Disclaimer: so very not mine.

Author's Notes: ...NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME EITHER.

Dedications: To Evil-Pixie-Dust, because she is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and to eiznek-lee-relle and transversepea and bookmarksofglue for betaing this for me! This chapter does not contain pesterchum, so you're lucky on that one, but it can still be found on AO3 if you'd like.

Also, special dedications to Juntatsuya on Tumblr for drawing fanart of the last scene in the second chapter! It can be found here: juntatsuya . tumblr post/26794622419/and-if-those-words-are-a-little-watery-and-there

(keeping that, because hey, tada)

Chapter 4 - this old and empty house

You wake in darkness.

You wish that it wasn't normal anymore, opening your eyes and seeing absolutely nothing. And maybe it's not exactly ordinary; you still aren't entirely prepared for it, and it definitely bothers you. Carefully, you reach out and fumble for your glasses out of habit, placing them on the bridge of your nose before you swing your legs over the side of your bed and begin the slow shuffle towards your door.

At least, you think your door is this way. There's a clear path on the floor, so as long as you don't step on any clothes, you're on the right path.

You manage to make it that far (but then again, your brain interjects snidely, this part of the journey has never been that hard). The stairs, on the other hand, still make you nervous, because you've ended up falling down them more times than you care to remember, and your legs bear the major brunt of the injuries. Dave's downstairs somewhere and there's a fairly high chance that either he or Bro will hear you before you make it all the way down. There's a part of you that thinks maybe you should move downstairs, but. This is your room. You don't want to change that. Too much has changed already.

Carefully, you place one foot on the top step and begin your slow descent. Every movement you make is careful, and you actually manage to make it all the way down completely fine. You feel a surge of triumph and then a sicker twist of resignation because really? It's only been a few months that you've been blind. And you're fucking gleeful because you managed a set of stairs that wouldn't have given you pause if you had your sight.

Great.

You swallow back your directionless frustration, try to breathe through it and just let it go. Maybe it should say something that you're finally getting upset about your blindness, since you've only been numb to it up until now.

"Hey, you ready for school today, kid?"

Bro's voice startles you, sending your heart racing. You turn your head to your left, try to keep breathing through your surprise and terror because you fucking hate not being able to tell where anyone is, why doesn't anyone understand that? "…Yeah," you finally answer him with a croak. You clear your throat before trying again. "Yeah, I'm glad to get out of the house."

Which is a complete lie. Leaving the house means getting in a car and you only have just gotten the hang of wandering around the house with nothing to guide you, how the fuck are you going to manage a school?

"Alright, good. The little dude is going to be with you the entire time, except for your last period. He's got gym then, and you're going to be in 'group counseling.'" Bro's voice implies his air-quotes, and your mouth forms a smile at his words before your mind catches up to what he actually says.

"Wait, counseling?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't elaborate though, and you frown at him. Or near him. Fuck, this is really aggravating. You cock your head and ask, "What for?"

"Your thing, you know." There's the noise of rustling paper; Bro must be reading the newspaper? Or any number of other things.

Tersely, you reply, "No, actually, I don't."

There's silence.

"You know, the thing that can be fixed that's stopping you from seeing? Didn't Dave tell you?"

The words send a sharp bolt through you and you clench your hands. You … can be fixed? You might be able to see again? And Dave never said anything? Your silence must answer for you, because Bro coughs, awkward, before asking.

"You didn't know?"

You work your jaw, breathing in and out like it's your only salvation. "No," you say. "No, I didn't know."

"It's called conversion disorder." Paper rustles right before you hear the drag of a computer against the table. There are typing noises, and Bro hums under his breath. "I looked it up after the little dude was done with the computer a while ago. I wanted to find out if there was something else to be done about it and lo and behold, it's a thing. Have to get you officially diagnosed, but it's a guy's best bet. So I enrolled you in the counselling class to opt you out of PE, which is such a load of bullshit to begin with, and also to hopefully get this fixed? Who knows."

You're about to say something when you hear footsteps behind you. Dave, and he's not trying to be quiet.

"Mornin', dudes," he yawns, and you are so furious with him.

"Sup, little dude." Bro's chair scrapes back. "Found out you didn't let John know about the whole conversion disorder or whatever with him? What's up with that?" And his voice is casual, too casual for the vitriol you want, for how you want to make Dave bleed with it.

There's a beat of silence (and you think it feels guilty, and it should). "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I wanted to make sure, since, you know, we're really only guessing when it all boils down."

"We?" you ask, and you know that your voice is hard and cracking. "Who else knew before I did?"

You swear you can feel Dave's regard turning towards you and you flex your hands, try to breathe in to calm down. After a few beats of quiet, he answers; it's clear he doesn't know why you're upset or angry and that. That just pisses you off more. "Rose does. She's the one who suggested it."

"So, can anyone tell me why I wasn't told about any of this?" you bite out, tasting the fury in your mouth riding along your tongue. Fuck, was he never going to tell you? Oh yeah, you're not blind because there's actually something wrong with you, you're blind because your brain doesn't want to fucking work right. Because that's so much better. "That's so awesome, Dave, yeah, I totally didn't want to know that I can be fixed, or that nothing got messed up with me and that I just need some counseling! And it was so nice that you just didn't say anything at all!"

"I don't see what the big rush is, man-" Dave starts, and you inhale sharply, snap.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I just don't want the last thing I ever saw to be my dad's bleeding, dead body two feet from my face!"

Fuck, you wish you could see Dave right now, because if he looks half as hurt as you want him to be, as this silence is making him out to be, then you think you could feel vindicated instead of just angry. You realize that the urge to lash out and hurt is probably not the best one you've ever had, but at the moment, you can't bring yourself to really care. You're fucking blind. Blind and it's not your fault and you're not getting better and you have no idea why you're blind in the first place!

"Jesus christ," Dave mutters eventually. "I'm sorry, alright? I just thought that maybe..."

He sighs and shifts and you breathe in fury, breathe out frustration, slowly calm down. As your anger subsides, guilt quietly creeps in to take its place. Ugh, what is wrong with you? You shake your head. No. He didn't tell you. He didn't tell you, and he should have, and you're going to be mad at him.

"You didn't think enough." You make a move to leave and only end up running straight into Dave. For an instant, you feel him grip your shoulders, his breath on your face –close, surprisingly close- and there is a strangely charged silence. You tilt your head, about to ask but-

"Alright, ladies, time for school. Get in the car."

And Dave lets you go like he's been electrocuted.

The car ride is agonizing because you've sufficiently alienated Dave enough that you can't lean against him. So you shake silently until you get to the school. You can't even barrel out of the car once it's pulled to a stop because you're too worried about what might happen. You could run into someone, a car, and your train of thought goes absolutely wild until you feel someone grab your hand.

"Ready?"

God, you wish you could still be furious with him but he's the only thing grounding you. Your head is spinning with the cyclical torrent of your emotions, and you. You just want yourself to calm down, even though you know that just thinking it won't help. You let Dave help you out of the car, grumbling to hide your nerves. The insane chatter and noise typical of school soon overwhelms you, and you are guiltily grateful for Dave's tight grasp on your hand.

School is... school. You missed it, in an abstract sort of way, but the reality is absolutely terrifying. You can't see anything, everyone's too loud, you're missing out on at least half of the material in class because all of the teachers are writing on their blackboards and you're angry at Dave still so he won't - can't - try and talk to you or help you through any of it. There's no snarky commentary in the hallways, merely a wordless hand on your elbow that guides you unerringly through the crowds.

No one tries to talk to you. You're not sure how you feel about that. Maybe they're all tired from break? (More likely, they don't know how to talk to you now that your dad is dead and you're blind and Dave is a constant brooding presence over your shoulder, and fuck, that hurts. But at least they're not wasting their time on you.)

But you eventually get to the last period of the day. Dave claps you awkwardly on the shoulder at the door. There is a terribly pregnant silence between the two of you, and you feel like Dave is going to say something, he is, and then-

He sighs. "See ya, Egbert," Dave says, quiet, and then he's gone, his hand disappearing from your body. You turn to face the room, your heart pounding loudly. You're not ready for this.

Someone touches your arm. You try to not startle too much, but the laugh you get means you probably failed. "Hey, new kid, come sit down already, you're making the rest of us nervous," a girl tells you, her voice teasing. Several other voices agree, probably teachers, maybe students, there are too many for you to separate, and you find yourself quickly ushered into a chair, the person's hands clinical and impersonal and frankly, uncomfortable.

There are some scrapes against the floor (chairs being pulled into position, you're sure), and the teacher starts talking. You're not ashamed to admit that you space out a lot of it. You're angry and tired, and tired of being angry and you just want to go home. (You want Dave, if you're being honest with yourself, but you don't feel like it right now.)

"Alright, Terezi, why don't you go through parts of your day?" the teacher prompts, her voice chipper. "How about how your vision is coping and how your peers have been treating you?"

Someone near you snorts, and you tentatively identify her as the girl who called you 'new kid' earlier. "Fine, I guess. Everyone treated me like losing my sight means that I can't hear them, but eh, their loss. You guys get me. We're all blind here."

And there is something about those words, or the way she laughs afterwards, that hits you the wrong way. You feel struck dumb, somehow, like the air has been stolen from you. You curl over yourself, wanting to say something but not having the words, and you wish that the teacher would skip over you.

Of course, you have no such luck. Because it's absolutely not complete without you being put in the spotlight.

"Alright, well, John, how are you feeling about starting school again? Has your day been going well?"

You lick your lips. "Um," you start, and your voice cracks embarrassingly. "It's been. Okay, I guess? I mean, I'm not used to it yet, and a lot of people aren't used to me being … blind either." There's something else you want to say but….

You don't know what it is. So you let the moment pass, and shrug to signify that you're done.

The teacher doesn't press.

She continues talking to the rest of the group as you space out, drawing into yourself. The … idea, you suppose, about how you're supposed to be reacting to your blindness is sitting very poorly with you, and your mind keeps circling back to it. Are you supposed to just be okay? Because you're not okay, and maybe that's what you really wanted to say. You're not okay with being blind and being treated differently, but you need to learn to be okay. You jolt back into the conversation when she starts splitting all of you into groups, and you are left with the enigmatic instructions of "Sit here and talk with these two for the rest of the class, alright?"

Wordlessly, you fidget in your seat, unsure. It takes a moment for someone to speak up, familiar, and you place her, yet again, as the girl who laughed earlier.

"Alright, new kid, how are you really?"

You blink. "What?"

"You don't actually think we buy the bullshit, right? Come on, let us know what you really feel like being blind.

"I hate it." Your words seem to come from a long distance as you lower your voice, making sure to keep your voice down. "I absolutely hate it and everyone expects me to just be fucking fine with this and to adjust like nothing's happened. I'm blind, for fuck's sake, it's different, and I hate it."

"Hey, woah, preaching to the choir here," the girl says, and you hear something tap, tap, before the chair next to you slides back and she sits down heavily in it. "It ain't a cakewalk for the rest of us here, either. But you gotta suck it the fuck up. It's not that bad. It's actually kinda fun."

You take a deep breath and are surprised to find yourself almost completely deflated of your frustration. "It is?"

She laughs. "Well yeah, duh. It's a bit difficult to get used to at first, I bet, but. It's really worth it. And I wouldn't change it for anything. It's me, you know?" Something taps you on the arm, and you turn towards it, confused. "Oh, the name's Terezi, by the way. Nice to meet you."

You almost hold out your hand to shake before you realize that you'd probably miss anyway and instead clench it in your lap. "John. Sorry, for uh, lashing out like that."

"Nah, it's cool." Terezi laughs again, nudging your arm companionably. "Being blind does suck when it first happens. All of us know."

"All of us? Who is us?"

"Yeah, Sollux here is blind too, isn't that right?"

"Damn straight," says a male voice, faintly nasal, a lisp curling through his words. You jolt, but stop yourself from making too much noise in case the teacher scolds him for his language. "And unlike Tee-Zee here, I didn't exactly get the luxury of having this bullshit my entire life."

You feel warmth against your right arm as Terezi leans in and stage-whispers, "He got in an accident too, you know. Damaged his brain and now he's blind."

"Oh." You lick your lips and shrug awkwardly, hoping that you're looking in the right direction. "I'm... sorry."

"Don't be."

"What?"

Someone, Sollux probably, shifts gingerly, the denim of his jeans rasping against the plastic seats. "Becoming blind actually helped me a lot. It forced me to face a lot of problems I had, like my temper, and I cooled down because of it. Being blind sort of helped an over-stimulation problem I had too. All in all, I think I'm a better person now. Less angry all the time." He huffs out a bit of laughter. "I do miss being able to see, though. Shit's boring without sight. Speaking of, what do you look like?"

You blink. Your appearance isn't something you've really thought about for a while, and so the question takes you a bit aback. "Short black hair, blue eyes. I used to, well. I wear glasses. Wore glasses. Whatever. Um. My friend, Dave, tells me I'm short, but then again, I bet he's freakishly tall, so that's that. What about you two?"

Beside you, Terezi speaks up. "I have black hair. Can't remember the color of my eyes, though. I think they used to be green? Who knows. Who cares. I have kickin' red shades now, and that's what matters."

"Dark brown hair with heterochromia iridum over here. One blue eye and one brown. I was told that it was cool looking or kinda freaky, depending on the person I was talking to. Hard to tell exactly what my expression was." Sollux scuffs a foot against the floor, the drag of rubber against tile drawing your attention more in his direction. "Now I just wear red and blue lensed glasses, or at least, that's what Eff-eff" -must be a friend of his, FF- "says she got me. Totally worth it. You're not alone in the 'wearing glasses even though you're blind' thing."

A snort comes from you, involuntary and surprising, but you ... like it. Like them. They make you laugh and you. You needed that. You needed to be reminded that this isn't the end of the world, and hey, you can get a few new friends along the way.

"So, John-boy, how clean is your house?" Terezi shoves her feet against yours, and it's companionable and nice and with a sinking realization, you realize that you miss Dave a lot more than you thought earlier. And it's like a punch in the gut, how much it hurts and how badly you want his sarcasm and solely him. There, with you right now.

"John? Earth to John! Come on, new kid, talk to us!"

You shake yourself. Right. "Sorry. Spaced out. Uh. Not too dirty? I think?"

"Hm. You think?" Terezi scoffs. "Do you fall down or run into stuff?"

"Yeah?"

In unison, Sollux and Terezi chime, "Too cluttered." Terezi continues, though Sollux quiets after that. "You seriously need one of us to come over and fix it for you, make it all nice and pretty. And neat. Neat, mostly. Don't your parents do anything about it?"

You open your mouth, but. Your lungs feel crushed by a sickening grief, one that hasn't left in the months since the accident, only lessened. A suffocating silence chokes the room before Terezi leans in against you. "Sorry," she murmurs, her voice quiet for a change. "Sorry. How about the people you're living with. Have they done anything?"

"Make it worse? They're not neat people. But most of the things they have are soft." Except for the turntables and the futon and all of the cords tangled everywhere, and some of your doubt must show in your voice, because Sollux sighs at you.

"Tee-zee, I vote you go and deal with Jay-en's house." JN? You already warrant a nickname? That probably shouldn't make a warm glow start in your stomach, but it does. "You can still see a little bit, after all."

(You hate yourself for the pang of jealousy that sends through you, but you bite it back. It's not her fault. It's not yours.)

You tune back in as Terezi un-plasters herself from your side. "Get that, John?"

"Get what?"

"I'm going to your house this weekend to case the joint, alright?" Terezi cackles and something hits the floor once, twice. "It'll be fun. I'll get to fix everything that's wrong in your house, and I bet that it's a lot. And I get to harass your live-in family. Man, my weekend is going to be fucking awesome. Sure you don't wanna come along, Bee-man?"

Sollux sighs. "I'm rolling my eyes at you, Tee-zee. I have a thing to go to with Eff-eff. Though, I'm hoping that she doesn't bring him along again."

"You know she will."

"I don't have to like it." Sollux crosses his arms (and you feel a momentary triumph because hah, you're beginning to figure out movements based on sounds, before feeling sick because you still can't fucking see their expressions), growls a little in the back of his throat. "Just like I don't have to like him."

"You'll never like him," Terezi goads, her teasing comfortable and vaguely pre-school. It's comforting in the way that everything about the way Terezi acts is comforting, because she honestly isn't acting like there's something wrong, either with you or with anything else, and that shouldn't hurt but does.

Fuck, fuck, you miss Dave.

God, you can't believe you were such a complete asshole to him.

The bell rings, startling you.

"Alright, smell you later, John." Terezi's chair scrapes back as you struggle out of your seat, casting around blindly (hah) for your backpack. Sollux makes some derogatory noise as he presumably does the same.

"From you," he says, a self-deprecating sort of humor coating his lisping words, "I just wish that wasn't so literal. You need to learn the importance of personal boundaries, Tee-zee. Catch you tomorrow, Jay-en. More bonding, I suppose."

"Now seriously, Bee-man, what is your deal with that jackass?"

You follow the sounds of their arguing to the door, where the mass of people whisks their noise away and makes you too nervous to continue. Hovering awkwardly in the doorway, you wait. Something undefinable changes, and you reach out, your fingertips encountering warm fabric. You lick your lips. "Dave?"

"Sup."

Some tension you hold drops from you and you twine your fingers in his shirt, unsure of how to apologize for your behavior earlier. Dave grasps your elbow before you can figure out what to say and begins leading you through the crowd and you… decide to wait until later. There's no way you could make yourself heard in this noise and you don't want to stop until you're home now that you've started moving.

Bro grunts at you both as you get in the car. You think it should say something that you barely even remember the car ride once you get home, focusing only on the faint pattern of Dave's breaths as you try and figure out how to talk to him again. It's never been this difficult before. Dave disappears almost the instant he gets you inside the house, the sounds of his sneakers fading as he heads into your Dad's study and closes the door behind him.

The message is loud and clear.

With a sigh, you fumble your way to the couch and sit down, wishing there was something, anything you could do. You want to fix this discomfort between you, but you have no idea how, and so the evening passes in tense silence. Bro says nothing, only orders in pizza in favor of watching the two of you skirt awkwardly around each other trying to make dinner.

Dave doesn't even leave the room for the pizza. Bro has to bring it to him.

God, the silence is killing you.

The sounds of you and Bro eating are muffled by the heavy weight of tension. You sigh, trying to break up the suffocating atmosphere, but the noise is swallowed, enveloped, destroyed. It makes you antsy, restless, and frankly, a bit annoyed. Finally, you set your plate down and turn (you think) towards Bro, because fuck, you need to talk to someone, and …

Well, Dave's not here to talk to right now.

And you've never gotten much of a chance to talk to Bro.

"Hey, Bro?"

"Mm? Sup, littlest dude?"

You twist your hands together, aching to tangibly reaffirm something and hating the fact that you can't. "Why did you move up here?"

Bro snorts. "Because Dave asked me to, and you needed it. Didn't need much more than that. Kid needed to be up here to help his best bro, you know?"

Stifling the urge to say that you still don't understand (he uprooted his entire life for you), you sigh and lick your lips. Shakily, you mutter, "I'm not sure if I ever did this, so I wanted to say thanks."

There's a deliberate pause in the noises coming from Bro's direction. You wait, the tension killing you. A few seconds later, his voice follows, cautious. "What for? I haven't done anything worth thanks."

"Dude, you. You moved from Texas, with no warning, for a kid you've never met. For a kid Dave had never met in real life. That's definitely something." A stool scrapes back on the floor, followed by a few footsteps that you try to keep track of. You jolt slightly when knuckles brush against your skin, a fond tap, you think, the only sort of affectionate contact the Striders would allow themselves.

(But that's not entirely true is it? Dave holds you all the time, stays closer than he ought to, and you miss his little touches because you at least have a constant idea of where he is.)

"Ain't no thang," Bro drawls, deliberately drawing out his accent. He snorts at himself, amused, before he raps you again with his knuckles. "Seriously, don't sweat it, kid. Dave asked, it happened, we're here. You're like family, alright? Striders look out for their own."

"I… that's my point," you attempt to explain, searching for the words you need. "I'm not one of your own. Or at least, if I am, it's news to me. I didn't expect anyone to come take care of me at all because I didn't think I even… deserved to live, you know? Dad…" you swallow, rough. "Dad died. And I. Didn't? I wasn't too surprised when my uncle didn't want to take care of me because I didn't see why I should have been taken care of and-"

Hands pull your shoulders roughly, and you collide with Bro's chest. For a few startled moments, you can't exactly process that Bro just stopped your guilty babbling with a hug, but once you do, you relax into him.

He's warm.

And there's just something about how solid he is that makes you bury your face in Bro's shoulder and cling desperately to him. You try to not think about the fact that he reminds you of your Dad right now and fail miserably, biting your lip to not start shaking.

You don't succeed in doing that either.

"It really isn't a big deal," Bro rumbles, clearly uncomfortable. "I'd do it again if I had to, and you know that."

"But you." You shake your head, breathing into his throat, trying to explain. "It is a big deal, okay? I barely knew you or Dave. And I'm stupidly grateful that you're here now because if you weren't…"

He ruffles your hair with a fond huff of air. "Yeah, yeah, poor little Egbert, wouldn't have survived, yada yada. Just let the Striders take care of you from now on, a'ight? And try to make up with Dave? He'll be a moody little bitch for the longest time if he thinks you're upset at him."

You sigh and make a face against Bro's shoulder. "He's moody? He's the one who decided not to-"

"Hey, none of that. He didn't decide anything. We're making all of this shit up, okay?" Bro sighs and shakes you gently. "The only shit we know is that your blindness isn't something physical. They couldn't find a reason for it to be happening medically. We're extrapolating a lot of bull at the moment to guess. Which is why you're in the "let's talk about our feelings" group while I hunt around for a halfway decent therapist and doctor to get you diagnosed."

Gnawing on your lip, you pull back and hope that you're staring at his eyes and not somewhere-

"Little higher, dude, you're looking at my chin."

-Damn it.

Appropriately, you (hopefully) adjust your gaze to the proper height. "So, you guys… don't really know what's wrong with me?"

"Yep. And the little dude didn't want to say anything until we knew for certain." You can feel Bro shrug in the way his muscles move and you sigh, hating the fact that he has a point. "Didn't want to get your hopes up, you know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"Go talk to him. Have a feelings throw-down if you need to. Lemme know if I need to kick up some sick beats for you two, alright?"

And you snort, a farce of laughter, halfheartedly shoving Bro with your shoulder. "Dude, no, feelings raps are only for lame guys like you two. I'm not about to "throw down" with Dave! I'll just… talk to him. Suck it up and say I'm sorry. You know."

Bro laughs, and finally lets you go. "You could always suck something else of his, if you know what I mean."

"God damn it, Bro!" Your laughter is more genuine this time, and you try to slug him gentle, but end up missing. Probably by a lot. But Bro catches your hand with his own and does some complicated fiddling around with it that you think is some strange, secret handshake that guys give each other. He ends with a fist bump that's accompanied by some surprisingly dexterous beatboxing as he mumbles something to himself about "breaking it down".

The Striders, you've come to realize, are a strange bunch.

You like them anyway.

You're too amused by listening to Bro to hear anything else, so the unexpected, quiet "Hey, Egbert?" from behind you is startling, to say the least. You twitch, cock your head.

"Dave?"

"Yeah," and this time, you feel him. Dave's hand rests on your arm, and he turns you towards him. "I … Can we talk?"

(From behind you, Bro faux-whispers "Feelings jam" and you barely resist the urge to flip him off.)

Instead, you just say, "Yeah, sure."

You wish you could be surprised when Dave carts you off, but you're not. You don't exactly want to have this conversation with anyone else around; not with how your heart seems to want to beat its way out of your chest, how nervousness is twisting your stomach sickeningly.

He leads you back to the study, and the click of the door closing resounds in the awkward silence. For a few heartbeats, it's clear that neither of you really knows how to begin this. Dave clears his throat at the same time that you draw in a breath, and you shake your head, gesture for him to go first.

"So, sorry for how I've been today," Dave starts, roughly. You tilt your head and snort, but quiet as he continues. "It's not really the greatest, but whatever, I'm over it now, and I hope we're cool again."

"You haven't talked to me all day! How can we be cool if you haven't even talked to me?" you protest. Then you mentally kick yourself. Yeah, good job, John. You haven't made an effort either. Dave honestly doesn't seem to notice as he moves closer to you and grasps you, his hands firm on your shoulders.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I've been busy, alright?" But Dave still doesn't explain anything as he directs you into a chair, fusses with something near you.

"Dave, what are you-"

With a sigh, Dave mutters, "Look, I just needed some time to think and make this, alright? Now shut up. And just listen." Dave presses a finger against your lips, stopping what you were about to say, and settles a pair of headphones over your ears. You can't. You can't hear anything. He stays close enough to touch, which is good, because if you lost track of him, you think you might panic. His hand squeezes yours lightly. It's the only preparation you get as suddenly, at the same time you breathe in, music floods through the headphones.

It's... ambient and soft and not at all what you expect from Dave, the beats quiet and muffled while the melody carries on. It's a wordless thing that is somehow familiar, and you can't help but think that you've fallen asleep to this before. The vocals are only a quiet, slightly hoarse hum. Falling up, down, a lilting sort of melody that reminds you so much of a time that you stayed awake to watch the sun rise when you were younger. Black fading to blue, delicate golden and pink tendrils slowly snaking their way across the sky, lighting up the clouds they brush against. And then the orange-red sun peaked its barest slivers over the horizon, growing until you couldn't look at it anymore.

You don't even realize that you're crying until Dave wipes your face for you.

The headphones slide off as you bury your face against his neck, Dave's arms coming up around you as he holds you close. You really do hate this, but god, he reminded you of color and you miss it so bad. You want to see him, and it's only once Dave starts making soft shushing noises that you notice you're saying all of this out loud, the words sounding torn from your throat.

"I'm sorry!" you cry, clinging to Dave. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just-"

"Hate this," he says quietly, petting your head with a strange kind of tenderness. "I know."

And so you shiver into the damp air between his throat and your mouth, breathing heavily as tears slide down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I was such a dick and I didn't mean to be and I, I don't want to be so mad at you! You moved to be here with me and I feel awful and I-"

"Shh shh." Dave rocks you back and forth and you squeeze your eyes shut (for all the difference it makes). "It's alright. You got a little heated and we both snapped. Whatever. It's all in the past now. We're cool now, right?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome."

You have no idea how long you end up sitting there, cradled in his arms, and you can't really bring yourself to care because everything is alright right now. Dave is still your best friend. He's still here for you. Sure, you still can't see, but that honestly doesn't seem to matter quite as much for once. Dave's here, and you didn't run him off.

The moment when you fall asleep on Dave is lost, but the next thing you know, you're in bed and there's a hand against your cheek. 'Dad?' you think for an awful, disorienting moment. Then you remember and have to clench your eyes tightly shut, bite back the wave of sadness. You start to clear your throat but-

-something soft touches your forehead, followed by an exhalation that brushes against all of the hair on your face, ruffling them in its wake. You want to move, but.

But some part of you hushes the rest and remains still.

Dave's face rests against yours, his nose nuzzling against your cheek. His breath warms your skin, and you shiver, try to quell it before Dave notices, try to silence your heartbeat because it is pounding too hard, too much, surely Dave is going to hear it. There's another gust of breath and then Dave just.

Sits up. Squeezes your shoulder gently.

Leaves.

You're confused and entirely adrift as Dave closes the door behind him, listening to the soft thuds of his footsteps travel down the stairs.

You wish you knew exactly what Dave was thinking. It's a pipe dream, you know. For an instant there, it almost felt like… a kiss? But no, that probably wasn't it. Dave was… just worried, most likely. The comfort of knowing that Dave is there for you settles the anxious (unbelieving) twist under your sternum, and you resign yourself to an even more intrinsic sort of darkness as sleep pulls you under again.

That one particular spot on your forehead remains warm.

.end chapter 4.

I'll apologize here for not being as quick of a writer as the rest of the Homestuck fandom, but aahhaha, I'll write as slowly/quickly as I can and still make it good! Love you all!

Reviews, as always, are appreciated and responded to! (If you have any suggestions about characterization as well, I'll gladly take it. I know my character voices are still a little shaky.)