Homestuck - Close the Loop
Title: Close the Loop
Fandom: Homestuck
Characters/pairings: Dirk, Bro, Dave, Alpha!Dave
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dave sets up a family reunion, and forgets to inform the guests beforehand.
Warnings: Semi-graphic maiming, pottymouths, drama queens.
Notes: HI MY NAME IS SAE AND I NEED A NEW FANDOM LIKE I NEED A FUCKING FRONTAL LOBOTOMY SO HEY HAVE SOME STRIDERS *throws self off of a cliff*
o o o
Dirk: Rise.
You are Dirk Strider, and you're fairly certain you've lost your mind.
That, or Roxy's been playing some seriously fucked-up game with the Appearifier, because you're looking at a man who resembles you on a level so far past uncanny that uncanny and the level aren't in the same country. He's taller than you, and what is just-starting-to-not-be-scrawny musculature on you is filled out and powerful on him. Christ, he's even wearing your shades. He's picking himself up off the ground, much like you yourself are, and you bet he has the same nasty, silvery headache going on.
Then he looks at you, and on the on hand, holy fuck you hope he's actually your future, because he's obviously a badass. On the other, he's gone very tense and still at the sight of you and wow, yeah, he's a little bit terrifying. You get to your feet, acutely aware of his eyes on you, like he's trying to decide whether or not you deserve to live. He straightens, his mouth set in a thin line and his hands in fists at his side. "Who are you?" he demands.
You immediately bristle, because, terrifying or no, who the fuck is he to demand anything of you? You mirror his pose with a little more insolence than you probably should, and you can see his jaw tighten. "I could ask you the same," you drawl and yeah, he's getting pissy. Fucking kids these days, no manners at all, bluh bluh bluh, fuck him. He can get mad all he wants. You're far from defenseless.
He draws a katana. No, not even; one second he's standing there, then there's a blade from absolutely nowhere, no sign of a sylladex, just bam, sword. He points it at you and now he's down-right scary but you're also pissed. "Let me ask that again," he says, his words going arctic. "Who are you?"
Where's this guy get off, being such a prick? You haven't even done anything to him, aside from existing and being his doppelganger. The thought gives you pause. There's not a single movie you can think of where the appearance of another you goes well, and that includes every shitty version of The Parent Trap. Maybe he thinks you're his evil doppelganger. Shit, maybe he's your evil doppelganger. You draw your own blade, slow like he's not worth rushing over. "Mommy says, don't talk to strangers," you reply. "Introduce yourself and maybe you won't be a stranger anymore."
You're fast. He's faster, and you barely block his first strike. You move to retaliate and he's straight-up gone. Whoops he's back again and your arm twinges painfully with the deflected force of his blow. You dance around each other for a minute or so, then he gets behind you and plants his boot right in your lower back, knocking you to the ground.
You spit out a mouth full of dirt. Fuck. This. Guy. But oh hey, you can't get up and kick his face in just quite yet, because he's got his blade an inch or so from your face. You glare up at him and he glares right back. "I'm not asking again," he says softly.
A red blur slams into your (maybe?) evil doppelganger, sending him flying. He lands on his feet - barely - skidding back across the dusty ground. You barely notice, because you're too busy staring at his assailant. You know him. Christ, you'd know him anywhere, even though you've only seen pictures and shitty YouTube videos of him. You stand up again, trying to keep from gaping and only failing a little.
"...Bro?"
"You stay the fuck away from my little brother," Dave snarls at your doppelganger.
Dave: Be pissed.
You are Dave Strider, and you're not pissed, you're fucking furious.
You finally -finally! - somehow get a new lease on life, an actual chance to be the guardian you royally fucked up at being, and your little bro's evil grown-up robot clone shows up and decides to start shit. You are not in the mood for this. You and the mood broke up years ago and sorry, baby, can't come crawling back that easy. You are SO over the mood, and being thus, this asshole and his high and mighty attitude can fuck right off back to evil-robot-clone-ville.
Dirk scrambles to his feet, his facade slipping just enough that your heartstrings go twanging. Jesus, he's just a kid in purple pajamas, and you've done fuck-all to help him grow up right. But then his mask slides back into place, perfect Strider ice, and maybe loading up your apartment with Li'l Cal and shitty movies was enough. He steps up next to you, gives you a total coolkid once-over, then jerks his chin at the robo-clone. "Man has no class," he says mildly.
"Then let's take his ass to school," you reply, hand tightening on your blade.
The robo-clone smirks, his lip briefly curling. "You ladies done talking?" he asks.
"Sorry," you say flippantly. "Guess I'm just a chatterbox." Then you launch yourself at him.
Other Dave: Fail to believe these assholes.
You are Dave Strider, and you can NOT believe these assholes.
All that work, getting Dirk here, getting his brother and your brother back alive, getting them here, and it's all about to go down the porcelain pooper because you're the only grown-up in a fifty mile radius and they're all fucking brain-dead. You skid down an embankment, swearing the whole way as Dirk and Dave-Bro fling themselves at Bro like busty noblewomen at a romance novel hero. With swords. And insults. And way less boobies.
You wrack your mind for a way to defuse the situation and keep the morons from fricasseeing each other. Even if you are God-Tier, both adults way outclass you in sheer battle prowess. Dirk, you're pretty sure you can take down, he hasn't ascended yet. But Bro and Dave-Bro both could mop the floor with you if you run in there, waving your sword and bleating.
Wait. You're God-Tier.
Even as the idea hits you, you groan to yourself. It definitely won't be Just, and you severely doubt it'll be Heroic. No, what it'll be is dumb and stupid and brainless and Jesus, this is going to suck. But it'll make them pause. And assuming you're calculating the redemptional quality of this stupid plan correctly, that pause will be enough for them to get their heads out of their asses.
And while Dirk probably knows what your pajama upgrade means, the two adults definitely don't. What better way to show them exactly what kind of game they're playing now?
God, there's about fifty better ways, but you can't think of one that'll work.
You reach out and grab a moment. It sits there, pretty as can be, a perfect sculpture of a single instant in time. Bro is thrusting forward, towards Dave-Bro's chest, and fuck, these assholes are actually playing for keeps, what the actual fuck. Dave-Bro is swinging his sword down, presumably to knock Bro's out of the way. Dirk is coming up from the other side, under Bro's guard. You step between them, at the point where all three blades will meet, and cursing yourself for coming up with the absolute worse ideas, you let the moment go.
Dirk's blade bites deep into your side, into your innards and finishes up jarring into your spine. Dave-Bro's sword slices down into your shoulder, nearly severing your arm. And Bro's slides neatly into your chest, turning your heart into deli meat.
'Fricassee,' you think, before black steals over your vision.
That one Dirk: Hate yourself.
You are Dirk Strider, and you suddenly feel like throwing yourself off of a cliff.
You remember your death, and a seeming eternity of haunting the memories of others. Now, you're alive and whole and a flashback from your highschool years is standing next to a flash-forward of Dave at his douchiest and oh yeah, you just stabbed Dave in the fucking chest. He smirks at you, like this is some kind of joke, then he's collapsing, sliding off the blades piercing him.
You drop your blade in favor of catching Dave as he slithers to the ground, blood and viscera slick against your hands. "Christ, no," you mutter, and to hell with your carefully cultured persona, Dave is dying and it's your fault. The bizarro-clones back off, still on edge, but they must be some kind of Strider off-shoot, because they know you just don't interrupt a tearful death scene.
Dave's fileted heart still tries to pump, blood stuttering up from his chest in slowing pulses. The weak heartbeats sound like the winding down of an old clock with a sprung mainspring. They slow, stop, and somehow, somewhere eternally far and right between your ears, you hear that clock chime the hour.
Dave's first gasping breath draws spilled guts and blood back into his body. The second closes the wounds without scars. The third seals the tears in his goofy fucking outfit and what the flying FUCK is going on?
You sit back on your heels, staring as Dave rises literally from the dead, and you're not sure whether you want to hug the kid or throttle him. He grunts, rubbing his chest, then turns and punches you in the shoulder. "That hurt, you douche," he says, but he's smiling a little and you might just do both.
The first Dirk: Close the loop.
As soon as the other boy in goofy pajamas shows up, dies, and falls off of your collective blades, you pause your bro and shoo him back. Things all of a sudden make a lot more sense, in a bizarre manner, and you wait to see how this plays out. Sure enough, after some truly impressively impassive dying, the kid sits back up. Damn, you need a pajama upgrade, that's a pretty neat trick.
"God Tier," you say when he looks at you.
"God Tier," he agrees, standing.
Your doppelganger stands, too, still hovering a little close to the doppel-Dave. "Okay," he says. "Pretty please, explain what the fuck is going on, and who the hell these two are."
Doppel-Dave points to you, your bro, your doppel (his bro?) then himself. "Dirk, Dave, Dirk, Dave. They're us, if the initial parameters were changed." He looks at your bro. "I repeat; we're you, only backwards. Now that we're all introduced, we need to get a fucking move-on."
Your bro's jaw goes tight, and he looks at you. "You trust them?" he asks.
Your doppel? Not really; you're enough of a manipulative prick as it is, you'd hate to see what you'd become after a few years of raising a smart-ass. But doppel-Dave? For some reason, yeah, you do. You nod, and your bro sighs the single most long-suffering, drama-queen sigh you've ever heard. "Fine," he says. "Lead on, oh funny-dressed leader."
Fandom: Homestuck
Characters/pairings: Dirk, Bro, Dave, Alpha!Dave
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dave sets up a family reunion, and forgets to inform the guests beforehand.
Warnings: Semi-graphic maiming, pottymouths, drama queens.
Notes: HI MY NAME IS SAE AND I NEED A NEW FANDOM LIKE I NEED A FUCKING FRONTAL LOBOTOMY SO HEY HAVE SOME STRIDERS *throws self off of a cliff*
o o o
Dirk: Rise.
You are Dirk Strider, and you're fairly certain you've lost your mind.
That, or Roxy's been playing some seriously fucked-up game with the Appearifier, because you're looking at a man who resembles you on a level so far past uncanny that uncanny and the level aren't in the same country. He's taller than you, and what is just-starting-to-not-be-scrawny musculature on you is filled out and powerful on him. Christ, he's even wearing your shades. He's picking himself up off the ground, much like you yourself are, and you bet he has the same nasty, silvery headache going on.
Then he looks at you, and on the on hand, holy fuck you hope he's actually your future, because he's obviously a badass. On the other, he's gone very tense and still at the sight of you and wow, yeah, he's a little bit terrifying. You get to your feet, acutely aware of his eyes on you, like he's trying to decide whether or not you deserve to live. He straightens, his mouth set in a thin line and his hands in fists at his side. "Who are you?" he demands.
You immediately bristle, because, terrifying or no, who the fuck is he to demand anything of you? You mirror his pose with a little more insolence than you probably should, and you can see his jaw tighten. "I could ask you the same," you drawl and yeah, he's getting pissy. Fucking kids these days, no manners at all, bluh bluh bluh, fuck him. He can get mad all he wants. You're far from defenseless.
He draws a katana. No, not even; one second he's standing there, then there's a blade from absolutely nowhere, no sign of a sylladex, just bam, sword. He points it at you and now he's down-right scary but you're also pissed. "Let me ask that again," he says, his words going arctic. "Who are you?"
Where's this guy get off, being such a prick? You haven't even done anything to him, aside from existing and being his doppelganger. The thought gives you pause. There's not a single movie you can think of where the appearance of another you goes well, and that includes every shitty version of The Parent Trap. Maybe he thinks you're his evil doppelganger. Shit, maybe he's your evil doppelganger. You draw your own blade, slow like he's not worth rushing over. "Mommy says, don't talk to strangers," you reply. "Introduce yourself and maybe you won't be a stranger anymore."
You're fast. He's faster, and you barely block his first strike. You move to retaliate and he's straight-up gone. Whoops he's back again and your arm twinges painfully with the deflected force of his blow. You dance around each other for a minute or so, then he gets behind you and plants his boot right in your lower back, knocking you to the ground.
You spit out a mouth full of dirt. Fuck. This. Guy. But oh hey, you can't get up and kick his face in just quite yet, because he's got his blade an inch or so from your face. You glare up at him and he glares right back. "I'm not asking again," he says softly.
A red blur slams into your (maybe?) evil doppelganger, sending him flying. He lands on his feet - barely - skidding back across the dusty ground. You barely notice, because you're too busy staring at his assailant. You know him. Christ, you'd know him anywhere, even though you've only seen pictures and shitty YouTube videos of him. You stand up again, trying to keep from gaping and only failing a little.
"...Bro?"
"You stay the fuck away from my little brother," Dave snarls at your doppelganger.
Dave: Be pissed.
You are Dave Strider, and you're not pissed, you're fucking furious.
You finally -finally! - somehow get a new lease on life, an actual chance to be the guardian you royally fucked up at being, and your little bro's evil grown-up robot clone shows up and decides to start shit. You are not in the mood for this. You and the mood broke up years ago and sorry, baby, can't come crawling back that easy. You are SO over the mood, and being thus, this asshole and his high and mighty attitude can fuck right off back to evil-robot-clone-ville.
Dirk scrambles to his feet, his facade slipping just enough that your heartstrings go twanging. Jesus, he's just a kid in purple pajamas, and you've done fuck-all to help him grow up right. But then his mask slides back into place, perfect Strider ice, and maybe loading up your apartment with Li'l Cal and shitty movies was enough. He steps up next to you, gives you a total coolkid once-over, then jerks his chin at the robo-clone. "Man has no class," he says mildly.
"Then let's take his ass to school," you reply, hand tightening on your blade.
The robo-clone smirks, his lip briefly curling. "You ladies done talking?" he asks.
"Sorry," you say flippantly. "Guess I'm just a chatterbox." Then you launch yourself at him.
Other Dave: Fail to believe these assholes.
You are Dave Strider, and you can NOT believe these assholes.
All that work, getting Dirk here, getting his brother and your brother back alive, getting them here, and it's all about to go down the porcelain pooper because you're the only grown-up in a fifty mile radius and they're all fucking brain-dead. You skid down an embankment, swearing the whole way as Dirk and Dave-Bro fling themselves at Bro like busty noblewomen at a romance novel hero. With swords. And insults. And way less boobies.
You wrack your mind for a way to defuse the situation and keep the morons from fricasseeing each other. Even if you are God-Tier, both adults way outclass you in sheer battle prowess. Dirk, you're pretty sure you can take down, he hasn't ascended yet. But Bro and Dave-Bro both could mop the floor with you if you run in there, waving your sword and bleating.
Wait. You're God-Tier.
Even as the idea hits you, you groan to yourself. It definitely won't be Just, and you severely doubt it'll be Heroic. No, what it'll be is dumb and stupid and brainless and Jesus, this is going to suck. But it'll make them pause. And assuming you're calculating the redemptional quality of this stupid plan correctly, that pause will be enough for them to get their heads out of their asses.
And while Dirk probably knows what your pajama upgrade means, the two adults definitely don't. What better way to show them exactly what kind of game they're playing now?
God, there's about fifty better ways, but you can't think of one that'll work.
You reach out and grab a moment. It sits there, pretty as can be, a perfect sculpture of a single instant in time. Bro is thrusting forward, towards Dave-Bro's chest, and fuck, these assholes are actually playing for keeps, what the actual fuck. Dave-Bro is swinging his sword down, presumably to knock Bro's out of the way. Dirk is coming up from the other side, under Bro's guard. You step between them, at the point where all three blades will meet, and cursing yourself for coming up with the absolute worse ideas, you let the moment go.
Dirk's blade bites deep into your side, into your innards and finishes up jarring into your spine. Dave-Bro's sword slices down into your shoulder, nearly severing your arm. And Bro's slides neatly into your chest, turning your heart into deli meat.
'Fricassee,' you think, before black steals over your vision.
That one Dirk: Hate yourself.
You are Dirk Strider, and you suddenly feel like throwing yourself off of a cliff.
You remember your death, and a seeming eternity of haunting the memories of others. Now, you're alive and whole and a flashback from your highschool years is standing next to a flash-forward of Dave at his douchiest and oh yeah, you just stabbed Dave in the fucking chest. He smirks at you, like this is some kind of joke, then he's collapsing, sliding off the blades piercing him.
You drop your blade in favor of catching Dave as he slithers to the ground, blood and viscera slick against your hands. "Christ, no," you mutter, and to hell with your carefully cultured persona, Dave is dying and it's your fault. The bizarro-clones back off, still on edge, but they must be some kind of Strider off-shoot, because they know you just don't interrupt a tearful death scene.
Dave's fileted heart still tries to pump, blood stuttering up from his chest in slowing pulses. The weak heartbeats sound like the winding down of an old clock with a sprung mainspring. They slow, stop, and somehow, somewhere eternally far and right between your ears, you hear that clock chime the hour.
Dave's first gasping breath draws spilled guts and blood back into his body. The second closes the wounds without scars. The third seals the tears in his goofy fucking outfit and what the flying FUCK is going on?
You sit back on your heels, staring as Dave rises literally from the dead, and you're not sure whether you want to hug the kid or throttle him. He grunts, rubbing his chest, then turns and punches you in the shoulder. "That hurt, you douche," he says, but he's smiling a little and you might just do both.
The first Dirk: Close the loop.
As soon as the other boy in goofy pajamas shows up, dies, and falls off of your collective blades, you pause your bro and shoo him back. Things all of a sudden make a lot more sense, in a bizarre manner, and you wait to see how this plays out. Sure enough, after some truly impressively impassive dying, the kid sits back up. Damn, you need a pajama upgrade, that's a pretty neat trick.
"God Tier," you say when he looks at you.
"God Tier," he agrees, standing.
Your doppelganger stands, too, still hovering a little close to the doppel-Dave. "Okay," he says. "Pretty please, explain what the fuck is going on, and who the hell these two are."
Doppel-Dave points to you, your bro, your doppel (his bro?) then himself. "Dirk, Dave, Dirk, Dave. They're us, if the initial parameters were changed." He looks at your bro. "I repeat; we're you, only backwards. Now that we're all introduced, we need to get a fucking move-on."
Your bro's jaw goes tight, and he looks at you. "You trust them?" he asks.
Your doppel? Not really; you're enough of a manipulative prick as it is, you'd hate to see what you'd become after a few years of raising a smart-ass. But doppel-Dave? For some reason, yeah, you do. You nod, and your bro sighs the single most long-suffering, drama-queen sigh you've ever heard. "Fine," he says. "Lead on, oh funny-dressed leader."