// WIP
Current mood:  blank

CW: BRO STRIDER, HOMESTUCK

[ -- drifting under the tide - draft 1 -- ]

--> bro: find the polaroids

During moments of clarity like this one; where that fuzzy feeling in your head eases and you can think, you find the box you put important things into. It’s filled with polaroids and old videos, along with some other sentimental junk. The box is hidden away where you won’t find it when your head is all cotton-y again, you learnt that you needed to hide the hard way. Everything there from before Dave was five has been torn apart then meticulously pieced back together and stored at the bottom of a worn out cardboard box that should just be a dead giveaway as to its contents. 

Perhaps it would have been easier had you just chosen to keep them  digital, but then it could be jeopardized if you ever encountered a tech problem (though unlikely, it has happened before). You just can’t risk something like that happening. These photos, while sometimes really dumb are as close as you have to a legitimate memory of your time with Dave. Everything is normally blurry, you just run on autopilot more than anything because you can’t focus. Sometimes you’ve been jarred into awareness by the sound of clashing metal or soft cries that something inside told you was Dave but you know that’s  impossible, if somebody was daring to hurt your li’l man you’d wreck their sh*t.

Memories are few and far between for you more often than not. It feels more like watching snapshots of this kid’s life than being his guardian. More akin to a bystander watching a movie than someone actively participating in this life. There’s few things you can say you really remember, even fewer that you remember from a true “first person” perspective. Everything just felt like you were perceiving it from somebody else’s eyes and not your own, more like watching a elaborate film. Even when you had just found Dave, you had made the habit of taking photos and videos of him, tangible evidence that you raised him. Harley and Lalonde used to ask you about him constantly when they knew you found him so you occasionally sent them over to the duo to ensure you were, infact, raising him.

Those photos and videos were basically all you had, and even then you still were often left to wonder why your kid seemed so… afraid of you. He was always such an energy, a force to be reckoned with when he was a kid; but in recent years he’s grown quiet, distant, despite your  best efforts to at least try and get him to engage with you like you know he used to before something happened. Something you just wish you could possibly remember past the haze, if only to be able to chase  it away and assure him that everything will be okay again. Whatever happened it seems like it really f***ed with him, and that really… hurts. Honest to whatever merciless God or Deity there is out there, you want to have a “polite” and absolutely not katana-filled conversation with them. Nobody gets to hurt your baby bro.

Time. It never worked in your favor, did it? Memories often flitted to and fro in your mind but you could never catch them. It was like trying to catch a grasshopper in an endless field of grass and dead flowers in the middle of summer. No matter how hard you tried to pin it down, to catch it in your hands, it would always slip between your fingers and hop away. You couldn’t remember a lot of things, no matter how much you wish you could. Everything gets lost in the haze you can only wish you knew the origin of. Maybe you could explain it away as a byproduct of your history, of how you were raised; but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Blaming the people who raised you would be a pitiful way to put it and you know that.

Dave was the only constant you’ve had for so many years and it took you so long to adjust to his constant presence, especially with how you were always drifting for the many years prior to it. He came into your life as a helpless child that you knew you had to raise, to protect. But then it gets hazy, everything starts to blend together but at the same time they remain separate. Lots of memories all appear the same until you can try to dig, rip apart the fabric that feels like it’s holding you inside your mind. The memory loss and feelings like you’re missing an integral part of your soul, of you was left behind, scattered to the wind like the ashes of some unfortunate relative you can’t remember.

// this is either part 1, or the prologue to another fic im making. this is the explaination for a box that Dave finds. I'd appreciate critique/opinions on this! //