[The noise Dave makes when he flinches away from the light can best be described as the nnnNGHK of sadness. It's a pathetic noise, seated at the very crossroads of disappointment and deepest bro betrayal. Brotrayal, even. He rolls from his side right onto his belly and burrows under the cool side of his pillow, yanking both ends down over his ears so that nothing exists for him but perfect, blessed darkness.]
What the fuck.
[He's muffled between the pillow and the mattress and completely toneless with exhaustion and general Strider flavor, but it's still audible: the absolute despair of a young man who hasn't had proper shut-eye in far too long.]
I just got to sleep, bulgechomp, can't you murder me more humanely. Push me down the stairs or something like a reasonable sentient being, Jesus.
[The threat is about as empty as his promise to kick Dave, but that doesn't stop Karkat from seriously considering both as he stalks closer and gives the pillow a yank. He'll deal with his guilt over waking Dave up later; if the human had only just gotten to sleep this fucking late, the situation is even worse than he'd thought.]
Dave, this is exactly why we need to talk. Come on, you whiny shit, get up so we can get this over with.
[Get it over with, make a start, whatever. He's hoping this phrasing will convince his moronic best bro to cooperate in the interests of getting back to sleep sooner, but like hell if he isn't going to stick around for as long as it takes to air everything out.]
[With his only shelter rudely torn from his grasp, Dave can only fling his arms up protectively over his head. But it's only for a second. Without looking up, he gropes blindly for the sunglasses on his nightstand. Only once they're on does he finally peer over his shoulder at Karkat, eyebrows drawn down in confusion.]
What? What are you talking about. What did I do.
[It falls halfway short of a questioning intonation, but he's paying attention. So there's that.]
[What's this, actual cooperation? Will wonders never cease. Karkat rolls his eyes and gives in to the urge to fling the pillow at Dave's now exposed head, plopping unceremoniously down next to him seconds later. If any human boundaries get trampled in the process, he's sure not aware of them.]
This. This thing you're doing right now. Knock it the fuck off, Dave, or the opening act of this "feelings jam" will feature me achieving low earth orbit as propelled by the force of my own pants shitting fury. Your bed will never be safe to sleep in again. Do you really want that?
[He does his best to tug nonchalantly at his sleeve, but the gesture is altogether too fidgety for him to succeed. Why didn't he come up with a script before walking in here, what the hell is wrong with him.]
You're not as okay as you've been acting, are you?
[It takes Dave until the last question to realize what's going on. He's instantly awake, all warm and toasty bed feelings destroyed utterly by the wave of cold dread that slaps through him. He pushes the pillow and covers aside and rolls away, grabbing a nearby Pokéball and returning his Larvesta, who's just poking out her head from the blankets, to her humble abode.]
Oh hell no. I am not here for this horseshit, not this early in the morning. Bye.
[He stands too fast and sways for a second, his poor exhausted head not ready for the sudden shift to vertical, but he just slides his hand under his shades and over his eyes and stumbles stiffly towards the dresser, mumbling choice grievances under his breath.]
[He hadn't thought it was possible, but apparently yes, his best friend can be even more of a gigantic tool than previously demonstrated. He'd stop to make a note in his journal of Aggravating Bullshit No One Wanted to Be True But Is, but he has a total goddamn moron to wrangle, so excuse him while he gets on that.
He quickly rises and follows, hanging back just enough that he would have been able to convincingly deny hovering if it weren't for how restlessly he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.]
You're not getting out of this, dammit. I said I wouldn't let any of this sort of shit fester again and I meant it. Did you think you were fucking exempt? You don't get a pass on imploding from all your internalized freakout meltdowns just because you're the stoic coolkid, or did you think I would just stand back and let it happen? Dave?
[His voice does not crack on that last word. He also doesn't forcibly cross his arms to keep himself from touching his friend's shoulder. That would be stupid.]
[Caught. He's tense all over, taut as piano wire and practically singing with it, and maybe he would if he weren't so tired he could cry. He opens the drawer with his clothes in it, stares at the contents unseeing for a hot second, then shuts it again without taking anything, without dropping his hands back to his sides.]
I'm.
[He wants to move, to go anywhere that isn't right here, right now; but walking out on Karkat is just not going to happen. Not when he's asking like that. Dave's shoulders come up further, as if the next thing Karkat says might physically hurt him, but he turns his head towards him. Slightly. Not enough to actually look at him. Not enough to even pretend Dave's looking at him.]
All right. Look. I know I'm probably pretty fucked up, okay? I don't think anyone goes through like half a dozen meteor apocalypses just to get stabbed by murder dogs and comes out of it one hundred percent primed for a chill day in PokéJapan. But I'm not...I'm not acting like anything, okay? I just.
[He looks at the dresser again, then finally turns away from both it and Karkat, lets one hand fall. The other comes up, slips under his shades again, so he can grind the heel of his palm against his tired, aching eyes.]
There's just nothing else I can do, right? I'm handling it. Everyone wants to move on, no one's got time to slow up and take care of me.
[There's little that can erase Karkat's habitual frown, but the way Dave's behaving now sure as hell does. How had he not cornered this idiot before today, had he been too busy investigating the inside of his human navel? Which, okay, still fucking weird, but not the issue here.]
How can you even say that?!
[The question would have sounded much better delivered quietly, if it had to be said at all, but as usual, Karkat spits it out without really thinking, the pained expression he'd been wearing already supplanted by a furious glare. Stupid, stupid, if Dave doesn't shut down completely with that alone, then—then nothing. Focus, dammit, or do you want to fail at being a bro on top of everything else?
He uncrosses his arms, rakes a hand through his hair, and looks away from Dave's huddled form, pressing hard against the spaces where his horns should be.]
People would make time if you just said something! This isn't some shit you have to deal with on your own, Dave. We're all in on it, and don't think for one fucking second we're going to leave your ass to wallow in this garbage because we're too busy befriending woodland creatures and braiding each other flower crowns!
[To say nothing of how he personally had been doing none of that shit, but his own issues were different, all right? They just were.]
I told you you could talk to me! Did you think those were just empty fucking words, Dave?! Or was I just supposed to skip out after dumping all of my shit about—about Gamzee on you and call it a fucking day?!
[He's repeating himself and he knows he is, but goddammit, Dave, someone has to say something!]
Were you ever going to bring this up?! Or were you just going to wait until shit hit critical mass again, god knows we all would've fucking loved that!
[About halfway through, Dave finally turns to actually look at Karkat straight on, and his expression says stunned, his expression says lost. He looks like Karkat just brained him with a cartoon mallet and the world has yet to return to its proper tilt.
Apparently, yes. Karkat was just supposed to skip out after dumping his shit on him. Nothing else explains why Dave looks so taken aback, so poleaxed, like he can't even conceive of a universe where reciprocal concern is a thing.
He starts to open his mouth, but he flinches in the end, backs up a step.]
I didn't...I wouldn't do that. Flip out and...
[His words, already soft, trail off and die away. He knows the gist of what happened to Karkat's friends before he and Rose arrived. He knows what happened with Rose herself, with her explosive grief and the quiet self-destruction afterward, the drinking and giggling despair. How it felt like he lost her even while she was right there. How Terezi pulled away to do the same. How Gamzee must have, too.
He presses his mouth into a thin line and then swallows, studying the floor.]
It's been months, dude, I got here...in, in November. I don't know what that translates to; eleventh perigee? So it's fine, I don't. [Don't what? He hesitates, then tries again.] I've had a lot of time, I can manage myself. I don't want to...
[Dave was alone when he got here. Nobody called him out on not being totally okay until Karkat turned up. It's fine if he's sort of emotionally cracked as long as he can keep going, right?
His lungs shudder when he takes a deep breath.]
It's nice here, I don't...I don't want to fuck it up just 'cause I don't. Don't want to play a new game. Anymore.
[His eyes are squeezed tightly shut behind his shades, one hand clutching to the other behind his back, chin lowered. Almost inaudible.]
[His hands are back at his sides and clenched into fists by the time Dave finds his voice again, and it's only the fact that grabbing the idiot and shaking him wouldn't help that stops Karkat from doing it. How dare he wear that look on his face, have the fucking gall to act like everything he's heard is some earth-shattering revelation? Has Karkat been that bad of a friend before now? What?
He has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping any of this as Dave continues, but his silence doesn't last for a second as soon as it seems like the other is done talking.]
You don't have to manage it alone, Dave! How many times do I have to say it before it gets through to you?
[Too fucking many, as far as he can tell, but there would be no point to this conversation if this weren't the last. Just—how can anyone be this fucking stubborn?!
He tries a calming breath, but as frustrated as he is, he just winds up making himself feel lightheaded. Focus. Focus. This isn't over yet. Dave has to be catching on by now, right? ... Right?
Fuck, he wishes Rose were here.]
Look, I... I know what you're going through, all right? You're not the only one who—
[He breaks off, bites his tongue again and sways in place for a moment, as if he'd been preparing to take a step closer and thought better of it. This would be so much easier if he could just—but that wouldn't work and it's stupid, why is he even thinking about it?]
You aren't going to fuck it up if you just talk to me.
[Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why the fuck does he even have to say this, if Dave weren't so fucking determined not to understand—]
Dave sucks in a breath like he's wounded, bumps straight back against the wall nearest the dresser. He stays there, hands pressed against the wallpaper, and holds that breath for as long as it takes before he can trust himself to speak again. His voice comes out low and reluctant. Miserable.]
It's too nice here.
[Once he starts, it's like the words won't stop. Karkat wanted him to talk, and. Well. Here Dave is, talking.]
I got here and nobody else was here, you know? Nobody I knew. But a bunch of people came to talk to me instantaneously to help me out, and they teleported me to Cherrygrove City even though it wasn't even that cold yet, and so many people have offered to breed Pokémon for me or gave me clothes or food or...someone sent me a birthday package, you know? Even though they barely knew me at all, and a ton of people sent me Christmas presents, like...like being nice is just normal here...
[Bewilderment gives way to something rawer, something that makes his face drawn. Hurt. The recognition of futility; the pain of trying anyway.]
And I can't--I've been trying but I can't, I can't stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, I can't stop thinking about whatever awful thing's waiting for me in the shadows around the corner--and whatever it is, I'll wake up and be in a dream bubble and Lord Fuckin' English is gonna be there with his green death beam rays or whatever and I'll stare him right in his ugly, ass-murdering face and that'll be it, everything will be over and I never--
[His voice breaks. He makes a noise and covers his mouth with one hand, looks away, wraps his other arm tight around his rib cage like that'll help somehow.
It doesn't.
He slides down the wall until he can curl into his knees, arm still pulled protectively across his chest, temple pressed to the wallpaper. For the first time in over three years, Dave Strider starts to cry, quiet even without the hand clamped over his face. He's all hiccuping breaths and soft sounds, almost voiceless, until he continues.]
All I can think is, what...what was that, why did I...if it was always gonna turn out like this, if I couldn't do anything, wh...
[He has to gulp for air, swipe his fist under his eyes. His voice rises only for this:]
[A wide gulf separates acceptance and resignation, and Karkat is keenly aware of it as Dave finally begins to speak. It doesn't quite dampen his relief at making some actual fucking progress after the absolute travesty known as the conversation leading up to this point, but the knowledge is sobering enough that Karkat doesn't bother pretending to congratulate himself before turning his full attention to listening. Maybe later, once this is over... but not now.
The unending stream of words is passingly similar to what he's heard from Dave before, but that's only when he factors in their talk from his first day. For all intents and purposes beyond that, he might as well be eavesdropping on a total stranger because when the hell has Dave Strider ever sounded this vulnerable? Every pause, every break in speech is one Karkat never expected to hear, and if it weren't for how much more infinitely fucking awful the alternative would have been (he can't leave him alone to suffer like this, he can't), he wouldn't have wanted to hear it, either.
The instant Dave begins his descent to the floor, Karkat is done holding back; he's at his side and on his knees within seconds. The position is awkward, but he couldn't care less as he leans in and (slowly, carefully, giving every opportunity for escape that he can) coaxes Dave into a hug.
He doesn't shoosh him. If he did, he doesn't think he'd be able to stop. Instead, he pulls him as close as possible, gently rests their heads together, and tries saying something more appropriately human.]
[It's kneejerk to flinch on contact, to brace to be thrown, but nothing happens. Nothing happens. Dave risks looking up, and it's just Karkat, Karkat being so careful with him he doesn't even think to resist until there are words again. Such a simple It's okay shouldn't set him off so bad, shouldn't make his eyes brim over hot and awful anew, shouldn't trap that pathetic noise in his throat before he lowers his forehead to Karkat's shoulder, makes a safe space of his collarbone where nobody can see him.
(Maybe no one's ever told him that before. Not about something this big. Not about crying, either. Not about falling apart.)
Dave just stays there for a while, back shuddering as he cries, until something gradually gives way and it's not so hard to breathe without sobbing. He hasn't stopped, not yet; but it's slower.]
It was heroic.
[Even through the wet, shredded mush that's become of Dave's voice, he says it like that disgusts him, like he'd spit the word as far as he could just to get away from it.]
What the fuck, Karkat, what kind of universe--even thinks Jade's death could be just, ever, and counts mine as...
[He presses his lips together again, then shakes his head minutely, finally lifts it from Karkat's shoulder so he can wipe under his shades with the back of his hand again. Another shaky breath, stuttering on the exhale. More sniffling.]
Sorry. Sorry, your shirt...
Edited (Sorry, minor word change that I couldn't brain earlier) 2016-02-26 00:31 (UTC)
[Karkat doesn't question the flinch or the tears; instead he tightens his hold, then adjusts it so Dave can get comfortable and he can begin stroking his friend's back. No matter what his motives, it feels like an indulgence, but since it also seems to be helping (is that the same thing?), Karkat doesn't stop.
Humans don't do quadrants anyway. It doesn't count.
His hand falters when Dave speaks again, though, and while he does recover, there's a new underlying tension in his frame that's impossible to miss. He hadn't needed the extra details, not when he'd seen Jade on LOFAF himself and there was only one way left for Dave to die, but hearing it puts a lump in his squawk blister anyway. How he's managed to avoid crying himself this whole time is anyone's guess, but with this sort of despair in Dave's voice and him apologizing over Karkat's shirt like either of them should fucking care—]
Shoosh, Dave. It's just a fucking shirt. It's not like your tears stain anyway.
It is just a fucking shirt. That's not really what he's sorry about, it's just...He wants to apologize. He doesn't know what for, exactly, but he feels ashamed and exposed and terrible, still, like something cracked or warped inside him the moment he started weeping like a preschooler, and the break has set but not yet healed. Dave feels bad for dumping it on Karkat, feels bad for crumpling like tissue paper under the slightest pressure. He feels bad for how fucked up he is.
But he doesn't feel stupid. Karkat got there so fast, had words to say so immediately, that it almost doesn't even feel like he's done something wrong. That bawling all over the best friend he's had for the past three years isn't messed up. Like it's natural to expect.
Maybe it's a leader thing, recognizing the breaking points, having a plan of action. Dave doesn't know. And the hand on his back is nice.
He finally uncurls enough to put his own unpracticed arm around Karkat, to return the support in kind. It's weird, not having to worry about those nubby horns digging into his neck. His hair seems different, too, and his skin...
Poor Karkat. He didn't deserve any of this bloated horseshit.]
Me too.
[It all reminds him, suddenly, of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff #5. The bro hug bump. The memory of their JPEG-y, vacant faces and the incongruity with his and Karkat's current situation works a weak, watery half-laugh out of him. Or maybe he's still crying. Who the fuck knows, not Dave. He sniffs again and presses his sleeve against his leaking eyes.]
God, we're fucked up. Sorry. I just...I've been trying to make this shit work, being here, and it's just...I don't know. [Quieter again, but less desperately fragile, now:] I wish I could fucking sleep.
[—That laugh, sob, laugh/sob or whatever the fuck it was really isn't reassuring. The return hug is, but the two don't balance each out enough for Karkat to want to let go. Maybe if Dave could manage a real laugh or ramble on indefinitely about what he'd found so funny(?) in the first place, he'd be more confident, but this? This shit is not cutting it.
His arms constrict further when Dave brings up sleep again because what the fuck, no, they aren't done yet, but he forces himself to relax and... okay, no, he isn't moving.]
No one said you have to play the game, Dave.
[His voice is as quiet as it gets—quieter, actually, because his face is still planted firmly against his friend's shoulder. He'll lift his head in a minute.]
Don't do it just because you don't want to ruin it for others. That's not even how games work, why should anyone care if you're not into it? If it bothers them, they're selfish assholes.
[That's... assuming Dave had meant that it's the game he doesn't want to play when he'd talked about it earlier and not some other broader metaphorical "game" that fuck, fuck, fuck, he is not letting this idiot go, forget moving, moving is stupid.]
Don't make me make a fucking time pun, Dave, I swear I'll rip out my human trachea and nail it to the wall in the shape of a middle finger just so that you register my absolute fucking contempt for your existence every time you try shutting your eyes.
[The tighter squeeze is a surprise; he thought Karkat would let go now that it's clear Dave's not about to literally explode with self-pity. Grief. Whatever more emotionally competent people call this sucking-down dark hole in the pit of his chest, the thing that makes gravity three times as heavy whenever he tries to move forward. He thought they'd separate to talk it out, reestablish personal bubbles.
But with Karkat's head still tucked into his shoulder, Dave's okay to wait, because he's not gonna pry his friend off when it feels like he needs something, too. He just brings his other hand up, rubs Karkat's back once or twice. Leans into it again, lets the hug take more of his weight. This boy ain't going nowhere.]
I meant in general, numbnuts. I wish I could sleep in general.
[It's easier to talk about something more concrete, like his sleep schedule. Or complete lack thereof. There is so much sleep not happening, he's not sure the vacancy can get any more like a composite material composed of aggregate bonded together with a fluid cement which hardens over time.
Addressing the other thing would mean figuring out why he said that in the first place, and he has a sense it just came out automatically. He's not primed for any dismantling of his innermost machinery, not right now. He breathes out a shaky sigh.]
I always kind of had trouble...? But now, it's like. Every time I try, I jerk myself back to consciousness, so I'm just lying there for hours feeling like a total useless tool while Missy Elliott pretends I'm not waking her up every five minutes. And then when I do pass out, I dream--
[The words catch in his chest, and he freezes up for a second. Two. But, no. He managed to talk about this when he was thirteen, before everything, before he knew what was going to happen. He managed to get it out. He exhales again, eyes screwed tightly shut, and makes himself continue.]
I dream about dying, a lot. Or about other people. So it. Yeah, I'm not getting a lot of sleep. I thought it'd get better, but...
[Why is this so hard to admit?]
I think. I think it's just getting worse. Like the longer this goes on, the more my body just doesn't want to turn off, the more I just get worked up about it. So. Yeah. That's where I'm at with that.
[... Avant-garde. Why is he friends with this asshole. Why.
He lets out a small, incoherent grumble but doesn't interrupt, still wary he might say something that would make Dave close off again. They'd talked about all sorts of shit on the meteor, but most of it had been either inconsequential or only likely to set Karkat himself off. When it comes to heavier topics like this (even if don't think he didn't fucking notice Dave dodging the game stuff, they'll get back to that), he still doesn't know where the boundaries are.
Besides, being less upset about something than Dave is honestly sort of fucking with him. He's also weirdly okay with it for reasons, but he's not thinking about that.]
They say exercise is supposed to help.
["They" being the people in human romcoms who try to counsel lovesick protagonists. Obviously.]
Or milk. I don't know what else works for humans.
[None of which is probably new to Dave, but what the hell is he supposed to say? "You stop noticing it after the first two hundred hours?" He could share his own dreams (dream, singular, because like fuck would he go back to sleep and have others after that), but he doesn't know where to start or even if he should. ]
[Karkat's lucky Dave doesn't snort and launch sadness snot all over the back of his shirt. Instead he sniffs and makes a face that Karkat can't see.]
Oh, what? Ew. No. Gross.
[Dave Strider: will eat actual garbage, pooh-poohs anything remotely healthy for him. Congratulations on your friend, Karkat, he's a winner.]
I'll just carry on until I'm too exhausted to maintain open see portals anymore and drop unconscious, because that's obviously the strategy of an okay and rational person and has been working phenomenally for me for the past third of a year. No cow secretions necessary.
[Considering Equius, Karkat can't really hold it against him, but there's no reason to point that out. Maybe if Dave weren't still so plainly not okay, they could spend some time discussing the evils of dairy, but if this douchewagon is going to make stupid fucking jokes like that, it can wait.
He finally lifts his head and pulls away little—not enough to actually separate them, but enough that he can get a good look at him. The damn shades are in the way and probably never won't be, but it's something.]
Dave. You have to sleep. You're already a fucking wreck, someone else is going to notice eventually.
[Like, for instance, Jade. Or Penny. Or those other girls, whatever the fuck their names are, he's been avoiding them. It would be an actual brotrayal if Karkat told them that Dave wasn't sleeping, but Dave letting it slip himself? That can totally happen.]
[Dave starts to make another sour face, but You're already a fucking wreck stops him. His throat tightens and he has to swallow around it, but after a moment, he nods. Accepts it. Rubs the back of his hand over his drying eyes again, nudges his shades back into place when they threaten to fall.]
Jade probably already did.
[But, unlike some people he won't name, Karkat, she actually respects his privacy??? IMAGINE.]
Listen. I know I need to sleep, and you know I need to sleep, but the fact stands that I don't really know how to do that right now. And if I try working out like this I probably will pass the fuck out, and I don't think that's gonna help anybody, medically speaking.
[... Oh god. Does he have to look so defeated, it's. How is this not. ARGH.
Karkat forces his gaze away and, because he cannot do this anymore, peels himself off of Dave completely. No more hugging. None. He has to fucking stop, this is just embarrassing by this point. Why did he think this was a good idea?]
Are you sure about that? I mean, not the working out part, but do you think you might feel tired enough now? Usually if—you know, after this sort of thing...
[He gestures vaguely between them then drops his hand into his lap. If he has to be more explicit about any of this, it's fucking over, he just knows it is.]
[After such a long hug, Dave feels weirdly cold after Karkat lets go, so he pulls his knees up to his chest again and links his arms around them, and...
Really.
Really, Karkat.
Dave looks at him for a couple seconds, closes his eyes for two more, and then endeavors to look the most put upon.]
You. Are the one who woke me up in the first place.
Hey, fuckstain, if you hadn't been such an evasive tool about all of this and, you know, actually talked to me like I told you to, then I wouldn't have had to!
[Y e s, he is dealing with the situation masterfully. Not.
He pushes himself up creakily to his feet, holding out a hand for Dave once he's fully upright. It has less to do with actually moving than getting this worthless human out of that... really, really, really pathetic-looking pose, but he won't say that ever. Just no.]
[He stares at the hand for a moment, then tips like an egg onto his side in his curled-up position, presses his hands over his face, and muffles a very long, very frustrated groan into his hands.
Why does he have the most aggravating friends in two universes.
But okay, yes, fine, up. He lifts his hand and waves it around without looking until it smacks into Karkat's entirely by chance, and then lets Karkat help him up. It's less for actual muscle than just balance, because while Karkat is a 5'6" ball of rage, Dave is a 5'10" noodle (and growing), but he's tottery on his feet, and it helps.
Dave mumbles something into his sleeve that could be "thanks" but could also be "fuck you" and stumbles towards his bed.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
What the fuck.
[He's muffled between the pillow and the mattress and completely toneless with exhaustion and general Strider flavor, but it's still audible: the absolute despair of a young man who hasn't had proper shut-eye in far too long.]
I just got to sleep, bulgechomp, can't you murder me more humanely. Push me down the stairs or something like a reasonable sentient being, Jesus.
no subject
[The threat is about as empty as his promise to kick Dave, but that doesn't stop Karkat from seriously considering both as he stalks closer and gives the pillow a yank. He'll deal with his guilt over waking Dave up later; if the human had only just gotten to sleep this fucking late, the situation is even worse than he'd thought.]
Dave, this is exactly why we need to talk. Come on, you whiny shit, get up so we can get this over with.
[Get it over with, make a start, whatever. He's hoping this phrasing will convince his moronic best bro to cooperate in the interests of getting back to sleep sooner, but like hell if he isn't going to stick around for as long as it takes to air everything out.]
no subject
[With his only shelter rudely torn from his grasp, Dave can only fling his arms up protectively over his head. But it's only for a second. Without looking up, he gropes blindly for the sunglasses on his nightstand. Only once they're on does he finally peer over his shoulder at Karkat, eyebrows drawn down in confusion.]
What? What are you talking about. What did I do.
[It falls halfway short of a questioning intonation, but he's paying attention. So there's that.]
no subject
This. This thing you're doing right now. Knock it the fuck off, Dave, or the opening act of this "feelings jam" will feature me achieving low earth orbit as propelled by the force of my own pants shitting fury. Your bed will never be safe to sleep in again. Do you really want that?
[He does his best to tug nonchalantly at his sleeve, but the gesture is altogether too fidgety for him to succeed. Why didn't he come up with a script before walking in here, what the hell is wrong with him.]
You're not as okay as you've been acting, are you?
no subject
Oh hell no. I am not here for this horseshit, not this early in the morning. Bye.
[He stands too fast and sways for a second, his poor exhausted head not ready for the sudden shift to vertical, but he just slides his hand under his shades and over his eyes and stumbles stiffly towards the dresser, mumbling choice grievances under his breath.]
no subject
[He hadn't thought it was possible, but apparently yes, his best friend can be even more of a gigantic tool than previously demonstrated. He'd stop to make a note in his journal of Aggravating Bullshit No One Wanted to Be True But Is, but he has a total goddamn moron to wrangle, so excuse him while he gets on that.
He quickly rises and follows, hanging back just enough that he would have been able to convincingly deny hovering if it weren't for how restlessly he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.]
You're not getting out of this, dammit. I said I wouldn't let any of this sort of shit fester again and I meant it. Did you think you were fucking exempt? You don't get a pass on imploding from all your internalized freakout meltdowns just because you're the stoic coolkid, or did you think I would just stand back and let it happen? Dave?
[His voice does not crack on that last word. He also doesn't forcibly cross his arms to keep himself from touching his friend's shoulder. That would be stupid.]
Talk to me.
no subject
I'm.
[He wants to move, to go anywhere that isn't right here, right now; but walking out on Karkat is just not going to happen. Not when he's asking like that. Dave's shoulders come up further, as if the next thing Karkat says might physically hurt him, but he turns his head towards him. Slightly. Not enough to actually look at him. Not enough to even pretend Dave's looking at him.]
All right. Look. I know I'm probably pretty fucked up, okay? I don't think anyone goes through like half a dozen meteor apocalypses just to get stabbed by murder dogs and comes out of it one hundred percent primed for a chill day in PokéJapan. But I'm not...I'm not acting like anything, okay? I just.
[He looks at the dresser again, then finally turns away from both it and Karkat, lets one hand fall. The other comes up, slips under his shades again, so he can grind the heel of his palm against his tired, aching eyes.]
There's just nothing else I can do, right? I'm handling it. Everyone wants to move on, no one's got time to slow up and take care of me.
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How can you even say that?!
[The question would have sounded much better delivered quietly, if it had to be said at all, but as usual, Karkat spits it out without really thinking, the pained expression he'd been wearing already supplanted by a furious glare. Stupid, stupid, if Dave doesn't shut down completely with that alone, then—then nothing. Focus, dammit, or do you want to fail at being a bro on top of everything else?
He uncrosses his arms, rakes a hand through his hair, and looks away from Dave's huddled form, pressing hard against the spaces where his horns should be.]
People would make time if you just said something! This isn't some shit you have to deal with on your own, Dave. We're all in on it, and don't think for one fucking second we're going to leave your ass to wallow in this garbage because we're too busy befriending woodland creatures and braiding each other flower crowns!
[To say nothing of how he personally had been doing none of that shit, but his own issues were different, all right? They just were.]
I told you you could talk to me! Did you think those were just empty fucking words, Dave?! Or was I just supposed to skip out after dumping all of my shit about—about Gamzee on you and call it a fucking day?!
[He's repeating himself and he knows he is, but goddammit, Dave, someone has to say something!]
Were you ever going to bring this up?! Or were you just going to wait until shit hit critical mass again, god knows we all would've fucking loved that!
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Apparently, yes. Karkat was just supposed to skip out after dumping his shit on him. Nothing else explains why Dave looks so taken aback, so poleaxed, like he can't even conceive of a universe where reciprocal concern is a thing.
He starts to open his mouth, but he flinches in the end, backs up a step.]
I didn't...I wouldn't do that. Flip out and...
[His words, already soft, trail off and die away. He knows the gist of what happened to Karkat's friends before he and Rose arrived. He knows what happened with Rose herself, with her explosive grief and the quiet self-destruction afterward, the drinking and giggling despair. How it felt like he lost her even while she was right there. How Terezi pulled away to do the same. How Gamzee must have, too.
He presses his mouth into a thin line and then swallows, studying the floor.]
It's been months, dude, I got here...in, in November. I don't know what that translates to; eleventh perigee? So it's fine, I don't. [Don't what? He hesitates, then tries again.] I've had a lot of time, I can manage myself. I don't want to...
[Dave was alone when he got here. Nobody called him out on not being totally okay until Karkat turned up. It's fine if he's sort of emotionally cracked as long as he can keep going, right?
His lungs shudder when he takes a deep breath.]
It's nice here, I don't...I don't want to fuck it up just 'cause I don't. Don't want to play a new game. Anymore.
[His eyes are squeezed tightly shut behind his shades, one hand clutching to the other behind his back, chin lowered. Almost inaudible.]
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He has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping any of this as Dave continues, but his silence doesn't last for a second as soon as it seems like the other is done talking.]
You don't have to manage it alone, Dave! How many times do I have to say it before it gets through to you?
[Too fucking many, as far as he can tell, but there would be no point to this conversation if this weren't the last. Just—how can anyone be this fucking stubborn?!
He tries a calming breath, but as frustrated as he is, he just winds up making himself feel lightheaded. Focus. Focus. This isn't over yet. Dave has to be catching on by now, right? ... Right?
Fuck, he wishes Rose were here.]
Look, I... I know what you're going through, all right? You're not the only one who—
[He breaks off, bites his tongue again and sways in place for a moment, as if he'd been preparing to take a step closer and thought better of it. This would be so much easier if he could just—but that wouldn't work and it's stupid, why is he even thinking about it?]
You aren't going to fuck it up if you just talk to me.
[Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why the fuck does he even have to say this, if Dave weren't so fucking determined not to understand—]
I want to help.
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Dave sucks in a breath like he's wounded, bumps straight back against the wall nearest the dresser. He stays there, hands pressed against the wallpaper, and holds that breath for as long as it takes before he can trust himself to speak again. His voice comes out low and reluctant. Miserable.]
It's too nice here.
[Once he starts, it's like the words won't stop. Karkat wanted him to talk, and. Well. Here Dave is, talking.]
I got here and nobody else was here, you know? Nobody I knew. But a bunch of people came to talk to me instantaneously to help me out, and they teleported me to Cherrygrove City even though it wasn't even that cold yet, and so many people have offered to breed Pokémon for me or gave me clothes or food or...someone sent me a birthday package, you know? Even though they barely knew me at all, and a ton of people sent me Christmas presents, like...like being nice is just normal here...
[Bewilderment gives way to something rawer, something that makes his face drawn. Hurt. The recognition of futility; the pain of trying anyway.]
And I can't--I've been trying but I can't, I can't stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, I can't stop thinking about whatever awful thing's waiting for me in the shadows around the corner--and whatever it is, I'll wake up and be in a dream bubble and Lord Fuckin' English is gonna be there with his green death beam rays or whatever and I'll stare him right in his ugly, ass-murdering face and that'll be it, everything will be over and I never--
[His voice breaks. He makes a noise and covers his mouth with one hand, looks away, wraps his other arm tight around his rib cage like that'll help somehow.
It doesn't.
He slides down the wall until he can curl into his knees, arm still pulled protectively across his chest, temple pressed to the wallpaper. For the first time in over three years, Dave Strider starts to cry, quiet even without the hand clamped over his face. He's all hiccuping breaths and soft sounds, almost voiceless, until he continues.]
All I can think is, what...what was that, why did I...if it was always gonna turn out like this, if I couldn't do anything, wh...
[He has to gulp for air, swipe his fist under his eyes. His voice rises only for this:]
Why was I even there?
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The unending stream of words is passingly similar to what he's heard from Dave before, but that's only when he factors in their talk from his first day. For all intents and purposes beyond that, he might as well be eavesdropping on a total stranger because when the hell has Dave Strider ever sounded this vulnerable? Every pause, every break in speech is one Karkat never expected to hear, and if it weren't for how much more infinitely fucking awful the alternative would have been (he can't leave him alone to suffer like this, he can't), he wouldn't have wanted to hear it, either.
The instant Dave begins his descent to the floor, Karkat is done holding back; he's at his side and on his knees within seconds. The position is awkward, but he couldn't care less as he leans in and (slowly, carefully, giving every opportunity for escape that he can) coaxes Dave into a hug.
He doesn't shoosh him. If he did, he doesn't think he'd be able to stop. Instead, he pulls him as close as possible, gently rests their heads together, and tries saying something more appropriately human.]
It's okay.
[It's so far from okay.]
I'm here.
[That much, at least, is true.]
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(Maybe no one's ever told him that before. Not about something this big. Not about crying, either. Not about falling apart.)
Dave just stays there for a while, back shuddering as he cries, until something gradually gives way and it's not so hard to breathe without sobbing. He hasn't stopped, not yet; but it's slower.]
It was heroic.
[Even through the wet, shredded mush that's become of Dave's voice, he says it like that disgusts him, like he'd spit the word as far as he could just to get away from it.]
What the fuck, Karkat, what kind of universe--even thinks Jade's death could be just, ever, and counts mine as...
[He presses his lips together again, then shakes his head minutely, finally lifts it from Karkat's shoulder so he can wipe under his shades with the back of his hand again. Another shaky breath, stuttering on the exhale. More sniffling.]
Sorry. Sorry, your shirt...
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Humans don't do quadrants anyway. It doesn't count.
His hand falters when Dave speaks again, though, and while he does recover, there's a new underlying tension in his frame that's impossible to miss. He hadn't needed the extra details, not when he'd seen Jade on LOFAF himself and there was only one way left for Dave to die, but hearing it puts a lump in his squawk blister anyway. How he's managed to avoid crying himself this whole time is anyone's guess, but with this sort of despair in Dave's voice and him apologizing over Karkat's shirt like either of them should fucking care—]
Shoosh, Dave. It's just a fucking shirt. It's not like your tears stain anyway.
[Not like his used to. Not like his should.
He lets his forehead drop to Dave's shoulder.]
I'm sorry.
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It is just a fucking shirt. That's not really what he's sorry about, it's just...He wants to apologize. He doesn't know what for, exactly, but he feels ashamed and exposed and terrible, still, like something cracked or warped inside him the moment he started weeping like a preschooler, and the break has set but not yet healed. Dave feels bad for dumping it on Karkat, feels bad for crumpling like tissue paper under the slightest pressure. He feels bad for how fucked up he is.
But he doesn't feel stupid. Karkat got there so fast, had words to say so immediately, that it almost doesn't even feel like he's done something wrong. That bawling all over the best friend he's had for the past three years isn't messed up. Like it's natural to expect.
Maybe it's a leader thing, recognizing the breaking points, having a plan of action. Dave doesn't know. And the hand on his back is nice.
He finally uncurls enough to put his own unpracticed arm around Karkat, to return the support in kind. It's weird, not having to worry about those nubby horns digging into his neck. His hair seems different, too, and his skin...
Poor Karkat. He didn't deserve any of this bloated horseshit.]
Me too.
[It all reminds him, suddenly, of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff #5. The bro hug bump. The memory of their JPEG-y, vacant faces and the incongruity with his and Karkat's current situation works a weak, watery half-laugh out of him. Or maybe he's still crying. Who the fuck knows, not Dave. He sniffs again and presses his sleeve against his leaking eyes.]
God, we're fucked up. Sorry. I just...I've been trying to make this shit work, being here, and it's just...I don't know. [Quieter again, but less desperately fragile, now:] I wish I could fucking sleep.
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His arms constrict further when Dave brings up sleep again because what the fuck, no, they aren't done yet, but he forces himself to relax and... okay, no, he isn't moving.]
No one said you have to play the game, Dave.
[His voice is as quiet as it gets—quieter, actually, because his face is still planted firmly against his friend's shoulder. He'll lift his head in a minute.]
Don't do it just because you don't want to ruin it for others. That's not even how games work, why should anyone care if you're not into it? If it bothers them, they're selfish assholes.
[That's... assuming Dave had meant that it's the game he doesn't want to play when he'd talked about it earlier and not some other broader metaphorical "game" that fuck, fuck, fuck, he is not letting this idiot go, forget moving, moving is stupid.]
Don't make me make a fucking time pun, Dave, I swear I'll rip out my human trachea and nail it to the wall in the shape of a middle finger just so that you register my absolute fucking contempt for your existence every time you try shutting your eyes.
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[The tighter squeeze is a surprise; he thought Karkat would let go now that it's clear Dave's not about to literally explode with self-pity. Grief. Whatever more emotionally competent people call this sucking-down dark hole in the pit of his chest, the thing that makes gravity three times as heavy whenever he tries to move forward. He thought they'd separate to talk it out, reestablish personal bubbles.
But with Karkat's head still tucked into his shoulder, Dave's okay to wait, because he's not gonna pry his friend off when it feels like he needs something, too. He just brings his other hand up, rubs Karkat's back once or twice. Leans into it again, lets the hug take more of his weight. This boy ain't going nowhere.]
I meant in general, numbnuts. I wish I could sleep in general.
[It's easier to talk about something more concrete, like his sleep schedule. Or complete lack thereof. There is so much sleep not happening, he's not sure the vacancy can get any more like a composite material composed of aggregate bonded together with a fluid cement which hardens over time.
Addressing the other thing would mean figuring out why he said that in the first place, and he has a sense it just came out automatically. He's not primed for any dismantling of his innermost machinery, not right now. He breathes out a shaky sigh.]
I always kind of had trouble...? But now, it's like. Every time I try, I jerk myself back to consciousness, so I'm just lying there for hours feeling like a total useless tool while Missy Elliott pretends I'm not waking her up every five minutes. And then when I do pass out, I dream--
[The words catch in his chest, and he freezes up for a second. Two. But, no. He managed to talk about this when he was thirteen, before everything, before he knew what was going to happen. He managed to get it out. He exhales again, eyes screwed tightly shut, and makes himself continue.]
I dream about dying, a lot. Or about other people. So it. Yeah, I'm not getting a lot of sleep. I thought it'd get better, but...
[Why is this so hard to admit?]
I think. I think it's just getting worse. Like the longer this goes on, the more my body just doesn't want to turn off, the more I just get worked up about it. So. Yeah. That's where I'm at with that.
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He lets out a small, incoherent grumble but doesn't interrupt, still wary he might say something that would make Dave close off again. They'd talked about all sorts of shit on the meteor, but most of it had been either inconsequential or only likely to set Karkat himself off. When it comes to heavier topics like this (even if don't think he didn't fucking notice Dave dodging the game stuff, they'll get back to that), he still doesn't know where the boundaries are.
Besides, being less upset about something than Dave is honestly sort of fucking with him. He's also weirdly okay with it for reasons, but he's not thinking about that.]
They say exercise is supposed to help.
["They" being the people in human romcoms who try to counsel lovesick protagonists. Obviously.]
Or milk. I don't know what else works for humans.
[None of which is probably new to Dave, but what the hell is he supposed to say? "You stop noticing it after the first two hundred hours?" He could share his own dreams (dream, singular, because like fuck would he go back to sleep and have others after that), but he doesn't know where to start or even if he should. ]
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Oh, what? Ew. No. Gross.
[Dave Strider: will eat actual garbage, pooh-poohs anything remotely healthy for him. Congratulations on your friend, Karkat, he's a winner.]
I'll just carry on until I'm too exhausted to maintain open see portals anymore and drop unconscious, because that's obviously the strategy of an okay and rational person and has been working phenomenally for me for the past third of a year. No cow secretions necessary.
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He finally lifts his head and pulls away little—not enough to actually separate them, but enough that he can get a good look at him. The damn shades are in the way and probably never won't be, but it's something.]
Dave. You have to sleep. You're already a fucking wreck, someone else is going to notice eventually.
[Like, for instance, Jade. Or Penny. Or those other girls, whatever the fuck their names are, he's been avoiding them. It would be an actual brotrayal if Karkat told them that Dave wasn't sleeping, but Dave letting it slip himself? That can totally happen.]
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Jade probably already did.
[But, unlike some people he won't name, Karkat, she actually respects his privacy??? IMAGINE.]
Listen. I know I need to sleep, and you know I need to sleep, but the fact stands that I don't really know how to do that right now. And if I try working out like this I probably will pass the fuck out, and I don't think that's gonna help anybody, medically speaking.
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Karkat forces his gaze away and, because he cannot do this anymore, peels himself off of Dave completely. No more hugging. None. He has to fucking stop, this is just embarrassing by this point. Why did he think this was a good idea?]
Are you sure about that? I mean, not the working out part, but do you think you might feel tired enough now? Usually if—you know, after this sort of thing...
[He gestures vaguely between them then drops his hand into his lap. If he has to be more explicit about any of this, it's fucking over, he just knows it is.]
You should try again.
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Really.
Really, Karkat.
Dave looks at him for a couple seconds, closes his eyes for two more, and then endeavors to look the most put upon.]
You. Are the one who woke me up in the first place.
[THE MOST PUT UPON.]
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Hey, fuckstain, if you hadn't been such an evasive tool about all of this and, you know, actually talked to me like I told you to, then I wouldn't have had to!
[Y e s, he is dealing with the situation masterfully. Not.
He pushes himself up creakily to his feet, holding out a hand for Dave once he's fully upright. It has less to do with actually moving than getting this worthless human out of that... really, really, really pathetic-looking pose, but he won't say that ever. Just no.]
Come on, time to get up.
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Why does he have the most aggravating friends in two universes.
But okay, yes, fine, up. He lifts his hand and waves it around without looking until it smacks into Karkat's entirely by chance, and then lets Karkat help him up. It's less for actual muscle than just balance, because while Karkat is a 5'6" ball of rage, Dave is a 5'10" noodle (and growing), but he's tottery on his feet, and it helps.
Dave mumbles something into his sleeve that could be "thanks" but could also be "fuck you" and stumbles towards his bed.]
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