Fear of rejection really is the Strider special, and that's why he didn't want to ask.
It's so fucking stupid. He knows he fucked Dave up. He did it without remorse. Hell, he still doesn't feel remorse, because Dave is alive and he isn't. He's not sorry, and he never will be, and he has so many justifications for every shitty thing he did, but he wouldn't blame Dave for hating him.
That head-shake is promising, but the way Dave's hesitating and freaking out, it screams impending wordvomit and he doesn't know if he can take it.
David Elizabeth Strider why the fuck did you just say no homo to your dadbrother.
Oh. That's why. A modicum of the tension in him releases, barely, and he just... Looks at him. Real quiet. Listening. Processing. He doesn't lean in harder, but he doesn't pull away, either. "Knew something was coming," he says, real quiet, "knew I wasn't gonna be there for it. Knew you had to fend for yourself when I was gone." It's not him making excuses, or gaining favor. Just explaining his reasons. He could have gone about it in so many other ways, but when you're a: already a jerk, and b: manipulated by an evil puppet, this shit happens.
He listens to the rest too. He's surprised by how relieved he feels that Dave doesn't hate him, but the rest nags at him. The way Dave fidgets, begs for an answer without actually asking the right questions.
Dirk sighs.
He lifts a hand, the one in between them, and rests his palm atop Dave's head. It's surprisingly gentle. "Ain't never did nothin' I didn't think you could handle," he starts, but that's not what he wants to say. Not really. "Raised myself," he amends, "never had anyone tell me yes or no. Just did what I had to. Survived, obviously, and then--there's this baby. This fucking baby. This perfect-ass baby that looks like me, just a little, just enough, and I knew he was coming. Course I did. And I pick up this baby and for the only goddamn time in my life, I'm scared as shit. I'm scared because shit's gonna happen to this baby. I don't know what, I don't know when, but shit's gonna happen. I can't stop that, I can't change it. Ain't gonna be there for all of it, neither. So fuck, I think, what am I gonna do? I don't know shit about parenting, and along with everything else--"
He shakes his head.
"Gotta raise that baby to know how to fight whatever's coming. To survive after I'm gone. Because fuck if I'm gonna let that baby just die. And maybe, just maybe, once the fighting's all done, he'll still somehow be okay."
This is a whole lot of words to just say:
"If I didn't give a shit about you, Dave, I wouldn't have done nothing. Woulda just said oh fucking well, future's the future, and pretended no shit was ever gonna happen."
no subject
It's so fucking stupid. He knows he fucked Dave up. He did it without remorse. Hell, he still doesn't feel remorse, because Dave is alive and he isn't. He's not sorry, and he never will be, and he has so many justifications for every shitty thing he did, but he wouldn't blame Dave for hating him.
That head-shake is promising, but the way Dave's hesitating and freaking out, it screams impending wordvomit and he doesn't know if he can take it.
David Elizabeth Strider why the fuck did you just say no homo to your dadbrother.
Oh. That's why. A modicum of the tension in him releases, barely, and he just... Looks at him. Real quiet. Listening. Processing. He doesn't lean in harder, but he doesn't pull away, either. "Knew something was coming," he says, real quiet, "knew I wasn't gonna be there for it. Knew you had to fend for yourself when I was gone." It's not him making excuses, or gaining favor. Just explaining his reasons. He could have gone about it in so many other ways, but when you're a: already a jerk, and b: manipulated by an evil puppet, this shit happens.
He listens to the rest too. He's surprised by how relieved he feels that Dave doesn't hate him, but the rest nags at him. The way Dave fidgets, begs for an answer without actually asking the right questions.
Dirk sighs.
He lifts a hand, the one in between them, and rests his palm atop Dave's head. It's surprisingly gentle. "Ain't never did nothin' I didn't think you could handle," he starts, but that's not what he wants to say. Not really. "Raised myself," he amends, "never had anyone tell me yes or no. Just did what I had to. Survived, obviously, and then--there's this baby. This fucking baby. This perfect-ass baby that looks like me, just a little, just enough, and I knew he was coming. Course I did. And I pick up this baby and for the only goddamn time in my life, I'm scared as shit. I'm scared because shit's gonna happen to this baby. I don't know what, I don't know when, but shit's gonna happen. I can't stop that, I can't change it. Ain't gonna be there for all of it, neither. So fuck, I think, what am I gonna do? I don't know shit about parenting, and along with everything else--"
He shakes his head.
"Gotta raise that baby to know how to fight whatever's coming. To survive after I'm gone. Because fuck if I'm gonna let that baby just die. And maybe, just maybe, once the fighting's all done, he'll still somehow be okay."
This is a whole lot of words to just say:
"If I didn't give a shit about you, Dave, I wouldn't have done nothing. Woulda just said oh fucking well, future's the future, and pretended no shit was ever gonna happen."