Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You gaze at the steps of the podium that the band set up in the middle of your high school’s football field. Dave walks across the makeshift stage and gives you one of his small, rare, smiles. Even as you return the gesture all you’re thinking is: This is it.

Your jobs for the night were done. You had made your speech, as weak as it was, and Dave, after some coercion on your part, had used the amazing voice he had been gifted with to sing a haunting senior dedication song. Your diploma had been handed to you while you grinned for your dad, who was, of course, sitting right in the first row with a camera to document the occasion. The pride practically radiating off of him as he beamed up at you.

Raven black hair is blown into your eyes as the wind picks up and block your view of the blond long enough for him to be walking back to his seat when your look back. Your eyes are aching, making you wish that you had worn your glasses, no matter how clunky, instead of the annoying contacts you were currently sporting. Not that any of this was going to dampen your mood. Excitement was practically tangible in the air as seniors waited for their release to become official.

In case it hasn’t been made obvious, you name is John Egbert, and this is you high school graduation.

It amazes you now to think back on the different choices and spontaneous events that led you to this moment in time. All of the little victories and inner battles that have made you who you are. A small knot in your stomach forms to remind you that the night isn’t over yet.

Somehow your treacherous eyes return to where your “best bro” is once again seated with the other students and the dread begins to build. You have recently, well you say recently, realized that you may have developed some, minuscule (seriously, no one except Rose has even noticed… and she doesn’t count), romantic feelings for the self-proclaimed cool kid. A fact that you have refused to acknowledge… until now.

You had always put off facing your feelings until later. Unfortunately, Rose confronted you about it a month ago, and pointed out to you that pretty soon later would become too late. In the same conversation, she also made you promise to tell Dave before he and you move on to your respective “next steps” for your lives.

Thunderous applause pulled you out of your reverie and dumps you back into the present. Dave is giving you a bemused look and you belatedly realize that you had been staring at him throughout your little reflection. You turn back to the podium to try and catch up to current events, but you can feel the heat spreading up your neck and ears.

The Vice President has just finished the closing speech and, after a short moment of silence, the alma mater will start according to the schedule. Then you will have only a few short moments to collect yourself before setting out on a quest to hug as many of your friends as possible for what may end up being the last time you see them.

It was all slow and awkward during the practice, but for some reason all of the tiresome formalities of the ceremony went by in a flash and you were set free to get on with the mushy bits. People crushed in on you from every angle, mostly friends and family of the awkward and sweaty teens who had just gone through the event, however, you did see a few faces that you recognized on your search for the white fedora that you had come to equate with the imposing image of your father.

The quest to find your parental unit took an unnecessarily long time, but also gave you the opportunity to hug a few passing friends as they searched for theirs and to have a short conversation with Karkat about possibly meeting up later at his house later, along with Dave- as per usual- and to mention it if you saw him. Being the idiot that you are, you, of course, agreed and prepared for the awkward night ahead of you.

Not that Karkat would know. After all, you all had hung out like that for years and it had become normal practice to sleep over at short boy’s house. Mostly because his house had the best entertainment set up of the group, but there was always an easy sense around the giant house that made you feel like you were welcome.

Even more guilt built up in your torso at the thought of the thought your well-meaning friend getting caught in the middle of your romantic confusion… Maybe you could put off your confession until after the sleep over. Yeah, that could work. After all, Dave being Dave, you’re pretty much guaranteed to see him over the summer.

The knot was just starting to untie in your stomach when a short blond girl appeared next to you and placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. One look at Rose’s determined face and you knew that there was no getting out of your embarrassment.

Your shoulders slumped under her grasp and you let out a small sigh. “Don’t give me that look,” you tried to joke, but turn your tone serious at the rise of of her thin eyebrows “I haven’t seen him yet.” You concede.

Her lips purse momentarily before she replies. “And you will tell him when you do?” it really wasn’t as much of a question as she was making it seem, and you knew it.

“Yeah.” You answered after a pause and with her hovering, there was no doubt that you would. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Jade, bless her, bounded over before she could and wrapped both of you in one of her bone crushing hugs.

“Hi guys!” She said brightly. And you smiled at her energy. It really was contagious. You muttered a generic greeting and some excuse about finding your dad before walking away from the two girls. Jade gesticulating wildly and Rose just smiling in response.

The next person to waylay your mission was a very excited Nepeta and her constant sober companion Equius. The little cat girl got the got a hug and Equius a tentative pat on the back. You had hugged him once. There was no way your back would let you make that mistake again. Next came Vriska, then Sollux, and a parade of other friends and acquaintances, some of which you couldn’t have spoken to more than twice, but whatever.

Dad finally found you just when you were about to give up on finding anyone else of interest, snapping pictures as he went. “Hey Dad.” You greeted him with a grin as he scooped you into a manly father son hug.

“You know how proud I am of you.” He said after letting go. You smiled up at him. Of course you knew; in fact it was pretty hard to forget sometimes. Instead of voicing this, you simply nod, because it’s nice to be reminded.

“Can you believe it?” You ask excitedly, “For a while it felt like this day would never get here. “

He just pats your back understandingly, “It’s amazing.” He replied softly, then that gleam that forewarns an overused joke entered his eyes. “So are you going to be re-homing yourself again tonight?”

Understandably, you let out a little huff with an accompanying eye roll - you don’t go to your friends houses that often. “Yeah, Karkat mentioned getting together with Dave at his house later. I figured you wouldn’t mind since we had the cake last night.” You shudder at the memory. The sugar had been close to unbearable levels of sweetness both literal and emotional.

He just chuckles at your show of revulsion. “Your fine, just keep me updated, as usual.” You affirm that you will and he hugs you again before turning to go. “Since you can drive yourself now,” (jeez Dad, I didn’t take that long!) “I’ll just be heading back, past my bed time you know.” Another eye roll was inevitable, but you wave goodbye all the same.

You turn your back to the receding figure of your father, only to find Dave has spotted you and is making his way to where you stand, petrified. This is it. Where you either make or break your relationship with Dave.

He’s got that endearing smirk on his face that means he’s practically bursting on the inside, not that he’d ever let his cool kid façade drop long enough to let it out.

You take a deep breath and force your face into a grin. “Hey Dave!” you call when he’s close enough to hear you.

“Sup.” He smirks down at you. Geez, why did he have to get so tall? Oh well. “Your lookin’ a little sick there, bro.”

You let out a slightly shaky laugh “Nah, I’m all right.” The words seem to choke you on the way out, “I guess all the nerves are catching up to me.”

On eyebrow rises above the confines of his “ironic” eyewear. “Is that so?” he questions smugly, “I suppose you’re gonna use the same excuse for that little space cadet episode you had up there, too?”

“Nah.” You reply in the same strained tone. “I was actually thinking. I have something to ask- actually no- tell you.”

He looks a little uncomfortable now, and, honestly, you can’t blame him. “Okaaay.” And the quizzical eyebrow has returned, “Shoot.”

Suddenly, the hem of your sleeve has become terribly interesting, but you force yourself to look up at him. Not missing the pointed look Rose has been sending you in your peripheral vision. You take a deep breath and look him in the eyes- or where you think his eyes are- and brace yourself.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you know you’re about to die. Honestly, you had never put much stock in that, but you're experiencing what you feel must be a similar situation. Your life since moving to Texas runs through your mind on that football field standing in the face of imminent heart break from your “best bro”. All to answer one question you hadn’t thought to ask yourself until now.

How on earth did I get here?

Chapter Text

The first thing that registers in your brain that morning is the annoying beeping of your blue’s clues alarm clock. You really should replace that thing, but it had seen so little use while you were homeschooled that you’d just never really gotten around to it. Of course, you’ll need one now.

“Up an’ at ‘em, champ.” Your dad calls to you from the doorway to the little grey apartment room you had claimed for the last eight months. Apparently your muffled groan wasn’t enough to assure him of your consciousness, because a searing pain forms behind your eyes with the sudden rush of light from the lamp beside your bed.

“Ugh.” The digital display on your childish alarm read 5:30… Too early Dad, way too early, “Can’t you let me sleep for five more minutes?!” The hulking figure that had returned your door didn’t answer immediately, so you raise your head to look at him blearily. From what you could discern in your half asleep state, he was thinking it over. Geez. “I was joking.” You tell him, while disentangling yourself from the sleeping bag that your father had let you keep out of the boxes that now crowded your room.

You slip past him and make your way to the kitchen, “Is there any food that survived the purge?” You call over your shoulder.

“No,” He answers in that tone that suggests that he has something up his sleeve. “I figured that we could get some McDonalds on the way.” His look turns thoughtful, “We’ll have to leave by 6:30 if you want to make it in time though.”

With an exaggerated eye roll you turn to grin at him, “Well I don’t actually want to get to school on time, but I probably should.” You tell him, “And yeah, I can be ready by then.”

“Good.” He smiles down at you, “Be sure that you have everything packed away so that the movers can get to it while you’re at school. I want to be able to start unpacking when you get home.” You reply with some generic affirmative before turning back towards your bathroom and the toiletries you still need to pack.

 On the way you try to take in as much of the bottom level, two bedroom apartment as possible. The default greyish-brown walls were left as they were, after all, you were supposed to have gotten out of there months ago. The furniture was all full of boxes, of both the opened and ready for transport variety. Open blinds let in the beams from street lights outside, shedding orangey light over the rooms and giving them an even sicklier coloring than the winter light of months past had forced upon them. Thank goodness you were leaving this cave.

Even with your sluggish movements, unaccustomed as you are to a schedule, you manage to get ready with twenty minutes to spare. About fifteen of which you spent reading your latest novel. After all, you had finished packing last night and filled your old book bag some time earlier that week. While the break was nice, you eventually got so impatient that you practically dragged your father into this unfortunately muggy Texan morning in March.

You stand, tapping your foot, in front of the truck. “Hold your horses, sport.” Your dad comes up behind you to unlock the truck doors with that annoying black remote; you make a run for it, but he blares the horn in your ears anyways. The early hour was clearly effecting your judgment. He’s been damaging your eardrums in that way since he first bought the vehicle in Washington. Dad chuckles at your dark mutterings once you actually make it inside the car. One day, you swear, he will regret these pranks. You will be the pranking master.

“Tomorrow, I refuse to get up so early… that was waaay too much free time.” You inform him imperiously when you are safely out of the apartment complex for the last time.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” He replies jovially, “Considering the house is only twenty minutes from your school, as opposed to fifty.”

“Still too far for every day.” You grumble. This subject had been debated heatedly between the two of you for a while. Unfortunately, when your Dad’s dream house just happens to be the sixth house you’ve offered on, and the only one to accept, dramatic thirteen year olds tend to lose delegation rights. Not that you could really blame him for wanting to get out of there; both of you were starting to get a little stir crazy.

A swirl of landscape and architecture raced around you as you stared out the window, lost in thought and letting the too-loud music eliminate whatever awkwardness would have otherwise inhabited a silent cab. It was nice… Well, at least to you. Your father, on the other hand, had apparenty decided that he couldn’t stand the “tension” and started in on the pre-public school questioning/encouragement.

“You excited about today, bud?” He asks in his I-am-trying-to-be-an-awesome-dad-and-communicate-with-your-mildly-bipolar-but-not-really-teen-mind tone. “First day back with the normal population.”

You turn in your seat to stare at him, nope, no disconcerting grin. “Er, not really.” You answer truthfully, schools were just too crowded in your opinion. Not that your recent fatigued moodiness was any help for the whole situation.  It was odd for Dad to talk like that though, he of all people should know that you had no lack of social interaction with the “normal population”, wanted and otherwise, throughout your homeschooling experience… Even if he had had to force you through the door sometimes. “I’m going to reserve all negativity until after I’ve spent a full day there though.” You continue in a seemingly light hearted tone.

“Ahh, probably for the best.” He responds before launching into a story/lecture about one of the time his mother uprooted his family and how you shouldn’t give up and whatnot. This lasts throughout your breakfast at McDonald’s and all the way to your school. In some ways, it’s a relief to have a parent whose chatter can fill up the space so easily, on the other hand, it would probably be nice to talk about something you were interested in… if only he wasn’t so convinced that all pop culture was Satan’s way of corrupting young minds. Oh well, can’t have everything, you guess.

Upon arrival, he walks you into the slightly run down looking middle school and talks to the secretary in the front office, giving you a chance to soak everything in. If you’re lucky, Dad will forget about you and the movers in favor of getting into one of his infamously long conversations about nothing.

You’re not lucky, of course, and your dad turns to you only moments after the eight o’clock bell to kiss you on the forehead (which you wipe off when he’s out of view) and reminds you how “proud he is” that you are taking this all so well and that you’re going to do great.

With one last hug, he’s gone and you’re left standing, rather awkwardly, in the presence of the young woman. “I’m John.” You tell her, extending your hand over the desk in a gentlemanly fashion. “Nice to meet you.”

She smiles a bit, and replies in the same formal tone. “I’m Jane, and it’s nice to meet you to.” Some alarm chimes next to her and she pulls away from you, only to return moments later with your schedule. “Since the counselors are all occupied, I’ll be the one showing you to your classroom.” She informs you.

You must have uttered something appropriate, because Jane gets up to show you the way. Knots forming in your stomach keep you from fully comprehending everything she tells you - something about lockers and hallways – and, despite the assurances you’ve been telling your father for months, you really are very nervous.

Like every teen your age, you are at least partially driven to impress your peers. Of course, being an acne ridden dork with glasses and braces has forced you to rise above the superficial competition for the most part, but that doesn’t make this experience any less nerve wracking. It takes one very deep breath and an inner debate reminding yourself that you’ll only have to deal with these people for a little over four years before you’re ready to enter the first classroom. Language Arts…. Great.

Apparently you’ve missed homeroom announcements – luckily, it’s in the same room, so no new routine tomorrow – but you have the whole class period before you. The teacher, a pointy faced Ms. Generic-American-something-or-Other (with only eight weeks left in school, you couldn’t be bothered to learn names) henceforth to be known as the weasel in this narrative, didn’t force you to have one of those awkward introductions, instead opting to comment in an even tone “Mr. Egbert, you may sit in the open seat in the front.” Before pulling up her lesson plan on the overhead projector. Apparently you’ve transferred right smack dab in the middle of a career planning project. Awesome.

The weasel left the class to finish up some writing project from before spring break, which they had just come back from, claiming that you wouldn’t have to worry about it, because they were technically turning it in for a late grade. Then shifted off to do something behind a desk that was, frankly, too big for her.

Next to you a green eyed girl wearing a large green coat and a hat with cat ears (was that even allowed?) turned to stare at you disconcertingly. “Err, can I help you?” You ask politely.

“Nope,” She answers in a lilting tone, “I’m just wondering how you’ll fit on my wall.”

Wall? What was she talking about? “Err, ok.” You reply slowly. “Umm, I’m John.” You stick your hand out for another hand shake and the usual “nice to meet” you spiel.

“Ooh, what a puuuurfect gentleman.” She giggles taking your hand, “I’m Nepeta.”

You smile again before letting go of her hand. “So I take it that you’re a cat person?”

“You could say that.” She giggles again. “So what’s with the late school year entry?” she asks curiously.

“Well, I was homeschooled.” You inform her, “But thanks to my dad’s job, and personal laziness, he decided that public school would be a better set up.”

“Wait,” she squeals rather obnoxiously, “you were homeschooled?” again with the giggling.

“Er, yeah.” You reply somewhat uncomfortably, “Why?”

“Well, you just seem sooo normal.” She tells you chipperly, at your continued look of confusion she elaborates, “I mean, homeschooled kids are supposed to be all reclusive and churchy!”

You groan inwardly. Were there stereotypes for everything? “Not really.” You reply, “Quite honestly, most of my days back in Washington were full of social events… and yes, some are like that, but not most.” You tell her in as calm an inflection as you can manage.

“But I at least expect something out there!” She insists, “When I look at you all I see is normal! Dark hair, glasses, braces, you must be, like, the most average person in the world!”

Seriously? “You don’t really know me yet, though.” You tell her in a somehow still even tone, even a lazy smile toad effect. “I doubt you’d be saying that if you did.”

“We’ll see.” She returns jovially, before turning the conversation in a more inane direction. As it turns out, she’s also in your social studies, and art classes as well. And her sweaty friend Equius, who you ended up sitting with at lunch is also shares your science and history teachers. Later in the day, you met a girl named Vriska in your Math class, you can tell she’s smart ad fun, but she also has a temper and tends to cheat where she can (apparently that works when you’re as lucky as her).

It was five minutes ‘til the last bell and you were standing in the hallway right after getting asked out by a desperate, but seemingly ok, guy named Eridan (“I’m not a homosexual, but your interest is flattering.”) in your forced elective, Home Ec., when you see him.

Walking down the center of the hall, a trio that your inexperienced mind would classify as scene… or maybe they were hipster? ... waltz along as if they own the place. The two dark haired kids in front, a short dark haired boy with grey eyes and a slightly scary looking girl with pointy red glasses, appear to be having some sort of lovers quarrel. The boy behind them though, that’s who really caught your attention.

He was about your height, maybe a hair taller, but definitely thinner. His hair was pale blond, his face an unreadable mask behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. You’re not sure what it was about them, but the group, and the boy in particular, seemed to beg for your attention.

“Who’re they?” You ask Eridan, who is still standing next to you.

“Them?” he asks incredulously then sighs before answering, “Karkat’s the shorty wwith a loudmouth, and Terezi’s the blind chick.”

“And sunglasses dude?” you ask trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hmm,” he’s staring at some chick dressed in pink and guy with 3D glasses (seriously, what is the dress code at this school?). You have to nudge him to get his attention “That’s Davve Strider.” He turns to look at you again. “Wwhy are you interested, Mr. Not-a-Homosexual?”

You blush at that, “I’m not, geez. Can’t the new guy be a little curios?” Luckily his attention has returned to the pink girl and her companion so you avoid an even more awkward situation.

When the bell finally rings, you rush to the car rider line and wait for your dad to drive up and take you to your new home. Then you forget about Dave Strider… For a while.