So, I'm new to the Homestuck fandom. This actually happens in my mind.

Warnings: Lots of language, some violence.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Andrew Hussie.


"Dave… Dave!"

Dave turned around at the sound of his name being called and saw John waving at him from the other end of the crowded hallway. The kid was attempting to push through all of the other students with their heavy-ass backpacks full of textbooks. Dave didn't have a backpack, naturally. It was ironic to not give a shit about schoolwork.

Finally Egderp made his way through and was standing next to Dave, thumbs hitched on the straps of his backpack and a huge, derpy smile on his face, teeth going everywhere. "Hey Dave," he said breathlessly.

"Sup, Egbert," Dave replied, coolly.

"I missed you in class today," John said quickly, his smile faltering for only a moment and his cheeks turning a little pink. He'd stopped asking why Dave wasn't in class a while ago. Obviously, Dave had better things to do than go to history. Like pick fights with the losers who skip to smoke out behind the field. Or graffiti the boy's bathroom with Jade. You know; important, coolkid things.

"Is that so, Egbert? Well, I have to admit I'm flattered by your big, flaming homo crush on me. Maybe I should start going to class so we can sit in the back and lustfully stare into each other's eyes—"

"Gosh, Dave, shut up," John interrupted with a flustered wave of his hands, face red. "I'm not a homo, jeez…"

This was also pretty routine. John always told Dave that he missed him in class, and Dave naturally made fun of him for it, but secretly he always looked forward to hearing it. It made him feel—oh fuck, no, we're not getting into this feelings shit. It's endearing, Dave decides. That's all.

They began walking down the hallway together. John was going to English, and Dave had band. Bitches could hate all they want, band was fucking cool. Anyone to see him play the drums would surely throw themselves at his feet, begging to have his babies. Shit's real.

"I was just thinking," John said, "today we talked a bit about Japanese samurai and we had this crazy discussion about katanas. It totally reminded me of that huge collection your bro has at your apartment. It's too bad you skipped, I bet you would've liked it."

"Shit, really? That's pretty legit. Too bad they don't have show and tell, I'd bring all bro's shit in. Scare them little kids so bad they'll be defecating all over the place." John laughed.

"Dave, you're so weird. You know they're all the same age as us, right?"

Dave looks at him then and their gazes meet, and although John can't really see his eyes through his shades, he looks so fucking happy. Dave couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face, not a smirk but a genuine smile. He ruffled John's hair a little.

"Of course I know that, Egderp. It's called a joke."

John's cheeks turn pink again and he fidgets a little, his own grin widening. "Whatever. Say, when did Rose say her orchestra concert—"

The sentence could not be finished, because suddenly John was being pushed forcefully against a locker by a senior. John crashed into the metal with a soft cry, his glasses going askew, and finally, because his backpack was so heavy, he lost balance and fell to the ground. Dave stared for a moment, mouth agape with shock, only halfway hearing the senior trash-talking.

"—watch it, nerd. God I didn't think you'd fall over so easy. What a fucking idiot—"

The senior was interrupted by Dave Strider's fist pounding against his mouth so hard he thought he heard something crack. He stumbled back several steps, his hands covering his nose and mouth while blood streamed between his fingers. Suddenly there was a crowd forming around them.

"Do you wanna fucking apologize to my friend you just knocked over, you worthless sack of shit?" Dave snarled. The senior seemed unable to answer and a little preoccupied with what was probably a broken nose, so Dave turned away from him and looked at John, whose blue eyes were wide and filled with a mixture of fright and awe. "You okay, bro?" Dave asked, holding out a hand to help him back to his feet.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, but just before he could grasp Dave's hand, an elbow was thrust powerfully into Dave's face, knocking him back so hard that his head hit the locker with a loud thud. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, blood gushing from nose, unable to see because he was so dizzy.

"—little fucking dipshit, you freshman piece of shit think you can take me on—"

"—oh my god, is he gonna be okay?"

"—should someone get the principal—"

Dave's vision came back into focus after a few seconds, and he was staring face down at the floor where a puddle of his blood was pooling, and his sunglasses lay within it, snapped right in half at the bridge.

He paled, eyes widening at the sight of his ruined sunglasses. The sunglasses he had worn every single day since receiving them. The most cherished gift he had ever received. From John.

"Wow, look at the little pussy shaking. What, little baby, you crying?"

Suddenly Dave was pushing off the ground, jumping onto the senior who yelped in surprise as they both fell to the ground, the screams of the spectators bouncing off the lockers. Dave's eyes flashed crimson like the blood on his face as he dug his knees into the senior's forearms, using so much pressure that the senior's eyes began to water, and he raised his fist, his elbow stretching back as far as he could make it. He heard John's voice in the background, something like, "Dave, no!" But there was too much noise and Dave couldn't hear anything above the rage rushing through his ears, so he punched the senior so hard his arm felt numb. He raised his fist again, but someone grabbed onto him, preventing him from throwing another punch, and when he looked back, prepared to shake off whoever it was, he saw John holding onto his arm, and suddenly Dave was staring into those eyes, wide and tearful. This was virtually the first time he had seen those eyes without the sunglasses partially obstructing his view, and they left him breathless.

"Dave, stop it," John said, voice verging on hysteria. Dave had to look away. The sunglasses had been necessary for him; they were his poker face, his nonchalance. They kept him from accidentally showing any unironic emotions, and right now, he was experiencing too many unironic emotions to count.

He didn't want John to see them. He was afraid of John seeing them.

Standing quickly, Dave pulled out of John's grasp and pushed through the crowd, forsaking his ruined sunglasses and rushing for the bathroom. His hands gripped the edges of the sink, and he stared at himself in the mirror, and despite the pain surging through his broken nose and the blood covering his face, he stared into his own eyes, thinking maybe if he glared long enough the feelings of hurt and fear and desperation would cower away.


John hesitantly peeked into the bathroom, tone cautious as he stepped in. Dave immediately looked away from the mirror and turned his back to John. "Dave, are you okay?" He could hear John's shoes on the floor as he moved closer, and tensed when he felt John's hand on his shoulder.

Ever so slowly, John turned him around, and his mouth hung open a little in a frown at the sight of his face. "Gosh," he said quietly, and this close, Dave could see that his eyelashes were wet.

Without another moment John went to the sink and wetted a paper towel, making Dave sit on the dirty floor as he kneeled over him, wiping most of the blood from his cheeks and chin, having to go for more paper towels because they became oversaturated with blood too quickly. He tried to gently wipe some of the blood from his nose and after eliciting a few groans and noticing the tears in the corner of Dave's eyes, John stopped and hesitated a moment before wiping the blood from his lips.

"Why did you do that?" John finally asked, his voice so quiet Dave had to strain to hear him. Dave, for that matter, refused to make eye contact with him, too frightened of what he might see.

"He was making fun of you and pushing you around. What, did you expect me to just sit back and watch someone beat on my best bro?" he asked, a little defiantly.

John gave a small sigh. "Dave, you know I'm grateful that you always stick up for me. I… I don't know what I'd do without you here. But… you were so angry. You never get that angry when people pick on me." Suddenly, there were fingertips touching the side of his face, and in his surprise Dave looked up and into John's eyes, and there he saw a revelation; in that bright blue, he saw honest concern, and unabashed affection, and goddamnit, he could see the very soul of the boy before him. It wasn't too hard to tell that John could see his, too.

"It was the sunglasses…" Dave sighed, tearing his eyes away from John. He's already this far into the emotional bullshit, might as well bring it home for the long haul. "They were fucking special to me, alright? I've never cared more about a birthday present than I did those. When I saw them broken, I just snapped. And I mean, it was hard for you to get them for me, wasn't it? I—"

Dave was forced to cut off mid-sentence as his lips were suddenly covered by John's. His eyes widened considerably, though John's were now hidden behind his eyelids, his expression calm with resolve. Trying to get ahold of himself, Dave leaned into the kiss and was left panting when John pulled away.

"It's okay, Dave," he said, his overbite a convenient cover for the way he nibbled at his lower lip. "I – I'm kind of glad they broke."

"What, why?"

"Well…" Their gazes locked and John moved a little closer, softly touching Dave's hand as he murmured, "I feel like this is the first time I can really see you."

I'll go, I'll go, I'll go
I'll go for you
I'll fight, I'll fight, I'll fight
I'll fight for you
I'll kill, I'll kill, I'll kill
I'll kill for you
I will, I will, I will
I'll Fight, Wilco