A/N - This is just a short little something that I wrote while listening to Cascade off of the eighth volume of Homestuck. I dunno. Shit just came to mind. Reviews are loved.
Disclaimer - Everything Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie.
Nothing was right.
For one, Dave was crying, hot tears pouring down his cheeks in transparent, wet rivulets from beneath his shades—and Striders didn't cry. Two, the world's being as everyone knew it was now compromised by the threat of the meteors looming ominously on the horizon, rocks surrounded by their own fiery hazes that put the sun to shame, each one growing in size by the minute. Three, and most importantly of all, Bro wasn't there.
Bro's location was beyond Dave's knowledge, however vast it was. The flash-stepping blonde was always a step ahead of his little brother, always keeping him under his wing, in his shadow. This lead to many a problem, but that didn't matter. Dave shouldn't be dependent on him. That was the first thing that Bro had ever taught him, aside from that he looked pretty fine in a set of sweet shades. Now, though, the guardian that had raised him through everything, the mentor that had been with him from the start of his life, wasn't there for the end of it.
As Dave stood near the window of his room, staring out at the meteors of ever-increasing size that turned the sky a blood red, he wished everything goodbye. Bye to his turntables that Bro had gotten him for his tenth birthday, in the (secret) hopes that they could make some sick beats together. Bye to the negatives hanging in his makeshift darkroom. Bye to the mess of cords in the centre of his room that he had a tendency to trip over. Even bye to Lil' Cal, who had haunted his childhood and, quite frankly, still tormented him.
Tossing a glance over his shoulder, the puppet in mind was sitting in the swivel computer chair that he had spent so many hours in talking to John Egbert, the king of derp. It took a bit of effort for Dave to pull himself away from the sight at the window, but he crossed the room, taking Lil' Cal by the floppy mitten hand and walking out of his room with him. In the kitchen, the refrigerator door still stood open with a pile of shitty swords spilling out of it. Bro's smuppets were still all over, shoved in the blender, on the counters and floors. Bro himself, though, was nowhere to be found.
With an inward sigh, Dave chose to make his way to the roof, Lil' Cal still in hand, where he had strifed with—and lost to—Bro so often under the harsh Texas sun. He walked up the familiar set of stairs with the glowing red 'EXIT' sign above them, through the crooked door that lead to the tar-covered roof of their apartment building. The broken air conditioner vent was where it always was, sitting there and being a useless heap of metal.
It was atop this broken machinery that Dave chose to sit, legs crossed with Lil' Cal hugged to his chest, the puppet's noodle-like arms almost seeming to hug to him as the young Strider looked at the nearing meteors. Even his aviators didn't help with the strain on his eyes that the brightness of the inferno caused.
Sweat had begun to mix with the tears on his face long before, even within the apartment as heat from the meteors tearing through their atmosphere turned the earth into a greenhouse, but it was much more obvious now, droplets from his hairline slipping down to be caught in his worried brows. His broken record shirt clung to his slender figure, dampening the puppet in his arms as well. Beneath his shades, his red eyes closed, both to keep out the sweat and hide the image of his—and everyone else's—impending doom.
And suddenly, Bro was there.
Bro was there, arms wrapping around Dave and Lil' Cal, holding them close against his chest, rocking slightly with his little brother and favourite puppet. It added extra, unbearable heat, but under the current circumstances, Dave embraced the fever. There were no spoken words, but it was the silent ones that meant the most.
You aren't alone.
And down to the instantaneous moment that the meteors made contact with Earth's surface, that held true.