Wish Upon a Star
((LATELY I’VE BEEN WRITING SO MANY FICS FOR SO MANY WONDERFUL PEOPLE and I can’t… stop…. weeps in hand
Anyway, this one is for the lovely scarvenrot, who draws the best Bro+Dave comics EVER and ships Bro/Cal with the passion of a burning sun~~ I want this to be a multiple chapters fic, but I’m really busy at work right now and I might not have the time to work on it! But I have tons of ideas and I know I’ll give in someday.
Alternate Universe where SBURB never happened, Dave is fifteen and Cal isn’t a creepy motherfucker, he’s just a regular, glass eyed creepy looking ventriloquist doll. And a chill guy. The chillest.
I HAVE SO MANY HEADCANONS FOR THIS AU I WILL MAKE A SEPARATE POST LATER
No more delay! On to the fic! Enjoy! :D))
“Stargazing sure is amazing, eh, Cal?”
Cal’s head bobs to the side, leaning just a little closer to your shoulder, and you place his plush hand over your chest. You sigh, looking up at the stars in the dark night sky, and feel lucky for being able to live in this building, for having access to this roof, no matter how small and shitty your apartment is. There’s a reason you and Dave never moved out, even though you could afford buying a new condo with the money you earn on puppet porn alone. You faintly hear Cal talking to you, and you turn your head to him.
“Sorry lil’ dude, I didn’t catch that. Come again?”
You can feel him smiling.
Have you ever seen a shooting star?
“A shooting star?” you ask, crooking an eyebrow, and you look back up to the sky. You turn Cal’s head a little as well, because it wouldn’t be fair for Cal to miss how beautiful the night looks. “Not really. Why you ask?”
Cal hesitates. He may be a puppet, and he may not move on its own, or have organs or a brain, and you may be the only one who can actually understand or hear him, but you can read him like a book. Not literally, of course; Cal’s face remains irresponsive, blank as it ever was, but you can feel his tenseness the same way you can listen to his voice on the back of your head. Finally, after over half a minute, he mutters,
No reason.
“Bullhshit. Something’s on your mind. Spill.” You say, trying not to sound rough or angry. Cal senses that it’s just your way of saying “I’m there for you, you can tell me anything”, so he remains quiet, pensive once again. You can’t hear Cal’s thoughts, just like he can’t hear yours, so you give him the silence he probably needs to gather his perturbed thoughts.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he says, if you ever see a shooting star… what would you wish for?
“You mean, assuming that shooting stars actually do grant wishes?” you ask, almost snorting, and you know Cal’s grimacing by the tone of his voice.
Don’t mock me, man, come on. I’m serious.
“All right, all right. A wish, huh? Let’s see… hmm, well, I’d probably wish for Dave to grow up healthy and happy, y’know?”
Cal chuckles lightly. That’s a really good wish, Dirk, he says, sounding just a little sad. You turn to him again.
“What about you? What would you wish for?”
He hesitates.
To be a real person.
You pause. Cal’s words had a tone of finality in them, and you feel your chest aching for some reason. Sometimes you just… forget that Cal is a puppet, and that he probably would appreciate having a functioning body like yours. You think of a really good Pinocchio joke, but quickly discard it. You sense that this is a really touchy subject to him, and that you shouldn’t joke about something he’d give anything for.
A thought occurs to you.
“Would you do anything?”
Huh?
“I asked,” and you keep looking up into the night sky, heart hammering away in your chest with nervousness. “Would you give anything to have that wish fulfilled?”
Cal stops. You sense he was about to answer you, but didn’t, waiting for what you really have to say. You close your eyes.
“…would you give me away?”
Life without you, he starts, sounding pained, wouldn’t be worth living. Puppet or human, Dirk. I love you too much to be able to live a life like that. I’d rather disappear from the face of the Earth.
You shut your eyes tightly, swallowing a dry lump in your throat and turning towards Cal, pulling him to your chest and hugging him tightly.
I’d rather die, he whispers, arms wrapped around you in a silent comfort. You sob on his plush shoulder, dampening his blue shirt.
You don’t say anything in response. All of the sudden, words seem extremely inappropriate.
You hold him on the rooftop until the two of you fall asleep.
—
“Dude. Dude, fuck, bro, wake up, wake the fuck up, bro, shit!!!”
“Stop talking or I’ll kick your nose in, lil’ dude.” you mutter, hiding your face on the crook of Cal’s neck. Dave downright whimpers, but the humming of the air conditioning central unit hums lazily behind you, its shadow protecting you both from direct sunlight, and you feel so comfortable you decide to completely ignore him. It is, as usual, an extremely warm morning in Houston, and you’re kinda sweating because Cal is very warm in your arms… but you feel so content and relaxed and just so damn tired you decide to not get up or untangle yourself from him. Not yet, at least.
“Fuck, bro!” Dave exclaims, and you can feel his hands hovering over your shoulder, unsure of whether or not to touch you. “Could you just… oh my god Bro, at least let the kid go, for Christ’s sake, you’re traumatizing me! Do you really want to traumatize your younger brother? That shit just ain’t right man, think of your duty as a responsible guardian. Leave the traumatizing to the smuppets only, I mean, jesus.”
…Wait.
“…kid?”
“What is it?”
“No, fuck, not you, Dave, you just said…” and you sit up, reluctantly untangling yourself from Cal, who falls to the floor with a loud thud.
Thud?!?!
You open your eyes, wide as saucers, and look down at the floor.
Oh my god.
“Dude, seriously now, if you want to hire twinks to fulfill your sexual desires for Cal, please, for the love of all that is holy, please don’t bring them to our apartment. Rent a motel room somewhere, I’ll even give you the money for it if you don’t have any, I’ll do anything, just, don’t, okay? Also, I can’t believe I’d ever ever have to say this to you, but you can’t have sex in the fucking roof, you idiot, people might see you!!! Do you want to get arrested? Also, what would Cal say? If he finds out he’ll be hella upset with you, though I can’t say I don’t understand where you’re coming from and all, but you gotta admit this is just borderline creepy, man—”
You don’t answer Dave; instead you allow him to rant away, because his words are giving your current situation a sense of reality. The kid which Dave was referring to, the one which you dropped to the floor, is squeezing his eyes and blinking up at the sky, blonde curly hair shining brightly and light blue eyes squinting up at the daylight. It takes him only five seconds to widen them in shock. Your breathing has accelerated to dangerous levels, but right now, you really don’t care.
His cheeks are red with blush, forming a perfect circle in each side of his face, and his lips are glossy with red lipstick. You can see thick, fake lashes on his eyelids, and white gloves on both his hands. He’s wearing a pair of white sneakers, a pinstripe orange suit with a basketball blue shirt on top of it and a gold chain hanging from his neck, the name “CAL” written across his chest. A grey cap, which seems to have slipped off his head, lies on the floor behind his head.
You stop breathing.
“…Bro? you okay?” Dave asks, bending a little to look at you as you stare into the eyes of the boy, still lying on the floor, moving his pupils frantically and blinking away. You’re probably pale as a ghost right now, and all the words flying madly through you head are getting stuck in the back of your throat.
“…Cal…?” you finally whisper, scooting closer, moving gently as if you’re afraid to scare him away, but Cal shoots his pupils towards you as soon as you say his name, not moving a single muscle. Immediately he starts breathing rapidly and in short breaths, his lithe chest rising and falling in a worrisome speed. Dave looks frightened out of his mind.
You close the distance between the two of you, carefully picking him up and gathering him in your arms, holding his torso firmly against yours. “Shhhh, shh, calm down, calm down, oh my god, Cal…” you whisper over and over as you rock him in your lap, holding his head against your shoulder.
“…Bro?” Dave tries asking again, and you look up at him, tears sliding down your cheek. Dave flinches at the sight of your red eyes and vulnerable expression, and kneels next to you. You keep rocking the boy in your arms back and forth, back and forth. “Dude? Is this really… I mean, is this Lil’ Cal?” he asks, unsure and scared, and you bury your nose on Cal’s hair. Shit. He even smells exactly like him. But what scares you the most is that he’s not moving, not talking, nothing. You’re not getting anything from this boy, except the movements of his chest as he breathes and the thump thump thump of his beating heart against yours. And that’s it.
“I don’t know…! I think it is, but…” you whimper, feeling another set of tears roll down your face. You cough and try to control your voice. “I don’t fucking know, okay, me and Cal were stargazing last night, and he talked about shooting stars and wanting to be human and I thought about Pinocchio and we fell asleep and next thing I know you woke me up, and I can’t…!” you say it all one single breath. Cool be damned, this is a critical situation. You inhale shakily. “Cal, baby, I can’t hear you, dude, please talk to me, Cal, please, oh my god, Cal…”
You feel Cal’s jaw moving weakly on your shoulder, and the sound of a wheezing breath comes out of his throat. You keep rocking him, rubbing his back as to try to comfort him, to calm him down.
“Yes, that’s it, baby, come on, talk to me, talk to me, please talk to me Cal, Cal, Cal, little man, bro, dude, plese please please…”
You’re whining. You’re whining and there’s snot running from your nose, but you don’t care. You keep holding Cal as he wheezes again. Dave is silent, watching you with a pained expression, a comforting hand on your arm. You think that if he lets go of you you’ll break apart in tiny little pieces.
The sixth time Cal breathes out, sounding hurt and desperate, you hear the faint reminder of a low, pained moan. You inhale sharply, stop moving and shut up, trying to listen to him.
He does it again. He’s right next to your ear, so you can hear him perfectly when he whispers, in a shaky, weak voice.
“…D-Dirk…”
You hide your face on his shoulder and cry.
