#*feeds you the shitty fanfic like feeding a horse hay*

[thygoddessouijathicc]

My Promised DSAF Fanfic Where You Adopt Dave

(Disclaimer: I wrote this before reaching my like goal for my post, but I have no patience and I got enough on the original post where I brought up the idea so I decided to chase dopamine and post this shit early because I was bored. 

Reader is gender neutral and can be anything you want them to be. Will be second POV despite that being my least favourite POV it’s the only one that works for these. Dave has just been kicked out of the orphanage. Also one of you mentioned Dave being in a box on the side of the road and I decided that yes, yes he is, and promptly stole it for my fic, thank you so much for the idea it’s exactly correct. Dave goes by Will because this is pre-Henry. Btw, Dave canonically has scales, and I’m forcing everyone to remember that.)

Today was probably the worst day of your life. Your shift started at 1pm ended at 10pm. You had accidentally left your car at home (don’t ask how), and hadn’t realized until the end of your shift. You had forgotten to pack lunch. And on top of it all, it was pouring.

Little did you know your day was about to get far… far… weirder.

It was dark out, and the sky was cloudy, not a star could be seen in the sky. You groaned. If you had to walk back home at night, at least you could have some stars to look at!

As you were feeling pity for yourself on your long walk home a car drives by and splashes you. 

“FOR FUCKS S-“ you start to say, you were normally relatively easygoing, but everyone has their breaking point. You are stopped when you hear the sound of thunder and a light far too close for comfort.

Now, at this time of the year, in your area, lightning was no joke, and you were almost hit moments ago.

You aren’t exactly someone who would NORMALLY be overly bothered by lighting, but with how your day is going, it feels like you might get smited at any moment.

You see a point up ahead in which the road overlaps and creates an overhanging area. You run towards it.

Once under the overhang you groan dramatically and sit down, watching cars go by.

After a few minutes, dense as you are, you pick up on the sounds of someone crying.

You look around the area and your eyes land on a wet cardboard box. It’s wetter than the area around it as if it has been moved there after the rain started.

You suspiciously approach the box with a stick (you always must be careful of if the contents of the box are a ghost).

You poke the box and nothing happens. It does not reveal its true form as a mimic.

“G-go away! I’m tired!” The voice of a child says from inside the box, one with a surprisingly thick New York accent.

Ok, there is a kid in the box. You could do a few things about this. Call CPS (you don’t have your phone), explode (why did that cross your mind), throw the box onto the highway (WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?) or help the child. You decide shockingly on the reasonable option, and open up the box.

…

You don’t exactly know what you were expecting, but it definitely was not this. The child appears to be a young boy somewhere between 8 and 12, he’s curled up into a ball crying, and his clothes are tattered, but that is most definitely not what catches your eye.

He’s purple.

Like actually purple.

His skin is entirely purple, and appears to have a scaley quality to it.

You jump back. The child does not move.

Calming yourself down from seeing something potentially paranormal, you go back to the rim of the box.

The boy is looking up at you now. 

Upon closer inspection he’s both more and less human looking than you initially saw.

Although a great deal about him, from general shape, to facial features, and even his behaviour is clearly human, he’s purple, scaley, and seems to lack ears. Small strands of hair come off his head as if they can’t grow properly, and he’s bald otherwise.

The boy stares at you for a moment and then collapses back into his box, and closes it as best he can.

“Go away.” He hisses. “I just want to sleep.”

The box is still very much open, and you can see him shivering inside, cradling a rabbit doll. It’s at this point you notice the cuts and bruises. He’s covered in them. It finally clicks for you that he ISN’T something paranormal. Or if he is, it doesn’t matter. He’s just a purple kid.

“That box looks cold.” You finally say.

“Thanks, captain obvious.”

“Where did all your bruises come from?“ you ask, sitting down beside the box.

“People throwin’ rocks at me mostly.” 

“Why do they do that?”

“Why do ya think?” The boy says, annoyance evident in his tone. 

“Where are your parents?”

“Fuck if I know. They dropped me off in the first orphanage they saw and never came back.”

“If they dropped you off in an orphanage, why are you here?”

“I got kicked out.”

“Why?”

“Why do ya think?” The boy snarls at you.

“I don’t think that’s fair. People throwing rocks at you is just people being terrible but to deny you shelter in an orphanage when you’re-“

“9. And yer not foolin’ anyone, ya almost screamed when ya saw me.”

“I was just surprised that’s all!”

“Uhuh. Sure.”

“No really. You don’t bother me.”

“Yer not the first person to say that. None of em mean it.”

“I do.”

“Sure.” You sit in silence for a moment. It seems the child has made up his mind that he doesn’t like you.

“What’s your name?”

“Will.” 

“That’s a nice name.”

“No it’s not.”

“I think it is.”

…

“What are ya even doin’? Talking to me and shit.”

You aren’t sure how to answer that. Why ARE you talking to him? He clearly doesn’t want to talk to you, you don’t know him, and there’s not exactly much you can do for him… but you do want to help him.

“I wanna help you.” You say simply.

“…Why?”

“Because I don’t think a kid should be living in a wet cardboard box on the side of the road with people throwing rocks at them.”

“Well tough shit because there’s no way ya can help ya’d actually do. This is just what happens to kids no one wants.”

“Well just so I’m aware, what COULD I do to help you?”

“Ya could adopt me. But ya won’t. I know ya won’t. No one wants an aubergine kid.”

You could adopt Will.

You have a decent job, more than enough to pay for your apartment, your needs, extra stuff, and to have a lot left over.

“I’ll adopt you.” You say simply, without a second thought.

There’s a moment of silence where all you can hear is the rain crashing down. Will looks at you, as if expecting you to take back this offer, when you don’t, he cries. You can see he’s scared. Scared that you’ll reject him. He knows he can’t take that. Not now.

You pick him up out of the box. He’s light, as if he hasn’t been eating enough. He probably hasn’t.

Will immediately hugs you, still sobbing.

The rain has started to let up, so you decide it’s time to go home. You cradle the crying child in your arms and start the walk.

.

.

.

A few months have passed, you’ve managed to legally adopt Will.

Over these months you’ve discovered a lot about the child. His neck seems to be able to stretch infinitely, he tends to give people nicknames that vary from relevant to completely random, and he likes kabobs.

Will has settled in pretty well, he’s started school a week ago (something you worried a lot about), and while he does talk about getting bullied a lot, he’s making friends. One in particular who he calls “Old Sport”, which seems to be one of his more random nicknames.

You’re sitting at home reading the newspaper, a little concerned, apparently children have been going missing around a mysterious circus, although the lion tamer has been arrested for the crime, you don’t think he’s the guy. Taking one look at his picture you can tell he’s no murderer, now the ringleader…

It’s rude to make assumptions, you tell yourself.

You’re just happy that your son won’t be involved in any of that.

(Notes: Y/N has single-handedly prevented multiple counts of child murder by adopting an aubergine.)