"Do you ever think about what would happen if Bro wasn't around, Dave?" John asks you, as he turns his fogged glasses in your direction.
You shrug, twitching your fingertips under your blonde locks. "It would be more chill. Less smuppets around. Hell if I know man, I don't think about shit like that."
You and the black-haired boy had been laying side to side out in a feild, somewhere along the timeline where shit wasn't being massacred or exploding for no reason. You wouldn't be honestly surprised if a giant fetus came from the sky and crushed both of you.
"Yeah, but what if? I mean, I think about who my dad was. Isn't he like a dad to you in a creepy sibling-type way?" His goofy bucked teeth sneer back at you from his parted lips as he props himself up on one elbow. His gaze catches yours, but he wouldn't know from behind your shades. His eyes avert back to the open blue waves that is the sky at this moment, nestled with only a few clouds to obscure the wide azul.
"It's not like that man. It's so much more different. Like a fucking puddle of irony and you're the cloud." You find your mind beginning to wander. As tempting as it would be to let those thoughts form words somewhere in your head, you find yourself with the conclusion of it being totally off character. Let John do the mindless babble, enjoy the fact your flesh isn't melting off.
You mean really, who knows what the fuck could happen anymore?
"Yeah, but still. It's so weird, Dave! I can imagine my dad doing so much, but all he does now is cook. Maybe he used to be a samurai, the way he can weild those knives when he bakes!" John proceeds to make a few chopping motions in the air, and giggles at himself. "He could have been so cool and we would have never known! Because that's what parents are like!"
There was no way Bro could have changed like that, you think as you close your eyes. Bro is Bro. He isn't a parent. He's some kind of a badass motherfucker.
John stands up and stretches. You can hear his spine creak and groan, protesting gravity.
You want to go home, and talk to Bro. You don't want to pry or some shit, but you just want to hear his voice. Or even deal with some of his stupid smuppets, you don't care. John can't pull you into some kind of a melencholy trench like this. Ironic, how the dude always wears blue but appears so goofy all the time.
"Look man," You clear your throat as you rise to your feet as well. "I'm sure your pops has some chill adventures if you want to sit and talk with him or something. But I've got to go check on Davesprite or some shit."
John smiles. "Alrighty Dave! I'll talk to you later I guess." He waves and giggles, and watches as you shove your hands into your pockets and make your way back home.
Fuck the timeline, and fuck accuracy.
You arrive at home. "Bro?" You call to the house. Maybe Bro was at work, or filming some hardcore puppet porn. In that case, your voice couldn't be what he wanted to record. Or do puppets even make noise when they go at it?
You shake your head and wave through the rooms, surfing for some evidence that Bro was home.
You found him sitting on the couch, staring at some television program there was no way he had any intrest in.
"Sup little man?" Bro asks as you walk up to the couch.
"Where's our mom?" You ask calmly.
The exhale that Bro releases suggests he had been waiting for such a question.
"Sit down Dave."
"Bro, you don't have to-"
"Sit down."
His voice is calm and cold, but stern enough to will your butt to a cushion. You turn your head to him and look at his shades for the thousandth time over, wondering if he was returning your gaze. But the shades were a Strider specialty, and you weren't going to take yours off.
"It's a game, Dave. It fucks you over. It fucked our mom over, too. This timeline bullshit, all of it little man. And there isn't anything ironic about death. I couldn't let you sit and die. You were an infant, and I was your blood-born brother. If I could have stopped it I wouldn't have made myself in charge of your growing-up."
You can feel your stomach lurch. But Bro has always been there for you, in his own ways too. He hasn't ever deprived you of anything you need, so why is he letting on that he is some kind of a major fuck-up?
He leans forward, placing his gloved hands under his chin as he rests his elbows on his knees. "What do you want to know?"
"Who was she?" You ask slowly, as if you were playing a game of fucking minesweeper and the wrong word could send all of your fucking good little brother points down in a firey inferno.
"Your mom." Bro answers, and smirks a little.
"Was she as ironic as you are?" You ask again, testing the waters.
"I'm not a clone of our mom, Dave. I may be a parent figure to you but I'm your brother. I don't think she crafted sweet-ass plush rumps in her free time."
You lean back against the couch, your arms folded against your chest. "So she was just there. A fucking statue to symbolize who we were but really she was a god damn vegetable like those Ronald McDonald figureines."
"It's the game, Dave." Bro reminds you, his voice pulling your eyes up from the floor.
"But we're fucking here so she must have been some part of it!" You stand up, balling your fists in anger. Fuck the cool-guy mask. This is serious shit and your brother is only screwing with you.
Bro sighs as his shoulders relax and he leans back against the couch. "There was never much about her. She wasn't my mom, just like she wasn't yours. She was never around, little man."
"She raised you. She named you and she had to be something to you!" You can feel your muscles contract as your voice raises.
"She named you, too." Bro remains calm but it only seizes to piss you off worse. "Dave, don't press it. Just go to your room."
You walk to your room and slam the door. Fuck Bro, and fuck your mom you scream inside your head as you mash your way to the window. You tear your shades off your face as eyes raging like the sun glare up at the sky, damning everything in your sight.
"He always breathes down my god damn neck. He doesn't give me any fucking space yet he claims to not want to raise me. If I ever have a kid I'm putting it on sollitude fucking island." You hiss under your breath.
"When you were put as a cute-ass little bundle in my arms I promised that I wouldn't leave you alone. Not like mom left me."
You feel a pair of strong arms pull you from the window and against his chest. Bro never hugged you, let alone swapped anything more than the occasional brofist.
"What the hell Bro, let go-" You try to protest but you knew you weren't getting out. It was like you were his camera and somewhere beyond your shitty window frame some glorious puppet sex was filling the sky.
"Maybe you'll be some kind of Knight, and you'll slay time and figure out what the everlasting fuck happened to mom. Maybe you can kick some gears in her ass and teach her a thing or two, little man. But for now you can't try to find what isn't there. It's lost in time, Dave."
"Lost in time." You heave a sigh, and melt away from Bro's grip. He lets go, and gives you a simple nod.
You put your calm, cool-dude cover back on as you walk to the set of turn-tables. "Lost in time." You repeat, as you go on to create some wicked beats on a whole new groove.
Maybe this emotional timeline bullshit is a pain in the ass, but it sure as hell makes up for what it causes with some state of the art insperation.