Work Text:
Your name is Dirk Strider. You've always been alone with your puppets, your videos, and your dreams. Of course you have friends online, but it’s not the same.
You love your dreams. You want to stay there forever, really.
You dream of kids. Later you’d learn of these kids, now God-like. In yellow, black, blue, and red.
Gods. Of light, of breath, of space, of time.
When you go to sleep though, you see something completely different.
All these gods…they’re kids. Children.
A dark girl with purple text. Quick come backs and perfect typing. She’s not immature, but she’s not a grown up. She fights with her mother and entertains herself with stories of monsters. She’s good at consulting, but she’s not a seer.
A boy with blue text. Dorky references and a similar attitude. He’s immature and happy and oh so carefree. A childish prankster. He hardly seems fit for the junior high he must attend, never mind being an heir.
A wild girl with green text. She likes animals and fantasies and little plushies. She loves her dog and her stuffed Grandfather. She likes guns and technology. She’s so whimsical and scientific. But she’s not a witch.
You read all of the colors over the shoulder of a boy with red text. See pictures hanging in his room that his friends sent. The boy becomes sharper and more sarcastic –ironic- as he grows, but you’ll always see through him. You always have. Because he is yours. You raised him best you could. You loved him, and watched over him. Prepared and guarded and trained him. You watched his transformation from a chubby little baby to a cold teenager. He was always smiling and hugging you when he was younger and you felt like an asshole because you had to take that away to prepare him. But he couldn't know that. They couldn't know anything. So you prepared him and watched what must have been hate grow in his eyes. All directed at you. It was worth it though, and sometimes you two had your moments. It’s those times you hope he knew that you loved him.
You think of all of them. Try and put the pieces together, but it doesn't work.
These gods, so high and so powerful –so tired and so afraid- could not be the same people in your dreams.
Those poor souls forced into something no one should go through were all kids you once knew.