Chapter Four

Dave stood in the empty expanse of the hallway; rotting wood stretched beyond his feet, leading into the rest of the house. Hanging on the wall was a single lonely painting, the only one in the house. He had watched John create it back when he was first brought to this place. Seeing John studying the painting so intently, his brush sliding across the rough canvas would calm him in the early days after Dirk's death. Or what was assumed to have been his death, anyway.

In those days a focused John had been a rare sighting, even to his own sister. So when something caught his attention for any amount of time, the temporary silencing of jokes and pranks was almost unnerving. But when one was in the room alone with John, watching his trained hand masterfully swipe paint across the blank slate, that quietness was no longer bothersome. He would be hunched over and wouldn't even look in the direction of his friend, except for the occasional smile or nod. Even when his back began to ache, even when the blue of his eyes began to roll toward the back of his head as sleep dared to pull his mind and body begrudgingly toward bed, he stayed focused until he finished what he had to do.

Though his focus stayed, his passion for art had long since died, the skills of those trained hands instead having their way with calculated scalpel cuts. And that concentration had taken up permanent residence in John's brain and eyes, more often than not unhinging any compassion he had.

Dust had accumulated along the painting's frame, long forgotten by Jade whenever she had cleaned the home. Funny how it was always left untouched, yet everything else would be spotless, or as spotless as aged dishes and furniture could be. There had always been an air of grime about the place (or at least something musty and long forgotten), even when Dave had first been brought there

In the painting stood two blotches; they were a boy and a girl, both with dark hair. They faced in opposite directions, clouds mingling in the air around their bodies, obscuring the boy's chest and the top of the girl's head. Between them stretched a long, wrought iron fence. Faces had been blurred out, but one could tell by the dull coloring around them that this was not a happy parting. Truly, no separation is pleasing, but this one had felt final.

There had been something different about John when he had painted it. Instead of tranquil eyes and carefully pursed lips and steady hands, his eyebrows had furrowed as his entire body rattled. The paintbrush had poked at the canvas repeatedly, lines of paint coming down in blotches and sharp lines. And John's face had twisted into a grotesque, unrecognizable scowl.

He never picked up a brush after that day.

The winged boy was only barely beginning to catch his breath, the scattered images of what had just occurred replaying in his mind like a broken zoetrope. He had attacked someone. No, a bunch of people. And had he killed them? No, that was impossible. No, he wasn't vicious like that, he kept telling himself. Not like them, not like them, not like them.

But he could still feel the adrenaline ripping through his veins, the need to attack his enemies still hanging in the forefront of his mind.

He wasn't done yet. And he was scared, struggling to regain control of his mind, to crush these thoughts that weren't quite his own yet felt completely right, to quell his protection instincts. And they kept fighting and fighting to break free and control him once more. He could feel his fingertips just wanting to reach out and choke something, his thoughts already several steps ahead of him as they processed a million possible strategies to utilize next. If they came to John's door, if they stepped in, if they were still alive-

Stopstopstoppullyourselftogether-

No! You idiot, you could have killed someone, how can you pull yourself together-

But I didn't kill anyone, right-

But you almost did and that's bad enough-

But I didn't-

I didn't.

Right?

I didn't.

Thoughts tossed back and forth in his head, his brain coming up with a million responses to every new question that he raised, every second of self-doubt that he had. He was drowning, drowning until his reflections came to a halt as he realized that, indeed, he hadn't actually murdered anyone just a short time ago. He had come damn close, but he hadn't.

That was the one thing he needed to remind himself of, the only thing that could reasonably calm him down. But even when his breaths began to even out, when his muscles loosened, he couldn't deny the blood that had spilled onto his skin, encroached under his finger nails, embedded into him. Had he gone insane, attacking someone for something that he had no business in? Was he slowly becoming one of them, instincts taking over? Or was it something more horrible, far more dangerous than even they had been?

His heart quickened once more, thumping hard in his chest; his knees buckled as he slid down against the wall. All at once, waves rippled from the injury he had sustained earlier, stretching to his spine and leaving him unable to move. His head was pounding, teeth gritted from both pain and stress.

For a moment, he regained control of his body, folding his legs close to his body and wrapping his arms around them. Tossing these conflicting thoughts in his head, he began to feel helpless, weak. After all, if he wasn't as bad as them, wasn't one of them, then he wouldn't have done that. But then if he was as horrid as they were, how come he hadn't killed them?

And John clearly didn't trust him anymore, not after he had shown up covered in blood and carrying a troll, of all creatures he could have selected. Though he could barely process it at the time, he had absorbed John's movements; the widening of his pupils, his subtle steps back, his staggered and repetitive speech that almost echoed his own in that very moment – they all told him that John was afraid of him.

What would happen to him now? The other trolls would almost certainly begin looking for him – and Karkat (When had he become so positive that, yes, that was indeed his name and he hadn't misheard?) – soon; how quickly, he had no idea. They probably couldn't stay very long; not that John would probably let them, anyway. And even if they left, he and Karkat had no supplies, no way to defend themselves; in any situation they would both die quickly, their remains succumbing to the dusty ground.

Every path out involved death, and it was all too much for Dave to bear. Despite his desperate pleas, despite how much he tried to close his eyes and bury these fears deep in his heart, they kept coming, betraying him, releasing. All at once he could feel his defenses breaking down further as his eyes blurred and he buried his face in his knees, the pain he felt in his body ever-growing. And for the very first time since Dirk's disappearance – it had already seemed like it had been decades ago – he let hot tears fall down his face, biting his lip as he tried to will them away.

All too quickly, he was drowning.

Dave had no idea what to do.

Unheard by Dave were the soft but hurried footfalls on the steps, toes hidden by a cumbersome bustle skirt. Fingers only lightly tapped at the railing, trying to conceal any noise betrayed by existence.

She had seen everything, though her brother had no idea. And from her perch atop the steps, she had dissected the scene as it had played out, observed Dave's movements as he tried to convince John to care for the bundle that had been in his arms, felt her brother's cold eyes as they had stared Dave down and reduced him to little more than a vicious animal, tethering him to the entrance of the house - away from him and her, and unable to leave to seek consolation.

In a way, she couldn't blame John. After all, he was simply trying to protect them, right? And of course, most normal people would be rather frightened if their friend walked in covered in blood – and troll blood, no less.

But maybe she was a bit naïve, that very naivety perhaps passed down by her older brother once he began to age out of frolic-ridden adventures and into procedure and metal instruments. After all, she was daring to get closer to Dave, to waltz near someone who had possibly killed another living being. Even so, something in Dave's actions – perhaps the unheard of hesitance in his words or the trembling of his body – told her that he hadn't, or that if he did, it had not been on purpose. And even though she shook a bit herself, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her. Especially not when he had slumped against the wall, letting tears spill from his eyes.

It was why she wasn't afraid. Dave clearly knew the severity of his actions, or even if he didn't know everything, he still understood there was a horrifying, blistering truth; a bloody carnality that he was only beginning to become aware of. That very shock had left him paralyzed – and sane.

She would still have to be careful, though. As far as she knew, Dave was unaware of her presence. Her approach would have to be very careful so she wouldn't shock him. With that in mind, she had descended down the steps, carefully inching toward him when she reached the floor.

Jade knelt down next to him, gingerly slipping her hand across his shoulder, down to his back, between the two wings. For a moment, the feathers closed tightly around her hand, wings tense as Dave twisted his head away from his knees to look at her with wide eyes, brows furrowed, forehead creased.

She didn't break her gaze.

"Dave," she began, the word barely escaping her lips.

"J-Jade, get away," he replied, struggling to find the words he needed to say, growing more rigid. "I'm not safe to be around-"

Fingertips pressed lightly, rubbing small circles into his back. The muscles below relaxed, tension releasing as feathers began to ruffle; wings stiffened as his chest stilled, refusing to let breaths escape his lips. Gracing his knuckles was a wildly different tint than she was accustomed to, the colors that unmistakably were those of higher blooded trolls.

Dave was strong, she reminded herself. Dave was strong, but he wouldn't attack anyone without purpose. She opened her mouth again.

"It's okay, Dave. It's okay."

"It's not, though. Nothing is, and nothing will be. Never."

Jade bit her lip, breaking eye contact for a moment while she tossed thoughts back and forth, then continued.

"Was that what you told me after-" she hesitated. "After what happened to Dirk?"

Dave shook his head, disagreeing.

"No, but it's not the same. You're not stupid, Jade, I'm covered in fucking troll blood."

She took another breath and kept rubbing. Dave's adrenaline rush had long since subsided, replaced by the shaky realization of the events that had occurred. If she could calm him down, he would open up to her.

"Come on, I'll clean you up," she gestured, moving to tug on one of his hands. He ripped his hand away, stumbling to his feet. Dave reached out, trying to press his hand against the wall to steady himself. When Jade tried to help him, he simply turned away, fear in his eyes.

"You know your brother will kill me if I'm anywhere near you." He protested, the volume of his voice rising slightly. "And how do you know I won't hurt you, Jade? How the hell can you trust me when I have no idea what I'm going to do next? I'm awful, Jade, I'm no better than-"

"Because I know that you'd never hurt anyone without a good reason to, Dave! Because I'm smart enough to know when I'm actually in danger, and I know pretty damn well that you won't hurt me! Just listen to me, Dave, and I'll help you. I promise, I'll listen."

Dave met Jade's eyes once more, lips suppressing his trepidation, before he agreed.

Notes:

As of now, Dave and Karkat have not spoken to each other. However, this is, primarily, a DaveKat fic. I predict that Dave and Karkat will begin to interact in either the next chapter, or the one after. In addition, I predict that this fic will involve at least 20 characters, some more important than others. Propelling the story, however, will be Dave and Karkat's relationship and how it affects the world around them. The slow pacing, especially this early on, is necessary to help establish a lot of the basic themes, as well as the first major arc in the story.

With that said, I hope you enjoy the ride!