The breeze felt so nice on their hot foreheads, threading every which way through their clothing and hair, gentle in its caressing and loving in its feeling. This was John's breeze. This was John's breeze, but the world was his and Rose and Dave and Jade's too.
This was the world that the kids had created from their session, and there was nothing but the word "beautiful" to describe it.
They had done it though, despite all the odds they had faced, the kids had somehow pulled through and beat their game. Even with Bec Noir and his impossible god-moding, even with all their timelines getting scrambled, even with the black screens and viewports that revealed nothing but grimdarkness and desolation for the longest time.
Indeed, they had done it, and this was their world.
Taking a look around, it was easy to find characteristics of each of the kids.
The playful and whimsical breeze was John's; the tenably magical aura in the air was Rose's; the soft, musical quality pervading through the comfortable heat was Dave's; and the softly glowing grass and thick, tropical forests were Jade's.
But they weren't alone on their new galaxy. The trolls were there too.
And now, standing before the circle of eleven—just like the number of corpses, but—Karkat still couldn't really believe it. All of them looked a little stunned, as if they weren't sure what was happening before they woke up to realize they were standing up. They had all woken up, none crazy, none dead, none delirious. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps, but very, very, very much alive.
Next to him, John was looking at him with a peculiar, curious expression. The troll only saw it out of his peripheral vision, but it was enough. He squeezed the warm hand in his, pale and pink against his own, and turned his head into the boy's shoulder. For a long time, he just stood there with his eyes clenched and hand shaking ever-so slightly.
They were back, all of them. His friends, his enemies, his everything. They were all back.
The human applied comforting pressure against his hand and patted him slightly on the shoulder.
"Hey…. It's okay. You can cry. Everything's okay now. Everything's okay."
A grey, clawed hand came up to grasp the Heir's blue shirt, crumpling the symbol on it, and he pulled himself closer to the other. Instinctively, John turned and let the troll bury his face into the crook of his neck, his arms going protectively around his shoulders. He felt warm wetness trickle down his neck, and pushed his face into the troll's hair, trying his best to hide the trails going down his cheeks as well.
It had been a long dayweekmonth for them. They were tired.
But it was all over now.
And everything was okay.
"Okay, shit, this isn't the right bubble either. Hang on, I'm sure it's around here somewhere."
"Karkat! Hurry up already! Geez, at this rate, I'll wake up before we get anywhere. What's so important about this 'one dream bubble' anyway? Stop being so secretive about it already!"
"Calm your shit down, will you, John? Just be patient and follow me. Jesus fuck."
The boy rolled his eyes and sighed, floating out of their current bubble and into another one.
It was a peculiar bubble, with dark, muted colors that reminded him of the olden days. Like the days he never saw except in old movies that were okay, not that bad, but Rose, can we please watch Con Air now?
Someone was sitting in a large, formidable looking chair, though John could only make out the vague silhouette of the person/troll. He squinted and frowned, but Karkat gestured for him to shut up before he even started talking.
The troll cleared his throat nervously and stepped forward. Alerted by his new visitors, the figure turned his head slightly to see who it was. Then, he stood up from his chair, and all John could think about was, Wow. He's really big and tall.
There was something incredibly familiar about him though, despite not being able to put his finger quite on it. The other troll—because there was no doubt that it was a troll now—had scars running up and down his arms, and even his face, but it was that face that was suspiciously familiar. John's bespectacled eyes wandered up to the top of the troll's head. Two nubby horns.
He glanced uselessly back at Karkat, who had taken up looking at the floor with a red flush on his cheeks.
Wait. John did a double-take. Nubby horns? He opened his mouth to speak, but the older troll beat him to it.
"So this is the little pink monkey you were telling me about, Karkat?" the deep baritone rumbled across the bubble, making John feel like every bone in his body was vibrating.
He swallowed nervously, suddenly realizing just how small he was compared to the grown troll. The guy was easily two or so meters taller than him, and his shoulders were at least thrice as wide as his. Things got even worse when the aged, wise eyes slowly slid from the silent, adolescent troll to him. The heavy gaze settled, unnerving the poor boy more and more, until he was forced to adopt the same action Karkat was enrolled in.
A soft, amused chuckle broke the silence of the awkward stare-off. "He's a pretty cute looking fucker, isn't he?"
John couldn't believe how much more uncomfortable things got, but Karkat beat him to it.
"Oh my god, Dad! Could you stop with the fucking creepy creeper act for five minutes? It's the first fucking time you've met him and you're already saying weird things!" He started flailing and, like Dave described it, "doing fucking acrobatic pirouettes off the handle." It wasn't until the older troll (Whoa, what? Did Karkat just call this guy "Dad"? John thought, his mouth completely hanging open.) punched the younger one in the shoulder ("Fuck, Dad, that fucking hurt! Keep your goddamned punches to yourself!") that he stopped acting ridiculous.
"Well, why don't you introduce us to each other then, you little fuckass?"
"I was getting to it, before you went creeper mode on u—ow! Okay, fuck, I'm introducing already! Jesus fuck!" Karkat turned back to John with a clearly embarrassed expression and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the elder troll. "John—this is my dad. Remember… remember the stuff about our ancestors I told you about? He's The Sufferer, and my Dad.
"Dad, John Egbert. Stop being a fucking creeper to him. You're freaking him out," he said briefly and angrily to his father.
It took a second for the Heir to recollect himself and try to process everything that was happening. Finally, when he found his voice again, he stammered, "N-Nice to meet you, Mr. Vantas!"
"Nice to meet you too, kid. You have no idea how much Karkat has been telling me about you for the past few—"
"AaaaAAAUUUUGH, OKAY, THAT'S ENOUGH SHOW AND TELL FOR NOW, CAN WE PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP?" the smaller troll began to flounder around again.
Despite himself, John let out a goofy little laugh, hiding his mirth behind a loosely clenched fist. This earned a glare from his matesprit/boyfriend, but he didn't mind. Karkat was always amusing when he was flipping shit over, which was basically always.
Mr. Vantas began to ruffle Karkat's hair playfully, intimidating grin on his face (though John was sure it was meant to be good-humored) and chest puffing out proudly. Even with how Karkat was acting, he had a feeling that he loved his dad too. Their interaction made it clear enough, at least. The larger troll leaned down roughly to Karkat's level and poked the teen in the cheeks a few times before murmuring something which made the youth still, blink hard, and look away quickly.
John wasn't able to catch it, and no matter how many times he asked and bugged and him about it, Karkat wouldn't tell him and shoved him off.
But in a way, John didn't have to ask. Deep in his heart, he already knew what it was, because they were the same words that his dad had once given to him. And words like those didn't need to be repeated, but once, or perhaps never, because it was words like those that father and son would be able to understand, even without them being spoken aloud.
They were simple, plain, and unadorned, but they did their job well. To Karkat—and to John—all that mattered was that they knew, and that was the end of it.
Because when it all boiled down, it was the end, and everything was okay.
And when the note was read, or the hand removed from his hair, the only words that counted and echoed and remained were still there, loud and clear.
Son. I am so, so proud of you.
And that was all that mattered.