Summary: Dave both dreaded and eagerly craved the day when he would finally hear those words. A measly five years he'd been alive, but that was five years to dream. And now, it had come. Roxy bent down, her face twisted into unrecognizable emotions and said, "Dave, honey...we think we found your dad." A one-shot about family and the tears spilled on it.
Disclaimer: All credit to Andrew Hussie for the characters I've borrowed in this work of whimsy. I deny legal rights to any fictional hearts beaten or bruised over the course of this drabble.
Author's Note: Written?Kitten! couldn't stop the pain that came with writing this.
Three poorly drawn stick figures stared at him from the wall, one in red, one in orange, and one in black. A happy family. A whole family. His family.
"I really think we found him."
They thought he didn't hear, but he did. Dave heard a lot of things he wasn't supposed to. His hearing was really good, unfortunately. And he wasn't stupid. He was only five, and barely that, but he was not a stupid child. Perhaps it was the seriousness with which they said it, or maybe it was the look on their faces, or maybe it was that he somehow knew exactly what they were talking about, but suddenly he wanted to leave the cafeteria.
He didn't turn around. He wouldn't turn around. His stomach clenched and his throat tightened and it took every ounce of him to swallow his mashed potatoes. The half-cooked flakes felt like little stones in his middle and he pushed the plate away, unable to eat any more. He considered taking a sip of milk, but the thought of eating any more repulsed him.
The adults drifted a bit further away, so far that he couldn't hear them anymore, and after a few minutes, Dave dared to turn around and look at them. It was everyone he knew: Diana, Herb, Justin, and Roxy. The latter shot one glance at him and, when his eyes met hers, gave him a smile. He couldn't return it, but his frown didn't diminish her attitude at all. She looked upset. She talked for only a few more minutes before she began to cross the cafeteria. As she drew closer, Dave wanted to run.
No, no, no, stop it, walk away, turn left, don't come to me, please.
The orphanage was small, so he barely had time to push his thoughts towards desperation before she was standing in front of him, leaning in with a smile that was far too small to be faked.
"Dave, honey, can I talk to you for a minute? If you're done eating, of course." She didn't straighten up; she knew he wasn't going to finish his dinner and he knew she wasn't going to wait around for him.
His knees almost didn't shake as he swung them over the bench, scooting and falling a few inches. He ignored her proffered hand and instead just followed her silently into the small hallway. He squinted, wishing immediately that he'd thought to grab his sunglasses. The other kids made fun of him for wearing them, but the bright lights in the halls made his head swim. At least Roxy stood so that he was in her shadow.
She had him pinned against the wall, and her hands fluttered nervously around her stomach. She took in a deep breath, and then another, and then with the third managed a wider smile. "Dave, honey…remember Christmas? Remember when you made that picture of things you wanted?"
He tried to look everywhere but her. He looked at her heels, scuffed and not as bright red as they had been when he first met her. He looked at the floor, the ugly carpet that had skinned many a knee. He looked at the ugly drawings lining the walls, made "lovingly" by the other kids. His picture was in the cafeteria, right next to where he sat. He remembered the picture. Maybe if he stared hard enough at the wall he could look at it. He didn't want to look in Roxy's eyes. His heart was hammering and he wanted to scream.
"You said you wanted us…you said you wanted to find your family, right? Your dad?" she pushed, her voice small and soft. She reached for him, but decided against it.
He didn't want this right now. He wanted to curl under the table and hug his bear and do anything not this. He looked at his own sneakers, tired and worn by lots of kids other than him.
"Dave, baby, you need to look at me, this is very important. Dave?" She knelt down, reaching for his hand. She was so nice he didn't rip it away like he usually did. Her face was twisted and he didn't know what she was feeling and that scared him. "Dave, honey, I think we found your daddy."
The world shattered and Dave didn't remember what happened after that. He vaguely remembered screaming something, and Roxy telling him how amazing this was, and how the other kids looked at him and whispered when he crawled into bed. His memories were fuzzy until he found himself curled up in his bed, waiting for everyone to go to sleep so it would finally be quiet. People were talking, about him, and not about him too. Someone poked him, but he ignored them.
"Did you hear about Dave? I heard they found his dad!"
His eyes burned, but he didn't remember crying.
When Dave fell asleep, he dreamed that it was Christmas, and he was sitting with the other kids in rows. They were supposed to be drawing pictures of what they wanted for Christmas. The only crayons he had to work with were the only ones not taken: an ugly red, and a bright orange, and half of a black. Dave's picture was, he guessed, the same as everyone's. With his broken crayons and shaking fingers, he brought his dream to color. There was him, small and red, but unlike his usual self-portraits, he wasn't alone. On his left side in orange was a woman with long hair and an orange smile, and on his right side was a man in a black suit with a little black beard that didn't match his orange hair. "Dav, mOm, DAD," it read. Roxy had patted his head and told him it was lovely.
"Why don't you go show it to your dad, Dave? I'm sure he'd love it!"
But when Dave turned to show off his creation, there was no one there. The room was empty. He was alone.
Dave didn't scream or cry when he woke up. He sniffled once and was silent.
What is he like?
What does he look like?
Will he want me?
Will he love me?
He pulled the covers over his head and tried very hard not to think about it.
"Dave!"
He started, and Roxy must have seen the look on his face, because her next words were quieter.
"Dave, sit up, okay, baby? I know you're tired, but it'll all be over soon! In a few hours...hey, in a few hours, you'll be at your new home!"
He burst into tears.
Roxy was still trying to get him to stop crying when the door opened and over her shoulder, Dave saw the man they said was his father.
He was nothing like he'd thought. For one thing, he wasn't wearing black, well, not all black. His shirt was white. And he was wearing a hat. And sunglasses. His face was...scary. Dave didn't know what he was feeling, but he didn't look happy. He didn't look scared, either.
He hadn't stopped crying, but the second the man entered the room, Dave stopped screaming.
Roxy stopped talking, turning around as soon as she realized Dave was distracted.
"Oh! Hello, Mr. Strider! It's nice to, uh...see you again!"
"Yeah."
Even his voice was scary.
Roxy started talking immediately, as if Dave weren't even there. The man, Strider, didn't really talk that much, which was fine with Dave. He wanted to shrink into the cushions, and he really wished they'd let him grab his sunglasses. They were content to ignore him, it seemed, so he pulled his legs to his chest and watched them from behind his knees. After awhile, the looks the man or Roxy would send him started to freak him out and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead on his knees.
He really wanted to fall asleep, but he didn't. They kept talking and then, suddenly, they stopped. The door opened. The door closed. And silence fell. Fear suddenly ran through Dave's body. Had they left him behind? He was afraid to look up, but after a few minutes, he did.
The man was sitting across from him, and Dave was pretty sure he was staring at him. He sniffled once.
Say something, he pleaded. Please say something.
But the silence carried on. Dave wanted to cry again, but the tears didn't come. He wanted to call for Roxy, but when he opened his mouth, it was to ask, "Are you really my dad?"
The man's face twitched. For several minutes, nothing. And then: "Bro."
"What?"
"I'm Bro."
"Bro," Dave repeated. That sounded...weird. This was nothing like he'd thought it'd be. He thought he'd be taller, happier, kinder...he thought he'd be different. "Are you..." He didn't know what to ask. "How old are you?"
"How old are you?"
He blinked. "Five."
"Shit, kid."
Was that good...or bad? Dave swallowed and hugged himself tighter. This was a disaster. Roxy needed to come in and see that this was bad and tell the man that sorry, Dave couldn't go with him, he had to go sleep for a hundred years. He closed his eyes again and hid his face and for some reason, felt like saying he was sorry.
He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand laid itself on his knee. He looked up and found that the man…Bro was kneeling in front of him. His glasses were gone and without them he looked a lot less scary. His eyes...his eyes were orange.
"Cool, huh?" He blinked once, and Dave nodded. He wondered if he got headaches from the lights too.
Dave sniffled and tried not to cry. He did try. But this time the tears came easily and he wasn't as good at crying quietly as he liked to think he was.
"Aw, shit, kid..." The hand patted his knee a bit shakily. "Don't cry, c'mon...c'mon, kid, don't cry, you don't gotta...shit, this is not my thing..."
Dave's voice flew away when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him and he realized he was being hugged. For a few minute, they just sat there, Dave unsure and the man unmoving. Just when Dave thought he could hug him back, he pulled away, and for the first time Dave could see that he was feeling. He didn't know what he feel, but he was definitely feeling something. He didn't pull back all the way, not that he could when Dave's fists had attached themselves to his shirt like that.
"There, that better?" Up close, Dave couldn't decide if he was more or less scary. Maybe both. "Listen, kid...Dave, right?"
Dave felt a bit hot at hearing him say his name and he nodded. He wanted to say something, but he didn't have anything to say. He couldn't come up with anything.
"You're...I can't promise I'm gonna be perfect or nothing...but I'm gonna try to take care of you, alright?"
Dave wondered if that was one of those weird questions adults asked that didn't have an answer. But just in case, he whispered, "Right." He sniffled again. He felt like he had so many questions to ask, but his mouth wouldn't open. His hands shook, but he refused to let go of the man's shirt.
"I'm sorry you were alone, kid," he kept talking, really fast, as if he were running out of time. "I really am. But me and Cal, we're gonna fix that."
Dave swallowed. "Who's Cal?"
The man looked...confused? Upset? Who knew. His mouth twitched, not quite into a smile, but definitely into something. "The C-man? Lil' Cal's my best friend, little man. He's waiting in the car."
In the car. All at once, Dave remembered why he was here.
"Are you here...to take me home?"
"Yeah, kid, I am."
Words: 1977