You are now officially caught up on Strider's Lullaby and must now wait for chapter five, which is going to be coming...Eh...soon-ish.
Chapter 3: Striders never quit
'Hey, Richard...'
'Yeah, Janie?' God he'd been so small, perched on the old woman's lap as they watched the stars on the hood of her car, somewhere in a field in the middle of autumn.
'You remember...anything?' Her voice was so OLD, so uncertain. She'd seemed so sure and ready to go, when they were kids TOGETHER.
'All of it. Every little thing, engraved on my mind like a groove in a record.' He leaned back, looking up at her.
'Jake is so far away. I wish he was here with us.' Something in his chest lurched as he remembered the last time he'd seen Jake.
Old, wrinkled and grinning. He'd had an orange package in his hands and a goofy grin on his face, pulling back to reveal dentures. He'd missed everything in Jake's life, picking it up in the very end, like coming in on a movie ten minutes before the credits roll, just before the hero saves the day.
'We've got Lalonde, and your asshole of a son.' He motioned over to where the two of them were, both perched on the fence, giggling, inebriated. Not that that wasn't Roxy's permanent state.
'Yeah, but I miss Jake.' She hugged him, causing him to make a very un-Strider-like squeak.
'Yo, Jane, love ya an' all, but ya gotta let me live to take care of my brat.' He wriggled, poking at her sides.
'Be a kid, Richard,' she soothed. 'You're only five. Enjoy your childhood a little this time.'
In two years he'd be gone, and he wouldn't see her anymore except on birthdays when Lalonde would spring him for a trip to Washington, bribing his foster-care bitch to let him off school with the flu or chicken pox, or whatever it was she got him out of there on.
At that moment, yeah, she was right. Life was ok. They were watching stars in the crisp Halloween air. Other kids trick-or-treated, his family kept their eyes out for meteors, like any other weekend.
My family. his hands fluttered, habit, talking to the air...
'Hmm?'
'Nothing.'
His 'mom', 'step-brother', and 'step-sister', and sometimes, even his 'uncle', gathered together ritualistically, watching the stars for the first signs of trouble.
'So we're putting you in home-school.'
'Cool.'
Dave's hands fluttered with the new sign they were learning, well, that Bro was teaching him.
"No, more like this," the elder coaxed, smiling when the sign came out the right way. "Beautiful." He nodded, stringing it into a conversational sentence, watching as the boy repeated then responded.
"I want to watch cartoons," Bro said, signing at the same time. Dave repeated the signs as usual, then responded:
What the actual fuck? No
Bro laughed. He was learning. Dave was picking it up fast, adding his own flourish to the language, making it 'him' without Dick's prompting.
"Well fine. How about we play games?"
Spyro?
"Lame, but ok. Pizza?"
Pepperoni
Richard was proud of his little brother and his growing vocabulary. There was no way in HELL Solomon's kid was this smart. Absolutely no way.
"You have school in the morning. Go get your pajamas on. I'll let you stay up for an hour after dinner, we'll play a game together, but then you HAVE to go to bed."
Do I have to? I hate school.
"Yep. Striders aren't quitters. Hate it or not, it's your responsibility to the Strider name to plow through." He crossed his arms, peering down at Dave through the lenses of his anime glasses.
The next day Dick took Dave to school, dropping him off at the front, waiting for the boy to disappear behind the doors before he returned to his shop.
The door swung open in front of him a split second after he turned the key. His tennis shoes smacked on the cork floor, turning around the counter. His chair squeaked loudly as he flopped into it, and his computer whirred to life as he brushed his finger over a thumb print scanner.
When his desktop came up, he eyed two programs. The first was the standard, grinning yellow face Pesterchum.
The second was an orange face with his glasses and a straight line for a mouth. This program was marked 'old life'. He glanced at the front, confirming for himself that every window or possible peek-space was covered, and he took off his glasses, laying them on the desk.
One calloused hand rubbed over his face as his cursor hovered over the program.
"Come on Richard. You're asking for heart break..." But the urge to talk to the people he'd grown up with, in a time that no longer existed for him, was far too great.
Too snaps of the mouse under his palm and Dick had the dark-green program open. A recent upgrade, that skin. Dick had been so nostalgic after the first time he'd spoken to Jake, using this thing, that he'd re-skinned it an hour later.
Four names clung to the side of the program options (standard emotions, with the addition of 'protective', 'proud', 'nostalgic' and 'lonely'. No one in his timeline would ever know he'd lost all his cool, raising his kid.) Timelines for those four other people sat in the main window, with slider bars. He imagined the trolls had a set up similar to this. He set the program to 'lonely', cringing at it. Hopefully no one on the other end would have the ability to read that emotion.
The cursor hovered over 'golgolathsTerror' as he considered messaging him.
That is until a pistol shot rang through the headphones on his desk, making Dick jump. A window popped up.
-golgolathsTerror[GT] began pestering technoRumpus[TR]-
Richard smiled, slightly, typing out the first message in a long trail of them. At least a little bit of his loneliness was relieved, for now.
Dave climbed into his Bro's shitty car and scowled, arms crossed over his chest.
"Sup, little dude?" Dick looked at him through the rear-view.
The asshole teacher tried to teach religion in class and that was total bullshit. The boy signed, clearly frustrated. Then the fuckers in my class made fun of me for needing an interpreter so I punched them and got fucking suspended.
He was startled when his bro parked the car and climbed out, pulling open the door.
"Out. We're going to go have a word with this bitch," He hissed, pointing to the pavement.
Dave crawled out, reluctant, peering up at his bro under his glasses, gripping his back pack nervously.
Dick set his hand on Dave's shoulder, guiding the seven year old into the school. At the front desk he flashed a charming smile at the secretary, lifting his glasses to flash his orange eyes at her.
"I'm looking for Ms. Anderson. Could you get her for me, gorgeous?" A little flirting never hurt anyone. Sure it wasn't something he generally did but if it got things done, he wasn't going to complain too much. Especially when she blushed, nodded, and scooped up the phone like it was the most important thing she could do.
Striders gonna st-no. No he was never going to go there again. There was an age when you had to start acting like a grown up.
He glanced down at Dave.
The boy was shifting foot to foot, looking worried.
What's up little man?
You seem mad. His brows were furrowed under his glasses. I don't like that look on your face.
Have I ever done ANYTHING to make you think you'd catch hell for telling the truth?
Dave shook his head, looking up at bro and frowning.
Then why start worrying now? He turned his attention back to the office, hands on the counter. His face contorted into a glare as the teacher walked in.
"You're not controlling your students?" He narrowed his eyes at the woman, drumming his fingers on the counter.
"Of course I am. David-lee is out for the week because off his actions today."
"Dave."
"Pardon?"
"Dave Jake. Not David-lee. I didn't name him David-lee. I named him Dave, Jake, Strider. The two names don't hyphen into one first name. You seemed to be referring to my kid by the wrong name, too. What are they paying you for? I get that this is just about as southern as you can get, but I'm not THAT southern and neither is he." He drummed his fingers on the counter once more. "Now, I know my kid has a disability and I asked you all to treat him like a regular student, but for fuck's sake 'treat him the same' means get both sides of the story."
"Your son caused the problem."
"My kid doesn't start fights. If he's thrown a punch he knows damned well that someone else had better have thrown the first one. And another subject I'd like to discuss with you: whatever happened to the separation of church and state? I'm not breaking my back to send my kid to a private school to be taught RELIGION," he growled, low and dark. "I'm paying for him to have a top-rate education." He hefted the seven year old Dave onto his hip and bumped his way past the counter door.
"Point me to the principal little man." He narrowed his eyes at the woman.
Dave's awkward, chicken boned arm('Is he too skinny? Am I feeding him enough? Am I sure he's not sick somehow?) pointed toward a particular door with 'principal' on it. Dave himself knew his bro's question was more for show than Dick's inability to find the place.
The tall man followed Dave's directions, giving the teacher a judgmental look as he passed her by, going to the man himself.
An hour's worth of talking and he hadn't gotten anything out of the man but a headache, and the elder Strider hefted the younger up (No dude just no I can walk dude dude!) and left.
When he had Dave seated in the car, back in the back where kids belonged, he started out on the road, finally, seething.
They were half way home when he felt the back of the chair go 'thump', and Dick had to glance at Dave through the mirror, quirking a brow.
"Sup lil dude?"
I don't want to go back.
Not when they make fun of me for needing Margret there
It's beyond not cool Bro.
"Don't let them get to you. Be the bigger dude." He frowned, glancing back at the road, then back to Dave. Oh yeah, they were in the lane, they were safe. He was the best at driving and reading sign language. There was no one better.
They do it every day though.
"Dude, I get it. But fuck them, Bro. They're just jealous that you have a hot chick following you around. They want a piece of that action just like the rest of the world, and she's all yours, between eight and four."
You don't really think she's hot I know you like boys.
"Off topic little man. The point is you've got a good looking older woman following you around and they don't."
I don't want to go anymore, Bro.
This shit sucks.
"Striders don't quit, Dave."
This Strider does. Fuck you.
"Do you touch your interpreter with those fingers? Potty-hands."
EW GROSS dude no just
dude no fuck you.
Seriously.
"Whatever. What do you want for dinner? Pizza or Chinese?"
Pizzza, a pause and then please can I quit please?
Dick was silent for a long time, drumming his fingers on the wheel. On one hand, he wouldn't have to pay for hot-lunches. A load off his mind. Leftovers would never go to waste.
On the other hand he'd have to pay closer attention to Dave's grades.
But, he wouldn't get any more of that 'intelligent creation' crap shoved down his poor, broken throat.
"Yeah, sure. But you have to do home-school. Just because you're not there, dun' mean you get to crap out on your grades. I'm not raising a street-rat hellion."
'No, I'm raising a young knight. I'm sending you off to battle after putting a shitty sword in your hand, in round-about six years,' he seethed. 'And I need to know you can handle it so you don't wind up dead somewhere before you know how to handle what you are...'
Bro, no.
Bro, you're not making me do that.
"David Lee Strider, you're either going to go to that school, or you're going to home-school. Either way, you will not talk back to me."
I'm not talking back Richard Bartholomew Strider.
"Don't you sass me, David." He scowled. "You either do it at home, where you don't need an interpreter, and you have a genius to work with, or you do it at that school and talk through your interpreter. It's your choice, man of the hour."
Ok fine I'll do it but I won't like it.
"It's not about whether or not you like it. It's about those visitations from Social Services that Jenkins from 4B threatens us with every time I keep you home when you're sick. Woman's crazy. You doing the school thing is the difference between a crappy apartment with someone who gives a shit about you and a crappy house stuffed with crappy kids and foster parents collecting a check." He glanced in the mirror. "Trust me Dave, neither of us want that. I worked too hard to let some shitty family take you the way they took me." It had been a nightmare. Something he didn't want to revisit.
God damn he missed Jane. She'd hug him and tell him he was doing a 'darned tootin' good job' and make him feel better about all of this. She'd sit Dave down and make him do the work and he wouldn't argue with her.
Dave looked like he was going to argue further, for a moment, then heaved a sigh and signed at him again.
Alright, Bro I hear you.
No fighting you on the schooling or a bitch with a phone and a son in social services gets her nose all up in our business like a drug dog all up in our asses looking for contraband.
"How's pepperoni with a side of handwriting, and math for dessert?" He wanted to be past this argument. It was the furthest from anything he wanted to think on. Maybe Jake would be online so he could clear his head with some pan-universal flirting. That always helped.
Dave rolled his eyes and bro quirked a brow.
"Or we could have extravaganza with tenth grade biology. Your choice."
I hate you so much right now. Handwriting and Pepperoni.
"Love you too, kiddo."
-gutsyGumshoe[GG] began pestering technoRumpus[TR]
GG: Jake says you're a version of our Di Stri.
GG: That you need a shoulder.
GG: If this isn't a trick you're trying to pull on us, you should know...
GG: It doesn't matter where you are, what universe you're in, we're here for you. I don't know what happened to us, if we're not there with you, but maybe I don't want to.
GG: Even if this is a prank, I'm proud to call you my friend.
GG: See you around, Di Stri.
-gutsyGumshoe[GG] ceased pestering technoRumpus[TR]-