenly your head fills with messages of ERROR ERROR that leave you gasping in pain. The ticking whispering trickling paranoia pinging Game’s voice surges into your head fast, even though you had been trying to ignore it (ignore the messages that signal the Final Battle against Lord English has started and your own termination timer has been set) for so long.
{ERROR. ERROR.}
{FILE callil.rg.obj is attempting an aspect and class change}
{ERROR. ERR—}
{...}
{aspect changing}
{...}
{aspect has changed}
{...}
{class changing}
{...}
{class has changed}
{...}
{FILE callil.rg.obj has now been reconfigured to striderlilcal.rglf.player}
The first thought in your head is: LIL CAL?! WTF?! The last time you had seen him, actually stopped and looked at him, was when you were in your own timeline and he was Calsprite. He was always laughing comforting you and it kinda freaked you out. You got used to it soon enough, creepiness wears off after a while it seems, and he stayed by your side like a moth to flame. (He used to tuck you into bed, back near the end of the timeline, and fold you into the soft wings of his now yours as you snuggled back because you were only a little boy in a great big planet of red a planet of loneliness and rust that could never be home.)
((((It hurts.))))
((((((((But you ignore the hurting because hurting is stupid, especially hurting over nothing.))))))))
Hephaestus: Now choose Player.
Your so disoriented by the Game information scrolling out in your head that you say the first name that comes to mind.
???: dave
???: wait no
???: sorry shit its so LOUD
Something in Hephaestus’s demeanor changes, just slightly, and you could swear he sounds so apologetic when he speaks next.
Hephaestus: You know as well as I that is not one name I can give.
Hephaestus: Now choose again Player.
Something inside you twists a little at his words, something you had stuffed away and labeled “DO NOT OPEN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES” in the dark recesses of your mind. The feeling of despair and grief courses through you so swiftly and suddenly that you almost let out a weak caw before you get it under wraps. Tears well up in your eyes but you ignore them because hurting is stupid, especially hurting over nothing.
???: right so yeah
???: that name of the list no duh
???: ...
???: what would you suggest
You have now officially hit rock bottom. There can possibly be nothing lower than asking your own a Game construct to name you—
Hephaestus: Do not feign ignorance with me.
Hephaestus: This is something you must do on your own.
—except said Game construct rejecting you. See how far you drop on the echeladder of coolness.
???: come on dude
???: i extended the olive branch and everything
???: the crowd is sorely dismayed as their roses and doves fly into the air for naught
???: im giving you my best
???: you can at least—
The feeling of five needles of adrenaline being shot into your system takes your breath away as you try to regain it. You heart stutters or races or does something because suddenly you have the need to bounce off the walls. Just. Because.
((((((((T h e h u r t i n g s t o p s .)))))))
You giggle helplessly for a bit as Hephaestus tries to capture your attention.
Hephaestus: Your time is running out.
Hephaestus: Choose.
You give the most elegant reply back.
???: HAHAHA TIME
???: like how i used to control time
???: its funny cause its a pun get it???
???: hahaha
Hephaestus: Player, my patience is wearing thin.
???: yeah yeah mr ironpants
???: we all know how un-funny and un-cool you are
???: haha ironpants
???: like how you repair swords and shit and how theyre made of iron and stuff
???: you get it—
Hephaestus: Player.
With no mind to mouth filter, you blurt out the stupidest name ever.
???: olive branch
???: no wait thas not ironic at all
???: give me a minute
Hephaestus: Player, I have given you “a minute.” Over thirty to be exact.
Hephaestus: I have listened to your rambling for about twenty of them.
Hephaestus: It is now time to—
???: choose?
Hephaestus: —decide.
???: oh
???: well uh
???: how about dove?
Yeah, no mind to mouth filter at all.
Hephaestus: FINALLY.
Dove: no wait i was just kidding
Dove: shit
A tingling sensation starts in your tail and you watch in horror as gravity forces you to the ground on your two new clad in boots feet. They make a little clinking sound as they do and you can only stare in wonder at the dark green monstrosities that clash with the yellow tights/undergarments/leg-things you have on. Some weird scarf/hood combo flutters in the wind and blows back to hit you in the face. You flail for a bit, arms pinwheeling in the air before landing flat on your ass.
Whatever crazy happy fun times you had in your system melts away into shock.
Dove: what.
Dove: the.
Dove: hell.
Hephaestus: Thank whatever form of deity there is. Well, other than you of course.
Hephaestus: Now Dove, Mage of Hope, it is time for The Choice.
Yeah, even if you are freaking the fuck out right now, you know something’s wrong with those words as you clamber to your feet.
Dove: The Choice?
Dove: have you gone senile early or like
Dove: inhaled too much smoke
Dove: because i already made my Choice
Dove: to fix the deringer remember?
Hephaestus’s eyes glower at you and you remember that oh shit this guy has a temper, you are so screwed.
Somehow he manages to keep a lid on it and grits out his next words.
Hephaestus: Yes, I “remember” as you so kindly put it.
Hephaestus: But that was when you were a Knight. Now, you are a Mage.
Hephaestus: Even your aspect has changed, and to Hope, a most volatile one at that.
Hephaestus: A new Choice is in order.
You swallow nervously and try to man up. You can roll with weird shit, have been since the Game started. You can do this.
Hephaestus: As a Time Player, your Choice was of what is importance to fix.
Hephaestus: You choose the Deringer which I personally agree with. No sword, especially that one, needs to stay broken or be broken in the first place.
Hephaestus: But carrying on, you are now a Hope Player.
Hephaestus: This fundamentally changes your Choice.
Hephaestus: So choose: Depart for the battlefield to take part in the Final Fight or...
Dove: ...or what?
You swallow nervously again which does nothing to relieve the desert that is now your mouth. Really, it’s no contest over what you’ll choose. You’ve already come this far helping this the timeline, why stop now? So yeah, you know what you’ll choose… but you can’t help but shy away from this second Choice. It can’t be that bad, right?
((((Wrong.))))
Hepaestus: Or bring back your own timeline.
Dove: FUCK
You knew the Game would come back one last time to fuck with your head, give you that last little bit of trauma that you so desperately needed to complete your list of “What the fuck is wrong with this kid?” You knew you had to do the Right Thing™ that every “hero” ever had to do. But that didn’t mean that you could squash that inkling of Hope down before you realize this.
Dove: i—i
You let out a startled caw as a hand ((((so cold)))) grabs your wrist, squeezing until it hurts. You’re forced to turn to see—
Dove: i cant
Dove: no please don’t
John: what’s wrong dąve?
John: surprised to see me? :B
It’s John, your John in all his buck-toothed green slimesuit glory. He rolls his (empty) eyes at your shocked state and openly giggles.
John: geez däve, you’ll catch flies at this rate!
You snap your mouth shut to save everybody from the embarrassment of winning the world record of “how fast can your jaw drop to the floor.” Weirdly enough, the song “Drop It Like It’s Hot” starts playing in your head and nope, no one can know of this. Ever.
John smiles (did he know what you were thinking?!) and squeezes your wrist again, as if to remind you that his hand is there before pulling you into his arms. You freeze and let out a surprised chirp before you can stop yourself but all John does is laugh, nuzzling your head as he grins downward.
Dove: what is
Dove: john?
A frown briefly tugs at his face before it smooths out into his regular look: dorkily happy.
John: yeesh dâve!
John: you sound terrible!
John: let’s fix that.
He reaches out and—
((((((((Something inside twists no and your slapping his hand away and slipping out of his grip before he can do anything and he can’t touch he can’t touch it nobody can touch it it’s yours yours yours yours yours))))))))
John: ow!
He gives you a betrayed look and you hear an angry tsk at your side. You turn to look at it and—
Jade: john, you fuckass!
Jade: don’t do that to dove!
Jade: he’s not dave anymore!
She glares at him with the intensity of the green sun and he guiltily starts, a hand going to back of his head like it usually does with Jade scolds him. He eyes her with trepidation and—
John: yeah but
John: he’s ȭûᶉ dāve!
John: not theirs.
John: he’s meant to be øũŗŝ.
John: so, you know.
Jade: you can’t just decide that!
Jade: let dove decide!
A gentle pat on the back is all the warning you get before she steps out into the battle and—
Rose: I am inclined to agree with Jade on this one John.
Rose: It is not our Choice to make. I doubt it ever was, in the universal scope of things.
Rose: Let’s all take a moment to step away from this, though, and focus on what is really important.
Rose faces you and extends her hand with all the prim and properness that you’ve come to expect of her.
Rose: Hello there, my name is Rose. What would yours be?
You raise a single eyebrow.
Dove: im d—
Dove: my name is
Dove: d—
Your throat closes up and you choke on the sound of your that name.
John: c’mon, dąve!
Dove: dont make me do this
Jade: stop calling dove dave john! D:<
Dove: please i
Rose: Well? What will it be Strider?
Dove: fuck fuck FUCK
Hephaestus: ...choose.
Hope has always hurt you. Hope that you’re not a doomed timeline, Hope that you could still be the Real Dave©, Hope that Bro didn’t die, Hope that this was all just a sick nightmare and you could laugh it off when you woke up. Hope has always hurt you. Hope has played you like a fool and left you broken in its wake, a useless puppet whose string has been cut. There has never been any need for you after saving John. Really, there wasn’t. So you shouldn’t Hope that you can save John the right way this time. All it will do is create more doomed timelines and you promised yourself a long time ago that you would never dabble with the stuff again. So, you shouldn’t Hope.
All Hope has ever done has hurt you.
Why should this time be any different?
Dove: my name is
Dove: is
John: ...dåve?
You can feel it there, covered underneath all the shitty coding and spawntastic glitches and it cries out to you to just take it and claim it because it’s yours. You reach out this time to wipe it clean.
Dove: my name is Dove
Dove: Dove Strider
John: ...
Jade: >:D that’s sticking it to him!
Dove: and im...
Rose: Yes Strider?
Dove: ...im going to fight
Hephaestus: As you choose, Mage.
You try hard not to look at their faces as you say this. You can only imagine the expressions their wearing. They’re probably angry, hell, furious at you (the very tiny but very rational part of your mind says that it’s not likely) or worse: disappointed. You would be too if your would-have-been-savior turned out to be as big a fuck-up as you. All you can do is count softly to yourself as the seconds pass and avoid their gazes.
John: ...good job, dove!
Dove: huh wHAT?!
You whip your head up so fast you get whiplash. Ow.
But forget that, John is smiling at you and reaching his arms out again, engulfing you in his patented Egbert Charm as you struggle to breathe. One arm circles you and the other flails off to the side and you swear this look passes between him and Jade before Harley takes up the call with the squeal of pig and practically bulldozes her way into your on the spot hug session. Her teeth nearly swallow her whole bottom lip as she holds a hand out to Rose who accepts with only all the grace and elegance that Paradox Space can permit.
John: you made the right choice!
Jade rolls her eyes at John.
Jade: there is no right or wrong.
Rose: There is only The Choice, capital letters and underline notwithstanding.
John: oh my gosh, you guys get what i mean!
John: bluh.
Hephaestus: Mage of Hope, I suggest that you take leave for the battlefield. They are in need of your services.
Hephaestus: Right now.
Dove: wait, i
They peel away from you slow and quiet, smiles on their faces but somehow you can see sadness in their eyes. They linger for a moment, not quite letting go of each other (and you) but they all seem to break out of their trance a moment later, giving one last reassuring squeeze before they turn their backs to you.
John: sorry for being such a pain in the ass dove!
John: trusting blind alien chicks you just met isn’t really a smart thing to do.
Dove: john
John: but
John: but i’m happy you went back to save me. even if it was an alternate timeline me.
Dove: john, fuck
John: thanks for everything and keep looking out for the alternate timeline me.
John: i know that i can be a real jerk sometimes so he’ll be just as jerk-y too!
John: well actually, i was a dick.
John: but he’s even more of a dick and an asshole
John: so it’s like he can fuck himself or something because he really shouldn’t treat you like that!
John: but i know you’ll be able to handle it. you’re just that type of guy.
John: someone could throw you to the sharks and you wouldn’t care if it was for your friends. you would just smirk and flip them off as you rode off into the sunset on a great white.
John: what i’m saying is
John: dove, you’re you.
John: not dave, not davesprite, you sure as fuck aren’t just so doomed timeline wannabe.
John: so i’m glad that it was you that saved me.
John: because i wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.
A harsh wind starts to blow, scattering him like leaves in the autumn breeze. He looks over his shoulder at you, blue eyes of all things, bright and cheery and so peaceful that you can help but stretch your arm towards him in hopes of reaching him.
Dove: wait!
John: bye dove!
The gale reaches a new height as it shrieks and screams, buffeting you backward at the force. Whispers of have-been’s and should-have-be’s and maybe-so’s fill your ears and for a moment, all is calm like you are standing in the eye of the storm. Then the wind comes back full force and your eyes close involuntarily, and by the time you snap them back open, he’s gone.
Jade snaps lively and you drag your gaze away from the empty spot to the back of her head.
Jade: paging dove strider!
Jade: we need your attention on aisle jade harley, stat!
Dove: jade no
Jade: shush you big dumbbutt!
Jade: it’s my turn.
Jade: i was so happy to play the game with you guys!
Jade: like, so unbelievably happy, happy, happy. :)
Jade: even when stuff started to go wrong.
Jade: it’s not like i wanted you guys to be sad and mopey after i left
Jade: but i was still so happy that i got to be with you guys for just a little bit.
Jade: i think i was always meant to die.
Dove: jade
Jade: no, shush it mister! i mean it! stop giving me that look, now
Dove: ...
Jade: good.
Jade: i think i was always meant to die.
Jade: that way you could go back and fix this timeline.
Jade: like the universe was trying to fix itself by sacrificing another.
Jade: so i was happy that i could be with you guys, even if it wasn’t for very long.
Jade: sorry dove!
Jade: i wasn’t able to make it.
Jade: but that’s alright.
Jade: i love you guys!
Jade: <3
Dove: no stop!
She starts to crackle at the edges and her dress darkens into a landscape of stars and galaxies and the unknowns, a sharp figure cut in all too little space with bright green eyes and a smile to match. Equally green lightning seems to flicker like a faded (or perhaps an erased) outline around her, volatile and brilliant and the crackling is all that fills your ears. It’s as if you floating in the middle of the universe, darkness as far as the eye can see with only the light of the Green Sun to guide you. The lightning flashes, a blinding white and green and yellow and everything, and she’s gone too.
Rose only jauntily faces you with an unreadable expression before she faces forward again.
Rose: Now Dove, we’ve had our ups and downs.
Rose: More than our fair share, really.
Rose: But, that’s all been leading up to today, wouldn’t you say?
Rose: Those long four months we spent...
Dove: rose i
Rose: Say no more.
Rose: I just want to tell you that
Rose: Sigh, why must it be so hard to word?
Rose: I think I’ll take one out of the Egbert book and just come to outright say:
Rose: I’M SO PROUD OF YOU BROTHER.
Rose: You weathered through the months with me, even as I gave up Hope, even as we knew we were dying, and you just
Rose: Just stayed with me and
Rose: That just meant so much to me.
Dove: rose i’m
Rose: No, let me speak.
Rose: You were the one who figured out what was wrong with the timeline and it was you who went back to fix it.
Rose: You gave me comfort in my greatest moment of fear, knowing what the consequences of what you were about to do but deciding to go through with it anyway.
Dove: i’m sorry
Rose: For what, Dove?
Dove: i
Dove: i left you
Rose: Left me?
Rose: No, it seems you have it all wrong.
Rose: Dove, you never left me.
Rose: You took me along with you.
Rose: And for that, thank you.
She glows with an iridescence known only to goddesses, maybe not as bright as the Green Sun but as warm and familiar as the one you grew up with. Something sparkles within her violet eyes, not stars exactly but not-not stars either. It’s more like the sum of pure light and benevolence and of deep understanding that cuts down into your core that you wonder where that scared girl messaging you about TT: What will happen to me? in her long since abandoned room went. Her leaving isn’t as violent and wild and serene as John’s, nor as dazzling and overwhelming and encompassing as Jade’s, but more of a sincere and warm and compassionate flicker of a birthday candle before being blown out. It doesn’t surprise you that she’s gone within the blink of your eye but the sudden relief and security does.
Dove: ...
Hephaestus: You are needed at the battlefield.
Dove: ...i know
You grit your teeth and walk away from the scene, muscles tight and clenched as you hold back screams that threaten to escape your mouth and teach yourself how to walk again. Right, you’re needed at the battlefield. You don’t have time for this. Hurting is stupid, especially hurting over nothing—
Except the thing is, hurting isn’t really stupid, it’s a legitimate emotion that anyone should be feeling in this type of situation, only you bury it down, down until you can’t feel it any more so that you can still keep functioning. If you were to stop and think about it, you don’t know if you would be able to do anything anymore, you would just be stuck in an endless cycle of terror and rage and despair until nothing was left of you.
So you don’t think about any of that as you leave the Forge. You don’t think about it or the little bits of Hope in your heart as you cross LOHAC. You don’t think about it as you travel through Paradox Space. You don’t think about it as you enter the fray, and you sure as hell don’t think about it as you battle with Lord E.
The words of your friend’s are the only thing that rings in your mind (no Game, no disgust at yourself, no agony) and you take strength in knowing that they support you.
(Hope stirs in you that maybe everything will turn out all right, that maybe you were meant to survive too. That maybe not everything is Doomed and that, for once, you can be happy again.)