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left4deadstuck · 2 years

Text

> Be D Strider.

[Your name is Dave Strider, and right now you're currently rocking with several bruised ribs, scrapes and cuts for days, and possibly a concussion as a result of what could be the dumbest (although accidental) suicide mission known to a man.]

So background, you’ve been traveling with your sons for the last few weeks to seek permanent shelter from the outbreak. The plan is to head from Texas to California, meet up with loved ones, and sail your asses over to an island in hopes that you can wait out this mutant zombie murder hell party. It’s a great plan, of course, there are obvious variables that weren’t accounted for, but that’s because there are only so many fleshed-out details you and Harley could discuss with each other before you inevitably lost all contact.

Skip a few chapters, and you three find yourselves in a small city not that far from the interstate. Other than what is supposed to be this place's state park with an amazing pool a few miles away, there isn’t much you can say for the city itself. It’s pretty barren with mostly small houses and shops lining the streets. You can’t imagine what it must have been like in normal conditions, quiet maybe, but not as quiet as this. Despite the few groups of infected you three have walked past, this place is pretty much empty.

Which was good for you three because god, don’t you all need the rest. Was being the key word there.

See, you’re not too shocked to have crossed by some graffiti during your journey. If it wasn’t valid, it takes on CEDA’s shitty planning or random walls of bullshit you’d find anywhere in Twitter comment threads, it usually warns you not to enter. Thank you to the brave souls who decided to take a break from running for their lives to leave these out for other survivors, but from what you have seen there’s barely any infected here to have caused you any major trouble at that point, so foolishly, you think this may be God giving you a small break.

That was until a few hours in you three found yourselves in quite the predicament.

That predicament was being chased down by what could be best described as a 10-foot-tall chewed-up piece of Hubba Bubba on steroids. Now you wouldn’t say your way around battle tactics are either terrible or phenomenal, but yeah, maybe it wasn't the best idea to follow through with your son’s plan that involved several propane tanks, a good shot, and dream, but there’s only so many critiques in the finer details that you could allow yourself to make when you were actively avoiding being put 10 feet under by Hulk’s ugly cousin.

So in short, you lead Mr.BubbaGum to the Hank Hill-approved stockpile, and just nearly avoid getting exploded to bits as soon as Dirk took his shot.

It was a success, though, of course, a shoddy plan has its cons. One, everything was ringing and from how hard you had fallen out the way, you may be more bruised than a ripe banana. Not only that but you had no clue what was going on through the last bit of the escape other than the sound of a bunch of alerted infected in the distance and your useless ass being carried away to the closest shelter.

That leaves you here, on a couch, clutching your right side in pain as you blearily stare at the worn-out decorations of what used to be someone’s living room.

Now, this is where you would obviously criticize how bland this person's interior decorating skills are, but as said twice before, you are in pain. Best hold off channeling your inner Martha Stewert when your nerves aren’t making you acutely aware of how much your bones hurt when you take a full breath or the disorienting nausea from your aforementioned migraine/concussion.

Alright, touch and sight checked off your list of mental grounding exercises. What’s next? Glad you asked.

You hear rustling in the next room over, talking as well, but nothing you can really comprehend right now. You were about to brush it off as one of the boys keeping themselves busy fortifying until two things hit you at once;

The sound of a quiet wheezy cough and the faint smell of smoke.

Oh, son of a bitch.

In all honesty, you never took these RE rejects to be all that stealthy, usually, you can hear the hacking and coughing a mile away, but it seems like one has gotten in somehow. Isn’t this just swell? Life sure does know how to keep you on your toes like the prima ballerina you are.

With the appropriate amount of rationality and forethought that is expected from someone with a minor case of head trauma, you release your sword from its strife specibus, and heave yourself to your feet. It does absolutely nothing for your headache, but luckily at the cost of your kid self’s mental and physical health, you don’t make much noise as you lug yourself over to the doorway of the next room. Thanks Bro.

You peer into the room that you can semi-confidently identify as the kitchen. Right now with your vision, you’re not able to connect what you’re looking at all too well, but it looks like a black and gray mass rummaging through one of the upper cabinets. They look like they’re looking for something. Shit is this an infected or some random thief?

Shit now what do you do, you can’t flash step unless you wanna risk ramming yourself into a fucking wall, nor can you try to intimidate them right now, you can’t even tell if they’re armed or not. Fuck, you can’t ponder on this for too long.

You move on instinct, deciding to slam yourself against the side of the maybe, maybe not infected stealing your supplies. That seems to startle them, and with luck, you hear the sound of something hard knocking into the wood of the cabinet door. They’ve been put off balance and with a wheezy yelp, they fall hard against the tiled floor.

Now you hear shouting and fast footsteps from above. Ah, so the boys were upstairs. Well, they’re alerted now, welcome to the party. You look down at the figure in front of you, who seems to be trying to curse their way through a coughing fit, small blooms of gray-green smoke leaving their mouth. The smell isn’t helping with your headache and the smoke only makes them harder to identify, you grimace and steady your sword in front of you.

It doesn’t take long for you to hear Hal and Dirk behind you, readying their weapons toward the intruder on the floor. You see a figure attempt to move away before you hear a click behind you. “Don’t.” Dirk hisses out, making his way to your side.

“Fuck okay- I’m not going to move.” The sorry sap in front of you speaks. What the hell? This is a guy then, is he sick? Oh god, this isn’t going to be like one of those Walking Dead scenes, that’s so fucked up. “Holy shit for the love god please just shut. The. FUCK. UP .” the stranger in front of you grits out through clenched teeth. Wait, were you talking? Oh god dammit.

The guy raises his hands to press them against his face, clearly about to join you in the headaches for chumps club, but flinches to a halt as Dirk right beside you reaffirms his ‘don’t move’ rule by correcting his stance, moving closer into the stranger’s bubble. You’re pretty sure they look up at Dirk to scowl at him, but you can’t tell because of the smoke covering the majority of the dude's face.

“Seriously.” He snarls out but is met with complete silence as a reply.

Okay, okay. Well, not really okay, you are literally witnessing someone breaking into the place you were in, how did- “How did you even get in here?” You ask, leaning against the kitchen counter, doing your best to resist the urge to hold your injured side that is now flaring up with the most excruciating reminder that you are hurt. So far so good. “Probably the best question would be why did you even get in here…Actually no never mind that, let’s get back to how did you get in here.”

You hear a raspy groan in reply, and you could swear that you heard a quick ‘for the love of- shut the ffffuck up’, clearly the happiest person you've ever met so far. I mean look at the rays of sunshine blinding your view at the face. Right, no speaking request, given oh so kindly.

“I mean it’s a good starter to determine whether you’re an issue or not, very much avoiding your loo–”

“First of all, jackass, you guys get into MY house and make yourselves comfortable like it’s your shithole, and then you have the guts to do what exactly? Oh yeah, to play detectives, and do this whole bullshit good cop bad cop shtick on me, as if you have the moral high ground here. It’s almost hilarious how much audacity you all seem to have, my god!” The mystery guy scoffs, interrupting your sentence, nearly screeching at the end of his own before he almost starts sputtering on his own smoke again, this time covering his mouth and bending forwards, nearly lying down on the cold tiled floor.

This causes you to start thinking that, duh, this may not be the most pleasant feeling for him right now, and holy fuck this guy might be a few seconds away from the weirdest panic attack you’ve ever seen.

You stop the urge to ask if he wants a glass of water or something for his throat.

But you know what, you might do that, or at the very least show this guy some bit of empathy for his situation. This isn’t exactly the smartest idea to kneel near him, at least that’s what the stabbing feeling in your side says, but despite that, you level yourself with him. Thank you head trauma, you really do know how to approach this in the most calculated way possible. You might even get a medal for World’s Best De-Escalator. You hesitate a little bit before reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder and- yep, he almost immediately pulls himself back up and shoves your hand away with a growl that causes you to lean back and the twins to be more ready to attack this guy.

Everyone freezes. And you mean everyone. There are a couple of moments before the stranger breaks the pause.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fine. You seem to be doing alright, er… As alright as one can be doing in your situation.” You try to crack a smile, yet it doesn’t feel too genuine to the other who was now directly staring at you.

You aren’t exactly sure if the look he’s giving you is as death-wishing as the previous positive sentences thrown at you, but he sure is feeling like he’s trying to burn two holes through your skull.

Glancing towards the twins, you give them a small nod that yeah, everything right now? Under control. Totally. Hopefully.

They still seem about ready to send the sap in front of you into his early grave.

The guy speaks with a different tone now. Instead of looking at you with indignantly, he stares dumbfounded and wide-eyed, and you had to admit, you were not expecting that reaction at all.

“Strider?”

You feel a chill run down your spine as you slowly, very slowly, turn your head back at him. Fuck okay. “W…What did you just say?” You stutter, sitting yourself down in front of him. Out of impulse, you push your glasses up, just so you could see his face a little better, and for him yours. God, if only the smoke wasn’t so conveniently used as a smokescreen. Ha, ha, get it. Smoke-yeah that’s awful.

“I said, Strider. In case you didn’t hear that for the first time, dipshit.” Your face sours, not at the insult, but the idea that this guy knows you. You shouldn’t be surprised, your films aren’t exactly underground, but it doesn’t help the uncomfortable pit in your stomach.

You’re hoping you didn’t just put yourself in the classic scenario of:‘I just accidentally committed a home invasion as well as several counts of assault and battery on what might be a fan’. You hope to God that’s not the case.

During your little internal moral dilemma with yourself, the remaining remnants of bewilderment in the other guy's tone have long since worn off. The smoke diminishes a little bit as he uses his hand to cover his mouth, preventing more of it from leaving. As it clears you’re able to see his face a little bit more, and with that, it’s now your turn to look shocked, because…holy shit. You recognize that crabby death glare in an instant. A surprised laugh dies on your lips before you can even vocalize it, another sharp flare stings your side but at the moment you can’t find it within yourself to care because holy shit.

“Well, I’d be damned.”

Welcome Back Dear Audience.

#SUPRISE :D #Also insert D not doing smart things cause his brain is kinda scrambled but hey thats okay!!#kinda #do i tag this as davekat really? hmm #homestuck #l4dstuck au #dave strider #lil hal #dirk strider #karkat vantas #I TOLD YALL I WOULD FUCK UP HIS RIBS >:D #and the commitment mm had when writing that #like holy fuck ppl i am not kidding when i say that he was STRICT -gm #log 3 start

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