Blood was everywhere.
Green.
Nasty, drying green.
He hated it.
He loved it.
A long, thin finger stretched out, dragging the nail through the thick pool that had formed by her head. Thrumming through his veins was an aching, a longing, a need.
Slowly, he brought his finger to his mouth, tasting the color. A shudder coursed through him and he spat.
"Wrong green," he rasped. "Wrong MOTHERFUCKING green."
He finished dragging Sollux's corpse next to Feferi's, squinting one eye as he arranged them. Something was missing. With a spasm of tenderness he folded their hands together over a slightly crumpled horn.
"Honk," he whispered quietly, then stood, straightening out a long, lanky body. Head tilted to the side, his tongue subconsciously licking at the blood around his lips. He nibbled absentmindly at one corner of his mouth as he surveyed his work. Equius was placed nearest to the corner of one wall, next to a broken Aradiabot. Tavros followed, slightly sitting up to keep his horns from hitting the other bodies. Next was Vriska, her wings curled in upon themselves like freshly-hatched butterfly wings. Eridan, both halves of his body reunited, his hands upon his chest clasping the broken wand, was next to her. Next was Feferi, her hair carefully arranged as a curling frame around her upper body. At the end of the row he had placed Sollux. Gamzee crouched down, fiddling with the pants legs of some of the bodies.
Finally, finally, finally, everyone was together. The word 'finally' echoed in his brain, twisting upon itself until Gamzee reached into his pocket and honked a broken horn, its noise muffled now that it had been nearly bent in half, to help clear his muddled thoughts.
Standing in a fluid motion, he prowled over to where he had placed Nepeta. As he stood there, looking over her prone form, he thought back to a few hours ago.
He stood there, standing over Equius's corpse, still with a quickly fading disbelief. He shook himself like a woofbeast, trying again to fight the overwhelming urge to kill. He could feel it, pulsing in his veins, throbbing in his skull. He could almost taste it, the phantom sticky warmth as it tried to pull him back into madness.
Faintly, so soft it barely disturbed the dank air around him, he heard the sound of a vent opening somewhere above his head. He turned just in time to see Nepeta Leijon pouncing, claws extended and a furious growl emitting her throat. He caught her wrist as it came towards his face, snapping it with the force of his grip but not being able to stop its momentum. He felt only pressure as the blades sliced three neat lines into his face. He caught the tangy sharpness of his blood as it started to seep through his wounds. As Nepeta fell, he let go of her wrist, pulled her close around the shoulders, quickly brought up a club, and brought it against the back of her head, knocking her unconscious. He then carried her to one of the large, empty hallways and lay her down on some blankets that were piled there. Evidence that someone had tried sleeping far away from Karkat and his incessant orders to not, for any reason, sleep. He had set her down carefully and left, and was only now checking on her.
He'd wanted everyone's bodies together.
In the back of his mind something was screaming, almost intelligibly, that he needed to kill the rest, that they would kill him if he didn't kill them first. He shook his head again and honked his near silent horn a few times, to settle the subjuggulating urges. He was feeling too many emotions at once, a cacophony, and he knew that the multitude of it had begun to make his body shake. A small, steady tremor.
The pangs of sopor loss.
Remorse.
Hunger.
Guilt.
Nausea.
Dizziness.
Depression.
Happiness.
Euphoria.
Desire.
A need to kill.
They all mixed together in a gut-churning noise that made it hard to breathe, to move.
It was as if his entire being was at war with itself. He didn't know how much longer he was going to last against them.
He turned to face the corpses and Nepeta's prone form. Something niggled faintly in the back of his mind. It wasn't accompanied with the sticky, mind-honey warmth the voices had, so he didn't try to push it away. Gamzee let the thought dictate his actions, moving on autopilot. He lifted Nepeta onto his shoulder, her face pressed against his neck and her body curled in towards his chest. With the other arm he gathered all the clean blankets and lay them over her. He then turned and shuffled to his respiteblock, keeping one hand free should he need it. Turns out he really did. Upon opening the door to his respiteblock he found that the floor was covered in streaks of multi-colored blood and the wrenched apart remains of several horns. He shoved the horn bits out of his path with one long foot, moving slowly and carefully until he came to the furthermost corner of his room. Here he gingerly lay Nepeta down, blankets squished up under and around her to form a better pile. He took one and set it over her, tucking one edge under her chin.
Finished, he spun to face his destroyed room. For a moment he merely stood there, fighting between cleaning it and wrecking it further. He decided on both. First he took up a few blue-stained towels, rinsed them, and set to wiping off the blood that had gotten everywhere. He vaguely remembered coming in here earlier and, using the blood on his hands, "decorating" his room in crazed triumph. Now the sight of it made him sad and even more sick to his stomach.
After he finished cleaning up the blood, he took all the broken pieces of horns, furniture, and various unknown bits he found here and there, and made a pile. He then opened the trash chute set into the wall by the door and began throwing everything away. But as he did this he ripped each item into even smaller pieces. This small scale destruction quieted the sinister urging that had begun to drum a erratic rhythm into the base of his skull. It was as he neared the end of the pile that he heard her begin to grumble and shift on her heap of blankets.
He slowly inched his way back towards her, eyes alert to each sluggish movement.
What would she do when she saw him?
Would she attack him again?
Would he fight back if she did?
The uncertainty, the unknowing, both frightened and excited him.