Chapter 1: Karkat: Boggle Vacantly at These Shenanigans
Chapter Text
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and after watching half of your petulant, garbage-vomiting friends kill, maim, and psychologically damage the other half with reckless abandon, you find yourself with just enough energy to feel betrayed over losing one more. You don’t exactly blame Sollux for staying behind. He and Aradia were close, and if you’re honest with yourself, far closer than you and he ever were. And between the choice of drifting aimlessly through the Furthest Ring with a cheerfully macabre Time fairy versus hurtling towards yet another doomed session with even grimmer odds, fucking off at the start seems like it’s right up his alley.
And well, as long as you’re being honest, the past several hours were enough for anyone to go shithive maggots. You had to live through Team Scourge’s murder-machinations, Eridan and Gamzee flipping the fuck out, and on top of it, seeing John, sweeps older than you and minutes after cold-clocking Vriska, brandish a blood-soaked rag while he babbled about pranks, only for him to vanish into thin air with no explanation.
So, yeah. Maybe you don’t blame Sollux. If you had the ability to fly like practically all the other squawkbeast impersonating shitlords, maybe you would have fucked off with them. But you’ll be damned if you have to spend another minute listening to the Light heroes gab on about strategy.
You decide to leave once Kanaya suggests a tour; no way in hell do you want to entertain the humans, step around the rainbow-colored blood menagerie littering the floors, or see one more goddamn chest stuffed with your dead friends’ shit. You take a cue, however small, from your lisp-ridden so-called friend and abscond the hell out.
Once you arrive at your block, it occurs to you that you never bothered alchemizing a recuperacoon, or a shitty pile of inane items for that matter. Not that you really had any time or desire to; you’re a pretty busy guy what with dodging murders, not sleeping, failing at keeping everyone safe, and cowering in fear while you watched your friends die. Who needs a nap when you know as soon as you rest your ganderbulbs, some Outer Ring monstrosity is just itching to sneak a cuddle with your think pan?
God you’re tired.
To make matters worse, your other good friend miraculously came back from the dead – no thanks to you, of course – only to become utterly ensconced in the Lalonde human’s ‘grill.’ Yes, the troll/human sloppy makeouts are afoot, and don’t you feel tickled right down to your spinal crevice that past-you was right all along? Just over ten hours for the humans to contaminate your team. Over ten hours from when you were so close to opening that door to the new universe. And it’s a little over ten hours when it finally hits you.
You lost. You created a universe, infected with a cancer so potent it ruined at least two sessions. Watched your entire species whittle itself down to a thread. And to top it off, you’re too stubborn, cowardly, and idiotic to alchemize a damn snuggleplane before traipsing off to your self-imposed solitude. Instead, your block is littered with other people’s shit: stray wands, random horns, Kanaya’s projects, and these goddamn musclebeast pictures, and wouldn’t you know it, you feel guilty about them more than you’re disgusted!
And that’s the real mucus on the grubloaf, isn’t it? Despite everything that happened, you’re still alive. Not worth Eridan’s wrath, too cowardly to face Gamzee down, and not even fucking aware enough to save Tavros from himself. Your entire team fell apart, and rather than suffer the consequences yourself, everyone else did because of your incompetence. And now you have to live with that, facing the others, for the rest of your life.
You flop to the ground, uncaptchalogue a book, and place it under your head. Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are not looking forward to the next three years.
Notes:
This is the second time this day Karkat chose the floor over literally anything more comfortable.
Chapter 2: Karkat: Be the Other Guy
Chapter Text
Your name is Dave Strider, and you don’t want to know what shenanigans the trolls got into here.
For one thing, last time you talked to Terezi, she seemed pretty hell-bent on getting her rude murder on with spidertroll, but when you popped out the Green Sun like the world’s shittiest renaissance-themed jack-in-the-box, you saw the very same spidertroll grinning up at you, wearing the same orange pajamas as your mutual suicide-pact ecto-sis.
And man, you don’t want to think about that.
Anyway, point is you don’t know what happened. Apparently John came and punched her lights out, which is as gooberishly implausible as literally anything else that happened today, but hey, you’re just gonna sit here and be the Dave of Guy and not question it. Just like you’re not gonna question how there’s two versions of the yellow troll, dead and alive like Schrodinger's alien. It’s a toss-up of whether the corpse is more off-putting than a ‘corpse party,’ but the real winner is probably the bound and gagged clown staring at everyone in abject terror.
You kind of zone out as you follow Kanaya and Rose on their ‘tour,’ dipping into the conversation just enough to pick up that the troll seems embarrassed by the mess. You’re pretty sure you remember the trolls’ blood colors, just as you’re pretty sure one of those puddles is Kanaya’s. It’s uh... it sure is something alright, but again, you’re extremely down for the No Questions policy, like you are so down you’re deep-sea diving like a Bond villain, waving around your harpoon, sassing up British fucks left and right as soon as anything close to a question comes up. What was that, Bond? Did your sentence curl up at the end there, expecting an answer? Didn’t think so. That’s how down you are.
Still, you weren’t expecting so fucking... much of it. Like Junior’s art project got away from him up in here.
You think maybe the crabby troll had the right idea on getting the fuck out after the briefing and chess dude resurrection. You don’t know what his title is, but it might as well be Seer of Bullshit for all you care, because he definitely saw shit coming a mile away. You can’t help but admire his double bird and a shout approach to all this horseshit, even if it’s clear to everyone he has no tangible sense of chill. Rose wasted no time flirting with Kanaya as awkwardly and obviously as possible, and you almost let out a snicker when Terezi and Vriska gag at each other silently. Almost, because the sad honk coming from the horn-muzzled juggalo saps all the giggles out of you.
You’re not sure if you can handle three years of this, if you’re being real, but you know damn well there’s not much of an alternative. If you zone out, and kind of let yourself feel the thread of events leading up to this point, you can tell this is still the Alpha timeline. But even the tied up murder clown could tell you floating off this meteor to go fight Jack is a stupid idea, and is objectively worse than spending the next several months watching your sister flirt with a troll chick with all the swagger of a limp frog.
So you stay put and halfway listen as the spidertroll, ‘Rezi, and your sister go over boring things like grist caches, rations, and the libraries deeper in the meteor. You perk up briefly at the mention of food, offering your expertise on settling rude hungers with the Doritos captchacode you basically memorized by now, then proceed to nope the fuck out of the conversation when they start going over the finer details of accent rugs and mood lighting.
You wander off and transportalize to a different section. You didn’t spend any time in the Veil, nor did you interact with any of the labs in your session. That was somehow Egbert’s job, and because of time shenanigans, you know it was always supposed to be Egbert’s job. And hey, better him than you. And not because floating around the Furthest Ring amidst the Horrorterrors’ lecherous flagella sounds like a great way to go horrifically insane. It’s just. When you look around the lab, the further in you go, all you see are cold grey walls, chilly, but arid, like all the moisture in paradox space was sucked out, and all you hear is a faint drafty echo and the sound of your own footsteps.
It reminds you too much of home. It reminds you too much of LOHAC. And with the iron-smelling rainbow paintjob in the other rooms, it reminds you too much of one other thing you definitely did too much of.
And yet the halls. They beckon.
You keep walking because walking’s one of those things you do. Put one foot in front of the other, and keep going until you get tired, though now you wonder if that’ll ever happen again, and if it does, do you just fly, or sort of float there like a red-hooded tool? Hell if you know, but you guess there’s one way to find out.
So you keep walking, popping through transportalizers as they come up, and slowly build a map in the back of your mind while you get right and proper lost. You stumble across ectolabs housing bizarre chess dudes that give your mutated dead smuppet collection a run for their money. The combinations strike you as weird. There were what, twelve of them, right? Your crew had a hard enough time with a four-player session, though to be fair a First Guardian devilbeast is nothing to scoff at. But one of the chess pieces have tentacles that are a lot less cutesy than a knitted-up cat princess. Shit looks like a Horrorterror. And are... are those udders? What the fuck. You snap right back into the No Question zone, population: you.
You decide to venture beyond the freak-show funhouse factory. You also decide not to retrace your steps because that’s kind of boring, and despite this lab being about as creepy as literally every horror trope foisted on you, you’re not up to the task of dealing with people.
You wind up in a semi-familiar area after thirty-eight minutes, and notice a circle of even more transportalizers. Part of you wonders if these are only fitted to navigate the meteor, or if some of them are rigged to go back to the now-destroyed troll session. You think that’s how it worked in your Veil. John said something about it when he was babbling about babies and how he was supposed to marry Rose because of crabtroll’s unbelievably shitty shipping grid. Kid’s gonna be in for a rude awakening when he finds out he’s gotta compete with Troll Lullaby Gloworm. If he hasn’t already found out from retcon shenanigans? It sucks you just barely missed him.
You pick a platform at random, and you’re zapped into yet another area. This time you walk down some stairs, past open chests and discarded posters. You hear shuffling before you see the source, and every muscle in your body seizes up. You barely feel the sword hilt in your hand, and before your brain catches up to you, you’re in a fighter stance, face pulled down to a neutral expression.
“Strider, what the fuck are you doing in my block?”
You blink. Shit it’s the shouty one, Karkat. He’s harmless in the way you guess all trolls are harmless, that is to say incredibly not if all the blood has anything to say on the matter. And this guy could seriously scream a hole right through space, like goddamn. But he seemed pretty not on board with the corpse party or anything to do with people killing each other, which is a fine baseline for being not despicable. Noxious personality aside, you don’t have much against the guy. You drop your sword back in your strife deck and try to get your breathing under control.
“Sup,” you say.
“Get out,” he says wearily. Something in his voice this time is decidedly not shouty, like all the vitriol he spewed at the top of the meteor reunion deflated like a despondent balloon. With two words you’re pretty sure the guy summed up every depressed emotion ever felt, like he crammed the entire My Chemical Romance discography into his voice and condensed it into the most common teenage angst phrase uttered by sentient life. Dude sounds sad as fuck is what you’re getting at, and hey, you can’t blame him.
It not-so-suddenly occurs to you how much this sucks. You died. Rose died. Half of this shitheel’s friends died, not to mention the two separate universes filled to the brim with assholes you’ll never see again because paradox space popped a boner over watching people die. You can’t go home again, figuratively and literally. And both of you lost a game that promised the creation of something different and new; he lost hours ago from his perspective, and you, well, hours-slash-days, but you’re not sure if paradox space can sync failure up so spectacularly.
You realize you’re kind of standing there staring at him like a dumb sack of shit. You realize because the candy-horned jackass is one hundred percent in your face, scowling like his life depended on it.
“Did you hear me, nookstain?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice, like he’s ten seconds away from screaming, crying, or both.
“Hey, yeah,” you say back, because it’s not like you’re going to say any of that other stuff you’re thinking. “Get out. Got it. Loud and clear.” You shuffle backwards a bit, watching as Karkat’s expression changes.
“You... Are you OK?”
No, you think. Fuck no, who the fuck could be ok with the present circumstances? “Cooler than a creamsicle in winter, my dude. Cooler than the frosty side of Jade’s planet, which had frost right in the title so you know it’s legit.” You walk backwards. “Cool like the cold shoulder my snarky-ass sister’s giving me so she can mack on choice vampire babes, which is equally cool, y’know. So I’ll just. Go...” You try to think of anything better to do. “Fuck off and alchemize some shit, I guess.”
You turn and head back up the stairs, feeling way too embarrassed and heavy for no apparent reason.
“Hey. Wait up.”
You look over your shoulder, seeing the troll approach the foot of the stairs. He’s still scowling because his face seems built that way, but his eyes give off a mix of hope and resignation.
“I might as well make some shit too,” he mutters. “And if you skipped the Flighty Broad Snarky Horseshit Tour, then you probably missed all the shortcuts around the lab. No one needs you humans wandering around like lost wigglers too stupid to pass the trials.”
“Lead the way, bro,” you reply. As he stomps past, you notice that sad funk is still on him, but at least he replaced some of it with general annoyance. And as far as you’re concerned, annoyed looks way better on him than the almost terminal case of the mopes. You decide right then, anything is better than spending the next three years alone and miserable on this rock, even if it means bugging the shit out of some asshole trolls.
Your name is Dave Strider, and you guess you’re about to alchemize some sweet loot with a shitty troll.
Notes:
For as much as he loves AJ, Dave didn't memorize the captcha for it, but can recite the ones for both Nacho Cheese and Cool Ranch by heart.
Chapter 3: Karkat: Alchemize
Chapter Text
You’re not sure why you volunteered to show Strider around, much less leave the stagnant ‘comfort’ of your block. You suppose it has everything to do with refusing to lay on the hard floor for a second longer, and any excuse to rectify that means you can fix your situation. Without, of course, admitting how dumb Past You is. But even that bit of clarity isn’t the whole story, and admitting as such makes you hate yourself a little more.
Strider’s rambling outburst unsettled you. Well. More like the whole interaction unsettled you, in the way that questions whether you should be alone with the human at all. You guess SGRUB normalized certain reactions, like pulling up your strife deck at a moment’s notice, but the way he carried himself, even for the briefest instance, was un-fucking-settling.
You know fear. Hell, you’ve spent the past six sweeps mired in it on Alternia, and the sensation never truly let up, present timeframe included. So when you see that kind of fear armed and directed at you of all people, you tend to wonder if you’re dealing with the caged cholerbear variety where he might snap highblood-style at any second, or whether he’ll fly into a panic and launch his dumbass off the meteor.
Still doesn’t explain why you’re sticking your cartilaginous nub where it doesn’t belong, but you aren’t really doing that, right? You’re just going to alchemize some shit, since you’re going to be here for much longer than you anticipated.
Even with these lofty admissions and denials, you find yourself at a loss for anything to say. You didn’t talk to him much during his session, and when you did, Past You made an ass out of himself as usual. You got so up in arms about a brewing situation – one you knew was doomed anyway – that you didn’t consider whether your worries had any merit. And Past You earns even more scorn because you were under the impression you’d see at least the humans you shared more than a passing conversation with.
All you know about this douchebag is he’s insecure enough to hide behind his shades, but cocksure enough to type in candy red and prattle on in useless, pan-numbing tangents.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, you don’t have to worry about having anything to say because the human decides to wrest your hear ducts of any semblance of peace and quiet.
“So. What sort of insane troll loot are you gonna cook up? Weren’t you the guy that liked movies? I’m pretty sure John said something about it, like he must’ve had the best birthday ever to learn about an alien species and turns out they’re as mad jazzed about shitty movies as he is.”
“Fuck you and fuck him. My taste in movies are great,” you reply sourly.
“Sure,” he drawls. “Like I mean, you had some doozies, though, right? Back on troll planet? What was the last movie you saw before you entered the game?”
You... guess he’s trying to make conversation? This is all a big fucking mistake, and yet you find yourself barreling headfirst into Bad Decision Junction. You don’t really want to think about life back home, but you sure as shit don’t want to talk about the game or anything that happened on this meteor.
“The last one I saw,” you start. “In Which An Ordinary Olive Blood Develops Flushed Desire For A Rainbow Drinker, But The Drinker Seemingly Spurns Her Advances, Hiding His Own Vacillating Feelings And Secret Cult. The Drinker’s Cult Only Targets Lusii Of The Culled As Opposed To–”
“Wait, hold up,” Strider interrupts. “Why the hell are troll movie titles so long? What the fuck?”
“I already went over that with John,” you grouse. Why didn’t he stay, you don’t ask. “Trolls have been making movies for sweeps beyond your puny human imaginations. Over time names got more specific.”
“Even if I bought that, which for the record I’m returning that shit for store credit, you just described Troll Twilight.”
You grimace. “What the bulgesniffing fuck is ‘Troll Twilight?’ That doesn’t even make sense! We’re nocturnal for one, and two, we’re already fucking trolls!”
“It’s Troll Twilight,” he repeats, infuriatingly monotone. “How’s it go. In which a teenage girl tries to score some vampire dick, but fails because he’s gun-shy and barely even a vampire. See, not hard.”
You roll your eyes. You have officially arrived at Bad Decision Junction. Please observe all boarding signs and proceed to the Who Gives a Shit zone for further instructions.
“What sucks is, that was the last thing you saw before the end of the world. That’s the real tragedy.”
“Oh, like anything you did was so much better,” you mutter.
“Nah.” He shrugs. “Dicked around in my room. Scored some AJ, mixed a couple of songs. Kinda dumb.”
You don’t have much to say about that, and you don’t bother remarking he’s ‘kinda dumb.’ His day sounds as mundane as yours before you entered, but you don’t mention that either. If you think too hard about how normal your day started, before everyone around you started dying... Haha, nope. Fuuuuck thinking about it! You walk in semi-stilted silence down the corridors, passing by unexplored blocks and hissing air vents; thankfully you don’t hear any terrifying honks. You grind your teeth thinking about him, about how hours ago you were terrified out of your goddamn think pan, only to walk down the same fucking halls like you’re strolling through a botanical plant enclosure.
“So you never answered my question,” the sentient shame globe says, tearing you away from your thoughts.
“What question, Strider?”
“What are you thinking about making?”
Oh. “We’re going to be on this shitty meteor for a sweep and a half. Might as well make a recuperacoon.”
“Oh, a bed. Yeah, I should make one of those. Was gonna see if I can salvage some stuff from my old room, but I dunno, think I gotta say bye forever to some of it. Unless I run into a dream bubble, guess that’d be legit.”
Does he ever shut up?
You finally reach the alchemiter stations, ignoring the ridiculous combination of words the human insists on turning into sentences. You flip through the atheneum, pre-populated with tons of items created during your session. Several of your teammates captchalogued sleeping devices during Operation Regisurp, since sleeping was convenient for traveling to Prospit and Derse. As luck would have it, you find what you need. That is, if luck wasn’t a useless fucking concept.
You review the items in your personal atheneum. You see your various sickles, computing devices, and replacement possessions from when Terezi ransacked your hive. You created a recuperacoon but never used it; it was one Sollux got the code for when he was building out the registry. You also created a few snuggleplanes, again, lucky you. You recreate everything now, along with a stack of movies and reading material you managed to have the captchas for.
You look over the pile of items accumulated, and on impulse, combine a movie with one of the books. You wind up with the book version of In Which a Prosperous Cerulean Blood Expects A Promotion Within The Alternian Fleet, Only To Be Passed Over For An Upstart Teal Blood, etc., etc. You happen to love the movie, particularly how the cerulean gets come-uppance for relying too much on their mind-reading powers to gain favor within the ranks. You try a few more book/movie combinations until you make a pretty considerable library of both. Finally, you check the atheneum for Homes Smell Ya Later, and reverse-engineer all twelve volumes of Thresh Prince. You grab everything with a tiny sense of accomplishment, then glance towards the human, who appears to be finishing up.
You see items familiar to you from the other humans’ rooms. They don’t use recuperacoons like trolls; instead you see some kind of respite platform with a snuggleplane covered in quadrant symbols. He also created several electronic devices: a husktop-like computer, a machine with discs similar to their Scratch construct, and smaller, screen-less items with several buttons apiece, the entire lot looking weird and unnatural without a single organic element. There’s also a pile of snack food, a few posters, and enough wires to make you miss Sollux.
“Cool,” he announces. “I think that’s everything I can make for now. So like, you already have your whole meteor condo block all claimed, right? Guess I’ll shuffle this stuff to whatever puzzle-maze section’s available...”
You shrug. You know everyone claimed blocks before everything went to shit, but you never bothered to explore much beyond that. “We all just went wherever,” you say lamely. “It was a big enough place.”
He says nothing, but you figure the walking fecal nugget’s looking at you. You can’t tell because of the dumbass shades, but his face is pointed your way and his lips are pursed in that same blank, emotionless line.
“I’m gonna wind up stumbling in a dead troll’s room, huh.”
You wince. “It’s a big meteor, Strider.” Odds are, he will stumble into a ‘dead troll’s’ room, but you don’t want to be there for it. You’re sick to death of being out here, and every single hallway feels too close for comfort. And while you know someone tied up Gamzee, you can’t pass a vent without hearing a phantom honk and reliving how scared to death you were. So maybe you don’t want to think or care where the douche with shades lays his head.
You start to shuffle back. “See you around, I guess.”
“Later,” he says back.
Awkward gauntlet passed. You turn fully and make your way back to the transportalizer.
“Actually, hold up.”
Fuck.
“Oh my god, what!?”
“Dude, chill.” He gestures towards you. “Whadja make? Besides the bed-hive thing.”
“Strider, why the pestilent fuck do you care? Are humans so pan-rottingly bored that the only way they can plaster a smile on their pliant faces is by cramming their human ‘noses’ in other people’s business?”
“Yeah. Coming from the dude who spent his final hours drumming up a voyeuristic trolling campaign across space. Nice try.”
Well. He got you there.
“So. What did you make?” He says it a little slower, like he’s granting you all the patience of a mother grub.
“Fine, if it’ll get you to shut up. I made some books and some movies. I already had a lot downloaded, but a few more couldn’t hurt.”
“Jegus, was that so hard?” A smirk erupts from his lips, and he turns to his garbage, spouting off a series of nonsense words. “See you around, Karkat,” he says after he professes love for ‘MAD SNACKS, YO.’
You grunt in reply, and head back to the transportalizer. You don’t feel as annoyed as you think you should. Though you’re not counting the lunar slots for the next time to talk to him, you decide he’s not the worst person on this meteor. Which is generous even with Gamzee and Vriska aboard. But you’re at least pretty sure he won’t murder you. So there’s that.
You arrive at your block, and proceed to decorate to your heart’s content. If you’re going to be here for a sweep and a half, you might as well make it look like a real hive. You busy yourself with hanging posters, arranging a comfy lounge area, and sorting your expanded library of books and movies. You keep your hands busy until you create something you still can’t call home. But it’s infinitely more bearable than the desolate grey space Past You was stubbornly content with.
Once everything is in order, placed as well as it could get, you deploy your crabtop and start a movie. You flop on your chairbag and heave a long sigh. If you’re going to travel on the Misery Meteor Express, you might as well take in a goddamn show.
==>
Strider, as it turns out, wound up settling fairly close to your block. Lalonde picked a block near Kanaya, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Terezi and Vriska consolidated a space near the upper decks since it was close to the alchemiter station. The so-called ‘Mayor’ disappeared deeper into the labs, and fuck if you know where Gamzee went off to. The reality of factoring in daily necessities takes over everyone’s focus, leading to bizarrely mundane conversations about ablutions, food rationing, and clothing. You realize how much you took for granted comforts afforded to you on Alternia, even as a mutant. Drones took care of so much. They built your hive, delivered your food and mail, and culled your neighbors while you slept now and then. It wasn’t great, but it was home. You had your own space, you didn’t have to share, and it was comfortable. This rock by comparison is a shitshow. Because seriously, if the meteor seemed to ‘know’ it needed several ablution stations, couldn’t it also know hot water was a fundamental goddamn requirement?
Nothing about this place feels familiar, not like on Alternia. Not even like SGRUB’s custom-made planets, where your own mutant blood mocked you for the better part of the campaign. Even with all your stuff and all these people, it feels... null. Like an empty shell, or an abandoned building. Like the place is waiting for something that’ll never come. At least not in your lifetime. You can’t stand some of the rooms because they put you on edge, as though the walls are bleeding with a sick, desperate misery.
You hate it here.
Over time, the rawness around the ‘incident’ fades to a dull ache. But what passes for operational hivekeeping serves as grim reminders of the murderous rampage. You despise the hideous rugs in the computer room, but they hide the worst of the damage. Vriska volunteers to keep an eye on Gamzee, while Terezi keeps an eye on her. You try not to dwell on how you were essentially too late, and if it weren’t for John, things could’ve ended up worse. You catch Kanaya in the common area once, feeling at her abdomen in a way that’s obviously out of private concern, and you, the coward, sprint back to your block and sob.
No one talks about what happened. It’s not a comfort by any means, but seeing everyone else coping – or not coping – builds enough camaraderie to never want to see that shit again. At this point, if you saw a round two, it would mean the annihilation of at least one entire species. Too bad that pact of mutually assured destruction didn’t hold sway fucking weeks ago, but hey, at least there’s progress.
Because of that, you sometimes can’t stand seeing the people around you. You don’t want to look at your friends, partly because you failed them in every conceivable way, and partly because they were supposed to be better than this. And like fucking hell you want to interact with the humans. Not only were they not the ones you talked with during their session, but just seeing your universal fuck-up right there in your face brings about an entirely separate wave of exhaustion.
Too bad you’re still shit at sleeping.
You’re also shit at pacing yourself. Within week three, you’ve almost burned through nine books, and you find yourself having to shut off your crabtop to help ration out your movies. This also prevents you from writing horrendous, argumentative memos to yourself, so bonus. So it really isn’t surprising for Kanaya to find you in the common room ransacking the bookshelves; the surprise rather, is her finding you outside your block in the first place.
“Karkat! It’s good to see you.”
“SHIT!” you gasp, wheeling around to see her. “Holy crap, you really snuck up on me there.”
You have to resist squinting because she’s so damn bright. Like the entire Alternian sun is crammed under her skin with no promise of escape. It’s terrifying, like a visceral part of your think pan screams to run for the fucking hills. But the other part... there’s no other way to describe her than hauntingly beautiful.
“I didn’t mean to.” Her expression sours. “Volume control, or rather too much of it, has become a concern as of late. This condition still takes some getting used to.”
Guilt and nausea threaten to overwhelm you. You hate this, she was your goddamned friend! Is your friend, she’s still here! Like you actually liked her. “Sar-sorry, I didn’t mean to... say. That. How are you?”
“Better. Brighter, I suppose,” she says with a nervous laugh.
“Heh, yeah. Because... you’re glowing. Good one.”
You scratch the back of your head. It’s probably not too late to stop the meteor and fight Noir.
“Listen, Karkat. About... what happened.” She wrings her hands, staring down at the ground. “The thing is, I. What you did, or... I’m not sure how to say this, but.”
I was worthless and I failed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Kanaya.
She clotheslines you into a vice-like hug. “You didn’t give up on me.”
Oh. To say you’re surprised is an understatement. She was never a hugger, not like this. And neither are you, but holy shit she’s strong, and probably crying?
She shudders into the hug, squeezing you tighter. Holy shit, she is crying. “Thank you for that.”
“Kan–” you wheeze. “Thanks but. You’re really fucking strong!”
“Oh!” She immediately lets you go, and dusts off your shoulders. “Sorry! Sorry! Augh, this is so preposterous!”
Suddenly she doesn’t look terrifying. She looks like the same tall, elegantly awkward person you were friends with for sweeps. The same girl who loves her trashy rainbow drinker novels, dreaming the daring dream to become one. She’s been right here the entire time, but only now do you realize how much you missed her.
“Oh god, it is preposterous.” And for the first time in weeks, hell, maybe longer, you laugh. “I’m sorry! It shouldn’t... it shouldn’t be funny, but...” you laugh again, a few hairs shy of manic. “You read so many of those awful books, and none of them mentioned freakish drinker strength!? That trope’s practically a staple!”
She begins to laugh too. “Nearly every text provides elaborate detail on that. How could I have forgotten?”
“Well,” you say between giggles. “That’s your lot in life! No going back now.” The laughter dies a little on your lips, but she picks up the slack.
“I suppose that’s true. So,” she pats you between your horns, the traitor, “guess that means there’s only forward left to go.”
And she smiles, warm and genuine in a way that home never was for you. With a small smile of your own, you say, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
Notes:
At this stage in the game, grist is just plentiful enough make mundane junk, but not enough to kickstart a race of people.
Chapter 4: Dave: Explore Can Town
Chapter Text
Days pass, turning into weeks like ticks turning into tocks. You count twenty-five days and a minute over twelve hours since the meteor launched from the Green Sun. Putting the exact time out of mind is near impossible because you never stopped being the Time guy, no matter how little Time matters out here. It’s also a handy measure for how bored you are. At first the monotony was like the chilliest vacation; no game to worry about, no syncing up timelines with the pressure of Dead Daves weighing on your fingertips, and no goddamn pesterlogs to fumble through over and over again, making sure you say everything the same way at the same time you’re supposed to, like you’re Bill Murray trying to learn the meaning of life. But now, you’re restless.
You stave off the boredom by mixing beats and bothering Rose, but you can tell the latter is starting to wear thin as a pastime. She’s getting tired of your shit, and you can’t blame her, cause you’re kinda getting tired of hers and for real, maybe even your shit’s a little stale too. Granted, you’re not sure it’s so stale that it warrants a cold shoulder half the time, but whatever. If she wants to be an aloof know-it-all, who are you to judge?
You venture outside your room, trying to catch glimpses of other people, and eventually get bored of lounging around the common room doing jack all. No one wants to talk. Well, you think they don’t, but whenever you see Terezi and Vriska walking down the corridors, you figure maybe no one wants to talk to you. You try your hand at cooking out of boredom, and decide maybe it’s a useful skill, but not one you’ll perfect anytime soon. Your stuff’s edible, but you’re not making masterpieces here. So you, bored beyond all reasonable expectation, do what you did your first day here: walk. And while wandering through the halls isn’t exactly fun, it’s something to do.
In a way, it’s chill. You get used to the echoing hallways and the hum of the vents. Some areas have the look and feel of a defunct laboratory mixed with craggy rocks while others look like bizarre amalgamations of whatever passes for ‘homey’ in the game. Like they tried and failed to be one of those secret rooms you’d find by slamming your character against every wall in the game. Those walls were begging to be clipped through. And hell, maybe if you fuck with Time just right, you can clip your ass straight to the new universe. Bingo, you just figured out John’s bullshit powers! Either way, you wander the meteor thinking dumbass thoughts like that because you’re bored out of your goddamned skull.
So when you see the little carapacian dude with the homemade sash stacking cans one day, he piques your interest something uncannybrutal. He’s something alright, and seems really into stacking these cans. He scurries around like he’s got a case of the crazy-legs, chalk scattered all beside him, and the ground littered with a chaotic splash of color. Then you take in the full scene. There’s a bona fide mural of blue trees, roadways, and arrows beside little can buildings, all labeled off just in case you didn’t get the reference. Dude’s making a pretend town. That’s... kind of adorable, actually.
You didn’t have a childhood where you played with toys or chalk. You had your turntables, easily the best thing ever, and you had swords, which aren’t as dope as dropping sick beats, but what is? You try to think if there were any games you played growing up. You were pretty good at Hide-and-Seek-and-Strife, but that shit wasn’t kid’s stuff. You never did anything like what the little dude’s doing, playing pretend, stacking cans, and drawing with pure, uncut earnestness that reminds you of childhood itself. Maybe not yours, but someone like Egbert or kids on TV.
And ain’t it a damn shame you want to join in?
You watch, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, justifying why you shouldn’t. You’d only play along for ironic purposes, of course. A literal God of Time, killing minute after minute via shitty chalk drawings through the Furthest Ring. The thought’s sufficiently funny enough for you to take a few steps forward. When you do, the Mayor perks up like you triggered an alarm, and damn near loses his arm waving at you.
“Sup, lil dude,” you say, waving back a little. “You definitely got yourself a whole town here. Like a whole metropolis of alchemized rations.” You stop babbling when the Mayor steps to you, and reverently places a can of peas into your hands. Aww.
“The mean streets of the meteor aren’t ready for me,” you say.
“Then it sounds like Can Town needs a proper law enforcement agency!”
You turn. Behind you stands Terezi, wielding a cane you’re half-sure she doesn’t need and cracking a wide, sharky grin. Her hands are grubby with chalk, caked and blotchy because her weird ass probably licked it. You’re surprised to see her, what with Vriska hogging up all her time, and jarred that she’s giving you the time of day. Or maybe she isn’t and you both happened to stumble in the same place at the same time. But then again, those trees scream ‘1 P1CK3D TH3 COLORS TH4T SM3LL3D TH3 B3ST,’ so maybe you’re looking at one of her regular haunts.
“Sup, ‘Rezi.” You try to keep your cool-skylark face neutral, but can’t help your lip curling just a little.
“Hey coolkid,” she says back. “Since you’re here, it’s now your duty to bring justice to the citizens of Can Town. I’m deputizing you to build a proper court block for the legislacerators.”
Well, it sure does sound like you got roped into something, and damn if you’re gonna say rope out loud to her or her mouth full of canines. “Court block, got it. Isn’t that just a police station?”
“What’s a police station?”
How does her mouth go like that? “A police station is where you snap photos of criminals and get all their fingerprints. Burly dudes in trench coats smack around witnesses while prosecutors fling coffee mugs at each other in the name of evidence.” You think, anyway.
She ponders your bull for a bit. “Weeeell, the coffee part smells like a lie, but everything else seems legit. Let’s build a court block and a police station!”
The Mayor does a little hop, and races off to gather more cans. You can’t help the smile on your face.
==>
You pass the days like this until it almost looks like a routine. Wake up, dust off dream bubble memories, try your hand – or Rose tries hers, whatever – at cooking breakfast, marvel and/or gag at your mixed results, then hang out at Can Town. The Mayor’s always there, tirelessly building an aluminum municipality, landscaped to perfection with unruly trees, red bushes, stray ropes, and chalk squirrels. Officers Sweet Bro and Hella Rezi guard the justice district, which overlooks the President ‘Obana’ Memorial Park. You look around at the budding city with overwhelming ironic pride.
Your other meteor companions make the occasional trip to Can Town. Rose comes by to snatch her books back, and glares at you kind of cat-like. Vriska swings by, mostly to drag Terezi off by the arm for some adventure or another. Sometimes she’ll bat her crazy eyes at the Mayor, who seems decidedly not cool with it, but you don’t ask what that’s about. Kanaya offers occasional scraps of fabric, usually after swinging through like a classy dame in a fresh new outfit. You give her fist bumps for the especially choice pieces.
You never see the murder clown, and that suits you just fine. You also never see the holler-douche, and that suits you, but not as fine as not seeing the juggalo. You figure Karkat alchemized enough books to last him the trip, and he’ll just cocoon up like the angriest cicada ever and burst forth in the new session as the Knight of Shouts.
Seriously, even if you don’t see him all that much, you can hear the little bastard. He’ll argue with Vriska with the best of them, then storm off back to his off-limits angst-room to watch something terrible. You can tell when he’s watching one of his godawful movies because every fourteen minutes, you hear another indignant shitfit through the vents, usually some battle cry in the vein of ‘JUST KISS HIM, YOU HEINOUS BULGEMUNCHER.’
But mostly it’s you and Terezi building up Can Town, and you pick up your friendship where you left off. Kind of. You make shitty drawings to pass the time, while she picks outlandish colors to depict you as ‘COOLK1D STR1D3R.’ It’s fine and all, but you don’t talk about the game, and you don’t know if you want to. But even if you didn’t want to talk about it, you think about it at the worst times. When a joke of hers doesn’t quite land, or your rambling metaphors fall away to silence, your head ends up filled with coin flips and unbreakable swords, morbid shenanigans and Dead Daves. You wonder if Terezi thinks about any of that, or if she uses spidertroll as a sounding board to drown out the noise, despite Vriska being a gargantuan she-douche.
Neither of you have the gumption to talk about what happened, and the longer you don’t talk, the stupider it feels to bring it up. But what do you expect from her? An apology? An especially specific greeting card saying ‘Sorry for killing you and your buds that one day a few months ago, but it’s fine because Skaia was always gonna fuck you over?’
Thinking about it, you’re pretty sure the alchemiter’s got you covered on that.
Anyway, today you put all that out of mind and wipe your dusty hands on your PJs. You like doing this because the chalk’ll sit there for seven seconds, then fade away. Magic, self-cleaning pajamas are boss as hell and you might never take these guys off. You decide it’s time to pack it in for the day, head out of the city before rush hour so you can make it home for dinner, and pat your loving daughter Sally on the head. You also don’t do any of that because you’re really heading to the common area, but why the hell would you make a Can Town if you’re not going to use mixed metaphors? Shit would be redonk otherwise.
You transportalize in and instantly regret it. You see Rose and Vriska hunched over a huge tome, the real genuine, could-kill-a-cat article. The dismay pile keeps growing when you spot an entire stack of similar books behind them. Looks like they’re cramming for the big test and if they don’t get that A, they’ll be kicked off the varsity team for sure. They spare you a passing glance, both with this weird Lighty Thing going on in their eyes.
“Hey,” you say to them.
“Sup,” Rose replies with a small smile.
“So...” You look around, gauging the place for a graceful distraction rather than absconding out like a tool. You guess the coffee machine will have to do, so you make your feet head that way. “Looks like you guys are hitting some books. Like really going Evander Holyfield on that text.”
“Strider, what the hell are you mumbling over there?” Vriska asks. She flips her hair and grimaces at you.
Something, something, spider to the fly, damn that chick’s got a googly eye.
“Just saying y’all look like you’re having a blast. Don’t let me interrupt.” You pop a mug out of your sylladex and bang at the machine a little.
“Actually,” Rose starts, “we were close to a stopping point, so your appearance made for a fortuitous transition.”
Haha, fuck that ominous shit. “That’s cool, perfect timing’s just a thing I do. But I gotta perfectly time my ass out of here to do a thing. Busy guy, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Striiiiiiiider,” Vriska says in a singsong tone. “We all know you ain’t got shit to do on the meteor just like the rest of us. At least we’re using our time wisely. Don’t you want to learn a thing or two? See why Light players are the best?”
“Nah.”
Vriska huffs, and you take that as a victory. Your sister, undeterred, gives you a knowing smile. She steeples her hands and says, “While I’m aware this doesn’t seem as fun as indulging in mercurial ‘Can Town’ initiatives, I assure you this research is critical to our success in the new session.”
You scoff. “OK, but you can see the future. Boom, Light players own. Later.”
She rolls her eyes, so that’s two victories under your belt. “I can’t see all of the future, Dave. Just like you can’t unless you travel forward, I can’t see everything. I can point us to the most fortuitous path, but there’s limitations.”
“But those limitations won’t matter by the time we’re done!” Vriska says. She has this excited, kind of crafty expression that would be right at home on Terezi’s face, but somehow feels too sinister for your liking. “Researching now will point your visions in the right direction, and we’ll figure the rest out from there.”
“Indeed,” Rose replies. “You know, Dave, as a fully realized Knight of Time, you could share some of your expertise with navigating the various timeline confusion we’re running into. You have arguably the most exposure to how off-shoot timelines affect our Alpha. Perhaps you could share your insight sometime.”
“Man, I do not wanna get into Doomed timelines right now,” you say, trying not to grimace. “The takeaway is simple; if you fuck up, dead kids start piling up. So try not to fuck up.” You can’t help but stare at Vriska when you say that. It’s weird being in the same room with someone that murked a dude, but didn’t ‘Rezi say she killed a bunch back in the day, too? “But yeah, if you can’t help but fuck up, the only way you can influence the Alpha is if you find your way back to the Alpha timeline. Lot of times that means time travel.”
“Well, clearly that’s not the only way,” Vriska mutters to herself. “What the hell did he do? We need to figure this shit out! It’s killing me not knowing.”
You sidle back towards the transportalizer, but you can’t help but run your mouth. “What’s there to figure out? We got the next two years, eight months, twenty-one days to twiddle our thumbs and do jack shit. Other than sitting in Time Out on the S.S. Misery Rock what the hell can we do?” The question, now that it’s out there, makes you a little angry. You’re not sure why; usually you can keep your damn cool, but holy shit you do not want to think about Doomed timelines or preserving the Alpha or the fucking game. Didn’t you get enough of that during SBURB the first time? Before Team Light can rope you into even more of their fucking calculations, you turn heel back to the transportalizer. You’re not unhappy about how your cape flutters.
==>
You’re still annoyed by the time you reach the roof. As far as wastes of time goes, sitting around stuck on this meteor takes the cake, followed by worrying about shit three years off from happening. Maybe you’ll care later or something, but trying to get worked up about the game, strategies, or even the fucking word ‘future’ exhausts you.
You flop flat on your back and stare at the sky. You can’t see much with your shades on, but occasionally you catch movement, like ripples or waves against a pitch black sea. Far less occasionally, but far more noticeable are the bubbles. The colorful spheres seem to emerge from the writhing flagella in carbonated spurts, like you caught a kid farting in the community pool, but the kid was also an eldritch two-for-one seafood special demon-monster. And the pool was an infinite abyss surrounding a bright green death sun.
Probably not a perfect metaphor.
Lobster farts aside, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about the bubbles. On the outside, they shimmer like an oil slick, and glow in a way stars back on Earth never did. Even from this distance, each one looks familiar, like an entire planet full of déjà vu. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about them yet; not all of your memories were happy ones, and you’ve learned enough on this trip to know the only memories waiting are from the dreamers and the dead. And there aren’t many dreamers left.
You hear the soft padding of feet approach you. When you crane your head, you see pastel blue slippers grow closer. You try to be annoyed and fail. Now you’re just tired. You don’t want to deal with your wordy sister, but man, at least it’s just her and not a double dose of spidertroll.
“Sup,” you say.
“Not terribly much,” Rose replies. She takes a seat beside you, tucking her knees in and wrapping orange sleeves around them. “While there are many facets and pearls of knowledge to explore within my aspect, there is such a thing as too much Light.”
You snort humorlessly. “No shit.”
“That said, I believe we still have a fascinating journey set before us.” She nudges your temple. “Think you might want to know what we’ve documented so far?”
“Documented.” You raise an eyebrow. Much as you want to say ‘fuck nah,’ deep down you know this’ll go by faster if you just hear her out.
“I’m keeping a journal of what we uncover. Assuming the dream bubbles and the gods that command them are favorable,” she gestures skyward, “I’ll encounter more clues during our time out here.”
“Sounds like another long guide I won’t read,” you say. “Cut to the chase and tell me how everything is fucked this time.”
She wrinkles her nose before continuing. “We’re not entirely sure yet, but the tomes indicate everything has already gone wrong before the game started, and paradoxically has already gone wrong on our arrival.”
You sit up on your elbows. “What, so we’re screwed before we even get there?”
“Mmm, not exactly.” She motions aimlessly. “All the text we’ve seen points to an unwinnable calamity within the new session, but that isn’t what’s plaguing me. I see things that only make sense if there was extensive tampering, namely if someone was breaking the rules of paradox space. These visions aren’t in keeping with our research, so I suspect certain factors are in play. My fellow Seer and Hero of Light are helping me uncover the discrepancies.”
“That’s why you’re trying to hit me up about Time shit.”
“Yes, that is precisely why I’m hitting you up about ‘Time shit,’” she says, air-quoting. “You remember Davesprite, of course.”
“Sure, I remember bird me.”
“Well, he gave his Rose advice before he left to become bird you. A way to let her memories of that session persist despite her inability to directly affect the Alpha timeline.”
“Seems like something you told me before.”
“I did. At length. It was why I visited your tower first this time around. Anyway,” she says, swishing her hands, “the visions I see are similar to that feeling. I’m aware of another timeline. Almost like a different Alpha.”
“There’s only one Alpha, Rose, that’s why it’s called the Alpha.” When she glares at you, you say, “Look, I dunno how your Seer shit works, maybe you can see shit when it has a big impact on the timeline, how should I fucking know? I don’t see shit. I skip around the timeline like a d-bag and get myself killed nigh constantly if I fuck up.”
“Something about it doesn’t sit with me. No other timeline ever felt this... close.”
“Maybe it’s whatever horseshit John did to fuck up the timeline.” You remember wondering why spidertroll was still there when Terezi seemed pretty sure that she only had two choices. And based on the shenanigans you caught up on, there’s only one reason for the change. “But if he fucked everything up, did he doom the original Alpha? Are we going to run into more dead us’s? Because that’s always fun.”
“If we’re lucky, we just might.” She winks. You grimace. “But to add to your speculation, maybe you’re right and that timeline was already doomed.”
“Cased closed, then. Now what?”
“Perhaps the best course of action is to do what we’re already doing.” She smiles, and it’s almost genuine. “Unwind. Heal. Make friends with the trolls. In your case, keep building your Can Town. And take everything else from there.” She rises at that, patting your head on her way back inside.
You lean back and waggle your brows at her. “Sounds like advice to be a useless piece of shit and play games all day,” you say because you feel like being a little turd.
She waggles her brows in response as she leaves. “Perhaps. But please consider caution when navigating stairs, Dave.”
Notes:
Dave became fairly proficient at cooking eggs. He prefers scrambled, but can make a mean omelette if he's bored enough.
Chapter 5: Karkat: Ascend to the Highest Point of the Building
Notes:
Chapter song: Twenty One Pilots - Ode to Sleep
Chapter Text
You don’t have much experience with dream bubbles, but Jack himself can slaughter you where you stand before you admit anything about them is normal.
You didn’t sleep during your session; back when you did sleep, it was under a thick sheet of sopor like any sensible troll. You didn’t ‘wake’ like everyone else, and you didn’t get to frolic around like a pan-dead imbecile in garish gold pajamas. Sleep doesn’t even come easy to you, short of passing out from watching someone get their legs sawn off by a meddlesome friend. At any rate, you don’t encounter bubbles as often, and when you do, they’re surreal as fuck.
Most of the bubbles you experience are the nigh unavoidable ones, where the meteor plunges headlong into what feels like sweeps of lived-out memories. The intervals are haphazard, capricious, and infuriating. You could be trapped in a bubble for hours before the meteor passes through, or mere seconds depending on the Horrorterrors’ whims.
You see familiar faces. You see dead friends who, from their perspective, checked out eons ago, only to find out they existed in vastly different timelines than your so-called Alpha. You meet a band of Aradias that share their timeline’s missteps like a shitty robotic support group, but you abscond the moment an Equius sweats his way around the corner. You don’t dwell on the new and unnecessary fact that ghosts can sweat. You see Feferi, also not yours, but she greets you with glee all the same. You see a Nepeta that got over her crush on you, and you find yourself having a pleasant and rather relaxing conversation. For a moment, you almost forget how you failed your Nepeta, and you catch up like old friends.
But then you also see yourself.
You see a smiling version of you walking alongside a Terezi, pointing at scalemates strung in trees while she sticks out her tongue in the same direction. You see another version playing Fiduspawn with Tavros, brow furrowed in concentration. Versions that get to hang out with their friends in a way you can’t anymore, regardless of whether you’re willing to admit you wanted to in the first place. And you see versions of you cloaked in a deep maroon ensemble that looks too much like Strider’s. A fucking God Tier, the symbol of Blood splattered proudly across their chests in the same wretched color as the sludge in your veins.
Objectively better choices stare back at you with blank eyes, trapped in a mishmash of environments with as much reason as a wiggler’s first drawing. You can’t tell whether you’re exhausted, enraged, or both, but something about seeing versions of yourself makes your blood boil. You recall a ridiculous conversation with Kanaya, where you confessed you may be your own kismesis. Deep down you worry you’ll prove yourself right if you ever talked to any of them.
So you avoid them as much as you can. And you figure while you’re at it, you might as well avoid sleep too. You occupy your time by watching movies, and write out superior endings based on your extensive character analysis. You try your hand at alchemy again, combining different novels with movies, though with mixed results. And even though it’s clear you created unwatchable trash, you can’t help but fervently analyze it anyway. You... only do this when no one’s around.
You occupy time in other ways, namely the forced variety. Vriska makes demands that everyone pay attention to the research ‘she’s’ gathering and perform as much ‘dream reconnaissance’ as possible. This immediately disinterests you. You say so, loudly, and regret the apparent invitation to a Vriska-style debate on the issue. You shout your fill, string a series of insults together, but find yourself ending at the same point as the last several arguments.
“You killed Tavros, you sanctimonious bitch!”
You leave at that point without fail. And when you leave, you always transportalize back to your room like a damn wiggler, and bury yourself in snuggleplanes and regret. So after you say the same phrase to her today, just as vitriolic as the first time, you transportalize away, already looking forward to an evening alone with a classic romantic comedy.
Instead you end up in the Land of Pulse and Haze.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” you groan. You step off the platform and look around to get your bearings. The ground beneath you is cracked and the walkway is jagged, but sturdy. Grim rivulets of bright red liquid flow from the crevasses into a wider gulf, while stone towers loom overhead. You look up and see a dusty pink sky, like a sunrise on Alternia, dotted with sparse, violet clouds and twinkling lights that could almost pass for stars. In the far distance, you see what looks like a communal hive stem, sugar dunes, and a smattering of brightly-colored rain.
You’re not sure who’s in this memory, but you assume you could run into people on the meteor. You’d like it if you don’t encounter Vriska, or frankly anyone, so your best bet is either that tower or that hive stem. As you compare the two options, you note how the ground evens out toward the other building. The lack of probably-not-blood is a bonus. You despised your planet, and any chance to leave is one you’ll take.
Time for Operation: Peace and Goddamn Quiet.
As you walk, you see the features of the land shift. More sugar-sand appears, along with the tell-tale teapots from Nepeta’s planet. Path illuminators line the craggy, sandy street as larger dunes fade into storefronts decorated with neon signs. Overhead, you see obelisks and strange-looking hot-air balloons sprinkling more of the effervescent rain. You get the sense that some of these memories don’t belong to you or your friends, alive or otherwise. The neon signs are nothing like the cities of Alternia, and the jumbled letters scream ‘human.’ None of your planets had balloons, or at least ones that looked like those. Suddenly, you’re even less enthused to meet anyone out here.
After several minutes, you make your way to the building. Something compels you to take the stairs up; you blame it on dream logic, but you’d rather not get trapped in some metal box in an unreliable environment. The stairs at least look a bit like the meteor’s, so you hope that means the bubble will end soon. You’re still pissed, and you would’ve liked being in your own block for these shenanigans.
Because seriously, who the fuck does Vriska think she is? Why does she insist on needling everyone around her, and flitting around the meteor like there’s not a damn thing wrong with the world? And why does everyone seem to let her? Whatever. It’s exactly why you need to get away.
You make your way to the top floor and open a marked door. It takes you back outside on a roof, where you can see the full skyline of this dream bubble. It clashes together like nothing you’ve ever seen, except for the dozen or so times you’ve seen the same thing over and over again. The elements change, but if that was all you had to endure, you think maybe, maybe you could get used to it. Its enrapturing, in its own way, but more than anything it makes you miss home.
“Sup.”
Oh, fucking fuck, you just knew you’d run into someone in this bubble. You look around until you spot him. It’s Strider wearing his God Tiers, and you can just feel he’s your Strider. Er, the Alpha Strider. He’s perched atop a metal box peering down at you with his usual impassive look. A faint ticking noise surrounds the roof, punctuated by the occasional grinding of gears and a deep, ambient pulse. Something about that noise is grating and reminds you of your own session. How the hell can he stand it?
“Don’t know how you got up here, but might as well stay put. This bubble’s gonna be awhile.”
“That fucking figures,” you grumble. “Wait, why in the ever-loving fuck should I stay here?”
“You look like you’re awake,” he says.
Well that explains nothing. “I am. So?”
“Well, I don’t know where you were before the bubble kicked off its reunion tour, but right now you’re probably on the meteor roof. Least, that’s where I was. Am. Still?” He shrugs. “Look, all I know it’s gonna be bubble town for a bit, and it’s not as safe as when you’re sleeping. Only takes one stubbed toe to learn that lesson. And I don’t know if wandering around from up here means jackknifing yourself into the abyss straight into some murder dogs, but I’m not trying to test those waters. Space was never my jam.”
You try to puzzle through what he’s babbling about. You’ve walked in dream bubbles before and you were fine. Never far, but still. “Hang on, are you saying all that aimless fucking walking put me on the roof? I’ve been walking for at least thirty minutes! The meteor’s not that big, is it?”
“So not one comment on space jams? My best stuff is wasted on you trolls,” he mutters. “Look man, time gets distorted out here too. All I’m saying is, you can do whatever, but I’m planting my ass right here like a goddamn florist until this bubble ends.” He stops looking at you and leans back on his elbows.
You should take that as your queue to leave. Everything in your think pan is telling you to head back down, make your way back to where you started, the Land of Assholes and Misery, and wait it out there. Instead, you do the inexplicable and walk to the box, find metallic prongs jutting out, and climb. You sit beside him and, with a huff, lay flat on your back. As you do, you hear him shift, presumably to do the same.
You stay like this for a few minutes, and for once, it’s quiet. Dare you say, peaceful. You watch as clouds and compasses drift by overhead, and feel the dull buzz of the box unit beneath you. You can almost hear the ambient noises from the meteor, all metallic hums and the dim sound of recycled air. It muffles the odd ticking and dull pulses, so you guess you understand why he picked this spot. It’s actually pretty nice.
“So tell me something.”
Goddammit.
“How come you never stop by Can Town? You’re like the only person that hasn’t so far.”
Are you? “Why would I waste my time in your idiotic pretend city made out of nutrition cylinders and garbage with some douche tier in shades?” you grumble. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“Bullshit, your better thing to do is scream at romcoms in the middle of the night.”
“Fuck you. Besides, there’s no ‘night’ out here. We’re in the abyss, remember?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He tilts his head towards you. “So what’s the real reason? You can’t say you got better things to do, we’re stuck on a meteor full of fuck all. And unless screaming at Vriska counts as a hobby, and let’s be real it should, that still leaves a shit ton of time left in the day to put in some community service with the Mayor. I guess you could spend it sleeping, but I don’t think you do a whole lot of that either. You can hate me or whatever, don’t care, but you can’t let down the Mayor.”
You glare at the sky, watching as balloons float past a pink Alternian moon. You can faintly make out fireflies from John’s planet twinkling in the distance. They almost look like stars.
You don’t hate him, alright? You just think he’s annoying, mostly because he talks too much and tries too hard at being cool. No one’s impressed with his shtick, least of all, you. Anyone who looked at you like a terrified squeakbeast can’t possibly be that cool. But hate? Fuck no. He’s not worth your scorn.
“I just haven’t, OK?” you say instead. “Why’s that such a big deal?”
“It’s not. So it’s not a big deal to answer.”
“Fine! Here’s your damn answer!” You gesture at him and some arbitrary point in the sky. “I figured it was your thing.”
“My thing.”
“You know, with... you and... Terezi.”
“Whoa, what.”
“Strider, don’t play dumb. I had to send out a notice to you nooksniffers about leaving well enough alone, and neither of you listened anyway.” You continue to glare at the sky. “You two still seemed friendly by the time we got ‘tricked,’ so I just figured...”
“’Rezi’s cute and all, but it’s not like that.”
You turn your head, giving him an incredulous look. Is he seriously going to make you spell it out? “Cut the shit, Strider. Unlike her, I’m not blind.”
“It’s not!” He turns his head towards you again, mouth turned down a bit. “Open up your hear caves or noise chutes or whatever dumbass troll word you use for ears, because I’m only gonna ever say this once. There’s no ‘thing.’” He pauses. “And... You were probably right about warning us.”
You blink. “I was?”
“Yeah.” He shifts back looking at the sky. “This feels like forever ago, but at some point in the game, after John doofused his way into God Tier, she did her bullshit coin trick thing on me and created a doomed timeline. And she knew there was no way I was gonna stab other me, but she kept egging me on anyway.”
From this angle, you can almost see his facial expressions. His mouth is still neutral, but his brows furrow as he continues.
“Thing about timelines, you’re not just dooming one person to them. Everyone in that timeline is marked. That outrageously handsome dude in the ugliest suit ever alchemized wasn’t the only person to die.”
“Oh.” You think you get it. By his logic everyone in that timeline, including his friends, are dead. You know from talking to various Aradias that doomed timelines are necessary if they help support the Alpha, but there’s little comfort in knowing that, even for a Time player like him.
“Are you... mad at her?” you ask.
“Nah,” he says nonchalantly, but his brow is still tense. “If I held a grudge against every girl directly involved with a Dead Dave, I’d only have Kanaya to talk to.”
“But you’re not... involved in that way?”
“Ugh, dude, I just said no.” He turns again. “Believe it or not, Kitkat, there’s a big difference between not being mad at someone and sloppy make-outs.”
Tension erupts on your face. That statement is comforting and all, but it puts a horrible image in your head of Terezi and Strider actually making out. The entire idea makes you squeamish, even though he just said that’s not the case. You try to put it out of mind and think about what he said. You... suppose you don’t have anything against him. He’s still an annoying fuckwit, but at least you think he’s being genuine now. It was made pretty clear that Terezi was keeping her distance from you even before the session ended, which, great, that happened, but you never had a claim on her. You haven’t spoken much since the ‘three-year journey’ started, especially since she and Vriska started their godawful Scourge Sister bullshit again.
Ugh, this is all too complicated. And you’re probably staring.
“Don’t call me that,” you say instead of everything else you’re thinking.
“Nah, that one’s too funny to pass up.” He looks back up at the sky, and you follow suit with a scowl. “If you look just past the clouds there, you can kind of see the edge of the bubble.”
You squint, following where he’s pointing. Sure enough you spot a large, pinkish crescent in the distance, partially hidden by deep blue clouds. Not much longer, then. You’re pretty sure you’re not disappointed.
“You should come to Can Town and hang out with the Mayor.”
You get the feeling he probably won’t lay off. Oh, what the hell. “Fine, Strider. I’ll hang out in your weird garbage pit if it’ll get you to shut up. Just, let’s trade me laying down in silence for that. OK?”
He turns and smiles, wide enough that his cheeks press against his sunglasses. It’s literally the most you’ve ever seen him emote. “Can do, Shoutkat.”
“Don’t call me that, either.” You’re annoyed there’s not as much bite in your tone.
==>
You don’t immediately take Strider up on his offer. You pass by him through the corridors when you walk to the meal block, and he doesn’t push the issue. He nods silently, and you nod back. It becomes a habit right there with screaming at Vriska, getting ignored by Terezi, and occasionally talking to Kanaya. And while your routine hasn’t changed by much, you still feel different. Maybe not as lonely as you did the past few weeks.
You’re still not sleeping well. You put off going to your recupceracoon, opting to write or read late into the night until you doze in your chairbag. You try not to watch movies when you stop hearing the others wander the halls, or when you don’t hear incessant beating coming from the human’s block. If you do wind up asleep, it’s only for a few hours at most until you wake up in a cold sweat, bewildered and shaking as you remember dead friends.
Sometimes you’re sorely tempted to troll a friend after these episodes, particularly Kanaya or Terezi. It used to be you could shoot the shit with Sollux, and even Gamzee before he went shithive maggots. You miss them – or at least you miss the simpler times surrounding them. There’s no telling if there’s anything left of your friendship with Gamzee worth salvaging, and you’re not exactly lining up for first row seats to that shit show. But it doesn’t stop the dull ache in your blood pusher, hours after you calm yourself down from a terrorizing dream.
So you’re surprised when your routine breaks just enough from the norm. You see a notification pop up just as you’re about to shut down your crabtop, ready to pretend to sleep for the day.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: sup
TG: see this was the exact shit i was talking about
TG: its like you and sleep are perpetually on the outs
TG: like two lovers that have no chance at reconciliation
TG: like sleep is just standing there outside your window with a boombox hoisted over its shoulders
TG: playing nothing but ambient snooze tunes with muted beats
TG: but you dont even bother hearing them
TG: so cold man
CG: WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
TG: your torrid will they wont they love affair with sleep
CG: NO, I GOT THAT. YOUR HAPHAZARD ATTEMPT AT A METAPHOR ISN'T THAT HARD TO GRASP.
CG: JUST. THAT WASN'T EVEN THE POINT OF THE SCENE, SO IT'S CLEAR YOU HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT.
CG: THAT OR THE HUMAN VERSION IS GARBAGE.
TG: wait
TG: what
CG: I'M NOT GOING TO BOTHER RECITING THE TITLE TO A SIMPLETON LIKE YOU, BUT THAT MOVIE DOES IN FACT EXIST ON MY PLANET.
TG: holy shit you guys have troll cusack
TG: man fuck that clown
TG: hope you told john i bet he immediately asked about cage or that tool machonahey
CG: HE DID. WE DON'T HAVE EITHER. THAT'S ALL EARTH'S TERRIBLE UNDOING.
TG: troll planet best planet
CG: YOU BETTER FUCKING BELIEVE IT.
CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT, STRIDER?
TG: damn nothing
TG: could tell you were awake
TG: wanted to see what was up
CG: SORRY TO DISAPPOINT, BUT I WAS ABOUT TO GO BACK TO SLEEP.
TG: oh
TG: ok thats cool
TG: think you should head to can town when you get a chance
CG: OH MY GOD.
TG: you said you would at some point man and the mayors really looking forward to it
TG: could use the extra hands
TG: and cans so make sure you bring some
CG: YOU CAN FUCKING ALCHEMIZE NUTRITION CYLINDERS.
TG: yeah but were going for authenticity
CG: UGH. FINE.
CG: IF IT WILL GET YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE IN YOUR PUNY EXISTENCE, I WILL PLAY IN YOUR POORLY-DESIGNED TRASH CITY LATER TODAY.
TG: hell yes
CG: DON'T EVEN THINK FOR A SECOND I'M MAKING IT A HABIT. I'M A BUSY FUCKING GUY, AND PLAYING WITH LITERAL GARBAGE FALLS SO LOW ON MY LIST OF PRIORITIES, IT'LL BE CONSIDERED CHARITY.
TG: ahahaha ok windbag
TG: see you later today
TG: bring that sunny disposition with you
CG: FUCK OFF.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
You shut down your crabtop, and decide to make good on your claim for once and try to get some sleep. It doesn’t occur to you until later, when the sopor’s seeped in, to wonder why he was the only other person awake enough to message you.
Chapter 6: Dave: Explore This Troll Disease Called Friendship
Chapter Text
Today, you are cooler than the underside of a pillow. The chilliest dude in paradox space and not nervous in the slightest. If Terezi tried to sniff at you or sneak in a lick, her tongue would get all stuck like the idiot kid in that Christmas movie you can’t remember, and... yeah, why are you thinking about trolls licking you? Look, either way, you’re feeling pretty chill, maybe even a little frosty, and did you mention not nervous in the slightest?
There’s no reason you should be, which is why you aren’t. All you’re gonna do today is brush your teeth, fuck up some eggs – you’re pretty sure they aren’t real eggs since you’ve never heard of eggs coming out a can – then build some shit in Can Town. Only difference is, you’re almost-sort-of sure Karkat’s gonna take you up on your top-grade invitation, and you want to make sure he gives the Mayor a good impression. You without a doubt don’t want to let the Mayor down.
Your eggy part of your balanced breakfast resides in a common area posing as a kitchen and dining room. It’s got a hunger trunk – a funnier troll word than refrigerator hands down – an alchemized stove with a scribbled ‘cookalyzer’ sign, and enough cupboards and countertops to resemble something functional. The best thing about the kitchen is the fridge, stocked full of your alchemized AJ instead of godawful anime swords.
Rose is already here, drinking tea and poring over yet another book, jotting down notes in the margin. You nod a greeting to her and rustle up breakfast.
“That your wizard boner fic or your eighty-pound SBURB manual?” you ask, because you continue to be a little shit.
She rolls her eyes. “I had a few illuminating conversations in the dream bubbles. I’m documenting them while they’re still fresh on my mind.”
You definitely saw memories you didn’t recognize when you passed through the last lobster fart, but you chalked that up to troll planets more than anything. “Who’d you meet?”
“Several trolls of course, some we were already acquainted with over the course of our own adventure. Other trolls from a different, scratched session. And I believe I met John’s grandmother.”
That gets your attention. “Whoa, really? Like Nannasprite or something?”
“No. This was a much younger version of her, though older than us. Which made me reevaluate the nature of the Scratch. I came to new conclusions.”
You pour the eggy-looking mix into the pan, and get to scrambling. You’re damn sure you’re not going to like what Rose has to say, but she’s saying it, that train’s going top speed with no brakes in sight. “What conclusions?”
“Well,” she starts. “We were never going to be the players in the new session, that much is a given. The Scratch merely paved the way for new heroes. It gave them a chance to succeed in an alternate universe. I assumed that meant versions of ourselves that lead different lives. It should have been obvious, but I now know who those heroes are.”
You scooch your eggs around. They look pretty done.
Rose sighs a little. You ignore her. “Aren’t you a little curious?”
“You’re gonna talk anyway, so It’s not like I have to be curious for long. And as cagey and mysterious you think you’re being, it sounds pretty fucking obvious.”
You hear her drum her nails against the table. “You don’t find it exciting? We’re going to meet our guardians as peers! It’s a chance to contextualize traits within ourselves and their alternate counterparts. Getting to know them could mean getting to know more about why our parents were how they were.”
Like fuck-ups, you don’t say.
“Cool. Right out the gate, you’re gonna go full Freud on your teen mom, ask what she’s into so you can nerd out over wizards and shit?
“Among other things,” she says. “She’s your teen mom, too you know.”
You shrug. “Yeah, I guess. That sounds exciting and all, like a real box office treat, but what the hell is there to contextualize? ‘Our’ mom was some alcoholic, spinster-ass wizard lover. Teen-mom might be the same, might not, who knows. Why you gotta act like I have to grin about it like a jackass?”
Your eggs are done. You dump them on one of your alchemized paper plates, covering Hella Jeff’s weird, kind of pork choppy face. You plop yourself at the table across from Rose and shove eggs in your mouth. She gives you a look that screams meddlesome.
“It gives us a chance to remove the mystery surrounding their alt-selves’ actions,” she says, though she sounds... doubtful? Disappointed? Hopeful?
“You just said they lived different lives,” you point out. “So they’re not the same.”
“You wouldn’t say that if our alt-selves were the heroes instead. Wasn’t Davesprite basically you?”
Welp, she figured you out. “He was me. Like, shared history and shit. How much of us is nature versus nurture?”
She hums. “If you think that, then why the hesitation?”
You don’t have anything to say, so you double-down on the ignore strategy and bite into more eggs. After about twelve seconds you ask, “So. No chance we can slow the meteor down, huh? Can’t make a pit stop to fight Jack? Chill out in the bubbles for eternity instead?”
“Considering I chanced upon John’s ecto-mom in the bubbles, that’s not quite the best avoidance tactic.”
Fuck, she’s right.
“Dave. Weren’t some of your brother’s qualities... upsetting to you?”
“Wow, what? No, man he was cool, alright?” you say, a little too loud and a little too rushed. “I can still call him cool and not want to deal with some teen version of a nigh inscrutable irony ninja that loved his shitty puppets more that he loved...”
Hard stop. Do not pass Go.
“Mixing dope jams,” you finish.
Rose raises her brow, but seems content to drop it. “John’s ecto-mother seemed very pleasant, for what it’s worth.”
“Cool. I’ll be the ambassador to John’s mom, then.”
She wrinkles her nose in disgust at you. You count it as another victory. “This obstinate thing you’re doing isn’t nearly as endearing as you think, you know.”
“Good thing I’m not going for endearing,” you say back, giving her a hard look that’s lost in translation because shades. “Pretty sure when I signed myself up for this unmitigated clusterfuck hero’s journey, the last thing on my mind was cool, new alt-guardians to chill with. We’re going there to beat the game, right? It’s all spidertroll ever goes on about.”
“Yes,” Rose replies. “We’re supposed to beat the game. But part of that means creating a universe worth living in.” She touches your hand and you try to hide your flinch. “A place where we’re actually happy for a change.”
You finish your eggs in silence, mulling over her words. Happiness isn’t exactly a thing you thought about when you sailed through the Furthest Ring like hot garbage to blow up the sun. You thought about everything else; how you didn’t want Rose to die alone, how much you’ll miss John and Jade, and whether you’ll see anyone you know in the dream bubble afterlife. Maybe she’s right? Maybe you should think about your own happiness for a change.
Right now, in fact.
“I’m gonna head to Can Town,” you announce. “Have fun with your AU fic about our parents.”
She doesn’t look at you, but she smirks. “I will. Have fun with your new friend,” she replies.
==>
You scribble out a floor plan for the library the Mayor requested. Requested in this case meant a lot of pantomiming with a stack of books, some with several pages ripped out. You got the hint though, and decided that as far as libraries go, this will be the best one you’ll ever lay eyes on.
As you draw, you think about the countless fetch quests on your planet, and how a bunch involved snatching indecipherable books from dumpass consorts for boonbucks, or the mad boonies as you like to call them. Books sure are a thing in this game; the meteor’s practically begging to get plundered by nosy book shrews with a fetish for psychobabble. The thought reminds you that you’re still technically playing the game. You may be on a meteor from a completely different session, and you may be stuck on what’s possibly the longest loading screen ever, but you’re still playing the game, bound by the same rules as you were on that three-days-in-one spree. You wonder if there was a meteor like this one in your session, or if there was an adorable little Mayor dude in theirs. They had their own Jack, so you assume it’s possible.
But that train of thought makes you think of the Mayor as a game construct, which is hella unfair. He’s more like an alien, maybe not in the same way as the trolls, but just as fantastical. He’s got a personality, regardless of how much of that is NPC code. And watching him lets you know he’s got a history, and it probably wasn’t pretty. Sometimes you see his hands shake when he draws chalk fields, or you notice him clutching his stomach a little too hard. You struggle to forget that when you first saw him, he was really close to bleeding out, and it took some ghostly fish troll to fix him up.
You put out of mind how much you know what that feels like.
Whatever. It’s nothing to mope about because you’re alive, kicking it something uncanny-bored and making floor plans. You’ve got more important things to worry about, like what you’re going to name this building. You chalk out an outline, trying out suitably ironic names like ‘Delirious Booknasty Public Liberry’ in your head when you hear footfall. Stomping footfall.
You swear, if you had a glass of water it would ripple like raptors were on the prowl.
In marches Karkat, clutching cans and chalk close to his chest. He’s scowling as usual, but instead of the garden variety ‘leave me alone forever’ teenage angst, this frown is more ‘as soon as I’m done with this horseshit, I’m turning this van around’ apprehension. To call it anything but pissed is being generous, but it sure as shit isn’t sad and defeated. It’s not quite a victory, but you’ll take what you can get from this guy.
“Sup, Karcrab.”
“Don’t call me that,” he says automatically. He looks around, chewing on his lip, then sets his things down in a tidy row. “So this is the trash heap you insisted on showing me?”
“Yeah, man. Welcome to Can Town.” Just as you wonder where the Mayor scampered off to, you see him strutting right towards the troll. He points to the supplies Karkat dropped off, and points to your layout of the library. Karkat’s frown fades away, leaving a mix of bewildered resentment.
“OK...?” he asks, giving you a ‘please help’ look.
“He wants you to help with the library,” you offer. “I’m working on the layout for it.”
“Ooh la la. Aren’t we fancy,” Karkat mutters. He must sense your confusion, because he follows up with, “There aren’t many bookhives on Alternia, and you’ll never see any lowbloods going there. Terezi’s the only person I know that’s ever set foot in one, and even she wouldn’t call it a ‘library.’”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” you say. Really no troll stuff does, but you don’t say that in case it’ll launch a drawn out explanation. “Figured out of anyone, you’d love libraries. I thought you liked reading and shit.”
“Would you look at that! A basic observation from Strider, showcasing his ability to state the fucking obvious!” He rolls his eyes, carrying his whole head with it. “You can still buy books. Our society did it all the fucking time! A bookhive is more than a reading block. It’s more prestigious than that.”
Now you’re kind of curious. “More prestigious than what?”
“Any nookstain can read their fictional accounts of Alternian culture at home like a sane person,” Karkat says. “Bookhives are for non-fiction, history, law, stuff like that. Research.” He fiddles with a few cans, frowning at your layout.
“I mean, that’s kind of how they are on Earth, but it’s also a place to chill and read. Besides, that’s what the Mayor wants, so I’mma make an Earth library instead.”
He shrugs, still frowning a little, but he settles in and watches as you stack cans. You’re a little worried because he looks bored and nervous as hell. He tries to hide how much he’s fidgeting with his chalk, and he keeps rolling a can around while staring at everything but you. After like a solid three minutes of this, he starts passing cans your way, his supply keeping up with your demand. You work in companionable silence, and yeah it’s not as exciting as you thought but it ain’t a disaster, either. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.
Growing up, you trained to have a face as stoic and inscrutable as possible. Facial expressions could give away your plan of attack or some horseshit. Bro took it to extreme levels to the point you honestly never saw so much as a flinch from him, much less anger, and forget about crying. The shades help hide shit, and you sure as fuck don’t cry, but even then you’ve got nothing on Bro.
Had.
Karkat’s face is different. That expression ‘open book’ is one thing, but you can’t help but admire the irony that this guy is a goddamn library of emotions. He’s got all the faces, and his chill is so negative he might as well have popped out of his own gaping furnace. Just on sitting down, you’ve seen nervous, decisive, insulted, and annoyed, like he’s feeling everything at once in a big angry rumpus.
Ornery or not, he’s here, and he’s wearing his boredom and his curiosity on both sleeves. And the way you figure, he’s not the creepy ass murder clown, and he’s not trying to hatch schemes like a feathery asshole while yelling about irons in the fire. It’s not even three months in, and by default of keeping to himself, you already peg this shouty tool as the sanest person on the meteor that isn’t you, your sister, or the sentient beetle dude.
...Maybe? You’re not sure what trolls are.
“So what are trolls, anyway?” you ask.
“The fuck kind of question is that?”
“I mean. Like.” You didn’t think this through, no surprise there. “OK, so humans are mammals, right? We pretty much evolved from rowdy ass monkeys, we’ve got hair, nipples, and give birth to our young.” You decide the library needs to be two-story, so you grab a book for the second level. “So are trolls like bugs? Every other word is grub, but you look kind of like humans.”
“That may be the most asinine load of word vomit that still constitutes as an interesting fact.” He hands you another can and stacks a few of his own to widen out the first floor. Progress, fuck yes. “You’re saying humans are some kind of primate, but similar to our musclebeasts? Without the muscles, I guess?”
“What, no. Humans are totally jacked to the nines, where are you getting your information from? That fact is in dire need of peer review.”
“Neither you, John, Rose, nor Jade have the definition of a musclebeast, and consider that the least dismaying feature of your tragic species. You’ve wandered the meteor enough to run across Alternia’s ‘fine art.’ That should give you a fucking clue.”
You try not to grimace. “You mean those shitty horse porn posters? Gross.”
“Yes, Dave. Gross. Way to be culturally sensitive.”
“Don’t defend that. There’s no way in hell you’re going to pull the culture card on that shit, my dude. You can’t honestly look me in the face and tell me you like weird horse nudes.”
He snorts, and you see his face twist into something that’s definitely not a smile, but it’s damn close. OK, so maybe he doesn’t wear all his emotions on his sleeve, but he’s still an open book.
“My tastes aren’t that shitty even on a particularly foul day.”
“What are your tastes, then?”
He shoots you this incredulous look, like you just asked if he tugs it to Mothra. “Why the hell are you asking me that? Why are you trying to get to know me?”
You decide to stow away any Mothra comments since Aradia and Vriska definitely have wings, and you don’t want to know how on or off the mark you are. And you don’t think telling him you’re bored out of your eyeballs is a good enough reason either. Rose suddenly pops in your head, so you take inspiration from her to be a little shit.
“Humans are by nature social creatures,” you recite. “They are naturally compelled to create bonds through social interaction, and quickly form societies–”
“Shut. The fuck. Up! No one asked for a fucking science lesson, you bumptious piece of shit!” As you mouth out the word in confusion, he says, “If you were so social, you would bother anyone, literally any of the other bulgesniffing assholes on this meteor. Why are you singling me out for your awkward friendship advances?”
“Bro Code,” you blurt out.
“What.”
Great, now you have to explain Bro Code to a goddamn troll. “A bro always has their bro’s back,” you say. When you see the clearly unimpressed, ‘I know that, douchebag’ look on Karkat’s face, you say instead, “Look, would you rather be bored out of your skull for two years and change, or would you rather at least attempt the human emotion called friendship?”
He looks at you, and the little fucker has the nerve to think on it, the tool. He chews on his lips for a bit, then a new expression passes across his dumb face. “Friendship isn’t an emotion, idiot,” he mutters. “If anything it’s a disease. But it’s not like my life could possibly get any worse, short of impromptu lobotomies.”
“That’s the spirit,” you drawl. You stack another book, deciding that Delirious Booknasty needs three stories after all. “You never answered, though. What the hell are trolls, anyway?”
Karkat sighs and stacks cans for the third story. “Fine. Get ready to be fucking schoolfed, Strider, because you’re about to get your ignorance ripped from you and thrown to the barkbeasts. I hope you’re goddamn comfy because this is going to take awhile.”
You then proceed to have one of the shittiest cultural exchanges in the history of paradox space.
==>
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]--
TG: hey
CG: YES?
CG: I GUESS YOU CONTACTING ME IS GOING TO BE A THING NOW.
TG: dont go acting too thrilled
TG: dunno if the meteor can handle that much enthusiasm
CG: I'LL TRY TO REIGN IT IN.
CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT? I'M BUSY.
TG: nothin what are you up to
CG: I'M TRYING TO WATCH A MOVIE. ONLY SURPRISE! I CAN'T BECAUSE A NOTIFICATION WINDOW KEEPS BLINKING AT ME.
TG: hmm i wonder what thats about
CG: HMM, INDEED!
TG: must be some cool dude trying to chat
TG: its your lucky day karkitty
CG: DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!
CG: WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND NICKNAMES?
TG: iono man i like em
TG: gotta collect that shit like rare loots
TG: its all the rage man you gotta get in on it
TG: itll change your life i swear
CG: HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I BOMBARDED YOU WITH IDIOTIC NICKNAMES?
TG: iono you kinda already do
TG: you have like ten different ways of calling me a douche its not that different
CG: YOU MAY NOT REALIZE THIS, BUT YOU ARE TEN DIFFERENT KINDS OF DOUCHE SO IT FITS.
TG: harsh
CG: ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP BUGGING ME? I REALLY MEANT IT WHEN I SAID I WAS BUSY.
TG: watching a movie isnt busy you do that exactly when youre not busy
TG: what are you watching anyway
TG: youre not screaming at it so it must be a good one
CG: I DO NOT SCREAM.
TG: sure buddy
CG: AND FOR YOUR INFORMATION, IT IS A GOOD ONE.
CG: IN WHICH A BLUEBLOOD LEGISLACERATOR HIRES A RUSTBLOOD FORNICUTIONER AS A TEMPORARY ESCORT TO A HIGH-PROFILE CULLING.
TG: hold up
TG: fornicutioner
CG: THEY UH
CG: THEY SOMETIMES GET HIRED BY HIGHBLOODS THAT CAN'T FOR WHATEVER REASON FILL THEIR CONCUPISCENT QUADRANTS
CG: THE STORY DOESN'T FOCUS ON THAT. MOSTLY JUST HOW THEIR RELATIONSHIP GROWS OVER TIME.
TG: uh
CG: LOOK, YOU ASKED, I EXPLAINED, NOW CAN YOU STOP HARASSING ME?
TG: hell no
TG: this sounds too good and weird to pass up
TG: dude you gotta let me watch it with you so I can judge it
CG: NO, FUCK YOU!
TG: karkat cmon
TG: see i even said your real name
TG: ill say it two more times while i twirl around in a mirror and summon more trashy romcoms
TG: you know i cant pass up garbage
CG: UGH. FINE.
CG: IF I INVITE YOU TO WATCH IT WITH ME, CAN I WATCH IT IN FUCKING PEACE?
CG: AS IN NO FUCKING TALKING THROUGH IT. NONE OF YOUR FUCKING MUMBLING BABBLE.
CG: CAN I TRUST YOU TO DO THAT FOR THE FULL RUN OF THE MOVIE?
TG: peace is my middle name bro itll be like a pacifist rally
TG: these lips will be pursed as fuck
CG: ...
CG: FINE.
TG: fuck yes
CG: I'M GOING TO REGRET THIS, AREN'T I?
TG: probably
TG: omw
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]--
Notes:
Karkat would think Mothra was a little too vulgar, but unfortunately knew of similar franchises back on Alternia.
Chapter 7: Dave: Be the Other Asshole
Chapter Text
Trolls and humans both have trillions of nerves in their bodies, all poised to fire off messages to the think pan in nanoseconds. And somehow, the smug shitstain Dave Strider manages to tap dance on every last one of your nerves with no hope for recovery. Since hanging out with him, it’s clear he’s the most infuriating example of sentient life you’ve ever called a friend.
Sure, you weren’t having the time of your life when you sat alone reading novels. But you at least had some semblance of peace, and dare you say, predictability. Not that you don’t have a routine now, but it’s so mired in Dave’s inane hoofbeastshit that even simple tasks devolve into idiotic debates.
You build Can Town and argue about the merits of a city park versus a more sensible community activity center. You compromise and build the center behind the park. You complain about the phallic nature of his trees. He calls you a tyrannical taskmaster. You counter that he wouldn’t know real tyranny if it stabbed him with a culling fork. You squabble. Unrelated, the community center is decommissioned unexpectedly and rebuilt.
His brand of stoic antagonism bleeds into other activities until nothing is safe. He mumbles shitty raps to himself, scribbling out blocky text alongside crude drawings of whatever dumb conversation you had prior. It’s already an annoying habit, but he ramps it up to new echelons because he does this while you watch your movies. So you yell at him to shut the fuck up and clog up someone else’s hear ducts. He responds by weaving your name into his atrocious rhymes.
You never admit how close you are to laughing.
It becomes the new normal. You wake up, eat a meal the humans call ‘breakfast,’ and find new ways to avoid Vriska, be it Can Town initiatives, reading out-loud to drown out Dave’s chatter, or schooling the humans on the nuances of troll culture using the best cinema possible. Your efforts are appreciated by Rose, who’s a textbook definition of ulterior motive. Dave on the other hand is a lost cause, even though you knew that going in. He groans incessantly, and spends more time drawing the characters as human dicks than paying attention to the actual plot. But he robs you of any chance to enjoy it for yourself because he never. Shuts. Up.
So it surprises you one day, during the climax of an absolute classic starring Troll Will Smith, when Dave finally shuts up for once in his life. He watches, face impassive, but almost as intense as yours. You take the quiet for the blessing it is and relax further into the couch. You love the movie, but you always think to yourself that it could have ended better.
“So after everything they went through, why didn’t the dudes become brorails or whatever?”
“I know, right?” you say. Your pan catches up to your mouth. Wait, was he actually paying attention? “I mean, it would never work, obviously. They were constantly vacillating black and pale throughout the movie, but there was potential. The principles for a healthy pitch relationship and a moirallegiance are similar, but their dynamic is paler than most people think.”
“How the fuck is kismespades the same as bromance?” he asks. “The entire point of being bros is not hating each other’s guts.”
You shake your head. “See, you’re missing the point. A proper kismesissitude acknowledges the same positive qualities in the other person, but it’s like a rivalry. A dance even! You want to be better than them, but there’s this tension behind wanting them to challenge you, and vice versa.”
“I get what you’re going for, but that’s not how bros work.”
“How is it not!? Both relationships have the same foundation, which is the mutual betterment for the other person.”
“That’s most relationships, dog. At least the ones worth being in, cause like fuck if you wanna be in something that brings you down,” he says, mouth turning downward. “But you’re not gonna see bros macking on each other hate-ways.”
“Well, yeah. Obviously.” You feel like he’s either not getting it or you’re not explaining it right, which, of course, is impossible. Still, it’s the most he’s willingly talked about this stuff, and you feel like you’re on the verge of a breakthrough, so maybe he’s not as useless as you thought. You think this would be much easier with a chart, but all your last attempts resulted in acts of vandalism and Can Town rebuilding efforts.
You try a different approach.
“Think about it like this. You know how Lalonde is snarky towards you, and antagonizes you all the time?”
“Hold up, can you not even remotely insinuate that I’m in spades with my goddamn sister?” Dave slumps sideways on the couch, taking up all the space.
“I’m not!” you protest. “I’m pointing out the underlying principle of both quadrants! She antagonizes you, but she cares about your well-being! It’s not hard to see the root emotions in play there!”
“Dude, no. She’s not my spades-sister and we’re not meowpals either, jegus fuck. Look, if I say I get it, can you drop everything about that train of thought like it was literally on fire?” He flings an arm over his eyes. “Why are our conversations always so terrible.”
You roll your eyes. “Because you’re stupid and terrible, and you refuse to stretch your thinking capacity beyond your shitty raps.”
“My raps own. I’ve seen you tappin’ your foot. Don’t lie.” He nudges you with his foot.
“Cut it out. No I don’t. I’m tapping my foot waiting for you to end your tireless crusade against verbal language.” You try to grab his leg, but he wiggles out of your grasp.
“Ok, so you were saying. Hate-spades and brorails have the same root feeling of betterment.” He tries to shove his foot in your side again.
“Fucking quit it!” You grab his leg, and get a better hold. “Yes. They do to a certain extent. They’re obviously as opposite as you can get, what with one being platonic with positive feelings, and the other being caliginous in nature.” Not to mention... ngh, let’s not go there. “You can flip black to pale, but going the other way isn’t nearly as common.”
“Don’t really get the flipping thing, but alright. Troll Will Smith was giving that other dude hope, saying that all trolls kinda start out hating each other so he maybe had a leg to stand on. And you’ve said it’s like how humans start out with pale sluttiness all around, so maybe that’s it.”
Wow. He... actually was paying attention. It’s stunning. You are stunned.
“I dunno why they couldn’t work, though. You said there were too many black feelings between them, but dudes talk shit to each other all the time. Hell, this whole meteor does that without falling into hate-spades.” He tries to wiggle out of your grasp. You dig in with your elbow.
“It’s not that they couldn’t! Just... Ideally they don’t have as many reasons to hate the other person, or can get over it without killing each other. And it could work! They talked about Troll Kevin James’ fear of the imperial drones, but the rest needed to be fleshed out. More scenes of them supporting each other, not just a one-off conversation.”
“We’re kind of brorails, then.”
You abruptly let go of his leg and stare at him in shock. “Wha– Strider, what the fuck gave you that impression!? You understand jack shit about, about even the principles of quadrants, and you blurt something like that out like it’s nothing?”
He sits back up, tucks his leg back under him, and stares at you behind those blank black frames. You can faintly make out his eyes behind the dual images of your own panicked face. “Sorry to break it to you, Karkizzle, but we’re textbook, peer-reviewed bros. I hang out with you the most out of anyone here these days, even though you’re a shouty tool. And you put up with my shit far longer than anyone else here. And. I mean.”
He turns his head towards the floor, and for once it looks like he’s thinking before speaking. “We hang out, and it’s fun, and it’s normal, or as normal as any of this shit is. The fuck is normal anymore, though. I guess movies still are, but.” He turns back to you. “Look, I get moirails are a foursquare thing for you, but being bros isn’t as big a deal to humans. At least, it kinda seems like it’s different for trolls, but maybe it’s not. I guess I’m saying you’re pretty much my bro. But like, a bro-plus?”
You give him a withering look. “You don’t make any sense.”
“My face doesn’t make sense,” he agrees.
You shrug. “True.”
“Ok, so.” Dave turns back towards the husktop screen. The credits have long ended by now, and the play screen cycles through various movie clips. “I guess to you, we’re bros, but not moirails according to troll bullshit.”
“Correct, nookwhiff.”
“What do moirails do, exactly?”
You hadn’t thought about it in awhile. Any other day you’d say the purpose is to keep the other person from flipping out and murdering everyone. You think about Nepeta and guilt immediately overwhelms you. You think about Eridan instead, and wow, let’s introduce the worst example you can think of. You think about Kanaya, and yeah. Her situation was less a moirallegiance than it was a dissertation on bad taste in matesprits. You hope she doesn’t fall into the same pattern with Lalonde, but you doubt they will. You’ve never seen any two people so attracted to each other but utterly clueless about it.
But you? You never had one before. And right when you thought you felt that way... you weren’t needed.
“I... don’t know anymore,” you admit. “So much of its societal purpose went away when Alternia got destroyed. I don’t even know anymore. We’re supposed to protect each other, keep each other grounded, and talk to each other, but...”
Dave nods. “Bro-plus-plus.”
“Yeah.” You stare at the husktop and you fight to keep your mouth from trembling. “All the best examples are gone now. Nepeta and Equius, annoying as they were, had such a good thing going. They talked. I think they talked about everything, even his weird thing with Aradia. And then I just had to go and ruin it by freaking out instead of fixing it myself, and now they’re dead and I couldn’t...”
You stop. You didn’t want to say any of that.
Your words are followed with a long stretch of silence. The faint buzz from the air vents echo through the empty common room, with the only other sound coming from the faint pulse of your husktop as it powers down. You mentally kick Past You, and you crawl into yourself, tucking your arms in as you lean into your knees. Why the hell would you air any of those thoughts out? Let alone to Strider, who treats everything with a layer of irony so thick, it would take Kanaya’s chainsaw to rip through it. And you knew that going in, and Past You still couldn’t resist ruining an otherwise tolerable conversation. You hear him shift, and you hope and worry he’ll take this as his queue to leave.
Instead he scooches closer and puts a hand on your back. You lean into him almost instinctively. “This is so fucked up,” he says softly. When you look up, you still can’t see his eyes, but he looks concerned all the same.
“...Yeah,” you say. “It is.”
==>
You don’t talk about the sorta-hug, or the ‘brorail’ talk. Hell, you don’t even bring up quadrants. You ignore it altogether, and resume the semi-routine despite hating the ambiguity lingering. You feel something different, like maybe this depressing rock isn’t so bad, and all of the people on it aren’t dumber than a pair of dried out shame globes. Maybe you’ve just gotten used to the place? Like maybe a few wipes of dubious safety fried your think pan enough to accept a feeling of ‘normal?’ You’re not sure, but you’re also not going to question it. For once in your life.
You find yourself in the common room more often, and today’s no different. You see Kanaya in a comfy loveseat, sketching out designs. Rose sits beside her knitting a horrorterror plush. Vriska and Terezi commandeered the table for some (thankfully) non-Flarp tabletop game. Gamzee is nowhere to be seen, for which you’re indifferent. Dave’s nowhere to be seen either, for which you’re a bit less indifferent. You’re tempted to message him, but maybe you should chill the fuck out and do something productive. So you decide to write.
Looking at the others indulging in their hobbies is relaxing, in a boring kind of way. You’re surprised that even Vriska’s managed to calm down off of team meetings enough to enjoy a game. With... Terezi. The friend slash whatever you weren’t that you haven’t talked to nearly as much as you used to. And they seem really happy and into it, which makes you happy, but there’s an ache that you can’t shake off. You can’t decide whether that ache is because Vriska’s just sitting there, laughing as if nothing’s wrong, or because of the implication that Terezi would rather hang out with an irredeemable bitch than you.
Making your presence effectively worse than a murderer’s.
The thought spirals through your think pan, and your throat nearly clenches with self-loathing. You really should have stayed in your block, and contrary to what people think, you really don’t like blowing up out of fucking nowhere at any little trigger. Your first impulse is to open up a memo; shitbag or not, railing on your future or past self is addictive, and far more productive that screaming at any of the people here. You open your Trollian account, poised to ruin your own day.
Or so you thought. You have some missed messages.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: hey
TG: this is gonna sound like a dumb question but
TG: im sitting here on the roof getting my mad contemplations on
TG: about why troll will smith exists
TG: like i thought yall did the six thing until you grew up or whatever
TG: earned your right to shoehorn some eightfold title to prove you came of age
TG: ahahaha oh man i bet theres a troll out there named shoehorn isn’t there
TG: earned their title through shitty self inserts
TG: uh
TG: was i guess
TG: forget i said any of that
TG: where are you even usually thats a notarized invitation to lambaste me with a wall full of grey nubby insults
TG: youre cordially invited to the business end of the reckoning karkat edition
TG: spitting out the rage missiles straight into your hear caves
TG: flying through this meteor doing jack shit and fuck all
TG: normalcy abandoned liked that shits been stonewalled
TG: corporate fucking merger is karkats current protocol
TG: between my brain and ruination insanity is the windfall
CG: OH MY GOD.
TG: oh hey
CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN BABBLING ABOUT?
TG: dude where are you
TG: like not like i was looking around or anything but you werent in can town so im just chilling on the roof
CG: I'M IN THE COMMON ROOM. EVERYONE'S IN HERE HANGING OUT.
TG: oh dang did i miss another meeting i totally wasnt gonna go to
CG: NO, THEY'RE ALL HERE, CHILLING OUT. KANAYA AND ROSE ARE CRAFTING I GUESS? AND TEREZI AND VRISKA ARE PLAYING SOME BOARD GAME.
TG: ok
TG: a board game with the kismesisters kinda sounds like the opposite of chill but alright
CG: I DON'T THINK THEY'RE LIKE THAT! ANYMORE, AT LEAST.
CG: HONESTLY THAT'S WHAT HAS ME FREAKING OUT A LITTLE.
TG: freaking out
CG: FORGET IT.
TG: no man
TG: what do you mean
CG: ...
CG: OK, IT'S JUST.
CG: CAN I PREFACE EVERYTHING I'M ABOUT TO SAY WITH THE STRICT ADHERENCE TO THE "BRO CODE" YOU HOLD SO DEAR?
CG: AND LET ME JUST ADD, I'M NOT REALLY FREAKING OUT, OK?
TG: sure man bro code is in full play dont even sweat it
TG: even though the moment anyone says they arent freaking out it becomes painfully obvious they are
CG: NOW YOU SOUND LIKE LALONDE.
TG: no
TG: fuck that
TG: theres a difference between her psychobabble horseshit and common fucking sense dude come on
TG: what are you freaking out about
You look around, suddenly aware that you’re about to bare your feelings in the middle of the fucking common room like some kind of pale voyeur. To Dave of all people, someone who wipes ago you’d written off as an insecure douche, and let’s be fair that description still holds up. No one’s paying attention to you though; each pair seems absorbed in their own conversations, Rose quietly joking with Kanaya, and Terezi arguing about strategy. You feel another pang and make a choice.
TG: karkat
TG: karkles
TG: dude
TG: cmon man
TG: bros over here thinking like I aint got the gall
TG: to stick him in this feels jam like a plump ass butterball
TG: little does he know were going full stop vantasy
TG: getting in his grill and various troll anatomy
TG: uh wait
TG: nvm that one
CG: I JUST READ THAT. I JUST READ YOU WAGE WAR ON WORDS ITSELF AND I CAN'T UNSEE IT. DAVE, YOU ARE ABYSMAL AT RAPPING, LET'S FACE THE FUCKING FACTS.
TG: that was like one bad line out of a million
CG: IT REALLY ISN'T.
TG: or maybe im goading you to talk in the most asinine way possible
TG: either way more where that came from dude
CG: UGH, FINE.
CG: IT'S JUST THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE HAVING FUN.
CG: THEY'RE HAVING A BLAST EVEN! AND TEREZI SEEMS HAPPIER THAN I'VE SEEN HER IN MONTHS.
TG: sure
CG: AND IT'S A LITTLE INFURIATING! SHE'D RATHER HANG OUT WITH THIS MURDEROUS WASTE OF FLESH THAN ANYONE WHO DIDN'T FROLIC AROUND MAIMING PEOPLE WITH NO SELF-AWARENESS OR REMORSE!
TG: yeah im not feelin it
CG: NOT FEELING WHAT!?
TG: like youre about to say youre angry at vriska and lets be clear her being like extra excited about sailing headlong all piratey into the seven seas of batshit is a thing
TG: but you still like kanaya and she killed that fish dude
CG: THAT WAS DIFFERENT! HE... KILLED HER FIRST.
TG: wait
TG: what
TG: man whatever
TG: look im not jumping in the line of fire to defend spidertroll or anything but its just the absolute worst thing trying to get worked up over her
TG: and maybe thats part of whats going on here i dont know
TG: but you seem more mad about terezi than vriska
CG: FUCK YOU, STRIDER.
TG: back to strider ok i guess
CG: THAT'S RIGHT! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HOW I FEEL SO DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE IT!
CG: YOU WEREN'T FUCKING THERE! DON'T EVEN TRY TO PRETEND YOU KNOW *ANYTHING* ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED, OR WHO DESERVES MY UNBRIDLED WRATH!
CG: SO DON'T YOU **DARE** THINK I'M NOT PISSED AT THAT IRREPENTANT BITCH!
CG: AND YOU KNOW WHAT! *MAYBE* YOU'RE RIGHT, AND THERE'S ENOUGH BLAME TO GO AROUND!
CG: *SHE* FUCKING KILLED TAVROS, AND TEREZI *ALMOST* KILLED HER! BUT MAYBE I'M THE SHITBAG! IT'S ME, EVER THINK OF THAT!? MY ENTIRE TEAM FELL APART AND *I* WASN'T FUCKING THERE TO STOP EITHER OF THEM!
CG: IT TOOK SOME DEUX EX WINDSOCK SHITHEAD TO COME BACK AND FIX MY MISTAKES. EXCEPT WHOOPS! NOT *ALL* OF THEM BECAUSE APPARENTLY NOT EVERYONE GETS A SECOND FUCKING CHANCE!
TG: oh my god karkat shut the fuck up
CG: NO, STRIDER, FUCKING *FUCK YOU*!
TG: no dude
TG: you always wanna be all dog piling on yourself like a fucking troll jesus martyr
TG: get over yourself
TG: youre not the only one that fucked up there were twelve of you remember
CG: AND AS THEIR LEADER, I FUCKED UP THE MOST! AND IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED, THERE *AREN'T* TWELVE OF THEM ANYMORE, ARE THERE, JACKASS? GUESS WHOSE FAULT THAT IS!?
TG: ok last i checked your kill count is still at nil bro so STOP acting like youre the one who did all the gratuitous murdering
TG: dude
TG: look
TG: sorry just
CG: I COULD'VE STOPPED THEM.
TG: ...
CG: ...
TG: ok maybe its a little different but
TG: i only ever saw doomed daves and my bro
TG: and usually i could just tell myself ok that sure is a dead me he mustve fucked up somewhere
TG: except hes me so i mustve fucked up
TG: and i guess seeing your fuck ups in real time can eat at you
TG: i had the luxury of knowing i was alive and that other guy wasnt
TG: even when he became me
TG: or i became him whatever
TG: you cant get that with dead friends i guess
CG: ...
TG: sorry
CG: IT'S... IT'S OK, I GUESS.
TG: is it
CG: ...NOT REALLY.
TG: are you still in the common room
CG: YEAH.
TG: ...shit
TG: omw
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
A few minutes you see him shuffle in, cape fluttering in behind like some heroic tool. You’re too angry to be happy to see him, but you’re too tired to really be angry. And yet, his being here is better than being alone in a room full of people, or even more alone in your block. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about that.
He flops down on the couch beside you, closer than really necessary, and mutters ‘SWEET CANS’ and ‘UNBELIEVABLY SHITTY MOVIE,’ popping out two pairs of headphones and Good Luck Chuck.
“Thought you might wanna watch something,” he says, shades fixed to the ground.
You look around; Kanaya smiles at you before whispering something to Rose. The Scourge Sisters are still absorbed in their game. You take a pair of headphones and put the movie in.
“Thanks.” You hesitate for a moment. “Bro.”
Notes:
Rose, having read Dave's blog, knows his extensive hatred of the movie. She decided not to tease him about watching it willingly with Karkat.
Chapter 8: Dave: Be in Cahoots with Karkat
Chapter Text
You’re starting to get bored of Can Town.
Ok, ok, let’s not get fucking hasty here. You’re not one to let the Mayor down or anything, but there are only so many civic activities you can fit in the day before you wonder if you need to upgrade from Can Town to Cylinder City. Or if you need to upgrade from bored antics to aluminum-based psychosis. You don’t want to overdo Can Town is what you’re saying, but you’re starting to run out of other shit to occupy your time.
That’s not exactly true either, but you aren’t in the mood for roof gazing or watching Dane Cook’s strikingly hateable face flounder its way into Karkat’s heart. You can’t believe you sat through that garbage a second time when you swore you wouldn’t subject yourself to torture again in a million years, but ugh, what are bros for. It was almost worth watching to cheer him up, until he started gushing about ‘comedic value.’ You’re pretty sure Karkat only says he likes him to piss you off because he’s still a goddamn troll.
You wish you were in the mood to spin out some ill jams, but mixing takes concentration and you’ve got too much pent up energy to sit still for hours. You’re also not bored enough to attend the meetings Vriska insists is a Thing. You don’t go because it’s the Terezi, Rose, and Vriska Show, with them all trying to sync up their powers like some Captain Planet clusterfuck of circumstantial simultaneity. Besides, you don’t want to think about the end game yet. Shit’s weighing on your mind, sure, but the less you think about your alt-Bro or Mom-sis, the better. You wish everyone else, namely your sister, would respect your goddamn opinion.
But to be fair, you’re not sure what to make of your opinion. Can you even have an opinion in paradox space? Everything is preordained by the Ultimate Riddle, probably right down to you being reluctant to have an opinion. Which is probably a shitty way of looking at it. You know Terezi doesn’t buy that trash; as a Seer of Mind, she’s all about thinking and knowing, thinking about knowing, and occasionally, thinking she knows about knowing. She’d be quick to tell you your opinion is what shaped this reality, but that’s bullshit since your opinion is squarely rooted in ‘I Never Wanted to Play This Game’ Junction.
As for the other Seer, she’s at least partially in the same boat as you. Only she semi-believes in futility like you, but semi-believes ‘Rezi’s on to something. The combination is the absolute worst to deal with in your not-so-humble opinion. You get the feeling she regrets wanting to play so badly, but her regret tends to Tokyo Drift right into a wall of guilt, only she’s too damn proud to feel guilt. Instead she goes into Fix-It Mode, and seriously the last time she did, you both committed – in so many words – suicide.
You can tell yourself it all worked out. You can, but more often than not, you don’t. You like the part where you don’t think about it pretty much ever. She’d argue that’s probably at least partially why you’re bored. You’d counter you’re bored because there’s no cable in space.
Thinking about Rose does put a thought in your head. It’s absurd as hell, and damn near steeped in Egbertian-style japery like a pot of Earl Grey. But it gives you a chance to be a little shit to your sister, something you haven’t done in awhile. But you may need an accomplice to pull it off.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: hey
TG: meet me at the platforms in front of the common area
TG: were gonna do a thing
CG: I'M FUCKING BUSY.
TG: no youre not cant fool me
TG: now cmon karkizzle chop chop
TG: transportalizers
TG: now
CG: NO, STOP.
TG: where doing it man
CG: WHAT PART OF "I'M FUCKING BUSY" DIDN'T YOU SEE THE FIRST TIME?
TG: none of it
TG: now lets make shit transpire
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
You make your way to the transportalizers, and like clockwork you hear Karkat swoop in from his. His scowl is a downgrade from his morning ‘pissed at waking life,’ and reads more like ‘you better have a good reason for making me miss 27 Dresses.’ Guess his dumb movies count as busy, but what the fuck ever.
“What do you want?” he asks, grumpy douche.
“We’re gonna plan a heist, but I need your help.”
“What!?” he shouts. “What the hell are you talking about? That’s why you’re bugging me?”
“Dude oh my god can you shut up for a second?” You grip him by the shoulders to keep him from flying off the damn handle. His eyes go huge and he shuts up for once in his life, and it’s literally the best thing in the world. “I need you to be chill while I scope the place. Do you have anything other than your crabby-looking computer?”
“Crabtop,” he mutters. “And no, I didn’t bother with making anything hands-free! I saved my hard-earned grist for the end game. What are we even doing–”
“Shh, Jesus dick, dude. Why the flaming shit didn’t you alchemize sweet shades or anything? We gotta fix that real soon, bro. You’re gonna look like a tool loitering out here with your big ass crap top.” You look around for a place to hide in case anyone wanders by or transports in. You feel squirming, and you abruptly realize you still have Grumpkat by the shoulders. Your hands shoot down to your sides. “Ok, I’mma go in, make like I’m grabbing some coffee because that’s normal, and I’ll tell you what’s going on. Go like, hide somewhere, and come in when I tell you.”
To Karkat’s credit, he doesn’t bolt back to his room-block like you expect. He blinks at you slowly, face borderline neutral. That’s a new one. “Dave. What the fuck. Are we doing?”
Oh. Right. “I wanna steal Rose’s dumb book and draw dicks in it.”
You stare at each other in silence for three solid seconds.
“I’m in.”
You blink. Well ok, then. Not sure what you were expecting, but damn if it was that.
“What the bulge-chafing hell are you waiting for? Go!” Karkat literally shoos you before going off to hide.
You decide right then you’re not waiting for anything. No time like the present, ha freaking ha ha, Time jokes. You transportalize into the common area and case the place like you’re back on LOHAC, primed for scamming consorts out of their hard-earned boondollars. You’re jacked the fuck in with your awesome loitering skills and ability to look for a goth girl in orange pajamas.
And it’s your goddamn lucky day. Screw spidertroll, turns out she ain’t got all the luck because right now Rose is right there, alone at the table reading through that damn book. There’s no Kanaya, no Terezi, and definitely no Vriska to wreck this. Score.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: jackpot baby
CG: WHAT'S THE DEAL?
TG: shes sitting at the table writing in the book rn
CG: ANYONE ELSE WITH HER?
TG: nope
TG: just there all alone
TG: nose pretty much six feet under
TG: straight buried in those pages
CG: HOLY SHITTING EMPRESS, STOP TALKING.
CG: YOU ARE THE REIGNING CHAMPION OF WASTING TIME.
CG: WAS THAT AN UNTAPPED KNIGHT ABILITY, OR IS IT JUST YOUR INEPTITUDE?
TG: pots and kettles having a party up in here
CG: FUCK, FINE.
CG: COAST IS CLEAR ON THIS END. ON MY WAY. FOLLOW MY LEAD.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
Follow his lead, huh? Pretty bold, troll boy. You shuffle towards the coffee machine, giving Rose a stoic nod as you walk. She offers a half-assed wave before sipping from her mug and diving nose-first back into that book. Damn, all of a sudden this is less a prank and more like a holy intervention. Prying that ungodly text from her witchy hands before she flings herself to the grimdark calamari special will be the best thing for everyone on the meteor. Jack wants you to live, Rose. Drop that diamond in the ocean and grow old and loved. Swim away to victory while he freezes.
Karkat stomps in, interrupting that dumbass train of thought. You uncapchalogue your mug and bang on the machine, really hamming up your fake coffee ruse.
“Lalonde. A word,” Karkat says. He pulls a chair from his sylladex and sits in it backwards. God he looks like an after-school special tool, you can’t deal.
“Yes, Karkat?” she says, moving her mug, not taking her eyes off that tome.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed my missing books. I appreciate your interest in troll romance, but can you learn some fucking manners and ask first?”
Haha, what?
“Why Karkat, whatever do you mean?” Rose asks innocently.
“In Which A Rainbow Drinker Explores A New Continent And Falls Into A Deeply Flushed Affair With An–”
“Ok! Yes. I’m aware of the literature you speak of.” She pouts, eyes flickering at you. You turn back to the coffee machine. “It was merely a straightforward evaluation of common Alternian tropes and culture. I’ll give it back.”
“Well,” Karkat says. “It’s fine, actually. You should keep it.”
You’re intrigued. You didn’t know any of this was going on, but you can’t help but revel in the embarrassingly flushed look on her face. This is even better than drawing dicks.
Ok, again, let’s not go shithive here.
“Oh,” she says. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Because it happens to be a favorite.”
“Of yours?” she asks, waggling her brows and grinning at him like a she-devil.
“No,” he says pointedly. “Of a good friend of mine. And I think she’d appreciate having someone to talk to about it besides me.”
“Oh.” Her jaw snaps shut, and oh man, her hands are finally off the book.
“If you’re interested, we should start a book club,” Karkat offers. He drums his fingers against the back of the chair, and you see him ever so slightly shift his legs. “Maybe break the ice.”
She acts like she’s ignoring him, but as you watch, you can practically see the gears turning in her head. You kind of hope he’s being serious about starting some dumb nerd club. Shit might do her some good if she had something to do besides meddle.
“Besides, you’re bound to have Earth stories as well, right? You people couldn’t be that backwards.”
She glowers. “I have plenty of books I could bring to the table.”
“Perfect. Sounds like we might have something.” His hands are draped over the chair, dangling just above the book. He sneers at you for a split second, and swear to God if he didn’t wink.
Oh my God, Karkat, you beautiful evil genius. You sidle up closer to the table.
“Perhaps we do,” Rose says thoughtfully. “I assume you have other books in that genre?”
“Please,” he says, voice full of smug. “I could write the itinerary in my fucking sleep. Get ready to be schoolfed on our rich Alternian culture, and feel free to express how swindled you feel when you realize your society was cut– DAVE, NOW!”
He snatches the book and flings it straight at you. You make the sweetest catch of your life and flashstep right the hell out of there. You hear Rose screaming and Karkat stomping behind you.
You transportalize first, and crash right into Kanaya.
“AUGH!” she shouts. “Why does that always happen!?”
Oh shit, shit, shit. “Dude, are you alright?” You reach out to pick her up, realize that you’re still holding the book. Fuck! You capchalogue the ‘UNRULY TEXT’ and hold out your hand again.
“Yes, I’m fine, I’m just annoyed is all,” Kanaya replies. “What are you doing? You seem to be in a hurry...”
“Truly, dude. You have no idea the mad engagements I’m all about right now,” you babble. Shit, where’s Karkat, he was right behind you. Holy shit, you can’t believe he got her to let her guard down, she’s a bonafide Miss Cleo seer, but where is he? You bounce your weight between your feet, realizing that Kanaya is staring at you. She steps on the platform again.
“Are you certain you’re alright? If you were in a rush, don’t let me keep y– AUGH!!!”
Karkat plows through the transportalizer, knocking Kanaya down again.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Karkat yells. “Kanaya, I’m so sorry, we’ll talk later, I promise! DAVE, GO!!!”
Without thinking, you grab his wrist and run to the nearest platform, leaving Kanaya behind. You hear Rose scream, “DAVE, GET BACK HERE!”
The next room is dark, but you sort of know the area. You scramble off the pad, giving it a sharp kick to disable it.
“Are you crazy!?” Karkat shouts. “We’ll be stuck here!”
“It’s fine. Trust me,” you reply.
“How the fuck can you be so calm!?”
You’re not sure, so you don’t answer. Dragging him behind, you race to the end of the corridor and sweep the walls until you stumble into a hidden room. Probably Terezi knows about it since you damn near trip over her stray dragon plushes scattered about, along with shitty wands, Con Air posters, Faygo bottles, and other random crap.
Man, now you’re not sure who knows about this place.
Either way, you sprint across the room to a transportalizer, Karkat still on your heels. Once you pass through, you hold your breath. No footsteps. Good. Rose shouting in the distance. Not good.
“In here,” you say.
You cram yourself into a small alcove in the new room and hide, pulling him in with you. You’re both pressed against the walls and your heart is pounding in your ears, and holy shit you pulled it off! He pulled it off. You’re both breathing heavy and you try to keep quiet.
“Holy shit,” he says, almost in wonder. He peeks out and looks behind you, and Jegus his eyes are huge.
“Holy shit,” you agree.
He looks back at you and smirks. He’s fucking smirking, now you’ve seen everything.
“I think we lost her,” he says after a moment. His breath is fire-hot.
You listen for your sister, hearing only your heartbeat.
“Yeah, I think so too.”
You stare at each other for what feel way longer than the seven seconds you don’t count. Your grin widens. He snorts. Then you both completely lose your cool and crack up laughing.
“Bro, holy shit,” you say through a fit of giggles. “You just, oh my god, I can’t...”
“And she,” he gasps. “She fell for it!”
“Oh God, and Kanaya!” You wheeze. “Dude, we gotta apologize, she’s...”
“She’s gonna kill us!” He chuckles hard. “That was... that was a new dress!”
You double down, laughing all over again, and you decide laughter is a really good look on Karkat. You lose track of how long you stay there, but eventually your mutual chucklefit dies down. Still smiling, Karkat grabs your arm. His hand is really fucking warm.
“You’d think the goddamn Seer of Light would’ve found us by now, so I think we’re in the clear. We should get out of here and draw your absurd human dicks.”
You’re not sure why, but between the hilarious phrasing of ‘absurd human dicks’ and his hand on your arm brings you right back to that dumbass Titanic train of thought. Like one of your troll girls, Karkat?
Dumb. Also this alcove is cramped all of a sudden.
“Yeah,” you say, finding your voice. “Let’s go draw the dickiest dicks that ever dicked a dick.”
...Why the hell did you have to say it like that?
==>
Three days later, you hear a sharp knock on your door. You’re no Seer, but you’re at least one hundo percent certain it’s your ecto-sis ready to exact revenge. The book, now laden with a boner-fide two-page mural and dancing dicks in the corner flipbook-style, sits on your desk. You drag yourself off the bed and open the door.
Sure enough, it’s Rose, and her violet eyes are filled with a promise of bodily harm. You sheepishly hand over the book, leaving your thumb in place for the mural. You give her a sage nod. She glares at you like you didn’t just do her a favor with your fantastic art. Shit’s gonna be a priceless artifact one day. Shit’s a priceless artifact today.
She opens it to find your lovingly-crafted artwork. It’s you and Karkat, dressed as knights atop flying rocket-dongs, fighting Lord English with sword and sickle in hand. The ugly skull monster, despite being ‘swole,’ is ensnared in Vriska’s spiderweb, while Terezi licks a bicep. Rose and Kanaya are in the corner shouting spells, labeled as ‘hysterical dames.’
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” you say solemnly.
She chucks a ball of yarn at your head. “Then I take it you’ll attend the next strategy meeting.”
“Nah.”
She glares at you. “Both of you. Or shall I publicly dissect the blatant imagery on display here? Two knights riding off in the sunset atop giant penises? Are these horses or dicks or both? One can’t say,” she says liltingly.
In retrospect, maybe the dicks are a little much, especially if she decides to pull her snarky-ass Freudian spin on it. “They’re clearly dick-steeds.”
“They look like rockets. Is this an allegory for our supernatural journey to fight the big bads? Or a symbol of progress, heralded by the sheer romance of space travel, mankind’s peak ingenuity? Do you want Karkat to ride your dick, Dave?”
“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “Ride it off into the glittering sunset, right after we get two-for-one lobotomies so we don’t have to understand the shit you say pretty much forever. Sometimes a dick-steed is just a dick-steed, Rose.”
“Oh, I can see that,” she says, still with that catty tone of voice. “Had I known you were so enamored with such fine art, I would’ve crafted something to fill that void for you.”
You really don’t like how she’s stressing some of those words. Like she’s telling a joke you’re not picking up.
“Luckily for you, I have just a few pieces in mind.” You watch helplessly as she picks her root card from her sylladex.
An instant later, your floor is covered with incredibly shitty horse porn.
“ROSE, WHAT THE FUCK!”
“Come to the strategy meeting, or there will be more where that came from,” she says neutrally.
You kick aside a shitty canvas and a few posters and why the fuck are they damp? What a fucking mess! No way in hell you want this shit in your modus. “Fine, we’ll fucking go. Why you gotta ruin dicks, Rose? What did dicks ever do to you?”
“Nothing,” she replies. “And I intend to keep it that way.” She shoots you a smug look on her way out.
Notes:
Kanaya wanted to show off the dress she made based on the sketch from the last chapter. :(
Chapter 9: Karkat: Inspect Briefing
Notes:
Chapter song: Christian Akridge - Can't Help Falling in Love
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You don’t know why you have to get dragged into Dave and Rose’s bizarre book truce, but he explained in no uncertain terms that you shouldn’t cross Lalonde. He doesn’t explain how she intimidated him, and shoots down every single question you raise with clinical swiftness.
“Just trust me, alright?” he says, pacing around your block like a caged cholerbear. “She talks too much, she’s fucking inscrutable, and she’s got too much fucking time on her hands.”
“Traits I’m wholly unfamiliar with,” you say dryly. “Present company included.”
“That wounds me on a deep and personal level, bro. Like that’s some Vantagonist shit right there.”
Another thing you don’t know! You’re not sure what you hate more: his relentless barrage of awful nicknames, or that you’re starting to admit how amusing they are. Truly this is some human technique of friendship by attrition at play.
“Fine!” you say. “Let’s go before I change my mind. We’re overdue for a round of torture by the Snarky Horseshit Light Brigade anyway. It’s been what, the better part of your Earth human year, right?”
“Seven months, twelve days, and fourteen hours.” And perfect, time shit distracts him just enough to stop his godawful pacing.
“Well, there you go,” you say. You set aside the book you’d been holding in your lap. Really, you might as well get this over with, right? You can put up with Vriska’s presence without launching into a full blown conniption fit, have a productive meeting, and get this insufferable prick to calm the fuck down and stop wearing a hole in your floor.
Dave offers you a hand, and you gingerly take it. It’s not entirely necessary; it’s not like you don’t have legs or the ability to get off a goddamn couch, but you’re not going to begrudge him random spurts of physical contact. Because you’re absolutely not a sappy, touched-starved wiggler here.
You both shuffle down the hall leading to the common room portal. You already feel dread emanating from both of you. You try ignoring the desire to forget about the game, strategy, or what the new session has in store. You’re out of the loop and it’s absolutely glorious not having to shove an agenda down any collective chitinous windholes. You don’t envy Vriska one bit, and you’ve taken a perverse joy in being an uncooperative fuckwit while she scurries around trying to solve everything. Ugh, maybe Dave is right and you do have a caliginous– oh fuck that thought, Past You, what the FUCK. You shudder, because the Furthest Ring can collapse on itself before you even think about Vriska tainting one of your quadrants.
“Y’alright?” Dave drawls. He turns slightly your way, mouth in its usual flat line.
“It’s nothing,” you say quickly. “We’ve uh, been on this fucking hellrock for too long is all.”
“Amen to that.”
You step through the transportalizer. Vriska and Terezi stand beside a calcium tablet, poised in front of chairs and couches arranged in a haphazard courtroom block semi-circle. Lalonde sits on a couch, notably with her book out, writing notes. Kanaya sits beside her, clearly bored out of her think pan but trying to hide it. Gamzee is nowhere to be seen.
Terezi gasps, noticing you first. “My nose detects a most delightful scent! Do I dare smell not one, but two cherry-candy Knights in our presence?”
You hate when she says that shit so freely, but damn if you’re not happy she’s happy to see you. Smell. Whatever.
“Nice of you to join us,” Vriska says haughtily. “I hope that means you’re prepared to get down to business for a change.”
You draw in a breath, but feel a nudge at your side. You see your reflection in Dave’s shades, this time paired with a pale arched brow. You let out the breath calmly and say, “Whatever. Don’t let me interrupt, Serket.”
You both head towards an empty couch and flop down, ready to take in the shit show. Vriska, looking mildly put off, clears her throat.
“OK, everybody, tactical meeting is back in order! We’re taking our time with this one so we can get everyone,” she looks at you, “up to speed.”
You grimace.
“Here’s what we know so far. John has powers that aren’t directly tied to the Alpha Timeline continuity. He, under Future Terezi’s Mind instructions, altered the timeline to prevent a critical event.” She flips her hair and smiles slyly at Terezi, who doesn’t look as pleased. “Namely making sure your fearless tactician stays in the game!”
“Think we all got that the first week in, dog.” Dave slumps further into the couch, his knee invading your space.
“No back talk!” Vriska says. “That part’s important for our reconnaissance. We suspected and Rose confirmed that the original timeline failed. It had all the bad breaks. All of them. If Future Terezi had to rely on an adorable doofus like Egbert to fix everything, we can only assume everyone else in that timeline died a horrible tragic death.”
“Way to soft-sell it,” Rose mutters, glaring at Dave while he fake-retches.
“Which meeeeeeeeans,” Vriska stretches out the word, queuing Terezi to flip the slate, “we have an entire entourage of dead kids to question!”
The drawing is beyond abysmal, which is saying something coming from you. The board is plastered with oblong, multi-colored shapes, because saying circles or bubbles would be goddamn charitable, and there’s not enough boondollars in the world to match that donation. And while you wish that was the worst part, your gander bulbs are seared with horrible renditions of everyone on the meteor, John and Jade, and a band of nameless nobodies in a rainbow-colored bedlam of macabre fantasy.
You groan audibly.
“Yo, ‘Rezi. Not that this drawing isn’t as incredible as anything else you’ve done, but why the fuck did you draw me getting stabbed twice sideways?” Dave’s face is completely blank, but you can feel his leg twitching beside yours. “Did one of y’all see this in your fucking dream bubble romps?”
“Nevermind that!” Vriska declares. “Point is, these sorry sad sacks didn’t know what to expect until it was too late. I’m not going to let us make the same mistake! Now here’s where all of you come in. From now on, we’re going to take shifts watching for incoming dream bubbles. We need absolute vigilance on this! The bubbles we pass through are our best bet for getting accurate information.”
It’s not the worst ask, you have to admit. You’re pretty tired of getting blindsided every time you crash headlong into a tree that decided to show up by your recuperacoon. It’s clear you’re not the only one because you see the other residents nodding in neutral agreement.
“Furthermore, any time you spend asleep is an opportunity. Use it wisely if you can, but be aware that you don’t have as much control over your memory as when you’re awake. So if you can’t get the hang of your dream memories, don’t beat yourself up over it!”
“What do you mean control?” Kanaya asks.
Terezi speaks up instead. “Dream bubbles work off the memories of the dreaming and the dead. But it can get complicated when we pass through the bubbles. Because we’re alive, we have limitless potential for our thoughts. And if we’re awake, we have more control over our environment because we’re actively controlling our waking thoughts. We can imagine any possible scenario and use it to our advantage! In theory, you can manipulate the bubbles as you see fit to access different places and memories.”
“That sounds... incredibly fascinating,” Kanaya says. “But wouldn’t that affect the meteor’s permanence? I can’t recall how many times I’ve encountered new and exciting additions to our environment on this journey, but I assure you it was a lot. Were it not such a common occurrence, I would easily assume I attract that sort of thing.” She shoots you a wry look.
...Right. You should talk to her and apologize properly.
“The permanence is no big deal,” Vriska says airily. “I’ve been testing the waters on that. Turns out, the bubbles are easier to manipulate than you think. And they’re not as fake as they seem. You can walk around, no sweat!”
“What.” Dave shifts again. “So, no jackknifing off the meteor like a useless tool?”
“Nope!” Terezi exclaims. “As long as we keep our minds aware of the meteor, we can always find our way back. Space works a bit differently out here, but the meteor and bubbles can kind of just...” She gestures by moving her fist, you assume the meteor into her other hand, shaped like a circle, the bubble. “Smoosh in and merge together.”
Dave snickers. “Oh my God, TZ.”
“What?” she asks.
“Dave,” Rose says warningly.
“We’re never going to stop fucking with each other, are we?” Dave continues to laugh.
Rose throws a rumpled ball of paper at him, abruptly shutting him up. “Ignore him. If I’m to understand it, being awake during the physical dream bubbles are the top priority, while our actual dreams are somewhat secondary, presumably because of our unreliable psyches.”
“That’s right,” Terezi says, nodding. “If you think you can control your dreams, then great! But just getting the hang of the bubbles when you’re awake is a challenge.” She frowns again, and you can’t help but wonder what that’s about.
Vriska pats her on the shoulder. “She’s right. The next part is extremely hard, but this is why you need to take our advice to the letter. Our goal is to access the memories of these doomed selves.” She taps the slate. “They have the most vital knowledge of what went wrong when they got to the new session. It’s up to us to pump them for information, so we don’t catch their same bad breaks.”
“Problem is,” Terezi starts. “It’s not easy trying to access memories you’ve never lived. We can’t really know what was going on in their heads, or what they were thinking when it got to the end, or anything!” She’s downright grimacing now, and Vriska offers a heavy clap on her back. “So we’re going to try a different strategy,” Terezi continues. She ‘looks’ at Vriska and smiles.
“We’re going to have Accountabubble Buddies!” Vriska shakes chalk out of an 8-ball and begins to mark lines under the doomed drawings.
“That name is absurd,” Rose says. “I thought we agreed to call them Proxy Pals.”
“Oh my god,” Dave groans.
“The name doesn’t matter!” Terezi says. “The point is, if we can’t find our alternate selves, then we can at least try to find our alternate comrades.”
“I think I get it,” you say. “Instead of being forced to talk to an alternate version of yourself, or even trying to find the right one, you’re saying we should just... find a different friend?”
“We think it’ll be easier.” Vriska says. “I may not know what I was thinking for letting someone get the drop on me, but I sure as hell can guess what she was thinking at the moment.” She nudges Terezi, whose cheeks have darkened. “To me, she’s the same person! A brutally cunning busybody willing to do whatever it takes, and make hard choices to protect the team.”
You’re a little embarrassed for them both at that blatantly pale display, but you notice Terezi’s smile go a bit wider at the praise. Did something... happen between them? You honestly can’t even fathom it, but Vriska, tone-deaf as usual seems unnervingly genuine here. You can feel your jaw drop, surely rolling away back to Can Town.
“Aight, so are we actually trying to pick a specific dead dude to track down, or is it some corpse party free for all? Like, how hard do I have to think about dead Rose while violating space-time is what I’m asking. I need a scale of how morose I need to be before we frolic around fisting dream bubbles.”
“Those are very good and suspiciously perverse-sounding questions, Dave.” Terezi raps her cane at the slate. “Like we said, this can get tricky, so for now we’ll have to take whatever information we can get. The more we practice, the better we’ll get at tracking down the right version of ourselves.”
“But the trick is to get in the right mindset,” Vriska says. “Remember, these guys are the closest to us on the timeline, but still losers. Soooooooo, think about what you would normally do, but add more self-loathing to it. Hey! That should be easy for you, Karkat!”
Before you can open your mouth to let her have it, you feel Dave stiffen beside you. “Pretty rude, spidertroll,” he says. “Guess that means you’re cruising top-down on Easy Street, since all you have to do is think about getting stabbed. In fact,” he stands, “new plan hot off the press. Why don’t we all think about when we all died as the jump off point. That’ll really put us in the right mood to bandy intel from all our new Murder Mates or whatever cutesy name you wanna call it.”
“Dave,” Rose says, standing.
“Nah.” He stalks away to the transportalizer. “Y’all have fun with this. I’ll take first shift.” An instant later, he disappears in a flash of blue.
“Ugh, how dramatic can you get?” Vriska says, sneering.
Great, now you’re pissed and worried. You can understand you saying some of those things, hell, you still want to. But you weren’t expecting that outburst from Dave. He was the one who wanted you to go to this stupid meeting in the first place. What the hell is his problem?
“I think we’ve reached the extent of this meeting’s usefulness,” Rose says.
“Oh really? Just because boy wonder threw a tantrum? We’ve been making good progress without him so far,” Vriska says irritably.
“Vriska, for God’s sake, fuck off,” you say without thinking. “You just... you never listen to how awful you sound!” You storm out, cutting off her protests of ‘trying to help.’
==>
Your feet carry you to the highest observation roof, and you don’t question a single step. Sure enough, you see a mound of red splayed out in the middle of the floor, single knee bent and face pointed skyward. His cape is scrunched underneath him as a makeshift head cushion, because of course he didn’t take time to grab a damn pillow.
Not that you know anything about how that feels.
You march over and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “Look what the meowbeast dragged in,” you say by way of greeting. “An ugly pile of red nasty trash.”
His arm shoots out and grabs your kicking leg, not enough to hurt or trip you, but firm all the same. “Shut the fuck up and sit,” he says.
You lay down beside him and look up at the passing dream bubbles, barely making out the Horror Terrors against the pitch black sky. You know the plan for lookout duty is sound, but actively watching the sky weirds you the fuck out. You wonder if it’s because you were supposed to wake up on Prospit, but the mere thought of seeing some garish city and too-bright clouds annoys the hell out of you. Dave, for all he complains about ‘the seafood platter from Hell,’ was supposed to see the gods. The fact he’s drawn to the roof isn’t lost on you, like it’s a long-buried tick or compulsion.
God, now you sound like Rose.
“She shouldn’t have said that shit,” Dave mumbles.
“Who, Vriska?” You shake your head. “She’s always been like this. Even before we started the game, she managed to break new records on being the living embodiment of an oinkbeast’s putrid sphincter. At this point, good luck trying to get her to change.”
“She still shouldn’t have said that,” he insists. He turns his head, and you see a little past your reflection into his eyes. “The fuck gives her the right to be all ‘oh it’s cool, Karkat, your low self-esteem is a bonus! Now everyone can sit around and be sad except me because I got aaaaaaaall the plans.’”
You snort in surprise at his high-pitched, yet spot-on impression. “‘All the plans’ my writhing bone bulge. I hope I’m there to see her face if she ever finds her own ‘Proxy Pal,’” you say, sinking as much distain into the nickname as possible.
“Oh man, you know that meeting will go fucking swimmingly,” Dave says. He clears his throat. “‘Other-me, how could you let yourself get stabbed like a gullible chump? You didn’t have enough irons in the fire!’ And other assorted dumb shit spider hag says.”
You’re full-blown laughing now, shoulders shaking against the hard floor. Dave grins at you, showing dull, white teeth, lips slightly chapped and stretched wide enough to show a tiny dimple. You have this sudden and insane desire to see that smile forever, because let’s face it, it’s a hell of a lot better than the stoic bullshit or the blatant ‘fuck you’ visage he rounded on Vriska, well-deserved or not. He died twice, he deserves to fucking smile for once in his lame human life. Seeing it makes you feel... protective.
Oh... oh fuck no.
“I like hearing you laugh, dude.” Dave turns his head back to the sky. “We should do that more often.”
Oh fuck no.
“We both should,” you hear yourself say. You turn your head towards the sky, think pan on fire with the rash and horrible revelation.
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you think you might be pale for Dave Strider.
==>
You try not to think about your revelation and fail. In fact, you construct new standards of failure at the basic task of not thinking about certain douches with an affinity for pissing you off. The thought worms into your think pan much like he wormed into your life, and you find yourself thinking tragically sappy thoughts like hanging out, genuinely sharing feelings, and worse yet, coming up with ways to make him laugh.
Frankly, it disgusts you.
Worse yet, you find yourself regretting how fast Past You rebuked his pale advances, that ‘we’re kind of moirails’ declaration damn near a lifetime ago. Well, a few weeks ago. Fuck, either way, you can’t very well turn around and declare like a pompous windbag, ‘why yes now that you mention it, we are moirails, haha that’s so goddamn hilarious.’ And honestly, is that what you want? Are you even into humans that way? They’re kind of pale with everyone; Dave and Rose might as well be moirails already for all the obsessive needling she does to get him to open up. And she’s no better with how she treats Kanaya sometimes, which confuses the hell out of you since she’s clearly just as flushed.
In fact, Rose is confusing in general, particularly right now. Besides her cryptic doublespeak, her unabashed pale/flushed flirtations with your good friend, and her downright nosy behavior with Dave, now she’s confounding you with weird human shit. You’re certain she’s fucking with you. She does nothing but fuck with you every damn morning.
“Fourteen,” you say incredulously. “How the fuck could you possibly be turning fourteen?”
“By surviving with dubious success thirteen rotations around our planet’s deceased sun,” she replies. She sits across from you, sipping her charred leaf drink as you stir your grubflakes. “Human years are shorter than your sweeps, but significant milestones nonetheless. Though in human culture, certain birthdays carry more weight than others.”
You... guess trolls had the same thing too. Turning six was kind of important, but only because it started the clusterfuck that got you and all of your friends in this mess.
“For example,” she continues, “When a child turns ten, it’s treated as a big deal because you’re finally double digits. More is expected from you, and while you’re still considered a kid, you’re given more responsibilities. Thirteen is even more significant. It’s a coming of age since you’re officially a teenager, closer to adulthood than ever before.”
“Sure.” She’s still fucking with you, you just know it. “For trolls, ten sweeps you’re considered an adult, and there’s no such thing as ‘teenagers.’”
“That’s a shame. Teen life encompasses a significant portion of media attention, cash grabs, and more, especially the older you get. In American culture, sixteen is a very significant age, though the advent of ‘teenage culture’ was recent compared to how that age group was treated throughout the centuries. ‘Sweet sixteen,’ the ability to get jobs, drive cars, high school... Come to think of it, we’ll be sixteen by the time we reach the new session.” She jots down notes in her ever-present tome, not without giving you a wary look.
“Fascinating.” Show your hand, Lalonde. Any day now.
“I’m sure trolls have something similar,” she says, clearly prodding you. “Any coming of age milestones?”
OK, so she’s pumping you for information. You can work with this. You set down your snack-shovel and hold up your digits. “Trolls don’t celebrate their wriggling days, but yes, there are ‘milestones.’ Our first sweep is our wriggling day. Assuming we survived the trials, we’re matched with our lusus. We’re then tasked with building our hive, and will spend the next few sweeps making additions to suit our needs and interests.”
“You have to build your house while you’re still a child?” And wow, she looks pretty scandalized.
“Uh, yes? How else are we supposed to survive? Besides, the drones took care of it, we just had to design what we needed. Three sweeps, you start your schoolfeeding. Nothing important there, just bullshit propaganda from the Condense, or whatever fuchsia-blood flavor of the week wants to make life a living hell on Alternia. Feferi would’ve been too young to fall in that category, but if we didn’t have the game, then we’d see more of that by the time we all turned eight. Maybe. Who fucking knows.”
“Is eight... is that similar to being sixteen?”
You shrug. “I guess? Seriously, why are we talking about birthdays again? What the fuck is a birthday, what do you even do?”
Her eyes flicker with just a hint of... well, you wouldn’t call it joy, exactly. “A variety of things. Exchange gifts, spend time with loved ones, indulge in confectionary goods. Mourn the loss of another year of youth. Play a game that brings about the destruction of known civilization. At least, going by John’s example.”
Why do humans think they’re so funny, what the hell.
“Don’t all humans have birthdays? Why the hell do you only have John to go by, unless he was the only one tortured by his human lusus with an endless supply of grubcakes.” Seriously, that had to be the creepiest part of John’s childhood you ever had the displeasure of watching. Not to mention how much their baking baroness branding looked so much like Condense propaganda. Probably more influence from your session seeping into their universe.
“Some of us had cake, sure,” she replies. “Not everyone celebrated through such traditional means. Who knows, maybe there’s a first time for everything.” She shrugs, taking a sip from her mug. “Much like it will be mine and Dave’s first birthday within each other’s presence, without the influence of the outside world. The experience should be somewhat illuminating.”
Unfortunately, the Light player just had to say some kind of light pun. Normally you’d cringe and dismiss it, but Lalonde’s wordplay typically precedes some calamity or another. True to form, the transportalizer sounds off, revealing none other than Vriska. You’re still pissed at her for upsetting Dave and ugh, you know you shouldn’t feed into your weird pale crush, nor should you flip ashen and tell her off. You scowl at your bowl of grubflakes and ignore her.
“Heeeeeeeey, Rose. Ready to tackle some strategy and go over what we’ve learned so far?”
“It’s been five days. Reconnaissance of this sort takes patience. We’ll come across the information we need in due time.”
Vriska huffs at Rose’s answer, and you smirk in spite of yourself. Maybe Rose’s double-speak isn’t so bad after all.
“And anyway, I was in the middle of a conversation. We can go over what we need to. In due time.”
“The time is now, or did you forget we’re gambling with pretty big stakes? We have a whole universe to worry about, remember? Why are you wasting time with idiotic conversations about dumb pansy wiggler shit for wigglers?”
You set down your snack shovel and take a calming breath. You open your gander bulbs and direct your glare straight at the waste of breath standing in front of you. “Vriska.”
She looks at you with fake expectancy.
“I have had it up to here with your flippant hoofbeastshit, and every time you speak, it robs me of any joy I could have imagined if I never saw you again. You make my entire day worse knowing I’ve had to hear your screeching, backhanded insults. Do me the tiniest favor and kindly fuck yourself with your own horns.”
For a brief, glorious moment there’s silence. Until Rose begins to slow clap.
“Wow. That... was truly inspired.”
“Fuck you,” you say. You stand, taking your bowl of grubflakes with you. “And don’t let me keep you from saving the universe or whatever. I’m out.”
“We’ll talk later, I’m sure,” Rose says. “Thanks for the cultural tidbits, Karkat.”
“Later, Lalonde,” you say as you pop through the transportalizer. You try to put Vriska out of mind, so as you walk to your block, you replay your conversation with Rose. She went on and on about cultural milestones; maybe if she ever says what she actually means, she can cross off a milestone worth celebrating. First time for everything, right? You doubt it, though. Instead of holding out any hope for understanding her, you think back to human ‘birthday’ traditions. Back to John, his lusus, and all that weird fucking cake. And suddenly, back to the awful, bizarre feeling about a certain asshole that makes your think pan rot with bro-like affection.
His human ‘birthday’ is coming up too.
Was she implying... that you... should do something? Maybe? No, of course she wasn’t she just likes to blather on about nothing, same as every other day. But even if she wasn’t, it’s a human tradition, right? And why the fuck are you finding yourself suddenly contemplating cake?
You sit at your desk, staring at your breakfast for much longer than necessary.
Maybe you should do something. Maybe.
You pull up your husktop and open a folder you haven’t touched in sweeps. Open files you long thought was irrelevant. And read instructions you’d never thought you’d read again.
Well. You’ve had worse ideas.
Notes:
This is the exact moment Rose felt Karkat was someone worth getting to know.
Chapter 10: Dave: Dream
Notes:
Chapter song: Blink-182 - Ghost on the Dance Floor
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You lay on your bed, looking at the metallic grey ceiling with one thought in your head. Your birthday is in one hour and eleven minutes. You’re not sure how you feel for a number of reasons. For one, you don’t feel much different as a fourteen-year-old than you did last year. That was a good birthday, like seriously makes the top ten list. You got your sick pair of shades from John, which inspired you to find an equally ironic-yet-sentimental piece of movie memorabilia. Which apparently went through all kinds of paradox space shenanigans to show up robot-style with you and Rose, but let’s not think about that. Let’s get your brooding train back on track.
For two, no one on this meteor seems jazzed about birthdays, at least not like Jade or John. Rose only really celebrated their birthdays; yours are so close together that it was awkward even before you found out you were ecto-twins. You both mutually agreed to keep stuff like that casual: she’d wish you a happy birthday over the phone exactly ten minutes before her midnight, rag on her mom’s cagey tone-deaf antics, actively not talk about Bro, and you’d end the call with a birthday wish of your own. She was a good friend like that. Just a simple ‘how are you,’ and if you replied with a dumb meme, it was enough without getting too angst-sappy about what was going down on your side of the world.
Ugh, and what a weird shitty thing to miss. Not the roof, hot sun, or shitty birthdays, but the quick and nice call you got from her every year since you were ten. But now you basically live together, so there’s no point calling when she can just float by like the world’s smuggest traffic cone. That’s nice in a different way, you guess.
Anyway, third reason, the trolls don’t celebrate their ‘wriggling days’ either. According to Kanaya, that day is packed to the bulge and various troll anatomy with trials in a brooding cavern. Shit sounds hells of traumatizing, since you figure it’s similar to the ol’ puppet bait and switch you got for goddamn sweeps.
Years, dammit. Their dumb lingo is growing on you.
So yeah, Rose is too low-key, the trolls don’t really get birthdays, John’s not here, and you’re not feeling it anyway. Yet somehow thinking about it has you getting your mad ponders on, about what the next session holds, how your other friends are holding up, and about life itself. You’re immortal, you guess, but you’re pretty sure you’re still aging. You think you’re a little taller, not enough to get a ruler and flip it turnways, but enough that you can almost see the top of Karkat’s head without trying. So if you can get taller, does that mean you can grow old? And if you’re old, can you still die? Is death by old age Heroic enough, or are you gonna wind up looking like one of Rose’s nappy-bearded wizards? Actually if you look anything like Rose’s slash-fic wizard dudes, you’ll likely hurl yourself in front of the nearest jet turbine and that death will be Just as fuck.
...Annnd what an awful train of thought on the Brood Dude Express. Congrats!
You hear loud banging on your door, followed with a muffled “OPEN UP, CROTCHSTAIN, MY HANDS ARE FULL.” You wonder why Karkat ‘Make My Life Miserable On Purpose’ Vantas doesn’t just use his sylladex like a reasonable person. Then again after Rose’s horse porn stunt you guess you can’t talk. You launch yourself off the bed and open the door.
Behold! Before you stands a grumpy-ass troll. A plate of what looks like cupcakes are precariously balanced in one hand, and a gallon of ice cream, two bowls, and a movie in the other.
“Uh,” you say because you earned that Gift of Gab, dammit.
“Stop staring like an imbecile and help,” he grumbles. You fling the movie on the bed and take the bowls and ice cream. Shifting his load, he clears room on your desk, carefully stacking your notepads before setting the plate of definitely cupcakes down. He’s such a fucking neat freak, it’s dorky as hell and adorable.
Anyway.
“So what’s all this? Not that I’m ever gonna turn down ice cream, you’d have to be lame as hell to ever do that,” you babble.
“This,” he declares, pointing to the cakes, “is a gesture of culturally platonic friendship among your people.”
“Culturally platonic– oh my Jesus dick, Karkat, did you bake these?” You break out into a grin because this bastard’s face is seriously all kinds of embarrassed right now. “Dude, can you even bake? Like is this edible?”
“Of course they are!” he huffs. “I improvised a little, but it’s practically the same fucking recipe schoolfed to all Alternians. Lalonde said your wriggling day was coming up, and apparently humans celebrate with cake. And don’t tell me she was fucking with me because I looked through every minute of John’s timeline and his lusus did the same thing. So there you go. Cake and ice cream, because you humans like to overdo it with your sweets.”
Yeah, there’s pretty much no way you can keep your cool over this. You don’t want to tell him you’ve never had anyone have birthday cake with you, much less bake it themselves. And come the hell on, it’s cake and ice cream, and probably some shitty movie, but whatever. This is awesome.
“And Karkat’s heart grew three sizes this day.” You wrap him in a side hug before he can mutter ‘I don’t get it’ because trolls don’t know fine art. “This is so cool, dude. The finest Karcakes a growing lad like me could ever want. Shit, Karcake is a good one, need to write that down.”
“Amazing. Nothing like a new nickname to make me regret all of my actions for the day.” He pries open the ice cream and serves two helpings, sticking a cupcake into each bowl. “Make yourself useful and put the movie in. It’s a troll one, but I think you’ll like it.”
You do, and you settle yourself on the bed, back against the wall with ice cream and cake in your lap. This is really fucking awesome. Your best bro scooches in beside you, giving you a nervous, but hopeful look. Oh, right. You should probably try one. You take a bite.
You don’t die, which is a positive, and even if you did, death by cake is only Heroic if a blathering regal dipshit is wrecking France. It tastes kinda like cinnamon, with this slightly grainy texture, but it’s not too sweet and pretty good.
“What is this?” you ask.
“Like I said I improvised. We don’t have all the same ingredients, but I compared it to some human garbage and tried to make it work. The recipe said ‘Carrot Cake’ or something? It didn’t make any sense, like I thought only hopbeasts ate that shit, and it didn’t sound like an ingredient to put in a damn cake, but every other recipe called for so much fucking sugar, and with the ice cream that would be overkill, so–”
“Whoa there,” you say. “It’s pretty good. I like it.”
“Oh.” He shrugs. “Ok, then. Thanks. Anyway, I think you’ll like this movie. It’s fitting because it’s this coming of age story between a group of young adults just before they go through the Ordeals and get their assignments from the Empire. It’s really funny, but if you don’t get some of it, then I-I’ll explain it, ok?”
You pick up that Karkat’s acting jumpier than a frog on hot concrete. “Sure,” you say. “Just hit play already.”
He does, and you both watch the movie. From what you can tell, it’s definitely on par with the buddy film genre back on Earth, but with way more troll bullshit. You work out that the leads are all trying to fill their quadrants, which of course, Karkat picked the movie, but luckily the movie doesn’t focus on that as much as they do the dumb shenanigans the leads get up to. It’s a pretty good movie for once. Happy birthday to you.
It doesn’t get weird until the two leads, two dudes you figured were friends, have this long ass fight that ends with a confession of moiraillegance. You figure they’re just making their broship official, until they start pawing at each other’s faces like they’re petting a damn cat.
“The fuck?” you murmur. “Wait, no. Time out.”
“What?” Karkat snaps, pressing pause.
“I thought they were moirails.”
“They are! They literally just became moirails! What’s not to get?”
“Ok.” You gesture at the freeze frame. “Then why are they...” You clear your throat. “Why are they going after each other’s faces like that?”
Karkat shifts uncomfortably. “W-well, it was an emotional moment. They both really wanted to be ruffiannihilators together, but it didn’t work out that way. So they’re accepting that and it’s a little poignant, ok?”
“Alright, but. When I asked about the moirail shit, you never mentioned anything about face groping. Like that was never a thing. Is it a thing?”
He looks away. “Yeah. It can be.”
“Ok, so it can be. I thought moirails did bro stuff. Is it still bro stuff?”
Karkat leans his head back against the wall, letting out a long sigh. “I’ve come to accept that maybe there’s some overlap between what you humans call ‘bros’ and what trolls call moiraillegiance. But they’re not the same. Clearly,” he adds irritably.
“I get y’all see it as a romance thing, that’s fine, but seriously, what else am I missing? Like are these dudes going to do it or anything? Help me out.”
“No! They’re not... It’s still a conciliatory fucking quadrant, Dave! Do you know how many fucking relationships get ruined because one person can’t keep it in their fucking pants!? No, it’s... that,” he points, “is about the extent of it without going into any maudlin showy escapades.”
You get it, you guess? You take a look at the screen, still in a freeze frame of one dude pawing at the other. You look over at Karkat, who’s in a huff, arms folded and fucking pouting like someone took away his toys. And being a little shit never stopped being your modus operandi. You should have your own face in your strife deck because you’ve damn near weaponized being a shit.
You reach over and touch his face.
“WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?”
You laugh outright. “C’mon, dude, touch my face.”
“N-NO!” Karkat looks at you in horror, eyes wide and blown out. “You obviously don’t know what you’re asking, and I’m... you’re human, and, and no!”
You face him and squish your cheeks together. “Touch my face, Karkat. Do iiiit.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Obviously.” You let go of your cheeks. And you’ll go down blaming your next thought on a combination of boredom and a severe sugar high. “Do you wanna try?”
His glare transforms into utter confusion. “Uh,” he says because he took the same language courses as you.
“Do you wanna try it,” you repeat. “Like, the face-rubbing thing, or whatever.”
“I...” Karkat looks at the screen, at you, then at the pile of blankets at the corner of your bed. “Um. No? M-maybe? I’ve...”
“Tap out if it gets weird,” you offer.
He lets out a huge sigh, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Ok, you know what, fuck it. Let’s do it.”
“Kinky.”
“Shut the fuck up, Strider.” He drags the blankets closer, arranging it into a comfy nest. You hold your tongue on how this looks like shit a bird would do because his face says serious business and you don’t want to break his concentration. Also, had you known that touching a dude’s face would require all this prep, you would’ve kept your mouth shut.
But now you’re genuinely curious.
Karkat settles into his nest and gives you a questioning look. “Are you sure you want to try this?” he asks.
You nod. “Do I just...” you point to the space beside him. He nods, so you lean into the pile and face him. His eyes are so freaking huge, and now you kinda just want to...
You reach for his cheek.
He flinches at your touch, then closes his eyes and sinks further into the nest. Whoa, alright, you’re doing this. Making shit take place. You keep going, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone, feeling the texture of his skin and making mental comparisons to your own. He sighs heavily, and his breath is really warm, almost as hot as your own. He opens his eyes slowly and tentatively reaches for your face.
“Can I...?”
You nod. He goes for your face, and you feel yourself flinch the same way he did. Guess face touches kinda mean danger but not? File that thought away for later. His thumb is rough against your skin, and this whole thing feels so fucking weird. Not bad, exactly, but so weird and alien and not even close to a thing bros do. You can’t help but stare in Karkat’s eyes, and you wonder if this feels normal to him or if he’s having the same fucking panic as you.
“This is so fucking gay,” you murmur.
He rolls his eyes. “Great, more anthems of ‘I’m not a homosexual,’ sang by the last vestiges of a backwards civilization.”
“Hey now,” you say, rubbing your thumb against his temple. “If I’m sitting here having the chilliest gay panic, it’s because you created a universe where gay panic is a thing.” Are you panicking? Can you quantify how gay this is, on a scale of Con Air to Rose Lalonde? This has to be somewhere between ‘Mom fucking knock first’ and ‘two dudes in Make-Out City,’ but there’s weird troll context to wrestle with too. What the fuck are you even doing, and is he getting anything out of it? His skin feels nice, kind of different and smoother, but for you, him rubbing his thumb on your face is weird and a bit silly.
“The face thing feels weird and silly,” you say.
“Um.” He jerks his hand away, and your face feels cooler. “Sorry, I–”
“But you like it?” you interrupt.
“Uh... yeah. It’s... really nice.”
You keep brushing your fingers across his face, tracing circular patterns across his cheeks. He sighs again and looks like he’s about to fall asleep.
“Let me try something else.” Eyes closed, he reaches for you again, this time dragging his nails through your hair.
That doesn’t feel weird at all, that feels fucking incredible.
“Head scritchies,” you say with an inane giggle. “Moirails can give each other face rubs and head scritchies, oh my god this owns.”
“Strider, shut the fuck up,” Karkat says sleepily. “Just... shut up and we can,” he yawns, showing a whole row of canines, “talk about it later.”
He runs his fingers through your scalp, and damn that feels nice. It’s still incredibly gay, not quite making out levels, but you obviously see why this is a quadrant. Thing is, head scritchies feel too good for you to care, and honestly are too good for the waking world. That thought is your cue to get some shut eye, and it’s pretty clear Karkat feels the same way. You murmur ‘ICE CREAM’ to pop the gallon tub in your sylladex to keep it from melting, and you slowly drift to sleep.
==>
Your hands hover over your Time Tables, and you feel for the persistent tug from the Alpha timeline. With a quick spin of the wrist, you jump, and arrive at the Land of Frost and Frogs. You remember seeing this. This is where you die, where you and Jade fight Jack. And while you’ve scaled all the ladders, and Jade’s powering through hers, it won’t be enough. You’re going to die, she’s going to kill you, and you have to see the look of horror on her face about five separate times while all the past yous catch up.
She’s cracking silly jokes about frogs that you barely hear, and you pipe up just enough to keep the conversation from going one-sided. You try to remember how the conversation was supposed to go, because heaven forbid you leave one dumbass comment out and wreck the timeline more than it already is.
You’re not looking forward to dying, but you’re sure as hell ready to stop.
“Oh, this guy is so cute, I could just kiss him,” Jade says. “Oh! Dave! We’re all royalty because of Prospit and Derse, so if I’m a princess, he could be a prince. Dave, who’s this lucky fella gonna turn into?”
She holds up a bright red frog with curious yellow eyes. His throat swells and shrinks in her hands. It’s another adorable frog, whoop dee do. You don’t care because you’re going to die.
“Karkat, I guess,” you say.
“Hmm.” She gives you a curious look. “You didn’t say that last time.”
You stare at her, mouth open. She’s right, you didn’t say that, you said you because you knew she would have to... you were trying to warn her that she’d have to kiss you, but she laughed it off and called you a flirt. You watch as her green eyes fade away. She grows taller until she’s nearly eye level with you. She...
Are those dog ears? And holy shit, she’s wearing a black dress with this iridescent shimmer, almost as shimmery as the one before, but you feel that symbol pulsate on her chest, it’s your counterpart, her yin to your yang. Where you feel all the ticks to every tock, she feels like the reason the ticks can tock in the first place. Your music to her paintbrush. She’s a God Tier, a fully realized Witch of Space.
“Whoa.”
“Yes, Dave, that’s a very helpful and informative ‘whoa,’” she says teasingly. She launches into you, pulling you in the biggest hug you’ve ever gotten since the last time Jade Harley hugged you. This time is even more dog-like since apparently she’s part fucking dog. She sniffs at you a little, and yup, totally part dog.
“Hey,” you say. “So you made it to dog tier, congrats.”
“I did. If you don’t remember, then you must be a different Dave,” she replies. She does a little twirl, and you’re suddenly on the roof of your apartment, by the alchemiter the two of you modified. “Which means, you don’t remember the tantrum you threw over this.”
The alchemiter pops out that legendary piece of shit sword you broke. “Why would I throw a tantrum over a sword?” You pick it up. It feels oddly real, and the heft of it feels like an extension of your own arm. You decide you kind of hate it.
“You threw a tantrum because you didn’t want to take orders from the old lady. You kept talking about eggy things like Davesprite, and theeeen, you admitted to hanging out with Karkat too much. Which sounds like it’s still true.” She waggles her brows at you, which looks creepy and bizarre with no eyes to match.
“Lies,” you say.
“Lies as in you aren’t spending time, or lies as in it’s not too much time?”
“Lies as in your regular ol’ generic over-the-counter lies with no implications or innuendo behind it,” you deadpan. “So what happened next?”
“Well, I tried to get you to fight me.”
“Fight you.”
“You know, spar.” She holds up a ridiculously ugly sword. You swear it’s made out of candy.
“Dumb. Why would I fight you?” You idly nudge her candy sword. It lets out a weird slide whistle noise.
“Other you said that!” she yells, sounding pretty pissed off. “You kept talking in these terrible circles about karate and time travel and how you weren’t going to fight, and you were being a huge useless douche!”
“Jesus, Dog Jade going in for the kill.” You scratch the back of your neck. “I better wrap up my lunch meat and go camp on the other side of the park, ‘cause wolves are on the prowl.” She giggles, so you take that as a victory. “Tell me what happened next.”
“Why do you care?”
“Rude.” You shrug. “Guess I can’t catch up with rad dog-girls.”
“Fine! I... kicked the Mayor off the ledge.”
“WHAT!?”
“You caught him, though!”
“Worst timeline ever!” What the fuck. This doesn’t sound anything like your Jade. You grimace. “So you went completely off the deep end, good to know. Then what.”
“Geeez, I didn’t know you cared about the Mayor so much! Maybe you are my Dave! I bet you’d tell him if you were going to die. I bet you’d even tell Rose or John or even Karkat before you’d tell me. Or told already because of ‘tiiiiime traaaavel,’” she sneers.
“Wait, are you seriously pissed because I didn’t... What the fuck was I supposed to do!?” you shout. “What, I was gonna sit there and doom everyone when I already knew how it was supposed to happen!?”
“No! But some warning would’ve been nice! Or at least say goodbye! And you and Davesprite never once thought it was a big deal. Like you’re too cool for feelings.”
She flops down on the ledge of the building. The gears from your planet fade away, and you watch as the lava seems to pool until it grows into a bona fide lake. You can see her house, a huge, white copy-paste job that took you a few loops to complete.
You sit down beside her, watching as a bright light grows in size near her tower.
“You’re going to wake up soon,” she says sullenly. She doesn’t look at you. Somehow even with blanked out eyes, you can tell she’s giving you the cold shoulder.
You nod. “Look, Jade... I’m sorry.”
She looks towards the light, sad expression written across her face. “I’m not your Jade.”
“Other Dave is still me, like he’s the same guy. We both didn’t tell you, so.” You look across the horizon, watching the light get bigger. You see a flash of red beyond the white. “The fuck...?”
She snaps her fingers, face serious as all hell. A second later, the tower collapses, scattering over the lava lake and crashing into the forest. She points without saying a word, and oh. Oh no. You see her feet splayed out underneath the tower.
“That’s what happened.”
She was the wicked witch, offed by her own goddamned house.
“Tell your Jade you’re sorry,” she says solemnly. “And... I’m sorry too.”
Before you can respond, her fist warps into your view.
==>
“Fuck!” You wake with a start, jostling Karkat.
“What! What the fuck! Are you alright?” he shouts.
“...Yeah. I think so. I think...” You reach for your nose, and realize you’re still holding the sword from your dream. You stare at it in wonder. “I think Dream Jade dumped me, and all I got was this lousy sword.”
Notes:
Bubble mechanics are an exploitable landmine depending on the classpect.
Chapter 11: Karkat: Lament
Notes:
Chapter song: The Wombats - Kill The Director
Chapter Text
“A dog,” you say incredulously.
“Yeah,” Dave says. “I guess that makes sense, right? She dumped her dream corpse in the sprite and then Jadesprite fucked off to be sad and useless. Pretty sure the same thing happened in both timelines because I definitely remember how pissed she was about Jadesprite.”
You remember. Of course you fucking remember, the entire Jadesprite fiasco was the whole reason Jade started speaking to you. She hated, no loathed that version of herself so much, you felt like you finally found a kindred spirit. So you guess they were able to merge, and she became God Tier? So your Jade might be God Tier and part dog too. Which means...
“She died,” you whisper. “Holy shit, when I was talking to her, the screen shut off, and I thought it was just the Scratch, but she died. I think I was the last person she talked to.”
You shudder at the thought, and you just as suddenly feel fingertips brushing against your cheek. Your eyes flutter like some idiotic pale romance lead and an entirely different surge of panic floods through you. There’s absolutely no denying that you’re officially pale for Dave, but you wouldn’t have expected in a million sweeps that you’d be doing this. He’s literally rubbing your cheeks on his own volition, and you can’t comprehend it. But he’s also treating it like no big deal, like he does with everything, and you can’t tell whether he means this in the same way you do or if this is all an elaborately ironic fling to stave off an extra hour of pan-numbing boredom. How the fuck can you do something this blatantly pale and still have no clue what’s going on?
Story of your goddamn life.
“Was there any clue on what happened?” Dave asks. “We know Jack didn’t get her.”
“She said something about seeing shaving cream?”
“Dumb.”
“Take it up with her! I don’t know.” You timidly reach for his scalp. “So... this version was mad at you?”
“Yeah. She didn’t say everything about what happened, but she was definitely pissed about me dying and not telling her. And that was the last time I saw her in person, so it’s not like I could get back in touch with her.” He leans into your touch. “Fuck, she would’ve been pissed for like three years, no wonder she punched me.”
“She was pretty broken up about it. She messaged me practically screaming, and I had to walk her through the resurrection process while that fucking dog watched.”
Dave groans. “Ugh, dude, you watched? You got your mad peep on, watching Jade making out with my corpse? She was getting her necro-feels in and you were giving her mack daddy instructions as the pervy romance guru. Sick, bro.”
“Do you have to word everything in the most awful and perverse way ever?” you lament. “And to answer your disgusting barrage of queries, no! She didn’t know the game mechanic because it’s not like it comes up often, and I told her what she needed to do. It was awkward enough even without the murderous hellbeast watching her, I wasn’t about to make it worse.”
“Dunno how you could’ve made it worse, but sure.”
“Trust me, I can always find a way,” you say, rolling your eyes. He rubs at your temple and smirks and God, why are you doing this to yourself? Against your better judgement, you continue. “I’d... started to kind of get a little red by that point.”
You watch the gears in his tiny brain work, then the most horrible shit-eating grin stretches across his face. “Hahaha, oh my God, you got a crush on Jade, that’s fucking hilarious! Goddamn I was right, you kicked me out of that memo so fast I got like chatroom rug burn.” He laughs even more. “I can’t even shit on you dude, I was so nervous meeting her for the first time, you don’t even know.”
No way. You scoot in closer. “You liked Jade.”
“Well, yeah. Big ol’ crush on her. She’s nice, funny, and really pretty, what’s not to like?” He sneers a little. “Least I did. I haven’t thought about her in months and then I see her... Did I tell you that version of her tried to kill the Mayor?”
“Wow, what the fuck!?”
“I know, right?” He sighs. “Like, I know not everyone’s perfect, and it was clear she was pissed and she’s not even my Jade, but she grew up on Prospit. You think if anyone would dig the Mayor, it’d be her. But yeah, I liked her.”
He says it as natural as breathing. Maybe that’s just how he is? Maybe at times he can think and say what he means with no hoops or elaborate wordplay to sift through. Maybe he’s absolutely nothing like a romcom, but in the best way possible. Is that a human thing? Or is it just Dave, right here, right now?
You should talk to Kanaya.
“Man, we’re so fucking weird,” he says, rolling over on his back, hand no longer on your face. “Fucking Jade and Terezi, what are the odds? We both liked the most batshit chipper girls in our respective groups, and then this game makes us up and like the other dude’s batshit chipper crush.” He waggles his brows at you. “Guess we have a type is what I’m saying.”
“You said you didn’t like Terezi,” you point out.
“I said there wasn’t anything going on,” Dave replies. “Just cause there’s nothing going on doesn’t mean I didn’t at one point like her. Bro, don’t act like you ain’t ever had a regrettable crush on someone.”
“Ugh, speak for yourself,” you mutter, because you definitely don’t want to talk about your failed crushes. In any quadrant. Can he talk about his damn dream instead? Boy, sounds like a great change of subject! “What else do you remember from your dream?”
“Well, she died, obviously. Her planet got trashed, and there was this white light.”
“Did you walk towards it?” you deadpan.
“Whoa, Karkat with the haymakers. Also fuck you.” He gestures at the ceiling, seemingly mapping out the dreamscape. “Now that you mention it, this is gonna sound stupid, but the light seemed... hopeful?” He shrugs and drops his arms. “I couldn’t really see anything past it. Something red but not much else. Then I woke up with a sword in my lap.”
“Are you going to tell anyone about it?” you ask.
He captchalogues ‘CALEDFWLCH’ and frowns. “I don’t know. Not yet anyway, and even then maybe I’ll only tell Rose. I don’t want spider hag in my grill babbling about the endgame, or knowing about this legendary piece of shit. I think I’d rather shove jelly down my pants and stick my dick in an anthill.”
“Ugh, Dave! Gross! You’re gross.”
He laughs.
“What the fuck is jelly!?”
“It’s kinda like sweet grubsauce without grubs.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything. What the fuck is it made out of?”
“Strawberries? Grapes. Other fruits.”
You sigh irritably. “Trolls call those ‘preserves,’ fucknuts.” You decide to steer the conversation back on track. “So it’s a real endgame sword,” you say.
“Yeah. It’s the same one from my planet, except maybe this one’s from the original timeline?”
“Whatever counts as original these days,” you grumble.
He laughs again. “Probably only my sick beats at this point.”
“Anything but that.” You notice his husktop still has the movie paused, and that’s more fun for now. You can talk about swords later when you get around to it. “Do you want to finish the movie? It’s almost over.”
He smirks. “Yeah, let’s watch these dudes make out paleways.”
You roll your eyes and press play. Maybe he doesn’t mean anything by it, and you’re spinning your wheels over a bizarre crush for nothing. And yeah, maybe he gets it on a cerebral level, but he’s just a human, so maybe he’ll never get it, get it.
But then you feel dull fingernails sliding across the back of your scalp and for a moment you forget to overthink. Maybe you can live in the moment for a change. Not everything needs answers.
==>
Yeah, keep dreaming, Past Karkat. You bang on Kanaya’s door, primed to get some goddamn answers.
“One moment,” you hear her yell. A minute later, Kanaya opens the door and her face instantly brightens. Literally. “Karkat! Come in, please.”
You step inside Kanaya’s block. You’ve never been in here before, despite riding this meteor for over a quarter-sweep, but you’ve got to admit, it’s cozy. There’s not a single bit of grey showing; the walls are covered in colorful fabrics and curtain dividers, and an assortment of rugs and pillows cover the floor. She even managed to alchemize plants, and the air smells woodsy, a bit like her planet, the Land of Strobe Lights and Endless Croaking. You see a bit of Rose’s influence as well in the gaudy candelabras and knitted blankets right below her hanging recuperacoon. It’s bright, technicolored, and completely Kanaya.
“Make yourself at home,” she says as she glides back to her sewing machine. “That human saying is rather funny when you think about it. In the context of living on this meteor we don’t have a home, I guess. But it’s a nice sentiment all the same.”
You roll your eyes fondly and flop in a pile of pillows. “Still at it with your multicultural shtick, I take it.”
“Indeed.” Her sewing machine whirs, sounding pretty fucking similar to her chainsaw. “Though I suppose that makes two of us. They’re pretty fascinating once you start getting to know them, are they not?”
You pick idly at a pillow. Red of course, that color’s been your bane for sweeps. “Fascinating is how I’d describe a bilunar eclipse, or snow on Twelfth Perigee’s Eve. It’s not a term I’d use to describe abysmal rappers with more mixed signals than a gamblignant’s semaphore.”
The whirring stops. “That particular metaphor is troubling. I don’t suppose you have two potential topics to discuss?”
“What?” you ask. “Why, what did I say?”
“Nevermind.” She gets up and wraps fabric around one of her many dress forms. “Let’s ration out the conversation to one quadrant at a time. Otherwise we’d risk travelling rather dark, complicated, and unnavigable waters and, to continue the nautical metaphor, I’d prefer to see those ships sail to safer harbors.”
“Kanaya, what the fuck are you talking about?”
She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. Let’s pretend my next sentence is the start of our conversation. How have you been?”
You sink further into the pillows, and you have half a mind to get her to make some for your block. “Good I guess? Bored. Happy. Completely shithive maggots.”
“That phrase again,” she says with a giggle. “Well, you seem in good spirits. What has your hive so infested with maggots, and the shit therein?”
You snort. “You ever wonder if our quadrants are too complicated?” You lean your head back. “For humans, at least.”
“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully. “Not all of them, I think. Their concept for love is very similar to our matespritships, albeit far more complex. The delineations between what they describe as ‘love’ aren’t as clear, and embodies a wealth of different concepts. There’s almost no true one-to-one ratio. It’s a little maddening.”
“Jegus,” you mutter. “I guess you’ve been talking to Rose a lot about it.”
“Oh yes.” And she brightens up again. “She herself spoke of several types of love: familial, platonic, and something she called Eros. There were several others, but it all seemed similar to what we have, but alien all the same.”
You roll your eyes. ‘Similar, but different’ may as well be branded on your forehead. Platonic isn’t the same as pale, that’s for fucking sure, but maybe to him it is? If you tell him you like him platonically, that completely locks you out of being moirails, but if platonic love is a thing for human, which what the fuck, then does he feel that way about you?
“So then,” you venture. “How do you keep it straight? If they– humans have one concept and trolls have another, how the fuck can you explain the different expectations and feelings? How do you know if you’re on the same page?”
“Well to be honest, I’m not sure if I’m quite there yet,” Kanaya admits.
You stare at her. “Still.”
“It’s complicated!” She snatches the fabric off her form and heads back to the sewing machine. “Did I mention it was maddening? And that’s without her cagey, charming, but cagey doublespeak.” Her machine springs back to life. “And don’t give me your ‘still,’ Karkat. You’re not talking about this for academic purposes.”
“Maybe I am, ever think of that?” you shout over the sewing machine.
“No,” she says pointedly. “How fairs your journey of multiculturalism?”
Moment of truth, you guess. “I think we’re definitely skirting moirail territory. I-I’m not sure, though, so I’m keeping it chill, you know?”
She stops sewing and rushes towards you with crazy drinker speed. “Moirails. But you’re not sure? What happened?”
And now you’ve gone and done it. Despite all your countless memos during the game, not once did you two really go over the finer points of romance or social interaction, at least until the very end, in wildly separate timeframes. Now though, you kind of relish it. It’s nice to bounce shit like this off her, especially since, much to your vexation, you’re both in the same boat. Well, similar boats. Different shit, same fleet. You’re downright baffled, because seriously, how long are they going to dance around each other?
You don’t stop to wonder how obvious you and Dave seem.
“Well,” you start. “Today is his wriggling day, right?”
“And the next day is Rose’s.”
“Dumb.”
“Take it up with Skaia,” she says. “Humans traditionally celebrate their wriggling day whereas we do not. What did you have in mind?”
“I may have... already baked human grubcakes. We ate it and watched a movie.” You decide not to overshare any pale details, at least for now. A tiny part of you can’t believe any of it really happened.
“Aww!” she exclaims. “That’s quite the romantic gesture. Did he enjoy it?”
‘This is so fucking gay.’
“Um... he seemed to,” you say. “He had some reservations about... a scene in the movie. I guess their human sexuality complexes extend to conciliatory gestures. Which is fucking backwards if you ask me. And it showed his complete lack of understanding nuances between quadrants! To the point where I question if he’ll ever ‘get it.’ But he didn’t disagree when I called him out, so progress I guess? And even before then, he’d say things that were pretty damn pale before, and...”
‘We’re kind of brorails, then.’
“...And he kind of said as such, way before he fully grasped the concept, though, so that doesn’t count. He should have a better understanding, now? I hope?”
“Progress,” she says decisively. “Are you happy at least?”
Are you? Maybe. In the moment, it felt like Sollux’s bees were having a mind honey jamboree in your protein chute. But it was also nice, like a storm beating against your hive windows, back when you could appreciate that sort of thing. Calm and exciting like an unmitigated clusterfuck.
“I’m either really happy or really broken, and I can’t tell which,” you say miserably.
“Such is the human experience.” Kanaya pats your head. “I think you should keep at it and see where it goes, then. No harm in that.”
“Thanks. What about you? Are you happy?” you ask.
She smiles, and she doesn’t even have to answer. It’s written all over her face. “I’m terrified, elated, and confused all at once. It’s like a cerebral puzzlebox, and I’m spinning my wheels trying to match the colors. But yes, to put it simply, I’m happy.”
Good for you, you think. You deserve it.
“But enough of that.” She stands, pulling you up with her. “Now that you’re here, I want to get your measurements.”
“What.”
“You’ve grown,” she says with an endearing smile. “And I’m bored as fuck on this abysmal meteor.”
You mock gasp. “Why Kanaya, such language! Besides what’s wrong with what I’m wearing? This is fine.”
“What you’re wearing has holes,” she chides, poking a nail through your sweater. “And don’t worry, I know your aesthetic. I’ll make sure everything is as black and monochromatic as possible.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite,” you say back with a smile.
==>
True to her word, Kanaya respected your minimalistic preferences as well as your signature long sleeves and grey sign. You’re overwhelmed by the variety; namely how she managed to create so many different versions of basically the same outfit. And yet, she did. Everything from a layered T-shirt similar to her style, to slim-fitting turtlenecks and knitted sweaters, as well as several oversized sweatshirts now clog your sylladex, all paired with an equal variety of grey pants. Which, again, how she pulled that off is a bigger miracle than anything Gamzee ever witnessed.
And since your delightfully helpful and talented friend is just as talented with a chainsaw, you feel a smidge obligated to humor her and wear the damn things.
“I haven’t seen alchemy abuse this rampant since watching the human session,” you comment, settling on a thin turtleneck and similarly lightweight pants.
“It’s something I regret not doing more of,” Kanaya says. “But it will come in handy as our journey progresses. We’re going to grow; honestly we already are, and it got me thinking about basic necessities. It’s also an excuse to switch out the wardrobe every so often. I’m not sure how God Tier clothing works, though, so I’m not sure what Rose and Dave’s needs are.”
Somehow, you don’t see Dave being nearly as interested as Kanaya, but no one is more interested in fashion as her. But while you’re thinking about the humans...
“Hey, so speaking of Rose,” you start. “Has she mentioned reading any good books lately?”
“No?”
Dammit, Lalonde. “Ugh, ok. Actually, no, you know what? None of this will-they-or-won’t-they madness. You two should talk about where this is headed. And if it’ll help, I’ll make a damn memo about the book club I mentioned earlier.”
“You never mentioned any book club to me,” Kanaya says, brow raised.
“Uhh...” Right. That was just Rose, and you kind of ran for your life afterwards. “Well, I’m mentioning it now, alright? We should start one, and maybe it’ll help you two sort out your multicultural hang-ups.”
She scoffs. “Ok, fine. I look forward to seeing this memo. Just as much as I look forward to hearing you sort out your own ‘multicultural hang-ups.’”
You scratch at the back of your head. How the hell do you approach a topic as nuanced as quadrants with a dunderfuck nimrod with the attention span of a marchbug? Especially when a part of you likes the natural progression, even though the rest of your brain is screaming for answers.
“I’ll try,” you say at last. “Not much more I can do than that.”
==>
CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board FRUITY RUMPUS ASSHOLE FACTORY, STAVING OFF INSANITY BY ANY MEANS AVAILABLE.
CCG: AS MUCH AS I PROMISED MYSELF I WOULD NEVER REVISIT ONE OF THE FEW HELL GATES THAT MADE ME WISH FOR AN UNTIMELY DEMISE
CCG: DESPITE EVERYTHING THAT MAKES ME REGRET EVEN THE WORDS I'M TYPING RIGHT NOW
CCG: THERE'S REALLY NO BETTER WAY TO SUGGEST THIS OTHER THAN ANOTHER GODDAMN MEMO.
CCG: WE'RE ALL BORED OUT OF OUR COLLECTIVE SENTIENT MINDS, AND WE'RE NOT EVEN A THIRD OF OUR WAY THROUGH OUR *MAGICAL* JOURNEY.
CURRENT gallowsCalibrator RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CGC: 1'M NOT BOR3D! >:]
CCG: SHUT UP, I'M NOT DONE.
CGC: BL4444R
CCG: ANYWAY, I'D THINK IT'D BE A GOOD IDEA TO HAVE A BOOK CLUB. HALF OF US ALREADY HAVE OUR FACES CRAMMED IN A BOOK ANYWAY.
CCG: SO WE MIGHT AS WELL TALK ABOUT WHAT WE'RE READING. SHARE IDEAS, THEMES, AND ALL THAT OTHER GARBAGE.
PAST arachnidsGrip 0:28 HOURS AGO responded to memo.
PAG: Sounds kind of 8oring!
CCG banned PAG from responding to memo.
CCG: WOULD IT KILL YOU TO STAY IN THE CURRENT TIME FRAME? THE ABSOLUTE LAST THING I NEED IS DUMBASS TIME SHENANIGANS.
CURRENT grimAuxiliatrix RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CGA: I Think It Sounds Like A Lot Of Fun Actually
CGA: It Gives Us All A Chance To Find Out More About Each Others Interests
CURRENT tentacleTherapist RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CTT: I'm inclined to agree.
CTT: I'll admit, I'm rather intrigued about learning common troll themes within the scope of literature and arts.
CTT: Surely this is a way to provide more insight than some of the posters I've seen lying around.
CGC: 1F YOU M34N TH3 MUSCL3B34STS, NO ON3 4CTU4LLY L1K3S THOS3 >:[
CCG: HOW INTRIGUING.
CCG: SERIOUSLY, AS RIVETING AS ANYTHING CONCERNING THAT DELUSIONAL SWEAT BASIN'S ART TASTES IS OR ISN'T, LET'S GET BACK TO THE TOPIC AT HAND.
CCG: BOOK CLUB. LET'S MAKE IT HAPPEN.
CTT: Where doing this?
CCG: QUIET.
CCG: ANYONE INTERESTED IN PARTICIPATING IS WELCOME TO MEET IN THE COMMON ROOM TO DISCUSS THE BOOK OF THE WEEK. I'LL POST A LIST OF POSSIBLE TIME SLOTS.
CCG: IF YOU HAVE A LOOKOUT SHIFT DURING THAT TIME, THEN PICK A DIFFERENT TIME, OK?
CCG: OBVIOUSLY THAT MEANS MEETING TIMES ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE DEPENDING ON WHO WANTS TO PARTICIPATE.
FUTURE arachnidsGrip 413 HOURS FROM NOW responded to memo.
FAG: ::::D
CCG: UN BE FUCKING LEVABLE
FAG: We wound up meeting the same day anyway. I never understood why you made it soooooooo complic8ed at first.
CCG: THAT IS FANTASTIC NEWS, VRISKA! REALLY, JUST THE MOST NECESSARY THING TO KNOW FROM ~THE FUTURE!~
CCG: SERIOUSLY, CAN YOU PREDICT WHEN I BAN YOU? LIKE THE PRECISE MOMENT? WOULDN'T WANT TO CAUSE A PARADOX!
FAG: Pipe down! The book club is pretty fun. Some of the books are trashy, but what else is new?
CCG: AND ON THAT NOTE.
CCG banned FAG from responding to memo.
CCG: RULE NUMBER 1: NO SPOILERS, CAUSAL OR OTHERWISE.
CCG: THAT MEANS NO BARGING IN ON PAST MEMOS, EVEN THOUGH IT'S CLEARLY FUCKING INEVITABLE THAT *SOME* OF YOU WILL.
CCG: I'LL THROW UP ANOTHER MEMO WITH BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS.
CCG: POST ANYTHING YOU FEEL WE MIGHT ENJOY, EVEN IF IT'S ULTIMATELY GARBAGE.
CCG: WE'VE GOT A LOT OF TIME TO FILL
CCG: AND I'M CERTAINLY PAST CARING ABOUT MY GODAWFUL TASTE IN LITERATURE.
CGC: >:\
CCG: ANYWAY, POLLS ARE UP. SOUNDS LIKE I'LL SEE SOME OF YOU THERE.
CTT: Seems like. Looking forward to it.
CCG: YEAH. I AM TOO, ACTUALLY.
CCG: SEE EVERYONE SOON.
CCG banned CTT from responding to memo.
CCG banned CGC from responding to memo.
CCG banned CGA from responding to memo.
CCG closed memo.
Chapter 12: Dave: Answer Karkat and Rose
Notes:
Chapter song: The M Machine - Shadow In The Rose Garden
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
According to your internal clock, it’s thirteen minutes till noon. Apparently noon is still a thing for you, even with no universe to speak of where Earth time actually matters. It’s still your birthday, and you’ve got more shit on your mind today than you’ve had in months. Yesterday – today you guess since midnight’s also still a Thing – was a fucking doozy, and you can’t shake that dream, or the shitty Welsh sword in your Strife deck. You can’t shake Dog Jade’s anger, her planet getting ripped to shreds, or all the things she said you did wrong.
That Jade was so angry at you, she pushed the Mayor off a goddamn building. The same girl that talked your damn ear off about Prospit, some mail lady and a bunch of other carapacians tried to off the Mayor like some mustache-twirling villain. It’s so not a Jade thing to do, no matter how pissed she got. Did dying in front of her set her over the edge that much? Did something else happen, with John or Davesprite, maybe? Or did she go completely Grimbark like Rose?
You figure a conversation with the resident psychologist is inevitable, so you might as well get all your ducks in a row. You open up an old playlist on your laptop, whip out a sketchpad and a pencil from your sylladex, and begin to draw. This time, you’re not going for choice irony or trying to cram as many dicks onto a page as possible. You’re going for accuracy, or as best as you can get.
Rose is the only person alive who knows you can actually draw – she really wanted a visual of her wizardy kids – and you’d like to keep it that way if you can help it. How else can you preserve the magic of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff? As you sketch, every pencil stroke tells you more and more that you need to talk to Rose about the dream. Because that shit? It felt like regret. It felt like a warning. It felt as doomed as all the other Daves you saw in the bubbles. You felt doom seeping off Jade same as the Dave Terezi hornswoggled, or the blood on your hands when you chucked your own body out the goddamn window. What fucked her up so bad? Did John’s bullshit powers fix your Jade, or will she still be fucked up when you see her again?
Hours later, you have a few drawings on paper. A study of Jade, looking for all the world like one of her furry drawings she loves so much. LOFAF, overflowing with lava and misery. You even sketch the light, even though there’s not much to go on. It’s the best you can remember, but even when you look at it, something feels off. You stare at it for a little over fourteen minutes before you whip out a red pen. On impulse, you draw three broad lines across the sky. It looks like a fork and fills you with dread.
==>
You don’t see Karkat until later; when you do, he bangs on your door before letting himself in. After you watched the rest of movie, he fucked off to God knows where, claiming he had important stuff to do. Fucking liar; his idea of important shit is over-analyzing movie plot lines or trying to alchemize more of his shitty romance books when no one’s looking. Though based on the memo he posted, asshole might’ve actually started that book club he tricked Rose with.
Either way he’s here, expression more ‘get up loser, we’re doing something stereotypical’ than his usual scowl. And well... you’re kind of down for that. Earlier was totally chill, all wholesome and ice cream and silly movies, a peace you ain’t felt since ever in your fourteen years. But you also let your guard down, and you’re not entirely sure what to think about that. Falling asleep practically in the arms of some dude kind of goes against every awareness training your Bro taught you. Not that you were ever good at that shit; your dear sister bested you with yarn twice, so you’re not exactly a paragon of hyper-vigilant fuckery. Now you can add head scritchies to the ‘catch Dave off-guard’ tally, but fuck everyone and fuck your Bro, that shit felt nice.
“Did you hear me, jackass?”
Oh, whoops. Troll boy was talking this whole time, wasn’t he? “No, my dude. You only have two volume settings and the lowest one still blew out all my sub-woofers. That was high quality equipment, and there’s not enough juice on the meteor to power through another one of your monumental shitfits. We may have to dip into the reserves, breach that conversation about nuclear energy and break the stigma once and for all.” He’s not buying that shit. “But yeah, I was zoned out, what were you saying?”
Karkat squints at you, like he thinks you’re fucking with him. “I thought humans already had nuclear energy. What was all of Jade’s shit?”
“Don’t ask me what was on hellmurder island, Karcake. Just imagine I said the most off-the-wall and coquettish energy riddle possible and leave it at that. Humans had nuclear energy, but people were skittish about it because bombs.”
He shrugs, seemingly placated by the answer. Dave Strider, Noted Historian ladies and gents. You’ll be expecting that Nobel Peace Prize in the new universe.
“Anyway, I was saying, maybe we could talk about quadrants versus human relationships? Kanaya and I had a very interesting conversation, but her knowledge on human social structures are only coming from one source. So I–”
“Fuuuuuuck,” you groan. “Can we rain-check that, bro?”
“No!” Oh shit, now Karkat’s going nuclear. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no fucking rain in the Tentamonster Asshole Compound. The only rain I’ve seen in perigees was Rose’s strobe light misery planet, the Land of Blindness and Rage.”
“Sounds more like Sollux’s planet from what you told me of him,” you remark.
He smirks for two full milliseconds before reverting back to his default frown. You take that as a major victory and get a Coolkid Charm upgrade. Hell, you think making him smile is doing wonders for your God Tier levels. You’ll wait for your badges along with that Nobel Prize.
“Stop your rampant mumbling and don’t distract me from my point,” Karkat says. “I really think we need to talk about this. I... I want to make sure I’m reading things right between us, and if we’re headed somewhere, then I want to make sure we’re doing this for real.”
Your blood turns to glass. “Doing what for real?”
“Our...” He looks down at his shoes and you realize he’s just standing there awkwardly at the door. He swishes his hands between you and him. “This. Whatever this is.”
And great. It’s your birthday, and now you’re wondering what buggy-ass marriage you just got betrothed to. And it sure looks like it’s bothering him! His vagueness is weirding you the fuck out, and you’re pretty fucking confident you got paradox-dumped hours ago by your dead alt-universe dog crush. What the fuck kind of wisdom can you possibly embark?
Heh, bark.
“Aight, look just sit the hell down and we can hash this out,” you say with more force than you intend, but fuck it. “Get your fucking pen and diagrams or whatever bullshit we need. I don’t know why y’all are letting Rose fill y’all’s heads with absurd psychobabble. And straight up, I ain’t gonna be much better about explaining this.”
“Noted.” He sits on your bed and uncapchalogues a pen and paper. You turn your desk chair around, facing the most earnest and eager-looking troll you’ve ever seen. It’s kind of adorable, or would be if you didn’t have to talk about this shit. You sigh. Maybe this won’t be that bad, and if this confirms you’re not surprise troll-married, then you’ll deal with another goddamn cultural exchange.
“Alright, what do you want to know?”
“Apparently Lalonde said humans can feel different types of love. Is that true?”
“I guess?” you say. “Depends on what you mean by love.”
“Are you fucking joking?”
Welp, he looks confused and angry! This is already going to a fantastic start. The horses are at the gate. the gun’s going off any minute now. Place your bets now, because this pony’s gonna blow his gasket like the Karkatoa Volcano.
Karkat sneers, “What do you think I mean by love, asswipe? What you humans apparently call caring about each other, don’t be obtuse.”
“Ok, geez. Obviously there’s more than one way to care about someone, but you don’t even always say love.” You flail an arm uselessly. “Like I guess you could, and maybe that’s what Rose was getting at, but it’s just, I dunno, different depending on the circumstances.”
“Well, what are the different ways and how are they different?”
Well, you’re in this now. “Off the top of my head, there’s love. You can love someone you wanna make babies with, and that’s got all kinds of shit like dating, marriage, living together and all that. Rose and Kanaya would fall in that category if they ever get their shit together.”
“So the flushed quadrant.”
You nod. “Then you got the love you have for your own babies and siblings, that one’s family. Dunno if that falls in with your quadrants, but it’d be the same for your crabdad lusus? Maybe?” You don’t mention that he got raised by a fucking pet; that lecture took over a goddamn hour.
“It’s not a quadrant, but we acknowledge that feeling. It’s kind of a mix between obligation and symbiosis for trolls,” Karkat says.
You feel like Bro would’ve gotten a kick out of that one. If he ever got a kick out of anything. Anyway. “So, friendship’s another one. It’s not as quadranty as brorails, but some friendships run deeper than others. Like being best friends with someone is a big deal. Most of the shitty movies you watch focus on love and doing it, but some have friendship shit thrown in too. The one we watched yesterday was a lot of friend love, I guess. Like it was moirail stuff, but on Earth it’d be a buddy film.”
“Hmm.” He scribbles notes like a fucking nerd, you can’t deal. “A lot of the human movies I watch seem more like confusing pale overtures than fully flushed. Is that common?”
“Pale how?” Now you’re confused.
“Well, ok. Maybe not completely pale, but most of them end with talking out their problems before they enter some moirail-matesprit anomaly.” He raps his notes like all his algorithms are coming out wrong. “I can’t name a single one that didn’t end in some feelings jam before they reached the dip and kiss.”
“So...” You start. “I’m gonna ask this again, but what the fuck are moirails? It’s romance for trolls and I think I’m starting to get that. You talk things out, hell I guess you even paw at each other in a semi-platonic, kinda gay way. What context am I missing here?”
“See! That! That shit right there! What is that to you?”
“What is what to me?”
“You keep saying it’s gay, but I thought that mattered for...” he hesitates. “That. Not for conciliatory relationships.”
“Oh my fucking god,” you mutter. “There’s not one single timeline where I want to explain to anyone why touching another dude’s face is a little gay. It just is, ok?”
“Fuck you, Strider–”
“Oh back to ‘Strider’ again.”
“–The absolute fucking least you can do is explain how something is ‘human gay’ when the entire premise is based around your primitive concupiscent relationships. How is something pale a gay thing when it’s not even the right quadrant!?”
You roll your eyes, but of course he can’t see, so you fold your arms. “Dude, you’re literally telling me it’s not gay unless you have sex, and that is not how shit works on Earth.”
“Then fucking tell me, dipshit!” Karkat shouts. “Why is it fucking different!?”
“Why do you caaare?” you drawl. “Can we go back to my question? Why are you reading all your shitty ‘human’ romcoms as pale all of a sudden? That’s how human love works, man. You cuddle, you talk, all that horseshit. Heaven forbid you happen to be friends with the person you’re fucking.”
The look of utter dismay and confusion on this asshole’s face would be hysterical under any other circumstance, but the part of you that doesn’t want to see where this is going is rearing its ugly little head. “So... holy shit, this. What we did... Were you seeing that as a flushed thing!?”
“Oh my Jesus dicking Christ, no!” Being anything but horizontal for this seems like an awful idea, so you launch yourself forward on the bed, and bury your face under the nearest pillow. “You fucking said yourself it was a brorail thing,” you say, voice muffled. “For humans there’s overlap with that shit, but fucking God, we’re not flushed, ok?”
The room is silent, and a giant part of you wants to thank Baby Jesus and his entourage of flippant magical squid monsters, but it’s too silent. You don’t take your head under your pillow to check, but you’re more anxious than you care to admit. There’s no way you hurt his feelings, right? If you confirmed that being a touchy-feeling bro doesn’t make you automatically renting a New York flat together, then what the hell is the problem?
You feel weight shifting across the bed, then an abrupt flop. The troll beside you lets out a heavy sigh, and you do the same.
“Why are our conversations so awful,” you say under the pillow.
“I dunno,” he says back. “Can we just... erase this from our think pans?”
“Ain’t enough mind bleach in the Incipisphere for that.”
“Yeah,” he says, defeated. “Are we still friends, at least?”
You finally take your head from under the pillow. He’s laying across from you, staring a hole through the wall, and dammit if this fucking troll needs to chill out. And you know what, maybe you do too. You’re still honest-to-hell not sure what his damn quadrants have to do with being bros, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to let them stand in the way of the one regular friend you have on this rock. The rest are fine, hell, the Mayor’s awesome, but Karkat’s different because he cares too damn much. And it’s clear he cares about you.
It feels... nice.
“Shut up, that’s the dumbest question you asked,” you say instead of any of that. You nudge him in the face, an odd combination of brorail face-paps and ‘you hang in there, slugger.’ He scoffs, but manages to not look so fucking glum.
You take it as a victory.
==>
Ten minutes to midnight, you hear a knock that you can only describe as dainty. You kind of wish you were one of the trolls with brain powers, or at least had a remote so you didn’t have to leave your bed. You float to the entrance because you’re a lazy tool and done with legs.
When you open the door, you’re surprised to see Rose in all her orange creamsicle glory. She remembered.
“Can’t let a good tradition die,” she says by way of greeting. “Happy birthday, Dave.”
You grin. You honest to God openly grin, completely forgoing any coolness or irony. You’ve got ironies in the fire, not because you’re cooking any up, but because you’re blasting it all away, like the heat death of the universe.
You clunk your head against her shoulder, startling her from her casual stance. You feel her readjust to your weight. “Thanks.”
She giggles. “What’s all this? Did you contract some fatal disease I’m not aware of? Did your ‘coolkid’ veneer finally break? Should I alert the healers?”
“Healers can’t mend cool back together Rose, we both know shit’s more terminal than our cancer-ridden frog universe,” you say into her shoulder. Your arms hang limp because even with your declaration, you’re too chickenshit to hug. “And despite my refusal of Last Rites or chemotherapy, my cool’s last dying wish is to say to you, dear sister,” you lift your head and look at her over the rim of your shades, “sup.”
She laughs hard at that and you smile back. You float back to your bed because you’re still a huge useless douche. She sits at your desk, unabashedly sloppy when no one’s looking. You imagine she sat like that back home when she pored over Wikipedia articles or wrote about wizard dicks.
“How are you?” she asks, and there’s a knowingness in her voice, because she always opened up with the same question. It feels, not like home, if there ever was one for you, but something close.
“I think I’m pretty incredible,” you say honestly. “Like I’m the chilliest motherfucker on Birthday Island.”
She looks at you thoughtfully. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Yes, Dave, just a thoughtful noise,” Rose says, still giving you a careful look. “You didn’t say that last time is all.”
You freeze. You don’t feel asleep, and you don’t feel the weird cloudy tug of space that tells you you’re in a dream bubble. You draw your eyes to hers, looking for subtle changes.
“Are you my Rose?” you whisper.
She gives you a look that declares with no uncertainty she thinks you’re batshit insane. “You feeling alright there, Dave?”
And hell, you worried her enough that her accent’s slipped out. You sink your head back and look at the ceiling. “Had some real dream doozies is all.”
“Enough to doubt my tangibility? Do tell.”
“Are you Rose-Rose, though? Like you’re not trying to hornswoggle me into another asinine dream confession, right? You’re in neon PJs, so we both know you pulled that shit before.”
“Dave, yes, I’m very much alive and very much awake,” she says, annoyed. “When I said it’s not what you said before... just, forget I said that. Now tell me about your dream so I can pick your brain apart.”
You decide as long as you’re forgetting her suspicious shit, might as well forget telling her about the sword. The dream itself is something you need off your chest, so that’s fair game. “I met Jade from the fucked over timeline. She’s a God Tier and part dog.”
“I know.”
You raise up to your elbows. “Wait, how did you know? Did you use your weird freaky know-it-all powers?”
Rose raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I used my weird freaky ability called ‘memory,’ coupled with ‘paying attention.’ John told us, remember?”
“No?”
“The note he sent. In the bucket.”
“Oooooh yeah!” you say brightly. “When Karkat pitched his epic shitfit over getting coldcocked by the ‘lewdest fucking receptacle in paradox space.’” You laugh at the memory. “Sorry, I was too busy getting my chuckle on to pay attention.”
“She merged with her sprite-slash-dreamself. That I saw in my visions. Why don’t you continue?”
“Well,” you continue. “She was all pissed at me because I didn’t want to fight her, and probably some other shit, so she told me she pushed the Mayor off my roof. Then she showed me how she died and punched me awake.”
“That was abridged to say the least,” she says, unimpressed. “But that doesn’t sound like the Jade we know and love.”
“I know, right? When I saw Jade last, like really saw her, and not some murder-happy psycho-dog or peeping at her monitor-ways, all she was jawing on about was frogs, frogs, more frogs, and the chess dudes. And she liked those guys before she even met the Mayor, so what the fuck, y’know?” You flop back down. “This though... She went completely grimbark.”
“I find it telling that John’s choice of words manage to filter through to your subconscious even across space, time, and alternate continuity,” she muses.
“Huh?” you ask dumbly.
“Seer shit,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No wait, so,” you raise back up, “You telling me John planted that in my head? How do your powers work?”
“Ugh.” She sighs. “Ok, you want to know how it works for me?”
“Sure.”
“Imagine you’re watching a movie with subtitles on. I’ve seen you do this with Karkat, so I know you’re familiar with the concept. Now imagine if the subtitles are just out of sync with the image. Sometimes the text moves faster than the image, or vice versa. And depending on whether you fast-forward or rewind, or play from a different point, there’s always some piece of the movie that’s out of sync.
“As a Seer, I have the remote control, so I can skip ahead or rewind, but if I do, then the context gets muddied. If I ‘See’ this conversation, it’s easier for me to know exactly what we’ll say and how we say it, but if I try to ‘See’ Grimbark Jade, the how’s and why’s are fuzzier without the right focal points. The pictures aren’t in sync with the words.”
You blink. She’s never really broken it down like that before. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” she says with a nod. “And it’s two-fold because of the stunt John pulled. I keep ‘Seeing’ things that happened or will happen one way, but five minutes later I’ll ‘See’ it happen another way. Twice the possibilities for the same timeline.” Her voice sounds more and more distressed as she goes on. “It’s driving me crazy because I keep seeing snippets of how we failed, and others where we make the right choices, and I can barely tell one from the other because they’re almost the same!”
“So when I ‘didn’t say that last time.’ You meant...”
She nods.
“What about Vriska? Wasn’t she different?”
Rose shoots you a tired look. “Yeah,” she says, northern accent in full force. “You wanna talk to her twenty-four seven?”
“That sounds worse than exhausting.”
“Indeed.” And you barely hear it, she says it so quietly, “I wish I could turn it off.”
Fuck. That’s when you take the time to really look at her. Underneath her make-up, all perfect eyeliner and black lipstick, you see the dullness in her eyes, puffy from lack of sleep. She’s nowhere near Karkat’s level of insomnia, but somehow it’s kind of worse on her since she’s not used to it. You guess she’s not like you in that respect, either. She loves her sleep almost as much as Jade, while you and the snooze-fairies have more of a casual, see-you-when-I-see-you relationship.
You wonder if she sees in the same way as all other Seers. Terezi explained her Mind shit once, but that was more tied with choices, duality, and bamboozling hapless coolkids. Rose’s double-image movie marathon doesn’t sound the same, so you figure some of that is Light. You sit in silence, only this time you try not to count the seconds. You fail after fourteen, so you guess you’re more tied to your aspect than you thought.
“What if you had a different focus?” you ask.
“Such as?” Her face lights up with mild curiosity.
“I drew something. Maybe that could help?”
“If it’s more dicks, then I sincerely doubt it.”
You scoff. “Why’s it always gotta be about dicks, Rose? Freud would be so proud of you, shoehorning all these dicks in your conversation.” You laugh at her abject horror. “But no, it’s not a dick drawing. I drew my dream.”
She glances at your desk. “Oh. It’s in this notebook, isn’t it?”
You nod.
“Why do you write so many nicknames for Karkat in here?” She hasn’t even opened the damn notebook, what the hell.
“Shut up. Maybe focus on the drawing instead?” You feel a tug at the timeline, subtle, yet insistent. “Oh, uh. Happy birthday.”
She nudges the mouse on your laptop. “So it is. Thank you, Dave.” She hums under her breath. “Interesting. You always knew to say it right at midnight, even before your ascension.”
You shrug. “Probably because I was calling you from a cell phone. Get this, mine even had a clock.”
“Way to be a cynic,” says the girl wearing black lipstick. She opens your notebook to the exact page of the drawing. As she studies it, her eyes get a weird glow that you’ve seen before; like violet eyes violently violating spacetime, parsing through riddles across infinite timelines–
“Oh my god, stop mumbling your raps when I’m trying to concentrate!” she snaps.
...Guess that was out loud. Whoops.
“But I appreciate your admiration of my skill,” she says, not looking up, but sparing a tiny smile. “This is the doomed timeline, alright. Jade dies on LOFAF, and... so do a lot of us.”
“Me?” you ask.
“Yes.”
Fair enough.
“...You?”
She looks briefly confused, then shakes her head. “I can’t see. I feel like, I know I’m going to, did, whatever, time shit,” she says bitterly. “But I can’t see. Like how I couldn’t see when I went...?”
You nod solemnly. “When you went berserk with your Horror Terror tirade and fell off every deep end like an endless spiral of stairs.”
“A truly Escherian and catastrophic mental oblivion,” she agrees. “My abilities are obfuscated. So either I’m still a shit Seer–”
You raise your finger.
“–Or,” she glares at you, “there’s something or someone blocking my vision.”
Now you’re curious. “Someone.”
“Could be nothing. Or, it could be... nothing. Which would explain everything.” She giggles at the dumb look on your face and waves her hand. “Nevermind, maybe it’ll be funny later. What’s with the red lines? It looks like a fork.”
You glance at the drawing again. Objectively, they stick out and make no sense with the rest of the scene. Though the more you look at it, you know something was up. You were seeing things through Jade’s perspective, so you wouldn’t have a reason to see something like that on your own. You can’t make that shit up.
“I don’t know,” you finally say. “But I think it’s important.”
Notes:
Dave never had a problem believing you have to be friends with the person you want to be with, but saying something like that out loud is for chumps.
Chapter 13: Karkat: Shut Up and Jam
Notes:
Chapter song: Ramshackle Glory - Your Heart Is A Muscle The Size Of Your Fist
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
You begin to miss pieces of your life that the meteor can’t provide. Sure, you have your routine of movies, Can Town, and the Rainbow Rumpus Book Club, but you experience pangs of nostalgia, a sudden void when looking at a movie poster, or homesickness you never thought you’d feel. You think about the ‘stages of grief’ Rose lectured about and connect those stages with memories of Alternia. You miss your friends the most and yeah you’re mourning them, but it’s still fucking awful running into annoying dreambubble doppelgangers.
And you shouldn’t complain; you’re safe, surrounded by more people than ever in your almost seven sweeps. You’re well-fed, and the combination of alchemized snacks, canned rations, and blind experiments is the meteor’s foundation of cultural exchange. Said exchange isn’t limited to humans and trolls. Your troll compatriots have varied tastes as well, and what was available to some was a delicacy for others. It’s depressing that despite a six-hundred hour SGRUB play-through, you never bothered learning something as simple as your friends’ favorite foods. And why would you? You never worried about how far you lived from each other; you talked every day and everyone was so spread out, so what did it matter? Yet even with your shared culture as a species, strange food pops up in conversation, through the alchemiter, and into the hunger trunk.
Seeing each other in person was a rare opportunity the game granted you, and none of you admitted it, but you all were as happy as wigglers on Twelfth Perigee’s Eve. Months through your journey, you realize that while the quirks of cohabitation have settled into tedium, and seeing faces instead of colorful text is your new reality, you find yourself missing something else you took for granted.
You miss being outside.
And not outside the meteor bubble-gazing on the roof where the Horror Terrors lurk just out of view. And not the SGRUB planets with their contrived, gamey representation of ‘magical realms.’ But real outside. Seeing the moons and stars, with real clouds, real weather, and real wind. When you enter the dream bubbles, you find yourself trying to recreate memories of your home planet, but your near shut-in ways make accuracy impossible, to say nothing of the ebb and flow of reality within everyone else’s memories.
So you do the reasonable thing and research your old star systems as best you can. The Alternian Empire forced files on all computing devices as part of schoolfeeding, and conquered worlds, star charts, and baking recipes were among them. You break out your old husktop and spend a day looking over files, scribbling notes, and mapping out a pattern as you read. You once bragged to John about putting the stars in his sky, and while that was by far the most moronic thing to come out of the waste-infected rage-maw you call your mouth, you wonder if you can make some truth to it.
Days later, you have something you could without hesitation define as a project. You take your notes, grab some chalk and a chair, and head to Can Town.
On your way down, you see a figure clad in red making absurd twitchy neanderthrashing movements. It’s Dave of course, ‘dancing’ his way to Can Town with huge headphones over his hear ducts. You decide against sneaking up on him; Kanaya learned the hard way that her freakish rainbow drinker stealth bothered the shit out of Dave, but no one got an explanation on why. You decide to get his attention the old-fashioned way.
“HEY, BULGELICKER! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOUR LEGS!?”
He halts, turns around and smirks at you. “Sup, Shouty McFuckbucket. Admiring my sweet moves, I see.”
You close the distance and catch up to him, and you head down the hall in lockstep. “The only phrase that could describe the unholy display you wrought upon us is ‘tortured example of festering dismay.’
“And that,” he looks at you over the rim of his glasses, “is the best emo album name yet. You’ll get your royalty check in the next universe, assuming we’re not fucked over by shitty producers or paradox space.”
You don’t have much for a retort; most of his inane babble washes over you like an ablution made entirely of confabulatory hoofbeastshit. You nudge his still-dancing form instead and make your way to Can Town together. He pushes you back as he gyrates to whatever he’s listening to, and you spare him a questioning look. You’re damn sure you’ve never seen him dance before.
The question of why dies on your lips when you round the corner face-first into a grisly scene. Four multi-colored plush dragons hang in nooses in front of the police station, while another lays stabbed in the park, complete with scattered stuffing and a red chalk outline because of course it’s fucking red. And with the ‘body’ out in the open for all of Can Town to see, this only means one thing.
Terezi is on the fucking loose.
Look, sometimes the courtblock roleplay is fun, especially when she winds up prosecuting Dave. Seeing him have to serve time while wearing one of Terezi’s ridiculous dragon capes – even if you have to wear one, too – makes you believe in a certain kind of magic. But sometimes she can be a little fucking much.
“Not this crap again,” you groan. “I swear to any deity including the grub-fucking bulge monsters, if I’m sucked into yet another one of Pyrope’s shithive murder mysteries, I’m gonna...” You trail off and sigh. “I’m gonna go the fuck along with it as always and get it over with.”
“Holy shit, don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose steam that fast,” Dave says, eyes fixed on the crime scene. “Check it, I don’t think we gotta be on the case this time. She already got Lemonsnout, and he’s pretty much the scapegoat for all her murders.”
“And Pucefoot,” you agree. “He’s always the scumbag medical examiner in these cases. Ugh, why would she leave this here? This is ruining the park!”
“Dude, chill. She probably ran off with Vriska and the Mayor. She’ll come back for her shit.”
“I guess.” You take out your supplies and position yourself against the back wall. It’s not quite the scale you need, but you guess you’ll improvise. “What’s got you dancing like a Faygo-induced wiggler?”
Dave chuffs. “Rekindling some of that bromance between me and my past self. You may not know from the humble demeanor set before you, but I used to be a pretty big deal.”
“That so.”
“That’s right.” You watch as he hovers just high enough off the ground to stack a can. “I used to lay beats so phat, your ears would feast on ‘em like they were prepping for winter. Go into chronic hibernation and sleep for three months out of the year. The tracks were my cubs and I was their momma bear, nourishing them until they could survive on their own and terrorize campers that had no business out in the woods.”
What the fuck does that even mean?
“What the fuck does that even mean?” you ask because it bears voicing. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard anything but your incessant rapping since we started hanging out. Are you telling me your raps are your grand opus sending Earth cholerbears in a frenzy?”
You deploy your chair and head to higher ground. The chalk won’t produce quite the same effect as the stars on Alternia, but it’s about as close as you’d expect anyway with your limited skills. It’s not like you’re homesick. You’re not, but it gives you something to do.
“Whoa, hoooold up. Are you saying you never heard any of my mixes?” He stops mid-stack, and you feel him staring at you through those damn shades. “No, we gotta fix that, this is like my lifeblood.”
It sounds like musclebeastshit because he makes everything sound like musclebeastshit, all false seriousness and ironic sincerity. At the same time, you’re not a complete idiot. The self-professed coolkid wore music discs on his shirts, went through time using magic turntables, and the fucking Scratch construct on his planet was the Beat Mesa, thematically matched to him because Skaia had all the plans. When he says lifeblood, you sense he means it more than he’d ever realize.
“Well,” you say, straining to reach where a conquered system should go. You didn’t bother writing down the name. “I can’t hear any of your ‘phat beats’ when they’re trapped inside your personal noise bubbles. Alas, it was never meant to be. I’ll never know anything but true and blissful silence, a peace that will last a million billion sweeps.”
“Nah. No peace for troll boys, I got the tools to increase the rude noise. Just gotta ‘DEPLOY’ these toys so I can annoy my bro and release a smile of joy.” A human laptop and speakers pop out of his sylladex and he fiddles with some wires.
“It’s just laborious, absolutely pan-numbing, listening to you rap,” you say, though you’re not sure how much you mean it. “At this point I’m certain you don’t need half the words you use to activate your equipment.”
“Yeah, but it’s more fun this way,” he replies. He flips a switch and you’re surrounded by quick, pounding beats with bizarre sounds as twitchy as his dancing. It’s chaotic, pulsing, and completely unlike the poker-faced demeanor he conveys. Dave begins to dance again, and the movements paired with the music make way more sense, even if the overall effect is jarring as fuck.
Against your wishes, a smile forms on your face. You can’t help it, dammit; he’s plastering on these ridiculously serious expressions while his limbs act like they’re trying to abscond from this realm as fast as possible. And yet it kind of works. It looks like a cross between an aimless frolic, a strife, and something hinting at graceful.
“What the fuck,” you say.
He smirks, gyrating his hips at you. “Get in this dance party, dude.”
“Yeah, no thanks.”
“C’moooooooon,” he whines. “I even said it as spider-hag as possible, so now you gotta dance out of hate-spite or whatever.”
“Wow, fuck you!” You toss your chalk at him, which he dodges. “Overstating my dislike isn’t going to convince me, crotchstain. I’m squaring off and building my hive in the No Dance Zone because some jackass still doesn’t understand how blackrom works.”
He sidles over and kicks your chair from under you.
“The FUC–”
“Hup.” He catches you before you go tumbling to your death and sets you on your feet. He dusts off your shoulders and pats your face. “You’re on the dance floor now, dude. Can’t escape it.”
Why. You glare at him, not just because of his brazen pale display, and not just because of his antagonistic, borderline pitch flirting. You doubt he’s aware he’s doing either, and explaining the nuances will lead to yet another hopbeast hole you don’t want to navigate. You glare because more importantly... You wanted to draw some fucking stars!
“AUGH, fine!” you shout. “If you’re going to insist on me flopping my limbs about like some undulating wrathcock spawned from the Mother Grub herself, then you better shift your ass in gear and help me make my goddamn mural! It’s going to be a masterpiece of Alternian glory, and when it’s done, you better fucking appreciate it!”
“Sure,” he says with a shrug. “Tell me this, though.”
“What!?”
“Do your mother grubs really have wrathcocks?”
“...N-No! It’s a figure of goddamn speech, ok?”
Dave snickers. “Man, we are never gonna stop fucking with each other.”
The song ends, and you hope that buys you time to get out of this fool’s bargain. Unfortunately, another track springs to life, and you see his face brighten. He starts to do an awkward sashay, and honestly, you can’t take this shit.
“So care to explain what the fuck has gotten into you?”
“Less talk, more limb flopping,” he says. “Haha, this one takes me back.”
You stand dumbfounded as you watch his movements. Anything to get this over with, right? Tap foot to the rhythm, check. Move limbs in time to the beat. Flounce about like you dunked yourself face-first into a vat of sopor slime. Check. You can do this.
You attempt a small wiggle.
“Hahaha, YES.” Dave’s smile widens into full on glee. “Perfect, keep doing that.”
Heat creeps up your cheeks. This is so moronic, but maybe it’s a little fun. You keep at it, trying to concentrate on the beats and pauses. He moves with you, and yeah, this is a little fun. You loosen up your movements, still watching his steps. The song itself is catchy; none of his incessant rapping, instead filled with energetic beats layered with instruments, scratches, clicks, and beeps. As the song ends, you realize what the music has that throws you off from the Strider you know.
It sounds happy.
And wow, that makes your blood pusher do weird things. You can’t associate this kind of happy with the stoic douchebag in shades, and yet you’re hearing it crammed right into your hear ducts.
“Did you really make this?”
“Yeah, course I did,” he says as another track comes on. “Man of many talents here, Crabbykat. As previously stated, you’re looking at the biggest deal since the Louisiana Purchase.”
“Would you look at that amazing analogy, just begging for someone to give a fuck. Funny you should mention purchase because I’m fresh out of fucks! My inventory’s been dry for perigees.” In mock seriousness, you pat him on the shoulder and say, “The store’s going bankrupt, Strider. We’ve got to pack it up and cull our losses.”
His shades dart to your hand and points back to you. His mouth is pursed into a thin line. You’re not quite sure how long you can keep standing here like this. His lips twitch.
“A fuck deficit,” he says with a nod.
“A scarcity of shits given,” you agree.
His face contorts against his will. “A dearth of damns.”
A snort escapes from your mouth. “A crap famine.”
He erupts with a giggle and you break down an instant later. “Alright, enough of that shit,” he says between chuckles. “Guess I owe you some stars.” He goes back to pick up the chalk you threw. “But yeah, a lot of these were tracks I mixed when I was little. Trying my hand at different techniques, experimenting with my sound. These older ones, I dunno, I still dig the shit out of them, but...”
You grab another piece of chalk and retrieve your chair. “They seem... lively? Forget it, I’m not sure how I’d describe it. They’re just, different from what I’d expect.”
He hums at that, and you both work in comfortable silence as Dave’s music plays on. You dwell on the word happy, almost like the concept itself is foreign. You could argue about whether the feeling is deserved, but honestly? You’re all hurtling towards a last ditch hope to not die. If a little music and limp-noodle flopping keeps you from locking yourself away for wipes on end, then so be it. You listen as the music fades into a new track. It has that same hyperactive energy as the last one, but feels more heroic, like an anthem until it devolves into more of that heavy distortion.
“What is that? That noise that keeps breaking up the music?”
“You mean the scratching?” he asks, floating up to draw a series of planets.
“Is that what it’s called? It makes sense now that you describe it that way, but it sounds like two highbloods trying to cull each other.” You listen for a pattern, but it swaps between rhythmic to purposefully random. “It’s not awful, but it’s weird as hell. How did you do it?”
“That’s kinda like asking you to compare the love quadrangles between at least three of your romance novels,” Dave responds. “There isn’t any one technique I use, ‘cept maybe my old shit when I didn’t know any better. Hell, this one’s got chirps, tears, crab scratches, all kinds of stuff.”
“Crab scratches. You’re shitting me.”
He pauses in mid-air and looks down at you. “Just thought of something.”
Please let it not be another nickname.
“Think you’d be into trying?” He nods his head towards the equipment.
You stand there like an imbecile until realization dawns on you. “Try... scratching?”
“Sure, or just making music.” He turns back to the chalk drawings and resumes scribbling stars. “Maybe not like, now, but I can teach you if you want.”
“Uh... sure. Why the fuck not?” You wonder what music made from you would sound like. If his have all of these happy, powerful, grandiose melodies, then what do you really sound like? “Who taught you?”
“My bro.” His voice is suddenly clipped. Flat.
“Your adult human custodian? Since you weren’t raised by a lusus.”
“Eeeyup. That sure is a fitting description.”
He doesn’t seem as thrilled talking about his not-lusus. You recall Jade saying something about how everyone in their session lost their guardians. You saw John and Rose’s custodians on-screen, not long after seeing his bizarre retcon-self. You can’t recall if you ever saw Dave’s. You think Terezi might have since she was in his ‘human grill.’
“Do you miss him?” you ask after a moment.
He makes a sound, something close to a grunt with a hint of laughter. “Not really,” though the words sound forced. “Miss him ‘bout as much as I miss his fucking puppets or strifing all the goddamn time ‘cause of whatever fucked up reason or time a day.” You watch as he jerks his head back to the wall. “Why don’t you tell me about this new mural? The Mayor commission this from you?”
Yeah, you know a Striderian Subject Shift when you hear it. And pale crush or not, you decide not to push it. Now’s not the time or the place to unpack that comment; the beats are too loud, your hands are a chalky mess, and Terezi’s stuffed dragon killer is still on the loose. The likes of her or Vriska walking in on a heartfelt conversation makes your skin itch.
“It’s all me,” you answer. “It’s supposed to be a star map of the Alternian Empire. At least before the universe was destroyed.”
“Cool.” He drifts down to stand beside you as you climb off the chair. “Do you miss it? Alternia, I mean.”
And for such a simple question, you’re not sure how to answer. As you look at the scrawled-on stars, swirling planets, and shitty spaceships, your protein chute constricts.
“Not really,” you finally say.
==>
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
CG: HEY
GC: H3Y K4RKL3S
GC: TO WH4T DO 1 OW3 TH3 PL34SUR3 >:]
CG: FOR STARTERS, I "APPRECIATE" THE LATEST INSTALLMENT OF YOUR MURDER MYSTERY CLUSTERFUCKS.
CG: NOTHING MAKES ME GIDDIER THAN SEEING YET ANOTHER VELVETEEN CORPSE. IT'S REALLY JUST THE MOST PHENOMINAL THING.
CG: ARE YOU AND VRISKA COMPLETELY BORED OUT OF YOUR THINK PAN? I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON SOME GREAT NAP CRUSADE.
GC: W3 4R3!
GC: BUT OCC4S1ON4LLY W3 N33D TO S3RV3 OUT JUST1C3 L1K3 4N 3NTHUS14ST1C BUTL3R
GC: K4RK4T, DO YOU W4NT C4N TOWN TO F4LL TO CH4OS 4ND RU1N? >:O
CG: CAN WE CONSIDER, LIKE DIG DEEP AND HUMOR THE FACT YOU'RE THE SOLE PERPATRATOR OF CAN TOWN CRIMES?
CG: LIKE WE KNOW THIS IS ALL STILL PRETEND, AND WE'RE NOT DEVELOPING AN EXCITING NEW FORM OF MIND DAMAGE.
GC: W3 C4N HUMOR YOUR D3S1R3 TO B3 4 K1LLJOY
GC: FOR SOM3ON3 WHO WORKS ON C4N TOWN 4S MUCH 4S YOU, 1 THOUGHT YOU WOULD H3LP K33P 1T S4F3
CG: HEY, DON'T EVER DOUBT MY DEDICATION TO CAN TOWN.
GC: TH4T 1S PR3C1S3LY WH4T 1 W4NT TO H34R!
GC: 4NYW4Y, 1'M PR3TTY SUR3 TH1S ISN'T WHY YOU CONT4CT3D M3
GC: SO YOU M1GHT 4S W3LL STOP D3FL3CT1NG 4ND SP1T 1T OUT!
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT? FINE.
CG: YOU WATCHED DAVE'S TIMELINE, RIGHT? LIKE ALL OF IT, NOT JUST HIS FLIPPANT DISREGARD FOR TIME LINEARITY?
GC: OF COURS3! 1 W4NT3D TO KNOW TH3 STORY B3H1ND TH3 3LLUS1V3 STR1D3R, 4ND TH3 SOURC3 OF 4LL THOS3 BOONBONDS
CG: WHAT WAS HIS LUSUS LIKE?
GC: H1S LUSUS?
GC: 1 DUNNO, TO B3 HON3ST
GC: 1 SK1MM3D P4ST SOM3 OF 1T 4T F1RST B3C4US3 1T W31RD3D M3 OUT, TH3N DOUBL3D B4CK 4FT3R H3 D13D
CG: WHAT WAS WEIRD ABOUT IT?
CG: OTHER THAN THE OBVIOUS WHAT THE FUCK ARE ADULTS DOING ON THE SAME PLANET QUESTION.
GC: S3R1OUSLY!!! >:O
GC: TH3Y JUST TH1NK 1T'S NORM4L OR SOM3TH1NG
GC: 4NYW4Y, H3 T4UGHT D4V3 HOW TO F1GHT W1TH SWORDS, 4ND TO L1K3 PUPP3TS
GC: TH3R3 W4S SOM3TH1NG OFF 4BOUT H1M, L1K3 H3 R3M1ND3D M3 OF 4 H1GHBLOOD
CG: HIGHBLOOD LIKE GAMZEE?
GC: K1ND OF? SORT OF L1K3 H1M 4ND 3QU1US 4T TH3 S4M3 T1M3
CG: GROSS
GC: BUT D4V3 4CT3D STR4NG3 TH3 3NT1R3 T1M3 H3 STOOD OV3R H1S D34D BODY
GC: H3 W4S MOOD13R TH4N USU4L, 3V3N THOUGH H3 1NS1ST3D ON B31NG COOL 4BOUT 4LL H1S PROBL3MS
GC: 4LL sup sup im hella mourning ironically by laying on the ground face first
CG: HMM.
GC: HMMMMMMMM >:?
CG: YES, JUST A THOUGHTFUL, MEANINGLESS HMM, CONVEYING NOTHING MORE THAN SUBTLE NOISES EMITTING FROM MY PROTEIN CHUTE.
GC: WHY 4R3 YOU 4SK1NG 4BOUT H1S M4N-LUSUS?
CG: DOES IT MATTER? IF I SAY IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, YOU'LL JUST COUNTER IT'S NOT ANY OF MY BUSINESS EITHER.
CG: AND IF I SAY *NO* REASON, YOU'LL INSIST THERE IS ONE BECAUSE WHY WOULD I BOTHER TROLLING YOU?
CG: IT'S A VICIOUS CYCLE, BATTLING OUT WHO'S NOSIER THAN THE OTHER, AND LET'S FACE IT, YOU AND YOUR MUTANT NOSTRILS WOULD WIN IN A FUCKING LANDSLIDE.
GC: TH4T 4LMOST SOUNDS L1K3 4 COMPL1M3NT >:]
CG: TRUST ME, IT IS.
GC: NOT L1K3 1 BUY 4NY OF TH4T
GC: G41N1NG MY F4VOR 1S FL4TT3R1NG OF COURS3
GC: BUT 1T DO3SN'T H1D3 TH3 F4CT YOU'R3 M4SK1NG YOUR R34L 1NT3NT!
CG: I CAN'T LIE TO YOU AND WE BOTH KNOW IT. YOU CAN SMELL DECEPTION FOUR BLOCKS OVER, SO I WON'T EVEN RISK IT.
CG: SO INSTEAD, CAN I PLEASE JUST SAY "IT'S PERSONAL" AND LEAVE IT AT THAT?
CG: I WOULDN'T ASK IF IT WASN'T IMPORTANT.
CG: BOTH ME ASKING AND YOU DROPPING IT, I GUESS.
GC: W3LL
GC: TH4T'S F41R
CG: THANKS.
CG: SO I TAKE IT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS CUSTODIAN WAS DICEY.
GC: YOU COULD S4Y TH4T
GC: BUT GOOD LUCK TRY1NG TO PRY TH4T OUT OF D4V3
GC: 1F TH4T'S WH4T YOU'R3 TRY1NG TO DO
CG: WHAT DID I JUST SAY ABOUT PRYING?
CG: I'M EXPLICITLY NOT TRYING TO OVERSTEP ANY BOUNDARIES, AND I'LL PRESENT A GIFT-WRAPPED CARE PACKAGE FULL OF DOTING FUCK YOU TO ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE.
CG: I'M JUST TRYING NOT TO... TRIGGER HIM, I GUESS?
GC: YOU SOUND L1K3 K4NKR1
CG: WOW, FUCK OFF!
GC: H4H4H4H4H4H4
GC: 1T SOUNDS L1K3 YOU C4R3, WH1CH 1S PR3TTY GR34T!
GC: BUT HON3STLY, 1 DON'T TH1NK 4VO1D1NG TH3 TOP1C W1LL H3LP H1M 1N TH3 LONG RUN
GC: 4ND 1F H3 CONT1NU3S TO BURY H1S F33L1NGS, TH3Y'LL F3ST3R 4ND OV3RRUN H1M 1N TH3 N3XT S3SS1ON
CG: IS THAT ONE OF YOUR MIND PREDICTIONS?
GC: YOU COULD S4Y TH4T
CG: GREAT. SO WHAT DO I DO?
GC: 1'M NOT S4Y1NG H3 SHOULD OP3N UP TO YOU, BUT H3 N33DS TO OP3N UP TO SOM3ON3
GC: H3 D3S3RV3S TO B3 H4PPY
CG: YEAH.
GC: 4ND SO DO YOU! >:]
CG: WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?
GC: 3X4CTLY WH4T 1T M34NS!
GC: YOU S33M H4PP13R L4T3LY 4ND 1T SU1TS YOU
CG: BULLSHIT.
GC: NOT TO M3NT1ON MOR3 MULT1CULTUR4L
GC: 1 L1K3 1T B3C4US3 1T R3M1NDS M3 OF TH3 OLD K4RK4T
CG: OH.
GC: 4ND TH3 OLD K4RK4T B3L13V3 1T OR NOT W4S PR3TTY GR34T TO B3 4ROUND
CG: IN THAT CASE.
CG: THANKS. (:B
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
Notes:
Dave likes dancing because he still likes to stay agile. He also likes showing off his music to anyone who'll listen: Jade, Dream Rose, Real Rose, and now Karkat.
Chapter 14: Dave: Enter Bubble
Summary:
Slow burns can be a challenge to write, but often are a bigger challenge to read. I thank all of you for sticking with it. I can proudly say I've written a total of 30 chapters. So far.
There's a lot of content in other words, so I thank you so very much for reading.
Chapter Text
You’re almost a third through your journey across the eldritch Red Lobster lunch buffet and the bubbles still catch you off-guard. Sure you have your look-out shifts and those help, but some of your meteor residents – block mates you guess – are better than others when it comes to ‘fair warning.’ You could be sitting alone in the kitchen eating breakfast, contemplating how the fuck Karkat managed to alchemize Lucky Charms using of all things your Felt poster and a jar of grub sauce, when suddenly you’re caught in a golden colosseum with teal synapses streaking across the sky.
Which whatever, roll with the punches, and it’s not like ‘Rezi’s planet isn’t cool. It’s sure as shit better than yours, all hot air and awful clanging, but hearing Rose’s slurry-ass announcement a minute too late kind of ruins it for you. You love the girl but damn; if you see that shit coming your way, don’t wait until it hits you. Or y’know, maybe don’t get drunk off of piss-smelling wizard hooch right before your bubble shift.
Or don’t get drunk period. Whatever.
It’s not like you were going to do anything remarkable. Probably pass the time watching a shitty movie, draw some comics, make some raps. It’s boring enough that everyone’s circling back from doing their own thing, and instead of breaking off pair-ways, people are congealing into bizarre mixed groups, getting into grills originally left unexplored with no charcoal in sight.
Vriska’s the main chick exploring those grills and starting sick fires all over the place. You know via troll gossip osmosis that she did some nasty FLARP-murdering back in the day, and maimed and/or killed people in her friend group. Saying she leans into her persona is undercutting it, but weirdly enough it doesn’t deter her from ‘trying to make up for it.’ Which to her means wielding ‘friendship’ like a sledgehammer. One day while banging on the coffee machine, you saw her wedge herself right between Rose and Kanaya during their will-they-or-won’t-they story time gal pal hour, and you had to keep from snort-chortling as you watched Rose’s face morph into something prim-dark and monstrous.
In fact, V-Dogg’s cockblocking skills have turned into the stuff of legends, and you straight up can’t complain. She tamped down the juggalo’s weird advances towards Terezi in the most humiliating fashion, like the ghost of Ferris Bueller smiled down on her and gave her forehead a palemance kiss. And ok, the pale-ghost thing didn’t happen, but she definitely tripped Gamzee in the most brutal pratfall possible, and watching an unironic fucking clown fall that hard with nothing but dismay was the funniest shit you saw in your life.
Point is, everyone’s starting to take turns poking their smell nubs in people’s beeswax, which is fine, but it still doesn’t stop the little shit like bubbles being a Thing. And since it’s Terezi’s planet, you figure you’re gonna run into some trolls because when it comes to the dreaming dead population, humans are an endangered fucking species. Or no more than usual because the death of the universe. Even though y’all are alive.
Still, though. Endangered is totally a word you can use.
You’re alone for now so you decide to wander about aimlessly, because seriously what the fuck else is there to do? You feel like you met your Murder Mate quota – pretty fucking early on – and you’ll be damned if you have to listen to another lecture from Karkat’s sweater-wearing dancestor, Karkri, Kankat, Kant-shut-his-fucking-mouth. You’d be down to see Kanaya’s dancestor again; she was cool, but kinda scary in the way that cool, tatted chicks in Houston were when you were growing up. And the bossy fish chick seemed alright, but you tuna’d her out when she started ranting about how some other you wouldn’t help her. You’re somehow up to your neck in other Daves, and frankly you’re getting sick of hearing shit someone else did. But... not in a Karkat-patented self-loathing tantrum. Just done with it like a normal, red-blooded time-traveler.
As you walk, you see the scenery change from golden buildings to a more contrasting white. The sky changes as well, so you figure it’s a different land. As you wonder what the fuck Greek stuff is doing on troll planets, you decide to do a little experiment. Rose said Space and Time work differently out here, but you’re a fully realized Knight of Time. You figure you can start small, but what if.
What if you can pinpoint a memory, and sort of...
Reach.
You think of a moment, something quick and tiny. When you find it, you feel for its thread on the timeline. It’s not a critical choice and you’re dealing with the past so it’s unchangeable. But! The bubble you’re in is nothing if not malleable, so if you reach for that thread and let it kind of unravel and melt in your hand, reform it...
its like they heard somebody over here was handing out asses and theyve known nothing but years of bitter ass famine
Holy shit.
You see a perfectly clear, red-tinged bubble floating before you. You poke at it again, and it doesn’t pop, move or anything. Just repeats your words back to you with perfect clarity, in your voice and everything. Your jaw hangs in unexpected awe and you decide this dream bubble needs more of this immediately.
You waste at least two hours doing exactly just that.
Creating the memory bubbles – meme bubbles? Ebubbles? Bingo – takes an exhausting amount of time and effort, but it’s enthralling in the same way mixing is. So much so, you don’t register the screaming match happening near you until you hear a familiar battle cry of ‘GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, YOU MURDEROUS FUCKING DOUCHE!’
There’s one you haven’t heard in months. You look up, expecting to see Karkat throwing one of his original-flavor shitfits at Vriska, but instead of spidertroll you see a fishy-looking dude in hipster glasses. And wow, douche is definitely an adjective that is objectively not false. Guy looks more punchable than Dane Cook... actually, let’s not go shithive here. Also objectively not false is how Karkat, now storming towards you like the angriest grey hurricane, is near tears from rage.
Which. His tears are this pinkish-red, and by now you know blood color is a thing with him for all he doesn’t talk about it. Even with all his tantrums and shouting matches, not to mention his sob fest love stories, dude needs an actual reason to cry around someone. Like a friend dying kind of reason. But before you’re able to register anything beyond that thought, he races past like he doesn’t see you. The other guy, Fish-Scarf you guess, shuffles in place like he’s deciding to go after him or not.
You don’t hesitate.
“Karkat. Karkat! Wait up!” you shout after him. He’s getting some pretty good distance; you weren’t expecting him to be so fast, but damn if his legs aren’t sprinting. You resort to flying until you catch up, nearly knocking him over in the process. “Dude, listen to me, you ok?” you ask, holding onto his shoulders.
Karkat immediately squirms against your grasp. “What the fuck does it look like!? Get off me, Strider, I’m getting the fuck out of here! Leave me the fuck alone!”
“No,” you say. Fuck your brain, your mouth’s got the wheel now. “Tell me what happened. You’re... uh, cryin’ and shit.” Acting like all the dams are gonna break all at once. “Talk to me.”
He looks at you, eyes huge and angry, and something way different than his usual angry. He’s shaking, fucking shaking with rage and whatever the fuck. You look across and you don’t see that guy anymore, but it dawns on you that you only know about one fish dude. Oh fuck... that was him, and the way Karkat’s shaking, that was him-him, not some imposter-ghost.
Without thinking, you wrap Karkat in your arms, throwing your cape over his shoulders. He stiffens against your grasp, but then, as though making a choice, he melts into it, his forehead perched on your shoulder. And you can’t reach his face to do the weird brorail thing, so you kind of just. Start rubbing circles into his back. You feel him shudder against you, and his breath hitches until he starts sobbing quietly. Hot tears fall on your shoulder.
“You’re ok,” you whisper, though it feels like the worst lie you’ve ever told. “You’re ok.”
He nods against you, still crying, still shaking. “He... he just,” Karkat starts, voices muffled and thick. “It happened right in front of me, and I was too slow. I couldn’t even find him myself, and I lost Sollux, and...” He shudders again. “I should’ve...”
“Hey,” you say, voice low. “None of that. You’re ok, hear me?” Your hand moves its way to his hair. “It’s not your fault.”
He doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t really stop crying, either. Instead, you feel his arms, shaky and hesitant, slowly wrap around your waist. They’re warm, hotter than any heating pad, like a fever dream or a shirt fresh out the dryer. You hug him tighter, you’re doing this, you’re making it happen, and something else happens, like synced up heartbeats, beat matching between his grief and your comfort. It feels right, it feels right, but so. Incredibly.
Gay.
You squeeze your eyes shut at the thought. It’s so fucked up. He’s hurting, and the only thing you can think of is how gay this is. And fuck you for that; if fish dude murdered Jade, if you had to watch it happen... fuck, no wonder she was so pissed at you. Fuck. You whisper babbled nonsense because fuck your thoughts right now. Your bro is hurt, and you can’t just...
Let him...
You look up just as the scenery changes. The sky turns from a series of flickering synapses to straight up lightning, darkening to a hazy, salmon-colored grey. Street lights mingling with smog, remixed with thunderclouds like Zeus’s shitty cousin from the city. The ground beneath turns hard and gravelly, and the air feels thick, musty like old rain and stale like a paper mill. And you feel alone. Even with a sobbing troll boy in your arms, you feel so crushingly cold and alone.
You remember this strife.
It was the day after your thirteenth birthday, the day after one of the better days of your life. You were wearing your new shades. You weren’t under his shadow anymore. You thought that. Your dumbass believed it. You...
“Dave...?”
You freeze. Karkat’s still shaking, only he pulls away and you’re still shaking. You work your mouth but no sound comes out. Your arms feel heavy, and you’re anticipating pain, stinging scraps, the taste of salt and iron in your mouth.
“Dave!” the voice shouts, muffled against your heartbeat. You can’t beat him. You thought that, and you can’t. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s not here, he’s not here.
You feel a hilt in your hand, ready before you see it. But he’s here, you feel it.
And then you see him.
White shirt, polo, blank expression, robotic, mannequin, not even angry, you’re not worth angry, you’re just.
Shades sharper than his blade, and you, you were round, too soft, not a hero, just afraid.
He lifts his katana, but your arms are too heavy.
Suddenly, you’re thrown to the ground, right as he strikes. You hear a clang, but you don’t see the source. Your sword’s in your hand, you’re too weak, too useless, can’t fight...
You look up and see Karkat standing above you, sickles out, a grimace on his tearstained face spreading like fire. He blocked the attack. He blocked it. Karkat swipes at the memory with his free blade, but. He blocked the attack.
The roof disappears, and you’re both back in the common area. You blink, trying to process what just happened, but your heart is running just a little too hard to make headway.
Karkat captchalogues his blades and crouches down to your level. “Dave,” he says, hand hovering over your face. “Are... are you alright?”
His eyes are huge.
You try to answer. You try, but your throat was swapped out for Rose’s yarn, and talking’s not happening anytime soon. You shudder instead, shaking your head at the troll. It’s fucked up. He was crying, fucking sobbing and now he’s asking if you’re the fucked up one. You are. It’s you. He fought Bro and pushed you aside like some fucked up damsel. He’s a better hero than you’ll ever be.
“You’re crying,” you hear him whisper. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. You’re gonna be ok.”
He lifts you to your feet, easily, too easily, and you follow him to the transportalizer. All the while he whispers, “You’re gonna be ok,” and you nod dumbly.
The lie feels a little better coming from him.
==>
When you’re finally able to speak instead of stare at nothing like an asshole on Idiot Island, you find yourself stretched across your bed, lying parallel with Karkat. You’re too shell-shocked to rate how gay it is, and honestly you feel like shell-shocked is too grown-up a phrase to feel, but damn if you know what else to call it. You could call it freezing up, losing your damn cool like the wiggler Karkat tends to call you, or you can call it being terrified out of your goddamn mind by some spectral memory that’s not even your real Bro. And the shit thing is, you couldn’t even lift your sword.
So of course the first and only thing you say after a half-hour – twenty-eight minutes and forty-five seconds – is the most asinine thing to come out of your mouth.
“Sup.”
To say Karkat’s face is unimpressed is denying the entire troll-human universe daisy-chain a chance to make a better understatement. The bloodshot redness is gone, replaced with the I-can’t-believe-it’s-a-troll yellow of his... you’re pretty sure it’s still called the sclera for trolls. His eyes are still grey, some bits lighter, others darker, and you let yourself wonder what they’ll look like when he gets older. You don’t get to let yourself wonder too long, because he puffs his cheeks and lets out a sigh right in your face, fogging up your shades.
“Striderian eloquence at its finest,” he replies. He rests his head on his arm, eyes fixed on you like an interstellar feelings beam. You’re pretty relieved he’s not treating you like a fragile-ass vase in a china shop, or looking at you with distain. Just good old-fashioned concern, and boy is that a thing you’re still wrestling with. But you decide you like it when it’s coming from him, and gog damn is that yet another fucking gay thought.
“So,” you start.
He looks at you with lazy expectancy.
“So that was uh, my Bro. My custodi-lusus or whatever you want to call him. And that,” you say with a sigh, “was one of the worst strifes with him. Not like, the worst, but it sucked as many balls ‘s you could find in a Chuck E. Cheese tetanus pit. That’s like a demonic pizza joint human kids go to on their wriggling day.”
He blinks slowly, his way of purging your bullshit from his brain. Seconds later he’s all earnest concern, and you’re too tired to be unnerved. “Was it... always like that?”
“Nah,” you say, a little too quickly. “Like, we’d strife enough to teach me bladekind, and other times he wasn’t even there, y’know? Didn’t always say when he’d be back, so you had to be prepared for either scenario.” You shut your mouth because you can feel yourself starting to talk too much, and your cool persona’s getting absolutely decimated as it is. “Most of the time it wasn’t so bad, though.”
You think about dumb shit like your mixing set-up, your turntables, even your computer. In a dumbass way, even the swords had some value, maybe not as much as a fridge that wasn’t fucking booby-trapped, but maybe it was... something? You feel yourself about to shake again, so you turn and lie face down, head under the pillow.
...And Karkat yanks it right off your head.
“Stay with me,” he says, gentle, yet stern like he’s certified in handling basket cases like you. “Don’t talk if you feel like you can’t, but stay with me, ok?”
“Fine, but can this not just be about me?” you ask. “And look, I fucking swear I’m not trying to deflect, I hells of broke down back there and every single coolkid token is flushed down an endless tunnel of toilet-gapers.” When he doesn’t take the bait from your awful troll-slang, you sigh and continue. “That dude you were screaming at. That was Eri-Douche, right?”
That name gets a snort out of him and you take it as a victory. “Yeah,” Karkat says. “Out of all the versions of Ampora I could run into, he happened to be the one... ugh!” He fists at your covers. “You know what the sick part is? He’s already dead. Kanaya saw to it, like she was made for it. She can avenge her own death, so what does she need me for? And I can’t do it for me because...” He turns restlessly onto his back, worrying his lip with his teeth. He spares a glance at you. “You know what’s fucked up?”
“Besides literally everything about the past twelve hours? Past year? Past four hundred and some-all billion years?”
“Fuck you,” he says without malice. “Part of me misses him. Like how fucked up is that!? I miss the guy who killed and blinded people actually worth missing!” He sighs loudly. “Sollux was... we were friends. Good friends, or at least I thought so. And I wasn’t even super close with Feferi, but, she was cool, y’know? She had all of these big plans about what she was going to do when she challenged the Condesce, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder what if. Like if I’m honest, she was too soft, at least to take over after like what, a thousand sweeps of oppression?” He scoffs. “And fuck, I wanted to be part of the problem as a fucking threshecutioner, so how would that have worked?”
“Those are one of the murder squads, right? Like the one Troll Will Smith was part of?”
“Portrayed for a sitcom, but yes,” he says like a fucking pedant. “Flaysquads conquered the most systems out of any other branch. And not because of numbers. They were smart, strategic, and completely brutal. I...” he snorts humorlessly, “I used to think, if I trained hard enough, like really got strong, then they’d take me in like some Dickensian wiggler, and I’d ‘prove’ myself in the name of Alternian glory.”
“Dickensian wiggler,” you say incredulously. “Amazing, I think I just found my new MC name.”
“Take it up with Lalonde, she chose the books this month. Perigee, shit.”
This fucking nerd. You smile despite yourself.
“But yeah, all that training was kind of useless. Great for the game! Killing imps for grist was child’s play, but actually being part of a flaysquad? Even assuming I’d get by the medical exams, or manage to not draw blood as soon as I touch ground? And Jegus, not to mention I couldn’t fucking stop my team from murdering each other!”
“Whoa, chill with that,” you interrupt. “I can’t have you sitting here flagellating yourself over shit some douche in a scarf did on his own volition. Fuck him and whatever fish pun he rode in on.”
He rolls his eyes, a facial quirk you might name ‘you’re right, but I’d rather eat my own hair than admit it.’ With a sigh he says, “He rode a seahorse.”
“Well, there you go.” You reach across and nudge at his cheek. It feels right enough that you think maybe it’s not that gay, and maybe comforting touch is something you’ll have to man up and get used to. He turns back over, looking dead at you with this sleepy intensity. And between how he’s looking, and how you’re feeling, and how this shouty asshole maybe-maybe not’ve saved you from a Mobius Double Beatdown, you say what comes to mind with only a nanosecond of filter.
“I think I get the moirail thing now.”
Karkat arches a brow, a hint of a smirk peeking through like a groundhog before spring.
“Oh? After how many hours of explanations– fuck, don’t even answer that. Why would I ask a talking fucking clock?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you say, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “I’m sitting here about to pour my heart out like it’s salt on an icy fucking road, getting my yellow raincoat on and everything, but you’re sitting here shitting on my Quadrant Deficit Disorder. Shit’s real, man.”
He rolls his eyes as he leans into your touch, and dammit, it still feels right. You don’t feel any time threads, so either you’re on the right track or paradox space doesn’t give a damn, and man, having this moment under the radar, something for just you and this asshole troll... that feels worth it.
“I wanna be your moirail,” you blurt out. “We’re... we’re kind of already, but. Let’s make it a thing.”
He blinks, looking at you with wide eyes. “You’re serious,” he says after three and a half seconds.
“As a blood-pusher malfunction.” You skootch in closer. “I want to at least try, y’know? Tap out if it gets weird, but say we tried.”
“With me.”
“No, dipshit, I wanna be troll besties with the fucking juggalo.”
“OK, OK!” He chews on his lip and you wonder if being moirails means you’re allowed to find that adorable. Finally, he nods, as solemn as a church mouse. “Ok. Er, yes, I mean. Let’s do it.”
You grin for the first time in hours. “We’re doing it, man?”
“Yes, dammit.” He closes the distances and wraps you in an awkward side-hug. “We’re making it fucking happen.”
Notes:
Houston has a distinct look, feel, and smell after a winter rain.
Chapter 15: Karkat: Proceed to Castle
Chapter Text
The air between you and Dave feels different, like it's Twelfth Perigee’s Eve and Earth-human Christmas rolled into one. A weight that once threatened to annihilate you from the shoulders down disappeared, because surprise! You don’t have to bury your feelings under a mountain of frustration with a guy you've come to care about. He finally ‘gets’ moirallegiance, and more than that, he has those same feelings.
About you!
You feel giddy, damn near manic, and only let yourself think the worst for a split second before remembering that you have. A motherfucking. Moirail! Someone you can jam with about those very insecurities, and you can listen to him talk about his. You're beside yourself; you weren't kidding when you said you didn't know what moirails did, but dammit, you've read novels, you've watched movies, this is your domain! You will master this.
As the days stretch on, you take queues from anything and everything that works. You were already friends, so you build from that foundation of idiotic jokes, useless debates, and general shit-giving. Dave still insists brorail is a better word, and you know what, you let him have it. You're still bros, but... you're suddenly more than just ‘bros,’ and you both know it in this giggly sappy mindfuck sort of way. Besides, his dumbass ‘brorail’ term grew on you, like the worst moss on the shittiest tree, so going with it feels nice in its own fucked up way. Like it’s yours and his, this private joke that no one has to be in on. He’s obviously still an annoying shitstain, and you’re... you’re admittedly a little crabby. But you know what? The two of you work, and it feels right and good like you’ve never felt before.
The new development reminds you of Nepeta, particularly her relationship with Equius. They weren’t alike on the surface, but if you peered closer, you could see how the contrasts complimented, and how the similarities shown brighter for it. They loved being strong in their own ways, and it makes you wonder if you and Dave have quirks like that in common. Quirks besides giving each other gift-wrapped packages of shit on the regular. Or arguing over Can Town, or debating each other’s shitty movies and even shittier tropes.
You miss her, and you wish she – well, everyone – was still here. You used to talk shop with her about quadrants until you had to steer further away from awkward redrom debates. You remember she had solid opinions about moirallegiance, even though she herself was diamonded up with the worst possible guy on Alternia. But if she could be moirails with a sweaty douche with enough fetishes to populate all of Grubhub, you can definitely deal with Dave and his much more relatable issues. At least you both know a thing or two about trauma, shitty planets, and crippling self-doubt.
Regardless, the one, absolutely critical thing you’ve learned from your extensive cultural analysis of troll and human romance is ‘have a sense of independence, for fuck’s sake.’ It’s... not a lesson movies and books want you to learn. More like one you learned in spite of them. Too many relationships crash and burn because the pairing gets too clingy! They all get wrapped up in their own waste chutes, never allowing any kind of outside perspective. You won’t let that happen to you. You figure this is your chance to put the lesson in practice, no matter the quadrant.
Which is why you’re in the common room five minutes early with your alchemized copy of Pride and Prejudice, waiting on your fellow Rainbow Asshole Book Club members. You’re not surprised it became a thing, since certain bilking spider hags paradoxically spoiled that outcome. But you are surprised at who still shows up, fully invested in the club. You can typically count on Kanaya; if there’s anyone as captivated by romance and intrigue as you, it’s her, and you’ve grown to value her opinions on literature. Rose used to be your other staple, being the only human with an interest in reading something longer than a grubflakes box. She makes good recommendations but when she bothers to show up, she derails with absurd tangents about metanarratives or speaks of truly bizarre cultural norms on Earth. Still, her analysis comes from a wildly different – yet respectable – point of view.
You didn’t expect Vriska to be so... into it. You figured her barging into the memo was just to goad you with her annoying cutesy bullshit. But to your surprise and confusion, she reads. And debates. And has terrible, thought-provoking, terrible, dumb ideas. The one thing about Vriska you’ll give her credit for is her open-mindedness. You didn’t expect the murderer to have a single suitable thought – any thought – about literature, but when you squint your eyes real hard, or dunk your entire head into a load gaper and flush repeatedly, it almost approximates something respectable coming out of her mouth.
And while she never says as much, sometimes when you all discuss a book, you’d swear she’s either ashen for Rose and Kanaya or borderline pitch for you. Which. Haha! Not in a million sweeps, thanks, but no thanks. When you think about people who challenge you, you have enough on your plate with past and future yous, present-you not sabotaging your bond with Dave, and frankly, Dave himself.
...Challenge platonically, of course.
So when you see the spider harpy come in, infuriatingly punctual, you allow the tiniest part of yourself some satisfaction. Not because of her! But because it means that you can discuss this book, and you have a lot of opinions to shove down Lalonde’s protein chute as well. A minute later, you see Terezi come in, which surprises you, followed by Kanaya, which doesn’t surprise you. As the other trolls settle in, you glance back at the transportalizer.
“No Rose?” you ask Kanaya.
“She stated that she was sick, but she assured me it was a temporary thing,” she replies.
“Temporary?” Vriska asks, flipping her hair. “That the same ‘sickness’ that had her missing our last strategy meeting? What’s she sick from now? What’s her deal?”
“Her deal is that she’s sick, though she’s either unaware of or will not state the cause,” Kanaya says tersely. “I don’t know if you can really have a deal other than that, but stranger things have happened.”
“Bluuuuuuh,” Terezi interjects. “She was the one who picked this book, right? Shouldn’t she be here?”
“Well,” you say, toeing the floor. “I did actually, based on her available selection. Wait so you read it?”
“No, dummy! Vriska did. I got the audio version.” She raps Vriska with her cane.
“Huh. Guess it should have been obvious it was one of your picks,” Vriska says. “There were more quadrangles to keep up with than the whole Beforus group, and half of them weren’t even fleshed out!”
“I know, right?” you say before your think pan catches up. “And the other half barely made sense! Honestly, for a human book, it almost holds up to Alternian standards.”
“I didn’t get it. Why were the human women so adamant about pairing off with just those men?” Terezi asks. “I guess the wealth thing makes sense, but why couldn’t the women own property?”
You were curious about that part yourself. “See, this is why we needed Rose here,” you grumble. “I have a feeling it’s more human bullshit, and she’s the only one that can approximate a straight answer.”
“What about Dave?” Terezi asks, waggling her brows at you.
“She’s the only one that can give a straight answer,” you deadpan.
“Ugh, this is so fruuuuuuuustrating,” Vriska whines. “Kanaya, can’t you talk to her or something? Isn’t she like your moirail now? Or is it redder than that?”
“Neither,” Kanaya says with a frown. “And overstating my relationship doesn’t put me in a mood to intervene. Or discuss it further.”
“Fussyfangs, I know you, and you’ve still got that meddling spirit. If you won’t do it for her, do it for the integrity of the Rainbow Rumpus Book Club.” She flashes a condescending smile.
“Can we for once, pretend we’re not a bunch of tawdry, gossip-starved busybodies? Is that remotely possible? Let’s just discuss it without her and if she graces us with her presence we’ll ask about the human shit then.” You turn to a bookmarked chapter. “So let’s talk about this Darcy asshole. Why the fuck–”
“Sup, guys. We got another big ass bubble coming our way. Y’all got about six minutes to finish up whatever boring shit we all do that no one gives a damn about. Don’t get caught in the shower ‘cause we all know that shit sucks. Peace out.”
You groan. “Ok, fine. Since literal paradox space can’t wait, let’s table for now, pick up where we left off, same time next week. Sound fair?” As you watch everyone nod in agreement, you turn to Kanaya. “Look, given the source, I get it, but, dream bubbles can get weird. Can you check on Rose, make sure she’s safe?”
“Honestly, you too? That’s not our relationship dynamic and–”
“No, I don’t mean like that, jegus,” you say. “I mean... the dream bubbles are a little crazy, and if she really is sick then somebody ought to look out for her.”
“Is something happening? They’re still just dreams, right?” Kanaya asks.
You don’t mention Dave’s freak-out, or his human ‘lusus’ Bro, because that shit is no one’s business. “Just trust me on it. Not all memories are benign. Not any of ours, and definitely not anyone who’s played the game.”
She frowns and nods, patting your shoulder before gliding back to the transportalizers. Leaving you with Vriska and Terezi, both grinning like madcap lunatics.
“Well...” you start. “I uh, I’m gonna head up to the roof–”
“Not so fast!” Terezi says brightly. “You’re sticking with the Scourge Sisters and we’re going on an adventure!”
“Unless you don’t want to hang out with a couple of amazing laaaaaaaadies,” Vriska adds.
To your credit, you don’t groan or demand to know why the shithive duo want anything to do with you. But you do roll your eyes because seriously, you don’t have time for this. “Has it ever occurred to either of you that maybe I have other things to do than play pretend in a neurological nightmare?”
“We were literally going to spend several hours talking about some weird human book, Karkles.”
She got you there. “Fine. Are you two still trying to hunt down all our alternate-selves?”
“We never stopped. But every bubble is an opportunity to find out more.” Terezi bumps you with her cane, just enough to not be gentle. “Maybe you can help, but honestly we’re making it up as we go.”
“We interrogated the dancestors, who apparently ran into – or will run into? – our alternate selves. And I have reason to believe someone already found some kind of end game weapon, and maybe even used it already!”
“Used what, already?” you ask.
“Not sure yet!” Vriska says. “But this weapon sounds like treasure, and that’s all there is to say on the matter. Now brace yourself!”
All at once you feel a thin, filmy layer of something wash over you, like rain without water, or warmth with no sopor slime. You watch as the common room shifts; grass springs forth from the grey tile, almost shaking itself out from the ground, and the walls fade away revealing open plains. The sky above you becomes a cheerful blue, and a checkerboard pathway forms, leading to a pure white castle.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Mindfang?” Terezi asks.
“You know it, Redglare. Let’s storm! That! Castle!” Vriska races down the pathway before you can react.
“C’mon!” Terezi shouts, grabbing your wrist. You have to regain your footing to catch up, but soon you’re all sprinting towards the entrance.
“What’s the fucking rush!?”
“These bubbles don’t last forever,” Vriska calls back. “So we gotta mine these guys for all the intel, treasure, you name it before it disappears. And trying to find the same one is damn near impossible! Even with my awesome luck!”
“Luck’s not a thing!” Terezi says with a laugh.
“Not out here at least,” Vriska agrees.
Huh. Interesting. You find yourself observing Terezi and Vriska a little closer. They're nothing like you and Dave but the similarities, especially now, are right there. Between that exchange and the way Vriska looks back, slowing her steps for Terezi to catch up, it’s so obvious now! And sure, Vriska is still a murderous piece of shit, but... they both seem better for it. Like they’re lifting the same weight for each other the way you and Dave have over the wipes.
Good. For. Them.
The castle reminds you of the ones peppered across your session’s Battlefield. They served as regrouping locations just before you fought the Black King, but you never explored them beyond strategic advantage. You assumed no one else did either. Were the dream bubbles a way to make up for that? Should you have taken your time from the start?
You stifle a sigh. Of course not; this is the Alpha timeline, so everything was supposed to happen the way it did. Though why you’re still alive in the thick of the Alpha is still beyond you.
“Here’s something interesting,” Vriska says, looking at a tapestry. “‘Though our four Nobles wait in eternal slumber, they shall remain hopeful even through the void. So long as they stay true to their heart, the four prophesied heroes will bring new life to our world.’”
“Nobles,” you say in wonder.
“Hmm,” Terezi says, sniffing over the tapestry. “Those must be the other humans. And... Hope, Void, Heart, and Life! Those must be their aspects!”
“You got that from that?” you say, gesturing at the vague words. “I mean, I guess it makes sense, but... I wonder why they’re called Nobles.”
“Those are the aspects left we don’t have anymore,” Vriska says quietly. Her eyes are hard for a split second before she turns back to Terezi. She grins, though it’s a little forced. “They’re gonna be God Tiers by the time we get there!”
“Really?”
“Yeah! That ‘eternal slumber’ line? They found their quest beds. Or... will find. Whatever, the point is all the humans will be God Tiers! It really makes me wonder how they managed to fuck everything up in the other timeline.”
“Maybe being God Tier isn’t everything,” you mutter.
“You’re right, it’s not. You can certainly be a badass without it,” she replies, glancing fondly at Terezi. “But it certainly helps.”
“But how did everyone mess up?” Terezi asks. “Was everyone in that timeline so unprepared after three years? Why did they fail?” She says, quieter, “What did I do?”
“That Terezi was badass enough to leave the timeline to you,” Vriska says. “And that’s all you need to worry about.”
Another groan almost escapes your mouth. The complete annihilation of self-awareness is kind of endearing when it takes the form of blatant pale overtures, but even you have a limit on how much cheesiness you can take. “Don’t we have the rest of the castle to explore?”
Terezi’s face brightens at that. “That’s the spirit, Karkles! Lead the way!”
==>
Exploring castles with the Scourge Sisters wasn’t your plan; neither was the dream bubble, but you’re surprised at how borderline pleasant ‘adventuring’ is. As you traverse the corridors of yet another fucking tower, hand idly skimming past masonry walls, a tiny, ridiculous part of you feels like a knight. Brave and dutiful, leading your allies towards a common goal for the greater good. The fantasy feels nice, if not a bit silly. Part of you always did like being a Knight.
You find a few rooms with assorted junk stuffed in chests: dream versions of weapons, several Dersite tabloids, and boondollars that, even if tangible, are at best paperweights. You come across more books, which Vriska snatches up for research, tapestries lamenting the new session’ inevitable failure, and tablets announcing the arrival of heroes to bring about the new Universe. Which... bothers you.
“This is going to sound stupid,” you start. “But have you noticed these prophecies only mention the humans?”
“You’re right, that does sound stupid,” Vriska says. “Jade’s the one bringing all the human planets and the battlefield, it’s a human session they scratched, and it’ll be a human session we’ll invade. Of course the prophecy is going to talk about them. We’re kind of winging it by being here!”
“Are we, though?” You point at a stone engraving. “What about this? ‘Here we stand in vigilance, waiting for the arrival of the fated Nobles. And they too must wait for the divine heroes, the Heir, the Seer, the Knight, and the Witch. And though we shall never hear His Glorious Croak, our beloved heroes will bring about His return.’ That’s not exactly hopeful!”
“Why not!?” Vriska shouts. “It’s says right there we’re gonna be fine, right down to the damn frog!”
“Vriska...” Terezi starts.
“No! It doesn’t! We know exactly who the Knight and Seer are because we’ve been living with them for damn near the past half-sweep! If Skaia, even in these shitty dream bubbles knows of their arrival, then why doesn’t it say anything about us!?” You round on her. “We fucking created them! You don’t think we’d get at least a mention in all this!?”
“Even if we didn’t, what’s your point!? I already said we’re winging it, and we’re not even close to dead yet!”
“Vriska!”
“What!?” She turns to Terezi.
“Karkat has a point.” She raps on the carving, nearly missing the mark. “Even if we do everything we need to in the new session, we don’t know what’ll happen to us afterwards. We’re not doing things the ‘right way,’ but paradox space always seemed to account for that. But now we’re not even following those rules anymore.”
“Is this about John, again?” Vriska says, annoyed. “Because that’s all the more reason we shouldn’t worry! There ain’t a scenario out there where we don’t get a chance to start fresh, and if it takes a thousand more resets and a thousand more ghosts, we will survive! Because fuck paradox space, fuck futility, and fuck that loser attitude that says we can’t win!”
She turns to you and pokes you hard in the shoulder. “And you better believe we’re dragging your sorry ass in with us, ‘brave leader.’”
You want to be angry. You want to let her have it, but. You hate you agree with her. Loathe it to your core. You despise the condescendingly ‘helpful’ ways she tosses ‘leader’ at you, and the fact you can tell she means it – her batshit idea of respect – makes you despise her even more. Because despite how underhanded she is, she’s nothing if not transparent, and it doesn’t take a Hero of Light to see that.
But if she wants a leader, hell, if she wants to play at being leader, then fine. You’ll schoolfeed her on what a leader is about, and right now it means what she’ll least expect. Because fuck her and the dead kids she rode in on.
“You’re right,” you hear yourself say, fully satisfied in her surprised expression. “We will find a way, and when we do, you’ll be the first one I invite to say ‘I told you so.’”
To her credit, she recovers quickly. “Damn straight,” she says with a toothy grin. “Now, c’mon. we’ve got a castle to ransack.”
==>
CG: THEN THE REST OF THE BUBBLE WAS PRETTY UNEVENTFUL AFTER THAT. WE MANAGED TO CAPTCHALOGUE A FEW BOOKS, TALKED TO SOME DANCESTORS, BUT THAT'S ABOUT IT.
CG: WHICH HONESTLY? TEREZI CAN HAVE THAT TASK. I DON'T KNOW HOW SHE CAN STAND TALKING TO THAT GNASHING BAND OF DIPSHIT DOPPELGANGERS.
TG: srsly
CG: BUT I DON'T KNOW. THE CONVERSATION WENT THE WAY IT DID, BUT I CAN'T STAND HOW FLIPPANT SHE IS! IT'S NOT REALLY ABOUT HOW SHE'S MAKING ALL THESE PLANS, EITHER. JUST, WHAT IF THEY DON'T MATTER?
TG: i dunno man i think vriskas right
CG: WELP, DOOMED TIMELINE IT IS. GREAT KNOWING YOU, DAVE. SEE YOU IN THE BUBBLES!
TG: hear me out
TG: ok so she had a point about john and his bullshit powers
TG: and we all have our crazy powers too
TG: so worst case i rewind if some bullshit happens or john uses his retcon windy thing
CG: ...
CG: OK, FINE
CG: BUT
CG: WHAT IF WE'RE NOT ALLOWED IN?
TG: what do you mean
CG: I MEAN
CG: WHAT IF YOU, JOHN, ROSE, AND JADE ALL GET TO GO THROUGH THAT DOOR
CG: AND WE CAN'T FOLLOW?
TG: says who
TG: youre coming with karkat no matter what
TG: you
TG: the mayor
TG: everyone
TG: not gonna just abandon you like some roasted hotdog left on the grill for too long
CG: OH.
CG: <>
TG: holy shit
TG: damn man didnt think hot dogs were the magic word
CG: GODDAMMIT, NO IT WASN'T.
TG: nah man karkizzles got diamonds in his eyes
TG: cause im manning the grill taking fate by surprise
TG: and paradox space cant calculate the duplicities were rocking for whats at stake
CG: OH MY GOD.
TG: those steaks are grilling to utmost perfection
TG: get your thermometer if you wanna inspect son
TG: cause the meat is sizzling hot like my flow
TG: and the flow says i agree with the scorpio
TG: if the aristocrat with too much chitchat can face the facts then you know what karkat
CG: ...
TG: dude youre supposed to say what
TG: youre breaking up the flow
CG: ?????
CG: WAS THAT A QUESTION?
TG: yeah kinda
CG: OK, WHAT?
TG: maybe fate is bullshit
TG: it takes away the feeling youre doing something because you want to instead of because youre supposed to
TG: and thats cool and all for a thief of light since shes all about burglarizing luck
TG: but i wanna think
TG: if we make it through
TG: or if we break the game even more than it already is
TG: itll be because i chose to
TG: and uh youre part of that so
TG: <>
CG: <>
TG: so
TG: yeah
TG: diamonds up in this bitch
TG: better get the loupe out and check out these wares
CG: STOP TYPING, YOU INSUFFERABLE TOOL.
TG: yeah probably for the best ngl
CG: WHAT ARE YOU UP TO RIGHT NOW?
TG: drawing dicks to drown out all the cheesy shit i just said up there
CG: MUST BE A LOT OF DICKS.
TG: you know it
CG: OK. HEADING YOUR WAY.
TG: awesome
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
Notes:
Terezi just genuinely wants to hang out with everyone, and adventuring, larping, and book clubs are as good a time as any.
Chapter 16: Dave: Play Some Hauntingly Sick Beats
Summary:
Thanks for sticking with me, gang. Computer was in the shop for three weeks longer than I wanted. Follow Jade's advice; five is a good number of computers to keep around.
Chapter Text
There's this really cool dude, OK? He's sitting in the common room like a useless douche being all chill, like cool dudes are known to do sometimes. Catching up on all the malarkey is one of the many past times this cool dude indulges in, mostly to keep from flogging himself raw out of boredom.
OK, you’re not that bored, but you are pretty uninspired. You’ve been staring at the same blank page labeled ‘Raps’ for over twenty minutes, trying real hard not to correct yourself and say twenty-seven minutes and thirty-one seconds, or think about how you’ve been riding a fucking chunk of rock for eleven months, twelve days, and fourteen hours. Whoops, make that ‘tried and failed.’
As for that malarkey mentioned, you’re equally not enthused. To say the common room is a mess is denying your Skaia-born right to elaborate in the most roundabout way possible. Any counter space not stacked with books are covered with bottles of varying shapes, with even more scattered on the tables. At two yards away, it smells like a distillery traveled from the 1920’s and made its way to the meteor. You have no idea if she’s going full Gastby, but your ecto-sis Daisy was laying it on pretty fucking thick with the bathtub gin. You’re a little annoyed you know even a modicum of references about that book, but deep-diving for choice memes is hard and no one understands.
You’re getting off-track, though. Point is, you don’t like where she’s headed, and you’re definitely not sure why someone who ranted about her mom’s drunk escapades would suddenly start brewing up hooch like the entire concept of drinking is going out of style. She’s hitting the bottle harder this month – more than her usual ‘just a sip’ excuses – and none of your pointed glances or comments have helped. Hell, at this point she’s not even fooling the trolls anymore. You’ve heard Terezi complain about dealing with Gamzee and loudly wondering if she’s gonna have to deal with ‘her too.’ Even still, it’s not like Rose to be this sloppy, and if you weren’t such a cool, useless douche, you’d get pretty riled up.
Too bad she’s not actually in the common room or you’d do something about it. And maybe the chance to do something about it is the real reason why you’re in the common room. Like she could walk in and you can spring a mind trap of your own, maybe tell her this shit isn’t cool. Instead of, you know, messaging her and being all upfront with an intervention like a well-adjusted person. Because that is unheard of.
You stare at your page again.
Alright, so maybe you won’t get any real raps done. You’re right under the thirdsies mark on your journey, so you have time to get doused with the mad inspirations. Plenty of time to spin some jams, yell at your sister, chill with your bro, and maybe not get hung up on shit Dead Dog Dream Jade said.
And fuck, you’re still thinking about that.
The transportalizer crackles and you ready your best poker face, getting your shit in gear to confront Rose, but nope, it’s just Karkat. He looks like Kanaya got ahold of him; instead of wearing dumb sweater #435, he’s wearing a shirt that fits for once with grey jeans to match. He doesn’t look happy about it, but Karkat looking happy is like finding a unicorn in the wild. Though it must be unicorn season because his scowl falters on seeing you, and he cuts a path straight to the couch.
Of course, instead of sitting like a normal dude with any damn sense, Karkatastrophic here manages to pratfall on the couch in the most ass-backwards, Vaudevillian way possible, feet dangling over the back and head where his feet should be. He glares at you, practically begging you to make a comment, then uncaptchalogues a book.
You decide not to say anything, but you arch your brow all judgey-like anyway. Somewhere in the meteor, Terezi smells justice being served.
Raps. Time to get serious. You put in an earbud and scroll through a list of tracks. Once you find one, you decide to just write, and keep writing even if none of the shit makes sense. After about a paragraph of rambling nonsense, you give up and draw out what you’re thinking; Lord English, Dog Jade, empty booze bottles, and pissed off trolls. It passes the time enough that you zone out a little, so you don’t hear Karkat’s question the first time.
“Sorry, what?” You look down to him staring up at you.
“Your dick drawings,” he says, blinking slowly. “Obviously your skills are horrendous, but is it safe to say that’s sort of what they look like?”
Uh.
“Hang on.” You stare at him, watching his face get more impatient. “Are you asking me what dicks look like?”
He swats at the inside of his book. “That or this passage makes no fucking sense. You know what, nevermind.” He turns back to the offending text, frowning in concentration.
Oh. Oh hell no. You suddenly know jack shit. On impulse, you decide to bite the bullet.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
TG: apparently im the only authority on dicks for the next year and a half
TG: seeings how youre a lesbian vampire lover and john isnt here to spread the gospel
TG: please advise
TT: Whyz it always gotta be about dicks,, Dove?
TT: Dave*
TT: Fraud e would be sooo proud of you, shower horning all these dicks in your convernsation.,
TG: goddammit
TG: youre off somewhere hammersmashed
TG: while I got this literal crisis on my hands
TT: Is that allll you got on your hands? ;)
-- turntechGodhead [TG] blocked tentacleTherapist [TT] --
Cool, so fuck any chance of getting helpful advice from her. You glance down at Karkat, still sprawled upside-down and scribbling notes in the margins like the nerd he is. The book doesn’t have the usual buff troll dudes or paragraph-long title, so you suspect it’s one of Rose’s books. Which explains his question and your impulse to drink bleach over having any insight in what Rose reads. Either way, he’s nose-deep in his multicultural research for the betterment of trollkind.
At least, you think that’s why he’s so into reading human shit these days. Man, can you even imagine what a new universe would be like with Karkat at the wheel? Schooling the masses like the most slavishly embittered messiah, with two stone tablets in each hand labeled Blackrom and Redrom. You can just see his ass parting oceans via screaming Vantrums, ushering in a new era of people still fucking up romance because human nature’s a bitch. You want to be there with him as an apostle-wingman hybrid, whatever the fuck that job entails. The dude in the corner, feeding him water and rubbing his shoulders before he gets back in the fight.
You clear your throat before that metaphor gets away from you. The sound startles Karkat enough to look up, half-chewed pencil in his mouth. It’s adorable to the point of cliché, and you can’t help but watch as his expression goes from starry-eyed wonder back to his default frown.
And man, that thought is still pretty gay! But you’re moirails, so fuck your brain.
“It’s like, the same basic shape, but obviously less cartoony.”
“What?”
“The dicks,” you say. “What the hell are you reading anyway?”
“I don’t even fucking know.” He sighs, righting himself up on the couch. His legs nearly graze your head. “Some time-travelling heroine gets stuck in an era where her gender is even more oppressed, but she falls into a flushed entanglement with one of the backwards locals, and into a kissmessitude with the ancestor of her maybe former matesprit. None of it makes sense, not even the time travel part. And I guess she’s trying not to make it a doomed timeline?”
“Ok, so. Why’d you ask me about dicks?”
“Because context, obviously,” he grumbles. “There’s enough dumbass references to ‘members’ in Lalonde’s trash library to fill up even the most mundane club. Member, member, member, like I filled out a goddamn application to be a card-carrying globe fondler! It took me three fucking weeks to realize it was just some flowery idiotic word for a human dick, and speaking of fucking flowers,” he breathes, “what the fuck is wrong with humans and their botanophiliac obsession with erogenous anatomy? I swear to murdering Christ if I read another ‘her flower blossomed for him,’ I’m gonna soar off the fucking handle like Pupa Pan himself!”
“Well ok, then,” you say. “Asked and goddamned answered. What about the time travel part, at least that sounds plausibly cool?”
“Plausibly. As in, whoever wrote this needs to take a page from Megido or you, because if anyone could break every expectation imaginable, it’s the Knight and Maid of Time.”
You don’t acknowledge the heat creeping up your neck. You met Aradia a couple of times in the bubbles, and she’s a lot cooler than her first impression of ‘chipper as fuck about dead kids.’ Later on you learned she’s way more chipper about being alive, and was dead for so long, death doesn’t mean the same thing to her. She was cool, and Karkat putting you in her ranks is unexpectedly awesome.
“Sounds like it gets the Vantas Seal of Awful, trademarked because we don’t want any Ghost-Kats or Past-Vantases horning in on your business.” You flop your head in his lap with a soft thud. “If it’s that awful, you definitely need to read it out loud. Voices and everything to get the true rage going.”
“Do I look like I’m fucking Vriska?”
You waggle your brows.
“UGH, fuck you, get the fuck off me!” He pokes you in the stomach until you squirm away. “No! She fucking reads to Terezi, you inane prick, get your head out of the wastechute! And anyway, read it your fucking self, I’m not your seeing-eye barkbeast. Like you need to hear more of me anyway.”
“Nope,” you say automatically. “Flagged for self-hate, that’s like a ten-yard penalty. You’re never gonna win the Lombardi championships with that attitude, my dude.” A much better train of thought occurs to you. “Oh hey, I was supposed to teach you how to scratch. Still up for that?”
He blinks, eyes huge and void of all the back-up rants he squirreled away. “Uh... sure. When, now?”
You shrug, glancing down at your page full of rambles and doodles. “Now’s as good a time as any, unless you want to vent out more flowery sex frustrations.”
“God, no.”
“You sure? Cause let me tell you about Venus flytraps.”
“No! It’s either a lie, or gross, or both, so let’s just do your music thing and talk about literally anything else!” He scans the common room. “I... guess we should clean this up.”
“No, fuck that,” you say with more venom than you expected. “Rose can clean up after herself when she sobers the hell up. I’m not cleaning up after her shit.”
“...You ok?”
You take another look at the room, still in a disarray and smelling pretty fucking rank. “Yeah man. Peachier than fucking cobbler over here. Let’s move over to another room, though.”
“Believe it or not, moirails are allowed to talk about shit that’s bothering them,” he replies, frowning at you. “It’s I don’t know, the entire fucking point of the quadrant?”
“And that’s a perfect segue into talking about shit if there was anything to talk about, but since you asked, here’s the Sparknotes edition. I’m annoyed it smells like the ghost of Al Capone started loitering around wanting to set the common room on fire Molotov-style. And since I didn’t put all this shit out here, I’m leaving it to my drunk ass sister to clean it.” You stand. “Now you wanna do this thing or not?”
He gives you a once-over, then rolls his eyes and smirks. “Fine.” You grin back, grabbing his hand to lift him off the couch, ignoring how warm his hand is in yours.
==>
You find a side room to set up your work station. It’s close to the common area, and has a look you can only describe as ‘abandoned project.’ Rugs are strewn across the floor, billowy curtains hang across the ceiling in classic Kanaya style, and a plain table with benches sit ready for you and crab boy to jam. It’s damn near perfect; no outside noise, no weird echo off the walls, and no rank ass alcohol stench.
You deploy your equipment, debating on keeping it simple or going all out and show off. Because let’s face it, dude’s gonna be in for a goddamn show either way, so you might as well not leave your adoring fans wanting. You decide to fuck it and keep it simple for lesson purposes. You’ve got like two more years to blow his mind.
You watch as Karkat busies himself with setting up the husktop. He’s better at that shit than you are because you swear his creepy Alternian technology breathes or something. He tried explaining how his stuff works, but by the time you got past trying to stab the damn thing, you realized he talked with the same trailing half-sentences as John whenever he talked about programming. Troll boy knows just enough to be dangerous, which in his case might mean blowing up a goddamn computer.
But since they’re semi-organic, the battery life is better than your laptop.
You have him test the volume and levels by getting him to play some tracks. You pretend not to watch as he skims through your songs, but you want to gauge his style. See what he gravitates towards, note any preferences, so you can work off it. Ok, and maybe you wanna see if he likes your shit. Instead of marveling at your genius though, he winds up skipping through songs with judicious speed, waiting at most forty-seven seconds before jumping to the end or moving on to the next. You know you shouldn’t comment or take it personal, but you can’t help but hope one lands.
“Aggressive,” he says, mumbling mostly to himself.
“What’s that?” you ask, plugging in the last wire.
“It’s,” he waves his hand. “There are certain... sounds that are extremely aggressive. Not just the weird pitch-lovers thing going on in half your raps, but the sound itself. I’m not sure how else to describe it, but if I...” He selects a song and messes with the scrub bar. He picks one you’re especially proud of and skips towards the end, the brat. “It’s, frenetic? Like it’s trying to be calm, but you’re still tense afterwards. It’s like I’m listening to stress, but I’m talking myself out of it. But it just fades off into this... I dunno, this tenseness. Like it doesn’t end.”
And... hm. First off, rap battles are not romantic and you clearly have your work cut out if he’s coming in with that assumption. Second... as he scrubs back and forth on your song, your skin pricks for no good reason. You totally weren’t thinking about stress or anxiety or any other psychosomatic bullshit when you made the damn song. You didn’t sign up to have your music analyzed. You’re pretty sure you signed up to teach troll boy here how to spin.
“I like it, though.”
Oh.
“You-you do?” you stammer. “I mean, yeah. My shit’s intense like a heatwave, don’t ever forget. Anyway.” You gesture at the spread, ignoring your dumbfuck bumbling. “I don’t think we’ll touch on all of this today, but I figure we can start with the basics.”
“Sure.” He looks over the equipment, touching everything as he identifies it. “These are your ‘turntables,’ obviously. It’s plugged into the husktop to record I guess? And this is the program to play everything back. Looks like you can cut and move things around.” He presses a button on your mixer, and a loud throbbing siren beat fills the room. He shuts it off looking scared out of his horns. “That... that makes godawful marinebeast sounds. Because why the fuck wouldn’t you want godawful marinebeast sounds.”
You stifle a grin. Alright, maybe you flew off the handle for a sec; this idea is so much better than you thought. DJ Karscratch, working his way around the turntables like a waiter at Café Del Caldo Beats, or... something. OK, Strider, calm your shit. Time for you to be the zen master at the top of the mountain, knighting your fellow knight into the round table of musical artistry.
After you go over all the equipment proper, you pick a pre-stickered starter album, explaining the concept of what scratching is and how it’s supposed to sound. Really half the explanation is trying to say that no, it’s not some kind of hate-fucking mating call like he says it sounds like. The other half is him maybe almost getting the concept. Whatever, it’s go time.
“So we’re going to start with the baby scratch,” you say.
“The wiggler one?” he asks derisively.
“Glad you’re saying wiggle, numbnuts, ‘cause that’s all there is to it.” You demonstrate, lightly touching the vinyl. “You wanna find a grip that works for you, but when you’re scratching, get a feel of the movement. You need to make sure you’ve got good mobility and no restrictions. It’s real basic, but it’s the baby scratch for a reason. Crawl before you walk.”
“Wriggle before you pupate,” he says, nodding. He watches, brows furrowed as you demonstrate and part of you really likes the jackass paying attention like this. He moves in to try, easily navigating your space. “So, like this.” His movements are jerky but adequate, and he gets some decent scratches in. “Still sounds weird.”
“No, you’re getting it,” you say, more encouragement than Bro ever gave. “Try to relax and get a lighter touch.” You reach behind him and reposition his hand. Right as you adjust his fingers he turns to you, eyes huge and determined. And you’re not sure what you’re thinking, or why everything’s warmer, but you talk through it anyway. “I usually use two fingers when I really get going, so maybe try that, see how it–”
The door slides open. You flash-step away from the troll because holy shit you were really up on him just now. Like way too Swayze and not enough... anything not a shitty reference from a dumb movie. Jegus Christ.
And of all people to show up, it’s fucking Rose ‘walking’ in, dressed to the nines. Like you’re talking Four of a Kind, Ace high, swagger-stumbling her way to the bench across you, glass in hand. You’re not sure how or why she alchemized heels, but between that, the booze, and her flapper-ass God Tier dress, you decide you were spot on about her going full Gatsby.
Ugh. She looks one car crash away from a rude awakening, and you guess some asshole drowning at the end? Fuck that book.
“Heyaa, Dave,” she slurs out, accent going haywire. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“Sup,” you say, voice as even as you can make it. “Looks like you’ve got an evening planned.”
Your skin pricks from Karkat watching you as he practices. Your sister, on the other hand, plops onto the bench, one-part prissy and one-part sloppy, unaware of reading the goddamn room. You were kind of busy here, and... hm. You don’t know why you’re this upset, but fuck if she doesn’t have shit timing.
“Do I?” She dusts at her bridesmaid dress. “This is just a... variashun of my usual getup. It’s really not any fanchiah than my normal attire.”
“Oh my fucking God.” Your fingers tap against the table. “Rose, what’s got you more hammered than John’s strife deck?”
“I’m not hammahed!” she exclaims. “I’m fiiiine. Just, did some alchememy expiaaraments, and came across some stuff that worked.”
“Dave,” Karkat says, voice low. “Are you feeling alright? If you want, we can–”
“Nah, we’re good.”
“Oh! Gosh,” Rose says with too much glee in her voice. “Was I interrupting? Dave,” her voice morphs into a stage whisper, “you can just kick me out if you need ta.”
And she fucking winks.
“Oh my fucking Christ, can you mind your own damn business?” you say.
“And what bisinus is that?” she asks, waggling her brows.
“Ugh, why are you so fucking plastered. Shit’s like a fucking circus up in here. Step right up, ladies and gents, we’ve got a fun-filled show for you tonight,” you say flatly. “Our opening act is the cool bro who couldn’t give a single flying fuck manning the trapeze. Watch this dumbass motherfucker soar.”
Rose giggles far too loudly and takes a swig. Damn how far gone is she?
“Next is DJ Karscratch, manning the turntables except whoops! He got interrupted by the human traffic cone.”
“Oh no!” she says with fake shock. “Not the human traffic cone!” Karkat stares at you with his mouth open.
“Leading us to our final act,” you grumble. “None other than Drunk Rose herself, getting tanked in the Drunk Rose District, looking like she’s fucking dressed for prom.”
“Oh my God we should have a prom!” Rose shouts. “What’s more stereotypically symbolic than a group of teenagers, saddled with unsurmomountable expectations cutting loose for one night of magic and whinsmy.” She sighs dramatically. “It’s the most blatant exemplification of youthful exuberance we could experience. We should have a prom.”
“Way to stick the landing, Lalonde,” Karkat says.
“Damn, Karcatty with the claws. Check it, I didn’t catch half of that on account of you slurring more than imperial drone buckets.”
Karkat hits your arm. “Dave, that’s disgusting.”
“But sure man,” you continue. “If you want a prom or whatever, fine. Does that mean me and Krabscratch can work on our set list, while you work on your sobriety?”
“I refuse to let you call me Krabscratch.”
“I ain’t calling you shit until you earn your scratching wings.” You press a button, dropping a simple loop at a steady tempo. “Scratch in time to the beat.”
“You guys are rally, rally adorkable.” Rose says. “Ish amazing.”
You rub your eyes under your shades. What would Sober Rose do? Sober Rose would switch up her mind game tactics, go around the back and sneak a needle in the jugular. You take another stab at it. “What’s got you wearing heels, you said you hated them.”
“I... I don’t hate ‘em I jus’ hated the idea that they were regarded as the ultimate symbol of femmenity. Wearin’ ‘em on my own terms is separate and asseptable.”
“Cool,” you say. You’re not buying that even if it was on sale at Target. “But they’re uncomfortable, right?”
“Takes some practice, but they’re pretty.”
“Who cares if they’re pretty? We’re living on Santa’s Gift for Lousy Kids, just an asshole’s coal chunk floating in space. Ain’t anyone new to impress.”
“You don’t just dress up to impress people,” she says. “Maybe it’s just fun. Right Karkat?”
Karkat stutters a scratch, tugs at the sleeve of his new shirt and mutters, “Yeah whatever. Leave me out of this.”
“See? You can dress differently and it not be a thing.”
“A thing. Alright, fair, but you would also dress up if there was a thing.” Jugular time. “So you and Kanaya have a date planned or something?”
“What?” And bingo, now she looks like the poster child of scandalized. “How’d would you figure it’sa date?”
Karkat snorts derisively, which is all the answer you need.
...And all you’re going to get, apparently. The door slides open again, and in walks none other than spidertroll. She’s grinning, but she’s got a twitch in her googly eye you’re really not into.
“Fucking Charge of the Light Brigade in here,” you say. “Karks, think we’re done for now. Raincheck?”
“Still doesn’t fucking rain, nimrod.”
“Heeeeeeeey, Rose,” Vriska says with false cheer. “How’re you doing there, buddy?”
“Serket,” Rose replies. “Doing great. We’re disgussing the finer points of fashion and prospects of a human prom. Truly it’s an illuminating multicultural experience.”
“While dames gab on with eyes that stare, this cool dude without a care, nabs his ‘TABLES’ over there, while the troll boy blundered,” you recite, ignoring Karkat’s scowl.
“Speaking of illuminating experiences, didn’t you have a thing planned? Like two hours ago?”
Oh, fuck.
Thing about Vriska is, when you get her riled up, her voice doesn’t go shrill like Rose or ‘Rezi, or overly shouty like Karkat. Instead it gets, for lack of better words, twangier. Like she’s the one responsible for all the godawful West Texas accents you heard growing up. The twang is familiar but not the good familiar, and crawls out of her mouth twisting around every word she says.
“Two... hours?” Rose asks, voice small. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, let that sink in. Better yet.” Vriska snatches Rose’s glass. “Let me break it down for you.”
She slams the glass on the ground, shards and liquid flying everywhere. As she stomps that shit like it’s on fire, you see glowing out of the corner of your eye. You barely register Vriska’s rant; all you see is the hurt look on Kanaya’s face, and Rose hunched over in shame. This ain’t a good scene. You turn to Karkat.
“I’m gonna,” you nod towards the door. “Meet later?”
“Sure,” he says, more quiet than you’d ever give him credit for. “I’ll handle...” He side-glances the other clusterfuck.
You stand, making a beeline towards Kanaya. “Sup, hot stuff. Looks like you and me have a date in the common room. Only, y’know, instead of candles and shit, we’ve got some trash cans to fill.” You look at her over the rim of your shades. “Trash or not, the scene is hells of better than what’s going down here.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” she replies, resigned. “Shall we?”
She takes your offered arm, and you shoot one last look at Karkat. “Don’t wait up, sweetie,” you call to him. You smile when he flips you off. Your smile falters when you see Rose stare.
“C’mon,” you say to the classy lady on your arm. “It’s gonna be ok.”
Notes:
Dave really wanted to teach Karkat crab scratches first, but it's hard to get right without a basic foundation.
Chapter 17: Karkat: Deal with Rose
Summary:
Everyone stay safe out there. <3
Chapter Text
“Someone had to say it. You all are lucky for having me around to do something about her.”
You stare at the mess of smelly liquid and crushed glass as you digest Vriska’s words. Lalonde retreated to her block, saying little for once. You tap your arms in a rhythmless pattern, hand still tingly from the music lesson. “I guess,” you finally say. “I just wish... there was another way to go about it? Even though it wasn’t like Dave fazed her.”
“Not surprising,” she says. “Someone had to tear into her, and I doubt he had it in him to get it done. Honestly this entire scenario is a shitshow! When she’s half-sloshed on her soporifics, she acts dumber than Gamzee! How’d she even drink this stuff? It smells terrible!”
You bristle at her tirade. Dave was... he was trying, ok? “I don’t know, Vriska. Look it’s been a delight as always, seriously just the biggest treat but I’m gonna go be anywhere else but here, alright?” You head towards the exit. “But thanks. I guess. For somehow making things better in the worst way possible.”
“Aww!” she squeals. “Karkat, that’s the least ungrateful thing you’ve ever said! Means a lot coming from you.”
She flashes you a fangy smile, and you roll your eyes hard. When you exit, you can hear the tinkling of glass, coupled with Dave’s mumbles and Kanaya’s occasional laugh. You weren’t expecting him to cheer her up or to even want to, but you know she needed it. From anyone else it would read as ashen or even pale, brazenly so since he’s already your moirail. But, he’s human. You know by now he doesn’t get the nuances quite right, but what he does get right feels bigger than you could have imagined.
The whole situation is tricky anyway. He was pissed at Rose, beyond their usual platonically caliginous rapport. Which, talk about an avalanche of shit you’ll never understand. If they were trolls, they’d simply be close hatefriends, but they’re human; every interaction with them defaults to conciliatory, Dave’s current actions included. Those two are combative by nature, but today he took it to new echelons.
You realize you’ve never really seen Dave get angry – at least not in the same way you show it. It’s all in how he doesn’t show it, hiding behind harsh jokes and a stoic persona. You wonder if Rose could see it. Or if she was too far gone to tell.
This is a fucking mess.
With a sigh, you walk past your transportalizer and decide to look for Rose in her block. As you walk, you hear the occasional shuffle in the vents and a stray honk. You shudder. To think, almost a half-sweep ago you... kind of had pale leanings towards him. Talk about dodging bullets. And fucking hell, now the honks are getting louder. You pull out your crabtop.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling arachnidsGrip [AG] --
CG: HEARD SOME HONKING JUST NOW.
AG: Gr8. What's his deal now????????
CG: AT THIS POINT, WHO CARES
CG: CAN YOU WORK YOUR MAGIC AND GET HIM TO STOP FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT?
CG: THANKS IN ADVANCE.
AG: I'm on it.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling arachnidsGrip [AG] --
You don’t know how she keeps Gamzee in check, but after the first few perigees of walking the hallways without fear, without your bellowsacs literally seizing up the moment you imagine a footstep or a honk, you do not give a solitary shit what she does. Besides, right now all you care about is salvaging relationships that aren’t already tossed down the incinerator.
The hallway leading towards Rose’s block is lavish with decorations and ornaments. Your hallway crosses paths with Dave’s and Terezi’s, both with all the design quality – for better or worse – of Can Town. Vriska’s hall connects with Equius’s old block, but she never bothered decorating outside of a few human movie posters. Rose’s section used to be Feferi’s, and despite them never meeting, they have bizarrely similar aesthetics. The billowy fabrics strewn across the ceiling give off a strange underwater vibe, and you can’t tell if the handiwork came from your dead friend, your undead friend, or your drunk friend.
And fuck... What are you even doing? Had you known Rose was actively sabotaging herself and hurting Kanaya in the process, you would’ve done something about it. But instead, you’re traipsing down here to do what, exactly? Yell at her on your friend’s behalf? Give the ‘if you hurt her I’ll kill you’ speech that’s so laughably believable coming from you? Vent your own anger for ruining a perfectly good day? You wonder if it should be you talking to Kanaya instead of Dave, but at the same time, he definitely should stay away from Rose for now. Maybe you can talk to Kanaya later, after you sort things out.
You reach Rose’s door and knock softer than usual. A sad, watery sound that could only mean crying stops on the other side, and moments later the door opens. And Jegus, what a pathetic scene. She stands before you, no longer in her elaborate dress, and not even in her God Tier pajamas, but in an oversized black Horror Terror shirt and lilac leggings, matched with curiously dark tears. You thought when humans cried, they had clear tears, but maybe Rose has different physiology?
You could fill an entire book on how weird humans are, but right now you can’t scrounge up a single shit to give. The coffers have long dried out, and the owners have fled the Empire.
“Hey, Karkat,” Rose says, voice wavering. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hey. Alright if I come in?”
She nods, and shuffles aside, ushering you with a clumsy arm movement. You can’t tell if she’s any less disoriented than several minutes ago, but she’s definitely more subdued. Once inside, she flops onto her respite platform and buries her head under a purple pillow. You take the seat at her desk and stifle a snort. She and Dave are so alike in some ways.
“You know there’s nothing under that pillow that will solve your problems.”
“Don’t be so quick to rule it out,” she says, muffled. “Besides, this is the traditional posture of the presently inebriated. Those under the influence must prepare for the Great Undoing, which takes the form of headaches, nausea, and light and sound sensitivity.”
“Light and sound sensitivity, huh? Sounds like Vriska was the worst thing for you,” you quip.
She laughs into her pillow, her body shaking into a half-sob. “Yeaaaah, she was. But her speech was... effective. This has gone on for far too long. I hate this... I fucked up.”
“True.” You don’t feel as angry as you should, which irks you. “I don’t know how badly, unless your Seer bullshit gave you some insight. No one died, so you have that going for you. But you dipped too far in the soporifics and stood up my friend. So honestly, who knows.”
“What if I fucked up for real?” she mumbles. “She prob’ly hates me now, and Dave... God I pissed off Dave, and he hates me. But it...! It had to be this way.” She flops over to her side, peering at you from under her pillow. “I hate it was so inevitable. That I’d fuck everything up because there was no other outcome.”
“So... you saw this coming?”
“Yeah.” She heaves a sigh and points at the air around her. “So you got the good timeline, and the bad line, and in both I get snookered. It was always s’posedta happen and... I didn’t fight it. I didn’t even want to, I jus... I needed it to play out. But in one, we went on our date anyway and I jus thought... y’know. Mebbe that was the good one. But it’s not. So this is the one where she hates me. Why’zat the good timeline?”
You roll your eyes. It’s not worth ripping into her for hurting your friend if she’s so distraught, but maybe that’s why no one called her out before. “She doesn’t hate you. Hell, she couldn’t if you fucking tried, but it sounds like you were trying pretty fucking hard. And,” you scoff, “you’re seriously telling me you drank because paradox space willed it to happen? You’re better than that, Lalonde.”
She groans, and you’re again reminded of Dave’s antics. Surely not all humans are this avoidant, right? “I didn’t jus drink ‘cause of par’dox space,” she says sulkily. “That’s just a convenient excuse because Seer powers.”
“Then you should’ve ‘seen’ it was a lame one.” You sigh. “Why did you really start?”
“You don’t care, so you don’t have to entertain yourself.”
“Well maybe I fucking do care, alright? So maybe shove the ‘woe is me shit’ shit back under the pillow and answer my question.”
“Fine, fine. Stop shouting. I guess... my mom. Kinda.”
“Kind of.”
“Yeah.” She peeks under the pillow again. “If I have to answer right now, I’d say maybe feel like she was still here. Or feel closer. Mebbe if she ironic’ly loved wizards, I could ironic’ly love booze. Sounds so stupid out loud.”
“It does.”
“I used’ta hate it,” she continues. “She’d stumble in at odd hours, sleep in weird places, an’ I’d wonder how c’n someone be that smart and still be an idiot?”
You wonder that yourself, but for once you don’t say anything.
“She was soooo smart, Kark’t. She worked in a lab an’ had all this equipment. She had this whole set of stuff to clone cats. But she was weird and awful sometimes. Had this whole hidden persona, and knew more than she let on. I used to think she hated... not me specifically, but the idea if it, of motherhood, but she probl’y saved my life.” She sniffles again, retreating back under the pillow. “Miss her.”
Your ganderbulbs sting at her confession. You often wondered if the virus you unleashed extended to the humans, besides giving their entire universe cancer. You miss your lusus, but you know you’re not special; everyone you know lost their custodian. Everyone in your session staved off the grief via convenient prototyping, a temporary respite from their ultimately permanent death. But as weird as you and the other trolls find the whole ‘human parent’ thing, losing your custodian is hard. And unfortunately for your companions, it’s hard and everyone understands.
“Look,” you say. You struggle to keep your voice even. “I don’t know if I can say the usual shitty, ‘I feel you, bro’ platitude because I don’t know how human custodians work. But Lalonde, we’ve all been there.” You peer under the pillow. “We’re all grieving and we’re all a shitty product of an even shittier game. God powers or not, we’re all in control of our own actions and our flowery fucking destiny. If that’s not good enough for the Alpha timeline, then paradox space can go fuck itself.”
“Ngh,” she groans. “Maybe it can. Mebbe it should.”
“Well,” you say. “My point is you’re not the only one dealing with stuff. So maybe you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
“Advice as cliché as it is endearing.”
“And take that damn pillow off your head, you look like Strider.” You rise and smoosh your hand in the pillow, and she flails her arm out to swat at you. Drunk humans, as it turns out, are easy to dodge.
“Fine. Go ‘way,” she whines. “I gotta nap this off and not be a failure.”
You take it as your cue to leave. “The only thing you failed at is explaining Pride and Prejudice. We moved to this week, by the way, so you better be there. Without the soporifics.”
“I will. But in summation: Darcy’s a dick.”
“He’s a blueblood, so of course he is. Later, Lalonde.”
==>
Dream bubble shifts are boring because you can’t read or watch a movie. It takes your eyes off the sky, which is the entire point of the shift. You wind up passing the time in more creative ways, each idea slightly less mind-numbing than the last. You practice your sicklework sometimes, or try to imagine constellations within the far-off bubbles. And though you’d never admit it to anyone, you very occasionally practice dancing. But! Only when no one is around, only in the middle of your shift, and only with one earpiece in just in case.
Other times, your shift bleeds into the other person on watch; you arrive early or the previous person stays late, all as an excuse to have contact. You and Dave have the most overlap, and you spend time talking about Earth, Alternia, and all the bullshit in between. Sometimes it’s Kanaya, and you discuss abstract, far-off things like the future, the new universe, and your love lives. And other times your lookout overlaps with Rose’s, and you talk about literature, culture, and... not about how sobriety looks better on her.
Tonight, your shift is set between Terezi’s and Dave’s. And honestly? You think you like these nights the most. If there was a point – and let’s face the facts, there was – where you couldn’t stand how much time Terezi spent with Dave, it’s gone now. You like her more like this, balanced and snarky, but your friend. A really attractive friend you made out with exactly once, and it’s embarrassing to give that ‘moment’ a second thought. And Dave, well. He loves fucking with her. You can tell when his tangents are hoofbeastshit, and you love popping that balloon by ruining the joke, just to hear him say ‘fuck, Karks, I almost had her there.’
The three of you are splayed out on the ground, your heads resting on an oversized pillow. Terezi’s wrapped in her dragon cloak while you’re wrapped in Dave’s cape, and after killing off one of Dave’s fecal-infested rants, he shifts and lifts his head.
“Alright, since Killjoy Karkat fact-checked me on Kool-Aide, I guess we gotta rap about something else.”
“Well,” Terezi says. “Before that, we were talking about differences between Earth and Alternia.”
“When don’t we talk about that?” you ask.
“Kinda with Karkat there, so let’s mix it up, lightning round-style.”
“Oh God,” you groan.
“Shut up. Let’s dooooo...” he draws out the word until you smack him. “Fuck, Marry, Kill, but with home planet shit. Usually celebrities are better targets, but apparently I can’t say Troll David Tennant and have y’all know who the fuck I’m talking about.”
“Because there’s no such person, coolkid! And what the heck is ‘Marry?’”
“Terezi, you know what human marrying is.” You elbow her in the side. “Rose explained it, remember?”
“Bluh, I remember, but that was marrying people. How do you marry stuff from a planet?”
“With a lot of moxie.” You elbow Dave in the side. “Ow, geez. Alright, in this case, the Fuck is shit you miss but can live without, Marry is shit you want to keep around forever, and Kill is shit you don’t miss or want.”
“That’s Kindred Quadrants,” Terezi says.
“Ooh yeah it is Kindred Quadrants!” You shake your head. “Fuck, I used to love that show.”
“Hahaha, it was soooo bad!” Terezi says. “Dave, please tell me Earth had trashy romance gameshows!”
“Fucking right, we did. Could fill a book block with the dumbass shows we had. But we’re getting off track.” He elbows you back. “So Fuck, Marry, Quadrants, then. Topic is home world shit. Crabby Scratch, you go first.”
You roll your eyes. “You can’t call me that until I get crab scratches right, douchewhiff. So Fuck... shit I miss. I guess the stars? I dunno, I still really miss them.”
“Such a romaaaantic,” Terezi teases. “Was that why you wanted to be a threshecutioner so badly? Travel the galaxy and see the stars?”
“No, c’mon,” you say, shrugging. “Wouldn’t’ve happened anyway.”
“Better chance of seeing them than me.”
“Yo ‘Rezi, is that a blind joke I smell?”
“Durr, yep, Terezi sure is blind.” She sighs. “I mean, that’s part of it, but even if I became a legislacerator, I’d be assigned to one planet to enforce, period. And that’s if I didn’t get culled. And sure, you could travel if the case depended on it, but it’s not the same as conquering planets.”
“And you couldn’t quit and be something else?” Dave asks.
“No? How’s that a thing? I mean, I guess if I didn’t want to be a legislacerator from the start I could do something similar, but you can’t quit the Empire. You’ll get culled!”
“Man, fuck the Empire.”
“Agreed,” you say. “Also, fuck the hemospectrum! Or Kill in this case, whatever. It’s no good for anyone, and if we win this...” you falter slightly, your thoughts hanging on ‘if.’ “If we win this, I-I want to start fresh. No more fucking hemospectrum, and no more fucking culling.”
“Done!” Terezi shouts. “New Empire with new rules.”
“Sounds legit,” Dave says. “So what’s your Marry?”
“Arts,” you say with no hesitation. “All of it. Books, movies, music, anything that makes up our culture. That’s the real foundation for society. Our new empire should embrace that.”
He turns and smiles at you, making your bloodpusher jittery. “Amen to that. ‘Rezi, what’s your Fuck, Marry, Kill?”
“Well my Marry is easy! I’m with Karkat, we should keep art alive. When you think about it, all of our fine art exchanges led to our first contact with the humans, which kick-started the events that led to everything that happened up to this point. We wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for that first moment, that spark in inspiration. What better way to pay homage to our shared existence than to raise artistic expression to the highest echelons of our society?”
“Hell fucking yes. In the new universe, we should totally build a big-ass museum dedicated to all our shitty memes.”
“We should build that now in Can Town,” you say. “You know that’s why the Mayor’s down there, right? He’s planning what the new society will look like. So if you want your museum of shitty memes and causal inspiration, take it up with him.”
“Shit, really?” Dave ask, leaning up on his elbows. “So he’s straight up laying out our future... huh. That’s adorable.”
“What are your other two?” you ask Terezi.
“I miss my treehive,” she says.
“Lame,” Dave says, flopping back down. “Can’t just pick your house, we were on a roll here.”
“Well I miss it anyway! And if you lived there instead of a hive stem like Sollux, you’d agree with me.”
“Apartment,” he corrects. “What do you miss about it?”
“A lot of things! The way the leaves sounded on a windy day, how it smelled really pink right after it rained, and all of the hootbird noises when it was time to wake up.”
“Y’all had owls on your planet, that’s cool. Knowing your bullshit planet, they were probably vicious assholes the size of eagles, snatching grubkids away in their sleep.” When neither of you correct him, he mutters, “Fucking trolls. That does make me miss the crows, though. You assholes would’ve gotten a kick out of crows ‘cause you call a flock of them a murder. The ones I used to chill with were pretty docile.”
“Until one became your sprite and gained deadly powers and a sword,” Terezi replies. “Do you miss Mr. Orange Creamsicle?”
“Nah.”
“Bluh, of course you don’t, coolkid.” She laughs. “He only, you know, saved your life and did half your quests for you. Whatever, I think for my Kill, it’s... the Alternian justice system.”
“Whoa what? That sound you heard were my pearls scattering after I clutched them too hard. I thought you were still hyper-spazzed about legislacerating and coy murder mischiefs.”
“It’s still fun! And maybe one day I’d still like to do that!” She squeezes her eyes shut. “The old methodology isn’t useful for serious cases. Looking back, there were a lot of scenarios where blameless people got culled because of sloppy reasoning or bad evidence. The justice system trained you to go after your target, no matter what. But they never bothered drilling in the importance of looking at the evidence critically. And if you fuck that up...”
She doesn’t say more, and she doesn’t need to. She still regrets almost killing Vriska, despite said moirail ‘not taking it personally.’ But maybe it’s worse than you thought if she’s willing to rethink the entire concept of rules and order. You wonder who Terezi is without her love of justice and courtblock drama. Was it a core part of her, or one of many interests that stopped being relevant the moment the universe died? Or maybe the love is still there, but she grew up a little.
“Does that mean you’ll stop dragging us into your murder mystery shenanigans?”
“Never in a million sweeps, Dave!”
You sigh. Maybe you’ll ask her later. “Ok, douche-cape. Your turn.”
“Aight, so check it. Both of y’all have the art and culture shit down, but we gotta keep history,” he says in a rush. “And yeah, I know that sounds lame as fuck, but I dunno, evaluating why things played out the way they did seems like a society-building thing to do. Like maybe give us a chance to deconstruct what ideals we originally held onto, only to later find out maybe it’s not worth keeping. And y’know, maybe shitty ideals hold us back from reaching this like, I don’t know, cool ending. So we should keep history, or at least study it to see which parts to scrap.”
“Wow, that’s... pretty insightful, actually,” you say. “I almost expected you to say the economy.”
“Economy’s gonna happen regardless, bro. It’s one of the building blocks society will never be rid of, even in a post-scarcity sense like grist and shit. History is what’ll help guide the path of the almighty dollar or beetle or whatever y’all used.”
“Fair enough. What would you scrap?”
“Fuck, I dunno. Probably tons of shit. What it means to be a hard dude, for starters. Maybe we should glorify peace a little more. Like, fuck violence, ‘yknow?”
“Fuck, or kill?” Terezi asks, grinning.
“Kill. Hah, kill violence, funniest shit said yet.”
“You know...” she says. “You both sound like Kankri.”
“Fuck you!” you and Dave say in unison.
Terezi cackles. “It’s not a bad thing! If you ever listen to him and get past his grandstanding, he actually has some interesting points. They’re just not based on reality anymore. I think death makes it harder to grow up, at least in the same way we still can. We can change, but for ghosts it’s harder since they don’t have enough outside perspective to push them.”
“Whatever. Saying me and Karkat are anything like that circumlocutional windbag is an insult I can’t abide.”
“You said something verrrry similar about Karkat once.” She pokes you in the side. “And I bet the feelings were mutual.”
“C’mon, TZ, that’s bullshit,” Dave says, sitting back up. “You can’t blame me for saying shit about a dude who was going out of his way to Vantagonize us. Like sure, he was a magnanimous douche the few times we talked, but he never outright bothered me the way some of y’all did. And only reason I ragged on him so hard was ‘cause he was way too hung up on me and John chatting up troll babes.”
“Oooooh really?” Terezi’s grin widens.
“Oh my fucking God, Dave. Can we not talk about this?” You bury your face in your hands.
“No man, look. When you get to know him and everything, sure he’s still a douche, but like the cool kind that’s way too fucking earnest for his own good. He’s nothing like that jackass; at least you want to listen to Karkat rant, shit is like my favorite pastime.”
Wait, favorite? Holy shit, what?
“Your favorite, huh?” Terezi arches her eyebrows. “Tell me coolkid, what else do you love about our adorable leader?”
The words. Why won’t they stop?
“Whoa c’mon, love’s a loaded term,” Dave says, and you watch in horror as more words spew from his gaping maw. “Not trying to get into anymore rap-jams about human love versus troll quadrants again.”
“Again?”
You groan loudly.
“I mean. Like. We’ve got the total bro package, but like love-love’s intense and it’s not like I’m sitting under moonlit balconies writing sonnets and shit about every little Vantas detail. Like ‘oh man, there’s these little lighter grey parts in your eyes, time to see what rhymes with grey!’ Or ‘oh shit what do troll heartbeats sound like so I can sample it–’”
“Dave, what the fuck!” Heat shoots from your neck to your cheeks.
His mouth clamps shut before he opens it again. “Like. Uh. Why say shit like that, you know?”
Terezi doubles over laughing. “Oh my fucking god, you two are adorkable! Wait, so are you two in a different quad–”
“What the blistering fuck, why won’t the words end!?” you shout. “It’s like this entire conversation got commandeered by an entire fleet of awful, and I’m forced to listen with unfathomable anguish. Behold as this human manages to decimate the lowly thought of shutting the fuck up–”
“Dude, chill out a sec.” Dave grips your arm tightly and points. “...You see that?”
You stop your tirade and look skyward. In the distance, you see a bubble, brighter than most. “What the...”
The bubble swells, emitting a vibrant, multi-colored festival of lights. You clutch Dave’s arm as it glows brighter and brighter, shimmering until the colors fold in on themselves and shine hot-white.
“Holy shit,” Dave whispers.
“It smells wrong,” Terezi says, scrunching her nose. “What’s happening?”
The light burns out, and the sky turns black. For an instant, you hear blood rushing through your hear ducts and feel a horrible, grinding vibration deep in your core. As you stare at the sky, the thrum gets stronger, sounding for all the world like an elegy. A plea.
A scream.
Just as quick, the sky explodes into blinding chaos. The same lights flash in a strobing cacophony, shattered like broken glass. You stare, waiting for the light to dissipate, but it lingers, pulsing with no hint of stopping. You don’t remember standing, but when you look around, you see Terezi and Dave facing you, staring at you behind their obfuscating eyewear in matched looks of panic. You swallow hard and square your shoulders.
“Go alert the others,” you tell Terezi. “Dave, take as many photos of that as you can. We’ll need it for our meeting.”
Notes:
This syncs up causally with Caliborn: Enter, keeping in mind that dream bubbles and the Furthest Ring are not 1:1.
Chapter 18: Dave: Get Hassled
Notes:
Chapter song: Watsky ft. Kate Nash - Hey, Asshole
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Karkat, I agree with you, alright? It is a big deal, but I’m saying there ain’t much we can do about it.” Vriska smacks her hand against the chalkboard, shaking the photos you took. “We get it! He’s tearing shit up! It’s wrong and bad and blah blah blah! But even if we wanted to do something, what can we do now?”
“Oh gee I don’t know, Vriska. Maybe rally? Didn’t some ghosts say your dead doppelganger was raising an army? There’s some version of you doing something more relevant than sticking their nubs up everyone’s nooks all day. And you, the alive one can’t be bothered to take this seriously.”
“I am taking this seriously, but we’re alive and she’s not! Of course that version of me has time to raise an army! She fucking checked out early!” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, you wanna do something because of your leader shtick, fine by me. But we can’t do shit on this rock except wait it out. We can’t sync up with some stupid ghost army, we can’t stay asleep for a sweep to coordinate with them, and we can’t fuck off to the void like Aradia without messing everything up! We gotta stay the course here. Right, Rose?”
Rose sighs beside you. “She’s right. Even if we wanted to fight Lord English now, we can’t yet. We’re stuck on this meteor until it uh... lands.”
“‘Lands,’” you say.
She gives you a look and says nothing. Yeeeah, she’s probably still pissed you blocked her.
“Are... are you fucking joking? What does that even mean?” Karkat asks.
“It means we’ll be disembarking in an avant-garde manner.”
“Typical. More reassurances from ‘Team Light!’ Not only did the entire sky crack like a cluckbeast ova, killing nigh unfathomable void monsters in the process, but now we have to wrap our puzzlesponges around how to land this fucking misery stone?”
“Maybe it’s not a big deal? I mean we all survived meteor impacts as grubs,” Terezi says.
“That’s...! That’s not the point!” Karkat shouts, and you stifle a snicker. “Those meteors were much smaller! And they came from our game session. This meteor isn’t from their Veil, so how does that work!?”
“Look man, that shit’s way further down the line,” you say. “‘Sides, we’ll probably just kinda hop off before the last bus stop.”
“Not all of us can fly, you smug moron!”
“Dude, I’ll fucking carry you, shit’s not a big deal.”
“Oh.” He blinks, and dude’s mouth is working like he wants to say something. “O-OK, fine. In the meantime, what happens if we’re caught in one of these bubble disasters? We’re somehow cosmically not ‘supposed to’ fight Lord English, but that,” he points to the photo, “isn’t something I think we can live through!”
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Rose says. “There’s no path I see that intercepts Lord English until we arrive in the new session. Only then will we have everything we need to fight him.”
“What, so you can see the future again?” you mutter under your breath because you’re still a shit.
“Not how it works, Dave.”
“See, Karkat? There’s nothing to worry about!” Vriska flips her hair as troll boy scowls. “But I’ll admit you’re on the right track! And all your worrying gave me an idea so honestly, I should thank you.”
“Oh, goody,” you deadpan.
“What’s rattling in your think pan, Mindfang?”
“Glad you asked, Redglare.” She grins as she chalks out everyone’s initials and aspect symbols. “I know we think we’re hot shit, but we can all get better. I propose we spend the rest of our time training! We need a full realization of our abilities if we want to beat the next session. If we’re going to survive this fight against Jack, Lord English, and whoever else is waiting for us, we need to prepare!”
She turns, giving everyone a fangy smile. “We should train individually or in small groups at least twice a week, and a full group session once a perigee to rate our progress.”
To your surprise, Karkat nods thoughtfully. “Seems reasonable. Combat and aspect training?”
“You know it! We didn’t buy up all those fraymotifs for nothing. Besides, we need to see which combinations are the most effective. John and Jade are powerhouses, so we can build a strategy around them when we regroup. We’ll wing it with the other humans, but we have some idea what their aspects are.”
“Yeah, some of that’s not gonna fly, spidertroll,” you chime in. “I’ll train and all, but I’m not doing the time travel thing out here, shit’s dangerous.”
“He’s right,” Rose says. “The fabric of spacetime in the Furthest Ring is already delicate, and as one who exploits Time, Dave is particularly limited. We should stick to theoretical tactics regarding Time and Space manipulation.” She gives Kanaya a meaningful glance.
“It’s just as well,” Kanaya replies. “I never really got the hang of those abilities anyway. I feel more at ease with my chainsaw.”
“Combat training it is, then!” Vriska says cheerfully. “Dave, Kanaya, in lieu of training your aspects, try to work out what combos you can use with the rest of us. Maybe we can test them out in a more stable place, like the session.”
“Dreams might work,” Rose says thoughtfully. “But only if both parties are dreaming.”
“Dream combat,” you say with no enthusiasm. “Sounds awesome.”
Karkat looks at you all laser-like with concern, like a rogue Care Bear with something to prove. You shift your gaze back to the board and thank Ben Stiller’s gaunt-faced soul for your shades.
“Dream training could be fun,” Terezi says. “We can manipulate our environment as we see fit, and if we hit each other with our nastiest motifs, then we just wake up! No harm done!”
“So... we’re fighting each other?” Kanaya asks.
“Well duh! Who else are we gonna fight?” Vriska asks.
“Cronus,” Rose and Kanaya say in unison.
“Add Damara and you’ve got a deal,” Terezi says.
“What? Nah, she’s cool,” you say. You’ve had occasion to chat up the weird Japanese schoolgirl troll. By the time she dropped her act and really got going, she turned out to be hilarious in all the ironically terrible ways. You guess shitty anime paid off in the end, and you learned some ridiculous troll innuendo in the process.
“I can’t even understand her, what the fuck?” Karkat says.
“Can it, all of you. We’re not going to fight the ghosts,” Vriska says. “I mean I don’t really care, do whatever you want. Point is, we should stick together and use each other as sparring partners. We’re the ones that’ll beat the bad guys, so we might as well get used to our abilities.”
“What about a code word to tell your partner you’re sleeping, in case we hit a bubble at the same time?” Terezi asks.
“How ‘bout instead of some cutesy code, we just say, ‘sup, man. I’m fucking sleeping.’ Then we dream duel or whatever the fuck.”
“Dave, why are you such a killjoy?” Terezi frowns at you. “What the hell is wrong with having a little bit of fun?”
“Man, nothing, but I don’t see why we all gotta turn shit like this into a fucking game. We’re already up to our goddamn necks in the game, and looking back, that shit ain’t all that ‘fun.’ So maybe we can cool it on trying to dress the situation up with all these peppy-ass battle codes and fucking treat it like what it is.”
“And what’s that, Strider?” Vriska asks, and you’re really not feeling her nasty ass tone.
“A slaughterhouse.” You stand. “Like, I get some of y’all feel like fighting is this mundane shit you do right after you brush your damn teeth, but shit sounded like fucking Alderaan as told by a fuckton of goddamn squids. And not gonna lie, it’s pretty fucking low on my ‘will listen again’ list.”
“Fine.” She folds her arms, staring at you with her dumbass eightfold eyes. “Just for you, we’ll cut the bullshit and take eeeeeeeeverything as serious and literal as possible.”
You purse your lips, holding down the urge to shout her down. “Don’t do me any favors. Y’all do whatever.” You gesture at the board. “We done, here? Train twice a week, meet up and show off. Anything else?”
Spidertroll flips her hair again and sighs. “That’s it.”
“Cool.” You head towards the transportalizers. “It’s still my shift. I’ll let y’all know if any other squid monsters blow up.”
==>
You can’t help staring at the cracks in the sky. The screams died down, but a dull, grinding throb pulsates in the air, reminding you of day-old cuts and bruises. If you look up without your shades, you can make out the dead and injured gods, spewing half-cocked bubbles in their dying wake. As though even in death they’re set on fulfilling some forgotten promise.
It’s depressing as fuck. Not because some Horror Terrors and alt-selves are dying, but their screams, more like a wailing dirge, have an air of inevitability. They were always supposed to die, and nothing they tried, none of their whispers could do a thing about it. You wonder what it means for the new session; the gods ‘opposed’ the creation of your universe, but maybe opposition wasn’t the whole story. Maybe, unknowingly to anyone, the Alpha timeline loop-de-loop clusterfuck is what brought about the destruction of reality itself.
You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for the destruction of your entire world, of humanity itself. You never wanted to question shit like inevitability, death, or what it means to be a hero. And let’s be absolutely real, you don’t want to fight. That shit was made abundantly clear in the dream bubbles, and you haven’t had a good night’s sleep since. You don’t want to recall the feeling of cold, empty hopelessness. Trying to fight, oh sorry, dream spar or whatever the fuck sounds like a goddamn disaster. You’re as liable to freeze up and get someone slaughtered than be a hero.
Hell, your Bro was a ‘hero’ and even he fucked that up in every ludicrous way possible.
You feel your phone buzz, and you take your sweet time getting to it. Probably just ‘Rezi or someone getting in your grill for getting riled up by Vriska again. Because everyone’s trying so damn hard to play nice.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
CG: HEY.
CG: I KNOW YOU PROBABLY DON'T FEEL LIKE TALKING, BUT I WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I FUCKING GET IT.
CG: MAYBE LATER WE CAN WATCH A MOVIE IF YOU WANT TO TAKE YOUR MIND OFF THINGS.
CG: OR, YOU KNOW, NOT, I GUESS. WE DON'T HAVE TO.
CG: LET ME KNOW EITHER WAY.
Sounds like Karkat’s been dipping heavily into the Bro Code pages. You really appreciate he gets you might not talk about shit, but he still throws that option out there, which you might take up this time. You just wish he wasn’t so down on himself before he even hits the gate. The gun hasn’t even fired yet and he’s already racing down the shame track with his buggy ass legs. You don’t mind giving him some reassurance, but dude needs to give himself more credit.
TG: sure man how bout when my sulk fest is done
TG: give it about an hour
TG: really let the brood juices marinate
CG: ...
CG: YOU *DO* REALIZE THAT MEANS SOMETHING VERY DIFFERENT AND WILDLY INAPPROPRIATE, RIGHT?
CG: DO YOU EVEN REALIZE HALF THE SHIT THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH?
TG: why vantas do i detect you thinking about my brood juices
CG: YOU'RE FUCKING DISGUSTING.
TG: obviously
TG: its cool man you love it you know youre down with my brood juices
TG: it brings all the troll boys to the yard
CG: I WON'T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE THE IMMUTABLE FACT YOU'RE COMPLETELY VILE, BECAUSE WHAT'S THE FUCKING POINT!
CG: BUT WHAT THE FUCK DO LAWNRINGS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?
TG: ahahahaha
Forget reassurance, sometimes you just love fucking with him. And sure, maybe some of the best ways to fuck with him involves some aforementioned gross-ass troll innuendo, but you pulled that shit with Terezi and it was just as funny then. Granted she was...
Hmm.
Well, she flirted and word-played back with you, but Karkat just gets riled up and flustered in pretty much the best way.
Before you can really finish that train of thought, you hear footstep coming up the stairs. Not soft like Rose’s, nor stompy like your bro’s, and not the tap-tap-clack from ‘Rezi. Which can really only mean one person.
TG: oh shit
CG: WHAT?
TG: spidertroll
TG: pls help
CG: GOOD NIGHT, SWEET PRINCE. AND FLIGHTY BROADS SING THEE TO THY REST.
TG: not cool
TG: bros don’t quote the bard bros send help
CG: BROS DON'T FORCE BROS INTO AN ASHEN TRYST WITH THE WORST PERSON ON THE METEOR EITHER SO LOOKS LIKE WE'RE BOTH STRETCHING OUR THINK PANS TODAY.
TG: its stretched alright
TG: learned that youre stabbing me frontways
TG: all in the name of roses snooty books
TG: et tu karkat
CG: WRONG PLAY, NUMBNUTS.
CG: LISTEN DON'T LET HER GET TO YOU. KIND OF LIKE THE SAME ADVICE SOME SHADES-WEARING DOUCHE SAGE TOLD ME.
TG: yeah ok
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
Fucking turncoat nerd. You stow your phone in your sylladex by the time Vriska reaches the roof, and you flop to the ground in the legendary pose of not giving a shit. You recognize the sound of her gait because you used to wear shoes like hers, and you wonder for a second why the fuck trolls have Converse low tops.
Then again, they made your universe, so maybe she force-fed rad shoes into your world.
She hovers over you and sighs, annoyance etched all over her face. And, little shit you are, you figure if she gets annoyed enough she’ll leave well enough alone and let you mope in peace.
“Sup, spiderbabe.”
Her grimace deepens, but not quite enough to take as a victory. “Strider, I’ll cut to the chase. I don’t know what your problem is, and if it’s with me then frankly I don’t care. I’ve had worse, trust me.”
“Come all the way up here to tell me that?” you drawl. “I know everyone gets a hankering for the Strider at some point, so good job holding out this long.”
You’re not sure how long ago aggressive innuendo became part of your verbal strife deck, but damn if it flows off you. It’s like putting on a well-tailored suit in its familiarity, this urge to go friggin’ matrimonial on her ass. And hey, if it worked on her ex-boyfriend murder victim, maybe shit’ll work on her, too.
...Man, that sure is a sentence you just thought. Fuck today with a cattle prod.
Instead of rising to your bait, she smirks down at you and cocks her hip. “You caught me. Insufferable douchebags reeeeeeeeally gets my blood pumping. Guess I have a type! Too bad I’m not looking to fill those quadrants anytime soon, otherwise I’d snare you right in my little web.”
Ugh, what? You shift your gaze from the sky to her, searching her face for any kind of tell. Her mouth twitches just barely, and you have to fight down a sigh of relief.
“Good one. Had me for a sec,” you say. “What do you want.”
“I want to know what your deal is,” she says, dropping down to sit crisscross applesauce. “We’re on the same damn side, but every meeting you bother showing up for, you fight me and Terezi frond and fucking claw. What gives?”
You face the sky again, watching as a smattering of... something floats alongside the bubbles. Gross. “I don’t get why trolls make death out to be this big fucking joke,” you say. “Like every time y’all get into it, it’s this godawful macabre mania bullshit, and y’all forget some of us actually died in this game.”
“I died too, idiot! God Tier, remember?”
“How many times.”
“What?”
You turn your head. “How many times did you die?”
She frowns, looking at you confused. “Once.”
“Thought so.” You turn away, hands playing at your stomach, feeling at barely-there bullet scars. God Tier has advantages, including faster healing over time. You can only see the worst of your scars now, not that you haven’t memorized each and every injury, ‘learning experiences’ you earned throughout your life. “Twice for me, troll girl. Guess us Dersites had to do it the hard way.”
“At least your deaths were quick. Gunshot wounds, explosion? And Jade even kissed you, so it’s not like you really suffered!” She grins wider, ugh. “I may have only died once, but trust me, that was more than enough.”
“Seriously? You’re seriously gonna big dick me over how you died? God, why’re you so fucked up?”
“You just did the same thing! Why’re you so fucked up?” she asks. “Guess we got a lot in common when you think about it, don’t we?”
“Man, don’t,” you groan. “Don’t pull that fucking evil villain shit. ‘Don’t you see, Mr. Bond? We’re one and the saaaaaaaame. We’re not so different, you and me.’ Take that horseshit elsewhere, we’re nothing alike.”
“That so?” She leans over you. “So you mean you didn’t have a lusus force you into combat, day after day after every fucking day? Didn’t grow up a little faster to survive?”
You freeze, your face growing hot.
“Had to get pretty good with a sword, am I right?” She scoffs and rocks back in her space. “And once you got in the game, bet you barely said eight words to him before he ate it. And,” she laughs mirthlessly, “he probably died well before you did, because paradox space willed it so. How am I doing so far?”
You don’t answer.
She curls her lip, and in a low voice says, “And just maybe, part of you doesn’t know whether to mourn him or scorn him. Hell, maybe you hate him.” She pauses to stare up at the sky. “But who else would you be if it didn’t turn out that way? Besides dead.”
Oh, fuck no. You do not want to deal with insight from spider hag right now. Abort this mission. Houston, we have ninety-nine problems and all of them are suddenly Vriska. You draw in a long breath through your nose. “What’s your point, V-dog? If you need to talk to Rose about your sad-woes, pretty sure her schedule’s open.”
“My point is,” she says, glaring at you, “we’re on the same side. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help. So get over yourself.”
Talking to Vriska, as it turns out, is even more exhausting up close and personal. But guess her luck rubbed off because your shift is almost up. “That everything? Not like it ain’t been real.”
“That’s all, Strider,” she says, standing. “Like I said, same side. That is, unless you take me on as a sparring partner.” She winks.
“Whatever you say, spidertroll.”
You tilt your head back and watch her leave. And yeah, you really want to deny everything she said. You don’t want to think about your Bro. Whether he was a hero or someone worth all that fucking... fuck. Should you miss him? (Shouldn’t you?) It’s clear she doesn’t miss whatever giant spider she had, but fuck, who would miss something like that? Who would miss some monstrous, inscrutable...?
Fuck.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: well that was a thing
TG: that i survived
TG: despite it all including the massive betrayal of a good bro
TG: and the dumpster heap conversation thrust upon me like so many shitty trolltagonists in some fiveway harlequin novel free for all
TG: they arent even trying to fill quadrants dude is just a sad sack of shit
TG: his name is biggie smalls by the way no relation to the american folk hero
TG: but he also raps all of his betrayals just fyi
CG: SOUNDS HORRIBLE
TG: it is trust me
CG: DIDN'T YOU TELL ME, AND I QUOTE "IT'S JUST THE ABSOLUTE WORST THING TRYING TO GET WORKED UP OVER HER?"
CG: THIS IS ME TELLING YOU TO TRY NOT TO DO THAT.
TG: man fine
TG: still up to hang out
CG: DEFINITELY.
CG: ER... I MEAN SURE.
TG: awesome
TG: <>
CG: THAT STILL TAKES SOME GETTING USED TO.
TG: what does
CG: NEVERMIND.
CG: I'M PROBABLY OVERTHINKING STUFF AND I SHOULD JUST CHILL THE FUCK OUT, SO FEEL FREE TO WIPE YOUR PAN OF ME SAYING ANYTHING.
TG: that warrants no explanation or follow up questions at all
CG: NONE WHATSOEVER.
CG: YOUR SHIFT IS UP SOON, RIGHT?
TG: yeah
TG: see you in a sec
CG: <>
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
Notes:
Dave really thought he was landing a stealth burn about Biggie Smalls, but Karkat is very aware of his music (and Dave's biases) from chats with Rose.
Chapter 19: Karkat: Check Out DVD
Chapter Text
You stare at the red diamond on your screen. Dave rarely talks about what bothers him, but he shows these spontaneous, unironic bursts of affection that drives you shithive maggots. Where you wonder if he’s better equipped for moirallegiance than you hoped, even if he is human. But then he throws off all these mixed signals – a flushed comment here, a horrifically lewd and vaguely pitched remark there – and you want to scream at him to stop and you also kind of... don’t? You want this to work, but that weird indecisiveness nags at you. He’s holding something back, some big piece of himself, and frankly it’s driving you crazy.
And yet, he’s not a bad moirail. He’ll listen to you, actually listen to your thoughts, rants, and fears, and offers reassuring commentary like it’s second nature. You’re floored by how good he is at it. But you’re deluding yourself if you think you’re the only one that needs support. You want to be there for him too and listen in the same way. Unfortunately, he doesn’t really let you in. Sure, you talk endlessly about inconsequential bullshit and he’ll let slip some things through his unfiltered monologues. But he avoids topics, changes subjects, and... it sucks. Sometimes when you ignore the fear that this whole experimental clusterfuck is desperately one-sided, it almost works. You talk, he listens, and your dynamic works. And if it were that simple, you guess you could deal.
But tonight he meandered from flush confessions ripped out of your cheesiest novels to classic pitch-flirting, right back to a perfect pale. It brings back raw memories of how you treated Terezi, and you don’t want to repeat that. You thought a conciliatory relationship wouldn’t tread those same waters, but maybe it’s you? Or maybe a human thing?
Worse yet, you can’t call your feelings about it typical vacillation. At least, not the normal kind. You’re too pissed off, not pale enough, too flustered to be protective, and Jegus what the fuck was with that thing he said about your eyes? You stop thinking about it because if you think about it, your bloodpusher will get way too fluttery to call ‘platonic.’ Sometimes when he smiles, an undercurrent of fucking longing threatens to flood your think pan, and maybe you need to lay off the romance novels if you’re using words like longing and muted desire.
Fuck your pan, muted desire???
You obviously won’t mention this to anyone. You barely understand how you feel! But you at least know you don’t want to mess things up. Besides, whatever this is or isn’t, you’re happy with him. Terrified, elated, and confused all at once, but happy.
You hear your door slide open. Dave rarely knocks anymore, and after nearly half a sweep of hanging out, either in his block or yours, the only real announcements either of you indulge in are dressed in grey and red text. He crosses the room and flops on the couch beside you, lolling his head backwards. With a heavy sigh, he stretches an arm out on the head rest and pokes you in the back of your neck.
“Sup.”
You roll your eyes. “Gee, not much. Just the typical destruction of reality hanging above us, Vriska being Vriska, and not knowing what movie we should watch.”
“Can’t do shit about it until we get to the new session, spidertroll’s a cause so lost she makes the Holy Grail look like it was in the sink the whole time, and I alchemized something lame if you’re still on a human kick.”
“Yeah.” Was it really only a couple hours ago when you saw the fucking sky shatter? “Human kick, huh? What do you have in mind?”
He leans forward and mutters ‘PUNCHABLE GOSLING,’ popping out a movie, the cover emblazoned with The Notebook above a human couple in a flushed embrace. “If you’re still in your human romcom kick, which you are until basically forever, might as well ensconce yourself in the tender embrace of Nicholas Sparks. I have it on certified alchemic authority that shit’ll turn you into a sobbing mess, and I’ll get to sleep through something that’s not Dane Cook’s tragically inept visage.”
You poke him in the rib and snort as he squirms. “Dane Cook’s comedic timing is legendary,” you say, mostly to piss him off. And shit, are you pitch-flirting? Does that count? You shake off the thought. “And anyway, don’t you usually go for more action? Like that heist film we watched a few days ago.”
“Sure heist flicks are great, the dumber the better, y’know? But you can get your jollies off on making fun of any tropes and I guarantee this movie is full of ‘em. But yeah, I dunno.” He shrugs. “Not in the mood for some big dramatic high-stakes thing. Fuck violence right now.”
“Fuck, or Kill?” you say.
He chuffs, smiling at you dead on, cheeks brushing against his shades.
You wrench yourself away from looking at him, and grab the movie from his hand. “How was spidertroll?” you ask as you insert the movie.
“Meddlesome,” he says. The movie starts, but he talks over it, quiet and monotone. “Usual deluding herself into thinking she’s helping, and.” He cuts himself off and glances at you. “You’d tell me if I was anything like that, right? Like, if I started pulling Machiavellian pirate scams on people and was an assholish waste of air, you’d help a bro out, right?”
“Uh,” you say, because wow, what the fuck. “You’re not anything like her, though? So what’s the problem?”
Instead of answering, he stretches out and positions his head in your lap. You automatically run your nails through his hair, and a tiny contented hum escapes his lips. “Nothing, I guess,” he says after a moment. “Shouldn’t let it get to me.”
“Why do you always do that?” you ask. “If deflection were an Olympic sport, there’d be no need for a podium. It’ll just be you, three medals deep in every category while the judges dig for ways to disqualify you from reentry.” You tug his hair harder than you intended. “We can talk about it, you know? You listen to me whine all the fucking time.”
“Geez,” Dave hisses. “Karkitty likes it rough, good to know.”
You dart your hand back. “Shut the fuck up, I’m being serious.”
“OK, but answer me this.” He reaches for your hand and places your fingers back in his scalp. “Why you gotta call what you do whining? If I’m winning all these avoidant medals, you’re dominating the Freestyle Deprecation events. You’re so down on yourself, you’re practically deep-throating your own flagellation rod.”
“Uh, gross? I’m not sure which part is the grossest thing you said.”
“The part where you constantly rip on yourself for being worthless.” He tilts his head up to look at you, and you see just past your reflection into his eyes. “I dunno if you realize how often you do it, either.”
You look back at the screen; the older human woman looking out her respite block window is suddenly more interesting. “I recall asking first, dipshit.”
“That’s fair, so tell you what. Let’s go all out with a lightning round, put our shit out there. Throw some bolts down and make Zeus cry uncle.”
“Who the fuck is Zeus?”
“God of lightning, thunder, and the baby daddy of a dozen hapless demigods.”
You smirk down at him. “Under no circumstances are we siring offspring during a feelings jam.”
Why did you say that? You watch as Dave flatten his lips from a surprised ‘o’ back to his stoic front. Something about it makes you feel too warm, and the self-loathing he just called you out on creeps back up.
“No promises on the feels-babies,” he says after a moment. “The whims of the gods are tricky as fuck.”
“Tell me how your lightning round works,” you say instead. You’re the deflector now. It’s you. “Is this like your Kindred Quadrants thing from earlier?”
“Nah this is faster. We take turns asking questions, and we have to answer honestly without trying to think too hard on it. Y’know, unless it’s a complex answer, but you still have to answer it.”
He taps his fingers against his stomach, and you can almost feel nervousness radiating off him. You... admittedly can relate. If it were anyone but him, it would have disaster written all over it, but he’s offering emotional intimacy on a silver nutrition plateau. Is it worth it?
Obviously.
Too bad you can’t come up with anything you can lead with; everything you want to know feels too heavy or too maudlin. Besides, you’ve watched and read this trope dozens of times, and Dave’s at least slept through a few himself. Big, showy confessions happen at the end of the movie, not blurted out the first chance the protagonist gets.
“OK,” you say. “Um. You go first. Ask me something.”
“What’s your favorite food?”
That’s easy. “Grubsteak and cluckbeast ovas, cooked a little runny because I’m weird. You?”
“Chicken fajitas with extra guacamole. There was this place near my old apartment I used to walk to that had the best shit.” He shifts in your lap. “Steak and eggs is Texan as fuck. You would’ve fit right in.”
“Assuming they taste the same, maybe.” You kind of like the idea of fitting in where he lived, and you make a note to find out what the hell guacamole is. OK, he kept things light, so ask a silly question. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done?”
“Uuuuugh,” he groans. “When I was seven, I was at school and really needed to take a piss, but I couldn’t find the bathroom. I wound up going outside in the rain, pissed myself, then flung my ass in a puddle to hide the stains.”
You erupt in laughter. “Holy shit! What happened?”
“I mean, we were kids. Everyone was muddy, but the teacher just told me to wash off, but I was damp like all fucking day.” He pokes you in the cheek. “Your turn, douche.”
You’re not short on embarrassing moments, yet you try to think of a good one. “OK, dunno if this is the most embarrassing, but it was still the fucking worst. So Terezi ripped out my load gaper in the game–”
“Jade and Rose pulled that shit, Jesus.”
“Fuck, really?” You shake your head. “What are the odds? So the only one on my team with working plumbing was Kanaya. Only... when I snuck into her hive, she didn’t have any paper.”
He shifts to grin at you. “Oh no, what’d you do?”
You flush. “She... still doesn’t know where one of her green dresses went. I threw it in the lake as soon as I got back to my planet.”
He shakes your lap laughing. “Dude she can never know or she’ll fucking kill you. Oh God, OK. Let me think of something.” He’s still snickering when he asks, “What’s something you never get tired of doing?”
Another easy one, you suppose. “Reading and writing. It’s insane, I-I always have to finish a book, even if it’s bad or even if I hate it. I have to see it through to the end, y’know?”
“Yeah, you’ve definitely read some doozies, that’s for sure. I didn’t know you wrote stuff,” he says. He turns his head, breath occasionally tickling your acid tract. “What do you write about?”
“Um.” Your eyes flicker back to the screen. “Y’know, like. Movie plots, book revisions, alternate endings,” you mumble.
“Oh my dick, you write fanfiction,” he says, smirking.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Oh my God, you and Rose need to hook up and write dirty wizard fanfic together,” he says, sounding way too excited. “Promise me if y’all write something to let me read it. I will drop so many sick beats to it, you have no idea.”
“No, fuck you!” you exclaim, cheeks warm. “What do you not get tired of, besides being a putrid shit rinser?”
“And besides listening to your insults?” he asks. “Drawing. I guess writing raps, but even that gets tedious compared to just making the beats. I definitely like drawing, though. Passes the time, y’know?”
“Do you ever draw anything besides dicks?”
He pokes you hard in the ribs. “Yeah, actually. Iono... Maybe I’ll show you sometime. Like, not the cartoony shit, I mean. Draw you like one of my French girls.” He waggles his brows.
And would you look at that! Human Ryan Gosling is suddenly something to look at while you process that thought. He knows you watched that movie, you watched it together, what the fuck.
You know what, fuck this.
“You’re not drawing me like a French girl unless I have the Heart of the Ocean, but there’s no way in hell we’ll have enough grist,” you say. You look down at him, trying to catch his eyes behind his shades.
“Fuck that noise, shit was just a movie prop,” Dave replies, meeting your gaze. “We’ll have to go spelunking for the real deal.”
Hmm. OK. He didn’t recoil at the train of thought, but this is veering right into Striderian Subject Shift territory. And you veer right along with him because you’re definitely not ready to parse through that avalanche lurking around the corner. “So what’s the real deal, then?”
“Well pretty sure it was based off a real gem,” he explains, breaking eye contact. “There’s the Hope Diamond, this famous blue diamond, but only royalty had it at first. Eventually it was put in a museum permanently. Shit’s supposed to be cursed or something. Like anyone trying to seek it for wealth or whatever would meet a terrible end.”
“That’s... kind of neat,” you admit. Another question floats in your think pan. “Do you like that kind of stuff? History and all that?”
He hums thoughtfully. “I guess? I haven’t really thought about it in awhile, but yeah, kinda. Like if it wasn’t the end of the world and I wasn’t handed all these crazy powers, I guess I could grow up and study like... paleontology? Used to like that. Human shit is pretty cool, too. I dunno, one of the ‘ologies,’” he says with a shrug.
Your gaze flickers between Dave and the screen. He’s chewing on his lip, a nervous habit you’re not sure he’s aware of. His Earth had an entire history of its own, enough to establish multiple branches of study. Enough that some dumb kid in shades would have had his pick of which field to pursue, if only his universe wasn’t plagued with your own shortcomings. If only you created something that wasn’t a complete failure. If only you weren’t stuck on a meteor, watching the sky shatter, no doubt a by-product of your misfortunes.
“Dude.” Dave looks up at you. “You look like someone pissed in your grubflakes and told you Troll Will Smith culled kittens.”
“It’s... nothing.”
He raises his head, righting himself entirely, and a not-secret-enough part of you feels the absence. You squeeze your eyes shut, chanting to yourself it’s just pale, just pale and nothing else. But maybe you’re ruining it because you ruin everything. You try, holy fuck you try, to think about what Strider said. That you keep doing this to yourself, constantly spiraling into the same self-loathing thought pattern. And you need to stop, you know you need to stop.
“Hey. Karkat.”
You turn. You see his eyes past your reflection, light from the screen flickering off his shades. Pale blonde hair tousled from laying in your lap, from your prongs running through it, and practically begging for your claws. His lips are ruddy from chewing on them, and you know you shouldn’t stare because staring isn’t pale enough. And you, failure that you are, aren’t good enough.
“Yeah?” you finally croak out.
“You’re doing it again.”
You sigh. “Yeah.”
“Man,” he slumps his head back against the couch, “I dunno what I can say that’ll make you believe you’re... shit, I don’t know. Good? Cool? There’s not a word out there that doesn’t come off cheesy as fuck, but whatever it is you’re that, OK? You lived on a troll planet that wanted to fucking murder you, and yet here you are. You created a fucking universe–”
“I didn’t–”
“No, shut the fuck up.” He looks at you, hard. “You created a universe. You led a bunch of batshit insane people to beat the game we failed at.”
“You didn’t fail, it was unwinnable because of m–”
“No, dude. If it was unwinnable, then your shit was inevitable and you can’t blame yourself anyway. But if shit was your fault because you had choices along the way, then you gotta accept everyone else’s stake in it too. Fuck, Karkat. You know this. If you accept it with other people, why can’t you get that for yourself?”
“You’re right,” you say. “I know it, but it’s just...”
“Hard. Yeah, I know.” He sighs. “Like, maybe you get to thinking things are one way because it’s always been that way, and then as soon as you put some distance between what you realize and what you thought you knew, shit falls apart. And all of a sudden, you’re sitting there like a dumb fuck in the middle of Asshole Junction wondering ‘now what?’ ‘Cause what you thought you knew, about life, growing up, yourself is kinda bullshit.”
You look at him again. His mouth is drawn tight, and he’s facing the screen, but you can see him looking at you from this angle. There’s something so vulnerable about his expression, you feel the urge to protect him, and finally something that feels right. You latch onto it like an anchor, and you tentatively reach for his scalp. He melts into your touch and you ignore your other feelings.
“It’s fucked up,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” you agree.
“It’s even more fucked when you realize you’re not the only one. Like we’re all sitting here, thinking life was supposed to go one way ‘cause society drilled it in you to be one way. And when you’re not, when you can’t measure up, or you try to and fail, or you succeed and still fail, you keep wondering what the fuck is wrong with you. And what if you’re not the one with the problem, but just this shitty byproduct of a shit sandwich? Then what?” He turns to you. “You’re not the fucked up one, dude.”
“Maybe we’re both fucked up,” you say, voice small.
“Yeah, probably,” he scoffs. “I’m not the one who fucking...” He shakes his head. “Fuck.”
He folds his arms, rocking awkwardly as he twitches his leg. He looks ready to bolt, or implode, radiating a sudden supernova of anxiety. His hands tremble and fuck, you’ve seen this before. You mind races; what helped last time? Fuck, what did you do?
“Dave,” you say, keeping your tone low and steady. “You’re OK. You’re here with me, and you’re safe, but I need you to breathe, OK?”
“Fuck... Yeah, I just.” He takes in a breath, and says in a rush. “I don’t want to fucking fight. I don’t wanna train for some shitshow ass show-down, and I swear to fuck, I don’t want to die. Dying fucking sucks. No shit Sherlock, dying sounds like a real fucking drag, the audience says, but Karkat, it sucks. I didn’t fucking ask for this shit, and I don’t want to fight.
“My bro was all about that shit. And he trained and trained me and for what? I get handed all these stupid fucking powers I don’t want, and he died, and I don’t even know if it was to protect us or another one of his... his things to do, and what, do I just let that go to waste because I don’t want to die?”
“Hey, listen to me. We’ll figure it out. We’ve got over a sweep left to figure it out, right?” You gently reach for his arm. “We’re not in battle yet. You don’t have to fight now, but... if we do, we’ll... we’ll do it together, OK?”
He lets out a shuddery breath, shaking himself out as though he just finished a particularly gruesome battle. In a way he did. “Yeah. Yeah man, you’re right.” He chuckles darkly, giving you a watery smile. “Fucking just like Rose’s book. Riding dick steeds in the sunset. The two most fucked up knights in paradox space, snatching up glory and saving the day.”
“Truly a tale as old as time itself,” you say back.
“...So I think that’s about all the lightning I can handle.” He reaches down and starts the movie over. “Shit’s on fire, like the entire forest is ablaze in some unruly inferno. Rangers are barreling in, wondering what the fuck’s going on, and some dumbass bear in pants is standing there all smug. ‘I warned you about fires, dawg.’”
“This the same bear hibernating from all your ‘phat beats?’”
He laughs. “Nah, they’re like second-cousins or some shit. Like out of this whole echelon of shitty bears, Smokey is the one most likely to rat out all the other ones for living free and wild. Fuck him the most.”
“Fuck or Kill?”
He scoffs as he rests his head back in your lap. “Shut up and let’s watch this movie.”
Notes:
Troll Ryan Gosling was a cerulean blood that was responsible for three of the bloodiest colonial uprisings in Alternian History. His visage was banned across the galaxy, making him a folk hero in underground circles and his earlier movies highly sought after.
Chapter 20: Dave: Visit Paradox Sister
Chapter Text
The weeks following the sky shattering like an egg goes by quick. Everyone, and you mean everyone is scrambling around, chucking irons in the fire, and hatching schemes like free-range baby chicks. The planning effort is similar to when you all entered the game – and got past the whole I-almost-died-by-a-meteor-and-my-world-is-destroyed blues. In other words, the alchemiters are on constant rotation. Everyone has a decent strife deck, and most of you have solid weapon choices. So instead of wasting your precious grist on legendary pieces of shit, you and the meteor crew create other items: mostly combat-adjacent tools with the occasional fun item created ‘for science.’
Some of those items are even useful. Shortly after your mutual Degrassi-style breakdown straight into the Sad Zone, you and Karkat burn up a few alchemy attempts before you create a long-overdue mobile upgrade for him. It’s exactly as weird, purple, and crabby as his crap-top, but infinitely less creepy and therefore infinitely better. His wristband is dope, and his little crab can snap off and skitter around, and comes with a bonus holographic feature. You splice his code with a smuppet and laugh your ass off for two minute straight at his disgusted face when you present your ass-foam wristband.
The Scourge Sisters hog time on the alchemiter as well and create assorted junk like Fruit Troll-Ups with healing powers, Pop-O-Matic smoke bombs, grub bandages, and new shirts. Kanaya, always the pragmatic one, tried alchemizing combat dummies using her dress form as a base. It worked as far as you can tell, but the item’s labeled as a Juju, whatever that means. Clearly not anything good, since Rose is skittish as all hell about ‘em so you don’t fight her when she insists no one under any circumstance decorate them with anything, ‘especially hats.’
Sparring matches – for everyone not named Dave Strider – have the same sense of light-hearted despair. Your outburst at the meeting took the piss out of most of the murder-happy shenanigans, and you own that just like you own using British phrases if they sound ironic or gross enough. Either way, people around you seem like they’re having fun in a healthy, shit’s real kind of way. Terezi especially is having a blast goading Vriska and Rose into strifes and charting out fraymotif combos with them. Part of you admittedly finds it interesting; the trolls weren’t officially part of your session, so you have completely different classes, and not all of their aspects overlap. You find Terezi’s Mind powers fascinating because it never looks like she’s doing anything except straining her face like she’s pinching a loaf, but somehow you can tell she caused a fray in the timeline.
But damn if you want to talk about it with her. That’s an invitation to a whole heap of dogshit conversations, especially after your forced chat with spidertroll. So you go to the other person semi-willing to talk your ear off.
Which... you have to do in person since you haven’t gotten around to unblocking her.
“Basically, there’s similarity between me and Vriska regarding affinity towards our aspect,” Rose explains to you as you polish off your Lucky Charms, “but with several differences regarding how we use Light, and in turn how we use it with other players.”
She’s writing down a list of known attacks based on the past few practices and the fraymotifs you all purchased ages ago. You note the Time column is sparse, only showing your known combos within your session, and Aradia’s with question marks beside the other aspects. You’re not even sure if you have combos with the other classes, and you say as such.
“If I do, you do,” Rose replies. She points to the Mind column and taps two different Light icons, one filled in, and one outlined. “There’s at least one active and one passive combination, but when Vriska explained their fraymotif, it wasn’t anything near what Terezi and I could do.”
You look over the combo names. FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD for Terezi and Vriska, and A DAY TO REMEMBER for Terezi and Rose. “Man, who came up with these names?”
Rose smiles. “That’s a complicated question. Whomever came up with Sburb in the first place, perhaps. Or the names are seeded based on the originating universe. Either way, they exist, and have always existed.”
“Dumb.” You chew on that thought as you take another bite of your cereal. “So wait,” you say when a thought occurs to you. “So you and Terezi have a fraymotif.”
“Yes?”
“That means the game knew you’d need a Mind combo.”
Rose chews on her pen thoughtfully, a habit she probably got from Karkat. Only when she does it, it’s a lot less cute and more like a chain smoker trying not to fall off the wagon. Damn. Loaded phrase, now you feel like an asshole.
“I guess...?” She says. “I think ‘need’ might be an exaggeration, but it’s possible we will. That or there’s always at least a default combination for different aspects and class combinations. So in another world entirely, two Seers, one of Mind and one of Light would have the same motif, improbable as that may be.”
“Nah, see. Why would it default to a shitty emo band you listened to on repeat?” you ask. “And out of all the shitty bands or music across human and troll culture, Sburb picked the one with the most annoying vocalists, so yeah pretty tailored to you two.”
“Fuck you,” she says, flicking you.
“Ow, fuck!”
“Disparaging my tastes aside, you’re saying the game has a combo for all of us, and not merely a default?” she asks and you shrug. “Interesting. So just to confirm, all of these,” she points to Aradia’s Time column, “aren’t combinations you can do?”
You look at the names and shake your head. “They don’t even feel right in my mind. Like take Karkat’s.” You point to the motif NO TIME TO BLEED. “I don’t get the same feeling as when I look at ADAGIO REDSHIFT. I think these are only Aradia’s.”
“But that still doesn’t prove much,” she muses. “Aradia is a Maid, not a Knight, so the dissonance could be that.”
“Ok, but by that logic, Karkat and Aradia’s would have something about it that feels close, right? So if it feels all the way wrong, then it’s probably because it’s not meant for me.”
“What does Time feel like for you? You were always so cagey about it before.”
“Because at the time it felt like dead assholes piling the fuck up ‘cause I didn’t know what the hell I was doing,” you reply.
Rose rolls her eyes. “Humor me. I told you about Light.”
“You told me about being a Seer. But... I guess we’re working off ‘Rezi’s stuff working different than yours. Especially since she’s always roped into two choices like her shitty coin, but you’re all about watching the shittiest movie with the worst dubs ever.”
“As amusing as your reductive synopsis is, you still haven’t explained how Time works for you,” she chides. “Call me curious, but it’s a bit fascinating.”
“It’s dope as fuck, but I dunno if I’d call it ‘fascinating.’” You fold your arms and she huffs, and OK, fine, if it’ll get her off your back. “Alright, so you remember timelines in like history class or whatever, right?”
“Sure.”
“So imagine if that same timeline was one of your shitty balls of yarn.”
She instantly pops out a ball of lavender yarn and tosses it at you. You catch it easily with your face.
“God, I fucking hate you,” you say as she giggles. You undo some of the string and hold it taut to make your point. “So say this whole thing is our session, time-ways. While you’re fucking off being a grim-dark disaster, and Jade’s hunting down frogs, and John’s frolicking off getting troll-murdered, I’m here, knitting.” You pull more yarn from the ball and wind it around your fingers. “And knitting in this case means making stable time loops, threading one path in on itself over and over again until you get something that looks cooler than what it is.”
“But it’s still one thread,” she says thoughtfully. “What about choices?”
“Some just feel better than others. If I don’t stay focused, or if I let myself...” You swallow hard, letting the string unravel. “There’s a point where something feels off. Like wrong. Like if déjà vu and the Saw puppet made snuff porn and threw up in your bed.”
“Dave,” she groans.
“Well, that’s what it feels like. And as soon as you feel that, you turn around and see a dead fucking version of yourself because you fucked up somewhere.” You shrug. “Thing is, you know exactly what you did to get there because it’s what you would’ve done yourself if you didn’t see your own shitty mistake gazing up at you.”
“That’s horrid.”
“Yeah, well that’s Time for you,” you say, draining your bowl. You sloppily wipe your mouth with your sleeve. “Anyway, ‘snot even the point I was trying to make. All I’m saying is, Aradia’s fraymotifs don’t feel right, and if you’ve got ones separate from spidertroll’s, then it means we were meant to have combos with the trolls.”
“I’ll bite. What are you saying?”
“So technically we were never meant to exist,” you say. “We Scratched our session, and we exist anyway, and we’re hurtling through the cosmos like the most uncannybrutal curveball flung across a cornfield.”
“You accomplished a semi-coherent sports metaphor,” she deadpans. “Must be a doomed timeline.”
“Shut the fuck up. My point is, we’re not supposed to exist and neither are the trolls, but the game still acknowledges we exist.”
Rose shrugs. “I mean... yeah. The game’s accounted for a lot of our fuck-ups, Dave. This is nothing new.”
Your shoulders sink. Good fucking luck trying to get one up on a goddamn Seer. “Just seemed cool is all,” you mumble.
She gazes at you hard for a solid three seconds, and her expression changes from confusion to realization, and finally, to your dismay, smug satisfaction. “Aww, Dave.”
You groan. “Man, shut the fuck up.”
“You’re very sweet, you know that?”
“Fuck you.”
“If you wanted to alleviate Karkat’s existential fears, you should have come to me sooner,” Rose says, folding her arms. “As the Knight and stoker of the Forge for their session, he and Kanaya both have a role to play in our new universe. But yes, if you want to tell him the game formally acknowledges his existence, who am I to stop you?”
You roll your eyes; you’re pretty sure she can see it with her batshit fruity vision Light-fold. “Man, whatever, it’s not even that big a deal. Was just something we talked about once, and can’t a guy think some parts of the game are cool without it turning into some kind of fucking heartfelt confession?”
“Who said it was?” She steeples her hands and smirks.
“...You were leading up to it,” you say.
“Leading up to what?” she asks, coy as fuck.
“Leading up to a healthy bowl of ‘fuck you,’ part of a wholesome balanced breakfast.”
“That metaphor could pass for a Vantas original.”
“So?”
“So,” she continues, “you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. It’s rather endearing and I’ll admit, I’m a bit curious about it.”
You eye her warily. “I mean...? We’re bros. What’s there to be curious about?”
“Well...” Her demeanor flickers to sheepish before going neutral, which you’d never spot unless you lived on the Meteor Mansion with her. She never grew up like you, didn’t have to train with Bro, but she hides a lot of herself in similar ways. Weird how it took living with her for it to become so obvious you were related.
“Well...” you repeat.
“Are... the two of you in a quadrant?”
Oh. Easy-peasy. “Yeah, the brorail one. Why?”
“And you don’t find that weird or incompatible or anything?” she presses. “Or the fact that trolls consider it a legitimate romance, equal in weight to the other quadrants?”
“Nah, it’s cool. It’s like, getting to be bros, but...” You try to keep from smiling, and barely manage. “I dunno, it’s like a bro plus-plus. Like the Jay to my Silent Bob, or The Robin to my Batman. Walter to my Lebowski. Shit’s cool, he gets to be this big, obnoxious, shouty tool, and I tell him to chill the fuck out, and it’s awesome.”
“And you don’t find the other aspects of the quadrant off-putting?”
“What... other aspects?” you ask.
“You know, the sharing of feelings, physical affection, pacification, stuff like that.”
If you let Karkat tell it, you’re about as emotionally constipated as the third place contender at a hot dog eating contest. And if you let Rose parse through that analogy, she’d make some crack about you stuffing as many phallic objects in your mouth as possible and still coming up short. Shitty train of thought aside, you feel like you’re getting better about talking things out. And physical affection’s cool, more your jam than you’d ever thought, though you’re still too chickenshit to hug like how Rez and Vriska do when they’re off dragon hunting or whatever the fuck. And if pacification is stopping Karkat from bagging on himself, hell you’ll do that shit all day.
But you decide not to say any of that because your Nunya Biznass sensors are tingling. “Some getting used to, but I mean...” you trail off. “Dude, why are you asking me this?”
Her mouth opens and closes, false starts for whatever she’s trying to spit out. Finally, she says, “Troll romance admittedly eludes me. It pains me that of all people, you’re the one able to successfully navigate its nuances.”
Your jaw drops. You’re pretty sure it’s in the other room somewhere, rolling away, never to be seen again by mortal eyes. “Oh my Jesus dick,” you say slowly. “Are you hitting me up for relationship advice?”
“Not exactly,” she says, a sour look on her face. “Merely... Ugh. Sometimes it just... Ngh!” She buries her head in her hands. “You know how humans ideally talk about their feelings and emotions when they’re in a relationship? Like how that never stopped being a thing? Sometimes I wonder why the hell that can’t still be a thing without ‘blurring quadrants.’” She frowns at you. “Stop laughing!”
“I can’t,” you say, snickering. “Rose, please tell me: you wanna talk and your hot vampire girlfriend’s all about sloppy make-outs? Oh my fucking God, that’s it, isn’t it?” You crack up all over again as her scowl deepens. “Oh man, have you talked to Karkat about it? Dude’s a romance guru, he should know.”
She rolls her eyes, holding out her fingers in quotes. “‘Quadrant vacillation.’ That’s all he ever gets at, along with constantly questioning whether humans are fully capable of experiencing troll romance as they see it. Which is weird considering how well you two are doing.”
“I mean, it’s not weird, ‘cause we’re awesome.” In fact, you two are so awesome, you see a string of nubby grey messages in your shades. Dude must be testing out his speaker crab. You’re tempted to get him in on this conversation, but you decide to spare Rose for now. “So what, y’all are vacillating pale and flush?”
“I guess? I know I’m not, but apparently I don’t understand all of the deeper nuances for trolls. Human romance is inherently mixed with flushed and pale advances, but getting her to understand that I’m not ‘repeating certain patterns’ is like pulling teeth.”
“Man, that horseshit all over again,” you say with a groan. “It’s like what I was telling Karkat, it’s how our love works. You cuddle, you talk, and sometimes you make out. Heaven forbid you happen to be friends with... the person...”
Hmm.
“I’ve made similar arguments, but even citing literature, literally Shakespeare introduces entire debates regarding culture clash,” Rose laments.
OK, back up. When you said that to Karkat, you were trying to figure out the differences between human romance and moirails. Like what you and Karkat do is still the pale category, right? And you’ve more or less gotten over thinking about how gay it is; it’s gay, but since it’s platonic – human platonic – then it’s not that big a deal. Right? But while your sister is here trying to convince her troll girlfriend talking and cuddling is a human romance thing, you sat up and said the same thing, all while... saying it’s... OK?
You suddenly know jack shit.
“Dave, are you even listening?” Rose asks. “I can hear you mumbling.”
“Sorry,” you say. “I uh... forgot I had a thing.”
“A thing.”
“Yeah this uh... thing with the Mayor I gotta do.” You wish you were better at thinking fast. “Gotta make sure he knows to build a museum and shit. So I should head out. But yeah dude. Hit me up later about your troll woes. But I mean, at least you’re getting make-outs so it’s not that bad, right?”
She sighs. “I suppose that’s one benefit over a pure moiraillegiance.”
“Whatever. Brorails own the hardest, get your facts checked,” you babble. “But yeah, I should go.” You stand and head to the transportalizers.
What you’re doing is fine, right? The past year, hanging out, being bros, that’s all fine. You like hanging out with him, and ain’t no reason for you to overthink it like Rose. And Karkat’s not overthinking it as far as you know; overanalyzing is practically in his strife deck, but he hasn’t seemed worried about it. So you’re good.
Yeah.
You decide to pull up Pesterchum and see what he was on about.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
CG: DAVE, ARE YOU THERE?
CG: THIS IS KARKAT.
CG: I MEAN, OF FUCKING COURSE IT'S ME. WHAT AM I SAYING.
CG: I'M TESTING OUT THE SPEAKER CRAB RANGE.
CG: THIS IS HONESTLY MORE CONVENIENT THAN I EXPECTED. IT STILL HAS ITS LIMITATIONS, BUT I THINK I COULD GET USED TO IT.
CG: THE CRAB JUST WALKED OFF, THOUGH.
CG: I ASSUME IF I PRESS THIS BUTTON, THEN IT SHOULD COME BACK?
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked turntechGodhead [TG] --
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] unblocked turntechGodhead [TG] --
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
CG: OK, THAT WAS A WASTE OF FUCKING TIME.
CG: SO ONE BUTTON ENDS YOUR CURRENT CHAT, ANOTHER POWERS DOWN THE DEVICE, YET ANOTHER ONE BLOCKS YOU, AND THE LAST ONE CONTROLS THE SPEAKER CRAB FUNCTIONS.
CG: I WANT TO TEST OUT THE HOLOGRAPHIC FEATURE SOME MORE WHEN YOU GET A CHANCE.
CG: YOUR FACE CAME OUT A LITTLE GRAINY LAST TIME.
CG: ALSO, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? IF YOU'RE WITH ROSE, TELL HER I CAN SWAP LOOK-OUT SHIFTS WITH HER, BUT SHE BETTER FUCKING DELIVER ON ALCHEMIZING GUMMY WORMS.
CG: SHE REFUSES TO GIVE ME THE CODE FOR "MY OWN GOOD."
TG: sup man
CG: OH HEY, YOU'RE HERE.
TG: in the digital flesh
TG: and yeah i was with rose but man tell her yourself with your wrist shouter
TG: dont let her stand in the way of your snacks
TG: also cant you grab the captcha code when she gives it to you
CG: SHIT.
CG: ...I ALWAYS ATE THEM IMMEDIATELY.
TG: ahahaha owned
TG: you wouldn't believe the talk we just had
CG: WAS IT ABOUT KANAYA?
TG: damn bingo
TG: vantas over here duel wielding daubers
TG: undisputed king of the parlors
TG: snatching victories from the clutches of old chain smoking grandmas
CG: AS USUAL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, BUT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAD CULL RAFFLES TOO.
TG: we absolutely did
TG: nailed it bro
CG: THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY WAYS TO SAY THAT NONE OF US KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK WE'RE DOING WHEN IT COMES TO ROMANCE, BUT THEY MANAGE TO BREAK NEW RECORDS IN AWKWARD OVERTURES.
CG: IT'S DAMN NEAR MIRACULOUS. I'LL TALK TO HER ABOUT IT.
TG: hey where are you anyway
CG: NEAR CAN TOWN, AT TEREZI'S MURDERBLOCK DISTRICT. WANT TO JOIN ME?
TG: see any shredded up dragon plush corpses
CG: NO, THANK FUCKING GOD.
TG: in that case sure
CG: SEE YOU SOON.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
==>
“Why exactly is it called ‘hopscotch?’ The hop part is obvious, but overall the name doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Karkat says. He’s on grid duty, outlining the court with freshly alchemized chalk. As always, his brow is furrowed in intense concentration, like the entire fate of the universe rests on a goddamn kid’s game.
Man, what a dumb thought.
“You don’t ask about why it’s called hopscotch, dude. That’s not what you do with hopscotch,” you say. “We could call it ‘keep these fucking kids occupied while the teachers huddle in their lounge drinking bourbon,’ but that gets a little awkward to say. Don’t get hung up on the name.”
“So this was part of some schoolfeeding ritual your species employed,” Karkat replies thoughtfully. “Say I believe that, and we’re not fucking with each other like we always do.”
“The ritual was called recess,” you say. “You go outside after your lunch, burn off all your kid energy, pull at Susie’s pigtails, play on monkey bars and all that shit, then go back inside for more boring lectures on math or whatever. Hopscotch was part of that ritual I guess.” You skootch over and write in numbers.
“You guess? I thought you knew.”
You shrug. “Kinda flying blind, Karkalacious. Never really played Hopscotch before.”
If you let yourself dwell on it, the number of normal kid games you played growing up is pretty close to zero. Your Bro made it clear early on that recess for you meant more time to train. So those monkey bars? More like obstacle courses or parkour practice.
“Fuck, really?” Karkat asks, not looking up. “Why the fuck are we doing this?”
“Why’s there always gotta be a reason? We don’t need any deeper meaning for playing hopscotch other than being bored as fuck.” You rise, popping a boon dollar out of your sylladex. “If you need a reason, it’s ‘cause we should play now while we’re still kids. Shit would be embarrassing if we were grown-ups.”
“We’re not exactly wigglers anymore,” he says. “If we were still on Alternia, I’d be at most three sweeps away from my eventual culling. And that’s if I didn’t get found out or raided sooner.”
You do the quick math in your head, made faster because time shit. He would be about twenty-one in Earth years, a full-fledged adult. Part of you wonders what he will look like. Taller, maybe? Nubby horns, still? He’ll probably look a bit like Kankri, since they’re ecto-related. Only way less awful or dead than that tool because fuck that noise.
Instead of any of that, you say, “Your planet fucking sucked, bro.”
“Sure, but at least we managed to conquer a few galaxies before the world ended.” He stands. “So how does this shit work?”
“OK, I think we take turns throwing the coin in one of the blocks, then we hop from one end to the other, but you can’t hop in the block with the coin. Then we hop back the same way and grab the coin.”
“OK.” He takes the coin from you and flips it, reminding you a little of Terezi. It lands on the six, and he proceeds to hop across the board and back, finishing with a goofy flourish. “There. The official dance number of raging dipshits.”
You snicker, grabbing the coin. “Fuck off, it can’t be that boring.” You toss the coin and it skids to the nine. You hop across and back with ease, and... alright, maybe this is a little lame. You consider suggesting something else, maybe try alchemizing candy, or do some more mixing lessons when you see a familiar dusty robe in your peripheral. You perk up and nudge Karkat.
“Dude, let’s get the Mayor in on this.”
“That’s the best fucking idea you’ve had in sweeps.”
==>
This is the best fucking idea you’ve had in sweeps.
The Mayor is awesome at hopscotch. You wouldn’t have expected it, but he adds adorable jigs and skips to the routine and makes you and Karkat follow along in this silent, Simon Says-style dance-off. You double over laughing at the Mayor’s antics, and grin your ass off like an unhinged hobo when Karkat matches his steps. You’re not sure where troll douche was hiding his sick moves, but dude needs to set that shit free and let his moves spread their fucking wings. You unironically cheer, reveling in the look of pride on Karkat’s face.
You decide confidence looks really fucking good on him.
After about an hour – fifty-four minutes on the dot – your shit-o-meter starts feeling empty, so you grab up the chalk, ready to work on a masterpiece. You listen as Karkat talks about Alternian rock bands, and you express surprise he likes anything other than his shitty movies and books. He calls you a shitsponge, and fiddles with his speaker crab until music – fast, angsty, and unfamiliar – fills the room. You try to figure out how to broach the stuff you and Rose talked about. He hasn’t brought up the existential ‘not part of the game’ thing in awhile, but maybe if he knows he is in it, that he matters, then shit’ll start looking up for him. Part of you wants to see if y’all have a fraymotif, but you made this big ass deal about not wanting to fight. You guess you could try the dream thing? Sleep with Karkat and try to fight, and wow, way to word that in the tawdriest way possible.
You finish your drawing and present your masterpiece to Karkat.
“Voila, dude.”
“Dave,” he says, exasperated. He stares at your creation – a dong-shaped hopscotch board – for three seconds before sighing. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s a boner board,” you say proudly.
“Why are you like this?” he asks, working his way into a shout-frenzy. “I’ve never seen anyone more enamored with their own anatomy than you. Do you get off on trying to mimic the perfect ideal of phallic pictography?”
“Dickography,” you offer.
Annnnd that’s almost a smirk from him. “This has no place in a goddamn wiggler game to begin with, and yet you manage to draw your human dick anyway. And if that wasn’t enough, you drew it knowing it makes the board too easy!”
“It’s funny, man. Hop on the dick.”
“Dave, I am not going to hop on your human dick. I’d rather stick a live explosive up my waste chute and soar through the cosmos like a shooting star than set a single body part on that monstrosity. Is that what you want? For people to wish upon my flaming visage? Don’t even try to answer that. Besides, didn’t you say you drew stuff other than phalluses? Pretty hard to believe, don’t you think?”
Uh... Hm.
“Why do you keep saying ‘human’ dick?” you blurt out.
“Because that’s what they are, nookwhiff.”
“So what’s a troll dick, then.” Holy fuck, why are you asking that.
“Not a topic of this conversation.” He flops down to the floor and leans back against the wall. He puffs his cheeks out before letting out a sigh, and fuck if you don’t recognize that look. Your bro is getting caught in his own head again, but before you can snap him out of it, he shakes his head and his expression changes. “Dave, I think we–”
A horn honks over the music.
You freeze, staring at Karkat. You’re... still wary as fuck around the juggalo, and while spidertroll seems like she’s got him in check, you’re not entirely convinced. Not only is that shit a crazy-leading-the-crazier scenario on its own, she sure as fuck isn’t here now.
“Want to hang out in my room?” you ask, mouthing ‘no vents’ as you point up.
He nods, grabbing his speaker crab as he stands. He spares a glance upward, then walks with you down the corridor. He sighs and his entire body slumps like he jackknifed into the Swamp of Sadness. “It wasn’t my fault,” he mutters bitterly, “but it’s still fucking shitty.”
It’s a start. The Mayor waves bye before scuttling off deeper into Can Town. You drape an arm across Karkat’s shoulders as you walk the other way, slipping into a side hug. He tentatively hugs back, arm wrapped around your waist. This time, you don’t say sorry under your breath, or gauge exactly how gay a bro-embrace is. You decide to be a little less like Rose, and be more like yourself.
Don’t overthink this. Just roll with it and overall, don’t be a fucking idiot.
Notes:
If the song Karkat plays for Dave sounds eerily familiar to Mindreader by ADTR, then it's a detail explained away by circumstantial simultaneity.
Chapter 21: Karkat: Chill with Dave
Notes:
Chapter song: The Antlers - Putting the Dog to Sleep
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Holy Mother Grub, past you is a fucking moron.
Seriously, if it wasn’t for Gamzee’s awkwardly-timed honk scaring the shit out of you, your idiotic load gaper of a mouth would’ve dumped Jegus knows what in the middle of the hallway, in front of the fucking Mayor. And just what were you going to say, anyway? ‘Dave, we should talk because my feelings are blurring quadrants, but you barely understand quadrants as it is, so fuck you for that?’
It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Besides, the Gamzee thing for some reason reminds you of another pressing issue, namely that technicolor hole in the sky. You don’t know why Gamzee’s incessant honking calls to mind multiverse-shattering doom, and you don’t dwell on it. You do know you need to train more, and you know Dave does, too. You weren’t the heaviest hitter on your team, and Vriska’s more than happy to remind you every chance she gets. And you hate to admit it, but she’s right; she and Gamzee easily dealt the most damage to the Black King, and even Tavros was more tactically useful because of his communion trick. And while you all ‘won,’ it was still the toughest battle you ever encountered. At least until Bec Noir showed up.
But even with First Guardian powers and the Black Queen’s ring, there’s no way in hell Jack is on the same level of destruction as Lord English. Because what’s a universe compared to existence itself? Furthermore, you don’t what challenges lie in wait in the new session, or if you stand a chance at facing them. You don’t know if you’re a hero or a failure tasked with the role of giving the actual heroes a fighting chance. For all you know, you’re a sacrificial bleatbeast meant to stay out of the way. But if you know yourself half as much as you think you do, when the time comes you’ll fight. Fight, and figure out how to earn your place in the new universe. You want that chance.
Dave needs that chance too. Vriska wants to exploit his abilities; she’d be crazy not to, but if she pushes, he’d probably – and rightfully – double down and refuse. You on the other hand, have this absurd thought that maybe practicing together, spar with him one on one, would help. Wiggler steps to get him used to fighting, but safer than whatever happened in that memory of his.
The two of you reach Dave’s block, free of honks or unexpected calamities, and he takes his arm off your shoulders to unlock the door. He does a float-and-drop to his respite platform while you step over a cluttered mess of wires and crates. You lay on the other end, sprawled across the corner so your head and feet can dangle.
“Bro, that can’t be comfortable,” Dave says.
“Fuck you, I’m fine,” you say back, yawning. You hold your arm up and play with your crabmunicator settings. This thing is awesome and you love it. It fills you with an obscene sense of pride, unlike Dave’s useless piece of shit.
“Suit yourself.” You hear him mumble something as stuff pops out of his sylladex. “So... wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s up?”
“You know how y’all are practicing fraymotifs, coming up with different unstoppable combos and shit? And how me and Kanaya shouldn’t ‘cause the Furthest Ring’s hells of unstable?” He jostles on the bed and you hear the faint scratches of pencils on paper. “I was kind of thinking about trying anyway, at least try Rose’s suggestion. Do the dream shit.”
You perk at that. OK. Fuck, this sounds like the perfect time to talk to him about sparring. “Are you sure that’ll work?”
“I think I can fuck with Time out here if it’s small and I’m not altering anything, but I’m officially retired from doing loops.”
“So you don’t want to time travel, but you want to practice anyway,” you say. “I’m not going to ask what changed your mind, but...,” you try to word your thoughts carefully, “are you sure you want to? And... have you changed your mind about fighting?”
Silence creeps through the room like an entire parade of trunkbeasts. The scratching noise from his pencil mingles with the muted sounds of air hissing against metal and your blood pumping past your ears. Dammit, hear ducts. Past You soars ever skyward as the world’s biggest idiot yet again.
“Not really,” he finally says. “I’m still pulling the whole ‘reluctant hero’ shtick. And like, me being reluctant about it is just fueling the trope even more, like an honest to God feedback loop full of Nope. So now I’m like, am I being reluctant enough to show I legit do not want to do this shit, or by me calling myself out on playing the trope straight but doing it anyway, am I reluctant out of some higher tier of irony? Shit’s pretty serious, Katatonic.”
Yeah, no way you’re able to parse that wave of Striderisms. “At the risk of hearing something incredibly absurd, why ‘Katatonic?’”
“Way you’re laying there, bro. It’s cute, you look like a surly-ass cat.”
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
“But yeah I don’t know,” he says, voice neutral. “I think knowing I gotta means I can, but there’s more to it. Like why we did the shit we did, and what the game was trying to tell our sorry asses. Maybe you can fight when there’s something worth fighting for, cliché as that sounds. Or maybe it’s not even about fighting, but about wanting to versus not wanting to.”
“You lost me.”
“Yeah it’s a lot.” He glances at you before grabbing a scribble culler. “But it’s why I wanted to ask if uh... you’d try practicing with me.”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh damn... uh. OK.”
“Fuck. I didn’t me-mean,” you stammer. “OK, I mean yes I’ll practice with you, sparring, fraymotifs, whatever we need, but I, I still want to make sure you’re alright with it.”
“No, no, it’s cool. I... I think I’d rather train with you than make a fucking spectacle of myself in front of ‘Rezi or Vriska, y’know? And me and Rose, I mean we’re good kinda, but I wanted to... test something out.”
“Test something.”
“Yeah, so. You fought with Aradia, right? At least once in your session.”
“Not exactly,” you admit. “Not until the Black King, and even then who wasn’t I fighting with? Why her? Time stuff?”
“You ever do any fraymotifs with her?”
“No, but I know them. They were mostly passive and the only useful thing I had was knowing which Aradia she was.” You sigh. “Which helped, but they were all already doing their thing so it’s not like anyone needed me for that.”
“Wait, so you could tell which one was the Alpha Aradia?”
“Yeah?” You wiggle your fingers at him. “I got the flashy powers of knowing which shithive version of the psychotic murderbot was ‘ours,’ big deal. Same for the dream bubbles. Like Eridan, I knew, I fucking knew it was him.”
“So that’s a Blood thing? Man, what does a Knight of Blood even do? It sounds like some badass thing, all sucking blood out of your enemies and conquering planets, but like,” he snickers, “we’re literally lounging out in my room, just the biggest couch potatoes on the meteor.”
“This isn’t a couch, it’s a respite platform,” you point out. “If anything that makes us bed grubs.”
“Nice one. But yeah I guess I wonder about it. What we would be like if we were just normal, y’know?”
“You mean without the game?”
“Maybe? Or...” he hesitates. “Maybe just without the world, both of ‘em being so fucked up. None of the hypervigilant bullshit that came with growing up, which maybe you could blame on the game but was more likely shit circumstances on a shitty bun hold the mayo. Like what if your planet didn’t try to kill you all the time? Or what if mine didn’t have this fucked up concept of what it meant to be a hard dude.”
“If you let the ghosts tell it, they had something like that,” you mutter. “Only they couldn’t win, so we had to, then we turned around and made your universe. So who knows?”
He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head, looking back at the notebook. “Whatever. Point I wanted to make was fraymotifs. I was talking to Rose, and she had all of Aradia’s listed out, but when I saw ‘em, they didn’t feel right. And Rose was talking about her, ‘Rezi and Vriska, and how Light works different.”
The only way to describe Dave’s face is expectant. Like if you slapped shades and a cape on a barkbeast, only the barkbeast really thinks you need to start caring about your abysmally dormant Blood powers. What the fuck was Blood, even? You know it feels right, but what does it mean? If you try hard enough, you can feel out his pulse; his is different from anyone else’s and more like Aradia’s, even-paced like a tick yet distinctly alien like Rose. Which, neat, you can hear heartbeats. Great use of game powers. Helps you tell when your friends are dead.
Dave’s still looking at you. Fuck. “So, your powers are different from Aradia’s. Makes sense, she’s a Maid and you’re a Knight.”
“Right, and you’re a Knight.”
“Of Blood.”
“Right.”
You grimace. “Dave, what’s your fucking point?”
“Maybe we have different shit than you and Aradia? Fuck, why’s no one fucking curious about shit like this, it’s like the one cool thing about this fucking game,” he grumbles. “Dude, if we have a fraymotif, it means the game accounted for us having one with each other from the very beginning, right? I mean c’mon, paradox space’s whole deal is we were–”
“We were always meant to seed our own realities,” you finish. “Meant to exist and create ourselves within the game, but... huh. We’re still in it. We’re still playing even now, aren’t we?”
He nods. “Longest loading screen ever, but yeah.”
“I need to train more,” you say, sighing. “I’m not sure how useful I’ll be in a fight. But there’s a lot riding on all of us and if that crack in the sky is any indication, the existence of all knowable universes is one of those fucking things.”
“...Sure.”
The reluctance in his voice – or rather the way he tries to play off the reluctance for neutral disinterest – pulls at your blood pusher. You don’t want to force the issue, but Terezi gave you advice perigees ago. Maybe talking about it will help, and you’d be a shit moirail if you didn’t at least try. Besides you’re not a complete dunderfucking moron. You know why he freezes at the thought of fighting. You fucking saw the memory right in front of you, and Dave’s fear was seared into your pan in the worst way imaginable.
“Is... your bro part of why you don’t want to fight?”
“He trained me to fight,” he says.
“Dave.” You sigh, rolling on the respite platform so you can face him. “Can you stop being an evasive cretin for once and maybe think about opening up to me? I – I’m worried, OK?” You stop chewing on your lip; you don’t remember when you started. “I want to help.”
“Fuck, fine. It’s not like I’m not telling you shit on purpose, Jesus. This shit is hard to talk about, and it never crossed my mind to talk about it to anyone, least of all a troll that wasn’t raised with shit like parents or siblings, or whatever the fuck you call being ‘adopted’ from the Meteor Stork Delivery Service.” He sets aside his notebook and stares at you through his shades. “You already know the gist. I didn’t have the happy-go-lucky childhood like John or even the kinda shitty but means well thing Rose had. And... I’m starting to realize that the longer I spend chilling out with you, her, and the Mayor. And fuck, everyone, really.
“Like take today. We fucking played hopscotch for Christ’s sake. You get the excuse of being an alien, but I was supposed to grow up with that shit. ‘Supposed to,’ though,” he gestures with enclosure talons, “as if that means a fucking thing out here. Just like he wasn’t ‘supposed to’ die by his own blade, and like how I’m ‘supposed to’ miss him.”
Oh.
“You miss your lusus, right?”
You nod, reluctantly. Swallowing hard, you say, “Yeah. But. I miss everyone.”
“Well see, there you go,” Dave says, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “It’s not whether or not I want to fight, it’s what fighting’s always meant. Like I’m perpetuating this shitty fucking legacy chucked on my doorstep like a paradoxical Ding Dong Ditch. It’s sitting here wondering how fucked up I am when one of my best friends can still miss some fish asshole that killed his buds and look fucking wistful about some murder clown lurking in the vents, but I’m too emotionally constipated to miss the man that fucking raised me.”
“Dave, I don’t like missing everyone! You’re not fucked up just because you don’t miss–”
“It’s fine,” he cuts you off. “I know it’s fucked up. And I mean, I miss John and Jade, so it’s not like I’m broken beyond all repair or something melodramatic, but I dunno.” He picks up his notebook again, and rhythmic scratches fill the space again. “‘Sides, you already help, bro. You’re probably the reason why I’m at sanity’s doorstep begging to be let in the party.”
You scoff. “What makes you think I got an invitation?”
“You didn’t,” he smirks, “but you at least had your hear caves on the ground and scoped out the choice party taking place. I’m sitting here stuck at home making excuses about washing my hair with no place to go. Now with you, we can shimmy up the fire escape and crash that party like the train wrecks we are.”
“All aboard the socially stunted express,” you say, smiling back. “Choo, choo, motherfuckers.”
He laughs. You love hearing him laugh.
Um.
“What are you drawing?” you ask, because you don’t want to think about what you love hearing.
“Uh.”
“Please assuage my fears and tell me it’s not more dicks. I’ll be tickled right down to my seed flap if it’s not more of your atrocious fucking dicks.”
“Would you, now.” He cocks a brow at you, face insufferably blank.
Ignore, ignore, IGNORE. “Shut the fuck up, Strider.”
He snorts. “As it happens, I’m drawing the biggest dick I can, so get ready to be tickled in all your weird and nebulous troll anatomy. Women will weep, and dudes will fling themselves to the ground, asses in the air in some holy ritual of deference. Shit’ll be put in the museum of fine dickery, and generations of music and literature will be inspired by this twitching member–”
“Fuck that word,” you groan.
“– And an entire choir of angels will descend from the heavens, blasting out a sick fanfare from their long-ass cornets–”
“Dave.”
“–Heralding the second coming,” he stifles a snicker, “of the most beautiful penis drawing ever laid on paper.”
“Dave!” You feel your mouth twitch, and you’re not sure you can keep a straight face.
“Holy edifices will be erected in honor of this massive schlong, and the Washington Monument and obelisks around the world will pale in comparison to the epic array of buildings inspired by this wang.” He shrugs. “So yeah. It’s a sketch of your face, you dick.”
“Wow, fuck you!”
“No, really.” He turns the notebook, and for a brief second, you see an outline of a head, face and horns, and a little more detail drawn in on one side. He turns it back just as quickly and mutters, “Not done yet, though.”
And... OK. From what you saw, it wasn’t anything like his dicks, or his preposterous ‘art’ around Can Town. It was something more in line with Alternian highblooded artistry, only with less hoofbeasts and more... you. He really wasn’t kidding when he said he liked drawing, and well, you guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d draw you.
“Yeah, so if you want to train or whatever, we can do that,” he says. “Like maybe when we’re both not on watch, we can go over to one of the other roo– observation decks and spar. And y’know, maybe it’ll be cool, since it’s not like either one of us are out for teeth or anything.”
“Yeah,” you agree. You don’t say any empty platitudes about how everything’s going to be fine, and you don’t say out loud how much better at fighting everyone else is compared to you. Instead you try to take his other words to heart; you help, you’re good, and you have something worth fighting for.
“Did you bring your Reading Rainbow Rumpus book? Think this sketch is gonna take a bit.”
“Sure did,” you say. “You fell asleep just before it got to the good part. Want me to start the chapter over?”
“Sure dude, but you think every part’s the good part.”
“It’s a good book,” you grumble. You settle in against the wall and uncaptchalogue In Which a Prosperous Cerulean Blood Expects a Promotion Within the Alternian Fleet, Only to be Passed Over For an Upstart Teal Blood blah, blah, blah. With a deep breath, you start. “‘Chapter Twelve: The Gambit...’”
==>
You stare at your crabtop, pointer hovered over your good friend’s name. Auspisticizing was never your forte, and it’s funny to think the person most in need of it was always the one better at this sort of intervention. Though this isn’t traditional auspisticizing. This is just good old fashioned schoolfeeding on hard facts.
You do wonder if there’s more to relationships than the standard quadrants, and if there’s room in the system for the type of help you provide. Is it possible to auspisticize for a flushed quadrant? Human romcoms often have the meddlesome friend dispensing advice to the idiot protagonist, but you can’t tell whether it’s a blurry moirail thing or an awkward ashen tryst. You wouldn’t mind jamming about it with Kanaya once she gets her shit handled. You always did enjoy talking romance theories with her, after all.
Either way, this song and dance between her and Lalonde has gone on long enough. Seriously, why can’t they get their shit together and realize they’re good for each other? The only thing holding them back is a minor culture clash on certain expectations. You’re certain, really fucking positive they can clear up this whole thing with a straightforward talk about their flushed feelings. Dating Rose would blur the quadrants a bit, but it seems to work for humans! And if Kanaya is going to date a fucking human, then she just needs to learn some multiculturalism.
You told this to Rose nearly verbatim about an hour ago, and in a gesture of astute observation, she asked about traditional troll behaviors for flushed intent. She reasoned that if Kanaya needs to compromise, then she needs to as well, right? You couldn’t be prouder; at least someone gets it.
Grabbing a handful of gummy worms, you open the chat window. Rose asked for your help with this, and dammit, you’re going to help.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --
CG: KANAYA, I THINK WE NEED TO TALK.
CG: SPECIFICALLY ABOUT THIS SELF-SABOTAGING DANCE YOU AND THE ROSE HUMAN HAVE ENGAGED IN FOR HALF A FUCKING SWEEP.
CG: YOU DO REALIZE YOU'RE BOTH CRAZY ABOUT EACH OTHER, RIGHT?
GA: Theres Something Nostalgic About Referring To Her As The Rose Human
GA: Next You Will Tell Me You Still Have Your Notes On Said Humans
GA: Remember How That Was A Thing And Presumably Stopped Being A Thing At Some Point
CG: IT NEVER STOPPED BEING A THING AND WE BOTH KNOW IT.
CG: THE MINUTE WE STARTED HINTING AT QUADRANTS WE WERE DOOMED TO ENDURE THEIR PISS POOR ROMANCE SYSTEM AND NOOKBITING SHENANIGANS.
CG: NOW ALL THE NOTES ARE ARCHIVED ON A SERVER IN THE FURTHEST RING.
CG: THE ARCHIVE IS CALLED SHAPE YOUR FUCKING SHIT, KANAYA.
GA: That Tangent Was Striderian In Execution
CG: YEAH, PROBABLY.
GA: It Is Disheartening Knowing We Remain Just As Unfathomably Clueless Now As We Were Then
GA: Particularly Regarding Certain Inclinations To Journey Down The Same Well Travelled Road
CG: NO, SEE THAT'S WHERE YOU'RE WRONG.
CG: WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS. ROSE IS NOTHING LIKE HER, OK?
GA: She Is Different Yes
GA: But The Similarities Are Difficult To Ignore
GA: And The Similarities Are Compounded When She Acts In Dangerous And Reckless Ways
GA: And Made Worse When She Asks For Guidance As Though I Have The Answers
CG: HUMANS MIX SOME OF THEIR PALE AND FLUSH LEANINGS, KANAYA.
CG: I'D SAY DON'T TAKE IT PERSONALLY, BUT I UNDERSTAND WHERE YOU'RE COMING FROM.
GA: How Can You Say That When You Appear To Have A Perfectly Stable Moirailegiance
GA: With The Person Originally Dubbed The Least Likely To Understand Quadrants
GA: By You Might I Add
CG: LOOK, TRUST ME WHEN I SAY IT'S A WORK IN PROGRESS.
CG: FOR BOTH OF US, REALLY.
CG: BESIDES, WEREN'T YOU THE ONE TELLING ME PERIGEES AGO THAT YOU WERE HAPPY? HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW?
GA: Well
GA: She Is Still Everything I Could Want In A Matesprit
GA: Still Delightful And Caring
GA: More So Since A Certain Incident
GA: Even If Its Not Always The Type Of Care Expected From A Flushed Entanglement
CG: BUT?
GA: But
GA: Occasionally I Wonder If She Sees Me In The Same Way Or If She Would Rather Have A Different Sort Of Romantic Arrangement
CG: AND WHAT DID SHE TELL YOU?
GA: She
GA: Well Of Course She Said That Her Feelings Havent Wavered
CG: AND?
GA: And That Humans Have Considerably Different Yet Similar Expectations For Romance
CG: WELL THERE YOU GO.
CG: HAS IT EVER OCCURRED TO YOU THAT YOU MIGHT BE OVERTHINKING IT?
CG: DOING THAT EXACT THING WILL SHOOT YOU RIGHT IN THE FROND, AND YOU WIND UP MISERABLE INSTEAD OF ENJOYING THE MOMENT.
You decide not to overthink how hypocritical you are. Though it’s not being a hypocrite if you’re speaking from experience, right?
CG: LOOK
CG: I KNOW SHE LIKES YOU. AND YOU JUST SAID YOU LIKE HER. SO BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF AND ASK WHETHER YOU LIKE HER ENOUGH TO PUT IN THE WORK, OR IF YOU'D RATHER SAVE YOURSELF THE TROUBLE AND CUT OUT EARLY.
CG: BUT I THINK WE BOTH KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT.
GA: I Suppose We Do
GA: And I Guess Ill Hold Out Hope That Its Worth It
GA: Trying At Least Is
GA: So Thanks
GA: Once Again It Puzzles Me On How Versed You Are In The Topic Of Romance
GA: Only For It To Have Grown Twofold Over The Course Of Our Journey
CG: TRUST ME, I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I'M DOING.
CG: BUT
CG: SOLVING A PROBLEM IS EASIER WHEN IT BELONGS TO SOMEONE ELSE.
GA: Indeed
CG: ANYWAY, I SHOULD LET YOU GO.
CG: YOU'RE ABOUT TO HAVE COMPANY IN THE FORM OF A HUMAN-SHAPED TRAFFIC CONE.
GA: Why Karkat
GA: Were You In Cahoots This Whole Time
GA: With The Rose Human No Less
CG: THIS COVERSATION, WHILE NEEDED, WAS JUST A RUSE.
GA: You Mean A Distaction
CG: PERFECT
CG: WAY TO BE MULTICULTURAL.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --
That went better than you’d hoped. Grabbing another gummy worm, you open up another window.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling tentacleTherapist [TT] --
CG: I TALKED TO HER.
TT: And?
CG: AND I THINK IT HELPED.
TT: Thank you. I really appreciate it.
CG: DON'T MENTION IT. JUST DON'T FUCK THIS UP.
CG: WHATEVER YOU MAY THINK, THIS IS PROBABLY THE GOOD TIMELINE.
CG: THE TWO OF YOU REEK OF SERENDIPITY.
TT: I have sincere reason to believe the same.
TT: If all goes well, I will be sure to perform an equally elaborate gesture of appreciation.
TT: Likely in the form of knitted apparel and confectionary treats.
CG: YEAH, YEAH. SWEATERS AND CANDY, MY TRUE WEAKNESSES.
CG: JUST REMEMBER WHAT I SAID, OK?
CG: GOOD LUCK, LALONDE.
TT: Thanks.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling tentacleTherapist [TT] --
Notes:
Rose and Kanaya then proceeded to have the most pleasant official second date in paradox space.
Chapter 22: Dave: Strife
Summary:
Finally got to the second chapter I wrote out of the entire fic. This entire time it was already here.
Notes:
Chapter song: The Heavy - Short Change Hero
Play during the [S].
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Turns out, when you commit to something, you do not half-ass it. That entire rump of commitment juts out impudently, sitting around as a complete, whole, and tangible being. No fractions or decimal places needed, and no rounding up to the nearest integer. Go big or go home.
Yeah, you’re not done drawing Karkat yet. You weren’t kidding when you said you’d draw him like one of your French girls. Except for the part where you ever had French girls to draw, or the part where you alchemize a movie prop and have him pose seductively before y’all bang in a car.
Uh.
OK, so every part of that metaphor got away from you like a kite on a windy day, and you’re just sitting like Charlie Brown watching some tree gnash its branchy maw around your shitty turn of phrase. Point is, you’re not done yet and it’s been awhile – if ever – since anything other than lousy, squawking corvids sat still long enough for you to draw every detail. The other night you got enough for a rough sketch; not your best, but a decent baseline. After you looked it over the next day, so much felt missing and you’re kicking your past self for not snapping a picture first. Not that the squirmy little fucker would ever stay still long enough for one. You’re more likely to get a selfie with Bigfoot than get Karkat to agree to a reference pic.
And Bigfoot’s dead, so that’s saying something.
Thing is, just telling him to stay still while you draw is not just time-consuming for him, but it’ll probably make him act all weird and nervous, which is bad for posing. You like it best when he gives that mug of his time to relax, like when he’s reading romance novel #568 or playing games on your XBOX. You also dig his face when there’s a sappy ass love scene on and fuck man, when he smiles it’s awesome. Objectively, y’know. He no bullshit has a good face.
Anyway, since you’re not gonna say literally any of that to him, you find ways to look at him without him noticing, making you send mental thanks to Egbert for gifting you these shades. You decide for science to observe Terezi, Kanaya, and Vriska. Match up which traits are troll things and which are Vantas-Certified originals. And honestly, there’s more originals than you expected.
Take Terezi for example. One of the biggest differences is how fucking sharp she is compared to Karkat. He’s not soft or doughy or anything, but you swear the girl is made entirely out of pocket knives and right angles. Pointy elbows made for causing internal bleeding, horns that could stab with a head flick, and razor teeth beyond the average troll fanginess. His features have an edge to them, but nowhere near as sharp as the other troll, making him look younger in comparison. And while Rezi’s skin is grey, it’s cooler-toned compared to his near-ruddy complexion, making you wonder if troll skin works like human skin. She probably has the most similarities to Karkat despite those differences, like they could be cousins if you squint real hard and ignore phrases like ‘incestuous slurry.’
When you compare Vriska and Kanaya, they look more like good and evil counterparts to each other, pretty different from shouty nubs with their height, fangs, and weirdly graceful way they strut. And fuck if you’d ever say graceful to Vriska’s face, but credit where it’s due, OK? They walk like fighters, knowing exactly how much space their bodies take at any given moment. But where Kanaya is all protection and defense, Vriska seems made for scaring little children in the middle of the night.
You can count on one hand how many times you’ve seen the murder clown, and you definitely don’t need all five fingers to count the up-close encounters. He’s got more on Bigfoot than Karkat does, and like fuck if you’re gonna stare at him long enough to see what other troll dudes look like. Besides, with all the shitty movies and trashy romance novels scattered around, you’re not hurting for too much reference. Just, y’know. Looking at Karkat is more convenient is all.
Take now for example. The four of you – Rose, Kanaya, him, and you – are lounging in the common room watching yet another shitty movie, arguing about nothing as per-fucking-usual. At this point, it barely matters what movie it is; they all bleed into each other like spilled paint on a genre-blind canvas. And while this raging tool tries to uncover all the intricacies of angsty romance, you try putting to paper the intricacies of his furrowed brow and intense stare.
As you draw, Rose knits, and as she knits, she debates with Karkat. Kanaya’s drawing too, another fashion masterpiece if she’s got anything to say about it. And... it’s nice. You like when the four of you chill out, even if half the shit coming out of Karkat and Rose’s mouth sounds dumb as hell. She psychoanalyzes the characters like she’s getting paid, and he tries to stick every single interaction into a neat and tidy box, hoarding emotions like he’s doomsday prepping. You strike up a silent solidarity with Madam Dracula with an entire language built on eye rolls, fond smiles, smirks, finger gagging, and stifled giggles.
Because when those two get on a roll, holy shit.
“For the last time, it’s not vacillation in this case,” Rose says, exasperated. “They were falling apart because of normal lack of communication.”
“And for the last time Lalonde, I didn’t say they were vacillating. I said they were never meant for the matesprit quadrant in the first place! If they handled it better they might’ve made a good pitch couple, but only if they were being honest about their true feelings.”
“Regardless of what quadrant you’d categorize them in, their true feelings are still classified as love,” she insists. “And if you look at his memories, not all of their feelings were antagonistic.”
Karkat pulls his ‘inferior human’ face on someone other than you for once. “If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong. They were taking turns suffocating each other. How is that not pitch!?”
“Point to Crabkat,” you chime in. “That shit was weird kismefish territory.”
“It’s like you find the douchiest way to say things just to piss me off,” he says with a sigh. “Rose, even the witless nookscrubber can see it even with his obstructive eyewear. Must be pretty obvious!”
You note how his eyes squint in a kind of smug way whenever he knows he’s right about something. Like he’s smiling everywhere except his mouth. You erase some lines here and there to compensate.
“Once again, can we agree their tryst was slightly more complex than simply boxing it within any particular quadrant? Can we at least agree they shouldn’t have parted on such bad terms?” Rose asks.
“For once we agree,” Karkat mutters.
“Actually, nah.”
“What?” Shout Nubs turns to you. “Why?”
“Shit started out unhealthy as fuck,” you say. “Dude was shacking up with someone else when he got with whatshername, and he was being cagey about it. Not cool.”
“We never learn about that situation in full,” Rose points out.
“And if they were using quadrants it probably wouldn’t matter anyway,” Karkat says offhandedly.
Kanaya nods. “True. In a troll version of the same affair, if they were in the pitch quadrant, there wouldn’t be much conflict with his current matesprit.”
“Unless they were vacillating,” Karkat says.
Rose rolls her eyes.
“So hold up,” you say. “Y’all mean he’d be all clear to live with his girlfriend and freak-smother the crazy chick on the side.”
Karkat shrugs. “Yeah. So?”
“Not cool.”
Karkat’s entire head follows his eye roll. “What could possibly be ‘not cool’ this time? They’re completely different quadrants!”
“Dude, no. If marrying someone was at some point on the table, you don’t go adding other fucking snacks to the spread. If he was on the rocks with his other girl, either fix it or break up. Dude didn’t bother trying to work things out with Natalie or whoever the fuck, why would y’all expect him to talk it out with Calamity?”
“You’re getting the names wrong on purpose,” Karkat mutters.
“He... has a point, though,” Kanaya says begrudgingly. “Nothing in the movie garnered faith in his ability to navigate any singular quadrant. I doubt he’d have the skill needed to navigate multiple successful ones.”
“We can also agree the protagonist wasn’t the most rational decision maker,” Rose replies. “Dave, I’m surprised by your rather monogamous input. You always lauded yourself as having an abundance of yourself with ample to spare for the masses.”
“You know me,” you say dismissively. “Total mack daddy over here. Full on master in the ways of romance and seduction.”
“Dave, the only thing you’re a master of is hitting your head while floating through small spaces,” Karkat says.
Goddammit that was one time. “OK first off, that wounds me on a deep and personal level. How can you deny I’m not an eagle flying proud soaring above the clouds, crowds going wild when they hear me get loud–”
“Do not start rapping,” Karkat warns.
“At any rate, it’s hard to reconcile such a monogamous stance while committing to the ‘mack daddy’ persona,” Rose says. “Not to mention juggling that persona with such a remarkably healthy moirallegance. By your mixed logic, you should be a veritable paragon of quadrant mastery.”
“Dude, none of what you said makes any sense.” You know a trap when you hear one and you would rather watch Dane Cook’s unbearable face one more time than deal with her mind-harpy bullshit.
“Perhaps this is instead an abdication of that role once and for all,” she says. “Heralding a new era where we no longer posture needlessly over imaginary conquests.”
You glare at her, but you’re wearing your shades so it probably doesn’t mean much. This is the third time in as many weeks she’s needled you on something, and it’s getting old. Like fuck, you’re literally a God of Light so maybe use that power to lighten the fuck up. “Shit talking’s different,” you say.
Before she has a chance to reply, you hear the transportalizers fire up. Out pops Terezi and Vriska, likely back from sparing or bubble watch or whatever other escapade they fucked off to.
“I smell a movie party!” Terezi declares. “And I smell fresh cherry tears, so it must’ve been another tragic romance.”
“Fuck you.”
“Nah, bro. She’s got you pegged.”
“Fuck you both,” Crabby McNubs grumbles. He’s pouting like someone canceled Troll Christmas, and shit, it’s kind of adorable. Too bad you’ve got Default Frown on paper already.
“It smells suspiciously like a waste of time.” Vriska eyes you all with an indifferent sneer. “In case you all forgot, there’s a big ass battle waiting for us in the next session, along with a megalomaniacal jackass lurking in the Furthest Ring.”
Thought the megalomaniacal jackass was right in front of you.
“What was that, Strider?”
Whoops.
“Good point spidertroll,” you say a little louder. “In fact, Kitkat and I were just headed out to train.”
“I thought we were going to watch another movie,” Kanaya says.
Karkat’s mouth gapes open, but to say what? Fucking nothing is what, because you stare him down over your shades, giving off your best ‘abscond the fuck out’ gaze. He catches on and says, “We made plans to spar today. When I’m done bludgeoning Strider to a pulp, we can pick up where we left off.”
“Eff you,” you say, readjusting your shades.
“A match between our two cherry-flavored knights? Seems worth investigating,” ‘Rezi says.
“As fucking delightful as that shit sounds, gonna decline in advance, nosy girl,” you reply, keeping your coolkid face intact. “Our moves are regulated, certified, and confidential. Can’t have you all scoping out our sick strats while you all get to fuck off wherever and work on your secret Scourge tricks. How can you expect a fair and functional society while holding fast to such blatant informational disparities? Shit’s ridic.”
“Bluh, fine!” Terezi says. “Don’t be such a whiny wiggler, Dave.”
“Ain’t a wiggly thing if I don’t want a bloodthirsty audience watching me trounce a troll boy. I’m just being magnanimous as fuck while I spare Karkat’s feelings.”
“You’re making a bigger deal out of it as usual,” ‘Rezi shoots back.
“I’m making the exact standard size deal. This deal is like, chocolate doughnuts and Coke-level standard. We’re talking basic corner store transaction.”
“Oh my God, I thought you were leaving!” Vriska shouts. “Seriously, no one caaaaaaaares. We only came in here to find you guys and see who was on bubble duty.”
Kanaya looks sheepish and captchalogues her sketch. “Sorry! That would be me. I’ll head up there now.”
You follow suit, grabbing Karkat’s arm as you stand. “We’re right behind you. Shit’s been real like Kraft Mayo as always, but these birds are gonna fly.”
“Dave,” Karkat starts once you exit the room. “What the bulgelicking hell was that about?”
“Man, nothing. Just when those two get on a roll, it gets annoying.”
“If you mean the Scourge Sisters, what else is new?”
“Yeah man. Can’t fucking tell which one is nosier, but I’ll be damned if I’mma risk getting grilled with the three of them in the same room.”
“Three? You mean Rose? They barely said anything before you dragged us out.”
Ugh, he’s got a point. “...I’m not trying to sit there while they harp about a bunch of months-out shit. Plus, they all got a way of prying into psyches uncovering ancient secrets, OK? So I left before it got out of hand.”
“Oh.” He glances at you with this worried look in his eyes. “So why’d you drag me out?”
Why did you drag him out? “Bro code, obviously.”
He snorts. “Obviously. So... I guess, we’re really going to spar?”
You slump against the wall, the cool from the metal seeping through your cape and shirt. “If you want? Or not want, but feel like you need to. Then yeah, I’m down. Full six leagues under over here.”
He frowns at you. No, not frowning. Worrying his lips with his teeth like he’s writing out a script in his head, playing it back over and over, but too scared to act it out. Any other time, watching the jackass fumble over his words would be kind of cute but you also hate how he’s focused on you with all this worry.
“I’m fine,” you say, because like hell you’re gonna call your bro cute while he worries if you’re gonna break down faster than your stupid fucking thoughts.
“Ok,” he says back. His eyes do that smiling crinkle, inviting his nose to the party.
You should probably stop staring at his face. In fact, you should probably think about where you’re going to spar instead of noses and not-smiles. Yeah.
“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with and go back to your shitty romcoms.”
“Fuck you, Strider. Better my shitty romcoms than your abysmal action films any day.”
[S] ==>
“It’s simple,” you say. “Three rounds, no knock-outs, no blood. Grapples are fine, but if we tap out, we stop.”
Karkat nods. “Got it.”
“And...” You hesitate. “We’re not pulling punches, but we’re not trying to kill each other. Alright?”
“Alright.”
You’re both perched atop a roof – dammit, observation deck – weapons in hand. You hold your Caledscratch, a goddamn classic if you say so yourself, while he wields Homes Smell Ya Later, mid-level nostalgia at its finest, both adequate for a simple strife. You stand across each other like some piece of shit Clint Eastwood spaghetti western, complete with the cracked-bubble strobe light above you, a technicolor fiesta proclaiming exactly how real shit is, and a constant pulsing reminder that you all need to get your asses in gear.
And sure, you both picked this observation deck because it’s roomier and out of the way, with no prying eyes from the Light Brigade. No one here to see you sweat, no one here to jeer at him. Just you, your bro, and your sword.
“Hey,” Karkat says. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not up to it.”
You straighten your stance and ready your poker face. The expression used to be familiar, but now it’s like you’re wearing someone else’s skin. You ignore it, tamp that shit right the fuck down, and grip the hilt in your hand, memorizing the weight until you don’t notice it. It’s your arm, it’s your body. You are the sword. It’s you.
This is stupid.
“Fuck that,” you say, voice flat. “Let’s do this.”
He nods, and for three and a half seconds you’re both still as statues. His foot twitches.
In a flash, he’s after you and he’s quick. Faster than you’d ever give the romantic fuckbucket credit for. You snap your sword up in a defensive stance, parrying his attacks as vibrations race up your arm. He’s burning up energy coming after you like this, and you almost lose your cool enough to gloat. You dodge his blows until you get enough room, then you flip the script. Each hit pushes him backwards; you gain ground, feeling your blade grind down on his. You see an opening.
You spin behind him, striking his ribs with the flat of your blade.
“MotherFUCK!” he shouts. He doubles over, clutching his side, and you freeze.
“Shit, man. You OK?”
“That’s round.” That’s all he says, and fuck, fuck, shit, this was a bad idea.
Just as you’re about to call it, he raises up, rolls his shoulder and looks you dead in your eyes. His glare is sharp, intense, and predatory in a way you hadn’t considered in like a year. He’s apex; your tiny monkey brain knows danger’s nearby, and somehow this alien nerd in a dumb sweater is riling you up.
And the little asshole smiles at you.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Round two,” you reply.
Karkat switches up his stance, low and damn near crab-like. You strike first, aiming for his back. The slippery fucker ducks under you and lands a blow to your side. You manage an elbow strike to his shoulder, knocking one of his blades away.
It doesn’t land far, but before you can kick it away he’s on you, all aggression and sharp edges, putting you back on defense. He traps your blade and drags you low, and you barely dodge his knee.
You swap to ½bladekind, freeing the Broken Caledscratch from his hook. You shove him backwards.
He slides and almost stumbles, but not without grabbing his other blade. He rounds on you again, avoiding your strikes, acting wary of your sword’s time shit. Suddenly he feints. Right as you miss, his blade hooks behind your leg. It’s everything you can do to keep your balance, and you’re forced to cheat; you float for a split-second before flash-stepping behind him.
But he saw that move before. Right as you touch ground, he knocks you in the rib with the handle, blowing the wind out of you. You fall, and swear to God if you don’t see an after-image of Troll Will Smith.
“That’s two,” you grunt.
“Obviously.” He grins between heavy pants, twirling his dumbfuck blade.
You’re compelled to wipe that smug look off his face, but you remind yourself that this is a friendly spar, not a full-out, ‘warned you about stairs’ strife. You need to keep your goddamn cool. You rise and shake yourself out.
“Three?” Karkat asks.
“Three.” You nod.
This time, you sprint towards him, face twisted in a grimace. He meets you halfway, eyes wild and hair matted against his forehead. You feel rather than hear the clang of metal against alchemized metal, and sparks fly against your blades that look right at home with the cracks in the sky. You’re barely pulling punches now; it’s familiar, like hot sun and baking concrete but different, dangerous and safe and heated to something more than a Texas summer. Your skin burns from the imprint of every elbow strike, every gut check, every scrape.
And yet you’re out of practice. You have the strength, the upper hand is yours, poised above his like an Olympic platform going for gold and glory. But this buggy asshole has stamina, and those blades mean close quarters so he has to be fast. He told you about threshecutioners before, but fighting him now, years before he’d have to ‘prove himself,’ is brutal, rough, and scary as fuck. You need to end this before you tire out. But right when you’re about to gut-punch him, he does you in first.
He twists his blades, catching your sword and flinging it across the roof. Unarmed, you hurl your fist at his torso right as he lands a blow to your face. Your glasses go skittering, too fast for you to appreciate the cartoonish effect.
You hook your foot behind his knee and knock him flat on his back. You pounce, digging your knees in his sides and grab his wrists and lock his elbows. You sit on the squirmy fucker hard. His eyes go wide and he lets out a gasp, fire-hot and in your face. He struggles against your hold and bucks his hips.
Oh.
Before you have time to react, he flips you and reverses the hold. He grabs your arms by the elbows and raises up. His eyes are blown wide and dilated to oblivion, and he looks down at you, panting, shining with sweat, and oozing confidence you’ve never seen on him. He shifts his weight again. God, you...
Want...
Fuck, hard stop, HARD STOP.
“Uncle!” you squeak out. “Stop, stop, stop, I give! Upupup.”
His face instantly changes to panic, and he shoots up like his crotch was on fire. Fuck why did you think that!? “Shit, shit, are you alright?” He holds out a hand.
You don’t take it; your hands are shaking too hard and what the fuck were you thinking!? You hop up instead and dust yourself off. There’s no dust. Ngh. “I’m fine, cooler than the frostiest flake over here. I’m talking tundra levels of anti-global warming.”
His face is full of doubt and it makes your skin crawl. “You sure?”
“Couldn’t be more crystal clear than if I snagged one of Rose’s witch-harpy balls and gave it a rubdown.” WHY. “I mean, clear as the glass on the Titanic, all polished wares down in the wet abyss.” FUCKING HELL, WHY. “Either way, yeah. I’m fine.”
You try to adjust your shades and fail; they’re still skid-marked way the fuck yonder because some troll got a lucky swing. You can’t look down at the fucking tent you’re pitching without him seeing.
You need to leave.
“Just when I thought your assault on human languages reached a ceasefire, in comes your flapping noise-hole, breaking treaties left and right,” he grumbles, worry still in his voice. You don’t like that sound. “Did you hit your head when you went crashing like a downed hoofbeast? Should I alert the healers the next time we hit a dream bubble?”
You shake your head. You gotta get out of here. “Pretty sure no Hero of Life can fix word vomit. Look uh...” Your eyes flicker towards his; they’re still wide as fuck, intense and completely focused on you. Your palms are clammy all of a sudden but that’s adrenaline, right? “Good spar. You gained all the levels, scored all the touchdowns, like as many as the innings allow.” You reach to clap his shoulder and think better of it. You don’t know why. “I’mma go alchemize some dignity or something.”
“Not enough grist in the universe for that.” He’s saying it, but his eyes are all worried and you can’t deal. “Dave are you sure, though? I mean, you–”
“I’m fine, alright? I just need to chill for a bit.”
He reaches for you. “Dave–”
“Yo back the fuck off and chill, aight!?” You shouldn’t’ve said that. “I gotta... I gotta go.”
He doesn’t say anything. His eyes are too wide. You abscond.
You don’t know what happened. You sure as shit don’t know what happened. Except you do know what happened, and you don’t know why.
Your name is Dave Strider, and you suddenly understand jack shit.
Notes:
Davekat was never going to be the perfect ship. They both still have a long way to go.
Chapter 23: Karkat: Mental Breakdown
Chapter Text
You’re not panicking. You are perfectly calm, perfectly rational, and whatever just happened is no cause for alarm. Everything is fine. Look, you should even feel a little proud, right? You held your own against a God Tier; more than that you pretty much won, yeah? Scored some pretty good hits, and managed to...
Yeah fuck that sentiment, you’re panicking.
You trudge towards your block and replay the events in your mind. He wanted to avoid the Scourge Sisters and whatever Rose was getting at, and even a sopor-addled imbecile could see it had something to do with his ecto-littermate’s needling. You knew it, Rose knew it, and more importantly, it bothered Dave, but prying out the why is like stealing a lusterbulb from an angry armored bivalve. So of course he absconded, and you can almost believe his excuse for dragging you with him. Yet as much as he claimed it was bro code, deep down he wanted to feel safe, and as his moirail that was your responsibility. So of course you suggest the one thing you know makes him feel unsafe.
You know he doesn’t want to practice fighting. Scratch that he doesn’t want to fight at all, despite his prowess, and yes it’s fine to admit he’s good at it. He’s better than you without even blinking, it’s obvious he should’ve beat you. But wanting to fight is a whole separate beast, which explains your ‘victory.’ Even then you barely won, right when you started taking the spar seriously. But something shattered the instant you pinned him to the ground. That same something made him run, and all you can think about is the petrified look on Dave’s face.
For a brief, treacherous second, you flipped pitch for him.
Except that’s not it, is it? If it were just vacillation, just growing black feelings instead of sticking to the well-established pale, you’d be a scumbag but at least you’d be a normal scumbag. But what you felt, with him pinned under you, was not normal. You’re not supposed to feel all the things you felt in that moment. What you felt, what you thought you felt, was wrong.
So you replay it in your head, ruminating where everything went to shit. You enter your room and flop down on your couch, moving aside the Rainbow Shitfit book of the week. You play it back in your head again. Think about it logically. He put you in a hold, but he was off his mark enough for you to reverse it. Nothing abnormal other than getting the upper hand in the first place. Again willingness to fight, whatever.
Which... Makes you even more of a scumbag. He never wanted to fight. But you suspect – worry – he didn’t want to let you down. That’s almost the answer, but you know there’s more to it. You can feel it in your blood that you fucked up bit time. Which fucking figures. It would make perfect sense if you were so cataclysmically stupid that you could incite abject horror on your moirail’s face.
Then again, if your moirail was here, he’d tell you to stop ‘being so down on yourself.’
And well... Fuck. You’re screwing that up, too. If you were a better moirail, he could be telling you right now why he’s upset. But instead he can’t. You’re a sleazy piece of shit breaching his trust left and right because you can’t keep your feelings in check. Shouldn’t you be there for him instead of sulking in your block ruminating? Even though he probably won’t want to talk about it, and even though you’re realizing more and more how piss-poor your moirail skills are to begin with? Because deep down, you know that spar wasn’t exactly friendly.
But allowing yourself to think that means admitting how fucked up you are. So instead, you go with the easy option and burrow further into the couch. You pick up your book and begin to read, even though the words are blurry, and the sound of your sniffling distracts you from the text. Much as you try to escape what happened, you cry yourself to sleep after reading the same paragraph countless times over.
==>
You wake up in your hive to the sound of Troll Will Smith extolling the virtues of quadrants, and schoolfeeding the masses on hate and pity. And goddamn you love this movie. This is your favorite part; wherein the hilarious Troll Kevin James shows off his ‘skilled’ culling moves to the overwhelming dismay of Troll Will Smith. The moves were played for laughs until it was revealed that his quadrant interest adored ‘avant garde’ fighting techniques. You of course memorized this scene, including both fighting styles, all of the lines, and every snappy comeback.
You’re sorely tempted to watch it again, but you’re pretty sure you were in the middle of something else. And really, you remember doing something else because you were avoiding... something else? That doesn’t make sense.
Your face doesn’t make sense.
You’re... not sure why you thought that.
You decide to head upstairs to your respite block. As you walk, you notice new additions to your hive. Stairs that weren’t here before, places where walls used to be, and a gaping hole in the corner of your block. And... and holy fucking shit, is that your load gaper just sitting out on your lawnring!? For some reason, you thought you fixed that – wait, why the fuck would you have fixed that, it was never there? No, Terezi was supposed to fix it, but she wasted half your grist in shitty paint. But that sentence doesn’t make sense because what the fuck is grist?
Still, you’re pretty sure she was supposed to fix this, so trolling her sounds like a good idea. You immediately glance down at your wrist, though if anyone asked you where you got such a cool wristband, your answer would make about as much sense as Nepeta’s crush on you, or Equius’s crush on Aradia. You get the feeling you haven’t thought about any of them in awhile, but you brush it aside and message Terezi on your crabmunicator.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
CG: YOU CAN SEE ME RIGHT.
CG: TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE.
GC: 1 4LR34DY TOLD YOU 1 C4N'T S33 DUMB4SS
CG: RIGHT.
CG: WAIT, WHY WOULD I ASK YOU THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?
GC: B3C4US3 1 W4S YOUR S3RV3R PL4Y3R K4RKL3S G3T W1TH TH3 PROGR4M
CG: SERVER PLAYER?
CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT?
GC: W4Y TO B3 QU1CK ON TH3 UPT4K3 Y3T 4G41N
GC: TH3 G4M3 WH3R3 3V3RYON3 D13D BUT W3 BU1LT 4 UN1V3RS3
GC: WH3R3 SOM3ON3 D3C1D3D NOT TO SL33P TH3 3NT1R3 T1M3 4ND N3V3R WOK3 UP
CG: SHIT
CG: HOLY FUCKING SHIT, THE GAME. I'M ASLEEP?
GC: FOR ONC3!
CG: I CAN'T BE ASLEEP.
GC: B3TT3R 4SL33P TH4N D34D >:]
CG: WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT???
CG: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN DEAD?
CG: TEREZI FUCKING ANSWER ME ARE YOU OK?
GC: H4H4H4H4H4 K4RK4T YOUR F4C3 SM3LLS PR1C3L3SS
You turn. Behind you stands Terezi, only something’s off. She’s not right, but she’s close, and you’re not sure why. She grins at you in her usual shithive maggots way and leans on her dragon cane with an ease you always found... well, attractive as fuck. You don’t know her, but you sure as hell know when this was.
This was right before your ‘little moment.’ Right before you and she still didn’t become a thing despite dancing really close to that point. And fucking hell, you remember feeling intimidated and elated over something you’d anticipated and oh for fucks sake you’re so nervous you’re starting to rap like Strider.
Who in the everloving fuck is Strider!?
“Uh, hey.” You remember saying that, so for some reason it sounds right saying it again.
“No need to stay on script, Karkat. We both know it’s a dream already.” Against all odds, her grin becomes wider. “You sure don’t seem like you’re used to it, though.”
“Used to what?”
“The dream bubbles, durr. Just look outside!” She points her cane just left of your window, but you decide against course correcting. Instead you look out.
Your neighborhood is as familiar as ever, an almost endless sea of lawnrings and hives like your own. Around the rings lie craggy walkways, some cracked and oozing with red liquid, and others forming a checkered pattern. Overhead, Alternia’s pink moon shines brightly against a pitch-black sky, decorated with a strobing cacophony of broken lights.
“Holy shit,” you say, stunned. Memories creep back into your think pan until you remember. The game. “I really am asleep.”
She steps towards you, sniffing a little closer. “You are. You sure smell alive. Does that mean... the demon never found you?”
You shake your head, then realize she probably can’t see it. “We hid on the meteor until we got the quote-unquote ‘signal’ from the humans,” you explain. “Only it turns out, the Green Sun was never meant to be destroyed? Honestly, I’m still not clear on that.”
As you say that, you feel yourself grow taller and wearier. How the fuck can you be so tired when you’re already asleep? You’re a bit over eye level with the ‘younger’ troll. Her clothes change to her outlandish FLARP getup that always spelled trouble. The last time she wore that, she almost...
You don’t really want to think about that.
“You still haven’t been sleeping, Karkles?” Her smile is gone.
“I have...! Just, not all the time. But it’s getting better.” You flail your arms uselessly. “Me being here is fucking proof of it, wouldn’t you say?”
“It doesn’t smell like the whole truth,” she replies. “I have an idea! Why don’t you tell me what else happened? You said you made it to the Green Sun?”
“We did,” you say with a shrug. “What else is there to tell? We got to some monstrous flaming ball of festering hell, courtesy of a bee-fucking, no-good bifurcated asshole after he spewed gallons of putrid mustard blood across all of paradox space like a drunken paint-by-numbers kit.”
“Ew.”
“And when we got there, we see none other than him with Aradia in all her fabled Time-fairy glory. After that, the seven of us were hurtled to our three-year clusterfuck of a journey.”
“Seven? So Sollux is with you all?”
You frown, confused with a heavy helping of hurt. “Sollux stayed behind with Aradia.” You can’t believe how upset you sound about it right now. You got the feeling you were over it, but something in the back of your mind nags you. That you were on the brink of ruining your friendship with him. But he’s already gone, so that can’t be right.
“I thought so,” she replies. “I see them around here from time to time, ushering in new kids left and right. Avoiding those guys.”
She points, and this time her aim is dead on. Your roof has long melted away, and you stand on your extraterraneal landing slat, only it’s now attached to a sparkling white castle on a steep, rocky precipice. As she points, her arm finds your shoulder and she grips a little too hard to call comfortable, but you can’t bring yourself to blame her. When you follow her cane, you see even more cracks further in the distance. From your perspective, the shattering you, Dave, and Terezi saw is still close, throbbing insistently like a beating heart. It’s so close you wouldn’t normally notice the ones further out, but now that you do a sense of dread fills you all over again. How can you stand up to some monster that can do this much damage?
“So, if there’s seven of you, and it’s not Aradia and Sollux,” Terezi starts, voice quiet. “Who’s the seventh?”
You look at this Terezi a lot closer. It’s clear she’s still an early six-sweeper unlike you. And god, half a sweep feels so long ago. But if she was six, then she never made it to the Green Sun. Did... did Gamzee get to her? Or Jack? Does she even know who the humans are?
With that question, everything suddenly clicks, and your hazy dream logic morphs into a semblance of coherent thought. Holy Mother Grub, you are slow on the uptake. You fought with Dave. Well, sparred, but he ran off, leaving you completely confused. No, not confused. Sad and tired.
“Eight, really,” you clarify. “You, me, Dave, Rose, Kanaya, the Mayor, Gamzee, and Vriska. The Mayor’s an exile from the human session.”
“Oh. She... came back? Did I stop her?”
The hope in her voice breaks your blood pusher and snaps you out of your Dave-obsessed train of thought. “She never left the meteor.”
“But I didn’t kill her,” she insists.
“You didn’t.” You’re not sure if you should admit Terezi was going to kill her until a windsock imbecile jumped across time and space to punch Vriska’s lights out. A picture forms in your head and you get the feeling this Terezi couldn’t go through with it. She didn’t kill Vriska – just like your Terezi – but she didn’t have someone to knock some sense into spiderhag. She made the right choice but suffered anyway.
“It’s not the whole truth, but I’m glad she was able to stop her without killing her,” Terezi says. “If I know myself, she probably regrets considering it.”
You nod. “Do you regret not going through with it?”
Her grin comes back full force. “Not one bit.”
==>
You traverse the dream bubble memories together, for once enjoying how the landscape flows and changes alongside your conversation. You tell her about Can Town, and the path litters itself with rations and chalk drawings. She reminisces about her tree hive, and pink and blue trees appear out of nowhere. You complain about Professor Pucefoot and your Terezi’s courtblock dramas, and scalemates appear in the trees like macabre decoration. She laughs, sticking her tongue towards them and you can’t help but smile.
She asks you about everyone else, namely Vriska. You don’t mind telling her she and Vriska are moirails. She wrinkles her nose in surprise but accepts it pretty easily.
“For awhile, I thought we’d be pitch,” she remarks.
“Going from pitch to pale is far more likely than the other way around,” you recite, though the words ring a little hollow.
“Bluh, whatever you say. How are Dave and Rose?”
“They’re... good. Rose and Kanaya are together, to the absolute surprise of no one.”
“Obviously. How about coolkid?”
“He’s...” You sigh, scuffing your foot against the sugary-sandy path. Penis drawings in colorful chalk pepper the ground. “We’re good. He’s uh, my moirail.”
“Really???” She grins even wider. “That. Is. Adorable!”
“Adorabloodthirsty,” you correct.
“Of course,” she says, rolling her non-eyes. “That sounds like the best timeline. Give the coolkid a big lick for me.”
“How about no. No sounds pretty great.”
She chuckles, and you must admit, making any version of Terezi laugh makes you feel good. You stare down at the chalk penises, and if anyone said to your face you’d be fucking wistful over phallic graffiti, you would have flung yourself right into the Green Sun. You want to wake up and talk to him. Fix what you have before it has a chance to break apart. Like it broke with Terezi. Like it broke with Sollux. Like it broke with Gamzee. And sure, some of those healed; you’re not on bad terms with Terezi, and you doubt you could ever really stop caring about her, or her with you, but you know this thing with Dave is different. And maybe part of you is willing to admit that. But more than anything you don’t want to fuck this up.
Maybe you have to be honest with yourself and who you really are.
“This was fun,” you say instead. “It’s really nice just hanging out like this.”
“You should go to sleep more,” Terezi chides. “No one here is going anywhere.”
“True.”
“Well... except for the huge ghost army meant to stop Lord English. And the ghosts that are double-dying out here every time he explodes another bubble. But other than that, we’re not going anywhere.”
You smile at that, rolling your eyes. “Well, when the time comes, you can see me at the front lines.”
“That’s a promise.” She ‘stares’ at you. “Want me to help wake you up?”
You take a deep breath and... you nod. “Yeah. I’ve got to take care of something.”
She unsheathes her sword from her cane. “You’re right, Karkles. This was fun. Don’t be a stranger!”
She drives the blade in.
==>
“Fuck!” You wake with a start, knocking your book over. You... guess you fell asleep. And Terezi stabbed you? You cling to the hazy memories, trying to remember everything. You remember... feeling happy. Nostalgic. Some chalk dicks in the sand. And Terezi, but not your Terezi.
You set your book aside and check the blinking notifications on your crabtop.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TT: I gave what you said regarding my "contrived plot devices" some thought. Here are the results of my labor.
tentacleTherapist [TT]
sent
carcinoGeneticist [CG]
file "CotL_Ch27_AlmostFinal(1).doc"
TT: And you may be right. Perhaps I am relying too much on common fantasy tropes.
TT: "Human tropes," at the very least.
TT: But I'd like to point out the similarities of several troll-centric plot devices in this draft. I suspect you'll see it too, being the progenitors of our universe and all.
TT: As for the prose, I rather like juxtaposing Zazzerpan's lengthy thought process with his blunt way of speaking.
CG: HEY.
CG: HOLY SHIT, ANOTHER 12,000 WORDS GIVE ME A MINUTE
TT: Take all the time you need.
CG: OK, DONE.
CG: I'M INCLINED TO AGREE. THE CONTRAST IS NICE AND ALL, BUT HONESTLY IF HE WAS HALF AS LONG-WINDED SPEAKING AS HE WAS IN HIS THOUGHT PROCESS, I'D RIP MY GANDER BULBS OUT AND FLING THEM TO THE HORROR TERRORS IN A NOBLE SACRIFICE.
CG: YOU REALLY DID YOURSELF A FAVOR BY MASHING THE FUCKING BRAKES ON HIS SPEECHES.
CG: I THINK IT ADDS DEPTH TO HIS CHARACTER, TOO. BY ALLOWING THE READER A LOOK INTO HIS MENTAL STATE, YOU'RE REALLY GETTING A FEEL OF WHY HE'S LOSING FAITH IN THE COMPLACENCY.
CG: I STILL THINK YOUR WRITING IS OVERWHELMINGLY HEAVY-HANDED.
TT: I know.
CG: AND IT'S AN OVERWROUGHT SLOG.
TT: Yep.
CG: AND... IT'S STARTING TO GROW ON ME?
TT: ;)
CG: SOMETIMES I CAN'T TELL IF YOU'RE DOING IT ON PURPOSE AND IT'S JUST BAD WRITING, OR IF IT'S SOMEHOW ACTUALLY GOOD *BECAUSE* THE PROSE IS OVERWORKED HORSESHIT.
TT: I should try to alchemize some famous Earth trilogies and let you be the judge of that.
TT: I'm more than confident I'm not the wordiest person to lay pen to paper.
CG: THAT WOULD BE VRISKA'S ANCESTOR.
TT: Indeed.
TT: Hm.
CG: WHAT.
TT: I may need to cut this conversation short.
TT: Something's come up.
CG: ???
TT: Dave’s here. He seems worked up.
TT: We shall talk later, of course.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
Fuck.
You fucked up bad enough that he’s opening up to her. Her, and not you because this is about you and there’s no denying it. The last several hours flood back into your think pan: his panicked face, his stiff, unnatural movements, the way he snapped at you before leaving the roof.
You decide whether to leave well enough alone for once or investigate and defuse the situation. Maybe you should re-read Lalonde’s file and sift through purple prose in lavender text. You could just do that.
And not worry.
And everything would be fine.
...Yeah, right. Deep down you can’t stand the idea, hiding out like a fucking coward. You want to storm over to Lalonde’s room like some self-aggrandizing knight and profess your... whatever you’re going to profess. And yet, you don’t want to do that because again you have no clue what you’re feeling exactly. You just know there’s a lot of it. And maybe that’s the problem. You keep trying and keep failing at keeping your feelings in check. Despite all that, you know you at least still one thing.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
CG: HEY
CG: I UH
CG: I DON'T KNOW, JUST LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU GET THIS.
CG: I
CG: ...FUCK
CG: I'M NOT REALLY SURE HOW TO SAY THIS, BUT
CG: I MADE A MISTAKE
CG: I WON'T PUSH YOU TO PRACTICE ANYMORE AND I
You tap your claws against the keyboard, reading over the jumbled garbage you just sent. Maybe... maybe it doesn’t have to be that complicated, right? Maybe you should just say the one thing you do feel, and untangle it from there. You take a breath and keep typing.
CG: THIS IS HARD FOR ME TO SAY BUT I'M GONNA COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY IT.
CG: AFTER EVERYTHING YOU TOLD ME, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER
CG: INSTEAD I WASN'T THINKING AND I FUCKED UP.
CG: SO I... I HOPE THAT WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT, BUT I WANTED TO SAY THAT...
CG: THAT I REALLY PITY YOU.
CG: I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT.
CG: I'M SORRY
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
There. It’s out there, airing out like snuggleplanes flapping in the breeze. You desperately hope you can talk to him after this, but the more you think about it, the more doubt seeps in. And if you can’t talk to your moirail about it, at least right now, maybe your only option is the other person who knows you best. The other person caught in your crossfires forever ago.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
CG: HEY.
GC: H3Y YOURS3LF, STRANGER
CG: I KNOW, I KNOW.
CG: THINK YOU CAN MEET ME IN CAN TOWN?
CG: I NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE, AND YOU'RE ONE OF THE FEW PEOPLE HERE THAT DON'T HAVE THEIR HEADS NESTLED FIRMLY IN THEIR NOOKS.
GC: G33, TH4NKS.
CG: DON'T MENTION IT.
CG: AND SERIOUSLY, DON'T BECAUSE IT'S KIND OF PERSONAL.
GC: 1S 3V3RYTH1NG OK?
CG: I'M NOT SURE.
GC: SHOULDN'T YOU T4LK TO YOUR MO1R41L ABOUT 1T?
GC: S1NC3 YOU H4V3 TH3 P3RF3CT R3L4T1ONSH1P GO1NG 4ND 4LL
CG: NO RELATIONSHIP IS PERFECT
CG: WE BOTH KNOW THAT.
CG: ESPECIALLY ANY RELATIONSHIP THAT INCLUDES ME
GC: ...
GC: K4RK4T
GC: C4N YOU FOR ONC3
CG: FOR ONCE, WHAT?
GC: YOU KNOW WH4T N3V3RM1ND
GC: 1 C4N B3 TH3R3
GC: ON MY W4Y NOW
CG: THANKS.
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] --
Notes:
Good thing Karkat didn't see Past Karkat from chapter 5, or else he would've been pissed.
Chapter 24: Dave: Examine Closet
Summary:
Hey everyone, thanks for sticking with this fic. This chapter is coming in a bit late; As you can probably tell from how I write Dave, I live in Texas and was affected by the freeze in February. Was luckier than most, but the Terezi in me says that luck's not really a thing in a situation like that. At any rate I'm safe now, so have a chapter and thanks again so much for reading.
Chapter Text
You think thinking’s for chumps. You spent the past hour – you don’t think about the exact time – caught inside your own head like it’s a sticky fly trap on a hot summer day. You’re the fucked-up fruit fly, too enamored with the siren call of the brown, gunky paper you call your thoughts, landing on the same shit over and over with no chance of escape. The answer to all your problems isn’t anywhere near the paper, and if you weren’t a dumbass fruit fly you’d know all the paper’s doing is dooming you to inaction and keeping you stuck in a standstill.
And like the paper to the fly your thoughts keep mocking you. Mocking you with a truth you don’t want to admit because as soon as you do it throws the past fourteen and a half years of your life into question. That’s a lot of backlog. That’s a ton of bandwidth. This meteor doesn’t have enough wifi to deal with this shit. If you open that door there’s no closing it, but that sticky paper is sitting there so enticing, saying you should open the door anyway. Beyond that door is Shangri-fucking-La, and wouldn’t that be nice?
And you can be like Rose and wax poetic, but you’re not like her so you sound pathetic. Maybe you should rap about it.
Maybe you shouldn’t, Karkat’s voice echoes in your head. Fucking Karkat being all. All.
Ok, maybe you shouldn’t. You know the troll thing to do is talk to him, maybe apologize for flipping the fuck out. God, he’d fucking love that but. If what happened, if it’s... about him, then. You shouldn’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t and you can’t because after fourteen years you’re still the same chickenshit kid you always were.
No, fuck that. You get on Karkat about being down on himself all the time so don’t act like you can do it and get away with it. The thought of calming him calms you, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling torn on both sides. Between wanting to hack and slash at this feeling until there’s nothing left or talking to him – but not him – about all your fucked-up thoughts. About the quarter chub you rocked over getting jumped by a troll dude. About the words bubbling just under the surface of some witchy-ass cauldron, threatening to overflow and go straight Chernobyl on your ass. And as soon as you say it, that cursed phrase, you’ll be admitting some shit you don’t think you can explore yet.
But you could be like Rose and just admit it. But you’re not like her so just forget it. Right?
You’re not gay.
Right?
...Right?
You float-pace around your room for what feels like a hundred times in as many minutes. You had a crush on Jade. When you saw her in person for the first time, gun in hand and firing off at an imp, your stomach had a field full of butterflies. And hell, saying something as smarmy as ‘field full of butterfies’ has the potential to get you whaled on, but you get a pass because you’re talking about a girl. When you met Terezi, even though you only really talked for a few hours from her perspective but days from yours, you really started to like her. She’s still cool in that cutesy diabolical way, but still. You can’t write off that you kinda felt something.
You still think chicks are hot. So... You’re not gay.
Right?
You should be like Rose and talk about it.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] unblocked tentacleTherapist [TT] --
Fucking god, you’re gonna regret it.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
TG: ok lets get the preamble on me being a shitty person out of the way
TT: If you're referring to the forced radio silence for the past few weeks, need I remind you we still see each other nearly every day, rendering virtual messaging somewhat pointless.
TG: so no hard feelings
TT: I didn't say that.
TG: fuck ok
TG: look im sorry i blocked you
TG: sorry i was a useless sack of shit and didnt help
TG: you were obviously going through some shit
TG: and
TG: yeah
TT: It happens.
TT: For what it's worth, I'm much better these days.
TG: thats good right
TT: I should hope so.
TG: do uh
TG: you
TG: want to talk about it
TT: Not particularly?
TG: what really
TG: but youre the queen of talking about things
TT: You're implying that my not wanting to talk about it now means that I've relinquished my crown and scepter.
TT: But I've already talked about it at length to people that aren't you.
TT: Maybe I will sometime in the future.
TG: damn ok fine
TG: fair i guess if you already talked about that stuff nbd
TG: if theres one thing were not short on its the fucking future
TT: Indeed.
TG: are you busy
TT: At the moment, yes.
TG: awesome so heres my problem
TG: more like a question i actually dont have a problem
TG: but just for the mad curiosities how did you know you liked kanaya
TG: like why her and not john
TT: That seems out of left field.
TG: yeah nothing but curveballs and sidewinders over here
TT: I think Sidewinders is an actual team?
TG: if it is then it was remember
TT: Hmm. I guess so, huh.
TT: Our personalities resonated well when we pester-trolled each other, and meeting her in person cemented that feeling.
TT: John is a dear friend, of course. And I can admit to feeling at ease with him, but not with the same feeling of wholeness that I feel with Kanaya
TG: wholeness like she completes you or something
TT: Something like that, but not quite.
TT: It's more like the difference between missing a good friend now, but knowing that I'll see him again and be rewarded with acknowledging the person he'll become. I imagine I'll be proud of him, but nothing stretching to a romantic capacity.
TT: With Kanaya, I feel a deep reward for obtaining something I never realized was missing.
TT: I like her 'in that way.'
TG: thats um
TG: pretty straightforward i guess
TG: not counting all the dancing around each other yall did for a year but still
TG: shit rose its already been a year
TT: Has it?
TT: Wow.
TG: i know right
TG: youd think id be on top of that
TG: being the knight of time and all
TG: tick tock geniuses weve been on this rock a year
TT: Maybe that milestone is more significant to us than the whole of paradox space.
TT: It's not like the trolls think of things in years.
TG: true
TG: still it seems important you know
TG: new year new day
TT: Maybe we should throw a prom after all.
TG: ahahaha maybe
TG: i dunno seems like were a little too young for one
TG: like maybe next year when were all actual high school age
TG: middle school dances always seemed like peak levels of awkward
TG: not like prom wouldnt be awkward
TG: but theres awkward and theres AWKWARD
TG: trying to all suit up and pin corsages on each other
TG: and dancing to lame tracks though lets be real thats the one thing our prom wont have
TT: Dave.
TT: While I agree wholeheartedly on the non-lameness of our potential prom's music, I think you're derailing.
TT: Did you have another question?
TT: Related to your not-problem, that is?
TG: yeah
TG: caught me
TG: so how did you know
TG: you liked
TG: uh
TT: Kanaya?
TG: ...
TT: Prom?
TT: Non-lame tracks???
TG: stfu
TG: no uh
TG: girls
TT: Oh.
TT: Honestly, I've known that about myself for awhile, now.
TG: shit really
TT: Well. More like I knew it was a strong possibility. I've only recently been exposed to practical application. But so far the theory holds true.
TG: ...
TG: where are you right now
TG: i dont think chats gonna cut it
TG: we should talk in person
TT: Are you alright?
TG: that is a very good question
TG: but if i had to guess
TG: probably not
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
You head towards Rose’s lair, admiring the hanging fabric swatches and fairy lights hung from the hallway ceilings. She and Kanaya alchemized them in a fit of productive boredom, and you’re tempted to crib the style for your own room. Anything to cut through the grey as fuck walls and constant boredom. Maybe you’re stir-crazy and that’s your problem with literally everything right now and you don’t need to talk to Rose.
But you’re at her door, opening it and flopping on her bed face-down, so too late.
“Sup,” you say, voice muffled.
“Hey,” she says back. “You certainly look poised to have an in-person conversation.”
“I’m poised as fuck, like a gymnast just before they start spinning around bars, all chests out and breathing heavy with fire in their eyes. Cause you just know their coach is on the sidelines glaring something fierce about not getting a perfect ten. Eight’s not gonna cut it, Rose, we’ve got bills to pay and mouths to feed.”
“There’s a witticism I could make about your verbal gymnastics, but I don’t feel like crafting a punchline. What’s going on?”
You sigh into the mattress, still lying face-down because you’re pretty set on being a useless douche. You see a notification from Karkat float across your shades, and for the first time in too many fucking months to count you ignore him. It feels wrong, like bile coming up in your throat. Like rusted metal and broken glass.
“...Dave?”
“Yeah, sorry,” you say. “So, you’ve been like. Gay. Your whole life. Like all this time.”
“Dave, is this suddenly a problem?” The irritation and her actual northeastern accent creeps into her tone.
“No! Fuck, no. Kanaya’s the shit, that’s not...” You try to start over. “I’m trying to ask... you said you always kinda knew, and like. How do you just know something like that?”
Her chair squeaks and a second later weight shifts beside you. When you turn your head, your sister in all her Orange Crush gothy glory gives you a wry smile.
“Google image searches, mostly.”
You stare at her. “What.”
She shrugs, popping her eyes a little. “You know! Just. Looking at things on the internet and sorting out what I was into. Turns out more often than not, there was a pattern. Particularly with more... Sapphic-inspired content.”
“No. Oh fuck no. I am not talking to you about porn, what the fuck.”
“You asked! And I didn’t say porn!”
“I asked how you knew, not a rundown of your search history. Fuck, dude.”
“‘Fuck, dude?’ You draw dicks all the fucking time!”
“That’s different,” you say, totally not whining. “Drawing dicks is like John’s corny ass pranks or you knitting tentacle shit, it’s just what you do. I’m not tugging it to chalk drawings, Jesus Christ.”
“As I said it wasn’t porn and hardly anything more explicit than...” She stops. “I mean you’re acting like you never... Have you ever...? Y’know. Watched...?”
You freeze. “Uh.”
“Didn’t your brother host that website? I assumed–”
“That horseshit barely counts, and shit was weird as hell,” you blurt out. “Besides, why the fuck would I watch anything to, to like...” you gesture rather than say it, “cause like fuck I was gonna do that and get my ass beat with my dick out.” Especially with all the cameras just everywhere, hopy shit, no. You stifle a shudder.
“Oh,” she says, and the sympathy in her eyes is too fucking much.
“No, man. Not what this conversation is about.”
She sighs. “Fair. But you’re being awfully prudish for someone who repeatedly said and I quote, ‘fresher than your mom’s change of drawers and tighter than when she’s wearing them.’ Who by the way turns out is your mother too thanks to ecto-shenanigans.”
“That isn’t what I want to talk about, either.” You bury your face back in the mattress.
“Fine. I’m more than happy to indulge your aversion to our illustrious family tree–”
“Not how I’d describe it.”
“–But that still doesn’t tell me why you’re asking me about how I knew. So let’s just say... self-discovery over time.”
“Dope.”
“Why are you asking?”
Man, you really didn’t think this through. You could probably figure out a way to bail out of this. Maybe some emergency Can Town thing, see what the Mayor is up to. Fighting Jack sounds like a pretty good idea. Kind of anything but this. But this subtle tug on the timeline is gnawing at you, enough to convince you that you’re still in the thick of the Alpha.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not gay.”
Fuck.
“I mean, girls are still the shit,” you mumble. “Like, they’re great, I’ve liked them all my life. Like, girls. Awesome. All there is to say on the matter.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Rose says slowly. “But ‘pretty sure’ and ‘still’ are damning phrases.”
“Yeah, they are.” You try to bury your head in deeper, and your shades pinch at your nose. You mutter into the mattress.
“Dave, I can’t understand you like that.”
“I said,” you lift your face, “I’m not gay, but I don’t know if I’m straight, either.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Looking back, all those Freudian-ass dick jokes I kept making pretty much non-stop suddenly seem a little less funny and a little more tragic. So, ha ha, jokes on Strider, he’s raring to chomp down on some choice meat Twinkies cause it was only a matter of time.”
This was such a huge fucking mistake. Your blood beats against your skin, and your throat throbs to the shitty heartbeat that you can’t stop counting because of the stupid fucking game. “Shit,” you say. “It’s not even like it’s fucking wrong, it’s just... it’s so fucking much.”
She puts her hand on your back, and the warmth is nice, like a rare comfort you can’t even try to get used to. “You ever,” the words catch in your throat, and fuck you are not going to choke over this shit. “You ever think maybe some of the shit you did in the past, you were doing things based off what you thought you knew about the world, and it turns out it’s all...”
“That it’s all a construct built out of millennia of societal standards written before we ever had a chance to question it, only to be snuffed out by four teenagers?”
You laugh weakly and look up at her. “Bingo.”
“All the time.” She looks down at you and smiles, and it’s the sisterliest thing in the fucking world. “If it helps, I think our past is our past, and it’s still valid. The universe we came from is still valid, in every way possible. But it’s dead now. And while we may not know what will happen yet, we know our goal is a new universe. One where we’ll make the rules. One we died for.”
You wince.
“I’d rather live in a universe where we improve on the societal norms we grew up with. And maybe live in a word where being gay,” she gives you a pointed look, “or not straight doesn’t matter. It’s one part of troll culture that seemed right.”
Right. Trolls are all kinda bisexual, you guess? Or they at least don’t have a concept of being gay, not in the same, fucked up way humans do. They don’t get any weird bees in their bonnets about that. Which, if you were a troll, then what? What would change if you didn’t... worry?
“Dave, listen.”
You look up and her eyes pierce through you like twin violet blades.
“You don’t need my permission or approval, and you don’t need anyone else’s. It’s not theirs to grant. So don’t fight who you are. Embrace it and wear it like armor. Make this a part of you.”
“So what, a shitty knight of being gay and dropping beats, sounds awesome. My new planet is the Land of Night Clubs and Rainbows.”
“Don’t be obtuse.” She turns you over by the shoulder. “Part of embracing it means sucking out the venom of internalized homophobia and dumb stereotypes. You don’t have our old universe to live up to anymore. You can be who you want.”
You nod.
“And... I’m glad you came to me. It means a lot.”
Ah, fuck. This is skirting on Genuine Feelings in House Strilonde territory. Whatever shall you do without your cool veneer? Maybe live a normal, happy life? Pft.
“Likewise,” you say instead, keeping it to one word so you can test out your voice. You still feel too watery and drained, and you think she probably knows it. To Rose’s credit, she either doesn’t care or cares enough that your dumbass does care, because she doesn’t point it out. Instead she just gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Might I ask what – or who – brought about this revelation?”
“You might not,” you say into the mattress.
“Hmm, then would it help if I ventured a guess instead? One fueled by powers of deduction and observation, with just a hint of common sense?”
“No, fuck no, this train of thought is fucking dumb as hell.”
“You caught a stray glance at Gamzee and got an eyeful of his enchanted codpiece,” Rose says primly. “It happens to the best of us.”
You bark out a laugh. “Fuck, got it in one. Why is he wearing that shit, anyway? There’s no way that’s a real God Tier outfit.”
“It eludes my visions. He eludes my visions. I can’t say I like it.”
“Shit, really?”
“Yes, but I doubt it’s anything to worry about. He doesn’t affect our odds of winning in any tangible sense, and that’s good enough for me.”
It’s a looser stance than you’ve seen her take on the game since you first loaded your CDs. You sneak a glance and her face seems calm while a hint of light shines behind her eyes.
“You and a certain klazomaniacal friend of ours is a separate matter, however. Given the amount of time you spend with him, it makes sense. I sincerely hope it works out.”
Alright, time to go. “Well, it’s been real, but I’ve got a busy schedule. Mad irons in the fire, yo.” You rise from your mattress face-plant and head out the door.
“Don’t be a stranger,” she says, sitting back at her desk. “And Dave?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you figure out, I support you. But a word of advice?”
“...Sure.”
She cocks her head. “You’re still the same Dave you always were. Now you just know more about yourself. Own it.”
You nod. “Yeah.”
You leave her room, close the door and slump against the wall. You try really hard not to break down like a weak piece of shit. You try not to think too hard about what happened, how she can be so calm and together about something while you practically shit your pants from being a fucking disaster.
Because let’s face it, you can’t go one strife without freaking the fuck out on your best bro or breaking down in front of your ecto-twin. Now you guess you’re kinda into your dumb alien friend? The same guy who takes this shit way too seriously, and is probably already worried about you for legit better reasons than being a gay-adjacent fuckwad?
The Brood Dude Express is docking the fuck out of this station. Grab your luggage Sally, ‘cause this next stop is going off the fucking rails with this twisty-ass metaphor. Shit’s gonna have like, junctions and everything. So dumb.
Sooooo dumb.
As you walk back to your room, you overhear voices in Can Town. Karkat’s there, trying with all his heart to imitate a whisper, but his voice was made for death metal or stand-up comedy. You can tell from his tone he’s going through some shit, all tired and worn down like a screw without threads. A big part of you wants to head over and apologize because you did this, he’s upset while you’re fucking throwing tantrums because he had the audacity to be concerned about you.
A tiny part wants to...
But the other, bigger part of you is a chickenshit coward.
You hear Terezi laugh, a harsh, trilling cackle followed by a low murmur, soft enough to play tricks on your ears.
“You don’t need him.”
Well shit.
It’s like getting gut-checked by the hilt of a shitty sword. Like swallowing blood and bile when all you want is water. Everything stings and feels too close, and your ears are buzzing and you want to run.
Who the fuck? Who’s she talking about? It can’t not be you, you’re literally the only other him on this shitty rock unless she means the fucking murder clown and if she does, sure, fuck him with a balloon poodle. No, she means you. She means you, and you damn well know it.
You float off so no one can hear your footsteps, and if it reminds you of how you snuck around your shitty fucking apartment, you don’t dwell on it. And if the too-close thoughts for your friend makes you think a little too hard about Bro, then... actually no, fuck that and fuck him too. That asshole beat your ass senseless in the fucking rain over some goddamn shades. He beat you for showing too much emotion, and having a fucking friend instead of whatever shonen-ass stoic bullshit he was peddling off on you. You don’t know. You don’t know because he was an inscrutable dick and he’s dead so you’ll probably never know.
A year ago that meant something, thinking that thought. Now you’re not so sure. He died, but so did you. So did Rose and Jade. Hell, John made it his fucking hobby. Come jump on this latest trend, everyone’s doing it. It’s all part of the Brood Dude tour, followed by a lazy afternoon in the Cry Me a Fucking River... River.
Maybe ‘Rezi’s right. Nah, scratch that, you know she’s right. He never really needed you, did he? Like, he wasn’t happy being by himself, but he was already friends with Kanaya and all the other trolls well before you. He’s even kinda tight with Rose now, and if Vriska gave him the time of day with his spades-flirting, he’d kill it with the other quadrants. Maybe while you were sitting around like a damp rag on laundry day, he wised up and was like, fuck that douche to no one in particular. Who needs a dude who breaks apart faster than a discount condom with charisma to match?
As soon as you step in your room, you remember that he messaged you, and fuck, what if he tried and got upset and now he’s... now he ‘doesn’t need you?’
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
CG: HEY
CG: I UH
CG: I DON'T KNOW, JUST LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU GET THIS.
CG: I
CG: ...FUCK
CG: I'M NOT REALLY SURE HOW TO SAY THIS, BUT
CG: I MADE A MISTAKE
CG: I WON'T PUSH YOU TO PRACTICE ANYMORE AND I
CG: THIS IS HARD FOR ME TO SAY BUT I'M GONNA COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY IT.
CG: AFTER EVERYTHING YOU TOLD ME, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER
CG: INSTEAD I WASN'T THINKING AND I FUCKED UP.
CG: SO I... I HOPE THAT WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT, BUT I WANTED TO SAY THAT...
CG: THAT I REALLY PITY YOU.
CG: I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT.
CG: I'M SORRY
-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --
Pity.
He fucking pities you.
He thinks you’re just some pathetic wimp that he has to pity.
Awesome.
Yeah bro, it’s pretty fucking clear she wasn’t talking about the murder clown. If that ain’t some classic Dear John ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shit, you don’t know what is. You should deal with it rationally, get him out of your head once and for all and tell him... tell him you’re ok with it. You get it, pump the brakes before the buggy jumps the cliff, he’s done with your shit.
Fucking pity, though!?
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: yeah
TG: sorry
TG: sorrys like
TG: sure is a thing
TG: echoing off the cliff sides straight into the abyss
TG: nah you know what fuck this metaphor
TG: i dont need your fucking pity i can handle myself
TG: no kid gloves or grub gloves or whatever troll slang yall use bc we all signed off on metaphors
TG: im good
TG: its been real karkat save your pity aight
TG: see you around i guess
TG: well always have can town
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
Your hands tremble.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] blocked carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
Yeah. You sure handled that well. Like you and the handle were best bros until the handle saw through your shit and up and left because they didn’t need you anymore. Because you’re still, after all these months, still a useless douche. You lie your ass face-down on your bed, and for the first time in your life you don’t stop yourself from crying.
Notes:
Rose dealt with internalized homophobia herself, which factored into her and Kanaya's early courtship. Her advice is as much for herself as it is for Dave.
Chapter 25: Meanwhile, in the Past Again
Chapter Text
You walk the familiar path to Can Town, passing by abused posters, chalk murals, and Dave’s hopscotch dick. All harkening to a simpler time when you didn’t outwardly fuck up and vacillate on your best friend. You figure he must be in a bad way if he went to Rose, since he spent the past lifetime turning avoidance into a fucking hobby. Which, if he’s bad off enough to talk to her, then you really, really fucked up.
To think Terezi said your moirallegiance was perfect. And yeah she said it over Trollian, but you know her and you know that tone so maybe she smelled the writing on the wall long before your gander bulbs caught up. Maybe you were fooling yourself this whole time, and you and Dave were doomed from the start.
When you turn the corner, Terezi’s already there, sniffing at your star mural from forever ago. You shuffle in and she turns to you, smiling wide.
“Did you make this?”
“Yeah,” you say. “Awhile back.”
“There’s Lyrius, Cephus and Cassiopia... it’s all of Alternia’s constellations. You even got Oriyon and his lusus. This must have taken forever.”
You shrug. It took some time to research, sure, but making it only took as long as it did because you were goofing off with Dave. And being bros instead of this miasmic garbage dump of unresolved emotions. “It was fun at the time,” you say instead.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Terezi uncaptchalogues two packs of chalk and tosses one your way with unsurprising accuracy. “It sounded more intense than your usual self-loathing, so I figured it must be important.”
Harsh.
“And since it’s important,” she continues, “it must be either something big and completely out of your hands, like the fate of our session, what the next universe will be like, or whether we can beat Jack, Lord English and everyone else, or it’s not a big deal, and it’s relationship shit. Which means you had a fight with Dave.”
Fucking Mind players. “We didn’t fight. We just... we sparred and, and something happened, and I fucked up. And I need to talk to him, but I don’t know what...” You flail your arms uselessly. “I don’t know what to do and now he’s talking to Rose and I’m sure it’s about how fucked up I am and he probably feels like shit and it’s my fault–”
“Karkat, calm down!”
“I can’t! That’s my fucking problem!”
She hits you in the leg with her cane. “Yes you can!”
“Ow! Quit, you fucking harpy! The fuck was that for!?”
“Because you won’t calm down, dumpass!” She hits you again. “Tell me what you did!”
“Fuck! Quit!” You uncaptchalogue a chair and block her cane. “Why the fuck did I think talking to a psychopath would help!? Stop hitting me!”
“Fine, but if you say one more thing about you ruining everything without explaining why, you’re getting more drubbings.” She puts away her cane and picks up her chalk. “Now tell me what you did.”
You heave a sigh. Might as well spit it all out. “I-I think I flipped pitch on him. When we uh. Strifed.”
“Oh really?” She turns and faces you. “Why Karkat, I didn’t know you had it in you. Tell me exactly what happened.”
What did happen? You think back to the moment, right when he stared you down, eyes red and hazy before flying into a panic you caused. Before that, when you felt his weight on you and your sudden urge to win. And before that, his hesitation. He didn’t want to fight. He never wanted to fight.
“I just... I pushed too hard, in the, in the heat of the moment.”
Her mouth turns up in that weird grimace of hers. “Karkat, either you’re not being specific or it doesn’t sound that bad.”
“No, it is that bad! You don’t, you don’t get it do you?” You run your claws through your scalp. “You’re not supposed to, to just vacillate like that. I, I’m his moirail for fuck’s sake. I can’t just–”
“Karkat, stop whining and beating yourself up! You’re allowed to develop feelings! You’re allowed to fall in and out of love or hate, or whatever.” She draws a picture of herself with big red glasses. “We’re not grown-ups. Our feelings are gonna change all the time. Like. Take me and Vriska. We’re moirails now, but for awhile, I thought we were kind of pitch.”
Not the first time you’ve heard that.
“And honestly, I’ve felt black for a lot of people! Her, you, John, even fucking Gamzee for a second.”
You snort. “That would have been a disaster.”
“Tell me about it! I’m seriously glad Vriska talked me out of that because ugh! I can’t even imagine me and him going well.”
“Me either.” Wait. “Wait, you were pitch for me? And John?”
“Durr, dummy! I can’t help it. I have a type for whiny gullible nerds.” She flashes a grin that makes your blood pusher jump. “To be honest, it wouldn’t have worked out anyway, so I’m glad we stopped when we did.”
“You stopped it,” you blurt out.
Her grin fades. She fiddles with her chalk before turning back to her drawing. The sound of it scraping against metal fills the block, making the space feel smaller. You’re suddenly aware of how stale the air smells, and you wonder how she can stand it.
“I did.”
You slump against the wall and sit, smearing away a chalk star system. She looks down at you, face full of sadness and pity, but a cauterized, dead-end pity that makes your chest clinch up. She captchalogues her chalk and sits beside you. You rub your leg where she hit you.
“Why?”
“It’s stupid,” she says. “To be honest, I still don’t get why, exactly, but it doesn’t seem like the wrong choice. Just... different, I guess.” She touches your arm. “It wasn’t you, Karkat. It was me.”
You give her a withering look. “I cannot believe you would force-feed me the most ancient line in the goddamned universe.”
She cackles. “I know! You should see your face! But,” she says between giggles. “It wasn’t you. It really was me. And... I think it was also John.”
“What.”
“I told you it was stupid! You know how he was pranking me with his dumb time powers? How he stole my dragon, then came out of nowhere to punch Vriska? That whole fucking scarf?”
“Sure.”
“Well... that’s not all he did. He wrote some messages. They didn’t make sense at the time, but it stuck with me the whole session. And it wasn’t until after the demon came – when we met the humans – that it started adding up.”
“And it turns out they were all messages from alternate-future you, so you had to trust it,” you say bitterly. “What did you even tell yourself? ‘Don’t fall in a quadrant with your server or client player? Dating Karkat will collapse the entire universe into a failure singularity?’ Or wait, maybe it was the word ‘no’ repeated across your shitty scarf with my face drawn on.” Ugh, and that shit was written in her fucking blood. Gross.
“No! You’re being ridiculous. It still doesn’t make sense, but right before Vriska and I started our plan to exile Jack...” She faces you. “Remember when I told you about my lusus, how I went blind and woke up on Prospit?”
When you talked about your blood with her. The other moment you shared, and that feeling that almost, almost went somewhere, but deep down you were scared shitless. Only surprise, it never happened anyway.
“Sure.”
“After I logged off, I saw one of John’s messages.” She laughs again, loud, rough, and kind of sad. “The dork even signed it, ‘hurp durr, this is John.’”
“And? What did it say?”
Terezi frowns and fiddles with her chalk. “You don’t need him.”
Oh.
“Wow, that uh...” You chew at your lip, fighting against the sting in your eyes. “Huh.”
“Yeah. It never made any sense, at least not until– What was that?”
You turn towards the doorway. You don’t see anything.
“Was that Dave?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure I smelled him just now.”
“Shit, really?” Without thought you stand up ready to chase him down, but by the time you reach the doorway he’s already gone. God, you really are acting like a desperate idiot. Ugh. You head back to Terezi and flop back down, taking out another wall constellation. There goes Apodis.
“Was that him?”
“How the fuck should I know, I’m not the one with the mutant nose,” you mumble. “Besides he’s probably just. Busy, y’know?”
“My ‘mutant nose’ can smell bullshit,” Terezi replies. “You know, you’re both terrible at hiding your true thoughts, but you try and try and try anyway. Just find him later, it’ll be fine. Now do you want to hear the rest of my story or not?”
“I guess.” You rub your face up to your hair and sigh. “So you’re saying John, idiot Boy Skylark supreme, told you to break up with me? Or not break up, but never be a thing in the first place?”
“I don’t know! I didn’t know who ‘John’ was at the time, and when I read it, it sounded wrong! Of course I needed you. We all needed you because you were our leader! And at first I thought it just meant for the ring mission, but then afterwards... I don’t know. It bothered me so much that... when it came time to, to make a choice, I just didn’t.”
“Then I guess, congratulations? Bullet dodged, and the world gets to keep spinning,” you reply. “Except it doesn’t because our world is fucking gone.”
“Karkat...”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask softly.
“You wouldn’t have believed me! I sure didn’t, and honestly if John hadn’t... If he hadn’t stopped me, I still wouldn’t believe it.” She smiles, her face tinged with sadness. “It’s weird. On one hand I don’t regret it. I think we’re better now than if we became anything, but I don’t know what she went through that would make us a mistake. But apparently we were really that bad for each other.”
You smile despite yourself. “We really, really were, huh?”
“Yep.” She pokes you in the cheek. “Unlike you and Dave.”
You blink back tears. Not in front of her, not after what she told you. “I... I don’t know about that.”
“I think you do, you just don’t know it yet. You’re good for each other, even if you are dumbasses.”
You scoff. “You make it sound like we’re some picture perfect ideal, and I’m breaking down like a putrid wiggler because I’m the textbook example of a cataclysmic failure. How did you,” you gesture at nothing, “how did you and Vriska even... how did that work? Did you just suddenly forget she killed people? And became moirails from it?”
“Pretty much!”
“Eurgh!” You bang your head against the wall. Another star gone. “It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you, dumb-dumb. It makes sense to us. But if you have to know, we talked about it.” She spins a nearby can, rolling it back and forth with a cerulean-painted claw. “She... hasn’t changed or anything, she’s still Vriska, but. Even though she didn’t change, she’s still different. As soon as I saw a different choice, I realized I could see a little clearer. It gave me hope that maybe one day I could remember.”
“Remember what?” you ask.
She chuffs softly. “Everything, I guess. I dunno.”
You recall the other Terezi you dreamed about. She didn’t want to kill Vriska, same as your Terezi. If you try hard enough, you can feel the pain seep through whenever she mentions that moment. It weighs on her like the death of paradox space itself, pulsing and nagging through your aural cavities. She saw it as Just. She saw it as murder. And if it weren’t for John, she wouldn’t have seen another way out.
You of course, don’t say any of this.
She rises up, holding out her hand. “Now come on. Since we’re here, we should check in with His Honorable Tyranny and our loyal citizens. Can Town doesn’t take a break just because we do.”
You roll your eyes and take her hand. At least now you know why. And it hurts – of course it hurts – but not as much as you thought. Not as much as the threat of losing the moirallegiance you built with Dave, and in a way, not as much as the thought of ruining your friendship with her now. You spare a glance at Terezi, and you can’t help but smile. She grins back at you like a lunatic, and squeezes your hand a little too hard.
“Don’t worry. If it’s worth fighting for, things will work out in the end.”
==>
After your talk with Terezi, you decide you’re calm enough to have a rational conversation with Dave, wherein you’ll apologize for your wretched scumbaggery and maybe patch up your relationship. Maybe she’s right. And even if your feelings aren’t normal, they’re maybe somewhat understandable. If she can go from black to pale, maybe you’re not a complete freak.
As you head towards your desk, you read a missed notification from Dave.
Oh...
No.
Your acid tract heaves. You didn’t even. You didn’t even talk to him! This isn’t right it’s not how it’s supposed to happen and how could he? It’s your fault, you should have gone after him, you should have done something and now he blocked you. He wants shit to do with you and it’s your fault.
If things were meant to ‘work out in the end,’ you sure as shit don’t see how.
You read and reread every word on the screen. He clearly saw the messages, said ‘to hell with Karkat or whatever bugwinged nickname lined up for the day, he’s not worth my time’ then blocked you. As in completely locked out, leave a message after the infinite silence.
Messaging’s out of the question. You get a grip on your shaking arms, storm down the hall straight to his door. Any other day you’d barge in like normal, but now it’s too much to handle. It’s not any other day and this isn’t normal because he blocked you. As you stare at the door, you try to breathe, try to hold back the tears and the rage. You can’t make him forgive you. You can’t apologize for forcing yourself on someone then turn around and make demands.
Your hand is on the door. You can do this, all you need to do is push it open.
But. You can’t.
You chance one more look before you abscond. Instead you storm off to the highest part of the meteor, exhausting yourself with an infinite number of stairs until you open the hatch to the roof. The same fucking empty void mixed with technicolor cracks surrounds you. Just like in your dream the damage spreads across the sky, spelling a tangible doom to existence itself. All of Alternia died because of this stupid fucking game, existence is crumbling around you, and your fucking moirail blocked you because you’re a quadrant-blurring piece of shit.
Except, no. He... he blocked you right after you poured your bloodpusher out and he didn’t even talk to you! You fucked up but he didn’t even try! Like you weren’t worth the effort of an honest fucking conversation.
Fuck him for that.
Fuck you for caring.
Fuck this stupid game, this shitacular meteor, your stupid mixed up feelings, and your lousy, fated-to-fail session of a game you barely wanted to play. You gulp in ragged breaths, tired from the climb and enraged by the day. As you catch your breath, anger roils through you like lava, flooding your thoughts and your throat until you realize the buzzing in your head is your own voice screaming. You decide right then that screaming is the best course of action and you know what, maybe you should scream even louder. You scream until your bellowsacs give out a second time, leaving yourself a wheezing, tear-stained mess.
Dave said his piece. Funny that he came to that conclusion mere minutes after Terezi confirmed paradox fucking space conspired to make you the most non-datable bulgesac across at least two universes. And you know what? It’s fine. With new resolve, you close the metaphorical door behind you and Dave and make your way back to your block. She didn’t need you.
Neither does he.
==>
You spend the next few days writing, reading, moping alone in your room, and watching movies, a picture-perfect copy of the start of your journey. You’re more social this time, or at least you pretend to be; you still have Can Town with the Mayor, you have the book club even though you’re beyond fed up with the flowery abominations you picked out, and you have the occasional moments with Kanaya and Rose. You find time to hang out with Terezi more – when she has time for you, and when Vriska’s occupied with her own shithive plans. You find time because it’s easy to come by. You’re shocked by how much time you have, and how much he was able to fill with his inane hoofbeastshit.
You don’t talk about Dave to your meteor companions because it’s none of their fucking business. Besides, people drift apart all the time. No one was in your protein chute about Terezi, or any of your other quadrants – or lack thereof – so why the hell would they start now? If you find other ways to save yourself from boredom, that’s your prerogative, dammit. And if you’re sometimes a little testier than usual, guess what? It’s still not anyone’s fucking business!
Sometimes you see him in the halls. If he sees you, catches you looking, he’ll freeze up in this infuriating, blink-and-you’ll-miss moment like a nut creature in the middle of a street, then change course and go about his way. You can’t tell whether he’s sleeping, though if you had to stake your life on it, he’s doing about as well as you ever did. It took almost two perigees to realize he’s just as insomnia-struck as you. All those late-morning movie binges, harassing each other well into whatever counts as late hours. All a ruse to mask how tired you both were all the time.
You don’t see him around Can Town as much, and when you see him in the common rooms, he makes some shit excuse to leave. He never stays long enough to talk, or lets himself be alone with you. You deserve it, you definitely poured the slime in your recuperacoon, but it hurts like hell all the same. Your pan goes wild with elaborate schemes to get him to talk to you, just enough for some closure, but. He blocked you. Completely rejected you. Silence was his answer, is his answer. You just.
If he didn’t want to be your moirail anymore he could have said it to your face.
Today you sit in the common room, reading a digital copy of In Which Two Teal Bloods In A Well-Established Kissmessitude Are Pitted Against Each Other For A Sought-After Promotion, Only To Develop Flushed Inclinations Throughout The Trials blah blah etcetera. While it was a favorite of yours, you’re reading it with a deft, critical gander bulb. How many of your books featured far-flung emotions and vacillation? How many characters really dug into what you’ve felt? That nebulous area between love, hate, pity and empathy? Were any of these characters capable of it? Or does your mutation permeate beyond your blood straight to the very core of your being?
In movies, trolls like you were treated as a joke, culled in the second act, or treated as pariahs. While everyone else stayed in their lane and had happily-ever-afters in one, maybe even three quadrants, characters like you were parables. Don’t be like that guy, he couldn’t make up his mind, and now he’s cullbait because he can’t fill his pails. Were your books – your favorites – the same way?
A notification pops up. Your blood pusher skips a beat until you see it’s a fucking memo from Vriska. And she invited everyone but Gamzee. Typical.
CURRENT arachnidsGrip [CAG] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board Every8ody get their asses in sh8pe!!!!!!!!
CAG: Important reminder every8ody!
CAG: As promised, in two days we're going to meet up for group training.
CAG: 8e ready! If you've 8een slacking off this whole time we'll aaaaaaaall 8e a8le to tell!
CURRENT grimAuxiliatrix RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CGA: Is That A Fact
CURRENT gallowsCalibrator [CGC] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CGC: 4FR41D SO!
CGC: 1 H4V3 4 GOOD NOS3 FOR 1T >:]
CURRENT tentacleTherapist RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CTT: Kanaya and I will be there.
CAG: Good! I expect nothing less from a Light player.
CURRENT carcinoGeneticist [CCG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CCG: I GUESS THIS IS UN AFUCKING VOIDABLE SO I'LL BE THERE.
CGC: Y3S K4RK4T, W3'R3 4LL 4TT3ND1NG, SO YOU SHOULD TOO
CAG: That's right! 8esides, weren't you the one that wanted to train? You were pretty agreea8le as I remem8er.
CCG: YES, I HAPPEN TO BE CAPABLE OF REMEMBERING SHIT I SAID WHILE IN A PANIC FROM THE SKY BREAKING APART BEFORE MY GANDER BULBS.
CCG: I SAID I'LL BE THERE, OK?
CAG: Fiiiiiiiine, no need to get so cranky!
CCG: ALSO, "EVERYBODY?" SEEMS LIKE SOMEONE IS DELIBERATELY MISSING.
CCG: IS GAMZEE NOT A THING?
CGC: 3HHHHHHHH
CAG: Not really!
CCG: WHERE IS HE ANYWAY?
CAG: Relax, I'm taking care of it.
Wow. That fills you with absolute confidence. Stunning.
CGA: Im Happy To Offer Assistance With Any Clown Wrangling Tasks
CCG: NO.
CGC: NO
CAG: No.
CGA: Fine
CGC: D4V3, WH4T 4BOUT YOU?
CGC: W1LL MR COOLK1D CH3RRY BL4ST M4K3 4N 4PP34R4NC3 >:?
God. Will he? If you were still talking to him, you’d have him sit this out with no hesitation. He doesn’t want to fight, and yeah you know he should, you know it’s inevitable, but.
CURRENT turntechGodhead [CTG] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.
CTG: yeah totes magotes ill be there with bells on
CTG: i'll need to alchemize extra shades cause yall are gonna be dazzled blind
CTG: rezi youre good already in the shades department
CTG: being predazzled and all
CGC: >:]
Your mind races as you read red text. He’s coming, so now you kind of have to. You’ll get to see him, and maybe this time he’ll stay put for a change.
He doesn’t want to fight.
Ok, that. You know what? If he’s good, then you shouldn’t worry. It’s not like he didn’t make himself clear, and anyway it’s high time you stopped your pathetic pining. You’re not responsible for him, he made that clear.
CAG: Dave, I doubt you'll 8e dazzling anyone when Team Scourge wipes the floor with you!
CAG: But I’m sure that when we do, Karkat'll come to your rescue ::::)
CTG: must be true since youre the expert on unlikely rescues v dogg
CGA: Was That A Burn
CTT: I believe it was.
CCG: AWESOME. ANOTHER USEFUL FUCKING MEMO FOR THE BOOKS.
CCG: GREAT DERAIL, EVERYONE.
CCG: I'M OUT
CAG: 8yeeeeeeee, Karkat!
CAG: 8ring that winner attitude with you!
CCG banned himself from responding to memo.
Ugh. He... You have to believe he can handle himself. He has to. Especially, especially if he doesn’t need you anymore. The group training will prove it, answer that question for you.
But you aren’t looking forward to finding out.
Notes:
Karkat knows the importance of referencing the fic title.
Chapter 26: Dave: Settle This Dispute in a Rational, Diplomatic Manner
Summary:
I haven't forgotten this fic, I promise. There's just been a LOT that's happened in the last 3 months, so I'm speedrunning life right now.
Chapter Text
“I can smell your sweat, Dave!”
You roll your eyes and ready your grip. “Dog, you’re gonna be smelling the ground in two minutes or less. Come at me.”
You try to focus on how good you were at this. Shit-talking your opponents, limbering up for a verbal and literal smack down. Dodging, parrying, lunging, striking. Today’s no different. Hell, it’s easier ‘cause you ain’t got your fucking bro breathing down your neck or a goddamn puppet staring at you with those creepy dead eyes. And even if you’re not feeling it, you figure you can fake cockiness as per usual, right?
Terezi charges at you like a polygonal warrior; boney, angular, and sharp as her sword. Metal clashes against metal as she matches your parries, nosing for an opening. But shit hero or not, you were your Bro’s protégé. You meant it when you said two minutes.
“So check it, if you come at me from that angle,” you dodge her jab, “I’d block, rush your guard, and barge like this.” You flashstep behind her and rap her arm with the flat of Caledscratch. “But you kinda got the double blade going on, so you can try trapping my sword right when I get in your business.”
“You’re forgetting I’m canekind, not bladekind, coolkid.” She swaps weapons and thwaps you hard in the thigh.
“Ow, fuck dammit, why do you have nunchucks?” You float-dash out of her reach and look for an opening past all her wild flailing.
“It’s a cane! It doesn’t stop being a cane no matter how I wallop you!” She swaps back to her rapier and circles you.
You gotta admit, other than the fresh new dragon-shaped bruise you’re gonna get, the training session’s going... fine. Part of you likes showing off around Rose even though you’re sure she gives about as many fucks about your battle skills as she does about dicks. Part of you likes the idea of holding your own against a race of battle aliens, even if they managed to be a bumper crop of unapologetic nerds. But another part of you would put your dick through a doorjamb and slam repeatedly if it meant ending this fight early.
Ok, well maybe not that far, but pretty close. One slam.
As she circles around, twenty different scenarios run through your head. Feint and barge, slope a little and draw her in, straight lunge at her like a doofy tool. You almost wanna do the time loops, maybe block from the front and barge from behind. But you can’t because the lobster tank above you will get pissed off, and next you know you’re stuck in the bubbles, all ghosted up and waiting to double-die.
Instead of all that bullshit, you crouch low and sweep her legs.
“Augh! Dammit!” She lands on top of you with a yelp, elbows jabbing you in the chest. She cackles anyway – right in your ear, Jegus – and rolls off while you dust yourself and rise to a sitting position. She reaches up for a fist bump. “Fair’s fair, Dave. You got that round.”
Much as you want to say ‘fuck your fist bump,’ you close in on that fist anyway. “Yeah. Cool shit with your cheater sticks, though.”
“You two work well together!” Rose calls out. You watch as your nerd of a sister jots down more notes in her WizardFAQs. “Terezi, can you get a sense of how Dave will react in combat?”
‘Rezi frowns at you like she’s almost disappointed. “Kind of, but it’s harder out here. It’s... too linear.”
“Shouldn’t it be, though?” you ask. “It ain’t like we’re time-traveling, so of course it’d be linear.”
“No, I mean you don’t branch. I know what you’re going to do already because you don’t think anything different.”
“The hell’s that mean?” You know damn well what you were thinking, and none of it was some lone dirt road path the way she’s implying. “You’re seriously telling me you knew I was gonna knock you flat on your ass?”
“Not exactly. It doesn’t work like that.” She hops back to her feet and draws her blade. She nods at Rose and Vriska. “It’s more like... if I’m trying to stab you, you’d dodge because it’s the most logical thing to do, right? Or when we’re sparring you’re going to try to win.”
“Yeah...” you say warily.
“But if I did... this!” She chucks her sword dead at Rose.
Several things happen in an instant.
You hear a clatter as you flashstep towards Rose. Metal strikes metal really fucking close to your ear right as an elbow connects to your ribs. Next you know, you’re on the ground staring up at spidertroll’s scimitar.
Rose hasn’t moved a damn inch.
“Hey, Daaaaaaave,” Vriska says, googly eye glinting as she offers a hand to you and tosses Terezi’s sword – oh, sorry, cane – back to her.
Against your better judgement, you take her hand. It’s cold. “The fuck did y’all do?”
“We applied some fortune to the outcome,” Rose says.
“I ganked Terezi’s luck so she wouldn’t land the hit.”
“And what.” You fold your arms to hide the shaking. “You gave all that ill-gotten luck back to Rose?”
“Thieves don’t typically give back,” Rose replies. “Luckily for me, I can see my own path to good fortune.”
“It’s just... seriously the worst thing when you’re trying to be funny,” you grumble. You look at the Light Brigade, trying to piece together what happened. Terezi threw her cane at Rose and you went charging after it like a wildebeest in rutting season. Wait fuck, that’s gross.
“If you’re done mumbling to yourself, I can fill in the gaps,” Rose says. “Terezi’s action sparked a Choice, and with some intervention,” she smirks at Vriska, “we ensured the consequences fell in our favor.”
Sure doesn’t answer anything.
“OK, so did your cutesy murder shit prove anything? Terezi, can you do shit other than bamboozle people with impulsive Mind murders?”
“Oh, calm down. She wasn’t going to die, and even if she did, it wouldn’t have stuck.”
“It would’ve stuck a little,” Rose deadpans.
You glare at her, but she can’t see because shades.
“Unlike you, we’re able to practice our fraymotifs together,” Vriska says, and for once she almost sounds sincere. “I can steal luck out here no problem, and if there’s any real Choices Terezi’s all over it. So relax.”
You kinda wish you were the type to gnash about and pitch a fit. But you’re not. You are a brat when you put your mind to it, though. “Soooooooo,” you say in your best-worst Vriska, “what did you See?”
Rose tries not to laugh and you take it as a victory, and you award yourself bonus points for spidertroll rolling all eight of her nasty ass eyes. You hear footsteps, one set impossibly soft, the other stompy like an elephant on parade, and you decide not to think about your sudden adrenaline spike. You’re still dealing with the Murder Sisters, alright?
Terezi sheathes her blade-cane and twirls it like a drum major that discovered the medicinal properties of cocaine. “The court rules there was once again a linear path. Our brave hero, if left to his own devices, would have always jumped in to save his beloved hatchmate.”
“Aww,” Rose says.
“Unfortunately, he would have jumped in, not use time travel. Whether that’s only because we’re out here remains a mystery.”
“What, you can’t See?” you mutter. You’re kind of done with this shit.
“Nope! Just regular, old-fashioned observation, coolkid.” She turns her nose towards Kanaya and Karkat, who finally walk in. “You made it! Are you two ready to get your clocks cleaned by Team Scourge?” She waggles her brows.
“No,” Kanaya says pointedly. “But I am ready to practice sparring and teamwork in a safe,” she looks at Vriska, “and encouraging environment.”
“Nag all you want, fussyfangs, but you’ll be thanking me on the victory platform.”
“Blah, blah, BLAH, let’s just get this over with,” Crabby Douche says, bitter as usual. His glare falters when he sees you, and you practically lobotomize yourself for how much you’re not thinking about how your pulse jumps.
“Sup,” you say with a wave.
“Hey,” he says back, not quite meeting your eyes. Dammit, you want to be done with this awkward bullshit. Or just forget anything and everything about the past goddamn year. You’re glad you’re staying chill about it. And you know, not pile driving straight into the Desperate Broken Tool District like a floundering sack of shit.
Whatever. You head towards Rose, but notice Count Glampula already took up residence by her side, like really settled in picket fence-style. And sitting on the other side means sitting by Vriska, which... hard pass. You sidle in by Kanaya, who greets you with a warm, motherly smile.
Man, you really like your sister’s girlfriend.
“OK, Karkles, you and me!” Terezi says gleefully. “And this time, I’m not going easy on you.”
“Oh goody,” he says dryly, and you watch as a familiar frown forms on his face. His favorite sickles drop in his hands as he readies himself into a familiar battle stance. Terezi stands ramrod across from him, cane in front and beaming like she got a BOGO coupon on Black Friday.
“Roooooooound one... Go!”
As soon as Vriska’s shout dies off, Terezi charges, twisting her cane with an uncanny grace. Karkat ducks under her, for once using his shortness to his advantage. He snags her cane with a sickle just as she swaps to nunchucks. They form a rhythm of strikes and stalemates across the deck, and you really can’t tell if they’re out for teeth.
You startle when Kanaya leans next you and murmurs, “They’re quite the pair when they’re like this, aren’t they?”
“Like what?”
“Not at each other’s throats. Well, they’re sparring, so technically they are at each other’s throats, but in a friendlier way.” She sighs. “But friendly-friendly, not like... well, you know.”
“Not spades-pals,” you finish, and she nods. “I mean, were they ever like that, though? I thought he just regular-liked her, like uh... red ways. And that was all in the past.”
“For the most part, yes.” Kanaya fidgets with the hem of her skirt, looking straight ahead at the sparring match. “Sometimes I wonder if...”
She doesn’t finish, even when you glace over at her. Maybe it’s best to just drop it. Drop it like it’s hotter than your reflection and your fingers mystically transformed into cheap ass margarine. You stare at the pair. Karkat’s holding his own, and he’s got force behind him for a scrawny guy–
You weren’t thinking he was scrawny when he had you pinned.
Anyway.
Terezi’s faster and she weaves around him like she’s playing with her food. All giggles and grunts and nose pointed at troll boy like he’s the only person in the room. You decide you don’t like how she circles around him like he’s prey. Or how she’s grinning at him like she knows all his secrets. Or how he smiles back in a way you could never capture on paper, grim and tight, and focused right at her.
“I wonder if, maybe if he had someone to talk to instead of letting his emotions fester in a vacuum...” Kanaya says, picking up where she left off. “I mean, he’s helped me, and he certainly was something of a guru to our team. I’m probably just babbling, but. Maybe things would have been different for him.”
“Different.”
“Suppose he had an outlet, a confidante at the time. He can get so convinced in an idea that it’s hard to shake.” she looks over at you. “I guess I mean he needs someone to talk to now and again.”
“Iono, man talk to him, then.”
“Yes. I could, but that’s...” She trails off again, and when you glance over, her skin flickers like a broken bulb, tinged green at her cheeks. “Oh, goodness. I was rambling and wasn’t thinking. I was under the impression that you and he talked... about stuff... like that.”
Gee, last call to board Guilt Trip Airlines, where your captain also acts as your light tower... thing. You side-eye Kanaya before you turn back to the fight. His stance is a little wobbly compared to hers. She needs to drop her elbows. This is stupid. Kanaya fiddles with the hem of her shirt, basically unbothered by your awkward silence.
“Nah,” you say quietly. “We never really talked about stuff like that.”
Echoes of you and Karkat talking about Jade and Terezi plays in your mind, along with incessant comparisons of actors and celebrity crushes. Talks about how the new world was gonna be so different from your previous ones. Yeah, you fucking liar. You never talked about stuff like that.
“Hm. In that case, I just. I hope he still has someone to talk to about these sorts of things is all.”
Though it’s not like you talked since you blocked him, so.
Terezi uses her nunchucks as a makeshift lariat and trips Karkat ass over horns. He takes her down with him using a well-timed sickle grab. They land in a heap of black hair, grey skin, and candy corn horns. The fond irritation in Karkat’s eyes as Terezi cackles makes you unreasonably angry.
“Well, at least his fighting’s gotten better,” Kanaya says as she rises. “Have you been practicing as well?”
“Not really.” You stand, not taking your eyes away from the scene. You watch as Karkat gets up first, holding out a hand for Terezi while Kanaya walks up. Vriska stands as well, brandishing her dice. As the two fangy sisters ready their stances, Kanaya with her lipstick uncapped and Vriska with her dice-rolled sword, you watch as Terezi whispers something to Karkat, ruffling his hair as he looks your way. A blush, dusty red, creeps up his neck.
You don’t hear anything after that; you blame Kanaya’s chainsaw revving. If pressed, you might think Rose called after you as you stalked away. But you don’t stop walking until you’re back in your room, door slammed behind you.
==>
You don’t know why you’re so pissed. You take a deep breath and relax your hands; you had them balled up for so long you got prick points across your palms. You stare at the crescents for well over twenty minutes before realizing how completely and unstylishly dramatic you’re acting.
“What the hell is my problem?” you say out loud.
You don’t get to answer that for yourself. Right as you flop face-down on your mattress, you hear a hard knock on your door. You don’t answer; lifting your head is hells of effort all of a sudden, even though you know anyone coming to your crib is gonna camp out on your grill like a Fourth of July BBQ. You’re no Seer, but you’re damn sure meddling is all you’ve got to look forward to.
After the third knock, the door slides open and weight shifts abruptly on your bed a second later. You still don’t bother looking up, even when a cold, pointy fingers jab at your cheek.
“Lemelone,” you mumble, grabbing a pillow to cover your head. “Chez Strider is closed for the day.”
“You’re ridiculous, coolkid.” Terezi grabs your pillow and ignores your undignified squawk. Real pal. “Big surprise.”
“Do Seers even get surprised? Don’t you all just wander around knowing everything like permanent smug assholes?” You finally look up and see she’s not grinning like a lunatic for once. Victory. “Why’re you here.”
“I’m here to talk to you, dummy! I’m trying to figure out what your problem is!” She shifts on your bed. “Every time there’s any talk of the end game or planning or anything, you...” A weird, clicky guttural sound emits from her, not quite a growl, not quite a sob. “Every time I think you’re getting better or opening up, you take one gigantic douche step back.”
“Aren’t only moirails supposed to care? Why’re you even here.”
“Because we’re friends!” she shouts. “At least I thought we were. And if you’re not gonna talk to Karkat and no one else is gonna call you on your bullshit, then it’s my responsibility.”
It’s not, though, you don’t say. Nobody asked you, you also don’t say. You settle on a noncommittal grunt and raise yourself to a sitting position, faced trained to your usual stoic bullshit.
“Dave,” she says, exasperated. “What’s wrong?”
It’s a fair question. There’s a comically thick book, almost Lalondian in lengthy prose that details every single thing wrong in your life, and if you were anyone other than Dave Strider, you’d recite from it line by line like a coffee shop poet to anyone who’d listen. You think that’s how well-adjusted people handle their shit. But then again, if they were so well-adjusted, they wouldn’t have that fucking book in the first place.
Instead, you’re you. Dave Strider, Knight of Time, some fourteen-and-some-change-year-old prick who’s decent at sword fighting, sick beats, and being a useless douche around people acting like they care about him.
You turn and look at Terezi, and you mean really look at her. Her black hair is stuck out at weird angles, damp at the edges of her face, sweaty from strifing with Knights all day. Red glasses hide burned-out eyes, but not really hide them if you let her tell it. And a sharp mouth hiding sharper teeth, turned down in a frown you put there.
“Nothing’s wrong, aight?” you say. “I’ll chill with the bullshit in the meetings or whatever, that cool?”
“It’s not cool because I know you’re lying. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe we can fix it.”
“Ain’t shit to fix.”
“Dave,” she says, near pleading.
And there’s the return flight for the guilt trip. Guess you’re doing this. “I don’t want to fight,” you admit with a sigh.
“We’re not fighting... are we?”
“No, I mean. I don’t want to fight.”
Terezi cocks her head to the side, mouth curled up. “With me...? Or... the game?”
You shrug. “Don’t matter which, really but I meant the game. It’s not like we have a choice, though.”
“We always have a choice, Dave,” she says.
“Yeah and the wrong choice kills me and everyone I know. You can do whatever the hell you damn well please so long’s you’re cool with being in the bubbles forever. That don’t make it any better than having no choice at all. Everything’s fucking locked in before you even hit the start button.”
“When you put it that way, yeah,” she says hesitantly.
“Fuck, it’s stupid to try thinking about choices or get worked up over ‘em. No matter what, I have to fight whoever the fuck Lord English is, at least one Jack including the one that already ganked my ass, and either I die repeatedly all over again like John or just die once because of some tragic as hell savior shit since that’s so on brand for me.” Ugh, why even tell her this shit. “Fuck it, though. Whatever makes the timeline happy, right?”
“But all those pretty little timelines weaving around each other feed back into the Alpha. They feed back into our timeline. So no matter what, your choices do matter. You know that better than me.”
“Whatever,” you reply. “Even if that was remotely more than semantics, don’t mean I gotta plaster on the dopiest fucking grin and claim it as my damn nindo.”
“Your what?”
“My fucking... shit, yet another reference lost on y’all. My way of life, I guess.”
“Hmm. Yeah,” she replies. “But it doesn’t mean you have to be miserable for sweeps, either. And before you get upset–”
“Who said I was–”
“Blarrr, shut up! Before you get upset, I know for a little while you seemed like you were working through things and getting, I dunno, happier...” She fiddles with the dragon on her cane. “Remember when we had that whole thing about facing your own death?”
“Yeah, you wanted me to murk other me for your twisted shits and giggles.”
“Are you still mad at me about that?”
“No,” you say, way too quickly. “Just get on with you mind lecture.”
“Fine!” She faces you. “You confronted your death and became God Tier, but deep down it wasn’t for the reason you thought you wanted, was it? And the reason was fine enough, you saved your friends and it worked out, but it’s different now! It’s not a suicide contest.”
Your ears burn at that word. All of a sudden breathing is harder and you don’t trust your voice. Normally this is prime time to skedaddle on out of here, but she’s in your room and you can’t just leave.
“I’m not–” you stammer.
“When I threw the sword earlier, I hoped you’d see your choices. Instead you were too linear. If Rose and Vriska didn’t use their fraymotifs, you would have died. And if it wasn’t just training, it would have stuck. You’re acting worse than when we started, and don’t think I can’t tell you’re avoiding everyone!”
She needs to leave. You flashback to Bro on LOWAS, lying face-down, blue dirt stained red where he lay. Fuck her, you don’t want to die. You don’t want to be him. That’s the whole fucking point, you don’t want to die. Fuck her, fuck her–
“I’m not fucking suicidal,” you say, almost shouting. “Don’t know if you noticed, took a nice big whiff lately, but I already hit my dying quota. God Tier Douche of Time, ever heard of it? And straight up, if it looks like I’m trying to sacrifice myself like some fucking lamb, then maybe think about trying to kill me and my fucking friends less.”
“I wasn’t trying to–”
“Then what? What do you call trying to javelin-stab people just to prove a point? What was that shit with John you pulled and made some other Bird me have to bail everyone out!? Or fucking dooming a whole other Dave and everyone else with him just ‘cause I asked one too many questions about God Tier? Which was fucking pointless since guess what? I got shit-ass Time powers anyway, and it literally helped no one!” You stand. “That shit was fucking pointless because you could’ve been straight up, but you weren’t. So what, your ‘choice’ was locked in too? Yo, maybe Paradox Space is just fine with my shitty-ass ‘suicide contest’ complex, just like it’s real peachy with your murder complex since not doing it would doom us anyway.”
“Dave!” She bolts up, facing you head on. “This is what I’m talking about, you are mad–”
“Nah, man.” Your entire body shakes. “Just. Get out. I got shit to do.”
“You’re serious.”
“As a bloodpusher malfunction.”
She huffs. “You know what, fine! Stay in here and just... ugh!” She turns heel, slamming the door behind her.
You stare at the empty space, mind racing a million miles per hour. Seriously, fuck her. You are not fucking suicidal. You don’t even want to fight, but the world’s gonna end or whatever if you don’t. Who the hell is she to come in judging you? You dealt with your death, she didn’t do shit. There’s a million other Proxy Pal Daves floating around, and the only difference is a bunch of arbitrary fucked-up causal choices. Just for you to throw that away ‘cause you’re ‘suicidal?’ Them, Bro, all of them fucking maybe, but not you.
Fuck that shit. You want to live.
==>
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] –-
TT: Dave, I hope this conversation will prove more fruitful than our previous dances around the topic.
TT: But at the risk of agitating you further, you really should try to reconcile with Terezi.
TT: While I don't blame you for limiting your interactions with her, I feel this has gone to an undesirable extreme.
TG: nah im good
TT: Dave.
TG: rose
TT: Must you play out this entire role of the obstinate brother?
TT: Are you seriously going to commit to avoiding everyone and cutting people out for the entire voyage?
TG: iono you tell me
TG: since you can see the future and all
TT: I can't see the future like that!
TG: cool story
TG: but you can see the best way to not get murderstabbed
TT: Oh my god.
TG: look what do you want from me
TG: i aint hankering to talk to some psycho that thinks its cool to put friends in danger just to prove some point
TG: and i double dont care about talking to people who think im on some vision quest to kill myself
TG: especially someone more than happy to kill people already
TT: I get that.
TT: Honestly, I do.
TT: But we will need to fight alongside each other when the time comes, and our odds of do so while our teams fractures and breaks by the minute becomes slim.
TT: I do not want to lose, Dave. We have too much at stake.
TG: look i get that
TG: we wanna win, so we gotta sit and be friends
TG: but youre making it on me to be friends with someone who acts a little too casual about how many bodies she has on her
TG: and since some of those bodies happen to be mine i feel like i have a right to take that personally
TG: so it looks like were at an impasse
TT: It seems so.
TT: Can you at least promise that if the time comes where reconciliation looks likely, you won't ignore it completely?
TG: you can probably see if i will or not anyway and if you cant then she can or yall can together
TG: dunno what other band name fraymotifs you got with her
TG: so trying to goad me into feeling good about it isnt gonna change the outcome
TT: That's not what I’m trying to do!
TT: Have you considered I’m trying to do this because I’m tired of you being so miserable?
TT: You don't talk to Terezi, I can't remember the last time you've even talked about or to Karkat.
TT: And when you talk to me it's like I’m interacting with dead air.
TG: ok so dont talk to me then
TT: That's not what I mean and you know it, stop being obtuse!
TG: damn lalonde with the vocab any more ob words you wanna lob my way
TG: could turn it into a rap battle
TT: Oblivious, obnoxious, occasionally objectifying, and rarely observant.
TG: oh snap
TG: guess the unobservant wont be a servant to your rants
TG: cause this objectifying suckas got a healthy dose of cants
TT: Goddamn it, Dave.
TG: yeah ok
TG: look how bout i make literally zero promises on the forgiveness front
TG: as long as you promise not to spoil whatever future you do or dont see and just let things play out normally
TG: and maybe dont do any shitty light squad super powers to prove a point
TT: And what do I get out of that heaping serving of caveats?
TG: iono
TG: i guess the promise that ill think about it without promising that ill actually do anything
TT: You know, I think you may be right.
TT: We are at an impasse.
TG: cool cool
TG: same time next week i guess
TT: Till then.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
==>
You continue to spend the next several days avoiding Terezi. By proxy, you avoid Vriska, which is absolutely no loss to you. It also means you see Rose a little less, since those three are tangled in End Game Shit. Since you see Rose less, you kind of see Kanaya less too. When you do see Rose, she’s either cozied up doing vampire girlfriend things or hanging out with Karkat. Then when you do score some Rose hangouts, she constantly hints that you should ‘consider reconciliation’ and ‘stop being such a whiney brat.’
Which, not in this lifetime, pal.
It’s like the beginning of the trip all over again, and you low-key hate it. The people you chilled with in this weird, summer camp kumbaya power hour have all clammed up like a dirty mollusk with an even dirtier secret. Outwardly, you play it off because it’s not that different. But it eats at you because it’s different and you know it. There’s a big fucking difference between avoiding people on purpose and doing your own thing, and the former puts you on edge like it did back in Houston.
You decide to take your mind off it with some community service to the Mayor. Because you know what, at least he gets you. As you walk to Can Town, the thought of taking your timetables and shoving the past month and four days into a file cabinet like a disgruntled Initech data jockey tempts you. Just turn the whole timeline into a TPS report and file it away. And for good measure burn down the entire building and all the evidence with it.
You think Karkat would like that movie, and part of you wants to take a stab at alchemizing it. Not like he’ll ever want to talk to you again.
As much as she’s skyrocketing to the top of your shit list, Rose is probably right. Maybe you should put your whiney brattitude under heavy consideration. It’s starting to wear on you like teenage funk, though honestly that may be your real-life teenage funk. Either way, you’re lonely, tired, tired of being lonely, and you miss Karkat. You don’t know what you would even say to him, since you pretty much don’t want shit to do with him. Because he pities you for all your dumb bullshit. Even though... it’s not like you’re doing anything to prove him wrong. You guess if you had to say anything, you’d start with–
Oh fuck Karkat’s right there in Can Town talking to the Mayor.
What were you saying? Fucking nothing that’s what. You float about an inch off the ground, hoping they haven’t noticed you. If you’re lucky, you can still be a cowardly piece of shit and abscond the hell out. You hover back the way you came.
“Oh. Dave.”
Fuuuuuck.
You turn back around and face the gravelly voiced troll. You spent days studying the finer details of Karkat’s mug, but even from day one you could read his expressions better than the Asshole Junction Book Club could read awful books. You let your feet touch back down, and you heave a sigh. There’s nothing that’ll plant your ass back down to Earth like his ‘We Need to Talk’ face number three.
“Sup, Crabby Cat? Getting some one-on-one time with the Mayor, I see. Nothing like getting the chance to rub elbows with the finest Can Town representative, there’s one million percent no better way to spend your days,” you babble.
Karkat tugs at his sleeves, glancing back at the Mayor. “Y-yeah. The Mayor’s pretty damn awesome.”
He looks down at his feet like they’re the most interesting things in the room. And hell, besides your own feet, maybe they are. Hells of feet gazing up in here. Your Gift of Gab is doing wonders. You’ll reach your next psychedelic God-Rung in no time.
You’d think watching all those abysmal romcoms would stop you from living the exact same tropes you and Karkat shat on nigh constantly, but turns out communication really is that hard. Even if you wanted to start handing out apologies or confessions like cars on The Price is Right, you’re not sure where to start. And Rose, didn’t she say to talk to him, in so many words? Did her witchy psycho Light powers see if putting everything out there is worth fucking things up and making crab douche uncomfortable?
Because whether or not you like or hate the asshole right now, you still like him. Your brorail thing was the shitness, and not gonna lie, having him as a friend is so much better than the hot garbage you’re doing now. If he’s down for that and maybe never again mentions that he feels sorry for you, then you’ll take it, and leave your own shit out of the equation. And maybe never mention the other thoughts you’ve had. As in never mention it ever because if you let him tell it you can’t just flip quadrants, even though humans don’t work the same way.
...And you’ve been staring at his feet this entire time. You should just leave.
“So...” you say. “I uh, guess I’ll leave you to it.”
“Dave, I uh...” He sighs, pinching his nose. His shoulders sag, and you can’t help but notice how long his hair is growing. When he finally makes eye contact with you, he’s glaring like you stole the last bowl of Lucky Charms. “Can we for the love of Earth Human Jegus not do this awkward fucking song and dance anymore? I-I know you don’t want to hang out with me, I can take it, but... You don’t have to leave because I’m here. And... fuck if you don’t want to be in same room as me I’ll go, ok?”
“Bro, don’t put it on me like I’m the one calling the hangout shots,” you snap. “I’m just some mistake to feel sorry for, don’t pull this shit.”
Fuck, why did you say that? That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Troll boy looks like he’s made entirely of gaskets and they’re all primed to blow. Grab your women and children. Evacuate while you still can.
“The hell are you–! Dave, you fucking blocked me! What the hell kind of sleuthing does it take to not read that as a huge fucking clue you were done with me!? You couldn’t be more clear if you chiseled a goddamned message in the broken ass sky saying ‘fuck that Vantas asshole!’
“Phrasing.”
“Why the fuck would I not want to hang out with you? Or feel sorry for you!? When have I ever felt fucking sorry for you!?”
He did, though! “You straight up said that you made a mistake and pitied me, dude.”
His eyes waver, growing wider by the second. “You thought I. You fucking thought you were the mistake?” He snorts as he fists his hair. “I put myself out there and say something pretty fucking important, and of all the moronic things in the fucking world to take away from that, you thought I wouldn’t want to hang out with you!? Dave, you were my fucking moirail. I don’t feel sorry for you, I said I fucking pitied you!”
“That’s the same fucking thing!” you shout. “How is that not the same fucking thing? Why would I want to chill with someone who’s constantly feeling sorry for me?”
“You fucking shit-cretin, pity is our word for your stupid fucking human bro-love! It’s a term of goddamn endearment BECAUSE WE’RE MOIRALS!”
Oh.
“Oh,” you say out loud. “So you uh...” You wave your fingers back and forth between you two, the Gift of Gab still paying dividends.
He groans, rolling his eyes so hard his entire head goes along for the ride. “Stop being such an awkward piece of garbage and put your phalanges down. We clearly need to talk, so let’s just kick the fucking trunkbeast out of the room, please.”
Oh god he wants to talk, holy shit fucking Christ.
“Dude, who’s being awkward?” you lie. “No one in Can Town, that’s who. All those elephants were carted off cause they ate one too many rancid mushrooms. The kingdom’s gone, Kataclysm.”
He stares at you, blinking slowly. “You poisoned the trunkbeasts.”
“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “Course I’m down to talk. Talk like we’re literally the two chilliest bros on the meteor. Ice cold like sweet tea and lemonade.”
He frowns. “Tea is served hot, how does that make any fucking sense?”
“What, no dude. You serve that shit ice cold with like a bucket of sugar and little lemon slices on the side.”
“Dave, what the fuck, that’s fucking disgusting!”
“No...? it’s awesome.” Wait, why’s he looking so squicked out? “Wait, no, not like y’all’s weird fuckbucket it’s a figure of speech dude, come on.”
He stares at you, mouth parted in what you assume is either mild horror or incredible awe at your wordsmithing. You choose the latter. “It’s uncanny. It’s just downright whimsical how you can transform a pretty vital conversation into a grotesque black hole of ‘colorful’ analogies, only to fall face first into a one-man freak show of verbal disaster. It’s like you’re allergic to common sense.”
Damn that’s one of his better ones. You can’t help but smirk as you blurt out, “You know you love it, Krabcake.”
“It’s my one fucking weakness,” he replies, biting back a smile. Damn that’s cute.
Well, fuck.
You know this is a black-tie invitation to take him up on talking about your feelings like a cool, mature dude. On the other hand, maybe you don’t have to lay everything out, and maybe just. Ease into it. A thought bubbles over, damn near abandoned, and you allow yourself to finally think it.
I have a crush on Karkat.
Just thinking the words makes your palms sweat, and your neck feels hot and itchy like a July afternoon. You feel like some asshole just lobotomized your brain and replaced everything with shitty Nicholas Sparks books. The dumbest part of you wants to scoop him up and ruffle his hair, and the not-as-dumb part of you wants to run away, set your hair on fire, and hide out in the vents until you reach the new session. Holy shitballs, you have a crush on Karkat. You have a goddamn crush on–
“–Like hell if I’m going to not talk this fucking topic to death so you can get through your pan every fucking scrap of terminology in Alternian culture so you can – hey! I’m not done with you, pay attention and stop mumbling!”
...Fuck.
“I uh. I like the sound of that. The whole talking thing.” Dumb. You rub the side of your face. “Talking... sounds good, actually. So that’s what we should do. We should uh... talk. Yeah.” And maybe try acting normal, you turd. Ugh, you’re so done for.
“Oh. Good.” He squares his shoulders and tries to hide his expression. “Well. The Mayor wants an entertainment district. Come help me build a movie theater.”
“Done and done,” you say automatically. You watch him saunter back to the Mayor, and if you didn’t know better, you’d swear he’s still trying to hide a look of determination. You unironically like the fuck out of that expression.
Your name is Dave Strider, and you have a crush on Karkat Vantas.
Notes:
Dave's deep dive into Babar the Elephant lore is a symptom and not a cause of his chronic insomnia.
Chapter 27: Karkat: Surrender to Overwhelming Emotions
Notes:
Chapter song: Act of Congress - Such Great Heights
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dave wants to talk. He actually, no hoofbeastshit wants to talk like a rational, mature adult. It’s more than you expected from him, considering how he left things. And considering him trying to float away in all his douche-tier glory. And considering... you sort of railroaded yourself into this without knowing what to say.
Best. Timeline. Ever.
You take a deep breath. This won’t be that bad. You told him to stop being so fucking awkward, and you’re going to do the same. You can be a rational, mature adult about this too. And if you’re lucky – and not mutually appalled at the idea – you can start over.
“So,” you say, handing Dave a can. “M-maybe I should start by...” Fuck, what do you even say?
“I shouldn’t have blocked you that was uncool of me,” he blurts out. “And I probably should’ve gotten the pity thing by now, you told me about it like months ago, and I picked the exact worse time to flip my shit. Shit was uncouth.”
“Yeah, I–” you grit your teeth because you are not going to cry, “–fuck it really was, Dave. It hurt and we weren’t talking, and that was my fault too, maybe I should’ve pushed it earlier.” You are not going to cry. “I don’t want to go through that again.”
“Me either,” he mumbles.
“And I’m sorry for um, pushing you to fight. And for... everything that happened.”
He visibly tenses up, brow furrowed and mouth set in a flat line. “Dude. I said it was cool. I’m not gonna get pissy over a lucky hit.”
You narrow your eyes, because he did not just. “Didn’t look lucky from where I was standing.”
“That’s the thing about lucky shots,” he says, infuriatingly calm. “Shit looks like skill at a glance, but it’s fickle as fuck when subjected to the mad scrutinies. I mean, don’t feel bad or anything, you got some chops. But don’t let it go to your head.”
He smirks at you like a goddamn smug tool. He pisses you off so much! And worse, he knows he’s pissing you off, and it’s throwing you for a loop.
Wait.
Is he doing this specifically to piss you off? So you’re not caught up inside your own head? You hold your glare, drinking in every detail of his face. Sure enough, he seems more relaxed, like annoying you was for his benefit as much as your own. No wonder you can’t classify your feelings. He muddies them as much as you.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you finally say, rolling your eyes for good measure. “So... you’re ok?”
He nods as he takes another can from the dwindling pile. Empty cans aren’t hard to come by, but they’re not as structurally sound as full ones. You make a mental note to alchemize more corn and grub sauce.
“I’m good, Karks.” He doesn’t look up, at you or otherwise. “Are... are we good?”
Are you? “I-I guess? I mean, I don’t know! Is the air cleared? Fuck no. Do I want to clear it? Yes. Am I still worried that I fucking ruined everything!? I lost my moirail, my feelings are out of contr–”
“Whoa dude, slow down. I was just like. Do you not hate me and still want to hang out and shit, but yeah we’ve still got all kinds of air to clear. I’m pretty sure I’m the one that fucked up on a comically grand scale, like enough that if it was reversed I wouldn’t wanna deal with my ass, soooo.” He pauses. “Do you still want to? Deal with my ass, I mean.” He shakes his head. “Well, like, deal with me, not my ass, like not just my ass–”
“Holy murdering empress, shut up.” You laugh despite yourself, gander bulbs stinging. “Of course I do, I’ve been worried this entire time you didn’t want to deal with me.”
“Oh. Cool, then.” A tiny smile forms on his lips. “You still worry a lot, huh.”
“Yeah,” you admit. “As a matter of fact, I worry all the fucking time. It’s practically cemented in my think pan, and if you can’t tell by now then I’m really concerned about your observation skills.”
He snorts and asks, “So what are you worried about. Like right now.”
“Uh,” you say, eloquent as fuck. “Everything?”
“Ooh, remember this? ‘Dave, can you stop being an evasive cretin for once and maybe think about opening up to me?’” he says, rasping his voice in a clear imitation of yours. Except he sounds overly whiny on purpose, the annoying fucknugget.
“Screw you, I don’t sound like that.”
“Sure.” He rolls a can between his hands. “I still wanna know though. I made a mistake, but that was because I wasn’t looking at shit right. Maybe it’s the same shit and we’re both idiots.”
You sigh. “Fine, that’s actually good logic. I was worried I did something...” God, don’t say it. “...Really bad and offensive. And by doing... that, we wouldn’t be ‘bros’ anymore. Then I worried that since you’re not a troll you wouldn’t even realize what I did was wrong, or if you did, how wrong it was. I could go on but basically it boils down to me being the most liquidated pile of sleazy garbage Skaia ever had the nerve to spit out–”
“Gross.”
“–And there’s something so fundamentally wrong with me,” you mumble, “I can’t even keep a friend.”
“So you did a bad troll thing.”
“...Yeah.” You tug at your sleeve. “Like, deep... deep down, yeah.”
He looks at you, face blank. “What’d you do, exactly?”
“I... it’s hard to explain, and I... I don’t even know how to describe it or if that’s what really happened.” You sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Aight, so I know what I’m about to say is gonna be rich coming from me. Like get ready because our wallets are gonna be fatter than a manatee at an all-you-can-eat krill special, shit’s just gonna sink to the bottom like an anchor cause it’s so swollen with ironic cash.”
“Is this going somewhere?” you say dryly.
“How am I supposed to act if I don’t know what your deal is? If you won’t tell me, I can’t drag you out of your trash juices you’re so caught up in.”
“Maybe you can’t! I mean, maybe certain things are lost causes, ok?”
He sighs, long and hard and stacks a can with more force than necessary.
“You’re not a lost cause.”
Your bloodpusher swells at that, and a wave of guilt rushes through you all over again. Sometimes you forget how completely and utterly pale you are for Dave, but when he cuts through your arguments and says something so right, you feel bad all over again because you can’t make up your mind.
“So you’re not gonna tell me.”
Your shoulders sag. “May... maybe I want to but I can’t find the words right now, ok? And even if I figure out how to say it, it’s a troll thing. Like, you know how you talk to Lalonde?”
“Why, have you talked to her? What’d she tell you?” he asks abruptly.
“Nothing! That’s not even the point. It’s just... if I flat out ask you what your deal was about some things, you wouldn’t expect me to get all of it. You’d say some of it was ‘human shit,’ right?”
“Some of it is human shit, though.”
“Well see? There you go,” you mutter. “It’s a troll thing, that I can say.”
“I mean that’s cool and all,” he replies. “But I’m human.”
“Yes, Dave. I know that,” you say through gritted teeth. “Fuck, I even worry if that’s part of the problem. You should despise me and you don’t, I thought you did, but it’s for an idiot reason instead of the one I thought and it’s... I, I don’t know what to do!”
“Breathe, for one.”
You glare at him.
“Cool, shooting me those icy looks, we’re already back to normal.” He stacks a can. “So what’d you do.”
You stare at the walls. At the mural of shitty stars and planets, pink and blue trees, His Honorable Tyranny overlooking Can Town’s legal district. Looking in a way like the imperial drones you spent your life hiding from.
Like a coward.
“The thing I did. Um. So the time we sparred on the roof. I... I felt...” You see him flinch out of the corner of your gander bulb, the whole time he knew, he fucking knows what you’re about to say. “I flipped pitch for you.”
“...Oh.” The way he says it, this mix of sadness and relief strains your bloodpusher to the breaking point. “That the uh, sexy troll-hate one?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” He fiddles with a can, his face expressionless. “Do you... still? Hate me?”
“I...” You think about how pale you felt just seconds ago, a moment right after his pitch-flirting, the ever looming feeling that something else is missing that you can’t even name because flush doesn’t seem to cut it. “I don’t... I don’t know why I felt it then, but it’s not, I don’t think so. You annoy me, but it’s normally not that kind of hate. You’re still, I still like you.”
“Oh? Yeah, ok cool. Liking’s cool! I... yeah I like you too.”
Progress.
Dave rolls a can between his hands. “Like I dunno if I can hate you in that way cause you’re pretty cool, and like, I like giving you shit sometimes, but I like that it’s a regular thing but not in that way, just hate platonic. Hatetonic? Ok, not my best work but it’s kinda normal to hate a person you’re fighting? Like maybe not trying to be up in their business so I guess that’s the troll stuff you were getting at, but when you’re fighting you just kinda wanna kick ass and take names starting with the person in front of you.”
You forgot how much he can talk. “Yeah, some of that made sense. But in the end, I betrayed your trust in me as a moirail, so I’m effectively a fucking creep.”
“Ok, but what if I don’t see it that way.”
You stare at him. “You’re fucking joking. See this is what I was talking abou–”
“Look. I don’t want us to stop being bros, Karkat,” he says, and something in his tone makes you stop your tirade. “Like, this whole thing was a supreme cluster of awful. I dunno what you think is wrong with you and I don’t really get the troll thing you keep going after, but I do know you overcomplicate everything anyway and I kinda do too. If you don’t think we’re gonna be bros because we like, rivaled for three minutes tops and that suddenly means you’re in spades with me even though you said you weren’t, then maybe we should start trying to fix that. Maybe it’s not as big as you’re thinking.”
“See, that’s what I don’t get about you,” you protest. “After what happened with us... and what I just told you!? How can you be so sure about that? About anything? It–how can you be that cut and dry?”
Dave continues to stack cans, seemingly ignoring your outburst. The sound of aluminum scraping the floor mingles with the air flowing through the vents, punctuated by the dull beat of your bloodpusher.
Defeated, you sigh. “Forget it.”
“No, look. Maybe I can’t. Maybe it’s not all that cut and dry, and yeah we definitely dropped like every ball imaginable. Least I did. But let me put it like this. We’re moirails right now. Right? Or at least we want to be?”
“I,” you start. “I... I want to be friends.”
“But not...”
You wince. “At... at least for now.”
“Friends,” he says, swallowing the word. “Ok. And for the foreseeable future, we still want to be friends?”
“Sure.” You don’t acknowledge what else you think you want.
“Do you really have a problem with me being human? Like other than terminology mishaps, is there something fundamental I’m missing?”
You sigh. “Not really.”
“But you don’t want to be moirails.”
“It’s not that I don’t, Dave. It’s just...” Your ganderbulbs sting, but you’re committed to this Not Crying clause you set up at the beginning of this clusterfuck of a conversation, and as much as you hate every word about to come out of your mouth, you know it needs to be said.
“I still have the same feelings for you as I did before all this. But I don’t want to jump into the same thing we had as if nothing happened. This really hurt me and I need to get over it, and I can’t...” You wince just thinking about it. “I can’t vacillate like that again. I can’t break your trust.”
“Even if I don’t see it that way?” he asks.
You nod.
“Cool. Um, then yeah let’s be friends. But if you want it and I want it, whatever ‘it’ ends up being then maybe it can be that simple. Or at least, not that complicated. Maybe?” He shrugs and spins a can. “Like, I’m gonna try not to overthink what we are or should be and just... see what happens?”
“Yeah that’s fair,” you reply, nodding. Then your think pan catches up. “Wait, back up... ‘overthink what we should be?’ What do you mean?” Because he did just say that, right?
“What do you mean ‘what do I mean.’”
“Dave, seriously?”
“What.”
An explosive breath erupts from you, and you flop to the floor, kicking up a cloud of chalk dust. You scowl at Dave as he stares at you, clearly trying to hold back a smug grin. Yeah, ok. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
“Dude.”
“Don’t ‘dude’ me,” you growl.
“You smudged Lalonde Avenue.”
“Fuck Lalonde fucking Avenue!”
He laughs outright at that, picking up a piece of chalk. Still grinning, he heads towards you.
“What are you doing?” you ask warily.
“Nothin’ just hold still a sec.”
Your better judgement was clearly left in the last dream bubble, because you do just that, staring at him all the while. You watch as he hovers over you, careful enough not to ruin Strider Lane and Idiot Row. He dips slightly out of your peripheral, and you hear the rhythmic scratch of chalk against industrial tile. You feel him start near your hip and he taps your leg with the tiniest amount of force. You drop your knee flat to the ground.
“Are you making one of Terezi’s absurd evidence outlines?”
“Mmm, something like that. I’mma move you around a bit, though.”
“Fiiiiiine. Not like we had anything else to talk about. Oh wait, we were.”
“Shut the fuck up, we’ve got all day. Now let’s move your leg here.”
His hands ghost at your knees, guiding them further apart. Part of you is really starting to regret the tantrum you just threw; laying like this makes you feel way too vulnerable, exposed like a shell creature outside its home. It’s not even like you haven’t done this before; Terezi’s shithive roleplays often required a body, so it’s not like you’re not... used to this? Can you be used to getting corpse-traced? And sure, you trust Dave even with all his goofy fuckery, but you just messed up the roadway and his impulsive ass is going to ruin it with your murderblock outline.
OK, you don’t actually give a shit about Can Town right now because he’s really fucking close. You tense up as he outlines your legs, daring not to breath and hoping you don’t fucking embarrass yourself, and holy phlegm-murdering shit, what is taking so long.
“So,” he says, voice expressionless, “sorry for uh, running off like that, too. Lucky shot or not, it was shitty of me to leave you hanging.”
You let out a surprised breath because you weren’t expecting a full-fledged, no-hoofbeastshit apology for that. He’s done with your legs, thank fuck, and near enough for you to see his face. It’s blank as ever as he draws around you, like he made a promise to Earth Jegus to hide any semblance of emotion. And yet, something about how his shoulders tense, seconds after saying sorry, and the almost anxious way he glances at you behind his shades makes you want to reach out to him. Maybe in a pale way.
Maybe not entirely in a pale way.
“We’re good, ok?” you say softly. “But for fuck’s sake we talk from now on, alright?”
Dave chuffs under his breath as he scribbles. You figure he’s almost done because he’s at your shoulders, and you see a fraction of what he’s doing. An outline, yes, but instead of Terezi’s hard, bold lines, he made an effect similar to a sun burst, or a bilunar eclipse. His fingers graze your neck and everything is suddenly in sharp focus from the strands of his eyebrows down to the texture of his slightly-chapped lips.
Ok, this is silly. You’re being silly and getting too worked up, even though he’s so close you can smell a mix of ablution wash and gummy grubs, and see his eyes behind his shades. You make a show of wrinkling your nub at him and sticking your tongue out. He smirks and pokes your nub with his chalky finger like a douche. Heat shoots through your entire face.
His smile falls off an instant later, and he clears his throat and continues scribbling. “Cool. So uh. Entertainment district, right? Movie theatre sounds cool, but we should definitely build a dance club to go with it.”
“A dance club.” You let out a breath.
“Yeah, man. We can have it go all Studio 54, but without the shitty disco music, or like some dive joint ripped straight out of the noirs. But that’s not the type of place meant for spinning sick jams, so we’ll have to brainstorm something.”
By now you can tell when Strider’s agitated, even without him broadcasting it like a server in the Furthest Ring. For all that he gets on your case about worrying too damn much, he sure does have a hard time keeping his own shit under wraps. But you guess it’s better than when he’d bottle everything in, albeit marginally. Progress, you guess? Fuck if you know.
“Like there’s a big difference between the vibe you’d get from glitch versus chiptune, which I think you kinda like, right? You use a lot of those sound files at least, which is dope, but maybe we can overlay it with a guitar riff or something, get some more layers in there.”
And he lost you. “Wait, are you talking about real music or the Can Town dance club?”
“There stopped being a difference a long time ago, Car-Crash. The music we play at the Crow Bar is critical to our brand.”
You make to rise, but Dave nudges you back down. He’s hovering over your head, so you figure surely he’s almost done, right? “Why ‘Car-Crash,’ dickprince? And who said we’d name it ‘Crow Bar?’ Whose spinal crevasse are you pulling these godawful names from?”
“First off, hold still else you’ll smudge shit all over again. Second, it’s a good name ‘cause it’s got ‘bar’ right there, and it’s a pun off all the tools that go to dance clubs. Plus, we can add some artsy crow pics as decoration and you got double duty puns, making the name even cooler.”
“Is that a human thing? Sticking as much weird wordplay into every possible naming convention?” You almost rise up again at the revelation. “Oh my throbbing globes, it is. That’s all your fucking human Shakespeare did, and the jackass apparently got famous for it. It couldn’t be the subject matter since none of it compares to Alternian stories.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m serious! Take Hamlet. It’s an overwrought wankfest that goes on for far too long with no satisfactory payoff. He’s too depressed for revenge, too cowardly for justice, and in the end he kills anyway, but at a point when it’s too late to even matter.” You sigh. “It reads like a doomed timeline for fuck’s sake.”
“Ok not that I give a fuck or anything, but when you were reading that trash, I didn’t catch any of that from him,” Dave mutters. “Like, dude was just conflicted about killing another dude just because some d-bag told him to.”
“It was literally the ghost of his own custodian! You can’t get more credible than that!”
“Man because listening to ghosts never steers you wrong like ever. Top tier credibility, sign me the fuck up. I figured you liked Shakespeare, though. All down with the Romeos and other assorted angsty shit.”
“Some of it,” you admit. “The only one that really reads like an Alternian story is A Midsummer Night's Dream, but even that one was kind of...”
“Let me guess. ‘It was too simplistic, and if they used quadrants instead, it would’ve made more sense,’” he says in his shit imitation voice.
“Maybe not everything needs a fucking quadrant.”
“Huh.” You see his stare past your own reflection. “Damn, dude.”
Shit. You really... just said that. You feel really fucking weird and giddy all of a sudden. Like you just told the Empress to grab your bone bulge right to her face. You should be on the verge of panicking, but now you just.
“I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Revelations all up in this meteor,” Dave says solemnly. He taps your shoulder. “Done. Take a look.”
He stands, holding out his hand to you, which you not-so-gingerly take. He dusts off your shoulders, but not before visibly hesitating. You’re really starting to pick up nervous vibes from him, despite the two of you being ‘cool’ and ‘chill.’ You resign yourself to the residual awkwardness. It’s not like you didn’t have a hand in it, after all. You figure you should brace yourself and look at his masterpiece, anyway.
It’s not what you expected.
It’s an outline of your body, that much is still apparent, but he added swirls and shading around you, making your outline blend in with parts of the streets, but stand out against other parts. He even managed to switch colors in some parts, so you’re part tree in one area, part roadway in another, part rainbow in yet another like a hemospectrum savior. You can’t hold back your grin.
“Holy shit, Dave.”
“Yeah?” He cocks his head at you, not hiding the smile on his own face. “I call it Karkat Loses His Chill, first in a series of dramatic street art interpretations of my main bro.”
You push him. “Fuck off,” you say with zero malice.
“Just call me Banksy.”
“I won’t because once again I don’t know who the fuck that is.”
“Just some Earth dude. Doesn’t matter. But so you like it?”
You beam at him. “It’s awesome.”
Tension melts away from Dave entirely, and the entire herd of poisoned trunkbeasts flee the room, and it’s goddamn glorious. He ruffles your hair, grinning at you like a wiggler on Twelfth Perigee’s Eve, dimple flashing and cheeks scraping against his shades. Your think pan stops and you just.
“Oh hey.”
You lock him in a fierce embrace, and dammit, you will not cry. You feel his arms wrap around your waist, shaky, hesitant, then just there.
“I missed you, you taintnugget.”
He chuffs. “Missed you too.”
“Next time, we talk to each other.”
“Yeah.”
You step back, touch stubs lingering on his shoulders. The way he’s looking at you almost gives you hope, almost makes you wonder, but you just got your friend back and you don’t want to risk it. He’s still willing to hang out with you and maybe that’s what you should focus on.
“We uh, we should finish building that theater,” you say, because it’s safer than your thoughts.
“Yeah. Yeah, cool.”
As he stoops down to stack cans, the same thoughts echo in your head, soft, yet persistent. Wrong, yet enticing.
Maybe not everything needs a quadrant.
==>
The next couple of days pass with a veneer of normalcy. Or rather, they pass for whatever counts as normal on this glorified rock. Honestly they don’t pass for shit, but at least you’re not pretending to be fine or pretending it’s normal to not talk to your moi– ex-moirail for damn near a perigee. And you’re talking again. Tepid, strained, with pockets of the old humor and inside jokes, but it’s more than nothing. You train with Dave again, tenuous compared to the first time. You focus on drills and techniques, side-by-side, never touching except to correct posture or demonstrate alternatives. You don’t allow even the chance of something happening again. Despite what you talked about, what you admitted to him and Dave saying things were fine, you don’t want to go down that road again.
You don’t want to be the guy that can’t keep his quadrants straight.
The thought weighs on you damn near every day. You – with the bookhive-level knowledge of romance and proper decorum – are the archetypal joke bumbling about because you can’t keep your feelings separate and orderly. It’s selfish. Deep down, some secret part of you wants everything from him like a selfish wiggler and it’s not fair to Dave.
Besides, even if such an arrangement was possible, you’re not sure it’s what he wants. He said you’re ‘bros,’ but made no real statement about wanting different. So. You should respect that. Maybe respect he’s willing to start over with you at all, and oh yeah, focus on being his goddamn friend.
Respect that when you hang out with him, especially now, more of your mutual walls crumble away, and despite showing more of yourself than you’ve ever shown anyone, he’s still here.
“Oh, Karkat. There you are.”
You turn away from your cluckbeast ovas and see Kanaya heading towards you. She seems different, and she has a look on her face that screams ‘Notice Anything Different? So Help Me If You Don’t.’ Her outfit’s the same, though if you said that, she’d either kill or lecture you. Her hair’s normal, but.
Wait.
“You’re not glowing!”
“I know! Isn’t it great?” she squeals back, twirling around with a flourish. “And I can control it! Observe.” She demonstrates by flickering on and off like a lampfly.
“That’s incredible, Kanaya! How did you figure it out?”
“Porrim, actually. Have you met her? She’s my ancestor as a... um, how did she put it? Dancestor. Well, it turns out she exhibits the same bioluminescence and affinity to blood, so she gave me some tips.” She nudges you aside to turn down the burner on your food. “All in all, it was a very pleasant nap.”
You nod as you push her away and stir your ovas. Come to think of it, you haven’t passed through any bubbles lately. Part of you wonders how many are left; you’ve noticed more cracks forming in the sky, though it’s impossible to tell their origin. You can’t tell if they’re getting closer or pulling away from you, not that it matters in the Void.
“Karkat, while I won’t begrudge you for not listening, I would expect that some of this would capture your attention.”
“Huh?” you ask dumbly.
“The group training sessions,” she says, overly patient. “I’ll admit, the last time made me a bit nervous. We haven’t really encountered much since our session ended, and training these past couple of weeks has been...” she falters, slumping against the countertop, “lacking in my department.”
Huh? “Kanaya, what could you be worried about? You chainsawed a seadweller in half.”
“Not before I...!” She stops, and the anguish on her face is clear.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Look, maybe... maybe this is exactly why we’re doing the group thing, yeah? We know not all of us are...” Ready? Fighters? Psychotic murderers? “We know we all could use the practice. And y’know, maybe this helps us all face some shit.”
She raises her head. “Like our previous and imminent deaths?”
“More like Vriska’s ego.”
She barks out a laugh at that. “Surely that will be the singularity that sparks both the beginning and end of our fateful tale.”
“Then it’s no different than what we went through before.” You plate your ovas and squirt grubsauce over them. “Look, we still have nearly a sweep to worry about it. And let’s face it, if we keep training and keep our nubs to the abrasive polishing disc, then we’ll know we did everything we could.”
“And if we fail, we were either always meant to, or we weren’t and an alternate version of ourselves will swoop in to pick up the slack,” she says wryly.
“...Right. Don’t... don’t say that shit around the Light Brigade.”
“The what?”
Shit. “Nevermind.”
“Is that what you call them?” She shakes her head, hiding a smile. “I suppose it’s fitting, isn’t it? Oh! Speaking of, Rose thought I should mention an idea she wanted to run by you.”
“And she’s not telling me herself because...?”
She gives you a Look and says, “She said, and I quote, ‘it’s supposed to go this way, and I don’t want to overextend my influence on events.’”
What an asshole thing to say. You sigh and hold your hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. What’s the idea?”
“She wants to host a celebratory event. It’ll mark the end of our second ‘year,’” she says with enclosure talons, “which will also make one full sweep since we’ve embarked on this adventure. So... a few perigees from now.”
Huh. That means it’ll be your wriggling day soon. You’re not excited in the slightest, but you are curious about the color of your eyes, maybe even your height. Any festivities the Rose human has in mind, however is a hard pass. You know her tastes. You’ve seen her movies. There are shenanigans. Arduous, idiotic shenanigans that almost always result in maudlin misunderstandings. And you’ve frankly had enough of that, thank you.
Against your better judgement, you ask, “What kind of celebration?”
“Well, she mentioned something called a ‘prom.’ When she described the cultural significance, it sounds like–”
“Fuck. No.”
“Karkat!” She pushes you ‘gently’ on the arm and you try to keep from wincing. “I would think you of all people might find it a fascinating cultural experience. How many times have you ranted about the prom scenes in 10 Things I Hate About You?”
“Ranted! Because!” You breathe. “It’s such a showy, awkward ritual! Forcing their versions of highbloods and lowbloods to interact, public displays of one-upmanship to the point where they crown some temporary emperor to what, reign over a goddamn party!? Kanaya, it’s bizarre and pointless! If you just wanted to listen to terrible music, wear a fancy dress, and make out with your matesprit, then...!” You blank out mid-tirade. “You... that’s all you want to do, isn’t it!?”
If Kanaya was physically capable of looking sly, well, her face right now would be a strong contender.
“Oh fuuuuuuck no.” You drop your fork. “Just go on a date, or whatever passes for a date on this rock, why does it have to be a thing?”
“It’s perigees from now, so you have plenty of time to warm up to the idea. Besides, I think it will be fun. It will certainly be more interesting than our usual forms of entertainment. Maybe if you help, we can create a new tradition incorporating your sensibilities.”
You grumble and take a bite of ovas. She ruffles your hair, the traitor.
“Give it some thought. In the meantime, I’ll see you at the book club meeting.”
You grunt as she walks off. You almost forgot. With a heavy sigh, you finish your eggs – ovas, whatever – and steel yourself to the inevitable group-sanctioned smackdown.
“Just so you know,” you call after her, “this is a terrible idea.”
“That’s how she knows it’s the right one.”
Notes:
Everyone on the meteor is allowed to have their own street, located in the district of their choosing. Not everyone has taken the Mayor up on this initiative.
Real Life Notes: Thank you all again for being so patient and keeping up with this fic. Since the last chapter update the following has happened:
1. My SO accepted a new job that required us to move from Texas to Maryland.
2. I accepted a new job for the first time in a decade, and it's pretty career-defining so far.
3. All those happy little laws got passed in Texas and just before the move my car got totaled.
4. We moved, and literally two weeks into living here, my old city (Austin) had a police-sanctioned protest from Swastika-wearing Nazis towards a local synagogue, and another power outage hit some parts of the city.
5. I got a new car and met my co-workers in Chicago, a place I've never been.
6. The Sarah Z videos came out, which stirred a lot of mixed feelings about Homestuck in general.Things *should* be calming down, and I'll be able to focus on getting chapters out at a regular pace again. Ultimately, this fic makes me happy so far and I want to continue it despite some of my thoughts/feelings about the IP as of late. I think the AO3 authors as a whole have shown how much the fandom has evolved, and being a part of that outweighs certain misgivings I've had over the years. With that out of the way, I hope you continue to enjoy this silly story about a couple of dumb boys.
Chapter 28: Dave: Deal With Your Own Crisis
Chapter Text
After a month, things are chill.
Kinda.
Ok, well you’re not talking to ‘Rezi still and your sister won’t let you hear the end of it. The murder clown is wearing his fake ass God Tier rags damn near exclusively, and it’s sad to watch in the most unnerving way possible. The Light Brigade’s been exceptionally active, so that’s one less thing you can fully categorize as chill. Instead of being chill, they’re hitting new echelons in trying to crack the mysteries of the universe or some shit. You guess – and you’d never tell them this – they have a point. Your cross-session journey will hit the midway point exactly three weeks from now, and you can’t help reminding yourself it’s September on Earth. Was September? Would have been?
Fuck.
Either way it’s fall, your second-favorite season, and three months – you’re not doing the Time thing – from your birthday. You would’ve been taking your first steps in high school right about now, wild to think about if you let yourself contemplate it. The trolls too if high school’s even a thing for them.
...Actually you don’t know what trolls do. Dick around in some murder city doing murders and getting murdered? And if that wasn’t the saddest thing to ever get thought, you’re all around the same age but all the trolls still say they’re six sweeps, and that makes them sound younger.
You think about troll culture pretty often these days. You lie awake wondering what life on Alternia was really like, and occasionally think about the future. And not the cutesy Fun-Sized candy glimpses your Time shit allotted for, but the real, bona-fide, tax-paying grown-up future. The kind where you get married, pop out a kid, and brood over the economy. The kind that maybe high school and college would prep you for, but all of that’s gone now. There’s no one left to teach. No one to bust out unbelievable jams.
No Obama.
Anyway, troll culture. You think about it these days, and it’s absolutely by your own volition and not because you want to understand why troll boy spiraled himself into thinking he fucked up and definitely not thinking about how to win him back. Especially since you acted like you had all the sense God gave a damp sandwich. Like, it’s definitely not because of all of those things, you’re just genuinely curious. Who could spend a year and a half with a bunch of locked and loaded weirdos without trying to find out what makes them tick?
To find out and get your research on, you wind up spending even more time with Karkat. In a way it’s like making up for lost time. Once you hashed things out, neither of you brought up the talk, the break-up, or the things that led up to the break-up. And while he’s clearly sealed that shit off like Area 51, Shouty Cat is a regular kiosk booth when it comes to laying out the cultural facts. You do most of these exchanges in Can Town, which exists in a bizarre stage between ‘purposeful city planning’ and ‘post-post-post-modern art project.’ Chalk drawings expand throughout the entire area, filling the space with roadways, SBURB planets, chess boards, and kid games. The Mayor indulges you all this, and commissions pieces pretty regularly now that you and Karkat are in this limbo between ex-moirails and hanging out again. Whatever.
Which, ugh. Ever since your mutual freak-outs and cataclysmic nosedives into the Lonely Zone, he’s doubled down on being a supportive, caring, and sincere goddamn douchebag. For a long time, you honestly thought you got what the moirail quadrant meant, all platonically gay head scritchies and talking about dumb shit, basically good bro-plus-plus stuff to check off an imaginary list. You miss that. Not just the physical touch and feeling close to him, of course you miss those things. But more than anything you realize how much you took for granted that you could act on so many of your impulses without worrying about how he’d react. You realize you probably should have been hugging him a lot more than you ever did.
Now, though? You talk. A lot. As soon as something bothers you, he picks up on it like he smells blood in the water, and you give him a brief, watered-down version of your lame-ass issues. He calls you on your shit. A lot. So you dig deeper and really talk about it – in a way you’ve never done ever – until you have to tap out. Then he turns around and pulls the same shit you do, so you throw it back in his face and make him talk it out. Fair’s fair.
He can call you out on your issues all he wants, but he has so fucking many dude, swear to Troll Jegus.
Some of his hang-ups rear their ugly heads in the weirdest moments, like a one-off comment you make about life on Earth or sound files used in a new mix. Other times it presents as a spirited tirade at some movie. From your perspective it makes no goodly amount of sense, but saying that launches the “Troll Thing” speech all over again. And honestly, you get tired of not understanding shit and him not understanding you, all the while pining for the little bastard like you’re the tallest tree in the Lonely Zone forest.
It’s pretty weird that it took breaking up as moirails to have these conversations.
Wait, did you say weird? More like really fucking frustrating.
You think maybe that’s why you fight a lot more these days. And yeah, you still do all the other bro-plus stuff you did before, but now it’s more like ripping off bandages one at a time, shouting open a wound deeper than the last and letting it air out for the first time in months, years, or even sweeps. You both have your walls, and let’s face it, those walls are more like castles. Behemoth-ass structures sprung from the ground by the sweat and tears of hapless peasants, trenches and moats scattered across the land and guarded by two dumbass Knights that never asked for this fucked-up game.
And you know you gotta tear down at least one of those walls. One day you gotta tell him how you really feel.
And hope that maybe... telling him is a good thing.
==>
“Look man,” you start, throwing your head back on the couch. “All’s I’m asking is maybe explain why you’re so pissed off about this Karlyn chick. She’s been a jerk this entire movie, what did you expect?”
“Maybe that’s the fucking problem.” Karkat rubs his eyes. He’s not crying, but he’s not-not crying either, but his face is twelve different brands of exhausted. “She’s been a humid shitstain the whole time and we’re sitting on our damp asses letting it happen.”
“Gross, don’t lump me in that.”
“This entire movie is... it’s just highblood propaganda, isn’t it?” Karkat sighs like the whole world collapsed on him. “I’m sitting here, meant to root for Marysa and this hackneyed tryst with Lynaal, but. It’s just. Why should I give a shit?”
“So... You’re mad at Lynaal and Carol.”
“Karlyn.”
You make a snoring sound until he jabs you in the ribs. Fucker. “Man, who cares? Can you stop whining for seven seconds and clue me in on why you’re so pissed? You picked out this horseshit, dude.”
“I know that, don’t be a douche.” Karkat pauses the movie right as it lands on Lynaal’s insufferable tooly face. “Look, we’ve talked about the hemospectrum right? Caste order, expectations, all of that?”
“Only forty times, so hit me with another.”
He rolls his eyes at you. “Well, the whole plot around Karlyn terrorizing Marysa while that doucheweasel–” he points, “–sits there and watches exemplifies a ton of the day to day dynamics between lowbloods and highbloods. You see a ton of shitty, exploitative power dynamics like this all the fucking time and they treat it like it’s healthy.”
“Uh yeah, I guess I see what you mean,” you say. “Like, I don’t know troll shit other than what you tell me, but if Douchebag Chad here was anything less than a blueblood, he’d probably be dead before the credits rolled ‘cause Carol is higher on the spectrum? And also fucking insane.”
“The human gets it. Color me amazed.”
“Your shit’s not that complicated, dog. Humans had racism and classism, too.”
“Fuck, I know... Universal constant, I guess. This used to be one of my favorite movies,” he says, powering his thrusters straight into Sadsville. “But now I feel like a juvenile sack of globes for giving it a passing glance. How the fuck did I enjoy this trash?”
“We all liked dumb shit when we were younger, bro. You had to been like, eleven when you first watched this, right?”
He stares at you incredulously. “I’m not even fucking seven yet.”
Again, the age thing? Fucking weird.
“Fine, five sweeps or whatever. Point is, you were a kid. We’re still kind of kids now, but now we know better. Stop getting so bent out of shape, it’s just a movie.”
His face contorts into his embittered messiah expression, part of a series of patented Vantas Scowls. “It’s not just the movie, Dave! People watched this shit! This particular one was a fucking classic for sweeps! People thought like this back then, and I don’t know how many still do!”
“Most everyone’s dead, though,” you point out.
“Way to be sensitive about that universal constant.” You nudge him and he sighs. “Sorry. It’s just... remember forever ago when we were all on the roof talking about what parts of our culture we should keep?”
Back when you were happy as fuck in your bromance quadrant? When thinking about the future meant something special instead of dreading the day it becomes the present? When looking him in the eyes didn’t hurt all the goddamn time in the worst ways?
You don’t say any if that. “Sure. Fuck, Marry or Kill.”
“Right. Well sometimes I wonder. Is this shit all we’ll have left? How are we going to create a new world, a whole new culture unless we were meant to make something better? We’re both from fucked up worlds, but honestly! I think whatever new world we build should do better than this garbage.”
“You uh, gonna remake the whole genre of romcoms, bro?” you ask.
Karkat’s face go through at least five different expressions, but the one he lands on is this fierce determination that makes you swoon a little. “Would it be out of the question if I did? And this isn’t just about romcoms, it’s about the very pinnacle of our social fucking values!”
“Uhhhhhhhhhh...”
“Shut the fuck up! You should take this more seriously,” he says, giving you another jab in the side. “Maybe we all should, y’know? If we’re supposed to usher in a new civilization, it might as well be one worth living in, right? One without garbage like this.”
And maybe live in a world where being gay or not straight doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
Fucking Rose.
“Are you...” you start. “Are you talking about making a social contract, or...?”
“No. I mean...” He fidgets. “I’m not talking about making laws or anything, but. Rose is writing her book, and well. Maybe I should put my Caegars where my chagrin tunnel is and think about doing something worthwhile. Maybe step up and do something for a change.”
You no bullshit swell with pride at that idea. Like you’re some proud grandpa, watching his ornery-ass alien grandson take his first steps, except you don’t know whether you wanna smoosh his cheeks or smooch him a little. Wow. That thought got carried away there, and also smoosh and smooch sound alike.
Man, fuck your brain.
“So should we bother finishing this?” you ask instead. “Or you wanna come up with a Vantas opus and blow everyone’s minds?”
He shrugs, scrunching his nose up in a way you still find really stupidly adorable. “You know how I am. Let’s just get this movie over with and I’ll scrub it out of my think pan for good.”
“OK, but you’re doing full-stop commentary on these twatlords.”
“You better fucking believe it.”
He unpauses the movie and sinks back into the couch beside you, nestling in closer than when you started. It’s one of those perfect moments where you could put your arm around him, like your arm and his shoulder would connect, magnets locked in place like K’Nex rods. You imagine that for a painful millisecond he’ll look at you all skeptical, but then he’d scooch in closer, cementing the deal. He’s warm and beside you already, so what’s one more step?
But you don’t; gotta focus on your anti-awkward, freak-out free agenda. Shit right now feels a little too fragile, like you’re a bull in the Louvre trying not to flip the fuck out and break all the priceless vases. You’re gonna nail this not-freaking-out business because he’s at least here, and even if it’s not enough, it still feels right. So here you are, the goddamn king of not freaking out. Heavy is the crown.
“By the way, you really need to talk to Terezi. This shit is getting ridiculous.”
Right, that. He doesn’t push you about Terezi quite like Rose, but he does push. You get the ‘talk to her, you fucking moron’ speech every other day, but he drops it just as quick. You haven’t told him what she said to you, and you sure as hell ain’t telling him what you overheard. You think if he knew that part, he’d put too many clues together about how you feel about him.
“Yeah,” you say, swallowing hard. You’re still in the throes of not freaking out, but part of you knows that talk’s gotta happen eventually. And you know you’re being neurotic and grudgey, and you don’t want to let Karkat down, but you’re still not cool with the giggle-murder bullshit ‘Rezi’s peddling. “Maybe later, Tenacious V.”
He sighs and sinks deeper into the couch. Further from you, but dude is still warm as a spring day. “That’s better than no.”
You really gotta tell him. One day.
==>
You wake up to the sound of non-stop creaking and grinding, metal-on-metal clangs, and constant fucking ticking. The air is thick with a dry heat, not humid like on Earth, and not fresh-smelling like Jade’s froggy jungle. It smells stale, and when you let in a good whiff, it smells like past-due laundry and the heady stonk of dude sweat. You look around and you’re in your room for the first time in what seems like decades, though it can’t really be that long. You shift off your bed and plant your bare foot right on top of an open bag of Doritos. Gross. Oh well.
Your string of developed pictures hang limp across your room. At a glance, they all look familiar: your Burger King selfie, you sprawled across your bed like an idiotic boudoir model, one of you and Karkat fighting over Rose’s book, and another of you with a smuppet squished to the side of your face like y’all were old pals. Classic shit right there.
Hold up.
You look closer at the one with you and Karkat. You don’t remember taking this one, and you’d have to have some hella good foresight – or your time tables you guess – to pull off an action shot like this. Plus you don’t remember fighting over the book, least, not in a vicious way. Bug boy looks too angry at you in this shot, and something else... something that reminds you of that time on the roof.
Weird. So weird, in fact, you decide to look out the window.
It’s the Land of Heat and Clockwork, alright. Gears, lava, skeletal structures made of tempered steel, and a tick that sounds off, like a heart beat in disguise. Like... a pulse. That’s not right, it’s not how you remember it. As you listen harder, the tick stutters ever so slightly, like a record skip in your head or like a glitch in a video game. You almost don’t notice the noise behind you.
You’re not alone.
Your neck tingles and you draw your sword. You just need to turn, catch their asses and wake up. You are asleep, you can feel it, so it’s not a big deal if you get murked out here. You’ll just wake up all drooly and freaked out as usual. So all you gotta do is.
Turn.
And breathe a sigh of relief.
“Karkat? What the fuck, dude?”
Karkat jumps, his back towards you and turns around, frowning. Your heart instantly sinks. Not from seeing his frown, or the way his shoulders slouch further into himself, and not even from the way he folds his arms and sighs, like the thought of addressing you is some Herculean, unsurmountable task.
His eyes are sheet white, and those empty pits stare at you with nothing but hurt and longing.
“Of. Fucking. Course. Of course I’d find a Dave that at least knows me on sight, but of course it wouldn’t be my Dave. Which one are you, dipshit? Are you another one that got killed by Gamzee the minute we took off? Or the one that hated my guts the entire trip? Or are you some exotic combination of shithive events my puny imagination can’t fathom yet?”
“Uh.” That Gift of Gab sees so much mileage, swear to Jegus. “I’m uh, not any of those? We’re buds in my timeline.”
“Oh.” He chews his lip, and you wonder if you should feel guilty about how cute he looks, seeing’s how he’s not your Karkat. Or going to look, since he’s a little older and definitely more defined. “O-ok, I can work with that. We were friends in my timeline, too. I’ve been, uh,” he laughs, “I’ve been looking all over for you, but my you, not... yeah, you get it.”
“Totally, man. So uh, you and other Dave. Other me. Y’all were tight?”
“Yeah, he’s an idiot, but kinda my best friend.”
“Oh cool, so y’all were brorails.”
Ghostkat’s eyes go wide – unnerving as hell since he ain’t really got eyes – then bursts out laughing in your face. “Bro – ahahahaha, are you joking? You mean moirails? He’d never go for that, he was a complete wiggler about anything remotely close to quadrants, you can’t tell me,” his laughter dies down, and his face contorts into seven different Vantas expressions. “I mean, not that I’d rule it out, we never talked about it...”
“Missed out dude.”
He splutters out, “Waitwaitwait, are you...?”
Heat creeps up your neck and your hand gravitates to it like your neck is Jupiter’s fat ass. Why’re you all bishi-level bashful about this all of a sudden? “Yeah, I mean... we were..., I mean it’s not like moirails are anything complicated, it’s like bros plus-plus, y’know? Like the Walter to my Lebowski or uh.” You lost him, think of something trolly. “Or the whatzit, Seathe to my Eavaan from that shit other-you made me watch?”
He mouths the names back, gears in his head working as hard as the ones outside. “In Which Two Midbloods Bound for Conscription Attempt to Fill Their Concupiscent Quadrants But Calamity Strikes–”
“Yeah, yeah, that one. They like paw at each other’s faces and shit in the end?”
“I would only ever make anyone watch that if I was really trying to put the moves on them,” he says, kinda disgusted. “I gotta wrap my pan around this.” He moves past you and flops on your bed without invite or preamble. It pulls at your heart a bit because your Karkat is just now pulling that shit again, but things have been so tense lately, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever really get him back.
You decide to flop down beside him. Weird as it seems, you’re not all flustered to hell and back around this Karkat, probably because he’s dead. That’d be all kinds of fucked up, though and you’re asleep–
“I see mumbling to yourself is a universal trait.” Ghostkat rolls his non-eyes at you; you can only tell because he moves his head the exact same way. “So you’re asleep, which means you’re still alive. So either you’re in the Alpha or you’re in for a nasty surprise.”
“Alpha. Least it feels like the Alpha.” You waggle your fingers. “Time shit still feels aight.”
“And in your timeline, we’re moirails, but in mine we barely scratched the surface on that topic.” He sighs. “Which makes sense. I was coming to terms with how my relationship with Gamzee went, and–”
“Hold up you had a thing with the murder clown?” you blurt out.
“Ugh, don’t...!” Non-Kat dips his head and tugs at his sleeves. “Yes, I had a moirallegiance with that piece of shit. Until he and Terezi went pitch, causing you to break up with her and blah blah blah. Are you up to speed yet, Time-douche?”
“Uh.” Your mind reels a bit. “I straight up dated her? That never happened ‘cause she spent like half her time with Vriska.”
“Vriska fucking died in my timeline.”
“Oh. Ohhhh.”
“Oh what?”
“Y’all are the other timeline. The one Jade’s from.” You bolt up and hover over Other-Karkat. “Your John pulled some bullshit and fucked with our timeline so now Vriska’s alive in ours.”
“Sounds like I lucked out.”
“Jesus fuck,” you say, laughing hard. God damn dude hates that girl. “Dude. You gotta tell me what happened in your timeline.”
“Fuck you,” he says, shifting into your space a little. “Tell me about yours so maybe I can knock some sense into my Dave. If I ever find him.”
“Can do, Crabapple. And you’re gonna find him. If he’s anything like me, – and he is me – he’s looking for you just as hard.” Ok, Christ that was cheesy, but it gets an almost-smile out of the guy, so victory.
“What the fuck is a crabapple? No nevermind, you’re asleep and we’re on borrowed time anyway.”
“Dog, I fell asleep watching that dumbass movie with Lynaal and Marysa and all them. I’m gonna be out like a power outage in a lightning storm.”
“He. He’s making you watch that?” To say Karkat looks incredulous is a fashionable understatement.
“Eeeyup. Why?”
“We...” He sighs. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. You first.”
You catch him up on the past year and a half, noting to yourself how you didn’t do that much. You talk up the Mayor, and Ghostkat talks up his version. You’re pleased that the Mayor’s awesomeness is a universal trait. He talks about how your Dave largely avoided him because of the ‘Terezi Thing,’ and you think to yourself how many bullets you dodged, because the spectacle Dead Douche is talking up makes your own little soap opera feel like an episode of Blue’s Clues. You try to sidestep the recent shitstorm you walked out of with Real-Karkat, opting instead to say everyone’s been getting antsy about the endgame. Which speaking of...
“So what happened?” you ask. “Like, not to put a damper on alt-bro chats, but y’all are all pretty dead except maybe John.”
“It’s like you’re allergic to tact,” he grouses. “We were ambushed. As soon as we got in the session proper, Dog-Jade warped us off to all your shitty planets. Kanaya and I were hiking to Echidna’s lair for who knows how long, but long enough for shit to get unbelievably and overwhelmingly fucked.”
“Fucked how?”
“Where do I even start? Jade was possessed, her weird ecto-dancestor clone – Judy or something – fucking stabbed me, and she was possessed by some kind of robot tiara.”
“Shit,” you mutter. “So that’s how...?”
“Believe it or not, that’s not the end of it. I died, got one look at a dead Nepeta, next I know I’m hacking up a bellowsac and scared out of my goddamn pan.” On seeing your confused look, he adds “she resurrected me. I don’t recommend it. Dying fucking sucks, but coming back is itchy as hell.”
You laugh at that. “I know, right? Like you have some kinda weird life rash for weeks, ‘cept it’s not a real itch, it’s... it’s just under your skin, like psychosomatic or something.” He nods. “Ok, so Jade went crazy, sounds like her alt-mom or whatever went crazy too, you died and came back, but died again.”
“Yeah.” He fidgets with his sleeves, looking away from you with a face full of guilt. “I... I don’t know how everyone else died. Last I saw you, you were chasing after Jack. He had Jade and she looked pretty dead. As for me I... I checked out early.”
Without thinking, you lay a hand over his to calm his fidgeting. He shoots you a confused look before continuing.
“He was...” Karkat lets out a shaky breath. “Gamzee was completely out of control and I couldn’t think. I just. I just ran, I didn’t know what the fuck else to do, and I was just so mad.”
As he talks, you see holes form on his sweater and a damp darkness spreading from the entrance points. Three vertical wounds across his stomach, one in each of the circle parts of his scorched Cancer sweater, making a weird T if you used enough imagination. The room doesn’t change exactly, but in your mind’s eye you get flashes of the scene from Karkat’s perspective. Jade’s fallen tower, Terezi screaming in pain, Gamzee, fucking Gamzee going fully berserk beyond anything you could imagine. You let go of his hand and the scene fades away from your head. Karkat lets out another shuddering breath and his wounds disappear, and a familiar scowl is back on his face.
“If you haven’t already, do your timeline a fucking favor and stuff that sanctimonious, self-satisfied clown in a wastechute, bolt it down with the best lock grist can buy, and pitch him into the angry writhing maw of a horror terror. It’s the least he deserves.”
“Uh. Noted.” It sounds a little harsh, considering your version hasn’t really done anything yet, but you saw what you saw. Plus... the Mayor was awesome on both timelines, so maybe the clown is just as awful?
Karkat gives you a strange look again. “You look the same as him, but you’re definitely not my Dave,” he says with a small laugh. “My version of you would have agreed wholeheartedly. He tried to hide it, but he clearly hated Gamzee, said he gave you the creeps. This version, you I mean, you’re just... indifferent I guess? Oh well.”
You look at your feet. “You really miss him, huh.”
“...Yeah.”
You can’t help but think about your Karkat back in the waking world. Maybe he noticed you fell asleep and has that adorably pissed look on his face. Or maybe he fell asleep too and is in the middle of his own dream shenanigans. Maybe in a twist of fate he’s talking to alt-you somewhere. God, one of these days you’re gonna have to talk to him. And tell him...
“You’re mumbling again. Tell who what?” Ghostkat asks.
You sigh. “Tell him, the other you... that I maybe uh.” You don’t want to say it. “Kinda.” Christ, shut up.
You shake your head. We’re doing this, man. “That I kinda want him hearts-ways.”
“That much is fucking obvious,” he replies, snapping the wind right out of your sails. “So what’s the problem, other than it’s me you’re talking about. Other-me, I guess.”
“Man I... It’d be one thing if we were never moirails and stayed bros and then I make a move, but dude all but crammed it in me that quadrant-hopping ain’t a thing, vacillation isn’t ‘normal,’ and blah blah blah.” You frown, letting it all out for the first time. “Dude’s so fucking ripe with the quadrant shit, and it’s like. I’m human. We don’t have quadrants, and if I slip up and wanna smooch him or whatever doesn’t mean we’re automatically not friends! Heaven forbid you happen to be friends with the person you wanna be with.”
“Yeah, you’re... you’re not gonna get anywhere with me on that. I only just started rethinking that shit before the session and it took several talks with Kanaya before I even got that far.”
“So it’s fucking hopeless,” you say, defeated.
“How the fuck should I know? You’re with him, at least! All I’m saying is it would take something big to shake the piece of shit out of it. For me it was...” He shakes his head. “For me it was seeing a-a really good friend with their shit wholly not together. And all the time I wasted trying to box everything in. But if he already has you maybe it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“So I should tell him,” you say.
“You might as well try with the lucky fucker,” Ghostkat says, bitter with an almost-smile on his face. “And even though I kinda hate the guy already, do me and him a favor. Make it special.”
You smirk. “Lay down the sick romances, got it. Gonna wake up and alchemize a bucket full of roses. Dude’ll be shitting himself by the time I’m done.”
“You’re repugnant. And I’m more of a flamebeast alstroemeria guy,” he says, and oh shit that’s a real smile this time. “Not get the fuck out of here and wish me luck.”
“Luck for what?”
“Finding you.”
“Good luck,” you say.
He laughs as he flicks your nose.
==>
You wake with a start, jostling a fiery-hot troll boy currently sleeping on your chest. He’s fast asleep, pinkish drool pooling on your Time symbol before it disappears from its self-cleaning nonsense. He’s more than just close, he’s here. You feel like a dysfunctional poker jockey in Vegas, because you can’t deal for shit. Careful to not wake him, you wrap an arm around his sleeping form. He stirs, hair brushing under your chin and horn wedged against your neck. Without thinking, you rest your head on his, his hair ticking your nose.
“Muh...?” He stirs again.
“Only dreams, bro.” You rub his back, reveling in how he settles back into your chest. “Only dreams.”
A dream. And just maybe, a promise.
==>
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --
TG: kanaya sup
GA: Hello
TG: ahaha man im like scrolling around and literally the last time we chatted on pesterchum was when you were pumping me for rose strats
TG: you remember that kanaya
TG: the sick rose strats
GA: Oh No
GA: Looking Back I Suppose That Was Not A Very Thought Out Solicitation Was It
GA: And Rather Embarrassing In Retrospect
GA: Did You Really Message Me Just To Bring That Up
TG: nah are you kidding of course not
TG: what kind of hellacious individual would i be
TG: its just evidence of a problem
TG: kanaya we should talk more we dont really talk enough
TG: like really just
TG: get down to fucking business
GA: Um
GA: I Am Once Again Unsure How Sincere You Are Regarding This Exchange
GA: Since At Least Everything By Your Rules Of Ironic Conduct Should Be At Least Partially A Joke
TG: yes exactly
GA: And That According To Rose That Quirk Tends To Point To A Severe Phobia Of Expressing Any Behavior That Exposes Vulnerability
TG: uh
GA: But If You Are Somewhat Serious Then I Am More Than Happy To Engage In Conversations More Often With You
TG: hold up rose said what now
TG: she snarking behind my back
GA: Part Of That Was Human Sarcasm
TG: oh
GA: But Your Reaction Was Amusing Enough To Share With Her
TG: aw cmon dont be like that
GA: No Promises
GA: But You Are Correct In Pointing Out That We Do Not Talk Enough
GA: Which Means You Had Some Purpose In Contacting Me
TG: geez ok fine you cracked the case
TG: no need to be all State Your Business Strider i know when to get a move on
GA: Uh Huh
TG: do you know what a flamebeast astromerica is
TG: also mestria
TG: almost messy rah???
GA: Alstroemeria
TG: yes that
GA: It Is A Flower That Grows Primarily In Southern Alternia
GA: The Name Was Given Because Of Its Bright Gold And Red Petals And Its Ability To Bloom After Sweeps Of Appearing Barren
GA: Legend Has It A Troll Planted One Where His Flushed Lover Had Fallen During Battle
GA: The Flower Only Bloomed Once The Troll Exacted Justice Against His Lovers Foes
TG: dang
GA: The Story Is Meant To Be Romantic As Is The Act Of Giving One To Your Matesprit Or Potential Matesprit
GA: The Connotation Being That The Feelings Are Stronger Than Death
GA: But To Be Honest Carnivorous Plants Need Different Nutrients
GA: A Battlefield If The Legend Holds Any Truth Is Likely An Ideal Place For Them To Grow Because Of The Protein Rich Soil
TG: wait
TG: what
TG: did you say carnivorous
GA: Yes
GA: Anyway Why Do You Ask
GA: Karkat Knows The Story Better Than I Do And Would Probably Be More Than Happy To Recite It
TG: he wouldnt recite it
TG: dude would shout about it in boring adorable detail like pretty much always
GA: Adorable
TG: ok can we go back to the plant
TG: you said theyre hard to grow i guess since they gotta take a body out to get their three squares
TG: but can i just kinda alchemize some
GA: Why
TG: iono man in theory couldnt i just combine some stuff and pop one out
TG: for science
TG: you like science right
GA: Not Particularly
TG: ok plants you got a ton of plants thats kinda science
TG: botany and shit
GA: I Guess
TG: cmon kanaya dont let science down
GA: ...
GA: You Seem Unusually Agitated About A Frankly Very Specific And Obscure Plant
GA: And That Agitation Has Only Grown The More We Talk Or When I Ask Why Does It Matter And I Think I Understand Why
GA: Dave Are You Trying To Perform A Romantic Gesture And Asking For My Involvement
TG: uh
TG: nah man of course not
TG: shit is a totally flagrant conclusion to hop to when all a dude is asking about plants
TG: cant a chill bro care about expanding some horizons plantways without there being any convoluted subtext
GA: No I Doubt Curiosity Applies In This Case
GA: There Is A Great Deal Of Subtext Tied To That Breed Of Flower
GA: You Could Claim Ignorance I Suppose
GA: But After Informing You Of Its Tale You Seem More Adamant In Producing Some
GA: Again Despite Them Being Hard To Grow And Not Something Culturally Significant To You
GA: You Were Right To Ask Me About It If It Were Merely Plant Curiosity But There Are Countless Other Plants We Could Discuss
GA: Like Who Ate My Buttery Exploded Kernels
GA: We Could Talk About That For Days Dave
TG: dude i already said i dont know who ate your popcorn
TG: its literally a non issue you know we got the grist
GA: Its the Principal
GA: And Beside the Point Anyway
GA: So Which Is It Are You Now Interested In The Art Of Romance Or Plant Whispering
TG: ...
TG: man
TG: kinda
TG: the first one i mean
GA: Oh
GA: Well
GA: They Are Difficult To Maintain Once They Reach Maturity
GA: Usually One Is Enough To Convey The Desired Sentiment
TG: maintain like keep alive
GA: Maintain Like Prevent Attacks
TG: yo what
TG: how carnivorous are we talking suddenly
TG: like am i gonna bleed out on this rock because of a stray plant attack
GA: If You Happen To Bleed Excessively Can I Have The Blood
TG: no???
GA: I Was Joking
GA: Anyway They Are Mostly Harmless But If The Vines Grow Too Long They Will Flail About At Random
GA: The Vines Are Usually Pruned Off Entirely For The Purpose Of Gift Giving But Useful If You Wish To Cultivate More
GA: They Typically Start Their Regrowth After Several Perigees So I Still Advise Caution
GA: At Any Rate We Can Try
GA: Though I Recommend That We Try To Alchemize One In A Younger Stage As They Are Easier To Prune
GA: They Are Also Less Dangerous And Less Prone To Agitation
GA: Unlike You
TG: goddamn
GA: And In My Opinion Far Prettier Since Thats When The Colors Are Brightest
GA: Would I Be Out Of Line In Asking About The Nature Of This Romantic Gesture
GA: This Is The Type Of Overture More In Line With The Flushed Quadrant Not Pale
TG: ...
GA: If Your Intent Is To Push The Boundaries I Recommend You Have A Serious Talk With Him
TG: why are you saying him i could be giving this flower to anybody
GA: I Call Your Human Bullshit
GA: Unless You Can Tell Me You Have Harbored Feelings For Vriska This Entire Time I See No Other Viable Candidate
GA: But You Seem Less Inclined To That Particular Brand Of Self Sabotage
TG: no you got it in one its totally vriska who am i kidding
TG: shes the choice babe for me she completely wooed me by being incredibly yeah ok i cant do this
GA: As I Thought
GA: Human Dating Isnt Easy
TG: understatement of the century
GA: And Karkat Is
GA: ...
TG: yeah
GA: Yeah
GA: And You Can Be
GA: ...
TG: damn yo
GA: But I Will Help
TG: kanaya youre the best troll of the bunch
TG: like top tier since always
GA: Try To Remember That When We Ultimately Fail At Our Alchemizing Attempts And Hijinks Ensue
TG: do hijinks ever do anything but not ensue
TG: but yeah ill keep that in mind
TG: later
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] --
Notes:
Peruvian Lilies are comparatively easier to grow on Earth, but doesn't have the same cultural significance.
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