What I said in the AN for Stubborn still stands. Send me requests by way of PM or review. I'll see what I can do.
defective adjective Lacking a necessary part or quality; imperfect
Gamzee's POV
The game is over. Everyone came back who had died and there was a short while where everyone thought everything would be just fine. Now, we share a planet with the humans. It's a beautiful place- much kinder in nature than Alternia had been. It's a place where humans and trolls mingle in everyday life. It sounds like a perfect place, doesn't it? That's what we all thought until we came to the realization that this new universe has new diseases that our immune systems aren't accustomed to.
But even then that wasn't too big of a deal. Sure, almost all of us got it, but it passed as all things do. Well... It passed for everyone but Karkat. Actually he still has it. It's gotten so bad that he has to be hospitalized. Most of the time, I'll sit in the chair next to his bed whether he's awake or asleep. Sometimes, when there aren't any doctors around, I'll climb into the bed and hold my pale bro. Ever since he told me that it helps keep his awful horror terrors away, I've done my best to be with him when he's sleeping. After all, moirails gotta stick together.
Th e others visit sometimes; they all make a point of visiting at least once a week. Some of them like Nepeta and John visit almost daily. But then others, such as Equius and Jade, avoid him like the plague. Then again, I guess he kind'a is the plague right now.
Doctors come in to check on Karkat all the time. They check his vitals and a million other things that I don't know much about. They say that being a mutant blood made it practically natural for some parts of him to be slightly defective, thus why he was still sick, and the rest of us aren't. Perfectly reasonable, right? Yeah. Because of his less than perfect immune system, the doctors couldn't pinpoint how long he might be sick. I vow to stay by his side until he's better.
He's always tired. Contrary to when he was perfectly healthy, now it seems like he's constantly sleeping. Even when he's awake he's clearly exhausted. He doesn't seem to have enough energy to do much more than cuddle into my side and watch a romcom.
After waking up screaming, he reluctantly admits that the horror terrors are getting worse. Despite his fatigue, he stays awake for as long as possible just to avoid the atrocities his dreams hold. Eventually, it becomes clear that my presence isn't keeping the horror terrors away any more than a gun could. It's frustrating and terrifying to know that he can be assaulted by himself while he's asleep, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm supposed to be able to protect him, but all I can do is hold him close and pray that it ends quickly.
Before, it wasn't that obvious that he was that sick. Sure, he was a little under the weather and needed rest. So what? He'd pull through for sure. There's no virus in existence that could keep him down for too long. He's too obstinate to be put down by some dumb little sickness.
That's why I'm so shocked by the news the doctor has to bring. Somehow, what is normally just a common cold, mutated into cancer. What are you supposed to do when you're told that the person that means the most to you could painfully die before your very eyes? How do you cope with the knowledge that someone you care for might not be able to come through? I'm still trying to figure that out.
He becomes more and more sick. I can see it in his eyes: he's in pain. I want to destroy the thing that's making my moirail hurt so much, but there's nothing to destroy. I find myself crying angry tears when he's asleep. He's too out of it to see the indigo streaks going down my unpainted cheeks.
His appearance reflects the havoc inside of him. He's unnaturally pale, making the nearly black bags under his eyes more prominent than ever before. His partially red eyes are dull and glassy. He is haggard and skinny in a way that allows me to easily see his bones. He doesn't seem to have it in him to be as tense and constantly angry as he used to be. His eternally messy hair is shaved off once treatment begins. More than anything, he just looks small. He's always been on the short side, but it's more than that now. He looks fragile- like touching him will make him shatter. For the first time, I am truly scared.
No one else is visiting him anymore. Slowly, their visits had become shorter and less frequent, but I never thought they could ever just give up on him like this. Karkat acts like it doesn't bother him, but I see right through his facade. The loss of their friendships hurts him just as much as what ever it is that's making him so sick. Nonetheless, I pretend to be asleep when he cries in the middle of the night. I know he'd be humiliated if I saw him break down like this. I shut my eyes tight and try to not think too hard about it.
A doctor pulls me aside one day, saying she needs to speak with me. Once we've left Karkat's room, she gives me some scary news. It's "highly improbable" that Karkat will recover. She says it's best not to tell Karkat this. Supposedly, the anxiety could make his condition worse. With that lovely piece of sunshine, she sends me to the small cafeteria-like room in the hospital. She claims that I'm not eating enough.
I go to the cafeteria, and pensively push the food around a little before returning to Karkat's room. I look him over and frown a bit. Something's not quite right. A lot of things haven't been right lately, but something's really wrong about this. He's too still to be sleeping. Another thing: the machines aren't beeping anymore. Why isn't the heart machine beeping?
I gently place my ear against his chest: nothing. I fumble to grasp his wrist. I wait several minutes, but there's no pulse. A nurse pokes her head in the doorway and asks if everything is all right.
AllI can do is cry.