Author's Notes Hello, cats and kids! After a long break, chapter three is finally here. I rewrote this chapter four times, which is why there was such a delay! Even though it took a while I had to scrap a lot of words, I think the result is worth it. I have a better grip on Strong Bad's train of thought these days.

I want to thank my FList for always offering critique and support. I like when you guys kick my ass and say 'NO STRONG BAD DOES NOT THINK THAT WAY'. I want this story to be realistic and in-character, and I know my own personal bias won't allow that ... so thanks for the input! This chapter especially-- two of my FListers made the effort to go through and edit my chapter for me! You guys are the most wonderful ever and I can't thank you enough.

I also want to brag a little bit ... I changed my LiveJournal username! I'm now homestar at LJ, and you guys are all super jealous.

Anyways, still very open to critique and I am always looking for more beta readers! PM if interested :)

My friend is trapped in a shame spiral

I'm worried about my friend's survival

Waiting around on the sea to collapse

Sticking his foot in his own traps

- Point Shirley, Rhett Miller

-start chapter-

Ka-boom.

Strong Bad blew up the woodland creatures (and the zombies around them) for what had to be the millionth time. He had beaten Radioactive Deer Hunt five or six times just this week.

He let out a long, loud sigh. Strong Sad's eyes didn't stray from his book.

There was another louder, less natural sounding sigh a moment later and Strong Sad shut his book, sending his older brother a tame glare. "What?"

"I'm bored."

"You could start on that list of chores mom left you."

Strong Bad wrinkled his nose. "I'm not that bored. Come on, play Mario Kart with me."

"I have homework."

"So?"

"So play with The Cheat."

"I can't. He's at school," Strong Bad huffed, laying down. He tapped the buttons mindlessly, not caring what pixel critter he killed. "And when he gets back, Strong Mad will eat up all his time. Then YOU'LL go and I don't even have anyone to annoy."

"Well, maybe if The Cheat and I weren't working all your babysitting shifts, we'd have more time to entertain you," Strong Sad said, going back to his book, his voice dripping with disdain. "Maybe you just miss Homestar."

He could feel the glare Strong Bad was sending him. "What?!"

"You heard me. He used to be here everyday, following you around like a lovesick puppy dog. Maybe you just miss his company," Strong Sad suggested. Strong Bad's face twisted into disgust.

"Are you kidding? These two weeks without him have been a total blast! I rock and roll every day and I party at least every other night! And by Saturday I hope to bring that up to seven days a week. Me, miss Homestar? Yeah, right." He snorted and mashed the buttons harder then ever. Die, bluebirds, die.

"The boy doth protest too much," Strong Sad mused quietly, and the controller whacked him on the side of the head. He flinched and let out a whiny 'ow'.

"That's it. I'm going to school to study," he said, snagging his backpack. Strong Bad was still swinging the controller like a mace when Strong Sad hurried up the stairs.

"Yeah, you better run," he called, slowing the twirling piece of plastic to a halt. He looked back at his screen-- game over. Stupid Strong Sad made him lose.

He rested his head on the arm of the couch and started up a new game. Homestar would always try to play this game with him, and once Strong Bad actually let him.

It was a bad idea-- Homestar ran around trying to defend the little animals, forcing Strong Bad to kill his digital self numerous times. That part was strangely satisfying, but the impromptu wrestling match it caused later was a far different story. Being straddled and pinned to the ground by Homestar Runner within four or five seconds was painfully embarrassing. It didn't help that his family, The Cheat and even Marzipan had all been there, laughing hysterically that the masked wrestler was taken down so easily. He had never been more grateful that his mask covered up most of his face. If anyone had caught him blushing Strong Bad would never hear the end of it.

He gritted his teeth at the memory. Him, miss Homestar? Ever since that too tall, too skinny athlete waltzed into his homeroom during Sophomore year his life had gone downhill.

He turned over. Homestar was a good year older then him, but he must have been held back a year at his old school. That made sense considering his grades were Cs at best. The teachers let him slide because of his outstanding athletic performance. That was inufriating-- Strong Bad would have killed for a free ride. Instead he had to study his butt off.

He wondered if Homestar's parents ever made him study, or if they just put him in a hamster wheel and let him run to his heart's content. Actually, come to think of it ... he had never met Homestar's parents. He dismissed it. Anyone that spawned Homestar wasn't worth meeting.

He rolled over onto his back and squinted at the ceiling's recessed lighting. Two weeks without Homestar had started off great. He had egged his house once or twice. The yellowish stains had stayed there until it rained a few days later. He spray painted 'Homestar's a moron' onto his garage, but someone painted over it by the following day. Probably Pom Pom. He hadn't asked, and didn't care.

He'd written about forty Teen Girl Squads. They were much easier to plow through when Homestar wasn't standing over his shoulder, asking what was going to happen next. Sometimes he had good ideas, Strong Bad conceded. Once he had planned to tar and feather The Ugly One, but Homestar remarked that his vat of tar looked more like barbeque sauce than anything else. The rest of the story wrote itself.

He smiled to himself. Okay, maybe he wasn't all bad. Homestar always grabbed his bill at the bar, and his fridge had the good brands of beer. Pricey ones, from far off lands like Germany and ... Canada. Strong Bad's mother bought from some local distillery, and he was half certain that it was motor oil and cheap vodka, not beer.

Strong Bad sat up and glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon, and according to the time table it was his turn to see Homestar next. He mulled over the idea.

It would be a change of scenery, yes. And being with Homestar would remind him how awesome not being with Homestar was. He tapped his chin. If nothing else, he could swing by, clear out his fridge and leave.

A solid plan. He jumped to his feet and headed upstairs. Strong Bad walked out of the house only to retreat back, shivering violently. Friggen winter.

He reached into the hall closet in search of something before he found it. A ratty, black and red hooded sweatshirt with a faded Limozeen logo ironed onto the back. He wore it almost every day in high school, thanks to the school's fairly strict 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy. Strong Bad detested dress codes, but figured a sweatshirt with no undershirt was rebellious enough while still conforming to their idea of what was and was not acceptable. Strong Sad eyed him from the kitchen table, apparently having decided that it was to cold to venture back to school.

"Where are you going?" he asked. Strong Bad tensed up.

"Nowhere."

"You aren't going to Homestar's, are you?"

"No." He zipped up the hoodie indignantly. "Of course not. I'm getting beer."

It was half true-- the getting beer part, not the not going to Homestar's part.

"At noon?"

"I plan my drunken Mario Kart parties ahead of time," Strong Bad shrugged, and walked out the door. Even with the added clothing it was still needlessly cold. He shivered and jammed his hands into his pockets.

Strong Sad shook his head and resumed reading his book in peace.

Homestar didn't live far-- up the street and a few houses down. Strong Bad looked over at the other houses as he passed by them. Cars in the driveway, mailboxes filled with junk, and a basketball just sitting on one of the lawns. He hardly knew his neighbors.

Free Country was a weird city, if one could call it that. No one who lived there worked there except Bubs. Strong Bad's mother was a registered nurse. She worked in the local hospital from time to time, but usually she traveled to help teach new nurses the ropes around the country. He sighed angrily. Right now she was living it up in Florida while everyone in Free Country froze to death. Spring couldn't come fast enough.

He shuddered at a particularly chilling gust of wind. The Strong family did have it a bit easy, in some respects. Strong Bad never once took out a student loan. His credit was practically perfect. Strong Sad was going to college full time without a single loan under his belt.

Still, all that education came at a price-- they may have money in the bank, but it was their mother's money and they weren't allowed to even think about it without her permission. As badly as Strong Bad wanted a car, mom refused to pony up the money until he either got a job or went back to school. He snorted. At 26, easing back into college would be way too awkward.

Strong Bad stopped in front of Homestar's house, looking it over. His gaze flicked towards the mailbox, which was filled to the brim with mail. He sighed and grabbed some of it, reading the return addresses on them as he pushed through the open front door.

The Cheat hopped up from the couch and hurried over excitedly. "Strong Bad! Hey man, what's happening?" he asked, tugging at his sleeve. Strong Bad unzipped the hoodie and dropped the mail on an end table.

"Not much. Holy crap, Homestar, do your parents just not have a phone or something? There's like a zillion letters over here," Strong Bad asked. He paused, waiting for the overly enthusiastic response he'd usually receive, but nothing came.

"Homestar? Hello, earth to Homestar?" He waited impatiently, and The Cheat laughed. "Man, don't bother. He's a zombie. What are you even doing here?"

"My shift starts at noon," Strong Bad said, shrugging his shoulders.

The Cheat's jaw dropped. "You're ... you're working your shift?"

Strong Bad's cheeks pinkened beneath his mask. "Yes. Jeez, don't sound so shocked."

"Did your brain melt or something? Have you been standing in front of the microwave? Are you some sort of evil clone? Weak Good? Are you Weak Good?"

"Am I what?"

"You know, are you from OPPOSITE LAND?" The Cheat asked, throwing his arms up in the air. "You're actually gonna spend time with Dumbstar?"

"Correction-- I'm going to spend time with Dumbstar's liquor cabinet," Strong Bad snickered, heading for the kitchen. The Cheat followed him, shaking his head.

"Seriously, man? The guy's half comatose and you're going to rob him?"

Strong Bad raised an eyebrow. "Well, yeah. That was my pla-" He stopped and turned around. "Wait a minute. Shouldn't you be at school?"

The Cheat grinned nervously. "Uh, it's Saturday?"

"It's Tuesday! Come on dude, out. Catch the next bus to school," he huffed, pointing out the door. The Cheat muttered angrily under his breath. "I don't have money for bus fare."

The excuse was met with a glare and Strong Bad snapped up Homestar's wallet, pulling out two dollars. "Here. Go nuts. Now get out of here."

"Fiiine," The Cheat sighed angrily, taking the bills. "I'm going, I'm going."

Strong Bad watched him leave and then inspected Homestar's wallet. He raised an eyebrow-- a driver's license? Homestar knew how to drive? He squinted at it for a moment, confused.

Something seemed off. The ID was legit, so that wasn't the issue. He sat down at the kitchen table and tapped the card on it a few times. The picture was recent, Homestar didn't have a mustache or anything. It wasn't out of state. Why did it look so weird, then?

It finally clicked. The name on the card. He inspected it a bit closer.

Homestar M. Runner.

He looked out at the living room, brow furrowed in confusion. "Your name is actually Homestar? What, are your parents hippies or something?"

No response. Oh, right-- half comatose.

He grumbled angrily before slipping the ID back into the proper slot. He continued having a conversation with Homestar. "Seriously, man. I'm having a really hard time believing that." Strong Bad got up from the table and slipped the wallet back onto the microwave.

He stopped to grab a beer-- a Canadian beer-- from the fridge and plopped down on the unoccupied side of the couch. He took a swig and nudged Homestar with his foot. "So what does the 'M' stand for?"

Homestar didn't even look his way-- he just took a swig from a nearly empty bottle of Mountain Dew. Strong Bad kicked him harder.

"Come on, man, I didn't come over here to talk to myself for three hours. You're such a friggen chatterbox. Quit being mopey," he snapped and Homestar sent him a glare before he changed the channel and turned up the volume.

"You do not care about Shamwows enough to justify having the volume at 60," Strong Bad complained. "My mom doesn't even care about Shamwows that much."

He reached over at snatched the remote from him, turning down the volume and changing the channel in process. He waited for a moment, for Homestar try and get it back, to whine about having his precious channel changed ...

But nothing happened. Homestar continued to stare at the television mindlessly. Strong Bad tapped his fingers on his knee, visibly irritated.

He hated losing. That wasn't a secret. And although it wasn't a real competition like a race or a high score in a video game, Strong Bad had been trying to rile Homestar up and it wasn't working. He was losing.

Just one word, he decided. He just wanted one word and then he'd prove that he could do it, that he could get Homestar to respond in a halfway proper manner. Seeing Homestar like this was unsettling.

Curled up on the end of the couch, clutching a room temperature bottle of Mountain Dew. He didn't even look like himself-- his hat was on the floor near an empty bag of potato chips, and he wasn't wearing a star on any article of clothing. Just a white tank top, a pair of red boxers and a mismatched pair of socks.

Strong Bad went ahead and kicked him, smirking. There was a brief pause before he went ahead and nudged him again.

"Come on, man, play Mario Kart with me."

Homestar's eyes flicked towards him, but then back at the television. Strong Bad grinned triumphantly. Homestar was always desperate to play video games with him, and here Strong Bad was, dangling the offer in front of him. If Homestar was a starving dog, then playing video games with Strong Bad was a t-bone steak.

Strong Bad hopped off the couch and got to work plugging the ancient Super Nintendo into the back of the television. He made a show of blowing into the cartridge before he snapped it into place. He gave Homestar a smirk before he placed the controller in front of him and started up a race.

The Princess refused to move from the lower half of the screen while Mario tore up the rainbow colored track of the top half. It was like that for the first two laps, Strong Bad growing less and less patient with Homestar's defiance. Winning wasn't satisfying unless Homestar tried.

And then, suddenly, the go-kart moved. Strong Bad turned his head. Homestar had pushed himself upright, stubbornly glaring at the screen as he tried to catch up. His opponent almost forgot to continue racing.

Homestar managed one lap before Strong Bad got past the finish line. He turned to glare at him. "Again."

Strong Bad smirked-- the one word he needed. "And give up my title as champion? Let me think about it... no." He put the controller down and got up to leave. Homestar lunged forward and snagged his sleeve, glaring up at him. "Come on! One more race."

One more race turned into twenty-seven more races. Homestar eventually reclaimed his title as the Master of Mario Kart, but Strong Bad could keep reminding him that he had won the first race.

"I'm hungry," Homestar muttered, after victory number twenty-three. He stood up and stretched his back out, grabbing his mail as he headed for the kitchen. He dropped the stack of letters from his parents into the garbage on his way to the fridge.

Strong Bad followed and scooped them up. "Dude, these are from you mom and dad. You're not even gonna read them?"

"How's Marzipan doing?" Homestar huffed, searching through his fridge.

There was a pause as Strong Bad looked around. "Uh, how the crap should I know?"

Homestar pushed some leftovers aside. "How are her parents? Are you two engaged yet? When's the wedding? We hope you name the first one after your grandfather, we're praying for sons, blah blah blah."

He grabbed an apple and shut the fridge, visibly annoyed. "No, I'm not gonna read them. Why should I?"

Strong Bad took a seat at the kitchen table and rested his chin in his hand. "Guess you got a point."

Homestar took a bite of his apple and sat across from him. They were quiet for a few moments before Homestar suddenly spoke up again.

"It's Michael."

Strong Bad was snapped out of his thoughts. "Who is?"

"The 'M'. It stands for Michael. It's my middle name," Homestar shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. Strong Bad blinked a few times before it clicked.

"Oh! Right, on your ID. Man, I asked that hours ago. I totally forgot. Michael, huh," he repeated. It was weird picturing a normal name like Michael on a guy like Homestar. "And your real name's Homestar?"

"It has been since I turned eighteen, at least," he shrugged, prompting a 'huh' from Strong Bad. Homestar snickered. "I got it changed."

"You ... changed your name to Homestar?"

"Yes."

"...why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Everyone calls me Homestar anyway, it might as well be my name," he shrugged.

There was a pause before Strong Bad spoke again. "What was it before?"

Homestar's pale cheeks flushed slightly and he shook his head. "N-nothing, it's nothing important," he replied, looking a bit flustered.

Strong Bad grinned. "I gotta know. Tell me."

"You tell me yours," Homestar challenged. "I don't even know your real name. Why should I tell you my old one?"

"Because-" Before Strong Bad could finish his request, the door opened and Pom Pom's voice called out to them.

"Anyone here?"

Pom Pom looked at the couch in disbelief, Homestar obviously missing from his usual spot. He listened for running water-- no, not in the shower. "Homestar?"

"In here," Strong Bad shouted and Pom Pom jumped at the sound of his voice. He entered the kitchen, brow furrowed in confusion. "Strong Bad?"

"Hey," he said, waving. Homestar tossed his core into the trash from his seat. Strong Bad grinned. "Nice shot, dork. Bet ya can't do it again."

"Watch me," Homestar huffed, grinning nonetheless. He pulled a napkin from box on the table and balled it up, tossing it in the trash. Pom Pom stood there, staring.

"Uh. I just came to check up on you, Homestar. D-did you eat today?" he asked, shaking his head. He was talking to Homestar, and, even more surprising, he was getting a response.

"Uh huh. Just had an apple," Homestar said, tossing another napkin in the trash. "Three for three."

"I'd say do four, but I don't know if you can count that high," Strong Bad remarked. Homestar sent him a glare.

"Strong Bad, can I talk to you for a second?" Pom Pom interrupted, tugging at his sleeve. Strong Bad followed him into the other room. "What's up?"

"What did you do?"

Strong Bad blinked up at him. "Um. Context please?"

Pom Pom motioned to the kitchen. "Homestar. How did you get him to get up and ... he's TALKING and smiling and laughing and ... how? What did you do?"

"Oh, that." Strong Bad made a dismissive snorting sound. "I made him play video games with me."

"I've tried that. He never responds," Pom Pom said, looking frustrated. Strong Bad just shrugged.

"I guess he'd rather play with me. Hey, do you know what his name used to be?" he asked. Pom Pom titled his head to one side before he sighed.

"Yes, but I swore to never tell. You're telling me you just made him play video games and now he's up and about and acting totally normal? Did you talk to him about Marzipan yet?"

"No, why would I want to do that?" Strong Bad asked, disgusted at the very idea. "I just came over here to kill time, not to be Dumbstar's therapist. Besides, I don't think he wants to talk about her anyway? Would you?"

"He should," Pom Pom stated firmly. "It's the healthy way to recovery."

"Don't care," Strong Bad said, shrugging. He zipped up his hoodie. "You're here, so I can roll, right? He doesn't need me to babysit anymore."

Pom Pom nodded and watched him go, brow furrowed in thought before he went back into the kitchen.

Homestar looked up at him. "Did Strong Bad leave?" Pom Pom could hear the disappointment in his voice.

He sat across from him and nodded. "Yeah, he did. So you feeling better?"

"I guess," Homestar replied dismissively, no longer looking at him. He continued to roll up napkins and throw them in the trash. Pom Pom watched him for a moment.

"Your mom called this morning," he said, watching Homestar toss the napkin. It missed the trash can, and Homestar didn't make another one.

Pom Pom waited for a response, but the words never came.

-end chapter-