I just thought that before I posted this story I would point out several things. The first thing is that this story and all my other stories are all posted first and originallyon my Archive of our Own (H0m3stuck) and therefore will be updated more quickly on there! If I do continue this story, I might sometimes forget for about a week to update it on THIS website. Therefore, it would be smarter to read it on there! The next is that this story is going to have a sequel, so if you're really interested in the story, I would recommend subscribing to both the story and me as a writer. Thank you for reading, at that note! I hope that you enjoy. I'm seeking a beta, so please if you're interested, comment!
Everyone has an 'if I'd known' statement in these kind of situations. As much as you liked to think that you were completely different, you definitely had an 'if I'd known' statement.
For you, if you'd known you wouldn't have spent those last moments fighting over an AUX cord with your brothers.
It was late at night. It was raining—down-pouring outside. On the way home from your dance classes, you were in the car with your whole family, your parents and your two brothers. Bro, whose real name was Ambrose (You had given him the nickname 'Bro' when you were two, but you and Dirk both still called him that today because it never really died.) and who was fifteen years old and thought he was superior in every way. He played football and was popular at school, and anything but responsible. You never got along with Bro; you spent every moment around him arguing.
Your twin brother, Dirk, on the other hand, got along with you fine. He was older than you by an hour and twenty minutes, and also thought he was superior for escaping the womb before you did. He was calmer than you, quieter, too. You two were pretty close, compared to you and Bro at least.
Which is why you were, in that moment, arguing over who got choice of music. You were squalling over it, throwing punches here and there, while your parents rolled their eyes and played peace keeper by turning on some kind of Christian Rock and Dirk shoved earbuds in his ears and played his own music. You remember your dad making some kind of joke about Eminems name, making you roll your eyes but easing the tension between you and your brother slightly. The rain poured down harder, the claps of thunder clapping louder and the lightning flashing wildly.
You didn't mind it, then. That's because back then you enjoyed storms.
You enjoyed dance, too, then. You could do all kinds of flips, all kinds of pops and stunts. You had a performance coming up and spent hours each day knocking things over in your room practicing. Dirk liked to make his own snide comments about it, but you had long since decided it was because he was far from flexible enough to even attempt such a thing.
After your dad made the joke about several rappers you and Bro started to let the argument go.
It was about then that it happened, the lightning.
It all happened really quickly.
You were all driving, your parents were talking about taxes and you were irritating Bro by poking him whilst he scowled at you and Dirk rolled his eyes at you two for fighting again.
Then there was a flash, a bright flash and you saw red. So, so much red.
And you were lying in the road. Like life had cut out for several moments and then you were there suddenly, not remembering quite how you got there.
There was pain, too, though you couldn't place exactly what hurt. So you stumbled up and looked around through bleary eyes, breathing heavily. There was a trail of scarlet red blood coming from—well, coming from a lot of places. There was the flickering of the forest that was raging next to you and you took one look at it and stumbled backwards slightly when you saw the flames licking the trees. Before you could turn back around you felt someone grab your arm and let out a small gasp, wheeling around. Bro was there, shades discarded and staring at you.
"Find Dirk." He told you, and you remembering wondering why he didn't say anything about your parents.
You didn't have to look too hard, because your twin stumbled over then, covered in soot and mud. You were both only thirteen, then. Bro grabbed his arm, too, and started to walk. You saw your mother, covered in blood and surely dead, lying there on the ground, however.
"Bro," you whispered in a choked voice, stopping only to be tugged along. He just shook his head.
"We gotta go, kid." Dirk didn't say anything, just followed him silently, yanking his hand free.
You all walked for who knows how long back to your apartment. By this point you've found a steady stream of blood coming from your nose and work on wiping that off as you step into the building, thankful for the emptiness of the main floor when you all stand in the small elevator. None of you say anything until you're all back in your apartment.
"Go pack," Bro tells you. "Pack everything you need, bring any money you can find and don't leave anything that you don't want to live without. We're not coming back, if you hadn't got that already."
"Why not?" You ask, not catching on to any of this. "What about Mom and Dad? We can't just leave them there. And why wouldn't we come back, we live here, we're always lived here."
"Dave," Dirk interrupts you with a blank voice. "They're dead. We gotta go. They'll separate us if we stay here." Bro just stares at both of you as Dirk goes to his room and slams the door. He tousles your hair before doing the same, shutting his door more gently. You weakly walk to your own room, doing as your brother said and grabbing three bags, filled with clothes, money, chargers and electronics, then going to the couch in the living room and drawing your knees up to your chest. Dirk emerges a little later, sitting on the floor by you wordlessly, followed by Bro, who rummages through the kitchen to fill another bag with food and water bottles. He takes the jar of money your mother kept in the pantry. There's over seven thousand dollars in there—you don't remember ever using that jar. Money went in and—until now, never came out. You swing all of your bags over your shoulders, grabbing one of the bags with food and stare at your older brother.
There's no fire in the stare, though. There's no bone to pick or argument weaved into the stare. You don't remember ever getting along with Bro, but right now you think that that's changing. It's a silent agreement that you both have to start getting along at least.
That's how you end up on the longest bus ride you've ever been on, headed to New York City, where there's so many people that it's nearly hopeless of them finding you. Where you never see the same face twice. You were never really a city person, but you guess you don't have a choice now.
You stay in a hotel for a few weeks until Bro works out a job—the only one of you old enough to do so, and finds a small apartment towards the edge of NYC. Dirk and you share a room, but you're both okay with that. You get the money to get a bunk to share and you claim the bottom, knowing that Dirk would have been willing to fight you for the top bunk. You both make the room your own best you can and for the first few months you both take each small job you can. Bro works online and at a club some ways away, but they both pay well enough for a fifteen year old and Bro is forcing you both back into school whenever the next new school year starts. That's still some six months away. You've got a little while yet.
You live with just Bro and Dirk for two years until Bro is seventeen and you and Dirk are each fifteen and you all play a convincing daily charade of having parents. Bro meets a guy called Jake who comes around a lot. Jake doesn't tell a soul that you're all illegally living on your own as minors, knowing the consequences without being told. You never ask Bro, but you're fairly sure that they're dating.
At school you keep a low profile, trusting no one. You stay with Dirk, tightly woven together in a net that no one else can enter and that you two can't leave—at least, not without risking being torn apart for good.