Archive of Our Own ^beta

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          “Dave.”

          You awaken to a pair of bright, aquamarine eyes and gentle hands coaxing you out of your slumber.

          “It’s time to wake up, dear.”

          You grumble, rubbing your eyes as she flicks the lights on.  Unconsciously, you don your sunglasses and push yourself up out of the thin bed.  Upon glancing out the small, barred window, you discover that it is still pitch black outside.  “It’s still night,” you protest.  “What gives?”

          Ms. Peixes has a knack of bending down so that she’s at your level in a way that is almost patronizing, despite the fact that you are nearly her height now.  On top of that, she speaks to you in a sweet, gentle voice that makes you feel like she’s talking to a toddler.  But Ms. Peixes means well, and is certainly kinder than some of the other orderlies.  “You have a new roommate coming soon!  I wanted to make shore you were ready!”  Shore.  The fish puns begin.

          “I’m ready.  Can I go back to sleep?”

          “Don’t be silly!” she giggles.  “You need to know some things aboat him.”  Aboat.   It’s too fuckin’ early for this shit.  You don’t even know if she does it intentionally.  Perhaps she’s just as whacked out as her patients.  “He’s reel quiet, so don’t expect him to answer you when you talk, okay?”

          “And here I was hoping for a roommate that doesn’t shut up when I’m trying to sleep.  Hey, you wanna be roomies?”  She purses her lips.  “I’m sorry.  You were saying?”

          “His house was abusive, so don’t give him any fissues regarding his scars or anyfin like that.”

          “I won’t give him any fissues about a violent building.”

          She sighs.  “Dave, you aren’t taking me seriously.”

          You put your hands up.  “I’m not gonna bother the guy, all right?”

          Ms. Peixes smiles.  “Good.  But there’s one more thing.  I know how diffishcult it is for you to open up, but I’d like you to try and make fronds with him.”

          “Ms. Peixes--”

          “Call me Feferi, love.  And please.  The boy has no fronds.  I’m shore he could use one.  And you could, too.”

          You sigh.  “I’ll try.”  You have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

          “That’s all I can--”  Feferi is interrupted by three raps on the door.  “Oh!  That must be him now!”  She hops over to the door and throws it open.  A nurse in green scrubs enters the room, followed closely by a boy about the same height as you.  His purple hood is pulled tightly over his head, effectively concealing his entire face from you and everyone else.  “How is he?”

          “He is stable for the time being, however, I would like to give him a psychiatric evaluation after he has had some time to settle in.”  The nurse enunciates every syllable, as though self-conscious of herself in a professional environment.  You wonder if she’s like this outside of work too.  You like Nurse Maryam, though you don’t think she’s very fond of you.  She lacks the patience necessary to handle smartasses such as yourself.

          Feferi nods and turns her attention to the boy.  “Do you mind taking off your jacket and changing into some scrubs, sweetheart?  Certain objects aren’t allowed in here.”  They keep a strict watch on what objects go in and out of your room.  You were barely able to persuade Peixes to let you keep your shades, but she knows they mean a lot to you, so she made one exception.

          The young man nods timidly and unzips his jacket before shrugging out of it.  You stifle a gasp at the gruesome sight before you.  His hair is tangled and unkempt, and a jagged scar runs down from his forehead, across his nose, and to his jaw.  There are stitches and dried blood from a fresher wound across his left cheek, along with dark bruises coating his face and neck.  But this isn’t the worst of it.  His lips are cracked and torn and have scars that are far too organized to be mistaken for an accidental injury.

          “Shit.”  The abrupt voice beside you causes you to jump, and you glance over at the frog that has somehow hopped up onto your shoulder.  “Someone sewed the kid’s mouth shut?”  You say nothing, and the amphibian seems content with your silence as he lights up a cigarette.  “He’ll be better off here, I guarantee.”  You nod slightly, just enough for your little friend to notice.

          Feferi looks from the broken boy to you with pain in her eyes.   “Dave, this is--”

          “Kurloz Makara.”  You hold out a hand to the now startled guest.  “Consider me a bro.  Like not a relative, because obviously your relatives were the epitome of douchebaggery.  But the friend kind of bro, you know?  I’m your friendbro now.”  He takes your hand and gives it a little shake, and his smile almost looks like it’s not painful.  Almost.

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          You hardly ever surprise the nurses anymore with your unusual knowledge about things that ought to be unknown to you.  It is generally understood that trolls are inclined to have certain psychic abilities, but for a human such as yourself, it‘s almost entirely impossible.  Your experts have reached the conclusion that somewhere deep in your ancestral roots was a troll who somehow passed on the psychic gene to you.  It’s uncommon for trolls to mate with humans, as trolls’ mating rituals tend to be a bit too violent, or neither of them can compromise on whose mating techniques they would use, but it isn’t unheard of.  You know this isn’t the case for you, however.  It isn’t due to some supernatural brain power that you know things you shouldn’t.  It isn’t genetics or some sort of bizarre radioactive inheritance.  It’s purely memory and some accident that has failed to delete that memory, which in turn has left you with the names, faces, and mannerisms of people who otherwise would have been complete strangers.

         Even if you had wanted to get back to sleep, you don’t feel sleepy anymore.  Besides that, you think you shouldn’t leave your roommate alone.  You know very well how difficult it is to be alone in a new place like this, and he doesn’t deserve that, especially after what he’s been through.  Feferi has left Kurloz with a small chalkboard and a single piece of chalk, both of which were probably from the center reserved for younger children.  You two don’t talk much, but he occasionally scribbles a word or two in a feeble attempt at small talk.  For the most part, he draws out crude cartoons that vaguely depict what is on his mind.  His handwriting is just as sloppy as his art, so it’s a challenge for you to decipher what he’s trying to say no matter what media he uses.  You’re just grateful that there are no charades involved.  You hate that game with a passion.

         At some point before the doors open for visiting hours, he jots something down in chicken scratch that you translate into a question about why you have long-sleeved scrubs instead of short ones like his.  You think it’s sort of an irrelevant question, but you humor him.

         “Sensitive skin, dude.  Can’t you see?  I’m pallid as a motherfucker.”  You can clearly read now that he has written “BULLSHIT” in huge, deliberately smooth letters, and you hardly get the opportunity to raise an eyebrow before you find his hands wrapped around your forearm.  “Hey!  Uncool!”  Kurloz pushes the sleeve up to your elbow, and you don’t have time to yank your arm away.  With your skin exposed, he can easily examine the bright pink scars spread across your wrist and forearm.  You force your arm out of his grasp and hastily cover it back up.  It’s already too late, though.  All it took was one glance for him to learn more about your past than you are comfortable sharing with your therapist.

         You’re flustered now, and you’re having issues regaining your cool, so you go and sulk on your bed.  Technically speaking, Makara isn’t allowed on your side of the room, but that doesn’t seem to be a concern of his, as he comes over and thrusts the chalkboard in front of your face.

         “DO NOT BE ASHAMED FRIENDBRO.  MISTAKES HAPPEN.”  He sure does like his capital letters.  At any rate, his words are with good intention, but they only succeed at pissing you off even more.  You won’t admit to him that this is because you’ve never labeled any of your self-inflicted wounds as mistakes.  Maybe that’s why you’re still in this place, having yourself labeled as a mistake, as a lunatic, as a crazy.  Maybe it’s intentional on your part.  So be it.  At least in here, you’re not alone.  At least in here you know people have similar problems.  And you have Feferi.  If you’re grateful for anything, it’s having her for a friend.  She doesn’t avoid your gaze with shame.  She listens to you.  She cares about you.  Or at least she does a hell of a job acting like she gives a shit.

         You shoo Kurloz away so you can have some time to yourself.  You didn’t think you would miss alone time so quickly.  You’ve had other roommates in the past, but none of them were quite as prying as this Makara fellow has proven to be.  One roommate in particular stands out in your mind, and you can’t even fight the smile that comes to your face at the thought of her.  She had tricked everyone into believing she was a boy, just for the hell of it.  For a couple days, she ended up bunking with you.  There was a mutual agreement between the two of you that you guys were the coolest people in the building, and you found out you had a lot in common, psychosis included.  After she got caught and booted out of your room, you were alone again, but the two of you were joined at the hip during the hours you were allowed to roam the lobby.

         You would pull harmless pranks with the girl who had become your best friend.  According to hospital regulations, however, these pranks were way too dangerous to the other patients, and they even went so far as to separate the two of you permanently.

         You pull the brakes on this train of thought before it gets to the point of quivering lips and uncontrollable tears.  Your therapist reminds you at least once per visit of how unhealthy it is for you to keep these feelings bottled up, but you don’t want to think about what happened next, let alone talk about it to a woman who reminds you of the sister that never visits her poor broken brother at Sburb Mental Institution.

         God, everything about this hospital is a cold slap in the face.  They try to force you to forget your most vivid memories in a place that is filled to the brim with the exact memories they are trying to destroy.  Could there be a worse Hell than this?  You don’t think so.  Whoever created this building was a crafty devil, obviously intent on tormenting you in any way they can.  The worst part is, you’re starting to believe all of the doctors assuring you that you’re insane.  What if you are insane?  What if the game in which you fought so hard to survive and keep your friends alive is all just a figment of your imagination?

         The only contradiction you know of is your former roommate and best friend, because they might have taken her away from you and broken her spirit to and beyond the point of suicide, but just like you, Latula Pyrope remembered Sburb.

Chapter Text

          You find yourself once again caught in a staring contest with a Miss Roxy Long.  You are certain that if she wasn’t getting paid substantially for her services, she would have given up on you months ago.  You can tell by the way she checks her watch at almost frantic intervals that she wants your session to be over as quickly as possible, probably so she can go get drunk.  You don’t need any confirmations that she drinks.  If memory serves you well, it’s what she’s best at.

         You’d think as a therapist, Ms. Long would be the most likely one to keep from breaking the silence - well, almost silence.  That tapping pen is going to cause you to flip your shit if it continues for much longer.  You’re wrong in your assumption that she will keep quiet, however.  Usually she wins your battle of silence, but not today.

         “I’m afraid of unicorns.”

         What the fuck?  “How does that make you feel?”

         She clears her throat.  “When I was a little younger than you, I started having nightmares about the single-horned bastards.  I’ve been scared of them since.”

         “What’s your point?”  Heh.  Point.

         “I’ve never told anyone that.”  You’re still not sure why Roxy is sharing this with you.  You’re supposed to be the one who shares intimate details from your past.  “I told you about my delusion.  Tell me about yours.”

         Your fists are clenched before you even realize it.  Who the hell does she think she is?  For the first time since Latula’s death, you let your frustrations out.  “First of all, they aren’t delusions.  They’re memories.  I know my own fucking mind, and even though you have a degree that claims you’re some kind of brain expert, you don’t know shit about shit, so don’t act like you do.”  She begins writing hastily in her notebook, which you suspect was probably blank before today.  “Stop it.  Stop fucking scribbling.  You want me to let you in on the colossally fucked realm that is my psyche?  Fine.  But I’m not saying a word until you put the god damn notebook away.”

         Roxy stops writing, closes the notebook, and tosses it on the table.  “This is progress, Dave.”  She offers you a smile.

         “Shut the fuck up about progress.  For five minutes, you need to pretend you’re not a shrink and just be a friend.  Just act like one, for fuck’s sake.  I won’t try to hug you or cry on your shoulder like some fruity douche, but I can’t talk to you when you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

         She leans back in the chair comfortably and you tell all, from the session to your Bro’s gruesome death; from your three years on the meteor to finally meeting John; from the lack of visits from the same John you were so ecstatic to meet to befriending Latula, and how utterly destroyed it left you when someone so strong was broken to the extent that she needed to end her life.  You are not crying when your story reaches its conclusion, but you are dangerously close to your breaking point.  Sobbing like a pathetic child is not going to solve anything, and it’s a line you are not willing to cross with Roxy Long.

         She sits calmly while you compose yourself.  It isn’t an easy task.  She interrupts you long before you are composed.  “Your brother died in a car accident, Dave.  Not a stabbing.”

         You stand up, actually shaking from anger.  In the process of storming out , you smack an expensive vase off one of her end-tables.  You don’t spare a glance behind you as it smashes against the floor.  This is the last time you will be spilling your guts to anyone.

         You have reached another low point in your mood as you refuse your second meal of the day.  Feferi joins you in the lounge with ravioli and apple juice, which she knows are your favorites.  You all but stick your nose up at the tray when she places it on the table in front of you.

         “Please eat, dear.”  You shake your head.  You feel empty and numb, but your appetite is lacking.  “You have to eat something so that you can take your meds.”  The thought of ingesting more obscure chemicals in the form of pills makes you nauseous.  Feferi notices your distaste and changes the subject: she can afford to; they’re going to get the pills into you one way or another.  “Dr. Long told me what happened.”  Doctor?  That’s a joke!  “I’m proud of you for talking aboat it.  And yes, she probably cod have handled it a little better.  But you let someone in.  And that’s a huge step.”  There’s not a hell of a lot of good it’ll do if your therapist is virtually useless, though.

         She gives your hair an affectionate pat and moves on to another nut.  You are determined to keep your mouth shut, and she respects that.  You decide to make it easier on yourself later and force down a few bites of ravioli and some gulps of apple juice.  Life is going to be painful for a while.

         In the morning, you have some time to yourself while Kurloz is being evaluated.  Your frog sits on your lap and allows you to pet him mechanically while writing raps under your breath.  You enjoy his company more than anyone else’s, due simply to the fact that he never pries.  He listens and sometimes retorts, but he isn’t the slightest bit nosey.  You stop rapping and chuckle, nudging your little pal.

         “Droog.”

         “That’s me.”

         “It just occurred to me that my only friend is an imaginary amphibian.”

         “If you were normal, you wouldn’t be locked up here, kiddo.”

         You scoff.  “Normal is overrated.”

         Droog looks up at you.  “Yeah?  Try tellin’ that to the doctors.”

         That’ll be the day.  Sometimes you wish you were normal.  Sometimes you think you remember Sburb for a reason.  Most of the time you think that’s bullshit and the universe hates you.  You’ll figure it out some day.

Chapter Text

            It’s a Sunday morning, and you refuse to get out of bed for food, free time, sharing circles, or anything short of a dire emergency.  Somehow you think your babysitters understand this, because apart from checking up on you every hour or so, they leave you alone.  This goes on until well into the afternoon, when Feferi finally takes a seat on the edge of the bed.  She looks even more energized than usual, if that’s even possible.

            “You have a visitor coming tomorrow.”

            You roll over so your back is facing her.  “Not interested.”  Truth be told, you do want to know which one of your “friends” drew the short straw this time.  But if obligation and pity are their only incentives for a visit, you’d rather they stay at home.

            “My cousin’s girlfriend works at the troll hospital.  You know, Sgrub?”  The name stirs pain up inside you, but you mumble an affirmative.  “She says there’s a troll boy there who has similar symptoms to your own.  So we decided to bring him here so that you two could meet!  Isn’t that exciting?”  You tug the scratchy blanket over your head.  Just the thought of talking to a psychotic stranger makes you anxious and fidgety.  Feferi’s frown is almost audible.  “Just give him a chance.  Please?  Who knows; maybe you’ll kelp each other and become good friends!”

            Sitting up, you toss the blanket aside and look her straight in her big blue eyes.  “The last time I had a ‘good friend’, you people fucking took her from me.  So I reiterate.  Not interested.”

            She leaves without another word, but you have a feeling you haven’t heard the end of this.

            Droog hops up onto your bed.  “Maybe it ain’t none of my business, kid, but you ought to at least meet the guy.  Can’t be too bad, knowin’ there’s someone else and you ain’t alone.”

            “I know.  I don’t know.  Ugh…”

            “Think about it, yeah?”

            “Yeah, okay.”

~

            Apparently the park is the ideal place for two deranged children to meet for the first time, because that’s where you find yourself the next morning.  You don’t want to be here, and you are doing everything you can to make it known to your escort without shouting it at her face.

            “Dave, I also do not wish to be in this place, but Ms. Peixes has been very kind to us both, and we should show her some gratitude for that.”  Of all the people in the world to be your escort, why did it have to be the uptight Miss Maryam?  You swear she’s even worse than she was on the meteor, and you wish Rose was still dating her.  She was at least more bearable when your ecto-sis was around.  You agree to sit still, but your arms are crossed so tight that the circulation is nearly cut off.

            Your visitor arrives at last.  You aren’t sure who you were expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t him.  The familiarity in his eyes is unmistakable, though, and for a moment you are stunned just by the notion that he might recognize you.  He and his shepherd (who you identify immediately as one of the Serkets) approach cautiously.  Even after your escorts give you some space, he seems to be holding something back.

            “Karkat.”  It has been so long since you’ve said his name; you can’t resist.

            The short troll is gaping at you, and you can’t help but notice that his scrubs are also long-sleeved, maybe for the same reason.  For one horrifying minute, you think he’s going to flip his shit and accuse you of insanity for knowing his name.  But he doesn’t.  His head cocks to the side in the same adorable way a confused puppy’s might.  “Dave?”  Your heart flutters, and you can’t help yourself.  You throw your arms around him, only resisting enough that you don’t actually twirl around with him in your arms.  He seems to be in shock for a moment, but he returns the embrace hesitantly.  “You remember me?”

            You pull away just enough to get a look at his face.  “You remember me!”  You want to laugh, scream, cry, dance around, voice a million emotions all at once.  But all you can do right now is hug your best friend.

            And then it hits you.  Of course Karkat would remember!  You remember, Latula remembered, and now Karkat remembers.  Only the knights can remember because only the knights have protected memories.  You aren’t crazy!  You know you aren’t, and knowing is the best feeling in the world, aside from learning that your best friend remembers you.

            Karkat pushes you away suddenly, and you are taken aback.  “This is a trick.  I’m being played, aren’t I?”

            That thought never occurred to you.  “What?  Don’t be stupid.”

            He gets right up in your face.  “Then tell me something only Dave would know.  And by Dave, I mean my Dave.”

            “Okay.  Your favorite song is ‘Wonderwall’, your favorite book is Pride and Prejudice, your favorite movie is the troll version of ‘Hitch’ (the name of which I don’t care to try and remember), you wear a black shirt with a symbol that looks like a sideways 69 and a pair of painfully tacky sweatpants, and even though you act like you don’t give a shit about your friends, you’re actually the most caring guy I know.”

            His hug is crushingly tight now.  “It’s you.”  You can’t help but wonder how the nurses are reacting to this.  As long as you aren’t hurting each other, they don’t have any reason to interfere.

            Now it’s your turn to push him away.  “Jesus christ, is that a snake?”  The slim reptile is winding its way up Karkat’s torso, but he is perfectly calm.  Maybe you’re hallucinating.  Or this is a dream.  That figures.

            “Dave, it’s fine!  It’s just Slick.  Wow, I can’t believe you can see him.”

            “How’sssss it goin’?” the snake hisses at you.

            A certain amphibian finds his way onto your shoulder.  “Slick?”

            “Droog?”

            “Slick.”

            “Droog.”

            Judging by the bewildered expression on Karkat’s face, he is able to see your frog just as you can see his snake.  The two animals scurry off to reminisce, once again leaving you alone with Karkat.  Sort of alone; you’re still being watched.  The two of you sit side-by-side in the grass silently.  There is no need for words.  Just each others' presence is enough.  At any rate, you both need time to let the incredible news sink in.  In the meantime, you are closer to him in every sense of the word than to anyone else on the planet.  Just this once, you are perfectly okay with bro cuddles.

Chapter Text

            Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you’ve never been quite as excited as you are right now.  It’s been a week and a half since you and Dave became reacquainted, and you haven’t seen him since.  You have been looking forward to another visit every moment since you went separate ways.  Aranea scheduled another meeting with Feferi for today, and you’ve been losing sleep to your anxiety.

            “Relaxssssss, kid.”  You have been pacing around the room, ready to go for well over an hour now, and Slick has coiled himself up the length of your arm.  “You act like you’re goin’ to the fuckin’ prom.”

            “Shut up.”

            “Oh my fuckin’ chrisssst.  You like the kid, don’t you?”

            The temperature of your face sky-rockets.  “Of course I like him, dipshit!  He’s my best friend!”  You try to play it off as anger, even though you know that isn’t the case.

            He’s not buying it.  “You know what I mean, Vantasssss.”

            “Well, it’s none of your damn business, Sssssssslick.”  You proceed to make condescending hissing noises at the small reptile.

            Slick groans.  “It ain’t a big deal.  I don’t ssssee why you gotta be a big fuggin’ pansssy about it.”

            You shake him onto the bed.  “Because fuck you, that’s why.”

            “Wow, nissse argument, kid.  Y’ever conssssssider writin’ novelssss?”

            These meaningless arguments erupt too often, and normally you would indulge him, but you’ve got too much on your mind right now.  There is so much to discuss with Dave, so many theories to go over.  What are your plans now?  Part of you wants to take your pal and run.  Another part warns you of the kinds of awful repercussions you’ll both face if you’re caught.  You’d never be allowed near each other again.  Is it worth the risk?

            Probably not, you decide.

~

            There was never a time in your three years with Dave that you heard him talk as much as he’s talking today.  You don’t even have the opportunity to interject with your usual sarcastic remarks.  He is telling you stories about Latula, his late companion, so you aren’t even sure your conscious will let you interrupt.  For now, you’re just enjoying the way his face lights up when he talks to you.  How long has it been since the poor guy was able to talk to someone he actually trusts?  At the rate he’s talking, it sounds like he doesn’t even know.

            Dave’s face darkens as he explains the way the employees at Sburb hospital stole Latula from him.  You don’t know what has just happened.  One moment he’s jabbering on about the hyperkinetic girl, and the next he’s staining the shoulder of your scrubs with tears.  You have no clue what you should do to resolve this.  Striders don’t cry.  It just doesn’t happen.  You hold onto him, rubbing his back in a weak attempt at soothing him.  God, you just want to strangle the dick who broke through Dave’s stone.  You want to tear apart anyone who even thinks of hurting him again.  If it’s the last thing you do, you’ll get him somewhere safe from whomever is bent on causing him so much pain.

            You call for Aranea, who is at your side before you can get Dave to his feet.  “Can I get him cleaned up in the men’s room, or do we need supervision for that?”  The word “supervision” is practically spat at her, and she frowns.

            “I can let you take him, but if you’re not back out in five minutes, I’m obligated to come in and collect you.”

            You get him inside and lock the door behind you.  “Quit your sniveling, Strider.  We have five minutes.”

            He dries his eyes on his sleeve.  “To do what?”

            You’re already reaching to slide the window open.  “Give me a boost.”

            He doesn’t argue.  Once you’re up on the ledge, you grab his outstretched hand and hoist him up beside you.  You’re out, and you think the building conceals both of you enough that you can make it into the trees without being spotted.  “We are so fucked, Karkat.”

            “Shut up and run, idiot!”  You snatch up his hand and drag him along after you.  You stumble into the trees, which thicken out the farther you travel, until you can’t even run side-by-side anymore.  The whole time, you cling to his hand.  The last thing you want right now is to get separated.

            Dave’s adrenaline rush runs out long before yours does (fucking plush-assed human).  Despite his protests, you pick him up so that he’s riding piggyback and you keep sprinting through trees, over roots, around bushes.  You’re going for a good half hour at least before you stop, slide Dave off your back, and take a seat on the leaf-coated ground.  It takes a long time to catch your breath, and your lungs feel raw and painful.  When was the last time you exerted yourself that much at once?

            “Dude.”  You look up at Dave through half-lidded eyes.  “You all right?”  A nod is all you can handle.  He parks himself beside you, grinning wider than you’ve ever seen.  “It’s good to be free.”

            You manage a smile.  “It wasn’t so hard when you were blubbering like a pansy.”

            “Hey, fuck you.  I spilled my guts back there.”

            “I know, Dave.  I’m sorry about Latula, okay?”

            He shrugs.  “At least I knew someone else who remembered.  Must’ve been Hell for you.”

            “Yeah.”

            Dave is quick to change the topic.  “We gotta ditch the scrubs, man.”

            “Are you suggesting we run around in the fucking nude?”

            He chuckles.  “While I’m not the least bit surprised that your mind jumps straight to my hot naked body, that’s not at all what I was suggesting.  We could stop by my apartment and pick up some clothes.  Jade has been watching over it while I’ve been in the hospital.  She may or may not be there, but I think I can talk to her.  Of all the people I know, she’s been the most understanding about my condition, but I think I scare her.  She hasn’t visited me since I got locked up.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            He puts a hand up to silence you.  “Stop with the apologies.  Life sucks.  We’re dealing with it.”

Chapter Text

            You can’t help but think that a GPS would be an incredibly helpful tool to have as you and Dave trudge through the tangled mess of branches and foliage.  He has a general idea of which way his former home is, but that won’t keep you two from getting yourselves hopelessly lost.  It must have been hours since you left the park, because the sun is setting now.  You think you could keep going, but Dave is obviously trying to hold up a look that doesn’t reveal that he is completely fatigued.  It isn’t working.

            “Let’s rest here.”

            He has no complaints.  As soon as you stop walking, Dave collapses to the ground, his back propped up against the nearest tree.  You expect that he’ll protest to sleeping out here, but you can’t be too far from his apartment by now.  He looks about ready to crash.  It may have been months since he moved as much as he has tonight.

            “Take a nap, Strider.  I’ll keep watch.”

            “I’m good.”

            “You’re full of shit.  Just sleep for a while.  You’ll be fine.”  You’re not sure if he decided it just isn’t worth arguing about, or if he has fallen asleep before he can think of a rebuttal.  Either way, he remains silent for quite a while.  You aren’t alone, however.  Both Droog and Slick join you, and it is becoming a more difficult task for any of you to decipher if they really do exist or if your chemically corrupted minds are imagining them up simultaneously.  Were they following you two the entire time, or did they appear only when you stopped?  You seem to recall Dave mentioning Latula’s companion, but he had never actually seen the guy.  Deuce had died before Latula was admitted to the hospital.  He never said how.

            You wish you knew how to fix things.  Tragic backstories seem to follow you wherever you go, but you wish Dave never had to deal with that shit.  Even if it had just been you who remembered, it would certainly be better than having him suffer as well.  And wouldn’t it be a fitting punishment for your colossal screw-up with the human universe?  You deserve this.  Dave doesn’t.

            You examine your dozing companion.  In the dark, it is easier for trolls to see than humans.  Asleep, he looks more at peace.  If only there was a way to make the peace linger while he’s awake…

            With any luck, you’ll find a couple of warm beds tonight.  He’s more than earned a night of proper rest.  For now, you savor Dave’s tranquility.

~

            It isn’t so difficult to sneak around the neighborhood so long as you stick to the shadows.  Once you are outside of his apartment, Dave collects a key that has been buried inside one of the flower pots.  He shakes the dirt off the key and opens the door tentatively.

            “Dave?”  You’d recognize those dorky glasses anywhere.  Her hair is an absolute disaster, but you know who she is.  Jade is placed firmly between you two and the rest of the apartment, and you take the time to silently compare Dave’s expression to that of a deer’s just before becoming one with oncoming traffic.  You imagine he is probably not trying to startle her by moving too fast (maybe she’s the deer?), but her reaction is the opposite of startled.  She tosses her arms around him, somehow adding even more shock to his already petrified face.  “They said you ran away from the hospital!  We’ve all been so worried.”

            Dave ducks out of her grasp.  “‘We’?”

            “Rose and me.  She’s not here, but… oh, gosh!  I better call the hospital and let them know I found you!”  You want to bring light to the fact that she’s treating her friend like a canine, but you don’t feel it’s your place.

            “No!”  Jade is already holding her phone, but she pauses.  “Listen to me, Jade.  I need you to not tell anyone we were here.”

            For the first time, she notices you, and you shift uncomfortably under her gaze.  “What did you do?”  She steps between you and Dave, and it’s like daggers in your chest.  “Did you make Dave do this?  Did you tell him to?”

            You find that you are unable to make your mouth work, so Dave speaks up, gently pushing Jade aside.  “Dude, no.  This was all my idea.”

            “I’m calling the hospital.”

            He takes her wrist, and for the first time ever, you hear him pleading.  “Jade.  I can’t go back.”  He tosses you a sideways glance.  “We can’t go back.  If you give even a single fuck about my happiness, you gotta put the phone down.  Please.”

            “But I want you to get better.”

            Dave pushes his glasses up over his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose.  “I’m better.  Look at me.  I haven’t..”  He swallows hard.  “I haven’t even cut since before I was admitted.  Not even after Latula died.  I know what’s real and what’s not.  I’m not even dangerous.  So let me go.”  Her gaze shifts back to you, and Dave claps you on the shoulder.  “This is Karkat.  He’s in the same situation.  He’s better too.  I promise.”

            The conflict in Jade’s eyes shows, but after a moment, she looks defeated.  “Be safe, Dave.  If anyone asks if you were here, I’m not going to lie to them, okay?”  He nods and dashes upstairs to get clothes for both of you.  You start after him, but Jade stops you.  “I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t take care of him, you’ll regret it.”  You shudder and nod once.

            Once you and Dave are dressed in casual clothing and not gloomy hospital attire, Jade reluctantly helps pack a couple bags of supplies.  She gives Dave another rib-cracking hug before you begin your journey together.  No hugs for you, though.  You’re not sure why you expected to receive one, but it hurts that you didn’t.