Homestuck and its characters belong to Andrew Hussie, along with part of my soul.
Everyone loves sibling fluff, yes? Especially if the Strilondes are involved, yes? Yes. Good.
She opens the door to find her pale-faced brother staring back at her, hands in his pockets, shoulders back, spine stiff, sunglasses ever-present. She gestures him in without a word, looking out at the landscape sprawling out before her front entrance before closing the door and letting the darkness seep in.
He is the picture of health – which is, frankly, amazing, especially so given his lifestyle – but he flops onto her couch as if he is a dead man. She watches him for a few moments before breaking out the good wine and pouring them both a glass, handing it off before settling herself across from him.
He says nothing even as she takes out her violin and bow from her sylladex. When she plays the first few notes of John's haunting refrain, he gives her an accusing look as if she is the root of his problems, and she keeps playing. E-flat, then a quick D to E-flat to F, a solitary G, a quiet dance from A to B-flat, she could play on –
Her hand stills when he says, "Rose."
She responds in kind; two can play at this game. "Dave."
"Rose, I swear to God."
She draws out another note, G, wavering, fragile, almost as if it might break if he spoke too loud, and he says again, "Rose," followed by a "Rose, no."
"Dave," she says, putting her bow down, and just when he begins to look relieved she plucks an A and says, "Dave, yes."
His lip twitches as he resists a smirk. "I hate you."
She plucks another G and says, "That is an unfortunate shame, as you mean quite a lot to me."
"You don't get to guilt-trip me, Lalonde, you live in a huge fucking mansion like ten miles from the nearest town and you claim I'm the one who doesn't visit?" And now an F. "Stop it." Another G. "Rose, seriously."
"Dave, seriously," she says, copying his flippant tone.
"Rooose."
"Hello," she replies, plucking an F and E-flat in quick succession and thus finishing off the first part of the song.
He throws his hands up and makes an unintelligible sound, as she glibly puts out the same pattern as before, a D to another E-flat to another F, and then asks, "How do you even know that?"
"We are all musicians," she says somewhat enigmatically, and, sensing his irritation, adds, "John and I happen to play on the more classically-inclined instruments, and before the game, he sent me recordings of his work."
"He plays at orchestra halls now."
"Irrelevant," she says smoothly, and plays a G, then an A to a B-flat.
"You don't play at orchestra halls."
G, and then A. "I dislike crowds."
It's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you, now."
"I do not have agoraphobia, if that is what you are implying." F, and then G.
"I would never."
She gives him a small smile, plays a single D. "Liar."
"Takes one to know one." He gives her a cat-flicker smirk, gone in an instant.
"Think you're clever, do you," she says, playing the last C with a delicate finesse. "As much as you thought you could steer the conversation off of yourself, I'm afraid I must burst your bubble."
She puts her violin down as he snorts, and then he pushes his sunglasses into his hair. His red irises have never surprised her; perhaps the more startling thing is the deep shadows seemingly inked under his eyes. "With a knitting needle," he says.
"A metaphorical one," she agrees, and she tucks her violin and bow back into her sylladex. "So. About John and Jade, then. What did you learn?"
"They don't remember," he answers immediately, and he sighs as he forces one hand through his blond hair. It falls effortlessly back into place – perfectly coiffed, she can imagine him combing through it in the morning – and then he goes to scratch the back of his neck. "They hardly remembered anything. Me. You. The trolls. They don't know what I mean when I say the Game."
"Not a single thing?"
"Nothing. It's like they've had their minds wiped."
She tilts her head, picks up her wineglass and takes a sip. "Intriguing - and, in the same breath, depressing. Do you suppose we could jog their memory?"
"Jade doesn't remember anything relating to a Becquerel. She's allergic to dogs."
"And John?"
"Loves cake."
She breathes a quiet exhalation through her nose and says nothing.
"Still use Pesterchum, though. Handles are the same, 'cept John's back to using GT." Dave's eyes close, and he takes a drink from his wine. He gives her a small, appreciative smile that fades as he asks, "You found the trolls on there?"
"No, unfortunately." She hasn't searched very long or very hard, but then, it's only been a few days since the end. "Perhaps we should try again."
"I dunno. If you want to, I'm up for it."
She knows what he means. She doesn't know what she would do if she learned that Kanaya did not remember her.
"We should still try, though," he says, and again, she knows what he means even as he explains, "If their Time or Light player remembers, then I guess we kind of owe it to them."
"Vriska and Aradia," you say. You both grimace slightly at the first name, as you say, "Hers was arachnidsGrip. Aradia, I am not sure."
"Think it was apocalypseArisen." He flips his phone out of his sylladex; you do the same with your laptop and tug it out of its cozy, opening it and quickly logging into Pesterchum. "I talked to her a few times."
"I suppose that leaves me with Vriska."
"Younger siblings have to do what their older siblings say," he answers with a crooked grin.
"There is a one-day difference."
"Whatever. Hey, look, there it is."
She types in 'arachnidsGrip' and sure enough, a cerulean name pops up, and, just her luck, she happens to be online. With no mild sense of trepidation she clicks on the handle and types a short message.
TT: I don't suppose you remember the Game?
She waits hardly eight seconds before she gets a response.
AG: You too?
"Bingo," he says from across the couch, looking up. She gives him a small smile in response, and he says half-accusingly, half-exhaustedly, "Why didn't you find them earlier?"
She suggests inanely, "Perhaps it took them a few days to set up their accounts."
"Or you didn't try very hard," he amends.
Her eyebrows rise. "As I recall, you did not try very much, either."
"Touché." He smiles at his phone, tells her, "Aradia says she woke up just yesterday to find she was human and had a family. I win."
She glances at her laptop. Vriska has not said anything more, and she tentatively types in Have you become human, as Aradia says she has? before looking up at her brother once more. "You win what, exactly?"
"Dunno. I beat you, though."
"At what?"
"Getting news from a troll."
"That's hardly fair, considering who we are respectively messaging."
"Irrelevant," he says snarkily, and she rolls her eyes. He softens, though, a moment later, sinking down when he realizes something she herself had thought of a while before. "But this means Kanaya and Karkat…"
"So it seems." Her chest feels tight, and she carefully controls her breathing as she awaits Vriska's response. "I wonder how they are doing."
"You okay?"
She doesn't answer, which is answer enough, and he stands up to plop himself down next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. No words are exchanged as she presses her cheek into his shoulder, her eyes closing as she lets out a shuddery sigh.
"You could make it work again," he says.
"It wouldn't be the same."
"Well, yeah, seeing as they aren't aliens with gray skins and horns. But she won't have changed."
"If John and Jade love the things they used to hate…"
"Their personalities were the same – John was a smart-aleck asshole and Jade was as bright and bubbly as ever."
"Bubbly," she echoes. "That's a good word."
"Figured you might appreciate it."
He smells like steel and sweat and warmth. It's comforting, in that strange way that familiarity and family make people feel safe. Without him she isn't sure how she would have been able to carry on, with the burden of death and fear on her shoulders, and she can only imagine how he feels about his time-weaving.
His phone pings, and she and he sat up slightly to take a look at what Aradia says. At the same time her computer makes a little trill, and they quickly divide and conquer.
AG: Yes, I'm one of you. Humans are fucking weird, I h8 not being a troll.
AG: And are you saying that Aradia reme8ers the Game?
She curls her lip and types a response. Yes. Simple, short. Vriska disconnects as soon as she presses 'enter', and she doesn't blame her. "What do we do now?" she asks her brother, shifting until she is leaning against him more comfortably.
He tucks his phone away as he says, "I thought planning was more up your alley, Rosie."
"I thought it was established that that particular version of my name is not allowed."
"Why not? It's cute. Fits a grimdark girl like you perfectly."
"Shall I call you Davey?"
He wrinkles his nose. "Hell no, doesn't fit my style."
"It's endearing."
"Your mom was endearing," he shoots back, and then, "Wait, no, she's my mom too." There is a short silence, before he says, "I don't even know if Roxy is around."
"You're the Knight of Time; you should know that she exists somewhere, if not on this material plane." She takes his palm and traces the line symbolizing his life. It's not very long, and for some reason that fills her with unease, as she repeats, "What do we do now?"
He holds her closer to him, his arm tightening around her waist, and she welcomes the contact. She hasn't touched another human so intimately in so very long. "Fuck if I know," he says bluntly, as she savors his heat. "We could do something crazy."
"Something stupid," she says, in a way that books no argument.
"Sure," he says with a crooked grin. "I was gonna suggest coloring books, but how about we rob a store instead?"
"That's illegal," she chides, moving so she can look at him with a baleful expression. He doesn't even look at all that sorry, even less so as she adds, "Besides, it would be too easy with your God Tier powers."
"So you admit you wouldn't be against it."
"I am against it, Dave. It is a terrible suggestion."
"Psh, fine. Crazy and stupid, huh." He blinks his red eyes once, and then the small smile on his face widens. "Let's go to a strife club and show the noobs how it's done."
She hums her approval but doesn't sit up. "I'm afraid I am a little rusty."
"You have Light powers, Lalonde, it's can't be that hard."
"That's cheating."
"We cheated in the Game. We fucking scratched it in half."
He says it with her this time: "Irrelevant." Then she says, "I wonder if John and Jade could harness their powers again? If they could remember."
"Maybe. Who knows." He shakes her so she sits up, and then stands and pulls her to her feet. "C'mon, let's go. The strife club awaits."
"If it's not illegal or underground I refuse to participate."
"What happened to 'we can't rob a store, that's against the law?'" He pitches his voice so it arches in a falsetto, and she whacks his shoulder with the back of her hand.
"Stealing is one thing. Combatting desperate opponents who are good at fighting is another." She looks down at her clothes – reminiscent of what she had worn when she had entered the Medium, white T-shirt and white skirt – and decides it's good enough, even if it will get stained with blood. "I assume you know where the nearest strife club is."
"Naturally. Gotta scope out the sights." His aviators, the prized possession from a John who no longer exists, slip back over his eyes. "And lucky for you, it's both illegal and underground. Of course, those two tend to go hand-in-hand, but eh. Details."
She smiles. "You pay meticulous heed to details, Dave."
"Yeah, but that was before. I think I should get a chance to relax now." He effortlessly evades her single attempt to poke his stomach, and she raises her eyebrows as he says blandly, "No, really, I am relaxed. That was just an automatic thing."
"Of course."
"Obviously."
The night is cool as they walk into it, and she only spares enough time to close her door and lock it before resuming her promenade with Dave down the driveway. For once he is blessedly silent, inwardly reflective as she is, and they say nothing as they continue down the road to the glowing city beyond.
"We're never going to fit into this world," she says softly.
"No, we're not." He shrugs and turns back to look at her. The city gleams in his sunglasses. "But we might as well raise hell 'cause we can."
"That's a rather childish way to look at it."
"What can I say? I'm a selfish dude with nothing but the sword in my sylladex and my sister at my side. By definition, I am invincible." She doesn't argue, merely hums in a form of quiet endorsement, and he chuckles and holds an arm out until she goes under it and it settles on her shoulders.
There is a quiet nothingness that is filled with nothing but the wind rustling in leaves in trees, and then she finds her voice.
"It is all the means to an end," she murmurs, and his silence is agreement enough.
I don't know what this is, but it was kind of fun to write. I miss my Strilonde betas. I want them to be best friends. I want them to be happy. I want a lot of things and usually none of them happen, so I've mostly given up on hoping and write them myself to make me happy.