Chapter Text
“Karkat, Gamzee! Over here!” You wave at the only two trolls in the Seattle airport, hopping up and down to help draw their attention to you. Karkat’s head snaps around, his ears pricking towards you. Something flashes across his face (fear? relief? hope?) but it’s gone too quickly for you to identify it. He ducks his head and weaves his way through the crowd, Gamzee close on his heels. He stops in front of you, shoulders hunched and eyes down, and holy shit he’s real your friends are real and they’re really here and you are so excited— “Hi, guys! Man, I am so excited that you’re here, you have no idea—”
“Shit, man, we’re excited to be here,” Gamzee says, offering you a lazy smile. Something is—off about him, you think. His paint is crinkled in three neat lines across his face, lines that you have definitely never noticed before. “It’s nice to finally get our proper meet on with a brother.”
“Definitely. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you guys forever. Oh—hey, let me introduce you.” You step back, sweeping a hand towards your dad, who waves at the trolls. Gamzee waves back, and Karkat offers him a nervous three-finger-wiggle. “This is my dad, Paul Egbert.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Dad says, tipping his hat like the suave gentleman he is. “You can call me Mr. Egbert. I presume you would be Karkat Vantas, and you would be Gamzee Makara?”
They both nod as your father names them in turn. A look of concern flashes across Dad’s face when he glimpses the mottled bruising on the side of Karkat’s jaw, and anger seethes beneath your ribs. You knew something was wrong with their foster family. God. Shit. How long have they been suffering? Why didn’t they feel like they could come to you sooner?
Well. They’re here now, and you’re going to do whatever you can to help them. That’s what matters. You set your jaw, determined, then open your mouth to speak, but Gamzee beats you to the punch. His eyes widen, and then he thrusts his hand forward in a movement that makes Karkat jump. “Shit—almost forgot, motherfuckers. Here.”
Your dad grins and shakes Gamzee’s hand, and then you laugh and follow suit. His hands are icy against yours, big and rough, and with patches of thicker, darker skin along his palm and the pads of his fingers. Like pawpads, you think, and that is disarmingly cute on a species bred for war and conquest. (You think the wickedly sharp, bright orange claws make up for it, though.) Karkat grudgingly offers his hand, too, and the contrast between his temperature and Gamzee’s is startling.
“Our car is parked outside,” Dad says, once your greetings are over. “Do you boys need help getting your luggage?”
Karkat shifts his weight uncomfortably, hooking a thumb beneath the strap of his backpack, and something twists painfully in your stomach. You’ve never seen him look—well, look anything but vaguely interested or grumpy or sometimes (rarely) happy. To see him looking uncertain of himself, to seem him looking vulnerable, hurts your heart. “No, sir,” he says, shaking his head. “We don’t have anything else.”
“Ah.” Your father nods, although his lips press into a thin line for a moment. You know his anger, like yours, isn’t directed at your friends—it’s directed at whatever shitty-ass situation brought them here, injured and uncertain and completely underpacked. “Very well. We’ll go on to the car, then. You boys must be exhausted—was it a long flight?”
“It wasn’t too bad,” Karkat says, following after Dad he heads outside. “Seven hours, I think.”
“Oof. I don’t envy you that. I never was much for planes—and you crossed a couple of times zones too, didn’t you?” Dad asks, his voice light and conversational. “So you gained a little time back. That must be nice.”
“It is,” Karkat agrees, clearly striving to be on his Very Best Behavior and not offend your father. Ow. Ow ow ow thinking about that hurts you more. You wince, then find Gamzee’s eyes on you. You offer him your friendliest smile, and he grins back with—wow, yeah, those are some seriously sharp teeth. You’ve seen them through a screen, of course, but seeing them in real life is significantly more unnerving.
“Fortunately, we don’t live too far away, so you won’t have to sit in one place much longer,” Dad continues, unlocking the car as you near it. You duck into the front seat, and Karkat and Gamzee clamber into the back, setting their backpacks near their feet. Gamzee keeps his head down, lest he tear the roof of your car with his horns. Once Karkat is settled, he lets out a little exasperated sigh and guides Gamzee’s head to rest on his shoulder. “John’s probably told you—we live in Maple Valley.”
“He’s mentioned it before,” Karkat says. Gamzee seems content to let him do all the talking, which is—odd, you think. Usually Gamzee is the chattier of the two. Maybe he’s just nervous? “It sounds nice.”
“It is—it’s a small, quiet little town, but it’s got a good community and a stellar school system. Perfect for raising kids.” Dad glances in the rearview mirror. “Would the two of you mind buckling up, please?”
Panic flashes through Karkat’s eyes for a moment, his whole body going whiplash-tense as he realizes he doesn’t have A Perfect Response—you twist around in your own seat, gesturing to the seatbelts on either side of them. “You use those belts—pull them over your chest and they click into the little things by your hip. Just like this.” You demonstrate with your own seatbelt, and Karkat scowls his relief at you as the two of them buckle themselves in.
Your father keeps up a steady stream of conversation as he drives the four of you back home. He keeps his voice steady and calm and does most of the talking himself, telling your friends all about your little town: the weather, the schools, the restaurants. Little nothings that allow Karkat and Gamzee to participate with small answers or simple sounds of acknowledgement. Karkat stays stiff as a board for the entire drive, but Gamzee begins to yawn ( hnn so many teeth) against his shoulder, his big ears flicking as he listens to your father talk.
Once you reach your quaint little suburban house, the four of you step out of the car and onto your driveway. Karkat’s eyes dart all over the place, never pausing for more than a second on any single spot until he’s evidently decided a monster isn’t going to leap out and eat him at the nearest opportunity. His gaze lingers on your tire swing, however, with a look of utter bafflement.
“That’s a tire swing,” you inform him cheerfully, heading up the driveway. “My dad made it for me when I was a kid. We can check it out sometime, if you want.”
“That sounds bitchtits, bro,” Gamzee pipes up from behind you. You hear Karkat mutter something to him in Alternian (at least you assume it’s Alternian—it’s a language full of rough burrs and clicks that you just don’t think a human is capable of reproducing). Gamzee responds in kind, then adds, in English, “I mean, uh—that sounds really cool. This is a nice hive. House.”
“Thank you,” Dad says, leading the way up the driveway. Karkat moves after him, Gamzee following, always a single step behind. You bring up the rear, your chest buzzing with excitement. You really, really want them to like it here. “I’m glad you think so. Now, we don’t have a guest bedroom, but we can certainly set up a place for you boys to sleep for a few days.”
You gasp as a sudden revelation occurs to you and Karkat’s head jerks around, the little bristly black hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing up. His head-hair even looks a little fluffier. That is freaking adorable, although you feel kind of bad, because you think it’s a defensive response. “Sorry, Karkat—I just thought of something. You guys are nocturnal, right?”
Judging by the sleepy look in Gamzee’s eyes, you already have your answer, but Karkat hesitates anyway. “We—generally, yeah. But we can be whatever you guys need us to be. If it’s more convenient for us to stay up during the day and sleep at night, we can do that.”
“No, no, it’s totally fine,” you say, shaking your head. “You guys don’t need to do that. I’ll be at school most of the day, anyway, and Dad’ll be at work. We can hang out in the evenings. So I guess you’re ready for bed now, then?”
Karkat’s mouth twists, and then he nods. “If it’s alright with you, yeah.”
“Let’s get you set up, then,” Dad says, unlocking the front door and ushering you all inside. Karkat steps cautiously, ears swiveling and eyes scanning. Behind you, you can hear Gamzee snuffling in deep breaths—he reminds you of Terezi, when he does that. “John, can you go fetch some spare blankets from my closet? I don’t suppose you boys brought any bedding?”
“We brought a blanket, and couple of pillows,” Karkat says, studying the toes of his sneakers. They’re dark gray, but there are splotches of brighter colors near the soles—paint? You glance over at Gamzee’s and notice his have the same bright splotches. “But—nothing else. I’m sorry.”
You trot up the stairs before you can hear Dad’s response, ducking into his room. You grab a thick brown blanket from the closet, along with a smaller afghan, before racing back to the living room. A gray blanket has been tossed onto the couch with a pair of pillows—one of which is shaped like a crab, you notice, grinning.
“—and the bathroom is upstairs on the left,” your dad explains, gesturing to the stairs behind the couch. “Feel free to help yourselves to any of the food in the fridge or cabinets, and you’re free to explore or watch TV if you get bored. There are some books in the study—that doorway just there—and some video games in John’s room. John, my boy, would you mind at all if the boys played a few of your games, provided they wake up before we return?”
“No, that’s totally fine,” you say, spreading the blankets out on top of the gray blanket. “You guys can do whatever you want. I can show you some awesome games tonight, too. Or we could watch movies—you like romcoms, right, Karkat?”
Karkat nods stiffly. “Yeah. That sounds—fun.”
He doesn’t sound like that sounds fun, but you try not to let that disappoint you. He’s exhausted and hurt and nervous, and you have to remind yourself not to push too hard.
“Well, in that case, if you boys are all set,” your dad says, adjusting his tie, “I’m afraid John and I need to be going. He’ll have school until three this afternoon, and I’ll be at work until five. You have John’s number if you need anything at all, and my number is written on a sticky-note on the fridge, along with any emergency numbers you may need. Is there anything else you need before we go?”
Karkat glances at Gamzee, who blinks slowly at him, and then turns back to the both of you and shakes his head. “No, sir. Thank you—for everything. For letting us stay here.”
“You’re more than welcome. The two of you make yourselves at home.” Dad walks past Karkat, setting a careful hand on his shoulder for a brief second—Karkat stiffens, and Gamzee’s fingers twitch at his sides, but neither of them says anything. God, you want to stay here and talk to them—to find out what happened, why they’re hurt, why they’re scared and miserable and here, but your dad is already striding out of the door.
“I’ll talk to you guys later tonight, okay?” you tell them, reluctantly moving after Dad. “It really is super nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” Karkat says, and for a second, with your dad gone, he relaxes and you see a flash of the crabby little jerk you adore so much. “You too, asswipe. See you.”
“Later, little motherfucker,” Gamzee says, waving at you.
You beam at them both before racing after Dad, pulling the door shut behind you and jogging down the driveway. “Do I have to go to school today?” you whine, and he chuckles and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “My cagey alien friends are here for, like, the first time ever.”
“That’s right,” Dad agrees, amused, as he ushers you into the car again. “But right now your cagey alien friends aren’t going to be doing anything but sleeping, and I’m afraid you can’t keep them much company while they’re doing that. Besides, they both look like they need some time to decompress.” He frowns slightly as he slides into his own seat. “We’ll need to talk about what happened to them, John. This isn’t just a friendly visit.”
You sigh softly, slumping down in your seat as he pulls onto the road. The hum of soft jazz surrounds you. “I know.”
Dad is quiet for a moment, before asking, “Those marks on Gamzee’s face—they looked like wounds. It’s hard to tell behind all the paint, but I doubt they were even scabbed over. A human wouldn’t make marks like that.”
You hold your hands in front of the car’s heater, warding off the late winter chill and trying not to think about what that means.
“What was their foster family like? Have they told you anything about them?”
“Not a lot,” you admit. “Not—anything, honestly, except that they have one.”
“So I suppose you don’t know whether there were any other children in the family?”
You shake your head.
“Well, something to ask them, I suppose.” Your father drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “And they haven’t told you anything about what happened to make them come here?”
You shake your head again. “No. And I didn’t want to ask and—scare them, I guess.”
“That’s very considerate of you—and probably a wise choice, too.” Your father parks outside of the school, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “We’ll see if we can’t talk to them tonight, okay? But try not to worry too much. They’re safe now. You focus on having an awesome day at school.”
“Blegh—there’s no such thing as awesome on a school day.” You make a face, slipping out of the car and slinging your backpack over your shoulders. “Thanks, though—I hope you have an awesome day, too!”
You wave at him as you jog up the sidewalk, eager to talk with Rose and Terezi before classes start. You have so much to tell them. Unfortunately, your little trip to Seattle has left you running late, so you don’t see either one of them before your first hour. You daydream your way through American History, your leg bouncing with an overabundance of energy, and you leap from your seat as soon as the bell rings.
You have your second hour with Terezi, but your teacher is A Butt and shoots you both a glare when you try to whisper your super exciting news to her. You’re forced to wait until the bell rings to tell her, and you might talk a little too fast as the two of you head for your lockers because you’re Excited, damn it. “—so Karkat trolled me super late last night asking if they could come stay and so obviously I said yes and then they got on a plane from Tontorak and came here and me and Dad picked them up this morning and brought them home and they’re there right now and I’m so excited you have no idea—”
“No, I definitely have some idea,” Terezi says, looking wryly at you. “Would you mind saving this story for lunch, when you can tell it at a rate that is somewhat more bearable?”
You whine but concede, because at least during lunch you can tell both of your friends at the same time. The next couple of hours are excruciating, and you zone out during of most of your classes. When lunch finally rolls around, you slap your tray down at your group’s favorite table, grinning. “Hi, Rose. Hi, Terezi. Are you ready for some awesome news?”
“Hello, John,” Rose greets you, smiling fondly in your direction as she opens her carton of strawberry milk. “I’d love to hear it.”
“I heard snatches before, and I don’t think I like what I’m hearing, but please repeat,” Terezi agrees, sniffing warily at her food before shoveling a spoonful of corn into her mouth.
“So you guys know Karkat and Gamzee, right? From New York?”
“You’ve mentioned them before, yes,” Rose says.
“Well, last night Karkat trolled me and asked if he and Gamzee could come visit, and I said yeah, of course—but I knew something had to be wrong, because they wouldn’t just ask for something like that, not after they’d been so determined to never visit me ever.” You inhale a bite of pizza before continuing, “So the two of them flew into Seattle, and my dad and I went and picked them up this morning, and—”
“Woah, woah, woah, hang on,” Terezi says, pinning her ears and leaning forward. “You’re telling me you invited two strange trolls into your house? On a whim? Just because you thought maybe something was wrong?”
“Well—” You squint, thinking about it. “Yes? But listen, I know Karkat and Gamzee. I’ve been friends with them for years. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”
“They’re trolls,” Terezi argues, stabbing a slimy-looking peach with her fork. “They’re genetically predisposed to want to hurt you.”
“Genetic predisposition and actual disposition are often entirely different things,” Rose says, frowning slightly. “Just look at you, Terezi. You’re a troll, but you’d never do anything to hurt John or me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I certainly wouldn’t do it on purpose, but trolls are—” Terezi grimaces. “Blegh. Just—watch your back, John. I don’t want to have to murder someone because they hurt you. I’ve got a clean track record so far, and I’d like to keep it that way for at least a few more sweeps.”
“No, no, no way, no murdering is going to be necessary whatsoever,” you say, your eyes widening. “Nobody’s hurting anybody. Wow. This conversation is not going the way I anticipated. I thought you would be excited—you get to meet more trolls. Isn’t that cool?”
Terezi rolls her eyes. “Considering trolls are nonsocial, hyper-aggressive, territorial freaks—no. Not really. I left Alternia for a reason. But—they’re your friends, so maybe they’re actually okay.” She flashes you a wicked grin. “You do have pretty good taste in friends, after all.”
“That I do,” you agree, reaching over to boop her pointy nose. “They’re really nice, I promise. I think you’ll like them.”
“Maybe.” She drops a cherry into her mouth, humming thoughtfully. “Anyway, Rose, what do you think? Should the accused have opened his home to two relative strangers of a distinctly hostile and aggressive alien species?”
“Well, when you phrase it that way, it does sound a tad bit irresponsible,” Rose says, looking apologetically at you. “But perhaps that’s only a wording effect. I admire your compassion, John, and your willingness to help others. I only hope that you’re keeping yourself safe, too.”
“I am, I am. Come on, it’s not like they’re wild animals. They’re people. They’re kids, just like us. You’ll understand once you meet them.”
“And when, exactly, are we going to meet them? How long are they planning on staying?” Terezi asks, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest.
“Just a few days, and—well, they probably won’t be up for visitors today or tomorrow. I guess you can meet them right before they leave,” you say, although you’re frowning. You hate to think about them leaving so soon. You hate to think about them going back to whatever shitty family they came from.
“Pardon me if this is too intrusive,” Rose says, tapping a finger against her chin, “but you mentioned that you knew it was an emergency when he trolled you. Did you ever find out what kind of emergency?”
“Oh.” You wince slightly, and Rose sets a hand on your shoulder. “That. They didn’t tell us anything for certain—my dad says we have to have A Talk tonight—but I’ve got a general idea.”
“Oooh—what is it? Spill the gossip, kid,” Terezi says, leaning forward eagerly. “The court will hear your statement now.”
“I don’t know that I should say,” you admit, although it makes you feel bad to withhold information from your friends. “It would feel like going behind their backs. I just—it had something to do with their foster family. That’s all I know.”
“Ah.” Rose grimaces, sitting back and smoothing her hands over her skirt. “That’s unfortunate.”
You nod, taking a deep breath as your anger bubbles up in your chest again. It’s fine. They’re fine. They’re fine and you’re never, ever going to let them be hurt that way again.
“My mother is trying to become licensed as a foster parent,” Rose says, suddenly.
“Woah, really?” Terezi’s ears prick, and you think you see a wistful sort of hope flash across her face. “What for?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s for a lot of reasons, honestly,” Rose admits, poking at a half-eaten slice of peach. “I think she wants to prove to herself that she’s improved, that she’s—better. That even the government agrees she’s capable of being a good mother now. I think she always wanted more kids, anyway, and after the divorce she never got the chance.”
“Are you...happy?” you ask, leaning towards her and squinting at her face—but she’s as unflappably cool as ever and simply offers you a little smile, reaching out to smooth your bangs away from your eyes.
“I think I’ll be happy if it makes her happy. Besides—” She glances at Terezi, nudging her gently with her shoulder. “I already know a pretty good kid who could use a foster mom.”
“Wait—wait seriously?” Terezi’s eyes widen, her claws digging into the table. “She agreed to—?”
“No, no, not yet. But I have been talking to her about it. Of course, it also depends on what the court decides for you, too. If you go to another family before then—”
“Then they’ll send me back to the group home, like they always do,” Terezi says, shrugging. And then she grins, and you’re reminded of a looming shark. “I’ll make sure they do, this time. But I could be good. For your mom, I mean. I could be good.”
“Oh, Terezi.” Rose’s face creases in sympathy, and your own heart aches for her. Trolls are always so sad, no matter what they do. “You are good. You—” The bell rings, sharp and irritating and cutting off whatever Rose was going to say. Instead of continuing, she rests a hand between Terezi’s horns and says, “We’ll talk later, okay? Now come on. I don’t want to be late to chemistry again.”
You grumble but pick up your tray and your backpack, falling into step with them as you head for the trashcans. The three of you part ways once you’ve dropped your trays off, and though you are physically present in each of your afternoon classes, your mind is far, far away. It’s back home, tucked up on the couch next to your buddies as you heroically figure out a way to save them from their miserable situation and oh also watch some epic movies while eating popcorn (and jerky, because you think your dad still thinks troll are carnivores; you really should correct him, soon).
“Listen, Captor.” Nuodel prowls around you in a tight circle, her fangs gleaming in the low light of the inquisition room. “I don’t need you to tell me how they escaped. I don’t need you to tell me where they went. I already know that shit, motherfucker. What I want from you is the why. Why they’d go? More importantly, why’d they go to Washington, of all places? What’s there for them?”
You grind your teeth, taste your blood. You’d betrayed KK’s trust to this bitch once already; you aren’t about to fucking do it again. Unless she threatens AA, and then you—then you’ll have to, but you can’t expect him to forgive you again. You can’t ask that of him. Fuck. Fuck this shit. “Fuck you,” you spit at her, baring your teeth. “I don’t know why they went to Washington. I didn’t even know they went there. Despite what you may believe, Karkat doesn’t tell me every single dumbass thought that goes on in his thick fucking skull.”
“Aw—well, of course he wouldn’t. Who would?” She grips your chin, her claws digging into your skin. There’s a deep, striking purple bruise across the side of her face. Her eye is nearly swollen shut. You feel a visceral sort of satisfaction about that. “You’ve just a sniveling little traitor, after all. You already betrayed him once.”
“Like I needed the reminder,” you say, your voice dry.
“Listen, kid.” Noir steps forward, taking a slow drag off of his cigarette before breathing the smoke out. It curls around his face in thick gray clouds. “We’re going to get Vantas and Makara back. There’s no question about that. We know where they are. All that’s left is to send somebody to fetch them, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be sending my people into a trap.”
“We could send him,” Nuodel says, a sadistic sort of glee in her eyes. “They wouldn’t hurt him, would they, Captor? Not one of their little friends.”
“No,” Noir says, before you can work yourself up into a panic about that. “We can’t trust him. He’s clever, this one.”
“What about the other two? Zahhak, and what’s her name—Leijon.”
Noir snorts. “What, after Makara tried to kill them? They’d bring a couple of corpses back to us, and not a thing else. No. We’ll send an adult or two. That should be enough, provided we know what we’re sending them into.” He crouches in front of you, studying your face. Your power aches around your hornbeds, your eyes, held back by the pressure of the psi inhibitors wrapped around your horns.
“So tell me, Captor,” Noir continues, his voice smooth. “What are my people going to be walking into? What’s in Washington? Another gang? A group of orphan wigglers? A police station?”
“I told you,” you spit, clenching your teeth. “I don’t know.”
And you don’t—not really, not for sure. You have an idea, but that’s all it is. (That’s all you can hope for.)
“Ah, well. Never let it be said we didn’t try this the easy way first, hm?” Noir asks, and then he presses the lit end of his cigarette to your temple and you’re shrieking, your power boiling beneath your skin as you try to toss your head away from him. Nuodel braces her hands against you, though, holds you still as the flame licks and sears your skin and laughs.
Once the flame burns itself out, Noir flicks the cigarette away and sighs. He slips his hand into your pocket, fishing out your phone and waving it in front of you. You shake your head, an unconscious growl rolling in your chest. Fuck, that hurt. “I’m disappointed, Captor. In fact, the only reason I’m keeping you alive is because you happen to be the only troll I know capable of hacking an imperial spaceship and remaining undetected. But your lack of loyalty—tsk, tsk. That needs fixing. Nuodel?”
“Hm?”
“Bring me this bastard’s palemate, would you? Aradia Megido, Union Medical Center, room 512.”
“What? No, no—!”
“Hush,” Noir says, smoothing a hand through your hair. “You made your choices, Captor. You can’t say I haven’t given you enough chances.”
“Fuck, please, please I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt Aradia, don’t bring her here, she’ll die. She needs to be at the hospital, needs to be where they can take care of her, she will die if you take her away—”
Noir offers you your phone. “If you don’t know why our boys are in Washington, I’m sure you can find out.”
And you—oh, you, traitor that you are—take your phone with trembling fingers, and you send a single message to KK. You can’t do much, not when Noir will see your messages, but you try— fuck, you try to say what you need to without saying it. You can only hope KK trusts you enough to listen. (You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.)
“Atta boy.” Noir ruffles your hair, taking your phone back from you and slipping it into his own pocket. “Now, then—Nuodel? You’d best get going. The hospital will be having visiting hours soon, and you don’t want to get caught in the crowd.”
Oh.
He lied to you.
Of course he did.
That’s not the thing that makes you scream, though. Oh, you shriek and snarl and growl, but you do not scream. You do not scream when they release you from your bonds and leave you locked alone in the inquisition room, shaking with rage (with fear). You do not scream when you think about them tearing Aradia away from her room, her medical equipment, her life. You do not scream when you imagine what Karkat will think when he discovers your betrayal (for nothing, for nothing).
No.
The thing that makes you scream is when, a few hours after Noir and Nuodel leave you, you begin to hear Aradia’s voice. She’s not here, not with you, not really. At least not in this room, not where you should be able to hear her. So that means one thing, and that one thing? That’s what makes you scream: the knowledge that you can hear Aradia’s voice right alongside the voices of the deceased, ever-constant, in the back of your skull.