Our Father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be Thy name
Sometimes, you wonder about your parents. You never really knew them; they died just before you turned three. You have a few brief memories, something involving a Teddy bear that probably wasn't as big as you remember.
You know Bro remembers more. How could he not? He was twelve. He was in the front yard, waving goodbye, when his dad pulled out of the drive way just as an eighteen-wheeler came barreling down the street. He walked in the door after school two weeks later to find his mother's brains splattered on the kitchen counter, her husbands gun inches from her hand. The oven was beeping, signalling that the chicken nuggets likely intended for you and your Bro were done.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
You know exactly what happened because Bro told you, one night when you were seven. It was the first time you had ever seen him cry, and the last time he would permit you to see it. You still hear him at night sometimes, mostly in November and December. He cries, but he prays more often, especially as you get older. When you were little, you didn't understand what the words meant, or why he was saying them.
Up until you were nine, you and Dirk lived with your ancient grandmother (who really needed taken care of more than she could take care) and you braved the musty smell of her bedroom to ask her what he was doing. She tried to explain Christianity to you, and how god-damned ignorant all them liberals were, and how all the faggots and the beaners were "outta git ya."
In the end, you managed to understand that your older brother was asking for help, and for forgiveness.
And give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
Your name is Dave Strider, and you are seventeen. You're sticky, and caught between feeling gross and showering, or just enjoying the debauched feel of it. Your Bro is next to you, his fingers trailing back and forth along your chest, high enough for the stickiness to consist only of sweat.
You feel oddly honored that he seems so relaxed, hell, that he's here at all. Sometimes he showers right after, and leaves the apartment altogether. You don't let it upset you, even though you know it means you won't be allowed back into his bed for at least two weeks.
As we forgive those who trespass against us
You roll over on your side and press your lips against Dirk's neck. He doesn't reciprocate in any way, nor does he embrace you, but he doesn't pull away, either. When you look upwards, he's gazing down at you with an expression you don't understand. He wouldn't want you to understand it, anyway.
It's this expression that makes you get up to shower. You don't want to think about emotions, or morals, or the complicated situation you're both in. Neither does he. You won't tell him you that the moment you leave the apartment, he'll kneel down and recite the words taught to him by his parents, the ones you never were taught, and that are too late to do any good. He won't admit to himself that you know this.
And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us from evil
Besides, you have a date with John.
A/N: I told myself I would stay away from Stridercest. That obviously didn't work.
Yeah, I left out the end of the prayer. Also, another prayer might've suited the content better, but I know this one, it was quoted by averyniceprince, and thus it stuck in my head with the story
This was inspired by Emi's (averyniceprince, 021) piece Deliver Us From Evil, even though I kept Dave male. I just can't get the idea of a religious Bro out of my head...
Each part of the prayer is supposed to like coincide or whatever with the words near to it in the story. I don't know if I managed that.
Also Grandma Strider's opinions in no way reflect upon mine.