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You have never liked Karkat Vantas.
He is rude, foul-mouthed and full of temper. When you anger, you break things or talk with your moirail, and calm down. He has no true moirail and is too weak to break much. Loathe as you are to admit it, his voice, his ability to remain coherent and even, in a terribly lowbrow way, eloquent, as his rage builds, that is his strength.
As you hear him barely whimper in response to a ‘question’, it occurs to you that that is all he really has. And it is not enough.
Not when a greenblood and an indigo - what is one so high doing with one so low doesn’t even register, as it normally would - have seen his color, and are going to take the payment for their silence from him.
No, he has one other strength - a strange attraction, even to those who platonically hate or even feel apathy towards him. It doesn’t seem like much, but without if you would not be blocking the streetlight that flows into the alley, making both aggressors turn.
You bare your teeth and advance. Pupation has been kind to you - at seven sweeps you are taller and broader than many adults, and still growing. Both of them have to crane up to look at you by the time you stop.
They should have not watched you approach.
They should have run.
You, as lightly as possible, rest your hand on the green’s shoulder. The other goes to the indigo, framing their two heads between your arms. “Now,” you say, voice as soft as you can lower it, “what did you think you were doing?”
----
The green sneers, peeling back brightly painted lips to reveal more snaggleteeth than you can boast. “It’s just a fucking mutant,” he spits, grinning suggestively at you. “If you wanted a turn you coulda just asked.” His companion laughs harshly.
Karkat isn’t moving.
All you can see of his face behind the circle of his arms is one bright eye and tiny pupil.
“No.”
The indigo growls. “No? The hell’re ya saying, gutterblood?” She pushes roughly at your chest and is shocked when you don’t move. She rallies quickly. “Yer gonna walk away now,” she half-purrs, lids lowering, “or you can come over and hold it down, maybe. Maybe we’ll let you have a turn before we cull its sorry hide.”
For a moment you are gripped with indecision, your preoccupation with the hemospectrum grappling with a sense of utter wrongness. A number of other thoughts assault you - Gamzee’s ‘friendship’ with him, for surely an indigo can cancel out an indigo; the fact that Nepeta would cry if anything happened to him, which is enough to make your decision for you on its own.
But deep down, when you crack the two troll’s heads together, it is for the sake of a terrified golden gaze, and a silenced razor tongue.
The indigo somehow survives it, clawing dizzily at your wrist. You drag her body into the wall and she stills.
Vantas doesn’t move when you step over the cooling corpses; his head twitches away and he shivers. “S-so.”
You don’t move. You say nothing.
He gains courage, pulling a little out of his own embrace and - yes, there’s that glare, weaker than usual but strengthening. “So. Now you know.”
You nod absently. The neutrally angry expression flashes to real irritation, tempered with fear. “Well? Aren’t you going to fucking do something? Cull me or tie me up and give me to Nepeta or some shit like that?!”
-----
You’re confused, to say the least. “I would not have done that” you nod over at the bodies “if I wanted you dead.”
He spits, angrily, bright mutant red painting a little more of the alley. You hope by morning it will be indistinguishable from a maroonblood’s. “So it’s fucking sex then,” he growls, not meeting your gaze. ”Whatever. Whatever, just don’t tell anyone-”
He is shaking.
It is only as brick dust crumbles down the wall that you realized you moved. Each arm frames the terrified Cancer’s form, you lightly leaning your weight on the wall. Your long hair curtains your face, and with your sunglasses on, he cannot see your expression.
He is so scared. Of you? You break things, intentionally and accidentally, but you kill much more rarely than many trolls.
You see the sincerity in his eyes, pupils just starting to fill red, and a sharp sting that you will never admit as pity hits your heart. He means it. He thinks you will rape him in exchange for keeping your silence, for saving him.
Once again, your view of the hemospectrum distorts as bile rises in your throat.
-----
“I,” he flinches, “will never hurt you, Vantas. I do not like you, not at all, but you do not deserve whatever it is you think you deserve.” You pull back, and offer him your hand. “Not culling, not blackmail, certainly not....that.”
He shivers a little, looks up at you. His silence throws you off balance. It’s like waking up one morning to find that sunlight doesn’t strip your flesh. Wrong.
His hand - his tiny, tiny hand, in comparison not to just yours but many trolls his age - his bloodied hand tentatively takes yours, nearly slips off due to combined sweat and blood before hauling himself to his feet. He dusts himself off, expression returning to its norm rapidly, bluster starting to revive. He’s still shaky.
He’s still shaken.
You turn to go, but he says your name. Before you can turn, he mutters, “Hold still” and then his arms are wrapped around your waist, mutant red darkening your black apparel. His hands are nowhere close to meeting.
“T. Thanks. Thank you, okay?” He growls slightly. “And before you can give me some condescending version of ‘you’re welcome’, I’m done.” He steps back, and as you turn you can see him lifting his arms like an apprehended criminal. He almost trips over a body, and glares at it in distaste.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
You can almost ignore the tears on his face.
You have never liked Karkat Vantas. And you get the feeling that really, no one does.
Maybe you should be the first.