AN: Prepare for some depressing backstory things.
I am so sorry.
Maybe some tissues would be a good idea?
IDK.
Depends how susceptible you are to crying during fics.
A trigger alert for Past self-harm and physical abuse.
Also, I'm planning another three or four chapters in this fic, but I plan on writing a sequel fic, maybe even a few of them.
Who knows?
Until then, keep enjoying the story.
==To the story
I felt something soft pressing against my cheek and I attempted to swat it away.
"Nng, Daaave…." I complained, still half-asleep and swatting at the thing. "Dave… Geddit off."
I heard a soft chuckle from across the room and a moment later the thing had been moved.
"Hey there, sleepy." I cracked open on eye and saw Dave leaning over me, moving things around behind me.
"Whassa time?" I asked, rolling onto my back to stretch out, yawning.
"'Bout 10." He finished moving things and sat down beside my legs.
"Shit. Why'd you let me sleep that long?" I sat up, staring him down angrily. I wasn't gonna get back to sleep tonight and that meant I wasn't going to get any work done tomorrow at school.
"You looked like you needed it." He shrugged.
I couldn't come up with a response so I settled with glaring at him.
"Aww, don't be mad Kitkat." He pouted at me, but it was soon replaced by a smile.
"Get your face over here, fuckass." I said, pulling him in for a kiss.
As we kissed I let him pull me into his lap so I was straddling him.
I broke the kiss, gasping for breath, and looked across the bed, wondering what had been on me.
Half of the bed was covered with those weird glassy-eyed puppets made from an impressive array of coloured satin.
"…was I sleeping under those?"
"The smuppets? Yeah."
"….why?" I asked, partially afraid of the answer.
"Somehow you ended up with one while you slept, then, a while ago when Bro came to ask when we wanted to eat, he decided you needed more."
I felt my face heat up. I usually slept with a crab plush I'd had since… well, forever, so I was used to cuddling something while I sleep.
"Oh."
"It was actually kinda cute. I think Bro likes you." He was smiling again.
It was… weird. He was usually so stoic, seeing him smile so often... it was kinda unsettling.
"Dave…"
"Yeah, Kitkat?"
"Why are you so stoic at school?" I looked up at him, certain that my curiosity was written all over my face.
"I…" He hesitated, on the verge of telling me before he sighed and his shoulders slumped.
It took me a moment to realise that he'd been about to lie to me.
There were a few minutes of silence as he turned me in his lap and began playing with my hair, just thinking things over.
"…Dave?" I asked in a small voice. I couldn't help but feel like I'd brought up bad memories.
"When I was younger I was bullied a lot." He began talking, his voice distant as he remembered everything. "It only really started when I was 10 or so, when people began to fully see what a fucked-up freak I was." I looked over my shoulder at him, only to have him pull my hair, gently enough that it didn't hurt, to turn me back to face away from him. "Before then no-one cared about my eyes, they were just an unusual colour, no-one connected them to the genetic fuck-up both me and Bro have, but when I had my first crush, they became another reason for people to hate me."
I recalled the moment earlier today when I'd seen his eyes, and their brilliant crimson colour.
"See, my first crush was on the kid who sat in the seat in front of me. I don't even remember his name, just that he was left-handed and I loved his combination of wild red hair and calm blue eyes. Everyone could see that I liked him, well, everyone but him, and most of them didn't like it. They used to wait for us –the older kids. They'd feign an attack at him so I'd defend him, and then they'd beat the shit out of me like they'd planned to."
I looked at him and was surprised to see him frowning thoughtfully, not angrily or bitterly like I would have expected.
"The beatings made me want to become stronger, until I could hold my own against them. That year I started strifing with Bro, striving to achieve my goal. When they noticed I was getting better, taking less hits, they began with the insults. They started with the initial ones of 'freak' and 'faggot', not that I knew what it meant then, but freak didn't bother me, 'cause I already knew that I was one. But slowly they became more creative, and then occasionally they'd hit a nerve."
"What does this have to do with your stoicism?" I blurted, instantly cursing my impatience.
"I'm getting to that." His snapped.
I flinched automatically, used to the after-effects of my dad snapping.
"Sorry." I murmured, and Dave began playing with my hair again, as a form of apology, I thought.
"Anyway, I used to very open as a kid, but that's not unusual for little kids. As I grew older I began to control my facial emotions, learning to keep things hidden, it was a thing I picked up from Bro, but my eyes were another matter. 'Eyes are the window to your soul'. Everytime something got to me, my eyes would show it. So when they got a hit with the insults, they knew and they used it more. I began to hate myself. I'd begun helping them hurt me. When I turned 12 I'd been dealing with this, mostly alone as the kid had changed school pretty quick, for a year and a half, and as that year progressed my self-hatred grew and eventually I.." He swallowed audibly. "I began self-harming."
I turned to him and saw he'd taken his shades off and his eyes were full of sadness and he looked like he was… pleading with me to not judge him. I offered him a sad smile. I knew what it was like to hate yourself for something that was entirely out of your control. I leaned into him, silently giving him my support.
"Bro picked up on it easily. There were a lot of cuts that were too regular, too even, to be from out strifes – by now we'd moved from fists to swords - and one day he asked me about it." Dave gave a harsh laugh. "He was real casual about it too, none of this 'this is an intervention' bullshit, we were just playing a video game and he said 'How long've you been cutting?' as if he were asking about the weather. It's one of the things I like best about Bro. He doesn't bull shit you, or make an overly big fuss about things."
We sat for a few minutes in silence before Dave cleared his throat and finished his story.
"Obviously I came clean to Bro, told him all of it. The first thing he did was pull out one of his spare pairs of shades. He gave them to me saying 'Don't be afraid to hide behind something if you have to'. One of the best pieces of advice you'll ever get from him. After that he packed all out shit up, unenrolled me from school, quit his job and moved us half-way across the fucking country, all just so I wouldn't have to deal those guys again."
I curled up in his arms, both glad he had a happy ending, of sorts, and sad that he'd had to deal with all of that. Then a thought hit me.
"Why here?" I asked.
"What?"
"Why here? You could have gone anywhere. Why here?"
"For starters, our aunt lives here, Rose's mum, and I knew Egbert lived here already, so it seemed as good a place as any."
I nodded to myself, it made sense.
"What about you?" He spoke suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over us.
"What do you mean, what about me?" I knew what he meant, but I was still absorbing his story, and wasn't ready to tell mine, especially since it didn't have an end yet.
"What's your story? What's with the flip out before? How did you become the Karkat before me now?"
I opened my mouth to come up with some excuse so I wouldn't have to tell him, but was saved by my stomach growling angrily. I hadn't eaten all day.
"Someone's a hungry kitten." Dave laughed.
"WOULD YOU STOP DOING THAT? Just 'cause my name has 'cat' in it doesn't mean you can call me one." I said in an attempt to cover the fact my face was steadily reddening.
"Hm… nah." I glared at him, secretly enjoying the fact I could see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "As much as I would love to argue the point, babe, let's introduce you to Cooking With The Striders."
I groaned as I thought about what this would mean.