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John had been sleeping peacefully when a loud noise jolted him out of his slumber. He looked around blearily, only to realize he wasn’t in Dave’s room any more. This was LOWAS. This was where Bro died. John sighed, realizing once again how terrible Dave was with his feelings, and trekked over to the boy sitting next to the memory-hologram of his dead father. Dave faced the opposite direction of Bro, staring into the nothingness of his half-made memory. John sat down heavily, sighing loud enough for Dave to give him a miffed look.
“Do you mind? I’m mourning here, assbutt,” he deadpanned.
“Dave, you are so, so bad at this dude. Mourning isn’t about sticking around and bottling up your feelings. You have to let go, and move on,” John explained, sitting back on his elbows. Dave curled in on himself tighter.
“You don’t understand, John. I just fucking can’t.” John rolled his eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t understand?’ Newsflash, my dad’s dead too. Been dead for a long time. But you know what? I moved on. I managed. Even when it seemed like nothing would go right and every time I looked at Jane my heart hurt and I just wanted to give up, I smiled and moved right along.” John turned to Dave, and tried his best to look as serious as possible. “It’s been three years, Dave. You’re allowed to mourn, but this is not healthy. Please, for all of our sakes, move on.” Dave just shook his head harder.
“No, John, I fucking cannot move on. I see my dead father, or brother, or whatever every single day on this goddamn meteor, and he doesn’t remember me and all he sees is his dead Hollywood hotshot absentee father or brother or whatever, and Bro died because of me. This is my fault. I lost him. And I just fucking cannot forgive myself for that.” At this, John gave out a long, bitter laugh.
“Your fault? If you think all of this bullshit is your fault, you’re stupider than I thought.” Dave gave John a hard look, and John simply shrugged. “If three years of gentle comfort hasn’t done anything for you, tough love is the way to go. This game, this whole stupid mess, is all on me. One hundred percent. I was the one who forced you to play. I was the one who started it all, and may I remind you, I’m the one who made ghost slime babies that eventually grew into us. Our lives depended on this game, in some sick never-ending cycle that I started,” John mused. Dave let out the same bitter laugh.
“Wow, you’re stupid. If our lives were decided by this game, if our every move and thought were dictated by some bullshit data in a bullshit computer, how is it your fault that you were programmed to make paradox sludge babies? If you were born to do that and you try to figure out why you gave birth to yourself to give birth to yourself to give birth to all of us, you’ll never reach the end of the circle. Stop blaming yourself, “ Dave said, leaning back against the ground. He folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes. He could almost imagine he wasn’t next to a dead body.
“Says the pot calling the kettle black, you big dumb hypocrite. Bro was born to die, in this universe. In our game. He knew what would happen, and he went whole-heartedly into it. He tried to raise you to be the best kid he could make.”
“The best kid he could make? Wow, you must not remember anything from back in the good ol’ days. Do you remember how I would pester you every other day, saying ‘Bro just beat the shit out of me,’ or ‘Bro left me a hundred bucks and a note saying ‘Back in five days,’ or even ‘I just woke up and Bro had changed me into a Sailor senshi costume in my sleep. Even the underwear?’ Bro was not even close to a good parent. He wasn’t fit for fatherhood. Brotherhood. Fuck the whatever,” Dave sighed out.
“Yeah, but I also remember the times you pestered me saying ‘Bro cooked me pancakes because I caught a cold, is he sick too?’ or ‘Bro said we can visit Maplehoof on the farm next week,’ or ‘Bro left a new shitty sword in my room today, it’s either rigged or a gift.’ I don’t know where you’re coming from, but he cared about you. A lot. Sure, he showed it in his ironic, weird, self-subvertive sort of way, but no ordinary father spends six weeks looking for a good place to keep his infant son’s miniature pony in summertime Houston. Bro wouldn’t want his strong, tough, awesome little brother to get all weepy over him for three years in a row. Give him the respect he deserves, bury his bones and walk away from them. For you too, Dave.” John said to Dave, smiling his patented Buck-Toothed Charmer smile. He slipped his hand over Dave’s, in a comforting, friendly gesture. Dave turned his hand over under John’s, finger touching but not wrapping around each other.
“Our lives suck,” Dave whined into John’s shoulder. John laughed, nodding against Dave’s hair.
“So what do you say?” The younger boy whispered into the blond’s ear.
Dave sat still for a second, not thinking or considering, just frozen.
“I think… I need to pay my respects for my last visit here.” John nodded encouragingly.
“Would you like me to leave?” he asked supportively. Dave gave him a long, contemplative look before nodded slowly. John walked to the door out of Dave’s memory just as the older boy wrapped his arms around his father and started whispering quick, messy words to him.
John waited for Dave to come back out. After two or three minutes, he emerged, shades not big enough to cover his tear tracks. John tutted at him, wiping them away and laughing when Dave blushed and batted him away.
“I’d like to go tell Rose and Jade,” Dave murmured out, knowing John did not need any specification. John wrapped his arm around his best bro’s shoulders, knowing at last that he was finally moving on.