Chapter Text
Last troll what you want to see when you're all fulla holes and puking up blood is Kurloz. Motherfucker finds you always whether you're wanting to be found or not and it gets to bringing your Rage back up when all you're wishing is for it to go away.
You're all hidden up where no one ought to be finding you, but if a troll was having to you'd rather Karkat to get his tell on about how pan-less you're being to follow your Lord when he's not wanting you around while wrapping you up in useless bandages. You'd rather even Terezi to be getting her cane out and prodding up at the holes where the shootmarbles went in and out and cackling too loud at the purple till you were wanting to crush her squeakbox into too many pieces to ever fix. But instead you're getting Kurloz and his quiet until his 'voodoos get to crushing into your pan in ways you ain't yet figured out how to drive away.
WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, BARD? he all asks in his way what don't use any muscles or lips or nothing, his face probably still stuck up in that false, thready smile.
"What's it motherfucking look like?"
YOU ARE TO BE SERVING OUR LORD. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO LEAVE HIM WHILE HE IS MOST IN NEED OF YOUR ASSISTANCE?
You can feel his scowl up inside you and the fact he don't know SHIT about what's going on up at where Caliborn's being makes you snort loud. It all does something weird up at your throat to make you cough out some of what's left inside you and you get some instant regret on 'cause the moving it takes to be doing that makes your holes get to hurting and you let out some weak-ass groan what's embarrassing in front of someone you ain't quadranted with.
Kurloz all sighs out through his breatheholes, exhaling loud enough for you to hear probably on purpose. He don't say nothing. He don't impress nothing either, and that's a first from him. You can't imagine the fucker tongue-tied.
There's a flash of colour what blinds you temporarily, pink and yellow and blue all across your vision, then not a minute later he's stabbing at you with something small and sharp. You yelp and near flip over, Rage building up so as you could think to be biting his head clean off if you had more energy. As is, you flop back down, hurting all the fuck over.
"Don't touch," you manage to get out through teeth grit so hard you can feel them grinding flatter. Whatever he stuck in you is still there. You reach back but the fabric-feel of his hand stops you from getting it out.
"Get. It. Out."
That breath-sigh again. SILENCE. FATE HAS BROUGHT ME HERE TO ASSIST YOU AND I INTEND TO DO OUR LORD'S BIDDING BY FIXING YOU SO THAT YOU MAY RECLAIM YOUR REVERED POSITION IN THE HISTORY OF THE ONE TRUE MESSIAH, ANGEL OF DOUBLE DEATH AND—
"Fine. Just stop with your mind-noise and get on with it." You're pretty sure he's trying his calming 'voodoos on you and it's making your pan throb as much as every other part of you already was.
Kurloz doesn't say a word, but you're sure he's to be nodding in agreement. The needle works its way in and out of your skin, binding together what don't want to be fixed. Hurts lots, but you know it ain't gonna kill you if the Messiah's gun wouldn't.
You'd laugh about how good he's gotta be getting at stitches by now if laughing wouldn't start at pulling them enough to make what's stopped bleeding start up again.