As the sun fell on the eighth day, the question Karkat Vantas had asked himself every night previous changed slightly. When is he returning became will he return? Despite the fact that with each successive night thereafter, the answer became a more emphatic no, his father would not be coming back, Karkat continued to sit at the window of the obscenely large bedroom he'd claimed/been given and watch. He waited there for an eventuality that he came to understand would never happen until the evening the question became why was he the only one waiting?
Finding his brother in their new home wasn't all that hard, even though the place was huge for three (now five) people and twisted up because there was no honest floor plan to speak of. Their saviors, the Makara family, was the definition of eccentric, something their living space reflected. When one room became filled with their eclectic junk, they simply built another room somewhere else, a habit that had been going on for generations now. Considering his friendship with the youngest (and possibly sanest—a truly terrifying thought) heir to the household, Karkat understood enough of the lunacy to successfully navigate the meandering, claustrophobic corridors. As to where the last of his own family might be, well, where else would a know-it-all hole up except in a library?
It was an old library, too. Not just because of the thick dust draped across every surface it could cling to, but because it contained actual books. Hundreds upon probable thousands of the paper and ink information storage units filled shelves that went from floor to a second story ceiling, the uniformity of their illegible spines broken up by various bric-a-brak, mostly the molding, stuffed skins of deceased animals and skulls that had long since stopped grinning. Karkat could feel his skin itching as he picked his way through the dead menagerie and piled up furniture towards the one lighted area somewhere in the middle of the mess.
His brother did not disappoint. Kankri had indeed installed himself as a feature of the room. He was currently reclining on an unattractive couch made comfortable with some truly gaudy pillows. If that wasn't pretentious enough, he also had his nose stuck into one of the aforementioned books. There were several stacks close at hand, as well, the dusty to-be-reads and the clean have-been-reads. The size of the clean pile alone answered the question of how long the elder brother had been at his task.
Resentment swept through Karkat, hot and bitter. He didn't expect much emotion out of his older brother, but this…this was beyond not caring. "Seriously?" he demanded, resisting the temptation to kick the nearest stack over. "We got chased out of our house by Government drones, watched everyone we love get picked off by said drones, lost everything that belonged to us, including our freedom, and this is how you want to spend your energy? By pretending it's story time?"
"These are not simply stories, Kitkit," Kankri replied evenly, his voice as infuriatingly gray as the dust surrounding them. "They're—"
"Don't call me that," Karkat bit back. "And don't fucking put me off, either."
The response was automatic. "Watch your language—you're a guest."
"Right. Because a household that crams the legal limit of motherfuck variations into a single sentence is going to be offended that I used half the word. Sure, let's go with that."
"There's no need for that tone—"
"Then put the goddamn book down and talk to me!"
Kankri marked his spot with extreme care and a sigh of long patience before setting the tome aside. He sat up, straight and attentive, and met one violently red gaze with his own. "What do you wish me to say, hm?" he asked, neither patronizing nor particularly aggrieved. "Do I feel bad for the Captors? Yes. They were good people who deserved more than they received. Did Dad do the right thing by trying to go back and help? Only his conscience can answer that."
"But you never expected him to come back." It was exactly the accusation it sounded like.
"…No," the other admitted, slow to actually say the word. "We always figured that if the initial run was unsuccessful, those left behind would…not be returning."
"What we?" Karkat's eyes narrowed as his anger surged again. "There were plans?"
"Of course there were plans." Now there was condescension in Kankri's voice. "One does not simply aid and abet, let alone facilitate, unregistered psionics without acknowledging that discovery is a matter of time, not coincidence or happenstance—especially when young ones become involved. As for the we, what did you think Dad, I, and Uathan talked about while you were off terrorizing Mituna and Sollux?"
This was the second time Karkat had heard that term, psionic, in conjuncture with what had happened, though he was no closer to understanding its significance. The lack of knowledge scraped at him even as the description of his friendship with the children of his father's friend made him flinch. He wasn't an easy person to get along with, he knew that, but certainly it wasn't that bad. Or was that exactly why they hadn't ever told him? Because he was nuisance to be put up with rather than a friend who could be trusted? There only seemed to be lies everywhere anyway, stacked one on top of another until it was hard to tell where each started or ended. Maybe it was all a lie, considering no one had seen fit to trust him with the information that could still kill him despite his ignorance.
"Karkat, I assure you that whatever you're thinking, it isn't true," his brother tried to reason. "We were simply—"
"Don't." The words came out through gritted teeth. "Don't you dare justify this to me."
With a small nod, Kankri acquiesced. "In any case, it doesn't do any good to worry about the past," he continued. "This is our lives now, Kitkit. We're outcasts and we were lucky to be taken in by anyone, let alone a family like the Makara's. We need to concentrate on building our lives here, not what-ifs and unchangeable facts."
A long silence followed Karkat's pointed look around the forgotten room filled with archaic media, esoteric information, and crumbling shades of death. Then he turned away without a word. Kankri said nothing to stop him from leaving.
X-X-X
It took several minutes of forceful, steady breathing before Karkat could unclench his hands enough to pull out his phone, one of the last things he actually owned, so that he could try to get a hold of the last person he felt he could trust.
-carcinoGeneticist [CG] started trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]-
CG: I need to talk to you.
The response was alarmingly immediate.
TC: YoU kNoW tHiS mOtHeRfUcKeR iS aLwAyS dOwN fOr SoMe JaMmInG wItH hIs BeSt BrOtHeR.
TC: WhAt Is Up?
CG: I mean face to face, asshole. Where are you?
TC: WhErEvEr I aM mOtHeRfUcKiNg MeAnT tO bE.
To anyone else, that might have at best been a non-answer, at worst, a brush-off. To Karkat, it eased some of the tension restricting his breathing. He followed his convoluted path back to the room he'd started in and sure enough, there was the youngest Makara , the gentle and sometimes aggravatingly calm giant known as Gamzee, tossing blankets and kicking pillows into what the other called a feeling pile. Karkat poked at said pile to make sure nothing stupid had been added before he tentatively sat down. Considering Gamzee constructed the things out of whatever was close at hand, anything and everything could be in there regardless of suitability. Gamzee flopped in moments later like all the bones in his body had abruptly dissolved. The position didn't look the least but comfortable for someone with limbs as long as his, but he simply laid where he fell, waiting out Karkat's natural resistance with (probably drug enhanced) patience. Karkat remained quiet as he let his thoughts race about the people he thought he'd known.
Uathan Captor and Duirik Vantas had been brothers in all but lineage, so it made a fair amount of sense that their children would also become friends. Time and presence had more to do with actually becoming friends than much else—one family had visited the other at least once a week. Kankri didn't get along well with anyone, but Karkat had found the older Mituna to be amusingly annoying while the younger Sollux became the kind of friendly rival all young children look for unknowingly. So while the older brother insisted upon staying with the adults, the Captor children would play with youngest Vantas, helping an otherwise shy and prickly child eventually make other friends as well. He remembered petty squabbles and mud fights, marathon gaming session and pillow fort sleepovers. Teasing Mituna about kissing his girlfriend and being teased by Sollux for his spaghetti-factory coding. Falling asleep during his father's stories and the subtle comfort of seeing his father fast asleep against Uathan, finally finding the rest that seemed to escape the man more nights than not.
It had been another quiet afternoon the day the Government came, breaking the comfortable monotony that was life being lived. Solid, steady Uathan had stormed into their home, breathless and panicked, alternately arguing with his children and Duirik about what was happening. Karkat had been upstairs when the noise started and had had only the time to notice the strong smell of ozone, a scent that went hand in hand with an upset Captor, before the electricity cut out. Turning words into action, his father had deftly swept all the children out the back door and forced them to run, never looking back even when something exploded and someone screamed. They ran and ran as night fell, stopping only once to argue about where they were going. Since both Mituna and Karkat had friends within the exceptionally powerful Makara family, they were directed to go there while Duirik returned to the house to find Uathan.
Government drones caught up to them halfway to their destination. Mituna had peeled off to cover their continued escape, but it still hadn't been enough to shake the tail they now had. Literally steps from the all clear, Sollux had followed his brother's example. "They have to capture psions alive," he had said, already surrounded by the crack of red and blue lightning. "The children of a dissident will just get killed." Then Kankri had thrown him into the house where Gamzee had held him back, stopping him from rushing into a fight that was honestly over before it began.
That was the first instance Karkat had ever heard the term, as well as the last time he'd seen Sollux; a limp body carried away by the armoured drones. It was the last time he'd seen any of them, the whole of his world gone in a single evening's heat glare and decaying light.
"They lied to me." A hysterical giggle bubbled up as the truth of the statement sunk in. Karkat buried his face in his hands. "My entire life's a fucking lie."
"Best lies don't change truths, bro; just make them look a little motherfucking different." Gamzee shifted closer, letting his cool fingers wander up and down Karkat's back in an attempt to be soothing. "Ain't no lie that motherfucker hiding all up in the past loves you. Also ain't no lie you're important to all them motherfuckers that up and left you here. You wouldn't motherfucking be here if they didn't."
Karkat wanted to argue with that, but couldn't figure out how. If anyone had done anything different, then no, he probably wouldn't have been sitting there. There was little consolation in the thought. In fact it made him feel worse. If he'd known what was happening, he could have done more to help, even though it would have almost certainly ended much worse off for him. And it pissed him off that he hadn't even been given the chance to try and make some sort of difference, expected to just follow along and be okay with that. All because they had to take psions alive while the children of a dissident would simply be killed.
Why? The question battered Karkat's brain, twisting into the rest of his anger, hurt, and confusion. Or maybe it was the other way around, a cause instead of a symptom. Why? Why take such pains to save one? To hide one? To lie about it? It all spiraled back to the same point—what the actual fuck was a psionic?
"Don't know, bro," Gamzee said, leisurely stretching. "Bet a month's worth of motherfucking Faygo it's got something to do with that miracle of a light show your Captor boy put on."
Karkat began chewing on a nail, unsure if he was trying to stop the idea growing in his brain or flesh it out further. With so many other questions hanging like swords above his head, the only one that really mattered was what did he have left to lose? He was sixteen years old and dead in all ways except actually missing a pulse. He'd waited, but his life hadn't come back. Obviously his brother was already quite settled into his new lot and unwilling to seek more. Even if it was time to start going forward again, there was nothing that said Karkat had to do it passively—only quietly.
"Gamzee…" He didn't know how to ask for what he needed. All he owned was a phone that only worked on the Makara household network, the clothes he'd worn when he'd been forced to run, and a necklace that had once belonged to his mother. Shelter was all Sanctuary Law required an amnesty-granting family to provide and he needed so much more than that if he was going to follow through with this insane little project.
"S'all good," the other drawled as he hauled himself to his feet. "You know what's mine is yours. Ain't like we don't got spares in motherfucking fours or fives 'round here anyway. If shit goes missing, ain't no one's fault except the motherfucker who left it behind."
Somehow Karkat doubted the rest of his friend's family would see it that way, but the sentiment behind it made him smile a little. He'd just been given carte blanche to find and use whatever he needed. The floundering feeling that had enveloped him since the start of this mess eased; he was still in way over his head, but at least his feet were now touching something solid. He could work with this. He wasn't alone and there was still someone he could trust. It wasn't a lot, but as far as new beginnings went, it could have been much worse.
"Thanks," he said quietly, knowing that was a poor way to actually express what he was feeling.
The gratitude was shrugged off. Gamzee placed a hand on Karkat's head instead, lightly ruffling his hair. "The trick is to keep breathing, bro. Miracles come to those motherfuckers who can keep breathing long enough to see them," he said before wandering back to the obscurity he'd come from, clearly considering the conversation over. Karkat remained in the pile for a while longer, ignoring the urge to cry and only partially succeeding. He could have been mourning the past or simply felt overwhelmed as the tears slipped down his cheeks. They were certainly a little frustrated when he found a computer module hidden in the mess of blankets when the pile was cleaned up and maybe even the happy kind when he attached it to the window and watched the holographic display pop up on the glass, discovering it hadn't even been calibrated for use yet.
Karkat Vantas didn't believe in miracles much anymore—he'd been through too much recently to give that bullshit any credence. But breathing…breathing was something he could do. And on the twenty-third day, one breath at a time, he vowed to somehow piece his life back together.
X-X-X