
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12909033.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dirk's_Bro_|_Alpha_Dave_Strider/Dirk_Strider, Alpha_stridercest
  Character:
      Dirk_Strider, Dave_Strider, Dirk's_Bro_|_Alpha_Dave_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Body_Horror, Nighmares, Emetophilia, emetophobia_warning, Blood, Gore,
      repost, ambiguous_bus_nightmare_rape:_the_fanfiction, vent_fic, Sibling
      Incest, One_Sided_Attraction, Biting, Dry_Humping, this_is_already_kinda
      posted_but_now_i_cant_delete_the_other_copy_so_just_ignore_it, also_the
      weird_tense_is_intentional_its_supposed_to_switch_around_a_little
  Series:
      Part 1 of alpha_stridercest_universe_number_ten_thousand_and_one
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-04 Words: 2486
****** thats what you get for watching jennifers body before bed i guess ******
by spoonishLord
Summary
     Your name is SLIGHTLY HARD TO PIN DOWN BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE SOMEBODY
     and you're apparently on a bus with an indistinct mystery figure and
     one helluva fucked up brain.
Notes
     ive posted this before but i orphaned it out of shame lmao. but now
     im bored so here it is again only heavily edited and hopefully
     improved
See the end of the work for more notes
Your name is DAVE, preferably "D" STRIDER and you just woke up feeling like a
cheap construction paper cutout. Y'know, the kind that artsy folks on Pinterest
make for their favorite episode of Sherlock.
Only a lot more crumpled, achy, and woefully sentient.
The first thing you do as you are rudely made aware of your apparently craft-
supply-esque consciousness is swear, groan, and swear some more. The second is
have a delightful realization that you're covered in blood. You glance down at
it hazily, your face scrunching in confusion. Your nose crackles, and a few red
flakes sprinkle from it to land in the sticky splatters already painting the
front of your tissue-thin dress shirt. The contrast between the albeit creased
but still blindingly white fabric and the gross blood snail-trails is giving
you vertigo.
Okay. So. Nosebleed.
Jot that one down on the mental notepad reserved for painful and distressing
situations.
You try and move from your slumped ragdoll posture on-- on whatever you were
sitting in, your brain wasn't quite up to processing that yet-- and instantly
regret it. Swirling phantom-pain-like aches, specifically centralized around
your chest and stomach, mercilessly attack you as soon as you move your cutout
limbs. You yelp, hissing at the hundreds of dull-sharp-dull-sharp pains
creaking through you. Looks like going back down and admitting defeat was the
best option right now, 'cause with the sudden onslaught came a fresh wave of
dizziness and detaced, floating-brain-style sensibilities.
You hit the deck, and suddenly your heart was racing. You somehow felt you
didn't have a heart. You were a woozy conglomeration of people you didn't
know.You just wanted to sleep.
Don't think about it don't think about it all you need is a second of oblivion
You just wanted to slee-- Fuck. Snap out of it.
You tried. You really, truly tried, forcing your rebelling eyelids open with
the heel of your bloody hand only to have them slide shut again. The phantom
pains tightened vengefully knarled fingers into your flesh in response, making
random individual muscles scream. You screamed. Well, scream was better
categorized as a wet, dull groan that slid its way out of your mouth as the
back of your head flopped back to meet metal again. Thunk.
Your-- Your name is D--
STRIDER. No. No. No. Nope. Wrong.
Right?
Just concentrate--
Thoughts slipping away from your grasp like especially wet water, all you did
was pant and try to feel out who you were. It was forgotten, your identity as
ambiguous and confusing as your entire situation.
Through the haze, you barely noticed the silhouette (Was that a silhouette?
Could you just not make it out beside a faint impression? Were colors even
real?) of a figure settle into the-- the seat across from you. It was a seat.
Aye aye, captain, basic comprehension skills are operating at 0.5%.
In fact, with the seat epiphany, the swimming haze seemed to drop away, washing
the phantom pains with it. You became slightly more aware of the blood drying
down your front, the uncomfortable plastic built in chair you were dumped in.
And your surroundings.
Your name is SLIGHTLY HARD TO PIN DOWN BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE SOMEBODY and you're
apparently on a bus with a still indistinct mystery figure and one hell of a
fucked up mindscape.
You try sitting up again-- please no pain please no pain hey no pain-- and
scrub a hand down your face, cringing at the blood and snot flaking off onto
your skin. You look up, at this blurry figure, then around at the bus.
It's ordinary. Like something you'd find it downtown LA during the rush hour,
dutifully carrying old ladies and single moms and teenagers around town in its
bad-color-scheme-encrusted innards.
Speaking of innards.
You should have known something was up. The painless movement was too good to
be true. You felt your stomach constrict out of literally fucking nowhere and
you heaved all over your lap and the floor with a grotesque noise, the flood of
vomit coating chartreuse confetti flooring instantly.
You dry heaved a couple times, not wanted to open your eyes and see the mess
you just made.
You did anyway, those peepers sure picking a good time to comply with orders,
and----
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
It was black.
You just barfed-- you could have just barfed tar, for all appearances.
You found yourself heaving again with your head between your legs, eyes wide
open and panicked and watching liquid darkness splash out of your shaking
mouth. You whined, not even going for cohesive words.
Right on cue, the waterscreen of disassociation was back, swirling together
with the puddle of nothing-smelling void coating the shitty linoleum and your
formerly nice pants. You shuddered, going boneless between your legs, hands
dragging in the nightmare sick. It hurt so bad everything and nothing hurt who
who who who--
You were crying now, sobs shaking your frame, and through your tears and pain
and general horribleness, you heard a cool voice from across the aisle.
The...figure, you guess, even though that's a stupid way to refer to someone.
"Are you done yet?"
A slurred fuck you dripped to the floor with the tasteless vomit on reflex. The
voice--- you knew that voice. You know that voice. Disembodied emotions
flickered--
homegoodsafehomehelpplease-- furthering your absolutely hodgepodge state.
"Now you're just being cheeky, jackass."
Fucking cheeky? Who even says that besides self-absorbed principals with sticks
up their asses and weird out-of-date supervillains? The voice-- the figure-- so
many fucking emotions what why--
"Whhhh-h-. What'ss happ-happening to me--" You managed to get out, the phrase
sounding much more dribbly and desperate that you intended. At least you knew
you could talk.
The voice seemed to like your whining, darkening to a purr that sent more
shivers of foreboding down your spine than anything else.
"It’s not important." God. No no no no he wasn't supposed to sound like that he
wasn't supposed to say that.
He. Who is he. Fuck.
You squeezed your eyes shut again, more tears slipping out to run down your
face.
The bus shifted slightly as the figure stood up. When you opened your eyes for
what felt like the hundredth time in an endless cycle, a pair of horrendous
red-and-blue extra high tops stepped into the puddle of black barf and your
blurry line of vision.
Wait. You knew those shitty shoes.
No.
No no o o ononono.
It's not him it can't be him.
Please God no.
Hands slide under your armpits, lifting you from your pose and none-too-gently
pushing you into a seated position with your back pressed up against the bus--
- the bus window wall. Thing. What was that called.
You didn't want to open your eyes again. Not to see this. Even through the
waterscreen was pouring over you from the movement, you had enough sense to
keep them fucking shut keep them fucking shut keep them
The purring drawl of a voice was back, accompanied by a slim finger tilting up
your black-and-red smeared jaw, forcing your head up slightly. It felt like the
figure was straddling you, long legs falling to either side of your sick-coated
thighs. (When did that happen?) He didn't seem to mind the tar-vomit-whatever
getting all over him. The pain in your abdomen was definitely worse with him
there, but your wet protests were ignored.
"Come on, open your eyes. Let me see your pretty reds without those shitty
fucking shades."
You jerked your jaw away, stubbornly refusing with a furrowed brow. Keep them
closed keep them closed keep them closed--
"Look at me."
He slapped you.
A brutally hard backhand right across the cheek, snapping your head to the side
and making you wheeze. The nosebleed started back up in a near torrent, adding
to the slurry of blood and vomit already coating you. Your eyes flew open out
of shock and he was grabbing your face, fingers digging into your aching cheek,
mimicking the phantom pains riddled all over you.
He forced your head to look at him.
God no no no no no.
It was Dirk, as you'd pretty much figured out at this point. Your baby brother.
You didn't know why or how or what the fuck was happening to you.
But you did know that your heart did a kind of running leap off a bridge when
you saw his familiar face leaning over you. For a second you forgot you were
fucked through the nine gates of hell and covered in pitch and bleeding because
it was Dirk and Dirk meant everything was gonna be okay.
Then you were whiplashed back to reality like a toddler getting flung in a
seatbelt when he pressed his body along yours with a sick little sigh.
No no.
Noonononono.
You would be lying if you said you hadn't fantasized about Dirk's lean frame
pressing against you in a similar matter on many occasions, but never like
this. This was-- this was twisted, this was insane. He couldn't-- not now.
"Is it really that much of an ordeal to listen to me?" He moves his knee,
jamming it into your aching stomach and you heave again, a pitiful gush of
black all to show for the deep pain searing through you. You gurgled, wide eyes
pleading up at him but he just grinned. You hadn't seen him smile that wide
since he was four. Never with such pure malice behind it.
You still loved to see it, heart doing its little suicide trick again.
You didn't know what was wrong with you, your fucking kid was in your lap and
making you barf on yourself in the most painful way possible but all you could
manage to feel emotions-wise was bewildered hurt, shame, and a rush of devotion
that hit you like a truck.
The waterscreen was gone for now, and you could count every freckle and little
scar on Dirk's face as he shoved his mouth onto your gross goopy one, the gut-
churning semblance of a kiss sending you reeling. His tongue was down your
throat and even through the tar, you could taste him. It was everything you'd
ever wanted but nothing you'd ever ask for at all stop stop stop stop
He pulled back for air after a minute of playing with your slack mouth, diluted
pitch running down his chin and caked in the corners of his mouth. He was
panting slightly, black-stained teeth peeking out from parted lips, and it
reminded you painfully of the time he'd downed a bottle of food coloring for
the hell of it when he was eleven. The memory squeezed a few more tears out of
you and you pawed at the hips pressing into yours, a weak noise escaping you.
"Gghh-- stop, please, Dir--" you voice cracked mid-attempt and he somehow
seemed to get the opposite impression of what you said, his hands moving from
your shoulders to your knees and forcing them apart. You jerked away but there
was nowhere to go, just the cold metal behind you, and you helplessly let Dirk
slot himself in-between your legs and lazily rut against your pelvis a few
times.
The friction forced a low whine out of your raw throat, addled state tearing
away your filter and throwing it in a blender. He laughed, so, so different
from how he usually sounded, now mocking and grating on your eardrums when
there should have been breathless chuckles.
"Fucken' slut. Look at you. You're disgusting." He purred, tugging at your
bottom lip with his teeth and a particularly hard grind, his eyes half-lidded.
You wanted to vomit again just from the that.
Never had he said shit like this, done shit like this. You hated it. You hated
yourself.
Letting your head fall to the side, away from his mouth and rocking hips and
gorgeous, cruel face, you tried to focus on a random bit of bus detail. Maybe
if you were distracted you could pretend none of this was real.
Don't think about it don't think about it all you need is a second of oblivion.
Then Dirk was sinking his teeth deep into your neck-- hard, it hurt so bad fuck
fuck no no-- and running his tongue over the oozing bitemark, groaning into
your skin. Jesus, he was grinding on you like he was fucking you, like his dick
was in your ass or maybe the other way around, all hard and fast and generally
pretty awful.
Another wheeze escaped you as he pressed down and gyrated, your half-hard cock
pressing painfully against his fully stiff one for a solid minute of twisting,
harsh pressure.
If you came from this you might cry even harder than you already had.
"Dirk, please-- nnn-- stop. Stop! Please."
"Shut up. Don't try to act like you don't want me." You whined in response,
your arm moving to cover your gross face almost unconsciously. As much as you
absolutely hated it, hated this, hated yourself for letting this happen, the
longer it went on the more present and conscious you felt.
Just another cruel twist of fate, you suppose. The waterscreen just had to
leave when you were getting dry humped by your baby brother.
Loathing pulsed through you with the sickening pleasure. Not loathing for Dirk-
- you loved him, adored him, could never bring yourself to even dislike him,
even now-- but loathing for yourself. For this stupid shitty bus and the noises
you were making and the way you could feel various bodily fluids still soaking
through your clothes.
Dirk ripped your arm away from your face and kissed you when he came. If it
wasn't for your teeth clicking together and the way he growled under his
breath, you could almost convince yourself that it was kinda sweet-- in a very
deluded way.
 
----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
You wake up, crying, with a wet spot in your boxers and a merciful lack of
vomit. You try to breathe, try to calm the rioting storm of self-hatred in your
chest with little to no avail.
"Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ." You gasp, a shaky laugh slipping out
despite how despicable you feel.
A nightmare. Wow, you felt like a dumbass. Guess that explained the bus?
Eventually, you stumble your way to Dirk's room and watch him sleep on some
parental instinct. God knows you just had a ton of those, not.
You just had the most graphic, disturbing, and real nightmare of your life, and
instead of drinking your woes away as was expected you wanted to help him
somehow. It was like you'd traumatized Dirk in some way by being assulted by
him in your dreams.
You're still there the next morning, slumped snoring against the doorway, and
Dirk steps over you with a small laugh on his way to the kitchen for cereal.
End Notes
     fun fact the first chapter of im wide awake its morning was intended
     to be chapter two for this mess. im glad i changed my mind honestly.
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