Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Str-

Wait.

No.

Deep breaths.

Start again.

Your name is Dave Lalonde, and you’re pretty sure that you hold the title of “Worst Chosen One Who Ever Lived”.

Your sister Rose would probably brush off your title with a “Don’t be dramatic, Dave,” but you know that she can’t help the fact that it’s true. At the very least, you are quite sure that your shithead of a roommate would agree. It’s probably the first thing the two of you will ever agree on. Woohoo, first time for everything, let’s sing the fuckin’ shehechiyanu, make a rabbi proud. You can see it now, Dirk patting you on the back for finally stepping up and taking your heritage seriously, Rose fixing you with that sneaky half-smile eyebrow-raise that you practically need a magnifying glass to see properly but you know that it’s the closest thing to showing outward affection that she can bear. Mom would probably run off to dig through your old kippot, trying to find one that doesn’t have basketballs or Mario or some other reminder that the last time you wore one was your Bar Mitzvah and you didn’t have a whole lot of taste. Are you supposed to sing the shehechiyanu for someone singing the shehechiyanu for the first time? You know that it’s sung whenever someone does something special for the first time, as a way to say, Oh hey, cool. Thanks, G-d, for letting me do that, I guess. (That’s probably grossly oversimplified, and Rose would scold you for it.) But does singing it for the first time count as something special? You wonder what the specific rules for that are. What counts as a “something special”? You would ask your family, but you’re not in the mood for a lecture.

“Dave.”

Dammit. Apparently you’ll be getting one anyway.

“Dave, you’re mumbling to yourself again.”

Roxy elbows you when you continue to ignore Mom. Unfortunately, Roxy is twenty and yet still does not know her own strength, and her nudging shoves a wave of energy through you and knocks you off of your stool, all on your ass on the ground like some undignified peasant. Your poor bowl of cereal is taken as collateral damage in the fall and clatters off the counter, landing on your stomach and spilling all over you. You decide to wallow in your misery and lay there dramatically, letting the cold milk soak into your clothes.

“I am slain,” you declare, throwing an arm over your face and stretching out like a kid in their first Shakespeare production. “You have killed me, foul sister! Your power hath overwhelmed me! Tell Dirk that he can’t have my side of the room -- oh!” You jerk theatrically. “I am going towards the light…!”

Deciding that you have given yourself a properly melodramatic death, you let out one final choking gasp and lay still. Your shades are awkwardly digging into your face under your arm. Ah, the price one must pay for theater.

Roxy nudges you with her toe and then bursts into giggles, clapping. “Good show, Dave, really.” You hear her pull her wand out and mutter something - no use crying over spilled milk! - and you feel your clothes drying. She pokes your arm and you move it to look up at her bent over you. She’s grinning cheerfully, her curls falling into her face (she’s dyed it pink for the summer), one hand out to help you up. You take it.

Dirk and Rose are watching you from the breakfast counter with matching bored expressions. Sometimes they look so alike it’s hard for you to remember that they aren’t related by blood. Then again, Mom says the same thing about you and Roxy. And you and Rose. And Dirk and Roxy. You’re not sure her word is worth much, actually. She considers you all her children, and you think it might be corrupting her view of you. Not that you mind.

Rose gives a little golf clap at your performance, then swivels back around to face her breakfast. Dirk tips an imaginary hat at you and follows. You bow deeply.

“See, this kind of thing wouldn’t happen if you lot ate at the kitchen table,” Mom comments from her perch on the edge of said table. “I know there’s four stools at the counter but we got that when you were all much smaller and you really don’t fit anymore.”

Dirk waves her off as you squeeze between him and Roxy, who has already taken back her seat. “Nah, Momma, we like to keep things old school, really get back to our roots.” He gives you a huge thump on the back, making you wheeze into your now-restored cereal, while Mom is too busy being happily flustered over being called “Momma” to tell him off. Sometimes your brother likes to be clever. It frustrates you to no end.

She’s right though - summers at the Lalonde Estate feel more and more crowded as the four of you grow up. You all aren’t around during the year, what with Skaia School of Magicks being a boarding school and now Dirk running off to some Normal engineering school and Roxy doing who-knows-what out in Alaska (“You can really see the stars there!” “Roxy, you can see the stars anywhere. ” “Yes, but Alaska is where the most magical resonance in the atmosphere is centered, and it has extraordinary effects….”), so your house isn’t really equipped for four teens-slash-young-adults to be living in it for an extended period of time.

But soon enough, it won’t need to. Skaia Academy of Magicks starts on the 19th of August, Dirk’s Normal university starts on the 26th, and Roxy’s flight to Alaska leaves on the 29th. You and Rose are heading out today, a week before term starts like most students, which gives you a chance to settle in for the semester. You love your family, but it’s hard to contain your excitement, as uncool as it is. You’ve been packed for the past week. Rose pretends not to notice for the sake of your dignity.

After breakfast, you help your siblings clean up under Mom’s watchful eye. Summers at the estate are chaotic just from the four of you alone, so using your magic is strictly forbidden unless you are instructed to. Or at least, it was, but now Dirk and Roxy are of age anyways so Mom can’t really tell them what to do, meaning now you and Rose are the only ones left out of the fun. To be frank and childish, it sucks, especially when Dirk and Roxy can just wave their wands and their dishes rinse themselves and tuck neatly into the dishwasher. It is your cross to bear, because you’re the Chosen One and all you could totally smite these bitches without a second thought. You tell yourself that the only thing holding you back from doing so is your heart of gold and will of iron and all that shit, even though it’s totally because Mom would kick your ass if you broke the rules.

You keep your magic and your biting wit to yourself for once and cleanup passes without a hitch. It is 11:32 in the morning, and while normally you would rather die than wake up before noon during the summer, Mom has said that you’ll have to leave by midday to drive to the Academy and get there before the gates close. Oh, woe is you, woe is you. You’ve already established that you’re planning to spend the whole ride sleeping.

By the time midday rolls around, you’ve checked and double-checked and triple-checked your trunk to make sure that you’ve packed everything you’ll need. It’s completely unnecessary, seeing as you already checked yesterday and the day before and the day before, but it gives you something to do and it calms your nerves. It will be your seventh and final year at Skaia Academy of Magicks, nothing to be scared about, but your anxiety will be damned if it doesn’t try to make an appearance regardless.

Mom leaves you and Rose to pack up the car, so naturally Rose sits herself primly on one of the chairs on the porch while you cast featherweight charms on all of the luggage and haul it up.

“Y’know,” you grunt, bodily lifting Rose’s massive trunk into the car. Seriously, what the fuck is that girl packing, there’s gotta be dumbbells or weights or something in there. You wouldn’t put it past her to just bring a whole suitcase full of rocks. “You could help me out with this, make yourself useful or somethin’.”

She eyes you over the cover of her book, something all purple and black and swirly-curly letters. If you didn’t know better you’d accuse her of perusing a bodice-ripper, but you don’t feel like dying a horrible fiery death today, so you don’t. “I’m keeping watch. For Mother. She wouldn’t be too happy to see your wand out.”

You snort, giving the trunk one final shove to slide it next to your matching one in the car. You try to push your shades back up your nose but you forget that you’re holding your wand and you end up poking the lens. You are the smoothest, it is you.

Before Rose can get in a witty jab at your latest display of coolness, Mom comes sidling out the front door. You barely manage to stick you wand in your waistband before she notices. “Nice lookout, Rosie,” you say quietly, glaring at her.

Rose frowns at you.

“Rise and shine, kiddos, we gotta get moving,” Mom states cheerily, totally ignoring your exchange with your sister. “Was that the last bag?”

“Yep,” you answer, pulling the trunk door down with a satisfying thunk.

“Great! Hop to it then,” she responds. “Liftoff in T-minus five minutes, go track down Thing One and Thing Two and say goodbye.”

Mom waves you off and leans against the side of the car to wait. You and Rose head back inside to follow her orders.

Roxy and Dirk are both in the kitchen where you left them, Dirk leaned against the sink on his phone and Roxy seated at the counter, a travel brochure advertising Alaska spread in front of her.

“We’re about to leave,” Rose declares upon entering. The other two look up at the sound of her voice. Roxy leaps up from the counter, beaming, and pulls you into a hug. You’re pretty sure your feet actually lift off the ground.

“Rox,” you wheeze, “I’m pretty sure I can hear bones cracking.”

She lets you go and yep - she had floated the two of you a foot above the ground. Roxy’s like a young tiger or lion or some other poetic shit in that she’s still getting used to her strength even after all this time. By blood, the Lalondes as a family have a reputation for being relatively mild mages with the occasional powerhouse every couple generations, such as the powerhouse that just released you from the prison of her rib-breaking hug. You and Dirk certainly skew that data a bit (emphasis on you , Mr. Chosen One), but you suppose the two of you don’t really count.

Roxy interrupts your musings for the second time today. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m just going to miss you two little demons. Who am I going to bother during the day when I make another earth-shattering discovery regarding the aetheric atmosphere in relation to the constellations?”

She ruffles your hair like you’re still a kid and you pout. She’s right though - you doubt she’ll have any service up in Bumfuck Nowhere, Alaska, but it doesn’t matter anyways since cell phones aren’t permitted at the Academy. You’ll have to settle for snail mail if you want to contact your family. Which hasn’t really been a problem for the past seven years, but still.

“We’re seventeen, Roxy, not seven,” Rose says. She and Dirk must have finished their own heartfelt goodbyes, or whatever counts as a “heartfelt goodbye” between those two. It was probably a passive-aggressive staring contest and a cold handshake or something equally sincerely insincere. You swear, Rose and Dirk are way more like blood siblings than you could ever be.

“Please, Rosie, of course I know you can take care of yourself,” Roxy responds. She pulls a grumbling Rose into another patented Roxy Lalonde Bone-Crushing Hug™. You turn to your brother, who is still leaned against the sink, ignoring your sisters squabbling and engrossed in his phone.

You try to sneak a glance at whoever he’s texting but he catches on and turns it off before you can get a good look. His jittery response is enough of an answer for you; Dirk would never be so touchy if he were just texting Jane or Roxy. You’d bet your wand that if you caught a look at his conversation, you’d be met with a wall of green and orange text.

“Y’know, it’s considered rude to read someone else’s messages,” he says, putting his phone away and crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well, I’d say it’s pretty rude to be texting your crush while your dear brother is trying to say goodbye before leaving for nine months,” you counter. His expression doesn’t change at your jibe, but you see him swallow. Yeesh, someone tell this boy that if he’s trying to keep his crush on Jake a secret, he’s doing a real shitty job. Even John has picked up on it, and he’s about as observant as a rock.

Dirk doesn’t parry your taunt and instead pulls you into a stiff hug. He’s never been very good at physical affection, although years with Roxy are paying off.

“Take care of yourself,” he says, releasing you. “I mean it, Dave—don’t do anything stupid.” You snort, and he seems to reconsider. “Okay, fine, nothing dangerous. I know you can’t help being stupid.”

You sputter, but before you can come up with a suitably insulting response, you’re interrupted. A bright sphere of pinkish light appeared in the kitchen when you were distracted, about the size of a fist.

Mom’s voice echoes tinnily from the light. “I told you five minutes, and your five minutes are up! Roxy, give ‘em one last hug. Dirk, chuff your brother over the head or whatever it is you do to show affection. We’re hitting the road, if you’re not out here in thirty seconds I’m leavin’ without you!” As she finishes, the light sizzles out.

Dirk narrows his eyes at her comment even as he’s patting you awkwardly on the shoulder in lieu of a final goodbye. You can’t believe that after years of being friends with some of the cuddliest people you’ve met, he’s still so weird about hugs and shit. Oh well.

You step aside so that he can awkwardly pat Rose as well, Roxy squeezes you and Rose one last time, and the two of you head back to the car outside.

“You could, like, come inside to tell us to leave instead of casting a messenger,” Rose says to Mom as you both get into the car. “The kitchen is right inside, Mother.” She closes the passenger door behind herself with a thump. You sprawl out in the backseat.

Mom’s response is drowned out as you put on your headphones and set up some ambient music. You already declared yesterday that you’ll be spending the car ride hopefully asleep, because five hours trapped with these two in a confined space is bad enough and you’d rather be unconscious for most of it.

As you pull out of the driveway and close your eyes, you find yourself thinking of the Academy and how much you’ve missed it. As lame as it sounds, you really do enjoy school. Summers at home are fun and being with your family is always nice, cheesily enough, but Skaia Academy of Magicks has been your place for as long as you can remember. Even though it’s not as much of a reprieve from home as it used to be, it was the first place you felt right.

You’re excited, to say the least.

Even if you don’t count the novelty of magic that comes with the school, there’s still so much you’ve missed. You and Dirk share a bedroom during the summer and it gets pretty cramped, so sweet Jesus are you looking forward to your lovely spacious dorm room. It was your first real, proper bedroom, with a bed frame and a dresser and lamp and everything. You even have your own closet. Sure, the room comes complete with an asshole you have to share it with, but still. It was one of the first things you had that was yours.

You’re beyond excited for the food. You love your family, but none of you are particularly good at cooking. Dirk would survive on frozen meals-for-one and ramen if he could, Rose thinks toothpaste is too spicy, Mom once started a fire making toast, Roxy is...a little too enthusiastic, and you...well. You don’t really have an excuse. You’re just an ass. The five of you live off of takeout, premade meals at Whole Foods and occasional “meals” for the very brave whenever Roxy decides that she’s going to try to cook again.

Food at the Academy, however, is a different story. You’re a teenage boy, you know how to appreciate good food. Every meal, the long dining tables are loaded with steaming dishes and piled high with enough food to make the fat kid from Willy Wonka jealous. Rose has long since learned that her dry comments about how gross you look when you wolf down sandwich after sandwich are never received well, especially considering that your other tablemates are almost always John and Jade, who are also big fans of eating as much food as possible every meal.

Breakfast is your favorite—there are always huge stacks of waffles, towers of toast, eggs prepared in any way you’d ever want, and your favorite, the pancakes. In all seven years at the Academy you have never learned who makes all this food, but you want to kiss whoever makes those delicious apple pancakes. Fuck, thinking about it is making you hungry and you just ate breakfast. Quick, think of something else before your stomach starts growling! Shit, what else do you miss, what else are you excited for…

John and Jade! Of course. You are the worst best friend—and, er, boyfriend—ever, how could you forget? The four of you—you, Rose, Jade and John—have been together since your first year at school. Even before you moved in with the Lalondes, Rose spent half of her nights in your room to get away from her OWN shitty roommate (although, to be fair, your roommate is definitely worse, shut up Rose), often accompanied by Jade and sometimes John. In seven years, you and John have not been able to figure out how those two sneak into the boys’ dorms and at this point you’ve succumbed to the fact that they’ll probably never tell you.

John is your best bro, even if he can kind of be an ass sometimes. He was a little cold right after you started dating Jade, which is understandable, you suppose. You’d be tetchy if anyone tried to date Rose and she’s not even your sister by blood (don’t tell her that though, she’ll never let you hear the end of it). He even gave you a private talking-to about it, the whole “if you break her heart I break your face” spiel in a surge of uncharacteristic seriousness. The toothy smile he gave you at the end followed by a trademarked Egbert Giggle did little to reassure you that he wasn’t actually going to kill you. Luckily after your Serious Conversation he went back to normal, and now the most he’ll do is make barf noises whenever you are even remotely affectionate with Jade.

Not that Jade can’t take care of herself—the girl has actually benched you before. And it’s not just fear for your life that keeps you from hurting her—you aren’t a terrible person for starters, and you do genuinely want her to be happy. Ugh, sappiness is not your forte. You...want her to be happy. And you can totally make her happy! The little voice in your head saying “she’ll never be happy with you” can suck your dick, you are Dave Lalonde, Romance Machine, makin’ all the gals swoon. Jade loves you. And you love her! Just like you love Rose and John, only a little different, right? Right.

You’re kinda freaking yourself out with this train of thought. Everybody knows that avoidance is the best way to deal with all the problems in your life, think of something else!

In an effort to stop your stupid wandering thoughts, you find yourself glancing around the car for distractions. Your eyes fall on Rose. She’s making conversation with Mom in the front seat, and though you can’t really hear her you can tell that she’s tired. The omnipresent psychotherapist gleam in her eyes is duller than usual, and she’s got bags under her eyes. She must’ve had another vision last night. You’ll have to ask about it later.

For now, the lull of the car and the dull chatter is finally starting to get to you and you can feel yourself drifting off, thank god. If you’re asleep, you don’t have to deal with your weird insecure thoughts, and with any luck you’ll wake up right when you get to school. Sleep is your favorite form of time travel. Beam me up Scotty, take me to a new school year.

Chapter Text

You are still Dave Lalonde, and in an unusual stroke of luck, you actually manage to sleep the whole drive and are only woken when Rose grudgingly climbs into the backseat, takes your shades off and pokes you in the eye. You wake up, startled, to Rose grinning evilly at your reaction like the sadistic fuck that she is. As any good brother would do, you immediately cuss her out and groggily shove her onto the car floor, and as any good mother would do, Mom halfheartedly scolds you, stifling her own giggles.

Goodbyes are short and sweet and then you are left in the enormous, regal driveway leading to the main building with your sister, your luggage and probably a gross lipstick stain on your cheek.

“Hup to, Rosie, I wanna get everything settled before dinner. Can’t let John eat everything before we get there,” you say to your sister, shouldering your backpack and maneuvering the handles of two suitcases.

Rose casts a fresh featherweight charm on her own suitcases and starts down the path. “Interesting that you first mention John as opposed to your beloved girlfriend. A sign, perhaps, that you have feelings for the wrong sibling?”

You follow and shove her teasingly. “Jesus, Rose, I thought we established this already. Obviously John and I are in a taboo secret relationship and Jade is in on it as the cover-up, because I’m so very attracted to short nerds with big teeth who spend way too much time coming up with conspiracy theories.”

She snorts at your reply and brushes a nonexistent hair out of her face. You two keep up the banter all the way to the top of the driveway, where you’re properly able to take in the full expanse of Skaia Academy of Magicks. You both pause to take in the view, because even after seven years it never quite gets old.

From your vantage point, you can see the main building, some of the older dorms connected to it and a sneak peek of the grounds behind it. The Academy was originally just the huge, ornate building before you housing the dining hall and classrooms, connected to the old dorm houses. Those rooms are still in use, but since the Mage’s reforms a few decades ago doubled the student body, they’ve expanded the campus and built a smattering of new dorm houses across the grounds.

The whole campus is gathered in a messy broken ring around the grounds, which includes the sports field (that you have proudly never set foot on). The main building is at the front, with a cute little courtyard around it to make it even gaudier. Two long hallways branch out diagonally from either side, leading to the old dorm houses (the girls’ house faces east and the boys’ faces north). You’re lucky to be living in the admittedly ancient old dorm houses from the original building, the new ones are a much farther walk from the main building and the whole path is completely outdoors. It’s always funny to watch people making the trek in the winter, coming to class breathless and frozen. Suckers.

Rose leads the way, making a point of opening the massive doors, acting like she’s going to hold them open for you and then forcibly closing them before you can get through. By the time you get them open again, grumbling, she’s already halfway to the long table where your two best friends—er, you mean, your best friend and your girlfriend are seated. The dining hall is hilariously similar to the Hogwarts dining hall, with high arched ceilings, funky nonsense old-as-balls tapestries strewn all over the walls, floating candles, and the only difference: you have six long tables instead of four. Your first year featured a lot of making fun of Rose for being so excited about this.

As you walk over, you watch Jade and John excitedly greeting Rose. You wince sympathetically as Jade captures her in one of her patented bone-cracking hugs (seriously, the girl is a fucking beast, she should know by now that she squeezes like a fucking python).

“Dave!” John spots you first and bounds over to throw his arms around you.

You pat his back awkwardly until he releases you. “Hey, man. You got taller.”

“And you got sunburned!” Ah, John, ever so brutally honest.

“Oh please,” you tell him. “I don’t burn, I glow. Ow—hey! Stop picking at my face!”

He snickers and removes his hand from your gross peel-y sunburn nose, brushing away some of your nasty dead skin. “Gross, dude!”

You do not hear the rest of his statement, because suddenly your arms are quite full of beautiful girl.

“Dave!” Jade exclaims, and oh fuck she’s going to fucking kill you, death by hug, that’s a hell of a way to go. You can’t respond because she has violently squeezed all the air out of your poor innocent lungs, and instead you are stuck making weird gasping sea lion noises until she lets you go.

She kisses you quickly and then turns to give John the stink eye for making a stupid barf noise. “Grow up, John, it’s really getting old,” she says, but you can tell there’s no real anger in her voice. He sticks his tongue out in response.

The four of you sit back down so that you and Rose can fill your plates. John babbles aimlessly while you try to fit as many sourdough rolls onto your plate as you can without Rose noticing and lecturing you on the importance of a balanced meal blah blah blah too many carbs blah blah. Then it’s a matter of tracking down the marinara sauce without spilling anything, and then you promptly shove as many delicious tomato-y little rolls into your mouth as possible. By the time you tune back into the conversation, you realize that someone has asked you a question, and your friends are now looking at you intently waiting for a response.

“What?” You say dumbly, although it comes out more like “Fbaht?” because your mouth is full of sourdough. A piece falls out of your mouth. Nice, Dave, real sexy.

John laughs at your face. “I was asking about your summer trips! I mean, we’ve kinda heard about it already from Dirk, and from the two of you over the phone, but I’d like a recap.”

You stop to chew properly before answering. Apparently you take too long, because Rose jumps in instead.

“Well, as you know, Dirk is starting his second year at the Normal university in California. Studying, as my brother so eloquently described once, “engineering something-something techno bullshit”.” She breaks off to give you a look. You glare at her because you can’t respond without spewing more bread everywhere and despite common belief, you do actually try to not be disgusting all the time.

“To celebrate,” Rose continues, “and also because the rest of us haven’t been, Mother took us sightseeing on the west coast.”

“Touristy shit,” you cut in, having swallowed your food. “Y’know, ride some cable cars, go see the Hollywood sign, go hang out at the beach-”

“-And get a horrible sunburn,” John finishes, grinning smugly.

You frown. “Shut up, I’m still talkin’, genius. Anyway, it was a real party, just me and Dirk and a gaggle of girls.”

“I don’t think three counts as a gaggle,” Jade interrupts. “Especially when one of them is your mom.”

You sigh dramatically. “Can I tell my story? Must the brave word of truth always be so difficult to tell?”

Jade waves her hand at you while simultaneously shushing John, who was about to respond. “Yes, yes, of course, keep going, my liege. Tell us mere mortals the brave word of truth.”

You nod approvingly. “Thank you. Anyway, we did some great sightseeing, Dirk and Roxy snuck off for four hours in Los Angeles and came back with piercings from Venice Beach and Mom had a cow, Rose dragged us to some legendary bookstore in San Francisco that, tee-bee-aych, was kinda underwhelming-”

Rose elbows you at that. Unfortunately, you are just Mr. Butterfingers today, and it makes you drop your roll directly into your water. Nice.

“Rude!” You yell.

“Oh, shut up, brother dear,” Rose sighs, not even looking at you. “I know you have at least three more of those on your plate. You really shouldn’t be consuming so many carbs at once, you know. At least eat some fiber and protein as well.”

You’re about to respond with something appropriately biting and witty but before you can, Jade cuts across.

“Okay! Okay, calm down,” she says, sensing that you were about to break into some good ol’ fashioned sibling bickering. “That sounds really fun, Dave. Please, do tell us more about your summer instead of getting into a silly argument with Rose.”

You take the bait eagerly. “Well, I mean...yeah. That’s kinda it, actually. Saw some sights, went to the beach, laughed at Dirk trying to talk around his new tongue piercing. I mean, y’all kinda know what happened next. Dirk flew down to meet up with you guys because he’s already seen everything, and the rest of us stayed in Cali a little while longer before heading back home.”

Jade and John share a look as you mention your brother meeting up with them, but you brush it off. Or, rather, Rose interjects before you can question it.

“How was it, by the way?” She asks lightly. “You were all over South America, right?”

“Oh, yes, it was fantastic!” Jade beams, remembering her trip.

“Eh, it was alright,” John says at the same time.

Jade shushes him again. “Don’t listen to Mr. Boring here—he’s just grumpy because he wanted to stay inside playing video games all summer like some kind of nerd. ” John sputters and tries to retaliate but Jade doesn’t stop talking. “Grandpa’s done a whole bunch of crazy research about the ruins down there, it was fascinating! There’s so much magical history everywhere, it was wild. Everyone found something to enjoy. Well, everyone except Mr. Boring .”

John throws an arm over her to get her to quiet. “Hey—that’s no fair! You guys didn’t consult with me at all, I had no say in this trip!”

Jade narrows her eyes at him. “Nobody was consulted, stupid. Grandpa picked a trip that he thought everyone would like, and he was right. Jake liked the ruins, I liked the history, even Jane found the food culture interesting, you’re just grumpy and bitter!”

You and Rose exchange concerned glances. Thankfully, she steps in before it can develop into a full argument. “So, tell me about how our dear older brother fared. He talks big game about being tough but he’s a rather delicate flower, he doesn’t do well in any kind of harsh climate.”

John snickers. “Yeah, you’re tellin’ me. He refused to wear sunscreen for the first day because he claimed he didn’t need it and he was red as a tomato!”

Rose presses on. “Hilarious. But do tell me how it worked out with the rest of your family. Were they amicable to having a tagalong?” She’s doing that voice she uses when she has some kind of suspicion and instead of just outright asking about it, she dances around the topic until the other person answers it without realizing. You, however, have no idea what she’s trying to figure out.

Jade and John exchange another look. Jade answers this time. “He...well, I mean, you guys are always welcome in our family!”

“Interesting,” Rose replies. You have no clue what kind of answer she’s looking for, but you know better than to ask. It’s probably something stupid and unimportant anyways, none of Rose’s sneaky interrogations are ever useful.

“So…you guys stopped by your rooms, right? Are your roommates here yet?” Jade says in a totally-not-obvious change of subject.

“Nah, not yet,” you respond. The school gates open a week before the semester starts and students trickle in over those few days, so you and Rose arrived three days early like the good students you are. It’s not uncommon for people to arrive on the last day, although you are a bit suspicious because it’s so unlike him to show up last minute. Whatever, it’s not your problem, you’re not even going to think about it.

Jade nods and you pretend you can’t see how relieved she is about the change of subject. “Yeah, Nep’s not here yet either.”

“Neither is Equius,” John pipes up. “They’re probably coming together.”

Jade shares a room with a tiny gymnast-slash-martial artist named Nepeta, who has some funky platonic soulmate deal going on with John’s hulking roommate Equius. You all get along with them pretty well, although you don’t think Nepeta trusts you dating Jade.

“It is rather weird that the Maryams aren’t here yet though,” Rose muses. “I know that Kanaya takes great pride in showing up before me at everything, and she’s always been here early.”

You nod somewhat distractedly. “Yeah, not gonna lie I’m kinda surprised that he’s not here yet. Not that I’m complaining, any time away from him is time well spent”

“Oh, please,” Jade says exasperatedly. “Stop saying him , Dave, it’s Karkat we’re talking about, not Lord Voldemort. They aren’t even that bad, they’re both actually quite nice once you get to know them!”

You and Rose groan in unison. ‘Quite nice’ your ass, you haven’t had a single conversation with your shithead roommate that didn’t feature him calling you a variety of colorfully explicit insults in seven years.

“I bet they’re doing some creepy family coming-of-age ritual,” John muses

through a mouth full of broccoli. Some of the little dark green bits are stuck in his teeth. You pointedly choose to not point it out and instead decide to let him figure it out himself, hopefully in some humiliating way. You are the best bro, it is you.

Jade shoves him, causing him to spew broccoli bits all over his plate. “Shut up! I know you’ve got this whole weird fascination with them or whatever but I know for a fact that Karkat and Kanaya aren’t off doing some spooky Satanic ritual, stop being immature.”

You snort. “She’s right, you know. Karkat would rather die than miss class, he’d need a better reason than that.” Both Maryams relish being better than everyone at everything, and you’re pretty sure that those snooty assholes wouldn’t willingly be late unless something really bad happened. Not that you’re worried or anything. If anything, you’re already brainstorming your biting greeting for when Karkat inevitably shows up. Something appropriately rude, with a touch of awkward suggestiveness that makes him look perverted if he points it out.

Rose opens her mouth to add to your hilarious witticism but before she can speak, a deep voice rings out from behind you.

“Dave. It’s good to see you. Can I speak with you in my office?”

You turn quickly to see the Mage standing in the aisle between the tables. If you had to describe the Mage’s appearance, you would probably call it some kind of cross between well-off business man, intimidating army general, Jesus, and Dumbledore, which you suppose kind of just sums him up as a whole. His beard is a little shaggier than usual, which surprises you, but maybe he’s just growing it out this year.

You stand abruptly. There’s not a whole lot of people who can make the great Dave Lalonde, Greatest Mage, stand out of respect, but the Mage is a special case. “Sir. It’s good to see you too. And, uh, of course.”

He gives you a short smile and you relax a bit. “Thank you,” he says, then turns to your friends. “Welcome back to school. I’ll have your friend back shortly.”

With that, he turns on his heel with a sweep of his cloak and walks towards the door. John waves at him, then lowers his hand, discouraged.

“Well...see you guys later, I guess,” you say to your friends. A small chorus of “bye, Dave,” follows you out of the dining hall.

You reach the Mage’s office door and hesitate. Is it rude to just walk in without knocking, even though he literally just invited you?
Luckily, before you can spend a full minute floundering, the Mage opens the door for you. You peer inside to see him seated behind his desk, hand out. Ah, yes. He opened it with magic. You’re at a magic school, Dave. Get it together.

“Come in.”

You shuffle in awkwardly and sit in the chair on the other side of his desk like you have done so many times before. “Sir.”

He closes the door with another gesture from his hand and then puts it down, fiddling with his ring. See, this ain’t Harry Potter—in the World of Mages, each individual’s magic is channeled through some type of focus, usually some kind of family heirloom or artifact. As far as you’re concerned, Dirk is your only blood relative, and he already uses the closest thing to a family heirloom that the two of you have: your birth mother’s wedding ring, a small, delicate silver band. It’s unusual for a focus to come from a Normal, but it’s not unheard of, and the two of you are unusual anyways. You use a wand that the Mage gave to you years ago, which was apparently his way back when, before he acquired the ring. His ring has been an object of curiosity for you since you met him, a smooth wooden band with some symbol that you’ve never been close enough to decipher.

John and Jade both wear glasses that have been passed down in their family for generations. They are both hilariously protective of them and have been known to curse people for smudging the lenses. John also has the amusing habit of pushing his glasses up his nose like a nerd every time he casts a spell, which you always point out gleefully and make sure to tease him about.

Rose uses a pair of plain knitting needles that apparently belonged to her grandma. She likes to point out the added bonus of being able to both curse her enemies and stab them in the eyes.

You’ve never actually asked, but you’re pretty sure Karkat’s focus is this clunky iron necklace he always wears. It’s got a huge cancer symbol as the pendant. You can’t imagine why he would wear something so fucking ugly without reason, so yeah, it’s probably his focus. At least Kanaya’s is a little classier, a neat little pendant with the Maryam family crest.

The Mage clears his throat, snapping you out of your expository reverie. “Dave.”

You nod politely. “Sir.”

“It’s good to see you in good health,” he says. His eyes are locked on you, but you can tell he seems a bit distracted. He keeps twisting the ring on his left hand. “I trust your summer went smoothly?”

“Yes, sir,” you respond. “Did you—er, was your summer good too?”

He chuckles lightly at your awkwardness. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was certainly quite busy. But please, you don’t have to pretend to be interested, I did say I would return you quickly. I invited you here just to greet you for the year and give you a quick overview of what you may have missed in the happenings of the World of Mages.”

You gulp. Sure, you’re the Chosen One and all that jazz, but it doesn’t mean you’re actually any good at this diplomacy political shit. The Mage has been...gentle about all of this, considering your upbringing, but he’s made sure that you’re aware of the important role you play in all of this fuckery. Not only are you apparently the most powerful mage who has ever lived, you’re also a rallying point for all other mages to get behind and band together—but, y’know, no pressure. The Mage has taught you all about your significance, not only in combating literal evil and all that shit, but also in combating the lesser evils hidden among your people, specifically the gatekeeping Old Families. Wow, that was a pretty dramatically-worded sentence there, Dave. Looks like Rose is rubbing off on you.

The Mage clears his throat again and you jump, feeling a little guilty about spacing out again. “It is important for you, as the Greatest Mage, to be up-to-date on our world. You are still a child, of course, so it is only natural that you are granted a break from your duties and the summers are perfect for this, but soon you will be of age, Dave. We need to prepare you for this responsibility.”

You nod, trying to hide your nerves. “Yes, sir. Of course.” Look, the Mage is your mentor and all, and you know that he’s The Great Reformer™ and like a huge political figure and all that shit, but the dude could really work on sounding less like some kind of weird, shitty, magical MLK. Like, there’s no cameras here, dude, you can just chill, maybe throw a few contractions in there. It’s caj, short for casual , shortened because you’re just that casual .

“Good. I’m glad you understand.” He watches you curtly. “As you know, this past summer there were three new holes that opened up.”

Boy, do you know .

On the rare occasion that Jade can get you to listen to one of her excited magic-science babbles, she gives you all of the updates from her Grandpa, who is out studying the aetheric holes. See, there’s a sort of magical atmosphere around the globe, and every time you cast a spell you take a bit of magic from it. It regenerates rapidly to keep up with the entire World of Mages. Everyone relies on it for magic, and since magic is something tied very closely into a mage’s life force, most mages can feel when something happens to the aether.

The holes started cropping up a little over two decades ago. Magical scientists studying the aether at the time thought it was impossible for someone to take so much magic at once that it completely ripped into the aether, permanently damaging it, but someone out there has figured out a way. They leave dead spots up to a few miles wide, places where no mages have been able to cast any spells whatsoever. Nobody has been able to figure out a connection between the locations and so nobody knows how they’re happening or where they’re going to happen next.

Every time the aether tears, it rocks the entire atmosphere and all mages can feel it. Apparently weaker mages are more affected, so it’s never been too bad for you, Roxy or Dirk, but the bigger rips have put Rose out of commission for days, and Jade tells you it’s often even worse for John.

“Yes, we all felt it,” you respond. Before he can continue, you try to point out something else. “And, sir, I’ve told you my thoughts before, my sister’s visions line up perfectly with the dates each hole was created, I really do think there must be some connection-”

“No, Dave,” the Mage interrupts. “We have talked about this before, I personally conducted a study into Rose’s visions and there’s no correlation. I understand that they can be a cause of distress and it is natural for you to think of it, but you know my stance on the matter.”

He must hear your little sigh of disappointment, because he flashes you another quick half-smile. “I am sorry I do not have answers for you on that. But I have to move on.

“As I said, the new holes opened up. Fortunately they all cover relatively rural spaces, so the physical fallout was manageable and there were not very many people who needed to relocate. However, the Old Families have been meeting more and more frequently, and my sources tell me that they are feeling less patient with me with each new tear.”

You grimace at that. The Old Families are the traditionalists in your world, all about protecting magical lineage and all that elitist shit. They have never been happy with the Mage and his mission to bring magical education to anyone with the spark for it. You were supposed to be the figurehead for the Mage’s movement as the Chosen One, someone with enough familial ties to old magic to bring those old geezers around. Supposed to save your world from a great evil like a fuckin’ superhero, prophesized about for centuries. What evil? You don’t know yet, but your arrival certainly placated them for a good few years. However, since the holes started happening more frequently with no action on the Mage’s part to fix them, they’re getting antsy.

“Of course, they all know that my Men are doing everything they can to find the cause and put a stop to it.” This close, the Mage looks very tired. His voice, usually level and calm, leaks a bit of exasperation. “But they are choosing to ignore my endless efforts. So that brings me to you, Dave.”

Right. You. The Mage is convinced that the Old Families are actually the evil that you’re supposed to stop, that their exclusionism will strangle the World of Mages until there’s nobody left to carry on the practice of magic. You’re...well, you don’t really fancy yourself as some big hero, but you’re willing to go along with it.

He sighs. You notice that the warm brown of his eyes looks cold in this light. “I will be out of school trying to deal with the Families for much of this year, but you must not think that the spotlight will be taken off of you. They are looking at every aspect of me, hoping to find some grave mistakes, and as my apprentice you must expect this same level of scrutiny. I do not wish to put pressure on you, but I want you to understand the consequences for both of us.”

You swallow slowly. Sure, boss, no pressure, just remember that if you fuck up in any way for the entire year that your mentor’s whole movement will come crashing to pieces and an extremely wealthy, extremely angry mob will have your throat. Sounds great. “I...I understand. Of course, sir. I will do my best.”

He gives you another smile at that and chuffs your shoulder in an awkward, stiff, pseudo-fatherly way. “Good. I knew you would be up to the task. That was really all I had to say, thank you. Oh, and Dave?”

You pause, halfway out of your chair. “Yes, sir?”

“Watch yourself around your roommate and his sister, will you? I know that the Maryams were barely part of the Old Families to begin with, but, well...I worry. If I could, I would have had you in a different room for years. I...I do not like to speak ill of my students, but I do not trust that boy, and I want you to be cautious around him.”

You nod and give him a little half salute as you leave. “Yes, sir. I will. Thank you.”

As soon as you’re clear of his office door, you break into a sprint to get back to the dining hall, praying that they haven’t closed it yet. Your meetings with the Mage have never been particularly enjoyable, but in the past few years you’ve been feeling more and more like he’s keeping something important from you. You respect the guy big-time, but one time Karkat sneered at you about being like the Mage’s little wind-up doll, kept out of everything until he needed you and then immediately put back in the dark, and you haven’t been able to get that thought out of your head.

“Dave! That was quick—whoa, are you okay?”

You’re snapped out of your weird funk by John all up in your face. Somehow in your reverie, you made it all the way back to your seat in the dining hall without realizing it. He still hasn’t figured out about the broccoli bits in his teeth. Gross.

“Yeah, ‘m fine, get your ugly mug outta my face, bro, nobody needs to see that.” You swat a laughing John away.

“So, what did the Mage have to say?” Jade asks. Without mentioning it, she slides you your unfinished dinner plate that she had apparently been defending from picky Egberts while you were gone.

“Eh, nothin’ too interesting,” you say, shoveling your dinner into your mouth before it gets cold. “He was just filling me in on the current state of things. Boring Chosen One things, y’know how it is. I’m sure your peanut brains couldn’t handle it.”

John opens his mouth to say something in response but is immediately cut off by loud noises. The bell at the front of the dining hall, one so high up that nobody could ever possibly reach it to ring it, is ringing out loudly to signal the end of dinner.

Your friends help you clear your dishes and then you all decide to head back to your rooms to set up your belongings. Before Rose can get too far away, you call her back to talk. You two walk behind John and Jade, far enough that they won’t hear you over their own enthusiastic chatter.

“Yes, brother dear?”

“Yo, Rosie, just wanted to nab some good ol’ brother-sister chat,” you say, thumping her on the back hard enough that she glares at you.

“Some topic so volatile that it mustn’t be heard by prying Harleyberts? My, Dave, you know I’m not that kind of girl.”

You punch her lightly in the shoulder. She punches you back. “Shut up and let me be a good brother, jeez. Just wanted to make sure you’re all good, Christ.”

“Wow, Dave, I can’t believe you’re sharing this incredibly sensitive information with me,” she calls, deliberately exaggerated and loud enough that the other two can probably hear. “You got who pregnant?”

From in front of you, John wolf-whistles. Rose snickers.

You whap her again. “Shut up, that’s not even funny, we all know that’s never going to happen.”

You continue the stupid banter all the way back to the hallway leading to the girls’ houses, where you grab Rose’s shoulder to hold her back. “No, but really, I did want to make sure you’re okay.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course, dear brother. Everybody knows that disturbing visions of screaming women in various states of undress every other month is so very beneficial to the mental health of a growing young woman.”

You frown. “Jesus, I know, okay, of course you’re not okay, I’m sorry-”

“Dave.” Rose looks you in the eye. “I was making a joke. The visions aren’t pleasant, I won’t lie, but seventeen years of them has taken its toll. I can handle them. I’m alright, I promise. They’re not dangerous, they’re not real, they don’t mean anything. It’s just another one of my...endearing quirks.”

You let out a big breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “Of course. Sorry for, uh…”

“Being kind?” Rose’s voice is light, teasing. “Lord forbid that Dave shows emotions . Oh dear, I think I just heard him display affection with his sister, how riske!”

You grumble at her teasing until she eventually shuts you up by hugging you, giving you a quick pat, and then sending turning on her heel to start down the hallway to her room. You’re left standing there awkwardly like a tool. Good one, Dave.

You decide it’s as good a time as any to catch up with John, unpack your trunk, and revel in your half-empty room for as long as you can. A guy can really get used to a fresh, clean bedroom, free of any stupid, short, judgemental assholes with ugly foci. It’d be great if he just never showed up at all.

You’re having trouble not thinking about where he must be. But nobody else needs to know that.

Chapter Text

Surprise! You’re still Dave Lalonde. What a shocker.

You were granted a sweet, sweet three days of lazing about in your half-empty room, sleeping as late as you wanted (or, as late as your overeager friends would allow), taking your time unpacking and definitely not dwelling on your asshole roommate’s extremely suspicious continued absence. You’re not like, obsessed with him, you just think it’s perfectly reasonable to be a little worried. To clarify: you’re totally not worried about him. You’re much more worried about what he must be plotting. If you know Karkat, and unfortunately you know him quite well, you know that the only plausible reason behind his absence is that he’s planning something horrible, probably for you.

Yep, that’s absolutely the only theory that makes sense.

Your friends are less enthusiastic about your theory, and you would be offended but you kinda saw that coming. John is much more energetic about his own batshit theories and will happily talk over you in favor of blabbering on about Maryam sacrificial rituals or something, Rose refuses to listen to you and insists that Kanaya is much more of a threat than her brother, and Jade is just fed up with the topic.

During breakfast on your last day before term starts, you just barely sit down before she’s hounding you. “Dave, I swear to Merlin, if whatever you’re planning to say includes the words “Karkat”, “roommate”, or “Maryam”, then don’t even open your mouth.”

Okay. Ouch. Yeah, maybe you’re talking about him a lot, but did it really warrant an outburst like that?

“Jade. I am wounded,” you deadpan. You put a hand over your heart for added effect. “What kind of a greeting would that be? I have a reputation to uphold, everyone knows I’m the smoothest dude around. Obviously I intended to give my adoring fans a swoon-worthy greeting before enlightening them on my latest musings.”

Jade doesn’t laugh at your little spiel and that’s totally NOT going to bug you for the rest of the day, no siree, no harping going on over here. Obsessively over-analyzing everything may be what Dirk is known for, but you’re his brother, so you share some of his traits.

You pointedly ignore the pressing topic of the missing Maryams for the rest of the day, because you really don’t like Jade being mad at you because you’re a good boyfriend who respects his girlfriend’s wishes. This doesn’t mean you don’t think about it, though. Term starts tomorrow, and Karkat still isn’t here, and it is weirding you the fuck out.

Your internal conflict comes to a peak the next morning at breakfast. Karkat didn’t magically appear in the middle of the night, meaning that he’s officially missing the first day of school. Anyone who knows Karkat (and unfortunately, you know him pretty well) knows that he would rather die than miss school.

The sick fucker actually enjoys school, as disgusting as it sounds (You don’t enjoy school, okay, you just enjoy learning because it’s a chance to flex your awesome magic skills). During your first year he went travelling with his family over break and came back with some exotic mosquito-borne illness and he still insisted on coming to class. He spent half an hour sitting there, completely spaced out, sweating like balls, before passing out at his desk. You would have laughed but then someone took his temperature and it was like 105° and you thought okay Dave, he literally could have died, maybe don’t laugh.

Point is, it’s super fucking weird that he’s not here. And you know that Jade literally yelled at you about talking about him too much, but also, what the fuck.

You sit down at your regular table with your heaping stack of apple pancakes, ready to totally not internalize Jade’s exasperated eye rolls as you do exactly what she told you not to do and launch into a your latest theories. However, as soon as your ass hits the bench, John beats you to the catch and immediately starts talking.

“Dave! Have you heard yet? Another hole opened up!”

Oh.

Okay, maybe your extremely pressing concerns about Karkat can wait.

“It’s one of the biggest they’ve ever seen,” he continues. Man, that kid is way too excited about this.

Never one to miss an opportunity for a tasteful innuendo, you respond with a classy, “That’s what your mom said last night.”

John ignores you. Jade gives you a quiet fistbump from across the table. Nice, looks like your amateurish jokes have saved your relationship.

“This one opened up over Sacramento,” John says. “Like, the whole city. So now all of the magicians living there have to move.”

“I’ll bet Grandpa’s out there right now,” Jade adds. “He’ll probably send us a letter with an inside scoop on the situation. Man, I feel really bad for all those people who have to relocate. I wonder if the Mage is doing anything to help, I haven’t seen him today.”

She finishes with a pointed look at you, the certified Mage’s Heir. You don’t know what she’s hoping you’ll say though; you haven’t seen him either, and he hasn’t spoken to you since your first night back. You shrug in response.

“And, like with every other tear, the powers that be decided to grant me another lovely vision last night,” Rose says. Right, you forgot about that for a moment. She doesn’t look too good, nursing what’s probably her second or third cup of black tea, letting the steam reach her tired face.

You give her a concerned brotherly nudge. “Anything new to report?”

Rose shakes her head. “No. Just another woman dying some horrible death, surrounded by the remnants of some ritual that, quite frankly, I have no interest in knowing. The man is the same as always, but he never turns around so I can’t identify him.”

You give her a concerned brotherly pat. She pats you back weakly. Ah, sibling bonding.

Jade and John continue to babble excitedly about the new hole for the rest of breakfast, and you don’t have the heart to break in and talk about Karkat. Your massive stack of apple pancakes provides a welcome distraction. Rose stays quiet for the rest of the meal, and she sends you off with a weary, “Good luck, all. First day of class.”

Classes start. Time passes. You don’t share every class with your friends, but you make the most of the ones that you do. Rose gets partnered with Serket in Mechanics of Spellcasting (a required class for all seventh-years; the final project is to write your own spell, which, uh, no fucking thank you) and you and John laugh at their horrible, weirdly charged interactions. You get partnered with Terezi in Alchemy and, while the two of you are terrible at working together, you leave the class with your eyebrows dyed bright red (courtesy of her) and your sides aching from laughter (also courtesy of her).

Jade keeps blowing off dates, coming up with last-minute excuses. You try not to think about it, and you definitely don’t talk about it.

Karkat and Kanaya still haven’t shown up. You’d give anything to talk to the Mage about it, but he’s still out doing whatever it is he does. Damage control in Sacramento, hopefully. The Old Families must be throwing a fit. If he’s out there dealing with them, you really don’t envy his position.

By late September, your anxiety over your missing roommate is reaching the point where Jade won’t even hold a conversation with you until you swear that you won’t mention him. You’re trying, okay, you’re really trying to respect her wishes and make her happy but holy shit this is such a big issue for you. You’re a little bitter about her blatant disinterest in something that is clearly relevant to you, to be honest. Relationships are about mutual support and listening and shit, right?

You try not to think about it. Just enjoy the time she chooses to spend with you.

When you come down to breakfast one morning to hear your friends discussing some new development in the World of Mages, you’re just relieved to have some form of distraction.

“...yeah, and apparently she tried to start a whole fight with - Oh, hey Dave!” Jade greets you cheerily. “We’re just talking about the Veil opening soon, is there anyone you hope visits?”

You plop down next to her and snag one of John’s turkey bacon strips, ignoring his squawk of protest. “The what now?”

“Dave was raised without magic, and by the time he moved in with us, we were too old for children’s tales about the Veil. It just never came up,” Rose says.

While this makes no sense to you, Jade nods in understanding. “Right, right, I forgot. Well, the Veil opens every 50 years, and then-”

“-There’s ghosts!” John, who had been close to bouncing with excitement, interrupts. “We’re going to be visited by ghosts!”

“Yes. To put it shortly, ghosts,” Rose finishes.

Your confusion and disbelief must show on your face, because then Jade continues. “Okay, well, as I was going to explain before my brother so eloquently butted in, the Veil is what we call the barrier between the living and the dead. Actually, from a scientific standpoint, it’s really a quite fascinating topic, because we know pretty much nothing about it. The ghosts that come through can’t talk about the afterlife, their voices just go static-y, so they can’t help us understand it either. All we know is that it happens every 50 years, and that generally the only ghosts who come back are ones who’ve still got beef with someone living.”

You hesitate before responding. “So...ghosts. Are y’all — this isn’t some funny goof, right? Like, you’re serious, all the sudden we’re just gonna be fuckin’ bombarded with vengeful ghosts like the world’s most cliche episode of Buffy?”

Jade snickers. “Actually, that’s a pretty good way of putting it. I mean, most of the ghosts are more chill, but I was just finishing a story about a ghost that visited Grandpa when he was a kid. Apparently she was some crazy lady with huge hair and a bodysuit who tried to attack his older sister!”

“Do you know who she was?” You ask.

John answers this time. “I’m pretty sure that Grandpa actually knew her, but he hasn’t told us. And his sister’s long gone, so she can’t tell us either.”

“Wild,” you reply. “Alright then. Ghosts. Do you know when this is supposed to go down?”

Jade nods. “Yeah, actually. It opens every 50 years, a little before Halloween. Spooky, right?”

“Spooky,” you agree.

Spooky indeed.

The rest of the day passes without incident, up until dinner when the Mage returns from wherever he was and asks to meet with you in his office.

When you walk into his office, he greets you the same as always. “Dave.”

“Sir,” you say, sitting tentatively in the chair facing him by his desk, one you have sat in so many times. “Is everything alright? I know about Sacramento, I’m sure you’ve been busy with it.”

He smiles at your words and fiddles with his ring. You have never seen him smile in a way that reaches his eyes. You have spent seven years trying not to let it unsettle you.

“Thank you for your concern, and yes, it has been very taxing work. The Old Families…” He waves a hand in exasperation. “They’re livid with me, saying I haven’t been doing enough. Now that all of the Peixes have killed each other in their mania for power, the Amporas are leading the pack, and Dualscar has never listened to me…”

He trails off, talking more to himself than to you. Sometimes he’ll do this, mumble about the Old Families. It just signals to you that he’s tired.

“But no matter. The Old Families should be my concern, not yours, Dave. I called you in tonight just to warn you that their descendants may be colder towards you after this. Unfairly so, but their elders may be in contact with them, telling them how I am a cancer, a sickness to the World of Mages, and you are my heir, after all.”

You nod solemnly. That’s not a surprise. Serket hates you already, but she hates everyone. Equius doesn’t talk to you much, but you’d hate for him to start being rude towards John just because the two of you are friends. You’d be pretty bummed if Terezi started giving you the cold shoulder just because her family tells her to, though. That kinda sucks, actually, but you’re not going to tell the Mage that. You don’t need to add to his stress. “I understand.”

The Mage sighs deeply and puts his head in his hands. “I apologize for this, Dave, I really do. They just — they just can’t accept that I’m doing the right thing here. They never have.”

You nod and stay quiet because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that?

He stays like that for a moment and then straightens up, looking you straight in the eye, looking more like the determined Mage that you know. “That is all I wished to say to you, Dave. That, and my constant warnings to you to stay safe and stay alert. Is there anything you would like to draw to my attention, while you’re here?”

You straighten up a little at that. “Yes, sir, actually. My-my roommate, Karkat, and Rose’s roommate, Kanaya — they still haven’t shown up, sir, and I think-”

“Dave, please,” the Mage cuts you off. “I would not waste your worry on the Maryam children. While it is touching for you to think of your classmates, I am quite sure the two of them are fine.”

You frown. “Sir, please, it’s been a month and they still aren’t here. I know Karkat, he wouldn’t miss school unless-”

“Unless nothing, Dave.” His gaze hardens a touch. “The Maryam children are not your concern. You would do best to put it out of your mind.”

You let out a sigh in frustration. Here you are, paranoid about Karkat’s absence, your friends keep telling you to forget it, and what does the Mage think? The exact same thing. He just wants you to forget it. Well, you can’t. “Sir — Mr. Mage, wait, no,” dammit Dave, really fucking this up over here, “Mr. Signless, please, if there’s anything you know-”

He cuts you off with another wave of his hand and a hollow chuckle. “Dave. I appreciate your concern, and I give you props for the title there. I haven’t been called that in years. But my word is final. I don’t want to hear you worrying about those two, they are nothing but trouble anyways and I am in great confidence that nothing bad has happened to them.”

The authoritative edge to his voice makes you drop the subject, defeated.

“I...I understand, sir,” you say quietly.

“Good.” He nods. “Well, if that is all, then you are excused. Good luck in your classes, Dave. Stay vigilant.”

You leave his office and head back to your empty room, alone.

It’s late October. Your friends have made it way clear that they’re sick of your constant griping about Karkat’s continued absence but you can’t help it, okay, you’re over a month into the semester and he’s still. Not. Here.

It’s insane! It’s absolutely insane. In the seven years you’ve known him, he’s been disgustingly diligent about school. He actually tries, like really hard, and unlike you, he doesn’t have the coolkid points to pretend he doesn’t. He’s — okay, for the most part, he’s a pretty decent roommate. Karkat wakes up way earlier than you to go on a run or something equally try-hard-y some mornings (You’re pretty sure that if you asked, John would still insist that he’s going out to “feed” or something, because John is a goober who still thinks your roommate is a vampire), but he’s uncharacteristically polite and doesn’t rampage around the room like a dinosaur at 6 am. But Jesus, during finals, he goes completely wacko. Last year he straight up stayed awake the entire time. You’d open the blinds in the morning and he’d hiss and scuttle back to his desk like a crab. It was freaky.

Okay, whoa, slow down. That was like... way too much Karkat musing for your taste. Yeesh, Dave, stop acting like you’re obsessed with him. Because you’re definitely not. No matter what your friends keep saying.

The point is, it’s super fucking weird that he’s not here yet, because you know that he’d rather die than give anyone a chance to get ahead of him in anything. He and Rose have this sketchy rivalry going on because the two of them are always battling for top of the class (Weirdly, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with Jade being top of the class in the classes that they share. Jade doesn’t understand why you find this suspicious), and missing the first month of school has given her a huge advantage. You’re positive that whatever’s going on, Karkat isn’t part of it voluntarily.

Not that you care or anything.

No, you are thoroughly enjoying your empty room. If it makes you a little anxious to be sleeping alone for the first time in your life, well, nobody needs to know that, and this way your friends can sleep over without worrying about Karkat tattling on them. You are Dave Lalonde, Greatest Mage, and you are absolutely NOT scared of the dark. Or the weird noises at night. Or the creepy shadows cast by your curtains when the moon hits them just right. Nope, not scared at all.

This is what you are telling yourself as you try to sleep.

It’s not your fault that you’ve grown accustomed to the sound of someone else breathing when you sleep and now it’s hard for you to sleep without it. You’ve shared a bedroom since birth, first Dirk and now Karkat. (You actually have a harder time falling asleep during the summer when you’re bunking with Dirk because he’s a really quiet sleeper. You’ve never told anybody this, but you think Roxy picked up on it because she got you a white noise machine.)

The silence of an empty room freaks you out, okay? Silence means that you hear every little creak of the floorboards, every rustle of your curtains. Plus, you’ll admit, you’re a little on edge with this whole Veil business. You had half a mind to call bullshit on it but then your Alchemy class was violently disrupted when the ghost of Serket’s crazy pirate grandma showed up and tried to kill Terezi, thinking that she was someone else. It would’ve been hilarious, but Terezi was your partner and the loud noise spooked her and she ended up knocking over your cauldron.

So, you’re not a big fan of this whole ghost thing.

Which is why you’re still awake even though it’s like 3 in the morning and you have a charms quiz tomorrow. Contrary to popular belief, you do try at least a little bit in school, even though you’re obviously the most competent person in the class because you’re the motherfucking Chosen One and all that. You may be a mess, but you’re a mess who likes to get his beautyrest, thank you very much. This whole ghost shit is really fucking up your routine.

Plus, you’re pretty sure there’s someone else in your room.

Okay, you’re probably being paranoid and sleep deprived. Calm down Dave, it’s just the wind or something, right? There are perfectly reasonable explanations for everything going on right now. That spooky rustling is just your curtains! The weird shadows are...also just your curtains! The creepy whispering is...your curtains? That strange flash of light just now—okay, fuck, fine. That probably wasn’t your goddamn curtains.

Are you freaking out right now? Maybe. But there’s nobody here to see it—unless there’s someone in your room right now, someone here to attack you or hurt you or just laugh at your stupid dumbfucked face or—

“Where is he.”

Okay.

Someone’s in your room.

Fuck.

By now you’re sitting bolt upright in your bed, eyes wide and arms crossed over your chest. You don’t wear a binder to bed because you’re a good boy and don’t want to permanently disfigure yourself, but now you’re wishing you had, because some creepy motherfucker is in your room and you’re in a big T-shirt and boxers.

The strange light is back, a little dimmer now. It’s hanging over Karkat’s empty bed, and whoever it is keeps whispering “Where is he?”

As you watch, the light grows into a figure. You’re frozen in shock as the form of a woman blooms before you. She’s pale, glowing and ghostly, but you can tell that she must have been darker-skinned in life.

You finally manage to force your last two brain cells together and croak out a highly eloquent, “Fuck.”

She whips around to face you and immediately reaches out, muttering something under her breath. It takes you half a second to realize she’s trying to cast a spell, she’s trying to hurt you, and you scramble to get your wand out. By the time you’re pointing it at her, however, you remember that ghosts can’t cast spells. Her arm is down and she looks slumped, disappointed.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice is — it’s not familiar, you’ve never seen this woman in your life, but it nags at the corners of your brain, trying to piece things together.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she says.

“What the fuck!” You shout at the exact same time. Good job Dave, way to stay cool under pressure.

The woman’s eyes narrow. “I am...I am looking for someone. This is his place, I know it is, but he is not here. I saw you and I thought you must have done something to him, though now I see that you are just a child.”

You frown at that and open your mouth to speak, but she interrupts you. “I cannot tarry, my time here is short. I came here for my son, Karkat. Where is he?”

“You’re Karkat’s mother?” Jesus, way to be observant, Dave. She’s obviously his mother — she looks just like him. No wonder her voice sounded familiar. “H-he’s not here, he hasn’t been at school. I-I’m his roommate. I’m Dave.”

Her expression softens at your nervous stuttering. You notice that she’s fiddling with a ring on her finger — her focus? It doesn’t look much like a wedding ring. “Dave. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just…”

She breaks off. You can’t see her too well, what with her ethereal ghostiness and all, but you think she might be...crying? Yeah, you have no idea what the fuck is going on.

“I wanted to see him.” If she is crying, she’s doing a pretty good job of keeping it out of her voice. Mad props to you, ghost lady. “My son. I came to see him. It’s been so long…”

“I’ll tell him you were here,” you say. It’s probably useless, but you were never taught what to do when the ghost of your arch-enemy’s mother shows up, tries to attack you and then cries.

“Tell him...oh, could you give him a message from me?”

You nod.

“Tell him...tell him to be safe, and to be careful. Tell him not to trust Vantas, he is trying to heal but is only making it sicker.” She’s starting to fade back into the Veil, and you don’t dare interrupt her to ask who this “Vantas” is. “If I could go back and change it all, if I could keep Vantas from starting all of this, I wouldn’t, because then I would never have had my children. Give this to him, will you?”

She kisses your forehead and you try not to think about how weird it feels to have a ghost touch you.

“I-I will,” you assure her, albeit a bit shakily. You’re already panicking a bit over how you’re apparently supposed to give Karkat a kiss from his mother.

“Thank you, Dave,” she says. She’s almost completely transparent now, just a faint glow in front of you. Her voice is barely audible, but you think you hear her say something just before she disappears. “You’re Derrick’s boy, aren’t you? Your mother says she’s so proud of you.”

And then she’s gone.

And you’re left alone again, in your empty room, trying to figure out where the fuck to go from here.

==> BE JADE.

You are now Jade Harley, after one of the most poorly executed point-of-view switches in writing history. You are the top of your class in Alchemy, you have a dog the size of a small horse, your older brother is currently dating your boyfriend’s older brother and you aren’t sure that you’re allowed to tell him and it’s just super fucking awkward, and you’re currently eating dinner with your other brother, your aforementioned boyfriend, and your boyfriend’s sister who also happens to be one of your best friends.

You’re not a big fan of bullshit, so you’ll cut straight to the point and address the elephant in the room. And in this case, the elephant’s name is Dave. Or, more accurately, your relationship with Dave.

You’d like to start out by stating that, just for the record, you do love him. You love all of your friends. And that’s the problem, really.

You first asked him out when you were fifteen, because you love him and it seemed like the right thing to do. In fifth year, it felt like someone had flipped a switch, and suddenly everyone was dating. You knew that he liked you, and he is the Chosen One and all that shit, so. It felt like what you were supposed to do.

And you’re happy with him! Or. Well. You are, right?

Because the problem is that you love Dave, but you’re not sure what way. You love Rose, and maybe in another life you end up with her, but she seems to have her own thing going on in this life and you’re more than happy to be friends. You love John but he’s your brother so like, ew. But your feelings for Dave have never really changed. You loved him before you started dating, and you love him now, and...that love hasn’t evolved or anything. You don’t think. Maybe?

Plus, it’s just so much work to be a girlfriend. Like, wow, if you knew that being a girlfriend meant sitting through literal hours of Karkat-centered bitching then maybe you wouldn’t have gone for it. You care for Dave and you want him to be happy but holy shit that boy can talk.

And the Karkat thing. That’s another thing. He’s always been weirdly focused on Karkat, but this year has taken a turn for the exhausting. And you think you know why.

But that’s for Dave to figure out. It’s not really your business — well, no, it really is, but to be completely honest it’s not something you want to get involved in. It’s not your place to get involved in it. For now, you’ll continue to do what you can to make him happy, because that’s what friends — er, girlfriends are for.

Sometimes, you do what you can to make yourself happy, and this goes against doing whatever would make Dave happy. Like now.

You’re arguing with him over dinner and pointedly ignoring how uncomfortable John and Rose look. If they’re uncomfortable, they can get up and leave.

“Dave — no, don’t look at me like that, listen to me, Dave — I need you to understand how this feels from my perspective.” You’re more than a little frustrated with him, but you’re sure that this is understandable. He spent every conversation with you today talking about Karkat, plus he’s totally been keeping something from you all day and he’s not nearly as good at hiding it as he thinks he is. “I just feel like we haven’t had a real conversation in weeks, because all you’ve been talking about is him!”

He’s pokerface-ing you, which he knows you hate. It’s so clear that he’s just doing it to hide the fact that you’re telling the truth and he knows it. “I don’t think that’s fair, okay, you’ve been avoiding me and blowing me off every time I try to spend time with you!”

John attempts to mediate. “Guys, maybe this isn’t the best-”

But then he’s cut off by a loud noise.

Your little spat with Dave had been gathering a fair share of looky-loos from all six tables, but now every head in the dining hall is turned towards the doors. Two massive, elaborately carved wooden doors with cast-iron trimmings, opened only during the beginning of meals as students pour in and at the end when you all leave. It’s very rare that they open in the middle of a meal, and never with such force.

You turn to look at the doorway to see who could have opened them so dramatically, and immediately it all makes sense. Who else would give themselves such a dramatic entrance?

Karkat Maryam waltzes into the dining hall with all the confidence of someone who hasn’t been missing from school for over a month. As if on instinct, Dave immediately stands bolt upright. You make a halfhearted effort to tug him down and when you fail, you perform the traditional “oh my god you’re being a fucking idiot” facepalm.

Behind Karkat, another figure emerges. Kanaya follows her brother, walking regally as always, if a little meek at all the attention. As if on cue, Rose stands up upon seeing her. John mimics you and attempts to pull her back down because currently, every single person in the dining hall is sitting and staring at the Maryams except for Dave, and he looks ridiculous. Predictably, Rose does not budge.

John copies you and executes a 2x facepalm combo.

Chapter Text

You are now Karkat Maryam, and you have just performed the most extra entrance you could think of, because that’s just who you are. Kanaya wasn’t too keen on your whole throwing-the-doors-open-in-the-middle-of-dinner approach, but you told her that you’re both deserving of a proper grand entrance and she agreed to go through with it. Well, okay, it was more like she could tell that she wasn’t going to change your mind and decided it wasn’t worth it to try.

Ah, sibling bonding.

Naturally, as soon as he can see you, Dave stands bolt upright. Fucking dumbass, he’s making a fool of himself. You do appreciate the implication though; people stand to show respect, don’t they? How flattering. You give him your best sneer to thank him.

As soon as Kanaya comes into the light, Rose follows her brother and also stands. How sweet. You’ve been watching their relationship for years, you know where this is going. Both Rose and your dear sister, however, still seem completely oblivious to it. You’ve been observing from the sidelines this whole time, but as this is their last year together, you’ll grudgingly step in if it seems like no progress is being made.

Karkat the mediator, as always.

You hold your head high and make your way over to your regular table, ignoring how the whole hall is watching you. Part of your faux confidence is stemming from the fact that you’re silently singing 2pac’s All Eyez On Me in your head, but nobody needs to know that. All eyes on me, motherfuckin’ OG . You lift your chin a little higher.

For once in your life, you find yourself mentally praising Vriska Serket’s self-obsessive nature, because as you and Kanaya take your usual places by her and Terezi, they’re both too caught up in telling you about themselves to ask where you’ve been. Bless.

You spend most of the meal staying quiet, which is actually quite an achievement for you. It’s mostly because you’re pretty sure that if you open your mouth, you’ll start bitching about your injuries. Your power walk into the dining hall may have been impressive, but forcing yourself to walk normally was absolute murder on your newly fucked-up leg. Yeah, you’ll be walking with a limp for a little while, and you are so not looking forward to deflecting Dave’s questions.

By the time Kanaya helps you hobble out of the dining hall, it’s mostly empty. Good. The less people who see you walking poorly, the better.

You had seen Dave leave with his little posse and head towards one of the other dorm houses, probably going to hang out in someone’s room, so Kanaya is able to come with you to your room. She acts like it’s all because she wants to tend to your injuries and make sure you’re set up properly, but you’re pretty sure it’s also because she’s trying to avoid Rose for as long as possible.

Despite your many protests of “Kanaya, seriously, I’m fine, I can take care of myself,” she won’t take no for an answer, which is how you find yourself sitting on your freshly made bed with your shirt off and your pants rolled up.

She hisses when she sees all of your bruises and scrapes. “I thought you said they didn’t hurt you too much.”

You snort. “Please, Kanaya, we both know me. I said that so you guys wouldn’t take me back to the estate to have Rosa fix me up. Most of it is my fault, anyways. The stupid little shits kept me in a coffin, for fuck’s sake. Of course I was going to fight back.”
Kanaya frowns but continues dabbing at you with antibiotic cream. “And... you’re sure it was gnomes who took you?”

You grit your teeth at the sting. “ Of-fucking-course I’m sure, Kanaya. Yes, humiliating as it is, I was kidnapped by gnomes on my way back from fencing. Laugh it up, I know. Those fucking pests knocked me out before I could react and when I woke up, I was in a coffin.”

Her frown deepens. “I did not intend to humiliate you, I was just curious. Gnomes are typically peaceful, aren’t they? I mean, we have all heard of them attacking mages out of spite and whatnot, but I have never heard of such an organized attack. I did not think they were capable of planning.”

You scowl. “That’s real great to hear. I’m just so fucking glad that we finally have proof of gnome intelligence. Someone call the Mage! Gnomes can think!”

Are you being a little tetchy right now? Maybe. But your bitterness isn’t directed at your sister, and you’re pretty sure she knows you well enough to know this. Anyone would be snippy after spending two months in a fucking coffin, okay, this is perfectly reasonable.

Gnomes are considered pests of the magical world, the kind that eat the tomatoes in your garden until you bat them away with a broom. They’re nowhere near dangerous and though there are occasional reports of gnome attacks, they’re never very serious. You didn’t even think they could talk before a group of them ambushed you on your way back to the Maryam Estate. It’s absolutely mortifying that they got the drop on you, and even more embarrassing that you couldn’t fight your way out once they kidnapped you. They did steal your focus, the cancer necklace, so you wouldn’t have been able to cast any spells, but still. Just further proof that you’re the shittiest magician ever.

“I still think it is quite strange that they kept you in a coffin,” Kanaya muses, gently ignoring your little outburst.

“How should I know what goes through their nonexistent little brains?” You shift a bit so that she’ll have better access to your shoulders, where most of the scratches are. “Maybe they overheard Egbert waffling about how our whole family are vampires. Maybe they thought they were doing me a fucking favor. Well, if that’s what they were going for, they should’ve let me out more than twice a day to piss.”

Your sister sighs. “That’s not funny, Karkat. You know Mother does not want us talking about the curse around schoolmates.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say irritably. “Nobody can know, blah blah, all the women in our family carry it, blah blah. Even if they knew that all Maryam women share “vampiristic tendences”, as Rosa calls it, that doesn’t even apply to me because one, I’m not a woman, and two, I’m not even a Maryam by blood. It’s just further proof that gnomes are dumber than a doorknob and that I should be ashamed that they were able to capture me.”

“Karkat! Stop that, you are being far too loud,” Kanaya hisses. Okay, she’s probably right. Even though your room is empty save for the two of you, Dave could be coming up the stairs right now and he would probably be able to hear you. You’re not very good at being quiet.

You had been kept in that awful coffin for almost two months, let out twice a day to piss, given vegetables in varying states of disgusting-ness that you’re pretty sure were stolen from someone’s garden and water bottles thrown at your head. Being you, you had obviously fought back at every opportunity, but you were weak from hunger and there were just far too many of them and, well. Those injuries of yours came from somewhere.

When you finally heard your sisters shouting from outside, slinging spells left and right and killing off the gnomes, you had almost cried with relief. Porrim helped you out of the coffin, gave you back your focus and set to work with healing magic. Once you were deemed well enough, the two of them immediately drove you to Denny’s, where you ate four massive pancakes, puked them back up, and then ate four more. Kanaya explained that Rosa had thrown a fit when she got the ransom letter (written with terrible handwriting because gnomes are, y’know, absolutely fucking stupid ) and immediately set your whole family on finding you because Maryams don’t do ransoms. Kankri may be a pretty weak magician but he is your only relative by blood, and after a few weeks of performing some tracing magic on him, they were able to find you.

Your sisters had wanted to take you back home to recover for a few days before heading to school, but you weren’t having that. You had already missed too much, there’s no way you’re gonna let Rose take your spot as top of the class. Through your insistence, they had agreed to take you straight to school after packing up.

And now here you are, back in your cramped dorm room with Dave’s shit strewn everywhere like the fucking slob he is.

Kanaya finishes cleaning you up as best she can and then leaves with a hug and a kiss to the top of your head. You are suddenly hit with extreme exhaustion, all of the tiredness of the past few weeks slamming into you at once, and fall asleep fully clothed on your bed.

You are rudely awoken a few hours later by Dave’s obnoxiously loud entrance. You sit up to watch him walk into the room and try not to look as tired as you are.

“Hey, man, long time no see,” he says casually, sitting on his bed to untie his shoes. “Mind telling your dear roommate where you were?”

You stand with a huff and check your clock. It’s 10:25, late enough for you to be getting ready for bed. Well, not really by your standards (you have a teensy habit of staying up until 3 a.m. every night), but late enough for it to be reasonable. You move over to your newly unpacked closet to pull out some pajamas. “I don’t think that’s any of your goddamn business, you insolent shitlord.”

Dave nods briefly and then stands, walking over to his own dresser. “Right. Just what I thought. Really, Kitkat, your pet names leave me with such a warm, fuzzy glow. Be careful, all that attention can really go to a guy’s head.”

Oh wow, you really didn’t miss this. “Don’t call me that. Also, fuck you. I’m taking the bathroom first, and if you pick the lock and walk in on me again I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

Dave’s call of “You say the sweetest things,” follows you into the bathroom. You make sure to slam the door as loudly as possible.

Later, as you get in bed and pointedly face the wall instead of him, he goes to turn off the lights.

“Goodnight,” Dave simpers, drawing out the “i” in a gross sing-song-y way.

“I hate you,” you respond.

Yeah, you didn’t miss this at all.

Days slip by. You are so glad that you insisted on coming straight to school, you’ve already missed so much. You spend most of your time studying in the library, frantically trying to catch up in all of your classes, which just so happens to mean that you spend most of your time away from Dave. Which is fantastic, as it should be. Kanaya frets over your limp and sits with you in the library, either studying as well or knitting. You give up trying to tell her that she really doesn’t need to stay with you all the time because you know you can’t change her mind.

You avoid Dave as much as possible and continue to deflect all of his questions regarding where you were. Nobody needs to know that you were kidnapped by gnomes, especially not him.

At some point, you swallow your pride and ask Harley if she’ll help tutor you in Alchemy. It’s your worst class by far. You actually find her tolerable, surprisingly enough, and she’s top of the class. Plus, it makes Dave really mad to see her with you, which is hilarious. Stupid fuck thinks you’re trying to make moves on her. If only he knew.

One night, mid November, you are woken up in the middle of the night to the most horrible sound you’ve ever heard. It’s like tearing flesh mixed with nails on a chalkboard, only amplified to ear-splitting levels. You sit bolt upright and scramble at your bedside table to turn on the lamp and grab your necklace.

That awful sound continues for almost a full minute. By the time it stops, you’re wide awake and standing next to your bed, hands out and ready to cast. Your eyes are just barely adjusting to the light from your lamp, your ears still ringing in the silence, when suddenly you’re smothered with a sensation like all of the air in the room as disappeared. You stand there, stunned, heart beating wildly in your chest, just gasping at the air, until just as quickly the sensation stops and you’re able to breathe once more.

A deafening rumble crashes into you, jolting you back into action. Something is happening here, and you don’t know what it is but you know that you need to get out of this room. You turn to Dave’s bed, expecting to find him with his wand out.

But something is wrong.

“Dave? Come on, come on, we have to get out of here.”

You rush over to his bed. He’s lying limp, like he’s still asleep somehow despite all of this commotion. As you shake him, you realize that he’s not asleep but unconscious.

.... And there’s blood leaking from his nose.

You panic, shaking him over and over. “Dave! Come on, we need to go, wake up wake up wake up, we need to get out of here!”

He doesn’t move.

You grab his wand from his bedside table, stick it between your teeth, and haul him bodily out of bed, slinging one of his arms over your shoulder and grabbing him tightly around his waist. You manage to open the door without even thinking of a spell, just by casting your hand out, but decide that this is not the time to ponder about this new development and instead focus on dragging Dave out into the hallway.

The earsplitting rumble is only louder out here. You can barely hear yourself think. As soon as the two of you make it through the doorway, you can see the carnage in front of you. Huge chunks of plaster are falling from the ceiling and the surrounding walls. Other boys in your dorm house are trying frantically to reach the door to outside, shouting and casting spells to clear the path.

Somewhere in the commotion, John of all people finds you and yells something that you can’t make out. You cry “Help me!” and even though it’s muffled around the wand in your mouth, he seems to understand, rushing to Dave’s other side and copying you by wrapping an arm around Dave’s waist.

The two of you tag-team carrying him and try to follow the rest of your dorm house downstairs to the emergency exit. You can’t speak clearly enough around the wand between your teeth to cast any spells, but John is trying desperately to clear the path for you. Dave seems to be stirring but you’re too focused on, y’know, not dying to pay any attention to him. You might be shouting but the rumbling is so loud that at this point you’re practically deaf and can’t hear it.

It’s almost like being on a sinking ship. For a moment you find yourself thinking, hysterically, that this is a pretty shitty Titanic remake. Heavy pieces of wall and ceiling keep dropping in front of you and a few of them have broken through the floor to the hallway below. You think you feel something dripping from your ears and process distantly that it’s blood, but you’re pumped so full of adrenaline that you can’t feel any pain.

Every few seconds another tremor wracks through the floor and it’s like the whole building stumbles. You feel distant, like you’re watching everything through a window or a movie screen, focused so wholly on your task of getting Dave out that you’re barely processing anything. You almost don’t notice when John stops, shouting something you can’t make out, until suddenly he ducks out of view and you’re left supporting Dave on your own.

“John?” You call, but you doubt he can hear you.

He pops up a moment later, supporting some boy that you vaguely recognize. “Go!” He shouts, and you follow his order.

The boy looks badly injured, and you piece together that John must have spotted him pinned under some of the wreckage. The dust from the broken walls is getting so thick that you’re having trouble seeing. You push on, reaching the stairwell and taking them as fast as you dare. Somehow, you reach the bottom without breaking anything. Dave seems to be almost fully awake now but he’s still leaning heavily on you. You can’t tell if he’s speaking to you, everything is just too loud.

He tightens his grip on your shoulder and at his touch, that distant, foggy feeling fades into sharp clarity. He’s looking at you with unfocused eyes, and for a second you think he’s looking at you like he — like he loves —-

Another crash breaks your soap-bubble clarity and you tear your eyes away from Dave. There’s a lump in your throat like you’re about to cry. You ignore the feeling and shove whatever moment you just had into the corners of your brain. The stream of panicked students leads just a bit further, where you can see the exit. A promise of safety.

The two of you are stumbling forward towards the exit when you’re hit with a strange feeling, like a hook just behind your belly button, and your mouth gets that acrid, smokey taste you get whenever you cast a powerful spell. But you haven’t opened your mouth, so how—?

Next to you, Dave shouts something and goes rigid. A shower of small plaster chunks explodes over your heads and he gasps like a drowning man, going limp for a moment. Had he seen a chunk falling from the ceiling and cast something to eradicate it before it could hit you? But he doesn’t have his wand, so how...?

You pause to make sure he didn’t just pass out again. “Dave!”

He coughs. You pretend that you don’t see the flecks of blood in it because you know that it’ll just make you freak out even more. Once the coughing subsides, he turns back to you and yells “Go!”

You tighten your grip on his waist and run the last few meters to the door. As soon as you’re outside, you both collapse onto the grass.

You roll onto your back and take huge, heaving breaths. At your side, Dave looks like he’s coughing up some of the plaster dust. Around you are the other boys from your dorm house, all in similar states from their own escapes. John and the other boy come crashing through the exit just a few seconds after you.

Dave tries to stand and fails. You manage to sit up just in time for him to fall heavily onto the grass once more. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Gotta — gotta get back in there,” he slurs, trying to stand up again. His voice is wrecked from the dust. “There’s still people in there, we gotta get them out —”

You tug him back down as best you can with your aching limbs. “No! What the fuck! You’ll just be putting yourself in danger, there’s no point!”

He looks like he’s going to argue but is then cut off by a deep, booming voice behind you shouting something unintelligible.

You turn towards the source to see the Mage running towards your little group, hand outstretched. He looks rather dishevelled but you suppose it is 3 in the morning.

As you watch, still trying to catch your breath, the collapsing building in front of you freezes. All of the falling plaster bits still, and it’s like watching a film reel backwards. Each piece flies slowly towards its original place. Even the dust covering your skin and hair floats back towards the building.

A few more boys come bursting through the exit.

“Were there any more behind you?” The Mage calls to them. As he pauses from casting whatever spells he was using to clean up the wreckage, all of the moving pieces go still, like he hit the pause button on the TV remote while rewinding his favorite show.

They shake their heads and he nods, then turns to the rest of you. “I came as soon as I felt the tear — a new hole has opened up tonight.” His voice is loud enough to be heard over all of the chatter — he must have cast a magnifying charm. “I believe it was quite small and localized directly over one of the bedrooms, but even small tears result in chaos, as you saw. I already have my Men working to find the causes, and as soon as we get you all to the infirmary I’ll begin investigating the scene.”

With that, he turns back to the building and continues chanting. All of the falling pieces crank back into motion.

Other teachers come out to direct all of you to the infirmary. Nobody seemed to suffer any permanent injuries, but a handful will have to spend the night. You panic silently for a moment, thinking that one of the nurses will examine you and find your injuries from the gnomes, but luckily they’re too busy to do an in-depth check in with every kid. They stick a couple butterfly bandages on your various cuts and dismiss you.

You and your fellow dorm house members make your way to the dining hall, where rows of sleeping bags have already been laid out. Dave picks the one next to you without comment. You had thought that this would make it much harder to fall asleep, but somehow the rhythm of his breathing has become soothing to you in these past few years, and you’re out as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Daylight comes too soon. A teacher comes in to shepard all of you out of the hall and back to your rooms to get ready for the day because even though Skaia Academy of Magicks is a magical middle-and-high school, it’s still high school, and you can’t afford to miss classes.

The dorm house is completely recovered. It would almost look like nothing happened, except for a handful of Mage’s Men dressed in their silly uniforms stationed outside. However, before you can head back to your room, one of the Men pulls you and Dave aside to talk.

The hole had, apparently, opened directly inside your room. Somehow it had been  isolated within location and hasn’t spread, but that doesn’t change the fact that your beloved dorm room is now a magical dead zone, and the two of you have been moved to a different one.

Things are making a bit more sense to you now. The hole opened up in your room, which must have been why Dave had been incapacitated. Miraculously, it hadn’t affected you at all, to the point where you were still able to use magic and open the door without even thinking of a spell. Dead zones are called that for a reason: no mage has been able to cast spells while inside one. Apparently, this doesn’t apply to you. Great, you’re even more of a fucking freak that you thought.

But you keep this to yourself. You hate the Mage for how he’s treated your family and his Men are no better — you wouldn’t trust them with this strange information even if your life were on the line.

Over the next few days, you and Dave reach a sort of uneasy peace. In exchange for you hauling his ass to safety, he’s not snarking at you as much, and in exchange for whatever the fuck he did to destroy that piece of falling ceiling before it could kill you, you’re not snarking at him as much either. Neither of you talk about the incident with each other, which is nice because you can save all of your energy for deflecting Kanaya’s insistent concern.

But that doesn’t mean you’re done thinking about it. Somehow, you had magically opened that door, in a magical dead zone, without even thinking of a spell. Sure, advanced mages can cast nonverbal spells just by concentrating, but you’re a little too useless for that. You have no idea what spell you would use to open a door under the best circumstances, how the fuck did you do  it in the worst ?

Even weirder, Dave can apparently use you instead of a focus? That seems to be the best explanation for it. He was weakened from having magic ripped out from under him, he wasn’t in contact with his own focus, but somehow he borrowed your magic. You really hope that was a one-time thing, and that Dave hasn’t quite figured it out yet. If he can borrow your magic, you shudder to think about what else he might be able to do. Steal it? Is that even possible?

You hope not.

The worst part about all of this though, by far, is that you had to maintain physical contact with Dave for an extended period of time. Not that it was a bad experience. That’s the issue, really.

You really, really liked it.

The circumstances were awful, there’s no doubt about that, but. You got to hold him. If you concentrate, you can still feel it. And it plagues you for days, because all you can think of is him, in your arms. Maybe, if things were different, you wouldn’t be confined to the Dave in your daydreams.

But things aren’t different. He’s the heir to the man who hates the only family you’ve ever known. Every other word out of his mouth makes you want to punch him. The two of you would be arch nemeses, if that kind of thing existed out of shitty comic books. He’s destined to hate you forever, and you can’t blame him.

And you’re in love with him.

You, Karkat Maryam, master of relationships, are in love with the human trainwreck known as the Chosen One, the Greatest Mage, the one and only Dave Lalonde.

You’re fucked.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, you are still Karkat Maryam. Damn.

Still being Karkat Maryam means that you are still hopelessly in love with the walking disaster named Dave Lalonde, just in case anyone forgot.

(You could never forget.)

You realized that you were in love with him in your second year at Skaia Academy of Magicks. It wasn’t like any scene out of your stash of bodice-rippers that you keep hidden under your bed (which Dave found two years ago and mercilessly teased you for three straight months until you threatened to snap his wand). (You weren’t actually going to do it — intentionally breaking someone’s focus is a criminal offense — but you can be pretty good at acting when you want to be.)

No, there was no gust of warm wind that made his hair flutter in a way that made your heart stop, there were no inexplicable cherry blossoms involved, there was no gentle shaft of golden light hitting his stupid face just right . In the many, many years that you’ve spent thinking about that moment, you just haven’t been able to figure out what was so special about it.

You were twelve years old, still adjusting to your life as a Maryam, miserable as all fuck. You were still suffering from those horrible nightmares, the ones where you would wake up crying, with no memory of the dream aside from being drenched in blood. To keep Dave from prying, you tried your damnedest to go to bed after him and wake up before him so that he’d be asleep whenever you had a nightmare. Perfect plan, right?

Wrong. It was a terrible plan, because it led to your downfall.

One morning, you woke up before him as usual and started getting ready for the day. It was one of those rare autumn mornings where the sun shines through the clouds and reflects off of all the turning leaves on the trees and the whole world is tinted with golden light, like one of those shitty Thanksgiving holiday cards but real. And this golden early-morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, like it did every other day, and lit up Dave’s sleeping face, like it did every other day.

Dave’s sleeping face, by the way, is not attractive in any way. If he’s not all scrunched up from a bad dream, he drools. A lot. It’s fucking disgusting. Definitely not something that could make someone fall in love with him.

But there you were, twelve years old and still under five feet, exhausted from your restless sleep. And there he was, just like every other day, sleeping like a fucking goon with drool dribbling from his mouth like a baby. And for some reason, Dave’s unflattering-as-fuck sleeping face dappled in Hallmark-esque lighting became the most attractive thing in the world, and you were seized with the desire to kiss him.

Naturally, this thinking terrified you, and you immediately ran to the bathroom to dunk yourself in cold water, like you could freeze the idiocy out of your own mind.

It wasn’t the fact that Dave is a boy that deterred you — no, that was a bridge you had already crossed due to eleven-year-old Karkat’s brief but mortifying crush on John (that Current You still hasn’t told anyone about, because everything Past You does is objectively terrible, and must be repressed to hell and back). All things considered, you actually scored pretty well in that regard; by the time you figured out that, uh, boys , you were out of potentially-dangerous foster care and happily settled in a family of mostly lesbians (and also Kankri).

You, uh. You don’t actually know if Kanaya has figured it out yet, but you have faith in her.

Okay, you’re getting off track. The point is, Dave’s gender was not the deterrent. You hadn’t exactly told Rosa about the whole liking-boys-and-girls thing, but you were positive that she wouldn’t give a flying fuck. The issue with crushing on Dave was that...well...he’s Dave.

Mr. Mage’s Heir. Mr. Literal Worst Chosen One In The History Of Ever. King of being oblivious to a fault, king of getting on your goddamn nerves, king of dirty ass laundry strewn all over the room like a pig. Every single aspect of Dave fucking Lalonde is like nails on a chalkboard to your everything, and yet…

Everything that Past You has done is objectively terrible, but the whole “falling in love with your detestable roommate” thing is by far the worst. You didn’t even realize it in one of the few situations that would make sense, like when you first saw Dave’s eyes uncovered (cherry red, like yours, and thinking about it makes your heart ache a little) or when he finally stopped skittishly avoiding you in the evenings after he took his binder off. You think that one had more to do with him being sick of tiptoeing around you than like, trust or anything, but still. That would’ve made more sense than you mooning over his nasty drooling.

The worst part of your whole ordeal is not the drudging hopelessness of your case, or the fact that you can’t tell anyone, or the fact that you and Dave are laughably incompatible, or the fact that he hates your guts. You’ve accepted all of these things — 99% of your brain has accepted that Dave would never go for you in a million years, that even if he did reciprocate you’d both have hell to pay from your families (and in his case, the Mage), that you’re probably going to die alone in some bullshit accident that any competent mage would have easily avoided.

The issue is that nagging little 1%.

Because if you could just wholly accept the facts, then you could be free. You could forget all about loving Dave and focus on hating him like you’re supposed to. Maybe you could even move on and find someone else to settle down with, someone of high enough status to satisfy your family and with enough patience to tolerate you. Ha. As if such a person exists.

But no, because that would be far too easy. Instead, you’re doomed to an eternity of that little voice in the back of your head saying But what if he loves you back? You’ll gladly defend your love of admittedly terrible romance novels to the death, but the hopeless romanticism that they’ve given you can never be forgiven for this. No matter how many times you tell yourself that it’s never going to happen, you haven’t managed to convince your heart. It’s like being trapped on the world’s worst Tunnel of Love, where you’re the only one on the ride and the whole tunnel is filled with constant reminders of your own helplessness and incompetence.

You love him, and you hate him for it. Being in love is not the endless whirlwind of tender glances and soft-focus lighting that your romance novels promised, it’s shitty and lonely and you want to get off the goddamn ride. It’s like being in love with the sun: just getting close to him means that you have to suffer in some way, sometimes you’re positive that he’s actively trying to hurt you, you get burned far too easily, and it’s way worse during summer months (how dare he wear tank tops). But you don’t know what you’d be without him, and at this point you kind of need him. And oh, does it burn .

Every so often, you think you’ve finally gotten over him, and then he does some stupid shit that just pulls you back in again. You’ll fool yourself into thinking that you’re free, you’ll have a few days of triumphant happiness, and then Dave will go wear a tight shirt that shows off his toned arms, or you’ll see him laughing wholeheartedly at some joke, or he’ll take off his shades as soon as he enters your room and you’ll spend a whole argument staring straight into his naked eyes, or some other shitty cliche trope. And then you’ll be jolted back into reality, and you’ll have to go back to pretending that sometimes when his nightmares wake you up, you don’t want to hold his hands and kiss the frightened tension out of his face.

You’re so fucked.

He’s been doing another one of those stupidly adorable things recently. Carrying Dave out of a collapsing building did not help your leg injury and though the two of you still avoid talking about the night that tear opened up, he’s still constantly pestering you about your limp. Outwardly, you snap at him, feigning annoyance and telling him it’s none of his motherfucking business. Inwardly, you can’t help but find it endearing. Although you know that he’s probably just doing it to bug you and not because he actually cares about your wellbeing, your traitorous heart tucks it away into a box labeled “Proof that Dave might love you back”.

“Karkat? C’mon, we still need to get you through these last few problems.”

Jade’s voice snaps you out of your self-indulgent introspection.

“What?” You say. Oh Karkat, how intelligent of you.

Jade shuffles some of the papers in front of you. “Last few problems, remember? On your Alchemy homework?”

Right. You’re in one of your tutoring sessions with Jade, because you’re a fucking dumbass who missed a month of school and got super behind in your worst class. Normally, you’d rather die than admit that you need help with school, but you’ve always had trouble with Alchemy and you were like, seriously behind. You were desperate. Plus, Dave still thinks that you’re trying to steal his girlfriend or something and it makes him really mad to see you two together, which is hilarious.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you say. The two of you get back to work.

Alchemy is like the unholy combination of botany and chemistry. You take Normal classes at the Academy along with your magickal ones because what kind of high school would let you graduate without knowing calculus? To be fair, you didn’t actually take botany (it was an elective, and you’d heard it was super difficult and had an enormous workload), but chemistry was a required course in sophomore year. You passed, barely, but unfortunately Alchemy is based upon a lot of the key concepts and elements of chemistry.

Luckily, Jade has already been accepted into one of the most renowned magickal medical schools in the whole World of Mages, which means that she must be real fucking good at chemistry, botany, biology, potion-making, and most importantly, Alchemy. She was happy to help you, and you were desperate enough to agree to suffer through all of her teasing and needling.

The two of you manage tofinish the last few problems (with a lot of swearing on both sides but hey, it’s hard), and you send each other on your respective ways with a “Thanks, Harley,” and a “Anytime, fuckass.”

Ah, Jade. She’s a real peach. She’s basically the only person who can get away with calling you a colorful range of profanities, and you’re not entirely sure why. Your fake psychological knowledge (gained through reading a fuckton of books) tells you that it’s probably because she was able to see through your prickly facade immediately and has only ever addressed the real you, which means that your interactions are actually pretty nice. But that’s too vulnerable-sounding for your tastes, so you say that it’s because she could easily beat you up if you made her mad. The girl has guns of steel. You heard she arm-wrestled Equius once and they were so evenly matched that he passed out from straining so hard and they had to call it a tie.

That’s probably not actually true, considering you heard it from Egbert, but still. If someone more credible had told you that, you’d easily believe it.

It’s the middle of the fucking night, something has woken you up, and you’ll be damned if you can’t figure out what it was and beat its ass. You thought that after being kidnapped by gnomes for two months and being woken up at 3 in the morning to your dorm building falling to pieces around you would fill your yearly “the universe just fucking hates you, Karkat,” quota, but apparently not. You’re a light sleeper so it’s not unusual for your much-needed beauty rest to be cut short, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pissed.

As soon as you open your eyes, you know something’s wrong and you scrabble for your necklace on your bedside table. Your room is lit by a blinding, pale, bluish-white light by the bathroom door. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and when they do, you find yourself staring straight at a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular ghost of a man.

Because you’re just so good at handling stressful situations, you immediately squawk, “Who the fuck are you?!”

To be blunt (which is kind of your modus operandi), the guy looks like a douche. He must’ve been in his late 30’s or early 40’s when he died, and he’s dressed like a shitty bodybuilding NSYNC! reject, popped collar and all. He’s wearing these awful pointy triangle shades and a grey cap perched precariously on his gross, stiff-looking spiky hair, and it would be ridiculous if he didn’t look like he can and will kill you.

Your ever-so-smooth reaction to this sketchy motherfucker popping up in your bedroom seems to have woken Dave, judging by the rustling coming from his bed.

“Karkat?” He mumbles, voice slurred from tiredness. “What’s going on? ‘S it another tear or someth-”

At the sound of Dave’s voice, your surprise intruder turns to face his bed. While talking, Dave must have been adjusting to the bright light, and upon seeing the ghost clearly, he cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath.

***

The stranger doesn’t change his expression from his poker face, but Dave’s

reaction makes his eyes narrow and his mouth twitch upwards in a way that makes your stomach twist. “Dani,” he says. His voice is deep and gravelly, and though he’s speaking in a deadpan, something about it makes mouth go dry.

Dave visibly flinches at the word and curls in on himself, looking away from the ghost. You’re frozen in shock as you recognize Dave doing something you never thought you’d see: he’s shrinking, cowering in fear.

“Daniella!” The figure barks. “It’s been years since you last saw me, the least you could do is look at me.”

Dave doesn’t move. You can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

The man strides menacingly over to Dave’s bed, hand raised as though he’s going to strike him. “You will look at me when I’m talking to you, you ungrateful cunt.”

Okay, whoever this motherfucker is, you do not want him in here. You don’t want him anywhere. You’re the only one who gets to insult Dave, and you’d never go for something so mean.

His vicious words force you out of your shocked stupor, and right as he’s about to hit Dave, you fling an arm out and shout, “No!”

Without meaning to, you had pushed magic into your voice. That acrid, smoky taste fills your mouth, and the ghost is slammed into the back wall. He growls and struggles, but somehow your unintentional “spell” holds strong and keeps him restrained.

You decide that now is not the time to freak out about your newfound ability to

make any word into a spell.

“Who the fuck are you, you asshole?” You yell. In all the commotion, you clambered out of bed without realizing it, and now you’re standing in your pajamas between your bed and Dave’s, tense like you’re planning to fight him, one arm out to keep him restrained. You obviously can’t actually make physical contact with him but you kinda really do want to punch him, whoever he is. However, he does seem vulnerable to your magic. You don’t dare break your concentration on keeping him bound though, so you can’t try to remember those combat spells that Rosa taught you.

The man’s face twists in anger and he sneers, ignoring you and glaring at Dave instead. “Oh, who’s this, Dani, your boyfriend? Gonna let your little boyfriend save you? You think showing weakness is going to help you? I thought you wanted to be a man, Daniella, and what have I told you about being a man?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, shitbag?” You shout in response. But it’s like the other two are deaf to your voice; they ignore you completely, as though you aren’t even there.

Dave mutters something too quiet to make out, still not looking at the ghost. You’ve never seen him so blatantly terrified. Evidently, this is not an acceptable answer.

“I said, what have I told you about being a man in this family?”

“Not weak,” Dave croaks. You think he might be trembling. It instills a fiery rage within your soul that only strengthens your hold on the ghost. “Strider men aren’t weak.”

You don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean — Dave’s a Lalonde , what the fuck is he talking about another family? — but apparently it’s the answer that this fuckwad was looking for.

The ghost grins darkly. He’s still struggling against the grasp of your magic, and he must have been really fucking strong in life, both physically and magically, because the effort it takes to keep control over him is making you sweat. “Glad to know that you remember at least one of my lessons. I’ve been watching you, Dani, you and your brother, and I have to say I’m not happy with how the two of you turned out. You’re both a disgrace to the family and a waste of my training. The only good thing that came out of that whore of a woman adopting you is that you’re dragging her name through the mud instead of mine.”

Dave looks like he’s going to puke.

Holding this fuckhead down is so physically taxing that you feel like you’re going to puke.

“It’s her fault that you both turned out this way,” the ghost continues. “I would’ve raised you better, stronger. I would’ve raised you to be Striders, not a delusional dyke and a worthless faggot. It sickened me to watch you grow up. I can’t decide who disgusts me more, you or your wretched excuse for a brother. I saw everything, Dani. I saw you both skimping out on training and letting yourselves grow soft. I saw Dirk and his revolting little boyfriend prancing around over the summer.”

He spits “boyfriend” like it’s an insult.

Every word makes your blood boil. You can’t spare any attention to cuss him out, but as your anger increases, so does the pressure that your magic is putting on him.

“I saw you getting those tops that make you look like you’ve cut your tits off. Like you don’t enjoy the attention it gets you, you fucking slut.” His voice is choked and strained from your tight grasp. You want to squeeze all of the air out him. “I saw you this last month, obsessing over your good-for-nothing little crush. Always brushing it off when your friends asked why. As if they can’t tell. As if your repulsive crush isn’t obvious. I thought you wanted to be a man, Daniella, so why are you interested in him?”

Dave finally breaks.

It’s like watching glass shatter. One second, he’s stone-still and pale, completely silent. The next, he’s climbing out of his bed towards the ghost, red-faced and screaming. “Get out! Get out! You’re dead, get out! You can’t hurt me anymore, get out! LEAVE!”

You can’t quite tell, but you think that he’s crying.

***

Unfortunately, you’re so surprised by Dave’s outburst that your concentration stutters. The vile, loathsome, repugnant excuse for a man that you had been restraining springs free and immediately rushes towards Dave.

You don’t remember crossing the distance between where you had been standing and Dave, but somehow you find yourself standing between him and that degenerate, disgusting ghost. You’ve got one arm out in front of you to get that dirtfucker back under control and the other flung out behind you towards Dave.

You can’t muster up the energy to slam him back into the wall like he deserves, but you manage to keep him from getting any closer. It’s like you constructed some invisible barrier, and now you get to watch him struggle to get past it.

The human garbage in front of you is still sneering and spewing insults. Dave hasn’t stopped yelling, but you can barely hear it above the roaring in your ears. You feel a trickle of blood leave your nose, and for a moment you have the hysterical thought Oh cool, I’m like Eleven.

And then Dave grabs the hand that you had been flailing in his direction.

And then something happens.

As soon as he makes contact with you, the fiery taste in your mouth intensifies to a degree that you’ve never felt before. It tastes like someone lit a goddamn campfire in your mouth. Almost at the exact same time, you’re hit with a sensation like there’s a vacuum in your gut, only a million times stronger. It feels like something is sucking all of the everything out of you. You hear a piercing cry and register that you were the source, and then your vision goes red.

You’re rooted to the spot and blind to your surroundings, but you can still hear everything. Behind you, Dave is still howling, “Leave me alone! GET OUT OF HERE! LEAVE!”

At that last word, everything goes quiet. You hear a strangled gasp, a distressingly meaty gurgle, and then silence.

Dave lets go of your hand. Immediately, you collapse onto the floor. Your vision restores itself, but for the moment you’re perfectly content to just lay on the floor staring at the ceiling because holy shit you feel like you’ve been trampled by a stampede of horses.

When you finally snap out of your wallowing daze, you sit up (very, very gingerly because ow) to see that Dave turned the lamp on. You can’t see him, but there’s a sliver of light underneath the closed bathroom door.

Most importantly, that motherfucker is gone.

You have a feeling that Dave won’t be coming out of the bathroom for a little while, so you set to cleaning yourself up. Wipe your nose, put on a fresh shirt because damn you’re sweaty from restraining that piece of shit, take off your necklace and put it back on your bedside table. If you spend a minute fixing Dave’s bed so that his blanket and sheets aren’t all rumpled, well, nobody has to know.

Dave comes out of the bathroom sooner than expected. He’s still pale, but he looks much more like the deadpan Dave that you’re used to. You’re kind of disappointed that he’s wearing his shades, but you suppose you can understand wanting a little privacy after everything that just happened.

He sits down on his bed. “So.”

“So,” you say. You’ve made the executive decision to let him lead this conversation because you owe him that much, but you kinda really do want some answers. “Can you...can you tell me what just happened?”

Dave is perfectly expressionless, but you see him swallow. Nervous. “I don’t want to. But, I mean, you’re just going to keep asking, right? So I guess I have to.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“First things first, though,” he says. “If you tell anyone about anything that just happened, I will kill you, laws be damned.”

You nod. That seems fair.

He nods in response. “And if you call me — if you call me anything other than my name, if you call me D-Dan-”
“Dave, please,” you interrupt. It’s obvious that he’s uncomfortable. It kind of makes you want to cry. “I’m an asshole but I’m not that much of an asshole. Your name is Dave, and that’s all I need to know about it.”

He nods again. You think you hear a little sniffle. “Okay. Right. Well. That, uh, that man, the one who was in here, that’s...uh. My biological father. Mine and Dirk’s, that is.”

You had gathered as much, but it’s good to hear him confirm it.

“He didn’t like us very much,” he says bitterly. You want to hug him so bad.

“I, uh. I kinda guessed,” you say awkwardly. What the hell are you supposed to say? There’s no established etiquette for the ghost of your worst-enemy-slash-secret-crush roommate’s abusive, disgusting excuse for a father showing up and wreaking havoc.

“I hadn’t seen him in years,” Dave says, more to himself than to you. He looks detached, numb. It worries you. “Guess he kicked the bucket at some point in that time.”

“Good riddance,” you add. Wait, fuck. “I mean — shit, sorry, that’s probably not what you want someone to say about your father, I mean, even if he was the physical representation of the word “shitstain” — fuck! Sorry! He’s still your — I mean-”

“Karkat, chill,” Dave says with a small chuckle. Oh praise Jesus, he’s not mad at you. It’s not a full smile, but you’ll take it. “It’s fine.”

You frown and cross your arms. “It’s obviously not fine, okay, don’t lie to me Dave. I just...ugh. I know I’m definitely the last person you’d ever want to hear this from, but...nothing he said is in any way true.”

The corners of his mouth twitch up and his eyebrows raise, just a fraction. “Was that a compliment? Did I hear you correctly? Did you, Karkat Maryam, just compliment me? Alert the presses, Karkat is capable of saying things to Dave that aren’t disgusting swears!”

Well. You’re glad, at least, that your verbal equivalent of digging yourself into a hole has given him a little bit more life. “No! It wasn’t a compliment, shut up, it was just...a statement! Not necessarily positive! Don’t get any ideas, I still hate you.” You stick your tongue out for good measure.

You are the king of little white lies.

“Sure, sure,” Dave says. Ugh, he’s doing his “I’m so cool and suave” voice. At least it’s better than the hollow deadpan from a few minutes ago. “That’s what they all say, when in reality they just can’t resist my natural charms.”

His teasing words forcibly remind you of what that - that awful ghost had said. About Dave’s supposed crush on you. You know that you should be taking everything that shitbag said with a grain of salt, because, uh, hello he’s disgusting and a liar, and it pains you to think of the way he spit each word with malice, but…

Dave seems to think of the same thing, and he goes quiet, not meeting your eyes.

There’s a terse silence hanging between you two.

You break it after it gets unbearable. “So, uh, we should probably talk about what happened at the end there.”

Dave nods distractedly. He still won’t look at you, and you think you spot a hint of frustrated blush under his shades. “Yeah, that. Uh, not gonna lie, I actually have no idea what the fuck happened.”

You put his very adorable little blush out of your mind. Talk to Dave now, think about Dave later. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a fucking genius and I think I have an idea.”

He gives you a prompting hand motion. “Well, spill it then, Mr. Genius. Please, bestow upon us your wisdom.”

You shoot him a glare for the sass but answer anyways. “I think — okay, this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out — I think that you used me as a focus? No, don’t speak, okay, let me explain: I don’t know how much you remember from that night when the tear opened up, but as I was, uh, as I was carrying you, you kind of...blew up a piece of falling rock? Like, with a spell. And it should’ve been impossible because I was holding your wand. But I think...okay, like, right when it happened, I got that smokey taste in my mouth, like the one you get when you’re using magic, right?”

“Wait, what?” Dave juts in. “What weird taste?”

You frown. What the hell is he talking about? “Are you fucking with me? Y’know, like, right when you’re casting a spell? And your whole mouth tastes like you were just blowing a matchstick?”

Dave shakes his head. “Uh, sorry to burst your bubble dude, but I’ve never heard of that happening. Also, why do you know what it tastes like to go down on a matchstick? Were you practicing for something?”

You groan. “Shut the fuck up, it’s a simple comparison that requires no practical experience. You’re getting me off topic here — okay, weirdness aside, apparently this isn’t normal but every time I use magic I get that taste in my mouth, blah blah. Anyway. That night, right when you blew up that bigass chunk before it could kill us, I got that taste in my mouth even though I hadn’t cast a spell. I’ve been thinking about it, because, uh, what the fuck, and I think that you basically used me as a focus. Somehow, you...channeled my magic? It sounds crazy, okay, but I can’t think of any other explanation.”

Dave takes a moment to think about that before speaking. “Alright. I’ll buy that. Definitely not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. But how does that play into what happened tonight?”

You’re honestly kind of shocked that he believed you so easily. “Wait — really? You just...accept that? I mean, obviously I’m telling the truth so of course you should believe me, but this is hardly the same antagonistic bullshit that you usually spew whenever I say something.”

“Sorry babe, didn’t realize you were expecting the full Dave Lalonde Experience™ at fuck-o-clock in the morning after — after that. ” Dave takes this moment to lean back on his elbows and push his shades up with the middle finger. Nice.

Okay, that’s fair. You’re not even going to tease him for saying “tee-em” out loud. You’re not really up to your own standard either and you don’t have the emotional trauma to blame for it.

Your awkward pause must have activated his “I’m Dave and I need constant noise, speech or movement or I’ll explode” senses, because he adds, “Also I’m like, way too tired to properly argue right now. But y’know, fuck you and all that normal shit.”

You wave a hand. “Of course. Fuck you too. But if you’re not going to constantly attempt to invalidate every single thing I say, I suppose I can actually continue, and real progress can be made! Wow. Someone call the reporters, Dave and Karkat can actually have a productive conversation.”

“Dude,” Dave says. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but also I feel like a beat up water bottle that’s been abandoned underneath the car seat for seven months. Can you make your point?”

Oh yeah. Your point. “Right, sorry. Okay, so you know what I was just talking about, with you accidentally using me as a focus? I’m pretty sure that’s what you did tonight. I mean, we both saw that I can somehow turn words into spells, right? Like what I did to restrain him. That wasn’t the first time, so it’s just...it’s just a thing I can do. Sometimes. Because I’m a fucking freak, I guess.”

“Hey,” Dave says. “This isn’t Karkat’s Self-Loathing Jerkoff time, it’s Dave’s fucking bedtime and he really just wants to go to sleep. Get to the point. Also, that’s kind of cool as shit, so shut up.”

You’re about to react to his weird, backhanded compliment in your typical “in order to convince Dave that I don’t love him, I must convince him that I hate him” way, but decide that that is probably a shitty use of your time and instead tuck the words away into your “Proof that Dave loves you back” box to freak out over at a later date. You are the most organized, it is you.

“Right, the point. The point is, when you...when you touched me,” don’t think about the possible interpretations of that phrase, don’t think about other ways Dave could touch you (not like that, you pervert, you just want him to kiss you!), don’t think about it, “I think you tapped into it. Into me, and my magic. Like a really shitty battery or something. And since you were connected to me, you were able to do the thing that I can do and you turned regular words magical. I mean, I kinda went blind for a bit there and everything was going haywire and so I can’t really provide an accurate recollection of what went down, but that’s my theory. I’ve never heard of a spell that could banish a ghost, but whatever you did took a lot of power. From me.”

Dave actually looks kind of sheepish. What the hell are you feeling guilty for? you want to shout. All I wanted was to get rid of that asshat for you, and you did it!

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to fuck you up.”

That’s a first. Your hopeless romantic heart wants to say something cliche like You always fuck me up, but you think that probably wouldn’t go over well, so instead you say, “What the hell are you feeling guilty for, asshole? That repugnant stain on humanity needed to get the fuck out, and you got it done!”

You don’t say That was really intense for you, and if I could go back and do anything to keep it from happening I would, so I couldn’t care less that you used my power to get rid of him. You don’t say Dave, that was — quite understandably — incredibly difficult for you. Getting through it alone would’ve been an insane task, and you went above and beyond in banishing him. You should feel proud, or at the very least, you shouldn’t feel guilty.

You don’t say any of those things, because Dave is dating Jade, Dave does not like boys, and Dave does not like you. At this point, if you can get through this year without killing each other, you’ll call it an achievement. You don’t dare do anything that could upset the upset the delicate balance you two have figured out.

You can’t see his eyes behind the shades, but you get the feeling that he’s not meeting your eye. “Uh. Thanks, I guess,” he says.

You tuck that one into your little box of proof and self-indulgence as well. Now is not the time to give yourself an internal crisis over the object of your affection, it is the time to engage in a proper conversation with said object of affection.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Dave,” you chide. “Anyway, that’s all I got, so if you want to go to bed now I’ll quit assaulting your eardrums.”

Dave seems to struggle with something for a moment, hesitating. Instead of reaching to turn off the light, like you thought he would, he takes a minute to sit very still and think.

Naturally, because you are oh-so-good at human interaction, you spend this minute starring quizzically at him. “Dave?”

He appears to come to a conclusion. “Sorry. I, uh, I actually have something to tell you.”

Wow, that one does not sit well with your inner Nicholas Sparks protagonist. Realistically, you know that Dave is definitely not going to confess his love to you. However, you are a romantic and a fucking idiot, so of course that’s exactly what you think he’s going to do.

“I really should’ve told you this sooner, guess I’m just a shithead.”

Dave, please, you are not helping the situation. Doesn’t he know that he totally sounds like he’s planning to confess his love to you?

“So, uh, you have full permission to be pissed at me for not telling you.” If there was any doubt before, he’s definitely not looking at you now. “Before you showed up at school, your mother Visited. Like, capital V Visited, as in ghosts and shit.”

Wait, what?

You never knew your mother. As far as you know, she died in childbirth or some shit. Way to go, past you. Barely out of the fucking womb and you’ve already fucked up and killed somebody.

The point is, you know absolutely nothing about your birth mother, aside from the fact that presumably she’s also Kankri’s mother. Because, y’know, brothers and shit. She’s just never been an important part of your life. It probably sounds kind of sad, but it’s rare that you’ll even think of her. The combined efforts of Rosa, Porrim and Kanaya “Disaster Mom Friend” Maryam have given you all the mothering you need, as far as you’re concerned.

You think it’s reasonable for you to be pretty fucking taken aback by this news.

“My mother?”

Dave nods. He looks really uncomfortable, like he expects you to start crying or something. “Yeah. She was looking for you.”

You honestly don’t know how to describe this weird disconnect you feel. Obviously mothers are a pretty important part of life, so you suppose you should feel...something? Relief, that she still thinks of you, wherever she is? Sadness, at this reminder of your poor sad motherless existence?

But really all you feel is anger that Dave kept this info from you. “My dead mother visited you a month ago and you haven’t felt the need to tell me until now?” The rational part of your brain says that all things considered, it’s kind of surprising that he’s telling you this at all. The emotional part of your brain decides that you don’t give a fuck about that and that he had no business in keeping this from you in the first place.

Dave cringes a bit at your yelling. “Right. Angry. I mean, that’s fair. She was pretty upset when I told her you weren’t here, I can see where you get all that temper from. She, uh, she actually had something to tell you.”

You glare at him pointedly, like you’re trying to telepathically shout And?

He coughs awkwardly. “Uh, right. She said, um, be safe, be careful. Don’t trust ‘Vantas’, he is, um, he is trying to heal it but he’s making it sicker. And then she said something about...shit. Hold on. Something like…if she could go back and change it all and keep ‘Vantas’ from starting all of it, she wouldn’t, because then she never would’ve had her children.”

You can’t resist saying it. “And? Was that it? Is that all she said, or was it all your peabrain could remember? Well? This is my fucking mother we’re talking about, okay, the mother I’ve never met, the least you could do is tell me everything.”

“Geez, sorry, that’s all she said, I promise,” Dave says. “She, uh, she also…”

“What also?” You press. “Did she do anything else? Anything about this creepy motherfucker that I’m supposed to avoid, apparently? Dave. You have to tell me. I’m a poor motherless boy who’s never met his birth parents, you are legally required to take pity on me and tell me everything.”

“Fine!” Dave snaps. “She also said to give you this!”

He hops up and purposefully crosses the short distance between your beds. Before you can snipe at him for getting way too close, he plants a quick kiss on your forehead and then storms back over to sit back on his bed, fuming.

You, uh.

You may have short circuited for a second there.

Outside of shoves, smacks and the occasional emergency where you have to carry him out of danger or he grabs your hand to harness your power to banish some human scum, Dave doesn’t touch you. Ever. Unfortunately, those rare emergencies where you finally get close to him are way too terrifying to properly enjoy those moments of contact, so you’re limited to the soft, affectionate touches of the Dave in your daydreams. Until now, apparently.

His lips weren’t soft and plush or anything, just normal, slightly chapped lips. He didn’t gently cup your head or stroke your hair, just grabbed you for a half second and then let go. By all means, it wasn’t anything special — so, naturally, you’ll be reliving that fraction of a moment for the rest of time. Your whole body is singing with satisfied animal instinct and yesyesyesyesyesyes. This is daydream fuel for the rest of your life; now you don’t have to strain so hard to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

Your pathetic little lovestruck daze is cut short by Dave’s frustrated grumbling.

“Are you happy now?” He says. You absolutely do not notice the fact that he’s beet red, and you absolutely do not panic about how you’re probably also sporting the tomato-y look.

“Yes,” you squeak, unable to form a proper answer. Karkat.exe has stopped working, please try again later.

Luckily, Dave seems too flustered to tease you. “Good. Alright. Now you can’t be mad at me for keeping this from you, because I just told you. And, uh. Did...that.”

Oh how eloquent you two are! Truly a match made in heaven.

You nod stiffly, still too out of it to make fun of his inarticulateness. “Right.”

“Right,” he parrots. Wow, this is really fucking awkward. “So, uh, I was thinking. In return for you saving my ass, both tonight and a few weeks ago, and also just to make sure that you don’t tell anyone about tonight...I’ll help you. I’ll help you figure shit out about your mother, and this Vantas guy she talked about.”

You stare at him, shocked. Dave Lalonde, offering to help you? No way. “Are you serious?”

He nods gravely, not meeting your eye. “Don’t make me say it again.” He walks over to you again and puts a hand out. “Truce? For however long it takes to get this squared away? I mean, I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold back all of my sick fires, and really some of them just deserve to be said, y’know? But, for the time being, I’ll...stop actively trying to provoke you. At least enough so that we’ll actually be able to get shit done for once.”

You can’t believe it. First he kisses you (sorta), then offers his help, then offers a whole nother method of physical contact? Okay, a handshake isn’t that intimate, but it’s a start.

You take his hand and shake once, desperate to not betray yourself and show how eager you are. “Truce. I won’t spill your shit, and I won’t point out every single one of your many failures as a person. I probably can’t refrain from bringing at least some of them into the light, but like you, I’ll try to do it in a way that doesn’t get in the way.”

There’s a very tense pause where you’re both just standing there staring at each other, and then he breaks it by walking back over to his bed. You get yourself settled in your own bed.

“Oh, and Dave?” You add. “Don’t think I’m taking this lightly. You agree to help me, you agree to actually get this done. I expect full effort, or the whole thing is called off.”

It’s only fair, right?

“You got it, boss,” he replies. He reaches over to the lamp and turns it off. “Goodnight, dirtbreath.”

“Goodnight, asshead,” you respond.

“Goodnight, shit-for-brains.”

“Goodnight, monkeyfucker.”

“Goodnight, shitstain.”

You can’t quite stifle your giggle. Luckily, you hear him snickering too.

Chapter Text

Your name is Jade Harley, and holy shit are you seeing what you think you’re seeing?

You’re normally always the first in the dining hall for meals out of your little friend group. You wake up early a couple mornings every week to work out and shower, and while John sometimes joins  you on your runs, you’re always first to breakfast. John and Dave are truly teenage boys, and they make mad dashes to lunch and dinner, but you’re just more organized and it doesn’t take you nearly as long to pack up your stuff and head over to the dining hall. Their ravenous teenage boy hunger is no match for you.

It’s always a bet on who will show up next. For dinner, it’ll probably be John or Dave. For lunch, it’s usually Rose — listen, that girl is disorganized as fuck, but at least not as much as your brother and your boyfriend. Plus, you’re pretty sure she has some weird passive-aggressive fake war going on with Kanaya that involves trying to get to meals before her...or something equally backwards and Rose-ish. (She still thinks her crush on Kanaya is subtle, bless her.)

But no matter what, you can always count on Dave being last to breakfast. He says it’s because he needs his beauty sleep or something, but you’re pretty sure it’s because he’s trying to irritate Karkat, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to do whatever it is he does. It’s like the reverse of Rose and Kanaya: the later Dave wakes up, the angrier Karkat gets, for some reason. (You have a hunch on what that reason is, and that it’s because he hates the idea of Dave “succeeding” without making any effort. Or something.) So naturally Dave wakes up as late as he can, because those two are stupid and don’t know how to just get along.

This is why when you walk into the dining hall for breakfast at 7:00 in the morning on the dot, you have to do a double take, because is that Dave and Karkat sitting together eating breakfast and chatting?

Two things you never thought you’d see: Dave being awake before 8:00 in the morning, and Dave sitting with Karkat of all people, greeting you as you slip through those huge double doors. They’re even facing each other and everything. It’s fucking bananas.

As you get closer, you can tell they’re definitely not just “chatting”, but it’s still pretty wild. They’re arguing, but to be fair, you’ve never seen them have an interaction that wasn’t an argument.

“...oh, grow up, Dave, you agreed to help me, pull your weight for once in your miserable — oh, hey, Harley.” Karkat cuts off whatever insult he had been cooking up to look up at you, sitting down beside Dave, and give you a brief wave.

“Good morning to you too, asshole!” You say brightly. Karkat huffs in response and turns back to his plate, where he has cut up his turkey bacon into even smaller strips. Weird. You steal one and he glares at you.

Dave didn’t see you coming up behind him and startles, but quickly recovers to give you a small smile. “Mornin’ Jade,” he says. He raises his coffee mug to you in greeting, chugs it, and then starts coughing.

You cringe. All of the mugs at the Academy are enchanted to keep their contents perfectly warm, but “perfectly warm” is still too hot to chug all at once. Being the perfect girlfriend that you are, you chuckle at his idiocy and hand him a napkin once he stops coughing. “Good job.”

He takes the napkin and wipes his mouth, grumbling too quietly to be heard. You can’t see his eyes behind his shades, but he seems more tired than usual. Dave usually hears you coming up behind him from a mile off — “Chosen One reflexes,” he calls it. The last time you managed to sneak up on him was finals week last year, when you’re all too tired from cramming to function.

Neither your boyfriend nor his roommate are known for being particularly well-rested (you know Dave still gets nightmares he won’t talk about, and you’re pretty sure Karkat does too), but they both seem exhausted this morning. Something must have happened last night, which is probably why they’re sitting together.

Something that, if you know these two, will take some serious digging to figure out.

“So, boys,” you start, busying yourself with filling your plate. Oh damn, they put out those cute little mini frittatas today. Better get two, John will totally steal one of yours once he gets here. “It seems there’s been a change. Mind filling a gal in?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Dave and Karkat share A Look. Your eyes narrow. They probably think they’re being subtle about it, but you know them too well. The only reason they would share A Look like that would be if you’re right, and something went down last night. Whether or not they intended to tell you, your suspicions are confirmed and your interest is piqued. It must be something big.

You watch as they have a silent back-and-forth argument, like you’re not even there. Head tilts, tiny hand gestures, furiously mouthing words. Amateurs. Years of nosing on your brothers with the help of your sister has made you a master translator of silent conversations. You can very easily tell that they’re frantically trying to come up with a cover story for whatever the hell even happened, and also trying to decide who’s supposed to tell you.

Evidently, Karkat loses the argument and speaks first. “The only change, Harley, is that Dave here has finally agreed to pull his head out of his ass for once. He has finally recognized me as his obvious superior, and we have called a truce so that he can help me with something.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s the only thing that happened,” you say, taking a swig of tea. You grew up in a caffeine-free house under the strict rules of your Grandpa, and although all of your siblings abandoned it in favor of coffee as soon as they came to the Academy, you’re still holding strong. Plus, coffee tastes gross, no matter how much cream and sugar Dave puts in it.

Karkat frowns, but Dave steps in before he can respond. “I mean, if you take out the whole “Karkat is my superior” bullshit, because we all know I’m the alpha of the household, that’s pretty much all that happened, Jade. I am a mature, respectable young man who can recognize when a situation has been drawn out for too long, and I agreed to put young Crabsnack out of his misery by establishing a truce and giving him the Dave Lalonde Experience that he has clearly been craving for a long time.”

Karkat grumbles at that. “Shut the fuck up, okay, in case you forgot, this truce was your idea. Also, Jade and I both know that you’re far from mature or respectable.”

His arm lifts an inch, like he plans to shove Dave, but then he seems to reconsider and puts it back down. Dave doesn’t notice, but you do.

“No comment,” you say quickly. Dave looks scandalized.

Before you can continue your impromptu interrogation, you are interrupted by three voices at once.

“Oh my, uh, Karkat? Is this where we are sitting today?”

“Dave? Jade? Why are you sitting with Karkat?”

“Dear brother. Dear friend. What interesting seating arrangements you have chosen today.”

Kanaya Maryam stands behind her brother, looking very confused. You turn around to see your own brother bounding up behind you, also looking confused, holding a massive jug of orange juice. Next to him stands Rose, who must have come to breakfast with him, looking completely unimpressed and slightly resentful.

If you know Rose, this resentment is probably because she now has to sit with Kanaya, which she is unhappy about for reasons that she probably can’t quite explain. (You could very easily explain. You’re pretty sure Karkat could too, knowing him. But it’s really not your job and frankly, playing matchmaker is boring.)

Next to you, Dave has gone tense and quiet. He probably didn’t think this far ahead, you think smugly. And then you scold yourself, because that’s not a very girlfriend-y thing to think.

Karkat saves him from answering. “Yes, Kan, if you’re sitting with me you’re sitting here today. Dave has finally decided to obey logical reasoning and stop being a nuisance, and it’s easier when he’s not in my way.”

You are suddenly hit with a visceral mental image of Karkat as Regina George with a weird, Karkat-esque version of “You can’t sit with us!” You giggle internally, because the idea of Karkat with long, straight, blonde hair is absolutely hilarious. Nobody seems to notice, which is good, because you don’t think Karkat would appreciate this and you don’t want to explain yourself.

Kanaya still looks apprehensive and puzzled with this new development, but she must know better than to argue with her brother and sits down next to him. “Good morning, then,” she says, putting on a friendly grin.

You’re the only one who responds with a “Morning!”

John is preoccupied with emptying an entire plate of sausages onto his plate and stealing one of your mini frittatas, Dave is pouring himself another cup of coffee (that’s the second one you’ve seen since you sat down and he probably drank more before you showed up — is he okay?), and Rose is. Well. She’s Rose, and she can’t function properly around Kanaya because reasons. Reasons that are super obvious to anyone with eyes — wait, not even that, because you’re pretty sure Terezi’s picked up on it too.

“Yeah, uh, Rose and John — what he said,” Dave says. Damn, he must be really tired if he can’t think of a proper, long-winded, vaguely gross metaphor in lieu of an answer. You’re kinda worried at this point. “Y’know, minus the whole ‘Dave is stupid’ bit or whatever he said. I’m helping him with something and in return, he’ll pull the stick out of his ass and shove it in his mouth instead whenever he feels the need to insult me, which is every four seconds, so he’ll just never speak again.” Ah, there’s the Dave you know.

John appears satisfied with this answer, or maybe he’s just too hungry to press Dave any further right now. “Alright,” he says. Instead of pouring himself orange juice and offering it to anyone else like a civilized person, your absolute monkey of a brother lifts the jug to his lips, chugs half of it, and then slams it back down on the table with a triumphant grin.

“You’re disgusting,” you say cheerfully, taking the orange juice from him. John just pokes you in the shoulder and turns back to his plate to focus on filling it with as much food as possible.

Rose does not look so easily satisfied, but she seems to let it go for now. You don’t envy Dave — Rose never truly drops a topic if she’s curious. He’s going to have to sit through one hell of an interrogation later. “So, brother dear, what is it that you’re helping dear Mr. Maryam with?”

Dave opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Karkat interrupts. “That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you all about. Obviously I wouldn’t be anywhere near Dave unless it’s for a good reason, and the same applies to you fuckheads. Except for Harley, she’s okay. And Rose, I guess. Her taste in books is actually decent. Okay, scratch what I said before, I wouldn’t be anywhere near Dave or Egbert if I could help it.”

John bristles next to you. “Hey! You don’t hate me, Karkat. I’m way funnier than Dave, at least give me credit for that!”

Karkat just glares at him for interrupting. “Egbert, your sense of humor is the aural equivalent of pouring grape juice into your own ears: it’s definitely not being used appropriately, it makes absolutely no sense, and whoever is carrying it out is a complete idiot.”

John stands and leans forward to shove him from across the table. He almost knocks over the now half-empty orange juice but you yank him back just in time. “Okay, okay, boys!” You say. “Let’s get back on track before someone ends up covered in breakfast, shall we? Karkat, you were saying?”

“Yes, I’d quite like to know where this is going too,” Kanaya says.

Karkat huffs. “Thank you for giving me the respect that I deserve, unlike Fuckbert over here.”

“That’s not even a funny pun on my name, dickweed!” John interrupts. You shush him, because while Karkat is being a pompous asshole, it sounded like he plans to give you some kind of explanation regarding his and Dave’s truce, which you would quite like to know. John frowns, turns back to his plate, and tries to occupy himself by stacking up his leftover sausages into a little mountain.

“Anyway,” Karkat presses on. “The reason I am tolerating your presences is because Dave agreed to help me with something. Since the four of you act like a weird little hivemind or some shit, I have counted on the fact that inviting Dave to something means inviting you three as well. I’m here for the package deal, you know? If it were anything else, I would absolutely avoid you all as much as possible, but I’m. I’m desperate here, and I want all the help I can get.”

Rose narrows her eyes at his last statement but doesn’t make a comment. John seems too enraptured by his food to react, and Dave looks like he’s falling asleep with his chin resting on his hands. You, however, are only more curious as to what Karkat needs so much help with.

“It’s about my mother,” he says. He looks uncomfortable. “I’m not going to go into the nitty gritty details of my family, because it’s none of your fucking business, but basically, she died a long time ago. And don’t give me your sympathy or anything because I do not care. I’m perfectly fine with my current family, thank you very much.”

Kanaya’s smile softens at that. D’awww.

“Basically, his ghost momma popped up in our room before he showed up,” Dave pipes up. “Had some words.”

You turn to him sharply and and swat his arm. “Wait, is that what you were hiding from us? Dave! Come on. We could’ve helped you with it!”

Dave doesn’t look at you and sinks lower into his hands. “Didn’t wanna tell you without his permission. Seems kind of like a dick move, y’know?”

Okay, that’s fair, you suppose. Still, you’re kinda pissed that he didn’t at least give you an inkling of what was bugging him. He’s spent the past few weeks broody and closed off, and you were worried it was something you had done, but apparently it was just Karkat’s ghost mom. Doesn’t he trust you? Wait, that’s not very girlfriend-y of you, Jade. Of course he trusts you. Right?
Your internal conflict is cut short by Karkat.

“Yes, as Dave so eloquently put it,” he says, “my mother Visited and talked to Dave, because I wasn’t there. And instead of telling me immediately when I showed up to school, he kept it a secret because he’s a selfish fuckwad. Luckily, I managed to drag it out of him, and in return he’s agreed to help me look into some things that she talked about.”

Oh shit, this is like a proper mystery! Awesome. “Okay, I’ll bite,” you say. “What did she talk about that’s so important?”

“Dave, do you remember exactly?” Karkat asks.

Dave lifts his head from where he’s been resting on his folded arms on the table. “Uh, yeah. She wanted to talk to Karkat, but obviously he wasn’t there, so I took the message. She said...fuck, hold on. She said, y’know, be safe, be careful. Nice mom. Uh, she also said something about a guy named ‘Vantas’, and how he’s trying to heal something but he’s only making it sicker. And something like...if she could go back and stop ‘Vantas’ from starting all of it, she wouldn’t, because then she would never have had her children.”

“So, before you all ask,” Karkat starts. “I have no idea who this ‘Vantas’ dude is. Actually, wait. Scratch that. I’ve heard the name before — it used to be me and Kankri’s last name. Social services told us that our father dropped us off, and that it was his name, so they were like ‘alright, guess since these two fuckers don’t have a last name, we’ll recycle their shitty dad’s’. So, presumably he’s... my dad. Our dad.”

Whoa. This is turning out to be a real soap opera. Obviously you feel bad for Karkat (you’re friends, but definitely not close enough for him to tell you all about his sad family history), but you’re also kind of excited to figure this shit out.

“So we’re going to find out who he is?” You ask excitedly. Fuck yeah, Detective Jade on the case. Your sister Jane has trained you well in the art of detective work through endless marathons of the different Sherlock Holmes films and TV shows, and you hope that you can do her justice.

Karkat nods. “Yep. I want to find out who this fucker is, and whatever fucked up thing he’s doing to ‘make things sicker’ or whatever my mother said, and stop it, maybe? Honestly, I don’t really know where to start, but. I’d also like to ask him...about her. Maybe ask what her name was.”

He’s looking straight at you, but his eyes go dreamy and unfocused and his voice grows soft.

Oh.

You can’t imagine not knowing your family. Family has always been such an important part of your life, even when they seem to be doing everything in their power to annoy the shit out of you.

You can’t imagine what it must be like to not know their names.

Kanaya squeezes his arm and gives him a comforting smile, and you’re glad that he has found an even better family.

John appears to have finally satiated his ravenous teenage boy hunger enough to actually participate in the conversation. “Oh, sweet! We’re solving a mystery! Count me in.”

Nice. Seems like Janey’s training extended to him too.

“I’ll admit, I am intrigued by this story,” Rose says. “Count me in as well, Karkat.”

“Hell yeah, count me in for mystery funtimes as well!” You slap the table excitedly. Unfortunately, you were a little over-enthusiastic, and John’s carefully constructed sausage pyramid collapses. He looks horrified. Being the wonderful sister that you are, you steal a few stray links, pop them into your mouth, and smile in his smarmy little face.

Kanaya watches this whole exchange with a look of slightly disgusted awe. You suppose food fights and gross sibling habits aren’t very big in the Maryam house.

“I mean, I suppose I’m included in this, yes?” She says. Karkat nods. “Alright then. Of course I will help.”

Karkat claps his hands together, startling Dave next to you, who you’re pretty sure had fallen asleep on the table. “Okay then!” Karkat says. “That’s settled. You’ve all agreed to help, just like I thought you would because you’re all as predictable as an NPC, but now you’re bound to your word. There’s no backing out because fuck you, and you had all better pitch in, because like fuck am I hanging out with you if you’re not being helpful.”

And so begins your investigation. You all plan to meet up in the library right after classes end. Karkat threatens to keep you all working past dinner if you’re not productive enough for his liking, so you all make sure to show up early.

The library at Skaia Academy of Magicks is pretty damn huge, so you’re a little worried that you’re not going to find the rest of the group. However, as soon as you set foot into the library, it is made very clear that this will not be an issue.

“Egbert — no, oh my god, stop fucking touching everything! Give me that!”

Karkat’s voice rings clear though the entire library, followed by your dear brother’s voice saying something too quiet to be heard from where you are. Shit. Sounds like John showed up first to your little meeting. You’d better hurry to get over there and shut them up before you get kicked out of the library.

You follow the shouting to find John and Karkat fighting over a dry erase marker, because they are such mature, responsible people. It seems that Karkat has claimed one of the mini conference rooms off from the library, the ones with windows but no curtains because people kept getting caught fucking in them. Because magical or not, this is high school, and that’s just how high schoolers are.

You imagine that Karkat chose to set up shop here for the two large whiteboards filling up two walls, as he has already written on them with his terrible handwriting. A small-ish table and five chairs have been crammed into the little room, and there’s a wide window on the far wall with a nice view of the grounds.

Karkat has already drawn up two lists in black marker, one on each board. The first reads: WHAT WE KNOW. The second reads: WHAT WE DON’T KNOW. You can see a few hastily erased blue pen marks, presumably drawn by John, which must have prompted their argument.

As soon as you enter, Karkat freezes. Embarrassed, probably. John is significantly taller than him, and he looks pretty silly trying to grab the blue marker.

John, however, shows no such dignity, and uses Karkat’s moment of weakness to shove him to the floor. “Hi Jade!”
You wave. “Hey. Am I interrupting something? You know everyone can see you two through the windows, right?”

Karkat stands quickly and brushes himself off, trying to look more put-together. You snicker. He glares at you, then turns to John and mutters something. Before John can come up with a counter-spell, the blue marker flies out of his hand and into Karkat’s.

“You saw nothing, Harley,” Karkat says to you.

You nod solemnly and give him a mock salute. “Of course, fearless leader. Whatever you say.”

Rose, Kanaya and Dave show up shortly after. Karkat spends a few minutes trying to wrangle you all to attention, but once he gets everyone seated, the meeting properly starts.

“Okay,” Karkat says, standing in front of the whiteboard. “Now that you’re all giving me the respect and attention that I so wholly deserve as your obvious superior, we can get this shitshow on the road. First,” he dramatically taps the “WHAT WE KNOW” whiteboard with a flourish of the black marker, “what do we know so far?”

“That you’re a shitty leader,” Dave helpfully adds.

“No, and also fuck you,” Karkat brushes it off easily. “What do we know about my mother, and what do we know about this Vantas dude?”

“He is most likely your father, yes?” Kanaya pipes up.

Karkat nods. “Yes. Okay, he’s probably my dad.” He scrawls “PROBABLY KARKAT’S DAD” onto the board. Next to you, Kanaya visibly stiffens at his awful handwriting. “Anything else? No, sorry — anything else that is useful?”

“He’s doing something that should be stopped, right?” Rose contributes. “Or, something that your mother thinks is dangerous.”

“Right,” Karkat says. He writes “VANTAS SHOULD BE STOPPED” to the board, seems to consider something for a moment, and then adds “ACCORDING TO MOM” in smaller letters.

It’s kind of cute that he’s already calling her Mom.

“Okay, since that’s kind of all we know so far,” Karkat continues. “We should probably just talk about any weird shit going on. Anything that could be related to this. Does anyone know of anything that could be related to whatever my mother talked about?”

To your surprise, John speaks. “Hey Rose, what about your visions?”

You’ve known about Rose’s visions for years, and so has everyone else in the room. Even Karkat probably, because Kanaya has no doubt been woken up many times to Rose’s visions. However, since there has never seemed to be any semblance of reality to them, you’ve all dismissed them as nothing more than some fucked up visions that aren’t real. But John could be onto something here…

“I mean…” Rose starts. “I suppose they could be related, although I can’t imagine how.”

“Rose, if it’s not too personal,” Karkat says. “Could you just give us a quick runthrough of the visions?”

Rose seems taken aback by the politeness. Damn Karkat, pulling the manners out of nowhere. “Well...yes, I suppose,” she says. “They are always the same: a room with some kind of runes painted on the floor, a nude woman screaming, a bright light enveloping the scene, and a man’s silhouette against the light. I have never seen his face. The woman is always different, but I am pretty sure that the man is the same, although I haven’t the faintest idea who he could be. And no, before you ask, I do not know what the runes are. I have spent time on my own trying to research them, but I’ve never encountered anything that resembles them.”

Karkat nods. “Thanks. Not going to lie, I don’t really know how that could help with this, but we’ll write it down I guess.” He scribbles “ROSE’S VISIONS - CONNECTED?” onto the board. “Anything else?”

“Ooh, wait!” John says. “Maybe the visions are related, and they’re real, and this Vantas guy is the man in the room!”

“That’s kind of far fetched, right?” You ask.

Karkat shrugs. “I mean, at this point, we know absolutely fuckall, so I’ll take whatever I can get.” He adds “VANTAS = MAN IN VISIONS?”

“So, this is all we know?” Kanaya asks.

Karkat nods. “Yup. You can see why I’m calling on the goon squad here. I kind of have no clue where to start.”

You frown. “Maybe we do know more, and we’re just not looking at the big picture. Like, is there anyone who you know has it out for you, Karkat? Someone who might be holding something against your mother and taking it out on you?”

Karkat snorts. “Fuck, is there ever. But you four don’t like to hear the truths about your dear old Mage, do you? Nevermind that he hates Rosa for no fucking reason, and he hates me and my siblings by default.”

Kanaya looks slightly panicked. Oh, fuck. If this is going to turn into a Mage-bashing session, this could turn into an argument real fast.

“Listen, man,” Dave says. “I know you’re stuck believing that the whole world revolves around you and therefore the Mage must have it out for you, Karkat Maryam, but come on. The dude’s saved the whole World of Mages time and time again, and you wanna suggest that he’s running around killing women and shit?”

Shiiiiiiiit. This is some risky territory. Sure, you support the Mage and all that he’s done for the World of Mages, and of course you don’t agree with Karkat, but come on. Everyone was finally starting to get along, and now this.

“Look, okay,” you say. Someone’s gotta diffuse this shit. “Let’s be real — talking about the Mage like this isn’t going to get us anywhere. Dave, I know how you think of him, but we really do need to try and pin down as many variables as we can. Karkat, I know that you don’t like him, but if we’re going to work together, we need to avoid pissing each other off. So, I say that we consider the idea that the Mage may have something to do with this, but we have no idea what. And we should leave it at that: he may be involved, but we don’t know how. I think that’s fair, right?”

Dave and Karkat both grumble, but they nod, and Karkat adds “THE MAGE - INVOLVED?” to the “WHAT WE DON’T KNOW” board. Good lord you’re so tired of playing mediator. Whoever thinks that boys don’t have as much drama is a bitch ass liar, they’re way too much work.

The rest of the meeting is mostly just more speculating and passes without another hitch. To be completely fair, you kind of tune it all out and just observe instead of participating.

There’s something happening here. Change is coming, you can feel it. You get the nagging feeling that you’re missing something huge, something right in front of you, and you don’t like that feeling at all.

It’s easier to focus on the little things, like Rose executing the weirdest, most backhanded flirting with Kanaya that you’ve ever seen. Like Kanaya not quite processing the comments for what they are, and responding in an equally weird and backwards way. You really hope they figure their whole thing out soon, because this is their last year to get it together. You suppose that if the year runs out and it looks like they’re not making any progress, you’ll step in somehow, but you really don’t want it to come to that. You love your friends, but sometimes they’re just so fucking stupid, and you’re so tired of being the one who has to point out all the obvious things that they’re somehow missing.

But it’s better than being the one missing everything, you suppose.

Maybe you’re just tired. The World of Mages is tiring enough, and it’s extra tiring when you’re dating the Greatest Mage. You hate using the same words over and over again, but that’s really the only one that fits: tired. You’re tired of being the side piece, the arm candy, the reliable date for fancy political events that Dave gets dragged to. You’re tired of coming down to breakfast to find him missing and hear that the Mage lugged him off on some dangerous adventure, followed by days of anxiously waiting to see him come home safe.

You love him, yes, but you’re so tired of playing the role of girlfriend to the Chosen One. You deserve your own role, dammit.

And besides, you don’t think you’re the right person to be playing it anyways. From your observations, someone else would be a better fit, both for their sake and Dave’s.

But you don’t think either of them have figured it out yet.

Damn. Looks like it’ll be up to Jade the Mediator, as always, to forcibly shove your friends in the right direction. As hard as it’s going to be, you know what your next move has to be.

Chapter Text

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and dear fucking G-d is your brother an idiot. You’re referring to Dave, of course, although Dirk is also a complete fucking dumbass. Fortunately for you, though, for the most part you only have to deal with the former. If you had to deal with Dirk’s idiocy on top of Dave’s, you’d...well...you’d probably enjoy that, actually, in your strange masochistic way. It deeply satisfies you to watch other people fuck up and then step in to try and set them back on the right track, to be completely honest. Because if you’re the only one to help other people out of their crises, it means that you’re the only one without a crisis of your own. Or something.

Not that you’d ever tell anyone. It’s hard enough getting Dave to open up to you about his issues that you can so clearly help him with, it would be much harder if he knew that you enjoy it.

You’re not nosy, you’re just usually right about things, and you feel like other people benefit from your intervention. If only you could get everyone else to understand that!

You know Dave well enough by now that usually, you can get a pretty good read on whatever mess he’s gotten himself into this time just by observing. You’re able to approach him about it with just enough correct guesses to convince him that you know enough about it to help him, he’ll spill the rest of the metaphorical beans, and then you’ll help him through it. This foolproof strategy has come through for you time and time again, and you’ve been able to contribute your two cents just enough to keep Dave from dying. (To be completely honest, his affinity for unintentional martyrdom is rather unsettling. If he didn’t have you, John, Jade, and the rest of your family, he most certainly would have died in some dramatic fashion that involved heroically saving someone else. Luckily, you don’t leave him alone long enough to get in such a situation.)

Somehow, though, whatever’s been bugging him recently hasn’t been made clear to you. He’s hiding something, you’re sure of it.

Your first theories were admittedly pretty blatant projections of your own interests; for a few weeks, you thought it was that he had finally realized that his relationship with Jade is much better off platonic, but you no longer think that’s the case. Dave’s nowhere near observant enough for that, it was quite clearly just you hoping that he had come to that realization.

The rest of your early theories were similarly relationship-based: maybe he hadn’t fully figured out the issues with his and Jade’s relationship, but perhaps he had finally started seeing that there were issues. Or maybe he started fostering feelings for someone else, although you don’t really know who that would be. Terezi, maybe? Unlikely — she’d leave him in the dust, and you have a hunch that she’s already spoken for. Could it be John? No, probably not. While they definitely have promising chemistry, neither of them are self-aware enough to realize it. Boys.

Your theorizing was forcibly turned around two weeks ago, though, when Karkat and Dave announced that they had formed a truce. In all fairness, you felt somewhat bashful that all of your theories were centered around romantic tension when it was apparently something to do with Karkat all along. It’s not like you to be so focused on romance. Perhaps it’s classic teen boy-craziness finally hitting you.

Emphasis on “finally”.

Your own oddities aside, you now know that whatever is bothering your brother must have to do with his roommate. At first, you thought that he had been hiding this truce from you. But it’s been two weeks since their little announcement and he’s still acting cagey.

You’re not making this up — Jade has noticed it too, not that she’s told you. Jade is very easy to read (not that she cares, because Jade is the most genuine person you know, and the idea of hiding things must be so foreign to her), and you can tell she’s irritated with Dave for hiding things. You suppose you’ll just have to be more observant if you plan to figure this out.

In the two weeks since your first strategy meeting, or “absolute shitshow”, as Karkat calls them, the six of you haven’t made much progress on your objectives. Nobody has any leads on the identity of the mysterious “Vantas”, and none of you know what it is that he’s doing that Karkat’s mother is worried about. Karkat’s been digging in old school newspapers and files from the library in the hopes of finding mentions, but it hasn’t worked yet.

Dave ended up reluctantly agreeing to ask the Mage more about your visions and the current political climate, just in case they might be related to Karkat’s mother, but the Mage has been out of town on one of his missions for the past month. Karkat’s been unhappy about this, because he’s convinced the Mage is involved somehow, but you really don’t see what the problem is. The idea that the Mage would be involved in something dark and harmful to the World of Mages is absolutely ridiculous, and you’ve been trying to convince the others that they’re wasting their time. Unfortunately, Karkat Maryam is one stubborn motherfucker, and as much as you hate to admit it, it is the only potential lead you’ve come up with.

Which is why you’re all so surprised when Kanaya shows up to a strategy meeting late, out of breath from running, holding a thin book like a trophy and panting, “It’s him! I found Vantas!”

Immediately, your tiny little conference room is in uproar. The five of you leap to see the book — an old Academy yearbook, by the looks of it. Jade and John elbow their way forward to reach her first. John snatches the yearbook straight out of Kanaya’s hands and ends up squabbling with his sister over it while you and Dave stand a few steps away, defeated. Karkat, bless him, tries to get all of you under control, but his yelling only adds to the din.

Eventually, Karkat’s scream of “QUIET, YOU NUTFUCKERS!” manages to silence you all. “Give me the book.”

John, who had been in a tug-of-war with Jade over the yearbook, looks like he plans to argue, but Karkat’s pointed glare wins him over and he reluctantly gives Karkat the book.

“Thank you,” Karkat huffs, then turns to address the rest of you. “Now that we’re not all screaming like a band of goddamn monkeys, we can actually analyze this new lead. Kanaya, will you explain?”

He hands the book over to a slightly shell-shocked Kanaya. Somehow, in the tussle, a few strands of usually-immaculate hair ended up falling into her face. For some reason, this twists an odd feeling into your stomach that you do not recognize. You do not like that at all.

“Uh, thank you,” Kanaya starts. “Sorry, one moment,” she says, and spends a minute anxiously flipping through the yearbook. The rest of you wait with bated breath. “I went back home for the weekend, and since I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I found myself looking through Mother’s old yearbooks. And I found this.”

She turns the book around so that you can all see the pages. A two-page spread, jauntily titled, “SEVENTH-YEAR MEMORIES” in wavy text, features a collage of black-and-white photos. The book itself looks decades old, so it doesn’t surprise you that there are a few stains and — are those scorch marks?

As you look closely at the photo Kanaya is pointing at, you can see two boys, around your age, smiling for a photograph. One of them looks thin and wiry, and the other looks stockier. The photo is grainy and old, so you can’t see their features very well, but the stocky one appears to have the scraggly beginnings of a beard.

The caption to the photo, written in some awful faux-handwritten font, reads “‘VANTAS AND ‘PSII’, SEVENTH-YEARS”.

You’re about to ask Kanaya if you can have the book to look closer when John, apparently having already thought of that, snatches it right out of her hand. “Wow, this must be him! But...which one?”

“John, give it back,” Jade snipes. “We all need to look at it, stop hogging it!” She tries to grab the book from him and the two start another tug-of-war, both demanding to hold it.

“Egbert, give it back to Kanaya,” Karkat tries to intervene. “Wait, Harley, no, come on, you’re supposed to be the sensible one — give it back!”

Kanaya looks deeply concerned with the events unfolding in front of her but doesn’t quite seem to know how to help. Dave, who has been watching the chaos from the other side of the room, meets your eye over the tussling and mouths, sports. You snort, and luckily you don’t think anyone can hear you over the yelling.

“John, give it back — ow!”

The squabbling suddenly ceases, leaving John holding the yearbook and looking guilty, Karkat looking beyond exasperated and Jade pressing the side of her hand to her mouth.

“You fuck, you gave me a papercut!” She whaps her brother over the head with her uninjured hand.

Everyone seems to have gone still, so you take the opportunity to snag the yearbook straight out of John’s hands. Dave crosses over to Jade to inspect her injury. You briefly wonder what the fuck that yearbook was made of, because you spot a drop of blood sliding down her wrist.

“Egbert,” Karkat says, in a strange, measured tone. “Go get your sister a bandaid, I won’t tolerate blood getting on our one lead.” As he speaks, his eyes flick frantically back and forth from Kanaya. He looks much more stressed than usual, which is really saying something, because this is Karkat you’re talking about. Perhaps he simply doesn’t handle blood well?

Interesting.

To your side, Kanaya has gone very stiff. She quickly lifts a hand to cover her mouth, as though she’s going to cough.

“Yes, John,” you say slowly. Something is happening here, and you’ll be damned if you miss it. “You should go get a bandaid. As our fearless leader here said, it would be quite disappointing to get blood on our new lead.”

“Sorry,” John says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to...I mean — y’know what, I’ll just go, then. I’ll run to the nurse’s office, Ms. Paint likes me, I’m sure she’ll give me a bandaid no questions asked.”

The rest of you watch him awkwardly shuffle out of your tiny little conference room and take off sprinting. Next to you, Kanaya’s face is getting paler and paler by the second, wearing an expression of poorly-hidden panic.

“Kanaya, is everything alright?” You ask.

“Fine! I’m fine!” Kanaya blurts, somewhat muffled from behind her hand. “I jutht, ah, don’t handle blood well, haha.”

Her strangely stunted speech and lisp is so unlike her trademark crisp enunciation. You frown in confusion.

Karkat puts a hand on her shoulder and motions for the rest of you to sit down, looking vaguely panicked. “She’s fine, it’s fine, we’re all fine, now sit the fuck down and we can —”

Whatever he was going to say is interrupted with an uncharacteristically loud sneeze from Kanaya. She looks mortified. “Tho thorry! Allergieth.” She lifts the hand that had been covering her mouth to wipe her nose, and you get a glimpse of —

“Hold on, Kanaya, are those motherfucking fangs?” Jade exclaims, shoving Dave out of the way to get a closer look.

Karkat’s eyes widen and he throws a protective arm in front of Kanaya. “No! Harley, sit back down! There’s nothing going on here, Kanaya is just —”

“That’s so fucking cool!” Jade says, ignoring him. She tries to pull Kanaya’s hand away from her mouth. “Is it like a vampire thing? Like, was it triggered by my blood?”

“Jade, really,” Dave says, trying to tug her back down. “You’ve been listening to John too much. Vampires can’t use magic, how would Kanaya be at the Academy if she was a vampire?”

Kanaya looks like a deer in the headlights. Jade managed to tug her hand away from her mouth, but her jaws look wired shut.

“Exactly!” Karkat barks, stepping in front of his sister to ward off Jade. “She’s not a vampire, and she doesn’t have fangs, and also fuck you! Sit down, Harley!”

“Vampirism isn’t the only reason why someone might have fangs,” you say helpfully. “It’s true that vampires can’t use magic, but it could be some other condition. Do you know, in the seven years that I’ve known you, Kanaya, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

Karkat looks at you like you just shot someone. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to further defend his sister, because John barges back into the room.

“So I didn’t know what sized bandaid you need,” he’s saying, completely oblivious to the powder keg that he’s just walked into, “so I got a couple — holy shit, Kanaya, are those fangs?”

The bandaids (come on John, you brought big bandaids for a papercut?) flutter to the ground, forgotten, as John unceremoniously shoves Karkat to the side to examine Kanaya. Karkat looks like he’s going to flip his shit. You catch Dave’s eye from across the tiny space and he sticks his fingers in his ears in preparation.

Thankfully, Kanaya speaks before Karkat can horrifically maul your eardrums via screaming.

“Fine, okay, I gueth it ith only fair that you all know,” she says, and then opens her mouth to reveal two long, needle-sharp fangs.

For some reason, the sight makes your face unpleasantly hot and your stomach performs several acrobatics. Luckily, nobody is paying much attention to you.

John whoops triumphantly and fist-pumps. “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! And you all tried to convince me I was just being stupid!”

Karkat looks scandalized at his sister, and opens his mouth to protest, but she waves him off.

“Really, Karkat, they detherve to know,” Kanaya says. “I, well. Firthtly, I am not a vampire.”

John’s face falls.

“Of course she’s not a fucking vampire, you idiot,” Karkat adds. “Lalonde — Dave isn’t a complete idiot, he’s right that vampires can’t use magic in the same way mages can.”

Kanaya nods. “It’th a family curthe. All Maryam women have it. I gueth it doeth encompath thome of the traditional traits of vampirithm, what with the fangth and blood? But that’th about it, I cannot turn into a bat or anything. Really, the fangth are quite thilly, and they make me talk like a Captor.”

She’s not wrong. Sollux isn’t in many of your classes, but his lisp his legendary.

“I think —” shit, has your voice always cracked like that? “I think the fangs are quite neat, Kanaya,” you choke out. What is it with you? Why are you so affected by this?

A tiny voice in the back of your head with a voice suspiciously similar to Roxy’s whispers, It’s kinda hot, and suddenly you find it very difficult to continue looking at Kanaya.

“So you’re not a vampire, but you’re basically a vampire,” John concludes. “See? I was totally right. I’ve been saying it for years, and you all thought I was crazy!”

Dave elbows him. “Because it was a crazy-ass theory, dipshit. Who the fuck would have expected that Kanaya was some fuckin’ bodice-ripper star-crossed-lovers protagonist?”

His words evoke a visceral mental image of Kanaya dressed as a cheap romance novel protagonist, corset and tastefully ragged shirt included, and suddenly you are very glad that you are sitting down.

“And you weren’t even right, John,” Jade adds. She had picked up the bandaids from the floor and put one over her cut. “She’s technically not a vampire. And you had always said that all of the Maryams are vampires, even though Karkat isn’t anything! Er...no offense, Karkat, you know what I meant.”

Karkat facepalms. “Are we done? Are we finished with our competition of ‘who can say the most stupid bullshit before Karkat yells at us’? Because sorry, assholes, the competition is over, Karkat is officially yelling at you. And dear fucking lord, can you all just sit down?”

Jade snickers but takes her seat. John, Dave and Kanaya follow suit, Kanaya looking rather embarrassed. For once, you’re glad for Karkat’s theatrics, because all of the attention is focused on him. Your brain is helpfully playing the highlight reel of various visuals of Kanaya’s fangs against her lips, and you’re quite sure that your face is bright red. Pull it together, Rose, now is not the time to be having a sexuality crisis over your roommate. Oh fuck, she’s your roommate. You’re going to go back to your room and she’s going to be there.

“Thank you, for once,” Karkat says. He picks up the yearbook. “So, Kanaya’s not a vampire, blah blah blah. We have covered this as much as we’re going to cover it and we are officially moving the fuck on, because every second I spend in confined quarters with Dave and Egbert is equivalent to a second spent in Dante’s Ninth Circle of Hell and I’d rather spend those seconds doing things that are actually useful. ”

“You say the sweetest things,” Dave deadpans.

“Rose and Harley can stay but they’re on thin fucking ice,” Karkat continues, completely ignoring Dave. He flips through the yearbook and opens it to the page with Vantas’ photograph. “So. We don’t know which of these Breakfast Club-looking motherfuckers is our guy, as Kanaya told me this is the only photo either of them are in, but this lead does give us some solid info: he definitely went to the Academy, and he was in the same graduating class as Rosa.”

“I wathn’t able to athk Mother about it, I did not athk to thee the book and I did not want to get in trouble,” Kanaya admits.

“How long do your fangs stay out for usually?” You ask, curiosity having gotten the better of you.
“They come out if there’th blood nearby, and they latht around twenty minuteth,” she answers.

Oh, good. She won’t have them when you go back to your room. That would just make things even more difficult.

“Rose! Come on!” Karkat gripes. “I said we were done talking about it!”

You put your hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Fearless leader, please continue.”
Karkat glares at you. “I mean, actually, that’s kind of all I got. It doesn’t make sense for Kanaya or I to visit home again over the weekend, not with winter break so close, so neither of us can ask Rosa about it until break.”

“Well, at the very least, we know that Vantas is a real person!” Jade pipes up. “I’d say that’s an achievement.”

Karkat actually gives her one of his rare smiles. “Thank you, Harley. I’m glad someone around here appreciates all the hard work being done.”

Dave glowers at him. Right, he still thinks Jade’s interested in Karkat or something. Ridiculous boy.

Since there’s not much else to discuss, Karkat wraps up the meeting and the six of you head out. In the few weeks that you’ve been on better terms, Karkat has gotten you hooked on his trashy romance novels, and the two of you have been bonding over hiding your dark secret from the others. You’re on your way to pick up his latest recommendation from the library, and you try to take the slowest route possible to make sure none of your friends know where you’re going. You’ve got a reputation to maintain, a reputation that does not involve devouring sleazy purple-prose novels consisting of 10% plot and 90% poorly written smut.

Also, you may be trying to avoid Kanaya for as long as possible. The idea of facing your apparent object of infatuation in a one-on-one scenario is less than appealing, to say the least. Your mind is still replaying the way she licked at her fangs before speaking and to be completely honest, you don’t trust yourself to talk to her in your current state. You might say something... sincere.

How you shudder at the thought.

(Realistically, you know that delaying your next interaction with Kanaya could just make things worse for yourself. But you are not thinking realistically, because thinking realistically is for people who have common sense, and clearly you don’t have that. People with common sense don’t do things like develop an insatiable attraction to their roommate. Also, you’re kind of a coward, but nobody needs to know.)

Luck is on your side, and you manage to secure your illicit goods in all of its oversaturated, exposed-nipple-y glory without anybody noticing. Right as you’re heading out of the library, however, you hear a familiar voice from a few shelves away.

“...I know something has been bothering you, but I’m not a fucking mind reader, okay? You’re upset with something I’m doing, but I don’t know what it is or how to fix it unless you fucking tell me!”

Oh dear. Jade sounds pissed, and unfortunately, you think you know who she’s talking to.

“I just…”

Ah, yes, your dear brother. It appears that the ticking time bomb of Dave and Jade’s relationship has finally blown. Your protective sister instincts demand that you intervene and diffuse the situation, your “I’m a good friend, actually,” instincts tell you that they would probably both be mad to know that you’re hearing this at all, and your nosy bitch instincts tell you to stay hidden where you are and wait it out. Unfortunately, it looks like your inner nosy bitch has won this battle.

Something tells you this isn’t the first time they’ve had an interaction like this.

“Well?” Jade demands. “Spit it out, then, you’ve been sitting on it for long enough.”

“Fine!” Dave snaps. “I...I know you don’t like me anymore, and I think I know whose fault it is!”

There’s some quieter talk that you can’t quite make out from your position, and then —

“You what? ”

Oh, shit. You do not envy Dave right now. From the sound of it, Jade is real fucking mad.

“You think I’m fucking cheating on you? With him? I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you’re so fucking obtuse that you can’t see the real reasons behind this! You see me hanging out with Karkat and it makes you upset and you immediately think it’s because of me when it is so clearly not! And, quite frankly, how dare you think I would do that to you. I’m a fucking person, Dave, not just a wind-up doll throwing myself at any boy who looks my way!”

Damn, you love Jade, but you are terrified of ever turning her against you. The girl is a force of nature when she wants to be.

Dave mumbles something incoherent. Whatever he says seems to placate Jade a little bit.

“And I love you too, I do, it’s just...Dave. You have to see where this is going. I can’t just be the romantic subplot to your life forever, it’s not fair to me and frankly, it’s not fair to you either. Or to...no, nevermind. I just. I care about you so much, I want what’s best for you, but I want what’s best for myself too.”

Okay, this is getting far too personal for you to eavesdrop on without feeling like a bad person. Also, everything you’ve heard is just more reason to never get on Jade’s bad side, and you’re pretty sure overhearing her private, emotional breakup would get you there. Sure, they’re in a public space, but it’s pretty late at night and the library is relatively empty in evenings. Time for you to make your graceful exit, trying extra hard to blend into the surroundings so that neither of them spot you.

Somehow, you manage to sneak out of the library and back to your room without incident. You’re so focused on getting back to your room unseen that you manage to forget your own crisis until you find yourself face-to-face with your dorm room door, the only barrier between you and... her.

It seems that G-d is watching over you tonight, because as you walk into the room, Kanaya is already asleep in bed. Score, now you don’t have to make uncomfortable small talk while you pretend that you aren’t totally ogling her in her pajamas (who the fuck wears silk pajamas?).

You turn on the lamp as quietly as possible to wash up quickly and change into your own pajamas, which are admittedly far less glamorous than Kanaya’s. She’s facing the wall, tucked away from you, which is probably a good thing, because otherwise you might end up doing something mortifying like watch her sleep. Not that you’ve ever done that before, or anything, because that’s creepy.

As you turn off the lamp, flop back onto your pillows and properly bury yourself under your veritable mountain of fuzzy knitted bullshit, your mind is still racing. To be fair, you’ve got quite a lot to think about. New leads on your team’s little mission, yes, that’s exciting, but your thoughts are a little more self-centered tonight.

Because you like girls now, apparently. This isn’t much of a surprise, if you’re honest, and you do pride yourself on your self-awareness. No, the issue is not that you like a girl, it’s that you like Kanaya. Who has like, fangs, and may or may not drink blood. You didn’t end up getting any clarification on that. Unfortunately, this does not disturb you nearly as much as it should.

More importantly, you don’t even know if she likes girls. True, she’s never shown much interest in guys, as far as you know. And you’ve seen her mother and older sister — no straight women have tattoos, piercings and haircuts like those. So maybe you have a chance?

Your thoughts of Kanaya turn out to be the perfect thing to get you to fall asleep, much to your surprise, and soon enough you’re woken up by your alarm. You groggily shake off any last remnants of your dreams — something about artfully painted nails, gentle smiles on dark-painted lips, and warmth — and get ready for the day.

It seems you’re the last of your friends to breakfast this morning. An unusual sight greets you: Dave is sitting alone, while John and Jade are huddled together at a different table. It looks like last night’s library incident ended up going the way you thought.

You sit down next to your dear brother, because he looks truly miserable and while you may be a nosy bitch, you’re still a good sister.

He doesn’t even give you a “good morning”, just says, “Jade dumped me,” as soon as you walk up. Ah. Lovely.

You plant a quick kiss to the top of his head and sit down, because he looks absolutely pitiful and sometimes you can’t help your random bouts of genuine sincerity. “I assumed such.”

He turns away from you and rests his head on his folded arms. “She said it was for the best. That she cares about me, but that she cares about herself, too, and that this is the best option for both of us.”

“And?” You say. “I think it’s fair for Jade to put herself first.”

He gives you a weak punch on the arm. “No, Rose, c’mon, you’re supposed to be my supportive sister who aids my emotional trials with ice cream and Tom Cruise movies.”

“I think you might be confusing me with Dirk,” you respond.

Dave snorts. “Don’t you mean Roxy?”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “Dirk is the king of moping pathetically in his room whenever something goes the slightest bit wrong with his social life, while Roxy is always the one trying to drag him out. Haven’t you noticed?”

That manages to pry a smile from him. Good. You have fulfilled your duty as a sister, and now you can go back to being your nosy bitch self.

“I do think she’s right, though. This is for the best. You two love each other very much, but as friends,” you say, because this is literally what you’ve been thinking since they started dating. “These past few years, it’s like you’ve been going through the motions with each other, trying to fulfill this expectation of you without any real interest.”

Damn. There goes that smile.

“Fuckin’ hell, Rose,” Dave grumbles. “Where’d all my pity go?”

You don’t get a chance to respond, because right then, someone calls to you.

“Rose! Dave, come over here!” Kanaya’s voice rings out from somewhere behind you.

You turn to see her, smiling brightly, standing next to a glowering Karkat, right next to where Jade and John are sitting. She beckons you both over.

You lug Dave over to the rest of the group to hear what Kanaya has to say. John pointedly avoids looking at you both, but Jade greets you with a cheerful grin and a, “Mornin’!”

“So, Kanaya and I were talking,” Karkat starts, not even saying hello. Classic. “And we both agreed it would be best if you all were to come spend winter break with us. At our house.”

“Mother has always encouraged us to invite friends over for break,” Kanaya adds quickly. “We leave to go skiing partway through, but the first week should be perfect. We have plenty of extra rooms, and we’ll be able to continue our investigation.”

“I think that sounds great, guys,” Jade says. She looks awfully chipper for someone who just dumped her three-year boyfriend.

John is still busy giving you and Dave the stinkeye, but with a harsh nudge from Jade he says, “Yeah, that sounds like fun, thanks guys.”

“Sure,” Dave says. “We don’t have any other plans. Once we leave school I can call up Mom to tell her the new plans, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“That’s settled, then,” Kanaya says happily. “I’m sure Mother will be so excited to host you all!”

Karkat mutters something darkly and then drags her away, officially ending the conversation.

Dave turns to head back to his previous seat, but Jade grabs his arm. She elbows John until he moves to make room on the bench. “Where are you going, silly? Sit with us!”

Dave looks rather shell-shocked, but you take up her offer and sit between her and John. “Thank you, Jade. And good morning to you both.”

After a few minutes of continued coldness from John (understandable — you’d be pretty hostile if someone spent three years dragging Dave through an unsatisfying relationship only for him to unceremoniously dump them in a climax of poor communication and failed chemistry), any frostiness melts away in the giddiness of your exciting new holiday plans. The delicious breakfast helps as well.

By the end of the meal, it’s as though nothing has changed. John ends up snorting orange juice up his nose and Dave has to give him a few hard thumps on the back to keep him from choking while you and Jade laugh so hard that Jade ends up choking on her pancake and you have to help her. Jade helps you with your astronomy homework, which Dave then spills coffee all over, and you have to enlist John to dry out your paper (he’s always been the best with spells that relate to the elements).

Teen drama is really such bullshit. You’re glad that it hasn’t broken up your friends, and that when you say “friends” your brain now automatically include Karkat and Kanaya.

You’re definitely excited for break.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Lalonde, and let it be known that you look absolutely fucking fabulous.

The few days leading up to winter break passed in an excited blur, and before you knew it, you, Jade, Rose and John were gaping at the extravagant building known as the Maryam Estate, bags in hand. Now, as the Mage’s Heir, you’ve been to your fair share of fancy-schmancy Old Families estates, but you had to admit: the Maryams have style.

The four of you were almost too intimidated to walk up to the door, but you made it through the iron-wrought gates (emblazoned with the Maryam family crest, which really just looks like an elaborate, deep green Virgo sign to you) and John was beyond excited to bang that massive door knocker.

Your gracious hosts greeted you at the door, Kanaya with a bright smile and Karkat with a disinterested grumble. Karkat warns you that, while Rosa is far too busy working to come out to see you all, his older siblings Porrim and Kankri might be popping in and out. You’d heard enough about Porrim to know that she probably wouldn’t give a fuck about any of you or anything that you get up to, but you were a little worried about Kankri from all of Karkat’s whining about him. Luckily, Kanaya assured you all that her dear older brother spends most of his time in the room.

Jade had smiled wickedly at the prospect of minimal adult supervision, and, well. Three hours later, here you all are.

“Here” meaning sprawled out in front of the massive, extravagant fireplace in the Maryams’ living room.

Your hosts had led you to the many guest rooms to put your bags away. Kanaya had tried to lead you all on a tour of the enormous estate, but it all started going downhill once you reached the fancy wine cellar. Jade had let out a hoot and swooped up a few bottles of something-or-other (it all tastes the same to you, the only alcohol you can ever recognize by taste is Manischewitz). Karkat had squawked in protest and Kanaya had let out some anxious titters, but none of you are foolish enough to challenge Jade when she sets her mind to something.

Which leads you to here, pleasantly buzzed in front of the fireplace, surrounded by bowls of snacks, and very, very, very warm.

Some of that warmth is probably from your oh-so-sexy sweater, a hot knitted mess in various horrible shades of green that you had found in Karkat’s closet. Granted, you’re hot shit and you always look fly as hell, but this sweater is really doing it for you.

You’re all wearing something equally hot as fuck. Your quaint little tour was interrupted once you reached Karkat’s room — John had let out an ear splitting screech and ran into the closet to pull out a truly horrific frilly tailcoat, which prompted an outbreak of tipsy giggles and then an impromptu dress-up party.

Jade is currently rocking that disgusting tailcoat and matching vest, John spent far too long choking in a corset from one of Kanaya’s fancy dresses which now hangs weirdly from his torso, unlaced (he has to pick it up and carry it whenever he walks, which is hilarious), Karkat tried to be grouchy about the whole thing but couldn’t resist when Jade pounced on him with a fancy fringe shawl and is now partially wrapped in it like a mummy, Kanaya has four of his ties loosely wrapped around her neck and her glittery fancy opera gloves on, and Rose is drowning in one of Karkat’s fancy blazers.

You have a feeling that Karkat planned for the week to be non-stop strategy meetings, but booze and silly outfits put a screeching halt to that. He went along with it, sure, but he looked even grumpier than usual for a bit. Then, finally, John stuck two pretzels in his mouth like tusks and said “Look! I’m Kanaya! Hurr durr durr, Karkat, you are doing thomething very unwithe! Mother thaid this, Mother thaid that!” and Karkat let out the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard from him, finally loosening up.

He’s laying on one of the couches with his head in Kanaya’s lap, looking the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. True, some of that is probably due to the ruddy alcohol flush in his face, but he actually looks happy, for once. Kanaya is absentmindedly combing through his hair, and every time you look too long at him, your fingers twitch, like your hands want to replace hers.

The sight of his genuine smile makes you feel...something.

You don’t think you like that “something” very much.

The two of you haven’t talked about what you mentally refer to as, “the Bro Incident”, not since the night it went down. Which is great, because it means you don’t have to talk about all the things he said, specifically the ones related to your supposed crush on your roommate. But it’s also terrible, because it means you haven’t talked about all the things he said, specifically the ones related to your supposed crush on your roommate. Talking it out might actually bring some clarity to the situation. Naturally, however, you’d rather die than tell Karkat you have a crush on him and talk it out — not that you do! You don’t!

Right?

That’s the issue, really. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Obviously, you’re also thinking about all the other things Bro said, because how could you not, but. Those other things are more or less things you’ve heard before, whether you heard it from him in person or the version of him that lives in the back of your mind. Those other things are terrible and they haunt you every day, but they’re things that you’ve dealt with before. You know that, if you really needed help in dealing with them, you could reach out to Rose, or Dirk, or Roxy.

But you can’t tell any of them about how you may or may not have a crush on your roommate-slash-worst-enemy-turned-friend. You know that they wouldn’t care — hell, you’re pretty sure Rose has it bad for Kanaya, Roxy has always shown interest in girls and boys, and Dirk is. Well, he’s Dirk, and he’s been desperately in love with Jake for years now. (At least Bro more or less confirmed that they’re actually dating now, although you would’ve been much happier hearing it from your brother himself as opposed to him .)

You know that your friends would support you as well — Jade made it clear from the beginning of your doomed relationship that she likes everyone, and although John may be dense as all fuck, he’s a fiercely loyal friend who would never hurt you on purpose.

It’s not your friends and family that’s the issue — it’s just you, being self-destructive and stupid as always. A small, defiant voice in your head is shouting, Isn’t it bad enough that you were born with the wrong body? You have to go like another boy now too?

So, you don’t. You don’t have a crush on Karkat, because you just can’t. You’re the hero, the Chosen One. You beat the baddie and get the girl at the end, right?

But wasn’t that your problem with Jade? That you kept treating her like your storybook love interest? Jade is far more capable than you at basically everything, of course she got tired of constantly stepping aside for you. Of course you’re better at being friends, and letting her have her own story instead of waiting on yours.

Fuck. You wish you could snap your fingers and make everything simple and easy. This teen drama bullshit is much more fun in the movies.

After raiding Karkat and Kanaya’s closets, Rose wryly suggested a fashion show for all of your spectacular outfits. You had all settled eagerly on the couches in front of the fireplace, various bottles in hand, and waited for a few minutes after Kanaya decided to round up some snacks for the “show”.

Unfortunately, John went first down the “runway”, and he collapsed into giggles almost immediately, sliding to the floor in front of the fireplace. He refused to move from his puddle on the carpet, effectively blocking the “catwalk”. Jade fulfilled her sisterly duty and made an attempt to get him up, but apparently her strength was no match for the laziness of a tipsy Egbert. She ended up sinking down to the ground with him with an eerily similar-sounding gigglefit.

The two of them are still down there, John laying propped up on his elbows and Jade resting her head on his stomach. Every time John gets really into whatever he’s talking about, he tries to use hand gestures, completely forgetting his position and accidentally slamming his torso onto the ground without the support of his arms. It’s pretty hilarious.

You had a brief pretzel war with the two of them, a truly vicious battle of projectile pretzels thrown back and forth. You’re beyond grateful that Jade doesn’t seem to harbor any ill feelings towards you, both because she’s a kickass friend and because you don’t think you would’ve survived the pretzel war if she was actually out to get you. But then Karkat yelled at you for getting pretzels everywhere, so you slid to the floor to pick them up and feed them to an increasingly red-faced John. Getting back up on the couch next to Rose seemed like a truly monumental task, so you stayed on the ground, leaning your back against her legs.

After the fashion show disaster, the six of you have just been shooting the shit, eating snacks, and trying to keep John from drinking any more. The kid’s an idiot and a lightweight to boot, you’ve all agreed that it’s best if he sticks to water and juice for the rest of the night.

Until Rose speaks, with that edge in her voice that you know means she’s plotting something ridiculous and probably humiliating.

“So, friends,” she says. She’s been avoiding drinking, which you’re proud of. Both Mom and Roxy have struggled with it in the past, so it’s safest for Rose to avoid it altogether. “It appears that we have fulfilled two of the great teen sleepover cliches: sneaking into the liquor stash, and dress-up. I propose that, since we’re already playing into stereotypes, we might as well engage in another teen sleepover cliche.”

“Yes?” Kanaya says, at the same time that Karkat says, “Don’t leave us hanging, Lalonde, what’s your proposal?”

You turn around to face Rose, and she fixes you with her best evil glare. Oh fuck.

“Because what is a silly teen sleepover, really, without a game of truth-or-dare?” Rose finishes.

Oh fuck. Rose is obsessed with with games like truth-or-dare, never have I ever, or basically any game that requires the participants to spill their deepest secrets. Because Rose is a nosy bitch who enjoys frolicking in the potential blackmail material of her peers. She’d never actually blackmail any of you, of course, but you’re not sure if this is out of moral righteousness or because you all have too much blackmail information on her.

Unfortunately, the rest of your friends don’t seem to understand the dangers of playing truth-or-dare with Rose Lalonde, and your groan of protest is quickly drowned out by a raucous chorus of “Sure!”’s (or, in John’s case, an excited “YEAHHHHHHH!”)

Rose turns to John and Jade on the floor. “Well, John, since you seem so excited about it, how would you like to go first?”

John fistpumps far too enthusiastically and accidentally drops himself to the floor again. Jade laughs, sits up, and pulls him back up.

“Yeah!” He says, then raises a hand to whap his sister in the head. “Jade! Truth or dare!”

Jade seems completely unphased by his hit, which is impressive. You’ve been on the receiving end of Enthusiastic Egbert Whaps. John doesn’t know his own strength.

“Uh,” Jade says, thinking. “I choose...dare!”

John lets out another deceptively cute giggle. How can a six foot tall manchild in a family of the buffest people you’ve ever met giggle like a six-year-old? The world may never know.

“Okay,” he says. “I dare you to talk in an accent. An...an Australian accent. For the rest of the game.”

You let out a relieved sigh. Okay, things are looking pretty tame so far. You were kinda worried that Rose would go first, and go straight into making things Weird™. As long as you can keep things tame, and keep anyone from picking Rose, you just might survive this game.

Jade cracks a grin. “Aye, mate, that sounds like a great idea!”

Karkat looks horrified. “Oh, fuck, please, no — Harley, that accent is terrible, if I have to listen to you talk like that, my ears might actually implode.”

Jade leans over to give him a gentle shove. “C’mon, mate, don’t be actin’ like that! It’s a right fun dare, innit?”

You love Jade and you hate agreeing with Karkat, but you have to admit: her Australian accent is awful. You don’t think she even knows any Australians.

Jade slaps her hands together. “Aight then, who shall I pick? Hm...Karkat! As payment for your rudeness, it is your turn! Truth or dare?”

Karkat looks resigned to his fate. “Fine. Dare. Hit me, Harley, I can take it.”

“I dare you to…” Jade pauses, thinking. “I dare you to sit on John’s lap.”

Okay, that’s definitely going to be funny as fuck. Maybe this game isn’t such a bad idea.

Karkat huffs, but reluctantly rises from his position on the couch.

John shoves Jade off of himself and sits up with his arms wide open. “I’m all ready for you!”

The rest of you laugh as Karkat sits down with the same kind of slow full-body grimace as someone sitting down in an electric chair. He glares at all of you with pure, restrained fury, then squawks in alarm when John happily wraps his arms around Karkat and nuzzles into his shoulder.

“You smell good,” John mumbles into Karkat’s frilly shawl wrap.

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat says, trying to wriggle out of his grip. “Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”

Kanaya is laughing the hardest out of all of you. “Oh, Karkat,” she says between laughs. “It’s just like when you were small! Remember how you would bother Kankri until he would let you sit on his lap and see what he was doing?”

Karkat makes a valiant effort to reach out and hit Kanaya or something, but John’s arms trap him. “Shut up! Fuck you, I was eleven!”

Next to you, Rose lets out the loudest, most un-Rose-like guffaw that you’ve ever heard, loud enough to drown out everyone else’s laughter. “Oh, please, please,” she says. Holy shit, she’s wiping tears from her eyes. “We must move on, if we spend any more time on this I won’t have any laughter left.”

“Thank you, for once, Rose,” Karkat snaps, pointedly looking away from the rest of you. “I do believe it’s my turn, yes? Time to make the rest of you fucks suffer. Kanaya, truth or dare?”

Kanaya is still recovering from her laughter but manages to answer. “Er, we’ve done a few dares now, how about truth?”

Karkat gives her an evil grin to rival Rose’s. Oh fuck, you were banking on Rose taking this game from Cool Chill Times to Weirdly Charged Times, you didn’t even consider that Karkat might do it for her.

“Alright then,” he says. “Kanaya. You have to answer this honestly. Who’s the hottest person in this circle?”

Damn. He went there. Behind you, you can feel Rose go stiff.

John reaches both arms up and lays back dramatically, which jostles Karkat. “Oh, Miss Maryam! You needn’t answer, for we all know it’s me!”

Kanaya looks like Karkat pointed a loaded gun at her. “Haha,” she says. You don’t think you’ve ever heard someone actually say “ha ha” in lieu of actual laughter. “Yes. Of-of course. John. My apologies. I. I must admit. My-my answer, that is, I must admit that my answer would be. It would have to be. Ah.”

You, Karkat, and Jade are all watching her avidly. You can’t see Rose, but from how tense she feels, you’re sure that she’s watching Kanaya stumble over her words as well. John, of course, is still laid out on the floor in the most dramatic position he could think of.

“I. I suppose, then,” Kanaya stutters. “I suppose my answer would. My answer would be…” She trails off, breathing out her answer so quietly that none of you can hear.

Karkat, the sick fuck, seems to be enjoying watching his sister flounder. “Yes? What was that, Kanaya? Your answer?”

“Rose,” Kanaya squeaks. She’s paler than a corpse and just as stiff, staring straight ahead, presumably at Rose.

Rose, who grabs onto your shoulder in a vice grip.

Karkat lets out a triumphant, “Ha!” Next to him, Jade puts a hand out, and the two high five. Wait, was there some kind of conspiracy brewing between them? A weird, fucked up, let’s-cut-the-romantic-tension-and-get-Rose-and-Kanaya-to-kiss-already conspiracy? Damn. Those two are fucking brutal.

You wish you were in on it with them. You could’ve helped! You know Rose pretty well, right?

“Thank you, Kanaya,” Karkat says smoothly, settling back into his seat on John’s legs. “I believe it’s your turn now, sister dear.”

Kanaya seems to snap out of her mortified stupor and blinks. “Ah. Yes. My turn.” She turns to you. “Dave. Truth or dare.”

She didn’t really phrase it as a question, but, given the fact that she basically just confessed her attraction to your fucking sister, you’ll let it slide.

“Truth me up, baby,” you say. “Let’s get a fuckin’ truth party goin’. Throwin’ truths around like they’re single dollar bills and we’re at the world’s greatest strip club.”

“Dave,” Jade says, nudging you. “You’ve never been to a strip club.”

“Okay, well,” Kanaya says, cutting off your biting retort. “A truth. Yes. Hm. How about...who was your first kiss?”

Jade immediately bursts out laughing, while you cringe internally. She knows the answer — how could you not have told her — but nobody else does, and it’s probably not the answer that Kanaya’s expecting. You don’t want to embarrass them.

“Are you sure you’re prepared to hear this prime Dave Lalonde gossip?” You ask teasingly. “Y’all can’t go sell me out to the tabloids, okay?”

Jade stops laughing long enough to say, “Just tell them, Dave, I can’t wait to see their reactions, holy shit.”

“It was John,” you say confidently.

Kanaya’s jaw literally drops. Jade is laughing so hard that she’s crying.

John sits up really fast, almost knocking Karkat over. “Wait, what? I don’t — uh, Dave, real funny, haha, you can tell us the truth now!”

You shrug. “‘Tis the truth, my dear friend. I guess you don’t remember, you were completely fucking wasted — not that I, like, took advantage of you or anything, you were actually the one who initiated it.”

John is gaping at you. Fuck. This was a bad idea, you really thought he remembered and just avoided talking about it because he’s John.

“It was real spur-of-the-moment, no-strings-attached, bro, don’t worry about it,” you say quickly. “You didn’t mean anything by it, I knew that, and it’s fine.”

“Yeah, c’mon, John,” Jade says, wiping her eyes. “It’s all cool, friends kiss all the time. Hell, I’ve kissed Dave like, way more than you, and he and I are still friends.”

John swats her. “Gross! I didn’t need to know that.” He seems a bit less stunned, a bit more relaxed. Thank fucking G-d, you were kind of worried for a hot second that you’d lost your best bro.

He still looks kind of troubled, but you’ll deal with that at another time. You’re sure that the two of you will need to talk about this again, just to smooth everything out, but that should probably happen when John isn’t tipsier than an estranged aunt at a bar mitzvah.

Karkat, who had been watching this whole exchange with the expression of someone six episodes deep into a shitty Netflix drama that has finally thrown a poorly-written plot twist at him, decides that it has been too long since he’s spoken. “Are we done? Is your shitty soap opera episode over yet? Can we move on, please?”

Jade gives him a friendly stop-being-rude shove, except Jade is a fucking beast and doesn’t know her own strength and ends up knocking him off of John’s lap. “Oops. Sorry.”

You’re kind of surprised that Rose hasn’t said anything through all of this, but you guess she might still be reeling from Kanaya’s little confession.

“Okay,” you say, trying to move on from the awkwardness. “My turn to ask someone, right?”

You get some nods in return.

“Rosie!” You say, turning around to slap her leg. It seems to snap her back into the moment. “Truth or dare?”

She takes a moment to think. “I suppose I’ll go for dare, then, since we’ve been on a bit of a truth binge.”

You give her your best Lalondian evil grin, taught to you by years of watching your frankly terrifying sisters pull it on other people. “I dare you to do your best imitation of someone in this room.”

Rose is a gal of many talents, you’ll admit, but she can’t act for shit. This is going to be fucking hilarious.

“Alright then,” Rose says. “As you wish.”

You all watch her slouch back onto the couch with her legs spread in the most un-Rose-like position possible. She pulls off Karkat’s blazer and tugs at her shirt a bit, pulling it up a little to show a sliver of stomach. Oh, damn, she’s really going for it, huh? Wonder who she’s imitating.

“Dunno if y’all are even prepared for the sheer awesomeness of my imitation, but here ya go,” Rose drawls. It takes you a moment to recognize who she’s trying to mimic, and then — “The full Dave Lalonde experience, as I like to call it. I know, I know, how can y’all deal with two Daves when you can barely handle the hotness of one?”

You gape at her. How the fuck is she doing that, it literally sounds like your voice. It’s absolutely terrifying. “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

To your side, Jade and John are both trying to stifle their giggles. Karkat looks just as horrified as you, and Kanaya looks...deeply conflicted. Aw, fuck, you don’t wanna steal Rose’s girl. It’s pretty flattering that she thinks Rose is hot when she’s pretending to be you, though.

“Are you pleased with my imitation?” Rose asks innocently. “I can continue, of course, if you like, but I believe that that should suffice.”

“Jesus fuck, please stop,” you say. “That was freaky as fuck. And you’re right, I don’t think these plebs can handle the raw power of double Daves.”

Rose grins smugly and returns to her normal prim, snooty sitting position. “I believe it is my turn now, yes?”

Karkat breaks out of his horrified shock with a round of applause. “That was fucking beautiful, Rose. I didn’t think that Dave’s full assholery could ever be properly captured but you did it, Rose, you did it.”

You give a small bow. “Thanks, I’m glad you appreciate my awesomeness even when Rose is the one wearing it.”

“Thank you, Karkat, I do try,” Rose says. “And, as it is my turn now to ask, I ask you, Karkat: truth or dare?”

Karkat makes the wise choice and decides to not give Rose Lalonde an engraved invitation into his deepest, darkest secrets. “Dare.”

Rose smiles like a fucking wolf and oh boy, you do not envy Karkat right now. Maybe truth would have been the safer option.

“Alright then,” Rose says. “A dare. I dare you to kiss everyone in this circle, Kanaya not included, of course. It doesn’t have to be a kiss on the lips, but.”

She leaves it there, that little “but,” implying that while Karkat doesn’t actually have to kiss everyone on the lips, he’s a coward if he doesn’t.

Fucking hell, Rose is vicious.

You’re almost too busy feeling bad for Karkat to realize the full gravity of the situation, but it hits you anyway: Karkat has to kiss everyone in the circle. You’re in the circle. Ergo, Karkat has to kiss you.

Fuck.

Karkat, ever the stubborn, proud asshole, flushes even darker but doesn’t protest. “Fine. Fine! I can take whatever you dish out, Rose.”

With that, he stands up, stomps over to your truly evil sister, who is sitting very smug and proud of herself, and plants a kiss on her forehead. Yeah, it’s probably best if he doesn’t go smooching up his sister’s crush.

Next up, apparently, is John, who looks thoroughly bewildered by this change of events. Karkat pulls him to his feet and grabs his shoulders, which looks really fucking funny, actually, because John is like a foot taller than him. John looks panicky when Karkat leans in close, but Karkat just whispers something to him — asking permission, probably. He’d do that. A forehead kiss is one thing, but there’s nothing nice about a surprise snog.

John seems to consider for a moment, but you can see the second he decides eh, what the hell, and nods. Good on you, John. Sexuality isn’t real anyway. Right?

Karkat scrunches up his face real tight, grabs John by the face and kisses him. They’re both wearing expressions like they’re kissing something so cold that it burns, like it’s causing them physical pain to kiss each other. It’s fucking hilarious, and you clap. Jade joins in, whooping.

Karkat breaks the kiss after a few seconds, looking absolutely furious, and roughly shoves John off of him. “Two down, Rose! If you thought I wasn’t going to go through with it then you’re fucking wrong!”

He then moves to pull Jade up, but she shoves him off, stands up, and plants a kiss on his mouth.

You, uh. You’re not jealous.

You’ve kissed Jade plenty of times, and you’re actually quite alright with just being friends, so why does it make your stomach feel weird to see her kiss Karkat? She cleared up the whole cheating-on-you-with-him thing quite well, and to be completely honest, you’re pretty sure you’re not attracted to her romantically, so why are you feeling this way?

A very small, quiet voice in your head suggests that maybe you aren’t jealous of Karkat for kissing Jade, that maybe your jealousy is the other way around.

You tell that little voice to shut the fuck up.

Karkat pulls away from her with all the dramatic fury he can muster and pumps two fists in the air. “One more, Rose! One fucking more!”

Rose offers a light golf clap.

He turns to you, and all of the righteous anger drains from his face, replaced with apprehension and a little bit of panic. As you stand up, working through your own internal panic, he seems to keep that fear under control and leans in closer.

“Dave,” he whispers. His breath tickles your ear, down your neck. You probably turn a few shades darker red. “Is this — I don’t have to, you know, it’s okay if you don’t want me to. Not that you would want me to! Just —”

You take off your shades and put a hand on his shoulder to quiet him. “Uh, no, it’s okay. You — you can.” Fuck, why’d you say that, now he’s actually going to fucking kiss you! What the fuck is wrong with you? Shit, shit, he’s leaning closer, and —

His lips meet yours. You feel contact on the side of your face, and then his hand is resting on your jaw. The hand that had been resting on his shoulder is now on the nape of his neck, and you don’t remember moving it there, but maybe that doesn’t matter.

You realize that your eyes are still open, which is pretty rude and also creepy. He’s got such long eyelashes. Looking at them makes your stomach go in loop-de-loops, so you close your eyes.

Karkat is an anxious person, and you’ve been watching him chew at his nails and lips for years, but it’s so strange to feel it firsthand. His lips aren’t Nicholas Sparks soft, they’re rough and torn in places and you can feel every little uneven patch, every crack.

It only lasts a few seconds, just a chaste press of lips on lips to fulfill a dare. Nothing more. Right?

When he pulls away, you make an effort to not to go all goo-goo-eyes, because you don’t have your shades to hide it. Karkat, however, is notoriously terrible at hiding his emotions, and when he pulls away you can see his eyes all dreamy and fuck.

Fuck.

The soft, hazy bubble of cliches and quiet pops when Jade lets out an unhelpful wolf whistle. You didn’t even know she knows how to whistle. Apparently, she can.

“Damn!” Jade whoops. She looks awfully cheerful for someone who just watched her ex kiss the guy that said ex accused her of cheating with.

Karkat pushes you away and turns away from you, arms crossed. “There you go, Rose! I fulfilled your stupid dare! Now, as your leader, I have decided that this pointless game is over and we should all go to bed. Also, I’m pretty sure John’s asleep, Harley, can you get that?”

Your mind is still racing, replaying those precious few seconds over and over again, but somehow while you’re zoning out, everyone agrees that they’re too tired to trek up to the guest rooms and instead Kanaya digs out some pillows and blankets to sleep in front of the fire.

The girls decide that they need to fulfill one last sleepover cliche, gossiping late into the night #noboysallowed (Jade’s words, not yours), so they station themselves behind one of the couches. You and Karkat drag a mostly-asleep John over to your designated area. Of course, John falls asleep sprawled out, taking up as much space as possible, leaving you and Karkat to squeeze into the tiny patch of blankets left over.

“Hey,” he whispers to you once you get settles. You can just barely see the warm glow of the fire reflected on his skin. “I’m sorry about the dare, I know you didn’t want to do it and you just said it to make me feel better. I got carried away with the game and it was shitty of me, I’m sorry.”

“What?” You whisper back. Damn, it’s hard to have a proper conversation when you’re whispering. “Dude, what are you talking about? I’m a big boy, I know how to say no when I don’t want something. Not that I — uh, not that I wanted to kiss you, I just. Uh.”

You’ve both turned to face each other. You’re very, very close to his face, close enough to make out the super light freckles dusted across his nose. Huh. Guess you’ve never gotten close enough to spot them before.

Karkat looks relieved. “Oh. Thank you, then, for going along with it.”

You both lay there in silence, awkwardly facing each other. Behind you, John snuffles in his sleep.

Karkat breaks the silence, finally. “Hey — this is totally random, but. Uh. I’ve been wondering this since our first year, actually, but I was too busy hating you to ask, I guess? But since we have a truce now, I figured I could ask you about it, if that’s okay.”

“Dude, I don’t even know what you’re going to ask me,” you respond.

Karkat looks nervous. ‘Right, right, of course. Uh. This may sound like total bullshit nonsense, but here I go, I guess. Were you —- when you and Dirk were kids, did you ever go shopping together? Uh, in a Goodwill, more specifically?”

He wasn’t joking about his question being random, but you think you might know what he’s getting at. Your early memories are hazy, both from forgetfulness and an unconscious self-preservation instinct to block out trauma, but you could never forget that day. Looking at Karkat now, all of the confusion and questions from that day are answered, finally. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place.

“I — yeah,” you say. “I think I know what you’re talking about. It was you, wasn’t it? You and your brother?”

Fuck, you must’ve been what, ten? Dirk couldn’t have been older than thirteen. The two of you went to Goodwill whenever you managed to scrounge up enough stray bills from around the apartment. You were both growing so much that you constantly needed new clothes, and Bro didn’t ask any questions when Dirk said that it was just cheaper to buy you boys’ clothes instead of girls’.

It was the first incident you had with your magic, the first sign that you might be the mage of prophecy, the Greatest Mage.

You and Dirk split up in the store, because he needed new sneakers while you needed new pants, and there was some other kid looking for pants too. A scrawny, dark-haired kid, who was probably around your age but looked younger. You looked too young, too.

The scrawny kid kept getting in your space, so of course you got into an argument. And then he shoved you, and you shoved him back, and then your magic made it all break.

In the aftermath, as you and Dirk ran from the scene, you saw that scrawny kid huddled over another boy laid out on the ground. Another dark-haired boy, a boy who looked similar enough that he must have been the kid’s brother.

In the years that you’ve known Karkat, you’ve wondered if it was him. You never asked, though, because it seemed too personal for enemies to talk about, and because part of you already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Karkat breathes. It fans out over your nose, a soft gust of breath. “Me and Kankri. He was taking me out to buy new pants, my old ones were too small.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It was my fault, my magic, I know it hurt your brother. I’m sorry, I couldn’t control it.”

“What?” Karkat says. “Of course it wasn’t your fault, you were like, ten. Nobody can control their magic at that age. You don’t need to apologize.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. The silence seeps back in, and you spend it nervously flicking around Karkat’s face, watching for any sign of anger at your confession. It never comes; all you see is tired warmth.

When you wake up the next morning, you’re surprised to find yourself hugging Karkat to your chest. You’re too full of that sleepy content to worry, because from the sound of it, the rest of your friends are in the kitchen, far from you. He’s still asleep, so you allow yourself to just enjoy the physical contact. He nuzzles even closer to you and you melt a little bit.

So maybe you do like him. But that doesn’t really mean anything; quite frankly, you’re impressed that you’ve managed to get this far at all. You’ve gone from shouting matches to tentative friends, and you're not willing to risk all of that progress just to get another chance to kiss him, however tempting that may be. So for now, you’ll pretend to be asleep so you can get away with cuddling him. Great plan, Dave.

You stay like that for awhile, until you hear footsteps approaching and regretfully untangle yourself to save what little dignity you have left. By the time Kanaya comes into view, you and Karkat are a respectful distance from each other, thank you very much.

The side of your body that had been pressed against him is cold, but it’s almost worth it when he finally wakes up, looks at you with a tired, peaceful expression, and mumbles, “Morning,” in a scratchy voice.

Chapter Text

You are now Karkat Vantas, seven years before you invite four dumbfucks to your house for Christmas break and about a month before you start going by Maryam. You are ten years old, and as far as you’re concerned, you’re the most badass ten-year-old who has ever lived. Your big brother Kankri tells you to watch your language whenever you say this, so naturally you try to say it as much as possible.

The two of you are going on a rare trip to Goodwill, and it’s close enough to your birthday that Kankri slips you a few extra crumpled bills. Your foster parents gave you money for your trip, but you’ve been growing real fast and it’s probably not enough to pay for everything you need. Kankri’s thirteen, so he’s really smart, so he gives you some of his babysitting money because he knows that you need it.

Kankri’s also smart enough to keep all of the magic a secret. It’s good that he’s the older brother and not you, because you would’ve given it away by now. Not that you’d ever tell him that — he bosses you around enough already, you don’t need to encourage more. That’s also why you lied about why you started reading more big-kid books; you told him it was because you wanted to know more big words, which is sorta true, but it was mostly because he’s always reading and you want to be smart like him.

The fancy words are fun though. Words like adhere and procure and tantalizing , although that last one was from a book that you didn’t end up finishing because there was too much kissing going on and you were worried that Kankri would get mad at you. Or worse: he’d try to sit you down and talk about gross sex stuff like one of your foster dads did that one time. You two don’t need a dad.

You’ve been trying to use your vocabulary — a vocabulary that, you would say, is pretty fuckdamn impressive for a ten-year-old, thank you very much — in your own writing. Your English teacher says that your writing is impressive but that your “word choice, though vivid, is often misplaced,” whatever the shit that means. It doesn’t matter though, because your bonus points earned on all of your vocab quizzes made up for all the points you lost from not using your inside voice. Kankri’s always been really good at school stuff, so you have to be really good too.

The kids at school don’t like you very much, but you don’t care because they’re all too stupid for you anyway. Plus, it’s only ever a matter of time until you move again. You’ve never told Kankri about this, because he’d just tell you off, but you wish you had magic like him. That way, you could scare away the stupid kids before they hit you and send you home with bruises that make your foster parents nervous. You know it’s super important to keep the magic a secret because it would scare the adults, too, and then they might separate you from your brother, but still. Kankri started making little things float and stuff when he was about your age, so you hope you’ll be able to do it soon too.

If you can scare kids off before they try to hit you, maybe then people will stop acting like their meanness is your fault. It’s always, “Keep your head down, Karkat,” “Stop provoking them, Karkat,” and “Maybe if you avoided them, they wouldn’t hurt you,” when really people should be telling those other kids, “Hey, maybe you shouldn’t hit kids because they’re loud, or because they’re right, or because they wear a weird necklace that’s none of your business.”

Your brother is pretty smart about some things, but he’s also a real shitass about people. He just wants you to keep your nose in a book and stay under the radar, and he doesn’t listen when you say you don’t know how. It’s not your fault that you’re loud, or that other kids are stupid.

And they really shouldn’t be asking about your necklace, so it’s totally fair for you to yell at them about it. Apparently it was your dad’s, a clunky chain with an iron cancer symbol. When you were little, you fantasized about finding your dad with it, that someday some man would see you wearing it and hug you and that that man would be him, your father, so you wore it every day, just in case. Now that you’re older, though, you know that it’s never going to happen, and you don’t even want your dad anyway.

But you still wear it every day. You don’t even know why at this point, but you do, and Kankri knows better than to talk about it, even when the kids at school make fun of you for it.

When you reach Goodwill, Kankri sends you off with an instruction to find yourself new pants (yours are starting to show your ankles) and heads off to look for a new sweater. You think he’s really weird for buying a sweater in June, but he ignores your comments.

It’s not your first time alone in a thrift store, so the odd looks you get don’t really bother you. Concerned adults, confused as to why you and your brother are unaccompanied by more adults. They don’t know that you’re the most badass ten-year-old who’s ever lived, though, so you get it. They don’t know that you can take care of yourself.

However, it is pretty weird for you to see other kids without parents. Two other boys walk in while you’re scouring the kids’ section for pants that are cool enough for you, two boys who must also be brothers. The older one looks about Kankri’s age, and he’s wearing these stupid-looking pointy sunglasses. The younger one must be around your age, even though he’s taller than you, the git. He’s wearing sunglasses too, but they’re normal ones, not silly pointy ones. Both of their sunglasses have a few thin cracks running through the lenses like veins.

They both look like the kind of assfucks who would beat you up at school. You decide to ignore them, turn your nose up, and continue your search. If you find everything you need fast enough, you might have enough time to examine the books on display and see if any of them are in your price range.

That younger kid with the round shades may be taller than you, but he’s still small enough to be shopping in the kids’ section, so unfortunately that means he ends up next to you. This close, you can see that his glasses keep slipping down his nose, revealing a black eye. Huh, maybe he isn’t quite like the kids at school. He’s still butting into your space, though, so he’s still a dick.

Admittedly, you do have a history of going off on people, and this Goodwill probably isn’t the best place to cuss this shitnut out, so you just focus on ignoring him and finding some pants so you can move on. But he really has no concept of personal space and keeps poking you with his bony elbows, elbows dotted in faded bruises like fingerprints, like someone was yanking him around by the arm. You know the feeling.

The next time he invades your space, reaching in front of you to grab at a pair of pants instead of just walking around you like a normal person, you snap, “Hey! Shove off!”

The kid just takes his hand back and shrugs. “Sorry, bro. My bad.”

You turn away from him, satisfied, and concentrate on the pants again. If you’re lucky, you might be able to find a new pair of jeans in your size. Your old ones don’t even reach your ankles.

Your search is interrupted when the kid bumps into you in a way that has to be on purpose as he walks by behind you, making you drop the pair of jeans in surprise. You whirl around and hiss, “Hey!”

His face twitches at your voice but stays completely expressionless. It’s infuriating. He lifts his arms up in mock surrender, and you spot more bruises near his wrists. “‘S my fault, dude, sorry.”

You frown but shake it off. You can almost hear Kankri’s voice in your head, telling you that it’s not worth it to cause a scene. Instead, you brush off any thoughts of that obnoxious shades-wearing douchebutt, pick up your jeans, and head over to the changing room.

Again, however, you find yourself interrupted when you trip over something and go crashing to the floor. You pick yourself up quickly and glance around to make sure nobody saw your clumsiness. None of the other shoppers seem to have noticed, except — of course, that stupid kid is standing there, one foot out.

“You tripped me!” You accuse, shaking your pants for emphasis.

The kid just shrugs. “Wasn’t me. Sorry you’re such a klutz, bro.”

Oh boy, you are really tempted to cause a scene right now. “You’re still standing with your foot out! I can tell it was you, you did it on purpose! And you kept elbowing me, and you bumped into me!”

His douchey blank face cracks into an equally douche little half-smile. It looks painfully unnatural on him, and only serves to fuel your anger. “Dunno what you’re talking about. Guess you’re just real clumsy, man.”

A quick glance around tells you that Kankri must be in the one changing room, and that the kid’s brother is on the other side of the store looking at shoes. Maybe you can get away with a little scene, then.

“What’re you playing at, assweed?” You snap, and reach out to shove him. He dodges you way too fast for comfort, so you try to punch him in the arm instead.

“Too slow, buddy,” he says, sidestepping you. You keep trying to hit him, only growing more frustrated when he dodges easily, like he’s done this before.

Your squabbling has moved you both closer to the changing rooms, out of view from most of the store. The pair of jeans that you had claimed lay forgotten on the floor somewhere as you come at this kid with all of the righteous fury your sixty pound self can muster, not even caring if your brother catches you. Sure, you’ve faced your fair share of buttnuggets in foster care and school, but something about this kid just really ticks you off.

He keeps making shitty commentary when you miss, like he’s an announcer at a kindergartener’s soccer game. “Oh, so close, there, pal. Try again, bud. Better luck next time, dude. Come on, are you even trying?”

By now, if this were anything like your books, you’d have him pinned to the wall, perfectly positioned for you to yell at him and slap him around all you’d like. But nothing is ever like your books, and instead you’re left shouting in frustration again and again as he dodges your clumsy blows. His pokerface never breaks, and you don’t think he’s sweating even a little bit.

If you were someone more observant in this situation, perhaps someone a few years older, someone not clouded with rage, you might notice the way he flinches microscopically every time you raise your voice, or the way that he recoils just a tiny fraction with every swing, or how every time his sunglasses slip they uncover a pair of wide, spooked, red eyes. You might deduce that the way he anticipates your moves might indicate that he is used to fighting someone faster and more skilled than you, that his casualness is stiff and forced, that his words are hollow.

But you are ten, you are not known for being particularly observant to begin with, and you are very, very pissed, so none of these things cross your mind. His actions just serve to make you angrier and angrier, throwing more force behind each punch, raising your voice to block his out until —

It’s like a bomb goes off, like an explosion minus the fireball. Both of you are sent flying apart. As you vaguely register the kid crashing into the wall, it strikes your dazed mind that you should feel triumphant, but the way he crumples to the floor and cowers instinctively, like he’s expecting something worse, just makes your heart ache.

Everything feels like it’s an old, water-damaged home video. You lift your head up from where you’ve been thrown across the store, vision blurry and out-of-focus, ears ringing. You landed in one of the clothing racks, and you hazily recognize it as the rack of pants in the kids’ section. There’s a taste in your mouth like you swallowed a burning match. The rest of the store is somehow untouched, and concerned shoppers are closing in on you. Their voices sound like they’re talking underwater.

You manage to force yourself into a standing position and push the adults off of you. You might be speaking to them, saying something like “Yes, I’m okay,” or “I just need my brother,” but you can’t tell. Somehow, you find yourself slumped against the changing room door. You fumble with the handle, and you might just be so disoriented that you imagine it, but it feels like the handle grows very hot for a moment and then the door clicks open. That jolts you awake a fraction; Kankri would never leave the door unlocked. Something must be wrong.

You stumble into the changing room, lose your balance, and almost fall to the floor. It takes you a moment, but slowly your vision focuses enough for you to see your brother on the floor, one of his arms through the arm hole of a red sweater.

“Kankri,” you slur. Has your voice always been so loud? “Kankri. I can see you — see you moving, y’know, we gotta go, s’methin’s wrong. You gotta get up, s’methin’ happened and I wanna go home. I know you’re awake, I can see you moving. Kankri — ?”

Suddenly, there are adults from the store pushing past you. Words float through you like brittle leaves, barely processing before splintering into papery pieces. You think your hands might be numb.

“Kid? Kid! You said this is your brother — oh, shit, he’s seizing, someone help me get him out of here — ”

“Okay, sweetie, can you tell me your name? You came here with your brother, right? Are your parents here?”

“Yes, 911, hello? We’ve got — well, I don’t even know what happened, but we’ve got one kid, I think he’s having a seizure, and — ”

“Kid, this is your brother, right? Do you know if he has a history of epilepsy?”

“I’m sorry, honey, I just need you to stop crying, I need you to tell me about your brother — hey, wait! Where are you — someone grab him!”

You saw a glint of dark sunglasses through the shop window in all of the chaos and bolted, chasing after that strange boy. Something happened and you don’t know what but it had something to do with him, and you’re going to find out what.

You manage to break through the crowd of adults and burst outside, and instantly —  there’s too many lights, too many colors, flashing, flashing, flashing — the sun is almost blinding — there’s a siren, somewhere, and you feel sick — it’s like everyone is pushing in on you, you crouch to the ground and cover your ears, too much too much too much —

Around you, the overwhelming crowd of people has cleared in a small radius. It’s like you’ve slipped on a pair of sunglasses and noise-cancelling headphones. Everything has dulled just enough to be tolerable. It feels like you’ve just taken a drink of ice water, except for that taste in your mouth — fire, again.

In front of you, through the parted crowd, you see them — those two brothers. They’re both running, but the older one stumbles and stops to cough up what looks like blood. The younger one, the one you had been fighting, looks back at you. His shades must have been knocked off in the blast. Blood flows freely from his nose and he fixes you with a piercing stare, eyes wide and frightened and strikingly red.

You imagine your eyes must look the same way.

“Wait! Who are you? What happened? Wait!” You call, running out after them. But it’s too late — the younger one turns to his brother and grabs him by the shoulders. They both shout something in unison that you can’t quite make out, and then they disappear.

You don’t remember walking back to the Goodwill, but suddenly you’re standing in front of some bewildered paramedics loading your brother — your brother — onto a stretcher. Whatever quiet fog you had been in evaporates, and all at once you’re hit with a tidal wave of sound. As though your body is desperately trying to call back that detached calm, your vision goes dark, and then everything is quiet.

When you come to, you find yourself in a hospital bed, hooked up to some monitors. You’re alone.

It takes you a minute to remember what happened and piece together how you must have ended up here, and once you process it all, you promptly start crying your eyes out. You are ten years old, after all, and all you know is that you probably set off an invisible bomb in a thrift store that might have killed your brother.

A nurse comes in quickly and awkwardly calms you down while you pretend you weren’t crying. Your demands to see your brother aren’t answered until a whole troop of adults have completed a whole bunch of checks of varying degrees of invasive.

Kankri stays unconscious for a week. He is hooked up to lots of interesting wires and screens and sometimes he’ll starting shaking funny again and they all beep until some doctor people come in and you don’t know what happens after that because they make you leave the room.

You don’t leave him, though; when they make you leave the room, you stand outside the door and press your hands to it and try to drown out all the beeping and talking just so that you can try to channel that energy again, the energy you felt that day. It’s your magic, it must be, except instead of little sparks and making things float, you do this. You don’t even know what this is, but maybe you just need more practice. Maybe you need to try harder. Maybe if you try hard enough, you can use your magic to make Kankri stop shaking and make the monitors stop beeping and maybe even make him better.

When he’s still, though, when he’s sleeping, you sit next to him and you read your books aloud like he does when you’re sick. You even read the one with a lot of kissing in the hopes that it will make him wake up to tell you off or give you a sex talk, but you have to stop because it starts to be about gross sex stuff and you don’t want to read that.

Your foster parents have to drag you out of the hospital with tight faces to get you to sleep at home. They are always snippy and anxious, and they act like they’re worried about Kankri but you’re pretty sure they’re just hoping they’ll be compensated for the hospital bills.

You don’t think about those brothers with the cracked shades, at least not during the day. Sometimes, though, at night, the younger boy’s frightened, bloody face swims under your eyelids. Your dreams are scattered and vivid and everybody in them has wide, red eyes. A few times, you wake up in the small hours of the night with that burning taste in your mouth and your hands smelling like smoke.

Exactly a week after that day, you find yourself wide awake in the dead of night, and you just know that it’s because of Kankri. You can’t explain it, not even to your foster parents when they come running in to the sound of your crying, but you know that something has happened to him.

You’re inconsolable for the rest of the night, convinced that he’s dead, that you killed him. Your foster parents somehow don’t understand the urgency, that you need to get to him now, and eventually get you to swallow some Benadryl to knock you out.

When you wake up sometime the next day, groggy and confused, Kankri is home. He’s sleeping in his bed in your shared room, and you probably scare the ass out of him by jumping on him, but you don’t care, because you thought he was dead.

After you release him from the fiercest of hugs, he explains that he had woken up in the hospital at some awful hour in the morning, completely fine. The doctors were beyond confused at how a kid who had been comatose and seizing every few hours woke up 100% normal, but after extensive testing and waiting just to make sure, Kankri was sent home with an instruction to keep in close contact with the doctors in case anything went south.

You bashfully tell him what happened with you and that boy, and how your magic must have caused it all. He’s not as angry as you expected, more resigned, and just hugs you again and asks you to try and control it more in the future.

To nobody’s surprise, after Kankri goes a few weeks without a hitch, your foster parents approach you to tell you both with their smiles that don’t reach their eyes that, “It’s been really lovely to have you boys, but we’ve been in contact with the home and we think it’d be best to cut your stay short.” You both know the drill by now; you pack your bags, plaster on some fake smiles and suffer through some stiff hugs, and head back to the home to await your next set of plastic parents.

But something is different this time around. Exactly a week after you come back to the home, you spot a strangely dressed man accompanied by a beautiful older woman walk into the main office. The man looks almost like Dumbledore, only younger, and a little too military. A few hours later, one of the service workers tracks you and your brother down to tell you that Mr. and Mrs. Maryam would like to talk to you two about adopting.

The woman introduces herself as Rosa with a warm smile. The man echoes her smile but doesn’t offer his own name, only his hand to shake. The service worker looks too excited about the prospect of adoption to question this, and to be honest, you are too. Any chance to get out of foster care with your brother is a chance that you’re eager to take.

A few weeks later, Rosa returns, explaining that her husband has fallen ill and is so disappointed that he isn’t able to come and pick you both up. You and Kankri pack up your bags and follow her to a fancy car, the kind with leather seats, the kind that you have never been welcome in. Kankri whispers a furious reminder for you to stay on your best behavior, and you almost shove him for even suggesting that you wouldn’t, but then you decide that that is probably not an example of your best behavior. You both strap in to the backseat, and you try not to be obvious with your awe of this fancy car.

Once you’re ten minutes away from the home, however, Rosa speaks again, in a cold voice so unlike the one she had used before. “I know about the magic,” she states.

You and Kankri both freeze.

“I know about the magic,” she repeats slowly, “because I share it too. My girls do as well, two powerful mages. I will be helping you two learn to use it. Our family, the Maryams — we are a very well-respected family among the World of Mages. I assure you that your life with us will be enjoyable.

“And you should know: I do not have a husband. The man who was with me, the Mage, he tracked you two from the aetheric anomaly you caused a few weeks ago. The Mage is...well, he’s a powerful man, something akin to a leader of our world. He knew that you two would need a home, and I owed him a favor. Besides, I always wanted boys.”

Your only question is, “Does this make me like Harry Potter?”

And so begins your life as a Maryam. You and your brother are soon part of the fold, an elite fold of high ranking in the magical community. As it turns out, you’re quite powerful for a mage, powerful enough to make up for your less-than-civil general demeanor. Kankri is, in fact, not a very powerful mage, but his excellent public speaking skills make him, too, a welcomed addition to the Maryam name.

You find yourself part of a family for once instead of just a ragtag little duo. You have sisters now, two girls who happen to be your age and Kankri’s age, and soon enough you find yourself so close to them that you know you would do anything for them and they would do the same for you. Rosa is not quite your mother, but you don’t think she minds, or that she ever intended to be in the first place. She is not your mother, and she never will be, but you don’t need her to be. She is enough.

You never get a proper explanation for what happened that day, but over the next year it slowly slips from your memory like water smoothing a stone. Your dreams shift from red eyes to red blood, still as disturbing as ever but now without the constant reminder of that day. You and Kankri leave your old surname, Vantas, the only information that your father had given the home when he had left you, behind, in favor of your new one.

You learn to stop fearing that burning taste on your tongue. You find yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, you’re going to turn out alright, that life has already thrown all of the shit it had planned at you.

And then, when you are eleven, you start attending Skaia Academy of Magicks.

And then, when you are eleven, you are assigned your new roommate for the next seven years.

And then, when you are eleven, Dave Lalonde walks into your life for the second time, and you think yourself a fool for ever entertaining the idea that you might actually be okay for once.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Lalonde, back in the present, not that you’re aware of any flashbacks or time jumps or anything. And, if such a thing had occurred, you’d be the guy to know about it. Time travel and shit isn’t possible, even with magic, but you’ve always been unusually adept at time-related magic. (Of course, you’re unusually adept at basically all magic, but especially this kind.) Rewinding old food so that it’s fresh again, or rewinding tarnished silver so that it shines like new — that sort of thing. Time magic is localized, though, and can only affect one small-ish, inanimate object at a time.

Meaning you can turn back the internal clock on a rotten apple you find in your closet to make it edible again, but it doesn’t get rid of the rotten-apple stink in your closet. You learned that one the hard way.

It’s not unusual for mages to specialize in a certain field of magic, or to have a natural affinity for a certain field of magic. Before the Mage’s reforms, there were official categorizations for different schools of magic, but his takeover focused on including anyone with a drop of magic in the World of Mages. Originally, the World only encompassed human mages who passed the power exams and therefore the categorizations were determined by human levels of magic. But you can’t categorize the magic of a pixie or a vampire the same way you would a human, so the schools of magic were expanded to measure power differently among different species.

John, for example, is best at evocation magic, and you can always count on him to know if it’s going to rain. Jade, Jake and Jane all specialize in transmutation, although you’re pretty sure Jane is also into the healing aspects of necromancy, and you’ve heard rumors that Jake might actually be proficient in conjuration, one of the hardest schools of magic. Rose, obviously, is best at divination. Roxy is killer at pretty much all magic but especially illusion (you learned very early that she is the worst person to play hide-and-seek with), and ironically, Dirk “Social Anxiety Ramped Up To Eleven” Lalonde is best at enchantment.

Your weird time shit can be classified as a little bit of necromancy and a little bit of transmutation, which makes you sound hella impressive. Plus, you always know what time it is. That’s pretty dope.

If you had to guess, because you’ve never really asked them about it, you’re pretty sure that Kanaya specializes in transmutation, and Karkat...huh. You don’t actually know what he’s best at.

“Hey, Karkat,” you say, nudging him next to you. The six of you are eating breakfast in the same room as last night with the fireplace, because the Maryams’ dining table is intimidatingly massive, and you all agreed that the couches would be way more appropriate. The older Maryams, Porrim, Kankri and Rosa, are all somewhere else in the house, packing for their annual skiing trip that Kanaya and Karkat have opted out of this year in favor of hosting you and your friends.

John, may his poor soul rest in peace, has been forbidden from touching the food until he finishes drinking what Kanaya called, “Porrim’s tried-and-true hangover potion,” and what Karkat referred to as, “a smoothie made of baby tears, dog shit and rotten bagels”.  

“What?” Karkat says, through a mouthful of toast.

“Just wondering, bro,” you start. “What’s your field? Y’know, like, of magic? I just realized I have no idea. Like, I figure Kanaya’s is transmutation, because that lines up with what I’ve seen her do, but I can’t figure out what yours would be.”

He frowns (although, let’s be real, most of Karkat’s expressions are some form of a frown) and finishes his toast before answering. “Don’t have one.”

You had been reaching for another piece of bacon (turkey bacon, not bacon-bacon, because you’re living that kosher life כַּשְׁרוּת# ), but his answer makes you pause. “What?”

Rose and Jade also look at him, intrigued. John is too busy suffering through his potion to be paying attention, but you can imagine that he would be interested in the answer too.

“I don’t have a specialized field,” he grumbles. “We thought I’d be best at abjuration or divination, like Kankri, but nope. I’ve taken all those tests and shit too, everything came back saying that I’m equally good at all fields. Like, not even an estimation, I’m literally exactly equally good at everything. Or equally bad at everything. Guess I’m just special.”

He says special like it’s a curse.

Kanaya nods. “It’s true. All Maryams by blood are best at transmutation, so your guess was correct, Dave, so Mother had Karkat and Kankri tested when she first adopted them to see if they would follow the trend. Kankri is primarily a mage of divination, but he also showed proficiency in abjuration. Karkat, though…”

You can imagine it. Proficiency tests are commonplace in the World of Mages; you have to include your best field on your application to any magickal school so that they can place you in courses that will allow you to pursue that field, so pretty much everyone has taken the tests. The results show what percentage of your power is applied to each field, which is supposed to show you which field you’re best in, along with a few other fields that you may be good in as well, just not quite as good. It’s not unheard of for a mage to be equally proficient in two or even three fields, but all eight?

“Wait,” Jade says. “So your percentages were like...12.5% in all fields? Like, your power was distributed equally across all fields, so it was like...12.5% of your power goes to abjuration, 12.5% of your power goes to conjuration, and so on?”

Karkat’s face gets even sourer, if that’s possible, and directs his words into his toast. “Sure. Something like that.”

You, Rose and Jade just look at him quizzically. Kanaya, who is sitting next to him, nudges him gently and mutters something to him, quiet enough that the rest of you can’t hear. Whatever she says makes him give a big, world-weary sigh, grumble something under his breath, and then look up from his breakfast at the rest of you.

“Fine, Kanaya. I, uh…” he says. “It was more like...100%. In, uh. In all fields.”

Even John starts paying attention at that.

“What?” the four of you say in unison. Immediately, you’re all speaking over each other.

“No way, that can’t be right,” you find yourself saying, only to hear Rose say, “That’s — I don’t think that’s possible. Are you sure that it wasn’t just an error with your test?”

“Wait, holy shit,” John is saying. “Dude, are you like, some sort of super-mage?”

“Holy fuck, Karkat,” Jade is saying. “How powerful are you?”

Karkat does not appear to appreciate this reaction and crosses his arms, looking pissed. “See, this is why I don’t talk about it, because I always get people freaking out over it! Yes, I’ve taken multiple tests multiple times and they always get the same results. No, I’m not a super-mage, I’m just a fucking freak.”

Before you, John, Jade or Rose can butt in, Kanaya says, “He’s telling the truth. And we’ve chosen to tell you all about this because we expect that you will respect Karkat’s privacy, and that you will keep it a secret as well. As you can gather, Karkat does not want other people knowing.”

You sit back. “I mean, sure, dude, I believe you, I won’t tell, but like...holy shit. I’m the Greatest Mage and all that jazz, and my test results were normal as all fuck. I didn’t even think that was possible.”

“Does the Mage know?” Rose asks. “I mean, of course, I too will respect your wishes, but I do believe that he should be aware of this.”

Karkat chuckles, and it’s not a haha-funny chuckle, it’s a haha-fuck-you chuckle. “Of course he knows. Useless, biased motherfucker, storming into the estate as soon as he received my application to the Academy. He didn’t even knock, just magically unlocked the door and marched inside like he owns the place. Nearly gave Kankri a heart attack. He said it was just a routine check and all that shit, said it’s common for him to check out anyone with abnormal test scores, but it was probably just him checking me out as a potential threat.”

You see Rose narrow her eyes. Uh oh. Argument incoming.

Jade, seeming to sense the imminent danger, speaks before anyone else can. “Well, anyway, we don’t really need to talk about the Mage right now. Karkat, I swear that I won’t tell anyone, even though I don’t really understand why because that’s pretty fucking awesome.”

Rose doesn’t look completely satiated, but she relaxes a bit, so at least you know that the tension has been diffused for the moment. You can hear Kanaya’s tiny sigh of relief.

John, who has been laying on the floor, sitting up occasionally to drink his sludge, raises his hand. “Me too. To, uh, both of those things. I don’t get why you want to keep it a secret, but I won’t tell.”

You lean forward to high-five his hand before he can put it down.

Karkat seems content with these responses and sits back, returning to his toast.

“Well,” Kanaya says, addressing all of you. “We, er, Karkat and I...we have disclosed this to you because we believe it is best to be completely transparent with the four of you in the efforts of being as productive as possible in solving the mystery of Karkat’s mother’s words. Any information could be relevant to the case, including this, and including...well. It’s more Karkat’s story than mine, so, Karkat, would you like to share?”

“Not really,” Karkat says through another mouthful of toast. “But I guess I have no choice now, right? Gotta be transparent and shit. So.

“I’m sure the four of you noticed my absence in the first month of school, because I know I’m probably the highlight of your day so of course you mourned my loss. Of course. And so I’m sure you’ve all been wondering where I was, what incredible, heroic adventures I must have been on, saving kittens from trees and other bullshit like that. Well, unfortunately, the world fucking hates me, and so instead of being at school or at least doing actually cool shit, I was kidnapped and held for ransom. By, uh...by gnomes.

“So go ahead, laugh it up, I know. A grown ass mage can’t hold his own against gnomes and has to be rescued by his family. It’s hilarious! It’s a spectacle! Ha fucking ha! I don’t give a fuck what you think about it, so don’t even start, because I don’t care. I’m only telling you all because there’s a chance it could be linked to the bastard my mother told Dave about. Believe me, if I could take this to my grave, I would.”

There’s a very tense, incredulous silence, and then —

John bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? First you go and tell us that you’ve got 100% proficiency in all magical fields, and then you tell us that you couldn’t fend off a bunch of gnomes? Karkat, man, you’re my friend and all, but dude!”

Jade kicks him in the stomach to scold him, although you can see a barely-restrained guffaw building in her. “Rude brother! Bad brother! No! We do not laugh at Karkat’s suffering, even if it is kindareallyfunnysorryKarkat!”

She says the last few words fast enough for them to blend into one, then dissolves into giggles. You haven’t been able to suppress your own snorts of laughter, egged on by Karkat’s completely unamused expression and Kanaya’s wide-eyed, forced smile of someone clearly thinking, Ah, fuck.

Rose, meanwhile, ever the perfect prim princess, manages to keep a straight face and serious tone. “I apologize, Karkat, both for your... misfortune, and for my dear friends’ inappropriate reactions.”

Karkat, for his part, doesn’t seem particularly surprised at your reactions, nor does he seem angry. Or, angrier than usual. “Thank you, Rose. I would say that you’re my favorite Lalonde, but I’m still pretty sure that you’re way likely to successfully kill me than Dave, so I’ll hold off on that for now.”

“Hey!” You protest. “I could totally kill you! I’m the fucking Greatest Mage, I’ve even got a sword and shit!”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Sure, Dave, if the ‘sword’ you’re talking about is that ancient piece of rust hanging over the Mage’s desk in his office. Fat lot of good that thing will do you in a fight, even if it is the weapon of prophecy. Anyway. Snarky immaturity aside, now we’ve got all information on the table, right? I don’t think any of you have any other important secrets to come forward about, do you?”

Briefly, a voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like Roxy whispers, Oh, no secrets at all, Karkat, except for maybe my raging crush on you. Luckily, it is quickly drowned out by another voice in your head saying, Crush? What crush? Haha, no crushes here to report, sir! Just one completely crush-free dude right here, one completely heterosexual, girl-liking, crush-free guy.

You decide to follow that second voice and choose to not spill your potential feelings for Karkat, because they totally do not exist and are therefore not relevant.

Karkat takes your continued silence as agreement, and continues. “Okay, so, Kanaya and I figured we’d tell you about the kidnapping because why not, right? Anything is a clue at this point.”

You, John and Jade all nod. Rose frowns for a half second, but stays quiet. You don’t know what she’s thinking, and honestly, that’s probably a good thing.

Kanaya looks anxious, but picks up where Karkat left off. “We — er, Karkat and I, that is, don’t know who kidnapped him, clearly. The gnomes were the ones who offered the ransom to us, but they almost certainly were not acting on their own. Someone must have paid them to kidnap him, although to be completely honest I do not know how one would go about bribing gnomes in the first place.”

“Rosa didn’t pay the ransom, by the way,” Karkat adds. “Maryams don’t pay fucking ransoms, especially not ransoms set by gnomes. Kankri found me in the end with his weird brand of divination-y shit, and then Porrim and Kanaya were sent in to get me. We’ve all been working on finding out who got the gnomes to do it — or, well, Kanaya and I were, but now we’ve shifted focus to the shit my mom talked about. We — I mean, it’s more me than Kanaya, but anyways — we do have an idea of who it was though.”

His expression hardens, and suddenly the feeling of imminent argument returns. Across from you, Rose seems to sense it too, and her eyes narrow a fraction.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Karkat says. “Who has a grudge against my family? Who constantly flouts his power by targeting my family, even more than he targets the other Old Families? Who kicked all of the Old Families out of their government positions by replacing the Council of Mages with his own men, therefore getting rid of any chance at equal representation in positions of authority and sending multiple families into a downward spiral?”

Rose answers first, in a measured tone with a hard edge. “Karkat, if you’re trying to suggest that it was the Mage who kidnapped you — ”

“Yes, of-fucking-course it was the Mage, Rose,” Karkat barks. “And honestly, my main reservation about telling you lot about the kidnapping wasn’t that you’d laugh at me, it was that you’d refuse to hear my side of the story and instead you’d just blindly back up the Mage with no evidence! Before you all try to defend him and say that he’d never do something like that, tell me: how much have you heard from the Old Families recently? Not the lower families, like us Maryams or the Pyropes or Serkets, the ones who were in the higher positions in magickal government. Ever heard of the Peixes? How about the Amporas, or the Makaras?”

Rose looks frustrated, stony-faced, but she silently shakes her head.

This seems to prove Karkat’s point. “I’m not surprised. Back before the Mage’s reforms a few decades ago, the group that we refer to today as the Old Families made up the Council of Mages, which was our world’s form of government. I’m not saying that everything was better back then, because that’s not true — the power exams, for example, were such bullshit. Like, making Academy applicants take an exam to measure their power level, and only letting them in if they exceeded a certain level? That was pretty fucked up, and you know that I hate the Mage, but he did at least one thing right in getting rid of those exams and just letting in anyone with the tiniest drop of power.”

You don’t think Karkat knows this, but the Lalondes are known for being milder mages, occasionally popping out a powerhouse like Roxy. The Mage’s big reforms were huge for your family; nobody talks about it, because you’re not all terrible people, but the unspoken truth in your family is that without the Mage’s reforms overthrowing the power entrance exams, Rose probably wouldn’t have been accepted into the Academy. She’s a decent mage with a knack for divination, but she’s not quite up to par with the old standards.

You don’t talk about it, but you all know it, and nobody knows it more than Rose herself. She’ll defend the Mage with all of her being because his reforms are what let her into the Academy, and the World of Mages as a whole.

And you defend the Mage, not just because you’re his heir, but because without him, you never would have met Rose, and you would have stayed in that prison of an apartment for fuck knows how long until you inevitably died, either by... his... hand, or someone else’s. So, in a way, you owe your life to the Mage.

Kanaya opens her mouth to interrupt Karkat’s rant, probably to diffuse things before this turns into a godforsaken shouting match, but he cuts her off before she can speak.

“No, Kan, they need to hear this,” Karkat says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, the Mage has done one thing right. But you can’t tell me that everything he’s done is good, either. Sure, the Council of Mages wasn’t perfect, but at least the people were represented in government, each seat was elected by the people, and everyone had a voice. Then your buddy the Mage comes along, completely overthrows the Council, and replaces it with the Mage’s Men.”

Jade looks concerned for where this conversation is heading as well. “Karkat, maybe now isn’t the time — ”

Karkat ignores her, instead raising his voice and locking eye contact with Rose. “Doesn’t it irk you a bit that the only people with a say in how our world is run all have the exact same ideology? That they all agree with the Mage no matter what, because they’re hand-picked by him, instead of elected by the people? They’re called the Mage’s Men for a reason. His own personal government, army, and police force all rolled into one. And don’t even get me started on the Men part of that title — ”

“Dude, we get it,” you say, trying to placate him yourself. Rose’s expression has barely changed, but her icy stare is radiating such an intense chill that you wonder if she’s unintentionally casting some evocation magic. This is going downhill fast.

“No, Dave, I don’t think you do,” Karkat snaps. “Because these are all things you already know, and somehow you still support him no matter what, because you’re all a bunch of spineless sheep terrified of change or something. So let me tell you some things that you don’t know for once, and see if that changes your mind.”

John is apparently up next in your fun game of Who Can Calm Karkat Before Rose Lights Him On Fire Or Something, and sits up to speak, only for Rose to interrupt him.

“No, John,” she says. You can practically feel yourself getting frostbite just from her tone. “I want to know what he has to say.”

John looks questioningly at you, Jade and Kanaya, as though asking, Should I go along with it? The three of you all give identical tiny shrugs.

Unfortunately, Karkat takes this pause as an invitation to continue. “Way back when, decades ago, the Peixes family held the lead roles in the Council of Mages. Yes, each Council member was elected, but it was pretty much impossible to win against a Peixes. The Ampora family held the second position in gavel order, followed by the Makaras, then the Zahhaks — yes, John, those Zahhaks, Equius’ family — the Serkets, the Pyropes, and then the Maryams.”

You’ve always known that the Maryams, Pyropes, Serkets and Zahhak consisted of the “Old Families”, mostly because Vriska never shuts the fuck up about it, although you’ve never heard of the first three.

“So, you’re probably thinking,” Karkat continues. “You’ve never heard of those first three families, right? Well, after the Mage’s reforms got rid of the Council, they all fell apart. Basically, the Mage fired every member of the Council, violently raided their homes in case they tried to retaliate, and has been targeting their families ever since. And when I say ‘violently’, I mean real fucking violently. The Peixes fought back and were slaughtered. Most of the Amporas had their foci destroyed after trying to fight back and were left to fend for themselves in the Normal world. Nobody is entirely sure what happened to the Makaras, but it’s rumoured that they nearly defeated the raiders in their estate, only for one of the Men to cast something that drove them all insane, making them attack each other.”

You hear Jade and John gasp in unison. Rose’s cold fury falters for a moment.

“After hearing what had happened,” Karkat says. “The rest of the Old Families were forced to comply with the Mage or face a similar end. We went into different jobs, mostly in the Normal world, and hoped that the Mage would have the decency to leave us alone. No such luck, however, because he still likes to pour salt in the wound. We can’t go into magickal careers because the Mage has a say in everything, and he’ll come up with some reason as to why we shouldn’t be hired. Every few months, he’ll take his Men on a surprise raid of someone’s home, saying it’s just a routine check when it’s really just a display of power, a threat. Our house gets invaded the most.”

Jade has a hand over her mouth in shocked horror. “Karkat, I’m — Kanaya, you too, I’m just...at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say, that’s all so terrible, I — ”

“Thank you for sharing, Karkat,” Rose interrupts. Her voice is cold enough to freeze hell. “I must admit, I was not aware of many of the things you spoke about. But I know where I stand, and while I do appreciate you both as — as friends, and I am deeply grateful for your hospitality, I have to say that I will not be staying here any longer.”

She gets up from the couch and gestures to you, Jade, and John. “Come on. I’m going back home, Roxy and Dirk should be there home from school.”

John looks conflicted, but follows her, mouthing a quick, Sorry, to Karkat. Jade looks even more indecisive, but ends up joining him, giving Karkat a sympathetic shoulder rub on her way.

You remain seated. Your brain is too busy processing all that information to make a decision like this, you tell yourself. It’s definitely not because you want to stay with Karkat.

Unfortunately, Rose does not appreciate your contemplation, and says, “Dave. We’re leaving. Pack up your stuff, we’re going home.”

There’s a razor-sharp edge to her voice that you don’t dare argue with, and so the four of you awkwardly pack up your belongings in silence. Kanaya looks like she wants to say something, but Karkat quiets her with a muttered, “Don’t worry, it’s not worth it anyways.”

Rose doesn’t look at them when you leave, but you can’t help it. Behind you, you accidentally make eye contact with Karkat, and it’s so intense that you have to turn back around.

The Maryam estate happens to be around a two hour drive from your house, and Rose spends almost the whole drive alternating between silently fuming and verbally fuming, ranting about Karkat’s apparent prejudice against the Mage. Jade is the designated driver and is therefore exempt from trying to cool her down, leaving you and John to pretend to be asleep to avoid confrontation.

John might actually be asleep, come to think of it. You, though — your brain is racing far too fast for sleep. You’re torn between analyzing the argument and contrasting Karkat’s information with your own information about the Mage, and unfortunately this just means you think about Karkat a little too much.

If you were to make a proper assessment of your sister in this moment, you might say that her anger is more defensive than offensive. You all depend on the Mage being a strong, just leader, a real mensch of a dude, and so of course the idea of him abusing his power without compassion is terrifying. It’s absolutely balls-to-the-wall terrifying because it highlights all of the terrible things that your world desperately tries to cover, because there’s no reason for you to think that anything Karkat said isn’t true.

But out of the four of you, it might be the scariest for Rose. Sure, finding out that your pseudo-mentor is kind of an awful dude is really shaking you up, but her respect for him borders on weird, twisted hero-worship. Without the Mage, Rose’s life would have been very different. Yours would have too, but she’s always put more faith in him that you ever have.

So it does make sense to you that her fear of the truth is manifesting itself in rage. If you can rail against something with all of your might, maybe you can convince yourself it isn’t true.

You love your sister, and you would do anything for her, but you can’t help thinking that Karkat is right. Everyone in your world is semi-aware of the gaps in your political system, the inconsistencies and the problems, but it’s an unspoken rule to never talk about them, and so Karkat laying them all out in the open was like a shock back to reality.

Even in all of this confusion about the Mage and what he did or didn’t do, you can’t stop yourself from thinking that you’re glad Karkat told you about it, even if it’s something you didn’t really want to know. There’s nobody else in your life who you can always count on to tell the truth like him, and right now, as you’re listening to Rose ramble on and on, barely ten minutes from your house, you find yourself wishing to be back with him.

And then you are.

One moment you’re pretending to be asleep in the back seat, the next, you’re standing in the fireplace room in the Maryam estate. You scare the living shit out of Karkat, who is laying on a couch, reading a book.

“What the — Dave? What the fuck — how did you get into my house?”

Immediately, your knees give out and you crumple to the floor with a grunt. Karkat rushes over to you, concerned, to help you up.

“Dave! Jesus, fuck, are you okay? What’s going on? Is something wrong? Is that why you came back? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, dude, jesus christ, calm down,” you say, waving him off and getting back to your feet. “Everything is fine. I, uh. To be completely honest, I don’t actually know how I got here, though.”

He backs up a bit, chewing his lip nervously. You try really, really hard not to look at his lips, and you try even harder not to think about how they felt against your own. You’re so invested in not thinking about it that you apparently drown out what he’s saying, only zoning back in when he smacks you in the shoulder with his book.

“Dave! Talk to me. What the fuck is going on?”

“What? Oh, sorry,” you say. “I told you, I don’t know. I was just in the car, trying to ignore Rose, and now I’m here, I guess? I don’t think I did anything, though — did you? Like, did you summon me, or something?”

You purposely neglect to mention how you were wishing to be back with him. Karkat doesn’t need to know that.

He burns red at your suggestion. “O-of course not, I don’t even know how to do that, and — and why would I even want you here anyway? After your little squad stormed out, I figured you’d never want to see me again, so why would I force you to?”

That catches you off guard enough to stop thinking about how cute his blush is. “Wait, what? Of course not, dude, I...I didn’t think that, I was just supporting Rose, you know how she is. I wasn’t about to cross her, y’know?”

Karkat relaxes a little, but still looks anxious. “Oh. Thanks, then, I guess?”

This is kind of awkward.

The two of you sit down on the couch that Karkat had been on. He flips his book over so that the cover is hidden from view, saving you from all of its purple-y, nipply-y glory, probably, and you don’t even have the energy to grab it and tease him.

“So, regardless of how you got here, I guess we’d better figure out how to get you home,” Karkat says, more to himself than to you.

“Ah. About that…” You say. How can you phrase this in a way that isn’t super weird? “I — I mean, if it’s all cool with you, I think I’d...like to stay here. I think it’s best for me to get some distance from them right now, and besides, I did promise to help you with your mother.”

You don’t say that you also want to stay just to be close to him because that’s probably not appropriate and also totally not true. Absolutely not. No truth in that sentence at all.

He looks genuinely surprised by your answer, and it makes your heart ache a little bit that he must have actually thought you hated him.

“Oh,” Karkat says softly. “I mean, yeah, I guess you can stay with me? To-to work on the research, of course.”

You nod somewhat stiffly. “Cool. Uh, if I’m staying here, d’you mind if I use your house phone? Rose probably thinks I’m dead or something, it’d be best if I could call my house to tell my family where I am.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Karkat says. “It’s, uh, just in the kitchen on the counter. You can’t miss it.”

You nod again and leave him fidgeting on the couch to call your family, silently grateful for the chance to relieve yourself from the weird, awkward tension hanging between the two of you like a pair of grandma’s undies on a clothesline. As you predicted, since your crew was so close to home when you disappeared, they just continued driving instead of turning around to drive the two hours back. It’s clear from Roxy’s relief when she hears your voice that your friends had been panicked, though, and you’re glad you chose to call.

You quickly explain the situation and your plan to stay with Karkat, with an edge in your voice that says it’s not up for debate. Roxy understands you probably better than you understand yourself, so she easily accepts your decision and leaves you be, hanging up with a quick, “Love you, be safe.”

When you return to the fireplace room, Karkat is exactly where you left him, anxiously fiddling with his jeans and chewing his lip.

“Hey,” you say, more to make your presence known than start a conversation. Don’t wanna spook the guy like you did with your earlier entrance.

Karkat startles at your voice and whips around to face you. “Oh. You’re back. I, uh, I was thinking, if you’re going to stay here, we should find you some spare clothes and shit at some point. Kankri’s stuff might fit — they all left already for the ski trip, I’m sure he wouldn’t care. And if he does, well, I don’t care, actually.”

“Right,” you say. “The ski trip.”

“Yeah,” Karkat says. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “My family always goes skiing over winter break. Kanaya and I were going to stay home, but...well. Kanaya ended up leaving with them earlier today after you all stormed out. I hate skiing, though, so I usually stay home anyway.”

You nod again. Man, this awkwardness is physically constricting your airway, it’s so thick.

The two of you decide to continue your research in the Maryams’ sizable library, which is an actual, literal library, built into their house like how some rich people have “cinema rooms” which are just glorified private movie theaters. Karkat tells you offhand that he had planned for most of your little team vacation to consist of scouring the library anyways, so it makes sense to just pick up where things left off.

He also tells you that he’s been left with enough cash to order enough takeout and pizza to feed a small country, so you two can order food whenever, and that he’ll take you shopping in Kankri’s closet before you turn in for the night. You say that you’re so excited to cosplay a pretentious know-it-all, and he says that you already are a pretentious know-it-all, and you figure, well, you kinda walked into that one, so you take it in stride.

Sitting in the library reading quietly with him is nice, actually. The only interactions with him that you’ve had have always had talking, usually arguing, so it’s surprisingly pleasant to just sit peacefully, no sound except for the occasional turning page.

You keep finding your eyes drawn to him, though, which you don’t like. The first time, you don’t even realize you’re looking at him until he catches you, flushes deep red, and quietly snaps, “Do you fucking want something, Dave, or can we just read?” After that, you try to be more careful, although you think he still notices a couple times when you flick your eyes away just a little too slow. You can’t help it; it’s not in your nature to just sit still for hours on end, you have to be doing something, and reading doesn’t count.

Creeping on Karkat counts, apparently. It’s totally not your fault, okay, it’s his fault for being so damn nice to look at. Wait, not nice to look at, just... interesting. He’s interesting to look at, and at this distance you can see so many little things that you might miss otherwise. Like the light dusting of freckles over his nose that almost blend into his dark skin, or the scattered acne scars on his cheeks. His thick, dark curls are always tangled, but they look soft.

You have to stop yourself from reaching out to see if you’re wrong.

Like, a few times.

Eventually, your silent soap bubble pops when Karkat speaks.

“Dave — okay, this is going to sound super weird, but just humor me for a second,” he says, flushing at his own words. He spits the words quickly, like he’s been sitting on it for awhile and was working up the courage to speak. “I just have to ask you something. And it’s like, really weird, so you totally don’t have to answer, I just thought it might make things make more sense and all, so — ”

“Dude, just ask,” you say. His blabbering is making you more anxious than you’d like to admit. What question is so provocative that it’s making him ramble like this?

“I — okay,” Karkat says, exhaling sharply like he’s preparing himself. “This is going to sound really weird, but...when you were in the car, on your way home, right, were you...thinking about me? Or, like, my house, or something?”

You swallow. How could he have known that? More importantly, what do you tell him? Do you lie, and say no?

Karkat apparently interprets your silence as you judging him poorly, or something. “You don’t have to answer! I know it’s super weird and out-of-the-blue, I was just trying to figure something out, I just...I’m asking because I have a theory on how you magically teleported into my house, because that’s still a thing that happened, and it was pretty fucking weird.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say. “I don’t really know where you’re going with this, but I guess it’s fair that you want to figure out how that went down. Don’t want any more unwanted guests popping into your living room, right?”

This is a very bad time for you to be noticing how long his eyelashes are.

“So, uh,” you start. “This is probably going to sound weird, but, to answer your question...yes? I mean, I was just thinking that I’d rather be not in the car with my extremely angry sister, and I guess your house might’ve...crossed my mind.”

Nicely done, Dave. Getting the essential information across without saying yeah I was actually thinking about how much I’d rather be here with you.

He blinks very quickly, then gives a short nod. “Oh. That makes sense now, actually. I think I know how you ended up here.”

“Fire away, then,” you say, gesturing with your arms.

Karkat looks like he’d rather not tell you, but decides to do it anyway. “So, I think that through some combination of...you thinking about me, and me thinking about you, someone’s magic ended up summoning you. Here. Summoning you to my house.”

That whole explanation should probably freak you out a bit, because uh what the fuck since when can people do that, or at the very least excite you at the possibility of performing magic that shouldn’t be possible, but there’s only one part of his statement that sticks out to you.

“You were thinking about...about me?” You ask.

Karkat blushes even harder. It makes his freckles blend in a little, which is sad. “Y’know, just like...wondering if you guys, like, made it home, and shit. Don’t make this more uncomfortable than it already is.”

You raise your arms in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll take it. I mean, that’s a completely ridiculous explanation, given that magical teleportation isn’t fucking possible and all, but I’ll take it because I don’t have a better one.”

You decide to give it a rest for the night. By “give it a rest”, of course, you mean that you stop pestering Karkat about it because you’re too busy pondering the implications of him thinking about you.

Not that you care, or anything.

Chapter Text

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and, pardon your French, you are pissed as all fuck.

You thought your brother wasn’t capable of reaching new levels of idiocy but here he goes again, magically transporting himself back to the Maryam house and scaring the shit out of the rest of you. It had been a tense few minutes in the car of you, Jade and John all panicking and trying to figure out what to do. Eventually, Jade, bless her for being the only one competent in a crisis, declared that it would be best for you all to figure out what to do from your house instead of in the car, and since you were only ten minutes away, you agreed. By the time you got home, Roxy was on the phone with Dave, and the relief of knowing that he was safe was all you felt.

Now, though. Now that the fear is gone, the only thing you’re feeling is pissed. You’re definitely not volunteering to call him back any time soon.

Admittedly, you did not handle the argument at the Maryam estate with as much grace as you could have, but in your defense, you were genuinely down to duel and leaving was the only way to avoid that. Your family and friends seem to sense that you’re still seething and they give you the rest of the evening to cool down.

The next morning, you wake up bright and early, funneling all of your anger into fueling more research. Between you, your mother, Roxy, and Dirk, your house has a decent library — nothing compared to the Maryams’, of course, but now you just think that extravagant library was nothing but gaudy and frivolous, even tacky. Nothing would make you happier than to call up Karkat in a few days to tell him that you’ve figured it all out, as usual. Nothing would be as satisfying as yet another round of Oh Shit Rose Was Right All Along.

If you were analyzing your own behaviors in the way that you enjoy analyzing your peers, you might see the truth behind your intentions. If you were self-reflecting from an unbiased, completely neutral standpoint, you might deduce that throwing yourself into research is an action of self-preservation, that your desperation to prove Karkat wrong is only partly because you insist on being right. You might realize that the majority of this desire to be correct stems from the fact that if Karkat turns out to be right after all, everything that you’ve known your whole life completely fucking topples, and you’re terrified in a way that you’ve never known.

But you don’t think any of these things, because you’re too blinded by your righteous fury. It’s greatly preferable to spend your time cursing the Maryams and their traitorous ways between pouring over books as opposed to hard, honest introspection, so of course you ignore the latter completely.

Your mother and older siblings are, of course, curious about what you’re spending so much energy researching, but you manage to brush them off by telling them it’s a school project. To your disappointment (but not really surprise), John and Jade tire of endless research pretty quickly, and after a few days they start spending more time with your family members than in the library with you. Naturally, you chide them for this behavior (“Oh, please, John. I know you only need me to instigate conversations for you with my dear sister - my older sister, mind you. Didn't strike you as the type…”), but you don’t make much of an impact, not that you expected to.

Coincidentally, and, to your dismay, your first breakthrough in research is credited to John jonesing after Roxy. Apparently, as he tells you excitedly, he had been telling her more details about your research, specifically that you were looking into anything about the Mage, and to your surprise, Roxy had told him that your mother went to school with him. Of course, you deduce from this that your dear friend John was attempting to impress your sister by spilling more information about your “project”, which your nosy sister happily encouraged. She probably didn’t mean to give off the impression that she’s actually interested in him. Probably.

Regardless, you end up questioning your mother, alone, about her school days with the Mage. John and Jade didn’t seem to bothered that you decided to ask her on your own, although this may have been because Roxy had roped them into the kitchen to teach them dreidel and decorate Hanukkah cookies. (In your opinion, the dreidels were completely indistinguishable from the chanukiot, but you suppose you couldn’t have done any better.)

Interesting how Mother has never told you about her days with the Mage. Granted, she doesn’t make much of a habit of telling her children all of the juicy gossip from her Academy days, but you would’ve thought that something so important would’ve come up by now, especially considering that she must’ve told Roxy at some point.

In response to your questions, Mother pulls out a yearbook — the same damn yearbook Kanaya had, why didn’t you just look at it more closely — to talk about their school life. She recalls how the Mage had always been a bit odd, bent on revolution while the rest of their classmates were more interested in each other, how that girlfriend of his — Dissa? Darsa, was it? She was so devoted to him, we all called her his Disciple, haha — seemed to follow him like he hung the stars.

But maybe the stars weren’t quite what he promised, because Mother tells you that after living together for a few years after school, the girlfriend — Dessa, yes, that was her name, what a lovely girl, and so powerful, too — disappeared. Her family was distraught and tried to find her, but they couldn’t find much.

Mother flips around a bit until she finds a picture. Dessa was beautiful, with a round, flat face splashed with freckles and scars, wide nose, enormous grin and long, wild, dark hair. You can’t shake the feeling that she’s familiar, somehow. Mother says that, while she didn’t know Dessa very well, she wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Dessa had run away to live with the Normals. You try not to note the slight sourness in her voice when she says this.

The most impactful thing that Mother tells you, however, is the Mage’s name. She spends a few moments flipping through the yearbook until she comes upon a certain picture, two scraggly teenage boys laughing with each other.

“That’s him,” Mother says, pointing to the stockier one. “On the right, see? Oh, this is so funny, it must’ve been taken when he first started growing a beard. Don’t tell him I showed you this, I can’t imagine he’d be pleased with me.”

The weak beard, while admittedly very silly, is not what catches your eye. The caption on the photograph, however, very much does.

“VANTAS AND ‘PSII’, SEVENTH-YEARS”

It’s the same photo that Kanaya showed you on that day that feels impossibly long ago, meaning that one of those boys, either Vantas or “Psii” — and you have a sinking feeling that you know which one — is the Mage.

“Wow, I totally forgot he used to go by Vantas,” Mother says, confirming your fears. “Vantas — the Mage, I mean, but we all called him by his name back then. He wasn’t really one of my friends, no, he was close with Psii, obviously,” she points to the other boy, the thin one with short spiky hair, “and Rosa, I believe. Rosa Maryam, I imagine you know her. Oh, and Dessa, of course. Yes, they really were the dream team back then, Vantas cooking up a revolution with his three sous chefs. I wonder if they still talk?”

Mother closes the yearbook, chuckling to herself, completely oblivious to the liquid lead filling your stomach at her words. Your research was supposed to prove you right in showing that the Mage is a good person fighting for your people, but instead all you’ve learned is this.

The Mage is Vantas.

The Mage is Karkat’s father.

Looks like you’re going to have to call your dear shithead of a brother after all.

==> BE KARKAT

You are now Karkat Maryam, and whatever Rose is telling Dave over the phone must be some serious shit, because he looks like he’s going to puke. Somehow, the horrifically unappealing expression on his face doesn’t make you want to run for the hills; it makes you want to offer him some ginger ale, a soft blanket, and a lot of cuddles until he feels better.

Because you’re disgusting, apparently.

However, you manage to squash that feeling and replace it with raging curiosity. The phone ringing had interrupted another library session, which at this point is really just you trying to see how long you can stare creepily at Dave without him noticing and trying not to think about him doing the same to you. In your defense, there’s really nothing else to do at your house when it’s raining like this.

Being the excellent host that you are, you had picked up with a standard, “Maryam residence, who is this?” You were expecting the caller to be Mindfang or Redglare, who often call Rosa for conversation about the Mage or to warn you about an incoming raid.

You were not expecting to be greeted by Rose Lalonde demanding to speak to her brother. Under other circumstances, you might have argued with her and insisted that she tell you first, but you took into account your current standing with Rose (and how she may or may not want to kill you) and complied.

“Dave?” you ask, nudging him. “What’s she saying? What’s going on?”

Dave waves you off, ignoring you in favor of speaking to Rose. “Uh-huh. Okay. I just...wow. Holy fuck. And you’re sure of all this? Like, totally 100% positive that it’s him?”

You try to lean in a little closer to him in the hopes of overhearing whatever Rose is saying, but he pushes you away.

“I — yeah,” Dave continues. “Okay. Gee, Rose, thanks for leaving me to be the one to tell him. No — yeah, that was a joke, chill, I know it would probably be worse if you had to do it. Okay. I’ll get on it. Thank Roxy for me, and like, give Dirk a punch from me or something. No, that was a joke too. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

He hangs up and turns back to you with the expression of someone who was just told to feed themselves to a dinosaur.

“Well?” You ask, expectant.

Dave opens his mouth, then hesitates. “I think you should sit down.”

You cross your arms impatiently. “Really? For once in your life you’re choosing to think before you speak, and it’s now? Just tell me! What did she say that’s so intense?”

“Jesus, dude, chill,” Dave says, putting his hands up in defense. “I’m going to tell you, I swear, I just genuinely think you should sit down, no need to get so pissy.”

“I’m perfectly un-pissy, thank you very much,” you say. “And I think I can be the judge of whether or not I need to sit down to hear something, so you’re going to tell me, and I’m going to stay standing! What did she say?”

“Fine!” Dave snaps. “Have it your way! Fuck me for wanting to give you some warning, I guess!”

Now is not the time to be reading into the less savory interpretations of that sentence, Karkat. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?

“They found Vantas,” Dave says, a little softer. “They found your father. It’s the Mage.”

Oh.

Oh.

You feel your knees buckle, you vaguely register Dave rushing forward to catch you and help you back to the living room, and then you find yourself on the couch again. You’re so frazzled that you don’t even have the mental capacity to freak out over the extended physical contact.

“...is why I told you to sit down, dude. Karkat? Are you even listening? Hel lo?”

Dave’s voice rouses you from your weird shocked stupor.

“I…” you start. Right. Speaking. That’s a thing you can do. “I’m here. Right. I hear you. I am, I am sitting, in my house, and you are Dave, and you just told me that...that the Mage is…”

Dave seems somewhat alarmed at your blankness. “Yeah, okay, he’s your dad and shit, that’s all correct — but dude, are you okay? You kinda like, checked out for a hot second there, I had to make sure you didn’t do a graceful swan dive onto the floor.”

The strange fog over your mind is starting to ebb away. You wave your hands weakly in front of your face, as though that will help to clear it further. “I...yeah. I’m, I’m okay, I think. Just a little, y’know, fucked up, because I just found out that...I found out that…”

Dave’s eyes widen a little bit in concern. He touches your hands and gently guides them back to your lap. “Easy there, tiger, let’s keep things chill, okay, I don’t want you going ghost mode again.”

But you’re barely processing his words, because you’re too busy finally processing his earlier ones. The Mage is Vantas. Vantas is your father. The Mage is your father.

The Mage is your father, and instead of raising you and your brother, he has spent the past decade making life hell for the only family you’ve known.

The Mage is your father, and he let you go.

“How did they find out,” you ask quietly, staring straight ahead. For some reason you can’t bear to look at Dave right now. “Rose, I mean. How did she find out?”

“Mom went to school with him,” Dave says. His words are careful, measured. He doesn’t want to upset you further. “He went by Vantas back then. And with Dessa, your — your mother. I mean, Rose assumes she must be your mother, she was so devoted to him that they called her his Disciple.”

“And look where that got her,” you say faintly, more to yourself than to Dave. “Dead and forgotten, while the rest of the world honors the man who chose to — to torment his sons and their adopted family instead of taking care of them.”

You spit the last few words without meaning to.

“Hey, bro, let’s keep it chill,” Dave starts. He reaches for your hands again to placate you.

You snatch them away before he can grab you. “No, Dave, you don’t get to tell me to be chill, not for this. Not after you tell me that the man who — the man who sent gnomes to kidnap me, who single handedly orchestrated the violent downfall of the Old Families, who sends his Men after my family every other month just because he can — you can’t just tell me to be chill after telling me that this is the same man who left Kankri and I on our own with nothing, nothing but — ”

Nothing but the necklace, the heavy iron chain with the cancer pendant. No clasp, just a chain long enough to fit over your head. Given to you by your father, your most treasured possession for years, your focus.

You reach up and wrap a hand around the chain, desperate. Immediately, the metal grows burning hot under your fingers and you fling it off. The chain clatters to the floor in front of you, melted out of its unbroken loop, and the bulky cancer pendant goes skidding across the floor.

“Jesus fuck, dude!” Dave exclaims. “Did you just fucking break your own focus? How the hell did you even do that?”

You feel blinding heat and anger that you hadn’t even noticed leaching out of you, and you find yourself panting, both palms resting on your knees, facing upward. The broken chain is left a few feet in front of you, and the pendant has been flung to the side. That fiery taste sits on your tongue.

You get up without a word, pocket your pendant, and spit on the ruined chain. If the necklace belonged to the Mage, he must have worn it around his neck. You’ll keep the pendant, because as badass as you may be you still need a focus, but you’ll find another way to wear it. A way that doesn’t remind you of him.

Back on the couch, Dave looks completely flabbergasted. “Karkat? Are you like, going beast mode, or something? Should I be worried? Should I — oh shit, am I gonna have to subdue you or something?”

“Dave,” you say firmly. “Shut the fuck up.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop, but you have to promise you’re not going to go apeshit or anything.”

You ignore his stupid comment and sit next to him again. Years spent eagerly awaiting your father’s reappearance were also years spent cursing him for abandoning you, and those years combine with those spent damning the Mage. The blazing outrage and hatred that fueled your actions a few moments ago has ebbed away, but something still burns in your core, something turbulent and sticky-black, something resembling both a raging storm and a scared little boy, something you don’t know how to handle.

“Of course it was him,” you say quietly, holding your head in your hands.

“What?” Dave asks helpfully. He looks encouraged that you’re talking properly.

“I said, of course it was him,” you repeat, louder this time. You can’t help the venom seeping into your voice. “Who else is selfish enough to abandon his children? Who else is despicable enough to leave his wife for dead? Hell, I’ll bet you — I’ll bet you he fucking knew she was dying and he didn’t care. I’ll bet you he’s the reason she died, and then suddenly he was left with two sons he didn’t give a shit about so he left them — ”

“Okay, whoa there, buddy,” Dave interrupts. “He is not the reason she died, I’m sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Maybe they just weren’t ready to have children! There’s absolutely a reason behind all of this, Karkat, the Mage wouldn’t — ”

“He wouldn’t? Do you really know that, Dave?” You snap, getting back to your feet. “Do you really know him, Dave? Sure, he’s your mentor, but do you really know the man behind the Mage?”

“It doesn’t matter what I know, it matters that I trust him!” Dave retorts, standing as well. “He’s — he’s the Mage, he’s the Great Reformer, he fought for inclusion in education, he wouldn’t do something like that!”

“Are those your views, Dave,” you counter. “Or are they just what you’ve been taught to think? Can you, Dave Lalonde, look me in the eye and tell me that you know what the Mage is capable of? Can you honestly say that the man who had me kidnapped, the man who slaughtered the entire Peixes family, the man who cast out the Amporas, the man who drove the Makaras insane — can you tell me with complete certainty that that man would have drawn the line here?”

“I’m not having this argument with you, Karkat!” Dave yells, throwing his arms in the air. “Fine, I’ll say it, not everything that he’s done has been good, but everything has been for good! He’s always taught me that the right way isn’t always the easy way, that sometimes we have to make sacrifices for good, and — ”

“Oh, that’s real nice, Dave,” you sneer. “Sacrifices, huh? You want to go track down the ghost of Feferi Peixes and tell her that her death was a necessary sacrifice for good? She would’ve been in our class, Dave. She was two, and she was killed . Was her death just another sacrifice in the name of good? Was the slaughter of her whole family the right way as opposed to the easy way?”

Dave makes a frustrated noise. “Shut up, you know what I meant! Of course it’s not okay! Of course it wasn’t the easy way! But, if anything, that proves that the Mage is willing to make the hard decisions for us!”

“Fucking christ, Dave,” you say. “Listen to yourself! Fuck, I thought you were making some real progress for once, that you were finally starting to develop your own views instead of just being the Mage’s heir, the Chosen One, and all that other bullshit! I thought you were finally learning to question things and to ask the hard questions even if you might not want to hear the answer! But no, here you go again, spouting off the same bullshit that’s been funneled into you since year one!”

“It’s not that simple, Karkat!” Dave shouts. There’s something in his voice under the anger that you can’t quite catch. “It’s not all black and white, good and evil, right and wrong! You don’t understand — I have to defend him, okay? I owe my life to him! I am nothing without the Mage, Karkat, and I can’t afford for him to be — for him to…”

Clarity comes to you like a cool stream of water down your throat, quenching the incredulous fury in your core. You recognize that strained note in Dave’s voice, hidden under his blustering — it’s fear. Dave is afraid of you, of the truth, of the Mage, because he doesn’t know what to be if the Mage can’t be his guide to good.

He doesn’t need a guide, though. Dave is already good.

“Dave,” you say gently, so different from your tone a few seconds ago.

“I’m not doing this, Karkat,” Dave says. You wish you could see his eyes behind his shades. “I’m done.”

Without looking at you, he leaves the living room and heads for the front door. You trail after him, calling, “Dave, please — Dave,” like an owner following their lost dog. He looks back at you when he reaches the door, and you give one last call of “Dave — ” but he ignores you, abandoning you for the downpour outside.

You hurry out after him, wrapping your arms around your waist to keep out the chill. There’s a small roof over the porch that keeps you dry. The cold from the stone floor seeps through your socks. He’s a few steps ahead of you, well out from under the shelter of your porch and getting soaked on his way to the front gate.

“Dave, please!” You call again. “At least let me yell at you where it’s warm!”

That finally gets his attention. “Isn’t this what you want?” Dave shouts back. He’s turned to face you but is still staying stubbornly rooted to the spot instead of coming back inside. “You hate me, you hate my friends, you hate my mentor, and all you’ve wanted since our first year was for us to leave!”

“How can you blame me?” You counter. “You’re the one aligning yourself with the man who’s hurt my family!”

“Oh, so you admit it, then?” Dave says. His hair is plastered to his face with the rain, and you want nothing more than to run your fingers through it to get it out of his eyes. “You hate me, then? Maybe a few years ago, I might’ve believed you, but people don’t just kiss the person they hate like that! I saw you kiss John, too, and it wasn’t anything like when you kissed me, so which is it? Do you hate me or not?”

You just want him to come inside, dammit. There’s been way too much going on today, you don’t need any more. “What does it matter if I hate you or not? Your mentor, the man who’s terrorized my family time and time again, is out there somewhere doing something so damaging that my fucking mother came back from the dead to tell me to stop him! None of it fucking matters, Dave!”

You tell yourself that he can’t see your tears through the rain.

“It matters to me!” Dave cries. “It’s always mattered to me!”

“Fine!” You shout at him. “I never hated you! But that doesn’t change the fact that everything’s going to shit, and fuck me for wanting to hold on to this one last shred of normal, the age old Karkat versus Dave — I’m losing everything I thought I knew, Dave, I can’t handle losing something else, another relationship fucked over! I never hated you, Dave, I hated that I could never have you!”

Dave freezes at your outburst.

The pause stretches so long that you’re about to turn around, call it quits, and go inside, until —

“You dumbass,” Dave says, barely audible over the rain. “I never hated you. I fought you tooth and nail because no matter what I couldn't make myself hate you, and I hated that I couldn't control it.”

And then neither of you say anything, because you run down the path into the rain to kiss him.

His lips are cold and wet against your own but none of it matters because it takes him a fraction of a second to reciprocate. You’re getting soaked but you couldn’t care less. Both of Dave’s hands come up to cup your face, frigid against your skin but nothing compared to the bright, hot flare in your heart.

The insanity of your impulse decision finally hits you and you pull away, ready to apologize. The soft, lingering feeling on your lips makes your breath catch around your quick, “‘M sorry, I — ” but Dave cuts you off before you can finish, pulling you back into a kiss. You’re close enough to see the raindrops caught on his lashes, how the shine reflects against his closed eyelids, and then you realize it’s kinda creepy to kiss with your eyes open and you close them.

Kissing Dave instills some kind of crystal calm in you, strengthened by the pathetically childish giddiness bubbling up in you at the idea of your first kiss being up to par with Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams’ legendary kiss in The Notebook. The hopeless romantic in you is swooning — well, to be fair, pretty much all of you is swooning.

You can’t tell if it’s been seconds, minutes, hours, but Dave’s hands are resting tentatively on your waist now, and that’s pretty neat. Your internal hourglass is spilling diamond dust instead of sand and the glass has shattered and you don’t give a single fuck because you’re finally, finally, finally twining your hands in Dave’s hair like you’ve wanted to do since you were twelve. It’s soft and curly and your inner seventh grader is pissing his pants.

Slowly, you make your way back inside between kisses. Each brush of his lips over your skin must be lighting your face up bright red but you don’t care because it’s so delicate, so gentle, kissing over your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the bow of your lips. You’ve never known Dave to be gentle.

The two of you manage to scrounge up some towels and dry clothes. In the end, you find yourself back in front of the fireplace, talking aimlessly. Dave is laying with his head in your lap, perfect for you to card through his hair, and every so often he’ll snatch one of your hands just to stretch your fingers and run his thumb over each knuckle. You don’t know if the warmth in your chest is from the fireplace or from him.

“You were my first kiss,” you confess, eventually.

Dave snickers. “Aw, sorry, then. Truth or dare isn’t a very good place to have your first kiss.”

You whap him lightly over the head, smiling. “Shut up, it was...it was fine, okay. I mean, I’ve kinda...I’ve had a crush on you for like, a really long time. Kissing you was kind of a big deal.”

At some point, Dave had taken off his shades, leaving nothing to block the softness of his gaze. “Can’t blame you,” he says, half joking. “I’m pretty hot shit.”

You shut him up by squishing up his cheeks, which only makes you giggle. “You said John was your first kiss, though, right?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess, although — wait, Karkat, you’re not like, jealous, or anything, right?” Dave asks.

“Of course not, you goon,” you say. “Besides, wouldn’t it make more sense for me to be jealous of Jade?”

He still looks hesitant. “Are you? Jealous of Jade, I mean.”

You consider your answer for a moment. “No. I mean, I definitely didn’t like you two dating, but that was only partly because I’d rather you date me. It was actually mostly because I could tell neither of you were happy. Jade is my friend, more or less, and she deserves to be happy, of course. I was pretty much resigned to, y’know, always being unrequited? Like, you liking me back was just never on the table. But I...I still wanted to see you happy.”

“That’s so sappy, holy shit,” Dave says.

You whap him again. “Shut up. Anyway, me being an absolute fool aside, how did that even happen? You and John, I mean.”

Dave snickers again. “It’s kind of a funny story. I don’t think he’d appreciate me running around spilling the hot goss, but I figure you’re entitled to know.

“It was the summer before tenth grade, right, and Jade’s grandpa has this bomb-ass little cabin up in Bumfuck, Washington, so all of us were staying there. All of us, including the older siblings, y’know, because they were still at the Academy too, and that was it. No adults. It was such a fun trip, really, between the nearby lake and the board games and watching my dumbass brother trying to court Jake “Oblivious” English.

“Anyway, it was the last night, right, and we were all playing this stupid drinking game, the kind that Jade always changes the rules to. I mean, Roxy and Rose were just observing because they’re sensible, but other than that it was some good old-fashioned teenage bad decisions. Jane fell asleep on Roxy pretty early on, and then of course Roxy fell asleep. Jake got like, super cuddly with everyone, it was hilarious, he practically crushed Dirk before they both fell asleep. Jade fell asleep trying to braid Rose’s hair, even though Rose barely has enough hair for it.

“John and I ended up being the last ones awake, right, and you know by now that he’s a total lightweight, okay, but he was also super cuddly. I mean, I’m always down for some bro cuddles, but then he fucking — he fuckin’ plants one on me, says some bullshit about how I’m cute or something, and then passes out. On me. My legs fell asleep. As far as I know, he doesn’t remember it at all.”

As soon as Dave finishes his story, you’re laughing hard enough to knock him off of your lap and onto the floor. “Holy fuck, I don’t even — I don’t know what I was expecting, but that’s so much better holy shit — ”

Dave gets up to bonk you on the head to shut you up. “Hey! Sure, it’s no bodice-ripper, but it’s mine!”

You’re still laughing as he gets back on the couch to lay his head back in your lap, so he pokes you in the stomach. Goddamn, you’re ticklish. He only stops once you threaten to pee.

As you both calm down a little, you find yourself staring at him because you’re finally allowed to. He’s smiling at you, a small, genuine smile that you’ve never seen cross his face, and it’s directed at you of all people. The only thing covering his eyes are a few curls of hair that fell into his face, shades abandoned somewhere on the floor, and his gaze is so intensely sweet that you feel yourself blushing.

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, y’know,” you say softly, brushing some of those curls out of his eyes.

Dave sighs and closes his eyes but doesn’t respond.

“I...I want to be with you, Dave,” you start. “I’ve wanted this for years, and now that I might actually be able to have it I’m terrified of saying anything that could break it, but staying quiet and pretending everything is okay is just going to hurt us both.”

He sighs again and turns on his side, facing away from you. “I know.”

You wait for him to elaborate.

“It’s fucked up, Karkat,” he says finally. “We’re both pretty fucked up, our families are fucked up, our world is fucked up. And, like, you’re right, pretending it’s not fucked up is a bad idea, pretending we don’t still have issues to work out just because you planted one on me is a bad idea, but can we just...do it anyway? For a little while longer? Can we pretend that we’re okay for tonight? I promise, tomorrow, we’ll buckle down and try to work this shit out, but I don’t think you’re the only one who’s wanted this for awhile, so like...can we just relish in it for a bit?”

You consider his words. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been petting his hair. “I guess. I mean, Jesus Christ, Dave, most of me is jumping at the opportunity of just ignoring all the bullshit so I can stay inside and kiss you more, I’m just worried that I’ll take that inch and turn it into a mile, you know?”

At that, Dave turns back to face you, a little grin across his lips. “Don’t worry. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s annoying you until you stop doing whatever you were doing. I mean, I get that, hell...it’s so tempting to just forget it all. But I’ll hold you accountable. We’ve got shit to work out. Tomorrow.”

You match his grin. “Tomorrow,” you repeat, softly. “For now, just you and me. I’m okay with that.”

A few minutes pass in easy silence while you pretend to not be completely enamoured with the look of genuine affection Dave is giving you. Eventually, he sighs again, and raises one of his hands to cover your hand in his hair.

“I think that...okay, I know we’re saving the real shit for tomorrow, right,” he starts. “But I think you should have like, a full disclaimer or something. Fragile goods, handle with care, and all that jazz.”

“Dave,” you say. “What the fuck are you talking about? I know you, you’re not... fragile or anything, what are you — ”

“No, no,” he cuts you off. “I mean, I appreciate that, nice one, but that’s not really what I meant. Just like...a little background information. On why I’m kind of a fucked up mess. I mean, there’s been a lot of contributing factors, actually, but this is kind of a big one.”

He’s looking nervous again. You tug your hand free from under his to keep lacing your fingers through his hair. “Dave, you don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to, I can’t ask for you to — ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “And this isn’t like, an exchange or anything, you don’t have to spill all the deets about your deep dark past in return. This is just kind of like, clearing the air, or something. It’s something you should know.”

“You really don’t have to tell me anything,” you repeat. He looks so anxious about whatever bombshell he’s about to drop. “I swear, Dave, I lo — I like the Dave I know, you don’t have to bring anything else to the table. You don’t have to say anything, and even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything. I promise.”

Dave flushes a little deeper at your slip-up. Great. Nice once, Casanova. Real smooth.

“I want to, though,” he says firmly. “I want you to know. I mean, you deserve to know, but I also do genuinely want to tell you. I mean, okay, telling you is probably going to suck, actually, but I want you to know.”

You take a deep breath. “Okay. I’m listening.”

And he tells you, finally, about his childhood. He tells you about the wretched ghost that visited you on a night that seems impossibly long ago. He tells you about growing up a Strider, not a Lalonde, growing up with his brother and their sorry excuse for a biological father. His voice is tight and stiff throughout his story, but you pet his hair and run your fingers over one of his upturned palms and try to tell him I’m here, I’m here, you’re safe, you’re not alone anymore.

You manage to keep your mouth shut throughout the story, because you can tell it’s the kind of story that hurts to say but would hurt even more to stop saying. When he finishes, you try to lean down to kiss him again, because as awful as his story was, it filled you with such a rush of love and affection and you need to show it somehow. But the angle is pretty weird with his head in your lap and it doesn’t quite work, so you end up kissing his nose and you both giggle awkwardly.

To make up for it, you gently take one of his hands and raise it to your lips, kissing his palm. “I think it goes without saying that all of that is such steaming bullshit that you absolutely do not deserve. I have many regrets but right now, my biggest one is that I didn’t punish that fuckhole when he showed up in your room like he deserves. But I hope it also goes without saying that I don’t see you any differently, and that I don’t feel any different.”

He smiles weakly at that. “Thanks, Karkat.”

You make sure to brush your lips over each of his fingers before releasing his hand. It’s such a romcom cliche, but the two of you end up falling asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace. The last thing you remember before sleep is admiring how the firelight looks in his eyes. Your trashy literature heart tells you that they burn, but it’s a good type of burn, hot but sweet and cocooning you with soft warmth, like you've been dipped in spicy honey. Wait, no, that sounds kind of gross, trashy literature heart. Dave's eyes aren't gross.

You've never been one for aesthetics, but you think Dave's eyes are pretty.

Chapter Text

Your name was once Dirk Strider, many years ago. In this part of the story, you were five. Five-year-olds are not known for being particularly observant, but you don’t have a reputation for being a self-obsessed nutcase for nothing.

Even with your notorious habit for aggressive introspection, your memories of those first few years of your life are cloudy at best. Perhaps if you were stronger in Divination, you might be able to coax some of the finer details out of hiding.

Secretly, though, you’d rather those memories stay buried deep in the recesses of your mind. There’s probably a reason that your iron-trap memory let them slip.

Your biological father, Derrick Strider, was once everything you hoped to be — strong of mind, body and magic, determined to defend the family name, the embodiment of masculinity. You were young and impressionable, living through a constant identity crisis plagued by internalized homophobia, desperate to finally live up to his standards, constantly torn between that and protecting your little brother. He would say your dedication to Dave was holding you both back, that your protection only made you both weaker, and for far too long, you believed him. You could never make yourself leave Dave to his mercy, but you hated yourself for it.

As you got older, however, you taught yourself the truth in his actions: your father — or Bro, as he demanded you call him — was a grade-A shitstain more scared of two young children than the threat of CPS. Somehow, the asshole had let himself believe that old myth that a family bloodline only has so much magic that ends up split between family members. Your Bro was the last in the Strider bloodline and wanted to keep the remaining magic to himself, so he settled with your mother, a Normal woman, to make sure he wouldn’t have any magickal children.

Except that’s not how any of that fucking works, so of course it failed. A mage’s power level depends on the magic of their parents, the state of the magical aether at the moment of their conception and the moment they take their first breath. The aether is basically a self-replenishing reservoir of magic that every mage draws upon when they cast a spell; the more advanced the spell, the more magic it requires to execute, and the longer it takes for the aether to replenish the magic used. Nobody is quite sure how the aether replaces power used, but many mages study it to try and find out.

The only reason you know all this shit is because of Roxy, who’s pursuing Aetheric Science. None of it makes any sense to you, but she’s really into it.

Regardless, the aether only has so much magic in it at any given time. It’s a metric fuck ton of magic, though, so there’s never much of a concern for it running out. You’re pretty sure that would only happen if every single mage on the planet was trying to raise the dead at the exact same time or something equally ludicrous. You’re not even sure what would happen if the aether got fucked up, but it would definitely not be good, so you’re glad it will never happen. Every mage’s life force is tied to their connection to the aether — you don’t even want to know what would happen if the whole thing just shattered.

Roxy explained one time that drawing from the aether is kind of like taking water from the stream, and mages who are “more powerful” are really just born with a bigger bucket. If the aether is full of magic the moment a mage is conceived and the moment they take their first breath, that mage will end up more powerful, and if the aether is still replenishing at these times then they will be less powerful.

You don’t know how Bro could’ve missed this shit. Every year at the Academy, each grade endures an extremely awkward month of Sex Ed classes, where they go over all this magical conception crap on top of normal Sex Ed stuff, and every year at the Academy, each grade finds themselves wishing that they were Normal because then it would mean they only have to deal with half of the things they’re learning.

Maybe the Mage implemented this curriculum when he became headmaster or something. Bro graduated way before the Mage’s time. The Mage doesn’t really strike you as the type to push for better sex education in schools, though.

Thinking about the Mage and Sex Ed in the same context is definitely not something you want to be doing, though.You’re getting a mental image of the Mage hanging up those anatomy posters that hung in your Aetheric Science classroom for the most uncomfortable month of your sophomore year. Ew. Let’s stop that.

In any case, Bro’s genius plan to keep all of the Strider magic for himself was stupid and didn’t work. You started throwing sparks (literally) when you were four. Unfortunately, Bro must have forgotten that most mages don’t exhibit magickal traits until around five, because Dave was already born by the time you started making your toy cars float. He must’ve thought you were Normal and that it was safe to have another child.

Surprise, bitch. Both of your kids are more powerful than you. Sucks to suck, Bro.

In the few years between your first signs of magic and Dave’s, Bro made no effort to hide how much he regretted you. You won’t go into detail, mostly because it’s taken around a decade of therapy and hard work to put yourself on the road to recovery from it, but it wasn’t too great, to say the least. Dave was tiny, barely crawling for most of it, which meant that you faced the brunt of your father’s aggression. You wouldn’t have it the other way around, of course — better you than your brother, right — but still. Ouch.

Dave probably doesn’t remember your mother. He was much too young when she died, barely two. But you remember her as well as your five-year-old self did: soft, kind, a shining light on your broken family. Bro, foul and wretched, somehow landed this beautiful, nurturing Normal woman. Rochelle, your mother, was your sole protector in your early years. In a way, she’s still been protecting you after all this time — her wedding ring, a simple silver band, has been your focus since you first started casting spells.

She gave it to you when you were very small, before Dave was born. Maybe it was her way of solidifying the end of her relationship with your father? Or her way of telling you that you were a higher priority than him?

That wasn’t news to you. She loved him at some point, but it had long faded by the time you came around. Your mother stayed with your family for her children, not her husband.

Dave wasn’t old enough to know her before she died, so you don’t think he ever misses her. But you do, sometimes. You’ve caught yourself slipping into a sad little fugue sometimes, trying to remember the complexities of her face aside from the soft light that five-year-old you remembered most. She was your protector from your father up until the end, and even after.

The band was too big for your tiny ring finger. You remember her smiling at you and kissing your thumb as she put it on you. You started holding your thumb curled in a little to make sure the ring wouldn’t slip off.

You don’t know if she intended to awaken the magic inside of you or something like that, but you first started throwing sparks very soon after. Most mages first start using magic without a focus when they’re young; Roxy says it’s kind of like your “bucket” of magic has been filling up from the moment of your birth, and since toddlers can’t really cast spells to empty it, it starts overflowing. It’s pretty weird to give a toddler a focus before they’ve started using magic, so you suppose your situation is pretty weird too. But you’re no stranger to weird.

It’s also pretty unusual for a focus to manifest from a Normal object, although you’ve learned in your studies that it usually happens to objects of deep sentimental value to the user, especially those that symbolise some great sacrifice for the user.

So, your ring makes sense. It’s weird and uncommon, but it follows the rules of weird and uncommon. You tried to give it to Dave when he started getting some more control over his magic, but it didn’t work for him. This wasn’t too much of a surprise, though — it made sense that it wouldn’t work for Dave since he didn’t really have much of a connection to your mother.

She died on Dave’s second birthday. You were five, almost six. Your whole little family was crowded in the kitchen around Dave’s high chair, where he was squished into the little seat. The kitchen table was barely big enough to hold all four of you, so you were kind of crammed into Dave. It’s strange — there are certain things in your childhood that you can’t remember for the life of you, but almost everything about that day is preserved in your mind in picture-perfect clarity, right down to the droopy red frosting staining Dave’s cupcake.

You were the first one to notice when things started going wrong. After singing “Happy Birthday” together, a rare moment of normalcy in your fucked-up family, Dave started crying for some reason because he was two and that’s what two-year-olds do. Your mother immediately moved forward to calm him, while Bro immediately stormed out of the room grumbling about “...stupid little shit,” because apparently it is now a sin for a toddler to cry. You remained awkwardly hovering next to your mother, torn between wanting to step in to help Dave and wanting to engage with Bro just to keep him away from Dave, keep him from making the situation worse. Five-year-old you was smart enough to know that he would only start yelling, which would just make Dave cry harder, which would turn into a vicious cycle until someone (you, your mother, Dave) got hurt.

It was while you were standing there, hesitating, that you first saw something awry. As your mother cooed to your little brother — sister — fuck, he’s your brother, he was still your brother even back then — as he beat his tiny fists on the high chair tray, you noticed it. With each bang of Dave’s hands on the plastic, the cupcake bounced up. For a few beats, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of it — you couldn’t quite understand what you were looking at, or why it looked so wrong . As you watched, the little cake bounced higher and higher, much higher than it should have, until you blinked a few times and realized that it was no longer touching the tray. In his tiny two-year-old rage, your brother was unconsciously making it float.

It set off every alarm bell in your head. You knew the day would come, the day that Dave started showing signs of magic, but you hadn’t expected it so soon. Internally, you were kicking yourself for not being more prepared; you knew that it was inevitable, but you hadn’t done anything to be ready for it, to get Dave ready to defend himself from your father’s equally inevitable fury.

You jumped into action, turning to your mother and brother, desperate to calm him before Bro came back and noticed the cupcake. “Mama,” you whispered fervently. “Mama, she’s — the cupcake, she’s making it do that, please, we can’t let him see —”

Your mother followed your shaky pointed finger, her eyes widening as she understood. “Dirk, baby, it’s going to be okay,” she said, voice soft and quavering, her hands still trying to calm Dave. “Try to pull it back down. It’s going to be okay, we won’t let him see anything.”

You could still hear Bro stomping around nearby. With trembling hands, you reached up to try and snatch the birthday cupcake out of the air, but you ended up quickly pulling back, tears welling up in your eyes. “Mama! It burns, she made it burn, I can’t — I can’t get it, he’s going to see, he’s going to hurt me —”

“Shh, honey,” your mother said, still focused on getting Dave to stop wailing. She grabbed your hand and kissed it. “All better, see? It’s going to be okay, baby, it’ll be okay. We just have to get her calm, it’ll make her stop using magic. Okay? Can you do that, Dirky? We just have to calm her down, your father doesn’t have to see any of this.”

You nodded tremulously and turned to focus on calming Dave. “Shhh, Dani, it’s okay, you’re okay,” you said, trying to force peace into your voice. All of your fear must have been visible to him, for he just started crying louder.

“Will someone SHUT HER UP!” Bro thundered from the other room, making you and your mother jump with fright. “I swear, that useless, ungrateful little bitch…” He trailed off, muttering. You and your mother both froze as you heard his footsteps coming closer.

The two of you stood there motionless, like startled rabbits listening for that telltale crunch of foliage, waiting for the predator to show itself. As heavy footfalls drew nearer, even Dave seemed to sense the danger. His wailing tapered off for a few seconds. You and your mother held your breath, eyes locked on the cupcake slowly lowering back onto his plastic tray.

“I fucking TOLD YOU , Rochelle, why can’t you fucking HANDLE her? She’s YOUR goddamned daughter — I refuse to believe something so pathetic could have even a drop of Strider blood in it!”

The tension shattered as Bro tore back into the kitchen. You instinctively raised your arms to protect your face, so you didn’t see what happened next, but you felt it. Dave let out an ear-piercing shriek, the scream of a child who knows they’re in danger and doesn’t know what to do about it, shrill enough to rattle your skull, and suddenly you felt a hot blast of air blow something over you. It took you a second to recognize it, to lower your arms and assess the damage.

Peeking through your fingers, you saw your tiny little kitchen in front of you, your mother and brother terrified next to you, and your father, pale and clenched in fury, standing in the doorway, all of it covered in crumbs and bits of droopy red frosting.

Dave had been so frightened that his magical energy boiled over in a way he couldn’t have hoped to control. With no proper outlet for it, his magic funneled into the pliant object closest to him — the cupcake — and when his fear peaked, he had made it explode.

All in front of your father. In front of Bro.

For the sake of your own mental health, you don’t like to recall this next bit in full detail. It’s taken you years to dull the sharp edges and turn it into something safer, a memory that doesn’t immediately send you into a panic attack, so you think it’s okay if you don’t describe the following scene in all of its traumatic glory.

But you still allow yourself to remember how it went down. Part of you is almost disgusted with yourself that you have had to force yourself to forget the minor details; sure, this event was probably the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened to you and it’s left you pockmarked and broken, but it was also the last few moments of your mother’s life — don’t you owe it to her to remember it?

No. You do not. Focus, Dirk — she wouldn’t have wanted your memories of her to be painful and raw. She wouldn’t want to have hurt you in any way, not even in memory. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.

It wasn’t your fault.

When Bro came back into the kitchen, it was with a fury that you hadn’t even known one man could contain. It was beyond anything you had ever seen from him and anything that you would ever see from him. No future action of his, no other blow or insult or stinging, bruising remark that he would make in the following years would ever compare to sheer force of anger that possessed him when he walked back into that kitchen.

He spelled you and Dave frozen into your seats and started towards you like he fully intended to kill you. Your mother threw herself in front of you both, screaming at him not to hurt you (don’t think about how her voice cracked, don’t think about how the arms she flung in front of you were trembling). She served as enough of a distraction to break the spell your father had put on you, and you found that you could move again. Immediately, you jumped up to get Dave out of his high chair as fast as possible. You were five and you were terrified and you didn’t know what was happening but you knew that you needed to get out.

Bro, consumed in his rage, was firing spells around the tiny kitchen like he didn’t care who they hit. You were vaguely aware that you were crying, but it was almost impossible to hear over everything else — the screaming, the shouting, Dave bawling next to you. Neither of you could properly control your magic, but you were powerful and young and so afraid, and soon you were both subconsciously trying to protect yourselves and your mother. It was like a fireworks show of magic in your kitchen, something that might have been pretty if it didn’t end up deadly.

Because then your mother collapsed, and it all stopped.

You watched, frozen in terror and shock and disbelief and G-d knows what else, your hand clasped in an iron grip around Dave’s tiny arm, as your mother dropped like a puppet whose strings were cut. You dimly recognized that you were bleeding from somewhere, that maybe it was pretty serious because you were so, so dizzy, but none of it seemed important, because your father was getting down on his knees and cradling your mother in his arms.

Her last words were begging your father not to hurt you.

One of the last things you saw before you blacked out was Dave’s flailing arm firing bolts of energy across the room. You saw one hit your mother. And then you saw her fall.

In the years since Dave’s second birthday, you’ve never told him. He doesn’t remember enough of it to know the truth, and he doesn’t need to.

It couldn’t have been clearer that if it wasn’t for your mother’s last words, Bro would’ve killed you both, if not right then and there then at some point during the following years. But you and your brother stubbornly kept on living, making it through everything he threw at you, and you spent thirteen years choking back tears.

When you told him that you’d started buying boy clothes for Dave at Goodwill because they were cheaper, he either believed you or was too drunk to argue, and you kept slogging forward. When Bro figured out that your obsession with Adam Sandler and Owen Wilson was maybe a little more intense than a straight boy admiring movie stars, you lied to protect yourself, he let it drop, and you kept on living. Too much effort to struggle with the fact that his son, the son who was basically a spitting image of him, was also a raging homo. When your application to the Academy came in the mail (it’s one of the few things JK Rowling got right in her books — mages don’t give a fuck about Normal mail, if they want to send you something, you’re going to receive it no matter what), Bro saw it as an opportunity to get rid of you for nine months a year and you were permitted to attend and finally, finally, you felt like you’d survived everything for a reason.

For the first thirteen years of your life, your only priority was survival — survive first, live later — and it may have left you broken with jagged edges but it worked, you and Dave made it , and when the Mage of all people showed up at your door a few weeks after Dave accidentally imploded in the middle of Goodwill and told you that your brother was the Chosen One, that your best friend from school told her family about your living situation and they planned to adopt you, that you would finally be free of your father, you cried for the first time since you were five and you gave up the reigns.

Dave, bless him, heard the Mage refer to him as Derrick Strider’s son instead of daughter, and never looked back. You’re pretty sure he never looked into what happened to your father. Good.

After years of therapy and growing up again as a Lalonde, you looked back. Dave was able to shed the Strider name and leave everything behind and you’re so fucking happy that he could because you just couldn’t let it go and it still hurt. All through your time with Roxy and Rose and your new Mom, you kept tabs on your father. After a few years, Roxy figured it out and instead of turning you in, instead of reporting you for bad mental health practices and obsession, she started helping you. Just every couple months. Just to see what he was up to.

Unsurprisingly, without his wife and children, Derrick Strider ended up in a downward spiral. You and Roxy were able to snag some of Rose’s divination supplies to get a look at him. Every time you laid eyes on him, you’d flinch instinctively, so Roxy stopped letting you see and would instead tell you what she saw. It was always the same — your father, drunk, in various levels of filth.

When you moved to the Lalondes’ house when you were thirteen, you had to do it in the dead of night, completely silently. The Mage authorized Mom to use whatever spells necessary to get you and Dave out of the house without alerting Bro. You all knew that he wouldn’t let you go without a fight. As you sat there in Mom’s car at 3 am, Dave sleeping against your side, you decided that someday you would kill the man who made you and your brother’s life a living hell and who made your baby brother kill his mother.

You’re Dirk Lalonde, self-obsessed asshole. You never forget your decisions.

Roxy figured out your master plan after you two graduated from the Academy. After one last divination session, Roxy estimated he’d die within the next five years, either from liver failure or a drunken accident, so you figure, really, you were putting him out of his misery. The two of you planned it well: break in, touch nothing, get it done, get out. It wouldn’t be the first time Roxy fucked with some Normal security tapes to hide a crime.

You snuck in easily, magically slipping past the locked doors leading to the apartment that had been like a birdcage when you were young. There was a certain irony to it all, breaking into your father’s apartment with your mother’s ring. You weren’t going to kill him with it — you wouldn’t do that to her, you owe it to her, and it would be hard to set up the scene as a burglary gone wrong without an obvious cause of death — but it seemed fitting that she was still instrumental in his demise.

You didn’t want to kill him. You never have — it was just your leftover childhood instincts, protect Dave no matter what , survive now live later , that made you determined to eradicate the man who pushed you up against the bars of this apartment cage until your feathers fell out and your wings stopped working. But you are not a cruel person; if you came to visit your father and found a different man than you remembered, you would spare him. If he had changed, you would spare him.

When you finally stood there again, facing him, Roxy’s cherished handgun hidden in your sweatshirt folds, you felt like that scared little kid again, stuck in your tiny kitchen.

When he saw you, when his hazy eyes focused on you, you still clung to the hope that he had changed, because after all this time you are still your father’s son.

When he recognized you and immediately started stumbling around the apartment searching for his wand, slurring about how you must have come back to let him “finish the job”, you steady your hand and pull the trigger, because after all this time you are still your father’s son.

Chapter Text

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you have come to the most earth-shattering realization to have graced the Earth. It’s the type of realization that would get the Normal scientists at NASA in a tizzy, running around and knocking papers everywhere with their blinky buttons and shiny screens going haywire. The type of realization that any young child would run back to their mother to report, only for the mother to say soothingly, “Oh, honey, don’t worry, it’s just pretend. That could never really happen.”

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you have come to the horrifying realization that you might actually not be right all of the time.

So like, fuck, you guess.

You haven’t heard much from Dave since your fateful phone call. You still feel betrayed that he chose to stay at the Maryam estate rather than his own home for the holidays, but if anything, his absence has given you some time to think. John and Jade are too wrapped up in the Hanukkah festivities to want to keep researching the Mage, and while you normally love to throw yourself into latke-making and candle-lighting as well, you’re keeping your distance this year.

Of course, you still participate — you provide snarky commentary to Roxy’s failed attempts to teach John and Jade how to play dreidel like a sports announcer, you light your favorite chanukiah every night (the pretty one you got as a gift from your bat mitzvah, the glossy black one with intricate metal designs, melted wax spots staining it from past years), and you engage in the annual debate of the perfect latke condiment (you and Dirk are always Team Applesauce, while Dave and Roxy are always Team Sour Cream) — but your actions feel hollow. Dirk lights his own chanukiah and Dave’s chosen one every night in his stead, the chunky ceramic one that matches Dirk’s, and without Dave to back her up, your great latke debate falls short for Roxy.

You’re too preoccupied to revel in the holiday. The Festival of Lights feels dim to you, like the flashlight by your bedside that you’ve had since childhood, ever overshadowed by the tower of books you read with it until the small hours of morning. Is this what growing up feels like? You ask yourself. Family Hanukkah celebrations were a staple of your childhood. Are you subconsciously abandoning attachments to your childhood in the wake of learning about how so much of it was built on lies?

Probably not, Rose. Stop overanalyzing.

The issue is that initially, you were ready to take Karkat’s words about the Mage with a grain of salt. How could any of it have been true? The Mage is a good man, a pioneer of magical education, a hero to the World of Mages. It’s no secret that you probably wouldn’t have made it into the Academy without his reforms — your family does their best to dance around the topic, but you aren’t oblivious.

Everyone thinks that your fierce defense of the Mage is because of that, that you hold him in such regard because he got you into school. They aren’t wrong, you are a steadfast supporter because of it, but not because he gave you the chance for education. You are forever indebted to him for getting you into the Academy because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met your brothers. Neither of them have gone into too much detail of their early home life, and you’d never press on such a gaping wound, but you know enough to know that they would not have survived living with their father for much longer.

You’ve never told that to your brothers, but you think they know. You hope they know.

The fact that the Mage saved your brothers’ lives has always been your shield. How could he have done those terrible things Karkat talked about if he had also saved your brothers? It didn’t make any sense, the good man you know would never have invaded homes or slaughtered an entire family. You’ve been brushing off the Maryams’ anti-Mage arguments for years, because none of it matched up with the Mage you know.

(Perhaps if you weren’t so stubborn, you might have put your psychoanalysis skills to work on yourself for once. You might have seen your insistence in black-or-white morality meant that you would never have to come to terms with your hero’s faults.)

And then it turned out that you didn’t know him very well.

Concrete proof of the Mage’s cruelty hit you in the face with the force of a brick. If the Mage had really abandoned his sons, could he have done everything else too? If the Mage had chosen to terrorize his childrens’ chosen family instead of parenting them, what else was there about him that you didn’t know? If the Mage is engaging in such dark magic that his dead wife returns from the grave to warn the world about it, what other darkness could he be stained with?

If the Mage isn’t the heroic savior you’ve built him up to be, where does that leave you?

Identity crises are more your brothers’ style than yours. Why is it that you’ve gone seventeen years with a relatively solid sense of self, and then suddenly — surprise, you like girls! Surprise, your hero might actually be the power-drunk murderer you’ve spent years denying! Surprise, maybe it’s a sign that you didn’t really belong in the World of Mages to begin with!

Okay, even you know that that was a little melodramatic. It’s not that you don’t belong, it’s just that maybe...huh. Maybe you’re just not the best fit for the World of Mages. Maybe it’s not the best fit for you .

You’re not accustomed to all this personal introspection; you prefer to analyze your friends’ minds, not your own. It’d be easy to blame the bitterness in your mouth on the recent chaos unleashed in your life, to say that you got too caught up in everything, but it would be too easy. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself thinking like this, percolating over your place in the world (both the World world and the whole world), but you’ve gotten good at shoving them out of sight. The recent events, what with Karkat’s mother and the Mage’s identity, haven’t planted these thoughts in your head for the first time, they’ve merely brought them out of hiding.

For some reason, you keep getting stuck on the thought of Karkat’s mother. From what you’ve gathered, Dessa had been a powerful mage with the potential to make an impact on the World of Mages, but instead, she had simply...opted out. With a little digging, you learned more about her family. She came from a long line of mages known for their quiet power and ability to negotiate with the Old Families, and was sent to the Academy by a family that intended for her to join them in working alongside the Old Families. And yet, instead of pursuing the path laid out in front of her by expectations, she had chosen to chase what fulfilled her individual happiness.

Maybe you could use a leaf out of her spellbook. Hadn’t she accomplished what you’ve been pretending not to wish for? Dessa abandoned the role set for her by the World of Mages, carving out her own option that allowed her to be happy. When faced with the decision to fulfill her family’s expectations or disappoint them, she chose herself instead; she moved out with the man she thought she loved to start a family of her own.

Okay, you probably shouldn’t copy her to that extent. You have no intention of moving in with a murderous revolutionary and having his children. (Immediately upon having this thought, a small voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your sister whispers, Unless Kanaya’s into that. You then spend the next minute mentally spamming your brain in the thought-equivalent of sending lots of nonsense in a text chat to make something unsavory go away.)

But like Dessa, you don’t think you’ll be happy in the role your world wants you to fill. You’ve been shunted into the box of “supportive sister”, playing out the role of Dave’s sidekick, emotional crutch, voice of reason, or whatever it was that his story demanded you be. And you do it because you love him, and you tell yourself that you’re doing what’s best for him so often that you forget to do what’s best for yourself. What was it that you overheard Jade telling him, the night they broke up? That she didn’t want to be his romantic subplot any longer?

Of course, it’s not his fault that you’ve become the designated side character. If Dave ever had an inkling of how much his “destiny” has shaped your life, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw it all away for you, and of course, isn’t that why you’ve never allowed yourself to think too hard about it? You know that he would gladly turn away all of the opportunities presented to him if he knew that it was infringing on your happiness, and you can’t bear the thought of being the reason that he give it all up.

So instead, you grin and bear it, and you tell yourself that if you have to be a side character, you’ll be the interesting one with the complicated motivations that everyone argues about, because you’re a narcissist at heart (blame growing up with Dirk for that) and you love the idea of people thinking about you.

Dessa saw the story written for her and pulled out her own pen and paper instead. Hopefully, one day, you’ll be able to do the same.

These thoughts find you on the couch late at night, towards the end of winter break. New Year’s is coming up, and the rest of your family are currently brainstorming ideas around the dinner table with Jade and John’s enthusiastic input. You excused yourself from dinner once everyone finished, saying you’ve still got schoolwork to finish before break ends, and have stationed yourself in the living room, your astrology charts spread in front of you on the coffee table with the evening news providing background noise. Needless to say, you are skimping a bit on your schoolwork in favor of your mildly out-of-character introspection.

“Rose? Hey. Rosie?”

Roxy’s voice startles you out of your reverie. You turn to face her: she’s standing behind the couch, a massive jar of applesauce in her hand.

“Sorry, yeah, what? I was spacing out a bit,” you say.

She sees you looking at the applesauce. “Just cleaning up,” she says, raising the jar in question. “Hanukkah's ending soon, Rosie! Gotta get my latkes and applesauce in while it’s seasonally appropriate.”

“Right, of course,” you say absentmindedly, not really listening. You try to make it look like you were actually studying and not just avoiding your friends and family.

Roxy looks unimpressed with your half hearted rustling of your star charts. “I see you’re real busy here,” she says, in a tone that implies that she knows your real actions.

“Yes, sorry,” you say, turning back to your schoolwork. “I have to finish filling these out. Say, do you happen to remember the planetary alignments of the last few nights? I must confess, I’ve rather neglected to record these last few days, what with all of the festivities.”

“Nah, sorry,” Roxy says, leaning forward into the back of the couch. She’s almost definitely lying — your sister is studying astronomy and plans to teach, you both know that she records the night sky every night like clockwork — but you don’t press it. “I don’t need to force a conversation out of you, I just wanted to know if you’ve heard from Dave today.”

“No,” you respond, trying to sound uninterested. You’re still angry at him, right? Right? You’re still mad that he betrayed you and chose to stay with Karkat for the rest of break, and you’re not at all rattled by being away from him for so long without much word from him, and you’re definitely not purposely avoiding your friends and family so that they don’t pick up on how out-of-whack you are.

“‘Kay,” she says, echoing your feigned disinterest. She turns up to look at the TV, probably pretending to be interested in the news in the hopes of goading you into a better answer just to break the awkward silence.

There’s a pause. You watch the blue glow from the TV reflected on her face.

She’s the one who ends up breaking the silence, pointing at the TV. “Hey, check it. Creepy string of murders in the area. The Normals get up to some weird shit, look at those ritual rings around the bodies.”

Roxy grabs the remote from the couch next to you to raise the volume as the news anchor speaks, a title bar reading “STRING OF MURDERS WITH RITUALISTIC PAINTINGS, PUBLIC ADVISED CAUTION” flashing below her.

“...says that each scene was found in the same condition, with identical ritualistic markings around the bodies. All of the victims so far have been women, including a handful of sex workers. Despite all of the evidence left by the killer at every scene, none of the DNA samples tested have granted useful results. Police are baffled, and the hunt for this criminal remains active.”

The footage cuts to an interview with a policeman, presumably one working on the case. “Yeah, I’d say we got a, y’know, a real serial killer on our hands,” he says. “Not to, uh, not to alarm the public or anything. But, y’know, just be a bit more vigilant, folks. Lock your doors, stay inside after dark, all that kinda deal. ‘Course, all of the victims so far have been women, including some prostitutes, so ladies, make sure to stay safe out there. Presumably, this guy’s been meeting up with women and takin’ ‘em home, so we’re encouraging all women in the area to avoid blind dates and stuff like that. Y’know, it’s real weird — this guy isn’t even trying to hide his tracks, we got his DNA samples from all over every scene, fingerprints and whatnot, but none of our tests have brought up matches.”

The interview cuts out, returning to the news anchor. “The police department has allowed circulation of photos from the crime scenes so that the public can have a better understanding of the situation at hand. Some of these images are graphic: viewer discretion is advised.”

Roxy nudges you excitedly. “Ooooh, a slippery hooker-killer with a taste for ritualistic symbols! Sounds just up your alley.”

You’re about to shove her off with a, “Please, as if I’d ever be so sloppy,” when you hesitate, leaning closer to the TV. Images of the described crime scenes flash across the screen: horribly charred nude women, with their faces and bodies censored, laying in painted ritual circles. In each photo, the symbols are too obscure to make out, but the general shapes of them are consistent throughout each scene.

With each photo, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, something is off, you’re missing something important. You forget your conversation with Roxy, and that she must be waiting for your rebuke.

“Rose? You spacin’ again? Come on, you’re just gonna let me get away with that scorching burn?”

The final photo — identical to the scenes before it, inconsequential, what is so special here , what aren’t you seeing — fades from the screen, returning to the news anchor, but the afterimages of the symbols from the ritual circles are still hazy in your vision.

Roxy leans down to shove you again, and then it hits you, and you scream.

Your sister flinches away from you like she’s been burned, alarm painted across her face, but none of that matters because it’s real, it’s real, everything is real, you hadn’t made it all up, everything you’ve seen in your visions is real and it’s on the fucking Normal evening news .

Distantly, you recognize other voices shouting, familiar faces swimming in front of you, but you can’t focus on any of it over this horrible screaming filling your ears. You move to get rid of it, waving your arms like you’ll somehow flap the soundwaves away, but soon find them held down by warm, familiar hands. You can make out concerned eyes floating in your vision, a blur of redorangepinkgreenblue, and voices trying to reach you, but the screams are seeping into all of your senses and corrupting everything.

Sentence fragments scatter around your brain like torn-up paper, barely recognizing the words spoken around you. The screaming in the background (where is it coming from, who is it coming from, whereisitcomingfrom —) keeps you from understanding, but you can still register the tones of voice — concern, alarm, fear. Your vision wavers, replacing the motion blur in front of you with pure, bright white for longer and longer.

Whenever the screaming quiets for a moment, the rush of sound and chaos around you hits you like the audio equivalent of all of your texts coming in at once, words smearing together beyond comprehension —

Rosiehoneytellmewhat’swrong —

GrabherhandsDirkshe’sgoingtohurtherself —

Idon’tknowwhathappenedshewasjustwatchingtheNormalnews —

JohnJadecallJaneseeifshe’sdealtwithanythinglikethisbefore —

— but these brief intervals between the shrieking are too short for you to get a grip on the situation. You try to call out to them, to tell them the truth about your visions, but it’s as though they can’t hear anything over the screaming either.

She’sgoingtohurtherselfIcan’tletherdothat —

Janesaystosedateherbeforeshehurtsherself —

Ican’tcalmherdownyouhavetodoit —

Dimly, you realize the source of the screaming (you, you, you, you) , but before you can close your own mouth, your eyes roll back and everything goes white.

But it’s not a chapter-ending white, or a change-in-narrative-perspective white. It’s as though you’re in a lucid dream, and your mind has placed you in some ambiguous white space. You’re still fully aware of your body, and when you lift your arms, you can see them.

Where are you, and why?

You decide to explore this strange white space to find answers and set off walking in no particular direction. The environment around you is difficult to discern, and you have a hard time seeing the difference between the ground and the space around you. There are no landmarks to track your little walk, and you don’t have any way of knowing what direction you’re going, but as you keep pushing through the strange white fog, you can make out a tiny dark spot in front of you. As it’s the only thing you can see in this white limbo, you deduce that it must have at least the beginning of some answers for you, and focus on moving towards it.

You have no way of knowing how much time has passed as you walk, or if time is even passing at all. Presumably, this is some kind of dream, but there’s no way to tell how much time is passing back in the real world.

Fortunately, your walk through this white void gives you the chance to reflect on what has just happened. The hysterical panic that had seized your body has not followed you here, and you’re able to think properly. So, Rose , you ask yourself. What the hell just happened?

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been having these periodic visions. As far as you know, they’re completely random in timing, but they’ve occurred about once every two or three months. Peculiarly, they always align with new holes in the aether opening, but you’ve never been able to find correlations. Your family has taken you to every magickal professional they could think of to figure out the source of these visions, and why you of all people have them, but you haven’t gotten many answers. All of the experts that you’ve seen have simply told you that random visions aren’t uncommon among mages with a proficiency in divination, that they’re nothing to be alarmed about, and that most of them probably aren’t even true. Nobody has been able to interpret your visions for you, or tell you why you keep getting the same ones while most divination mages get completely different visions, but it’s all you’ve been able to get.

So, you did what made sense: you decided that your incredibly disturbing visions weren’t real anyways, and you refused to dedicate much time or thought on them. It would be an empty rabbit hole that was unlikely to supply any answers, so what was the point of wasting your energy?

Until now, because apparently, your visions have all been real. The Normals have finally picked up on the string of burned women in creepy rituals, all of which match up with the rituals in your visions. This realization has hit you like a combat spell to the gut, because not only does it mean you have actually been seeing the last few moments of these women's’ lives, but it means that it must have significance. It can’t be a coincidence that all of the rituals have occurred at the same times as new holes opening up in the aether.

You’re so lost in your own head that you don’t realize you’ve reached your destination until you hear a soft, “Ahem.” Immediately, you focus back on the present, where standing in front of you is...a woman?

Somehow, in this blank, white, liminal space, you have stumbled upon this young woman. She looks familiar, somehow, with her darker skin spattered with freckles, wild black hair, and smatterings of small scars, and it takes you a moment to recognize her.

“You’re...you’re her, aren’t you?” You start. “Dessa?”

She gives a small, sad smile. “Yes, my dear. And I’m sure you have so many questions for me, but I don’t know how much time I have with you. We both know that you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Where is here?” You blurt. You can’t keep the words from spilling out of your mouth. “I’m — I’m sorry, okay, I know that you just said that we don’t have time for questions, but you have to understand, I don’t have the faintest fucking clue what the hell is going on here, I’m just — I’m just some dinky little mage with no power and I’ve been pulled into this mess of a situation and these visions of mine have just been proven real and I am, understandably, I believe, rather fucking upset, and you’re the only person I can think of who might have answers for me, and —”

Dessa raises a hand, and your panicked rambling cuts off sheepishly. You feel a bit embarrassed.

“I know, my dear,” she says gently, as though she truly does understand your panic. “I know that this is far too much for one mage to handle. Nobody should have to see the things that you have, especially not a child. But I can’t promise you all of the answers you desire, I myself don’t know how you’re here either, I just know that somehow you’re easier to reach...Never mind that.

“We don’t have much time. You’re not supposed to be here, although I suppose you’re weren’t supposed to be with all of them either.”

You start to speak, interrupting her. “What do you mean “not with all of them”? I’m sorry, I just — I don’t know what’s going on, and not knowing this is really not my strong suit, in fact it’s a rather alarming experience for me, and I don’t know what I’m doing here or even what I’m doing out there, and you —”

Your words are cut off by a thunderous boom, and the white space around you trembles like an earthquake. The light around you flickers for a moment, plunging you and Dessa into pitch-black and back for a few seconds, and then sputters back to life.

“I’m so sorry, child,” Dessa says, once the light comes back. Her words are coming faster, more urgent. “None of this is fair to you, and you deserve answers, but I don’t have the ones you seek. I hate to keep sucking you into this, but you are the only one I can reach, and I need to send on a warning.”

“He has almost reached the breaking point,” she says, slow and deliberate. “Fabric can only be torn so many times before it falls apart completely, and I fear that another hole could rip it all to shreds. He — your Mage — he’s tampering with something that should never be altered, you’ve seen him do it every time, you know that we can’t afford for him to break everything permanently. You have to stop his rituals. He’s trying to bring forth a savior, but he can’t see that he’s the only one hurting things. Do you understand?”

Your gut response is an immediate, What the fuck?! No! Of course not! But you’re Rose Lalonde, and you have a reputation of useless verbosity to uphold, so you spend a half second thinking up a more appropriate response, such as, Yes, I understand your cryptic message, Ghost Mother of My Sort-Of Friend, and I will fulfill your equally cryptic mission of stopping my hero from destroying the world or whatever the fuck you just told me to do, even though I have no idea how the HELL I’m supposed to accomplish that when I can barely figure out how to be a functional mage and I have no idea what said hero is actually doing.

Okay, so that’s probably not a good response either.

But unfortunately, before you can muster up the brain cells to just say “Yes” like a functional human being, you’re ripped from this white limbo dream. It’s like tearing a page out of a book, only you’re the page and the book is this dream, and it’s horrifically painful. Dessa’s kind, concerned face is pulled away from you, and you’re screaming, screaming, screaming —

And then you’re not the one screaming, you’re just an observer, because you’ve been yanked into another one of your visions: another woman, shrieking as she’s burned from inside out, the remnants of a ritual glowing supernova-bright around her, a male figure silhouetted against the glow, only you think you can make out who it is this time —

And under the screaming, you can hear someone else, another hook wrenching you away — “Rose! Rose! Wake up! Mom, I don’t know what she’s doing, she won’t wake up — Rose! You’re dreaming, it’s okay, you’re okay! Rose!”

And then you’re pulled roughly to the surface. You gasp, opening your eyes to find yourself in your bedroom. Roxy is hovering next to your bed, looking terrified.

Heavy, urgent footfalls are heard down the hall, and suddenly more faces pop up through your doorway — Mother, John, Jade, Dirk, all looking panicked, focii held at the ready to cast whatever spells are needed.

“Rose!” Roxy exclaims. “Oh, holy shit, fucking Christ, I thought you were possessed or something, you were screaming and thrashing and I couldn’t wake you up, what the hell happened?”

Your body decides execute the most dignified, intelligent response to waking up from a horrific nightmare, and you promptly vomit onto the floor.

You immediately clap a hand over your mouth and try to stand, one hand blindly searching for your needles to clean it up. Unfortunately, you’re hit with another debilitating wave of nausea and dizziness, and Roxy has to catch you before you topple face-first onto the floor. Jesus fucking Christ, you feel awful, you feel like you just got run over by a tractor and then rubbed down with sandpaper. “What…” you manage to croak.

“Hey, hey, whoa there,” Roxy says, lowering you back into your bed. Her voice has taken on that measured stability that you’ve only heard when she’s panicked. “Take it easy — Dirky, can you and get my wand? Jane’s taught me some healing spells, I might be able to help her.”

Dirk nods and slips away. Your mother, John, and Jade squeeze through the doorway all at once, rushing forward to help you. John immediately flicks his glasses to try and clean up the floor, only it doesn’t work.

“I can’t — hold on, what the hell,” John says. He takes off his glasses, wipes them on his shirt, and tries again, pushing them up his nose and casting a cleaning spell. “What the — it’s not working? I can’t cast anything.”

Jade pushes past him, trying the same spell. “Okay, what’s going on? I can’t cast it either. I don’t — do you guys feel that? It’s like...I feel something wrong. Something’s wrong with my magic.”

Everyone’s attention shifts, and as you focus on trying to draw up your magic, you feel what Jade was talking about. Usually, when you try to cast a spell, you can call upon your magic, and you feel it flow through your body like a gushing stream.

It feels like the stream has gone dry.

Dirk comes back with Roxy’s wand and hands it to her, only to see all five of you trying to cast spells and failing. “What’s going on?”

“It’s like…” Roxy starts. “Something’s wrong with magic. None of us can use any. Here, you try, tell me if you can cast anything.”

Dirk fiddles with his ring and then points his hand towards the floor, casting a spell to clean up your mess. You figure that if anyone would be able to cast a spell during this weird magic drought, it would be Dirk or Roxy, given that they’re both the most powerful mages in your room.

It doesn’t work.

“No magic,” Roxy mutters. “It’s almost as if...no, that can’t happen, there’s no way…”

“No way what?” You rasp, sitting up. You have to grab at her arm to stabilize yourself.

“I mean, I’ve studied the science of magic, right,” she starts. “And we all know that there’s only a finite amount of magic in the aether at any given time, right? But like, there’s so much magic in it that there’s never a worry of it running out, and it’s self-replenishing. There’s no way to use up all of the magic in it at once, and even then, it would just refill after a period of time. Unless someone like, broke it? I don’t know how to explain it in layman’s terms, it’s like — it’s like you’ve got this piece of fabric, right, and you can cut as many holes in it as you want because it can self-heal. But if you cut too much too fast, it can’t keep up, and instead of healing, it just falls apart from all the holes. And then there’s nothing to heal.”

Roxy’s metaphor pinches at the back of your brain. You’re sure that you’ve heard something similar, something in a dream, maybe, something important, but you’re still so muddled from your nightmare that you can’t think of it.

And before you get enough time to recall, something goes wrong.

It hits with the harsh abruptness of a snap, and then suddenly a massive wave of force slams into the six of you. It’s like an earthquake, only the building around you is completely unaffected.

The wave pushes everyone else to the floor with loud yelps of alarm, and it keeps coming, rolling shudders of pure energy crashing into your body and mind. It’s unbearable, a steamroller crush of intensity blocking out all other sensations and turning your brain into pudding.

Somewhere around you, you can recognize shouts of panic, someone calling your name — Rose! Oh, fuck, what the hell is going on — and the names of people you care about — John? John! Wake up, wake up, we have to get out of here, come on — but you can’t process anything properly. Everything has become swirls of sound and color, sensations stretched and manipulated by the pure magickal force of each wave hitting you.

Pink.

Jade, it’s okay, he’s going to be okay, I think I know what’s going on —

Orange.

Mom, she’s not moving, you have to help me get her out of bed before she gets stuck in the blankets —

Green. Blue.

Why can’t he hear me? Roxy, tell me what to do, *tell me what to do*, please, wake up wake up wake up —

Pink.

I think it’s the aether, something’s fucking it up, and John and Rose are the most affected because they’re the least powerful, we just have to get them medical help before —

Green.

Before what? Before what? If you’re serious, and I’m not stupid, Roxy, I think I know where you’re going with this — if you’re serious and they can’t access their magic and it’s hurting them the most because they didn’t have as much to start with, what can we do? What the hell are we supposed to do?

Pink.

I don’t know! I don’t know, I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know, but we have to do something, they can’t last long without magic —

Somewhere, as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the tiny part of you that’s still fully conscious pieces together the last bit of the puzzle. Roxy’s metaphor about the fabric echoed in your memory because it was so similar to what Dessa had said, that whatever the hell the Mage has been doing has just been tearing holes in the aether, and that it can only rip so many times before it falls to shreds.

And hadn’t you just seen it? Haven’t your visions been the Mage this whole time, doing some weird fucked-up dark magic ritual and destroying the aether?

Haven’t you just seen the last hole being torn?

Fabric can only be torn so many times before it falls apart completely, and I fear that another hole could rip it all to shreds.

You suppose that this is what it means to have magic fall apart, as yet another wave of energy hits you, and everything around you goes black.

Chapter Text

It was never about power.

You know that your opposition has always believed that it was, that your actions were just increasingly desperate bids to rip them out of control over the World of Mages and take their place yourself, but when have they ever been right? Your goal was never power, at least not for yourself. If anything, all you have ever wanted was for everyone to have equal power. You are the one making things equal, not the one who made them uneven in the first place. You do not want power, you want it for other people. You do not want the power and the glory of the hero, you are content to pull the strings from behind the curtain.

You are not the victorious protagonist, and you have never claimed to be. All you have claimed to be is destined to bring your people into a new era of equal opportunities and enlightenment.

You gave up your name years ago to emphasize your dedication to those around you over yourself. In the beginning, you called yourself the Signless, symbolizing how you aimed to make yourself an empty page for your people to write their own stories on. But soon, as your movement gained momentum, your supporters granted you a different title.

You are the Revolutionaire. You are the Great Reformer.

You are the Mage.

Modern young mages have no notion of how the World used to operate. Before, back during your school days, power was interchangeable with status and wealth. All institutions and positions of authority were ruled with an iron fist by the Old Families, and all legislation was designed to keep them in power for eternity. Magical aptitude tests were mandatory for school applications, and only mages with “enough” power were deemed worthy of education.

Hundreds of thousands of young mages were deprived of their right to be included in their own world and were forced to live forever stuck in between, not quite magical but not quite Normal. The strain on families was immense; parents were forced to watch their children be rejected for circumstances out of their control, while their more powerful siblings were allowed to thrive. The threat of disappointing their families weighed heavily on the shoulders of every young mage, robbing them of the innocence and purity their childhoods in favor of attending preparatory classes and magical tutoring. Thousands of scam businesses flourished off of the desperation, offering classes and treatments and dietary supplements to “increase” magical aptitude. At the least, these services accomplished nothing but draining despondent families of funds, and at the worst, these unregulated treatments caused permanent damage to the children.

You grew up watching the injustices and swore that you would use your power to rectify them. During your school days, you maintained your position at the top of the class despite the fierce competition, forcing the Old Families to pay attention to you from an early age. Your last few years at the Academy were spent building up the base of your movement, spending countless nights plastering your hand-drawn posters up around the school and planning your next protest. Your childhood friends became your crucial support system: Rosa, ever the mother hen, making sure you were all eating enough and proofreading your speeches; Psii, working with you through all-nighters; and Dessa —

Dessa.

If your movement were a machine, Dessa was the nuclear core. Her fire and energy enticed everyone around her. Sure, you were the face of your movement, but she was the heart. You were the one speaking, but she was the one who made sure people listened.

After the four of you graduated, you and Dessa were young and in love and had plans to continue working on your reformations. Naturally, these plans included your faithful compatriots Rosa and Psii, but the two of them ended up betraying you in your moment of need. After graduation, the Old Families finally started taking action against you. You were finally a legal adult mage, and they felt they were finally allowed to start directly opposing you. You and Dessa were struggling to keep a roof over your heads that would allow you to continue your crucial work — no magical landlords wanted to risk harboring active enemies of the Families, and no Normal housing could remain oblivious to your obvious magic — and Rosa and Psii abandoned you.

Psii told you that he planned to settle down after school, find a job, and start a family. “You didn’t really think that we’d be able to continue our little revolution, did you, Van?” You remember him saying. “I mean, I know it meant a lot to you, but come on man. We’re in the real world now.”

He and Rosa had to stop contacting you. Being allied with your movement was costing them their careers, and being seen with you would get them fired.

Rosa never forgave herself for deserting you like that.

You haven’t let her.

The first few years after school were an endless uphill battle, one that you wouldn’t have had any hope to win without Dessa by your side. Being a legal adult mage meant that you could finally start taking serious legal action against the tyranny of the Old Families, but it also meant that they could do the same against you.

Dessa celebrated every little win like you had just won the lottery, and her boundless positivity was the only thing keeping you going. When the two of you finally scored stable residence in a tiny cottage out in the middle of nowhere, she insisted on decorating every inch in beautiful handmade trinkets. “It’s our palace,” she had said, “and it deserves to be decorated like one.”

She stubbornly maintained a tiny herb garden in the backyard, so that even on the nights where all you could afford was rice and canned vegetables, she was able to spice it like a true meal.

One winter, she taught you to knit after you joked about getting frostbite from idle hands, and she proudly pinned up every single ragged potholder and threadbare scarf you made.

She was your sole source of light in the ever-growing darkness. Together, you weathered harsh winters and harsher opposition from the Families. She stayed up with you to work on new speeches by candlelight, she lobbied for your propositions to regulate the magical aptitude industry, she planned the logistics of your protests to minimize threats, she spent hours by your side poring over magical history books and legends for anything, anything, anything to help your cause. And three years in, she was the one with the suggestion that changed everything.

It had been some time in mid-autumn; you remember the conversation occuring over a bowl of squash soup, a lucky treat from a sale in the grocery store. You were growing frustrated with stagnancy. Your movement had grown in numbers, but you still had so little to show for the change you’ve made. The only major win you could think of was successfully pissing off the Old Families, who were so focused on stopping any progress that they sent spies into the library where you worked.

“I just — they’re so intent on tamping us down, it’s impossible to get any work done,” you had said. “At this point I doubt I could come up with anything they would allow to get through, they just hate me so much that they hate anything I touch and demand for it to fail.”

“What if we could bring in someone else?” Dessa had suggested.

“What, like — no, Des, they already know you and they know that you’re with me,” you said. “You’re already doing so much for this, I can’t ask you to —”

“But what if I’m not talking about me?” She interrupted. “You said that they automatically deny anything you suggest. What if we got someone else to suggest it?”

You paused. “You mean like, bring in Rosa or something? I mean, I know she has some power with them, but I think she was pretty clear when she abandoned us that she wants nothing to do with —”

“No, Van, you’re not listening to me,” Dessa interjected. “Look, you’ve said it yourself that they aren’t going to listen to you, no matter what you’re saying. We need something that everyone can agree on. We need someone that everyone will support.”

“Sure, great, well, when you find your magic fix-it-all fellow, let me know,” you said, frustrated.

She gave you a look. “No, look, I’m actually going somewhere with this. Here, hold on,” she said, grabbing one of the musty tomes you had checked out of the Academy library recently. She spent a minute flipping around, finally coming to land on a page. “Here. Read this.”

You followed her finger to a handwritten passage and scowled. “Dessa, these ancient legends are just Old Families propaganda, we’ve been over this. They only talk about power, these are just —”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted, “but not this one. Look. It talks about a great mage who can unite the World of Mages, someone so powerful that they’re able to serve as a symbol to rally behind. Not just any mage — the Greatest Mage.”

It was the first time you heard those words.

The Greatest Mage.

A hero who could unify a world on the brink of civil war. A mage so powerful that they embody everything any mage could hope to be. Someone with enough power to perform the impossible feats common mages dream of — proficiency in every school of magic, mastery in every class, even the potential to revive the dead or permanently transform the body. Someone with so much power that magic drips out of their every pore and into their every word, turning basic phrases into spells.

Dessa’s revelation sent you into a frenzy of research on this individual. Could the Greatest Mage be someone already living? No, there’s no way, they would have already been discovered. Could a regular mage be modified through rituals and magic to become the Greatest Mage? No, none of the rituals related to the field would do anything other than kill them.

Eventually, your research led you into the field of aetheric science. A mage’s power is determined by the state of the magical aether at the moment of their conception, and theme moment of their birth. The only logical conclusion you could come to was that the only way to implant such power into someone was through conception and birth.

You could not become the Greatest Mage, so instead, you were going to bring him.

Years of non-stop research on aetheric science and legends of the Greatest Mage finally came to an end. You had pieced together a ritual that would cram as much magic as possible into a child, achieved by pulling so much magic out of the aether that a small hole would be torn. Not to worry, not to worry — as your research told you, the aether is self-replenishing, and the hole would be patched up before any real damage could occur.

It did not occur to you that the ritual would have physical consequences for the result’s host — that is, for the mother.

The first time you attempted the ritual with Dessa, you weren’t able to finish it in full out of fear for her safety. You couldn’t shake the sense of wrongness, that you were doing something dark and forbidden and that it was hurting her.

The ritual went unfinished, but months later, your first son was born. Your suspicions regarding Dessa’s safety were confirmed upon his birth; it required Normal medical intervention to keep them both alive, and afterwards, Dessa’s magic was a pale shadow of what it once was. It seemed that the partial ritual was enough for much of her magic to be transferred into your son instead of the magic from the aether.

The ritual changed Dessa, beyond the effects on her magic. She was almost frightened of you, and it pained you to see her so meek. She stopped working with you on your research, instead letting you spend days at a time alone with your books. She seemed upset that you spent so much time away from her and your newborn, but couldn’t she see that you were busy saving the World? You had to figure out what went wrong in the first ritual so that you could fix it and succeed in bringing forth the Greatest Mage.

Over a year later, when you were ready to attempt the ritual again, she seemed to understand the importance of the task and agreed. And this time, it succeeded in every sense of the word. Every aspect of the ritual went perfectly. Magic was torn out of the aether into your future son, the future Greatest Mage. He would be immensely powerful, the perfect hero for your World to unite behind.

He killed Dessa.

You knew it would happen.

You knew that she wouldn’t be able to survive the full ritual after the first time. The only reason she had lived through the first one was because she was a powerful mage to begin with. Your second son sapped her of the rest of her magic, draining her life force with it. His birth took days, and she barely had the strength to hold him after.

She said, “Did it...did it work? Did we do it?” Her voice was raw and weak.

“Yes, love,” you told her.

She seemed reassured, but her grip on your son started loosening. You had to grab him from her arms to keep him from falling.

“Am I…” she started, haltingly. “I won’t...live through this, will I?”

“No, love,” you said solemnly. “We have to make sacrifices for the greater good, you know this, Dessa.”

Her eyes started icing over, but she managed to hold your gaze one last time. “Love them, Van. Please. For me. Love our boys.”

If you have any regrets for how you came to power, it was that you were never able to fulfill her dying request.

You knew from the second you laid your eyes on your second son that he was the one. Your mission had finally succeeded, and through Karkat, you had brought the Greatest Mage into this world. You wanted to love him, you truly did — you wanted to love both of them, him and Kankri, but...you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Even in infancy, Karkat was explosive, in every sense of the word. His magic was too strong to be contained within his body and the overflow was devastating.

Your dream was to raise him as your true heir and bring him up on the path of righteousness, to turn him into a figure for your world to unite behind. In theory, he would be a hero, a powerful but noble future leader, destined to take your place. But in reality, everything about him was so wrong — it broke your heart to know that Dessa might have died for nothing.

It was her death, in the end, that motivated you to continue. You were wracked with guilt and overcome with disappointment over the notion that all of your work may have been for nothing, but Dessa’s voice in your ear kept you moving forward. You refused to believe in Karkat as the Greatest Mage and attempted to cut off all ties to him and Kankri in an effort to continue your great work and bring forth the real Greatest Mage, someone who could actually bear the weight of the title.

The Greatest Mage couldn’t be this, a bomb shaped like a little boy — and he looked so much like Dessa…

So you let your sons grow up in the Normal world, and eventually led them back into magic through Rosa — she was always the mothering type, and she owed you after abandoning you before your success. Maybe Karkat would never have to know, and maybe this distance would allow you to try the ritual again, with another woman, and it would work properly this time. Yes, much better to leave the boy in ignorance. And by having Rosa adopt them once they were old enough, you were granting them the opportunity to attend the Academy, because everyone with magic deserves the chance to learn how to use it. Even if they can never know how they got their power.

So you kept trying the ritual, again, and again, and always failing. But you refused to abandon your cause; the Old Families were expecting you to churn out the Greatest Mage after all of your talk. Eventually, this led you to search for a placeholder Greatest Mage, someone to fill the role of your heir while you continued to search for the real one. It was easy to convince the world that it was the Strider boy, and even easier to convince the boy himself. People readily believed that a prominent, powerful family like the Striders could bring forth the Greatest Mage, and Dave always held you on a convenient pedestal for lifting him and Dirk out of that house.

Dave is your perfect puppet hero, an empty suit of armor that you can fill to your convenience. You were able to argue that if someone so powerful could come from so little, barely the crumbs of a dying family, it must be possible for anyone to be powerful, and for one, people listened. And eventually, the Old Families conceded.

Your newfound power as the leader of the World of Mages took a few years to break in, and you’ll admit, your earliest actions as the Mage were far from ideal. However, you were rightfully paranoid; those Old Families had spent so long knocking you back over and over, and you had to make sure that they would respect your office, especially Rosa. She had the perfect blackmail against you, and you had to ensure that she would stay silent.

The deception regarding Dave has always sat poorly with you, more out of pity for Dave than anything else. The poor boy would follow you anywhere after you raised him up out of that hell of a house, but it’s a necessary sacrifice to the greater good. Surely, once you succeed in bringing the true Greatest Mage, it will all be understood.

You know that you’re close to a breakthrough, and then this will all be worth it. You can almost feel Dessa watching you from beyond the Veil, following your every move. You hope she knows that her sacrifice was for something great.