Your name is Dave Strider, you are thirty years old, and you're afraid you're falling into too familiar a pattern.
It's been a week since since you helped John settle in. With Christmas now only a few short days away, he somehow (okay there honestly wasn't very much difficulty at all) roped you into spending it with him. Throughout said time you've thus far spent alongside him, Casey's been staying alone with Molly, who will likely want her back for Christmas shenanigans later on, but for the time being she'll be staying with you two. You're sitting in the passenger seat of John's car, outside of Molly's house (or, what used to be their house) and it's taking longer than you expected. You figured he'd load the kiddo on up, and you'd be right out of there (right out of this damned cold vehicle), but he's standing just inside the doorway, talking in a manner that seems to be intently with her. Maybe she wants to be sure of all of Casey's setup, and exactly when she'll be back? Something like that, you think (even though, despite rational thought, your mind is flipping through all the burned-in images of their smiling, kisses faces and the gentle inside jokes they used to exchange as greetings). But that doesn't change that you're freezing your ass off, and John has the keys so you can't simply switch on the heater.
Finally, he comes out, holding his bundled-up daughter's hand, and shimmying her into the carseat in back. You see the lines in his face are thick with thought and heavy with concern, and your stomach knots in your own for him. You wait until he's driving to say, "You alright there, man?"
He just nods, laughing a little to himself (and then it hits you that this was the first time he's seen her since he moved out, since his whole life was given a piece of finality before being tossed away from him, and your heart breaks for him on top of your own shattered, and what you hoped were healing, shards). "She just had a couple worries, that's all."
And of course, ever talkative and ever filterless, Casey speaks on up from the backseat, "Why doesn' Mommy like U'cle Davey?"
Ah, there's the nail on the head. She probably remembers - remembers the way you've always looked at him, the way your lips met before her very eyes, the way you so pathetically sobbed into the fabric of her shirt as if it was all her fault (you'd like to think it was hers, but it's yours, it's always been yours), the way you looked at her husband in such need and adoration. She probably remembers how John jumped to you for backup on the thing that tore her family to shreds, thinking you at the root. She probably held you in a bit of skepticism for those long four years, allowing you with her child, with the love of her life, all in an attempt at trust.
And now here you are, the man who in her eyes, deserves none of that trust by now, by her (soon to be ex)husband's side immediately, and there to possibly take her daughter. To her, you're like some form of incubus, here to tear apart her life and all she cares for due to your own romantic desires - not the best friend who's doing all he can despite his demons and despite his baggage.
You are the latter, right?
It's a very quiet car-ride home after that (aside from Casey blathering for some time, demanding to know why Molly dislikes her Davey so much), until you pull up at John's new place (a place he likely wouldn't have been able to afford without your assistance). You exit the car, going to the backdoor to hoist out Casey, covering her eyes. She gasps and clings to you, making an 'ooh' motion with her mouth. "Why's my eyes c'vered?"
"So we can surprise you with the new crib," you say, carrying her over while John grabs her bags. "Duh, I mean, come on."
She's giggling to herself but stays quiet and still for a few more moments, expecting the surprise with anticipation. You then set her down just in front of the snow at the very frontyard, uncovering her eyes. It honestly isn't the greatest place in the world, but her eyes light up with excitement and she's jumping. "New house, new house, new house!"
You laugh a bit before gathering her up again, repeating the routine with the indoors, one room at a time. John makes fun of you, but the both of you just stick your tongue out at him, before promptly brofisting (to which he sighs and says you don't need to be bros with his daughter).
After you finish out the rooms, Casey tugs at your sleeve, blinking, "Where's Davey's room? Or are you gon' sleep in the same room wif Daddy?"
"Nah, the couch is my sweet abode for now," you state, noogying her lightly.
She frowns, seeming to be in thought. "But if ya live with us, you should 'ave a room!"
You cough on your own spit at that moment, your eyes practically popping out of your head. By the time you've caught your breath, Casey seems even more confused, trying to work out aloud why that wouldn't make sense - which clearly, she says, it does make sense.
"If I was living here, yeah," you affirm, readjusting her in your arms. "But I gotta head back home down in ol' Hollywood." You hope mentioning Hollywood, even though it isn't exactly where you live, will excite her - your career has always dazzled and amazed her.
Unfortunately, you're only met with wet eyes and a loud, whiney wail, as she buries her head into your shoulder. It seems she'd gotten in her head you'd be living there, and stuck with it. You admit experiencing a divorce this early in her life (God you feel so sorry for her) must be a stress that's meant for someone way beyond her years and beyond her brain capacity, so she had to latch onto something she'd be excited for, just to make sense of it. You're sighing and rubbing her back, not sure what else to do for the poor weepy child.
John was setting things up in the other room before he comes hurrying into the room, concern apparent on his face and weighing him down even farther than previously. "What happened?" he questions, clearly a little panicked despite how commonplace the tears of a mere toddler likely are.
"She uh… she's sad I'm not gonna be livin' here, guess she got the wrong idea," you say a little awkwardly. You want to stay so bad, you want to live in this lovely little house, in that lovely little room, and wake up to breakfast in that lovely little kitchen, with that lovely little girl and that lovely dorky man. You want to be here to make this house a home. But despite your constant hopes and wishes (maybe he wants you here too, maybe, maybe, maybe), you don't want to push it on him, make it odd.
He nods a little, a slight sigh as he looks down at the ground. "Yeah, it is a shame, isn't it, hehe," but then he's grabbing Casey from you, and her crying remains as was. You aren't sure what that means - does he want you here, or is he simply rolling with Casey's obvious declaration? Questions like this run around your head wildly and you can't even begin to place them into the proper categories of conclusion-jumping and clearly-obviously-true.
Regardless though, John's picking her up to go and lay her down for a nap in her own bed, as you go to sit on the couch in the living room, and pretend to watch TV while you think, and think, and think.
—-
"Al… most…!" Casey says, standing up on her tippie toes to attach one little ornament up on the tree.
This eerily reminds you of a Christmas from so many years ago, the year you lost all hope and the year Casey became the cause of that - but it's funny, because here she is, being right at the center of what's making you continue. Sure, her circumstances aren't your favorite, but she's like a little ray of sunshine, smiling at you constantly and making you feel like you can actually manage all of this.
Hands on her sides, you lift her up just a bit so she can reach the spot she was looking for, as you mock a gasp, "Case, when'd you learn to fly. Oh my god, this is amazing."
She giggles after placing the ornament, trying to squirm to face you. "I've always been able to fly, stupid! Pchooo!" She's learned that if she says her sound affect, you'll raise her higher and play a brief round of airplane with her.
"Hey, who you callin' stupid!" and again you're roughhousing with her after a quick round of airplane, ticking her lightly, laughing and snorting some to yourself (and you're aware how incredibly dorkish you look right now, and you think for a brief moment that maybe that's what just happens to Dads when they have kids, but then you realize you aren't her Dad and you just stop thinking completely).
"Dave, stop roughhousing with her!" John exclaims from the other side of the room, and you look up, seeing him all bundled up in a winter coat. "I thought I was your only roughhousing partner - woe is me!" he pouts pitifully, before laughing and snorting himself (maybe you picked it up from him, and suddenly you also don't mind your dorkishness for this reason either). "But no seriously, just don't get anyone hurt, okay? I'm heading out for some groceries to fix up Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow, be good, you kids."
"Who you callin' a kid! And you're gonna miss puttin' the star on top!" he closes the door behind him, leaving you and Casey 'aww'ing before the both of you laugh at one another.
Before long though, she's speaking up (as she always does). "Are we gon' use a star or a angel?"
"Do you guys normally use an angel?" You hadn't made it there for the past couple holidays, sometimes due to inconvenience after John had just visited you for your birthday, sometimes work, sometimes Molly's preference - it all depended. But that meant you'd missed out on what this kid was used to, tradition wise.
"Mhm!" she nods, dead sure of this. And you chuckle, before shrugging and getting up, going to sift through the cardboard box John's left out, labeled "CHRISTMAS" in blue-sharpi penmanship on duct tape. Sure enough, enough maneuvering through half-broken ornaments and you've got yourself a plastic-and-fabric angel, smoothing out her dress as you stand up.
You then hand the topper to Casey, before grabbing her yet again and holding her up to the very top and letting her knot her little hands into the dress, setting it down right on the tree. Next you bring her down, and as soon as she's closing than arm's length away from your person she's tightly latching onto you.
Ever the poor, curious, little girl though, she seems deep in thought for a moment though, beautiful, big blue eyes (they remind you so much of John's, especially when he was younger) staring blankly as she contemplates, before looking up at you with them. "Wha' happened wif Mommy 'nd Daddy?"
Oh boy.
First, you go to sit the two of you down, propping her on your legs comfortably. "Well, what brought this up anyway?"
"Uh, Daddy always liked th' star, 'nd said stuff like, it was the star, it was 'im, or somethin'!" You can't help but grin, so she smiles a little too. "But mommy always liked the angel. 'n I thought… maybe they jus' have a lot of differences like… House stuff?"
You take a deep breath, patting her head - not entirely sure how to handle this. "It's uh, kinda like that. Mom and Dad are having some differences, yeah, and… Mom just isn't really happy with Dad anymore, I don't think. She still loves him, but I… don't think it's like she used to." Did you say too much? Fuck, you don't know anymore.
She seems very sad to hear that, curling her fingers into the fabric of her dress. "So she won' love him forever?"
You shake your head, "I don't think so." Fuck, you aren't supposed to shatter a kid's hope like this, not this young, but you don't have the heart to just lie to her.
She nods, as if to show her acknoweldgement and her understanding, if not also her accepting, before leaning on your chest and curling up close to you. "I thought that that was how love was s'pposed to work, though…" And then she looks straight up at you, those eyes so innocent and yet so scared. "Do you think love can be forever?"
You smile a little sadly, kissing her forehead, "I know it can."
And slowly, she smiles back.