Dave absorbs it all with wide-eyed wonder (literal; why are Gallades' eyes so huge?), and what he picks up is more than just the final battle's play-by-play.
Nothing is stranger, more jarring, than seeing himself through Dirk's eyes, his own mouth an unreadable line in a face made impenetrable by his shades. That's Caledfwlch in his hand and it's weird, it looks like it belongs there, like it isn't a toolish too-wide shitty Welsh broadsword he had to break to get out of the stone because he's not a hero, he's--
(Dirk sees him as one, and it's such a turn Dave feels physically dizzy to realize it.)
He doesn't understand three fourths of what Dirk shares, and that's fine, he doesn't think he's ready to see whatever it is that Dirk is so conscientiously keeping from remembering, him with the sword and the cape and the way his grip shifts on the hilt right before Dirk closes his eyes--anyway, Dave doesn't follow everything, especially not from such a confusing perspective (so, so strange to look at those mostly-strangers and feel such fierce fondness for them, such profound care, and then to see his closest friends as almost unrecognizable, weirdly young but almost adult for all that, has John always been so tall, Rose so womanly?)--but the what isn't so important. It's the how. The adjectives and adverbs, not the noun. Laughing and smiling and joking and holding, hand to another's hand and fingers woven like Rose's knitting. Joyful and full of color and sound, and maybe that busy, over-saturated scenery is too much; maybe it's too like where he died, all three times, in bullets and explosions and battle, but Dave's own flashback-associations are minimal, pings of teeth and steel and fear without escape, and then John's dad turns up and Dave inhales sharply.
He barely really notices the creation of a new universe, even if it's projected right there in his head like his skull's a movie screen, surround sound and IMAX. Something about seeing John together with his dad again (Jane's dad? They're the same dude, practically), something about seeing that hug--it's right. It's. John is home. John made it home, and they're all...they're all home.]
Sorry. Sorry, I...Shit.
[Dave turns and paces a few steps away before stopping, little green hands fisted, trying to get shove down the tidal flood of--of emotion, too great to differentiate into relief, joy, longing, regret; it's bigger than anything he could name with a simple word. Not that he'd be able to, anyway, even if he weren't currently limited to the syllables of Wart's species. The lump in his throat is thicker than your mother's dick joke, and his eyes are blurry behind his shades.
It's over. They won.
He can stop fighting.
He breathes in again, as steadily as he can, and tries to run his hand back through hair he doesn't currently have. Tries to swallow the lump down.]
I. Uh. I don't have anything like that, to show you, but if there's, like...anything you want to know?
[Gratitude is winning out, now. Thank you, thank you, he needed to see this. He needed to know. It's over, he can rest. He can...he can stop waiting for the next scrape of steel behind his back.
He can't express it, but Dave is glad, heart-achingly glad, that Dirk is here.]
no subject
No fucking kidding, dude.
Dave absorbs it all with wide-eyed wonder (literal; why are Gallades' eyes so huge?), and what he picks up is more than just the final battle's play-by-play.
Nothing is stranger, more jarring, than seeing himself through Dirk's eyes, his own mouth an unreadable line in a face made impenetrable by his shades. That's Caledfwlch in his hand and it's weird, it looks like it belongs there, like it isn't a toolish too-wide shitty Welsh broadsword he had to break to get out of the stone because he's not a hero, he's--
(Dirk sees him as one, and it's such a turn Dave feels physically dizzy to realize it.)
He doesn't understand three fourths of what Dirk shares, and that's fine, he doesn't think he's ready to see whatever it is that Dirk is so conscientiously keeping from remembering, him with the sword and the cape and the way his grip shifts on the hilt right before Dirk closes his eyes--anyway, Dave doesn't follow everything, especially not from such a confusing perspective (so, so strange to look at those mostly-strangers and feel such fierce fondness for them, such profound care, and then to see his closest friends as almost unrecognizable, weirdly young but almost adult for all that, has John always been so tall, Rose so womanly?)--but the what isn't so important. It's the how. The adjectives and adverbs, not the noun. Laughing and smiling and joking and holding, hand to another's hand and fingers woven like Rose's knitting. Joyful and full of color and sound, and maybe that busy, over-saturated scenery is too much; maybe it's too like where he died, all three times, in bullets and explosions and battle, but Dave's own flashback-associations are minimal, pings of teeth and steel and fear without escape, and then John's dad turns up and Dave inhales sharply.
He barely really notices the creation of a new universe, even if it's projected right there in his head like his skull's a movie screen, surround sound and IMAX. Something about seeing John together with his dad again (Jane's dad? They're the same dude, practically), something about seeing that hug--it's right. It's. John is home. John made it home, and they're all...they're all home.]
Sorry. Sorry, I...Shit.
[Dave turns and paces a few steps away before stopping, little green hands fisted, trying to get shove down the tidal flood of--of emotion, too great to differentiate into relief, joy, longing, regret; it's bigger than anything he could name with a simple word. Not that he'd be able to, anyway, even if he weren't currently limited to the syllables of Wart's species. The lump in his throat is thicker than your mother's dick joke, and his eyes are blurry behind his shades.
It's over. They won.
He can stop fighting.
He breathes in again, as steadily as he can, and tries to run his hand back through hair he doesn't currently have. Tries to swallow the lump down.]
I. Uh. I don't have anything like that, to show you, but if there's, like...anything you want to know?
[Gratitude is winning out, now. Thank you, thank you, he needed to see this. He needed to know. It's over, he can rest. He can...he can stop waiting for the next scrape of steel behind his back.
He can't express it, but Dave is glad, heart-achingly glad, that Dirk is here.]
Anything.