A Lullaby For Gods Chapter 138

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: I AM OUT OF MY MIND, THROWING A LINE OUT TO SEA (TO SEE IF I CAN CATCH A DREAM)

Both of them are silent as they make their way back to shore, soaked to the bone in seawater, cold from both the winds around them and the new revelations that have been dropped on each of them.

The wind seemed to curl about the Sun protectively the whole way back, and in the corner of Dirk’s vision, he thought he could see it form the outline of a person, worriedly flitting about the god’s shoulders, hands hovering as if they didn’t know how to comfort him. He’d mentioned a sister before, the one who’d found him when he fell into this universe.

As soon as their feet touched the rocky shore, both of them just stood there, their exhaustion clear in their silence. The Sun God’s form was still hunched, his expression blank like he’d checked out ten minutes ago and was just going through the motions. It was the only reason why Dirk wasn’t trying to pull his hair over his eyes since he’d lost his glasses to the sea.

The wind nudged her brother forward, before tentatively and gently pushed Dirk forwards as well. The Sun God sighed, ran a hand over his face, and nodded, wordlessly trekking up inland. Dirk, meanwhile, stuck to flying – he was far too tired to walk.

Their silence continued even as they reached the house. The god motioned for Dirk to take the downstairs bathroom before retreating upstairs, taking a moment to rub his fingers on his cat’s head as the little creature purred and bumped his furry little head against his legs.

Dirk stayed an hour longer than was necessary in the bath, away from prying eyes and from the conversation that the god was sure to have with him later. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, well, eventually. He was stuck here, after all. And he lived in this house for now, since he didn’t know this universe well enough to traverse it. That conversation was coming eventually, sooner or later.

The Sun God was already in the living room by the time he was done in the bathroom, fingers pruning from how long he’d stayed in the warm water, but much more comfortable now that he was in dry, clean clothes. He paused in drying off his hair, staring at where the Sun was sitting, leaning his full weight against the couch while he spaced out at the wall in front of him.

Eventually, the Sun broke the silence first. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Just tired,” Dirk said.

He nodded, reaching up to brush some of his hair out of his face – the motion drew attention to the fact that instead of his usual long sleeves, the god was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, baring his arms which were littered with old scars that dotted and crisscrossed across his skin. Dirk’s stomach turned.

“These weren’t you,” the god said, still not looking at him, as he dropped his arm to his lap. “These were from my father.”

“Oh.” Dirk’s gaze dropped to the scars with slightly less trepidation, though the sight still made horror curl in his gut. Even he didn’t have that many scars pre-godtierdom. From what he could see, the scars looked like they were caused by different weapons. There were faded lines from blades, puckered patches that looked like bullet wounds, and a large patch of skin on the god’s right bicep that looked like a burn. “…the violent part of growing up that you talked about?”

“My old man wasn’t a good one,” the Sun said, chuckling darkly to himself. “He made us what we are now, in terms of power, but he was a piece of shit.” He looked down as his hands, and, after a pause, said, “I killed him when I was sixteen, a week before we entered the game.”

Dirk froze, if only because he had no idea what the hell to say to that.

Slowly, the Sun God turned to him, red irises dull as they fixated on him. “You’re not the only one who’s capable of horrible things, Dirk.”

“It sounds like there’s more to it than what you’re saying,” Dirk said.

The Sun motioned to the space beside him. After a moment of dithering by the doorway, Dirk sighed and made for the couch, sitting down on the other end of the couch, ample space between him and the god. Neither of them looked at each other, instead looking ahead.

“He…wanted to prepare us for the game,” the Sun said. “In strength, in intelligence, in speed, in magic…he wanted us to be the best of the best.” He paused. “Not because he cared or anything, he just wanted us to take him with us through the medium and into the new universe.”

“He was hitching a ride?”

“Essentially,” the Sun said. “But at least one of us needed to stay alive so he could make it to the other side, so he needed to make sure we had it in us.”

The god paused again, and in the brief silence, Dirk let a picture of the situation form in his mind’s eye. The scars. The versatility of the god’s fighting style. The conceptual mastery instead of a complete reliance on physical prowess.

“He was an efficient teacher,” the Sun said. “But a very, very cruel punisher should you fall short of his standards. One day, I just…thought he went too far.”

He looked down at his hand. Dirk did not interrupt him while he got lost in his thoughts, instead waiting for him to continue.

“So I killed him,” the Sun said.

“He sounds like a piece of shit who had it coming.”

“He was,” the Sun agreed, nodding. “But I didn’t need to drag out his suffering for my own vindication.”

Dirk quieted.

“Fire is a very slow way to kill someone,” the god said. “And I just watched, the whole time, until all that remained of him were ash and bone.”

He nodded, again, because he found himself at a loss for words. He’d faced off against robots and imps and all sorts of monsters, but killing someone’s father was a whole different ballpark altogether.

“Still,” he said. “It sounds like a complicated situation.”

“Your situation’s pretty complicated too, isn’t it?” the Sun said. “You feel guilt over actions you did not do, but rather actions that another self – one you had no hand in influencing – did. You shoulder the blame nonetheless as if you hold accountability for something you didn’t do.”

“I do.”

“You don’t,” the Sun said, and when Dirk opened his mouth to argue, the argument died in his throat as he remembered what he’d just been told. The god had killed his own father. Another self didn’t do it, he did. “Take it from a murderer.”

“…crafty asshole,” Dirk muttered, running a hand over his face. “Set-up and entrapment, huh?”

The Sun God let out another mirthless chuckle. “Not exactly. I just…I didn’t want you to think I spoke from a place of misguided righteousness. I’m very much a terrible person,” he said.

“That doesn’t excuse what I did to you.”

“But you didn’t do anything to me,” the Sun said, “Aside from maybe eating half of what I have in my fridge.”

The attempt at humor fell flat, as neither of them laughed.

“I understand that you’re terrified of yourself,” the Sun continued. “Terrified of the possibility that you will grow up to be a horrible person no matter how much you try to be good.”

“Am I trying, though?”

“You feel guilt, don’t you?”

“A lot of people feel guilty and are shitty people anyway.”

“Correct, and what sets lip service apart from those who genuinely try is the effort.” The Sun turned to face him this time. “Dirk,” he said. “You do try. You are putting your best foot forward and trying to not be so actively destructive all the goddamn time. There is work on your part. That’s what trying to be good is.”

“But I shouldn’t have to try, should I?” Dirk mirrored the god’s movements, turning to face him, motioning his hands as he talked, frustration mounting. “I shouldn’t have such shitty thoughts about how easy it would be to push people around, how much better I could make things if I could just take the reins – as if people were – were puppets or something instead of actual living beings. I shouldn’t be keeping this much horribleness inside of me, because it sure as shit isn’t normal for everyone else.”

He huffed, eyes widened in his frenzy to speak, though he wasn’t seeing the Sun God as he faced him, his vision blurring.

“There’s something fucking wrong with me,” Dirk said.

“There’s something inside your head that isn’t in other people?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because my friends don’t do it!” Dirk said, or more accurately, hissed through his teeth. “Jane is…stubborn but she’s earnest and she tries to put others first when she can. Jake tries to see the best in people. Roxy’s the best of us all. But I’m – ”

His hands shook, so he clenched them into fists.

“You’re what?” the Sun prompted, softly.

“I think other people don’t know what they want and what’s best for them, so I put them first but through my own myopic lens of what is good,” he said. “I only see others’ flaws.” His shoulders dropped. “And I’m…just a terrible person.”

The Sun said nothing, instead just watching him, expression passive, gaze dropping to the space between them.

“What?” Dirk asked, similarly dragging his line of sight down just so he didn’t have to look at the other boy’s face. “Isn’t this the part where you tell me that I’m only focusing on the bad parts of myself, or some other bullshit like that?”

“I could,” the Sun said, “But you would already expect me to tell you that. Would you believe me if I said it?”

“No.”

“So I won’t patronize you knowing full well you would think my words hollow,” the Sun said. “But I will ask why you think yourself to be those things.”

“It’s like – like some instinct I have to just immediately pick things apart, but they’re not things, they’re people,” Dirk said. “I look at what they do and immediately open them up in my head, holding flaws up to the light like I have any right to do it, looking down through the microscope with so much disdain, sometimes I disgust myself, and I end up sometimes stopping and wondering what fucking right I have to look at people like that, like I’m any better than them. But sometimes it feels like I am better than them, like I’m the only thing holding shit together, and I go right back to wondering how the fuck I even dare think that.”

Dirk quieted, and after a minute, said, “It didn’t use to be that bad,” he said. “I used to – used to think it was just something I had to do, but then there was – ” He cut himself off, clearing his throat and saying, “A lot of stuff just happened in between and I think I realized I was just some domineering asshole.”

“And what does the realization that your other selves might also be domineering assholes bring to you?”

He turned the question over in his mind. “I…I guess I’m just trying to look for a version of me who isn’t awful.”

“Evidence that you’re not a lost cause?”

“Yeah, I…yeah, I think that’s it,” Dirk said. “I think that’s what I’m looking for.”

“And what have you found?” the Sun asked.

Dirk took another minute before he spoke. “I have a brother,” he said. “From another timeline. My timeline’s the scratch of his, and in the original universe, I was his older brother and his guardian. He…” He looked to the Sun’s arms, littered with scars. “He and your father sound like they’d get along well in hell.”

Surprisingly, the god gave no indication that he was disturbed by a version of Dirk who grew up to be an abusive asshole in another life. Instead, he just hummed.

“And there’s, well,” Dirk continued, motioning to the god as he finally looked up. “Whatever dickhead version fucked you up.”

To Dirk’s surprise, the Sun God snorted, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips. “He didn’t fuck me up, Dirk, I’m very much still alive even though I’m staying in Kisaragi,” the god said, “He gave me a hard time, but that’s what you expect on a battlefield. You’re supposed to kill each other. He was an intruder, I was a god of this world, we fought, and he got in a good shot that left a scar. Our Guardian’s revelation of that to you simply painted everything in a much more dramatic light.”

He waved a hand, brushing the concern aside.

“I wasn’t held down and electrocuted with lightning or whatever, I can fight for myself, give me some credit.”

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with an invader in the first place.”

“The circumstances were…complicated,” the Sun said. “I can’t say more since I don’t know how much it’ll mess up your timeline, but there’s more nuance to things than that. Let’s just say he truly believed he was doing the right thing and I was convinced I was doing the right thing defending my realms. We were at a very violent crossroads.”

“One hell of a crossroads.”

“One hell of a roadtrip to get out of there too,” the Sun chuckle, before sobering. “Do you fear that what you’ve seen means you’re condemned to be nothing but a destroyer? That no amount of effort would ever pull you away from your path?”

Dirk said nothing. Then, he nodded, slowly at first, as if hesitant. After a second, he nodded again, surer this time, though the admission made him close his eyes, as if the acknowledgement of the thought made it more solid in the space of his mind. The weight of it settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

“No evidence of redemption, only damnation?” the Sun God said, though his tone sounded musing, “No matter what choices you make, no matter what details you alter, we will always end up here?”

“Sometimes I just wonder if that’s all I’ll ever be,” Dirk said, slowly opening his eyes and bringing his gaze back to the Sun God.

“After only two examples of how you could have turned out?” the Sun asked. “Have you that little faith in yourself?”

“I’ve given myself no reason to be deserving of more.”

The Sun hummed, turning so that he could pull his feet up onto the couch, leaning back against the arm rest as he faced Dirk, studying him for a moment. The boy tried not to squirm under the attention.

“The only person whose opinion of you matters to you in the long run is yourself,” the Sun said, eventually, softly, as if he were thinking out loud. “No matter what I or anyone else says, unless you move your own mountains and carry your own crosses, the shape of yourself you hold in your mind will be immovable.”

He glanced down at the floor, thinking, only for a second.

“You asked for peace,” the god said, “That was a good choice.”

“Fuck if it was, I’m stuck here.”

“You’re not,” the Sun said. “Not unless you truly believe yourself to be unsalvageable. There is compassion and sympathy, but the harsh truth is that sometimes, there is no saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Oftentimes, change comes from our own resolve to want change for ourselves.”

“And you don’t think I’m a lost cause.”

“You still fear that you are one, meaning you haven’t quite reached that conclusion yet. You believe you stand at the edge, but you’re hoping for help.” The Sun tilted his head. “You wished for peace. That is why you were sent to Kisaragi.”

“Because Angeles was fucking with me.”

“Because Kisaragi is the nearest place they could send you to without the pre-existing expectations and regrets of your past weighing you down. They were restricted by the fact that you or they needed a connection to where they sent you to, and this was the only place that you technically have no history in. This is a blank slate. You’ve wronged no one here. You’re away from responsibility and consequence. This is a place to breathe, not to feel guilt in,” the god said. “And most of all, you have all the time in the world. Time here doesn’t work the same as the time in your world. You have all the time to try, fail, and try again, with no pressure, in a place where people don’t hold opinions of who you are and who you should be.”

Dirk blinked. That was a point; he loved his friends dearly, but there was always that instinct to never make them uncomfortable or to hurt them, just as there was that instinct to never disappoint them because they knew he was always put together and on top of his game. There was the end of the world to deal with. There were people to save. There was a world to stop from hurtling over the edge. Time was always running out.

But Kisaragi was as far away as he could go, where Time could never run out.

For fuck’s sake, he was sitting right across someone who created Time. If Angeles had to bludgeon him over the head with metaphors even harder, they’d take his head clean off his shoulders.

Dirk ran a hand over his face, sighing, glaring at a corner in the room. “…bastard sent me to fucking therapy.”

The Sun God laughed, bright and mirthful, the sound infectious with how much sheer amusement carried with it.

“I suppose they did,” he said, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “Would you like to hazard a guess as to why?”

“Because they’re a little shit? Have to be to get along with Hal,” Dirk muttered the last part to himself.

“In a more serious line of thought, Dirk,” the Sun said, calming from his earlier outburst of laughter, smiling as he asked, tone still gentle. “Why do you think your Anathema Point sent you here instead of just handing you something they thought might be a physical equivalent to peace? And I need you to really think – from what you’ve said, it sounds like they don’t do things without reason and that they’re very fond of moving things from behind the scenes. Why would they gamble such an abstract request with such a dangerous method? They have to have known there was a possibility you’d get stuck in another universe.”

Dirk frowned, the answer on the tip of his tongue, but the thought tasted so odd, so foreign and just so out of place applied to him that he nearly decided to just keep his mouth shut.

“…they think I can do it,” he said, quietly. “Find peace. Save myself. They think I’m not a lost cause.”

“And I don’t think you are either,” the Sun God said, reaching forward to tentatively brush his fingers on Dirk’s knee, and when he didn’t move away, rest his hand on it in a gesture of comfort. “Why do you think I call my Dirk by his name instead of his title? Why I know it in the first place?”

“…you’re friends,” Dirk said, the realization enough to make him sit up straight.

The Sun smiled. “Yes.”

“You forgave him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Dirk asked, tensing as if he were preparing to fight. There was no battle to be fought, but it was the only thing his body and his psyche knew how to do, because his awful nature wasn’t supposed to be brushed away, wasn’t supposed to be redeemed, wasn’t supposed to be shown mercy. This just felt wrong.

“Why not?” the Sun asked. “Do you think you don’t deserve to be forgiven, Dirk Strider?”

He froze.

(“Do you forgive him?”

Angeles doesn’t ask for what. Angeles doesn’t ask why he’d say that. They just nod.

“Yes,” they say. “I do.”)

“I cannot convince you that you are not unsalvageable – hell, I couldn’t even convince him. If there is any innate trait a Dirk Strider has, it’s stubbornness if you ask me,” the Sun said, chuckling briefly. “That something I’ve learned you have to accept yourself. I think you want something to prove that you can forgive yourself for all the shit you did and you regret, because otherwise that means you really are irredeemable. That you’re a villain through and through. That you’re despicable, that you’re evil, that there’s nothing for you but ruin.” His smile faltered slightly, marred by a tinge of sadness. “I think you just want to tell yourself you’re okay, or at least, you’re going to be okay, one day.”

“But will I be?”

“That’s up to you,” the Sun said, drawing his hand back. “We cannot always have everything perfect and ready in our lives; a part of living is doing your best with what you have and what you’ve been given, and you’ve been given Kisaragi.”

Dirk turned towards the window. Outside, night had fallen, the peaceful street of the island of the dead warm with houselights and the bright twinkling of the stars overhead.

He wondered where Hal was, how he was holding up with the end of the world. The bastard had come far in the time they’d drifted from their own universe and into another one, going so far as to say he wanted to exist as someone equal to Dirk instead of some reject simulacrum of him. Not above him, not below him, just equal to him. Just another person.

And it wasn’t Dirk who’d held out the olive branch. It was Hal. Hal, of all people, who had as much reason to hate Dirk as Dirk had to hate him. Hal, who was even trying to give him advice on how to deal with the new world around them. Hal, who said he forgave him.

(“I know you like to think you’re a Heart player with no heart,” Hal says. “But you do. Believe me, you do. You brought me into this world, and you could have taken me out of it anytime during those three years I existed at your mercy, but you didn’t, and I want to believe it’s because some part of you pities yourself and wants some degree of peace, even if you think you don’t deserve it and even if you think that’s something that only happens to other people. Maybe you were born to destroy things, but that doesn’t mean you have to be. It doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of anything else. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be happy.”)

“Here.”

Dirk turned back to the Sun, just in time to see a small, rectangular case fall into his hands – from his sylladex, probably, if not another way the people here stored their inventory. The god carefully cracked it open to reveal a pair of sunglasses.

His, specifically, pointed shades and everything. Dirk raised an eyebrow, surprised gaze flitting between the pair of glasses and the god.

“Please try not to lose or break it,” the Sun said. “Strider’s going to be pissed at me if that’s broken when he comes back to visit.”

They were still friends. His other self was nowhere to be seen right now, but he wasn’t killed off or kicked out permanently; from how it sounded, he was just away somewhere, and they were still friends. That meant the bastard had to have done something right to keep this friendship, right?

And if that wasn’t his long-yearned proof that he wasn’t an asshole through and through, there was one person who was living evidence of it, someone who’d been staring him right in the face this whole time, smug as he was with his shitty custom chassis that he built taller than Dirk just to piss him off.

Dirk reached forward.

“I’ll do my best.”