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Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you knew when Vriska Serket barged into the common room, demanding to speak to you alone, that it couldn't possibly be anything good.
You set your mug down with a clack as you followed her from the room, running a hand through your tangled bangs. You try and remember the last time you brushed your hair, but the answer evades you, and you eventually give up the chase. She leads you down a plain-looking hallway, devoid of the immature scribbles you have become accustomed to seeing around the meteor, courtesy of your dear brother and his nubby-horned companion. She stops at a seemingly random-looking door, pressing the key-pad next to it and stepping inside. It's a large, high-ceiling-ed chamber, clearly some sort of laboratory, with glass tubes, containing the peaceful looking forms of mutated carapacians floating in a greenish liquid, still lining the walls.
She turns to face you, thin lips pursed and arms crossed over her chest in a way you guess she intends to be intimidating. You simply raise an eyebrow at her in question. When she doesn't answer, you break the silence. "Vriska, as much as I can appreciate the lure of a good old-fashioned staring contest, I really do have more important things to attend to."
That seems to annoy her even more, and she snaps at you, yellow teeth flashing. "Cut the shit, Rose. You need help."
You feign confusion at that, tilting your head to the side like a house-cat, but your heart seems to sink to your feet. You had been dreading a conversation along these lines for weeks, in the back of your mind, and when finally faced with it your tactics of avoidance kick into gear practically automatically. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about. I'm perfectly fine. Well, as fine as a teenage girl having witnessed the near complete death of her entire species can possibly be." Which is not very fine, a nasty little voice in the back of your head mutters. You tell that voice to shut the hell up.
Vriska just snorts at your denial, looking down at you over her nose, which you notice is just the slightest bit crooked, but decide not to mention. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she says, shoving her fists in the pockets of her jacket. "That human substance you've been obsessed with making for almost a sweep now. That's what I mean."
You attempt to laugh off the accusation, fighting the rapidly rising tide of panic in your throat, already threatening to overflow. "That stuff? Vriska, that's nothing. Just a hobby, something to occupy my time with. It's completely harmless, ask Dave." You hold your head high and keep your gaze steady, praying she doesn't ask Dave.
Vriska's unnerving yellow eyes narrow. "I did," she hisses. Shit.
She sees your face fall minutely, and continues, scowling at you as she does. "He said it was some sort of a soporific. A drug. And that it wasn't healthy, the way you were using it."
Stupid Dave, you think, gritting your teeth. Learn to mind your own business for once. Meddling doesn't suit him. "Well, if that's what Dave thinks, maybe he should come and talk to me himself," you reply stiffly, eyes drifting over to a carapacian on the other end of the room with a third, glossy black eye bursting from the center of his forehead. You vaguely remember a connection between the third eye and enlightenment in some forms of earth culture, but you're dragged from your reflections by Vriska's sneer.
"Yeah, right. Dave's a scared little wriggler, he can hardly confront his own issues, let alone other people's." You secretly agree, but don't say anything. Vriska huffs out a sigh at your silence, and adds, "Rose, I'm trying to talk to you here. Can you stop being a cryptic bitch for five minutes and let me?"
You ponder that question for a moment, and respond with one of your own. "Why are you trying so hard to help me, anyways? I never got the sense that was particularly your area."
Vriska seems to take a bit of offense at your statement, nostrils flaring. "Because, I'm the team leader and it's my job to make sure that we're all ready to kick some English ass in a sweep. The way I see it, that definitely authorizes me to kick your sorry god-tier butt into gear."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, knowing it would only earn you more animosity from her, and simply say, with a bit of an edge to your voice, "Well, what if I don't want your help? What if I feel this is my own problem and don't want anyone else getting involved?"
She stomps her foot, radiating aimless frustration, and you feel a sick sense of satisfaction until she yells, "Jesus, Rose, you are so fucking selfish sometimes!"
You blink, taken aback, and genuinely a bit offended. "How is anything I've said here selfish? I just told-"
She cuts you off, stepping towards you and jabbing a claw at your chest. "Yeah, I heard what you said. You think you're strong enough, that you can handle this on your own. Well guess what, sister?! I've been there, and you're not!"
She open your mouth to retaliate, anger boiling in your stomach, but she snaps, "Just can it! Can it and listen for once in your goddamn life!"
You slowly and reluctantly purse your lips shut, keeping your gaze trained firmly on the three-eyed carapacian as she continues in a dangerously subdued tone.
"I was like you for a long time, y'know that? I didn't think I needed anyone else, that I knew what I was doing and if everyone would just let me do it, everything would turn out fucking peachy. And guess what happened?" The answer is obviously rhetorical, as she barely pauses for more than a second.
"My best friend almost fucking murdered me. Almost. It's only thanks to that idiot John that I'm here talking to you now." She takes a deep breath, and you realize she's shaking all over. When she speaks next, her voice wavers just a mite. "If she had done it... I don't even want to think about what might have happened to her. She was devastated as it was, and-" Vriska swallows dryly, "it was all my fault. Because I was too stubborn to just fucking talk to her."
You're glad you averted your eyes as she brings the sleeve of her jacket up to rub at her face. There's a few moments of silence in which you think she's trying to compose herself. You hear a few quiet sniffles, and you find yourself pondering the immeasurable devotion she must feel for the girl who spared her life, and who you've a sneaking suspicion means more to her than you'll ever know. It makes your stomach start to ache, and you're almost thankful for the familiar sound of her coarse voice, nearly back to its normal, overly confident state.
"And, whether you know it or not," her tone is low and controlled, "you're doing the same thing. You've got so many people here who give a shit about you, Rose, way more than I had, and you won't let them do anything. You're hurting them, Rose." She pauses, and her next words feel like a punch in the gut, sickening and unexpected. "You're hurting her."
Your eyes fly to hers at that, and they're a little puffy but they glare back into yours with a fire. "She worries about you so fucking much it makes her sick, and when you act like this it scares her. She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to help you, and it's driving her crazy!"
Your eyes are stinging now, and the lump in your throat is making it hard to breathe, but she doesn't stop. "Meddling is in her nature, Rose. We both know that. Why won't you just let her do that? Are you so fucking selfish that you won't even let your girlfriend know what's going on?!"
Tears have pushed past your eyes now, streaming hot and pathetic down your cheeks. You try to glance away, feeling ashamed, like a child who's been scolded, but she grabs your face and yanks it back up.
"Look at me, you fucking wriggler! Are you going to stop being an idiot and tell her you need help, or am I going to have to tell her for you?!"
You nod weakly, and she shakes you roughly, shouting, "What was that?!"
"Yes," you choke out, and your voice is hoarse and ragged. "Yes, I'll tell her. I... I'm so sorry. I didn't-" A sob breaks from your throat, and you cover your mouth, surrendering to the guilt and misery you feel pressing on your chest.
"Good," Vriska mutters, and you swear her voice is a little strained too. She releases your chin, and, after watching you sob into the sleeve of your God tier outfit for a few moments, you feel bony arms wrap themselves awkwardly around your shoulders.
The rational part of you urges you to step away, that this is Vriska who's hugging you, and that she's probably only doing this so she can tell the others about it later and laugh at you. You promptly tell the rational part of you to shut up, and you bury your face in the front of Vriska's jacket.
When you sit Kanaya down the next day and bare what's left of your soul to her, you expect her to be angry, to resent you for keeping it from her for so long, to call you an idiot for letting yourself become your mother. Instead, she just smiles, a little tearfully, which breaks your heart, and says, in that soft, low voice you love to hear, "Alright. How will you let me help you?"