Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dirk knew calling himself just a bad man was an understatement. He was shit, scum, the lowest of the low. He was the gum on the bottom of the world's shoe it kept trying to scrape off. He'd never done anything that ever mattered. He'd gotten kicked out at sixteen, tried college only to drop out, and now posted questionable porn for a living while trying to hold down a job as a mechanic to make ends meet. He was waiting on the day it wouldn't be enough, that he'd get kicked out of the shitty apartment he'd managed to find for cheap and he'd end up dying on the street under some bridge where no one would ever find him. It wasn't so much a question of if that would happen, but more so when. Dirk knew he was as doomed as they came, but still, he was afraid to die. He was afraid that damned puppet would follow him into the afterlife and his torment would be permanent unless he managed to get rid of that thing while he was still alive to do so.

At the thought, he felt the plush arm shift around his throat. It could hear his thoughts. He swore that thing always knew what he was thinking, or whenever he tried planning to get rid of it. He felt his breath hitch, a shock of cold in his blood. The voice came back, stinging at the back of his mind like a hive of angry bees. There was a flash of orange in the back of his mind, somewhere in the depths of consciousness. There were words, barely. More like static with some phrase and a haunting laugh. It sent a shiver down his spine. He was sure he had to be going crazy. Maybe the drinking and smoking were catching up to him and his brain was finally rotting out of his skull. I mean, there was no way a fucking puppet was talking to him in his head, or capable of moving on its own. That was impossible.

Suddenly, like always, Dirk's vision fuzzed. There was a nagging feeling of being watched, all eyes on him. Every person who passed suddenly seemed like a threat. Every corner suddenly housed someone ready to jump at him. His palms were sweating, eyes darting back and forth under his shades, trying, and failing to note everyone around him. There were too many people in town today. It made him want to scratch off his skin. This always happened when the puppet wanted him to go back home. It would tug around at his brainstem, make him so paranoid he just had to go back. There was no other choice for him when this happened unless he wanted to break down and have a panic attack in public again. Now that, for sure, would just get more stares. And he'd have to find another grocery store just like the last time that happened. There were too many whispers and stares after the time he'd started hyperventilating in the middle of the produce aisle because the puppet was fucking with his head too much. He was convinced there were eyes in the ceiling and the walls were melting. 

Dirk shivered, trying to get done with his shopping as fast as possible before getting in line. There was a blond cashier. Did he know her? She looked at him like she knew who he was. Her skin was a warm dark brown, impossibly pink eyes, had a beauty mark right next to her lip. 

"I didn't know you lived out here. How come you've never said hi before?" She asked as she started to ring up his items. Some ramen, deodorant, toothpaste, crackers. The voice was a dead giveaway to who she was. It was the last piece he needed to put the metaphorical (and shitty) puzzle together. 

He felt his teeth grit almost painfully. His ex, Roxy. One of the few people who hadn't cut him off when he'd gone quiet or left without a word. He'd been the one to cut her off, to stop talking. She'd grown a lot. He didn't remember the two rings that pierced her lower lip, or when she started talking without a slur in her voice. Had she gotten sober? Good for her, he thought. He wished he could follow in those footsteps. Faintly, he heard the puppet laugh again. 

Dirk didn't say anything. Roxy glanced up at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Jake asks about you sometimes," she tried again. 

Dirk would rather die than remember when the three of them had been a thing. The bitter sting of vomit rose in the back of his throat. He felt disgusting like something was rotting inside of him that he couldn't get out. She knew what he looked like under his clothes, knew the scars that marred his skin, and had traced the deeper ones in his back from his pa. Jake had seen it too. The thought made him shiver, uncomfortably shifting his weight from foot to foot like a scolded child instead of a grown-ass man. 

It felt like this was taking forever. Roxy had shut up, thank fuck, he couldn't handle the memories or the feelings that came with them, but she kept glancing at him like she expected something. Finally, he was done. He paid and left as fast as possible, only murmuring a thank you out of habit. He was nice to everyone, even if they pissed him off. His mother didn't raise an asshole, even if she didn't raise him at all.

He felt like he was gliding more than stepping. He didn't even remember the drive home, just that one moment he was in the parking lot of the store, and the next moment he was in his apartment. Fuck, this was going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dirk Strider. You are sixteen years old.
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He didn't remember when that shit started. Living in Texas was hard. Being found out as queer made it even worse. He hasn't meant to kiss a boy at that party. He still felt the press of the wall against his back, fingers fisted in blond hair, the other feeling the *thump thump thump* of a heart, the warmth of lips against his own chapped and dry ones. Him and Jake had been drunk. Too drunk to notice the stares and attention until all at once Jake was gone and Dirk caught a punch to the face.

He remembered the taste of blood, warm and coppery in his mouth. His lip must have split when his head slammed into the wall or when the fist met again. He remembered the words spat at him. Faggot. Weirdo. Sinner. The usual things you'd hear towards anyone different at the time before "tollerance" was a thing. Bullshit, all of it.

No one looked at him the same after and Dirk didn't remember how he got home or when. He remembered waking up, going to the bathroom and seeing a ring of angry blue, black, and purple like a night sky around his eyes, ringing the usual color. His nose was bent in a weird direction, maybe broken (did he bleed before? Hear the crunch of bone? He didn't remember.) School was hell. Everyone knew what happened it seemed. His "friends" left him, no one talked to him, he sat alone at lunch until Jake found him a week later and brought along this girl, Roxy, he was friends with. He knows they became close after that.

He remembered the good times when they had sleepovers and got drunk off cheep wine Roxy got from her mom. How they'd stumble outside in the night time heat, more bearable then the day, and laugh, collapsing down at some point to watch the stars. He remembered everything they did together. Roxy painting his nails for the first time and how he cried when she told him it was okay to be different then what his ma and pa wanted, what a man was supposed to be. He remembered when they'd go to a shitty gas station at the end of the road and shoplift snacks. The cashier knew but never said a thing just like they knew Dirk was underage but still sold him cigarettes.

He remembered the bad too. The disgusted look on his old man's face when news of the party finally reached him, being kicked out for a week and couch surfing between Jake and Roxy's. He remembered the sting of the gashes on his back, Jake's careful hands cleaning and bandaging them. CPS wouldn't give a shit so Dirk just had to endure.

He hated that he missed his friends as much as he did. Even with how hard that time was, his mind kept pulling it up in dreams.

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Your name is Dirk Strider. You wake up screaming.