You wake up late with no one beside you. You've curled up around his pillow unconsciously. You don't bother moving - what's the point?
A little while later, he comes into the room. He sits on the bed and you have the urge to scoot away from him. He shouldn't be around you - you're disgusting.
He gently starts to pull hi pillow away. You don't put up a fight. once it's off to the side, he moves to make you sit up. You still don't protest.
"You need to get clean and eat. i don't want to bring you into the hospital. Do you think you can do this for me?"
You shrug. You don't really want to move, but if it means you don't have to leave the building, you will.
He helps you off the bed, and you drop to your hands and knees. You're too weak to stand or walk, so you'll crawl. You have no pride; this isn't humiliating for you.
it obviously depresses him. When you crane your head up, you see his normally bright blue eyes looking down at you, clouded with sadness and pity. You nearly make a sound of anger. You don't want anyone's pity.
He sighs defeatedly and leans down, moving to pick you up. You almost hiss; almost.
He heaves you into his arms and carries you to his bathroom. He sets you down on the counter and stands there awkwardly for a moment.
After what looks like him giving himself a pep-talk, he takes the bottom of your shirt and starts pulling up. You jerk back, and this time you really do hiss. He puts his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. Slowly, so slowly, he moves towards you and tries again. This time, you let him. You curl up into yourself - you don't like people seeing you body.
He gasps, those sky-blue eyes going wide and his mouth opening in an 'o'. Your arms have scars from needle injections not made by you, and more scars cover your ribs, stomach and chest. There's a particularly large one on your collarbone from when it broke.
"Karkat, what happened to you?" he chokes out. You look to the side. You don't like talking about it. You don't really like talking at all, actually. It's been a long time since you've had to.
Slowly, even slower than before, he takes off your pants, revealing the scars on your legs. You watch his reaction; he looks extremely upset and his face is as white as a ghost.
Boxers are the only thing keeping you clothed, and while you don't want to bathe with them on, you don't want to be naked around him. He doesn't give you the choice, he yanks them down quickly, not looking at you.
He turns away quickly, starting to run a bath for you. You bring your knees up to your chest.
Once its full, and the water stops running, he gently picks you up again and lays you in the tub. he strips off his own shirt and kneels beside the bathtub, cupping his hands under the water and pouring it over your shoulders and back. It's hot, near scalding, but it feels good on your sore body.
he takes a bar of soap and gently rubs it along your skin, lathering it. He takes his time, and when you look at his face, it shows none of the nervousness you saw earlier; instead, he looks calm and professional. He must do something like this as part of his job.
It doesn't take very long before your entire body is washed (at one point he did turn pink, and you thought you heard him say 'no homo' under his breath) and he unplugs the bathtub to let it drain. He grabs a big, fluffy blue towel and brings you into a half-standing, half-crouching stance so he can wrap it around you. He brings you into his arms again, carrying you back to his room and setting you on the bed. You curl into yourself.
"I think I have something you can wear. Just a second." He goes to the dresser shoved against the wall and ruffles through it. He grabs a couple things, biting his lip.
"I don't think any of my pants will fit you at all, so I'd have to go to your apartment to get some later. But, uh, I found this sweater and socks and underwear."
you don't understand why he's being so generous and nice to you. You're worthless - you don't deserve this shit. but he does it with a sad, mournful smile nevertheless, even when you skid away from him and hide under the blanket to change.
The sweater is a dark grey and so soft - not to mention huge on you. It goes at least halfway down your thighs and covers your fingertips. You like it.
You pull the boxers and socks on, and the boxers nearly fall off. If your hip bones didn't protrude so much, they would have.
John shrugs. "It'll do." He bites his lip. "I'll be back soon, okay? Just stay here and... don't do anything."
You know what he's saying behind those words. 'Don't kill yourself' or 'don't cut'. You think about ending your life just to spite his overly-nice stupid ass. You decide against, however tempting it is. You're terrified of death.
You're starting to doze off when he comes back, carrying a bowl of soup, a cup of something, and a plate of fruits and vegetables. "I didn't know what you liked, so I just picked what I thought'd be best for you."
You stare at the food. on one hand, you're starving; on the other, you have no appetite and don't want to accept his help.
After some urging, you pick up the spoon and gulp down some of the soup. After each bite, you're slurping down the soup faster and faster, until you forgo the spoon and take the bowl, pouring the hot liquid down our throat. Some of it dribbles down your chin, \and you wipe your face with your sleeve.
You scarf down the rest of what he's given you, and when you're finished, you notice he looks pleased. You scowl.k, curling into a ball. You start shaking, and John looks at you in confusion.
"Hey, 'bert, sorry I'm late. Bro made me help him with his shit. I..."
Your shaken lessens and instead you stiffen up when you see him standing at the door, your lip curling back. His stupid poker face doesn't waver when his gaze descends upon you, his idiotic shades in place. You hate him.
Dave fucking Strider.
He leans against the door. "What's mister douchebag doing here?" he asks casually, nodding his head at you.
John looks nervous. "Dave, now isn't a very good time -"
"What is he doing here, John."
"I really don't want to -"
"John Egbert, what is that stupid, fuck-faced peasant doing here?" he growls out, voice a
sharp, jagged piece of ice.
John fiddles with his hands. "His friend called and asked me to check on him and I did and I wanted to help him because he - he just looked so sad and hopeless and thin and..."
"We aren't allowed pets. You know that."
You bristle, and speak up for yourself. "What, and you're so much better, cocksucker?" It's not one of your best insults, but it'll do for now.
You can feel him glare at you through his shades. He strolls towards you, picking you up by the back of your shirt and lfting you off the bed. He drops you on the ground.
"Get out."
You glare at him. "Gladly."
And really, you would. But your legs aren't working, and you feel dizzy. Luckily for you, John steps in.
"Dave, he's too weak, he can't walk."
"then he'll crawl, I guess."
"Dave!"
He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. If you wanna help him, help back to his place. I don't want to see him here again."
John does just that, picking you up bridal style. "We're not done here," he says to Daev. Then he walks out.
Your apartment is unlocked, making it easy to open, and he brings you to your bedroom. He sighs.
"I'm really sorry about Dave. He's always bad after he's seen his bro nowadays. I'll talk to him."
"I don't fucking care," you mumble.
His face falls a little more. "Of course." He starts to move towards the door, but you grab his sleeve.
"U-uh... th-thanks... I mean - fuck - Thank you. And fuck you."
He smiles a little. "You're welcome, Karkat."
You let go of his sleeve, but he doesn't move for a second. "If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask me, okay?"
You nod, but you don't really intend to. You hate asking for help. You don't deserve it.
He leaves quickly after that, and you curl up on your bed, easily falling aleep in the soft sweater.