Chapter Text
“There must be a way!”
You blink in surprise as Dirk throws a warped metal contraption across the cluttered work room. It clangs against the wall and rolls under his work bench, probably settling in for the long haul of dust-gathering and rusting.
“Dirk, take a break.”
His eyes flick up to meet yours and you feel something twist unpleasantly in your gut. He’s exhausted, and you know his obsession with this latest project is keeping him up longer than usual. By your calculations, he should have crashed hours ago. Even with insomnia, Dirk always wore down after 72 or so hours.
“Hal, if you’re not going to be useful then go somewhere else,” he grits out, teeth clenched as he drags his hand through his limp, unwashed hair.
“You’re running yourself into the ground. By my calculations, most humans can’t go over 72 hours without sleep before they start experiencing hallucinations—”
“I’m fine!”
You pause at his raised voice, the thin silicone skin around your lips pulling down in distaste. It had taken you awhile to master such a subtle facial expression, but you’ve gotten a lot of opportunities to practice lately.
“I’m fine,” Dirk repeats, looking around for something. “I need…I need my sketch pad. There has got to be a way somehow. The sendificator can send anything to any point in time, but it’s too small.”
“So you’re going to make it bigger?” You keep your voice bland as you watch him get up and pace, his eyes darting around as he thinks aloud.
“Bigger, yes, maybe alter some of the coding. I need to catch another fish, see if it’ll send live animals.”
“You need to stop sending your friends dead animals. It’s not cute when you’re not a cat.”
“—then move onto something bigger,” Dirk mumbles, glancing out the window towards the vast expanse of ocean. It was hard to gauge the time by sight, but your internal clock tells you it was 7:14 in the morning.
Dirk’s agitated muttering tapers off as he looks around his room in confusion, body swaying ever-so-slightly.
You decide to make a judgement call.
That judgement call happens to be in the form of a well-placed smack on the back of his head.
You watch your creator crumble to the floor and you feel your lips pulling down in distaste again. He should have blocked, or at least ducked.
You leave Dirk lying on the floor and go to occupy your time elsewhere. He’ll wake in twelve or so hours and you’ll never hear the end of it.
With this rare moment to yourself you decide to look over the work Dirk has been doing. His scribbles would normally be incomprehensible to anyone but him, but you were him too. You knew what the scratchy lines meant, and the frantic numbers and calculations forced into every available white space told you what you already knew.
It was impossible.
You set down the papers and walk over to the sendificator, picking it up and turning it over in your hands. You had been able to send Brobot over to Jake piece at a time, and the head had barely fit in the end. You briefly contemplate sending some sort of code on a USB drive that would allow Dirk to be inside Brobot, like some sort of virtual reality gig, but you discard the notion quickly. Jake English hates Brobot, and Dirk wouldn’t be satisfied unless he was really there. Plus there was the whole fiasco awhile back…
Your mouth tightens at the edges and you set it down a little rougher than necessary. You don’t understand Dirk’s sudden frenzy. He’s lived alone for years, and suddenly something inside him snapped and he started looking for any way he could to get to his friends. He even made you a body in a fit of lonely desperation.
You cast a sour look at your unconscious creator. Something about passing the age of sixteen did something weird to him.
---
When Dirk finally does wake up its well into the next day. The sun was beginning to set and you are on the roof, legs dangling over the side as you watch it. You try to watch it as often as you could, witness the spread of color sink below the horizon as the warmth of the sun retreats, leaving you cold. You capture these moments in your mind, storing them in your impossibly huge memory bank. You fill every space you can in your mind with color and sound, remembering how horrible it had been when you first woke up. Now sensory overload is what you live for, what makes your circuits thrum with excitement. You almost don’t hear Dirk approaching, but of course you do. You hearing is ten times better than your fleshbag roommate, and you can hear the swing of his sword through the air before you decide to move.
It bites into the ground where you’d been sitting, and you give Dirk a dry glance. “That was bad even for you.”
Dirk gives you an ugly look, his hair disarrayed from sleeping. “I have the worst headache, you ass.”
“There is a 99.46% chance it might have something to do with you squinting over little bits of paper for two and half days.”
Dirk’s lips thin and he shifts his stance, pulling his sword up and readying it.
You don’t humor him this time. There’s something about the way he’s holding himself that you don’t like. He slept enough, theoretically, but there’s something off about him. He isn’t looking at you directly.
“Dirk, go back inside.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” He lunges at you and you step aside, smacking his arm away with a disdainful snort.
“You sound like a child.”
Dirk wheels around and goes after you with a series of short jabs. You avoid them easily, backing up and watching him as he moves after you with a vengeance. Dirk finally stops when he realizes you’re just ignoring him, sweat beading on his forehead as he glares at you.
You watch him, expressionless as he sneers and turns back around to go inside. You’re overcome with the desire to knock him out again, but remain still as he vanishes back down the covered stairwell.
You wait until the urge passes, and then some more for good measure, before you finally head back down.
Dirk is back to work when you enter the apartment, and you watch him scribble and swear for a moment before you go into the kitchen. He’s been neglecting food again, and probably needs to go fishing soon.
You spend your time lurking outside Dirk’s room, knowing it’s driving him insane. You don’t have much else to do on this hunk of metal, and you find it claustrophobic.
Dirk’s shoulders continue to grow tighter the longer you linger, and you can tell he’s getting near the end of his rope. This usually would be pretty fun for you, since he’d finally be forced to talk to you and you’d have someone other than yourself to interact with. The only thing that’s bugging you was how quickly its happening.
Dirk’s patience is legendary, and even you hold a grudging respect towards the time and dedication he puts towards everything, even getting pissed off. A feat that normally would have been simmering delightfully for a minimum of four hours had un-expectantly reached boiling point in thirty minutes.
Something is wrong.
Your mind quickly runs through all the possibilities, accounting for short temper due to lack of food or being smacked on the head previously. Frustration towards his project is the easiest guess, but he’d been frustrated before.
“Will you stop staring,” Dirk snaps, drawing you out of your thoughts.
“You’re overworking yourself,” you say idly. “This endeavor is futile.”
Dirk’s glare could melt steel beams and you refrain from commenting as you keep your expression as passive as possible.
“Get out of my room.”
“Or what? You haven’t been eating so a stiff wind could probably knock you over. Whereas I am a fully functional death machine capable of out maneuvering you before you can even begin to pull the necessary strings to pilot your flesh vessel.” You cross your arms, a very human gesture, and regard him coldly.
“I said, get out.”
“No, you said ‘get out of my room’, which is slightly different—” You’re cut short as a notebook is flung at your head. You catch it and scowl, the plastic cover complaining as you tighten your hold on it.
Dirk has gone back to ignoring you and this time you let him.
You step out of his room and pull up a familiar phone number in your mind. You head to the roof, not wanting another confrontation with Dirk at the moment.
It had been tricky to set up a wireless connection with Roxy without tipping off the Batterwitch, but your superior intellect combined with countless weeks tinkering away in the night had finally granted you a special network.
You access it now, sending out a call to Roxy Lalonde.
“Is this my fav robo-friend?” A voice suddenly exclaims, and you swear you would be smiling now if you weren’t so peeved.
“The one and only.” You sit down on the edge of the roof and let your feet dangle. The ocean washes up against the rusty support beams, creating soft swooshing noise that has become a comfort to you.
“I’m gettin’ a secret call from our secret bizz-nasty setup, means something’s up, huh? Spill, bb.”
“There’s no fooling you,” you say with what you hope passes for amusement. You’ve spent too much time practicing cynical and snarky that the more positive tones of voice still allude you. “Have you spoken to Dirk lately?”
“Mm, not super lately. But Janey messaged me last night and asked somethin’ similar. Apparently mister strider is being allusive or some shit. Is he going through another one of those moods?”
“Could be.” You contemplate it for a second, comparing behavioral patterns and voice clippings from Dirk’s old mood swings to whatever it was now. “No, I don’t think so. He’s obsessive, borderline neurotic, and not in the usual way. Shit is uncool, Roxy.”
“Well god damn we can’t be havin’ that! Want me to kick some sense into him? I got mad skills when it comes to mah boys.”
You know you’re included in that little group and it makes you oddly pleased. “No, I don’t think an ass-kicking will work. I’ve already tried. This seems different, Roxy. Unhealthy.”
“Is it a Jake thing?”
Your lips twist down into a scowl. “It better not be.”
“Aw bb calm your synthetic tits. Jakey isn’t that bad and you know it! He’s gotten better over the years, not so oblivious and shit. Still a dork though, ain’t no helping that.”
You snort, a new thing you’ve been practicing, and then smirk when you hear Roxy giggle. It’s a recording you found online overlaid with Dirk’s voice, bringing it close to how you sound. You almost went with a horse-snort, but you feel like that joke has been beaten to death at this point. “Anyway, any ideas? I’ve tried the usual.”
“Ooo well knocking peeps out isn’t always the best thing. Try helpin’ him with his new bad scientist project. Oh, and Hal honey?”
“Yeah?”
“If you send me one more dead fish I’m gonna smack the both of you upside the head.”
“Got it.”
“Okay I gotta go, cats are getting hungry! Muttie had a new litter and I’ve got my arms full of mini-mutties that are totes adorbs.”
“Alright. Bye, Roxy.” You sever the connection and think over what she said. You left out the bit about what it was Dirk was working on exactly because you really didn’t want Roxy knowing about it. She might get her hopes up or worse, get upset about it. Better to leave Strider business within the Strider family.
You get up and head back downstairs, deciding to try Roxy’s plan. Helping wasn’t something that came naturally to you, but you could probably bully Dirk down the right path. In a helpful way.
Dirk is exactly where you left him, still scribbling away. He’s got bits and pieces of disassembled machinery around him, some parts arranged in a haphazardness manner like he started to make something only to abandon it halfway through.
“Dirk.”
He stiffens, no doubt ready for another verbal strife with you.
Instead you shuffle around the shit he has all around his floor and settle into an empty chair next to him. “What’s the plan?”
He gives you an unamused look and then goes back to scribbling.
You take this rare opportunity of silent closeness to really study him. He’s changed over the past few years, growing at an almost aggressive rate. His shoulders have broadened, he’s filled out, and now he’s slowly creeping up past your own height. He’s almost eighteen, by your calculations, but he looks more worn out than any eighteen year old should.
The barely-there freckles over his nose and cheeks have darkened from sun exposure, and his hair is getting longer.
Drawing your eyes away from him you peer at his papers, running over his work in your head.
You quickly come to the conclusion it’s all bullshit.
Dirk, meanwhile, has been getting progressively twitchier now that you’re here. You’re not sure if it’s prior muscle memory that has him acting like this, expecting some sort of attack maybe, or if he’s just sleep deprived. He keeps glancing at you, shifting his body like he can’t decide whether to lean closer or get father away.
It’s annoying.
You frown and tap the paper with your index finger. “It won’t work.”
Dirk slaps your hand away.
You tried.
Unfortunately the thought of disappointing Roxy with your bare bones attempt drives you to try again.
“Dude, what is it that you’re trying to achieve here?”
“I told you,” Dirk grumbles, not meeting your eye. “I want to be able to transport things to and from places. Living things.”
“Like yourself.”
Dirk looks like you just slapped him. He slowly raises his head and stares at you, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
The air is thick and for once you think you understand how silence could be deafening.
“Yes,” Dirk says finally, his voice low. “Like myself.”
“To see Jake,” you press.
Dirk doesn’t reply.
“And Roxy and Jane,” you add on, hoping for a little more information.
Dirk shrugs, turning back to his work. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand what,” you deadpan, already done with his funky mood. “The desire to be around anybody other than you? Oh yeah, sure, totally don’t understand that.”
You move closer again, trying to see what additions he is adding.
Dirk flinches back, and you withdraw automatically, surprised. Since when has your presence been so repulsive to him to warrant that kind of reaction?
Sure enough, Dirk is sinking back into pissed-off mode. This is fine, you can deal with this.
“Will you just leave? I have shit to do and you’re being useless.”
There’s color in his cheeks, his voice is curt and snappish. He’s gripping his pencil so tightly you think it might snap. What the hell was going on with him?
You leave, because you honestly don’t know what else to do.