Secret Santa x2 Combo
Secret Santa for karkatsweater :D
Prompt: [Striders. Anything Striders. Angsty Striders, cuddly Striders, Striders in Christmas sweaters, STRIDERS.] AND [Rose being her very sassy self.]
Author Notes: This was really fun to write and I hope you like it, it's just a little scene but I hope it's enjoyed~!
You aren’t sure when Rose coming for Christmas became a thing.
To be honest, you don’t even know she’s there until you shuffle out in your ironic fluffy slippers and ninja bathrobe to find her and Bro sat up on the couch waiting for you in awful knitted sweaters and antlers. They have identical knowing looks on their faces, a little smirk and a small smile, and everything in your brain is suddenly screaming that this might be the worst thing to happen, ever, of all time.
You’re 100% fucked, and you know it. They know you know it.
Goddamn.
“David. So lovely of you to join us.” Rose raises an eyebrow at you, as you snap the bathrobe shut around yourself fast enough you hope she didn’t get more than a glimpse of your completely ironic santa-themed briefs. “I didn’t realise getting dressed was optional. There I was fretting about my outfit choice, when in fact the timelessly fashionable ‘tastefully nude’ would have done.”
“Get some damn clothes on.” Bro adds more succinctly, and you back away, vanishing into your room to chorus of snickers and giggles and only daring to reappear once you don’t look like a tacky seasonal stripper. This time you’re allowed to reach a seat without comment, and settle in with a thankful murmur when Bro leans over and passes you a hot chocolate that smell distinctly of apple and cinnamon. God fucking bless seasonal specials. You both buy them up like there’s no tomorrow and make them last as much of the year as you can, eking out each apple-based treat and orangey special edition until you run out mid-October and spend all of November whining about how life is agony until they show up again in December.
You’re getting distracted, and of course they notice. You’ve barely lowered the mug to give a happy sigh when a sweater whacks you in the face, arms looping around you in a lifeless, woolen hug.
Oh God.
It’s bright pink, with lime green edges, and you have no idea how Rose even added the artifacts around the edges of the shitty conksuck boot in the middle of the sea of blinding neon colour. You admire the awful thing, because damn, it’s beautiful, and then tug it on with little complaint, pausing briefly when your shades get caught in the fabric. Bro’s done up in orange smuppets wearing santa hats, and Rose herself has a rather fetching thing in oranges and golds with stars and suns.
It’s Christmassy as fuck in this room, even without a tree. Bro wanted a tree, insisted on one in fact, and almost got in all the way up the million stairs to your apartment. Then he got it in, couldn’t decide where to put it, and a few drinks and dumb ideas later you were both giggling madly on the roof as it met its end in a firework-fuelled blaze of glory. It was a noble end for a stupid thing, and now the melted plastic on the concrete high above your heads serves as a fond reminder of why Bro isn’t allowed to decorate the house.
He really should’ve learned his lesson last year. You still fondly remember coming out on Christmas morning to find a festive scene of puppet snuff, Kermit’s severed head atop a tree hung with the felty innards of a thousand smuppets.
That was your family card, this year. John’s Dad sent it back with a complaint, Mom apparently framed it, and Jade finally accepted that Bro is straight up insane after all the years you’d failed to convince her. All in all, you both consider it a massive success.
“So what’s the plan this year?” They both look to you as you speak, raising their eyebrows in that awful manner they both share that makes you feel like they’re undressing your psyche with their minds. “We gonna sit around watching old Christmas movies? Eat last week’s pizza? Build a snowman out of puppet stuffing?”
“All good suggestions, but no.” Bro clears his throat, pulling himself up importantly. “We are gonna do something so amazing, so incredible, it will make all other Christmas traditions look like bullshit. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, but most of all you better be ready to run like fuck from the cops because we are probably gonna get arrested if we don’t leg it hella fast.”
“I should say I have no part in this.” Rose holds up both hands, then chuckles, placing her chin on one as she regards you both. “But I am fascinated to see the results.”
Bro is grinning like a hyena.
Oh no.
“So, we fucked up the tree, right?”
Oh no.
“But I really want one.”
Oh hell no.
“There’s a fucking beautiful one I have my eye on, right? It’s all decorated already, looks something glorious, all in reds and golds and ain’t that just perfect? All we’re gonna do is go pick it up, bring it back, and voila! Tree.”
“Bro-” You start, but he isn’t done.
“Problem is said tree is currently in the middle of the yard of an asshole about an hour away. Same dude who spent four hours screaming at me about what a despicable shitstain on the underwear of humanity I am the other day. You remember him, Davey, right? Well he’s got a perfectly good tree inside, and then this gorgeous thing sitting unloved, out in the cold. I say we liberate it and give it a good home.”
“Bro we’re not stealing a Christmas tree.”
He looks at you, and it’s all big watery eyes over his shades and a trembling lip. It looks ridiculous on a man his age, and you both know it does. He never fails to try it, though. You rolls your eyes straight back, because you just know he’s gonna whine about this for months, but there’s no way in hell-
“Pay up.” Rose smiles, holding a hand out to him and making little grabby motions with her fingers. Bro sighs heavily and finds his wallet, leaving you watching in confusion.
“You… bet on this?”
“Yeah, because I was sure you’d come through for me.” He fishes out a fifty, going to pass it over. “And Rose bet you were too chicken to do it, and that there was no way in hell you’d say yes.”
“Hold the fuck up.” Too chicken? Too chicken? “Lalonde, is that what you fucking said?”
“I may have actually said I thought you were too conscious of your own wellbeing to take any risks and would rather sit at home safe and bored than bother trying anything exciting.” She looks straight at you, her smile widening as her eyes glitter. “And you proved me right. Fifty dollars richer and once again proven correct about your laughably readable personality. What a wonderful Christmas.”
Your buttons are pressed and you leap up, nearly spilling your apple chocolate. You save it, down it in one go (thank fuck it’s too cool to burn), and then slam the mug down, putting your hands to your hips in what’s meant to be a badass pose, but comes off more like you just transformed into a magical girl.
“Bro, get your coat.” You announce, defiantly. “We are going to go get your fucking tree.”
He fistpumps and Rose puts her hand to her chest, face morphing into overdramatic surprise. Your brother has launched over the futon and fished out his big, stupid puffy jacket, pulling off his antlers to settle a cap on his head before snapping them back on over top. He’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous! But Rose laid down what you’re pretty sure was a sick burn under all the psychobabble, and you aren’t about to let her beat you at knowing what you’re going to fucking do!
With an air of victory, you bump knuckles with your brother and stride over to get your own coat, pulling it on as you start to realise for all it’s really dumb, this little trip is probably going to end in lots of running, and laughing, and you and him working together just like you do best.
You don’t notice Rose smile behind your back as Bro passes her the fifty and mouths thanks, Lalonde.
