Chapter Text
It started late fall actually. When the crunchy leaves fell somberly in their final labored goodbyes and the winter sloshes over them almost like a blanket. It doesn't feel fair. To be a little leaf, only to be trampled by your follower as you fall a featherless death to a dying ground. Must be morbid.
You were sitting in the back of the class next to some troll girl you never bothered to know. You never liked this place. Honestly, you never liked anything. Or well, loved something you guess. You like shit like danimals yogurt, as childish as it is. You guess you just never liked people, never cared for it, for them.
Anywho, where were you? Your teacher is droning on, not like you are listening anyway. Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are adopted. Well, as most trolls are. When your species touched down on earth, a peace treaty was signed after they had numerous what you assume to be boring meetings and culture discussion. The trolls that did come were escaping the empire and had stowed away with their quadrant-mates on ‘space pirate ships’ on the outer rings searching the galaxy for either adventure or safety. They found earth, and with a curious landing decided maybe this wouldn't be a bad new home. A settlement, a GOOD settlement, with peace and no Condence.
Sounds good, Right? Wrong. Due to the overlap of immigrations and shipments of aged slurry to earth, troll grubs and hatchlings alike have been thrown for many loops. You are not the ‘first’ generation of grubs that hatched here, well you technically are just not the first wave. It's been 30 years since the treaty, and 35 sense touchdown. Roughly 15 from the first wave of troll grubs hatched here, and 12 sense you hatched. It's weird.
Though earth is supposed to be a diplomacy ‘all accepting’ safe outer planet, there is still prejudice against you guys. Outsiders, dangerous, infectious, lying ‘cretins’ are among the few of the lowly spoken words you are all called. Humans fear you, or at least a portion do. They Clutch their purses or children when a troll enters the room despite anything they are doing. They give judgy, prudey little stares when a grub is taken quite literally anywhere. Taking your grub to mcdonalds to celebrate its wriggling day? Sorry, we don't want your ugly kid here because it doesn't look like our kids and we have a systematic prediuse against anything that isn't 100 percent like us including our own people if they do not fit the description of the blatantly outdated ‘normal class’! It makes you scowl because you are just a kid and can't do anything, and are powerless to speak out unless you'd like to be called disrespectful and sent to the office or kicked out of wherever you are.
Not all humans are like that, but from the things you see everyday, the small actions of them, you realize it won't go away any time soon. It makes you angry. Many things make you angry too. One of those things being your adoptive guardian.
When a troll is hatched on Alternia, there are strict regulations. When they are excavated from the mother grub, they are each examined for flaws or defects and if you were unlucky enough to have one---kiss your ass and existence goodbye. The empress didn't want ‘defects’ in her ranks, or society. Over the course of the next few months they'd be cared for until hatching. After hatching, typically they are set through trials to make sure they are ‘strong enough’ or ‘smart enough’ to be allowed to exist---then placed in a large cavern for animals to pick at. Most beasts will sniff and lick at the grubs to see their reactions, or play with them to test them. Once they have decided their charge, they either grab them with their teeth or gain assistance from jade bloods to attach them to themselves to take them to their new nesting hive. Grubs shells and chitin before their molt will always display their color loud and in some cases not so proud (you were one of those cases), these are what decide which animal will usually take you. Certain creatures will ONLY take charges of their color, while others will pick lower--but never higher. The jades are instructed to kill if they pick higher, as it is, was, the way of things. Supremacy and unbalanced systems don't make themselves after all.
But, that's not how it works on Earth. On alternia if you had dared to fall out of the mother grub, hell even exists, with the bright red that marks your veins you would have been sliced open and turned to paint. You are a mutant, a genetic mistake. An issue. But on earth, you were allowed to live more than the 3 seconds it took for the mother grub to shit you out. You were even fed. You were even treated like a regular ‘acceptable’. You don't get much of that on alternia.
Mothergrubs produce in masses. They are given gallons opon gallons apon tons more gallons of slurry to eat (gross, you know), and over a couple months will inflate in mass until hatching day when she shits out roughly 6120 small eggs about the size of adult human palm each. They are see through a little, a thin yet bright and colorful membrane coating as the shell. After it is detrimental to quickly and efficiently take each egg and place it in an incubator---a thick tank with a plushen lining warmed for comfort. Eventually, they will begin to chip at and break out of their shells and begin to wail impatiently for feeding--usually a nutrition filled slop. But here, on earth, you guys get shit like chicken nuggets. Fuck you Alternia.
Huh, you are rambling a lot, to yourself at that? Mini re-lecture? Fuck it, teacher karkat here to school assholes in fucking everything, in your own head because you are just insane like that. So, what were you thinking about before derailing into why you should be dead and not good enough? Oh yeah, you being adopted.
Because of your unique ‘condition’, not a lot of trolls wanted to take you in. and by that, you mean the majority of trolls didn't want a grub with unknown medical conditions, ‘wrong’ coloring, and that can die at any moment because there's never been someone like you before. Making you a freak in all aspects, yippee! Or, well, maybe there has been someone like you? You mean, someone had to create you so. But that person is probably long dead, the slurry was shipped from half across the galaxy with 6 years to age so who knows.
Anywho, at some point they were begging people to take you. A cash reward was set to be your permanent guardian, because nobody wants the broken kid. A few people turn their heads at it, but ultimately decide not to. Until your oh so ‘elegant’ adopter came along that is! Don't worry, she reminds you daily about how much you owe her your life for saving you when, in all honesty, you didn't need to be saved. A jade blood would have kept you and made you an assistant in the worst case scenario. You would've MUCH preferred that.
Your adoptive guardian is a tall blue blood woman. Not cobalt, blue. Deep blue. Authoritarian ‘im better than you’ blue. Nothing is inherently wrong about that----everyone can be good. Just because a system was made a certain way doesn't mean everyone is gonna fit in that certain cookie cutter design or want to anyway. But this lady? THIS lady? She perfectly matches the empire's signature arrogant highblood description to a tee. Casteist, demanding, ignorant, shes hitting all the bingo spots tonight isn't she? Or you guess always. The woman is garbage.
She only adopted you for social and monetary benefits. She wanted to look like this hero for adopting something so fragile, but not gross enough to love it. It brings her glory from the peaceful trolls that came here for a better life, making her look like a saint. But the ones loyal to the empire, the ones who didn't want to leave, see through her act and gain a mild respect for her manipulativeness. You hate adults.
You live in a broke down shed/house. The roof leaks like god himself is pissing constantly. You aren't allowed inside the real house unless someone important is over. Her moirail is a tall teal blood, and when she comes over you get to watch TV with them. She's not great, but she will try to not let you die. Much better than you can say for your, ahem, ‘guardian’. The bar is so high, wow!
You don't really see her often because they go on dates so much, or spend time at her house. Just means more shed time for you. Yay.
You shed is set up in a mediocre way. You have a run down generator in a metal-y box in the corner you never go in so you don't freeze to death in the winter. She only installed it after you got the flu and the school began to yell at her and suspicion grew.
The shed is roughly the size of a medium sized closet though you wouldn't really know. Maybe 10 feet long and 6 feet wide, and 7-8 feet tall. The roof is made of a rickety metal you tend to see in the scraps pile in junk yards. The wood is rotting and not at all insulated--you had to do it yourself. You've lined the singular window--that you tend to block out with felt so you dont panic at leaves hitting it-- with thick fabric scraps you have found in the lost and found at school. If nobody takes it for a week, you take it home and shred it into small pieces and line the holes in the boards, windows, and roof with it. It doesn't fix it, but it's what you got. The roof is an asshole, you've accepted you'll never be able to fix that. So, in retaliation to this shitty universe, you've put a huge pot under the hole that drips and drops all night long on the cold nights. Winter is a bitch too.
Your bed is a twin size---and the only reason you have such a luxury is your guardians' morial said she didn't need hers anymore because she was upgrading, and ‘might as well give it to karkat’. You are glad, but that doesnt make up for shitty things and shitty people. You'Ll accept the good when it's given though. On it is a thick stained and hole-tattered red comforter with small white crabs on them. The jades let you take it with you when you left because apparently as a wiggler you cried without it. You… may or may not still do that now. You sliced off a corner and keep it in your pocket at all times. Fuck what anyone else says, its the one thing in your life thats a big constant.
The floorboards splinter at all edges, so you made yourself a carpet from the fabric scraps you still had left. It looks like a abanation but its your abanation. A small desk and minifrigde sits next to the decaying door that seems to constantly look like its on its deathbed. Poor door. Lucky door.
Your desk contains a small sewing machine you found in bumfuck nowhere on the street, and you use it to keep your clothes not looking like total shit, your window fabric from falling back into individual pieces, and make sure the rubber of your shoes stay connected--albeit badly- to the fabric of it. Under the little desk and shaky sewing machine is a super tiny, maybe 2 feet tall 1 foot wide, mini fridge. You aren't allowed to go inside, so you have to keep your food here and cold if you wanna be fed. If you need to warm something up you go to the heater and turn it on and place a pan there, then the food in it, close the lid, and let it cook for hours then eat. It's not bad, just slow.
Your little tiny baby fridge usually has meat scraps the deli clerk gives you because you help him with carrying things afterschool on wednesdays because he's actually pretty cool. He's a red blood who teaches you how to cook on occasion, or feeds you dinner if you have been super awesome that day/week helping. He's cool. Sometimes you get a hold of a can of soda and you save it. All the other foods--canned goods and fresh stuff you have to ration--stay under the desk in a small box covered with a tattered rug to keep it hidden. Not like someone would really wanna steal them, it's just instinct and fear.
Something suddenly slams on your desk, bringing you harshly back into reality. It's your teacher, with a fat book just dropped loudly on your desk.
He looks you dead in the eyes, and opens his mouth in an aggravated look “Ahem. Mr Vantas, do you care to read out the next section of the chapter like everyone else, or do you plan on continuing this staring out the window plan of yours?”.
You don't need to look around or behind him to know a good amount of the class is snickering, the troll girl that had sat next to you from the corner of your eye has her hand over her mouth and you can see her dimples. You know what's going on.
“Uhhh, yes. uh wait well, ah, yes sir, i'll get right on that book hhahha” you nervously spew out in a anxious and rushed two seconds. You don't like being watched like this. You grab the book off the desk and flip through the pages until you come across one that not so suspiciously looks just like the troll girls. You fake a smile and go “see, all set aaah yeah” and then stuff your face in the book to show how you are ‘all set’ of course. This seems to satisfy the guy, who sighs then marches back up to his little white board and pulls a bright orange expo marker from the ledge.
“Now that Mr Vantas is with us, who's ready to learn about some cool variables?” he says with a slight smile as he begins to uncap the marker and press the edge to the board.
A perpetual groan sounds around the room.
Class is stupid, but youve already approached that topic, havent you? By the time the class is over and the final bell rings, you can confirm firmly that you have a deep loathing for school. It's not the fault of the teachers really, they are (usually) trying their best to improve children's lives, unless they are those teachers who just seek to make children's lives as miserable as theirs. Oh sorry shannon! Let me bow down to the woman who wasted her 20s in a language arts college just to feel superior among fucking CHILDREN because your colluages never took you seriously what with your massive ego, and get away with racistly reading to kill a mocking bird without being stopped. Clap clap clap, you are the best teacher. It is you.
Ugh. you like to daydream and zone out a lot, it helps you feel more detached from the reality you inhabit. Yeah things are shitty, but they'll not feel shitty if you have nothing to feel with. You hum a little tune from you can't even remember where you got it as you walk twords the bus. But, as usual, it's not there yet. You know you didn't miss it, school doesn't let out that fast once it rings. And it only rang like 3 minutes ago. Okay, okay, you hope you didn't miss it.
You take the second you use to sigh to multitask and look around. Any friends? Like fuck if you had those, you not only were too weird for people but a good portion of the trolls on earth were disgusted by your hue. You dont particularly care, its just youd like to not be bullied thank you very fucking much.
You don't own a phone like the other kids, your guardian doesn't like to waste money on you and phones cost a lot. Hypothetically you could head to a walmart and get a tracfone for 30 dollars and pay a minutes card every month but you don't have that kind of money and lack a job because of your age. So while the others sit on their asses playing flappy bird or some shit, you get to stand awkwardly against the support frame and gutter drain just idly looking around. So, you do just that while tapping out a shitty beat on your left foot against the cracked pavement.
Eventually after what feels like forever, your bus comes. You stay in the back-ish part of the line to get on because you don't want petty arguments with some bitchy asshole, but also because nobody takes your seat ever. Mainly because you chose the most uncomfortable one in existence--the seat that sits right on top of the wheel leaving no food room. But you like it that way, which means you can stay warm easier when you are clumped in on yourself. By the time you do get on, the heating on the bus feels amazing. For someone who only wears fucked up jeans and huge turtlenecks, you have a very big fondness for warmth.
You love bus rides. You just get to sit peacefully while the world passes by, a distant vibration of murmurs all around you to drown out the thoughts in your head. It's calm, and you crave it. Easily your favorite part of the day.
The worst part though is taking that step off the bus, you hate it. It takes away the safety from your life, as little as it was or you guess is? You don't care. You head to your house, then your shed, hoping to not be stopped by your drunk partying piece of shit guardian. She parties a lot more these days, maybe that's why you haven't seen her moirail around much anymore. She still comes around, just briefly and tidies up the place silently and leaves. Or at least, that's when you're inside. You really don't care, you don't. Or maybe you say that to feel more in control than you truly are, but you push that idea away very quickly because brain shit sucks.
But when you do reach a place in view of your house, you see an unfamiliar car in the driveway and the hair on your neck immediately begins to stand. Is it that fucking nosey neighbor again? You've said you are fine, she really needs to step off, you ARE fine. You ARE in control--you can dream at least. Maybe it's a different friend of your guardians? She doesn't really have people other than her morial over, maybe it's for work? Or a new party? Yeah, that's what it is. You calm down and walk onto the thick pavement of the driveway calmly and knock on the front door to indicate you are home, something you usually don't do as you don't really go inside. But, new cars in the driveway have new rules. Keep up the facade till the curtains fall.
You hear a few light slow footsteps and murmurs before the lock turns just as slowly, and the door opens to not reveal your guardian, or a party guest, or even a work colleague. No, it's a tall troll woman with sharp pointy horns skyscraping from her head. You try not to stare, you really do, but this woman is just--wow. What the fuck? Her outfit is the most attention drawing part, what seems to be a deep teal spandex-y leotard and leggings with a thick red latex-leather mix vest, or at least you think? And a thick skirty thing too, with slits on the sides. The jacket making some kind of teal sign, like two lines with a upside down U in it? Who the fuck dressed this woman?? You aren't a fashionista but dude this has to be a crime with the assault it brings to your eyes.
You don't really know what to say, so you just blurt out a “Uh. hello?” with what you can tell without looking is a confused ass face.
“Why hello dear, i've heard so much about you from the last few, hmm, hours? And a handful of other sources too, but that is not the point. You can call me Neophyte Redglare, I am a social worker here on an investigative charge as quite a few reports have been filed on this home. I promise I am not here to hurt or disturb you, I am simply here to confirm whether or not this home is safe for you to live in. now, would you be okay with a short interview?” This woman, honest to god, in some way, spews in the most elegant and in control sounding way ever.
“Uhhhhh sureee?” you say, looking at your guardian who is glaring, practically shooting daggers at you. “What type of interview do you mean?” you blurt out, trying to buy time. Is she gonna take you away? You don't want that! Or you do, but you dont wanna leave your shed. Your shed is your safe place, and the thought of not having it sends you into a spiraling panic. You cant let her take away your shed, she cant. She cant take it away, it's all you have, you cant you cant you cant. You don't wanna be here, you don't wanna leave this place you want her to go away you want your toes to touch the regular safety or pseudo safety you are used to.
Turns out, you have been hyperventilating the whole time. Fuck. “karkat, that's your name right? I need you to calm down. I can not help you if you can't calm down, and i really do want to help. Deep breaths dear, deep breaths'' she crouches down to your height and you almost lose it. Calm down? CALM DOWN? This woman could destroy everything you know, and she wants you to CALM DOWN?? And with the way this looks, your guardian wants you to calm down too, as for the first time you see fear in her eyes. You wonder why, your brain just isn't comprehending anything right now.
Turns out, not calming down at random harmless things is not a good mark of the whole ‘you get to keep your kids!’ shit, and she decides a different approach.
Her face becomes soft, almost pained, as she puts one of her hands on her knees while crouched and the other to the floor and goes “How about we go to your room and you tell me about your life here? You can even show me your favorite toys if you'd like, or talk about your favorite classes in school, I'm here to make sure you are okay, not interrogate you.”
Your guardian immediately seems panicked but arguing wouldn't look good, so instead she goes “yeah Karks, lead the way” with a fake smile and a bullshit nickname she just pulled out her ass. This fucking bitch. Anywho, with little air in your lungs you begin to point to the hallway, fully knowing there is no room in the house meant for you. So instead, you walk idly thinking about what the fuck you are gonna do to lead this lady on to go ahead and leave.
After maybe a minute of slowly going around the house, each of which of the rooms the lady must look at, it becomes painfully apparent that you have no idea where your ‘room’ should be, so you decide a different approach.
“We are currently redoing the house and getting me some new bedding and posters, sorry. I sleep on the couch until then” you very much so blurt out. “And i'm okay with that! I get to watch all the tv I want and comfy up to my favorite blankets”, a fake smile plastered on your face consistently. You can't tell if you are a good liar or not.
“Hmm. that's quite alright darling. Could you tell me a little bit about your home life? What are your family dinners like?” she calmly says and you instantly know what she's doing. She's testing you to see if you've been correctly fed, and if your story will stay consistent. She's looking for chips in your guardians argument. Youre not dumb, you know when its happening. You just have to give her something safe, something normal in her standards.
“Oh, usually we eat something like grubloaf because it's easy to make and my guardian has long long days at work. I don't wanna make her work more that she can with how tired she is, right? Sometimes she'll even let me help with the batter, it's awesome” you say with faux joy, and you can see the smile and thumbs up of the guardian that never once loved you behind her. You loathe the woman but you love your shed. Your safe place. Nobody is gonna take you away from it.
The woman seems to contemplate your words, squinting you think, but you can't tell with her thick red lensed glasses. “That's quite excellent! I'm very glad you get this time with her. Now this seems quite weird, what type of shampoo do you use? Your hair just looks so exquisite, im frankly jealous. My hair could never look that good” she, from what you can tell, says with fakeness practically dripping from her lips. This is another test, to see if you are bathed regularly. Now this is where you begin to panic.
You don't get to shower regularly, and that's not something you choose. The only shower or bath in the house is your guardians, and you are forbidden from even stepping foot near her door. The only time you get to shower is in the ones at school after gym, but with how crowded they usually are from the kids that are actually working hard you don't get much time to even sneak in to wash up. So, you do your best by sitting near your homeroom teacher’s collection of candles she lights on occasion. You are trying your best, fuck off.
Fuck, shes staring at you now, and suddenly you are acutely aware of just how much time has passed, and how panicked you should be. “The soft kind. You know, with the good smelly things. Like maple and pine cone, all the other boys at school wear that kinda stuff too” you kinda nervously drag out and don't make eye contact with her at all. That's where you know you fucked up, because suddenly that smile wipes off your guardians face and it turns to light malice masked in a fake metaphorical aroma of cheer. She’ll get you back for that later, hopefully only a little.
“Well i didn't see any shampoo or even conditioner matching that description in the bathroom, that is unless you use mint lavender that is almost running out?” which makes you choke on your own spit, you need to cover this shit quick.
“Oh we just ran out of mine, we are going to the store for groceries and that later tonight” you calmly, but not so calm on the inside, say and begin to idly pick up and stare at something on the kitchen counter island-y thing.
She raises an eyebrow, and at this point you are already exhausted with this conversation. You just got to your house, can this woman just leave already? “I don't mean to offend or question you, but i didn't see anything of the sort in the trash can in the bathroom. How long ago do you mean when you say it ran out?” she states with a blank expression, no more than one of those default smiles.
You copy her, with a just as blank express and say “Two days ago. We take out the trash often, we don't like the house smelling bad”. Will this work? You sure fucking hope so. NOBODY is allowed to take your shed, your place. Only yours, nobody else can touch you there. You are safe inside those rickety walls even if just for small amounts of time. Nobody can take that away, you refuse to let them.
“Ah, very understandable. Is it okay if i check the cupboards real quick? I promise it will not take long.” she states, turning to your guardian for approval. She nods, and the lady, Neo-something?, turns back to you somewhat, and trots to the counter below the cabinets.
As she creaks open the small wooden doors to them each, one by one, you see her face morph into a small amount of disdain, and you already know why.
Your guardian isn't one for home meals, parties and her moirail feed her just fine and all of them are while she's out of the house. The only food she really keeps here is dry non perishables to fill a cabinet or two for the guests, and some bread that almost always goes untouched and bad. So, when neo-lady, as you have so delicately named her, sees that she becomes a little stiff. She slowly goes down the wall of them, finding less and less and in some cases no food at all. Almost every can has dust coating the top, you aren't allowed to touch these.
She ends up crouching to the floor, squatting so open the lower cupboards, which just also have dust shit, just plastic bowls with massive cracks or dents in them. Left untouched for the world to forget. She goes through those too, more and more disappointment furrowing her brow.
Eventually she stands up, to look with a quirked eyebrow to your guardian, holding up a dusty can that she took from the cabinet and a rotting, muddied, molding package of untouched bread. “Care to explain Mrs.------?” she expresses with a clearly upset tone. You allow a thrum to block the noise. You don't like her name.
Your guardian stutters, the first time you've ever seen her do that. You do not spend much time with this lady, but you can understand unfamiliar from familiar manuisms. This is bad, this is so bad.
“As karkat said, we just need a grocery run. I assure you it's not as bad as it looks, he's just quite the picky eater after all. But then again aren't all grubs? Hahah” she says as she pulls you in at her side, and lightly pats your hair like a barkbeast being showed off to a crowd. You hate it, hate her, but you need to play along.
You think on your feet, and very quickly follow with a “yeah i just don't eat those things so they sit back there for a while, eventually we will either eat it or throw it out”, faking a smile and going close to your guardians leg hopefully looking innocent.
“And that's why the entirety of the cabinets are coated in dust? I surely think if you have been eating out of it, can marks would be in the dest, or signs of movement. Here it just looks like it's been left closed for months. May i see the fridge?” she almost sounds impatient. You really wonder why, no sarcasm. This lady must really not like her job.
Your guardian smiles wide, “Why yes of course, we have nothing to hide mam, feel absolutely free” and you can practically see a vein twitch in her face.
“Never said you were.'' The neo-lady says, swiftly walking to the fridge that you really don't know how to explain. You don't really know what is in fact in the fridge, you never check it, and you doubt she does either. You hold your breath.
Not to your surprise, the fridge is mostly empty when she opens it. Aside from a few mason jars of what looks like expired soup her morial makes for her, and fruit in some of the drawers are long molded and lost to the lukewarm air of the fridge plastic. This just seems to upset the woman more.
“And this?” neo-lady says in an impatient, pointy way. This one you can't win, but you know you can win something else.
The kitchen fills with a foul smell as your guardian seems to stutter, as if she is slowly being edged more and more toward a final cliff.
You decide to pipe up for her, “its been broken a while, we need a new one so we have been eating non perishables or take out a lot” letting go of her leg to stand a little farther up to seem more innocent, as innocent as a 12 year old troll can be.
The lady sighs a deep exhale, seeming very exhausted with this conversation and issue. “Is that so dear? How long exactly?” neo-lady says, and it's obviously more tests. You arent fucking stupid but you have to play that part.
“Maybe two-ish weeks? I'm not sure on an exact date, but the take out is really nice and it's not like I'm gonna argue. Chicken nuggets are dope” you hum out, walking away idly to the couch where your ‘favorite blanket’ sits. It's really just a random one on the shaggy carpet of the living room.
The lady seems to humor you, loosening her posture, you think she's trying to make you more relaxed as to let her just do her job and be honest with her. Like hell you will. “Alright, well that seems to wrap up the house situation” she says, pulling a clipboard from her sylladex. “Let's explore the back porch, shall we?” she says waving a hand twords the back screen slide-y doors while scribbling something down. Your blood runs cold.
“Yes, yes! Of course Mrs. Redglare, feel absolutely free!” your guardian seems to reflect the same sobering thought of what is about to happen. Fuck, FUCK! This can't be happening. No, no, no, NO it can't. Oh god your head is spinning too fast, you almost feel physically sick. Bile churns deep in your gut, oh lord.
You feel doomed and shackled somewhere you cant even see the moment your shoes touch the cracked splintering wood of the back porch, you feel as though any second you'll fall through the wood and straight down in a pit of fire---and maybe you'd even prefer that. You don't wanna leave here, your shed, you don't wanna be in the system. You've heard the horror stories, you've heard the terrible things. You wanna know where there ISN'T horror stories, or pain, or fear? Your shed. Your shed is absolute fine, it's the safest place in the world. So WHY is she trying to take it from you?
The lump in your throat only grows the more she walks on the porch that creaks with every step, untouched and uncared for, for practically years. It owes and receives nothing, just rotting in a corner, a lot like your shed. She puts a finger to the railing only to be pricked from each edge she tries, and because of her thick gloves, you don't see the probably small drop of blood drip down.
When she speaks again, you almost don't hear it, the rushing of blood in your ear drums drowning out the sound of everything that engulfs and holds you in this moment. The birds are suddenly too loud but then too far to be heard, a distant hum--probably your heartbeat--drives by the distant you inhibit. You are absolutely terrified.
“This does seem a tad bit outdated, Ms--” her name seems to black out, a crackling audio blur “as it looks so far your argument seems to be weak in its simplest form, but there are several other issues with it i do not wish to discuss in front of a child.” the woman deeply sighs, turning to you.
“Do you feel safe here Karkat? Deeply safe, as in not hit, always fed and clothed, adequate supplies for school and basic necessities i haven't stated?” she says, crouching down once more to your level, you think she does it to make you feel in control, equal to her. Children usually are belittled and ignored, but if you give them a sense of being able to have a share in the matter it helps them feel at least slightly better about difficult situations. It allows them to create their own safety in a way, a trust they will not hurt if on equal ground. Essentially a mind game, and you see straight through it.
Without hesitation but a roaring thunder of fear clasps down on your ears and heart strings, and you speak. “Yes.” there's no fight in it, no meaning or emotion, a blank statement through lips parched and shaking. You feel naked, bare and watched over thousands of eyes not there, a deep deep fear you hope will end and never show its face again afterward.
The lady, Neo-lady, seems to contemplate it. “Okay, i believe you. I think I will get going on my way for a final evaluation, I will most likely return once a week for a while to confirm your living situations are adequate for a child, as the amount of reports on this house is shockingly high.” you can tell she doesn't believe you, but that's fine. She doesn't have enough evidence to incriminate your guardian, so you get to keep your safe place. Familiarity over safety.
You try to stay calm, not to smile, or shake in fear. You certainly try. You stand stiffly still, clinging to your guardians leg innocently. You think your guardian is doing the same with a saint (that she isn't) smile, and you ignore the anger that bubbles for this woman. You are saving her ass by proxy and you know she'll take advantage of the grounds you've laid out. The blood rushing in your ears at least allows that anger to numb itself out, to chew on later.
She sighs, and begins to turn before standing still at the sliding glass doorway that leads back into the house. She looks deep in thought, and you hope she snaps out of it soon. Thinking is bad, in this case at least. She lets it go, a blank neutral smile, seemingly practiced, and turns around. “I bid you both a wonderful farewell, thank you for your time.” she says in a clear, firm manner. Yeah, definitely practiced.
You really think it's over, you really do. You grip your guardians leg once more, just to know you exist, because you feel like you don't. You let go in a shuddering breath, unseeable through a meditative view you have thoroughly recited your whole life. You feel good again, mainly because this woman is about to finally fucking leave.
That is until the universe decides to fuck you over one last time today. Actually fuck that, saying that only means itll prove it will like the bozo it fucking is--always one upping you with the raw deal of the ass cow.
“Actually, may i see what is in that shed? It looks very decrepit and children shouldn't be playing with it. It's only its last standing leg, and doesn't seem safe for a child at all” she coolly states, as if she was thinking this for a while. You wanna vomit. What if you did? What if you made yourself vomit, right here, and distracted her? She has a soft spot for kids, maybe she’d coo at you and pity the ‘poor baby’ instead of looking back to the shed. You could break your leg on purpose, slip into the wood you know will certainly break beneath your weight, as it is already doing so on its own. You could bang your head on the railing and play it off. You could throw yourself off the porch, even though it's just a three or four feet drop it could do something to save you. You think you may be dissociating at this point.
Apparently, in that whole charade in your head, your guardian has begun to accept her fate and very, very slowly walk and talk with this woman on the way to the shed. Maybe when they are 10-15 feet away you finally snap back to reality for the most part, and book it down the stairs next to them. You feel like you are walking on a battlefield as you do, metal tink-tink hat and everything. Gun in your hands, the enemy on your tail at all egdes, and this fucking bitch of a lady commands them. Commands they to take away YOUR SAFE PLACE. You wanna scream and thrash and bite at the thought, a hiss is storing itself deep in your lungs--you can feel it. You clamp it down regardless.
Your mind begins to falter, and your legs seem to sway in a hallucinating way. Your vision feels very distorted, like a dream but it's not--its a nightmare.
They reach the door, the dying, aching in life and death simultaneously, door. Your stomach drops. Sweat would begin to collect on the hem of your collared shirt, that is if you were truly awake for this--which you aren't. You feel high, fuzzy like a doll or a memory. You soar high in your mind because you wanna be anywhere but here. You wish you could grow wings, and take your beloved decaying shed and fly far away from here and never come back to this town again. You wish you could die right now, on the spot. A quick, painless death. It will be merciful compared to what's about to follow. You dance mentally with the image of a life far away from here in the nest of your crazed high mind. A safe place untouchable even to the gods if they even exist.
But you can not do those things. They will not happen or work. You'd say it's sobering but it really isn't, not when you are like this.
The door swings open with slight effort, you know because it is routine for you. You added some scrap fabric to the bottom to keep water from getting in during bad storms or heavy rain because it ruined one of the only pairs of jeans you've had, and part of your crab blanket. It gives with a medium push, revealing your beloved in all her glory.
She is ragged, she is holy. Your saving grace, a rickety wooden barrier from quite literally everything. She will now be torn apart, you know that. You breathe in the knowledge of her imminent destruction. You cry a sorry out from the blinding cubical you safe for yourself in your mind, the words never reach your lips. But the tears, oh the tears do. They begin to well, and surface on the crinkles of your eyelids, dancing with your skin and the air to see who will move them first. You feel stabbed, you feel nothing. How exhilarating.
The woman goes stiller than a mouse, her calm poise now a statue to her likeness. Her lips straighten in displeasure--no, anger. Angry adults aren't good, but you know this already, don't you? She holds her breath as she steps in, the click of her heeled-boots ringing out from the wood that should have been buried a long, long time ago.
She ghosts her fingers onto the woolen scraps and rough edges of the wood, silent and unreadable. She tip-taps over to your bed. Stained, moldy, and probably putrid smelling but you wouldn't be able to tell. She goes to touch your blankets but stops herself, taking a step away with gripped fists are her side, still silent. She does not see you just yet, that is good. You have time to cry and let be, calm a little (you know you won't).
Her lips are now curled in anger, it builds like one of those temperature meters the meat guy uses when you help out there. She looks at your box of rations, canned goods and tiny fridge. She swiftfully and gracefully, even in anger, opens it to the meat inside, and those precious, precious rare goods inside you haven't even gotten to eat yet. Honestly you may never will.
Her eyes drift to the half full of brown rain water (probably from the rust of the roof) to the hidden boxes of a few pairs of clothes. Not a single sanitary thing in sight. They dust over your sewing machine, scarred all over with scratches but beautiful to you. Finally she looks to the shiity, shitty generator. You aren't using it right now, you save that for winter or keep the fridge cool in intervals. If it breaks you are fucked, so you try to step off the gas on it metaphorically. Her anger seems to inch and inch to livid by the minute. The room probably smells like shit from the piss stains in the carpet you never can wash out, you were a kid then so you ignore the guilt and shame you feel even in your own nest within your skull.
Your shit thermos is in the corner because you don't get to use bathrooms unless it's at school and weekends don't mean bodily functions get off days. It's nasty, but so is hypothermia from shitting in the yard behind the shed or begging to be let inside from the patio for roughly an hour before being yelled at. Yeah, shame takes over at this point. You wonder if this is normal for normal kids. You doubt it. You hope you aren't too fucked up.
The woman, neo-something, the last hour is hazy now and you don't care for or remember her name/title whatever, stands still not facing either of you for what seems like an eternity.
That is until a dragon shaped walking cane---oh shit that's a sword. So, let you correct yourself, until she pops out a dragon shaped sword. She doesn't even look at you when she states in a suddenly, erriy voice,
“Mrs *******, you are under arrest for child neglect, lying and withholding information from an officer of the law, and violation of basic rights. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.”
And she turns around, sword in one hand and phone in the other, dialing backup or cops or some shit, you don't care anymore. You think your guardian is pleading or lying more. It's getting fuzzier and fuzzier by the minute. Their voices are blurred and faces smeared in pallets of vague color.
The ground looks really comfy right now. Oh, hello. It seems to be coming to meet you.