Fic: Crossing Spaces [1/???] Gam/Kar
Karkat brings you back.
It's his outstretched hand, his fingers trailing along your painted jaw, those ruby red tears streaming down his face.
It's his blood, spread around you, that unites you once more. The whisper, the scream - he binds you, drags you to that sacrosanct space between reality and imagination.
You blink; once, twice. You wonder how you got here, to Terezi's respite block. You wonder why your throat is raw and why it hurts so much to swallow and where those unopened bottles of Faygo went, because you could certainly kick back that wicked elixir. You wonder why Karkat looks so sad, so fragile, so utterly defeated. You wonder why there's warm liquid seeping at a slow, steady pace into your clothes.
Three, four, you blink. Your gaze falls. Blood. Blood, blood, blood, so much that you think you could practically wade in it if you wanted, a puddle the color of a perfect sunset. It nearly waterfalls from around your hand, plunged within Karkat's stomach.
You want to throw up.
But then your eyes meet his and - despite all things he's - he's smiling, and your heart slowly breaks, slowly shatters, as he whispers, so soft, so uncharacteristically him:
"Gamzee… Is that you?"
The smile fades, his eyes shut. He falls against you.
And you sob as you feel your world crumbling with him.
"YoU dOn'T hAvE tO yElL aLl ThE tImE yOu KnOw," you say, smile.
"YES I DO," he snarls. The butterflies start up again at that glare and you're certain it's not just the slime pie messing with your head. "I'M THE LEADER. NO ONE WILL FUCKING LISTEN TO ME IF I DON'T."
You take his hand (and revel in the blush that breaks out across his face), and pull him close, his nubby little horns resting snug beneath your chin. As expected, he struggles; you hold tighter, his half-hearted punches barely fazing you at all.
A gentle kiss placed on the crook of his horn stills his movements, and you don't even have to look to know that the blush on his face just got redder. "BuT iT's JuSt Us, BrOtHeR. No NeEd tO bE sO lOuD."
His face is pressed against your chest - too broad, too sturdy, according to him - and in a low mumble, "Alright, but only for you."
It's a miracle, man. A motherfucking miracle.
Your sleeping beauty rests in a pool of his own blood.
Panic. You're panicking, you're fretting, you're pacing back and forth. You never were the one who solved these kind of problems, you never were, that was always Karkat's job, the motherfucking leader, except, well, now…
Now he was just a little - a little indisposed.
And maybe you could live with that panic, if just for a little while. Maybe he'll reach god tier - you want to believe that he will. Maybe he'll come back to life, maybe he's not as lifeless as he seems.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
And maybe you could live with that-
But it's this silence that kills you, this silence that makes you feel like a helpless little wiggler, this silence that only Karkat can fill. You can live with the panic, the pacing, the fret, but live without Karkat and a voice that works miracles on your motherfucking heart?
No. A plain and simple refusal.
So you press your lips against his, and hope.
Sometimes you wonder how you ever went from moirails to matesprits. At first glance this relationship seems just a bit one-sided, entirely take and never give, all the while him spouting venomous insults and cusses like weapons meant to hurt. You've lost track of how many times he's screamed at you for hogging the sheets at night and for leaving your beloved horns strewn across the lab.
And you take it, you take his punishment, his insults, his misplaced rage, because it's not that bad, it never gets that bad, but you're left with this wonder, the mystery behind the motherfucking miracle of it all. And then he'll look at you and you'll see that flash of heartbreak, of utter remorse, and then you'll think, oh. That's why. That's why I wax red for him and no one else.
Because he gets you. No matter what you do. And he may not understand - let's be honest, he almost never understands, but he gets you.
And really, it's not like you could ask for anything else.
You wait. You wait.
You run your thumb along his jawline, cradle him to your chest. If you hold him long enough, then maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. You hold onto the hope that if he would just wake up, just open his eyes and scream at you once more, you could go on. Even if he never wanted to see you again, never said another word in your general direction, that'd be okay, because Karkat would be okay, and if Karkat was okay, then your world was safe.
Even if Karkat hated you, rained upon you a torrent of "fuck you"s and "go die"s, even if everything shattered with a resounding clatter -
No, don't. Don't leave me.
You shake your head, pull him closer. You don't want to think about that right now. You don't want to face your mistakes, your other half.
Karkat.
Please.
Stay on this forsaken motherfucking rock with me.
For just one night.
Stay with me.
You run your thumb along his lips, notice the blood stains crusted into your skin. You're a monster.
A motherfucking monster.
How can you love someone with these hands that have touched a rainbow?
It's the glassy-eyed look of uncertainty in his eyes that starts it. You know he's seen this movie a dozen times at least, probably more, curled under that gnarly blanket of his that his lusus told him countless times to throw out. It's knotted and holed with a thousand tears and a thousand wringings (not that he would ever admit that, of course), the helpless victim of suspense - will troll John Cusack get with the lucky lady of this movie? Or will they be doomed to go their separate ways?
Of course, the movies always end the same - the guy or the girl will turn their backs forever, prepared to give it all up for their lover's happiness, when, right at the moment where everything seems lost, they are reunited, confess their undying love, and exchange wedding vows, or at least one final kiss.
Unfortunately for you, real life doesn't always end the way it does in the movies.
You inch closer, centimeter by centimeter, breath by breath. Your knee touches his, but he is too enthralled within the movie to even notice or care. A deep breath, an impish smile. You take his hand in yours, and finally he looks over, his face all heartbreak and concern. Tears pool in the corner of his, periodically breaking loose and slipping down his face.
You've never seen him more vulnerable than this.
With a gentle stroke, you wipe the stray tears away, lean in, and you're lips are against his lips and everything is motherfucking miracles and sunshine. He kisses you back - greedily, seeking solace in your subtle touches, his hand squeezing yours with a delicate ferocity you never expected from someone so prone to violence.
Then the moment passes; he pulls away, glances at the screen.
"GOG FUCKING DAMMIT I MISSED THE PART WHERE THEY KISS! FUCKING HELL!" he screams, fumbling for the remote and pounding on the rewind.
You smile, lean back. "No YoU dIdN't, KaR. I gOt AlL yOuR kIsSiNg NeEdS rIgHt HeRe. HoNk."
The clock ticks on. Tick. Tick. And Karkat doesn't stir. He doesn't move, he doesn't blink. You're afraid to know if he's breathing.
And as the seconds pass, you know what's coming: judgment day, the day where all your sins are realized, the day where you must reconcile with that other half, the one who shattered everything, everyone.
Other half. You wish you could say it was a different Gamzee, a doppleganger, a clone. You wish you could say that he had done all this, brought so much destruction. You wish you could point fingers, share the hate, blame, blame, blame.
But you can't. Because despite the disillusionment, despite the regret that hangs heavy over your head, it wasn't him that led to your best friend lying limp in your arms.
It was you.
With a single stroke, a flick of the wrist, you plunged your hand, his sickle, into the chest that kept your hopes, your dreams, your happiness, and destroyed everything. Karkat was your treasure, but it was you who had plundered it and left it to the tide of your sobriety.
And how could you ever face him again, knowing there was something like that inside you? Something so innate, something so destructive that even you could not control its power. What decent troll could call themselves someone's matesprit or moirail if they were capable of such utterly blind chaos that rips apart everything it touches.
The problem, however, lies in this: You need Karkat to live. You need him to survive this disaster, this game-gone-horribly-wrong. You need him.
This paradox kills you, tears at your heart.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
And it begins to unravel you, thread by thread.
You're expecting him when he comes to find you, huddled up in the corner of Karkat's respite block, clutching the same, lukewarm body that you've been hanging onto for days. Those hollow eyes, the fur that reeks of death and destruction.
It's been too long since you heard about his last whereabouts; you're sure those human kids are dead by now and to be honest you could not care less.
Because Kar is what matters, loud, angry, romantic Kar, and you set him down, your sleeping beauty, and rise to meet the terror that haunts your game.
Sober, you could do this. You could fight, you could win. Sober you could win the game, restore order to the universe, win Sburb and be rid of this nightmare, the one that stole your best friend.
But the slime pie is all gone, and as you look around at the destruction you've caused, you're not willing to take that risk. Because Karkat is there, and if he were to die - let's face it, you're all about to die - then at least it wouldn't be by your hand, not by your club.
You stand, you fight.
Even though you're scared, even though you wish you could just take Kar and hide, you want to make your lusus proud and fight, despite its useless cause.
Accost. Abscond.
It happens in an instant.
You barely have time to blink before the purple is running down your chest, and Bec Noir is behind you, looming over the body of your motherfucking best friend, and it's only now do you know what true terror looks like.
You fall to your knees; so much blood, so little time.
With your remaining strength, you stumble your way to the site of Bec Noir's exam; throw yourself over the body that shared a bed with you so many nights.
You close your eyes. The moment's about to come. The end.
"MaYbE iN tHe NeXt LiFe, KaR," you sputter over his awakening face, and you smile.
Then, the blade falls.
It's his outstretched hand, his fingers trailing along your painted jaw, those ruby red tears streaming down his face.
It's his blood, spread around you, that unites you once more. The whisper, the scream - he binds you, drags you to that sacrosanct space between reality and imagination.
You blink; once, twice. You wonder how you got here, to Terezi's respite block. You wonder why your throat is raw and why it hurts so much to swallow and where those unopened bottles of Faygo went, because you could certainly kick back that wicked elixir. You wonder why Karkat looks so sad, so fragile, so utterly defeated. You wonder why there's warm liquid seeping at a slow, steady pace into your clothes.
Three, four, you blink. Your gaze falls. Blood. Blood, blood, blood, so much that you think you could practically wade in it if you wanted, a puddle the color of a perfect sunset. It nearly waterfalls from around your hand, plunged within Karkat's stomach.
You want to throw up.
But then your eyes meet his and - despite all things he's - he's smiling, and your heart slowly breaks, slowly shatters, as he whispers, so soft, so uncharacteristically him:
"Gamzee… Is that you?"
The smile fades, his eyes shut. He falls against you.
And you sob as you feel your world crumbling with him.
"YoU dOn'T hAvE tO yElL aLl ThE tImE yOu KnOw," you say, smile.
"YES I DO," he snarls. The butterflies start up again at that glare and you're certain it's not just the slime pie messing with your head. "I'M THE LEADER. NO ONE WILL FUCKING LISTEN TO ME IF I DON'T."
You take his hand (and revel in the blush that breaks out across his face), and pull him close, his nubby little horns resting snug beneath your chin. As expected, he struggles; you hold tighter, his half-hearted punches barely fazing you at all.
A gentle kiss placed on the crook of his horn stills his movements, and you don't even have to look to know that the blush on his face just got redder. "BuT iT's JuSt Us, BrOtHeR. No NeEd tO bE sO lOuD."
His face is pressed against your chest - too broad, too sturdy, according to him - and in a low mumble, "Alright, but only for you."
It's a miracle, man. A motherfucking miracle.
Your sleeping beauty rests in a pool of his own blood.
Panic. You're panicking, you're fretting, you're pacing back and forth. You never were the one who solved these kind of problems, you never were, that was always Karkat's job, the motherfucking leader, except, well, now…
Now he was just a little - a little indisposed.
And maybe you could live with that panic, if just for a little while. Maybe he'll reach god tier - you want to believe that he will. Maybe he'll come back to life, maybe he's not as lifeless as he seems.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
And maybe you could live with that-
But it's this silence that kills you, this silence that makes you feel like a helpless little wiggler, this silence that only Karkat can fill. You can live with the panic, the pacing, the fret, but live without Karkat and a voice that works miracles on your motherfucking heart?
No. A plain and simple refusal.
So you press your lips against his, and hope.
Sometimes you wonder how you ever went from moirails to matesprits. At first glance this relationship seems just a bit one-sided, entirely take and never give, all the while him spouting venomous insults and cusses like weapons meant to hurt. You've lost track of how many times he's screamed at you for hogging the sheets at night and for leaving your beloved horns strewn across the lab.
And you take it, you take his punishment, his insults, his misplaced rage, because it's not that bad, it never gets that bad, but you're left with this wonder, the mystery behind the motherfucking miracle of it all. And then he'll look at you and you'll see that flash of heartbreak, of utter remorse, and then you'll think, oh. That's why. That's why I wax red for him and no one else.
Because he gets you. No matter what you do. And he may not understand - let's be honest, he almost never understands, but he gets you.
And really, it's not like you could ask for anything else.
You wait. You wait.
You run your thumb along his jawline, cradle him to your chest. If you hold him long enough, then maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. You hold onto the hope that if he would just wake up, just open his eyes and scream at you once more, you could go on. Even if he never wanted to see you again, never said another word in your general direction, that'd be okay, because Karkat would be okay, and if Karkat was okay, then your world was safe.
Even if Karkat hated you, rained upon you a torrent of "fuck you"s and "go die"s, even if everything shattered with a resounding clatter -
No, don't. Don't leave me.
You shake your head, pull him closer. You don't want to think about that right now. You don't want to face your mistakes, your other half.
Karkat.
Please.
Stay on this forsaken motherfucking rock with me.
For just one night.
Stay with me.
You run your thumb along his lips, notice the blood stains crusted into your skin. You're a monster.
A motherfucking monster.
How can you love someone with these hands that have touched a rainbow?
It's the glassy-eyed look of uncertainty in his eyes that starts it. You know he's seen this movie a dozen times at least, probably more, curled under that gnarly blanket of his that his lusus told him countless times to throw out. It's knotted and holed with a thousand tears and a thousand wringings (not that he would ever admit that, of course), the helpless victim of suspense - will troll John Cusack get with the lucky lady of this movie? Or will they be doomed to go their separate ways?
Of course, the movies always end the same - the guy or the girl will turn their backs forever, prepared to give it all up for their lover's happiness, when, right at the moment where everything seems lost, they are reunited, confess their undying love, and exchange wedding vows, or at least one final kiss.
Unfortunately for you, real life doesn't always end the way it does in the movies.
You inch closer, centimeter by centimeter, breath by breath. Your knee touches his, but he is too enthralled within the movie to even notice or care. A deep breath, an impish smile. You take his hand in yours, and finally he looks over, his face all heartbreak and concern. Tears pool in the corner of his, periodically breaking loose and slipping down his face.
You've never seen him more vulnerable than this.
With a gentle stroke, you wipe the stray tears away, lean in, and you're lips are against his lips and everything is motherfucking miracles and sunshine. He kisses you back - greedily, seeking solace in your subtle touches, his hand squeezing yours with a delicate ferocity you never expected from someone so prone to violence.
Then the moment passes; he pulls away, glances at the screen.
"GOG FUCKING DAMMIT I MISSED THE PART WHERE THEY KISS! FUCKING HELL!" he screams, fumbling for the remote and pounding on the rewind.
You smile, lean back. "No YoU dIdN't, KaR. I gOt AlL yOuR kIsSiNg NeEdS rIgHt HeRe. HoNk."
The clock ticks on. Tick. Tick. And Karkat doesn't stir. He doesn't move, he doesn't blink. You're afraid to know if he's breathing.
And as the seconds pass, you know what's coming: judgment day, the day where all your sins are realized, the day where you must reconcile with that other half, the one who shattered everything, everyone.
Other half. You wish you could say it was a different Gamzee, a doppleganger, a clone. You wish you could say that he had done all this, brought so much destruction. You wish you could point fingers, share the hate, blame, blame, blame.
But you can't. Because despite the disillusionment, despite the regret that hangs heavy over your head, it wasn't him that led to your best friend lying limp in your arms.
It was you.
With a single stroke, a flick of the wrist, you plunged your hand, his sickle, into the chest that kept your hopes, your dreams, your happiness, and destroyed everything. Karkat was your treasure, but it was you who had plundered it and left it to the tide of your sobriety.
And how could you ever face him again, knowing there was something like that inside you? Something so innate, something so destructive that even you could not control its power. What decent troll could call themselves someone's matesprit or moirail if they were capable of such utterly blind chaos that rips apart everything it touches.
The problem, however, lies in this: You need Karkat to live. You need him to survive this disaster, this game-gone-horribly-wrong. You need him.
This paradox kills you, tears at your heart.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
And it begins to unravel you, thread by thread.
You're expecting him when he comes to find you, huddled up in the corner of Karkat's respite block, clutching the same, lukewarm body that you've been hanging onto for days. Those hollow eyes, the fur that reeks of death and destruction.
It's been too long since you heard about his last whereabouts; you're sure those human kids are dead by now and to be honest you could not care less.
Because Kar is what matters, loud, angry, romantic Kar, and you set him down, your sleeping beauty, and rise to meet the terror that haunts your game.
Sober, you could do this. You could fight, you could win. Sober you could win the game, restore order to the universe, win Sburb and be rid of this nightmare, the one that stole your best friend.
But the slime pie is all gone, and as you look around at the destruction you've caused, you're not willing to take that risk. Because Karkat is there, and if he were to die - let's face it, you're all about to die - then at least it wouldn't be by your hand, not by your club.
You stand, you fight.
Even though you're scared, even though you wish you could just take Kar and hide, you want to make your lusus proud and fight, despite its useless cause.
Accost. Abscond.
It happens in an instant.
You barely have time to blink before the purple is running down your chest, and Bec Noir is behind you, looming over the body of your motherfucking best friend, and it's only now do you know what true terror looks like.
You fall to your knees; so much blood, so little time.
With your remaining strength, you stumble your way to the site of Bec Noir's exam; throw yourself over the body that shared a bed with you so many nights.
You close your eyes. The moment's about to come. The end.
"MaYbE iN tHe NeXt LiFe, KaR," you sputter over his awakening face, and you smile.
Then, the blade falls.