Chapter Text
His name is Dirk Strider, and it’s been five years since the life-changing game of SBURB ended. The world has seemed to return to a regular earth, his friends though, Jane and Jake… They didn’t remember the game at all at first. It took a long while before their memories were sparked, though some things still seem to confuse them. Roxy remembered. He remembers after they first woke up on this regular earth, he spoke to Jake and Jane and considered that maybe it really was a dream. But Roxy remembered. Her land, their adventures, The Condesce, Calliope, Dream Bubbles… It was real. It really happened, and he saw familiar faces while he lived. Before he moved, he saw his alternate/non-brother Dave on a couple occasions. He didn’t remember him, but there was that tense air, like there were things to be said but no words to form them. Deja-vu in a way. Shortly after returning to his home, he moved to New York to be with Roxy and even she couldn’t handle seeing her young/non-mom about. They both moved across the border, to Canada.
Dirk started school; he worked DJ-ing at clubs at night and spent his days in art school. He figured with the right credentials, he could start animating his own work professionally. One of his classes had artists varying from starters to advanced and… some of the less experienced students weren’t really respected for their efforts. It was about a month into the semester and Dirk had noticed a few of the students picking on one of their classmates. He ignored it at first, but it got worse, and it got to the point that he had to say something.
“Why are you even in this class?” A boy would snirk.
“Honestly, we just want to make sure you aren’t wasting your time on something you can’t do.” His friend would snicker. “And sorry, but art isn’t your forte.”
The kid just sat there, black hair hanging in his face as he hunched over his sketchbook, scribbling absentmindedly.
“Hey, don’t you have something better to do than pick on this kid?” Dirk broke in and the three students looked up. The one girl in the group barely held back a swoon. “Just because you can draw still life, and somebody else can draw cartoons, doesn’t mean they’re any less talented that you. They’re just talented in a different way.”
“Oh hey look, it’s Dick Rider.” Snorted one of the guys, the girl standing with them gave him a firm shove in the ribs with her elbow.
“Shut up.”
“I really didn’t expect to find people like you in an art class.” Dirk said.
“Whatever, you anime freaks can do what you like.” The second guy dismissed Dirk and the boy before leaving, the first boy followed and the girl gave a sheepish smile before heading after them.
Dirk let out a sigh and then looked down at the boy, from this angle all he could see was the back of his head and the drawing under his hands. The art wasn’t bad at all, it was just… scattered. Scribbly, as though it was drawn by a shaky hand.
“Hey, you okay?”
The kid turned his head, allowing himself to look up.
One look into those red eyes and Dirk’s blood froze.
Narrowed red eyes lined with dark bags stared through shaggy black bangs up into Dirk’s orange ones. His face was stuck in a permanent scowl, which would have been more intimidating if the boy’s face wasn’t so feminine, and he wasn’t wearing a red bowtie and green suspenders contrasting with his black t-shirt.
Those eyes, that scowl, that outfit.
“Caliborn?” It was more than a statement than a question. He hadn’t even meant to say it out loud.
“Wow, someone in this class actually knows my name? Big fucking surprise.” He turned back to his sketchbook. “I didn’t ask, for your shitting help, go back to your easel, or whatever the fuck. I’m busy.”
The pauses in his voice… Dirk couldn’t believe it. He even had red swirls scrawled onto his cheeks in red paint.
“You’re… Caliborn. Well shit… How did you…” Dirk took a seat next to the boy who looked up in alarm at this movement.
“What the fuck do you think your doing? What do you want?”
“Don’t you recognize me? Actually, I don’t think I want you to recognize me but… Y’know, Dirk Strider?”
“I don’t give a shit who you are, leave me alone.” Caliborn looked back to his book, doodling some boxes.
It was Caliborn. It was fucking Caliborn. He was dead. He was killed during the game and yet here he was, fun on human. Fleshy flesh and no skeletal green claws or fangs or anything. Dirk always felt some form of excitement when he met someone he knew from the game, but this was… It was eerie. This guy had tried to kill him and his friends, succeeded on multiple occasions and helped destroy Jane’s self-esteem, Jake’s loyalty and Dirk’s own sense of self.
And yet here he was. Helpless and ignorant just like any other human.
“Calliope.” Dirk said suddenly.
The boy looked as though he’d been punched. He looked up at Dirk, so visibly shaken that he looked as though he may throw up.
“What did you just say?”
“Calliope. Where is she?”
Caliborn swallowed nervously, his mouth dry.
“…That’s… My sister…”
“Where is she?”
“She’s… She’s…” There was panic in his eyes for a moment, before it exploded into anger. He pushed out of his seat and away from Dirk, throwing his sketchbook at the blond boy.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want? How do you know me or Calliope?” He snarled in anger, but there was still that panic on his face.
The professor had noticed now and called them out.
“Hey, Caliborn sit down! What are you doing? Dirk?”
Caliborn pointed to the teacher.
“FUCK you and fuck him and fuck this entire school!” And he ran out of the class.
Dirk rose up, holding the kid’s sketchbook and looking to the teacher.
“Sorry, my fault. I just… Can I go after him?”
The entire class just stared.
“Yeah, I’ll just go.”
So he went.