Dave's Red Eyes

Dadberts Daily Life

[A/N: this is a little side chapter for your enjoyment, and I feel like the writing style I used is a little different but whatever]

Dadberts POV:

You lounge around the house in your new work clothes. Yesterday you took John to a baking convention, and boy was it a blast. You had never seen so many sweets and sweet related items.

You're not ashamed to say that the shirt you are wearing is one of them. Your new shirt has a little picture of a cake on the left side of your chest, laying on the pocket. Your new tie consists of the color blue that your son so dearly loves, and large chocolate chip cookies. You've never been so proud of your attire.

You don't go into your sons room, he's fast asleep and you think that he didn't enjoy going to the convention as much as you did. He looked slightly green, too, as if being in the sweets section was killing him.

But nevertheless, he went and you enjoyed spending time with your son. Lately, he's been talking to Dave in his spare time. He stays upstairs, stuck in how room on his computer, on his phone. He won't tell you what they talk about, but you have your suspensions.

What do you do next? Take the dog out? You don't have a dog, but there is a cat that randomly appears and causes trouble. Instead of doing that ridiculous task, you instead begin cleaning the house. Soon, your daughter will be on her way to come in for the wedding you were asked to cater.

Jane will be sharing a room with John since you don't seem to have a guest room and you don't want her on the couch. So if John doesn't clean his room today, you might just have to do it for him.

You go into the living room and look up at the earn, grinning slightly at Nanas ashes as you recall the great memories you have of her and the prank shop. Yes, you're not all about baking, are you? No one seems to remember that anymore.

There's a Harley Quinn doll beside the couch, and your grin doesn't fade. You bought that for John years ago, and for some reason he acted like he hated it, despite his many drawings of them.

You sit on the couch and read something of interest. 30 minutes? Maybe an hour later? Whatever the time, John comes down in his blue pajamas, his eyes half open as if he just woke up. "Good morning," you greet him, in a cheerful, fatherly tone.

"Hey, good morning, dad." He practically yawned back, plopping his self next to you on the couch, reaching for his phone.

Your pipe is conveniently on the table next to you. You reach for the fancy thing, sticking it comfortably between your teeth. "You feeling any better?" You quiz the raven haired boy.

He looked away from his phone, looking outward towards the room. "Yeah, it was so many sweets, you know?"

You blank out. No, you don't know, but you don't say anything. "Have you told Dave that I will cater?"

Johns face slightly froze at Daves name, but then unfroze at the end of your sentence. He tends to do that whenever you mention that freckled child. "Oh, uh, yeah I told him yesterday." He replies.

You glare at your son under your white fedora. You bite your lip as well as you can with your pipe in your mouth. "John?"

He had gone back to his phone, but at the mention of his name his attention went to you. "Yeeeeeeess?"

"You and Dave, are you," you take a slight dramatic pause, then repeat the last two words, "Are you doing drugs?"

His face twists in disgust, his blue eyes narrowed, his lips curled back, showing more teeth than he would probably like. "Dad, what the heck, no!" He nearly yelled.

"Good, good," you naw on your pipe slightly, going back to your reading material, then muttered another good under your breath .

Dang it, that wasn't the question you wanted to ask. You wanted to ask another question, but you panicked. You figure that when the time comes, he will tell you himself.