A/N: How do plot. So, randomly inspired, began by me sitting in the bathtub, working on OVRCMPNSTN on my iPod, when suddenly Pet by Perfect Circle comes on my mp3. After looping it and looking up the lyrics, I decided "y'know what, I can turn this into something pretty sweet."
Would that make this a songfic? Hopefully not, since I interpret the song as the voice/demon in someone's head trying to convince them that everything's okay while they, idk, kill people? And, while voices-that-aren't-there is kind of the bane of this, everything is just completely. Not like the song.
Warnings: may contain abuse triggers, contains mentions of prostitution and illegal possession waaaay later on in the story, cotains adult language, contains petty thievery, and uh. I don't know anything else that may be kind of sketchy and thus forewarned.
Due to the fact this is a plotted story (nine chapters, if I stick to my planning), this will be the only lengthy A/N. There's only one or two other A/Ns I might type due to plot revelations, but otherwise this is it. Enjoy!
Dave held his breath, lest the sound of his breathing tipped off the cashier. His pockets weighed down with slim jims and juice boxes, he tried his best to casually place the small slushie on the counter, producing a dollar bill from his wallet.
The cashier, a girl only a few years older than Dave, loudly chewing her gum, barely paid him attention as she rung it up, depositing his—even though the money wasn't his—change into his open hand.
"Have a good day," she said boredly, picking back up her magazine.
Dave left as quickly he could without seeming suspicious.
Once he was a few streets away, he returned to a normal pace, striding with that casual swagger he had been taught to perfect as he greedily drank down the frozen treat. It was ten times easier to rob someone blind when you were charming. Soon, he cut into an alleyway, where a shadow pushed itself off the wall. "I'm assuming you pulled everything off without a hitch, since your dirty hobo ass is here and not in the back of a cop car."
"Naww, Bro, they said they'll let me off if I lead them to the ever-allusive Dirk Strider," Dave replied cooly, sliding a few slim jims out of his jacket and tossing them to Dirk.
Dirk snorted but caught the food with ease, tearing into them almost hungrily. "That's the Dave I know. If they offer you money, accept and let me be found. Not like I can't break out anyway, and then we can split the money."
Dirk was the kind of person who didn't look like he belonged on the street, until you heard him speak. With his silver-blonde hair, his well-cared for anime shades, his orange flannel, and his black skinny jeans, he was more likely to pass as a hipster. When he opened his mouth, however, it was easy for about twenty percent of the city to recognize the voice of a con man. Especially to those who lived on the streets. Dirk Strider was a legend in robbing from the rich and sharing his spoils with the poor.
And he had taken Dave, some scruffy kid who was the prime definition of hobo, under his wing, as a sort of mentor in conning the populace.
Dave couldn't help but glance down at himself after analyzing Dirk yet again, comparing his ratty (and huge) red letterman's jacket (a hand-me-down from Dirk), white record t-shirt (although it couldn't really be called white anymore), faded black jeans (torn and tattered, just like everything else he owned), and red converse (scruffy, but generally well-tended.)
The only thing that Dave had that Dirk hadn't scavenged or given to him, was his aviator shades, which a voice in the back of his head had told him to nab from some corner-store.
D4V3 YOU 4R3 F1N3 4S YOU 4R3 SO QU1T COMP4R1NG YOURS3LF TO D1RK.
Dave found his lips moving to respond to the voice in his head, though he made sure not to make a sound, lest Dirk chastisied him for responding yet again. "Shut up, Terezi."
However, from the sigh that escaped from Dirk, he knew Dirk had seen. "Dave, what the hell are you doing talking to yourself?"
"What. Haha, Bro, very funny."
Ugh, doooooooouchebaaaaaaaag!
JOHN YOU'R3 DO1NG TH3 31GHTS TH1NG 4G41N.
I think the situation calls for it. More emphasis on the fact that Dirk's a, surprise surprise, douchebag.
"Kid, if you respond, it'll only make it worse because you're acknowledging it. And what if you have to stop in the middle of a robbery to respond, then what?"
'1T'? W4Y TO GO DOUCH3, W3 H4V3 N4M3S 4ND G3ND3RS, 4SSHOL3.
I told you!
Dave rolled his eyes. "It's easier for the police to track me because they only have to ask around for 'some kid who mumbles to themself,'" he recited.
D4V3 YOU 4R3 SO WH1PP3D.
Most unnatractive thing ever, dude.
Dirk sighed and stepped forward, ruffling Dave's hair before putting his hand on Dave's shoulder. "Kid, you know I'm doing this because I care for you, right? With all my fuckig heart, more than I care for my own sister."
There was sincerity in Dirk's face. Dave's stomach was crawling with unease; his Bro didn't do this mushy caring crap.
Unless…
As Dirk moved back to lean against his wall, Dave checked his back pocket. "Goddammit, Bro, give me my fucking wallet back."
Dirk dropped the ooey-gooey act and smirked, sliding his right hand ever so casually into his back pocket. "What? I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe if you took any of my advice, you wouldn't be pickpocketed so easily."
"Give it back! I worked hard for that cash!"
Y3S, D4V3, 1T T4K3S SO MUCH WORK TO ST34L T3N BUCKS OFF OF 4 SOCC3R MOM.
Dude, just drop the act. Lame McLameypants.
"Nope, my money now. Spoils of war, lil dude."
Dave sighed and gave up, defeated. He'd find the wallet in his hands again in a few days, money spent on beef jerkey and soda, none of which he'd get his hands on.
Its his way of showing you he's the alpha of the pack, Dave, John consoled him as Dave and Dirk split ways for a while, Dirk off to seduce nannies in the park and Dave off to take over some school playground, shooing off any parents who thought afterschool was the perfect time to take their children out to play.
Sure enough, just his presence warded off moms in tracksuits and kids in light-up sneakers. Dave sat on the swings, idly swinging back and forth, barely moving the swing a few inches.
YOU SHOULDN'T TRUST D1RK, D4V3.
"Why not? He puts clothes on my back and keeps me from getting caught."
Dave, he's the one who puts you in situations where you could get caught.
1F H3 W4SN'T SO BUSY WOLF1NG DOWN TH3 FOOD YOU BR1NG 1N, YOU WOULDN'T H4V3 TO PUT YOURS3LF 1N PR3C4R1OUS S1TU4T1ONS L1K3 TH4T, D41LY.
Dave rolled his eyes. "Look, my ass would've already been slaughtered God know's when if he hadn't been around all my life. So shut the fuck up, both of you." The two voices sighed in unison, but kept quiet for then.
Sometimes, it was hard for Dave to remember that he was the only sentient one there, and that Terezi and John were just the products of his deluded mind.
[+]
Dave shifted, not opening his eyes as he attempted to get comfortable. Nighttime had fallen and Dirk had met up with him in their usual territory. Dirk was dozing off, leaning against a wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dave had his head on Dirk's legs, laying on his side in an attempt to keep various debris from digging into his back.
Two sets of hidden eyes opened behind shades as sirens began to slip into earshot. In one fluid movement, Dirk scooped up Dave and was heading further back in the alley. Dave opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly silenced.
"Go back to sleep, Dave. I'll keep your pansy ass safe."
Dave had to admit that being held was a lot more comfortable than concrete, and soon his eyes slid shut from fatigue.
[+]
Don't fret, precious, I'm here
Step away from the window
Go back to sleep
Lay your head down child
I won't let the boogeyman come
Count the bodies like sheep
To the rhythm of the war drums