Christmas Eve.

Dave Strider didn't really understand why it even had to exist. Christmas was one of those weird holidays where one day simply wasn't enough, but unlike Pancake Day, where you got shitloads of food, Christmas Eve meant absolutely nothing. It was little more than a day of waiting, and getting bored, and having to deal with the knowledge that there were about a hundred mince pies in the fridge, but he was allowed to eat a grand total of zero.

Nothing good could ever come from Christmas Eve.

What was he even supposed to do? It was well past ten, maybe eleven, but Dave had no way of checking because the bloody power had cut. His lights were out, his decks had blasted, and even his phone was gone. Bro had taken it to drive in the embarrassing pwnage of last night;lwhen Dave had accidentally dropped his sword down the side of the apartment building and then proceeded to lose against a puppet- not even Lil Cal, just a smuppet (besides all that, he couldn't fucking believe he had just said pwnage and not even meant it ironically, because seriously, that had really been the best word he could think of? How about defeat, or slaughter, or hellthrashing?) To be fair, the smuppet had been perkier than most, all jutting out and protruding, but his bro had been disappointed nonetheless. That was why Dirk had seized his phone.

The real question was what bro was going to do with it. He'd probably wake up the next morning to find it at the bottom of his stocking, bedecked with tinsel and the camera roll loaded full of illicit equine material, maybe the odd concupiscent puppet. But, he swore to god, if his bro had so much as considered downloading a pin-up Pinocchio, he would unleash over nine thousand tonnes of pain onto him.

(Goddamnit, Vegeta)

The lack of technology was something new, and frankly, horrible. He was surprised that the kids of a hundred years back hadn't literally died of boredom. Although there was the option of sleeping, Dave wasn't sure he wanted to. He'd never really liked going to bed before 3am. So all there was to do was lie on his bed, stare at the ceiling, and pound down some concrete raps. In his head, of course. The apartment block was eerily quiet, more so than usual, and he was almost afraid to disturb the air.

The silence was shattered- no, not so much shattered as slightly unravelled- by a whisper outside his window. It wasn't a word, and it wasn't the wind.

There was someone outside, and their shadow crossed his wall.

Dave got up and darted across the room. Here, he had a better angle to the window, as well as easy access to a sword. There was one mounted beneath the small of his back, and his fingers danced along the hilt, before taking hold and removing it from its brackets. The steel sung as it scratched the cement.

But the figure had gone.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to wear his shades inside, in the pitch night. It wasn't as if his sense of sight was completely hampered- just slightly dimmed, he could manage. He pushed the glasses further up his nose and swung open the window. There was a thin ledge, little wider than his foot, bridging the space between the safety of his room and the fatal drop below.

Whatever. The Striders didn't strife for nothing.

Dave turned and inched backwards onto the ledge, aligning his heel with the edge and planting his hands either side of the window frame. Then, slowly, slowly, he leaned away. The harsh wind was quick to pounce, buffeting him with condensed ice. He couldn't let himself shiver. A single movement could loosen his concentration. And then it would loosen his hold.

He glanced up. The tail of the intruder's coat flitted about in the wind. They were on the roof. Too bad the idiot had chosen the difficult way of doing things.

It didn't take long for Dave to go through the hatch and up the flight of stairs onto the roof. Crouched down in the moonless dark, the AC breathing into his hair, there was no way the creeper would notice him. The man- because it definitely was a man- was perched by one of the ventilation shafts, side-on, his profile sharper than most of Dave's blades. He was bearded, and dressed in red, and there was a sack slung over the one shoulder. Big enough to carry a child.

Dirk had warned him about people like this. Child-snatchers, pedophiles, cockaholics. And the vent he stood at led directly into Dave's room.

His intention was clear, and despite the fact that he had got himself clear of the danger, Dave knew this guy was going to have to pay.

Katana poised to kill, he leapt out at the stranger, and felt resistance the other end. Skin. The man hardly reacted, and quick, quicker than light, he darted away. He was behind Dave now, fists clenched, and knees bowed.

Dave brought up his sword once more, but a hand caught it and flung it away, and it clattered to the edge of the roof. And then there were hands on him and the sky blurred as he was thrown across the roof.

He hit the ground hard, and the blood thundered in his skull. There were fingers in his hair, and he was wrenched back, and a fist collided with his nose. His head snapped and with it, his self control. His knee jerked up, crashing into the man's instep- or perhaps it was his crotch, he wasn't really focusing on the details- and he moaned, relinquishing his hold for just a second.

The pause was long enough for Dave to notice the hilt of his sword, just in reach. But he had no time. There were hands at his throat, choking out his air. He released he already had his hands up, trying to release the pressure, and he pulled his right hand back, cracked it against his cheek. When the man's neck snapped back, his hand flashed back, grabbed his sword, and plunged it into the other man's shoulder.

With a cry, he rolled his weight off Dave and took the sword out of its new flesh scabbard. The blade hit the ground with a clink and a scattering of blood.

"Fuck, Dave. What'd you go and do that for?"

Holy dick, things had just got from bad to worse.

"Dirk?"

"Perhaps if you took off your glasses, you would've seen you were trying to kill your own brother."

"Shit, Dirk, I stabbed you pretty bad. Shit, shit, shit, are you okay?" he clawed at his brother's stupid red jumper, pulling down the neck to expose the wound. It wasn't too bad, given the fact he had just been skewered.

"I'll be fine."

Dave brought his fist up and smashed it into his bro's nose, "You could've bloody told me it was you!"

"I thought you just wanted a night time strife."

God, Dirk looked a sight. Pitiful, really. Silly hat, fake beard, and a bloodied nose. Wasn't even wearing his badass anime shades.

"What the living shizzle are you doing anyway?"

"Did I never tell you about Father Christmas?" he asked, teasing.

"No."

"Really?"

"Not once."

"Crap," Dirk groaned, putting his head in his hands, "I fail as an interim parent."

There was a moment of stilted silence.

"Not really. I mean, Christmas Eve was hella lame until you showed up anyway."

He glanced up, his amber eyes locking onto Dave's. And then, almost as if he couldn't control it, he smiled.

Dave took that as his cue, "Since I won, can I have my phone back?"

A/N: Just a lil something for Christmas. Hope you enjoyed :)

(Eh. First Homestuck fic. Feel like I've seriously OOCd, but whatever)