He wasn't a dad, he was just the guy helping you to survive by teaching you how to actually fight and wield a sword.
Much to the detriment of everyone else.
These skills let you become a monster on the field, and you know he regretted it everyday yet could never bring himself to kill you himself, much like how when it came down to it, you couldn't bring yourself to kill him when you were ordered to.
Omg okay now I have to know; when Dave is startled does his feathers Poof
You nod your head as you think back to all the times Dave has ever poofed up, while there were plenty of examples. One memory sticks out to you in particular.
Back before Dave could fly.
This first time he had basically challenged you instead of clinging to your leg and waiting for you to grab him some food. He had ran in front of you; his cheeks puffed out, feathers floofed, arms and wings spread wide as he blocked you from the apple tree.
You were understandably confused as you tried to figure out why he was so agitated...
Later you learned after he climbed up the tree to get the apple, he just wanted to get it himself and instead of using his words he just floofed and waited until you backed off to get his prize.
warnings: contains violence and cursing, as well as sexual themes and sexual deviants, alcoholism, etc. Please be careful if you read it!
Twelve days, two hours, four minutes, and twenty seven-- twenty eight seconds since Dirk has gone missing.
Dave wasn't sure how he'd kept count for song long. Math wasn't his subject, wasn't him, he was too cool for the angles and the theories, postulates, and theorems. Was too busy focusing on a certain brother of his.
A certain brother that he refused to admit his true feelings for.
Especially now that he was gone, and that it was Dave's fault.
Since the boy had went missing, three things had happened:
Dave started drinking. A lot. An hour after they both left the home.
He didn't expect it to happen. Didn't even know it was going to happen. Didn't think he'd be that dumb-- to get himself hooked on something like alcohol. When he should have been running after Dirk, when he should have been trying to find his brother, when he should have been trying to save him-- But he was too busy being drunk.
Dave got fired from his jobs. Day five.
He showed up drunk, too many times for them to tolerate. They didn't call the cops, instead just fired him. Let him wreck his life, because it wasn't their responsibility to watch over a 'hoodlum' like Dave. They didn't want none of that shit.
Dave started using his body to make money. Day six.
He knew it wasn't good. Knew he shouldn't have. Knew it could get him killed, could get him tons of things with horrible outcomes. But money was money. And he needed that to fund his search groups as well as having food. He would get drunk, watch himself slip away, and then sleep with whoever offered to pay him the most.
Usually it was a lot of older men or women. But he didn't care.
Sometimes it hurt, he remembers that. But those memories were suppressed because when he was in therapy, he refused to remember how he had broken himself.
Dave refused to admit that he was the one that was at fault, that he shouldn't have done what he did, that he knew he was better than what he chose. Refused to admit that he missed his brother so much that he didn't even care what happened to himself anymore, but pleasepleaseplease bring Dirk back.
He knew putting the blame on Dirk was horrible, because it was his own fault. Mostly.
But he found himself half hating Dirk, and half loving him more than he ever had.
At the time, he'd thought Dirk had only ran away. Gone to stay with some friends, or something. But no, no; he had gotten kidnapped. Dave considered himself an A+ asshole when he figured that out, because good job, you fucking waste of space, your brother was getting hurt and couldn't stop it and you were hurting yourself and wouldn't stop it.
But so was how things went, they were both hurt.
Dave remembered why he drank, though. He found himself so incredibly bitter that his brother was gone.
He loved the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat, and as he choked it back up half the time. He love the tingles in his brain and his whole body, and the blankness that always followed. He loved the feeling of it burning his insides, he loved how it felt.
He loved the scars he gave himself when he was drunk. Or was it the scars others gave him? He couldn't quite tell. And was there a difference really?
No. Not to Dave. Just getting what he deserved, he remembered.
The was once where he freaked out because of this. Once, when one of his 'customers' looked exactly like Dirk. Except older. Filled out more. So not exactly but, close enough for Dave to get really fucking freaked out.
That was the first night he got hurt. He called it irony. It was on his way home after spending the night with the man that looked like Dirk.
They cut him. Set him on fire. Wished he would have caught better.
Dave, upon being taken into rehab, forced himself to believe it was all a dream. A really bad dream.
But the scars wake him up, show him who's the boss, keep him in check.
And here he is, trying to heal his brother from a time he'll never heal from, either.
