~On the Meteor~

~Signless' POV~

It had been a few weeks since Equius had shown us the meteor's engine. Since then, he and Psii have been working on it every chance they get. Sometimes Horrus or Sollux would try work on it with them, but they would be shooed away. It's always impressive watching how easily they work together.

"You know, you three are more like a human family than most human families," Dave comments, an amused look on his face. I hadn't even noticed him approach. My face must display my confusion because he quickly clarifies. "On Earth, fixing old cars and stuff was a common father-son bonding activity. This is sort of like that."

"Is that something you and your father did?"

I instantly regret asking when his expression shifts to one of sadness and longing. "I only had my brother."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He puts on his usual cool kid smile, which I'm starting to believe is only a mask, and says, "Don't worry about it. I've survived in this game as long as I have because of him. Rose says he was abusive and neglectful, but I think he was just trying to prepare me for the game. He's a heart player in the other timeline." Something catches his attention in the engine room and he pulls me out of the doorway a second before a loud bam rattles the walls, sending screws and small pieces of machinery flying.

"Oh, come on!" Equius shouts in frustration. Psii just curses a few times. This is the tenth time they've tried to attach this particular, final, modification. It's blown up every time.

Peeking past the doorframe, I inquire, "You guys okay?" I only receive annoyed glares in response.

Laughing, Dave says, "We should probably leave them alone for a bit. Wanna go see what Kitkat's up to?"

As we search for my descendant, he tells me what it was like growing up on Earth. I can see how Rose came to her conclusion about Dave's brother. From the daily attacks to the lack of healthy food, I'm starting to wonder how this human has survived for fourteen, almost fifteen, years. He talks about how his brother started to "teach" him to fight the second he was old enough to hold a knife. In a way, he seems to be fond of these memories.

In an attempt to understand, I ask, "Would it be alright if I saw one of these memories?"

His face lights up in joy and offers his hand. The usual dizzying blur takes over my vision when I take his hand.

"Okay, kiddo," a human who looks to be about my age says. "Hold this." A significantly younger girl waves a very sharp knife around like a rattle. "Hey, ya' little warrior, be careful with that." Being a toddler, she keeps swinging the knife around until she accidentally cuts her chin with the sharp blade. Her brother just sighs as he picks up the crying child, "Suck it up kid. If ya' keep treating weapons like toys, you're going to get hurt. You'll learn."

The vision blurs into another memory. Dave looks like he's about three sweeps old. He's doubled over on the roof of a tall building, coughing up blood. He has a few cuts and bruises. "Get up!" his brother shouts from a little way away. He tries to push himself up but falls back to the gravel covered roof. "Get up or get kicked, kid." He manages to push himself up on his hands and knees before dropping again, only to be kicked hard in the side. The blow is hard enough to break a rib or two, if the loud crack is anything to go by. "C'mon little lady. If this were a real fight, you'd already be dead!" This gives Dave enough motivation to roll towards a sword a few feet away. He's shaky as he uses the weapon to push himself up and finally make it back on his feet. "You're slow."

"Come on, Bro," Dave snaps back, steadying his stance and raising his sword. "I'm nine! You have sixteen years on me. I can't keep up. And I'm not a girl anymore!"

A look I can't quite describe crosses his brother's face. "Sorry, kid. I'm still getting used to having a brother and not a sister. And what I'm teaching you could save your sorry ass one day, little dude. If someone really wanted to kill you, you'd be dead the way you're fighting."

"Who the hell's going to try and kill a kid?!"

His brother cracks a smile, "There's a lot of creeps out there, Dave. I just want you to be able to defend yourself. Now, let's run this one more time, then we'll get pizza. Okay?"

The memory seamlessly bleeds into the next one as Dave and his brother run towards each other, weapons ready. When their blades collide, they're a little older. It looks like Dave's about as old as he is now. Dave has many more scars, a few different bruises, and a lot more skill. With their swords locked, Dave brings his knee up into his brother's gut. The second he spots an opening, his brother is disarmed and pushed down.

"I win," Dave announces as he sits on his brother's chest and holds his blade to his throat.

"Very good, little man," he laughs. "It took you fourteen years, but you finally won." He reaches up and ruffles Dave's hair. "I'm proud of you."

The vision blurs back to the hall of the meteor. Dave looks both happy and sad at reliving those memories. "So that's how you got so many scars," I say, still trying to wrap my head around what I just saw; and avoid the most likely sensitive topic of the gender change.

"He didn't think I'd learn anything with practice weapons," he explains. "And he was right. I learned and survived. And not all of these scars are from him. Some are from bullies at school. Some are from the imps. A few are from Kitkat."

"And that is more information than I needed." He seems confused before realizing what he said and starts laughing. Shaking my head, I question, "You don't see anything wrong with how you grew up? I thought humans were protective of their young. That didn't seem protective."

He groans in annoyance. "You're starting to sound like Rose. We don't know how much players remember after a scratch, if anything. He always said that he wanted me to learn to protect myself from anyone who wanted me dead." He starts to look a bit on edge as he continues, "I've seen myself die enough to understand what he meant."

"Residents of the meteor," Aradia calls over the intercom, "we'll be passing through a dream bubble in approximately ten minutes."

~On LOCAH~

~Dirk's POV~

It's been three days since Arquius cut himself. He's been unconscious this entire time. I sent Hal to stay with the girls until I could handle the situation with Arquius. Erisol stopped by earlier to check on his brother but left when he saw no change after an hour. I can tell he's worried even though he barely ever talks to me.

I'm carefully wrapping a fresh bandage around his wrist when he finally starts to wake up. A quick glance confirms my assumption. I wait until I've finished my task before turning to him. "Do you want to talk?" He stays silent, refusing to look at me. "I'm not mad at you. I just want to know why."

That's when the tears start. I hate seeing him cry, so I pull him into my arms and try to comfort him. "He didn't even remember," he mumbled against my chest.

I can't even imagine what he's going through. Yes, I have trauma of my own, but I don't have his kind of trauma. My entire life has been nothing but survival. I always bottled up my emotions until I exploded and found something to fight. I'm so emotionally detached from the world that I don't know how to handle my distressed sprite. I offer to call Erisol, but he immediately begs me not to. He tries apologizing, but I shut that down as fast as I can. By the time he's calmed down, he's ready to talk.

"Have you cut before?"

Shaking his head, he says, "I'd never even thought about it."

"Okay. It's okay," I assure before he starts crying again. "Next question. Did you want to die?" He doesn't answer. "Red?"

"Please don't hate me."

"Hey. No. None of that." I wipe away the tears trying to escape down his stained cheeks. "This is a behavior that you most likely got from me. I'm trying to help." I make him look up at me. "Let me help." Finally, he nods and I repeat, "Do you want to die?"

"I-I don't know."

"It's okay not to know. Do you think this will happen again?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. I'm going to help you make sure this doesn't happen again. I need you to understand that this is NOT a punishment. You're not in trouble. I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"How?"

"To start, I've collected every sharp object I could find from the apartment. It's all in a box in my captalog. I fully trust the part of you that came from Equius. I don't trust the part of you that came from me. I'm going to check your arms for cuts once a week from now on, too. Like I said, this is not a punishment; I just don't want you to get hurt. Do you understand?"

He looks a little unsettled about the arm check, but nods. "What if it happens again? I don't think it will, but I-"

"Don't worry about it, Red. I know from experience how hard it is to stop once you start." His expression turns to one of confusion. "I used to cut until Roxy found out and knocked some sense into me. I promise I'll be nicer than she was." He smiles a little when I tuck a stray lock of red hair behind his ear. "If it happens again, don't try to hide it. Just come to me and I'll patch you up every time. I promise." The room falls silent again for a few minutes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He shakes his head, snuggling closer to me. "It just felt like he was attacking me all over again. The flashbacks were too much. I just wanted it to stop. I don't even know what made me pick up the knife in the first place."

Memories of the first time I cut flash across my mind. A drone attack had severely weakened one of the stilts holding up my home. While welding some sheets of metal in an admittedly poor attempt to repair the damage, I sliced my hand open on a jagged edge. All the pent-up frustration at being attacked so often left my mind the second I registered the pain. When I'm done with the repair, I take one of my knives to my bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I stare at the blade deciding whether or not I should test my theory. I don't even know how long I sat there, but I eventually lifted my shirt and dragged the knife across my stomach. Like before, the pain chases everything else from my mind. I did it a few more times before deciding I'd had enough for the day and started cleaning up. Before I knew it, cutting had become my main form of coping with the turmoil that was my own fucking brain. It took three years for Roxy to notice and another seven months for her to break my habit.

"Yeah, that's about how it goes," I say before kissing the top of his head. "You'll be okay, though."

"What helped you stop?"

I laugh nervously. "Uh. Roxy strip searched me and hid my knives for about half a year. She's a bit overbearing when she's pissed." He goes a little pale. Realizing what I had said, and how he probably took it, I immediately shift to damage control mode. "That's not going to happen to you. She did that with me because she's basically my sister and I trust her with my life. You have stricter boundaries than I did. I'll do my best to respect those boundaries, but the arm checks are nonnegotiable."

He takes a deep breath. "Arms are okay."

"Are you sure you don't want me to call Erisol? He's been worried about you." After a moment of contemplation, he shakes his head. "If you insist. He's going to be over tomorrow to check on you anyways." He just shrugs. It's quiet for a few more minutes. "You hungry? I can make grilled cheese."