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You're pretty certain that at least ninety percent of the problem with Dave is that he gets all his kicks from not fucking listening to you. It doesn't matter what you're asking him to do, you could be asking him to go out and build another universe, or you could be asking him to do something as ass-numbingly simple as closing the thermal hull door. It doesn't matter of course, because just about anything you say to him is guaranteed to get the same reaction: blank stare. If anyone else left alive in the universe asked him to do something, he'd do it, but you, you get the special treatment!
So let's say that Dave's music is playing. Let's say that his music is playing so loudly that the whole rest of the room can hear it right through his auricular sponge audio delivery devices. Let's even say that you've been trying to ignore the problem for the last half hour! It's inconsiderate, it's stupid, you literally cannot imagine that anyone else in the room is enjoying the experience, and after a half hour of this bullshit, you have a pounding headache. And you fucking recognize the song that just came on, so this finely curated collection of auditory torture that he insists is an art form has started to repeat and there are no words for how goddamn done you are with this experience.
You know what's coming, but you do it anyways. You ask him to turn his music down. Blank stare. For fuck's sake. You're almost entirely positive he does this for the attention, but you can't help indulging him anyways. Your first request was quiet (for you). Your second one is less so. It's not long before you're up in his personal space, gesturing wildly, stretching the limits of your command over the spoken word trying to find the perfect metaphor to describe how this exposure to his music makes you think that it would be more enjoyable to have his slimy, disease-ridden bulge brute-force its way into your pan through one ear and thrash around for a while before burrowing out the other side. Blank stare. You'd almost wonder if he can hear you at all, but then his finger goes to the volume control dial. Yes, maybe just for once in your miserable life he'll pay attention to something you say. And... the music gets noticeably louder. You explode.
You're just finding your rhythm when a hand lands on your shoulder and someone interjects, "Chill, bro. It's not helping."
You round on Dirk. Ha, you barely even miss a beat. You are an unstoppable tornado of rage and if he wants to be involved, then he's going to be involved. "I'm not helping? I'm not helping? This is coming from the guy who, right-the-fuck-out-of-nowhere decided he belonged in this conversation and stepped up to enrich the discussion for all involved? If I'm not helping then I'd like to know what you think you're doing, shoving your sniffnub where it doesn't belong! How about you tell me about everything positive you're bringing to this discussion? No, really, I want to know! I'm bracing myself for the deafening silence that's sure to come while you try to think of any reason you're wanted here!"
You pause to catch your breath and wait for him to shrug it off and fuck off back to whatever it was he was doing. And wait. Seriously, what's he doing, just sitting there with his thumbs up his nook-- oh.
Oh.
You hadn't realized human tears were clear.
You're completely frozen. Dave is just as frozen, and you're pretty sure that for once, he's not just acting that way to piss you off. Roxy is the only other human close enough to see what's happening, and while you're still stuck in a loop of I-fucked-up-I-fucked-up, she's already bouncing off to the other side of the room. Something something Janey, something baking, keep her company, something. Dirk is still crying. He's not. Moving, or sobbing, or anything like that. He's just breathing a little too fast, and tears keep rolling off his chin. You can't read his face past his glasses.
As Roxy starts to herd everyone out of the room, Dave shakes himself and wanders off to join them, lightly checking his shoulder into Dirk's as he passes and not actually managing to look casual as he glances back at you. Roxy doesn't drop the laughing or the teasing for even a second, but she still manages to give you a look as she shoos Dave out into the hallway and shuts the door.
And wow, fantastic, you are still completely frozen like a useless asshole who is useless. You can just imagine the questions the others are starting to ask, and you can't actually imagine any answers Dave or Roxy might give that would paint you in anything but the most negative light ever seen this side of the galaxy. If you go to the window and look outside, you're pretty sure the stars will have realigned to read 'Karkat Vantas: literal biggest asshole in three universes.' You and Dirk haven't moved, and he's still breathing light and shallow.
It takes a few tries to clear your throat before you manage actual words. "Sorry." Hahaha, you're articulate too. The most sincere, heartfelt apology in the history of time. Truly, all your faults have been washed away. It's like you never even fucked up in the first place. Ha.
Dirk just twitches a shoulder. "Nah, bro. Just took me by surprise is all. We're good."
Oh. You're good. Well. That's it then, you can just leave, everything is fine, fucking fine, time to go hide yourself and never show your face again and pretend this never ever happened-- Ugh. You wish it could be that easy. "What the fuck do you mean by 'nah?'" Wow, you are just the best at apologies. Sure is lucky you don't practically make a career out of doing shit you need to apologize for.
Another shoulder twitch. By Strider standards he's practically emoting. "Nothing you said worth apologizing for. It was pretty on point."
What. "What?"
He sighs and wanders off across the room, sprawling across the only couch. "I said you got it pretty much right. No reason to apologize for the truth, bro."
"But that's-- I-- No, that is literally the stupidest fucking shit anyone's ever tried to tell me! I was yelling at Dave, yes, because Dave is a deliberate asshole and gets off on seeing how often he can provoke me. You said basically two goddamn words and I went off on you because I have no off switch, I am the asshole, it is me, and I am trying to say sorry for being the unholy emperor of assholes because I somehow manage to be worse than Dave, John, and Jake all put together." You're standing in front of the couch, and everything is wrong. You're looming over him, and that's wrong. Your claws are prickling into your palms with how hard you're clenching your hands, and all the right words are slipping away from you, and Dirk isn't crying but his cheeks are still wet and he's sitting too stiff and it's entirely your fault and everything is wrong.
Dirk drags himself upright to brace on one arm of the couch and gestures toward the opposite end. You hesitate for one intensely awkward moment, because that's not right either, but standing over him like this is even less right, and slink onto the couch and sit curled up tight around your own knees. Dirk rubs his forehead and sighs before he gives you an answer. "No, man. Because you hit the nail right on the proverbial head. I'm not contributing anything positive, and I'm not wanted."
"Whoa, hold on. If you mean to the argument with Dave--"
"Generally speaking. You know."
"No, I don't know, because if even Dave and John are capable of being useful humans, then I'm pretty sure it's no contest to say that you are too. I'm just an idiot who yells at people instead of actually communicating like a real person because I have the emotional maturity of a wiggler--"
"John and my bro did plenty of useful shit, don't even bother comparing me to them, it's not even relevant--"
"Okay, yes, it's not relevant to be the guy who masterminded the entry of all the players into his game session, even though half of them didn't understand what the game was and, oh yeah, they were sweeps and sweeps in your distant past--"
"Yeah, I did a real good job there. Set a performance standard I've consistently lived up to since. Let's see, I got Jane killed, nearly got all of us killed, and oh yeah, manipulated my crush into kissing my decapitated head while I watched like a goddamn creep. Sounds like I'm someone people should really look up to, bro."
"Considering my game session involved me getting most of my friends actually killed while I did nothing but shout ineffectually at everyone, I'd say yes, you're doing better than me by every conceivable standard and you should listen when I say I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."
"Nope, dude. Because in case you hadn't noticed, basically everyone wants you around. I'm pretty sure everyone here pretty much adores you one way or another." He spreads his arms wide. "I'm the opposite."
It takes you a moment to process. "What? No, don't you even fucking start. Your own teammates--"
He chuckles, and it's too tight and strained, and you shift uncomfortably in place. "Now I know you didn't miss the part where I alienated all of them. I literally have no middle ground between too distant and too intense. Only took me a few months to totally drive away everyone I tricked into liking me in the first place. Don't sweat it, I'm just kind of awful. Not your fault or anything."
"No. No, see, that's a totally fucked up representation, because Roxy told me about how it was all a mess with everyone and then there was that bullshit with the jujus--"
"Sweet of her. But I'm basically the one who sent it all into a death spiral. Probably would've worked out fine if I hadn't decided to shove myself in where I wasn't wanted. I tend to do that."
You watch him for a moment with your mouth hanging open. "Holy shit, no. Everyone pulls bullshit like that, even people who could do polite socialization in their fucking sleep better than I can do it awake. So now this is double my fault for one, snapping at you when you didn't do fuck-all wrong, and two, hitting you in such a sore spot that I'm officially the biggest asshole in three universes for even mentioning it."
And we're back to one-shouldered twitch-shrugs. "It's cool if you aren't comfortable with it. I'm basically garbage. But I've dealt with it. Like I said, not your fault, I was just taken by surprise." He's watching you closely -- you think, seriously, fuck those stupid Strider sunglasses. "Bro. There is literally no criticism that you can make of me that I haven't thought of already. Stop beating yourself up over it."
No, no, because you made him cry, you asshole, and how the hell are you supposed to just shut up and forget that? "You. You have to have something good, come on. You build-- Jane said you build robots, right?"
He laughs, and oh, just the sound of it is awful, and you wish you could go back in time and unask that stupid fucking question. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. Robots. Funny thing. I've got a knack for building robots that are way better at the whole human thing than I am. I mean, I pretty much suck at being a human, so it's not like that's setting a particularly high standard. But it's interesting shit. You know, I think the brobot might have done more to win Jake over than I ever did, considering it wasn't until after he met me in person that things fell apart there."
"Dirk--"
"Or AR, that was pretty funny too. He was a copy of me from when I was thirteen, did Jane tell you that? Only by the end everyone liked him better than me, so it turns out I'm only getting less and less tolerable with time--"
"Dirk." His mouth snaps shut, and the silence stretches uncomfortably as you try and fail to think of something to say. Your hand is on his knee. When did that happen? You swallow hard. "See now, part of your problem is that you're giving credit to my personal judgment, and there is already more than enough evidence that I'm the biggest moron unfortunate enough to ever be hatched in the entire history of Alternia." And, and, "Dave," you blurt, "You didn't have to put up with a sweep and a half of Dave agonizing over what it would be like to see his bro again, and you have no idea how, how much he looks up to you--"
"Yeah," he shrugs. "I guess Dave's bro might like be me if, you know. If I was worth having around?" Your grip tightens on his knee, and he absently pats the back of your hand. "I get what you're trying to do, man. And I appreciate the effort. But it's never going to be poof, I found the cure, there goes everything wrong with me, I'm magically a real person again." He tilts his head down, makes eye contact with you over the edge of his glasses, and smiles crookedly. "I'm guessing you probably know where I'm coming from."
It's your turn to say something, and you can't think of anything at all. Your hand is on his knee, his hand is on your hand, and if you say something you're probably just going to fuck things up the way you always do. But this silence is comfortable. Dirk lets his head fall back against the arm of the couch and sighs, and you let your chin rest on your knees while you watch him.
Finally, he says, "I can return the favor sometime if you want."
You're-- completely lost. "What?"
He grins. "I can make a noble effort to defend your honor while you do your best to talk shit about yourself."
Okay. You. You smile a bit. "I don't know if you're ready to plumb the darkest depths of what trollkind was never meant to know."
He chuckles and stretches, and you're obscurely disappointed when his hand leaves yours. You take your own hand back, belated and awkward, as he swings around to sit upright. "Good thing I'm not a troll. And that would make you the perfect candidate to learn all the things mankind was never meant to know? I feel downright propositioned, bro." You can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks as he stands and stretches again. And then he reaches down to you and says, "Come to the kitchen with me? If we're lucky, Jane's still baking over there."
You barely hesitate before taking his hand, and as you walk out the door and down the hallway to the kitchen, his arm is warm and companionable around your shoulders.