Chapter Three

The entire world seemed to be closing in on Dave, the air condensing so that it quickly overtook his body, crushing his heart. He could feel his bones violently shaking inside, his eyes darting this way and that. Knees had dropped to the ground, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, process what had just happened. His heart thumped, he was covered in sweat; his fingers shuddered, curling in and out, unable to keep still. Below him laid the prisoner; eyes beginner to flutter, vision wavering. Blood spilled from the wound on his arm, pooling on the ground.

He had to work, and he had to work quickly; there was no time to stop and think about the crime he had just committed, the horrid sin that made him just like them no stop-

Dave muttered curses under his breath as he tried to steady the anxiety-ridden fingers, grasping the shackles that still held Karkat to the open tomb, the grave that he would end up making a home in if he didn't move. He gritted his teeth, slammed his eyes shut as his forehead. A numbing spread through his injured shoulder, then a piercing. He winced, entire body going limp for a moment, the weight of his wings heavy on his back.

For a moment, he felt dizzy, the pain being the only thing he could focus on. But then he kept pulling, knuckles turning white for mere moments before the pressure was suddenly released, the shackles falling apart in his grasp. And then came the searing in his shoulder once more.

It hurt, but he had to keep going, had to save the boy who was bleeding out, whose eyes had slipped shut. The boy who was going to die before his eyes, like the many who had been slaughtered before him – the ones Dave had never acknowledged, the children whose blood had painted the barren rock for centuries -

In that split second, he considered leaving Karkat to die; after all, it wouldn't have been that much different from the other times he had run away, right? There was just the sight of the actual blood that he would have to deal away with, nobody had to know at all, no one except for the trolls he had attacked – killed? – and, Oh fuck, he realized, I'm in too deep.

And then he returned his attention to the rapidly weakening form below him, recollecting the moment when he had decided to save him, how Karkat's eyes were the same as his from all those years ago and even though he'd seen that same expression countless times there was something special about this time that he couldn't place his finger on. But he had no time to think about that. Reflections would come later, once they were both safe.

He wracked his brain, trying to unearth what to do next. Wound, right. Bandage of some sort. But what to do with that bandage? Pressure, pressure, just like Dirk had done all those years ago when he had been training him, when his body was broken and bleeding in a whole bunch of different places, pressure by the wound, yes, yes, that's good, but what kind of bandage? Clothing, tear, got it. Tie, compression. Breathe, he'll be okay, right? No, don't question, breathe, break the other shackles. Arms around him, lift - Oh god, that hurts like a bitch.-

-Run.

John hadn't been practicing for very long. In fact, he had only recently finished his surgical training. He had no choice but to live near the border between Alternia and Gaia; despite being trained under one of the most accomplished surgeons in existence, he still had little money. And even then, surgeons weren't respected – not as much as the physicians who already had the well-rooted prestige and old wealth necessary for such esteem.

Granted, it wasn't as if John had lacked money – after all, he lived with his sister in a relatively nice house with a small chunk of land. But even then, he was days away from the capital at the shortest, and that wasn't even on foot. That was why the house had been so cheap.

He just had to deal with the problems the boundary line set. As in, the denizens that occasionally crossed the border illegally.

All right, so maybe he did avoid Alternia. A bit actively. Yeah, trolls were pretty bad business. Actually, that was an understatement. Though he wouldn't admit it, since a multitude of trolls usually came knocking on his door, desperate for medical attention after having narrowly escaped a group of bounty hunters, or worse, the reapers that were actually paid by their government to kill them. They would be broken, bloody, sympathetic-

But then he would stop himself, because they couldn't feel. It was impossible to consider something that had less-than-human ideals on equal footing with him. A race that could maim, become violent so easily was one he truly didn't want to have a part of. He was lucky he and his sister were human, he always told himself. Humans could never become like that. And he was thankful that his friend, Dave, was human, at least to an extent.

So when he heard a banging on the door, the last thing that he wanted to see was a certain friend of his cradling an unconscious one of them. But that was the least of his problems at the moment, considering he was a bit more preoccupied with the array of their blood painting his friend's body.

"Dave, what the fuck?"

"John, just. Ignore. Me. Save him. Please."

"Dave, what the fuck?" he said again, the last word barely leaving his lips. He began to step backward, away from Dave. There was no way he was going anywhere near his friend, if he could even call the grotesque figure before him that. Was it even Dave? How could he have done something like that – even if they were trolls?

He could kill, John knew that. It was in his race's genes; they were capable of becoming horribly violent, with their bulking statures, far, far worse than trolls. In that way, they weren't so different. But there was a sense of humanity that enveloped them, a tenderness that they were capable of approaching life with. Dave had that, or at least John had thought so when he had found him all those years ago.

He swallowed and took a breath.

"Dave, you're asking me to help a troll, of all people? Look at yourself, for crying out fucking loud! If you're asking me, I think you're the one who needs help right now!"

"John, that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. Are you going to let someone die in my fucking arms, in front of you? Please, John, please, I just don't want him to die." He whispered the last part, drawing the form in his arms slightly closer to his body. "Please."

John stared at Dave for what seemed like years, thinking. If he didn't do anything to help the troll, his friend would almost certainly do something rash. And he had to protect his sister. Questions would have to wait; self-preservation was the most important thing in his mind.

"Give him to me, then."

He motioned to Dave, who stood up and walked toward him. Relief crossed Dave's face as he passed the unconscious boy into John's arms. Dave bit his lip and kept his eyes on the unconscious figure for a moment, then looked back up at John.

"Be careful, I think he's got some broken ribs."

"I'm the doctor, Dave. I think I'll be the judge of that," John spat, shifting Karkat so that he would be easier to carry. "Just stay here, okay? And close the damn door while you're here."

He hesitated for a moment, stopping to turn around and look at Dave once more before heading toward the examination room.

It had only been about twenty years prior that the wondrous properties of ether had been discovered. Its ability to render patients unconscious during surgeries had been lauded, and it had become somewhat common practice to use it. Even more important, though, had been the discovery of sterilization – ten years after, a man had sprayed his surgical instruments with a carbolic spray, resulting in a sharp decrease in mortality rates.

Truly, it was astonishing how much the field had advanced since the dawn of the last century. What wasn't amazing, however, was how much it had lagged behind the development of other technologies. And far worse was the fact that almost all progress after the last war had been stalled between Alternia and John's own kingdom out of fear that any developments would only serve to perpetuate war between the two worlds.

In a way, it had worked. Neither civilization had fought since then. But because of that, both societies became frozen in time, still containing many of the same ideals of all those years ago, the same amount of contempt. And despite how much he denied it, John definitely had some degree of hatred for trolls; not enough to deliberately mistreat them, certainly, but just enough to not trust most. Hell, he didn't completely trust the I- either; they had abused humans long ago, too, though not as much as trolls. They were huge, with unprecedented strength; they had been the terrors of the sky.

But the airships invented four hundred years ago had brought them down, along with their unrivaled ambitions. And they hadn't been that bad, John had often told himself. They barely hurt us, they only attacked the trolls because they needed to; anyone would have to, being as violent as they are.

There wasn't much of a reason to fear them anymore, though the rare sighting of one would shake most people up. They were still capable of being monstrous, even if they were more empathetic than trolls. But that shred of empathy was why most could walk around freely in human society, or at least as freely as they could. Some were attacked, most were at the very least outcast. That was the worst.

If they stepped one foot over the border to Alternia, they were immediately killed.

But there was the tiny tract of land that they had claimed long ago, before the boundary line between the two kingdoms had been established. They were allowed to keep it, using it as their execution grounds. In the evenings, hushed voices told that the spirits of dead trolls would chase down any human that set foot near there until the rock had burned through the bottoms of their shoes, when their lungs would finally collapse in their bodies. And then, the ghosts would kill them, dragging the innocent human into the same hell they had been through.

No, trolls definitely were not sympathetic creatures, no matter how desperate they appeared when they appeared at John's door. That was why everyone stayed away from them.

But in years past, Dave's brother had helped him cultivate his skills nearby. Unfortunately, the area they had settled in was dangerously close to the border. John had once asked Dave why they opted to stay there when Dirk could have easily found another place for them to stay, but he could never give John a definite answer, claiming that it may have been to help him train.

And John hadn't even known Dave before that incident five years ago, when he had heard the gunshot echoing through the plains. He had chased down the source of the sound and found Dave with his arms wrapped around his knees, hiding his face from whatever terror had spooked their home. He had found a blanket lying about the house, far from the blood that had stained the kitchen, and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He held him close to his chest, running his fingers through the boy's stringy hair and rocking him as tears spilled down his cheeks.

Dave had mumbled something about Dirk and John had left him momentarily to check, but he couldn't find anyone. John had assumed he was dead, his body having been dragged off by his attacker, probably a group of trolls who found out about his existence. Even though they technically couldn't cross the border without clearance, some bounty hunters - and even officials - would take advantage of the weak security in order to hunt escaped convicts, as well as anyone who was perceived to be a threat. And Dirk, who so often spread his wings to show Dave that it was okay to be what they were, – even though the truth was far from that – would have easily caught their attention.

To this day, Dave still doesn't remember anything past the gunshot.

After Dirk's death, Dave had settled into John's home for a short time. Though John was no father figure, being older than Dave by a mere six years, he still felt that it was in Dave's best interest to at least have someone to live with. Since he had no relatives, John and his sister had stepped in to care for him. Besides, it wasn't like he could go back to the old home, anyway - not when it could have possibly been under surveillance.

Even though John warned Dave to stay away, he was still far too stubborn to actually listen to him. Whether that had to do with the age difference or some other internal reason, John had no idea. He would try to question Dave, similar to how he had asked Dave about his living arrangements, but Dave would usually simply avoid the question, instead choosing the veer the conversation off to some distant tangent.

Surely, there was a reason why he would deter answering, but again, John never understood why. Often, he would call Dave out whenever he avoided the inquiry, but Dave would simply put on a stoic face, replying as if he had no idea what John was talking about.

John knew that he suppressed his emotions. As much as Dave tried to hide it, he could see the dilation of his pupils, the occasional faint glimmers of hope and sadness in his irises when he and John would converse. And on even rarer occasions, the faint wrenching of a smirk or smile at the edges of his lips, though he refused to let it be more than that. He was lucky that Dave didn't have anything blocking his eyes, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to even recognize the faintest hints of emotion in his friend.

For the longest time, he had asked himself why Dave tried so hard to bury his emotions inside of his chest, only to lose control of the closures to his heart and set them free. Was he trying to be the barbarian that people like him had been destined to become? Was he fighting a war deep inside his mind, his savage side slowly trying to take hold as the tiny shards of humanity left in him continued to pierce holes in his heart, the blood from those wounds leaking out despite his attempts to halt the gushing?

Was Dave inevitably trying to become like the unconscious creature he was setting down on the examination table?

He had no idea.