A/N: Oh man. There are not enough words to express how sorry I am for this extremely late post. EXTREMELY LATE. Thank you so, so, so much for all the encouragement and support, and all of your lovely reviews! I'm surprised how many people are open to this pairing. It makes me so happy. And I'd like to ask any HS fanfics writers out there: please write more Gamzee/John fics! I'm desperate. ;3;
I won't be answering reviews this chapter, but I will be doing so on the next one. ^^
And yes, there WILL be a speedy update for the next chapter. Expect it late Saturday, since I have most of it typed out already to make up for MY SLOW AND PROCRASTINATING ASS.
Once again, thank you for taking the time to read this little story, and enjoy. :D
IN THIS CHAPTER: What happened to John in the last chapter, and how did it happen? You may want to skim the previous chapter, as you might have forgotten the events that unfolded. :D Sooo, I guess you can call it a flashback then!
You're sitting on the closed seat of your toilet, the box of medical supplies nestled snuggly in your lap. Your fingers tap along the worn, dented edges of the shoe-box, the pads of your fingers dragging against the smooth surface. You wince when your nails accidentally scrape against the cardboard.
Truthfully, you don't know what to do with yourself. The bathroom is quiet, eerily quiet. Gamzee is standing before the sink, his thin frame leaning over the counter. He blinks at the reflection staring back at him in the mirror, slitting his eyes as he takes in his decrepit looking appearance. His brow furrows and his sharp teeth worry at his lips, his head tilting to the side as he begins to sway where he stands. He then deliberately raises his right hand and gently prods at one of the long gashes that streak across his face, causing him to hiss in pain.
"Fuck, I look motherfuckin' scary brother," you hear him slur to himself as he licks his lips free from any leftover blood. He grimaces. That probably stung a lot.
"That's why we're gonna get you cleaned up!" you let out a laugh as you stand up, setting the medical supplies on the toilet. "So you wanna take a bath now?"
He turns towards you and blinks, an expression of confusion flitting across his face. "What's a bath?"
You nearly splutter. Okay, this little prank of his was getting kind of out of hand. You hope he's joking. You merely let out a chaste laugh and shake your head. "Whatever man."
You get up from the toilet and head to the tub, pushing aside the yellow shower curtain and busying yourself with getting a fast stream of hot water underway. The water sloshes against the bottom surface of the tub and laps against the ceramic sides. You thrust your fingers into the jet stream, adjusting the temperature as necessary until the heat is just right. You back away from the tub and turn around, taking a seat on the edge. You stare across at Gamzee who's still looking at himself in the mirror as he cards his fingers through the wiry mess of his hair. His claws come back stained purple.
"Fuck," he stares down at his digits, rubbing his bloody fingertips together. You chuckle under your breath. He looks reminiscent of an Italian stereotype. You then realize your complete failure in masking your laughter, because when you focus your attention on Gamzee again, you find that he's staring at you. You straighten yourself and begin tapping your foot nervously against the floor.
"So…" you speak up, your voice trailing away. You avert your eyes to the ground, eyes following the dark brown grout lines running in between the marble tiles. The rumbling sound of the tub water serves as white noise in the background. The steam from the water begins to billow from the surface, coiling pleasantly along your back, warm and balmy like a sauna, even though you've never actually been in one before. You suppose your gym's shower room is as close to a sauna experience as you're ever going to get. Despite the enveloping warmth, you shiver.
"You…what are you?" You immediately shut your mouth, realizing the absurdity of your question. Great, now he's going to think you're one incredibly rude kid with no sense of personal boundaries. Just fantastic. Oh well, no sense in beating yourself up, it's not like you can turn back time and stop yourself from being incredibly stupid, although that would be pretty awesome in retrospect. You guess you'll just have to sit here and hope he decides to overlook your foolishness and answer your question anyway.
Gamzee shuffles his body around until he's completely facing you, the left side of his hip leaning against the sink counter. You really can't get around the way he carries himself, all slouched and lazy, languid even, but you can pretty much say that about his entire existence. His speech, his appearance and the way he smiles—it's actually sort of creepy, now that you think about it, but it all has this idle feel to it. He looks like a clown on crack. A lazy grin slowly crawls across his face, serrated teeth poking out from the barrier of his lips.
"I think I should be asking you that question, motherfucker," he drawls out nice and slow, like he's taking his time.
"But…" you say quietly. You close your eyes and sigh. As you thought, this is stupid. This isn't a sci-fi movie, you're not going to get anywhere by asking something that makes no sense at all. How could you have even assumed he wasn't human to begin with? What in the world made you jump on the alien-bandwagon so quickly? Yeah, his blood color is a little odd and his horns look a bit threatening, but maybe he has a condition or something? That's certainly possible. It's like when you venture into the weird part of YouTube and end up watching all those medical anomalies in the suggestions' box. Some of them seem so unreal, but most of them are actually rare and unfortunate medical conditions. If someone can cry red colored tears, then you're pretty sure purple blood is not very far off the mark.
You flash Gamzee a quick smile while you twist around and turn off the water. The tub is filled up at least ¾ of the way and looks very, very tempting.
"Bath's ready," you say to him as you heave yourself up and take a seat on the closed toilet lid. For a second, he just continues to stand where he is, looking from the tub, then back at you, and then back to the tub, and finally back at you. A light bulb suddenly flashes across your brain—privacy! You get up in a flurry and say rather quickly, "Shit, I'm sorry. I mean, I was just thinking that maybe you couldn't bathe yourself on account of your injuries, and I don't really want to leave you alone, because what if something bad happens- ."
"Nah, you can all up and stay little man, don't bother me none," Gamzee interjects. He squints his eyes and looks at the bathtub, then points at it. "That fuckin' thing with the water is a bath right?"
"It's a bathtub, but yeah…wait, how can you not know this?" you stare astounded at him. He's doing it again. He's making you think he's not from this world at all. Oh god, what if he isn't? No! Stupid! If you weren't into all this paranormal stuff, maybe your brain would have dropped the subject already. This train of thought is now completely restricted from entering your brain!
"On my planet, we call them ablution traps."
Okay, screw the restriction, what in the actual… You were expecting him to say something along the lines of "in my country", but now he's thrown you a curve ball.
"What?" you almost yell out, causing Gamzee to flinch.
"What," he repeats, his shoulders slouching.
"Wait, wait, wait," you say rather quickly, staring down at your hands, because staring at Gamzee right now is not something you want to do. Your thoughts are racing. "Did you just say you…are you? What's happening?"
He blinks his eyes at you and tilts his head, picking at his teeth with pointed nails. "You ok?" he asks with a mouth full of grubby fingers.
"You just said 'my planet', which I assume means that you're not from this one!" you say a little louder. Holy crap, you can hazard a guess that you're about to get hysterical in a few minutes. This is just…you don't even know.
"Mmhm, sounds 'bout right," Gamzee nods his head. He takes his fingers out of his mouth and begins to lick them clean, but now the runny purple goop is smeared all around his mouth and that's… that's a little gross, you have to admit. You take a step closer towards him. Your legs are beginning to ache in what you can only assume is adrenaline. You can practically feel your heart beating madly in your chest like a beating drum.
"So this isn't all costume makeup?" you gesture at him. "Those are real?" You point at his horns. He nods. "And those?" His eyes and teeth. He nods again. "And…those?" His claws. He raises his arm and wriggles his fingers at you. "You're an alien?" He looks at you for a split second, eyes narrowed and thin as he squints them, but then gives a curt nod.
"I feel like little Red Riding Hood," you mutter to yourself, your eyes growing wide.
"What?"
"I mean, I always assumed that you were maybe not from Earth or something, but then that's stupid right? Aliens don't exist, that only happens in movies and books and stuff, it's simply retarded to even come to that conclusion, but now, I don't even know what to think. You could be lying, but it all fits! Your weird blood color and those things on your head!" You stare up at his towering form, and you suddenly realize just how short you are compared to him. You're weak. Assuming he's a legit alien from outer space, your frail human body just can't compete. You don't have incredibly sharp horns that look like they could pierce through anything they come in contact with; you don't have Piranha teeth or wicked looked talons that can tear through even the toughest of flesh. Why are you so blunt and nubby?
"I can't believe this," you say quietly to him, a strange sort of seriousness taking over you. He merely stares at you and shrugs his shoulders.
"Whatever man," he says with a light smile. "I'm all gonna' get in that motherfuckin miracle water over there. Feelin kinda weird."
"O-oh! Yeah! Yeah," you agree with him. All this time you were having an inner war with yourself and here he was hurting and leaking blood like a faucet. How insensitive of you.
You entire body feels numb as you guide him towards the tub and stand beside him, looking down into the clear water. This is a lot to take in, even though you still can't make any sense of all this new information. Your mind can't process anything right now.
"You need help?" you offer.
"m'fine," he grunts as he begins to tug his shirt off. So even male aliens take off their shirts the same way human males do, assuming he's an alien of course. He could be pulling your leg, you can't tell with him, but then again, there's something that's telling you he's not fibbing. You don't sense any sort of deceit coming from him, it's quite the opposite in fact.
You can't help but watch as he slowly guides his shirt over his head, and finally, over his horns. The skin underneath the shirt is as grey as his face and limbs. Despite how lanky and thin he looks, he actually has some muscle tone on his body. His shoulders are broad and his stomach is lean, and the tough grey skin that's not littered with bruises and cuts looks eerily smooth, almost like the surface of a flat stone or pebble. You don't bother looking at him when he gets to his pants. You swiftly turn around and stare at the bathroom wall.
You hear the shuffle of his clothing as it hits the ground. You wait a few moments more until you feel it's safe enough to ask, "You need any help?" The sound of him lowering himself into the water is your cue to turn back around. He lets out a small hiss of pain when he manages to finally sit down, fangs clenched in agony as the hot water washes over his open wounds. The water comes up to mid-torso and the liquid around him is already turning a light violet because of his blood. He wades in the water, all still and silent, the steam rising all around him and flushing his skin a faint dark purple. You can't see through the water anymore, which is a good thing! You don't want to be looking at any alien bits, right?
You shuffle your way over to the tub and grab a towel, unfolding it along the floor. You take a seat and lean against the rim of the bathtub, the end of your shirt sleeve beginning to dampen.
"Are you sure you're not lying?" you begin, your voice echoing about the bathroom. He slightly pivots his head and grins tiredly at you.
"I fuckin' swear," he says with the most blissed out voice imaginable while giving you a half-assed salute. You shirk away from him. He must be really enjoying that bath now. His eyes are heavily lidded and his cheeks are flushed purple, or from what you can tell anyway. He still hasn't cleaned his face yet. Besides that, you're glad he no longer seems to be in pain.
"Hey, aren't you going to clean yourself with soap or something?" you ask him. Though most of the blood is washed away from his lower body, his upper still has a lot of open wounds that need rinsing. He looks a right mess and all you want to do is grab a cup and splash him with some water, or disinfectant.
"It fuckin hurts to move," he says with a gruff voice. He shifts about in the water until you see the tip of his knee poking out from the surface. He mutters a quiet, "and what the fuck is soap."
"Oh," you merely say. You smile, all protruding buckteeth and pink gums. "I can help then!"
"That'd be way fuckin nice of you bro, way fuckin nice," he responds, giving you an appreciative wink in thanks. You quickly get up from the floor and trudge your way over to the sink. You know there's an old plastic Pokémon cup below the sink from when your Dad used to wash your hair when you were a little tyke. You grab it and then head back towards the tub, taking a seat again.
"You might wanna' tilt your head back," you warn him, scooping up a cup of purple tinged water. He heeds your warning and tilts his head back as far as he can go without losing balance and falling backwards. You tilt the cup and watch as the water pours down onto his head, quickly soaking through the dense black curls that coil about his face like stringy snakes. Even more blood washes down from his scalp, little streams of purple trialing down his body until it merges with the water. You repeat this motion until his head is thoroughly soaked and most of his upper torso is clean. You realize that his face is going to need a very thorough scrubbing, but you're a bit wary of those teeth. After all, he did bite you earlier. You're going to have to change your own bandages right after you get him cleaned up.
"Do you mind?" you ask him, silently asking permission to touch his person. You'll wait to scrub his face later; right now you need to shampoo his hair. Is it even safe for aliens to use shampoo anyway? Your mind shouts at you, stop jumping to ridiculous conclusions! He's probably not even an alien akfjslfjsdkds!
Gamzee looks at you from his peripheral. "You can all up and do whatever the fuck you want, just don't mess with the horns."
You blink at him. "Aww man, why? They're so cool looking! Can't I just feel them for a second, real quick?"
"Nah," he quips, looking away from you.
"It'll convince me you're an alien if you let me touch 'em," you plead with him, zeroing in on his horns. Close up, you see that his horns are actually very textured and porous, and also lethally sharp. They're about an inch and a half thick and are tapered into a fine needle point at the top. They really do look like candy corn! What a strange color for horns. He also doesn't seem to be wearing any headband of some sort, like most costume horns would have. Maybe he is telling the truth.
"No can do," he sing-songs, flicking the surface of the water with a clawed finger. You frown at him.
"Whatever, I'm gonna' shampoo your hair now okay," you tell him, slightly disappointed. You reach for a bottle of Head and Shoulders and quickly uncap the small lid. You pour a very generous amount into the palm of your hand and try to keep the substance from spilling over. "Head back please." He tilts his head backwards, strands of wet hair clinging to his forehead. You look at him nervously. "You're not gonna' bite me again, right? I'm still gonna' have all ten fingers by the end of this?"
He doesn't respond to this, so, throwing all caution to the wind, you use your free hand to gently reach over and brush Gamzee's hair back so that none of it is in his face, and then, with your other hand, you softly palm the shampoo onto his head, ever mindful of his horns. His hair feels incredibly thick, even when damp. Your finger nails keep on snagging at his hair, which in turn makes you extremely nervous because you don't want to surprise him with pain—he's already had enough of that for today and you're not quite sure how he'll react this time. For all you know, he might maul your whole hand off. You work the shampoo into a light and foamy lather, white bubbles quickly dominating the majority of his hair. You lightly scratch at his scalp, your fingers flaking away with bits of purple wedged underneath your blunt nails. You grimace down at him, but his eyes are closed so he doesn't catch your glower.
You continue scrubbing at his scalp, massaging wayward strands of hair covered in blood and oil and caked on mud. It's when you brush against something hidden within the depths of his hair, that you pull your hands away. It kind of felt like ear cartilage, but the shape is all wrong!
"Dude," you mumble to yourself and part a particularly dense patch of hair, revealing a grey ear that looks like…well… "Are you an elf?"
"The fuck is that?" he asks drearily.
"Your ear is pointed!" you tell him excitedly, tucking away another strand of curly black hair, and sure enough, his ear is indeed pointed. It's at least two inches longer than your own ear, but instead of having a rounded curve, his ear is tapered into a smoothed point like an elf's. "Don't tell me you live on planet Middle Earth. Oh man, that would be so fucking awesome. Can you walk into Mordor there?"
"What in the motherfuck are all these magical words you're speakin', brother?" he questions you as he cracks one eye open.
"Hey," you whisper at him, completely disregarding his question. You lean in towards him, eyes alight with curiosity. "Can I touch them?"
"Get your feel on little man," he says with a shrug, closing his eyes once more. You were kind of expecting a little more reluctance on his part, but you guess maybe his ears aren't as important as his horns, or however that works. You eagerly get your fingers near his hair again, brushing away wet strands as you gently place your thumb and forefinger at the very tip of his ear. The flesh there is a little rougher than a human's ear. You then firmly tug at his ear, and when it doesn't pull away or fall off and remains in place just like any normal ear would, you flip out. You snatch your hands away and nearly shout out, "It's real!"
You must have done something wrong, because Gamzee flinches so hard that he snaps his head back up, foam covered hair falling over his eyes, and it's in this moment when he hisses and clenches his eyes shut, a low grumble trebling from his throat. There's shampoo in his eyes, foamy suds sticking to his eyelashes. Your stomach jumps into your throat. Oh no.
"FUCK," he snarls, frantically rubbing at his eyes. This doesn't seem to alleviate any of the alien's pain, because Gamzee's snarls and growls are growing louder by the second.
"Wait, wait! Stop moving, I can flush it out," you yell over his sneers and jeers. You sit up on your knees and lean over the rim of the bathtub, assessing the situation. You desperately try to gain control, but with him flailing around, you can't really pin point a place on his body to hold onto. You don't even have time to realize that your hand has accidently wrapped around something akin to a spindly horn, and then, your face feels like it's on fucking fire.
You jerk yourself away, falling backwards and landing on your backside. You let out a small hiss of pain as a heat surge flares up your spine. You're sitting on the bathroom floor now, knees bent and hands placed flat on the ground behind you. The entire left side of your face is throbbing and stinging and you fight the urge to cry, because holy f u c k it hurts. It hurts so, so bad. It feels like someone just sliced your skin open and spritzed it with a mixture of rubbing alcohol and lemon juice. You screw your eyes shut and grit your teeth, stamping your feet repeatedly against the tiled floor as another surge of pain lights up your face like fire.
You don't even realize you're whimpering pathetically, tiny sobs escaping your throat as you feel a warm trail of liquid seeping down your neck. You look down and find that your blood is starting to stain the collar of your shirt, and god, there's so much of it. Did he slice your face off or something?
All is quiet in the bathroom save for your pained moans. Gamzee is silent, now cloaked behind the shower curtain. He doesn't make a sound, nor does he move. You shakily place your hand to your face, biting your lip when it does nothing but make your entire face pulsate. Your hand comes back sticky with bright red blood.
You flinch as the sound of rippling water echoes across the bathroom, and you can only watch as Gamzee's black talons curl around the shower curtain, effectively sliding it aside. He slowly turns his head and stares at you, his eyes completely blood shot, but instead of red veins streaking across his sclera, they're the color purple. He looks like he's completely out of it. You can tell he's trying to focus his attention on you, but there's something there that keeps him from maintaining that focus. When he starts making these horrible clicking sounds, garbled syllables catching at the back of his throat, you make your decision. You're losing a lot of blood fast and you can feel the beginnings of a panic attack looming over you.
It doesn't take you long to book it out of there.
Next Chapter: John's plan quickly falls to pieces.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you caaaan. :D