Chapter Three: You Were So Misunderstood Back Then

It's been about two years since that meteor crashed down. You heard about it in the news, but no one could ever figure it out. The story was abandoned and the area fixed once they figured it was a freak meteor crash. You prefer it that way. Your now-little Bro is clinging onto your leg and smacking you with his plush seagull. He's basically screeching at you right now, trying to hinder your movements in any way he can. Damn this kid hates baths.

He wouldn't have had to take his bath yet if he hadn't kept on hitting the container of apple juice. Who knew shitty fake swords could do so much damage and leave tiny little brothers dripping with apple juice. Although it took a while before the little man would calm down enough, you finally get him in there and squeaky clean just in time for bed. He's already trying to hide his drowsiness; his little head will slowly lean down and then pop! right back up. You make sure to be looking in another direction right before he catches himself starting to doze. You know he'd hate it if he thought he couldn't be handle himself up to Strider standards. In all honesty, you don't care much about those 'standards' anymore.

Irony is still the fucking shit, but you've long since given up any attempt at rapping. You tell everyone you could be the best if you wanted, but quite frankly you were so damn awful that it was pitiful.

After helping Bro slip into his onesie, you swing him up and hold him above your head for a moment before setting him on your shoulders. He loves when you do that, and you know so because he giggles and his tiny baby hands curl up in your hair.

Suddenly you're five again and Bro swings you up high into the air and you end up standing on his shoulders, his hands holding yours to make sure you're steady. Oh man, this is the best. You're so tall right now, standing on his shoulders and looking out at the sunset from the rooftop.

Dammit! One of your hands reaches up and rubs at your right temple, trying to soothe away the pain. Whenever you have memories, they always hurt. Headaches, mostly, and a few have led to head-splitting migraines. That's the price you're stuck to pay and you'll gladly deal with all of the pains. Medication doesn't help these, so there's no point in trying to find where you left those pain pills from a stress-related headache two days ago.

"Dabe? Dabe, you got ouchie?" Bro has removed one of his hands from your hair is now patting your head. Well, it's a little more like petting, but you won't call it that.

"Yeah, little man, but don't worry. I'm okay." Your right arm goes up and his hand grabs onto your much larger one as best as it can. His head lays down on top of yours and his hand squeezes yours before letting go. "Dabe , I wanna sweep with you," his little voice murmurs into your hair. You tell him that'd be just fine.

He does this sometimes. You've tried asking him why he wants to stay with you and he just shakes him head and clings onto your leg. One time you even told him he could stay up a little later and play with his toys while you studied, but when you tried handing him the thin plastic sword, he started crying. It's not like you cared if he wanted to sleep in your bed, lots of kids sleep with their parents for comfort. It's just you really don't get why the kid started crying that night. You head flashes with pain as the image of a much older Bro appears in your mind, a thin sword sticking out of his chest. You wonder if the kid can remember his old self, or alternate self, or whatever those memories are. He's little and it could've been he was afraid of monsters under his bed and didn't want to say. You don't really know, but you don't ask him, either. Seeing him cry like that, so afraid and all he wanted was you to protect him. The kid was up in your arms in seconds, hands clutching your shirt and tears leaving little dark spots on your shoulder. Ever since then you haven't questioned him and just let him stay with you.

The next morning, he's a sleepy little bundle of orange shuffling into the kitchen.

"Dabe, I want pantakes! Pantakes, Daaaaaaabe." He yawns and rubs at his eyes. Luckily, his 'pantakes' are almost ready. A minute later the last pancake is on top of the small stack. Bro's hands are raised up in the air, but his eyes are shut and his mouth is hanging open just enough to let a little drool roll out. Grabbing a napkin, you wipe it from his chin and set him in his own seat.

He shakes his head and starts eating his breakfast. Leaning against the counter, you sip at your steaming coffee. The kid knows the routine. You'll eat breakfast and watch one cartoon together. After that, he can play with his toys or keep watching cartoons while you do your online schooling. He knows not to bother you unless it's important. This time you're trying to keep your attention on your film history class notes when the little guy decides he's had enough of playing alone for today.

"Bro, calm down. Just a few more minutes, okay?" He pouts and crosses his arms, yet nods his head anyways. "Thanks little guy. I'll try to hurry up." Instead of answering, he gets your help in climbing up into his lap.

It doesn't take too much longer before your notes are completed. Considering you don't have much else to do today, and that your other class isn't until quite a while later, you decide going out would be pretty nice. Bro ends up in a white t-shirt and small baby pants with his light up tennis shoes. The glasses hardly come off, so they're a given. It's pretty hot today and you don't want to be left carrying a tired baby, so out comes the stroller. Bro's lower lip pokes out to show just how he feels about it, but it doesn't matter. He still gets in the thing and you two ride the elevator down to the bottom floor. Passing by the check-in worker, you give each other silent waves from across the lobby. The doors open automatically once you've gotten close enough and you're thankful for the shades as the bright sun beats down on your face.

"Hey, Davie!" someone nearby calls out. Your blood freezes at that voice. You know that voice. Oh my god, Dave, don't freak out. Your walk has taken you by an old appliance store and, wanting momentary relief fromt the Texas sun, you two venture in. It's not like you aren't actually interested in the stuff; in fact, you're seriously considering throwing away the awful T.V in the living room for this one in front of you. There are several around it, and they're all playing some dumb old courtroom show. You need to know who said that. The ghost of a pain graces your head. Your pulse starts racing and you feel the sweat start the bead at your forehead. That is, until you hear the next part.

"Judge Johnny Stone! Don'tcha think this is justa tad bit ..." is all you need to hear to stop listening. Your pulse slows down back to normal and the sweat makes you feel cold in here.
"Dabe? Dabe, what's dat?" Bro asks, pointing to the show on the television in front of you.

"That's just some old court show, Bro. Don't worry about it." Yeah. Just some old court show with a silly old actor on it. Didn't he die not too long ago? Oh well. You don't really remember considering you've found Bro, your life has been especially busy. You're about to walk off when you see 'Judge Johnny Stone' on the screen. There's something so familiar about his face; it's somewhat off, maybe older than you'd expect, but you know that face. It sends chills down your spine and fills your stomach with unease and nausea.

You're just standing there, watching him and taking in nothing else. His voice, face, and those awful buckteeth and glasses combination are so familiar, and yet you've never seen anyone like that before in your life. It's so frustrating because nothing is coming up from the depths of your memory to enlighten you to him. It's so upsetting that, at first, you don't even notice Bro's arm hanging out of the stroller and tugging on your pantsleg.
"Dabe, I wanna go! Dabe Dabe Dabe! Dabe less go!" he whines at you. Shaking your head to clear it of Johnny Stone, you walk calmly out of the store. This is your day out with your baby brother. You'll take him to the playground for a while and then probably go home. Besides, you know who to look at now; you'll have plenty of time to remember.

Author's Note:

Hey guys! I know it's technically Tuesday, but I ended up being really busy these past three days and wasn't able to upload, or even finish, this chapter until now! I know I have something to do tomorrow afternoon and evening, Thursday and possibly Friday,too. Hopefully the next chapter will be Saturday, but that's only if I have time to write. If not, it'll probably be after Christmas. Also, if you're wondering why the sudden change in how this story is going, it'll be the same idea. The year skips will stay the same, but now that the general idea is out, there will be a lot more description along with them instead of a paragraph. Chapter four should be longer and I'll probably make it have two of the year-skips instead of one.

AND i've somehow forgotten disclamers. Big oops there,

Homestuck (c) Andrew Hussie. The name of this fic comes from a song called Give It All Back by Noah and the Whale.

Chapter one and chapter two's titles are from the same song, Sleeping In by The Postal Service.

This chapter's title is from Starring by Freelance Whales. I really do love all of these songs and would recommend all of them, especially Freelance Whales in general.

PLUS! Special thanks to:

TheBleachDoctor, nikkidoesntknow, DangerousMuteLunatic, and Andani for reviewing! Also, DML, I'm trying! Hopefully the intermission can last for a while longer to stretch out what time I do have! Andani, I did go back and check over that chapter, so a few things are changed. Thanks for the suggestion!

I hope you guys are having a nice break if you're already on one! Even though I'm busy, I know I'm loving it already! Anyways, night guys!