#Husk: I was bored he had money and I’ve done the shit before I’m not sorry

[demonictacobeard]

I usually like to think Adam gets to keep his wings (or at least a hell effected set?) but if Sinner Adam lost his wings………and then got raging drunk a few weeks after coming into the hotel

He would have a pair of tatted wings on his back when he woke up the next morning. Adam would be confused as shit and wonder who the fuck gave him the money to get them in the first place (Also low key panicking because he doesn’t remember if Heaven gave a shit about tattoos and if they would let him back in with them)

[hungryflowers]

Let Me Fall In Love With You

RadioHusk Week Day 4: You Complete Me

Chapter 4: Birds of a Feather are Trapped Together

Alastor deposited himself atop the rough looking, silkened bedspread. Polishing off the top layer of his ensemble; merely dressed up in his salmon striped button down shirt and his casual trousers. Seeing Husker again didn’t pan out the way he thought prior. Then again, the young man wasn’t thinking proper from the start. He could blame himself, but was it truthfully his fault? 

Of course not! His Husk must, should be made accountable for the unnatural surge of desire that pumped through his quieted chest, now beating like a drum set at a jazz bar. His claws went idly around the male cat’s brimmed top hat. The details were not intricate or delicate by far; just a felt and wool exterior with a silkened lining inside of it. He flicked at the coin, testing to see if it was made of metal. The ringing twinge on the tip of his index finger made the feeling out to be real metal. Quaint. 

He fiddled with the hat for longer as he pondered how he could make himself approachable to his -soon to be- partner. He’d have to back track if Husk’s trust was to be gained. Not just his love he found out. He’d spend the rest of the evening going with scenarios in his head for the time he and Husk could meet again.

When Husk got back, it was almost midnight. He made himself stay away from his house until he was certain the sociopath that broke into his house didn’t linger. He had busied himself with something else; spent up his odd jobs labor money at the casino and bought out a hefty sum for some more of the cheap shit. He lucked out when he found a brand of absinthe that didn’t cost over a hundred dollars but doubted it would ever taste better than the ‘heaven’s kiss’ that was at Alastor’s club. 

Going to store his earnings from the night crawl, the old man walked right past a box that had been nestled on the table. Only when he turned to the table. fixing up a little, did he notice it. It looked weighty when Husk picked up, but looks felt deceiving this time around. Lifting up the tab, Husk’s eyes brightened when he saw his hat. He knew it was his from the tang of cigar smoke coming off it, and the diesel smell of alcohol. He pulled it to re-examine the hat’s condition when something else fell out of the box. He picked the parchment off the table to examine it. The letter was small, ink written, and was sprayed with an odd scent that was not easy to recognize. He squinted over it, reading;

     Discovered this after our tussle. I extended it back to you as an apology. 

And as a boon. I request that I see you again. Come to see me at Arch Duke’s tomorrow night. Be as formal as you can be. I’ll be waiting... Wanting you again.

     Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Husk threw the letter and went upstair to go to sleep, not drunk and too broke to deal with whatever bullshit Alastor was attempting to subject him to. No he was not going to meet him at no Arch Duke’s tomorrow, nor anywhere else for that matter. 

‘That fucker was in my house! Again!’ His mouth upturned in a growl as he slammed his bedroom door, bottle in hand as he chugged it down. He grumbled into the bottle as he laid down in bed. 

Fucking idiot. 

Against his better judgement, Husk had decided to confront Alastor again, but only to ask about why he had his hat in the first place. Why did he feel the need to give it back as a lightweight apology? Husk would have his answers as he shuffled on his dark blue slacks, clipped up with some black suspenders. He ran a comb through his chest fur, which was a first as he didn’t groom himself often. He slid the suspenders to his comfort, looked over pants and left out the door. Letter fished from the trash in tow. 

He figured he’d fly himself there but that wasn’t a choice as he didn’t know where in the hell he was going. He didn’t get out much, and didn’t go to the higher end parts of Pentagram. Considering back to his shitty, watery absinthe Husk was about to turn around, until he spotted some scribbles on the back of Alastor’s letter. So he had provided him with directions after all. Husk sighed as he took flight. The joint was thirty minutes from his house, no way in this Hell or any other was he walking. 

   Alastor fussed over the menu for the third time, nitpicking himself on where he should place it. He had only seen his waiter once, the pitiful imp said he had scurried to put in his drink order, but that was five minutes ago. Or was it ten? 

Pulling out his pocket watch was becoming habitual for the young gent. He had been waiting since yesterday to see if Husk would come around. Tonight would prove whether or not Husk would give a damn about him. Would give him a second chance. So he’d wait. He didn’t care if he would wait until the rest of the dinner guests had gone, the dining room be empty and the kitchens be closed. He just had to see the feline again. He looked back at his pocket watch, then to the door. The third time that night. 

And then, he spotted him. His heat sailed as he looked the male cat over. He wasn’t anything impressive but at least he was formal. Oh, he looked so wonderful. Alastor brightened even more as the host pointed Husk to the table he was sitting at. He took a short stride to the deer demon who had been beaming at him the whole time with that adorable ass, dorky smile. 

‘Why did the cute ones have to be psycho?’ Husk inwardly asked as he sat a chair away from Alastor. 

“I placed our drink orders! How do you feel about a Martini?” Alastor spoke immediately. 

Husk merely shrugged as he picked up the menu, making as hard as possible for Alastor see his face. This was not going to be pleasant, Husk wasn’t here to be pleasant. 

“I’m so glad you heeded my letter! I was joyous about sending it and now I am so ecstatic that you have arrived. I have the whole rest of the night for us-”

“There ain’t no ‘rest of the night’. I came to humor you with this shit because you stole my hat!” Husk barely looked up from the menu, said item covering his livid expression.

“Oh... Oh dear I see. I’ve made a mess of what we are,” Alastor put his hands on the table, fingers extended, “I came because apologies are due. So, here they go... Husker. I am so sorry for the carnal way I acted to you yesterday. Such things never happen to me. I never meant to make you feel unsafe around me.” As Alastor spoke, he reached as far as he were able to try and touch the male. He retracted when he found Husk out of his reach. His tone and phrase were calm and sweet before he hung his head. 

Husk finally pulled the menu from his face, his scowl still present. When he was sure Alastor was done talking, he began. 

“Apology not accepted. Why the hell would I accept it after you broke into my house, face fucked me with your tongue, and tried to bang me on my kitchen table?”, The male cat’s eyes narrowed, “On top of that, you’re a fucking thief for stealing my hat from said house you broke into.”

“I know. I never should have touched it but I felt it was the right thing to do in returning your article. It is yours after all. I did this out of a gesture of kindness and apology. Is that not enough?” Alastor asked moving his chair to scoot closer to Husk. 

“So let me see if I got this right... you think because you steal from me and then return it to me, that you’re doing an act of goodwill. Or trying to say that what you did isn’t outright selfish. Am I at least half right?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Alastor beamed as he surged up to take Husk’s cheeks into his hands; too blissed to feel the sting of a paw flying across his face, hear the impact of the pad striking his cheek, nor flinch at the claws that raked.

The room slowed down, activity slowed down as Alastor was becoming aware again. Husk was fighting out of his hands while the maniac stared at him blankly. Creepy smile still there. 

“You’re a piece of shit, Al. Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch me like that.” Husk bore his teeth as Alastor’s left hand went to his right cheek. 

“You struck me...” Alastor’s voice wobbled, still stunned from the blow. 

“And I’ll keep striking you if ever tou-” Husk was cut off by his own wail as Alastor’s teeth sunk right inside of his nape. He continued to do so before he was slammed to the ground with enough force to rattle his bones. 

The restaurant watched the scene in ignorant awe as Husk flailed to get himself back up, blood pooling up from underneath the cat’s neck and shoulders. 

“You... You’ll never strike me! Nor will you have the ability to do so ever again.” A dangerous hiss came from the radio demon, his mouth not moving as he talked.

“Al... Alastor just relax.” Husk curled in on himself, knowing fully this will just end in bloodshed if he moved too quickly. 

“Husk! You simpering maggot, you are of me now! As I, am now of you! You belong to me. You. Complete. Me!” The radio demon boomed as his body morphed. 

Every demon shot out of their seats, throwing over chairs and tables, some puking and pissing, as they shot out of the restaurant. They knew there was nothing here that required their presence as they evacuated. 

Husk’s ears fell back so far, his hat toppled to the ground. His eyes weren’t to Alastor’s as his body transitioned. God, this was a fucked up way to die. There was nothing more to say on it; he was about to die. Plain and simple. He curled in more, flattening his body in indirect submission. He thought that if he were going to die here, he’d do it in way that was making him look as small as possible.  

A ragged gasp came coughed out by Husk as he felt nails like daggers pinch and pull at his bleeding nape. The broken sound from the back of his throat displayed the pain. Husk was unable to speak for a moment, his lungs rattling. The ground began to feel further from him, legs loosely dangled below him when he was picked up by the bitten nape. The ashen painted fur of the cat stood up even as his body languished like a rag doll. The room went dark without warning, sounds were muted and darkness enveloped the both of them. 

There was no way around it; this was how Husk dies...

A/N: Hello again. This is not perfect by any means but it is complete. I took a spiral and my motivation for writing suffered. This was due over a week ago but I couldn’t think of how I could make this. I went through several drafts, and series of writer’s block before the plot bunny came to lay in my lap. Here it is, and this dumpster fire continues to get worse for poor Husk. 

[syntaxeme]

Sugar is Sweet (and So Are You) ch. 2

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter] [Read on AO3] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Plagued by jealousy toward the men Angel sleeps with, Alastor comes up with a plan to keep Angel from having to work the streets. He wasn't planning on becoming an actual client, but having Angel all to himself might prove too sweet to give up--for as long as he can afford it, that is.

— — —

Alastor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself after his conversation with Angel, but he felt he should be doing something. After some time of pacing around his own room, running his mind in circles trying to figure out what was expected of him here, he was forced to concede that he simply didn’t have the information necessary to make that determination. So he would have to seek someone who did. He went down to the lobby to sit at the bar with a visibly-hungover Husk and asked for his usual—gin and tonic, hold the gin.

“Husker,” he ventured carefully, swirling the tonic water in his glass. His friend (though he used the term loosely) grunted in response. “Would I be right to assume you’ve had some experience with. Er. Filles de joie?”

“First of all, dial down the volume,” Husk grumbled flatly, squeezing his head between his hands as if that might alleviate his headache. “And second, speak English.”

“You know. Working girls. Ladies of the night. Cocettes? Streetwalkers?” How many ways could he say it gently?

“Hookers.”

“…yes.”

“Sure,” Husk agreed with a shrug, resting heavily against the bar. “But what’s it to you? Since when d’you care about that kinda shit?”

“Oh, I don’t. In so many words. But I’ve always been a curious sort, and since I don’t have any personal experience of my own, I figure a secondhand account is better than none,” Alastor explained. The two had known each other long enough that inquiries like this weren’t entirely out of the ordinary, as there were plenty of things about society—mortal or demon—that Alastor had only seen at a distance. Husk, on the other hand, had seen and done quite a lot in his years and could be very helpful when he chose to be.

“Don’t know what you’re gonna do with it, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. Whaddaya wanna know?” He groped absently along the bar for the tumbler of gin he’d withheld from Alastor’s drink and tossed it back all at once, then immediately got dizzy and regretted the sudden motion. “Just. Keep it down.”

“It’s my understanding that escorts, like many other professionals, have regular clients,” Alastor answered, lowering his voice slightly, more because he didn’t want to be overheard having this particular discussion than for the sake of his friend’s comfort. “But I’m not sure what sort of relationship that constitutes.”

“Like you said, a professional one,” Husk told him. “It’s a job, and a client’s a client. No matter how many times ya see ‘em, that doesn’t change.”

“I see. So…that dynamic isn’t likely to develop into something else?”

He let out a dry laugh. “Somethin’ else like what? A gal doesn’t date a john if that’s what you’re askin’.” He was answering almost automatically, not bothering to question where this curiosity had come from. “I hear when a guy starts gettin’ ideas like that, most ‘workin’ girls’ are pretty quick to cut him off.”

Which was exactly what Alastor was afraid of, considering what he knew of Angel Dust. But then, maybe there was a difference if the escort in question had only one patron. Maybe whatever he was getting into with Angel didn’t have exactly the same rules. “In a slightly different vein, then, what about…” Even saying the word felt like an admission, like an embarrassment. But he truly needed some sort of reference point before he got into this, so he had no choice. “Sugaring. The sort of arrangement where—”

“Yeah, I know how it works,” Husk said, waving him off. “Not my thing, though. Too much commitment.”

Well. That was a positive thing, wasn’t it? In terms of what Alastor actually wanted from his interactions with Angel? Commitment, as far as he was concerned, meant exclusivity, which his jealous tendencies certainly appreciated. “Commitment. On the part of the client, you mean?”

“Sure. Once you tell ‘em they can rely on you, they’re gonna. And that means you hafta be able to deliver. Money. Presents. Dates. Whatever she wants, you hand it over.”

None of that sounded bad to Alastor, not if it was Angel he was spoiling; if his previously-idle money could provide enjoyment or satisfaction for the object of his affections, why not let it do so? ‘Dates’ would even mean they were enjoying time together. How could that be negative? “And in return…?”

Husk shrugged again. “She sleeps with you and pretends she likes you. Ain’t worth it if ya ask me.”

Alastor’s eager smile faded slightly. ‘Pretends’? That could be an issue. Even if he hadn’t yet expressed it, the attention and affection he wanted from Angel was the genuine sort, not something motivated purely by money. Maybe he was being greedy in hoping for something like that, when the point of this plan had simply been to stop Angel sleeping with other men. But after the spider’s welcoming attitude and that kiss earlier, he was now starting to hope (a four-letter word if ever there was one) that more might come of it.

As he was trying to decide how to word his next question, the lobby elevator dinged, and Charlie marched out of it, dragging a fully-clothed but obviously reluctant Angel Dust by his wrist. “Don’tcha have night classes or somethin’ I could take? You two givin’ out drinks at this thing?” he grumbled, trudging along behind Charlie without otherwise protesting. When he caught sight of Alastor, his expression shifted from annoyance to a sweet smile. “Hey, boys. Room for one more?”

“Come on, Angel, it’s bad enough that we’re late already,” Charlie scolded.

“What she said,” Husk muttered, his ears turning back and downward at the voices ringing through the lobby. “Get to your fuckin’ meeting already.”

As they walked past on their way to the conference room, where Vaggie and several of their other patrons were already gathered, Angel paused to steal another kiss to Alastor’s cheek, causing Charlie’s eyes to open wide even as he casually strolled past her. The Radio Demon refused to look anywhere near their proprietor, grasping his glass tighter and trying to pretend he didn’t notice her eyes boring into him. She must have taken the hint eventually, as she disappeared into the conference room and shut the doors to begin their meeting, allowing the tension in Alastor’s body to dissipate, at least somewhat.

“Y’know, no one could blame you if ya smacked him when he does that shit,” Husk pointed out, still dispassionate, illustrating with a swipe of his own dangerous claws. “After a couple times, he’ll get the picture, trust me.”

Now this was unusual. Alastor couldn’t recall ever having felt so violently vengeful on the behalf of another person before. He’d never borne Husk any ill will in the past. That said, the thought that he had at some point struck Angel instilled in Alastor a powerful urge to tear out his feathers one by one and then stab them all back in.

“I’m sure violence isn’t necessary,” he said instead, forcibly shoving those images to the back of his mind and reminding himself that Angel had proven more than once already that he could take care of himself. “Maybe he just needs a proper focus for his energy…”

“Hey, if you wanna volunteer, be my guest,” Husk snickered without smiling.

Their conversation was interrupted by an unfamiliar demon nervously slinking into the lobby, looking to check himself in. Alastor quickly shifted into salesman mode to secure another patron and get him set up in his own room. After a whirlwind tour of the establishment, which put him back in his element and did wonders to take his mind off any other concerns he might have at the moment, they made their way back down to the lobby.

“And if I’m not much mistaken, Charlie and the others should be finishing up another session just now,” he crowed, still leading the new arrival with an arm around his shoulders and gesturing to the conference room doors. “She’ll want to welcome you personally, of course, and discuss your goals and expectations for your stay.”

His prediction didn’t come a moment too soon, as the double doors swung open to release the handful of lesser demons who had been gathered for Charlie’s group counseling session. Alastor led the newest member of their merry band of misfits to the princess to call her attention. “Charlie, this fine fellow is—remind us of your name, my good man.”

“Knix,” the burly gent answered, apparently having some trouble with looking anyone in the eye.

“A new arrival!” Alastor concluded, and Charlie beamed at the thought, as always.

“Welcome to the Hazbin! I’m Charlie, and that’s Vaggie”—she indicated her partner, who was straightening up the conference room on her own—“and we run the group meetings. How did you hear about us? What inspired you to come in? Tell me everything there is to know about you.” While she was haranguing the poor fellow to within an inch of his life, Alastor conceded that his work was done and took a step back to watch Charlie’s protégés disperse to their own rooms.

He recognized one self-involved feline named Davronius, a rabbitlike misanthrope simply called Io, an elegant and aloof owlish demon who went by Donatella—but no spiders. Odd, considering how often Charlie held Angel Dust up as her ‘star pupil,’ the exemplar of the hotel’s efficacy. And he typically basked in the attention it got him. Maybe he was still talking with one of his fellow recovering sinners? What a ridiculous thing for Alastor to be jealous of. And yet…

A flash of color darted between the guests and into the conference room, then back out only a moment later. Niffty stood to one side of the doors, her face screwed up into a pout, her eye darting around the room to seek out imperfections. She must have been in a mood, further evidenced by her scurrying over to the stairs to fuss at a guest who was leaning against the banister. Once he had backed off, intimidated despite her tiny stature, she whipped a handkerchief from her pocket and started to polish his fingerprints off the otherwise-pristine wood.

“You know,” Alastor said, strolling in her direction, “the banister can’t serve its purpose if you won’t let anyone touch it.”

“Well maybe if they washed their hands once in a while, it wouldn’t bother me,” she answered testily. “Besides, Vaggie already cleaned up after the meeting, so I don’t have anything else to do. I have to do something.” That was a fair point; there was too much energy in her little form to stand still for long. If she tried, she might spontaneously combust.

“And the entire hotel is already spick-and-span from top to bottom?”

She shot him what he had come to recognize as her version of a glare. “What d’you think I was doing during the meeting? We only have sixteen occupied rooms, and all the empty ones don’t get messy. You don’t even let me go in your room, so it might as well be fifteen. The new guy just got here, so it’s basically fourteen! And now Angel’s not here leaving dirty dishes in the lobby or doing target practice in the common area—”

“N҉o҉t҉ ҉h҉e҉r҉e҉?” There was a scratch of static in Alastor’s voice that he tried to will away as he asked casually, “A҉ng҉el ҉isn’t here? Where is he?” There were only so many reasons he would leave, and considering his recent track record, Alastor was quick to assume the worst.

“He left with some lady while you were upstairs with the new guy,” Niffty explained, flicking her handkerchief briefly in the direction of Knix, who was still in mostly one-sided conversation with Charlie. “His manager, I think.”

That statement was confusing for a few reasons. First, the only person Alastor knew of who could be called Angel’s ‘manager’ was a fellow Overlord named Valentino—a man. Furthermore, Angel had mentioned some time ago that he and Valentino were no longer working together, and Alastor had noted the improvement in his mood since.

But most importantly, the manager issue shouldn’t have applied at all, considering what they had agreed upon earlier in the day. His time shouldn’t need to be managed. Or if anyone is managing it, it should be me. He realized immediately how possessive and controlling that idea was and chastised himself for it. Yet it didn’t change how he felt. This day had come to involve entirely too many feelings, the way he saw it, and he was beginning to get exhausted. Since Angel wasn’t there to explain himself at the moment, Alastor was sure to drive himself up a wall fixating on the problem—unless he had something else to do.

“Do you know what always lifts my spirits when I’m distraught, dear?” he mused, glancing in Niffty’s direction again.

A delighted smile lit up her face and banished any lingering frustration. “A good meal?”

“That’s exactly right. In fact—Charlie!” he called, striding across the room to meet his co-manager with Niffty on his heels. “I hate to interrupt your onboarding discussion, but would you be so kind as to let all our guests know that I’ll be serving dinner this evening?”

“You’re cooking? That’s great! I’ll make sure everyone’s there,” she assured him. With a sly smile, she pointed out, “You sure seem like you’re in a good mood today. Any particular reason for that?”

“When am I ever not in a good mood? Especially when we have a new guest to welcome.” He gave a brief pat to her head, refusing to acknowledge what she was implying, and swept off to the kitchen with Niffty to occupy himself with something he knew how to control.

[encyclopika]

Sneak peak of Missing Out Chap 4 - Home

Saw the work in progress Wednesday thing and...yeah, I owe a sneak peak. I haven’t been able to write for a while - a combination of computer issues and lack of inspiration has left me dry. Nevertheless, I got a whole scene done the other day. This isn’t all of it, and it’s probably not final, but you’ll just have to wait for the rest! Read Missing Out on AO3

***

There was that word again - “feral”. I've heard it all my life, here and there and more once I entered the underworld of villainy. It's a word to mean “person with an animal quirk”, and although it's not meant to be a slur, it kind of is. People let it slip from time to time. The human race has always craved an “other”. You would think with the advent of quirks that the uniqueness of every individual in the world would stop that bullshit, but you would be wrong.

Quirks are about as varied as there are people. Flight is boring as fuck compared to what some people have packing. Some people can make bubbles, others can summon camera lenses from their skin, some people can set themselves on fucking fire. And, hey, Ai could bring people back to life like they were never dead. But even with all of that crazy shit, there's just something about animal quirks that rubs people the wrong way. Something just clicks in people's heads that there is something fundamentally different about us. Something inhuman. And when you're not human, you don't get to pretend that you are one.

*

I left the scene of multiple crimes that night to follow the rest of my pay down the street. Flying all of a sudden became more of a pain than it usually was, and my side hurt like hell. I'd have to limit my time in the air. Landing on another roof closer to the murder warehouse, I listened for them.  

Now, I know what you're thinking – damn, Asuka is such a dumbass going after the guys that just beat the shit out of him. And, yeah, I was fifteen. Spare me the logic. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and I figured I had the upper hand now. The guys thought they left me crumpled in the alleyway; they wouldn't be expecting me at all, kinda like that bear trap dick. The darkness is my element and I work best in the cover of night when I can blend in. They'd never see me coming.

But listening for them was easier said than done. Between my side aching and the warehouse still spewing out the agony of death in all its putrid slender for my nose to catch, my other senses really weren't getting equal access to my brain. As I got closer, leaping to the next rooftop, my quirk took over, and I could tell multiple bodies were piled up in the murder house. It had to be, but at the time, my quirk wasn't developed enough yet to get an accurate count. That's actually a skill UA helped me to hone.

(A sidebar – when UA says it will nurture young heroes into capable pros, they really aren't kidding. Search and rescue drills are tweaked with my quirk in mind. They actually put dead rats - the kind you get to feed pet snakes or use for class dissection or what have you - into the dummies we have to find. My classmates get so pissed because I can do the entire operation more efficiently than any of them with my eyes closed. It doesn't help that I went into first year an empty husk of myself, but still tried my best to go through the motions and amount to something, anything at all. I came in with a prior knowledge of how villains worked and how to fight, even if it was dirty, and ended up breezing through most classes with a look of boredom. I guess after a while they just chalked me up to being the “silent but still a douchebag” type. When I woke up in second year, they had already determined I wasn't a class friend, but the class rival. It was like junior high all over again. God, I can't wait to just graduate and never see those fuckers again.

Anyway! Back on topic...)

I wasn't concerned with the warehouse, though my curiosity was growing. When I finally spotted my prey, they had stopped to rest and count their earnings under a security light in an alleyway right next to that warehouse. Giggling to each other about how they easily duped me, they leafed through the cash and determined the prices they could bargain for the parts they stole. You know, under my watchful eye. The alley they sat in meandered through to the next street, which meant they had two avenues of escape if I were to jump them. There were also two of them, and I could still feel one their fists in my stomach. Swooping down behind the entrance wall, I watched them and planned my course of attack.

I'm a quick fighter – if I can knock out an opponent, then I will opt for that over a drawn out scuffle. I can be as muscular as I want but that won't ever save for the fact I have hollow bones and weigh a lot less than you can imagine. The club of bone at the wrist of each wing is my best weapon, so the plan was to smack that shaved head as hard as I could with one, steal the money in his hand, and fly away from the cyclops with haste.

However, before I could work up the nerve to actually do that, a fog bank rolled in from the opposite street. The thick mist flooded the alleyway and covered my enemies, reducing them to silhouettes under the bright security light. Out of no where, a third shadow appeared. In the next instance, he moved in, his hand clutching a blade that was followed by a waterfall of blood from the neck of the taller cyclops. The cyclops gurgled, his hands going to clutch his neck as he crumpled, leaving the guy with the shaved head to suffer the same fate. The ghostly apparition seemed to teleport in front of him, another cascade of blood following a lightning fast movement across the neck. The body fell, and that was the end of them.

In the next blink of an eye, I was staring down into Karma's serious face, his eyes wide with adrenaline, but his mouth in a thin, diagonal line of frustration. Oh, and his knife was a centimeter from my jugular.

“Birdy, birdy, I almost killed you!” he said with that sing-song in his voice, even though he seemed mad and still hadn't dropped the knife. “What are you doing here? Over here?”

I pushed his arm down, lowering his weapon as I answered, “Those were my targets. They didn't pay me-”

“Oh!” Karma cut me off. “Snooze you lose, I guess.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, it really doesn't matter. They have cash on them. You can have it.”

“You bet your ass I can have it! I'm takin' it! Not for birds, anymore,” he said, whipping his knife so the blood splattered against the brick wall to my right. He sheathed it in its holder, and I could hear it sharpen as it slid in. “Now, gotta find a nice dumpster to hold the funerals.”

Karma's fog bank still hadn't cleared, although it became thinner now that the attack was over. He kept the air space over our heads thick, shielding our identities from the security camera that hung off one of the roofs. He was very in tune with his hunting grounds – he knew where every security camera was and knew the layout of the downtown area better than most people knew their ass from their elbow. His methods were known throughout the underworld. Most villains didn't make it out of his killing sprees, and so his reputation was built up like a legend. No one had ever seen him, but the results of his punishments were sometimes left in conspicuous places, and so the legend propagated. It felt like I was the only one in the world who knew Karma was just a crazy dude and not, like, a creature from another world. The first time I saw him cut someone down, it had been after a job just like this one. Karma had been hunting my customer for a long time, and decided he didn't want to cut me down, too. Instead, he explained himself, got me to cough up the details of my situation, and I guess he took pity on me. He said he wasn't a fan of killing kids, and so said he'd help me. And here we are.

“You might not have to,” I said as I approached him. He had knelt down to claim the couple hundred thousand yen my customer had just been counting some five minutes ago and stuffed it into the ratty pockets of his well-worn purple-striped pants. “Another villain was also on a murder spree tonight.”

Karma paused for a moment before asking, “How do you know that, Bird?”

“Kicked his ass about a half hour ago...he was chasing some kids down the block,” I explained, but Karma only studied me more. I sighed, trying to cover for myself. “You don't smell that? They came out of this building right here.”

I pointed up to the warehouse in front of us. It was getting hard to ignore the strong signal of death that wafted over me as thickly and ominously as Karma's mist, beckoning me towards the single metal door off to the side. A shiver ran down my spine, the feathers there standing on end. I didn't know for sure if it was safe, but if Karma was going to follow me, I figured we could take whoever was down there if it came to it. I really couldn't stop myself from investigating, the curiosity pushing me further down the alleyway to that door. I needed to know what happened; the thought that I could be next was a subconscious feeling that planted itself in my mind and refused to leave.

The metal door was unlocked and opened with a whine as I pulled it open, revealing a set of stairs that descended into a very dark basement. There was a dim light on somewhere down there, but otherwise, it set the perfect mood for a horror movie. The urban tomb was open now, and its contents sent a very strong message to my quirk that felt like someone stuck a flamethrower up my nose. I almost smacked myself with how quickly my hand raced to close my nostrils.

“It doesn't smell that bad,” Karma murmured as he dragged the bloodied body of the guy with the shaved head past me and sent it rolling down the cement stairs into the basement. “Then again...then again, maybe I'm just used to it.”

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 33: Declarations 

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Implied/Mentioned abuse, mentions of terrorism, death mention, injury mention, depiction of an emotional breakdown, trauma aftermath; Illustrated; Pesterlog

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

— carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling tipsyGnostalgic [TG] —

CG: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

— tipsyGnostalgic [TG] is an idle chum! —

CG: FUCK YOU, I CAN SEE THAT FOR MYSELF, YOU PIECE OF SHIT PROGRAM. I’M GONNA FUCKING YELL ANYWAY.

CG: I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO PICK ME UP AT NOON. IT’S LIKE, 1:30 AND YOU STILL AREN’T HERE, WHAT GIVES?

CG: IF YOU GOT KIDNAPPED, TOO, I SWEAR TO FUCK I’M PERSONALLY PUTTING THIS ENTIRE GODDAMN FAMILY UNDER PERMANENT WATCH.

CG: I’M NOT ABOVE SITTING ON YOU ASSHOLES IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES.

TG: okay first off i know youre like a literal alien but heres a protip for ya:

TG: general human earth etiquette is to not text people who you know are probably driving?

TG: its like a whole thing

CG: WHY

TG: idk probs because texting while driving’s a great way to fucking crash lol

TG: anyway!!

TG: yeah im real sorry about that mom fucking rang me up like

TG: hi im at the airport come get me!

TG: out of fucking nowhere because everything has to be a fucking hassle with this woman

TG: so i had to go get her

CG: WHY THE FUCK WAS SHE AT THE AIRPORT?

TG: because fuck me is why

TG: and THEN shes like

TG: ooooh i gotta do some mysterious whatthefuckever errand at some mall out in the middle of nowhere

TG: so now im sitting in the parking lot waiting for her to get back which might be a while because her bad leg’s been acting up lately

TG: and thats why im not there yet >:(

CG: WAIT. WAIT, HOLD ON, I’M CONFUSED.

CG: BY “MOM” ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT RACHEL? I DIDN’T EVEN THINK SHE HAD A BAD LEG.

TG: nonono

TG: ray is like. dirk and dave and rose’s mom

TG: i dont call her mom i just call her aunt ray cuz shes not my mom yknow

TG: my mom is aunt ray’s sister

TG: aunt ramona? they talk about her?

CG: OOOOOOH. YEAH.

CG: THE WOMAN WHO WRITES THOSE SHITTY SUPERNATURAL ROMANCE BOOKS KANAYA LOVES.

TG: hahaha yeah her trashy shit is great

CG: SHE’S HERE?

TG: apparently!!!!!!!!

CG: I’M SENSING SOME BITTERNESS.

TG: ugh its fine she just always does shit like this

TG: womans always gotta make a fuckin entrance even if that means not telling anyone shes coming

TG: and its goddamn annoying as shit!!

TG: but its fine i get it shes here to help out and we are kinda all hands on deck

TG: speaking of tho i heard something about kanaya not coming along after all?

CG: NOT YET, NO.

CG: SHE’S BEEN TALKING TO ROSE, AND APPARENTLY DAVE’S BEEN PRETTY UNEASY WITH THE NUMBER OF NEW FACES AT THE HIVE.

CG: HOUSE. WHATEVER.

CG: TEREZI’S PROTECTION DETAIL HAS HIM KIND OF ON EDGE, I GUESS?

CG: SHE’S GONNA COME AROUND LATER PROBABLY. AND MIGHT END UP STAYING WITH PORRIM AND KEEP IT TO VISITS, AT LEAST UNTIL THINGS SETTLE DOWN A BIT.

CG: SO IT’S JUST ME FOR NOW.

TG: ooooh yeah geez i bet

TG: poor dave :( :( :(

TG: i gotta tell you and mom some uh. serious shit about him when i pick you both up

TG: id pass it on here but its probs better if i just tell you face to face?

CG: OH, WONDERFUL!

CG: MORE NO DOUBT HORRIFIC NEWS REGARDING DAVE.

CG: I CAN’T WAIT. THIS PANIC ATTACK’S GONNA BE ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOKS, I CAN JUST FEEL IT!!!

TG: :(

TG: tl;dr hes not in great shape but hes getting better but theres some stuff we gotta go over

TG: jfc mom what the fuck are you doing its been ages

CG: SO WAIT. SHE JUST HAD YOU DRIVE HER OUT SOMEWHERE AND WALKED OFF ALONE?

TG: yeah

TG: woman can take care of herself just fine so like im not worried??

TG: but still, like. cmon woman!!! whatever it is hurry up a little

TG: it cant be that important we got places to be

In terms of location, it was almost an outlet mall; somewhat detached from the nearest city and surrounded by forest. It was mostly all one building, positioned in a dip in the ground next to a clear stream, and these features had helped make it a serviceable fortress during the invasion, although Derek had regularly complained that he’d have preferred a site that held the high ground. Still, they’d made do; the roof was high enough that one could see for quite some distance, the stream offered fresh water, the trees provided decent enough cover during skirmishes, and the walls were thick enough to turn away most weather and weapons. It hadn’t been much, but it had served well enough as home for six years for around threescore ragtag survivors-turned-fighters.

Out in the surrounding forest, those who hadn’t survived that conflict still lay buried in pitiful graves marked only with a stone or a chunk of wood. There hadn’t been time to properly put anyone to rest; it had been risky enough for two or three people to slip out during a stretch of quiet with a shovel and a body. They simply hadn’t been able to afford to have any sort of formal burial, not with the threat of an attack constantly looming.

Even so, even so…

Derek had picked a spot he would remember.

In life, the oak tree would have been the kind people would have thought of as a monarch, with branches spread wide and gnarled wood ancient and strong, holding children in its branches as easily as if they were made of nothing; but the tree had already been dead by the time the invasion started, a great, ancient, dried-out husk. Even so, decades later, it still stood, its branches reaching toward the sky, the other trees forming a circle around it as though too respectful to come too close. Mushrooms and trails of greenery crept about a quarter of the way up the ancient trunk.

At its roots, a rotting wooden spar stuck up out of the ground. This, too, had been reclaimed by flowers, grasses and mushrooms, decorating the splintered and decayed timber with dark summer greens and pale white-and-lavender blooms.

Derek Strider, down on one knee with his sheathed sword held in his right hand, sighed. Of course, the trouble with having to bury the dead so hastily meant that there’d been no one to look over the graves, so it was to be expected that it be in such disrepair, but even so, seeing this one choked out by the invading flora was…

It wasn’t right.

Overhead, the ancient branches rustled slightly, and the raucous calling of a bird broke the silence. Derek narrowed his eyes and ignored it, tried to write the disrespectful noise out of the scene.

The crow seemed to have other ideas. The bird lighted down on the wooden grave marker, red eyes fixed on Derek’s face. It flapped its wings a few times, cawing incessantly. Derek scowled, unsheathed his sword, and struck —

The blade passed through the bird with no resistance whatsoever. The creature’s body split in two, bloodlessly, as though Derek had cut through smoke — it even looked like smoke, like a cloud cut in two by a passing jet. As Derek looked on, uncomprehending and with a growing sense of dread, the bird’s body seemed to pull itself back together, a video played in reverse, and the bird’s accusatory squawks started up again as though nothing had happened.

Derek was on his feet in an instance, stepping away from the beast, and as he did, he happened to look up…

Perched on nearly every branch of the old tree were ravens. Unlike the crow, they were all silent, and aside from the occasional shifting of a foot or tilting of a head, motionless. Scores of staring animal eyes bored into him.

Derek had never been a superstitious man, but nor was he the sort of fool to ignore the truth his own eyes showed him. He’d spent six years fighting alongside a witch, and seen enough to learn that some things really couldn’t be explained away as coincidence.

Had it been anyone else, he would have responded to the sound of footsteps approaching this site with a furious attack; even Ben knew better than to disturb him here. But when he whirled to face the intruder, he froze.

She’d aged more since he’d last seen her than he would have expected. Hints of silver streaked her hair, and she leaned heavily on her gnarled black cane. A faint breeze stirred the black fabric of her dress, playing with the light shawl laying across her shoulders. The crow had fallen silent.

“Put that thing away before you take someone’s eye out,” said Ramona, nodding nonchalantly at Derek’s sword.

Derek narrowed his eyes, and did not respond aloud, instead choosing to slowly and deliberately slide the sword back into its sheathe. Only after his left hand had returned to his side did Ramona nod and continue.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now we can talk things over like reasonable adults. Mind you, I ought to do the world a favor and wipe you out right now,” and Derek took a slow, deep breath at that, as she continued, “But I’d prefer not to desecrate your brother’s grave by staining it with your blood. I respect him far too much for that. You, however, have somehow managed to exceed all of my worst expectations to a nearly unfathomable degree, as of late. I’ve held off on this confrontation out of respect for the past, but I can see now that this was a mistake.”

Derek shifted. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect our damn planet, Ramona,” he started, but was cut off.

“Really?” she said, “Well, then. I’m not about to attempt to ask you to cease killing trolls, as we both know that would be pointless, but I would very much like to know how exactly burning your own son alive plays into your grand battle strategy?”

“He…he turned on us,” Derek said, through gritted teeth, “He forced my hand, left me no choice!”

“He is a child!” Ramona snapped. “And you, of all people, should know better! If you really must follow this path of self-destruction to its end, fine, but he should never have been involved!”

“I—”

“And in any case, you had a perfectly good sword on hand, I’m sure. If young Dave really did need to die, you could have executed him with minimal pain, but no, you wanted him to hurt, to know he was dying and to fear you and suffer as he passed. How do you justify that, Derek? How does anyone, especially a child, deserve anything of the sort?”

The eyes of the ravens and that damned crow still drilled into him. He could feel the stares on his back, but kept his eyes locked on Ramona’s, refusing to back down.

He wasn’t going to take back what he’d done. There’d be no guilt, he’d done nothing wrong except overreact a bit. It was justified. That…that boy wasn’t Dave. Ramona was using the name like a blade, but she’d not win that way. He didn’t deserve the fucking name, didn’t deserve to have anything to do with Dave, he never would have let Rachel name the kid that if he’d known he was going to grow up to be such a pathetic, useless little coward.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he said.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” said Ramona, folding her hands over the top of her cane. “I’ve a fairly good idea, in any case.” She sighed. “The war is over, Derek. The time to put aside this violence and misery is long since behind us. Our children do not deserve to grow up as we did.”

“The trolls are still here,” Derek spat.

There was a long silence. Ramona sighed again.

“Fine, then,” she said, “So be it. Do as you will. Chase violence as long as you like. But if you come near my family again, I will consider it an act of war.”

She turned, and he was tempted to take the bait, to try attacking her while her back was turned, but he held still. It was infuriating, knowing what a pointed insult turning her back on him was, knowing that she knew he would not risk attacking her—but she was right. She was much too dangerous.

“Come along, little one,” she said, abruptly. The crow rose off the grave and flew to land on top of Ramona’s cane. If Derek had cared to pay any attention, he might have noticed the crow look back at him with something like regret in its eyes, but Derek was already far too lost in his own thoughts.

As one bird, the ravens took wing, dispersing in all directions, leaving him alone again.

The trouble with trying to go from Alternian to English was a multifaceted one, to be sure, but so far the most obnoxious piece of it that Karkat could see was the tendency of guides on how to speak English to simply use the closest Alternian equivalent as an English word’s translation. More and more, the two languages were notably extremely different, and while he could speak English well enough that he’d never had any serious problems, there were any number of words that he kept tripping over as a result of a translation being extremely unclear and culturally misleading.

Witches, for instance, were clearly something very different on Earth. The Alternian word that was translated to English as “witch” was, like most Alternian words, a series of noises in the ‘click and growl’ family that most humans lacked the anatomy to create, and generally refered to certain lowblood prophets and healers in Alternian folklore. They were those who lived away from society and who, through some lucky genetics and convenient psychic powers, were able to fend of drones and effectively disappear from the world at large’s knowledge. They kept to themselves, sought to harm no one who didn’t attack them first, offered shelter to the weak and the hunted, and as such were always portrayed as utterly despicable beings in fiction, as no writer with any sense of self-preservation had dared to portray such reckless treachery under the rule of the last Condesce. There might have been some changes to the lore under the new one’s rule, but things like that changed slow.

In any case, they certainly weren’t anything like the old woman in a shawl who was sitting next to Roxy in the front of her car.

She was dressed all in black, for one thing. Alternian witches didn’t tend to wear much black. Some Alternian witches didn’t tend to wear all that much clothing at all, really. Most seemed to belong to ancient religions that weren’t particularly fond of shirts.

Ramona was definitely magic as shit, though, Rachel’d been right about that much. Was that all a witch was on Earth, just someone with magic? Fuck, if that were the case, then probably like at least a third of all trolls were witches by Earth’s standards. Then again, maybe magic was another poorly translated word? English didn’t seem to have a word to separate “things that we (read: trolls) know exist, like psychic powers and psiionics and ghosts and chucklevoodoos,” and “things that are super fake and don’t actually happen ever and make no sense.”

Whatever. In any case, Ramona didn’t look at all like Karkat had expected, and when he climbed into the back of the car, she didn’t react to his presence with anything stronger than an amiable nod. She seemed to have her mind on other things, and was largely silent at first.

Roxy wasn’t; she immediately piped up happily as Karkat swung open the door with a “Hey, man! Sorry about taking so long! Can you, uh, do me a favor and check on Jaspers? He’s in the carrier behind Mom, Rose asked me to pick him up while she and Aunt Ray were gone. He’s been missing them a lot, all staring out the window and kneading his blanket and shit, and he’s not a huge fan of car rides.”

“He’s asleep,” Karkat said after glancing into the little crate.

“Awesome. Alright, buckle up and we’ll get this damn show on the road.”

“On the road again, just can’t wait to get on—”

Karkat tilted his head as the car’s radio abruptly changed from quietly playing some human pop song over to something much louder and completely different. Ramona stifled a snort as Roxy stabbed a button, switching the radio back to the previous channel.

“No, thank you,” she said, glaring. “Christ, the fuck is with this thing today, I swear to god.”

“I suppose it may simply be getting into the spirit of things,” said Ramona with a smile. As the car pulled away from the curb, she turned back a bit to face Karkat. “It’s Karkat, isn’t it? Rachel’s been sending me any number of emails with updates, and from the sound of things, you’ve been rather instrumental in bringing young Dave back into the fold, so to speak.”

“…Into the what?”

“It’s a figure of speech, meaning in this case that you’ve helped us return him home as well as helping him to adjust to being there,” she said. “For which you have all of our heartfelt thanks. Ours is perhaps not the most functional of families, but it  is ours, and as I’m sure you’ve seen firsthand, ripping away a piece of it the way Derek did has had some very painful consequences for all involved. We owe you a great deal.”

“Yeah, man!” Roxy said. “And from what Rose has been telling me, you were kind of a big part of why he finally spilled what he knows. Which, he did bee-tee-dubs, which means he’s off house arrest finally, so that’s good—”

“—And a partridge in a pear tree,” the radio crackled.

“What the fuck? It’s August,” Roxy scowled. She turned the radio off altogether as Ramona glanced hurriedly out the window.

“Speaking of Dave,” Karkat said, hopefully before anyone got distracted again, “Roxy, you mentioned that there was something that you needed to say face to face?”

“Right, shoot, yeah,” said Roxy. The car turned onto the long road that led eventually to the Lalonde hive. “Okay, so, like. There’s definitely some shit you should know before we get there, but I wanna preface it all real clearly by saying that Dave’s okay, y’know? He’s got a lot of healing to do, but the doctors said that as long as he’s looked after and we change bandages and shit and he gets plenty of rest, he’s definitely not in any danger anymore. He’s…weak, but he’s not like gonna keel over at any moment, okay?”

“Not actually making me feel any better, Roxy!” said Karkat. Oh, boy, with a preface like that…

“Well, fuck, I tried, I guess. Uh. So, Dave did get hurt…pretty bad, and there were some other complications—oh, for fuck’s sake!!”

“Watch me, watch me, hey, watch me, watch me!” The radio was louder than ever. Ramona’s hand flew up, poorly hiding a grin.

Karkat leaned around Roxy’s seat to glare at her.

“What the fuck, Roxy,” said Karkat.

“I’m not doing this!” Roxy said, waving her hand wildly. “I swear to fuck, I wouldn’t! I really do need to pass on some shit about poor Dave, and the radio’s never done this before? It’s been acting up since a little before we picked you up, keeps changing on its own and shit, augh!”

She fought with the controls, but the song stopped only for a moment before getting even louder.

“Why the fuck do you humans even have this obnoxious song?! Who listens to this?? It’s literally just some squawking wiggler screeching for its lusus’s attention!”

“I mean, I kinda love it for that honestly, it’s terrible and stupid and wonderful, but like, come the fuck on??? What’s with this thing?! Now is not the time!”

“Ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass—“

“GOD, that’s even worse!!” Roxy yelled, slamming her fist down on the dashboard. “Fucking stop!!”

“That’s enough for now,” Ramona said, almost murmuring it.

The radio turned off. Karkat and Roxy both turned a suspicious eye on Ramona, and with equal simultaneity, decided to drop it for now.

“Anyway,” Roxy said slowly, “What I was trying to say is, um…Karkat, do you know what it means for someone to ‘flatline?’ Because, um. Dave kinda did, for like, a minute and a half.”

Karkat shook his head, realized Roxy probably couldn’t see him with her eyes on the road, and said, “Uh, I have no idea what that word means, no.”

“Well, um…”

“It refers to a heart monitor indicating that the heart has ceased beating,” Ramona said. “The machine indicates activity with a line which shows peaks and valleys, and it goes flat when that activity has stopped, thus, ‘flatline’. The organ we call a heart serves an equivalent function to what trolls call a ‘blood pusher’ or a ‘pump biscuit.’”

Karkat felt for a moment like his own pump biscuit had stopped.

“Shit, Mom, when did you get so good at translating to trolls?” Roxy murmured.

Ramona shrugged. “I’ve made efforts to reach out,” she said. “The war ended, after all, and since we’re allies now, it doesn’t hurt to learn about each others’ cultures.”

“His fucking—What?!” Karkat screeched, unable to keep the harsh buzzing whine out of his voice. God, that was such a moirail noise, and any other time he’d have yelled at himself for not keeping it under control, but not now, not when… “His fucking blood pusher stopped and I’m supposed to be calm!?!”

“They got it moving again!” Roxy said. “He’s okay now, the doctors said it was going strong! It was, um, mostly just exhaustion, they think? Like, the burn wounds could’ve killed him on their own, sure, but they got on those quick enough that if he’d been healthy to begin with he probably wouldn’t have been so bad off? But between ten years of, you know…and just, apparently he hasn’t been eating enough even while he’s been back with us? And Ray’s gonna get on his ass about that, but, just—look, the thing is, Dirk doesn’t know about this yet, and Aunt Ray’s asked that we try to keep it that way, and I don’t really get why but I think she has her reasons?”

Karkat was definitely hyperventilating, oh fuck, oh fuck—Ramona’s hand reached back to touch his own, snapping him out of it.

“It’s fine to be worried,” she said, gentle. “I promise you, though, it is as Roxy says: he’ll be fine given time to recover and the safety with which to do so. He’ll be alive when we get there.” She sat back in her chair, turning towards the road again. “As for Dirk, I suspect Rachel is waiting for things to settle down before breaking it to him gently. He is, for better or worse, very like his father, and Derek handled his brother’s death poorly, in large part because at the time we could not afford to mourn. Rachel probably wants to make sure that Dirk does not feel he has to force himself to be strong when she tells him.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Roxy muttered. “Anyway, the main thing about that is that he’s not got a lot of energy right now, so don’t…take it personally if he just falls asleep on you sometimes? Especially with the painkillers he’s on, apparently that’s a side effect, too. He can walk short distances, but he gets wobbly quick and needs help sometimes, so there’s that too.”

“Fuck,” said Karkat, softly.

The next ten minutes of the ride were carried out in tense silence. This was broken by the radio once again bursting back on and blasting the ass song again, at which point Roxy threatened to pull over and smash the fucking thing to smithereens.

By the time they actually got to the fucking house, Karkat felt like his soul was going to vibrate right out of his fucking body with impatience. They had yet another delay in the form of Terezi’s protection detail—Terezi herself wasn’t there, but some officers were, and they insisted on knowing about any weapons the three of them had as well as names, and went in to check with the family while making them all wait outside by the car. Karkat already had his fucking bag in hand, he was ready to go, but no, they had to go through this tedious procedure! Sure, it was probably a smart move, and when he was feeling a little more sensible he’d be more okay with it as it was the sort of thing that probably would make them all feel a bit safer (especially poor fucking Dave), but right now the were a pain in the ass and he was going to fucking explode!!! If they didn’t!!! Let him get in the fucking hive!!!!!

Rose stepped out as they were still talking to the police, and for the first time in his life Karkat was unspeakably happy to see her. She quickly confirmed to the police that all three of them were in fact expected and trusted by this household, and then gently let Jaspers out of his carrier. The cat immediately yowled and threw himself into her arms, kneading at her shoulders and rubbing his face against hers, and it all would have been super cute if Karkat didn’t have his mind on other fucking things.

“Come on in,” Rose said, nodding towards the door. “Dirk’s on the couch and Dave’s in Mom’s room, as neither of them can handle stairs right now and Dave needs his bandages changed at least twice a day. Karkat, do you—”

She was talking to air. He was already in the fucking door.

And then had to face the fact that he’d never actually been to Rachel’s room. Fuck. Rachel was coming up the hall, though, and a slightly bewildered young human (wait, fuck, that was Dirk, what happened to his hair? It looked so weird hanging down like that instead of spiked up) was sitting on the couch with an Earth husktop on his lap. Roxy pushed in the door with Ramona right behind her, dropped a heavy wheeled bag right next to the door, and immediately launched herself at Dirk, who gave a startled yelp as she did so.

Rachel rested a hand on Karkat’s shoulder as she passed him, rushing up toward Ramona throwing her arms around her shoulders. The two shared a long hug, and Rachel kissed Ramona’s cheek.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Karkat heard Rachel murmur, before Rose tapped his shoulder.

“I was asking if you knew where Mom’s room is,” Rose said.

“Uh.”

“It’s down the hall to the observatory, but you take a left before you get to it. Make sure to make plenty of noise on the way over, Dave gets really jumpy when he’s the only person in that room. He can’t block the door since we need to be able to come in and out, and it’s got him a bit on edge.”

Karkat nodded, unable to get any words out past the lump in his throat. He more or less just dropped his bag on the ground and pushed past, zooming around toward the room indicated. Dave looked half-asleep when Karkat pushed the door open, and waved as he sat up with some effort.

God, the photo Rose had taken didn’t do justice to how fucking bad he looked. There were bruises across his face and neck turned a weird greenish-gray but still dark against his skin, and bandages everywhere, his hair was a mess (although that might have just been from sleeping). He was in some oversized shirt with an Earth hoofbeast on the front that was probably Dirk’s judging by the size, and Karkat had no idea why Dave had it on but right now he didn’t care.

“Hey, man, uh. Shit’s been crazy, huh?” Dave said with an awkward grin. He didn’t have his shades on either, which made sense if he’d been sleeping, except they weren’t on the bedside table (which did instead contain a nearly empty glass of water, several bottles of pills and salves, and a first aid kit from which clean cloth bandages overflowed).

Two weeks of emotion boiled over all at once. Wordless, Karkat stomped across the room and grabbed Dave’s stupid fucking shirt in both hands and tugged him close.

“It was three days, Dave,” Karkat hissed.

“Wha—?”

“Three days! And you got yourself fucking kidnapped by a terrorist on day goddamn two!! What the fuck, Dave?!” His voice was threatening to abandon him, but Karkat forced it right back into place by sheer willpower. This tangent would not be fucking stopped, hell no. “I take my eyes off of you for two days, and you get yourself into shit again! What the fuck!!! Do you have any idea how-how fucking agonizing it’s been waiting for news?! And you’re just sitting there like ‘Oh, hey! What’s up?’ What’s up is my foot up your waste chute, you hopeless fucking—!” Okay, nope, his voice was leaving after all, actually. He felt tears roll down his face, and he should’ve been more worried about that, but Dave already knew about his blood color and he was the only troll in the house right now, so, fuck it, fuck it all! Helpless, he tugged Dave closer again, letting his face press against that stupid shirt, claws still twisted into the fabric as he sobbed.

“Holy shit,” Dave muttered.

“I was so fucking scared,” Karkat gasped. This was pathetic, they weren’t remotely a couple, Karkat had no right to be this worked up and he knew it, but…Dave wasn’t exactly pushing him away, either, was he?

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t even…It wasn’t planned this time, it just sorta happened, and Dirk got hurt, and I…”

“I’m not actually angry at you, despite having so much right to be that legislacerators everywhere have preemptively declared me innocent. I’m just fucking screaming for the sake of it, dumbass.”

“Oh.”

The awkward pause that followed was filled with only the sound of Karkat’s weeping, which, fuck, he was probably too fucking embarrassed to tell him off. Except…Dave’s hand lifted up to rest gently against Karkat’s back, so, maybe he didn’t mind that much? Was that wishful thinking?

“Sorry for this,” he said, just in case, as he pulled away a bit. “It’s really fucking embarrassing, I know, I just…”

“It’s cool, man,” said Dave. Then, with a wink, he said, “I know you got your massive Strider homocrush, it’s only natural—”

“Dave, I swear to fuck, injured or not, I will pummel you into dust with a fucking pillow, don’t test me!” Karkat snapped.

Dave snorted. “Hey, man, it’s fine, everyone’s allowed to be a lil gay sometimes with their friends, it’s only natural.”

“I’ll ‘natural’ you!! Motherfucker, I spent the two weeks worrying about your wellbeing and you come at me with more of this bullshit!!”

Dave cackled with laughter. Karkat rolled his eyes and sniffled. He feigned annoyance as best he could, but, God, it was such a relief to hear Dave laugh. Rubbing a sweater sleeve furiously across his eyes, Karkat pulled back, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Okay, but seriously, what’s with the shirt?” he asked, gesturing at the floating head of the hoofbeast. It wasn’t even a joke or a drawing. It was just…a straight photo of a hoofbeast’s face, with no text or explanation of any sort. What the fuck??

Dave glanced down, and snickered. “Oh, shit. Uh, yeah, we needed something that’s easy to get me in and out of, since the bandages on this fuckin’ burn need to be changed like, a lot, not to mention the gross-ass cream they have us slathering all over it on the regular. We tried a button down, but the buttons were kinda chafing, and like…who the fuck wants to ruin a fancy shirt with gross burn juices, right? And Dirk’s shit is more comfortable, and this one’s big enough that it’s real easy to take off even if I’m high on the damn painkillers.”

Karkat winced slightly, but decided not to comment. The scream from the video echoed somewhere in his think pan. “Where’re your shades?”

“Bro fuckin’ stepped on them or something, man, I dunno. They fell off at some point, and they were already cracked before all that, and Terezi just found pieces. Which fucking sucks, I mean God dammit, those were a gift from John. Shit sucks.”

“John?” Karkat tipped his head.

“Yeah, he’s like, an old friend of mine. Have I not mentioned him to you? Whatever, he, uh.” Dave scratched at the side of his head. “He was an online friend from before Bro started doing the, uh, raid shit, and I kept talking to him and another friend, Jade, for a while afterwards even though I wasn’t supposed to?”

“Jade’s name I remember,” Karkat said.

“Haha, yeah, yeah cuz I told you about…anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I guess since Dirk’s college is starting up again soon, not that he’s going for the first couple weeks with his leg and a fucking concussion, but, it’s starting up, and John’s sister goes there too, and he’s gonna come with so we’ll be able to hang out for a bit? Which is fuckin’ rad, I haven’t even talked to the guy in three years and we’re finally meeting in person.”

“You want him to be here? While you’re this badly injured?” Karkat yelped.

Dave blinked at him like he’d just grown a secondary head.

“I mean, yeah?” Dave said. “Like, yeah, I’m not in great shape and I guess it’ll be a lil weird for him to see me like this, but I’ve missed him.” Before Karkat could press the question further, though, Dave yawned. “Ugh, fuck, I wanna keep talking, but I’m…halfway to falling asleep, shit.”

“Oh,” said Karkat. He got up, ready to leave. He wanted to stay, wanted to curl himself around Dave’s obnoxiously lanky frame as best he could and protect this fragile idiot human from the entire universe, but…it wasn’t his place, was it? No.

“You leaving?” said Dave, rubbing at his unbruised eye.

“You said you wanna sleep,” Karkat said.

“Right. Uh. Could you, like…fill this back up for me, then, I guess?” Dave said.

“…Sure,” said Karkat.

He was…still confused, but Dave was tired, so he didn’t press. But he couldn’t wrap his head around wanting a friend around while he was so injured—well, he’d wanted Karkat around, hadn’t he? He’d seemed happy to see him, aside from the, uh, yelling. Still, it didn’t make sense! Every troll knew as a small child that the only people you could trust when you were injured were your lusus, your moirail, and maybe your matesprit! Anyone else might take advantage of the weakness and kill you, that was just basic logic! But Dave didn’t even seem to be thinking about it.

And…and yet, come to think of it, Roxy’d been awfully forthright about how bad Dave’s condition was. Hell, she’d heard it from Rose, who seemed like the one most likely to know not to spread that weakness, but the humans were all sharing it and passing it around. It wasn’t just that they didn’t seem to care who knew that Dave and Dirk were injured, it was like they wanted people to know.

And as he filled up the glass of water in the kitchen, he watched as Roxy and Dirk talked on the couch, as Dirk told her that he’d passed on the news of their condition to Jane already, that Rose had told her and Dave’s friends, and it just kept going. Everyone had to be up to date on the fact that both brothers were injured and vulnerable, and yet…

“I hope the flight wasn’t too long,” Rachel was saying to Ramona.

“Nothing would be too long right now,” she said in turn, blowing gently on a cup of tea that Rachel had just poured her. “Times like these, we all need to do our part. I know I might not be able to do much, mind you. My leg’s been acting up something fierce, as of late, but I’ll do whatever I can.”

Something clicked. All at once, the curtains pulled back and Karkat saw the whole picture—saw maybe not what it always was, and certainly not what the Lalondes achieved on any sort of regular basis, but what it was supposed to be, how it was meant to work.

On Alternia, everyone lived in constant competition. Trolls had to be strong as close to all the time as they possibly could, or at the very least find a moirail who could, because otherwise their society wouldn’t particularly care much if they died. That just meant they didn’t deserve to be a part of the gene pool or to contribute to society. If they were injured badly and left vulnerable, it was seen as normal for others to take advantage of that weakness and exert power or outright kill a rival. It was how they survived so long, or so the cultural narrative had so long stated: by this competition, the strongest survive. Nevermind that this survival was built on the corpses of uncountable trolls who didn’t make the cut, it Worked.

As a result, trolls had been bewildered just as Karkat had by how humans as a species managed to be so frail and yet so reckless and to still survive, especially when they didn’t exactly have the kind of numbers that trolls did. Humans lacked the numbers to be expendable, lacked the strength and toughness that kept Trolls alive, and yet they looked Death in the eye and pointed and laughed, and pushed themselves to extremes for no purpose other than to have some warped idea of fun. It was a question that had lingered around his consciousness for ages; how the fuck do humans even work as a species? How had such a seemingly doomed race not died off yet?

The answer that hit him now, as he watched Roxy help Dirk stand up and balance himself on a pair of crutches, was that humans didn’t have to be strong all the time, and that was the magic of their little social units, their families—they took care of each other. No one person had to be good at everything, or so good at one thing that it could keep them safe in any situation. It didn’t matter that their skin was thin or that they weren’t particularly strong or fast, they always, always had others around who would pick up the slack, others who would come even across oceans to offer what aid they could in times of strife; they weaved together all their strengths and weaknesses into a fabric able to withstand just about anything. Fuck, no wonder they’d wanted Dave back so badly. The Lalondes may have been less a tapestry and more a patchwork quilt, but it was still their quilt, and Dave was a part of it….

He felt a near-agonizing pang of envy that he didn’t have a quilt of his own. Humans might have been stupid about a lot of things, but this…this they’d gotten right.  

“Fucking water? Is that really the best you could think of? Fucking dumbass,” Dave muttered to himself. God. This was stupid. This was all really fucking stupid. He couldn’t even deal with being alone while he was asleep, for Chrissakes! Too scared of nightmares of a big mean dog, like some fuckin’ little kid.

Yeah, he was tired, but he really, really didn’t wanna be alone right now, was the thing. Not with that fucking troll-drug-induced nightmare lingering around the edges, waiting to chase him down again at its first chance. But. Like. Karkat was kind of right? Bros don’t watch each other sleep, that’s fuckin’ creepy. Like. Okay, so maybe they’d done a bit of that way back when Karkat had been kidnapped, but they didn’t have a choice back then, and anyways they mostly slept at the same time during that experience, which was super different from just asking his best alien friend to fuckin’ hold his hand so the  bad dreams wouldn’t get him. Fuck.

So he’d asked Karkat to refill his glass, even though he wasn’t thirsty right now, because it was an excuse to make Karkat come back, at least for a few more minutes, and they could talk for a bit, and maybe Dave’d stop being tired, wouldn’t that be rad.

Karkat came back in looking really thoughtful. He handed the glass over, and Dave took a sip to try and look like he hadn’t been 100% bullshitting there, and mumbled a thanks as he set it down. Then, just as a thought, he jerked his head toward the rest of the bed—it was a big king-sized one, probably left over from before the divorce and Mom had just never downsized or whatever, so there was a lot of space to Dave’s right—and told Karkat he could sit down if he wanted, Dave wasn’t gonna, like, pass out right this minute or anything, haha.

Karkat stayed quiet, which was fuckin’ weird, but he did sit down. He stared at the sheets for a minute, and then spoke up suddenly, saying, “I think I get it.”

“Get what?” said Dave.

“Why they wanted you back so bad,” said Karkat. “I mean, way back when you were first arrested. I kind of fought with Dirk over it at one point, because my only experience with the word Dirk used for why you should be with him was fucking Strider. And also I think I get why this shit all works, for humans in general. I mean, I’m probably just saying obvious shit, but it’s not how trolls work, we don’t take care of each other, not like this.”

Dave tipped his head.

“I mean with the whole fucking family thing,” Karkat said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been trying to get it this whole time, but this shit’s used to justify so much bullshit with you humans, and I think I get it now, and why it’s so fucking important to you as a species.”

Dave snorted. “Dude, it’s not that big a thing—”

“It is, though! It just seems normal to humans because it’s how you always work, but, Dave, I’m serious, back on Alternia it’s every troll for themself. Maybe you  have one person who has your back if you’ve got a moirail, maybe some are lucky like me and have friends who are actually consistently on your side and won’t take the first chance they get to kill you or fuck you up some other way, but we definitely don’t have a whole cluster of others we can just fall back on any time we’re met with something we can’t handle alone.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Dave started, but Karkat just kept going. Apparently he’d had some sort of fuckin’ epiphany in the past two minutes.

“It took me so fucking long to get this, but I get it now! You know what I don’t get, though, is why the fuck you ever tried to convince me that Strider is part of your fucking family.”

Something in Dave dropped like a stone.

He’d…had a similar thought, really. Repeatedly. Multiple times, over the past week or so. He’d been kind of trying to avoid it, because every time it popped up, he got really stressed out.

“And don’t give me any of the bullshit about being ‘related’ or what the fuck ever, I don’t wanna hear it,” Karkat kept right on going. “I still don’t get why you humans care so much about that. The whole point of this family thing is that you all take care of each other, not that you’re related or whatever! Your aunt’s here, did you know that? She flew across an entire fucking ocean just to make sure she could help out you and Dirk! What the fuck did Strider ever do for you?”

It was a good question. And the answer, of course, was: aside from trying to  kill him, do you mean? Hahaha.

Karkat was still talking, but Dave wasn’t really hearing him. Fuck, this had been a mistake, he should’ve taken his chances with the fucking nightmare dog. That was better than this old song and dance with his own thoughts.

The facts were pretty simple. He’d operated under pretty clear logic when he went up against Bro: We’re family, so he loves me, so therefore if I ask him to let me leave and explain that I really can’t deal with this, he’ll let me go. Except, Bro had tried to kill him, which meant that…

That was as far as Dave ever got. He couldn’t think any farther than that.

He felt like…like the next thought should be obvious, but he couldn’t make himself think it. It was too big—not so much a square peg in a round hole as it was trying to cram a grain silo into a pinhole, and the thought threatened to overwhelm and destroy him, so instead of thinking it, his brain kept rejecting it, the effect being like a broken record skip-skip-skipping, over and over, repeating the last thought he could get to before the Big One, because he couldn’t not think the Big One, either…

It was so fucking stupid, it was just a thought, why couldn’t he…

“Hah, yeah, now that you mention it, I guess I was always kinda wrong about this shit, wasn’t I?” Dave said, unable to stop the sardonic laughter bubbling up in his throat. “I mean, fuck, no wonder it took you so long to get, I probably gave you the wrong idea. My dumb ass was convinced he’d never try to kill me, cuz we’re family, and, well, here we fuckin’ are!”

Skip, skip, skip—

Karkat was still talking in stuttered phrases in the gaps of Dave’s own flood of words, looking almost scared, but Dave didn’t comprehned any of them, and anyway, the ranting had started, there was no stopping this shit now. “Like, what the fuck was I even thinking, right? I really thought that was gonna work, that somehow he’d just let me go if I asked, like a fucking idiot! Haha, what a fuckin’ dipshit, right?! And here I was thinking he—” Frantic laughter bubbled up, overtaking the words, not that more would’ve come, that next thought was just too big. Was he crying? Fuck, Karkat didn’t need to see any of this shit, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think

Skip, skip, skip, skip, skipskipskipskipskipskip—

It wasn’t Karkat’s fault. It really wasn’t. He might’ve set it off, but the storm had been building up for days, now, and it broke hard, sweeping Dave up in a torrent of just wordless mental screaming. He couldn’t think the next thought. He couldn’t. But the thing was damming him up, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore, and he was stuck in the middle and left to just completely melt down and dissipate into the flood.

A sound like a cicada crossed with the creakiest horror movie door ever to creak ripped through the tides, and suddenly Dave found himself tugged into a full body hug, wrapped up in four limbs with his face pressed into a thick sweater. The touch dragged him out of the flood and onto dry land, brought him back into now before he even knew what was happening. Karkat’s whole chest was vibrating with some intense cricket-cat hybrid purr, and this should’ve been so embarrassing but he was so tired and so lost and it was fucking comforting, so who the fuck cared. Who cared anymore. It was all bullshit. He could be embarrassed later.

Too soon, Karkat seemed to have the same thought, and tried to pull away. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t—fuck, I’m so sorry, this is really presumptive and I know you aren’t even into boys,” he babbled.

Dave groaned, wrapping his arms around Karkat’s chest and pulling him close. “Dude, if you try to make this about alien romance right now, I swear to fuck,” he gasped out between harsh sobs. Christ, he was going harder than Karkat did like twenty minutes earlier, what the fuck.

Karkat paused. Good. It meant his warm arms were still there. “Dave, I…I mean, this is troll romance, this is textbook moiraillegience, and I shouldn’t just be throwing myself at you because you had a moment of weakness, no matter how bad I, uh.”

Dave sniffled, wracked his brain for a moment…Karkat had explained this stuff about a million times, which one was…”That’s like…the bros quadrant, right?”

“The what.”

“The one that’s, like, platonic and shit.”

“…Yeah?” The cricket-purr started up again, cautiously.

“We fuckin’ kinda do most of that shit already, don’t we?” Like. Yeah. He wasn’t gay. That was still a thing. But Karkat was warm and solid and real and Dave was fucking exhausted and didn’t want to be alone, especially not when he felt right now like he was wrapped in safety. “Please, Karkat,” he added, because why not beg. He was already at maximum pathetic, there was no digging this hole lower, fuck it. “I really don’t wanna be alone right now, just, please don’t go.”

Karkat was quiet for a long moment, but finally, the cricket-purr went back to full volume and Karkat’s arms tightened around him.

“Okay,” Karkat said quietly. Dave let out a breath he’d barely known he’d been holding and went back to crying.

“We’re going to have to talk about this later,” Karkat murmured, which put him at about normal volume for anyone else.

“Later, then,” said Dave, and let himself finally fall the fuck asleep.