ALFG Chapter 160

#03: MEDICINE by DAUGHTER

The scanner arrives a week later, in perfect condition. Dirk immediately takes it apart in his room (the office is liable for fires) and reassembles it so it's structured like a loom. He ends up pausing the project when he needs more parts, flying around Kisaragi to fetch what he can and running Three's credit card online when he can't find them.

The familiar work is meditative, a comfort and an easy thing to fall back on. He suspects this is why Three's letting him have at it, even when he could have just contracted someone else – new skills to let Dirk's curious, wandering mind have its fill of activity; old skills to let him have something familiar, a constant.

The guy is unnerving as shit and sometimes eggs him to put way too much spice on his food, but he is…helping. As much as Dirk is loathe to admit it.

And the food's great. That's another plus too. Kisaragi is slow, but Kisaragi has been a place to just stop and breathe. It's an odd feeling. It might just be hitting him, but it's like he's been tightly coiled and stretched thin his whole life, and suddenly all that pressure's abated. Not gone entirely, what with the whole situation back in New York still in the back of his mind, but Three reminds him of the time dilation and his ability to time Dirk's return if need be. It makes him go about his day a little bit easier.

Like everything's been put on pause and he can finally think. The realization has him lying down on the carpet of his room just staring at the ceiling, reeling.

Having nothing to do is strange, but it's making him realize how tense he is most days.

How long will this last, he supposes? Because something has to happen, eventually, right? If not regarding his problem of being stuck here, then the fact that there is a rip in this universe from his arrival here. Kisaragi might be removed from time, but it’s still a part of this universe. There must be repercussions eventually.

Three makes him go talk a walk or chop wood or till the garden when he’s too agitated to think during their sessions. Sometimes, they cook, since it’s methodical work that lets him put a bit of force into chopping things or crushing ingredients. Occasionally, Three lets him build – but always keeps an ear out for when he ends up more frustrated than he began, pulling him away from his work and forcibly taking a walk with him on the streets of Kisaragi.

Keeping calm and not catastrophizing is easier said than done with the situation, but Three tells him to logic his way through his crises when he has them. He’s a smart guy, he has to see the reasoning behind it – the god’s words, not his.

And as much as it sucks, he does have a point. Sure, Dirk still hates being stuck here, but Three and his siblings are doing their best trying to serve their universe while still accommodating for his presence and how to send him home. Three is actively trying to help Dirk right now and walk him towards the impossible road of peace. Sometimes the only way really is through, no matter how much Dirk wishes it wasn’t.

Four months since he’s arrived in Kisaragi, he and Three trudge along the bay walk, watching as the moon begins to rise in the distance. It’s always windy here, so Dirk has his borrowed coat on and Three has his hair pulled up, both of them mindful of the other visitors who’ve decided to relax here. Three had been getting frustrated on a passage he was trying to translate and Dirk had hit a snag on trying to get one of the archive’s old storage drives to cooperate, so they’d both agreed to stop work for a moment and cool off.

It’s slightly sobering, to see Three admit that he’s frustrated at something and take his own advice. Then again, Dirk doesn’t know him all that well, so he has no idea why he expected the god to not practice what he preached. He’s pretty sure the god would have something to say about that and projection, but whatever.

Three finds a spot at the very edge of the bay walk – on the flat surface of its border – to hop on and sit. The crescent moon is almost fully visible in the horizon, much closer than the Earth’s moon had been; instead of being barely the size of a coin in the distance, this moon swallows up a good portion of the sky.

“You know, that’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Dirk leans his arms on the border. “Sun god that likes watching the moon.”

“Grass is always greener on the other side, or so they say,” Three says, leaning back on his hands. “Moonrises on Kisaragi are just…pretty. Compared to the living world.”

“Does Kisaragi even have a physical moon?” Dirk asks. “This place is a memory, right?”

“Correct. The moon is much the same. People tend to romanticize the moon a lot, so – ” Three points to the moon on the horizon, the sky a deep blue that gradients to purple closer to the surface of the ocean. “We get this.”

“So this place just adjusts to what people’s general consensus is?”

“In a way?” Three asks. “Sometimes people see things very differently, though. As someone alive, you just see what those without an opinion on moonrises see. Those of us who do feel something about it see it very differently.”

Dirk glances from the horizon to Three. “Aren’t you alive?”

“Ah, but I’m also half-dead,” Three says. “I’m…on borrowed time, you should say.”

This definitely has something to do with his other version and whatever the fuck that asshole did. Maybe something to do lightning scars on Three’s back? But, clearly, the man had survived that.

“You mean being godtier?” Dirk asks.

Three shakes his head. “It’s a complicated thing.”

“Then help me understand.”

The god’s lips twitch, amused at his words being thrown back at him. “I died a heroic death,” he says. “But I was forcibly put back together and my soul was stapled back to my body whether it wanted to give it up or not.”

…huh.

Well, shit.

Dirk readjusts his stance leaning on the border. “Was it from…?” He glances towards the back of Three’s cardigan, and then motions to it when he remembers he’s wearing shades.

“No, that was from a completely different fight,” Three says. “A little bit before I died.”

“So you were already godtier.”

“Yes.”

Dirk frowns behind his shades. “Then why’d it scar?”

“A godtier body reflects the state of the soul,” Three says. “Of course, it reflects the state of the soul at the moment, which is why when we godtier young, we stay like that and slowly age until we hit our biological ceiling. As my opponent was a Prince of Heart, he could quite literally affect the state of my soul, and so the scar remains.”

Dirk’s gaze drops to Three’s arms. He rolls up his sleeves as he seems to sense Dirk's uneasiness with his freaky intuition.

“These weren’t from him, don’t worry,” Three says. “We went through a lot of training as children, and I wasn’t always the best at it.”

The sight of the scars still makes Dirk’s stomach turn, especially knowing that they already existed and that other version of him had added to it.

Three slides his sleeves back down. “I don’t really mind, I’m used to having scars.”

“It still must have been unpleasant.” Dirk glances at his back again.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t recommend it,” Three says, and then shrugs. “But what’s done is done.”

Dirk stares at him for a moment, before turning back towards the ocean. “You know you can be mad, right?” he says, “You should be mad. That’s still horrific.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell do you forgive him?”

Three inclines his head, and then shrugs again. “You’ll get it, eventually.”

Dirk snorts. “Don’t give me that when you’re older shit, you look my age.”

Three glances above his head. “I’m a year and a few months older than you, so.”

“Fuck off, Three.”

Three chuckles. Then: “You wanna see what the moonrise looks like for me?”

Dirk glances towards the horizon again. “Sure.”

Three holds out his left hand, palm up. As he does, Dirk notices a massive jagged scar on his wrist. It looks too wide to be a suicide attempt scar, and more like someone had bit onto his wrist and tore it out. It also looks like a faded pink instead of a darker shade of his skin.

“Do I have to take off my gloves?” Dirk asks – he’d gotten new pairs several weeks ago.

“Preferably.”

He sighs and yanks one of his gloves off before slapping his hand onto Three’s. The god turns back to the horizon and closes his eyes.

Dirk blinks, and the view changes. The sky looks a bit brighter, stars glittering in the sky and being reflected off the ocean waves. There are streaks of golden light shooting by in the distance, shooting stars that weren’t there before. A bright blue aurora dances high above everything.

“Cool, right?” Three says. “Being patchwork has its perks.”

#

Three's archival duties go much faster with a scanner to digitize everything. He spends hours scanning as much as he can at certain days, until he gets tired and goes back to translation or filing or restoration. Dirk, meanwhile, is going hog wild on Three's credit card ordering large capacity external drives. With a new setup, Three's thrown himself into his work with a new fervor, which means Dirk either has to spend his time by himself or with Three's shitty fucking cat – so he sticks around the office and finds things to busy himself with.

"You can go out and see the island, you know. You're not locked here," Three tells him one day while he's helping empty out a whole shelf to be organized properly, since Three had originally just haphazardly put them there when he first set up the place.

"I know," Dirk say. He still tries to reach the edge of Kisaragi, sometimes (though it's getting pretty clear that unless he’s willing to spend 5000 years doing nothing but flying, it was impossible), and every now and then, he goes out for one reason or another, checking in with Three if he's out late to reassure him the first guardian hasn't tossed him into a manhole.

"Just throwing that out there. I know this place gets dull," Three says.

"I don't really do well with crowds," Dirk says.

Three hums. "I just worry," he says. "That you think you're under house arrest or something."

"I'm fine. It's fine," Dirk says. He sets down the pile of books he's carrying and pauses for a moment. "I know the first guardian is watching, but it's fine. I know I'm allowed outside."

Three nods. "You can make yourself at home on the island, you're welcome here," he says.

Dirk knows Three has his whole bleeding heart thing going on, but – "Even if I look like the guy who hurt you?"

"Well, have you ever fought me with intent to kill?" Three asks. "And I do mean intent to kill."

"No," Dirk says.

"Then it's as simple as that. You aren't guilty of his sins, and so I don't blame you."

Dirk studies him for a moment. "I just get the feeling sometimes that when you look at me, you're seeing someone else entirely."

Three smiles briefly. "I won't lie and say that separating you from the Dirk I know is an automatic process," he says. "And I apologize."

"It's fine," Dirk says again. "Like I said, you can be mad, you know. You should be."

Three sighs. He's sorting through some books on the floor, so he sits, motioning to the spot beside him. "Just because you're a Dirk doesn't mean you're some punching bag for guilt and anger," he says. "You had no control over your presence here, I'm not going to take advantage of that and beat you down. You don't deserve that."

He pats the space beside him again. After a moment's hesitation, he walks over and sits down. The office's library stretches out in front of them - there's a massive circular window at the top of the tower, and the angle of the sun has let light beam down near them.

"It's still a version of me," Dirk says, watching the dust motes floating down the sunbeam. "Aren't you at least the slightest bit tempted to yell at me?"

"No, I don't. And even if I did, having the urge to do something is not the same as doing something. And it's not right to blame you for someone else's sins, so I won't," Three says. "You're you and he's him, no matter how similar you might be. There's still a gulf of difference between you."

Dirk says nothing, slowly taking in a deep breath. He knows Three's going to pick up on what he's thinking anyway, so why bother talking?

"Dime for your thoughts, Dirk?"

"It's penny, actually," he corrects. "And don't you know?"

"I think it'd be good for you to admit it aloud," Three says. "There's catharsis in expression."

He hums. "And that's why you always tell me to talk about things when you're doing your shrink thing?" he asks.

"It helps to put it out there. Just like how you need to let overwhelming energy out by activity, you have to let your thoughts out sometimes," Three says. "That's why people benefit from venting or talking to a therapist. If nothing else, at the very least, they can get it out. If you have no one to talk to, write it down and then burn it after or something. But don't keep it in."

"Why not?"

"Think of emotion to be an ocean in a bottle," Three says. "It fills up from time to time, and you have to lower the waters by taking some out. If you never let it out, it'll overflow, eventually. You can lash out, you can be irritable, you can be destructive."

He lifts a finger before Dirk can interrupt.

"And before you say that's exactly why you just shouldn't feel anything or that you should just repress it – emotions aren't evil or something to be scared of, they're normal. You should be angry from time to time. You should be scared. You should feel irritated. These things are normal defense mechanisms we have," Three says. "But repressing all of it doesn't make it go away, it makes it fester. And when it all piles up, you snap. That's when you do something you might regret. If you've noticed that you have a tendency to be destructive, it is your responsibility to find healthy methods to manage it, because doing otherwise would just make it worse."

"I…see," Dirk says. "And it's a vicious cycle."

"Exactly," Three says. "I'm glad you're open to advice now. Good job, Dirk."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighs. "I just – there's no point anyway because you'll know, somehow."

"I'm sorry," Three says. "But I can promise I'm not gonna go around babbling everything to anyone who'll listen."

"I'll sue you if you do."

"With my credit card, I'm sure."

Dirk snorts. He hunches over and leans his elbow on a knee, propping his chin up on his palm. "Do you ever get the urge to?" he asks. "Use it against me?"

"As intrusive thoughts, sure," Three says. "But I try my best to never act on it. I know I can be a violent person, so I try my best to hold myself back. And I turn to other methods that don't harm me or anyone else."

"Mm."

"Do you get mad?" Three asks. "That I…as you say, know somehow?"

"Yeah," Dirk admits in a huff.

"And?"

"You're hosting me. It would be counterproductive to strangle you," he says. "And a version of me already hurt you anyway."

"Do you see it as penance in some way?"

"I guess."

Three casts his eyes down sadly. "You're always so quick to put blame on your shoulders," he says. "Even when circumstances are outside of your control."

"If you know anything about me, why are you so surprised?"

Three falls silent for a few seconds. Then, he sighs. "I want to show you something," he says. "Will you let me?"

"What is it?" Dirk asks.

"Just…a little trip to the past," Three says. "We're not going to move physically from here, but I want to show you…something. I think you deserve to see it." He holds his left hand out, wrist heavily scarred. "Trust me?"

"No offense, Three, but you constantly being vague isn't exactly moving the needle towards trust for me."

Three's lips twitch in a brief smile. "It's nothing dangerous," he says. "Just a wound-together memory."

Dirk eyes his hand warily. Eventually, he pulls off his right hand's glove and slaps it onto Three's waiting palm.

#

"I think we're done."

Dirk opens his eyes to a bare, white room. There are shelves and tables set up near the walls, but they're empty, with several boxes sitting near them. The bed pushed to the corner is a plain white, the same color as the curtains that cover the windows. The place looks sterile, like someone's just moved in.

"This is everything?" a woman asks. Dirk turns to the doorway and freezes.

"Yeah," his brother says - the spitting image of Dave, but taller and older. Beside him is an older version of Rose. "That's everything."

Dirk clenches his hand, the one holding onto Three's.

"When are we?" he grits out, turning to the god, hackles rising. "What are you doing?"

"This is a memory," Three says, barely reacting though Dirk's trying to crush his hand. "A memory that's responsible for you."

By the doorway, Dirk's Bro moves, carrying in the last of the boxes from the hallway inside. He sets them down by the shelf and grunts as he stands and pops his back.

"Christ, the kid better appreciate this," he says with a little chuckle. Dirk's surprise makes him loosen his grip on Three's hand.

"Being indoctrinated into his brother's biased interests?" Roxy's Mom asks from the doorway. "He will, though I doubt there is an element of fairness to it."

"Fuck off, Rose."

Roxy's Mom smiles, laughing softly. She walks over to the window, pulling the curtains aside, as Dirk's Bro flips out a switchblade and starts opening one of the boxes. Light streams in from the outside.

“It’s sometimes hard to believe that so many of this will be underwater soon,” she says, her breath coming out as a sigh, pained and heavy. Dirk’s Bro falters with the blade for a moment, then resumes.

“You think I need to find a taller building?”

“No, I think the risen sea level shouldn’t reach this place,” Rose says. “Though the rest of the neighborhood, I’m not too sure.”

Dirk’s Bro nods and opens the box, taking out folded clothes that Dirk immediately recognizes, especially his favorite wifebeater shirt.

This is his room; this is from when his brother had set up the place for him.

Oh.

“Why?” He turns to Three.

“Just watch, Dirk,” Three says, kindly. “I think you need it.”

“I think I forgot the sunblock,” Dirk’s Bro says. Roxy’s Mom bursts out laughing and then turns around at where he’s kneeling, having emptied out the box. There’s still a couple around him and Dirk can already guess they’re filled with the things he’s used all his life – the clothes from infanthood to his teen years; his books and turn tables and computers. Everything his brother had thought to pack away for him.

“Well, you have a couple of more years, don’t stress it,” Roxy’s Mom says, but Dirk’s Bro is already taking out his phone and tapping in what Dirk presumes to be an ungodly order for more shit.

“No, I need this place to be perfect,” he says. “I’m not gonna be here for the little man, I’m not gonna skimp out on him.”

Roxy’s Mom laughs. The sunlight behind her seems to brighten and then, like a dream –

#

The memory skips forward. This time the room is a little more packed. The walls are still bare of the posters he would later set up in life, but the area is starting to look a little more familiar. There’s the massive television near the door and the god-awful noisy fan that kept the heat out but whirred away like it was a jet engine. His brother is currently wrestling the solar generator out of its box while Roxy’s Mom watches in amusement, finding his suffering entertaining.

“I’m the better parent, by the way. DILF of the year. DILF of the next four centuries,” Dirk’s Bro says as he finally gets the clunky, brighter yellow machine out of its packaging. “I’ve never seen you lugging this shit around for your kid.”

“That’s what the moving service is for, Dave.”

Dirk’s Bro flips the bird at her. “Just fucking come help me, he’s gonna be your kid’s friend, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Roxy’s Mom says, though she’s already approaching to help him unbox the accompanying panels. “If he’s going to be anything like you, maybe that’s a bad idea.”

“Fuck off, he’s going to be the coolest kid, all the kids on the block are gonna be clamoring after him.” Dirk’s Bro scoffs. “He’s a Strider, he’s gonna be the raddest thing in the 25th century. Best thing since sliced bread. Little man’s gonna reinvent the fucking wheel. Your visions just can’t see jack shit ‘cause he’s way too awesome.”

“I think you’re putting way too much on his shoulders to live up to,” Roxy’s Mom admonishes, joking.

Dirk’s Bro pauses as he’s setting down one panel on the floor carefully. “I mean. I don’t mean he has to literally reinvent the wheel,” he says. “I just know he’s gonna do great.”

Roxy’s Mom nods. “I know,” she says. She similarly pauses, and then, for a moment, asks, “Do you think we’re doing enough?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’re doing enough?” she repeats. “For the children. It just – we’ve been planning this for…years. You’ve bought a whole building and it’s going to be unlived for four centuries. I’ve got a whole house on lockdown for the same amount of time. And still, it doesn’t – ”

“It doesn’t feel right?”

“Yes,” Roxy’s Mom says. “Like there’s still something missing.”

Dirk’s Bro falls silent. He sits down, propping his elbows on his knees as he settles across her. “Yeah,” he says, eventually. “I feel like we should be…doing a lot more. ‘cept I have no idea what else to do, ‘cause anything more and we’re gonna be way too obvious for the sea bitch. Then everything’s just gonna go to shit.” He motions around the room. “Already bought a building because leasing a single floor for the next couple hundred years is gonna be too obvious. Had to space out my orders in case she’s tracking my credit card history somehow.”

“I know,” Roxy’s Mom says. “But it still doesn’t feel enough.”

Dirk’s Bro nods. “I get ya,” he says. “I can’t explain it either.” He idles for a moment, before leaning back on his hands and sighing. “But what else can we do?”

Nothing. Even if they survived the rebellion, there were hundreds of years that separated them from Dirk and Roxy. If they met their demise not to the Empress, then to the reality of time and space and doom; they would age and die; they would still be unable to do anything but know that in a few hundred years, their descendants would arrive on a waterlogged planet.

Both of them sit in silence for a moment, before Roxy’s Mom returns to unpacking. After a minute, Dirk’s Bro joins her.

There’s not a lot they can do but plan accordingly, based on what her visions have given her. They know this. Dirk knows this. Roxy knew it too. This was an inevitability.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Dirk asks. “More inevitability shit?”

“No, Dirk,” Three says, gently. “Not at all.”

#

The next memory is on the rooftop. It’s a bright and sunny day, and the sight of the roof with the afternoon sun bearing down on it is so familiar, Dirk almost thinks he’s back home in his apartment again, looking out over the miles and miles of ocean.

Except it’s not ocean he’s overlooking below, it’s miles and miles of cityscape, Houston before it drowned under the sea. Cars loudly honk as they speed down the highway. There are people walking down the sidewalk, plastic bags from convenience stores in hand, some of them just talking and laughing with friends. It’s weird, seeing a city he’s called home for sixteen years look so different.

On the rooftop is his brother and Roxy’s mother laying down the last of the panels on one corner of the flat surface. Roxy’s Mom’s hair is longer. There’s a scar that runs along Dirk’s Bro’s forearm that wasn’t there before.

Dirk frowns. “How far is this from the last one?”

Three’s brow knits as he concentrates. “Five months,” he says.

“That’s the last of them,” Dirk’s Bro says. “Thanks.”

“You know, you could have hired people to do this.”

“Yeah, and then what? Let it be a dead giveaway that I’m setting up a house here?”

Roxy’s Mom gives him a long, exasperated look. “Do you have any idea how many people get panels installed every day? Do not answer that, that was rhetorical.” She brushes a stray lock from her face. “You’d stand out more being paranoid. You would do well to be a little more normal.”

“You’d do well to be a little more paranoid. The fuck you got a whole ass house for? Might as well broadcast to the whole seaweed fascist empire that’s where your kid’s gonna live.”

“I just don’t want her to grow up alone,” Roxy’s Mom says with a sigh. “I think she could use some room to walk around in.”

Dirk’s Bro doesn’t answer.

“Not that I’m questioning your methods,” Roxy’s Mom says. “I know you’re prioritizing his safety above all else, and I’m doing the same for her. It’s why I picked a house a little more out of the way.”

“Oh,” Dirk’s Bro says, tone clipped. “Okay.”

“I’m not judging you, Dave.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he says.

Both of them stand there awkwardly, just staring at each other (though Dirk’s Bro was probably discreetly looking away from behind his glasses). Roxy’s Mom crosses her arms after a bit, shifting her weight on one foot, and giving Dirk’s Bro a questioning look, though she remains patiently silent.

“It’s just,” Dirk’s Bro starts. “Do you think I’m doing this right?”

“…I think your intentions are in the right place.”

“Yeah, but who cares about intentions? Am I doing this right?” He motions his hands around him. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Rose.”

“Neither do I,” Roxy’s Mom says. “But it’s…it’s very difficult when we can’t be there to actually take care of them every step of the way.”

“Yeah, but there has to be something we can do, right?”

She doesn’t answer.

He mirrors her pose, arms crossed, but his posture is stiffer, more guarded, compared to her expectant one.

“There are things within our power,” Roxy’s Mom says, carefully. “And there are things outside of our power. Some of this is up to the children.”

“I know that,” Dirk’s Bro says. “But like you said, it still feels like there’s something missing. And I want to get this right. I want to get this perfect. I don’t – ” He pauses. “I don’t want to get him in trouble, Rose. I don’t want to accidentally get him killed or something.”

Roxy’s Mom smiles at him, softly. “I know. I think that’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it? You care about him –

Dirk freezes.

“ – you want to do this right,” she says. “You might not be able to get it perfect, but you can do as best as you can, circumstances considered.”

“I just don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know. And we’ll do our best to make sure they survive until it’s time,” Roxy’s Mom says. “I have no idea what I’m doing either.”

“Jesus.” Dirk’s Bro drags a hand down his cheek. “Ah, fuck.”

“We’ll be fine,” Roxy’s Mom says, chuckling. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about us, I’m worried about – we have no idea what we’re doing, how the hell are they going to survive the fucking apocalypse?!”

“That’s why we’re going to make it as easy as we can for them on our end,” Roxy’s Mom says, “And the rest, we trust them on it.”

“They shouldn’t have,” Dirk mutters as his brother and Roxy’s mother head for the fire escape ladder to go back down. “For me, at least. I turned out like shit.”

“You made a lot of mistakes, that’s true,” Three says. “But you’re alive, aren’t you? There’s time to move forward.”

“Like that’s going to make up for it.”

“That’s also true. Once you do something, you can never take it back. There will always be consequences for it, no matter how small. The memory will remain, if not the emotion or the fallout,” Three says. “Sometimes, it’s better to not have done it at all. Which is why we have to learn from our mistakes, to stop the cycle of hurting others and hurting ourselves.”

He squeezes Dirk’s hand in an attempt for comfort. The pressure is strangely grounding.

“We will always fuck up. We can always apologize. Sometimes people will forgive us, sometimes they will not. Sometimes they will forget, sometimes they will not. But those mistakes will remain with them, and with us, in some shape or form. It can teach us what to do and what not to do,” Three says. “But I think wallowing in the same shit over and over and not doing anything about it is more destructive. Dirk – I know you think you’re a horrible person, but do you want to be?”

“No,” Dirk says, turning away. “I just – I wish I weren’t me.”

“Then build yourself anew,” Three says. “Then shed the old skin and build yourself anew. You keep wallowing in your own misery, you’ll never get anywhere, you’ll just sink deeper.”

He lets go of Dirk’s hand to place it on his shoulder.

“You were never fated to be a fuck-up. You were never built to fall,” Three says. “Nobody is. No matter what the universe says, I promise you, nobody is.”

“But what if I can’t get myself out of it?” Dirk asks, quietly. “What if all I do is keep drowning?”

“Then ask for help,” Three says, “And when the opportunity presents itself, let people help you, please.”

“Why do you care?” Dirk turns back to him this time, fists clenched. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me. We’re just strangers that got caught up in some big cosmic universal joke, so why do you give a shit about me?”

“Do you think people don’t just help others?” Three asks, frowning slightly, though his expression is more hurt than angry. “Do you think we’re made to just tear each other down?”

“That’s what I would do.”

“Well, I’m not you,” Three says. “And the reason why there’s so many different people in the world is because we’re all supposed to help each other, we’re all supposed to fill in for each other’s gaps, watch each other’s blind spots. We’re not supposed to exist in isolation, because if we do, we crash and burn fast.”

He takes in a deep breath, and Dirk waits for him to yell, to snap – but he doesn’t.

“I want to help you because you need it. Because I worry. Because I care. Even if I’m a stranger to you,” Three says.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Three motions to where Dirk’s Bro and Roxy’s Mom had left. “Your brother loved you so much and he never even met you. He just knew you were a kid who needed someone to prepare a place for him, and he does.”

“Well, it’s – it’s him,” Dirk says. “It’s my brother.”

“And I know you hold him to such a high standard, but Dirk, you keep missing my point.” Three’s hands reach for him and then stop, like the boy’s holding himself back from shaking Dirk by the shoulders. “He cares about you. Roxy’s Mom cares about you. People care about you and you didn’t even exist at the time yet – if you think you’re some monstrous, unlovable thing from the start, then were they wrong?”

When he looks like he’s about to protest, Three does grab him by the shoulders then.

“Dirk, you’re just like everybody else,” he says. “There is an entire history of people before you.”

The god’s palms are heated, warmth seeping in even through the fabric of Dirk’s shirt, and he’s looking at Dirk with such heartbreak, like he’s desperate for Dirk to see reason.

“Look at this!” Three motions to the city around him. “Everything that is here now has been here before. Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever thought himself unlovable?”

Out below, the city continues to exist, thousands of people going through their lives. Dirk thinks, idly, of Three talking about single moments leading to another single moment in isolation, thousands of years apart, an unbroken line of connection made up on mundanity.

Years before his time, there were billions of people on this Earth.

Oh, he realizes. This is what Three was talking about.

Absentmindedly, he reaches for one of Three’s hands on his shoulders, shaking fingers latching on, if only to have something to hold onto. The warmth helps keep him in the moment.

“What if there’s just something so broken with me?” he whispers. “Something that just can’t be fixed.”

“You’re not supposed to be fixed,” Three says. “If it hurts, then we’ll make it easier. If you make mistakes, then take accountability, and we’ll learn to never do it again.”

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

“I just – ” He turns back to Three. “I don’t know how so many people can keep believing in me like this.”

There was his brother, who wasted all this for him instead of just letting him drown as a child. There was Roxy’s Mom who helped him. There’s Roxy, Jane, and Jake. Fucking Hal, who told him he just wanted them to stop fighting all the goddamn time.

“Dirk Strider, you are so loved,” the god mourns, smiling sadly. “But you are so lonely.”

#

“I’m scared.”

The room is a little more familiar this time. Turntables are set up but under tarps. Desks that Dirk will later take apart and prop up with cinderblocks are posted at corners in the room. It’s been some time since the last memory, clearly, and his brother’s hair is a little longer, a little more unruly, like he’s been run ragged by whatever’s happened to him. And from what Dirk knows of the history of his Earth, it’s nothing good.

Roxy’s Mom isn’t here. It’s just his Bro, sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows propped up on his knees, shades set aside, face in his hands, head bowed like a man in prayer.

It feels invasive, to witness this, but it’s the past. Solid and unchangeable, set in stone.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing, little guy,” Dirk’s Bro admits. “And to tell you the truth, I’m uh – really fucking scared.”

He chuckles to himself awkwardly.

“I’m scared of blood, did you know that? Which is – ironic, given that uh, I’ve lost a shitton of it now. God, that witch fucking owes me. I should sue her. Do you know how much blood transfusions cost now with half the fucking country having astronomic blood sugar levels? Insane. The sea hag should be paying me for spilling money juice everywhere when she sends her goons after me.” He laughs again. “But – Jesus Christ, I don’t know, thinking about her finding this place scares the shit out of me more.”

He swallows thickly. “Yeah, uh, last time I’m gonna visit here, then I’m just gonna. I don’t know. Lay low someplace else,” he says. “It’s just that…I mean, I can’t be alive until two thousand four hundred, but I can…”

Dirk’s Bro takes in a deep breath. Then:

“Rose said something that got me thinking,” he says. “She said she…she was bummed out. Uh. Yeah, bummed out that she couldn’t ever tell her kid to her face that she loved her.” He pauses. “But the moon and the sun in the sky that we’re going to be under is the same. Same moon looking down at her, same sun looking down at you. That’s something we share in common. Couple thousand years ago, some dinosaurs grazed at a spot some dumb teenagers are now throwing mud at each other on. Like, maybe not the same stretch of land, but the coordinates, you know…uh. God, why the hell am I fact-checking myself.”

Yet another nervous laugh, but it comes out watery this time. Dirk’s throat tightens at the noise.

“I can’t protect you when you get here. The only thing I can do is protect you now, from where I am, and I’m trying to. God, I am trying to.” Dirk’s brother draws in a shaky breath. “I can’t be there with you, but I can…be here now. Same sun and moon in the sky, same room where we’ll both exist in, just at different points in time.”

He drags his hands down his face and furiously wipes at his eyes with his knuckles.

“It’s as far as I can reach,” he says. “I just hope it’s enough – ”

Beside Dirk, Three stiffens. In front of him, his brother lifts his head, and then similarly freezes, eyes fixed on Dirk like he’s seeing something.

They widen, slightly. “…kid?”

A chill runs down Dirk’s spine. Slowly, he turns to Three.

“Sorry,” Three says, trembling as he looks at Dirk’s Bro, like he’s expecting to be hit. “I think I jumped throughout memories too many times. I forgot you were a Knight.”

Dirk’s brain combs through every bit of knowledge he can about classpects then – Karkat Vantas had an immunity to blood magic given enough run-ins with spells. If Dave Strider is a Knight of Time –

“Hey, kid,” Dirk’s Bro says. Then, hesitantly, “…Dirk.”

“Three, you said this was a memory,” Dirk says.

“It is,” Three says. “But I’m not pulling it out of your memories, Dirk.”

Shit.

“You are Dirk,” his Bro says. He lets out another nervous chuckle, but it sounds a lot less sadder. “Shit. Oh my god. Holy shit.”

He stands, abruptly, even when his glasses are still folded on the bed. He reaches out towards Dirk, then lowers his hand, clearing his throat. “I’m – uh.”

Dirk rapidly glances between him and Three, but the god is pointedly not looking at either of them, instead staring at the floor. Dirk’s Bro doesn’t even seem to register him, instead focused on Dirk, expression torn between joy and disbelief.

“Three,” Dirk says. “Is this real?”

“Not physically,” Three says, sounding guilty. “We’re not here physically, but in his memories? Yes. So it’s real to some extent.”

“You’re from the future.” Dirk’s Bro finally looks to the third person in the room, who jerkily nods but avoids eye contact. His brother’s shoulders drop in relief. “You survived, then. You made it.”

“I…did,” Dirk says. “Yeah. I – I did.”

“Thank god,” his brother says. “Thank fucking god.”

When he laughs this time, it sounds a little more triumphant, and he scrubs at his face to clean off his tears again. He studies Dirk, looking so relieved and happy that it hurts. “You look well.”

Three lets go of Dirk’s hand to nudge him forward, politely stepping back. Dirk looks over to him as he suddenly feels like he’s being left to float out at sea, but all Three does is nod encouragingly.

He turns back to his brother.

His…brother. The one he’s always admired and who’s looked after him even when they were separated by space and time and death. The one who will remember this for the rest of his life.

This is real. Oh god, this is real.

“…hi,” Dirk says.

Dave smiles. “Hey, lil’ man. It’s nice to meet you, finally,” he says. “Rose talks a lot about you and I was right, you did turn out awesome.”

“You don’t even know me,” Dirk says, though his tone is joking. There’s a tremble in his fingers, and that feeling of wanting to throw up is back again, his stomach hot and flipping over too many times.

“No, but you’re a Strider, aren’t you? I already know you’re great,” his brother says.

Dirk lets out a small, bitter smile. “I’m really not.”

His brother pauses, observing him for a moment. Then, he shrugs, and then puts a hand on Dirk’s shoulder. “Even if you didn’t reinvent the wheel or are the best thing since sliced bread or are the raddest thing in the 25thcentury,” he says. “You’re my little brother. So, you’re great to me.”

Dirk bursts out laughing, though there’s no humor behind it. He laughs, clutching his stomach as he doubles over, tears in his eyes that slip down his cheeks and break down into sobs.

His brother kneels in front of him and wraps his arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“I’ve got you, little guy,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Dirk says, holding onto his shirt and suddenly feeling his age, for the first time in forever. He’s seventeen. Only seventeen. In the face of living through the apocalypse and ascending to godhood, it’s so easy to forget, but he’s just a kid. “I’m so sorry.”

His brother is quiet for a moment, not that he really notices, far too busy crying into the man’s shoulder even as his borrowed glasses uncomfortably press into his face.

“You have a whole life ahead of you, Dirk,” he says. “You’re…far too young to live through it so ridden with guilt. I think you can figure it out.” He draws him tighter into the hug. “But if you need it, I forgive you.”

Dirk closes his eyes and cries.