Chapter Text
Today, an unspecified day in an unspecified year, the only thing keeping you from passing the hell out is the repetitive bumping of the truck as it speeds along the shittily paved road, and a weird rattling noise you're too tired to figure out the origin of.
"Thought I told you to hold the records still." You jolt awake hearing your Bro's voice. "If you let a single one break then it's your wallet that's gonna pay. Better start praying to find a part time job, Dave. "
Oh.. right. When you were practically drooling with your head against the window you forgot you're meant to be holding your Bro's PRECIOUS BOX OF RECORDS so they don't break on the bumpy drive.
You try to mumble out something along the lines of "My bad bro" despite the fact you're still waking up and your brain probably isn't capable of stringing two words together.
The box stops rattling when you hold it still and you become aware of the fact your SWEET SHADES are now who knows where. Oh god please tell me they didn't slip off and get crushed somewhere on the truck floor.
Observant as ever, your BRO notices you're internally freaking the fuck out over your lack of sunglasses and pulls them out from the glove box. "Nicked em off when you started nodding to sleep, I ain't buying you any new ones."
Well you know for a fact thats not true, a bro without his shades is like a cop without a comically large moustache, which is to say you having to have them taken off to not break them makes you feel like a pretty piss-poor excuse for a Bro.
Unlike you, your Bro wears his pointy safety hazard of a pair at all times, even as he's speeding down a bumpy road at night. God he's so cool.
You aren't TOTALLY clear on the details of why you need to move to some small town 12 hours away from your old apartment, but your Bro is probably already pissed after being forced to leave Texas and go to some bumfuck nowhere town, AND now knowing that the cops are gonna be breathing down his neck to know hes "foster a proper environment fit to raise a child."
Even though you won't admit it, the past few days have been stressing you out thanks to some jerk of a neighbour calling CPS after hearing one of your sparring matches with Bro, your home being investigated and deemed unfit for you to live in, the cops discovering your Bro doesn't even legally live there as he pays rent under the table (you don't wanna think about where he gets his money) and now having to get rid of most of your stuff and move to Bro's hometown. you also aren't sure why, something about him still being a resident there and left after being charged with stuff previously.
What you DO know is you're gonna be heavily monitored for a while to see Bro can take proper care of you when in a better environment. If anything, it's a miracle he convinced the police to give him another chance. Even though you're pissed about your new living situation, you're glad that he was able to weasel his way out of it and get a second chance, you'd take that over him getting locked up and you being put in some kind of system any day.
But for now, you're stuck in this old truck trying not to bounce around like a bobblehead with each pit in the road.
And then, the last thing you do before you pass out yet again is skim through all your records to find that Bro put all your IRONICALLY BAD comics with his records. You were certain that all your stuff was gone.. but these being the one things of yours Bro keeps is something he'd do....
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“Dave. Wake the hell up. C’mon.”
Your Bro harshly shakes you awake, visibly considering just dragging you out the truck instead of waiting for your tired ass to get up. You don’t wanna make him do that, though, so you blink and rub your eyes in hopes they’ll stay open long enough for you to crash inside the house. You step off the truck onto the pavement below, the bright white streetlights unhelpful in the trying to keep your eyes open thing.
The doorway looms over you. It almost feels like you’re barging into a stranger’s house. Your Bro, of course, has no such fear of TERRIFYING, UNFAMILIAR SPACES, and strides in with a box in his arms.
“Make yourself useful, pick up a box.”
“On it…”
The walk to the back of the truck gives you a chance to look around the street the house sits in. Bro’s hometown really is in the middle of bumfuck-nowhere, goddamn. A bit of dread creeps into your mind as you realize you feel just as out of place outside the house as even the prospect of being inside it. You’ve never moved before, you don’t know anyone here, and you barely even have any of your stuff. What are you gonna do?
“Get a move on.”
Your Bro’s pissed-off bark cuts through your anxious spiral. The reflection of the streetlight off his shades makes it hard to look up at him, so you keep your head down and mutter a quick apology. Trembling slightly, you pick up a random box, promptly rushing into the unsettling house before he can scold you any further.
The house is kinda cramped, despite it being mostly a blank slate, apart from your Bro’s SICK BELONGINGS, of course. You set the box down and decide you’d rather avoid another reprimand from him, so you quickly tread through the foreign hallway and find your bedroom. To your immeasurable relief, a mattress is laid at the corner. You waste no time settling down and throwing yourself on it.
For the first time in hours, you feel at rest, if only a little. You notice how tense your body is and try easing up a bit, as difficult as it is. The thought of waking up... in this house, this town... is still daunting, but there’s nothing you can do right now other than get some shut-eye. Tomorrow is a new day.