Homestuck Refrain:

This is it. The game has been won, you and your friends are safe. You look at each other, and it's decided. There is still an Earth to go back to, if Jade is right, and lets face it she normally is, you will be fine. The prize has been handed over to the trolls, the battered remains of a large group. You're all battered. You smile, hugging them, and say "See you soon."

It should be soon.

It's never soon.

You go back to earth, but it is not the earth that you expected.

Now, we meet up again with our heroes three years later, on an old familiar day.

Dave (1)

It struck deep rhythms inside him. It elicited movement and thought further than what he had expected. The reverberations ran through him like so many ripples of sound waves, the bass rose, building, then dropped. It dropped hotter than any shit the world should ever have heard. Ecstasy filled the room and it was like every motion elicited further joy and pleasure than anyone had ever had the right to experience. His name is Dave Strider, and he will always be the knight of time.

At this moment, he is free from all the bullshit. Everyone had told him that he was wrong, that they were wrong. "Sburbia" was the newest track to the never ending soundtrack to a life shattered by the demons in his head.

Everyone was dead. It happened suddenly, between the brief flashes of strobes. The bodies changed. They lay in mangled piles across the dance floor. Blood seeped out of them, pooling up faster and higher than the bodies should have allowed. It came in a rainbow of colors that had no right being in blood. The bodies were floating now, coming closer. His own corpse lay, beautifully split open, riddled with bullets and covered in a peppering of orange feathers-

The taste of bile alerted him to wake up as he stumbled out if his bed, sheets clinging to his sweaty, thin frame. He sprinted down the hall, bursting into the bathroom and throwing up into the toilet. His entire body was shaking, his eyes closed tight in pain as more puke splashed into the bowl. The shower turned off, alerting him that Bro was in the bathroom already. The curtain opened and Bro hastily wrapped a towel around his waist, looking concerned at him. He reached out through the steam that was surrounding him, touching his forehead.

"You're burning up, Dave."

He must have just gotten back from another night working the club and had been getting the grime and layers of sweat and spit off of him. Dave flushed the toilet, looking up at his exhausted brother's face. It spoke a silent tiredness brought on by this shit. A tiredness that Dave had caused him over the years.

"It's nothing," Dave finally answered, his voice sounding whiny and exhausted as well.

"Come on, up we go."

Nothing was more embarrassing than a 16 year old about to get picked up by his naked older brother, so as soon as Bro's hand touched his shoulder he shrugged it off. Standing, he leaned against the counter for support, trying to pretend he was fine. He started brushing his teeth, eyes closed to protect him from the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting above.

"Was it another nightmare?" Bro asked.

Dave gave him half a shrug in response, which Bro took to mean a yes.

"Worse than before?"

Dave's lack of answer as he spit his toothpaste out and started rinsing with mouth was answer enough. The nightmares had been bad before, but they had returned shortly after his 16th birthday in December. They had gotten worse as the New Year occurred, and as April started, they had gotten significantly worse. They had become a nightly occurrence.

"We need to go back to the therapist," he said, his voice tense as he watched Dave.

"No."

Dave's answer was short, his voice full of venom. There was no way that he'd go back on his own. He'd have to be dragged, screaming. They didn't want to know the truth. They wanted to all pretend something else. It was all a hoax put on by teenagers. Teenagers who were seeking attention.

Sburb wasn't real.

He walked out of the bathroom, looking down, feeling cold and sore. His brother followed him, padding softly on the thick carpet. Dave glanced back.

"Go put on some fucking pants, Bro." Dave said. His voice sounded exhausted as he opened the door to his room, completely dark. Just like that place had been. Dark, cold. Lonely. "I'm going to back to bed. Flip this hot mess before it's too late."

"Alright, Dave."

It was just another lie on a long list of lies that Dave had told over the past few years. Bro knew it was, but the fucks were nonexistent when it came to this one. This wasn't one that would cause much trouble. As Dave shut the door, he turned to leave and get dressed in his own room. The last three years were hell for both him and Dave. He shut his door and leaned against the frame. Exhaustion clouded his thought, and he briefly thought about calling "Dad" in order to figure out if this was happening with John.

Dave laid back down on his bed, not bothering with the sheets. It was getting harder to sleep. He checked his iPhone, seeing it was just past four in the morning. There was only one person who would understand how he felt that he could still talk to. Only one who might comprehend.

And it was his birthday.

TurntechGodhead began pestering ectoBiologist at 4:13 AM

TG: happy birthday dude

TG: rake in any sweet loot?

John (1)

He is currently at a tea party. For some reason, the cat one keeps insisting that he eats cake, that he has to have it. In his dreams, he never refuses cake. The tall one with the broken horn and teeth and glasses has refused to let her go. You've only ever seen one of him, and he often has the cat one on him.

John Egbert has been dreaming of them since he was 13 years old. However, he has never been able to remember their names.

Their voices tune in and out of focus. They were never wrong, but they were never quite right either. None of them were correct, he was certain of that. It was like a radio that was a couple of degrees off the right station or at the end of its wavelengths. It was more like his piano, when the strings had the tiniest hint of begging to them, needing to be tuned soon. The colors were off like an over exposed film or bad lighting or an over eager flash bulb.

The color red was missing.

He didn't know why he thought that suddenly. There was no reason around him that would make him want the color red, that made his heart beg for it. There was a tap on his shoulder, followed by the lowest, quietest of purrs. The hand was ridiculously warm, far warmer than a human's would be. That was how trolls worked. He leaned into that hand, closing his eyes, trying not to break down inside his dream. The feeling of forgetting came over him. It was an unshakable amnesia.

A black sweater, grey skin.

His eyes opened and he looked out into his bedroom, almost completely unchanged in the years. The same posters were there, though he had covered them up with new ones. That stupid birthday present was stashed in the confines of his closet. He never wanted to see it again. He could hear the wind outside, a constant gusting, as if lulling him to sleep. He let out a shaky breath, the posters in his room rustling. The dim morning light lay across his face, and he was vaguely aware that his pillow was wet. He had been crying again. Most nights fading to morning ended this way, passing into the haze of memory and the fog caused by antidepressants and whatever other medication they deemed fit. Most dreams ended painfully for him.

It had already taken the better part of three years to remember them at all, and still he knew that there was a lot missing, and one figure in particular. Their names were foreign, unintelligible sounds, and unpronounceable tongue twisters that always left his mind hurting. They were riddles in the dark to him.

"I want to stay dreaming."

The words are out of his mouth, even though he hadn't thought them. They were true however, forming from a twisted piece of his shattered heart. He wanted to curl up and die upon realizing that they were unbearably true. As time passed, his life seemed better asleep, with them. Whoever they really were, they were better than being in the haze of drugs and pianos, show time medleys and blurred hours of endless school work and running. Running had become his new hobby, simply because he was so used to attempting to run away now. He reached for his glasses, almost not willing to start another day.

The sound of glass shattering made him sit up quickly, putting the glasses on his face with more force and less accuracy than he should have had. He stared at the door, not moving, until his dad yelled at him. Barking filled the air, and John audibly groaned. At least now everyone would have a shitty morning.

"BOY! YOU SHUT HER UP NOW!"

Even yelling, his dad's voice had hints of pain and sadness, as well as a large dose of frustration. John wasn't even sure when he had stopped getting upset at it, and had fallen into a numb acceptance of their new family life. He got to his feet, feeling unsteady and ungainly. Mentally, he was 19 years old. Physically, his body had just reached his 16th birthday for the second time. It had grown differently this time, as if the lack of flying had disrupted its growth, and every inch he gained was painful. It felt like fire on his nerves.

More drugs, more medication.

"YOU HEAR ME BOY?"

"Yes Dad!" He calls back.

He slides on his shoes, doing anything that would help ease the pain this morning, and left the dark confines of his den of wallowing and into the brightly lit hall. Sometimes, he had dreamt about flying as well. He missed it, wanted it, needed it, but it wasn't like he could tell his dad. His dad had made it clear that none of this was real. His dad didn't believe him.

At least he wasn't alone.

He pushed the door open to what had once been the guest bedroom, and now belonged to one Jade Harley. She was constricted by her sheets at the moment, wrapped tightly around her body. Growls and whines escaped her throat as she fought against them. They were inhuman sounds that terrified his father into no longer coming in here to wake her up after and during her nightmares. John didn't mind them, not after living with them for six years now, by their count at least.

"Jade."

His voice sounded exhausted. He sat next to her. It had been three years since his ecto-sister had gone grimbark, and she still suffered the side effects. She let out another pathetic whine. It had taken convincing to get his dad to believe about the girl on the island who needed their help after the session. It had taken more to convince her to let her move in with them, but he and Dave knew that she couldn't be out there alone. They were going mad enough with people around them, and she was in isolation. She didn't deserve to be alone. He gently shook her shoulder.

"Jade," he says a bit louder this time.

Her eyes open at last, tears spilling out, and her body shaking. Her breathing came in ragged gasps and she finally looked up at him. Her green eyes contorted, mirroring the deep rooted heart ache. The two of them untangled her, and she hugged him tight, crying bitter tears of the heart broken. They held each other for what felt like another eternity, another cycle of three years, and she finally managed to mumble out something in a raspy voice.

"Happy birthday, John."