Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is JANE CROCKER, and you are torn between being shocked, horrified, and upset. Standing outside your door is a group of dirty children who look like they could use a good bath and a couple hundred hugs. As if this wasn’t bad enough, it’s made even worse by the fact that you know exactly who they are, even if you’ve never seen them before. You’re not sure what you were expecting when you invited over the players from what you had been told was the previous game, but you weren’t prepared for more than half of them to be aliens (good gracious, real aliens), or for one of them to actually be missing one of their eyes, and most of all you weren’t prepared for them all to be children.

When you had learnt that some of them would be the guardians of you and your friends, you had - wrongly you now know - assumed that the people you were meeting would be adults, or at the very least older teenagers. But they are not. The humans still have baby fat on their cheeks for Pete’s sake (the aliens on the other hand all appear a bit on the too-skinny side, but you’re not sure if that’s normal for them or not)!

They can’t be more than three or four years younger than you, which you know isn’t much, but they all look so very young and somehow it just seems wrong that they’re alone without anyone older to help them. You remember that before they had insisted that they need to help you, but now you’re wondering how they even planned to do that when you can clearly see that they’re stretched too thin. What’s worse is that they all have this haunted look to them, like they’ve been fighting a war rather than just playing a silly game. It breaks your heart a little just to look at them, and suddenly all you want to do is bring them in, wash them up, feed them, and make sure they have a comfortable night.

Neither you nor they say anything or move as you examine one another. Soon however, the manners that have been drilled into you kick back to life and you realize what a horrible host you’re being, what with not letting them in and staring at them impolitely. How rude they must think you are!

“Hi,” You say, and your voice is a bit more breathy than you had intended it to be, but that’s fine because you’re not really sure how delicately you’re supposed to treat these kids, “Please come in.”

You step out of the doorway, and they hesitate before the tall gangly boy in blue (who you’re sure has to be your poppop with those looks) takes the initiative and enters, giving you a wide smile that’s a bit strained at the edges as he does. The rest follow soon after, with the aliens hanging back for a moment before following the one with the horizontal 69 on their (his?) shirt in.

Once they’re all in, you shut the door and move to where they’ve situated themselves in an awkward circle in the middle of the living room. Your step falters when you get closer and notice that the colorful fluids on their garments don’t have the right consistency for dried paint, but you manage to hold in your shocked gasp and don’t dawdle for long before you realize what you need to do and change direction. Their eyes track you as you stride past them and head into the kitchen where you retrieve a first aid kit from under the sink and continue watching you even when you start heading upstairs with a quick, “Follow me, please.”

From the corner of your eye you see them exchange looks, but once again they follow the gangly human’s lead when he starts up the stairs after you. Your trip is a short one as you make an immediate beeline into your father’s bedroom and begin shifting through his closet and dresser without any preamble. It feels a little strange to be digging through his things, but you don’t have enough clothes for all of them and you’re sure he won’t mind if he ever finds out.

The children give you a few strange looks as they shuffle into the room and find you throwing anything of your father’s that’s both comfortable and seems like it may fit them onto his bed. This mostly consists of sweaters and t-shirts though, since even with a belt you’re sure his pants are too big to even be feasible on them, and as soon as you’re done, you turn back to them and say, “I’ll be back in a moment, stay here please,” before heading to your own room. You return a few moments later with an armful of clothes and dump them onto your father’s bed with the rest of the pile.

Satisfied with your selections and the amount of variety in the clothes, you nod to yourself before taking a deep inhale and turning around. Your breath leaves you in a rush when you find the children still staring at you as if you’re some exotic creature they’re not sure is dangerous or not. You find their attention to be a little unnerving and fiddle with a few more things like making sure the first aid kit is fully stocked and that there are enough towels, but all too soon there’s nothing left to do and you have to address them.

“Okay,” and you’re feeling a little nervous now that you’re not bustling around, because you’re not really sure what you’re doing, but you plow on anyway, “Well, for anyone who doesn’t know, my name is Jane Crocker -- although I probably should have introduced myself at the door, come to think of it, but oh well I suppose.

“Anyway, you’re all free to make yourselves at home and you may use whatever facilities you need. Over here is some clothing that you may borrow if you would like to wash your own and on the desk there is a first aid kit in case anyone needs it. The door across the hall is the bathroom and next to it is where the towels are kept in case anyone would like to take a shower.”

Here, you pause, trying to remember if you’ve forgotten anything, and sure enough you remember that you had been wanting to get some food into these kids, “Um, oh yes! I am just about to start making dinner as well, so if you have any allergies please tell me now.”

They blink at you owlishly in stunned silence before the younger version of your poppop speaks up. “Um,” he starts, looking a little baffled, “I’m, ah, allergic to peanuts?” He poses it like a question, so you’re not sure if he’s sincere about this or not, but you take it to heart and mentally cross out anything that would require peanuts. Skilled prankstress and notorious skeptic you may be, but allergies are never a joking matter.

“Wonderful! Anyone else? No? Any comments, questions, or concerns?” You ask, with just the slightest bit of your cheerfulness forced. Your smile dwindles a little when they all just continue to gape at you, and after a long moment you inelegantly add, “Well, um, alrighty then. Well, I guess if you think of something later on, feel free to come talk to me and… um… I’ll be heading back to the kitchen then, and I suppose you all can work out what you want to do by yourselves! Ta ta for now, then.”

With that you sweep past them and out of the room, cringing just a tad as you make your way back to your kitchen. That could have gone better, you’re certain. The problem is that you don’t know how much help they want, need or are willing to take and thus you are unsure how to handle them. You’ve never really had to take care of anyone or anything else before - well, except for reprimanding your friends over the internet whenever they do something that seems likely to be dangerous or debilitating in some way, but that doesn’t really count you’re sure.

You try to think about what your father would do in this situation, but all that you can see him doing is giving each of them a big hug before shoving cake into their faces. The thought is incredibly silly and makes you giggle a little, but it’s not exactly very helpful. Sighing heavily, you suppose the best thing to do is just make sure they have options available to them and let them come to you if they want to, even if you rather doubt that they’ll want to interact with you any more than strictly necessary.

Your return to the kitchen calms you to a degree (although it feels kind of lonely without your father there), but your nerves have still left you feeling a mite frazzled, so you immediately set to work thinking of what you should make. While baking is what you’re best at, you’re moderately well versed in other areas of cooking too, having dabbled in quite a few of them with your father whenever he found something new to try for dinner. It’s not like the two of you could live off of baked goods after all, although you may or may not have tried to at one point in time.

Mentally going through what foodstuffs you have, you decide to do a small mixture of dishes, since you don’t know what kinds of foods your guests - especially the extraterrestrial kind - can eat. A nice salad for any vegetarians and to throw in a bit of greens sounds good, along with a light chicken noodle soup and rice for any sensitive stomachs. You elect to add some pork chops as well, since you think the aliens might be strictly carnivores with teeth like those and figure a little extra meat never hurt anyone even if they aren’t. You’ll start the soup first, since it will take the longest to prepare by far, and make the salad last so it doesn’t have to sit long.

Getting the chicken set up is easy enough and doesn’t take much time, but you don’t want to start anything else for dinner too soon so before you know it you’re left with nothing to do and a long time until you will. Cooking, for you, is a relaxing hobby even though it can sometimes require hard work, but while you enjoy it immensely you often find that the lull in between can be quite dull. As such, you usually end up doing a few side projects while you wait for, well, whatever you happen to be waiting for - the chicken in this case. This time, your boredom has led you to try out the milk and honey loaf recipe your father found the other day, which you had both delighted over even if it was not your usual cup of tea, so to speak.

You take your time mixing the ingredients and taking notes on how you think the recipe could be improved both as you work and while it bakes in the oven. These ideas go into a small notebook, which is one of several that you like to brag are all full of potential recipes that you and/or your dad have come up with, but for the most part are just the originals with some enhancements. It’s more a passion of yours than your father’s and usually you take it quite seriously, but now you’re doing it more as a way to take up time than to really find any way to make a smoother batter. It does this job wonderfully however and soon your watch is letting you know that it’s time to check on the bread again.

The loaf is nicely browned, and you’re just getting the bread out of the oven when your ears catch a strange, snuffling sort of sound behind you. Curious, you turn and find that it was one of the little aliens making the noise. You can tell by the bags under his eyes and rounded horns that it’s the one who had led the others into the house, even though a change of clothes and apparent shower have made him look a bit more like a drowned rat than he had before. He looks rather ridiculous in your dad’s University of Washington sweatshirt and your cupcake pajama pants, both because they clash terribly and because he’s practically swimming in them, and frankly you’re a little hard pressed to take him seriously when he bares his teeth at you for staring. You smile at the silly scene he makes, but stop rubbernecking and turn back to your work anyway.

“Hello,” you say to your guest as you set the pan onto one of the cooling trays on the counter, “Is there something you need, deary?”

The endearment slips out on accident, perhaps as a result of talking so often to the kindly uraniumUmbra, who is the only other alien you’ve ever spoken to (and you’re still just the tiniest bit doubtful that she actually is, even though you’ve clearly seen that there are aliens), but you’re not sure he really understands anyway because he responds with, “Karkat. Name iss Karkat.”

“Um,” You blink at the strange pronunciation, turning once again to face him, “okay then, Krrktt—”

“No sstupid!” He yells, starling you, before proceeding to enunciate every sound in his name with deliberate care, “Iss Karkat! K-harr-k-hah-t!”

“Like ‘car’ and ‘cat’?” And you fail to hide the incredulity in your voice, but he either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice because he’s nodding his head vigorously.

“Yess,” he says, drawing out the s and making it sound more like ‘yas’ then ‘yes’, “But with kay, not ssee.”

You’re not really sure how to reply to that, especially when he emphasizes his words with an indignant huff, his body hunched defensively even as he crosses his arms in apparent agitation. His entire manner throws you off, mostly because you’re not sure what you did to make him in such a bad mood, but also in part because as the heiress to the Crocker Empire not many people have spoken to you is such belligerent tones. He certainly isn’t at all like Umbra either, which may be the reason as to why all you can think of to say is, “Um, okay then, I’ll… be sure to remember that?”

He doesn’t do anything more than give you a short, sharp grunt, so after a moment of silence you turn back around, feeling distinctly befuddled. With the way they had all been acting before, you had sort of assumed that they would all be very withdrawn and soft spoken, but again your predictions seem to be blown out of the water. That seems to be happening a lot actually, like with Rox— actually, no, now is not the time to be start thinking about that.

Turning your attention back to your bread, you find that there’s not much to do with it anymore after you make sure that the inside of it is fully cooked, seeing as the recipe is complete. Taking a small taste of it though, you do think that a bit of something else over the top of it could help liven it up a tad. Frosting of any kind is too sweet to even think about putting on such a mild bread, but some Agave nectar (your go-to honey substitute, since you just really don’t like the taste of honey) would be fitting you decide.

A soft click-clacking of nails on the tile alerts you to the fact that your guest is approaching, but you don’t really pay it any mind as you lightly drizzle the nectar onto the loaf. Well, until you’re tackled into the counter and the bottle of Agave is nearly yanked from your hands that is. You’re shocked still for a moment as grey fingers try to pry yours open, but you when you recover you don’t even think about it before your elbow is slamming back into the body behind you.

Karkat makes an “oof” sound and backs off enough that you can whip around and snarl, “What was that for?”

Your answer comes in the form of two angry, spitting hissing noises and bared teeth before he grinds out what sounds like, “I want” and lunges for the bottle in your hands again. There’s no time to think, and maybe it’s a result of being taller than most people you know, but all you do is take an instinctive step back and jerk your hand up so the bottle is high above your head. He ends up barreling into your stomach - and ow those horns actually kind of hurt! – which sends you both stumbling back into the counter.

You glare down at him as he stares up at you with those freaky yellow eyes that look too big for his head, and he appears to be a little confused until he follows the length of your arm up and sees the bottle dangling above him. He lets out an agitated chittering noise and jumps for it, but he’s tiny compared to you and doesn’t come anywhere close to it when you stand up straight again.

When he starts trying to claw at your arm you decide you’ve had enough. “Would you stop it?” you demand, and wonder of wonders it actually works somehow. Karkat freezes, his eyes getting even bigger when he cautiously looks at your face and realizes that you’re definitely not amused.

“Thank you,” you grind out when you lower your arm and he doesn’t move to try and take the bottle again, “Now would you kindly tell me why you decided to attack me?”

The alien hesitates, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he leans away from you a little bit, but eventually he relents and says, “I want,” again as he points to the nectar. His accent is rough and thick, and it’s made even more awkward because it sounds like he’s trying to make his voice go higher than it should, but you understand him just fine either way.

The timer for the chicken goes off before you can respond though and you wince when Karkat lets out an angry shriek of “Feep!” in response to the shrill beeping. He continues to rant in gratingly high pitched tweets and twitters from the corner he tucks himself into as you turn off the timer, but when you turn back to yell at him to shut up you find yourself stopping short.

Huddled in the corner like he is, in clothes that are far too big for him, he looks very small and young, and you’re reminded that he’s most likely still a child. Weren’t you feeling sorry for him not too long ago because of how worn and devastated he looked at the door, like the whole world was on his shoulders as he led the other aliens into the house? That kind of thing doesn’t just go away, and if you look close enough you can still see that weariness clinging to him. And weren’t you just telling yourself that you’d do whatever it took to make their stay here a good one? He doesn’t look like he’s having a good time right now; he just looks like a little kid with too many teeth who’s confused and upset and angry because of it.

Despite yourself, you feel most of your anger leave you, although you’re still mildly irritated that he attacked you, and you sacrifice the chicken for a few moments as you drop into a squat in front of the alien. He stops mid-squawk, his mouth hanging open as he gawks at you in alarm, before his jaw snaps shut and his face twists into a scowl.

Ignoring that, you take and deep, calming breath and say as evenly as you can, “Look, I don’t know how it is in your culture, or how it’s been with the other humans in the – Veil was it? – but you can’t just take someone’s things if they haven’t given you permission to.”

His immediate frustration is evident even though you can’t understand the agitated words he’s squawking at you. After what seems like a rather long winded rant broken only by the random swear word you can understand, he finally exclaims, “You said to you that feel like in your house! In house when we want something we take it! But now you say that we have to get the permission before we could take something! You are stupid and your words has no sense stupid human!”

It takes you a moment to figure out what Karkat is actually saying, but when you do you realize that he does have a point, even though his rudeness is rather uncalled for. “Okay, I can see how that might be confusing, and I’m sorry for that,” you tell him sincerely, your voice getting firm as you hold out the Agave and continue, “Even still, you can’t just attack people when you want something, especially if they’re using it. You ask for it, and if they give it to you then you may have it.”

Karkat’s eyes go disturbingly wide at the sight of the bottle, and oh wow, you had assumed the black parts of their eyes were their irises but apparently they’re actually pupils because they start to dilate. The pleading expression he develops as he looks from the bottle to you and back again is largely ruined by his pointy-toothed overbite, but the imploring tone in which he lets of a series of soft canary chirps is impossible for you to ignore.

Sighing, you hesitate before handing him the bottle, feeling a little bit like you let him off too easily until you see the way his face drops in shock. He snatches the nectar from you and clutches it to his chest, as if scared that you may change your mind and take it back, and you don’t really need to be a top rate detective to realize that that’s probably something you should worry about.

However, you think to yourself as you stand with a heavy sigh and move back to the stove, there is not a lot you can do about it. You watch Karkat from the corner of your eye as you busy yourself preparing the rest of the soup, grimacing when he actually starts drinking from the bottle. It’s hard to stop yourself from telling him to cut it out, but you manage it with sheer force of will. What Karkat is doing is disgusting, yes, but you did give him the bottle, and it’s not like he’s actually doing anything wrong per se. Good thing that you had already used what you needed for the bread though…

A low, growling grunt startles you from your work, and you turn to find Karkat looking up at you. He makes the sound again even as he scrunches up his face and turns away in embarrassment, but you can do nothing except stare at him in confusion without knowing what he just said.

“What was that?” You ask cautiously after a minute goes by without any explanation.

You’re half expecting him to do something aggressive after that growl, even though it didn’t seem particularly hostile, but all he does is glower at the tile for a long moment. Finally, his mouth opens and he dithers fleetingly before he finally mutters a soft, “Thank you.”

A grin slowly creeps on to your face, pleased and oddly proud of him, and you wait until he sneaks a nervous look back at you before replying with a kindly, “You’re welcome.” He tries to hide the way he breaks into a pleased smile by scowling immediately afterwards, but you catch it anyway, and a bit more of your ire towards him melts away.

Shaking your head in amusement as you turn back to the food, you decide to forgive him. Really, you can remember throwing similar tantrums when you were younger, when you wanted something that your father had already said no to. What Karkat had done didn’t seem very different, except for the fact that he is older than six and had actually hurt you a little –which was definitely not okay – but he also looked like he had been dealing with some pretty heavy problems, and that made it easier for you to pardon. After all, you had been trained out of that with love and patience, so there’s no reason Karkat couldn’t be too given enough time.

Eventually, you fall back into a habit that came from having your father in the kitchen with you so often and begin to talk to your guest to fill the silence. You’re not sure if he’s listening, which gives you pause for a second, but he’s not complaining either so you continue to ramble on about anything that happens to cross your mind. Sure, you feel a little silly babbling as you are, but it makes the kitchen feel less empty even if Karkat doesn’t actually contribute anything more to the conversation than the odd grunt or growl-like noise because you’re constantly aware of his presence due to the way you peek at him from the corner of you eye every once in a while to see if he seems like he has something his has to add.

Your chatter slows and eventually stops when music starts to drift in from the living room. It’s neither yours nor you dad’s, since he preferred instrumental music and you aren’t much of a music fan to begin with, but it’s not very loud, so you do your best to just tune it out for the most part. Just hearing the music reminds you of your friends though, particularly one Mr. Strider, and it prompts you to make note of the time.

They really should be here by now, and although you’re sure it’s nothing since they haven’t messaged you yet and no news is supposed to be good news, you resolve to check in on them after dinner if they still haven’t shown up anyway. You’re not exactly worried, in spite of their tardiness, but it would be nice to have someone around to talk to who you actually know in addition to giving you the chance to ask them what seems to be keeping them.

Thoughts about what adventures your friends might be up to keeps your mind busy for a little while until your reverie is broken by a small, squeaky noise from Karkat. You turn to him with an inquiring hum, thinking that he perhaps wanted to say something, only to find that he had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. You stare at him blankly for a second, before sighing – a feat you seem have been doing a lot lately. You’re… not really sure what to do with him now.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you feel like the biggest fucking idiot ever to inhabit either of the universes you’ve graced thus far with your seemingly endless amounts of blubbering uselessness. Not that that isn’t a common occurrence, but it’s still pretty humiliating when you make yourself look like a fool as many times as you just did in front of someone you just fucking met. You still can’t believe you fucking chirruped at Jane –which, by the way, is a stupid fucking name. Seriously, what fucking bulge-muncher thought it was a good idea to make the names “Jane” and “Jade” sound so much alike, anyway? Oh, and apparently there’s a “Jake” too, which is even more moronic if only for the fact that it makes three names that are almost identical and frustrating as fuck to pronounce. You bet he’s just as terribly dopey and rage inducing as the other ones too. Although you suppose that Crocker isn’t too bad since she at least had the fucking decency to take platonic pity on you like a sensible person when you chirruped, instead of cooing at you like a wriggler and calling you “adorable” like John and Jade do whenever you slip up like the pathetic bag of nookstaining crap that you are.

But whatever, the point is you made a goddamn laughingstock of yourself for fucking wriggler food. You’re not even sure how a human got a hold of it, since it’s only made in the brooding caverns, but you had known what it was the moment you smelt it. Even now with the sweet liquid on your tongue the craving remains, just as strong as it had been when it first hit you, or no actually, it’s worse because the intoxicating ambrosia currently coating your tongue is more delicious than anything you can remember eating for a long time, even before you entered the game. It’s not exactly the same as it was back on Alternia, which makes the lengths you went to get it – not the fighting, but the pathetically needy groveling, ugh – even more sickening, because seriously, what the actual fuck had past you been thinking? How much of a fucking doormat do you even have to be to beg for food when you could just take it, and even worse to do it solely because someone told you it wasn’t ok? Sure it got you what you wanted, but if you actually had any goddamn pride left in the sniveling sac of contemptible worthlessness you call a body you’re sure as hell it’s now been beaten so thoroughly that not even microorganisms could detect it.

Surprisingly though, you actually feel better, if not maddeningly drowsy, now that you’ve eaten some. Your body’s not made to survive off of it like it was when you were a hatchling, but it’s better than nothing, which is all you’ve had since you got stuck in the Vei... ve...

Your eyes start to drift shut for the briefest of moments, before they snap back open as you give a rough shake of your head. “Stupid,” you mutter once again, and you want to be angry with yourself but all you end up feeling is bitter and mournful.

It was Feferi who used to make it possible for you to go so long without sleep, although you were never really sure how she did it seeing as she hadn’t reached God-Tier yet and shouldn’t have been able to use her powers. There’s always the possibility that it was something she was born with, like Vriska and Tavros’ mind control bullshit, but you don’t really want to think too deeply about it now because just the thought of her is painful, so you give another shake of the head to try and dislodge her from your thoughts. You succeed in blanking your mind again, a skill you wish past you had had, but it only works for a minute or so before your eyes start drooping once more.

Even without Feferi to keep you awake you still haven’t been sleeping much. Between waking up to the sound of Gamzee vomiting up nothing three nights out of five and nightmares plaguing you every time your eyes shut, you get maybe an hour or two of rest each night before you can’t even force yourself to try anymore. On the upside though, you’ve never been more appreciative for friends and moirails, since more often than not there’s at least one person who’s willing to stay up with you, even though you’re still not sure why they think you’re worth it.

Shaking yourself from thoughts that are bound to lead to bad places, because that’s the kind of depressing fuckbag you are, you bring the container of wiggler food to your lips and sip from it for a second. The taste distracts you like a fucking charm, because you’re weak to stupid shit like that apparently – honestly, you’re a grownass fucking troll, there’s no reason for you to like this crap as much as you do – but it does nothing to help you from nearly nodding off. This of course means you need something else to do the trick if you don’t fancy another visit to the ever so pleasant horrorterrors. Which you don’t, barrels of mindfucking fun though they may be. There’s really not that much around you that isn’t think pan numbingly boring though and you’ve already decided that the only things that will make you leave the food preparation block are ‘A’, Strider showing his ugly, deformed face, or ‘B’, someone who isn’t Strider dying. Or Gamzee going crazy again, but yeah, trying really hard not to think about that. Between the horrorterrors and Strider’s freakish addiction to finding new ways to make your life miserable, you’ll take the horrorterrors.

A suitable distraction comes in the form of a loud scrape of metal, where a little ways away Jane is still talking at you while she makes nice smells with what you suspect is supposed to be something resembling food. Her voice never changes from a slow, calm tone that’s so different from anything you’ve ever heard before. Your lip curls halfheartedly at the way she patronizes you by speaking like you’re an infantile prey animal that’s brain damaged from beating itself to save other people the trouble and need to be spoken to in very slow words just so you can fucking understand her. Which is fucking stupid, since you’ve had to learn this god awful language from an appallingly incompetent quartet of spaztic little nooksuckers who all seem to have different pronunciations for every word and still managed to be so fucking awesome at it that she was shocked to silence for one beautiful moment before opening her stupid mouth with those idiotic, completely unattractive teeth and speaking. But what the fuck ever, it’s not like you’re actually listening to Crocker half the time even though she just keeps going on and fucking on like one of Strider’s awful songs that he likes to blare through the speakers just to drive you fucking batshit, except that you can actually tune Crocker out enough so that her voice sounds more like a pleasant buzz instead of the impossible syllables that make up the English language.

And speaking of Strider’s shitty music, Crocker finally, finally, grinds to a halt as some starts to play, except it’s actually something you can listen to without your auricular sponge clots bleeding, which is a fucking miracle in and of itself. The words are going too fast for you to understand most of them, but that’s okay since it’d probably just ruin how it’s actually decent for once. Well, okay, that’s not completely true, since you know for a fact that Strider plays nice sounds like this for Terezi all the time like the filth-gargling tool he is, but that point still remains that this isn’t the usual garbage you’re used to hearing.

You take another sip of the syrupy wriggler food in lukewarm agitation at the thought of that outrageous douchenozzle Strider, but the sweet drink is strangely pacifying. Breathing in deep to savor both the taste and the smell of your treat, you sleepily curl a little deeper into the warm, loose fitting clothes that you took from the pile Crocker had made. A huff of laughter escapes you as you remember the look of horror that had graced Kanaya’s face at the ungraceful way the clothes had been flung around - something you hadn’t been able to appreciate at the time due to the sheer amounts of what the fuck you had been experiencing - and your lips twitch up even as your eyelids droop heavily. You yawn as you fight some more to stay awake, but you haven’t gotten a decent amount of sleep in a long time and you were fighting a losing battle even when you were cold, hungry, and jittery, which means you… have… have… ha….

*** 

Chapter Text

Your name is JOHN EGBERT and you had never realized how wonderful a shower could be until this very moment. Oh you’ve had showers before, but after going so long without one even the mere thought of getting clean again was nearly enough to bring you bliss. That’s not to say that you have a problem with being dirty or anything like that, but grimy skin and greasy hair can only be tolerated for so long before you start to gross yourself out.

Getting cleaned up isn’t why you and the group are here exactly, but it’s a nice benefit anyway. Nanna – wait no, not your nanna. Jane. They’re only technically the same person Rose said – had told you earlier that she was going to be cooking something too, without peanuts apparently, which should be nice if this Jane’s cooking is anything like what your Nanna(sprite)’s had been, although, haha, wow! You had actually almost forgotten about that, it seems like it happened so long ago!

And sure, it’s a little weird being in a house that’s almost exactly like yours but is fundamentally not on so many levels, and yeah, seeing Jane in your place makes you a little uncomfortable even if she seems nice enough herself. But really that’s ok since you find that you don’t mind nearly as much about, well, anything as soon as that hot water hits you! It’s just about the greatest thing you’ve ever felt, and that is including the wind rushing through you as you flew through the air for the first time.

For a moment, all you do is stand under the stream while you enjoy the feel of it. Even with your God-Tier pajamas it was always pretty cold in a the Veil, so being this warm again is kind of like the best thing you could possibly imagine happening to you right now after going for so much time without it. Well, except for seeing your Dad again. That’d definitely be the best that could ever happen. But this is really good too.

Even with how great if feels just getting warm again though, it doesn’t take long for your skin to literally start itching to get truly clean, and you begin to laugh as you give in and lather yourself up with Jane’s vanilla scented body wash and strawberry scented shampoo. You’re going to smell like a strawberry shortcake, which is pretty gross, but you don’t really mind since it reminds you of happier times. And yeah, you know you don’t have time to mourn now, but even so you like knowing that you can still recall those things. For later and all, when you can.

You smile a little wider at your thoughts, sighing happily as you promptly push them to the back of your mind and turn up the heat. It just a little too hot now and kind of burns, but it does wonders to help some of the tension from your neck and shoulders so you turn it up a little more and let yourself relax. Your shoulders roll back as you take a deep breath, letting the warm steam in the air fill your body - cleaning it from the inside even as the near scalding water washes away all the dirt on your outside – starting from the tips of your toes and working its way up, and when it reaches your head a familiar pressure builds up behind your eyes.

It’s a little surprising how much you don’t mind it when you start to cry, because normally you hate to since it leaves you feeling yucky, but for some reason this time it just feels really good. Instead of sobs, laughter spills from your mouth, and you’re simply far too warm for that nasty chill you normally get from being sad to even come near you.

Strangely enough, you’re actually kind of relieved that you’re crying, although you don’t know why. It takes a while to stop too, and once you do your insides are a little raw, but it’s somehow alright, because there’s not a spot on you that feels dirty anymore and that’s more wonderful than you can really describe. The water washes the snot away too, so you’re not all gross when you’re done, and your head kind of hurts a little but you’re feeling a little lightheaded or, oh wow, maybe light-bodied would be a better word really since you’ve actually started floating without noticing it.

As you laugh again, you think this is probably the first time in a long time that you’ve felt so good. You’re not really sure how you didn’t notice it before, but now that you have you take the time to cherish the moment. It seems a little strange and silly to you that a shower of all things could make you feel better, but that’s okay too, since you figure that feeling silly is better than somehow feeling bad and not knowing it.

A knock on the door reminds you that can’t stay in the shower for too much longer, since there are others that still have to use it, but even this doesn’t bother you too much. You’re just happy to be clean and warm and, surprisingly, thinking about giving others the opportunity to feel the same way makes you smile like the happy idiot Dave and Karkat are always claiming you to be.

Closing your eyes and leaning your shoulder and head against the wall as you relax, you steal one more moment for yourself. There’s no telling when you’ll be able to do this again, so you want to milk as much enjoyment from this as you can. Finally though, after a few seconds, you stand up straight again. Making sure that all of the suds are completely washed away from both your hair and body, you take one last cleansing breath before turning off the water and hopping out of the tub.

Shaking off some of the excess water as you reach for the closest towel, the chill of the room causes you to hop from one foot to the other while you quickly dry yourself and redress. The clothes you grabbed earlier are too big, you notice after you get dressed, but not by too much the way they are for a few of the others, especially the trolls. Oh god, the trolls.

Just thinking about them leaves you giggling a bit when you remember the, er, colorful clothing choices some of them had chosen. Jade had nearly laughed herself sick when she saw what Karkat had chosen to wear, and you’re pretty sure Kanaya just about cried when she saw the disaster that Sollux thrown together. Man, that was so great, now that you think about it. It hadn’t really seemed quite so funny at the time for some reason, but looking back on it now it’s actually pretty hilarious!

Another knock on the door, a bit more impatient this time, makes you wince because, oh yeah, there are others waiting to use the bathroom. So you stop your dillydallying and gather up your wet towel before heading for the door, a bright grin sliding back onto on your face. Terezi slips past you when you open the bathroom door without so much a word, a clean bundle of bright clothes in her arms but no sign of that crocodile smile she always wears for Dave and the others on her lips. Your own smile fades a little at the sight - you had almost forgotten the way she’s been acting towards you - and you’re about to hurry out so she can close the door when you notice that she’s frozen in the middle of the small room, looking tense and anxious as she snuffles uncertainly at the air.

It takes you a moment to figure out what’s wrong because the mechanics of how she smell-sees has always kind of confused you, but as soon as you do you condense the air a little bit to make things more wet and get rid of some of the steam by sweeping a little bit of it from every part of the room towards her. When the first little breeze brushes against her face she whirls around, knocking her glasses a little crooked, and looks at you with wide, blank eyes. It’s still a little eerie how big troll eyes can get, since it highlights their alien-ness even more than the horns and lack of ears somehow. And although you don’t really notice that troll eyes are too big most of the time anymore, it always takes you by surprise when their eyes go huge and round like Terezi’s are doing now, because they don’t tend to do the wide eyed look too often.

You ignore your momentary unease though - which passes as quickly as it appeared - and simply smile at her, delighting in the way she eventually grins back, even if it’s a little uncertain and wary. It’s actually pretty strange having her toothy smile directed at you for once, but in a good way. You can see why Dave likes to make her smile too, since she seems to do it with her whole face even when she’s feeling unsure if she should, and you’re pretty sure that you and Jade are the only other two people who do or have ever done that around him. You’re also pretty sure that makes you kindred spirits somehow.

No words are said, none are needed really which is kind of cool to be honest, but the moment soon passes. She nods a little, indicating that you should leave, so you give her one last grin and a goodbye wave before you shut the door and leave her to her business. That smile doesn’t leave as you make your way down the stairs to where some music has started playing, and you’re pretty sure that Dave might be questioning your sanity as you flop down next to him on the couch, but really you’re just happy that you’re making progress.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is GAMZEE MAKARA and you know that your friends are scared of you. Or disgusted by you. Or both. It’s definitely both. After all, why else would they all immediately elect you to be the first one to take a shower? They can’t even stand to look at you half of the time, especially when things get bad and you know, you just motherfuckin’ know that they’re thinking of ways to cull—but no. No they’re not. Karkat’s told you that. But sometimes you know better. You do. Because sometimes the back of your neck prickles and you know that one of them is eyeing you, but you turn around and they’re not looking, except you can’t always tell with Terezi and Strider because of those glasses and— no. No. Terezi’s blind, even if you wouldn’t put it past the human to be watching you, always watching you. Just thinking about it makes anger boil low in your gut, and yet at the same time another part of you is thankful. You know why those motherfuckers are scared – how could you not when you can still taste it in your mouth?

Ugh, that taste. It makes your motherfuckin’ mouth water; it makes your stomach churn. You’ve eaten a lot of weird things you probably shouldn’t have in your life, but you’re pretty sure this has got to be the worst because it makes you want to do it again and motherfucking again and never stop - like how it was with the slime, but worse because it’s not just fucking you up, it makes all the motherfuckers around you drop like flies too, all because you can’t control yourself. That scares you, and you don’t like being scared. When you’re scared you want the sopor slime or the rage back, because you were never afraid when you had one of those.

You’re always afraid these days though. It’s not as bad as it used to be, by a lot you’re told even though to you it just feels like you switched one bad thing for another because you still feel like you’re not in control of yourself, and you still want the slime so badly even though you know it’s vile, and everything about yourself keeps you scared. Especially the waking dreams, on the occasion that you still have them these days. They’re rare now - Karkat says you used to get them a lot and for longer, and you only have vague memories for most of the first week so you have to take his word for it - but they’re worse than sleeping sometimes because you can wake up from those when they get too bad. You can’t wake up from the waking dreams though, and you have trouble telling what’s real sometimes like in the shower when the water turned to blood and got in your eyes and on your skin and in your mouth and you know now that it’s not real because you’re clean but you can still motherfucking taste it.

Acid burns in the back of your throat as you gag a little, but it doesn’t get rid of the taste. You’re not sure how the taste is still there after so long, and you didn’t think it was there before you came to this human’s hive, but right now it’s stronger than ever after the waking dream, sitting hot and heavy in your mouth. You gargle some water in an effort to get rid of it, and when it doesn’t work you feel that fury start to bubble up because the taste is making you want the slime more than ever and you need it so bad - to get rid of the taste and make you calm, to make you feel better, to make everything okay again – but you can’t have it and you hate it and you wish you had never had anything to do with in the first place because it’s the whole reason so many people are dead!

With an ear piercing trill your fist pounds into the counter top with all the force you can put into it. Your arm shakes with the impact and you hiss aggressively as you stand hunched over the sink. The feeling passes quickly, as it usually does, but even though your vision stops blurring at the edges and your hearing returns, your collapsing and expanding vascular pump continues to pound in your chest cavity and your hackles refuse lower. Your bruised knees shake as you take a deep, shuddering breath and try to calm down. You don’t want it. You don’t want any more dead friends.

The area just above your hairline and around the base of your horns aches from where they bashed against the wall when you fell during your waking dream, but you dig your fingers into the thick undercoat of your hair and pull anyway to distract you before the fear can bring the rage back. It doesn’t work as you had hoped it would though, because the taste is still present on your motherfucking tongue and you shudder with want even as your stomach heaves a little.

You need to get it out but just the idea of eating makes you queasy and water obviously doesn’t help at all. Maybe if you just put something in your mouth though? You grab the first thing you see, a long brightly colored thing, and chomp down on it. It punctures with some difficultly but it feels nice to be able to bite something without restraint and you’re actually a little disappointed when it gives with a pop and starts oozing a thick paste that makes your mouth tingle. You don’t like that particular sensation, but it’s overpowering, so you remove your teeth and squeeze more into your mouth anyway. The gel is motherfuckin’ gross, especially when it starts to foam when you move it around too much, but it’s exactly what you need.

Flinging the container away, you spit some of the blue and white paste you have in your mouth into the sink when it becomes too much. It doesn’t want to come out easily though, so you try to scrape it out with your motherfucking fingers but even that doesn’t get most of it out and it leaves your fingers goopy and cold where the paste touches it. Water helps a little when you try to rinse it out, but it’s so thickly spread that it clings to your teeth.

Chirping in frustration, you look for something to help pry it off your motherfuckin’ teeth, but nothing really looks suitable. There’s not much on the counters or in the trashcan, but you eventually decided that the small brushes in the cup might be able to get some of it off. You grab both and shove them into your mouth where you scrape them over your teeth and tongue as hard as you can. The paste starts to lather again, overflowing out of your mouth until it produces so much that you nearly choke when some of it reaches the back of your throat and you gag on it. You fling the terrible motherfucking brushes away as more of the foam dribbles onto your chest and the floor. Water gets rid on the frothy mess with ease, but the cold, sweet flavor continues to assault your mouth, making you stick your tongue out and shake one hand in disgust. At least it had gotten out the blood though…

The skin on your jaw and chest tingles icily, but when you look down there’s nothing there anymore, since you had washed away the foam that had gotten on it along with the rest that had covered your mouth. A breathy wheeze escapes you even though this isn’t the same feeling at all - that had been warm and sticky and not anything like this - but it’s in the same kinds of places and that’s enough to make you remember and you swear that you can almost see it on you again.

You try to cry out, to warn them that it’s happening again, to call Karkat to you, anything, but no sound wants to come. A flash of motion catches your eye and you whirl to meet it, but there’s nothing, just like the nothing on you, but you see it again and again, always from the corner of your motherfuckin’ eye until you’re dizzy and stumble into the toilet. You huddle onto it, digging your fingers into the soft clothes on top of it and clinging to them like they might be able to protect you, and it makes the rest of you cold too and you could almost pretend it’s a pile of smooth porcelain if you weren’t so busy trying to find the moving thing.

It never comes again though, but that doesn’t take away the knowledge that it’s hiding somewhere in the block, waiting for you to step down so that it can crawl over you and dig into your skin and—oh god what was that? Nothing. Nothing again. Karkat says it’s always nothing, and Terezi and Jade say it’s nothing, and Rose who’s supposed to know everything says whatever you think is happening isn’t, so it must not be. It doesn’t seem like nothing, but how do you know if they say it’s all fake?

You stay on the toilet until the shaking stops and work up the courage to step down. Thankfully, nothing happens, and you’re so relieved that you get right off it, taking the clothes with you. You shake them out vigorously, in case something is lurking in them too, and then finally you try to struggle on the clothes Karkat picked out for you. You only get one article fully on though before your eye catches the vent up on the wall and your hands start to shake.

The hairs on your neck and down your spine raise in alarm, and you swear you hear scrape of metal claws. The last of your breath rattles out when your face starts to sting and you bolt from the block. You’re so motherfuckin’ freaked out as you huddle on the pile of clothes that you didn’t even think before you were darting from the block and into the safety of the pile, but that’s fine because without the blood it’s just the fear, and that’s so much better than the rage.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and there’s no cool way to put this, but you’re uncomfortable. Like, in a completely non-ironic, emotional way. About a house. And yes, you’re perfectly aware of how stupid that sounds and is, thanks.

The house isn’t like how yours had been at all, but then, most aren’t you’ve been told. That’s not really the problem though, because you could live with it if the only difference was that it wasn’t like the shitty apartment you and your bro had shared. You’ve seen Jade’s and Rose’s houses before after all, and those didn’t bother you.

The problem is that this house isn’t just a fuckin’ house, it’s a home, which, fuck, sounds pathetic in a completely platonic sense – and wow, okay, now you know you’ve been hanging out with the trolls for too long if you actually just thought that. But getting back on track, because you can practically already hear Rose telling you that you’re just trying to avoid the issue like a repressed tool – you’re paraphrasing here – and like hell you’re gonna give her the satisfaction of being right, you didn’t even think there was a difference until you came here. In fact, you had even mocked others in the past for thinking such things. The irony does not escape you.

Point is, you never actually thought there would actually be a place out there that would make you reconsider your thoughts about living establishments. But this place doesn’t feel lonely like Rose’s house, or half-abandoned like Jade’s, or hostile like yours, or plastic like the shit you see on television whenever you ironically watch sitcoms. It’s not the lack of weapons coming out of the woodworks, or the lack of a thick layer of dust on nearly everything or anything else like that that makes it so different; it’s not even anything physical at all.

Honestly the place is kind of weird, what with the pictures of men with mustaches everywhere and all the pipes lying around, but something about it makes it seem well used and loved, if not sort of doofy, in a way that none of the places you’ve ever seen before have been. It’s hard to admit that your apartment isn’t a home, since it’s like the epitome of ironic coolness, but you suppose that if you’re actually going to be psychoanalyzing your own mental state that you might as well go all out. You know, for ironic purposes since it makes the Rose in your head cackle with glee. Or something. Whatever.

It’s stupid, you’re being stupid, and if your bro were here he’d totally call you out for losing your shit about a fuckin’ house, but seeing as you’re trying really hard not to think about him or the inevitable visit you’ll be having at some point with his alternate universe paradox clone, you’re just going to stop that line of thought right there and resolve to think about something else. Oh, and what do you know, Sollux provides you with the perfect distraction over where he’s huddled by the fireplace trying to be both as close to the heat as he can while at the same time putting a lot of distance between himself and the old dead guy.

Really, the dead guy doesn’t really bother you after all the shit (usually road kill) you used to bring home to put in jars, and Jade had actually looked pleasantly surprised to see it, but the poor kid looks freaked the fuck out and miserable sitting next to that stuffed corpse. Come to think of it, most of the trolls have looked pretty unnerved since you guys had gotten here, even though some hide it better than others. But they all better be ready to fuckin’ bow down before you, because you’re a benevolent god and you think that you might have something that’ll calm everyone’s nerves a little bit. Not that you need calming down, because you can handle being unnerved like a fuckin’ boss after living with your bro. But, you know, you can’t have Terezi being freaked out, wherever she is right now, because that just ain’t fuckin’ cool, leavin’ her out to dry like that.

You uncaptchalogue a CD and put it in the DVD player for full ironic potential. It’s not your normal kind of music, but you had alchemized it one day as an experiment after accidentally sending the trolls into a frenzy of angry shrieks and agitated twitters the first time you took the turntables you made for a spin. It wasn’t until you had turned off your music that they had calmed the fuck down and afterwards they were pissed at you for days - although that last part might have been because you kept blaring tunes over the intercom system just to see what they would do until Terezi told you to stop ‘cause you were hurting her “auricular sponge clots”. ‘Course, she also told you that she didn’t know how you could like music because it was all terrible, which is why you started experimenting with stuff, because you couldn’t exactly back down from that could you?

Up until that point you had all been using your God-Tier translators to speak to one another, but even still you couldn’t exactly miss the way the trolls only used the high-pitched tweets and chirps for demands and to show they were upset in some fashion – which for Karkat is always – while general conversation seemed to consist mainly of guttural growls. So you used that as a basis of what to look for and what to avoid as you whipped up some sweet jams to show Terezi that not all music is shit – seriously, how could anyone even think that? After she grudgingly agreed to be your guinea pig, she ended up liking this particular CD when you tested it out on her and insisted that you keep it, which is really the only reason you have it on you.

Regardless of how it came about though, you know at least one troll was calmed by the CD and the fact that it was from a band with the words Death Punch in their name pretty much speaks for itself as far as why you’re amused by this fact goes. Again, not your usual thing, but it turns out that the trolls really like things like Rammstein, while things like 50 cent and Metalica pass muster and anything with a soprano singer in it or high pitched background music flops like a fat kid at a pool party, and you can only stand so much German metal before you have to listen to something else. Besides, a beat is a beat and any sort of rhythm is better than the awkward silence floating around at the moment.

Sollux gives you a short little growl that you’ve come to understand means “thanks” when the first song starts up, and you acknowledge this with just the barest of nods as you settle back down on the couch and chill. You’re not sitting down for long though before John launches himself off the stairs and onto the couch, missing you by mere centimeters. He has the biggest, dumbest smile on his face too, like he just found out that there’s going to be a Nicolas Cage marathon hosted just for him or something equally awful, and for a while he just sits there and smiles at you. If he were anyone else you might think he wanted something from you, but this is John you’re talking about and unsurprisingly this isn’t actually all that uncommon an occurrence you’ve come to learn.

Just as expected, not two minutes of silence goes by before he excitedly blurts out, “So guess what?”

Whatever it is you never get to find out though, since Gamzee takes that instant to come into the room. Everyone immediately grows tense when they see him, but only for like, a millisecond or something because it’s pretty obvious that this is one of the troll’s less paranoid moments when he just looks around, nice and easy, before letting loose a huge yawn and giving himself that weird little shake down he always does after waking up – naturally anyway, which is steadily becoming a bit more common thank god - or getting shoosh-papped by Karkat. The lack of suspicious glares or malicious sneers is also a pretty good indication that things are cooler than an Antarctic snowdrift in Gamzee land at the moment.

Both you and John watch as Gamzee makes his way over to Sollux and just picks him up off the ground like a piece of trash without even saying a word. Sollux flails for a second, his single eye wide behind his pink goggles, and makes a squeaky noise of distress that you haven’t heard before. Next to you, John is biting his lip to keep from laughing at the sound, but Gamzee apparently has no reservations about it since he lets out a short chuckle and says what more or less translates to, “Chill man, I was movin’ you from the dead guy since you seemed to be getting your freaked out on with him all up there next to you.”

Gamzee ignores Sollux’s responding chirps of what is basically, “Let me down, I was fine where I was,” and gives an easy going smile as he sits them both down right between you and John.

“Naw bro, it’s all good,” is Gamzee’s delayed reply as he settles Sollux practically on top of John, who despite seeming somewhat confused without his translator on or you giving him a play by play, takes it like a champ and doesn’t seem bothered in the least.

John’s attempt to say, “Hi” is mangled at best when his voice cracks right in the middle of it, and you shake your head when he looks hopefully at you through Gamzee’s horns. He doesn’t look too put out though and just shrugs it off with another smile before trying to start up a conversation with Sollux and Gamzee. As expected, this turns out to be just buckets of fail because John always forgets that Sollux lisps on his hisses and that Gamzee speaks primarily in colloquial terms, most of which John hasn’t even learnt yet since his main “teacher” – and you use that term in the loosest sense possible - is Karkat, who curses like a sailor while using only the most technical names for things possible.

Of course, you have to admit that he’s better than you at pronouncing things when his voice isn’t cracking and once he gets the hang of them because his voice is starting to get deeper than yours - although he’s nowhere near as good as Jade who can hit all the pitches - but you are by far the best at differentiating between words and actually understanding them. It’s mostly pure talent that you’re able to do this, but it’s also probably in part because you’ve got Terezi, and hell sometimes even Aradia, teaching you which is more than the others can say. Well, except maybe Rose since you have no idea what she and Kanaya get up to half the time, but you think she might only be teaching Kanaya English rather than learning Alternian herself, since she never seems to get any better at pronouncing things.

Anyway, the mostly one sided conversation is thankfully interrupted when Jade and Aradia join your merry band, excitedly throwing themselves to the floor like lonely tweens discovering Custer’s Revenge for the first time as they break out a dusty board game. John is really the only one who knows how to play though and his directions are pretty craptastic, so all it really amounts to for the most part is just you and Jade combining your powers to cheat in the most obnoxiously obvious ways possible. Of course, John and Aradia aren’t bothered by this in the least, but Gamzee opts out due to being confused as to what he’s actually supposed to be doing and Sollux has been refusing to take his turn for the last four rounds.

It’s not too long after Mr. Green “mysteriously” disappears before the whole thing has to be restarted when Terezi catches a whiff of it, but you don’t mind because you’re only half paying attention to begin with since it’s not like you actually care. Once Terezi gets bored from the lack of criminal hangings though all bets are off, and between the two of you the whole thing dissolves rather quickly until no one is sure what’s happening anymore.

You sit back on your hands and silently admire your work as you watch Jade and Terezi bicker about whether Colonel Mustard really could have murdered both Professor Plum and Miss Peacock on his own or if he had an accomplice from the outside helping him (the working theory being the currently MIA Mr. Green, but Terezi also announced her suspicion of Mrs. White since maids apparently aren’t a thing on their planet and ‘why would anyone want to clean someone else’s hive unless they were moirails with them?’). Beside you, Gamzee is on a pillow pile he made at some point after it was revealed that Ms. Scarlet is really a weretiger, half burrowing into it and constantly rearranging it like it’s a pushy nest, while Sollux is sitting opposite of you, staring off into space drowsily. John and Aradia are just laughing along with the game, throwing in random suggestions that are generally useless.

Looking around the house now, filled as it is with some actually genuinely happy faces of the people you’ve come to regard as your friends and comrades, it doesn’t actually look any different than any other place you’ve been. All that love and shit you thought you saw imbedded in the walls fucking pales in comparison to look John and Jade share, and the inside FLARPing joke Terezi and Aradia say at the same time that gets a cackle from both of them, and the high fives Terezi keeps giving Gamzee and Sollux to make sure they feel included. So you don’t know why you were losing your cool so badly over some home when it went right ahead and gave you have this.

…Fuck, that was sappier than a goddamn chick flick wasn’t it?

***

Chapter Text

Your name is ARADIA MEGIDO and you are having fun! Not as much fun as you would be having if this was a corpse party of course, but that’s pretty hard to beat. You’re currently watching your friends play a game that Jade had told you was supposed to be about detective work, but has since taken a number of strange turns until it became what it is now, which is something more like roleplaying than anything else, with battles to “the death” that seem to require a healthy dosage of narration via rapping and something called “beatboxing”. This of course then dissolves further into arguments about things like whether “colonel” really rhymes with “urinal” or not, but that’s usually when Dave steps in or someone suggests a better word and things go back to how they were before.

The game required the use of the God-Tier translators almost immediately due to the secretive nature of the original game. It also pretty much guaranteed that the whole thing would get out of hand once Terezi started playing and realized that she would not actually be allowed to hang any of the characters for their “flagrant criminal activities”, since that was simply how she played games. Somehow, you’re sure that no one minds, even the ones who already left the game when it got too confusing.

Next to you, John is sitting cross-legged and throwing in ideas like, “And then Mathew Mcconaughey comes busting in all badass like to stop the aliens that are surrounding the mansion – oh! Wait! Sorry, not aliens! Uh, evil mutant - no wait, can’t use that either, uh evil radioactive mushrooms that are surrounding the mansion under Colonel Mustard’s evil rule, yeah!” Surprisingly, these ideas are actually used most of the time, so you’ve been adding some impossible situations in from time to time as well. Terezi and Jade incorporate the new ideas into their story very well if you do say so yourself, and they haven’t failed to get you giggling even once.

For now though, you’re taking a break and watching the fun unfold on its own. It’s really quite amusing and you think it’s nice that everyone is finally relaxing. In the Veil it was always so tense and somber, even after the humans reached it, and spending so much time there was getting everyone down. Here even Gamzee looks relatively at peace with himself, although that might be in part because of the music - and abundance of soft piles, if Rose and Kanaya’s working theory about piles being a subconscious source of comfort left over from before recooperacoons were made is to be believed. You’re not sure where Karkat, Rose, and Kanaya are, but you’re sure that wherever they are they’re enjoying the chance to “kick back and free ball it” as Dave had said.

Glancing around to see if you can spot any sign of the missing trio, you notice Sollux who is looking rather sad sitting by himself on the couch. He had moved after the game started to become more roleplay-like, as you suspected he might, but you hadn’t really paid much attention to him since then. Seeing him looking so lonely dampens your fun a little bit, but you go and sit next to him anyway, since you have enough fun to spare and he looks like he could use some. He doesn’t even glance at you when you take your seat next to him, but he does lean over and rest his head on your shoulder. The familiarity of the gesture - one you and he haven’t done in a very, very long while - makes your grin even wider, but he does not seem to feel the same way because he looks a little uncomfortable despite the fact that he’s the one who initiated it.

You tut softly at this, telling him, “Stop it, I already told you that I forgive you. It wasn’t even your fault to begin with. There’s no reason to still feel guilty about something you had no control over, especially after all this time. Besides, I’m fine now aren’t I?”

He doesn’t say anything in return, just continues leaning stiffly against you, but he had always required a fair amount of time to warm up to your presence before letting you in even minimally. You remember that this fact used to make you a little bit jealous before your death, since he was always so quick to talk to his other friends, but now you know that there had always been a difference in the way he talked to you and the way he talked to everyone else, even if you hadn’t been able to see it at the time. And sure enough, eventually he starts to relax.

You wait until he’s comfortable in your presence before you begin speaking again, clearing your throat a little to let him know before you start.

“And what are you doing over here all by yourself, Mr. Antisocial?” you ask cheerfully before proceeding to wait patiently for his surely roundabout answer, which you know will be a long time coming if you’re reading his mood correctly.

“I miss her,” Sollux whispers after long while, looking mournfully at the pillow pile Gamzee made and is lying on.

“I know you do,” you say softly, smiling down at the top of his head, “But being dead isn’t so bad. There are always dream bubbles too.”

He nods, but what he says is, “Stupidly enough, I actually sort of get why Eridan was so obsessed with getting her back now.”

You’re a bit rusty at playing this particular game, but you manage to dodge around the Eridan issue anyway, even if it’s not exactly graceful, by taking another route, “She was a very bright person, wasn’t she?”

Again he nods, but this time he’s silent. You know what he’s most likely thinking though, so you add, “You can’t live the rest of your life in the dream bubbles you know.”

“But why? I’m practically dead already, right?” And now he turns to you, one eye pure white and the other an empty socket and looking all the more tragic for it when his face crumples in sorrow. You may love death and be an enthusiastic 'fangirl' of it, but those who are caught between will always be sad to look at.

You put your hand on Sollux’s cheek, still smiling a little as you say, “Because you are only half dead. Those who are still living cannot be with the dead except in dreams and even then they cannot stay long, just as those who are dead cannot be with living except for brief periods when the living visit their bubbles. It is the way it is, and it cannot be changed. You are both, and yet you are neither, forever stuck in limbo as you go between the two.”

This time he shakes his head, although whether it is in confusion or denial you don’t know. “You didn’t though. You stayed with the living.”

“And I ended up losing myself,” you remind him gently, and despite your soft tone you still manage to put that stricken expression on his face - the one that makes him look as though you’ve physically wounded him. “The same will happen to you if you stay with her, and then you will stop caring. About her; about anything. You will hurt yourself, and more to the point, you will hurt her the same way I hurt you, and I know you don’t want that.”

He stares at you with his eye spread open wide, looking at you critically before his shoulders slump in defeat and he turns his face away, as if he cannot bear to look at anything but the wall. As you continue to watch him, you see his mouth open and close as if he is trying to say something, but when he finally works up the nerve to look at you again he can’t seem to get the words out. You cock your head to the side in silent question and in a sudden rush he buries his face in your borrowed shirt, his shoulders shaking as he whispers, “It’s not fair,” like a mantra, over and over. You wrap your arms around him in a light embrace as you place your chin between his two sets of horns and just let him suffer quietly against you as the rest of the room pointedly ignores you both.

You are grateful for their attempt at politeness for Sollux’s sake, but to you personally you feel it is unnecessary. If it were up to you, nothing about death would be hidden away because none of it is wrong or unnatural, even the grieving that accompanies it. But you do realize that you have a bit of a different take on life and death than most others and know that your philosophies will probably not be appreciated at the moment. Perhaps later then.

Finally, he lets out one last tiny chirrup and you say, “I know it’s not fair. They say it gets better though, even if it doesn’t feel like it ever will now.”

“And if it doesn’t,” He asks, looking up at you with dry eyes, “If it never gets better? What then?”

“Then,” you say slowly, your smile finally dropping as you gently cup his face in your hands, “Then it never gets better. But I will always be with you, even if it doesn’t.”

You stare at one another for another long moment after that, but eventually he nods and rests his head back against your shoulder. Together you sit and listen to the nice human music together, and a smile comes back to your face when you feel him start to hum along. Neither of you know the words, since the translator doesn’t extend to background noises unless you deliberately wish for it to, but that doesn’t really matter. You’re happy not knowing the lyrics and so you don’t even attempt to understand them, instead choosing to let the soothing series of sounds comfort you.

This is rather fun too in its own way, and although the strange roleplaying rap off murder mystery game is still ongoing with its original fervor across the block, you find that you have no desire to rejoin it at this time. You like knowing that you’re helping your friend just by being there for him, even if you do not know how much of a help you will actually be in the long run, and you honestly can’t think of a better way to make this day better. Well, except if there were to be a corpse party, but that pretty much goes without saying. And besides, you’d actually need some corpses for that.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is JADE HARLEY and you’re really, really hungry. Technically, as a God-Tier character you don’t need to eat as much as a normal player would - which is already a rather small amount due to the way the game works - but after nearly three straight weeks of no food you’re definitely feeling it. You all learned the hard way that food doesn’t alchemize into anything edible and there wasn’t much of anything left in any of your houses after they were apparently raided by imps, so you’ve all had to just go without any. Whatever Jane was cooking though is starting to smell especially delicious now, and you’d be a bit more embarrassed about the way you are actually drooling if Terezi wasn’t doing the exact same thing next to you.

Another waft of deliciousness makes your stomach growl, and you groan as your train of thought derails again. The game is getting even more confusing and off the wall than it had been before because of the way you keep trailing off whenever a particularity strong scent catches your nose, and you would curse the slightly enhanced sense of smell Bec gave you if you didn’t find the smell of the food so appetizing. As it is though, it doesn’t really matter how badly you’ve been messing up for your lines for the past ten minutes, because you suddenly hear the sound of dishes being moved around.

Perking your ears to catch the noises again, you tense when you recognize the clinking of what you think might be plates just seconds before you teleport into the kitchen. Karkat screeches in surprise and nearly drops the bowls in his arms when you pop up in front of him and you’re so surprised that he’s actually setting a table that you momentarily forget your hunger.

Your unspoken question is answered though when Jane speaks up from where she’s taking something out of the oven, saying, “Hey! Be careful with those.”

Karkat scowls at the other girl and you’re sure he’s about to go off on a rant or throw the bowls at something, but after a few seconds he just turns around and finishes what he had been doing, sending you a fleeting glare that just dares you to say something. You flash an amused smirk back at him, but you don’t have time to say anything before Jane notices you and asks you very politely if you might tell everyone that dinner will be ready soon. Something in you considers pouting and saying no - you’re hungry, why can’t someone else do it? – but Jane seems to sense this somehow and sends you a look when you hesitate too long.

The look is strangely familiar and leaves you feeling mildly guilty - like you’ve been very bad and she is so disappointed in you bad dog worst friend! - even if you’re not entirely sure why, and well, it’s not exactly like you don’t already know where everyone is, so you teleport back into the living room. After informing everyone in that room that it was food time, you flash up to where Rose and Kanaya are talking to one another and tell them as well. You don’t even wait for their reactions before you pop back into the kitchen to wait though.

Jane startles when you appear before her, but she gets a hold of herself pretty quickly for seeing someone teleport and thanks you after you report to her the completion of your mission. Her pleased smile makes you feel so happy and your whole body starts to wiggle, because you didn’t get a tail with your ears and you can’t think of any other way to express how happy her smile made you! In response to your squirming her smile grows a little strained, but she pats your head gently before turning away. You almost whine because you kind of wish she had scratched behind your ears like she used to, but you stop yourself because, well, you don’t actually know her so you’re not sure why you feel like she just left you hanging there and anyway a head pat is pretty good too.

She then resumes taking some of the food - a salad it looks like even though you’ve never had one quite like that before - to the table where she sets it down a little ways away from you. Curious, you reach your hand into the bowl, intending to grab some of the weird looking leaves until your hand is smacked away gently.

“Nuh uh,” Jane says sternly with a shake of her head just as some of the other kids start filing in, “None of that if you please, young lady. You have to wait and use tongs just like everyone else.”

John snickers at you with a quiet, “Ooh, busted,” as he takes a seat next to you, but you’re more amused than annoyed by this, especially when he give you his “just-kidding” smile. Apparently Jane hears him too, because she shakes her head with a soft, huffy burst of laughter even as she turns around to get more of the food on the counter.

Seeing what she’s doing, John’s smile morphs into something softer and less mischievous, and he gets up to see if she wants any help. You turn away as they talk, growing bored and feeling a little out of place since you’re not sure if you should be looking to help too or not, and instead turn your attention to Karkat again, where he’s randomly throwing a bunch of silverware onto each bowl he just put down. When John returns empty handed, he stops with a laugh and informs Karkat that he’s doing it wrong.

You know you probably shouldn’t laugh at the way Karkat struggles to understand why the silverware needs to go in a particular order on a designated side of a plate that’s not even there yet, since you don’t know anything about setting a table either, but you can’t really help it. John apparently can’t either, because he’s trying –and ultimately failing - to stifle his giggles even as he helps Karkat with the arrangements. As can only be expected, Karkat is decidedly not amused by this and tells John that if he’s so great at it then he can do it himself – er, that’s more or less what he says anyway – before stomping over to a chair far from the both of you and sitting down with a huff.

To your right, Terezi makes a needy chirp as some kind of meat is set down on a platter near her - which makes Karkat scrunch his face up in embarrassment and Aradia giggle - and apparently Jane knows more about Trolls than you thought, because she seems to know what that means and blocks Terezi from lunging for the food just as the Troll gets ready to. Terezi wrinkles up her nose as Jane begins to reprimand her gently, but she takes it in stride and promises not to do it again, licking Jane’s hand in what you think might be apology. Again, Jane laughs, although it’s a little surprised this time, and thanks Terezi for her cooperation.

Then, finally, you’re allowed to start getting food. After that first mishap though, you don’t just jump in like you’d like to, and instead watch how John and Rose get their dinner. You notice that the Trolls, and Dave(!) are doing the same, probably because they don’t wish to get in trouble with Jane like you and Terezi did, but it doesn’t actually look very hard. Dave is the first to move after John and Rose collect some food items and you can tell he’s trying to look like he knows what he’s doing, but you’ve been around him long enough to recognize what that tensing of his shoulders means. Rose seems to know too, or at least she’s caught on to the fact that almost everyone is watching her intently, because she moves a little slower and with more emphasis than she had originally.

Once everyone has seen the correct movements and manners though, there’s a scramble for the nearest food item, which seems to surprise Jane when the pot of rice she brings over is practically dragged from her hands. Even John joins in on the frenzy, cackling all while, while Jane looks on with wide eyes and Rose shakes her head.

You manage to get rice and salad and teleport some of the soup from its place on the oven into your bowl so you don’t actually have to go over there before you get too impatient and just start eating. The salad isn’t anything like the ones you’ve had before, but it’s actually pretty good, especially the what you think might be carrots, since they’re orange and those are the only orange vegetable you’ve ever heard of, discounting pumpkins of course. You’ve never had rice before either but it’s kind of bland, which makes you kind of feel bad for thinking since Jane probably put a lot of hard work into it until you see that John is cutting up his meat and eating his rice with it. That looks like a better idea than just eating the rice plain – maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be eaten? – so you leave the rice alone for now and move on to the soup.

As soon as the soup touches your tongue – after you blow on it of course, like they do on TV – your eyes close and you let out a pleased groan. Oh, wow, okay no wonder John was so happy to hear she was going to be cooking. This is the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted and you full heartedly agree with the other noises of appreciation sounding around the table. You can only imagine what she could do with steak. Mmm… just the thought is mouthwatering.

The grating shriek of a chair being pushed make your ears pin back as you look up from where you’re trying to shovel as much soup into your mouth as you can, and you see Karkat get up and march over to Sollux, who doesn’t seem to be eating anything. Everyone stops and stares as Karkat pushes a bottle of some sort into Sollux’s hands.

“You can have this,” Karkat says in slow, loud English as Sollux takes it from him hesitantly.

The one eyed Troll looks at the bottle in confusion, sniffing at it even as he asks, “What is it?” in Alternian.

Karkat looks like he’s about to answer when Jane interrupts him with a soft, “Oh!” You catch on about the same time, realizing that of course Sollux wasn’t eating, because he had no teeth left. Jane puts a hand to her chest and looks at Karkat with an honest to God proud expression, and Karkat and Sollux both look like they’re about to die from humiliation when everyone smiles at them in some fashion.

You think it’s sweet that Karkat remembered his friend even when no one else seemed to, and you tell him so as he storms back to his seat and tries to disappear in it. True to Karkat form though, he tells you to shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business, but all you have to do is raise an unimpressed eyebrow before he’s cutting his rant short and grumbling into his meal.

Turning back to get more soup, you almost miss the worrying way Gamzee starts eyeing you. Luckily though, Karkat isn’t too invested in his own attempts to become one with the chair cushion to notice and prevents anything from happening with just a soft pat to Gamzee’s wrist and a bit of hand holding. When you shoot Karkat a quick, questioning look, he gives a small nod back and you return to your meal, satisfied that the situation is taken care of.

Sollux makes a surprised squeak that draws your attention back to him for a moment, and makes you wonder what was actually in the bottle when he seems to pretty much attack it to get to the contents. Your hunger doesn’t allow your attention to wander for long though before you’re pulled back into your meal.

It’s about then that Jane starts up a conversation with Kanaya too, which you think is pretty lucky since she has the best grasp on English due to all the time Rose has put into teaching her. Others seem to take this as a hint that they can start talking too, and quickly jokes are being traded, questions are being asked, and stories are being told. You yourself don’t have much to add to any of them, nor do you even listen to them in favor of eating, but the background noise the conversations make is pleasant.

Once your hunger is satisfied enough that you’re not so intently focused on your food, you take the opportunity to look around. You immediately notice that most of the Trolls have pushed their salads and rice to the side, except for Terezi who is chowing down on just about everything she can reach, including at one point Aradia’s hand when it’s reached out in front of her in an effort to get more of the meat from the platter. This doesn’t seem make much of a difference though, because everything’s being eaten up at startling rate, and you wonder if there will actually be anything left by the time everyone is done.

Gamzee doesn’t seem to be eating much of anything though, much to frustration of Karkat, who has apparently resorted to feeding his moirail himself when Gamzee fails to do more than nibble on some of the salad leaves. It makes you sad to see that he is having problems in even this, and your ears droop a little when you figure that you’ll be waking up at some point tonight to help, but you try not to let it get you down too much. After all, Gamzee doesn’t actually look upset, he just looks vaguely pleased with himself that he managed to get Karkat to feed him.

Karkat notices your staring and sends you a suspicious head tilt, to which you look towards Gamzee and let your ears droop as you frown before looking back to Karkat. He’s quick to glare at you then, and you can easily imagine the “mind your own damn business,” that would undoubtedly accompany it. After rolling your eyes at him you give him your best serious face, which causes him to sneer and gesture in a manner that you think is supposed to stand for “everything is fine”. Gamzee, who was watching you both the entire time, takes that moment to eat the meat Karkat was trying to get him to eat earlier straight out of his moirail’s outstretched hand.

You giggle softly at the sight they make when Karkat nearly falls out of his chair in surprise, trying to make yourself feel better about Gamzee’s disinterest in eating, and take a few more bites of your own food before you’re satisfied with your level of fullness. With a smack of your lips, you sit back, ears swiveling as you just listen to the conversation around you, feeling at peace with yourself now that you don’t have a nagging hunger to keep you irritated. You could definitely get used to something like this.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR and you are tired. Even the sweet wriggler food that Karkat gave you can’t perk you up for more than a moment, delicious though it is. The activity around you just makes your exhaustion worse even though you aren’t even participating in it, and you’d get up to leave if you didn’t know that they’d come looking for you like they always do. As much as you’d like even a brief moment to yourself you’d really rather not get another look that says you’re over reacting or another talk about how you can’t keep isolating yourself.

It worries your friends, how you’ve been acting – well, except for maybe Aradia, but she doesn’t seem to worry much at all about anything – but you think that they really should be used to it by now. Well, no, that’s not really fair. After all, you should be too, but you’re not. Granted, it’s not exactly the same, the circumstances being what they are, but it’s close enough that you can barely tell the difference most days.

That just makes you hate it even more you usually do though, because for a while there you had been feeling good. Normal, if not exactly happy most of the time. You can barely even remember the last time you weren’t either depressed or manic, and that little bit of normalcy had been wonderful. Just like her. But it’s gone now, and so is she, and if you could still cry you think that you might be doing it now out of sheer frustration.

Heh, right, frustration, that’s it. Not, you know, loneliness or anything because that’d be pretty stupid of you to be feeling lonely when there were so many of your friends around you. Except that’s exactly the case isn’t it? You’re stupid and always have been, which is why you can’t just get over her and be happy again like you want to. You’d hate yourself even more for that if you didn’t feel so guilty all the time for letting her die when you should have been strong enough to protect her.

But then, you really should have expected that something like this would happen. Every time you get something good it gets ripped away from you, which, really, you probably deserve because you’re such a moron. If you were smarter you’d learn to either stop trying or find a way to keep the things that brought your happiness from slipping through your fingers. Or you know, just stay dead for good like you should have the last billion times. But no, you can’t even manage that can you? Of course not, because god forbid you actually do something right for once in your miserable life.

As Terezi lets out a shrill laugh, you run a weary hand over your face and quietly get up. You need to be alone right now, even if it’s only for a few minutes and means getting scolded for it. Leaving the room without a word, you resettle yourself in front of the fire pit. It’s not exactly private, but you know from experience that there’s really no use trying to hide, and the warmth from the fire is comforting even if the creepy dead guy next to you isn’t. But you’re trying really hard not to think about that guy right now, because you’d actually like to enjoy the fire pit, thanks.

And you almost manage to too, because if you ignore the way it’s a little too hot you can almost pretend that it’s her sitting behind you, warming you with her body heat. Almost, because there’s no breath at the back of your neck, or arms wrapped around you, or teasing complaints of how your hands or feet are cold, or a million other tiny things that you miss more than you should after only having it for such a short time.

You never thought that there could be anything worse than when Vriska used you to kill Aradia, but somehow this is. At least then you had known it wasn’t your fault even if it had been your body - had known that she was still around and talking to you even if she wasn’t really alive. But now all you’ve got is the knowledge that you should have died too, but didn’t.

Now you aren’t desperately trying to figure out what had made you lose control like you had done after Aradia, you’re hating yourself because you should have been able to stop him. You should have known something was wrong when his pupils turned to pinpricks and he started panting even though he had been one of the most physically fit trolls out of the twelve of you. You should have seen it coming way before anything even happened when he started acting like you sometimes do during one of you manic phases. But you hadn’t. You had ignored it, had been unable to stop him, hadn’t even had the fucking decency to die with her so she wouldn’t be alone.

But it’s not her that’s lonely, is it? It’s you. And it’s all your fault, because you hadn’t been strong enough, or smart enough, or more observant, or—

A noise knocks you from your thoughts, and you look up a little to find a pair of legs in front of you. Your shoulders sag – you had been hoping for more time than that – and you’re surprised when you look up and find that it’s actually Gamzee who came looking for you. That’s never happened before. Usually it’s Aradia or Karkat or even Jade sometimes who comes to fetch you from wherever you’ve hidden yourself away.

“Did Karkat send you?” You ask dully, unwilling to get up even though you know he’ll probably want to bring you back to the table.

Gamzee lets out a grunt, which you almost take for a yes until he says, “Naw bro, I wasn’t hungry either.”

He drops to the floor between you and the preserved dead guy, looking into the flames rather than away from them like you are, and you drop your head back to your knees wishing he would go away. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, saying nothing. It’s actually a nice change from the usual lecture you get, and you suppose that as long as he’s not making any noise or doing anything you can tolerate it. His body heat is more like Feferi’s than the fire anyway and even though his breathing is kind of raspy where hers was always smooth, it still helps you pretend, for a while at least.

“You forgot this, bro,” you hear a few minutes later just as something is forced into your lap. A glance down shows you it’s the wiggler food you left behind, and somehow that makes you want to smile a little. You’re still not sure how Karkat managed to get it, but you hadn’t actually thought someone would notice that you couldn’t eat anything.

A harsh breath brings your attention back to Gamzee, and when he catches your eye he bares his teeth – you’re not sure if it’s supposed to be a snarl or a smile - and warns, “Don’t go and forget you still have friends.”

Despite the fact that his tone is a little dangerous, or maybe even because of it, you realize with a horrified start that he’s right. You’ve been forgetting about your other friends – the ones who are still alive - something that you never used to do, and you’ve been refusing to acknowledge it. Or maybe you just didn’t even notice because you’ve been so wrapped in yourself that you couldn’t even spare a thought to how neglectful you’ve been acting these last few weeks.

How did this even happen? They used to be your escape - the closest thing to a sanctuary you’ve ever been able to get from your horrible thoughts - but this time you’ve considered them more of a nuisance than anything else. You feel a thick rush of guilt, since you know they’re only trying to help you, even if you don’t want it. So now on top of being a failure you’re also a bad friend - doesn’t that just figure.

Gripping the sides of your head with steady hands, you take a desperate breath and wonder how you managed to make yourself an even worse person than you had been to begin with in such a short time, and how you completely failed to see that you were doing so. Haven’t you learnt yet to stop ignoring things like this? Isn’t this the very kind of behavior that allowed you to completely miss all the signs that something was seriously wrong until it was too late and she was dead?

Without another word, Gamzee watches you steadily before settling back down. From the corner of your eye, you can see him shaking ever so slightly and it just serves to make you feel worse.

“I’m sorry,” You’re compelled to say after a long moment, even though by now he looks so lost in his own thoughts that you doubt he even heard you.

His head turns slowly to look at you once again, the fire casting weird shadows across his face and scars, and for a moment you stop breathing due to the sudden fear that grips you. Gamzee looks down right terrifying, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone wear an expression like the one he has on his face right now, but everything about it makes you tense and ready to run. Psionic energy crackles at your finger tips for the briefest of seconds before his face inexplicably softens into his now familiar neutral expression.

“Don’t be telling that to me, motherfucker,” Gamzee comments lightly, as if he didn’t just make every hair on your body stand on edge, “It’s Karkat and Aradia you be needing to say it to, you get me?”

You nod, the ends of your fingers tingling with nervousness and residual energy, and faintly wonder if that’s something you should tell Karkat about. He doesn’t even seem to realize he did anything strange though, because he just goes back to staring at the fire pit like he’s unsure whether to be wary of it or fascinated by it.

To be honest, you’re actually kind of relieved when the other’s start to exit the food preparation block just moments later, even if Gamzee no longer looks half a step from losing it. Although maybe that last assessment is a little too hasty, because when Karkat finally makes his way out Gamzee gives you a warning glare that has you shrinking back with an instinctual chirp of fear. This gains the attention of several people still in the room, including Karkat, who takes one look at the two of you and marches over.

“Do I have to shoosh-pap your ass, Gamzee?” He hisses as soon as he's near, crouching so he’s face to face with his moirail, “Because I swear to god I will if you’re over here terrorizing Sollux.”

Gamzee looks a little hurt at the accusation even if it’s not exactly baseless, and before you know it you’re saying, “No, KK, it was my fault.”

Karkat looks dumbstruck as he says, “Huh?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as Gamzee watches you suspiciously, “It was my fault. He only got mad because I was being a bad friend.”

“What?” Karkat says incredulously, looking between the two of you, “Oh god, you’re serious about that aren’t you? Have you lost your mind? Like, actually can no longer perform basic cognitive functions? The question was for both of you by the way, because seriously, what the fuck?”

You glare at him, trilling indignantly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The stare he gives you tells you exactly what he thinks of you even though what he says is, “Sollux, you aren’t a bad friend.”

“But I’ve been blowing you all off when you try to help and have pretty much been an ass to everyone!”

“Okay, yeah, that’s annoying as fuck,” he shrugs, “But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad friend. You’re grieving, we get it, and that makes us all act stupid, you especially.”

To this, you have nothing to say. He’s wrong, but he’s also stubborn and you just don’t have the will to argue with him further. Apparently even this is the wrong thing to do though, because he heaves a huge sigh that makes his whole body deflate on the exhale.

“Fine, you don’t want to believe me? You don’t have to. But honestly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t acting this way,” he’s staring right at you when you look up at him, completely serious, before he turns to Gamzee and says, “Come on.”

With that, you’re left alone, just like you’ve wanted this whole time. Except, suddenly it’s not as great as you had thought it would be. Even the fire at your back isn’t feeling good anymore. You sigh dejectedly at this before getting up and shuffling over to where Aradia is sitting on the floor. She smiles widely at you as you take a seat next to her but doesn’t comment. Taking a sip of your wriggler food, you think that perhaps the best part about that though is that you don’t need to actually say you’re sorry for her to know you’re apologizing and forgive you.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is ROSE LALONDE and you are somewhat nervous. Soon, approximately 4 hours and 13 minutes from now, the alternate version of your mother will make her appearance at this house. Undoubtedly, you will meet her, but you cannot see how this interaction will go and this is rather worrying. Thus far, the powers granted to you by your ascension to “Godhood”, such that it is in this game, have given you a sense of comfort by allowing you to see the best path to take for the most virtuous outcome this game would allow. But your powers are no help to you in a situation like this because some of the smaller details, such as how your team will behave with one another, are overlooked when they do not directly affect the pathway. That is more Terezi’s expertise than yours, and as a player who has not yet reached her final level, she can only see so far into the future so at the moment she cannot help you.

Currently, you are attempting to distract yourself from your unease, with varying degrees of success. Dinner was a rambunctious affair that certainly kept you occupied, but now that it is over you find yourself at a loss what to do, seeing as talking to Kanaya only works so well to do away with your anxiety. Knitting is out of the question as well, as you tend to get lost in thought while working on a piece and that is precisely what you are trying to avoid at this instance. Joining the others in their games, as fun as you’re sure they are, does not particularly interest you at the moment either, which brings you right back to square one.

A brief distraction does come as you climb the stairs and hear a distressed little chirp, followed closely by what you’re sure is Alternian chatter despite it being too low for you to hear properly. You pause halfway up, listening carefully to make sure you will not have to break up a skirmish or help contain Gamzee should Karkat not be able to get close enough to soothe him without the distinct possibility of being harmed. There’s a sudden hush then that makes your breath catch just so you don’t accidentally miss something, before something else is being said in what you recall as being a bitter tone.

In wake of the tense murmuring your heart starts to pound a bit harder, and for just the slightest instance you’re a little bit afraid that the peacefulness surrounding the house will be broken, even if you have no real cause to think so due to your lack of visual or auditory evidence. Things seem to resolve themselves without your intervention however, for there are no more sounds of ill content from either trolls or humans, and you feel that it is safe to continue on your way.

It’s still strange, you muse, that preventing aliens from committing homicide has become somewhat of a normal happenstance for you, especially when you take the time to reflect and contrast your current situation with how plain your life before the game had been. Even stranger, perhaps, is how much you’re unbothered by changes your life has undergone. That’s not to say you’re unaffected, you assure yourself - your mother’s death in particular is still painful to think about for a multitude of reasons - but you feel that you, and the others, have adapted remarkably well all things considered.

Well, perhaps not all of you have been as successful as others, you consider as you pick up a stay orange feather from where it had fallen on Jane’s bed. Smoothing out the quills, you place it on top of the bookshelf with the others Kanaya started stockpiling and take a moment to appreciate the fact that you only have secondhand memories from that timeline and none of the emotions that had obviously been associated with them. It is perchance these memories that allow you to feel a sort of kinship with him, being the only two who knew how horrible a life without Jade and John had been, but even still you know that the way he “subtly” alternates between hiding himself away and clinging to Jade and John as though to make sure that they truly exist is extremely unhealthy.

There, however, is nothing you can do about that at the moment. Even if you knew where to find him, which you most assuredly do not, you know he would not be receptive to any help. The inability of one Dave Strider to receive help without misconstruing it as pity is an issue you have been attempting to get him to recognize and correct long before the game, and, as one might suspect by their present actions, you have thus far been unsuccessful in this endeavor. But that is all beside the point, you suppose, for you now doubt that anything you do in relation to either one of them will have any profound effect - although to be perfectly honest you have recently been holding out hope that their proximity to the trolls will help at least one of them see that pity isn’t quite as loathsome as they make it out to be.

Of course, all this just makes the list of ways that you might spend your free time even slimmer. In hindsight, perhaps getting more hobbies like your mother had suggested instead of steadily relieving yourself of them in a passive-aggressive pass would have been more advantageous in the long run. At the very least you might not be floundering for something to do if you had. Even ignoring the way the very thought of remaining idle twists your insides, having nothing to do after nigh constantly working for such a long time is disconcerting to say the least. Perhaps that just proves how much you needed the break, but again, at the moment you’d welcome any sort of distraction.

That being said however, despite your better attempts to try and divert yourself from your own emotional conundrum, you have inexplicably failed. Yet again your thoughts have run full circle until they land right back on you, which is both frustrating and doubtless inevitable after spending most of your life psychoanalyzing yourself for lack anyone else to practice on. It’s practically second nature by now to revert to introspection whenever you are inflicted with a chronic negative emotion.

You’re not about to give up that easily though, so you head to the book case once again and scan the titles. None of them seem like anything you would normally read, but you start taking them out one by one anyway to see if they might hold some promise. For the most part, the answer is unfortunately no.

As you’re going through Jane’s rather large collection of what appears to be mystery novels with a detective as the main protagonist, you run across a book that has actually been written on in marker. A part of you seethes quietly at that and your grip tightens on the book reflexively even as you read the words this “DS” obviously thought were funny enough to write on the cover of the novel.

It makes you give the book a second glance you probably wouldn’t have normally, and makes you wonder why this book out of all of them has been defiled in such a way. It’s a young children’s book more likely than not, but the handwriting on it looks like it came from someone at least your age. You can’t tell if the words are supposed to be sarcastic or not either, although Jane kept the book so perhaps it has some literary merit to it.

With a rather morbid curiosity, you actually turn to the first page, only to find more writing on the inside. You take a moment to calm yourself, and read over the bright orange only to find yourself reminded of Dave. Indeed, the contrived text and DS initials, along with the poor drawings in the footnotes, are strangely reminiscent of the younger Strider, and grudgingly you find yourself reading on.

If you had even the slightest inkling that it might have been an alternate Dave who sent this to Jane though, your suspicions are almost immediately disregarded due to the capitalization and punctuation DS employs generously – unless this universe further removed from your own than you had previously thought – but even still the inserted script continues to use his exact brand of humor. This leads you to the conclusion that it was, most likely, his brother who wrote it, which coincides nicely with your previous deductions that Dave’s hero worship of his brother ran far too deeply to be healthy.

You stop for a moment to wonder if this version of the elder Strider is still invested in the production of puppets and the implications that might have for Dave if he does. Actually, that might be a good way to observe a phobic reaction up close, so you may actually have to ask this “DS” when you meet him for no other reason than that. Of course, having Dave on edge and in fear of your future comrade may end up hindering your success later on. Perhaps you should wait until the other Strider arrives to make your decision... Yes, that does seem like the best course of action now that you think about it.

Your ponderings do not last long however before you are drawn back into the book. It’s honestly pretty terrible, both the original parts and the injected material, but somehow you cannot stop. After two chapters of ironic humor, bad puns, and unapologetic ridicule, you concede defeat and move to sit in a more comfortable position against the wall between the bookcase and the doorway. It’s perhaps too easy to imagine that it really was Dave who wrote this, even though the text is orange instead of red, and the familiarity of it makes it easier to choke down the bold desecration of a book (no matter how terrible) and appreciate the distinct Strider wit that’s been rather lacking in your life for the last few weeks.

“It’s cathartic in its own terrible way, isn’t it?” A voice to your left makes you choke on your soft chuckle as you jump a little – you hadn’t even heard her! – and you look up to find Jane smiling down at you in a way that makes her face look soft and sad.

Her words catch up to you then, and you quickly glance down before gazing up at her and saying as evenly as you can, “I suppose that it is… therapeutic in sense of the word. Am I to assume it was written by a Strider?”

Jane laughs at that, sharp and surprised before going deep and throaty as she says, “Oh, is yours that way as well?”

With a short nod you stand up, “Both of them.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to get up, I was just coming up to make sure you were alright,” Jane says quickly, her hands out in a pacifying gesture. Then she stops short, visibly working through what you just said as her head cocks to the side, “Both?”

You hmm in assent, crossing your arms as she continues to look at you for clarification, but you say nothing more on the matter. Eventually, she seems to acknowledge the fact that you won’t be adding anything else and clears her throat awkwardly.

“Um, well, you are doing okay up here all by yourself aren’t you?” She asks, her voice catching awkwardly like how it had when you had all first appeared at the house before it evens out with concern. The tone makes you shift your weight to the other leg and for a moment you’re struck by the fact that she actually seems genuine in her attempt to care about someone she’s just met.

“I’m perfectly content, thank you,” you say with a small wave of your hand that draws her eye.

Her face scrunches a little as she questions further, “You’re sure? You wouldn’t like me to get you anything? Perhaps something to eat or drink?”

Suddenly, you’re unsure what to do. On one hand, you’d rather she leave. On the other, you just know she’ll give you John’s kicked puppy look if you give her the curt rejection you’re tempted to, and if she’s anything like him then you know that she honestly would be hurt. You falter briefly, before deciding that letting her do something for you wouldn’t really take any skin off your back, so to speak.

“I suppose some tea would be nice, if you happen to have any.”

You barely even get your sentence out before she’s enthusiastically replying, “Oh yes, of course dear, I have plenty of tea! Is there any particular kind you would like? Do you want any cream or honey in it? Some sugar mayhaps?”

“Anything is fine,” you tell her, adding, “really,” when she gives you a skeptical look.

“Well,” she starts, “if you’re sure. I’ll be right up with some, okay?” And with that she’s out of the room and you’re left to stand at the doorway. With a delicate sniff, you shrug and take your seat once more, opening the book where you left off.

Jane, as promised, comes back a few minutes later, a wide smile on her face as she sets the Betty Crocker mug down at your side.

“Here you are, one cup of tea, nice and hot. Is there anything else you’d like?” Her face drops a little when you politely tell her that no thank you, just the tea is fine, but she recovers herself when you take a sip of her tea and make a hum of appreciation.

“Well you just tell me if you need anything else, alright?” She says, firm but inviting in the same way John somehow manages to pull off sometimes. When you agree with a nod she opens her mouth as if to add something more, but closes it before anything can come out. You see her swallow thickly as her gaze flits between the floor and you, the atmosphere growing uncomfortable once more. Finally, she seems to gather up her courage and ask, “May… may I ask you something?”

Startled - although perhaps you should have expected her to interrogate you when she continued to stick around even after checking up on you, which she had originally said was her goal - you do nothing for a long moment before slowly enunciating, “Yes, you may.”

Her throat clears as she delicately takes a seat next to you, her legs tucked under her, and suddenly you have a terrible feeling that she’s going to be here a while.

“Did you ever have a, let’s say, ‘passive-aggressive’ relationship with your mother?”

Although her voice is low and soft, the words still hit you like a physical blow, making your stomach curl and your chest feel tight. You don’t think you let anything show on your face, but she seems to notice that all is not right anyway and tries to take her question back. The damage was already done however, and brief besides, so you stop her and tell her that it’s fine.

“As a matter of fact, I did have that exact relationship with my mother. Is there a reason you ask?” If there is suspicion and just the slightest hint of a warning in your voice as you question her, it really is warranted after such an inquiry.

“No, no,” she’s lying; you know because she has many of the obvious tells such as looking away, biting her lip, and fidgeting. Perhaps it is your staring that drives her into doing it, or perhaps it is an issue which she has been wanting to get off her chest for a while, but either way it’s not long at all before she’s telling the truth with a heaving, mournful sigh, “It’s just, now I feel like an even worse friend.”

The inquisitive sound that you make without thought draws her attention and she kindly elaborates, “You see, my friend Roxy, whom I have always considered to be my very best of friends, always used to complain about the passive aggressive wars which she and her mother – you, I’d think – had and yet instead of consoling her and helping her through her emotional distress, I told her she was just being melodramatic. My father and I have a wonderful relationship you see, and so I simply couldn’t believe her when she told me this.

“This was just one of the many wrongs I have dealt her through my skeptical nature however, and now that I’m learning how all of the things I thought were lies or hyperboles were actually the very sincerest of truths, I feel just terrible. I have been a very poor friend indeed it seems, and after she worked so hard to get me to just believe something she was saying.”

There are tears in her eyes now, which she wipes away and tries to cover up with a broken smile as she adds, “Oh, but why am I unloading this all on you? Surely you have enough problems as it is, without some stranger telling you how they abused someone who was once your mother.”

It’s hard to find something to say to that, or to work the words past the lump resting at the base of your throat when you do, but somehow you manage to say, “No. No, don’t be sorry.”

Her gaze snaps up to yours, hopeful, and you find that your words flow easier after you get past the first choked off syllables. “Keeping your emotions, especially corrosive ones like regret and guilt, locked inside you can be devastating and ultimately only leads to more problems and mistakes, which in turns feeds the destructive emotions you’re already harboring. It’s a positive feedback loop that never ends unless you release that pent up negativity, and some people find they are able to do this after talking to someone. Many of these people also feel more comfortable talking to someone who is virtually a stranger about these problems because there is no relationship for them to potentially ruin.

“While talking directly to her would definitely be best thing to do in this situation, it is understandable why you would feel inclined to talk to me instead. I am, however, perhaps not the best person to be giving you advice if that is what you are looking for, which, of course, it may not be. Your friend is not my mother, no matter how genetically identical they may be, and the very fact that she has you as a friend proves that she has lived a very different life than the woman I knew. I’m sorry, but as much as I would like to help you with your situation - if you are even looking for it - I would be, at the current moment, very ill-equipped to do so.”

“It’s no wonder she looks up to you so much,” Jane finally says after a long, considering pause, “You’re very wise and mature, even at your age. Still, I am sorry for unloading even more problems on you when you have so many already. You’re right, I should be telling her this, not you, no matter how much easier it is to tell someone who looks like, but ultimately isn’t, her.”

The soft touch of her hand on the side of your head is startling, and your entire body is frozen stiff as she adds, “Thank you for listening though. I honestly do appreciate it. I’ll leave you alone now though, before I get even sappier.”

Your hair slides easily through her fingers, clean and bright once again after your shower, as she gracefully gathers herself and stands. The look she gives you as she waves and walks from the room is warm and filled with something you might call gratitude for lack of a better way to describe it. The grip you have on your mug of tea tightens to hide the way your hands want to start shaking, and after she’s gone, you close your eyes and will yourself to relax. You take another sip of tea and, with a glance down at the terrible book in your lap, and consider what she had first said when she came in.

Cathartic? Well, not quite. As you had told Jane, it was a bit therapeutic in that it was, if not quite actually humorous then at least amusing in its ineptitude, and your entire group has been in some dire need for some endorphins – or the troll equivalent, you suppose – for quite some time now. Laughing and being able to be juvenile, if just for the moment, feels nice even if you know that it won’t last. However, cathartic would not be the word you would use. ‘Cathartic’ would more aptly describe the conversation that just took place, for both you and Jane though she might not know it.

You had been afraid that you would meet this “Roxy” and be unable to see her for who she was rather than just a carbon copy of your mother, but being told of her emotional trials, of her relationships and life - all of which were so different from the ones your mother had - made it easier to separate them. Whenever you had thought of Roxy, you had seen your mother, an adult in body and mind (no matter how inebriated), but now you can picture that lanky teenager from your mother’s old photographs and have it feel right.

Roxy isn’t your mother, just like Jane isn’t John’s Nanna, but it wasn’t until now that you actually convinced yourself of that. Beforehand, you had known it intellectually, but you hadn’t actually believed it, not matter how hard you tried to enforce this knowledge onto the other human members of your group. You’re still nervous about meeting her - that is unlikely to change - but you do feel better about this imminent meeting; like you are less likely to be disappointed now when she shows up and is not your mother.

Sighing in relief, you run your hand through your hair and settle back into your corner. You still have a book to read after all, and it's just getting to the part where Strider apparently decided that his revision was ultimately better in every way and simply began writing the entire story himself. Thus far you’ve been unable to decide if this is an improvement to the drivel from before, but you intend to stick it out to the bitter end in order to find out. And perhaps it is simply a side effect from being more relaxed now that you no longer have that weight on your chest, but you find that your laughter comes easier and feels a little bit more natural. You will probably have to thank Jane for that at some point, but for now you would much rather spend this moment enjoying yourself.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is KANAYA MARYAM and you have never felt more out of place than you do right now. Or, more precisely, than you have been since you first arrived in this new session. On Alternia, you were different both because of your blood color and due to the fact that you liked daylight and put more importance on fashion than most, but you still knew where you stood. In the Veil there were times when you felt alone, but after starting up your conversations with Rose and being able to confide in her, these feelings seemed to lessen in both intensity and frequency. Now however, in this strange human hive and in these human clothes that do not belong to you (or even match for that matter) without your fellows beside you, you are distinctly aware of how much of an outsider you are in this place with its bizarre customs.

Rose has assured you on multiple occasions that you are by far the best at mimicking humans in both their actions and their language out what’s left of your race, but considering whom that small group consists of, this does not make you feel much better. It is, after all, not a very high bar to clear, which might explain how you can be the “best” and still have made several “faux passes” today already. As if that were not embarrassing enough, you think you might have insulted your host by telling her you would rather not be in her company when she came down to visit you earlier.

This is, of course, just the reason that you are currently sitting by yourself in the laundry block, watching the alien clothes cleaning machine swirl around and around in dizzying circles. You doubt that the others have even noticed your absence, but this does not bother you as much as it might at any other time. Feeling as out of sorts as you are, you do not imagine that you would be very good company anyway, even if you do feel slightly guilty for leaving Rose to her own devices (she has, however, imparted the importance of the fact that she occasionally needs her solitude, so you do not feel too bad).

As to why you are in the laundry block specifically, it is not, in fact, just because you were looking for a place without inhabitants. Indeed, you actually have more reasons than that, for if that had been your only requirement there were plenty of other places worthy of hiding in. The motive behind your choosing this block in particular was the fact that your clothing will be dry soon. Or so you were told anyway. “Soon” seems to be a rather relative word, considering the fact that you have been in here for nearly twenty minutes and the timer has still not beeped as you were promised it would when your clothes were ready to exit the drying machine.

Even still, you do not have much cause for complaint, because even if you are only here to collect your outfit, that is not to say there are no other benefits to the laundry block over other ones. For example, the noise of the machines, which drowns out the voices of the others in the hive with its gentle whooshes and whirs, is actually quite relaxing most of the time too, when it is not clanking irritatingly as it has the unfortunate tendency to do every so often. The block is quite warm as well, something you have always appreciated even if it tends to make you drowsy, so really you are quite content to sit in this block and mull over how alien you feel surrounded by human inventions.

You imagine that some of the trolls who are gone would have appreciated the hive’s strange technology though, like Equius, who had always had a way with machinery. Vriska likely would have called it all boring, but you know that she would snoop around to see how things worked the first chance she got. It is rather depressing to know that they will never get the chance to experience this now; that they will never get to experience anything ever again outside of their contrived little dream bubbles, which Aradia has told you is comprised mainly of memories.

It makes you wonder what they would do if they were all still here, alive and healthy and whole. Would they feel as out of place as you, surrounded by human things as you are? Some would, you think, but others would be too excited over the fact that they were meeting new people and trying new things to feel gloomy. You wish--

The timer buzzes loudly then, knocking you from your increasingly negative thoughts, and you scramble to your feet, thankful afterwards that no one had been around to see that and mock you for your lack of grace. When you collect your clothes from the drying machine, they are amazingly soft and warm to the touch and you can’t help but nuzzle your face into them, breathing in the lovely scent the soap has left on them.

Oh, you feel better already now that you have them in your arms. Your clothes have been such a large part of your life that being without them even for a short while left you feeling exposed and naked despite wearing the borrowed apparel you were offered. Having them back in your grasp, clean and wonderful once more, calms you significantly, and you feel a bit more like yourself then you were just moments before.

It is silly, you know, to put so much importance into clothes that you switch on a whim, but in a world where you have so very little left to call your own, you tend to cling to what you still have. For you, their importance lies partially in the fact that you made and designed them, because when you look at them it is proof that you can still make something and have it turn out beautiful and perfect. These days you have so much evidence to counter that, that you need the reminder every once in a while.

As you slip out of the mismatched disasters that Jane let you borrow and back into you old outfit right there in the laundry block, it feels more to you like you are putting your skin back on than anything material, in a metaphorical way at least. There are many things you miss, and many things that make you feel like an outsider looking in, but here, amongst yourself and wrapped within the familiar confines of your clothes, you do not feel strange or like you misplaced some part of yourself, because you have everything you want all around you.

Comfortable, warm, and perfect, you feel at peace for a moment. The feeling will fade, you are sure, but for now you let yourself enjoy something simple, in an empty place where no one can see you if you happen to shed a couple of tears or show that you are not as strong as you like to make them think you are. Here, in this moment, you do not have to pretend to be more human than you are, or that you are older than your six sweeps, or that you are not mourning the loss of the people you called your friends, or that you do not still feel betrayed and angry at times. Here, you can just be you, because when it comes right down to the hard truth, this is really all you have left.

***

Chapter Text

Your name is TEREZI PYROPE and you are a Troll on a mission. And not just any mission, oh no, you are on a quest to find Mister Orange Creamsicle from wherever he may be hiding and drag him into the fun, whether he wants to come or not. Well, okay, maybe not that last part if he’s already having fun wherever he is, but knowing him you really, really doubt that he’s doing anything more than moping like a very uncool kid.

Normally, you wouldn’t even bother looking for him, but you’ve found everyone else and having gone through the entire hive without finding more than a few of his stupid feathers is a serious blow to your pride, and you cannot let such a crime go unpunished. As such, you have decided that for his offense he will be forced to, at a minimum, either join the fun with the others or draw some pictures with you. You don’t think he’ll pick the last one - in fact you know he won’t - but you’ve brought your coin and pack of chalk with you just in case.

Alternating between slow, deep sniffs and rapid bursts of breath, you wander the halls trying to find your unsuspecting prey. This is a very slow going investigation though, because you stop and lick every new picture you find, even the ones that you have to actually take off the wall to reach. You also have to double back and look through every block again, just to make sure he hasn’t moved in the time you’ve taken. Usually you’re more adamant and focused in your pursuit of justice, but to be honest you only half want to find him, since he’s always such a downer and you’ve been having such a good time here and don’t want him to ruin that.

Ah, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t have fun looking for him. Indeed, this is clearly the set up to a murder mystery, as you’ve gone through every block, looked under every piece of furniture and in every cabinet, and yet you still haven’t found him. His blatant attempt to conceal himself from the law, resisting arrest if you will, is obviously proof the he has something to hide! This just means you’ll have to expand your search outwards.

With cunning stealth, you slip outside onto what you think might be a balcony without anyone noticing. You grin widely as you take a deep breath and are thankful for the light breeze that filters smells and colors towards you. Oh yes, that sweet hint of orange and tangy tint that makes him Dave – or, a poor copy of Dave at least – lets you know that he’s definitely been out here lately, even if you’re not sure where.

Following scents is a lot harder for you to do than just seeing the colors of things, but you find that it’s easier when you filter the actual smells through your mouth and let your nose do the “seeing”. As you open your mouth and push your tongue down, your nose wrinkles and lips curls, and almost instantly that strong Strider-prey-hurt scent bombards you. It’s thick and heavy in the air, which means he’s closer than you thought, or was around very recently, and you hold yourself still for a moment, simply breathing in and out as you try to pinpoint which way the odor is coming from.

Finally, you think you have a direction and you head over to the nearest wall, licking your lips as your mouth closes again. Smelling through your nose after mouth breathing is like how opening your eyes used to be, except the colors are blurrier without a damp coating on them, and for a moment all you do is stare at the wall as you regain your “vision”.

Inhaling deeply, you point your nostrils upward, looking for a way to go up. The wall looks smooth as far as you can tell though, and as you feel along the length of it you can’t find any evidence otherwise. With an indignant huff, you turn in a circle until you catch wind of the big hulking machine in the middle of the balcony. Maybe--?

Walking over and on to it, you make note of the fact that it’s an alchemizer and proceed to not care as you shimmy up its piping, kicking off what may or may not be important knobby bits as you go. When you reach the top, you haul your feet up until you’re standing on the pipes and reach for the edge of the roof that is very nearly in your grasp. Your fingers fall short however so you make a jump for it, your blunt claws digging in as well as they can, and swing yours legs up.

Your toes barely make it, but as you dig your lower claws in as well, you figure you probably have a good enough hold to haul yourself up. This is a gross over estimation however, as you soon find out when your leg buckles under the weight you’re trying to put on it and slips off the roof. As you dangle from the edge, you softly trill in irritation and try again.

It takes a few preliminary swings to get up some momentum, but when you finally try again you manage to get your whole foot up onto the roof. With a victory croon, you dig your heel into the slated rooftop and heave yourself up. It’s a little awkward, because the surface you’re trying to get onto is so steep, but with some careful maneuvering you learnt from living in a tree your whole life, you manage to finally get yourself all the way up.

Scrambling to your hands and knees, you look up and are almost instantly assaulted by the deliciously soft orange of Mister Creamsicle himself. You can’t smell with enough detail from this far away to tell what his facial expression is, but you don’t really need to because the acidic animosity rolling of in him waves tells you everything you need to know.

“Go away,” he tweets at you as you scuttle closer on all fours, and for a moment you’re shocked that he’s speaking Alternian until you remember that his sprite-ness allows him to automatically translate what he wants to say into a language you can understand.

“Nope,” you reply without a grin, “I’m here to collect you.”

This gives him pause, and you smell his uncertainty for a moment before he asks, “Why?”

You’re about to tell him that it’s because of his crimes against your ego, that this is his punishment for being so hard to find, but you find yourself stopping at the last moment. You like fun, and you like games, but the two are only one and the same when the person you’re playing with goes along with it. Normal Dave would play with you, would understand that you were joking and draw ironic comics with you, but this Dave won’t.

“I don’t know,” you end up telling him, though you’re unsure as to why you’re suddenly so truthful. Maybe it’s because you feel kind of sorry for him. He smells of death after all, and you hate smelling Dave die.

“Then leave,” and with that he’s turning away from you to face the blueberry scented sprite floating idly next to him, which you assume is Jane’s.

His blatant disregard irks you, and you have to choke down an angry chirp. He’s always like this, the jerk, no matter how nice you are to him or how many times you try to get him to play your games like the real Dave does. It doesn’t really surprise you when you blurt out, “Why you hate me so much?” but you kind of start to regret it right away. He’s going to turn that into some big joke like Dave always does when it comes to feelings, and you think you might bite him if he does because you want a real answer this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He demands, a wrathful trill rising in the back of his throat as he whips around to face you once again, “Do I need to actually spell it out for you? Or maybe you’d like a song instead, because that’s what the ‘real’ Dave does for you right? Well fine. Okay then, how’s this: I hate you because you killed John, and how because of that Jade was gone; I hate you because you act like it’s nothing, like you didn’t ruin everything; and most of all I hate you because you made me. Now do you fucking see?”

His rhythm is off because he’s angry, so much more so than your coolkid would ever let himself get, and it strikes you as sort of amazing that he actually told you the truth. Of course, then what he said actually hits you, and, well, you’re confused for a moment as to what he’s talking about because John and Jade are still alive. Then you remember that he’s from the timeline where you succeeded in killing John.

You had never been able to see any of the beta timelines that didn’t interact with the alpha one, so you had kind of blown it off when he first told you about the outcome of his offshoot and had since completely forgotten about even trying to talk John into killing himself. But you know now that you really fucked up with that decision, even if it hadn’t ever really seemed like a big deal because the John from your timeline never fell for your trick.

Oh Jegus, that means he’s right. That means that, this time, it’s you who’s in the wrong, you who’s done the bad thing, and for all the times when you’ve been on the other side of the line with your long winded rants of justice, all you can say now is a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

He scoffs at you, a human thing you’ve learnt means that he’s feeling incredulous, and he tells you, “No you’re not.”

Now it’s your turn to feel indignant, “Objection!”

“Shit, no, look, I don’t want to deal your shitty fetish, just go away. I don’t need your pity, okay?”

“Stop changing the subject, I’m not flirting with you! I was being serious when I apologized!” You bare your teeth at him, “I’m sorry that I tried to kill John and that I actually did in one timeline, okay? I was angry because I thought you guys were the reason Jack Noir came to our session and took it out on your leader.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” He screeches at you, his words gratingly high and clipped.

“I know!” You yell back, irrationally worked up, and suddenly you want to hit him, “I know and I wish that I hadn’t done it, because it was stupid to begin with and ended up practically killing another Dave and I’m sorry!”

He falls silent then, and now that there’s no screaming going on you start to calm down again. Jegus, you knew that he would ruin how nice everything was like this. You should never have come, but of course you did anyway. When will you learn that he’s not your Dave and he doesn’t like you and you should just stop trying? So what if he smells exactly like he’s about to die or that everyone keeps forgetting that he’s there? He doesn’t want your help, or your pity, or whatever he thinks it is that you’re trying to give him. He wants his life back - which a different you stole from him - and you can’t do anything to change it or make it better.

You should just go like he wants you to, because your knees are starting to ache, but that smell of hurt, both emotional and physical, keeps you where you are. Stupid.

He shifts, which causes a few of his feathers to fall off him, and on a whim you reach out and pick one up as the breeze drifts them towards you. Bringing it to your nose, you breathe in the mouthwateringly sweet orange as well as the lemony tang of his blood, and a sad chirp leaves you clench your eyes shut and wish there was a way to make this easier.

“Fuck,” he says, breathy and in English, but you’ve been around the humans long enough to know what that means, before reverting back to Alternian to say, “You’re serious aren’t you?”

Your glasses slip a little down your nose as you nod vigorously, and when you look up you tell him, “I don’t like it when my friends die.”

“I’m not your friend,” he replies sharply, and you smell the shape that represents his good wing fold behind him and tuck in so close that you can’t distinguish it from the rest of the orange blob that makes up his body.

“You could be,” you say, wanting it to be true even though you know it never will be.

He shakes his head as he tells you, “No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” You demand, “The other Dave is!”

“Because I’m not the other Dave, Terezi,” his tone goes soft, but remains high and bitter, and it makes you feel bad. Everything he says seems to makes you feel bad, “Besides, what the hell does it matter if I die? Can I even die? I’m a fucking game construct now!”

“You smell like you’re dying,” you answer, thinking about your Lusussprite that Jack Noir killed when he destroyed your planet. You don’t know where the sprites go when they die, but you know that she’s definitely gone.

“Great,” he says, scoffing again as he turns away, “Whatever. I knew this was it for me anyway, might as well make this shit permanent.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, for some reason startled by the idea that he might not be coming with your group any longer, “You mean you’re not coming with us? But we’re not finished yet!”

He shakes his head at you, and he doesn’t smell angry anymore, just tired, like he yelled out all the anger he had left, “You said it yourself, I’m in no shape to continue on. I figure I’ll just chill here, beat the hell out of any imps that come by, and catch up on some much needed rest. Feel free to tell the others that, by the way. Just don’t tell them where I am while you’re at it. Harley’s gonna be bad enough when she finds out, I don’t need Egbert and Rose nagging at me too.”

You sit in silence for a moment, and you know you shouldn’t, because he’s not your friend, but you feel yourself starting to get mad at him again, “That has to be the stupidest thing any Dave has ever said to me, including when one told me he was going to stick Jack Noir in jail.”

“That’s nice,” he comments flippantly, still facing away from you, and that just fuels the resentment bubbling up in your stomach like vomit.

“No, it’s really not. Why are you not going to go on? Battle to the very end and go out like a hero should? And don’t tell me that you’re not a hero, because that’s a lie and we both know it.”

“You wanna know the truth?” He asks you, tilting his head so a little bit more of his liquorish sunglasses are turned towards you, “Because there’s nothing left that I can do. If I go on, I’ll just be a liability. You don’t need my advice on the game anymore, I’ve already done what I came back to do plus a shit ton of additional stuff, and it’s not like I’ll be any help in a fight.

“It was always game over for me; I just managed to delay it longer than the other betas did.”

And you have nothing to say to that, because it’s true. All beta timelines are doomed to die. It’s simply the nature of the game.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” you croon as your anger leaves you in a rush, leaving you feeling a bit too raw, “I can understand that, sort of. It’s still stupid, but I think I get it. Like, you’re admitting your guilt rather than trying to prove you’re innocent, because the whole courtblock knows you did it and so does the judge and you figure a swift culling is better than torture.”

“…Sure. Let’s go with that,” he says, his voice going completely flat, “Now will you please leave me alone?”

This time, you do as he requests, feeling emotionally drained yourself and just wanting to go back to feeling good. When you reach the edge of the roof though, you can’t help but look back and ask, “Does this mean that you’ll never forgive me?”

The pause afterwards is long and strained, but you stay where you are, knowing that after this the decision will be final.

“…Just leave me alone,” he finally says, turning his whole body away from you so you get a bright burst of lemon. You… hadn’t really been hoping for that answer though. It wasn’t a ‘no’, but it might as well have been.

With a disappointed chirrup, you swing yourself recklessly over the edge and back onto the pipes, where you wobble momentarily before regaining your footing. From there you hop down onto the alchemizing pad and scurry back to the door, wanting to just get out of there. You’re in such a hurry that you almost miss the faint, “I’ll think about it, Pyrope. No promises though,” that floats down from the rooftop belatedly.

The words freeze you in place for a half a second, your eyes going wide behind your glasses as you jerk your head upward as if that would really help you smell if he’s lying or not. A small bubble of hope has already been sparked though, so whether he means it or not there’s no changing that. “Maybe” isn’t as good as a yes, but it’s something you can work with at least, and you definitely intend to keep trying (somehow). Your grin reappears little by little as you continue on your way, and by the time you’ve gotten back to the others it’s completely covering your face.

*** 

Chapter Text

Your name is DAVE STRIDER —or, no, you’re DAVESPRITE now, aren’t you – and this is the end of the line for you, so you suppose you had better get used to the décor. That’s why you’re currently wandering the house with the other sprite – the first level blue one that belongs to whoever’s house this is. It’s not exactly good company, but it’s really all you’ve got and it seems to like hanging out with you rather than actually helping its player like it’s supposed to be doing. Whatever, you might as well get used to it too if you’re going to be here with it for the rest of your life.

As you aimlessly float along, taking in how… normal the house is even with all the weird pictures everywhere, you hear the sound of the doorbell followed immediately by a happy, feminine squeal. There’s a brief clatter as whoever the voice belonged to – certainly not anyone you know – runs for the door before you hear something hit the wall, presumably the door after being thrown open.

All this commotion actually perks your interest and you lazily drift down the stairs to see what all the racket is about, the other sprite following close behind. From the doorway, some chick who looks kind of like Rose gasps when she looks past the other girl (the owner of the house?) hugging her and sees you come in, but you don’t have time to react to it because a small movement a little to her left draws your eye and suddenly you’re looking at a ghost. Well, not really, since he’s clearly alive, not to mention a fuckin’ kid, but they look enough alike that you could never mistake him for someone other than your brother.

You don’t even think before you’re moving, skipping the rest of the stairs completely before dodging around the two girls blocking your way faster than you ought to if the way it hurts is any indication and definitely fast enough to be considered a threat by the way he freezes up under you, but you don’t care because holy shit you never thought you’d get the chance to see him – any version of him – ever again. The way you peep happily at him and nuzzle your face into his neck isn’t embarrassing, not anymore, but it causes him to flinch so you let up a little and just rest against him, even though containing yourself makes your wing and fingers tremor from the effort. It’s kind of amazing how he even smells the way you remember, except with more WD-40 or something mixed in, and for once you’re glad you’re a sprite because you can totally save this into your memory banks now.

“Dude,” Dave starts to say behind you, his voice flat and almost bored even though you know that underneath his shades he’s glaring at you.

“No,” you cut him off sharply, still clinging to the boy who looks so much like your brother, “Fuck being cool and fuck being ironic. I watched him die while you were off dicking around and swindling idiotic crocodiles out of their lifesavings, so I will hug the shit out of this alternate version of our brother if I damn well please.”

Everyone is silent for a moment then, and you can feel their eyes burning into the back of your head, but that doesn’t matter because finally, finally your brother hugs you back. It’s slow and hesitant, like he used to do when you were younger and still totally dependent on him, and it’s perfect even if it’s not really from the person you want it to be.

“I think,” he whispers as his hands settle on your back above the puncture wound but below your wings, and shit his voice is exactly the same and that kind of makes it a little harder to breathe, “I know what you mean.” And shit you didn’t need to know that you had died wherever he’s from, but fuck, shit is still okay because he’s still hugging you and that’s kind of blowing your mind.

“Blue bloody blazes, man! What in the seven hells happened to you?” A deep voice says from your right even as something touches your injured wing, completely ruining the moment when it causes you to recoil away violently. Your bro from another universe keeps a hand on you in an unnecessary attempt to steady you, but he’s not even looking at you, choosing instead to stare holes into the head of a boy who you can’t help but notice looks like an unnerving mix of Jade and John.

“Now, now, don’t look at me like that my good fellow,” the Egbert-Harley lovechild says to your alt bro, completely unfazed, “Simply look at his poor condition! Surely that’s something to ruffle our feathers over, if you’ll kindly pardon the pun.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you tell him icily, an aggressive warble threatening to rise in your throat as you become steadily more pissed off at the way he not only touched you, but also broke off the first hug you had had in years, “I just got in a fight with a dog is all.”

Someone behind you snorts just as the kid perks up and enthusiastically replies, “Oh ho! That must have been quite the unruly canine, good sir! Tell me, did you wrastle the beast with your bare fists?”

“Psh,” the Rose-ish looking girl says before you can answer, “Oh please, he’s obvioush– obviously sorry – a Strider-bird combo and neither Striders nor birds fight with der – their - hands, Jakey.”

“I say, you’re probably right about that. How terribly embarrassing!” Jake - you think maybe you remember Jade mentioning him? – actually loosens his collar and flashes her a flustered smile. Is this guy for real?

“But forget about that!” The Lalonde girl says with a flippant hand wave as she leans closer to you, peering at you like you’re some kind of a science experiment, “Look at how cute your brother is, Dirk! He’s even the color of your text, how cool is that? Oh, and look! There’s another vision –damn it, version - of him over there! And ohmygod there’s my daughter! I told you she was adorable, just look at her in those cute orange pj’s!”

She probably would have gushed on, you’re sure, but John had apparently been holding back some major chuckles because they burst from him then like some parasitic alien baby and he actually falls to the floor in fit of laughter that stops everyone in their tracks. The trolls look startled and flinch away from where he collapses onto the floor in front of them, staring in bemused silence until Aradia starts clapping enthusiastically, as if this were all a great show.

“Is this a new game?” She asks as she moves forward and drops to her knees beside John, dragging an unhappy Sollux with her. John can’t seem to get enough air to answer her though, and when he tries he just ends up rolling so that his face is pressed up against her thigh, smothering some of the noise. Aradia, for her part, doesn’t seem to mind and just laughs along.

“Dude, what the actual fuck?” Dave asks when John regains himself enough to sit up, a sentiment you kind of agree with even if you still catalogue every time he, Jade, or Rose laughs.

“You… never told me… that your bro had a - a pornstar name!” John manages to gasp out between giggles before he completely dissolves back into full-fledged belly laughs. “Oh god, it’s just so perfect!”

Jade smacking her palm into her face is the only sound anyone besides John makes for a shocked second before the other Egbert-Harley lovechild makes a choked off sound that brings everyone’s attention to her. Her shoulders shake as she covers her mouth to try and stop her giggles, but they break free anyway and harmonize with John’s unabashed chortling.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Dave says then, looking down at John who just laughs harder until he’s clutching at his stomach and leaking tears.

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m really glad we’re not the only ones who make bad first impressions,” Terezi pipes up as you snap another “picture” when Jade tries to help John off the floor, only to fail and collapse into a pile of buck teeth and snickering.

“I do not get it,” Kanaya growls politely to Rose, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the derp twins.

“That’s okay, it wasn’t very funny anyway. One day we’ll teach him some tact,” Rose tells the troll just as her older look-a-like turns to the giggling girl and says, “I like him. You made a good one, Janey. Never let him change.” Sadly, you don’t think they heard each other, but the contrast makes you huff out a halfhearted snigger of your own.

“Would you perhaps mind teaching Karkat some too?” Kanaya questions airily, shooting a disapproving glare towards the pillow pile where Karkat is now sitting, his cheeks puffing out like he tends to do when trying not to breathe and consequently make any noise. This scene is probably explained, if not made all the more ridiculous, by the way Gamzee is standing behind him and grooming his hair in a blatant pale display that’s probably to show the newcomers that “this troll is off limits” or some bullshit like that.

“I can try,” Rose answers, “But I fear that I simply do not have the proper personality for such a daunting endeavor. Perhaps Jade would be willing to help.”

Kanaya chuckles at that, “She certainly has a way with him, I will give her that, but I am not sure if I would actually ask her in a serious manner. He just would not be Karkat if he had any amount of tact.”

Rose nods her head in an “as you say” manner, but doesn’t get say anything more before the obviously-a-Lalonde girl who has been stalking her for the past minute finally gets into tackling range and pounces. Kanaya winces as Rose and her alt mom crash to the ground and even John manages to stop laughing for half a second before the sight of Rose being cuddled sends him off again.

Shaking your head in amusement, you quickly record the event before turning around, only to find yourself face to neck with Jane.

“Hello!” She says, her voice chipper but also soft so as not to draw too much attention, “Don’t mind Roxy over there, I just asked her to make a distraction while I talked with you. Is that alright? If I talk with you that is.”

“Sure?” You ask, suddenly a little wary. Did Terezi tell her your plan to stay and now she’s here to tell you that you’ll just have to find somewhere else to nest?

Her face brightens, and it reminds you so much of John that you’re snapping a “picture” before you realize that no, they’re definitely not the same person. Whatever. Might as well keep it.

“Thank you,” she tells you, “Now, I know it might not really be my place, but I was just wondering if you were really all right? It’s just that your, erm, wing, looks as if it would be causing you quite a bit of pain, and you seem to have lost a lot of blood from your chest.”

Behind your shades, you blink at her, long and slow, before you manage to get out, “Yeah, I’m fine. Probably won’t be doing any more adventuring - might chill out here for a while if that’s alright with you, I’ll even throw in some of my gamely knowledge as a bonus since your sprite is doing fuck all – but otherwise I’m definitely okay.”

“Oh,” her face falls, and you’re pretty sure she can tell you’re lying or is at least is suspecting it – hell, you’d be too if the person with the giant hole in their stomach and half a wing was telling you about what great health they were in – but she thankfully doesn’t call you out on it and responds, “Well, if you’re sure. And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, dear. If you don’t mind me asking though, won’t you get… lonely being here all by yourself?”

You shake your head, because you really don’t want to get into this again, “I don’t really have a choice.”

She looks pained at that answer, but when she looks at your bro – who’s suddenly standing right behind you – all he does is shake his head and gently shoo her along. It’s obvious that she doesn’t want to go, but after a second she gives in with a glare and moves further into the room, presumably to give you privacy. Somehow, you’re actually kind of sad to see her go so soon – how often is it that you find someone who still treats you like a real person? – and the feeling causes you to make a quiet trill after her.

This causes your bro to look over at you, and for a moment you think he’s going to give you some kind of disappointed look for letting yourself get hurt so badly or something, but instead he does one monumentally better and ruffles your hair, drawing a soft coo from you. You’re pretty sure he didn’t mean for anyone to see that, but Jake apparently does because he shoots you both an approving grin that has your bro ducking his head a little even as he moves to stand just a tiny bit closer to you, effectively blocking your bad side from potential attack.

It hits you then that, fuck, you’ve got your bro at your side and your friends around you and all of them are alive and healthy again. This must be what they mean by the good life, damn. It’s really too bad that it’s not yours; that they’ll all go on without you. That’s okay though, because you got you see your brother one last time, whole and healthy – who cares if it isn’t really him? It’s close enough – and you’ve got this memory to keep as just yours, forever perfectly intact until you finally die. That’s pretty damn sufficient for you, and more than you had before besides.

***

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

Your name is JANE CROCKER, and things are pretty peaceful in your house, even if it’s a little cramped with fifteen people in it. All of them are currently in your living room too, which makes everything seem even more cluttered, but truth be told you actually kind of like it. It was a little hectic when your friends first arrived, but things have calmed down significantly while you’ve been waiting for everyone to recuperate themselves. Everyone had been against it at first, saying that they didn’t need it and what if the big bad Jack Noir came while they were lollygagging, but you put your foot down on the matter and eventually they gave in, even if it was grudgingly.

At the moment you’re taking stock of everyone and making sure they’re all taking it easy like you told them to. You check on Karkat first, since he was one of the most opposed to staying, only to find that sleep seems to have taken him again, this time in a proper resting area. Well, if you can call a pile of what looks to be almost all the pillows in your house proper that is. Still, it’s better than the kitchen floor, so you suppose you can’t really complain. His twitchy friend – Gamzee if you recall correctly – is with him on the pile, curled over him like he needs to protect Karkat even while they’re both asleep.

Sighing as you uncaptchalogue some blankets that you just got from the laundry, you throw one gently over the pair of aliens on the pillow mound and another over Sollux, who’s sleeping wrapped around a pillow at the bottom of the pile. They look very small and sad in their sleep, even more so than when they were awake, and you wish you had something more, or better, to offer them.

Standing up straight, you quietly maneuver around them and nearly trip over Davesprite’s wing from where it’s hanging off the couch. Luckily, you catch yourself without stepping on any feathers or waking anyone up, but it’s so ungraceful that you do get a single breathy laugh from Dirk, who’s half hidden by the winged version of his brother.

“That’s cute,” you tell him sincerely as you lay a blanket over his and Davesprite’s prone bodies, being careful of Dave’s injured wing. The light touch seems to stir the younger Strider from his sleep for a moment, and you can’t help but giggle at the way he snuffles a bit and wraps his tail around one of Dirk’s legs as he nestles himself closer, a sound which you’re quick to stifle when it threatens to wake him.

“Kid’s had a rough time,” Dirk says almost defensively as soon as his brother falls back into a deeper sleep, his hand moving a little from where it’s resting on Davesprite’s back to hover above the mess of blood and bandages for a second, “Still is having one actually.” He tries to make his face a mask a nonchalance, but he can’t seem to pull it off quite as well as he could over the webcam when he’s faced with these alternate versions of his brother, one trying too hard to be like him and the other tragically doomed and both so very small and young.

He’s not the only one who seems to be losing their collective cool at seeing their guardians again though, what with Roxy alternating between clinging to her mother/daughter as if she’s afraid Rose will disappear and following you around like a lost puppy hoping for just the slightest bit of attention. Jake seems to be fairing a little better over where he’s sitting in in front of the fireplace, eating your milk and honey bread while trading adventuring stories with Jade and Aradia – whom you can’t help but notice looks quite pleased to be stuck as the meat of the Harley-English sandwich. Oh, that was rather unfair of you wasn’t it? Phooey – but you don’t miss the way Jade practically lays across Aradia’s lap half the time to touch him or how his hands are almost constantly in someone’s hair or on their shoulder or knee.

The kids from the other universe aren’t much better it seems, except for perhaps John, because you still remember how your chest hurt when you saw how the other Dave had started to reach out after Dirk had given him sturdy pat on the shoulder and the way Rose looked so disappointed whenever Roxy stopped hugging her even though she seemed so very uneasy while it was happening. And that’s not even getting into poor Davesprite or how Jade had started crying the first time Jake hugged her.

Then again maybe it isn’t just because everyone is getting to see alternate versions of their loved ones, you think as you glance to the right and see the aliens again, two of them huddled together as if they’re afraid to let go and the other curled in on himself even while clinging to a pillow. And they’re not an anomaly either as you come to find when you turn to find the other Dave and Terezi drawing on some paper they probably found in your father’s study. As you watch, she nudges him over with her whole body before looking uncomfortable and moving away - wash, rinse, repeat.

A little ways away from them are John and Kanaya in the corner. John is leaning against the wall, asleep even while Kanaya finishes up painting his toes with some nail polish that you’re sure is yours. Oblivious to your attention, she caps the bottle and moves up so she can reach his hands, smoothing out some of the wrinkles in his pants as she goes for seemingly no reason at all. It’s eerie when combined with everything else going on around you, and you find yourself suppressing a shudder as you turn back.

You try not to think the words ‘touch starved’ in conjunction to anyone in the room, but it’s almost impossible not to now that’s you’ve noticed the way they’re all acting. Suddenly, it’s a little painful to swallow, you note distractedly.

“They’ve all had a rough time,” you say eventually, clearing your throat and deliberately avoiding the questioning stare Dirk gives you at your delayed response, “Do you see it too?”

“Yeah,” he answers quietly as he idly pets the small feathers that cover his brother’s body. There’s something about his voice that suddenly has you feeling like you’re intruding on something personal, and you can’t help but turn away when that realization makes you even more uncomfortable than you were before. You’re still not sure how feel about Dirk at the moment and seeing things like that only serve to make you more conflicted.

It’s silly, and you know that you should just talk to him, just like how you should really talk to Roxy, but you sort of don’t want to. Not that you could right now even if you did want to, bad timing and everything, but you feel that that’s a little beside the point.

“So what did I do this time?” He asks quietly, causing you to look back inquisitively, “To make you avoid me I mean.”

“Oh,” you say, because you had been hoping that he wouldn’t notice, or at least wouldn’t ask if he did, “No, it’s… it’s not really anything you did Dirk. It’s just…”

You’re looking at the floor now, your hands twisting together as you bite your lip, but you don’t need to see him to know he’s raising an eyebrow at you. It really isn’t the right time to have this conversation, not with so many people around and especially not when he’s enjoying his time with his brother, but oddly his stare is enough to prompt you to continue. With perhaps your thousandth sigh today, you let your shoulders droop dejectedly and take a seat on the arm of the couch, looking down at him sadly.

“I think I may have ruined the only chance I will have ever had to get something I’ve wanted for a long time,” you tell him, making sure to leave out the rest of it even though you can tell he’s at least a little confused as to why this has anything to do with him.

Apparently he chooses to ignore his puzzlement though, because he strains a little to look up at you and responds, “It’s not like you to be so pessimistic.”

When you don’t answer he adds, “I know it’s more Jake’s domain than my own, but if you were looking for advice then my suggestion would be to not lose hope, as cliché as that sounds. There’s no guarantee that you won’t get another chance, or that you can’t make an opportunity for yourself. And even if you don’t or can’t, there’s nothing that says something better won’t come along.”

“More fish in the sea and all that?” You mutter with just a little of your bitterness creeping in, even though you’re trying to keep it out. Sincerely hoping he didn’t mean that honestly, and with a tiny bit of trepidation, you ask, “Is this one of your ironic things?”

“Yes,” he deadpans, and you’re about to feel relieved when he tacks on, “But only because I was being almost entirely candid right there.”

Really, that was definitely not what you wanted or expected to hear from Dirk, who is always so eloquent and creative with his responses (which he always liberally applies a healthy coating of irony to). It’s not really fair to hold him to previous standards when he’s so obviously in a strange new circumstance that has him off guard, you know this, but you can’t help but hate hearing that from him when he still has the chance to get what you couldn’t. You sort of wish he had just told you to get over it and move on or had rubbed it in that he’s still in the game while you took yourself out - even though you know he would never do something like that - because at least then you could be mad at him for a reason.

He gives you a long, hard look then, and despite the somewhat comical position he’s in it’s still a little eerie because from this angle you can see a hint of his eyes. “I’m not the guy you should be talkin’ to if you want to discuss feelings,” he says after a lengthy pause, his voice rough and quiet, “But I do know that there’s no use getting caught up over things you regret when you still have the chance to make them right. I’m not saying that you can’t or shouldn’t feel sad, or disappointed, or whatever it is that you’re feeling, but just don’t get so invested in feeling unhappy that you don’t even see that opportunity when it presents itself to you. And if you happen to get that second chance Jane, make sure you take it.”

A small motion catches your eye, and you barely spot the way his grip tightens around his brother before he goes back to how he had been before. He’s still watching you when you look back, and you think that his neck must be starting to hurt from staying like for so long. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn your face away and when you open them again you take another look around the room. How many of them are getting that second chance right in your living room?

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” you tell Dirk softly, unable to look at him. That hadn’t helped at all. Now you’re just wondering if you really deserve another chance at all.

“Well,” he states calmly after a short, tense silence, his words accompanied by a rustle of clothing, “Can’t say I didn’t try.”

“I know you did,” you reply, finally looking back at him, only to find that he’s not watching you anymore. You’re not sure how that makes you feel, but as you get up and smooth out your skirt, you briefly touch his shoulder and tell him, “Thank you.”

The nod he gives you is small and his face stays stoic, but you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t ask you why you’re thanking him. It makes things feel a little bit more normal between the two of you, and that makes you grateful too. He’s your friend and you love him dearly, even if you’re a not his biggest fan at this exact moment, and you don’t want to lose that. Not ever.

Your friends mean the world to you, you realize. Of course, you’ve always known this, but you’ve never really thought about how much you love every single one of them until very recently. And come to think of it, perhaps now would be a good time to apologize to Roxy and tell her how much she means to you. Maybe you’ll even give her a big hug, both because she’s been wanting another one so badly and to make up for the fact that you can’t hug the other two as well. You’ll find a way to tell them soon though. Maybe not in words, or with hugs or kisses, but somehow you will. Hopefully anyway.

Of course, then again, that’s one thing you’ve always loved about hope: as long as you have it, there’s always the chance things might get better.

***