Blues - Chapter Two

You can feel your mind trying to implode as you listen to bullet after bullet on the white board on you be read aloud by the most unhappy sounding manager you’ve ever met, and you know that, somewhere in the city around you, some English jackass is calling your disposition ‘bully.’ Sometimes you think life throws you curveballs like these to make you feel like the loser you actually are more than the cool kid you appear to be.

“So as you can see, to keep the store and company going strong, we need 110% from everyone,” John drawls on without any fake enthusiasm. You felt bad for the guy; he looked to be at most twenty, and here he was, talking to you about renewing Best Buy’s profits. You feel like that insufferable prick Karkat might have a point about shush-papping people, whatever that means. Your operations manager eyes you for a moment, and you’re thankful that Bro was willing to bullshit a doctor’s note indicating you needed to wear your shades indoors, thus allowing you to not be seen when you space out on boring nonsense like this. “Dave, with all that we’ve gone through, how do you think you’ll help the store and the company?”

This fool has no idea what he’s asking you. You’re Dave fucking Strider, the one and only badass to have championed a sweet internet comic that actually produced enough money to live on and a successful DJ career that just padded your wallet with dough. You know how a business works, and you know that you could be a vital asset to this company.

But fuck that shit, you’re not here to revolutionise anything.

“I think that my main attribute would be my ability to adapt to change,” that was kind of a lie, but what does mister sold-his-soul-to-a-company need to know that for? “It’s important that a business like this stays profitable, yeah? My sick raps always adapt to whatever curveball my opposition throws at me without fail.” That was a total lie, your only opponent was Bro and he was a lyricist of the highest calibre when it came to rap. Thankfully there aren’t many calibres of casual rap battles, so you’re pretty close to his level.

John gives you a perplexed look at the mention of ‘sick raps,’ though doesn’t ask about it. Instead he looks back to the whiteboard behind him and just sighs for a moment, “Hey Dave, sit tight for a minute, I’ll be back in a moment.” Without waiting for a reply, he hurries to the door, opens it, and hooks the knob onto the wall to keep it open before walking down to the far side of the product hold. You watch him behind the impenetrable veil of your shades, but you can see he’s holding something in.

Procuring his phone from his pocket, he taps the screen a few times before holding it to his ear and begins a conversation. “Hi, dad? Sorry for missing your call, I was training a new guy,” he pauses for a moment, nodding to nothing, before running a hand through his disheveled head of hair. For a corporate schmuck, he wasn’t too hard on the eyes, you decide. He looked like a more tame version of Jake, except with those brilliant, if tired looking eyes.

He was slim, though not as skinny as you are, and you can tell that his job has padded his narrow frame with much needed muscle. However, and likely much to your manager’s chagrin, he’s not even remotely bulked up, and instead looks more the part of a swimmer than anything. “Don’t worry about me, really, dad. I’ll be home soon, I promise, just get some rest, okay? I’ll…” He trails off, pulling at the loose collar of his uniform, “I’ll bake a cake,” he says, sounding as though the very words were like daggers in his chest.

Who doesn’t want to bake a cake? If you could bake a cake, you’d be dead from a sugar overdose as soon as the thing was done being frosted. John’s a weird dude, you decide. But from what you can hear from his conversation, he’s got some family problems. With a few whispered words you can’t here, he pockets his phone and hurries back to the room you’re currently in. Closing the door, he looks a bit embarrassed as he sees you were watching him, “Sorry about that, Dave, where were we?”

Deciding to be a bro – no, not that word. Deciding to be a cool guy, you throw John a curveball, “Yo, John,” you begin, and he stops as he rounds the far side of the long table you were seated at, “You seem a bit, uh… distracted. Listen, I’m not feelin’ too well as it is, so maybe we could call it a day and pick it up tomorrow? Looks like you could use some time off yourself.” Your words come off with a sarcastic edge, and you curse at yourself silently for being a douche to the guy with a sick father, but then again your father figure was your Bro and he’s a giant douche, so…

John seems to weigh his options as he looks between you and the board behind him, before his posture abruptly relaxes and he nods, “Bring your induction pack home with you and give it a quick once over, kay?” You nod, though have absolutely no intention of doing that. It’ll probably sit in your car and catch on fire in the furnace that thing turns into during the summer. “So, uh, yeah… I’ll let you do that,” he mumbles as he stands, slipping on a zip-up hoodie which had a strange, azure wavy emblem on the front which you could not identify.

“See you around, dude,” you wave as he practically jogs out of the room, leaving you to yourself. Well, no need to leave so soon while you were still on the clock, right? You pull your phone from your pocket and open the increasingly popular app, Pesterchum. As per usual, you have a message that was sent only a few minutes earlier from Rose.

-tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:23-

TT: Given the fact that I have not received any correspondence from you as of yet, I will assume your first day of work has gone well.

TG: oh yeah, real peachy

TT: There is no need for sarcasm, David. I am inquiring about your wellbeing.

TG: gee thanks lalonde

TG: you’re always such a caring friend

TG: anyways the job is a real shit show

TG: one of the girls who works here looks like a girl-jake

TG: fuck, gotta get that thought out of my head

TT: What thought, if I may ask?

TG: jake in a dress

TT: Oh, I see. That admission on your part speaks volumes about your character.

TG: quit analyzing and feel bad for me lalonde

TT: I’m very sorry you have to work at Best Buy, but I’m sure it’s not all bad.

TG: might be right

TG: at least my boss seems cool enough

TG: if being a giant nerd can be considered cool

TG: you know he looks like jake. shit, why is everyone suddenly looking like that weird fuck?

TT: I think you might have a secret crush for your brother’s fiancé.

TG: that’s horrifying lalonde

TG: you’re using your tentacles for evil again

TG: stop it

TT: Very well. So what makes your boss a bearable entity in your new life?

TG: not really sure, just seems like a solid dude

TG: i think his dad is sick or something. he booked it outta here like his ass had somethin to fear

TT: Please, David. It’s very late here, don’t start rhyming.

TG: you never appreciate my efforts

TT: Apparently I must away, David. Kanaya is worrying about my sleep again, and I’d rather not be at the other end of her displeasure.

TG: so whipped

TG: later lalonde

TT: And to you, Strider.

Well, that was thoroughly aggravating and unproductive. You’re still unsure why you talk to her. Probably because when you actually want to be psychoanalyzed she’s always game. Crazy chick. Nevertheless you rise from your seat and exit the meeting room with introduction package under arm and casually make your way to the break room across the store. A customer tries to flag you down, but you pretend to not hear him. Fuck that guy, you’re a busy man.

Though the look on John’s face plagues you for a moment. He seemed really worried about his father, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on there. It’s none of your business, and you imagine he wouldn’t tell you if he asked. The little dude needs more sleep, that’s for sure. Well, that’s his problem, and—“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Oh yeah, that guy’s on break.

Karkat looks up from one of the two couches facing some shitty old TV, his dark eyes peering at you with unabashed irritation. Most of you hates this guy, but part of you finds his outbursts hilarious, and you decide to irritate him more. Your day was already shit, may as well guide it into feces sea by your hand, right?

You slowly walk over to behind where he’s sitting, and lean over next to his ear, and say in the flattest of tones possible: “I just couldn’t wait to see you again, Karkitty.” At that, he swipes at your head, but thanks to all the strifing you and bro do, you’re far too fast for the little guy, and his hands meet air. “Gotta be faster than that, bud,” you say as you make your way to the coat rack, grabbing your crimson jacket off a bent hanger and sling it on.

As you go to leave, you hear the only other person in the room stand, and you look casually back to find Karkat staring at you. “Hey Dave,” he begins awkwardly, “Gimmie your chumhandle. A lazy cumdumpster like yourself is going to sleep in and need to be contacted. Better me than someone like Ampora, right? That titgargling fuckhead is insufferable.” The offer hangs in the air as young consider whether the illusive general manager of the store would really be worse than Karkat calling you to tell you that you missed a shift.

Deciding that it was of little concern, especially given the fact you have idiots like Jake on your Pesterchum for no adequately explained reason, you nod once and walk toward the angry little man, “Gimmie your phone.” Karkat looks at you suspiciously and, with growing impatience, you simply grab it out of his hand and type in your chumhandle. You’re a real problem solver. “Just don’t gush over me too much, Karkitty.”

You can hear him shouting colourful profanities at you as you leave the break room, but you don’t care, you’re just relieved at the thought of being free of Best Buy for a while.

~*~

You think about being Dave again, but the concept of trying to be a person you just met is a bit absurd, so instead you settle for being John.

You know you’re speeding, and frankly you don’t care. You hear the honks of angry drivers around you, yet it only serves to force you to press on ever faster. Dad’s face flashes through your mind for a moment; pale and gaunt with his hollow eyes only barely registering your existence as you realise that – you stop thinking about that right away. Nihilistic thinking wasn’t good for anyone involved.

You see your off-ramp and you move across four lanes of traffic in one fell swoop, earning the concert of honking behind you as you cut countless drivers off. You give an absent wave of apology, but frankly with your hands gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles have gone white is only proof of how worried you are. Dad sounded really sick on the phone and though he didn’t ask for you to come home, you’re going to anyways. You can’t lose him and mom, even if you don’t remember her much.

You pull in front of your dad’s house and throw the door of your old Toyota open, ignoring the worrying creak it gives when you do that before slamming it closed and fumbling with your keys in your aching hands. You didn’t realise you were as nervous as you were, but the lack of sleep seems to help exasperate your nerves in times like these.

The front door to the house you grew up in opens, and you’re skipping steps as you ascend the staircase and round the corner to your father’s room. The door is ajar, and you can hear the steady beep of a heartrate monitor. At least he’s alive you think morbidly to yourself. You hate this, you hate worrying that your dad might be dead sooner than you could manage. Then again, you’ll likely never be able to be prepared for him to die.

You miss the shaving cream attacks, the endless baking, the unfaltering worrying about your ‘pastry intake’ when you moved out. You miss all his annoying quirks so badly that you can feel your throat clench up with emotion, though you swallow it down, not wishing to worry your father. You push open the door to once more see the narrow hospital bed that had replaced the big, plush bed you had jumped on as a child. Next to it is a night table with a lamp, a picture of you and your sister Jane, a picture of your mom, his hat and finally his pipe. All the things that meant so much and helped make him who he was summed up on a nightstand.

You didn’t like it; you didn’t like any of it. But the man who lies in the bed before you offers you a bright, if tired smile, “John!” He exclaims, and you hurry to his side, wrapping your arms around the man lightly, worried you might hurt him, “I didn’t want to pull you away from work. Really, you don’t need to worry like this.” His voice is weak, and you can feel his ribs. He’s been losing too much weight recently, and it’s really worrying you.

“Dad,” you begin as calmly as you can, “Don’t worry about me. I make good money to help you here and myself.” He goes to protest, though you shake your head, “Really, I don’t mind. I haven’t seen you for a while. Eridan can manage without me for a while… How are you feeling?” You decide not to mention how he looks, since merely uttering the words would send either one of you into a sobbing mess.

He smiles again, but you can tell it’s forced. He knows you’re losing sleep over his health, and you know he’s losing sleep over you losing sleep. Egberts are a bunch of worrywarts, and Crockers are little better. “Oh your old dad’s had better days. Maybe I was just feeling a bit lonely and decided to fake being sick to get you to come over, eh?” He nudges you with his elbow, and you both laugh lightly at the lame prank that would be. You’re both much better than that. “I’ll beat this, John. You just watch me. Your dad’s gonna be here every step of the way.”

You feel like just breaking down into tears on him, to beg him to get better and not leave you, but you don’t, and instead crack a joke to make him smile: “Every step of the way. With a can of shaving cream to ruin whatever moment was being made.” At your joke, you both laugh brightly, and for a moment his sickness is forgotten as you two share in your love of pranking.

However the moment comes crashing down as your dad lets out a few hacking coughs, and covers his mouth with his hand. Though he’s too late and a splatter of blood appears on the white covers of the sheets he’s pulled up over his waist. “Dad!” You croak miserably, and after all your inner strength he sees for a split second how tormented his sickness is making you. The look of sheer guilt on his face is crushing, and you look away for a long moment, trying to compose yourself.

He pats your shoulder, “I’m okay, really. My nose was bleeding a bit ago, I think it settled in the back of my throat until now.” His words come out quickly, and you know that, just as you do, he’s lying if he starts talking quickly like that. You decide not to challenge him on the point and merely nod, avoiding his stare. “I’m feeling better, you know. Maybe you coming over healed me!” He jokes, though you can’t even manage a laugh. He nudges you after you stay silent for a while, and you look over, “Maybe your sister wants to come over? We could have dinner like the good old days.”

You like that idea a lot. Frankly, you love it. “Sure dad, I’ll be one sec. Let me call Janey.” With that, you’re standing once more and have your phone at your ear, the ringing quickly driving you insane in your impatience. “Jane? Hi!” You beam as she picks up the phone, promptly interrupting her ‘hello’ before it’s even uttered, “I’m over at dad’s, wanna come over for dinner?”

“You know John, in some families it’s considered rude to not wait for the person you call to say hello,” she jabs playfully, her ever cheerful tone calming your frayed emotions. You go to disagree, but she interrupts you instead, “Yeah yeah, I know, we’re not a normal family. Trust me, I’ve noticed. Anyways, I’m just finishing up at work right now, so maybe I’ll have Roxy close up the office for me and I’ll come swing by before rush hour.”

You look back to your dad who’s giving you an expectant, hopeful look. You’re pretty sure any person even loosely related to your father has the most adorable puppy-dog expression on their faces when they want something, and even in his sickly state, your father masters it. “Awesome! I’ll get everything started, you can work on desert!”

“John, that’s not-“ You cut her off with a sweet, innocent, and decidedly evil “Bye Janey!” Before pressing the end call button. Your father’s laughing again, and you flash him a devious grin. He loved making baked goods, but she and you hate it. It’s always nice to get the upper hand with Jane from time to time.

~*~

It’s about an hour and a half later, and you’re in mid lasagna prepping, when you hear the front door open. At one point you three all lived in the same house, so it just feels natural to walk in. You haven’t changed from work and are still wearing your Best Buy polo, but you’re so used to it you barely notice. The door closes and from living room Jane walks in, clad in knee length baby blue dress looking straight out of the fifties. You two were cousins, but her parents had died in a plane crash years ago, and so your dad adopted her on the spot. Sure, it took months for it to be legal, but when you saw her at your aunt and uncle’s funeral, alone and crying on their coffins, you knew you had to do something. Apparently your dad had thought the same and as you went to ask him to let her stay with them, he was already asking her the same.

“John, how could you dump desert prep on me, you little scoundrel!?” She growls as she storms into the kitchen, her heels clacking on the tiled floor noisily before she’s got you in a headlock, giving you a noogie. You whine and try to free yourself, but for such a little lady, her strength is impressive, and she’s not letting go, “This is what happens, Johnathon Egbert!” She giggles gleefully and through her laughter, you find an opening and slip out of her grasp.

However before either of you can see it coming, you’re covered in a light, fluffy, and decidedly minty scented foam. “Dad!” You cry out angrily, though you’re already laughing at being so thoroughly bested at the master prankster. Wiping away copious amounts of shaving cream, you look over at Jane, who’s lamenting over her ruined hair in the mirror next to the entryway.

“Admit it kids, I got you,” he says weakly, offering an impressively loud laugh for such a sick man. After successfully sluffing off all the damned foam, you find your father eyeing your cooking. “So far so good, son. But it looks like you forgot onion,” he wags a finger at you playfully, though you only groan, lightly pushing his hand away.

You stand between your half-finished lasagna and your father defiantly, “Only weirdos put onion in lasagna!” Jane offers a sagely nod in agreement as she speaks, and you grin at your outnumbered father. “Oh, dad,” she says suddenly as she looks him over. He was wearing one of his signature work get ups, even though he hasn’t worked in months: white collared shirt, black tie, black pants and black dress shoes. Though where his once strong frame filled out the garb, it now hung loosely off his thin frame.

Jade is quickly hugging your father, and you can see his eyes fill with guilt again as he reciprocates the loving gesture, “Oh now now, Jade. Don’t you worry about me, it’s like I told John, I’m going to be here for a long time yet. Don’t bury me before I’m dead, or you’re getting boxes that explode with shaving cream for Christmas again!” You shudder at the memory. It was everywhere and it took you three weeks to get out of the furniture. “Tell you kids what: Jane; go clean up in the washroom, John; go grab a bottle of wine from the basement. I’ll finish preparing dinner.”

You go to refuse, but he waves his hand, “No arguing, young man, to the booze!” Jane goes in to argue on your behalf, but dad merely puts his frail hands on her shoulders, turns her around, and sends her on her way to shower, “You too, pretty lady!” He calls as she slowly ascends the staircase.

As you make your way to the basement door, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. Removing the device from its cotton confines, you find a message on Pesterchum from Jade:

-gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 17:05-

GG: john! Is daddy Egbert alright??

GG: c’mon speak to me!

GG: earth to john

GG: come in John

EB: woah there! settle down! dad’s alright, I think he was just lonely. don't get me wrong, it’s fine. i miss him as much as he misses me.

GG: good, you had me worried!

GG: anyways, what are you two goofballs doing? i bet someone’s had a close encounter with the shaving cream kind again. ;)

EB: please do not remind me. even sick like this, he is still an ace with those damned things.

Jade stops responding, and so you descend into the basement, however at the foot of the stairs, your phone vibrates and lights up in your hand, indicating you have a new message.

GG: sorry, work happened!!

EB: all cool!

GG: so did you see the new guy? mister cool-guy-mc-shades-pants?

EB: cool guy mc shades pants?

GG: yeah, dave!

EB: oh, dave, right! sorry jade, my mind is all wooooo

EB: he seems like a nice guy, I think he’ll do well with our store

GG: boooooring! i was asking what you thought of him, silly.

You look up again. You hadn’t really given it much thought after the commotion of your father’s call. Dave seemed like the epitome of a cool kid, and even though you are his boss, you wish you could emulate his relaxed demeanour. His face comes to mind, and you can’t help but feel a little jealous at just how… put together he looks!

You look at your reflection in your phone. Bags under your eyes, your hair is a mess, and you’re still wearing your uniform. You wish you were as handsome as Dave – wait.

John Egbert, you did not just call your employee handsome in your head.