God, this is so stupid. Neither of them are normal, or good at this, but honest to fucking god, at least Dave has an excuse. Dirk made him that way. Dirk pulling the strings like a puppetmaster made him nervous, and incapable of expressing emotions properly, and was it worth it?

He thinks to himself, mildly, that Dave is still alive, and that's enough.

Instead of squishing the juice box he actually takes a drink out of it, which is borderline normal, thankfully.

Also borderline normal was using his fucking words instead of his sword, and like--it took a lot for him to do that. It's a struggle, one he doesn't quite understand, and he hates not understanding.

And like--he's just being blunt, and honest, about the whole uselessness thing. It's not a self-esteem thing, he did his goddamn job, but it's just...practical. He always knew he had a purpose. Dave was it. Everything else was just fun and games bullshit. This though, this ain't fun and games.

He looks over at Dave, watching him, subdued. "I ain't makin' shit weird." It's not even defensive. "I'm just sayin'. Guess I could find a new purpose here. Try some things out. Afterlife chic. Not like I can go back, suppose I should be real thankful for the opportunity."

He's...unsure where he stands on that. He thinks death should be peaceful, restful, but he is glad for a chance to sort some shit out. To know that Dave kept going like he should.

"You ain't a sappy pussy, either." Wry.

His eyes follow Dave as he stands, but Dirk stays sitting. Surprising, maybe, but it's an acquiescence.

Finally, he nods.

"Yeah. Alright. I'll stay."

Then he snorts, which is an actual show of goddamn emotion, but he's glad that his stupid six inch bullshit was picked up on. "It is a little cramping my style. Didn't bring anyone home since I got you."

Oddly responsible, all things considered.