Chapter Text

In an undiscovered wasteland on Earth C, there is a terminal.

~

0000:000:00:00:01.00 - 1 SECOND POST-LANDING

>>RUN [RESURRECT.EXE]

LOADING. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR SCRATCH. . .

$b_DIRK-STRI_KLLOG

$JEREMY-EGB_KLLOG

$b_ROXY-LAL_KLLOG

FATAL ERROR: “619” PARENT UNIVERSE INTERFERENCE

TROUBLESHOOTING. . .

RECALIBRATING. . .

~

0002:004:13:00:00.01 - 2 YEARS, 4 DAYS, 13 HOURS POST-LANDING

>>RUN [RESURRECT.EXE]

LOADING. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 619]. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR SCRATCH. . .

$b_TAVROS-NIT_KLLOG

$b_FEFERI-PEI_KLLOG

$b_ERIDAN-AMP_KLLOG

$b_DIRK-STRI_KLLOG

$JEREMY-EGB_KLLOG

$b_ROXY-LAL_KLLOG

$b_VRISKA-SER_HERO-DTHLOG_mod

$b_NEPETA-LEI_KLLOG

$b_EQUIUS-ZAH_KLLOG

EXCEPTION: “3A” PLAYER-SPRITE PROTOTYPING 

FATAL ERROR: “71” SCRATCH CONTAMINATION

TROUBLESHOOTING. . .

RECALIBRATING. . .

~

0005:314:12:05:02.00 - 5 YEARS, 314 DAYS, 12 HOURS, 5 MINUTES, 2 SECONDS POST-LANDING

>>RUN [RESURRECT.EXE]

LOADING. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [EXCEPTION 3A]

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 619]. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR SCRATCH. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 71]. . .

$b_TAVROS-NIT_KLLOG

$b_FEFERI-PEI_KLLOG

$b_ERIDAN-AMP_KLLOG

$b_DIRK-STRI_KLLOG

$JEREMY-EGB_KLLOG

$b_ROXY-LAL_KLLOG

$b_VRISKA-SER_HERO-DTHLOG_mod

$b_NEPETA-LEI_SPRILOG

$b_EQUIUS-ZAH_SPRILOG

LOADING. . . 

[oh what the fuck is the problem now]

EXCEPTION: “4B” PLAYER-GENERATED AFTERLIFE

FATAL ERROR: “998” NARRATIVE RETCON

FATAL ERROR: “99_GENESIS” CHILD UNIVERSE INTERFERENCE 

[for the love of - fine. fine then. this gives me time for more edits to sand off the edges...]

TROUBLESHOOTING. . .

RECALIBRATING. . .

~

0015:005:16:59:01.01 - 15 YEARS, 5 DAYS, 16 HOURS, 59 MINUTES, 1 SECOND POST-LANDING

>>RUN [RESURRECT.EXE]

LOADING. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [EXCEPTION 3A]

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 99_GENESIS]

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 998]. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [EXCEPTION 4B]. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 619]. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR SCRATCH. . .

ACCOUNTING FOR [CODE 71]. . .

$b_TAVROS-NIT_PRE-RET_SPRILOG

$b_FEFERI-PEI_KLLOG

$b_ERIDAN-AMP_KLLOG

$b_DIRK-STRI_KLLOG

$JEREMY-EGB_KLLOG

$b_ROXY-LAL_KLLOG

$b_VRISKA-SER_HERO-DTHLOG_mod

$b_NEPETA-LEI_SPRILOG_mod

$b_EQUIUS-ZAH_SPRILOG_mod

LOADING. . .

EXECUTING. . .

[finally]

b_TAVROS-NIT: UPLOAD COMPLETE

b_FEFERI-PEI: UPLOAD COMPLETE

b_ERIDAN-AMP: UPLOAD COMPLETE

b_DIRK-STRI: UPLOAD COMPLETE

JEREMY-EGB: UPLOAD COMPLETE

b_ROXY-LAL: UPLOAD COMPLETE

b_VRISKA-SER_mod: UPLOAD COMPLETE

[if it decides to be a bitch about the squared prototyping, I swear to god...]

b_NEPETA-LEI_mod: UPLOAD COMPLETE

b_EQUIUS-ZAH_mod: UPLOAD COMPLETE

[phew]

>>RESURRECT

. . .

RESURRECT.EXE HAS COMPLETED TASK

[took fifteen years, but better late than never]

[now...]

>>READER: be Dr. Roxanne Lalonde, fifteen years after her daughter Rose won Sburb.

~

HOMESTUCK:

Just This Once, Rose, Everybody Lives

Act I, Scene I

~

>>DR. ROXANNE LALONDE: wake up.

You are Roxanne Lalonde, Annie to those close to you. You are disoriented and feel like shit.

You can’t see. You hear children screaming somewhere nearby - it’s not the good kind of screaming, like when Rose was little and you would take her to Coney Island, but the bad kind, the kind where someone’s 

scared.

You force yourself up, onto your hands and knees. You hear another voice, one that makes you relax instantly. He sounds urgent, but soothing - he’s handling things. He’ll make sure no one gets

hurt.

You remember a romantic little tea party, your date at the end of the world. You remember cake, and spilled wine. 

You remember blood, and you feel sick.

The children have stopped screaming now - they’ve moved on to shouting, and Jeremy’s voice has gotten louder and sterner. 

Easy, easy - you carefully kick off your heels and wedge one foot under you. If you ignore the smell of blood on your clothes, you can just pretend you’re hungover and everything is 

fine.

Push up. You get another foot under you. Good.

Your sight is starting to get less blurry. You see - rocks. And crystal Skaian tech, shit you’ve never seen before! You want to rush to examine it and take notes, but your head is pounding and one of the kids’ voices is getting louder and more agitated -

You can’t help groaning, leaning against what feels like a damp cave wall. All the voices go quiet, and you feel a familiar guiding hand at your elbow. “Annie? Are you alright?”

“Mph.” You bury your face in his chest. “Headache. You?”

“I’m just fine,” he murmurs into your hair. “We’re alive.” 

You both chuckle. The relief eases the throbbing in your head and the roaring in your senses.

~

The children are not like any children you’ve ever seen, with their gray skin and bright horns like candy corn, but they’re undeniably kids, baby-faced and human in almost every other way. They all look about Rose’s age, except for one girl, an older teenager with multiple pupils in one eye and an impressive death glare. 

She’s standing apart from the rest, arms crossed. Four of them are clustered together on one side of the cave walls, the three who can stand forming a circle around the boy with the biggest horns (who doesn’t appear to have any legs). Even further away, a young boy in glasses and a scarf has been driven towards the mouth of the cave, clearly considered another threat to the protective huddle. 

Jeremy, bless him, is standing in the middle, trying to negotiate. “You were all friends, once, right?”

“We were,” the girl in the cat-ear hood growls, leveling her own furious gaze at the boy in the scarf. “Until some of us decided to go around and kill the people they called their friends!”

The device you’re inspecting reminds you, in many ways, of a cloning pad, or perhaps a transportalizer, but much bigger; there's no sign of any apparatus to interact with it. 

You can only assume, considering your memories and the state of your clothing, that all eight of you must have been dead. Why you and Jeremy were brought back to life, alongside alien children you never met, is still a mystery.

But the biggest, most important mystery is one you might not have a chance at answering for a while. Where are Rose and John?

In the meantime, neither of you know where these kids’ guardians are, and they clearly need supervision.

“And that is, understandably, unforgivable,” Jeremy states, his voice steady and authoritative. “However, we are all alive, right now. We don’t know where we are, or what to do next. We are all in the same boat, and the best decision we can make right now is to work together. It doesn’t have to be something we all like, but it is in all of our best interests to hold off from hurting one another. Does that sound reasonable?”

The older girl scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You can’t really expect this bunch to be ‘reasonable.’ The second Eridan turns his back, they’ll kill him, and honestly? After murdering his ex, who’s now right here? Color me unsurprised.”

Jesus. That little boy? You can’t imagine a kid that young killing anyone in cold blood, much less his girlfriend, and especially not with the way he hangs his head and buries his sobbing face in his lap. It must have been an accident. Right?

“You’re one to talk,” growls the girl decked in colorful jewelry, “Don’t you dare go around calling us unreasonable, after what you did to Tavros. After everything you did.”

“My point,” your beloved partner cuts in, “is that this is an unproductive line of thinking. We can sort out the issues of having killed each other when we can be sure of where we are, and if there are any higher authorities who can arbitrate this.”

The boy with the broken horn rises to his feet, a mutinous expression on his face, until the girl in the jewelry touches his arm, assuring him: “It’s fine. I’ll happily leave the decision to someone more qualified.”

He looks dissatisfied, but sits back down, muttering, “If you are certain, Heiress.”

Well, that certainly implies some juicy complications. But complications are not what Jeremy needs right now, if he wants to resolve this, so you keep quiet.

“So, can we agree on this? To not take any actions that might endanger us right now, and to work together to understand where we are?”

Some sullen looks are exchanged, but the princess(?) straightens and nods. “I’ll agree.” 

The others in her huddle all mutter their assent, and the boy in the scarf perks up, hastily adding, “I-I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

They all look expectantly at the oldest girl, who sighs. “Jegus Grist, fine. I wasn’t gonna try anything anyway, weird human ultimatums or not. Y’all can chill.”

The tension doesn’t quite leave, but it does feel lighter. You finally move to the mouth of the cave to look outside.

It’s fucking dark. But the light of the stars silhouettes what looks like a pine forest down below, giving you the impression you’re on the side of a mountain or hill.

There’s something... unsettling about the view. You can’t quite put your finger on it, until you look properly up at the sky.

With regards to space, your focus was always on objects nearer to Earth - asteroids and other such satellites, searching for anomalies like Harley told you there should be. Distant stars and constellations were never your expertise, and your memories of the basic astronomy courses you took in college are vague, at best, clouded by parties and hangovers and crammed studying to barely scrape by with a C+. When it comes to the appearance of the night sky, you’re not exactly an expert.

But that is not the fucking Milky Way.

You need a drink. You try to pull your flask out of your sylladex - only to find it isn’t there. 

You check your pockets, and your fetch modus as well, to make sure it didn’t just move shit around - but it’s gone. All gone.

“Jer!” you call behind you, unable to keep the alarm out of your voice. “My sylladex is empty! So is my specibus!”

There are murmuring sounds as everyone does the same checks you just did, all of them resulting in the same, frustrating result - all your shit is gone, except for the clothes on your backs. You feel the tic in your temple start to act up.

“Even my fucking dice!” the older girl slams her fist into the cave wall. Something about it echoes oddly - she must be stronger than most humans.

“Language,” Jeremy scolds gently, and she laughs incredulously, shaking her head. The boy with the broken horn is frowning, moving to stand behind her and inspect something.

“Really? Gog, your human priorities. No wonder John’s such a weenie.”

Jeremy stiffens. Behind the girl, the boy starts tapping the wall. “You know my son?”

“Oh right, you’re his lusus! Yeah, um, long story. We red-flirted, I spied on him, he sucker-punched me in the face - haven’t actually seen him in a while, if you’re wondering.” 

You frown, thinking she’s a little old to be flirting with a kid John’s age, when you hear a hollow, echoing boom in the walls.

The boy without legs yelps, clutching the girl with the cat-ear hood. “Uhm, Equius? Can we maybe try to avoid a cave-in on our heads?”

“I would not worry, it is not load-bearing,” the boy with the broken horn answers distractedly, and you notice that now there are cracks in the wall where he’s been tapping with his fingers. The fuck? “There is a hollow space on the other side. This is not stone - it is calcified concrete. And very thin, at that. In fact... I’m fairly certain it is designed to be knocked down.” 

He draws back his fist, and slams it into the wall.

It collapses with a rumble, revealing a storage space full of shelves behind it. The boy doesn’t even need to shake out his fist after punching through solid concrete. Jeremy raises his eyebrows, and you let out an impressed whistle. 

The kid grins with sheepish pride, rubbing the back of his head. “Yes, my strength is prodigious.”

You inform them of the forest outside, and you can sense the cogs turning in Jeremy’s head as he gives directions that the kids take surprisingly well. The shelves are full of what looks like camping gear - swiss army knives, flint and steel, even a few cans of generic-looking food and some marshmallows. You all quickly start stuffing things into your sylladexes, the kids calling out when they’ve found something new. They seem to understand, without discussing or being told, that these were things you all were meant to find. Something in you sings, players, and you sense that there is something drawing the eight of you together towards one goal.

And yet - it doesn’t feel like the Game, like the power of primordial creation, like Skaia. It’s familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You’re not sure what it means - or if you should be afraid.

“There’s nine campercoons,” the princess announces, seeming puzzled as she unrolls a sleeping bag. “But only eight of us.”

“Oh!” The legless boy perks up. He’s been propped up on the crystal pad, giving him a view into the storage room. “There was another human! Just like you two! Before most of you were awake? Vriska, Equius, did you see him?”

“Yeah, actually,” the older girl replies, rubbing her chin. “He was pretty tall, had a hat, weird pointy shades, like Drake or whatever his name was. He took off when y’all started yelling at Eridan - we must’ve spooked him.”

You and Jeremy exchange a look over the kids’ heads. There must have been another guardian - but why did he run off? Was he from your session, or another, like these kids? Should you go find him?

Jeremy shakes his head, and you nod in acknowledgment. No, the kids come first. Find Rose and John, help the alien children. If he’s an adult, and a guardian at that, he can take care of himself.

“Everything’s color-coded for us,” the cat girl muses, holding up a green water bottle. “Except the human stuff, I guess. You guys’ll have to figure out who gets what.” She gestures to the pile of orange, bubblegum and silver equipment the children have shoved together. They’ve all chosen their favorite colors without having to consult each other, you note with amusement. The one with the broken horn (Equius?) has brought the legless boy an armful of everything in metallic bronze, and the princess is sorting out the bubblegum from the dark magenta easily despite the dim lighting. 

The orange is garish, and Jeremy finds grays and silvers stylish and elegant (you can’t disagree, knowing how good he looks in a gray suit), so the bubblegum pink that matches your scarf must be for you. Sadly, there are no replacement clothes to be found anywhere, so you’re all stuck in your stained rags for now, and you are without any proper shoes. You sadly pack your precious scarf away into your sylladex. That dried blood will take ages to come out of the silk.

“We should leave the orange gear for him, in case he comes back,” Jeremy muses, lifting a black duffle bag out of the corner. The children mutter in acknowledgement, kicking the various orange items they’ve found into a messy pile. You can feel Jeremy holding back a strained request for neatness as he unzips the mystery bag. This isn’t their room, and now is not the time, he must be telling himself. You bite back a smile.

He lifts out some kind of harness with a frown. “Climbing gear? But why only one set...?” he muses.

“It’s not climbing gear,” the legless boy says. He sounds bitterly resigned. The princess’s mouth forms an ‘o’ as she connects dots you can’t see. “It makes sense. If we’re in the wilderness, a four-wheeled-device isn’t going to be much use, and a sledge won’t work on all terrains. Someone’s gonna have to carry me.”

The broken-horned kid takes the harness from Jeremy, and starts putting it on. “I will make your next set of legs with as many new features and functions as you can name, Tavros,” he promises.

Tavros gives a startled laugh. “Can they have rocket boots? The rockets were the only thing I missed from my last chair.”

“The best rocket boots. You will be able to put on a suit and launch yourself into space.”

The teenager (Vriska?) snorts. “Since when did you get a sense of humor, Equius?”

“I was being serious. Also, my consciousness was temporarily merged with that of another.” The boy looks sad for a moment. “He lent me a lighter perspective on life than I used to have.”

The cat girl touches his arm. “‘know how you feel,” she murmurs, rubbing her face against him like Jaspers used to do to your ankles. “I miss my Dave.” The boy sighs, and nods, smiling down at her softly.

They're all so goddamn cute. You just wanna go up and squish their faces and pinch their cheeks, but they’re teenagers, and probably wouldn’t take kindly to it. Even the older girl doesn’t seem the type to patiently tolerate that, like you used to be at that age. You imagine a bunch of hissing and adolescent seething, and you miss your dear Rose so acutely it hurts.

Jeremy nudges you. His warm brown eyes are sad and worried, and you know he misses John. 

You lean against each other for a moment, watching as the sweaty boy handles Tavros like he’s made of sugar glass that could break if he looks at him wrong. The cat girl helps secure and buckle the legless boy in, until he looks like a snug little baby in a papoose - if a baby looked like a scrawny thirteen-year-old missing the lower half of their body, you guess. With the added weight of the other boy and his massive horns, Equius looks like he should be struggling, but he stands effortlessly, like his friend is just a backpack. An empty backpack, even. Damn.

The shelves have been cleaned out. The princess approaches Jeremy with a folded piece of paper in her hands. “Can you read topographical maps?”

He can, in fact, because your man is a handy sort who knows all kinds of useful things. He spreads the map out on the crystal pad for inspection, pulling a compass out of his sylladex. “There’s a city,” he points out, the relief evident in his voice, “about - two hundred miles away.” You all sag. “It’s a long walk, but it looks like we’ve been provided with everything we need to make it there. If we’re careful, and we make good time, it should take about two or three weeks.”

“We don’t know anything about this planet,” the older girl points out. “Back on Alternia -” (that can’t really be the name of the world they’re from, can it?) “- the sun could literally roast you alive. You humans are used to a soft little yellow star, but we don’t know that we’re orbiting one. It’ll be simple if we can just travel at night, but I didn’t see any tents in there. What are we going to do about shelter if this planet’s sun is another killer?”

“I can make a purrty effective lean-to,” the cat girl offers. (Did she really just say ‘purrty?’) “It doesn’t actually take that much to keep out the sun, not if you’re using plant material adapted to it.”

“There are eight of us, Nepeta. We’re not gonna all be able to fit under a few lean-tos, and before you say it, there’s no way we’d have the time to make up enough for all of us every time we made camp.”

“We’ll mostly be traveling through forest,” you muse. “Wouldn’t there be natural shelter as well? In places where the trees are dense enough, they could keep out sunlight.”

“Hm. There’s also the problem of the heat, but if it’s cool enough for a forest to survive, we’ll purrobably be feline!” Oh, so she is doing it on purpose. “How warm was it when you poked your head out?”

“Um,” You think back to half an hour ago. “Pretty chilly, actually.”

“So, freezing, for us trolls.” (Trolls?) The teenager throws up her hands. “Gog, why couldn’t the map have come with statistics for this stupid world’s environment? It’d be nice to know if the day/night cycle is normal, or if we’re tidally locked and doomed to burn or die of hypothermia.”

“Be that as it may, we don’t have access to that information yet,” Jeremy says soothingly, folding the map back up. “We know it’s survivable in here. So, the safest course of action for now is to wait, and see how the environment changes outside before starting out. If it’s going to get colder, the cave will be more insulated than trying to take shelter outside, and if it’s going to get hotter, staying will shield us from the sun.”

Equius nods. “A sensible course of action. That leaves us with what to do while we wait - and for how long.”

“I mean, until something significantly changes, presumably.” Jeremy pulls out a thermometer, and a barometer. (Is that a geiger counter as well?) “I’ll set these at the mouth of the cave, and check every hour.” 

He heads off, presumably to set them up.

The silence is - not awkward, exactly, but perhaps gravid. You’ve let Jeremy do most of the talking so far, and now... Well, now what?

You clear your throat. “Hi? We - I don’t think we’ve had the chance to properly introduce ourselves. I’m Roxanne Lalonde, but you can call me Annie.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Equius murmurs, and all the other children say similar things, even the teenager giving a slightly awkward wave. 

They all look expectantly at the princess, who groans. “Guys, we’re all friends here, and the humans don’t care. We can introduce ourselves in any order we want, and it doesn’t matter!” 

Equius shakes his head, about to object, when Tavros clears his throat. “Um, hi. I’m Tavros Nitram. I’m a bronzeblood. Pleased to meet you.” His broken-horned friend stiffens and gasps in shock, or possibly offense, trying in vain to whirl around to look at the boy on his back.

The cat girl giggles, punching the air. “Reverse order it is!” She holds out her hand for you to shake. “I’m Nepeta Leijon, and I’m an oliveblood.”

“Vriska Serket,” the older girl drawls, sitting on the crystal pad. “Cerulean.”

The broken-horned boy sputters in indignation before clearing his throat. “I - I am Equius Zahhak. My blood is cobalt, and I am deeply sorry that you are getting this first impression of us.” He dabs his hand onto his sweaty forehead. “It is most improper for me to be introducing myself before the Heiress.”

“If it helps, Equius, I am all for this!” The princess happily declares. “No Empire, no caste system!” Nepeta whoops, and the two bump fists. Equius sputters in shock yet again.

“I,” the scarf boy inserts stiffly, a scowl on his face, “am a violetblood. My name is Eridan Ampora, I am royalty, and I concur with Equius that it is a great indignity for landdwelling lowbloods to be introducing themselves before me.” His eyes dart to Equius, as if hoping for approval.

Instead, a disgusted sneer crawls across Equius’s mouth. “For that reason alone, I retract my statement about the impropriety. I refuse to agree with you on anything so petty, traitor.” 

He practically spits this last part in Eridan’s face; the others seem pleasantly surprised. Despite his previous assertion that he was royalty, Eridan wilts and shrinks away.

The princess finally stands, clears her throat, and takes a bow. “It’s great to meet you, Annie! I’m Feferi Peixes, the former Heiress to the Alternian Empire, and a fuchsiablood!”

You nod, no doubt with a bemused expression on your face. “Cool! What exactly does that mean? With all the colors?”

In lieu of answering you, the kids take out their knives, and your skin prickles in fear - you almost shout to put them away, not to hurt each other - until they each poke their own fingertips and show you.

Except Tavros, who fumbles with his knife and drops it. “Damnit!” Equius picks it up for him, and he finally does the same, rather belatedly. “Oh. Thanks.”

“So,” You stare a moment at the beading magenta (no, fuchsia, she said) blood on Feferi’s outstretched hand. This certainly explains the colors of some of the stains. “You said something about a caste system?”

“Yep,” Feferi confirms. “The higher blood colors on the hemospectrum generally have longer natural lifespans. But other than that, it’s all bullshit.”

“Language,” Jeremy scolds distractedly as he comes back into the main chamber. He looks curiously at the cuts on their fingers before shaking his head. “So, we’re introducing ourselves? I’m Jeremy Egbert, and it’s nice to meet you all.”

~

Everyone settles down on the platform. Jeremy sets up the small camp stove and starts heating up some cans of chili. 

You feel robbed, you realize, thinking back to your time with him before Earth was ended. Without the Game and its destinies, none of you would exist, but it would’ve been nice to be able to get together properly, and live without interference. Introduce each other to your kids. Get married, move in together, raise Rose and John side by side. Go out for family camping trips, like how this almost feels. 

Rose would have complained and composed insulting poetry about the great outdoors. You’ve only met John as a toddler (a damn shame), but from the many tales you’ve heard from Jeremy, you know he’d either be doing the same, or exploring and looking for gross bugs to laugh at and show his stepsister. She would find them interesting, maybe identify them with a book. Or just make up more fantastical ‘facts’ about them, turning them into messengers for the dark gods, catching fireflies and calling them shuggoth-lanterns or something.

You really were cheated. Your whole family was.

Nepeta pokes curiously at the beans with her fork. “What’s this called again?”

“Chili goulash.”

“It’s so gooey. I’ve never had meat this... cooked before.”

Feferi gasps. “Oh! You’ve never had steamed crab!”

“Nefur had seafood at all,” Nepeta says wistfully. “It was on my wishlist.”

“It’s a pity there’s no seafood in these cans,” Jeremy says thoughtfully. “I did find some fishing line and hooks, though. Maybe we can find fresh fish for you to try when we get out there.”

You suspect, if the two of you can’t find any of these kids’ guardians, John is going to end up with seven new siblings, including Rose. Jeremy has such an open heart, it’s one of the things you love most about him. You know that without the constraints of the Game, if its wretched time loops and its stupid visions hadn’t forced him to keep John so isolated, he would have loved to adopt more kids. He’d always wanted a big family, and he never got one.

Maybe it’s not too late. You’re forty - still young enough to carry a baby, if Jeremy isn’t content with adopting every abandoned child in sight. Or both? Both. Both sounds good.

(Your own adoptive family was made up of a few loving, but elderly aunties, and two distant cousins who spat at you and called you a FedEx child. You’ve always wanted a big family, too.)

The kids seem to have put aside the fact that two of them are apparently murderers, for the moment. Vriska coughs and sniffs over her own can of chili. Her eyes are watering. (Are her tears blue, too? Is that healthy?) “Wha’?” she says defensively, when she finds her fellow (trolls?) staring. “Ish shpicy.”

Tavros snorts from where he sits, leaning against Equius. “Yeah, a little.”

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to wimp out over spicy food, Vriskers,” Nepeta teases.

“M’notta wimp! Shaddup!” There is a brief shove-fest, until Jeremy coughs, wordlessly telling them to settle down. God, he’s such a dad. You love him so much.

Feferi looks curiously between you and Jeremy. You suppose she must have caught the way you were looking at him. “Soooo...” she begins. “You two. You’re matesprits?”

You and Jeremy blink at each other. You respond with a quirked eyebrow and a smile, “Is, uh, is that a troll thing? Or am I out of touch with the youth?”

“It’s a troll thing,” Nepeta confirms. “And humans only do one quadrant, Feferi.”

“Yeah, I know, the flushed quadrant.”

“Hm. No.” Nepeta shakes her head. The others look at her curiously. “I spent some time fused with a human sprite, and it gave me a new purrspective, and some time to think about it. And I think now that human romance is actually its own quadrant.”

Whatever they’re talking about is flying wildly above yours and Jeremy’s heads, but you both watch with confusion and mild interest as she sets aside her half-empty can of chili, and pulls out a piece of paper and a marker. Nepeta starts by drawing a large crescent, with a small semicircle beneath it, positioned so the two curves bend towards each other, just touching at their apex. The other children all lean forward to see. “I call this, the ‘cup theory’ of human romance.

“You see, rather than strictly sorting relationships into quadrants of romance like trolls, I’ve observed that humans will bend the rules of their typical romantic ideals to meet the needs of the individual relationships. Those ideals mewsually being somewhere between moirallegiance and matespritship.” She draws a small diamond and a heart inside what you now recognize as a stylized cup. 

“But diffurent individuals want diffurent things out of their quadmates! Some people long for the emotional comfort of a moirail, while others seek the admiration or pity of a matesprit more. Still others want their partner to purrvent them from making mistakes in their relationships with others, or they want the passion and rivalry of a kismesis!” Soon, a tiny club and a spade are added to the cup, like the suites of a deck of playing cards. “So rather than look fur different relationships with other people, humans will adjust their own, singular romance to suit their needs. Like mixing a drink until it’s to your taste.” Nepeta starts filling the cup up with more diamonds, hearts and clubs in different amounts. “This is how humans can make things work with only one quadrant and one partner! Sometimes, those involved will turn out to have different tastes in the cup quadrant, so breakups will happen, to seek out a stable relationship with someone else who has the same tastes. It’s highly flexible, if a bit chaotic.” She sits up again, leaning back with a pleased look on her face.

“Okay, so,” Vriska pauses, setting down her empty can. “I dunno what y’all remember from the dreambubbles or whatever, but Rose and Kanaya, a little while after you all died, they started, like, what I thought was something flushed, but they keep insisting they’re ‘human-dating,’ whatever that means. So you think that...”

“They’re in cups together!” Nepeta says sunnily.

They know Rose! “My baby is dating?” You whisper. Then the context of what Vriska was talking about catches up with you. “Wait - how long were you with Rose, Vriska?”

“Oh, um.” The girl looks uncomfortable. “About a sweep? A sweep and a half? Like, three years, for humans. We were traveling on a meteor together, and then everything sort of went crazy.”

Three years.

That’s so much time. 

You’ve missed three years. Three birthdays. 

She’s sixteen. You don’t know how much she’s grown, what she’s been doing with her time. 

She’s been without you for three years - what did she think happened to you? Did she know you died? God, you hope not - better to have disappeared, for her to be angry and think you left, than for her to mourn you. 

Your vision blurs with tears as Jeremy hugs you to his side. Three years. She started dating - a boy? A girl? An alien, for sure. You’ve never met this kid, who your baby girl is in a steady relationship with, who you would have loved to embarrass Rose in front of. It sounds like they’re happy - you’re glad, that’s good, Rosie should be happy, so happy, even if you don’t get to see it.

Three years.

“You said you met John,” Jeremy asks quietly. You hear the words, trembling in his chest. God, you’re selfish - Jeremy’s missed that time with his son, too. You push yourself up, wipe your tears.

“Uh, yeah. Not for very long. We’ve spent, like, a day or so talking? Total? We were traveling to the same place, but separately - we couldn’t get a Trollian connection through to the golden yard or whatever they called it, which was bullshit. Would’ve been nice to be able to talk. We really hit it off - I think we could’ve been friends, if not more.” She seems awfully confident, talking about potentially dating John in front of his father. Maybe things are different on her home planet, and that’s considered normal. “Last I saw, he was fine. Won the game and everything. I couldn’t join him - had shit of my own to do. But, yeah. He was... Okay.” 

Vriska says this like she’s only guessing that’s what Jeremy’s looking for, and she’s not sure whether he wants John to be alive or not. If she’s a player like you think she is, like she seems to be implying... Then perhaps she landed on her planet via meteor, too. You can’t help but wonder what her parents were like - if they were nice to her, like your aunties. Jeremy’s mother, you remember, wasn’t so lucky.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Vriska returns his thanks with a clearly uncomfortable thumbs up.

Nepeta has drawn another cup on the other side of the paper, and drawn a heart and a bunch of diamonds in it. She freezes when your gaze lands on her, like you’ve caught her doing something she shouldn’t be, and you quickly look away.

Equius is stacking the empty cans, squeezing each new one smaller until they fit inside the last. You can’t imagine how he must interact with the world - everything must be made of cardboard to him. Eridan has gone back to staring blankly at his lap, Feferi is scratching at her - gills? Those must be gills, and they must be too dry, if her expression of discomfort is anything to go by. You hope she’s not suffocating, and you’re about to open your mouth to ask if she needs water, when you see Tavros sucking on his finger. “Is that still bleeding?”

He starts. “Oh! Uh, only a little, it’s clotting already.” He shows you, laughing nervously. “Yeah, my healing isn’t as fast as everyone else. It’ll be scabbed up in a few hours, though.” He puts it back in his mouth.

“Stop that,” Jeremy says sharply, and Tavros jolts. “It’ll take longer to heal, or get infected. Here,” he pulls out some band-aids and disinfectant spray.

“No, no - I’m fine, we should save that for emergencies!”

“It’ll be an emergency if you start losing your finger from an infected cut, Tavros.” Vriska rolls her eyes. “Honestly, if you don’t learn how to take care of yourself, you’ll be even more of a burden than you already are.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

This display of sudden, intense animosity from Feferi startles everyone, especially Vriska. “Don’t take this as some kind of pitch overture, because it isn’t. I’m just sick of the way you treat him, the way you treat so many people, and I’m tired of putting up with it and just saying, ‘oh, well, that’s Vriska for you.’ I don’t know why we ever put up with it in the first place.” The alien princess levels the older girl with a shining yellow glare that’s somehow chilling, despite coming from someone so young. “So stop. Or I will find a way to make you stop.”

There is silence for a moment. For just that moment, you think, everyone except Tavros is afraid of Feferi, even though you can’t quite understand why. For just that moment, you think, you might be a tiny bit afraid, too.

Vriska exhales. “Little Empress comes into her own at last,” she breathes. “Very well. I’ll be on my best behavior,” she pauses, as if searching for a word, “your Imperial Effervescence.” 

Feferi scoffs, and rolls her eyes. Everyone relaxes, though not fully - Vriska and Eridan remain a little more tense and wary. “Fuck that. The Empire is dead. I’d be Empress of twelve people, and that’s if we’re lucky, and the others are all still alive,” she finishes bitterly. 

A very loaded look passes between Nepeta and Equius. He whispers something to her, and Nepeta nods. She goes up to Feferi and pats her arm comfortingly, looking back at Equius and receiving a nod from him in return. 

The princess’s (empress’s?) expression softens, and she smiles gently down at a blushing Nepeta, flashing an apologetic look in the direction of Tavros and Equius (who smiles at her in turn). The rest of the tension disperses.

“Alright,” Jeremy says softly, wrapping up the band-aid on Tavros’s finger. “Let’s all try to remember to keep our tempers, shall we?” Feferi looks ashamed, but she doesn’t apologize. That’s good, you think, because in this case, she has nothing to apologize for. If Rose had stood up for a friend like that, you would be proud. “How do we all feel about marshmallows?”

Trolls, it transpires, have no known equivalent to marshmallows. Vriska takes the opportunity to escape, and offers to go check on the readings and write them down for Jeremy. She skedaddles, presumably to go compose herself.

Feferi continues scratching at her dry gills, and you notice Eridan is starting to do the same. “Water?”

Feferi deflates. “Please.”

Jeremy helps you open one of the big containers for them, while Tavros looks anxiously at his blackened, burning marshmallow. “Is it - supposed to, um, be on fire?”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost that one - you’ll have to start another,” Jeremy solemnly informs him. Tavros hastily blows it out. 

Eridan slumps in relief when he learns the water is intended for him, too. You fill up both their bottles, and the two (seadwellers, they said?) alternate between sipping and dabbing at their gills with wet fingers. Jeremy frowns. “Is it the smoke from the stove? Or just the air in general?”

“It was a while since we’d been in the water, even before we died,” Feferi informs him. “It seems like whatever brought us back reconstituted our bodies as they were in the moments before we, well. It had been about a perigee, anyway. It doesn’t actually hurt, it just isn’t particularly good for us long-term. Young seadwellers like us, who haven’t been through our second pupation, we aren’t supposed to spend more than a week or so out of the water. It makes us more likely to get sick. Keeping our gills wet helps, though,” she adds. 

“You never said anything before, your Highness,” Equius says quietly. “We would’ve tried to find tanks.”

Feferi flashes him an embarrassed grin. “We were so busy, though - and honestly, I was too excited to really think about it.” Equius purses his lips unhappily.

“Hmm.” Jeremy bites his lip, and brings out the map again. “You’re alright in freshwater?” he confirms with them. “There’s a lake somewhere close by, and the city is by a river that feeds into it. If we can find the lake, we can follow the river there, and you two can have a place to swim in the meantime.”

“Oh, thank Gog,” Eridan groans. “I feel so heavy on land.”

Feferi rolls her eyes, but doesn’t respond. She seems dead set on not acknowledging when her fellow seadweller speaks. (Heh, ‘dead’ set.) “Thank you. It’s much appreciated.”

Vriska returns with the news that things have gotten warmer, and the stars have gotten more scarce, with no sign yet of storm clouds or deadly radiation. Jeremy has saved a few toasted marshmallows for her, which she tentatively accepts as he informs her of your new intended route. “If the city’s by a river, won’t the fact we’re traveling upstream mean Feferi and Eridan are getting tons of pollution straight to the face?” Vriska points out.

Eridan wrinkles his nose, but Feferi shakes her head. “We wouldn’t be swimming all the way, just dipping in when we get too dry. Any exposure shouldn’t be too bad, and that’s assuming there even is pollution.” Eridan looks like he heartily disagrees, but you see him quite literally bite his tongue (he actually winces in pain). 

“It’s really fucking dark out on this planet,” Vriska grumbles, setting down her empty skewer. “I could barely read the stupid instruments.”

“Yeah, that’s nighttime for you.” You’re not sure what else she was expecting.

The teenager sighs in exasperation, flopping backward to sprawl on the crystal. “Not on Alternia. The moons were pretty big, and very reflective. Even on the darkest nights, there was enough light to see by. If we’re lucky, and this world has a weak sun, it would probably be better to travel by day.”

“Are there no signs of any other settlements on the map?” Nepeta asks hopefully. “Maybe we could encounter someone on the way there. It would make the journey easier if we could ask for help.”

“There’s no guarantee the inhabitants are friendly here,” Vriska says, tutting to herself. “For all we know, they’ll cull us as soon as we’re seen.”

“How charmingly optimistic of you, Serket.” Equius’s voice is drier than dust.

“I’m not saying we’re walking to our deaths, just that we shouldn’t trust people we don’t know. I do think Nepeta’s right in one respect - it would help us know more about the locals if we meet someone on the way, rather than walking in blind.”

Jeremy, meanwhile, has pulled out the map again. “No roads,” he mutters. “The city is almost perfectly isolated.”

“Well, that’s ominous,” Eridan drawls under his breath.

“If only I had the parts to make a small drone,” Equius says, practically to himself. “I could fly it in remotely and see what’s waiting for us. For all we know, the city could just be ruins.”

“It’s still our best lead,” Jeremy reminds them. “And we won’t know until we get there. At the very least, we’ll have more information.”

~

The kids are emotionally exhausted. Sleeping bags (aka campercoons, the most adorable term for them you’ve ever heard) are rolled out for a nap. You and Jeremy move out to the mouth of the cave to talk, and watch the sunrise.

“How are you doing?” You whisper. You’re in his lap, and it feels exactly like a chilly spring morning in New York. The sun is cresting over the horizon, almost exactly like the one you knew all your life - and yet, subtly different, in ways that you can’t quantify, only feel.

“About as well as I can be,” he replies helpfully. “Angry,” he clarifies, “that we were pulled out of time for so long, that we were misled by Skaia’s visions yet again, that it let us die. And sad. Worried. For us, for our kids, for these kids. And hopeful, too. That maybe this place is the Ultimate Reward we were told was coming, that John and Rose will be here, somewhere. How about you?”

You sigh. “The same, plus nauseous and with a headache. My flask is gone, and I haven’t had a drink in... Since we died.” You’re still slightly pickled. Just enough to be functional - from what you do know about quitting cold turkey, you’ll become useless as you start to go through withdrawal.

He hums. You know what he thinks of your lack of temperance. “I did promise, didn’t I?” He hums again, affirmatively. “This is going to be hell.” He hums yet again, just as affirmatively.

“It’ll be worth it,” he adds. You hum in response. Doubtfully. He kisses your cheek.

“I don’t know how on - wherever we are - I’m going to do that, while hiking two hundred miles in no shoes.” You wiggle your hose-clad feet for emphasis. “Because like hell am I going to do it in heels.”

Jeremy hums thoughtfully, and starts taking off his own shoes. “Oh, don’t be silly, Jer. What’ll you do for shoes?” He chuckles, and takes off his fedora, whipping out the scissors on his swiss army knife to cut into the brim. “Don’t you dare!”

“It’s just a hat, our feet are our feet, and makeshift sandals are better than nothing. I can always get another one.”

“You might as well make the sandals for me, then, and keep your shoes for yourself!”

His eyes crinkle at the corners roguishly. “Now, what kind of gentleman would I be, if I let my lady hike two hundred miles in cardboard sandals, hm?”

This kind of thing would drive you crazy coming from anyone else, and somehow Jeremy always makes it charming. You can’t help but blush.

Jeremy’s sensible oxfords aren’t exactly meant for long-distance walking, but they’re still miles better than the cardboard straps he’s making for himself, and a thousand times more comfortable than walking barefoot. You thank him with a kiss.

~

The sun rises fully, and does not roast the two of you alive. When you both come back into the cave, Feferi is already awake, looking rumpled and still tired. The other five are still sleeping like logs. With the way she snores, you’d swear Vriska had a deviated septum, but she’s an alien, so you suppose it must be something else.

What’s familiar, though, is the way the capillaries in Feferi’s dark sclera are shot through with fuchsia, like she’s been crying. Jeremy starts quietly packing up, making as little noise as possible so as not to wake anyone. 

You sit down next to the young (so young, and she’s lost so much) alien empress. There are translucent pink tear tracks staining her gray cheeks.

She shakes her head mutely, before you can ask. So the two of you just sit in comforting silence. 

Eventually, Feferi wipes off the marks left on her face, using a little water. “You have pink eyes,” she whispers, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah,” You whisper in kind. “It’s weird, for humans. Used to get a lot of strange looks. Some people called it exotic, when they were trying to be nice.”

Feferi hums. “When we’re adults, after our last pupation, our irises flood with our blood color. I thought - I thought I’d never get to see mine. My eyes, like that. At least, not more than once. I was supposed to fight the Empress for the throne, when I grew up, and she killed so many Heiresses before me. I wanted to believe I could do it, survive and defeat her and live to be an adult, but I knew that really, there was no way I could win.”

You feel like you’ve been doused in ice water. 

Was this ‘Empress’ Feferi’s mother, then? Did this woman murder her own family, perhaps her  children, every time they came to adulthood? You can’t wrap your head around such an unimaginable act of cruelty - it hurts to try.

“I used to be so jealous of the others. My friends. They got to know other members of their castes, ones that didn’t want to kill them. Ones they could just - coexist with. Have things in common. There was only one of us who didn’t have anyone else like him, and, well - for him, it was different. He had it worse.” 

She’s tucked her legs up against her chest, resting her chin on her knees. “But the Empress, the only other fuchsiablood alive - she wanted me dead. I would lie awake at night, thinking about it, sometimes. All through my wrigglerhood, she sent me resources, schoolfeeding books and videos, education on what it meant to rule. But only ‘just in case’ I happened to win. A traditional precaution, she said. 

“Sometimes they came with these stupid -” she clenches her fist, “- snide remarks. Especially on my wriggling day. Those were the only times I would ever get an actual message from her. ‘Here’s your educational assessment, for what it’s worth.’ ‘Happy wriggling day - save yourself some time, and make it your last.’ ‘I fucking laughed when I read your essay, you naive little idiot.’ Well,” she spits, glaring into the middle distance, “Who’s laughing now, bitch?

“Not me, I guess. Heiress of nothing, except dead friends and a legacy of genocide.” Feferi chokes and coughs, hastily taking a swig of water. 

You - God, you feel inadequate. There’s nothing you can say that might make things better, right now. 

So you just let her talk. Because what else can you possibly do?

“I used to think about what it would be like, fighting her. On the good days, I’d wonder about how to get other highbloods on board with my plans for reform. I’d think about how I’d put my friends from all over the hemospectrum into positions where they could make a difference. I’d think about finally getting to meet other fuchsias, thousands of sweeps down the line. I wouldn’t think about the actual fight. Except for how satisfying it would be, proving her wrong, seeing her pissed off and afraid in her final moments, as I took everything she’d clung to and abused away from her. Telling her I’d make sure she was forgotten like a bad dream.” She swallows.

“On the bad days, though - I’d think about how that was the only time I’d get to meet my ancestor. In the moments before she’d kill me. There was no way she’d bother making the time to chat before the battle, to give me any kind of closure. She’d be bored, and we’d fight, and I’d run, and she would destroy me, just like everyone who came before. I’d be the one forgotten. The only ones who’d remember me would be my friends, and I’d be washed away in the sands of history, like a drawing at high tide. Just another dead Heiress.” 

Her fists clench, and her gills flare - the combination of abject misery and resigned certainty on her face isn't something you've ever wanted to see on any child. Your chest feels tight.

“That would be the only time I would see her face. Sneering down at me, while I died. The only other eyes like mine, and they’d be full of nothing but malice, as the last thing I ever saw.” She huffs. “Guess I never did get to meet her. Don’t know whether to be glad about that or not.”

Feferi scrapes at the dust with her feet. “Sorry, didn’t mean to unload all that on you. I just - noticed your eyes, and thought of that. I know you’re human, but a troll can’t help but look at them and think, ‘fuchsia.’”

Jesus Christ.

This girl needs a hug, badly, but you’ve only just met this child, you’re not her mom, you can’t just -

Screw it. Screw her mom, too, you hope the woman is rotting in hell. You put an arm around Feferi, and give her a gentle squeeze.

This starts up the waterworks again, but that’s fine, she needs it. You let her bury her face in your side and bawl her eyes out.

~

When the other kids gradually wake up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and fixing their bedhead, they clearly notice that Feferi’s been crying. They make no mention of the big fuchsia stain on your coat, and Nepeta wordlessly hooks her arm into her friend’s. 

Feferi seems to protest at this - she drags the other girl and Equius into a frantic and hushed conversation. It ends with Equius very, very, very gently patting both her and Nepeta on the head, and smiling. Both girls come away holding hands, and you wonder exactly how close they are, and whether they’re perhaps more than friends, or becoming something like that.

They’ll say something if and when they’re ready, you decide. 

Everyone is packing things up into their sylladexes, Tavros has been reattached to Equius’s back, and Vriska looks expectantly at you and Jeremy. “So. Weak sun?”

“Weak sun,” you confirm.

And the eight of you set off.

~

It’s Tavros, from his position on Equius’s back, who first sees the lake.

It’s a big-ass lake, you have to admit. You would’ve thought it was the ocean, were it not for the map and the lack of salty taste in the air. Feferi and Eridan whoop with delight when they see it. Feferi, for once, doesn’t seem to care that he’s there, enjoying himself.

It still takes a while to get there. The kids complain about not having their palmhusks (which, from their matching complaints about the lack of internet, seem to be some kind of technology) and you and Jeremy share matching looks of amused exasperation. You barely restrain yourself from making a ‘back in my day’ joke. Barely. 

They also complain about missing and worrying about their friends, which you believe is the main reason they miss the internet. You catch snatches about a blind person named Terezi, a girl called Aradia, Feferi’s boyfriend Sollux, the mysterious Kanaya dating your daughter, and something about a car kitty? 

There’s also one they speak of with animosity. The universal opinion, regardless of who killed who, seems to be ‘Fuck Gamzee,’ who apparently killed Equius and Nepeta? There seems to be an epidemic of kids going crazy and killing each other. Which is. Concerning. 

You hope to God that Rose hasn’t had to go through any such drastic betrayals from her friends in this crazy world-ending game. (You’re thankful to have confirmation that she’s won, and that she’s safe - at least, from the dangers that you know about, at any rate.)

The air is fresh. The sky is clear. The pines are tall. There are things that look a bit like squirrels, but blue and covered in feathers, and things that look a bit like birds, but with scales and wings like a bat’s. The moss growing on the rocks around you alternates between familiar green and slimy purple. 

This planet is a lot like Earth, perhaps intentionally. There are different animals and plants, filling the same ecological niches. Some things, like the pines, are clearly Earthling in origin. Others seem familiar to the troll children, Nepeta calling out when she sees a ‘hopbeast’ and Tavros making bird calls that are answered in kind by something in the distance. 

It was obviously made specifically for both species, you realize. Someone has either done their best to blend different sets of ecosystems in a harmonious way, or plopped them all down on this world millions of years ago, and given them time to grow together. It’s certainly a point towards Jeremy’s hope that this is the Ultimate Reward, and you can’t help but smile.

At high noon, you all finally make it to the shoreline. Feferi takes a running leap into the lake, laughing as she goes; Eridan wades in as well, answering Jeremy’s stern insistence that they stick together with a nod. They disappear under the surface, and your heart leaps into your throat, before you remember that they can literally breathe underwater. 

As for the rest of you, you all sit down on some boulders to take a break from walking, and you silently hope there aren’t any massive water creatures to be worried about in the depths of the lake. Jeremy sets up the camp stove again, this time bringing out some cans of vienna sausages and creamed corn. He clearly does not find this ideal, looking down at them in dissatisfaction, before turning to Nepeta and asking: “You said you know a lot about outdoor survival, right? Do you recognize any of the plants out here? If any of them are edible?”

This garners him weird looks from all four landdwelling trolls. “We’re carnivores,” Vriska finally responds. “And even if we did eat plants, there’s no way we’d know if any were edible for you.”

“Well,” Equius coughs, “That is not entirely true. We do eat sugared foods, flavoring herbs, fruit, and fungi, and supplement dishes like grubloaf with wood pulp to help bulk them out and provide fiber. But the last point does stand. We wouldn’t know if you could eat them.”

This rings some kind of bell in your head. “Wait, how do we know if you can eat anything we can, then? What - what if you get a stomachache or some kind of poisoning from the food you already had?”

Nepeta and Tavros look genuinely alarmed, like they hadn’t considered this, but Equius shakes his head. “I believe we are safe on that front. Our mysterious benefactors seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble to provide us with an abundance of resources, and I doubt they would go to so much effort just to poison us.”

“And if they made a mistake somewhere,” Tavros adds, “I’ve at least eaten worse.”

This at least gives you a good rule to follow as a group: if one species recognizes something edible, only that species should eat it. Any shared food will come from the supplies found in the cave. 

This is a short-lived agreement; as Jeremy finishes cooking up the vienna sausages, Feferi and Eridan come wading back out of the lake. The girl is clutching a massive, predatory-looking fish, angrily flopping around in her arms, and she looks pleased with herself. Eridan has something tied up in his (waterproof?) sweater, which he reveals as a pile of live crayfish.

Despite not recognizing their prey, the seadwelling trolls don’t seem overly concerned about their edibility. “They look and smell just like things we’d find back home, and they don’t have poison stingers or anything,” Feferi says with a shrug. Jeremy identifies her catch as a perch, and at her puppy-eyed insistence, arranges the massive prize on the camp stove to cook. The children, to your horror, decline his offer to boil the crayfish, and instead opt to eat them while still squirming.

“They’re just like snackbugs, but a little oilier,” Nepeta happily comments. You’re not sure you want to know what snackbugs are. Tavros dunks the wiggling legs of a crayfish in his creamed corn, before popping it in his mouth. The squishy wet crunch makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

Eridan wrings out his scarf. It does seem waterproof, the texture of the fabric reminding you of a thin plastic sponge. “The lake is actually pretty clear. No signs of any litter, or pollution.”

None of the other kids respond to this. Even knowing what he’s done, you can’t help but feel a little bad for him, because he is trying to offer something constructive. So you casually say, “That’s good.”

Feferi looks at you with a grimace, clearly seeing what you’re trying to do. You shrug slightly. Do with that what you will. 

She chews on her lip, before grunting in agreement, reaching for another crayfish.

It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference to the other trolls. But it clearly means the world to Eridan, his smile soft and shy and hopeful.

~

After lunch, you start to trek your way to where the river meets the lake. Jeremy doesn’t think you’ll make it there until tomorrow, and identifies a potential spot along your projected path to make camp and sleep for the night, which the nocturnal trolls find a novel idea. 

Having been alive again for nearly a full day, everyone is finding themselves suddenly occupied by the difficulties of bodily function - sleepiness, the reek of sweat from physical activity, and -

“I - I’m going need to - Ineedtogetdownandusetheloadgaper,” Tavros rushes through the sentence, clearly drowning in humiliation.

Vriska sighs. “There is no load gaper, Tavros, we’re roughing it. You need to go behind a bush and use a leaf.”

His face is dark with embarrassed fury. “Well, I can’t exactly pop a squat and do that, can I? Equius, can you please set me down? Over there? I’ll just - figure it out.”

He does, in fact, figure it out. You feel the urge to offer help, somehow, but you know that would only embarrass him further. When he comes back out, he’s tied his baggy shirt over the missing parts of his body, and he determinedly clambers his way onto the shoreline on his twiggy little arms to wash his hands. 

As he does this, Eridan hesitantly offers him soap. Tavros looks up at him warily, but takes it, muttering thanks. You feel a tiny spark of triumph. He may never earn forgiveness, but this seems like a start at healing.

~

There is a camp set up a short distance from shore - sleeping bags unrolled, a fire started, astonished remarks on how dark it is, and still no sign of any rain, thank goodness - you would be terribly unprepared for it. Everyone is too tired to tell stories, but there’s definitely some sleepy mentions of doing so tomorrow. 

It’s in the middle of the night - after you’ve slept some, but before the fire has fully died out - that it hits you all at once like a ton of bricks.

You wake in a feverish sweat, joints aching and bile already rising in your throat. Your sleeping bag is snuggled up next to Jeremy’s, and you struggle out of it as quietly as you can. Thankfully, he’s a much heavier sleeper than you are, and you’re able to sneak your way shakily to the other side of camp without waking him. There, you fall to your knees behind a small tree, and do your best to retch silently.

You don’t succeed, though. As your whole body spasms and tries to reject its own intestines, you hear a faint, “Annie? You ‘kay?” from a woken Tavros a few feet away. 

Vriska starts awake next to him, shiny yellow eyes peering at you in the dark. “Ah, shit,” she mutters, struggling out of her own sleeping bag. “Don’t worry about it, Tavvy. She’s comin’ off her human soporifics, Rose had the same problem. She’ll be okay, go back to sleep.”

You don’t even have a second to think about what Vriska said, when the sweats cloud you and make you shiver, vision fuzzy and teeth chattering as your stomach keeps trying to empty itself when there is nothing to expel. Your skull pounds in time with your pulse.

But you do soon realize what it means, your hands curling into fists around wet, dead leaves as you hiccup, hack, and sob into the ground, Vriska’s hand gently and uncomfortably patting you. Your cousins were right about you - you’re uncontrolled, an irresponsible drunken skank, a bad example.

Your baby girl was drinking. Drinking, and sixteen at the oldest - the only one she could’ve gotten the idea from was you . And this poor girl, absently rubbing circles into your shuddering back as disgusting spit drips from your mouth in long strands, had to deal with supporting a friend through this, to the point where she feels a responsibility to do the same for an adult. An adult who should’ve known better, been better. Been better for Rose. 

You retch more bile into damp earth, choking on tears from agony and gut-wrenching guilt. “Jer,” you croak, as loud as you can, because you need to be responsible, for once . You need to spare Vriska from having to do this again. You hear his sleeping bag rustle as he starts awake, and you hack a cough on another relieved sob. 

He murmurs something to Vriska, and she pulls away, stepping back to her sleeping bag. And then it’s just Jeremy, his sturdy, dependable hand on your back, and you, pathetically crouched in the underbrush and coughing up a lung into the dead leaves and millipedes.

“I’m a terrible mother, Jer,” you choke out around a lump in your throat. “Rosie, she - she, she learned it from me. Sstarted drinkin’. Iss my fault, wasn’ there for her -”

“That’s not your fault, Annie,” he says gently, “you were dead.”

“Is my fualt!” You spit, trying to clear your throat, sweat dripping from your forehead. Jeremy takes out a handkerchief and tenderly wipes your face. It’s more than you deserve. “I - I made her fhink it was noromal, I fucked up showin’ her that, I fucked up startin’ drinkin’ in the first place, she deserved better’n a fuckup for a mom -”

“You’re not being fair to yourself,” his voice is so soft, like a butterfly landing on your wretched eyelids.

“Wha’ is fair, Jer’my? S’ my faul’.” You spit again. “You can’t tell me it’s not. I di’ that to her. My sweet baby Rose.”

Jeremy sighs, and puts his arms around your shoulders, holding you close. “Addiction is a disease, my love,” he whispers softly. “Like many diseases, it runs in the family. It’s hurt you, too, it’s hurting you right now. Would you call Rose a fuckup for falling victim to it?”

You choke and sputter. “S’not the same! She’s just a kid, she lost ever’thing -”

“And you knew the world was going to end, and you were going to lose everything.” He breathes deeply, and you find yourself unconsciously matching his breaths. “Like how Feferi and Eridan are more likely to get sick when their gills are dry. Illness strikes you when you’re vulnerable.”

You’re still sniffling and sweaty and shaking, the hammers in your head still pounding, and your tears and snot have made a wet patch on Jeremy’s bloodstained sleeve, but your stomach’s clenching has subsided into something more bearable and less rip-your-guts-open vomiting. “I don’t deserve you, Jer.”

“Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me until you find someone better,” he says wryly, patting your shoulder and rocking you in his arms. “My brilliant, and incredibly silly goose.” You chuckle wetly and elbow him in the ribs.

~

The next morning, you’re still sweaty, feverish, and feeling overall like shit. But you can walk, and you feel able to keep down a packet of oatmeal. 

Either you woke all the kids up last night with your horrible noises, or Tavros and Vriska told everyone before you got up today, because they’re all looking at you with furtive glances and expressions of worry. Although maybe it’s just that you look as much like shit as you feel. For all you know, they think you have food poisoning from the fish you ate yesterday. You yearn for coffee, even terrible instant powder, but the very thought of consuming anything other than the quarter-cup of bland porridge you already ate makes your stomach turn. 

Jeremy, your sweet guardian angel, finds a fallen branch for you to use as a walking stick. You unsteadily prop yourself up, and with your man on your other side, you carry on.

You’re only a mile from the river, your vision swimming slightly, when you hear Jeremy draw in a sharp gasp.

You turn to look, and follow his gaze - what you see roots you to the spot as well.

It’s her. The Statue of Liberty. Her arm broken off, her face coated thickly in lichen and half-sunken into the ground, but recognizable.

No wonder, you think distantly, that the mornings here feel just like those in New York.