Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reader: Be Karkat.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you have seen and dealt with a lot of fucking bullshit. But this, right here, takes the metaphorical cake with whipped cream, sprinkles and a fucking cherry on top beacause that just makes this shit even better.

Cut the bullshit already, we're getting bored.

Hey, fuck you. You were the one that insisted on being me. Now put on your big boy panties and fucking deal with it you bitchass crybaby.

Just move on!

Fine! As you were saying, the name is Karkat Vantas and this is probably one of the wierdest things you've ever seen. Not that you haven't seen some wierd shit, being friends with fourteen of the strangest people you've ever met(or had the displeasure of meeting, but whatever), "wierd" is something you deal with on a daily basis. But this is not really what you're used to.

Gamzee, your closest friend or BeSt FrIeNd as he would say, has almost busted down your door getting into your apartment and slamming it shut. He is panting, leaning on the piece of wood he has just brutally assulted. But that's not what is making you extremely concerned, he is covered in blood. It's not the clihé blood spots here and there either, no because the universe cannot seem to give Karkat Vantas a break.

No Gamzee is completely soaked in it, he is also panting like crazy. His normally out-of-control raven explosion of hair is stuck to his head, weighed down by sweat and...some other fluids you don't really want to talk about right now. Damp bangs are covering his eyes but does nothing conceal the red stream running down the right side of his face.

"Hi Karkat." The prick leaves it at that and smiles his stupid, crooked, adorable smile of his and looks at you from under his bangs.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?" You deadpan and take a step closer but regret it instantly when the smell hits you, it's deep and metallic, it numbs your nose and leaves a burning sensation in the back of your throat. You are about to say something when Gamzee suddenly grips his head and sliiiiiiiiiiiiiides down the door. O-kay...what the hell.

He fliches when you reach out to him, you slowly withdraw your hand and take a step closer instead. Now you can hear him muttering to himself, and he's started to visibly tremble. Deciding you've had enough of this shit you call his name. Yanked out of his trance by your yell, he shakily smiles up at you. His eyes are watery and his stare unfocused, his normally pale but somehow tanned cheeks are blooming red. He looks feverish, he looks like shit.

"Get up you big idiot, you're taking a shower." You hold out your hand for him to take. He smiles gratefully at you again and let's you lead him to your bathroom.

It's really freaking cramped in there so you decide to wait outside while he undresses, stepping in as soon he let's you know he's done. Now that he is naked(woah, you did not think this through properly) you only see that he only has a few scrapes and bruises, so there's no way all of that blood is actually his and that just makes you worry who it really belongs to because there is no way a human being can survive losing that much blood, unless i's from multiple people and whelp you should stop this train of thought right now.

The only wound you're actually worried about is the cut above his right eye. It's actually pretty deep and could easily get infected, you decide to just put a big fucking bandaid over it for now leaving for you to deal with after this lanky disaster is actually clean again.

Gamzee steps into and sits down in the tub on your command and you turn on the water, aiming the stream away from him while the heater takes it's sweet time. When the water is finally an appropriate heat you properly soak him in, the water coming off his body and hair has a distinctive red tone to it, but you choose to ignore it in the favor of your mental health. Handing over the nozzle to him with instructions to properly wet his hair you grab a bottle and squeeze out about a handfull of cherry scented shampoo, and start to work it into the bush that Gamzee calls hair. It immediately starts to lather and you gently prod at his scalp spreading the shampoo out along it.

Minutes pass like this, you massaging his head as you clean his hair, him soaking himself and washing out the blood on his skin, neither of you saying anything even though there are a LOT of things he has to answer, the comfortable silence only being interrupted by the constant splashing of the water. Once your done with lathering you take the nozzle from him and start to wash out the bubbles, there are no words being exchanged but somehow it's like your talking.

Gamzee knows you're concerned, knows you want answers, that you're curious and horrified at the same time and you know that he is terrified of what you will think as soon as he tells you, you know he is just as lost and confused as you are. But you both choose to push it aside to share this moment.

You give him the nozzle again as you reach for the conditioner, covering his hair in it but not really working it in as much as the shampoo, you can't help but to appreciate the thickness and gleam of Gamzee's raven curls.

"There." You say when you've washed out the conditioner. "Even an idiot like you knows how to wash up, or you better because I'm not fucking doing it for you. You left some clothes the last time you stayed over so you can just put those on when you're done. I'll be in the kitchen."

Stepping into the kitchen, you dry  your hands and open the fridge. Pulling out eggs, peppers, a couple of mushrooms, cheese and milk and grabbing a bowl you start up the omelet. After a while you hear Gamzee walk up behind you and feel his long, gangly arms around you and his head on your shoulder. He's mumbling something to you but you can't really understand it, it's probably latin. The only thing his piece of shit father taught him before abandoning him.

When the food is ready he grabs two plates, eating utensils, two cups and places them on the table, you split the omelet in half and put it on your respective plates and turn off the stove. The two of you eat in silence, nothing asked, nothing said. It's rare for the two of you to just have quiet moments like these but that's what makes them so special.  

You were studying his face when you remember the cut.

"I'll be right back." You excuse yourself from the table to get the medical kit in the bathroom, you notice Gamzee's clothes in a bloody pile but decide against it. He looks interested when you put the box down infront of him.

"Gotta clean your cut remember." You say, he nods and a bony hand strokes the improvised, short-term wrap above his right eyebrow. as you push your chair closer for better access, he peels the bandaid off and hands it to you, it has a blood on it, but you think you read somwhere that head wounds tend to bleed heavily so it probably looks worse than it is, probably. You wet a strip of gauze in disinfectant and bring it up to Gamzee's forehead.

"Sorry, but this will sting a bit." You apologize beforehand, he just bites his lip and nods, looking you dead in the eyes like he trusts you more than anyone else in the whole world. As the fabric makes contact with the wound he grunts but keeps still. You carefully dab it a few times, and then cut a strip of gauze, fold it and press it against Gamzee's forehead and secure it with some medical tape.

You pull back to inspect your work, it's a decent patch up, better than you'd expected. You throw away the bit of gauze you used to clean the cut, it had a little blood on it, and put back the medical kit and then walked back to the kitchen to continue eating.  

When the two of you were done eating and had put the dishes away, it was already late, later than usual. Night routines happen and soon the two of you are lying in your bed, facing each other. His deep purple eyes are staring into your ruby red ones, where it would normally make you selfconscious and uncomfortable, it's pretty nice when Gamzee is the one looking at you. He makes you feel so strangely seen, like he's not only looking at you, but like he's looking into you. Like he can see all of your little fears, dreams, hopes, uncertainties, every little detail that just passes above everyone else's head. He can see them, he can understand things that seem clueless to others and see things others just shrug off.

"Good night bestfriend." It's the first thing he's actually said all night and it makes you heart jump in a strange way. Then his perfect, beautiful eyes, slide shut and his breathing evens out, and you can't help but to follow him. 

Chapter Text

Reader be Karkat:

Nope the readers can't be you because you're asleep.

Karkat: Wake up.

No, you're too busy being asleep.

Karkat. YOU BETTER FUCKING WAKE UP RIGHT NOW!

Holy SHIT, calm down.

You're a goddamn hypocrite, you know that?

Yeah, and you're fucking annoying.

D:<

-

Your name is Karkat Vantas and the movies and novels are filthy fucking liars. Waking up is not the cliché: "You softly flicker in and out from wakefulness." Nope. That is not what happens. What happens is that conciseness practically slaps you in the face, that's what it's like. One moment you're peacefully dreaming and the next? BAM!. And you're awake.

You stare into the ceiling for a while, listening to the sound of Gamzee’s slow breathing. You roll over and come face to face with him, his beautiful indigo eyes are shut and once in a while the eyelids flutter.

Whatever he’s dreaming, you have no idea, there has always been some mystery around the boy. Even you don’t know all of his secrets, but you know most of his past and truth be told, you’ve always been terrified of it.

Sighing you look away, back to the celing. Then you abruptly decide that you’re done with this and sit up.

Getting out of the bed, you strech, a satisfying pop comes from your back and you yawn. Throwing  the covers off, albeit carefully to not disturb Gamzee, the warm-ish air let’s you smell how bad you really stink. It’s not even sweat or anything, just the tangy, metallic scent of the blood that Gamzee could not quite wash off.

The chill from the floor tiles seep into your feet, you resist the urge to shudder.

Mentally cursing the landlord, you tread into the bathroom to take a quick shower. An even more powerful scent of blood is hanging in the air of the washroom, it makes you want to thow up and you gag a few times, the bathroom lights flicker to life and lets you discover the source of the overpowering aroma.

Gamzee’s clothes had created a brown stain underneath them, blood that had not been absorbed into the fabric had leaked onto the floor and then dried.

You cautiosly step over the pile of discarded, ruined clothes and into the small tub and start the water.

A short but satisfying shower later you step out again. The cool air outside the bathroom hits you like a wall and you shiver. Walking back into your bedroom to pull on some clothes, you notice Gamzee is stirring around under the covers barely awake. The only thing visible from underneath your comforter is the big, now clean, mop of black hair. You must resist the temptation to pet it with every fiber of your being.

You proceed to fail miserably and sneak a ruffle while on your way to the closet. Gamzee wakes just a little bit more, you see in your peripheral vision how he starts to sit up.

”Karbro, issat you?” He rasps to you sleepily.

”Yeah, go back to sleep you lanky fucking disaster.” Despite the curse you can’t help but to smile with a rare fondness. You care deeply about him, and that is never going to change no matter how many migranes or half heartattacks he may be the cause of.

”Mkay.” is the reply.

Gamzee stirrs again, then settles and soon deep, calm breathing is coming from the bed again. You smile again and drag a white, thin t-shirt on before putting on your favorite turtleneck sweater, a pair of old comfortable jogging pants. A pair of plain white socks tempt you, you remember how cold the floors was. There is a hole in the right one, just where your big toe would poke out. You consider geting another pair, but then you decide fuck it and put them on anyway.

A rumble comes from your stomach, you look at the alarm on your nightstand. It shows you that the time is 8.14 AM, a reasonable time to eat breakfast then. The socks protect your feet from the treachorously cold floors as you pad into the small kitchen. A bowl of cereal is all you’re really willing to muster up, you’ll eat something more sustaining once Gamzee wakes up.

You plop onto the old secondhand sofa you have in the living room, and search for the remote to the Tv. Once you find it you click on the Tv onto the morning news channel and curl up with your cereal.

Taking in a spoonful of the coco puffs, you lazily scan the generic news reporter and idly listen to what she says. Mostly boring stuff about a charity hogging the money for themselves (selfish assholes) and some other boring stuff.

You eye the remote, considering to change the channel until she says something that makes you perk up and actually listen.

”This morning at 2 AM the local police found two dead bodies in an alleyway, they had severe physical wounds and appear to have bled out after their throats had been cut. It appeares at first that they had a fight and then killed eachother but that option was ruled out when officers reviewed the footage of a security camera. It has been concluded that this is in fact, a homicide case.”

There is a weight in your stomach that was not there seconds ago. It feels like all your intestines suddenly made the decision that they were masters at contortion and decided to tie themselves in a complex knot.

The cereal is suddenly very tasteless and bland, your heart is racing, your mind so clouded with fear and doubt that you almost miss what the news reporter says next. You swallow down your mouthful and take a new one, eagerly listening to what she says.

”The security camera managed to record an unknown individual leaving said alleyway minutes after the estimated death of the two victims. The person is now ranked as a suspect at the police department. If you have any information regarding this case, do not hesitate to contact the police.”

When the picture pops up you choke on your cereal.

Oooooh, drama. Let's be someone else!