Hello hello world! Look who's back from the dead, haha!

So I started a Homestuck chapter fic! I feel so incredibly ecstatic about this because everything else I've written for Homestuck has been one-shots, so now I'm finally settling down into something that'll keep me busy for a good few months (like school doesn't do that enough haha).

This chapter is kind of uneventful and just fills you in on the society Dave lives in and how his life is and what not. Next chapter will be a bit more exciting and a lot longer, so look forward to it! :D

Special Shout-outs to... Spazz Kadet for proof-reading this before I posted it (especially for correcting any mistakes I made with Sollux's quirk ^^;), flameleaf for being stunningly awesome and supportive, and GlassSoul for absolutely dying when I told her about this idea! You guys rock, y'know. Hehe.

So without further ado, let's blow this popsicle stand! (I'm so John it should be illegal OTL)

Disclaimers: I don't own this!

Enjoy!


Labeled

Chapter One: It Can't Be Outrun

The world wasn't all that bright and cheery to him, even in his younger days when he thought nothing of the black band around his wrist and went on with life without a care, running, playing, laughing, like a normal kid should before reality caved in around him. A part of him, perhaps, missed that carefree attitude he had then, despite the fact he had been doomed from the very beginning, but the other part, the one that was rational and cold and calculating knew pipe dreams from useless wishes. And that sentence, that lasting thought he had that drove him to question why this was happening to him of all the people in the damn world, was the latter, and for god's sakes it probably broke him up inside.

Dave Strider probably knew too well that life was fucked up and full of shit when you lived in the bad part of town because of you status (because of that damn black band), growing up with violence and hatred, and the tension in the air so thick it choked. He knew that his life was fucked up because he wore that band on his wrist, because his skin was paler than most, and his hair almost white, and his eyes… He could never fucking admit aloud his eyes. Never in a million years would he come to terms with the exact feature that damned him to a short life, because even growing up with a cold heart and using irony as a mask didn't prepare him for the emotions that would come with admitting that. But at least he wasn't stupid, at least he knew and could come to terms that his life sucked and that it would probably end within the next month, at least he could accept that yes, he hated his life, but no, he didn't want to die, and that he really didn't have much of a choice. He could accept and admit a lot of it, his whole fucking life had been full of it.

That never meant he was okay with it.

His eyes narrowed behind his shades as he looked up at flashy billboards and buildings, the campaigns and ads for "better living" and "better life" sickening because those were only for the people who could actually afford it, the people with high class standing who had money and fame and so much in their name they were legends among the city. Dave turned away, his hands deep in his coat's pockets and face covered in his red scarf, feeling his stomach knot in anger. They weren't for black-banded people like him, who couldn't even go to school without getting his ass pushed into a locker, who pokerfaced through life and never showed people the scars this life left on him. It was absolutely infuriating that people could be so self-centered and so narrow-minded that they basically black-list people who are a bit different. He guessed he wasn't as lucky as Terezi, who was able to avoid getting killed when she threw down at a court session at fifteen, or his cousin, who was able to get a job working for the most powerful family. Dave kicked at the snow on the ground, waiting for the bus to pull up to the stop. He was only good at beat boxing, DJ-ing and skateboarding. Like that would keep him from the sentence in the next month.

The gas guzzling vehicle rolled up next to the curb and Dave only sent it a passing glance before stepping forward and into its opened doors. The driver knew him well, sent him a tip of his hat as Dave deposited the change for the fare, and then headed for the seat at the very back, ignoring the people's stares and whispers. Maybe he did have something to his name- shame, rumors, whispers and dirty looks. As he sat down at the window, watching the rest of the world run and scamper to their jobs, or to run errands with a straight face, just wanting to get home before it really started snowing. He'd never know what possessed his brother to move them up to New York at such short notice from Houston, but Dave knew he'd never get an answer out of Bro. It was something about how Striders stepped around things that became his most valuable asset, as well as his biggest peeve. He just watched the taxis and the bikers from the window, watching as the high-class New York buildings turned into lower class, eventually where you didn't see anyone walking the streets unless they were stealing something, and there were more vintage, rusted up, broken cars on bricks than there were taxis and Mustangs. The bus came to a stop, and he stood slowly, trying to maintain his sway and swagger even if no one on the bus gave a damn, even if they were going to hate him and glare at him despite how cool and composed he was.

"See you tomorrow, Dave?" the driver asked.

"Yeah. Later, man," was all Dave allowed himself to say, stepping off the bus and back into the cold weather. The bus jerked and continued on down the street, and he watched it for a moment before realizing where he was and what he was doing. His neighborhood wasn't good for just standing and staring, barely even living. He turned and headed to the nearest apartment building, opened the door and stepped inside, situating his backpack on his shoulder before getting the mail from the box on the wall by the door, then went up the stairs, already smart enough not to try the elevator because it was out of order (and had been for years), watching the sixth step up because it was broken, and making sure not to grip the handrail or it'd break and he'd fall. It was a routine by now, as terrible as it was, and he threw his shoulder against the door to his floor and stepped into the hallway, hearing the blasting music from room 201, the arguing couple from 211, the immediate and lasting barking from 224, and finally the soft beat of a new mix from 227 before turning the knob and opening the door.

Bro Strider, wearing his black jeans, white shirt, shades and hat, looked up from the couch for a good second before refocusing on the crappy wired cable they cheated to get. "Hey." He could still hear that thick Texan accent in Bro's voice, even if it had been years since they last saw Houston, but it was familiar, it was nice. It reminded him of family and of home, of how he used to be compared to how he is.

"'Sup." He greeted as he took off his backpack and coat and threw them onto the floor next to the door. Dave knew they didn't have conversations- simple 'hello's and 'goodbye's were all they really needed. They knew each other inside and out, knew when the other was pissed, happy, hurt, without even saying a word or letting a single shred of an emotion pass their blank masks. He knew Bro could sense how nervous and tense he was that it was another day closer to being his sixteenth birthday, a day closer to his death, and Dave knew that Bro wasn't okay with this, even if he talked to him like every other brother does to their younger sibling.

Without another word or movement from the elder, Dave went into the kitchen, took out a soda from the fridge and opened it with lightning fast grace, taking a sip. "You got a gig tonight?" Maybe he craved a little normal conversation for once, and he really wanted to know if Bro would leave for the club he DJ-ed at tonight, because Dave knew he didn't want to be alone, but if he was, then maybe he could be okay with that.

"Yeah. I'm leavin' at ten."

'That settles that.'

Dave shrugged and took leave to his room down the hall, closing the door behind him and then sitting down at his desk, starting up his computer and leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The gentle hum of the machine booting up reached his ears and he sighed, blinking once, dimmed vision of the world flashing out for a moment before he opened his eyes again and it came back, exactly how it had been before. Dim. Dark. Boring. He could see the flashes from his desktop and turned in his chair to look back at the screen, two people instantly chatting with him on pesterChum. He opened up the first one, the mustard yellow text the first thing he saw.

-twinArmageddons [TA] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG]-

TA: hey ii have 2ome bad new2.
TG: bad news
TG: hey whats new
TG: whats going on
TA: well you know how ii 2aiid ii could hack your name off the lii2t?
TG: yeah
TG: wait
TG: you cant be serious
TA: 2orry but your name ii2 tiightly locked iin the 2y2tem.
TA: ii couldn't get iit off.
TG: fuck
TG: what about you tavros and aradia
TA: ii got tavro2'2 and aa'2 name2 off iin a heartbeat.
TA: miine wa2 a biit more difficult but ii managed iit.
TG: but mine was like hardwire burned into that shit?
TA: yeah and ii have no iidea why.
TA: when ii cliicked to hack iinto your fiile2 iit 2ent a viiru2 that almo2t cra2hed my computer.
TA: government mu2t hate you.
TG: yeah no shit

He turned away from the computer again, and out his window, watching the snow fall to the ground, and he closed his eyes again, maybe a little longer than he should have, and opened them again to the dimmed and dark world, not scared at all that the snow looked gray and the walls looked like blood and the light above didn't help with his vision.

He was scared of the day he'd open his eyes and the world would be bright.