HS - Hexadyne Meetings - Sibling's Waltz
Title: Hexadyne Meetings - Sibling's Waltz
Fandom: Homestuck
Characters/pairings: Grandpa Harley, Nanna
Rating: PG
Summary: Some forces are too powerful to ignore, and some fates are too intertwined to ever separate. Four people, six meetings, a thousand lifetimes.
Warnings: None
Notes: 3/6
o o o
You're four the first time the witch hits you.
You cry and whine and your sister comes and wraps her arms around you and pets your hair and you snuffle into her dress.
o o o
You're eleven when your brother leaves.
He's too rash, too bold, too in love with the world to stay in the huge, stifling house and live the tiny, stifling life She wants for you both. He climbs onto Harley's back and steers the great dog around like he's a horse and he waves for you to join him. You can't.
He promises to come back for you.
He doesn't.
o o o
You're twenty six when you see your sister again.
She's grown into a fine, upstanding woman and is engaged to a fine, upstanding gentleman. Your dinner together is stilted at the best. The witch still hates her and still rants that you were the better of the two of you and the will still says you'll inherit all. You tell her about the ruins you've found and the grants you've gotten.
You ask her if she's happy. She says she will be, some day.
You ask her if she hates you, for never coming back. She laughs and doesn't answer.
When you get up to leave, you find your shoe laces tied to the table leg and the table cloth tied to your belt. The host has a fit and she slips out the door in the commotion and leaves you with the bill.
You figure it's the least you owe her.
o o o
You're forty when the witch dies.
She leaves you with a token inheritance. All of the rest goes to your brother. He misses the reading of the will and shows up late to the funeral, wearing his traveling clothes and smelling like a freshly overturned compost pile.
You hug him anyway.
Later, you find a dead tarantula in your purse. You subscribe him to Better Homes and Gardens in retaliation.
o o o
You're fifty three when your sister saves your life.
You've been lying in the bottom of a ravine for days now, slowly dying from a compound fracture in your leg and a nasty infection. You were supposed to check into the base camp over a week ago, and you hope that the rescue party finds your body. Your sister refused your offer of half of the company, but you hope she'll take it over willingly after you die. Or maybe she'll give it to her son. Something.
You think she's a hallucination when you see her. She screams in outrage and looks like she wants to shake you soundly. Instead she blows hard on the whistle around her neck and bursts into tears.
She'd joined the rescue team on day four, you discover later. You discover now that she's as strong as she ever was, and her son is even stronger and between the two of them, they get you out of the ravine.
o o o
You're sixty when he whispers his secret to you.
A baby, he says over a bottle of fine malt. A baby that will come from the sky and destroy the world and save the universe. He's been to another world, one of golden towers and dreaming clouds, and he's seen the room where she will sleep, a princess of a moon a thousand thousand miles away.
You whisper back that you believe him, because you’ve dreamed of a young man who will clear the skies.
He laughs and sobs into your shoulder and asks if you can ever forgive him. You laugh and sob back into his chest and tell him you forgave him when he mailed you the stuffed Burmese python to celebrate the opening of your shop.
o o o
You’re seventy two at your company’s one hundredth anniversary, and she air-drops a cake -made from a Duncan Hines mix- on top of your Seattle factory. The cake is fifteen feet tall and iced in blue.
It’s delicious. You mail her a box of chocolate-dipped Guatemalan hissing cockroaches.
o o o
You’re eighty five when you get the letter. His baby has arrived, a tiny girl with dark hair and big, lovely green eyes and congratulations, you’re a great-aunt.
You smile and fold the letter. In the distance, you can hear the whistling approach of something.
o o o
You’re eighty five when you stand over your sister’s grave.
Fandom: Homestuck
Characters/pairings: Grandpa Harley, Nanna
Rating: PG
Summary: Some forces are too powerful to ignore, and some fates are too intertwined to ever separate. Four people, six meetings, a thousand lifetimes.
Warnings: None
Notes: 3/6
o o o
You're four the first time the witch hits you.
You cry and whine and your sister comes and wraps her arms around you and pets your hair and you snuffle into her dress.
o o o
You're eleven when your brother leaves.
He's too rash, too bold, too in love with the world to stay in the huge, stifling house and live the tiny, stifling life She wants for you both. He climbs onto Harley's back and steers the great dog around like he's a horse and he waves for you to join him. You can't.
He promises to come back for you.
He doesn't.
o o o
You're twenty six when you see your sister again.
She's grown into a fine, upstanding woman and is engaged to a fine, upstanding gentleman. Your dinner together is stilted at the best. The witch still hates her and still rants that you were the better of the two of you and the will still says you'll inherit all. You tell her about the ruins you've found and the grants you've gotten.
You ask her if she's happy. She says she will be, some day.
You ask her if she hates you, for never coming back. She laughs and doesn't answer.
When you get up to leave, you find your shoe laces tied to the table leg and the table cloth tied to your belt. The host has a fit and she slips out the door in the commotion and leaves you with the bill.
You figure it's the least you owe her.
o o o
You're forty when the witch dies.
She leaves you with a token inheritance. All of the rest goes to your brother. He misses the reading of the will and shows up late to the funeral, wearing his traveling clothes and smelling like a freshly overturned compost pile.
You hug him anyway.
Later, you find a dead tarantula in your purse. You subscribe him to Better Homes and Gardens in retaliation.
o o o
You're fifty three when your sister saves your life.
You've been lying in the bottom of a ravine for days now, slowly dying from a compound fracture in your leg and a nasty infection. You were supposed to check into the base camp over a week ago, and you hope that the rescue party finds your body. Your sister refused your offer of half of the company, but you hope she'll take it over willingly after you die. Or maybe she'll give it to her son. Something.
You think she's a hallucination when you see her. She screams in outrage and looks like she wants to shake you soundly. Instead she blows hard on the whistle around her neck and bursts into tears.
She'd joined the rescue team on day four, you discover later. You discover now that she's as strong as she ever was, and her son is even stronger and between the two of them, they get you out of the ravine.
o o o
You're sixty when he whispers his secret to you.
A baby, he says over a bottle of fine malt. A baby that will come from the sky and destroy the world and save the universe. He's been to another world, one of golden towers and dreaming clouds, and he's seen the room where she will sleep, a princess of a moon a thousand thousand miles away.
You whisper back that you believe him, because you’ve dreamed of a young man who will clear the skies.
He laughs and sobs into your shoulder and asks if you can ever forgive him. You laugh and sob back into his chest and tell him you forgave him when he mailed you the stuffed Burmese python to celebrate the opening of your shop.
o o o
You’re seventy two at your company’s one hundredth anniversary, and she air-drops a cake -made from a Duncan Hines mix- on top of your Seattle factory. The cake is fifteen feet tall and iced in blue.
It’s delicious. You mail her a box of chocolate-dipped Guatemalan hissing cockroaches.
o o o
You’re eighty five when you get the letter. His baby has arrived, a tiny girl with dark hair and big, lovely green eyes and congratulations, you’re a great-aunt.
You smile and fold the letter. In the distance, you can hear the whistling approach of something.
o o o
You’re eighty five when you stand over your sister’s grave.