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==> Be Karkat.
You lean your temple against the glass, the cool temperature a welcome contrast against your hot skin. The tears streaking your face have long since dried, and your eyes are puffy and swollen. You're too tired to cry anymore.
You glance up at the creature held inside the stasis chamber. The liquid inside is a faint green, casting a soft glow throughout the ectobiology lab. Its carapace hasn't fully developed yet, and you can see through the paper-thin skin. The veins pulse lightly with each push of blood from the creature's heart, its candy red blood appearing black though the green fluid. Occassionally, a finger twitches. A futile display of life, as it will never be permitted to wake. And yet its biological machinery persists, unaware of the meaninglessness behind the cell signals and chemical interactions. It's simply doing what it was made to do, insouciant in its process. You wish you could say the same for yourself.
You're distantly grateful they weren't witness to the frog breeding you and Kanaya did on her land. It's tragically ironic that your interference led to the conception of a universe never meant to bear fruit; a universe genetically predisposed to failure. At least you didn't fuck up creating the paradox clones of your friends, as far as you're aware.
It still haunts you, though. Despite knowing there were several unavoidable key events that played a part in orchestrating both sessions' downfalls, your role in them makes the guilt curl deep and ugly in your gut. Every day that goes by displays the consequences of your actions, like scars ripped through paradox space serving to taunt you for your mistakes. You shouldn't be on the meteor, chumming it up with the humans you've doomed. You and your group should have passed through the gate and claimed your prize on the victory platform, but your involvement ensured that would never come to pass.
You wonder if everything would have gone better if you never existed. But for some unfathomable reason, paradox space deems you just important enough to keep you around. It's as if your fuckups are part of its convoluted plan. It's humiliating.
Suddenly, you hear the telltale sound of someone transportalizing into the lab. Fucking great.
You hold your breath, hoping they don't scope out the room. You're tucked between the stasis chambers in the center of the room, facing away from the transportalizer. Maybe they won't see you.
Of course, paradox space decides to humiliate you further.
You hear footsteps approaching around the back of the chambers. You shrink in on yourself, trying in vain to blend into your surroundings. You see a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, and god dammit, of all the people it could've been it had to be Dave? He's the last person you need seeing you like this.
He doesn't seem to have spotted you yet, likely due to his lack of nocturnal vision and his shades. It's a wonder he hasn't tripped and ate shit. He crosses to the wall opposite of you and wedges himself between some metal crates, sitting down and running a hand through his hair. Your breath catches as you see him rub his hands on his face, sliding them under his shades and pushing them on top of his head. He lets out a shuddered sigh and lets his eyes flutter open. You're too far away to see his gaze, but you can tell the instant he spots you by the way he goes rigid.
Shit.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You don’t know what to say.
Wordlessly, he slips his shades back on and squeezes out of his makeshift hiding spot, not even sparing you a glance as he tries to briskly walk out of the lab.
"Wait," you say before you can think. You wince. Your voice sounds raw.
Dave pauses, turning his head only a fraction toward you. He doesn't respond. You're regretting opening your mouth more by the second.
"What, uh," you start, "what are you doing here?"
You sound like a desperate idiot. You don't know why you didn't just let him leave. Fuck you and fuck your curiosity. Finally, Dave responds.
"I could ask you the same."
Okay, fair point. But how the hell do you respond? You can't tell him you came in here to cry like a wriggler because you feel sick with shame that you're even allowed to live. You can't tell him you seeked out the lab in particular to really rub the salt in your own wounds, because it serves as a reminder of your past mistakes like some weird, gratuitous form of self-punishment. You don't want to ruin the tentative friendship you two have.
"I needed some time alone," you settle on eventually. It's true but it's vague enough that you're not unceremoniously dumping all your problems on him.
"Same," he replies. An awkward silence fills the room as you just stare at each other. Despite that, neither of you move. Eventually, you can't take it anymore and decide to speak.
"So are you just going to stand there? You can either join me or leave. I was here first."
Dave stays still for a few seconds, expressionless, before finally turning and walking towards you, plopping down beside you with his legs crossed. You're kind of surprised he chose to stay, not even bickering with you about it beforehand. You blame it on the fact that it's in the middle of sleeping hours. After a few more moments of silence, you prod at him.
"What's wrong with you, you're never this quiet."
He brushes your finger away without looking. This close, side by side, you can see a little glimpse of his eyes. Your heartbeat quickens when you realize his irises are bright red, the same color yours will eventually develop into. You don't think that's normal for humans, judging from the handful of human movies you and Dave have started watching together. The thought that he might also have a mutation with the same color does something weird but not unwelcome to your insides.
You also notice the heavy bags under his eyes. He looks like he's just as exhausted as you.
"Couldn't sleep?" you try.
His lips quirk up in a small smirk and he huffs through his nose.
"I've been sleeping like a goddamn baby. That's why I'm out in the dead of night in the pits of the meteor, cause my sleep schedule is the pinnacle of health right now. At this rate they'll be putting me on the cover of health magazines and asking for my secrets."
You roll your eyes. At least he's talking now. It's more familiar ground.
"Yeah, okay asshole. I can't sleep either."
He turns slightly to look at you, brow quirked over his shades.
"I, uh,” you start, “it’s like… shit, I don't really know. Things are just really fucking weird right now. You know what I mean?"
"You mean besides the fact that we're hurdling through an infinite void on a meteor lab thing at the speed of light?"
"Yes, besides that and the plethora of other ludicrous bullshit we've been subject to. Do you want me to make you a list? Would that satisfy your standards?"
"Nah."
You shoot him a glare before you continue.
"Anyway, shit's weird and I can't sleep. I'd sincerely rather bite my own bulge off than pass out because one, the dreambubbles are either horrifying or teeth-grittingly miserable, and two, I get too in my head and can't even fall asleep in the first place, so it's a moot point."
You sigh and run a hand through your hair before continuing.
"It feels weird to be here? Like... I feel like I shouldn't be here. No, I know I shouldn't be here, and because I am, my thinkpan doesn't know what the fuck to do about it."
You glance at Dave. He's looking at you intently, waiting for you to continue.
“…Have you ever felt like you've spent your entire life just trying to survive, and now that there's no longer a daily looming threat, you dont know what to do with yourself?”
Dave remains silent. You suddenly feel a little embarrassed.
"Nevermind, that was a dumb question. Alternia was apparently uniquely fucking cutthroat. Earth wasn’t like that…” you pause, looking at Dave and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, as far as I’m aware?”
He briefly contemplates your question.
"I mean, not really, I guess? I don't really know. Earth had its fair share of fucked up history though.”
There's a brief pause.
“But… to answer your earlier question. Yeah. I get it.”
That wasn't the answer you were expecting.
“Wait, are you serious? Did Earth also have its own culling drones and I somehow just didn't know that??”
“Uh, no? Well... wait, culling drones?”
You grip the sleeves of your sweater, uncomfortable from the unpleasant reminder.
"Yeah, they’re responsible for exterminating those of us who are seen as unfit for the Empress’ regime. Which is why it’s so fucking stupid that I'm still on high alert! Alternia is gone, the drones are gone, but I still find myself unceremoniously shitting my pants every time the weird tech on this damn rock makes any noise even vaguely resembling the hum of the drones flying by.”
Dave is just looking at you, slack jawed.
“…What the fuck?”
You wince.
“Exactly. It’s stupid.”
“Nonono, back the fuck up. That was seriously a thing?”
You shrug tiredly, scowling.
"Yeah, it’s whatever. I mean, it makes sense, only the fittest were allowed to survive so they could serve under the Empress when they reached adulthood.”
"So were you guys just constantly being hunted or some shit?”
You hesitate.
“I mean, kind of? To some extent? But…”
“But?”
Your face scrunches up. Suddenly you feel very exposed, and you look around out of habit as if you're being watched.
“I’m uh…”
You huff exasperatedly, gripping your hair with your hands and letting your head fall back against the glass of the stasis chamber with a dull clank.
"Auuuughhh, why do I even fucking care? Why is this so hard to fucking say?? Everyone knows my blood color, and nobody gives a shit!”
Dave stares at you blankly, clearly out of the loop.
“Your blood color? Isn't it just like, red? Is that weird or something? I'm pretty sure I've seen red blooded trolls in some of your movies.”
You lift your head back from the glass, giving him a flat stare.
“You mean rustbloods, nookwhiff.”
He shrugs.
“Okay, same diff.”
Is he being serious right now?
“No, Dave, not ‘same diff’!" you snap, "I fucking wish I was a rust blood! That would’ve made my life a hell of a lot fucking easier!”
You’re only met with a genuinely confused and slightly concerned look. You sigh, your anger dissipating. You lower your voice almost to a whisper.
“My blood isn’t rust. It’s bright fucking red. Mutant red. It’s a miracle I even managed to evade culling when I was hatched. One look at my disgustingly vibrant thorax as a grub and I’d be dead in less than a second.”
You pull your legs up to your chest, resting your arms on your knees and letting your head slump into them.
“I should be over it, but I’m not. And it’s such a pain in the ass! As if it’s not already enough to be worrying about our arrival in the new session. I know I’m going to die, so I might as well be enjoying my time here, right? But I can’t. I should be fucking grateful that I’m even alive right now. I guess still being scared shitless every day is a fitting punishment for all my fuckups. God, why am I even telling you all this? It’s meaningless to you.”
Dave is silent for a beat, before you hear him speak in a soft voice.
“I'm not going to let you die.”
You grumble dismissively but don't lift your head. You feel raw and exposed, like a scab that's been ripped open. He speaks up again, voice firm.
“Dude. Look at me. I’m not going to let you die. Kanaya’s not going to let you die. Terezi’s not going to let you die, and Rose isn’t going to let you die, so don’t fucking say that. God dammit Karkat, don’t fucking ignore me, look at me!”
He's almost yelling by the end of it. It's overwhelming. You've almost never heard him raise his voice, and you don't know how to feel. You whip your head up, face twisted, and oh great, there are fresh tears spilling out of your eyes. Just perfect.
“Fine!" you snap, "are you happy now?!”
Dave freezes in a stunned silence. You're pretty sure he hasn't seen you cry before. He scoots closer to you and lifts a hand to your face, but hesitates. Your breath catches as you stare at his hand, which hovers awkwardly in the air. He then pulls his sleeve over his hand and uses the back of his wrist to wipe your tears. Your heart is hammering in your chest when the fabric brushes gently over your cheeks, and you're suddenly hyper aware of how pale this interaction is. Does he know what he's doing? Does he understand the implications? The heat of his skin under the fabric feels electric, and in a moment of weakness you let yourself indulge. Your eyes slip closed as you lean into the touch, desperately needing the comfort. All too soon, he's withdrawing his hand, and you mourn the loss of the warmth. He clears his throat.
“I'd uh, offer you a tissue or something, but I don’t exactly keep that shit on me. I can’t really whip it out like a grieving widow at a funeral—I mean, uh, not whip it out, fuck. Um. You, uh… I’m just not really used to, um, this? Shit.”
You get a grip on yourself just long enough to level him with a flat glare.
“Okay yeah I’m shutting up now.”
You manage a smirk.
“You should learn to do that more often.”
Dave looks away and runs a hand through his hair, a light blush dusting his cheeks. You're acutely aware that your hips are touching. Despite the emotional rollercoaster it's sending you on, it's grounding. You look down at your shoes.
“…Thanks.”
Dave looks back at you, the corner of his lips quirked up in a small smile.
“For shutting up?”
You huff out a small laugh.
“No, asswipe, for… caring, I guess? I don’t understand why you or anyone else for that matter would even bother, but…”
Dave interjects as you trail off.
“Karkat. Dude. Stop talking about yourself like that. It’s only funny when I’m the one shitting on you.”
You glance over at Dave, a small, tired grin on your face.
“Fine. Since you were being so polite about it.”
“Naturally,” Dave smiles back.
You are suddenly very aware of how tired you are. Everything feels so heavy. You let your head fall back on the glass, eyes drifting shut.
“Fuck, I’m exhausted.”
“Well it is almost four in the morning meteor-time,” Dave responds.
“Mmnnnghh,” you grumble, eyes still shut. It's such a relief to have them closed, you're not sure anything could pry them open right now.
“Wait, that’s kinda arbitrary," Dave rambles. "Shit, what were your guys’ timekeeping measurements again? Damn I gotta step up my game. I'm the time guy I can't be caught slacking. I mean I know what time it is but y'all are like, nocturnal or something so for all intents and purposes 4 am is just like early evening to you guys—”
Dave cuts himself off when he feels your head loll onto his shoulder. You didn't even notice you were slumping over. A small part of you is internally screaming, but it's vastly outweighed by how comfortable you feel, despite sitting on the cold tile floor. Dave is so warm.
The last thing that you hear before you drift off to sleep is a barely audible "holy shit," whispered right against your ear.
==> Be Dave.
The first thing you notice as you slip back into consciousness is holy fuck your ass hurts. Your neck hurts. Oh, and your back hurts, for good measure. You groan, scrunching your still-shut eyes and lifting your head from where it was leaned on its side. Something wispy tickles your nose as you move, and your cheek suddenly feels rather cold.
You blearily open your eyes, blinking slowly. Your eyelids feel like sandpaper, and you’re tempted to let them slip shut once more and go back to leeching off the warmth pressed against your side.
Wait, what warmth pressed where?
Any lingering sleepiness is instantly gone as you quickly sit up, casting a wary glance to your side.
Karkat grumbles and tries to tuck his face further into your shoulder, somehow still managing to look pissed off in his sleep.
Oh fuck.
The events from last night come flooding back. Waking up from another vivid nightmare, deciding sleep is overrated anyways, and wandering the meteor in the dead of night because your room felt simultaneously suffocating and exposing. Finding the lab and staring in awe at the creatures in the stasis chamber, reminiscent of the specimens in your old room. Electing to stay in there, because in a weird way, it felt like they were watching over you, protecting you from…
And then there was Karkat, huddled between the tubes and chambers, barely visible. It would have been so easy to miss him, but you’ve been trained to keep a keen eye out for what might lurk in the shadows. Any slip of your guard and you’d pay the price in biting back tears as you messily stitch your wounds shut in the bathroom.
The skin on your forearms prickles from old scars that never seem to fade. You want to scratch them out.
Careful not to wake Karkat, you slowly cross your forearms and rub at the skin over your god tier pajamas, applying just enough pressure to distract from the phantom pains. One of your sleeves rides up, and you see a scar that sliced through your freckle. It’s cut in two, the melanin appearing splotchy where it’s tried in vain to come back through the mangled tissue. It makes you feel sick.
Your heart is pounding, but your breaths remain mechanically even. The initially comforting warmth radiating from Karkat now feels like it's searing a hole into your side. You let yourself be too vulnerable, and any minute now you’re going to suffer the consequences. You know Bro is long dead, but that fact doesn’t shake the years of learned responses that have been beaten into you throughout your adolescence.
Even in death, he is actualized into existence by your battered mind. The ghost of him still exerts control in the way your eyes strain into the shadows, looking for someone long gone. He lives on in the feeling of your skin crawling, wondering if you’re being recorded by the cameras hidden away in puppets. He twists in your guts when you think of how pathetic you look right now, cuddled up with a boy and 0.5 seconds away from an anxiety attack.
You need to get the fuck out of here.
You attempt to get up carefully, because the last thing you want is for Karkat to wake up, and for you to deal with that mess on top of everything else. Unfortunately, fear has made you sloppy. You try to stand and your head swims, causing you to tilt backwards and smack your head against the stasis chamber behind you. You feel your back slide down against the glass as you collapse into a sitting position, knees curled up towards your chest. Your head is buzzing and you feel a vein throb persistently in your temple, making your vision spotty. Your breath is shallow and rapid now, and your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.
“-ave?”
You think you hear something, but the blood rushing in your ears muffles it out. You feel like you’re underwater.
There’s a hand on your shoulder. You nearly jump out of your skin at the contact, shooting to your feet and stumbling back into another chamber.
“Holy fucking shit, Dave, are you okay? What the hell is happening?”
That’s a good fucking question, a small, still functional part of your brain provides. The voice, Karkat, is standing in front of you now. Your jaw is clenched so hard it’s a wonder your teeth don’t crack.
He reaches a hand toward you, and you reflexively raise your forearm to block it. He pauses, then fixes you with a determined stare.
“Do you trust me?”
Do I trust him? Through your distress, abstract memories flash into your mind. Hanging out in Can Town, scribbling dicks in Rose’s book, watching movies, playing children’s games, and your petty, lighthearted banter. Against all odds, Karkat Vantas is your best friend on this godforsaken rock.
You swallow, wincing as the skin of your throat sticks to itself. You manage a small nod.
He reaches out a hand once more, bringing it to your arm still positioned between the two of you. He gently grabs your hand and works your fist open with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest upon the center of his chest. Before you can wonder what the hell he’s up to, you feel a vibration resonating through your arm accompanied by an insect-like trill. He takes purposeful, measured breaths, making sure you can feel the rise and fall of his chest.
“Breathe with me,” he says, his voice laced with the sounds he’s making. It’s similar to when a cat meows mid-purr.
Too stunned by the turn of events to argue, you follow his instructions.
With each extended inhale, your chest feels less tight. With each exhale, it's as if you breathe out a bit more of your brain fog. He continues to guide you, slowly bringing you back to reality with this rhythm he’s set. You’re acutely aware of his hand covering yours, holding it in place over his heart. You’d feel more exposed if you weren’t even more deeply tucked between the stasis chambers than before, thanks to your panicked stumbling.
He’s staring at you now, an odd look in his eye. You’re about to ask what’s up before he’s pulling your hand off his chest, bringing it around his side, and woah, woah, woah, he’s drawing you closer and you should really wriggle out of this predicament instead of letting yourself be pulled in because—
He wraps his arms around you, tucking your head into his shoulder. You’re frozen in place, pressed flush against him, unsure of what the hell to do in this situation. He’s still trilling, the sound sending vibrations straight through your ribs. You feel his hands running along your back and his breath hot on your neck when you hear,
“Shhhh, it’s okay, just relax.”
Okay, this is fine. This is cool. Bros hug it out sometimes, nothing weird about it. You can try to relax, because you’re chill. You’re chill and you did not unceremoniously flip your shit less than a few minutes ago.
You make a conscious effort to untense your muscles. He’s still breathing in his set tempo, and you follow his lead like it's a lifeline. With each breath out, you let yourself sink deeper into his arms. A distant part of your brain is telling you that this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be doing this. You can’t let yourself. Any minute now, the rug is going to be pulled out from under you. You’re going to get your shit rocked for daring to let yourself indulge in the comfort being offered to you on a silver fucking platter. It’s too good for you, better than what you could ever deserve.
Your breath hitches. Very uncool of you.
Karkat brings one of his hands up to rest at the nape of your neck, dragging his blunt fingernails through your hair.
“It’s okay, it’s only me,” he whispers, “you’re safe. Shhhhh.”
His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. Which… isn’t really saying much. It’s still grating and loud enough to almost hurt right next to your ear, and you only consider it whispering because it’s laced with a breathy airflow. Like stage-whispering. It’s oddly endearing.
That’s one of the reasons why Karkat puts you at ease. He’s so expressive and only has one volume setting, i.e. loud as fuck. It’s the polar opposite of your life back at home, before the game. You never knew for sure if you were alone or not—Bro could’ve been lurking anywhere, ready to strike. He was always unreadable in conversations, speaking in stinted, monotone sentences that gave nothing away. You never have to guess with Karkat. You couldn’t shut him up if you tried.
You finally let yourself sink fully into Karkat, hesitantly bringing your arms up to wrap around his waist. He dominates all your senses, drowning out your thoughts and allowing you to let go. You get lost in the vibrations from his chest, his hands in your hair, and the soothing words from his mouth. You’ve never been held this gently. He treats you as one would a priceless artifact, sturdy yet delicate from years of wear. You can only hope he doesn’t start looking at you like a pity-case after this.
All too soon, he’s pulling back. Your bodies are still pressed together, your arms hanging loosely around him. His hands come up to cradle your face, and you wonder briefly if he’s going to kiss you. The thought isn’t nearly as concerning as it should be, but you’re in a cried-out and sleep deprived daze. You’ll freak out about it in due time. He brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away residual tears.
“How are you feeling now?”
You only manage a shrug. You’re not sure how you’re feeling, and speaking now with a lump in your throat is too risky. Your coolkid persona is barely hanging on by a thread as it is.
Karkat, thankfully, takes over speaking for the time being.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea. We’ve both been up our own spinal crevices way too much lately to attend to Can Town. How about we go there and catch up on what we missed? We’ve left the mayor hanging long enough.”
You sniffle and clear your throat.
“Yeah man, the mayor’s fuckin awesome. He doesn’t deserve to be left high and dry.”
“Alright, then what are we waiting for, fuckface? Let’s go. My whole body hurts from the frankly terrible sleeping arrangement last night and I need to move.”
“Oh my god, right? My ass is killing me. I swear that shit’s bruised. My beautiful plush rump has been mistreated for too long.”
“How about you stop talking about your ass and actually fucking use it to move your body to Can Town?”
“I don’t technically have to use anything, I can just fly there.”
“If you fly I am grabbing you by your cape and choking you with it.”
“Aw what? Not cool, dude.”
Karkat’s already started making his way to the transportalizer, stopping to look at you expectantly. He gestures impatiently for you to follow.
You flip him off, trying and failing to hide the smile on your face. Of course Karkat wouldn’t start treating you differently. He’s a douchebag through and through, but he’s sweet when he wants to be. He gets you in a way your other friends don’t. You still love them to death, but you could never let them see you like this. With Karkat, you feel understood. It’s nerve wracking, the vulnerability, but he handles it in a way that works with your fucked up brain. Likely because he’s fucked up in similar ways, despite your radically different upbringings.
You float over to meet him, just because you can. His face scrunches into a constipated-looking rage as he yells at you, making good on his earlier threats and jumping up to grasp at your cape. While you’re busy laughing, he misses and grabs your pant leg instead, sending you careening into him. You land in a jumbled heap, his cape plan backfiring as he gets tangled in the fabric. You’re both laughing now, and despite not flying anymore, you’re feeling much lighter.
You don’t know if you’d ever feel comfortable disclosing your past to Karkat in full, but for now, he makes things easier to deal with. You hope you can do the same for him.