Notes from Mama Lobster: Thank you all for reading. Tonnere, not-exactly-the-truth, and everyone else, your feedback always brightens our day :)

And to our mystery guest... first of all, thank you! I hope your holidays were pretty badass as well. Second, there is a story for that timeline, and it was once written out in full, but I am a firm believer that trauma is not a good plot device unless there's sufficient reason and consequence for it. In the end, that chapter didn't make the cut. If you're interested, message me and I can give you a summary, or a copy of the original chapter.

Named for Dropkick Murphys.

The Gauntlet

== Dirk: find Dave

He's kind of hard to miss, sitting on the couch shaking like a goddamn epileptic. It's been a long time since you've seen him this messed up. Maybe he's just cold? It's hard to tell behind those shades. No, you're pretty sure he's messed up.

"Kid, uh…" you okay? "Did you eat anything yet?"

He doesn't look at you, and sure as hell doesn't answer. Well… fuck. You don't know if your damn hairline can handle it if he goes back into hibernation mode or whatever he's been doing the past few years. Only thing to do is check this shit out.

You look in all the usual places, checking for any sign of powder or needles or fucking spray paint, anything the kid could be using, when a hoarse voice echoes from the living room.

"You're wasting your time, there's nothing there." Dave's voice is quieter than you want it to be. Shit shit shit at least if he was using you could just kick his ass.

Dave wanders into the bedroom, stumbling and kind of aimless, but sober. Kid looks pathetic. You clear your throat, trying to pretend you aren't shoudler-deep in his sheets digging around for coke. Course, it's not like you care if it's awkward while he's looking like a kicked puppy. Yup. Not caring at all.

"So how about that food?" Dave's poker face is pretty busted, but he manages to keep his tone even. Somehow that just makes this whole situation even more fucked up.

== Dirk: get pizza

You were tempted to grab a beer, too, but you decided you weren't that shitty of an older brother. At the very least you could try to pretend to be sensitive and helpful and all that crap you're terrible at.

He's still not talking. Not that he's usually chatty or anything, but this is fucked up in a different sense. He's limp and shaken and clearly freaking the fuck out about something or other.

Ask him what it is, you ignorant fuckass.

No, that would make SENSE. Why would you ever want to approach your brother in a logical and thoughtful fashion? God damn do you hate yourself in this moment.

The familiar scrape of paper and plastic cups on the counter serves to enhance the tension. Isn't his pretty waifu supposed to be getting home soon? She could fix this, little wonder that she is. That look of his is really getting under your skin and you wish she could just snap him out of it.

"Jade's helping Casey with her homework tonight." Glad he knows you better than you know him. That's not the way it's supposed to work with guardians, you're pretty sure of it.

Holy fucking shit just talk to him.

When did your inner monologue get such a goddamn shit attitude? Seriously, you have to beat that thing into shape. Of course, you probably should be more worried that you even have an inner monologue, and that your grown-ass kid is clearly about to start bawling and you don't have even the slightest idea what the fuck happened.

He's holding it in for you, you know that much. The kid is worried about showing weakness in front of you, and you don't know whether you should be proud or pissed or relieved. Relieved, maybe, since you aren't great with tears and blubbering and you really hate to see this kid get upset. Still, the tightness in your chest doesn't feel very much like relief.

You know it's gonna happen before it does, there's no way he could hold anything steady right now. He drops the glass, and soda spills all over the kitchen. He jumps. Kid is so fucking jumpy today, and he can't even seem to keep his hands steady as he runs for the paper towels.

"Dude, chill. I got it." At least this is something you can do. You take the paper towels from him and start mopping. He just stands there in shock.

Fuck fuck fuck he's gonna break. It's coming, you know it's coming what the fuck do you do now. He's quiet, really fucking quiet and for a second it looks like his shaking stopped too.

It starts slowly, hissing and boiling and bubbling over into agonized growls and sobs, with his nails clawing at the fabric on his shoulders, then hands gripping the sides of his head, yanking his hair. Shit looks fucking painful. Un-pry his fingers, that's your first step. If he rips all his hair out he's gonna be pissed when he snaps out of this. You have to get him by the shoulders next, figure out what's wrong. How do you even ask something like that?

Words. Use your words, Dirk.

"What's going on?" there's genuine concern in your voice. It sounds so fucking foreign that you almost want check a mirror.

Holy shit did you just…?

Yeah, you did, and Dave looks almost as shocked as you feel.

"I-I'm just fucked up, withdrawals and shit, you know…"

"Bullshit." You're on a roll now. "You've had withdrawals for months and you never look like you got dumped at the prom about it. What the fuck is going on?"

Dave stares into the soda puddle some more. It's spreading up your nice jeans. Well, shit, that's gonna be uncomfortable when you stand up.

"I… she died, Bro."

Yeah, that doesn't sound quite right. "Are you sure you're not high, kid? No one died."

"Fucking duh," He spits. "It wasn't here, not really. Well, yeah, really. It happened. In the game, you know."

Flashbacks. Fuck this poor kid's life, and fuck you for giving it to him. "Shit's not your fault. That game kills people."

"No, not this time."

Holy fucking shit could this dumb asshole make any less sense right now. "You're gonna have to break this down for me, little man. I'm not following."

And then he's sobbing, and what the fuck is even happening. His hands are in his hair and you have to pry them out again, hold him still, tell him to just shut his goddamn mouth and explain to you what happened. Somehow he just pulls harder, jerking away from your touch. Everything you try just makes it worse.

It's more out of desperation than anything, yanking him into your arms, holding him tight and steady against your chest. It's still a few seconds before he calms down, but he does calm down. Well fuck, if you knew it was this simple maybe you would have tried this more often. He hiccups a bit, gasping and shuddering before he finally goes still.

"Bro…"

"Yeah, kid?"

"…get off. I can't breathe."

That's what relief feels like; you can recognize the sweeping feeling of pressure lifting off your chest. You would laugh if it were appropriate. This time you manage to hold it in.

The story he tells you next is enough to make your head spin. Some alternate timeline where Jade, sweet little waifu Jade, got left alone with some massive furry psychopath and couldn't handle the aftermath. He goes on about cowardice, about failing her and leaving John and Rose to fade away, but fucking seriously, you have no idea how the hell anyone could react differently in that situation.

"…and the worst part is it fucking happened, even if no one else remembers it still happened. She was fucking dead, right there under my goddamn blanket, and I could have helped her-"

"Kid, listen." You don't even know where this is coming from now. The sickness in your stomach, the shaking of your little brother, the thought of some psychotic dog tormenting a bunch of thirteen-year-olds have all kind of left your mind on a goddamn tilt-a-whirl of what the fuck. "You can't blame yourself for this. You just can't. It's fucking hard to know what to do when shit things happen, and shit things happen a lot. You just—" that fucking lump in your throat makes it hard to talk. "…You just do the best you can and hope it's enough. Sometimes it isn't."

Dave's really, really still against your shoulder, and slowly you realize he's listening to you. He hasn't listened to you like this since he was a child and you were the hero.

"Sometimes shit just sucks in a way we can't handle. We can't be awesome all the time, and sometimes our weaknesses are really fucking glaring at just the wrong moment. And it's times like that that suck the most, but that doesn't mean you didn't love her, or that you didn't try absolutely every goddamn thing you could in order to make it better. And I bet she knew that. She fucking loves you more than I've seen a broad love anyone."

You can feel him grin into your shoulder. You hope the way you're rubbing his back is comforting and not just creepy and dumb.

"And kid... it's not like she even remembers this shit anymore, but you're still pissed that she was hurt. You big sap."

I'm so fucking proud of you for that.

A smirk creeps onto your face. "Now quit blubbering and go be a sensitive spouse on someone else's shirt." Dave chuckles at the last bit, pulling away from your shoulder.

"Fuck, Bro, where'd that come from?" His voice is louder now. Good.

"Don't ask questions. Go pick a movie or something, and wash your goddamn face. You look like you're having a fucking allergic reaction."

Dave's smirk is a little more knowing than you're comfortable with. He does what you tell him to anyway. Time to get up… oh fuck, gross. The soda in your pants is even more uncomfortable than you anticipated.

== Dirk: decompress

It's easy to do, watching a fucking horrific action movie with your bro and taking cheap shots at the bad acting and plot holes. Never mind the credits blasting the Strider name to shit as the movie ends. It'd be fucking embarrassing if it hadn't paid for your TV in the first place.

More sitcoms come and go, and Dave even goes so far as to offer to get you a beer. Like you'd ever let him wander into a liquor store unattended, doesn't matter how much you miss the taste.

Jade doesn't get home until late, at which point she's exhausted and frustrated and seemingly covered in glitter paste. That Egbert kid better watch her back next time, Jade looks about ready to rip the universe apart. You try to look away as Dave gently takes off her coat and kisses her hair. He doesn't stand too close, and lets her take the first steps towards him before going in for the full nasty makeout. Kid's really turned his shit around, despite your best efforts to screw him up.

So. Fucking. Proud.

She prances off to the bathroom with a quick "Hi Dirk!" and you know your bro is soon to follow. He hesitates for a second, though, staring at the door Jade just left through. A moment passes like that, with the sitcom blaring and Dave looking silently off into the hallway. You just drink your soda.

"You know, Bro," Dave's quiet voice is startling, but not enough to get at you. Ninja reflexes and all. "You should listen to your own advice sometimes."

And just like that, he's off after Jade.

That choking feeling starting in your throat is so unfamiliar, you wonder for a moment if you're dying. Then there's that burning behind your eyes, and suddenly the TV is a lot harder to see. Fuck.

It's not as bad as your dad told you it would be. Really. It doesn't hurt like you thought it would. In fact, the relief that spills out with the salty tears is almost relaxing, and you find yourself laughing through it somehow. Shit is pretty fucking ok after all.