Chapter Text
You’re alone in the house when you hear it.
Rose is out, on another date with Kanaya. Dave’s at a movie night sleepover with his buddies John and Karkat. Roxy’s working a shift down at the Eightball Bar, downtown, and won’t be back until gone two am.
So you’re all on your own, in the big empty house that your parents’ money bought. You think about dicking around on the internet, maybe calling Jane, until you remember that she's at work and won't be able to answer you.
So, fuck it, you decide you might as well spend some time with the cats. You end up with Mutie sat on your lap in the upstairs living room, watching terrible Westerns. You’re halfway through Wild Wild West when you hear it.
The sound of water moving, coming from the bathroom. You groan, gently extract Mutie from your lap (and his claws from your knees) and go to check it out.
“Dave, if you left the water running, I swear--” you mutter to yourself, and then stop dead in the doorway.
In the water, floating face up, is what looks like a dead body. Thank fuck you have good control over your bladder, because you nearly fucking wet yourself at the sight.
The body’s eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling, and you jump backwards when they blink, slowly, as though sleepwalking. Holy shit. Holy shit, that is an alive person in your tub. You walk forward, slowly and gently, because this doesn’t seem like the real life and it doesn’t seem like fantasy. It seems like some kind of crazy dream you’ve started to have because Mutie’s fur was laced with cocaine or something.
“Hey there, buddy, you one of Dave’s friends?” you ask, slowly, keeping your voice as even as you can manage. “Or Rosie, maybe. Roxy, even. Buddy. Do you read me?”
He doesn’t respond, but just floats there, in your bathtub, still staring up at the ceiling.
Your mystery boy is fully dressed, wearing a long-sleeved purple top that matches the deep violet streak in the middle of his Malfoy-blonde hair. He’s even wearing some blue-striped converses, and just staring, staring up at the ceiling. You come to the conclusion that he’s not gonna respond, and sigh. Whoever’s friend he is, you can’t leave him to drown, so you say a small mental ‘fuck it’ and scoop him out of the water gently, one arm under his knees and one arm under his shoulders. It doesn’t take too much to lift him up - he’s a skinny little fucker - and you get to the door and look back to make sure you haven't left anything.
The water that surrounded him has vanished, the tub now as dry as bone.
* * *
Whatever Twilight Zone shit is going on, you know your first aid, and before you let yourself freak the fuck out over this fully, you sort out the dude. You judge him to be around Dave's height, even if he's skinnier, so you stick him on the couch and pad him with towels to warm him up, and go to Dave's room. You get him a change of clothes, and try to calm your breathing.
You try to get him to change himself, but he's still in that weird, wide-eyed state, so you take off his wet shoes, socks, top, and jeans (although you preserve his modesty, because god knows if it was you in this situation you'd kill anyone who so much as touched your boxers) and exchange them for a clean top and jeans. You walk down to the laundry room and sling the wet things in the basket, because those you can deal with later. Right now, you need to find out what the hell is going on.
When you get back, he's still lolling there, face blank as a sheet. You sit down on the chair next to the couch.
"So, dude. Mind telling me your name?" You pat his face. "Hey. Buddy. I'm talking to you."
He opens his mouth, and a weird little crooning sound escapes, soft and lilting. No words, just a melody.
Great. Just great. Creepy random dude not only appeared from a magical bathtub, but doesn't talk. You sigh and pat his wet hair.
"Take your time." You switch the TV back on, and sit, waiting for him to respond. It's an hour later when you realise he's fallen asleep, Mutie peering up at him with big, curious eyes.
Well, shit.
Now you can freak out.
"What the actual fuck. What the fuck?" You spring up. "A bathtub? Really? A magical bathtub, that's what we apparently have, that spits out Draco lookalikes at the drop of a hat. And of fucking course I'm alone in the house."
As soon as you say that, you regret reminding yourself that you're alone in the house with a mysterious, unconscious stranger, and the Bathtub of Lovecraftian Properties. You immediately pull out your phone and call Dave. He doesn't pick up. You swear, and ring him again. This time, he picks up, and he's pissed.
"Hey, dude, what the hell--"
"Get your ass back home now."
"What? No. Dude, it's movie night and--"
"Bring it here. Dave, I swear, get your ass home now."
He tries to speak, and you cut him off again.
"If the next word out of your mouth isn't yes, then I'm selling your turntables to the nearest kid. We have a Code Red here, Dave."
He stays silent, and sighs.
"It better be real fucking important, Dirk, or I'm burning your computer." He hangs up before you can say anything more.
Next to you, mystery kid is shivering, so you gingerly sit on the towels and lean him against you. He's pretty cold, actually. You don't want Dave coming home to a body, not after all that shit he went through before, and so you start gently rubbing the guy's arms. You need to get this kid warm so he doesn't die of hypothermia.
He opens his eyes again, and looks right at you. He's got quite long lashes, which somehow make the slow blinking even worse.
"Kid. Kid, tell me your name."
He just stares, unfocused now, and closes his eyes, slumping back against you. You want to scream in frustration, but instead you work on warming him up, rubbing his feet with a towel to make sure they don't go too cold. Eventually, his body temperature starts to rise again and you move him away from you. He's not really responsive, but you can tell he's breathing.
Mutie, peering up at you still, seems a little spooked. The hair on his back is going up, just slightly, and as you reach out to pet him, he lets out a tiny mew, the sort a kitten would. He doesn't let you pick him up until you move back to the chair, and even then he's obviously jittery. Jesus, if this is a horror movie, you'd be the first person to die.
* * *
Dave enters the house alone, pissed and ready to take it out on you.
"Kankri Vantas. That's who drove me home, you piece of --"
And then he sees the kid on the sofa, and your unshaded eyes. Your sunglasses lay on top of the TV.
"Who's that?" he asks, slowly.
"I don't know. Hear me out, Dave, but he just..." You want to word this right, but there's no book of etiquette on how to say shit like this, so you just opt for the truth, no fancy phrasing whatsoever.
"He appeared in our bathtub."
Dave steps back, and looks at you like you're nuts - head tilted back, putting space between you and him.
"That shit doesn't make any sense. What do you mean, he appeared in our bath tub?"
You can tell this is going to be a long day, so you instead wake up the kid. He lets out a gentle crooning sound, and looks around.
"Are those my fucking clothes, Dirk? Is this a prank? Is that a one-night-stand, because it better not be, or I'm making a bonfire with all of your shit." He watches as you poke the dude in the shoulder.
"Look at me. Hey, look at me."
Creepy Dude just stares blankly ahead, and Dave stares at him, stepping closer as if fascinated.
"Oh, we're so fucked." He waves a hand in front of the guy's face, to no response. "Is he blind?"
"Nope." You move a finger side to side in front of Sleepy McCreepy's face, and watch his pupils wearily follow it. "Look at that. He can see it. He's just not responding to it."
"And you said he appeared in the bathtub?" Dave looks towards the bathroom. "Dude, if I die, avenge me."
"What--"
He's gone, running down the hallway to the bathroom, and yelps in surprise.
"Dave!" You spring upwards, and you're halfway across the room when he calls back.
"I'm okay. There's just like...this old scarf thing in the bathtub?"
"What? No there's not. There's no scarf thing."
"Uh, yeah, there is." He comes out carrying it. It's blue and grey, and kind of tatty. It reminds you of Roxy's one, but you don't have time for theorising as your mystery guest rises from the sofa, eyes fixed on the scarf.
"So...this wasn't here when he appeared?" Dave asks, quietly, as the guy starts walking towards him, slow as a zombie. You shake your head, watching him walk towards your baby brother, and start calculating the distance between here and your room, where you keep your katana.
Dave holds it out, at arm's length, and the guy takes it with a soft, childish smile. He wraps it around him, pulling it up to his nose and sniffing it. You see the flash of a name label on it, and reach out, fascinated, to take hold of the end. The guy pays you no attention.
"Ari--Eni--" You squint, and then make out the name, reading it aloud.
"Eridan Ampora."