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Language:
English
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Published:
2012-01-16
Words:
435
Chapters:
1/1
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4
Kudos:
65
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Summary:

An offshoot timeline where they face Jack before they're ready.

Work Text:

He was right there, in front of him. Just standing there, begging to be killed. And suddenly, Karkat was overwhelmed with remembering every injustice that Jack Noir had ever inflicted upon him, upon all of them. And he was overcome with such rage that he didn't think, couldn't think, and he charged at Jack. There was no way that, upon remembering everything they had suffered, he couldn't charge at him.

Cut. Slice.

And then he was lying there, on the ground, cherry red blood dripping from the wound in his chest. There was a gurgling noise that he really hoped wasn't coming from him. He knew it was, though, and that scared the fuck out of him. He was taken over by excruciating pain, and watched as his lifeblood poured out of him, making a mockery of him, even as he lay dying. Perhaps it was just as well that Karkat knew he was going to die, because surely he wouldn't be allowed to live now that his secret had finally been unmasked. He started to drift off, started to close his eyes. Started to give up.

Without warning, his torso was being lifted, and he was on somebody's lap, with a hand stroking his hair. Pain blurred his vision, and he didn't know who his comforter was until he heard the voice, whispering whispering.

"Don't die on me. No. You can't die, you're going to hold on, nobody else is dying today. Nobody, do you hear me? Not even you. Not even you."

Karkat managed a ghost of a smile as he recognised the voice, and the degree of worry displayed clearly in it. As he lay dying, Dave Strider himself was the one to comfort him, his coolkid mask but a memory. He tried to say as much, but it only came out as garbled nonsense. Dave shushed him, telling him that, no, don't speak, save your energy. It was useless, Karkat knew. He was going to die anyway. At this point it was inevitable.

He closed his eyes, content to just enjoy the feeling of the hand in his hair, the arm around his shoulders, the voice in his ears, and try to ignore the pain in his chest, the weakness he felt. But Dave shook him, telling him to keep his eyes open, reminding him that he was not going to die on him. Not today.

But Karkat just smiled, and closed his eyes anyway. He knew his time was short.

Mustering up the last of his energy, he whispered one last sentence.

"Thank you."

And then he was gone.

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