[Karkat doesn't answer or even look over at first. Instead, he waits another second or two before pulling out his 'Gear again and checking the most recent messages exchanged by Dirk and Dave.]
[..... how is he not fucking up as a moirail again? No, fuck, goddammit, he is not—ugh. Hahahahahahaha, this is so not the fucking time for that. Again.
[Wart just nods, eyes crinkled up sympathetically, and lifts a faintly glowing hand. The lock clicks open with a noise Dave can't hear over the sound of the still-running shower.]
[Unless Wart has some cure for the ALL-CONSUMING GUILT Karkat feels at breaking into the bathroom (by proxy?) to fuss over his moirail after he'd explicitly said he'd back the fuck off... no. He does not say this.]
No, I'm... I'll be fine.
[He tries giving the poor, beleaguered Pokémon a smile, and it comes out a grimace. Fucking typical.]
Thanks, Wart.
[He turns back to the ablutionblock door, straightens as much as he possibly can, and opens it.]
The PokéGear lies abandoned on the damp tiles where it won't get as wet, next to an utterly sodden pair of socks lying in their own puddle. That's as far as Dave got undressing, apparently. He's huddled in the middle of the bathtub, knees pulled to his chest, barefoot but fully clothed and shivering as violently as The Little Match Rustblood before her last flame goes out.
He notices Karkat through droplet-covered glasses and swallows a noise, hides his face in his knees and curls his arms up over his head, ashamed that Karkat has to see him like this.
The water's been turned to the coldest setting instead of the hottest, when he hates being cold.]
Sorry...
Edited (Don't write tags too early in the morning) 2016-05-20 15:10 (UTC)
You know what? Fuck their deposit. The next time something like this happens, he's breaking the fucking door down.
Karkat stands rooted to the spot for several seconds, his jaw slack as the full extent of what Dave had done during his latest spectacular fit of self-destruction sinks in. Shower running, clothes still on—the wall of steam he'd been expecting to hit him hasn't come, which only makes this worse, but at least registering that makes Karkat's next move clear.
He stumbles into the ablutionblock and all but falls to the floor next to the ablution trap in his haste to shut off the water and throw his arms around his moirail, completely failing to give any shits at all that he gets soaked in the process. He should have done this twenty minutes ago, why hadn't he done this twenty minutes ago, is he fucking braindead? Dave—
He buries his face against wet hair, takes a moment to try and calm his breathing, and gives up in record time before pressing a kiss to Dave's temple and resting their heads together.]
Dave. Shoosh.
[Another kiss, then a very uncoordinated attempt to pap this hopelessly pitiful moron's face. There's no real way to tell just yet if Dave has been crying, but since Karkat has resolved to treat him like he has anyway, if not better, it barely fucking matters. He just wants to know.
He makes no move to pull off the shades yet, though, instead pressing another kiss to Dave's forehead because fuck you, he doesn't need a reason.]
Shoooosh, it's okay. I'm here, it's okay.
[He's here and Dirk isn't. In fact, Dirk is never fucking coming here if Karkat can help it, but more on that later.]
Pale for you. Shoosh. Don't be sorry, just—just let me take care of you. Please? You're drenched, idiot, I—fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes. Where's Missy Elliott? Dave?
[Whoa, whoa, Karkat, holy shit, Dave's too shattered to keep up with this flurry of activity. He blinks and suddenly the water's off (he was waiting for it to turn warm), he blinks and Karkat's kissing his head like he's just washed up miraculously from a shipwreck.]
What? I...
[He's shivering so badly his teeth are chattering, and he seems to realize he still has his clothes on. That's weird. He doesn't normally do that. What was he doing, even, when...how long has he been in here?
He's not in trouble, so he slowly lets his trembling arms uncurl, gets them out of the way by wrapping them around his chest. He'd hold Karkat instead, but Dave's sopping, cold droplets of water beading at the ends of his hair and falling between them. He tries to remember where he saw Elliott last.]
N-napping...? In her Pokéball, 's...'s on the nightstand. K-K-Karkat, you're getting wet...
[He doesn't sound like he's been crying, at least. If there's any 'at least' to get out of this situation.]
[Karkat somehow fails to be reassured by the lack of overt tears. He is reassured by the fact that Dave seems to be capable of forming complete sentences, but since he's only barely managing that much, yeah, fuck, he is getting this idiot warmed up ASAP and not in the goddamn ablution trap. Just. No. Dave has lost all shower privileges and that's fucking final.]
Try and guess just how much I fucking care about getting wet right now. Go on. Guess.
[For once in his life, he doesn't mean to sound angry, but holy fuck, Dave, what do you think his priorities are right now? Just for that, he's going to hug this asshole even tighter before finally making an attempt to get his legs under him and think, vaguely, about actually standing.]
Come on. Up. I meant it about the clothes, Dave, and I can't get them off of you if you're sitting like this.
[He pulls his arms reluctantly away, too, but offers both hands just in case Dave needs help getting up. If he's been sitting in that cramped position for, what, it would have to be ten minutes if that's when he last held his PokéGear, then he probably does.]
[Nooooo. He doesn't wanna. Getting up means uncurling and losing all the body heat he's trapped, and it means abandoning this secure, defensible position, and it means stretching out and exposing all the softer places he could be hurt--
And also. Speaking of exposure?]
Why are you t-trying to get me naked...
[The words are flat enough to mimic his usual low-impact speech patterns, but there's neither casual ease nor put-on nonchalance to be found here. At best, Dave sounds faintly, genuinely puzzled, but mostly blank. It's weird. He feels blank, or somehow very far away, or something. Disconnected. Has this happened before, he can't remember.
(Yes. When Ashley was telling him about the dollhouse. Maybe other times, too. Something reminds him of LOFAF.)
But anyway, he recognizes Karkat's serious voice--no, a subtype. The herding voice, the...the firm-gentle leader voice. He must have a good reason for wanting Dave to strip down, but, yeah, he's not making the connection here. Reluctantly, he starts to uncurl, stretching one leg out and then the other, but he really doesn't want to sit up, really doesn't want to let himself go. He looks up through dripping hair for a towel, so he can at least be a little dry before he risks unfolding his arms.]
[He's moving. Thank god he's fucking moving. Too bad that's literally the only positive thing Karkat can say about the situation; Dave doesn't even seem to realize that being soaking wet is a bad thing, much less that Karkat is trying to help. Case in point—]
I'm trying to get you dry.
[Why the fuck else would he want Dave naked? Don't answer that. And he's trying to sound patient, really he is, but with how much effort it's already taking to conceal his worry, be soothing, his voice is getting lower and tighter with every new way Dave reveals how completely not fucking okay he is.
It had taken only one text-based conversation to reduce him to this. Karkat doesn't even want to know what meeting Dirk in person would do.
He follows Dave's gaze after a second or two, spots the towels, and wastes precious time internally berating himself for not thinking of that sooner before going to fetch one for him. Dave is moving sluggishly enough that he doubts he'll be able to dry himself completely, but at least he's mentally "here" enough to draw logical connections that Karkat is obviously too fucking incompetent to even consider.]
Dave? Here, this—you wanted this, right? We still need to get your clothes off, but—look, if you can do this yourself, I'll go and get you new clothes from the respiteblock, but if not, I have to stay and help. We can just take off your shirt and pants and leave your underwear, but we need to dry you off completely before we can get you warmed up. Okay?
[Towel. Towel towel towel. He takes it and notices the tactile sensation of terrycloth, fluffy-thick while rough, too, all the little, bumpy loops of thread against his fingers. Clumsy with his shaking hands, Dave unfolds it over his head, takes a moment to register the palpable difference between towel-in-hair and towel-on-skin. He rubs it jerkily across his scalp a couple times and then, more carefully, wipes and presses it against the back of his neck.
Right. He can feel that, he's here. Here-not-there. Not that there is a there, not one that he can think of. It was just...white noise, mental static. No. Here-not-nowhere.
Shit, he's freezing.]
Want new underwear, too. I-I can do that myself.
[He glances briefly at Karkat, then down again as he dries his ears, works his way towards his face. Well, thank god his modesty is intact. What would they even do without such a vital facet of his base personality at play, it's not like that's a mild inconvenience in this situation or anything.]
Y-y-you can help, with everything, but. Undies, j-just me, please. T.Y.
[A dick joke really ought to follow, or something about Dave Strider magic alone time, but he can't get the part of his brain that handles hilarious and inappropriate phrasing for human and troll anatomy alike (a very large and important mental organ--haha, mental organ, but he's not even in a headspace to appreciate that) to engage. Tragedy. Jesus, what's wrong with him.
[The shiver is all the hint Karkat needs that he should go and grab another fucking towel already, but even if Dave saying shit like "T.Y." means that he has to be feeling better, he can't bear the thought of leaving his side again. Dave has to be doing better. Please let this be better.
Sniffling not-quite-inaudibly, Karkat reaches for his moirail again, this time to assist with this whole highly fucking tedious drying business. From what he's just seen, it doesn't look like Dave has the dexterity needed to do a thorough job, and while Karkat's knowledge about these things isn't the most comprehensive, he's pretty sure that the head is one of the easiest places to lose heat from. Dave's hair is still dripping, and with the shades in the way, too...
He hesitates but eventually decides to carry on with drying all that fluffy blond hair without dislodging Dave's aviators. Maybe once he's graduated to full on nonsensical rambling, Karkat will deem it safe, but not now.]
Okay. I can do that.
[Rub, rub, rub goes the towel against Dave's head. Karkat may or may not be using the opportunity to massage his moirail's scalp and neck, just because.]
Shooooosh. Do you want to try standing up next or should we take your shirt off instead? I can get you a fresh towel, too, so you won't be cold. Whatever you think you're ready for, okay?
[Dave's hands linger uselessly for a second after Karkat takes charge of hair-drying duty, but then he lowers them into his lap with a relieved, shuddering sigh. Okay, yes, Karkat is much better at this bodily coordination shit right now than he is, and also that feels nice, that feels...the press of hands and thumbs says come back, come back, but like he doesn't have to hold onto anything when he does, like he can just chill and let someone else handle him. All right. Karkat's got this.
He nods numbly, but a flicker of a frown creases between his eyebrows, because he realizes none of those were yes or no questions.]
Shirt. Y-yeah.
[Treated like this, his hair really is coming up fluffy, like someone put a duckling through a dryer cycle. Now that the sun's coming out again,, he's starting to develop pale freckles, too, almost unnoticeable, dusted over his cheekbones and the back of his neck.
He touches his shirt idly, then looks down at it, bemused, and pulls the wet fabric slowly away from his skin.]
Was, was I in here long...just waiting t-till the water warmed up, would've been r-right out, promise...
[A soft sound by the door--Wart's placed two more towels and a change of clothes just outside before retreating.]
[Karkat falters, then abandons his task completely, his arms snaking back around Dave's shoulders instead because fuck this, fuck everything, how could he have let things reach this point? If he'd just insisted on seeing Dave sooner, or better yet not left him alone for any length of time at all, then maybe—maybe he wouldn't be like this, in this state. Or, if he was, at least he wouldn't be freezing, soaking wet, and possibly developing human hypothermia, however the fuck human hypothermia even works, Karkat doesn't know, he is the worst moirail, he's fucking useless, he should have KNOWN—
A muffled sob forces its way past the lump in his squawk blister, and hastily, he unwraps his arms from his moirail again and tugs the towel off with them, hoping to distract him. As far gone as Dave seems, who even knows if it's necessary, but either way, this is so not the fucking time to cry all over his moirail and not help.]
T-twenty minutes. [Not that he'd been staring at the clock that whole time. He'd checked the one on his PokéGear, too.] Dave, you didn't even turn on the hot water.
[His tone is gently chiding, or trying to be, but his voice is as unsteady as the hands helping Dave pull his shirt off. Fuck, he should have grabbed that second towel by now, what is wrong with him?]
Hey, can you manage? I, I think I heard Wart, so.
[Doing something helpful, probably, who knows what. Karkat would look, but his vision is kind of blurry right now for reasons. God, keep it together, Dave still needs taking care of, try not being worthless for once in your fucking life.]
[Okay, yes, he's definitely cottoning on, now. Karkat is trying not to cry, he lost track of twenty entire minutes, something is wrong with him and he should wake up. How does he wake himself back up.
Karkat asks him something. Shit, focus, how long does it take to process a question?]
Yeah, o-okay.
[It's not like he has much to really manage. Sitting on his ass in the shower is not rocket science, he can probably handle it for another two seconds. No, he has bigger fish to fry than managing whatever he's supposed to manage in here, Karkat's eyes are wet and his voice is all funny.]
Karkat. [He's still shivering and also half-naked now, but he tries to steady his voice out anyway, firm it up.] Karkat, I'm okay. It's j-just water.
[He's unsteady as he rises to go and see whatever Wart was up to, but after pausing a moment with his back to Dave and and his glance nuggets on the floor, he finds it within himself to walk... sort of in a straight line to the pile left behind. Those are... more towels, right? And—
He wipes furiously at his eyes, then rolls up his sleeves. There's not quite enough water on him to ruin Wart's work, but like fuck is he taking any chances when he's already screwed up everything else.]
I know. It's just water.
[Ha. Hahaha. Oh, god, he can't start laughing now, this is the bad laughter, the kind that'll only make the tears worse. He can't scare Dave. He doesn't want to.
Karkat lingers near the doorway for a second to try and calm himself, then turns and heads back. His face has already crumpled and he knows it has, there's barely anything holding him together now, but he has to get these fucking towels to Dave and put the clothes somewhere they'll stay dry until Dave can change into them and—]
It's—just water. J-just water and, haha, twenty fucking minutes of basically drowning yourself. Yeah, that's normal! That's perfectly fucking healthy, I always recommend sitting in the ablution trap while it spews frigid piss water at you when you're having a fucking breakdown! Isn't that what you're supposed to do?!
[He barely remembers where he wound up dropping the clothes, only that they're safely out of the way, and he's still clutching the towels way too tightly to himself as collapses next to Dave again but fuck it, whatever, it isn't hard to unfold one and drape it around his moirail, keep him warm, keep him safe, like moirails are supposed to do.
He's supposed to keep Dave safe. Dave is a danger to himself, Dave isn't safe, and where the fuck was Karkat when he was hurting? Dave isn't supposed to get hurt, goddammit, this should never have fucking happened!]
[Ahhh, shit damn, he recognizes this. His hands come up automatically to hold the towel, but he's hardly aware of it. It's Karkat he's watching, Karkat who needs him to jury-rig some kind of makeshift normalcy before everyone here loses all their shit at once.]
I'm okay.
[He remembers how to move his hand. Reaches for Karkat's, takes it in his trembling fingers, moves it up so he can press his cheek into it, the warmth of his palm. His gaze flicks back up to Karkat's face, even if it's hard to see from behind his wet glasses.]
I'm stupid, but I'm okay. Y-you can't drown in the shower.
[Probably? Probably. Well, maybe if someone tried really hard. Also, an adult human would have to be submerged in ice water for thirty minutes or more to develop even mild hypothermia, so Dave's probably fine on that count, too.
He starts to lift his other hand, but it hesitates midway between them. Dave frowns, slightly, lips parted as if he's about to say something, and then he tips his head down, brings his hand up to his own face.
He takes his glasses off himself because he can't freaking see through them, fumbles them with a little clatter into the tub, leaves them there. No, he's got to focus on Karkat, on taking his face in both hands and guiding him carefully to Dave's shoulder, to wrapping damp arms around him because the last thing he ever wants is for Karkat to be upset and alone.]
[Crying. Yes, right, of course, crying, because that's the important thing Dave should be taking away from this, some pointless fucking observation about Karkat's emotional state that's absolutely nothing anyone with a pair of working ganderbulbs could have worked out on their own. This is so completely fucking noteworthy that it needs to be recorded in the annals of shut the fuck up and cater to your own goddamn needs, you insipid grubfucking moron. What's so bad about crying?? IT'S JUST WATER, ISN'T IT?
Karkat convulses with another silent not-laugh before his body folds around Dave's completely, a sharp gasp punctuating the moment he remembers how to breathe without howling. He is not okay. Dave's not okay, neither of them are okay, he's not buying any of these fermented behemoth leavings until he sees some actual fucking evidence of anyone being at all okay, ever, which will probably have to wait until he's feeling less lightheaded and wow when had that started happening? He is breathing, right?
He clutches at Dave's back and draws in another desperate lungful of air, his squeal pipette fighting him every step of the way. It shouldn't be this hard, breathing is easy, he does it literally every day! Breathe!]
D-Dave.
[Oh, yes, real fucking helpful. About as helpful as usual, which is to say not at all and he's probably making things worse. What else is fucking new!
He plants his face in Dave's neck and shudders, his pulse pounding in his auricular sponge clots. He's supposed to be helping his moirail dry up, change clothes, get the fuck into bed, but he can't. Fucking. Think. He's absurdly grateful for the towel suddenly; his nails are digging into it hard enough that he probably would have drawn blood by now, or at least it fucking feels like it.]
[Through what's left of his battered detachment, Dave starts to feel: His throat's a mess, his heart's wringing itself into knots; he kind of has to pee. He rubs Karkat's back like he's got to generate enough warmth to start a fire, to keep them both safe from the night. He's rocking them without even realizing when he started, he lays his head alongside Karkat's and breathes rickety breaths.]
I'm s-sorry for scaring you. I--I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry, I just started remembering--things, and. And I wanted to make it stop. For a little bit.
[His voice goes high and frayed at the last word, like he's running out of air, and he swallows, tries to take a deep breath. It catches halfway through, making his shoulders jump. He holds Karkat more tightly.]
D-didn't want to feel...like that. Like the things I was f-feeling.
[Another cut-off, rattletrap breath, then another. Dave's back-and-forth motion has slowed almost to nothing, and the pattern of his shakes has changed--shivering stillness punctuated by little jerks, low noises stifled deep in his throat. One of them escapes, a soft, too-young sob, and he shudders, starts rocking Karkat again, more desperately than ever.]
Sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again. You're okay, we'll be okay. [Sniff. He curls tighter around Karkat, presses his nose into that thick hair.] Karkat, I'm sorry, i-it's my fault, I'm such a fuck-up, I don't want to do that to you...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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i dont want to watch a movie right now
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YEAH. OK.
SORRY.
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[...Yeah, no he won't. Don't leave him in there too long, Katkat, or you will have only a moiraisin.]
action?
It's just a knock. He won't rush him.]
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Dave's powerful level 100 Psychic starter.
Wart unfolds from where he was meditating against the wall and comes over to share a concerned look with Karkat.]
I can open it.
action
... Fucking idiot didn't even make it private.
[Another second, two, then his shoulders sag.]
Should we?
action
...Yes. Yes, I think we should.
action
He lowers his PokéGear and rubs at his eyes.]
Yeah, I... fuck. Can you? Please.
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Good luck. ...Do you think you'll need more help?
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No, I'm... I'll be fine.
[He tries giving the poor, beleaguered Pokémon a smile, and it comes out a grimace. Fucking typical.]
Thanks, Wart.
[He turns back to the ablutionblock door, straightens as much as he possibly can, and opens it.]
Dave?
action
The PokéGear lies abandoned on the damp tiles where it won't get as wet, next to an utterly sodden pair of socks lying in their own puddle. That's as far as Dave got undressing, apparently. He's huddled in the middle of the bathtub, knees pulled to his chest, barefoot but fully clothed and shivering as violently as The Little Match Rustblood before her last flame goes out.
He notices Karkat through droplet-covered glasses and swallows a noise, hides his face in his knees and curls his arms up over his head, ashamed that Karkat has to see him like this.
The water's been turned to the coldest setting instead of the hottest, when he hates being cold.]
Sorry...
action
You know what? Fuck their deposit. The next time something like this happens, he's breaking the fucking door down.
Karkat stands rooted to the spot for several seconds, his jaw slack as the full extent of what Dave had done during his latest spectacular fit of self-destruction sinks in. Shower running, clothes still on—the wall of steam he'd been expecting to hit him hasn't come, which only makes this worse, but at least registering that makes Karkat's next move clear.
He stumbles into the ablutionblock and all but falls to the floor next to the ablution trap in his haste to shut off the water and throw his arms around his moirail, completely failing to give any shits at all that he gets soaked in the process. He should have done this twenty minutes ago, why hadn't he done this twenty minutes ago, is he fucking braindead? Dave—
He buries his face against wet hair, takes a moment to try and calm his breathing, and gives up in record time before pressing a kiss to Dave's temple and resting their heads together.]
Dave. Shoosh.
[Another kiss, then a very uncoordinated attempt to pap this hopelessly pitiful moron's face. There's no real way to tell just yet if Dave has been crying, but since Karkat has resolved to treat him like he has anyway, if not better, it barely fucking matters. He just wants to know.
He makes no move to pull off the shades yet, though, instead pressing another kiss to Dave's forehead because fuck you, he doesn't need a reason.]
Shoooosh, it's okay. I'm here, it's okay.
[He's here and Dirk isn't. In fact, Dirk is never fucking coming here if Karkat can help it, but more on that later.]
Pale for you. Shoosh. Don't be sorry, just—just let me take care of you. Please? You're drenched, idiot, I—fuck, we need to get you out of these clothes. Where's Missy Elliott? Dave?
action
What? I...
[He's shivering so badly his teeth are chattering, and he seems to realize he still has his clothes on. That's weird. He doesn't normally do that. What was he doing, even, when...how long has he been in here?
He's not in trouble, so he slowly lets his trembling arms uncurl, gets them out of the way by wrapping them around his chest. He'd hold Karkat instead, but Dave's sopping, cold droplets of water beading at the ends of his hair and falling between them. He tries to remember where he saw Elliott last.]
N-napping...? In her Pokéball, 's...'s on the nightstand. K-K-Karkat, you're getting wet...
[He doesn't sound like he's been crying, at least. If there's any 'at least' to get out of this situation.]
action
Try and guess just how much I fucking care about getting wet right now. Go on. Guess.
[For once in his life, he doesn't mean to sound angry, but holy fuck, Dave, what do you think his priorities are right now? Just for that, he's going to hug this asshole even tighter before finally making an attempt to get his legs under him and think, vaguely, about actually standing.]
Come on. Up. I meant it about the clothes, Dave, and I can't get them off of you if you're sitting like this.
[He pulls his arms reluctantly away, too, but offers both hands just in case Dave needs help getting up. If he's been sitting in that cramped position for, what, it would have to be ten minutes if that's when he last held his PokéGear, then he probably does.]
action
And also. Speaking of exposure?]
Why are you t-trying to get me naked...
[The words are flat enough to mimic his usual low-impact speech patterns, but there's neither casual ease nor put-on nonchalance to be found here. At best, Dave sounds faintly, genuinely puzzled, but mostly blank. It's weird. He feels blank, or somehow very far away, or something. Disconnected. Has this happened before, he can't remember.
(Yes. When Ashley was telling him about the dollhouse. Maybe other times, too. Something reminds him of LOFAF.)
But anyway, he recognizes Karkat's serious voice--no, a subtype. The herding voice, the...the firm-gentle leader voice. He must have a good reason for wanting Dave to strip down, but, yeah, he's not making the connection here. Reluctantly, he starts to uncurl, stretching one leg out and then the other, but he really doesn't want to sit up, really doesn't want to let himself go. He looks up through dripping hair for a towel, so he can at least be a little dry before he risks unfolding his arms.]
action
I'm trying to get you dry.
[Why the fuck else would he want Dave naked? Don't answer that. And he's trying to sound patient, really he is, but with how much effort it's already taking to conceal his worry, be soothing, his voice is getting lower and tighter with every new way Dave reveals how completely not fucking okay he is.
It had taken only one text-based conversation to reduce him to this. Karkat doesn't even want to know what meeting Dirk in person would do.
He follows Dave's gaze after a second or two, spots the towels, and wastes precious time internally berating himself for not thinking of that sooner before going to fetch one for him. Dave is moving sluggishly enough that he doubts he'll be able to dry himself completely, but at least he's mentally "here" enough to draw logical connections that Karkat is obviously too fucking incompetent to even consider.]
Dave? Here, this—you wanted this, right? We still need to get your clothes off, but—look, if you can do this yourself, I'll go and get you new clothes from the respiteblock, but if not, I have to stay and help. We can just take off your shirt and pants and leave your underwear, but we need to dry you off completely before we can get you warmed up. Okay?
action
Right. He can feel that, he's here. Here-not-there. Not that there is a there, not one that he can think of. It was just...white noise, mental static. No. Here-not-nowhere.
Shit, he's freezing.]
Want new underwear, too. I-I can do that myself.
[He glances briefly at Karkat, then down again as he dries his ears, works his way towards his face. Well, thank god his modesty is intact. What would they even do without such a vital facet of his base personality at play, it's not like that's a mild inconvenience in this situation or anything.]
Y-y-you can help, with everything, but. Undies, j-just me, please. T.Y.
[A dick joke really ought to follow, or something about Dave Strider magic alone time, but he can't get the part of his brain that handles hilarious and inappropriate phrasing for human and troll anatomy alike (a very large and important mental organ--haha, mental organ, but he's not even in a headspace to appreciate that) to engage. Tragedy. Jesus, what's wrong with him.
He shivers.]
action
Sniffling not-quite-inaudibly, Karkat reaches for his moirail again, this time to assist with this whole highly fucking tedious drying business. From what he's just seen, it doesn't look like Dave has the dexterity needed to do a thorough job, and while Karkat's knowledge about these things isn't the most comprehensive, he's pretty sure that the head is one of the easiest places to lose heat from. Dave's hair is still dripping, and with the shades in the way, too...
He hesitates but eventually decides to carry on with drying all that fluffy blond hair without dislodging Dave's aviators. Maybe once he's graduated to full on nonsensical rambling, Karkat will deem it safe, but not now.]
Okay. I can do that.
[Rub, rub, rub goes the towel against Dave's head. Karkat may or may not be using the opportunity to massage his moirail's scalp and neck, just because.]
Shooooosh. Do you want to try standing up next or should we take your shirt off instead? I can get you a fresh towel, too, so you won't be cold. Whatever you think you're ready for, okay?
action
He nods numbly, but a flicker of a frown creases between his eyebrows, because he realizes none of those were yes or no questions.]
Shirt. Y-yeah.
[Treated like this, his hair really is coming up fluffy, like someone put a duckling through a dryer cycle. Now that the sun's coming out again,, he's starting to develop pale freckles, too, almost unnoticeable, dusted over his cheekbones and the back of his neck.
He touches his shirt idly, then looks down at it, bemused, and pulls the wet fabric slowly away from his skin.]
Was, was I in here long...just waiting t-till the water warmed up, would've been r-right out, promise...
[A soft sound by the door--Wart's placed two more towels and a change of clothes just outside before retreating.]
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A muffled sob forces its way past the lump in his squawk blister, and hastily, he unwraps his arms from his moirail again and tugs the towel off with them, hoping to distract him. As far gone as Dave seems, who even knows if it's necessary, but either way, this is so not the fucking time to cry all over his moirail and not help.]
T-twenty minutes. [Not that he'd been staring at the clock that whole time. He'd checked the one on his PokéGear, too.] Dave, you didn't even turn on the hot water.
[His tone is gently chiding, or trying to be, but his voice is as unsteady as the hands helping Dave pull his shirt off. Fuck, he should have grabbed that second towel by now, what is wrong with him?]
Hey, can you manage? I, I think I heard Wart, so.
[Doing something helpful, probably, who knows what. Karkat would look, but his vision is kind of blurry right now for reasons. God, keep it together, Dave still needs taking care of, try not being worthless for once in your fucking life.]
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Twenty...
[Okay, yes, he's definitely cottoning on, now. Karkat is trying not to cry, he lost track of twenty entire minutes, something is wrong with him and he should wake up. How does he wake himself back up.
Karkat asks him something. Shit, focus, how long does it take to process a question?]
Yeah, o-okay.
[It's not like he has much to really manage. Sitting on his ass in the shower is not rocket science, he can probably handle it for another two seconds. No, he has bigger fish to fry than managing whatever he's supposed to manage in here, Karkat's eyes are wet and his voice is all funny.]
Karkat. [He's still shivering and also half-naked now, but he tries to steady his voice out anyway, firm it up.] Karkat, I'm okay. It's j-just water.
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He wipes furiously at his eyes, then rolls up his sleeves. There's not quite enough water on him to ruin Wart's work, but like fuck is he taking any chances when he's already screwed up everything else.]
I know. It's just water.
[Ha. Hahaha. Oh, god, he can't start laughing now, this is the bad laughter, the kind that'll only make the tears worse. He can't scare Dave. He doesn't want to.
Karkat lingers near the doorway for a second to try and calm himself, then turns and heads back. His face has already crumpled and he knows it has, there's barely anything holding him together now, but he has to get these fucking towels to Dave and put the clothes somewhere they'll stay dry until Dave can change into them and—]
It's—just water. J-just water and, haha, twenty fucking minutes of basically drowning yourself. Yeah, that's normal! That's perfectly fucking healthy, I always recommend sitting in the ablution trap while it spews frigid piss water at you when you're having a fucking breakdown! Isn't that what you're supposed to do?!
[He barely remembers where he wound up dropping the clothes, only that they're safely out of the way, and he's still clutching the towels way too tightly to himself as collapses next to Dave again but fuck it, whatever, it isn't hard to unfold one and drape it around his moirail, keep him warm, keep him safe, like moirails are supposed to do.
He's supposed to keep Dave safe. Dave is a danger to himself, Dave isn't safe, and where the fuck was Karkat when he was hurting? Dave isn't supposed to get hurt, goddammit, this should never have fucking happened!]
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I'm okay.
[He remembers how to move his hand. Reaches for Karkat's, takes it in his trembling fingers, moves it up so he can press his cheek into it, the warmth of his palm. His gaze flicks back up to Karkat's face, even if it's hard to see from behind his wet glasses.]
I'm stupid, but I'm okay. Y-you can't drown in the shower.
[Probably? Probably. Well, maybe if someone tried really hard. Also, an adult human would have to be submerged in ice water for thirty minutes or more to develop even mild hypothermia, so Dave's probably fine on that count, too.
He starts to lift his other hand, but it hesitates midway between them. Dave frowns, slightly, lips parted as if he's about to say something, and then he tips his head down, brings his hand up to his own face.
He takes his glasses off himself because he can't freaking see through them, fumbles them with a little clatter into the tub, leaves them there. No, he's got to focus on Karkat, on taking his face in both hands and guiding him carefully to Dave's shoulder, to wrapping damp arms around him because the last thing he ever wants is for Karkat to be upset and alone.]
Karkat, you're crying...
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Karkat convulses with another silent not-laugh before his body folds around Dave's completely, a sharp gasp punctuating the moment he remembers how to breathe without howling. He is not okay. Dave's not okay, neither of them are okay, he's not buying any of these fermented behemoth leavings until he sees some actual fucking evidence of anyone being at all okay, ever, which will probably have to wait until he's feeling less lightheaded and wow when had that started happening? He is breathing, right?
He clutches at Dave's back and draws in another desperate lungful of air, his squeal pipette fighting him every step of the way. It shouldn't be this hard, breathing is easy, he does it literally every day! Breathe!]
D-Dave.
[Oh, yes, real fucking helpful. About as helpful as usual, which is to say not at all and he's probably making things worse. What else is fucking new!
He plants his face in Dave's neck and shudders, his pulse pounding in his auricular sponge clots. He's supposed to be helping his moirail dry up, change clothes, get the fuck into bed, but he can't. Fucking. Think. He's absurdly grateful for the towel suddenly; his nails are digging into it hard enough that he probably would have drawn blood by now, or at least it fucking feels like it.]
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[Through what's left of his battered detachment, Dave starts to feel: His throat's a mess, his heart's wringing itself into knots; he kind of has to pee. He rubs Karkat's back like he's got to generate enough warmth to start a fire, to keep them both safe from the night. He's rocking them without even realizing when he started, he lays his head alongside Karkat's and breathes rickety breaths.]
I'm s-sorry for scaring you. I--I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry, I just started remembering--things, and. And I wanted to make it stop. For a little bit.
[His voice goes high and frayed at the last word, like he's running out of air, and he swallows, tries to take a deep breath. It catches halfway through, making his shoulders jump. He holds Karkat more tightly.]
D-didn't want to feel...like that. Like the things I was f-feeling.
[Another cut-off, rattletrap breath, then another. Dave's back-and-forth motion has slowed almost to nothing, and the pattern of his shakes has changed--shivering stillness punctuated by little jerks, low noises stifled deep in his throat. One of them escapes, a soft, too-young sob, and he shudders, starts rocking Karkat again, more desperately than ever.]
Sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again. You're okay, we'll be okay. [Sniff. He curls tighter around Karkat, presses his nose into that thick hair.] Karkat, I'm sorry, i-it's my fault, I'm such a fuck-up, I don't want to do that to you...
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