You start to panic instantly. Karkat's still clinging weakly to your shirt, sure, but how long is that gonna last if he's not breathing? You lay your head down on his chest, listening for his heartbeat - still there, light and fast, but still there, thank god - and feel his chest kind of jerking underneath you. John's on his feet, looking worriedly over your shoulder but you don't hardly notice, you're too focused on trying to get Karkat breathing again, even though you have no idea how to do that, no one ever taught you that CPR shit or whatever you're supposed to do when a motherfucker just up and stops breathing, everyone kind of assumed you were too motherfucking stupid for that shit anyway. And for the first time in your life, you hate them for making that assumption, because if you only knew what to do maybe this wouldn't be so motherfucking terrifying.
Latching on to a desperate hope, you just sit him upright as best you can, even as he shakes and shudders violently in your arms, his rib cage still making that freakish jerking motion. You try patting on the back hard, like you've seen people do when someone's choking, even though you're pretty motherfucking certain he's not choking right now, he hasn't eaten anything solid enough to choke on within the last hour, much less recently enough for anything to really be stuck, but fuck it, it's all you can think to do. John's pestering you, and you hear him vaguely, asking you what's wrong, what's wrong, but you just ignore it. Now ain't the motherfucking time, Karkat's gonna die if he doesn't start breathing again soon -
After another, particularly hard thump on his back, he goes still. You hold your hand back, fearing the worst, and all that runs through your mind is please don't be dead please don't be dead, and then he stiffens, shudders one more time, and this horrible hacking, coughing noise wells up out of him, incessantly, like if that weird, bony thing from that one fantasy movie Karkat keeps getting you to watch but you keep falling asleep halfway through was gargling on rocks and glass. You sort of loosely cling to him, trying to help him as the force of his coughing doubles him over. You sort of vaguely notice that John's been talking, hell, yelling even, but you hadn't noticed, your heart was pounding too hard to hear anything else. His voice is still just background noise to you, cartoonish ambience in a whirlwind of adrenaline and worry.
Several tense seconds that pass like an eternity later, Karkat spits out some god awful looking gunk, and finally, finally takes a huge, gasping breath that sounds more full of boulders than gravel. You don't have much time for relief, however, because right after that first breath he doubles up coughing again, his chest heaving.
You suddenly realize that he was choking after all, on the shit that's been clogging up his lungs and throat, making him breathe funny, and that's all you need to know to start up with thumping him on the back again. And it does seem like it helps, his coughing gets stronger when you do so, and over time there's less hacking and more gasping. When he goes quiet again, he sort of collapses backward against your chest, and his breathing sounds and feels stronger than it has in what feels like a damn long motherfucking time. He swallows hard, and, to your surprise, his eyes flutter weakly open.
He stares at you for a second, looking exhausted and maybe a little bit confused. You stare back, waiting for whatever comes next, not sure what to make of this.
John sort of scoots away from the bed, but you still hardly notice. You sort of forgot that he was here, really.
With a slow, shaky movement, Karkat lifts his hand up and swipes his thumb across your cheek. You don't understand right away, it takes you a motherfucking second to realize there's moisture on your cheeks, and you have no idea how long it's been there. But it's there now, and Karkat's simple gesture somehow unleashed the flood, and next thing you know this wretched sob forces its way out of your throat and you pull him in tight, curling up around him helplessly, your eyes sheltered where his neck meets his shoulder, and all you can do is keep clinging and crying, because fuck if that wasn't the single most terrifying moment of your entire life, and it's over now, and your emotions don't know what the motherfuck to do next.
You feel his hand on the top of your head, sort of petting your hair. He just holds still and lets you break down, and in a way it breaks your heart even more, because you don't know how he can be so gentle and kind when all of this, everything he's been through, is all your motherfucking fault and there's still no changing that.
"I'm s...I'm so motherfucking sorry," you say between harsh sobs. You want to beg him for forgiveness, explain how you got rid of the drugs for good like you always should have done and that's why you were gone for a little while, and you were always gonna come back, and he was right all along, you should've just gotten rid of the shit when you promised to try to quit, and how since you can barely make it through withdrawals from quitting the drugs, there's no way you'd ever survive what would come from him being taken away from you, not like this, but it all comes out as one pitiful, inadequate "sorry." Your mouth won't make the words, you can't even think the words, and you're too distraught to get them out even if you could find them.
You wait for him to push you away, to tell you off, to get pissed like he has every right to be, but it never comes. He just keeps stroking the top of your head, waiting for you to calm down. The rough, painful sound of his breathing is the most motherfucking beautiful sound in the world to you right now.
Gradually, the torrent slows down, and sense trickles back in to take its place. You loosen your grip on him, because he even though you don't want to, even though you never want to let go of him again, ever, he did just fight pretty motherfucking hard to get himself breathing again, and you locking a vise around his rib cage isn't exactly going to make that any motherfucking easier.
You pull back, wiping away the tears as best you can, swearing under your breath between sniffling and gasping. You try and chase away the last of them, and work to catch your breath, and then finally come to terms with the fact that you're just stalling, because you're still afraid to meet his gaze and the anger that's pretty fucking much inevitable. You take one last deep breath, glance up to meet his eyes...
...And...he's smiling. Weakly, true, and he still looks exhausted, but there's not a single trace of anger in his face. You...really don't get it. Why isn't he angry? He should be yelling at you, or shoving you away, but the only noise you can here is his breathing, which is still kinda raspy but at least it's distinguishable from a motherfuckin lawnmower now, and the heater still chugging away.
Nothing. He's...not mad at you.
Wow.
Just then, the power decides it's all finished with its motherfuckin nap, and all the lights turn back on. Right when the danger is probably motherfuckin over, when Karkat's probably gonna be okay, now the power comes on. Ain't that just the motherfuckin way?
"The h-hell is so funny?" Karkat's voice may not be yelling strength, but it's a lot stronger than it has been. He also doesn't sound like he's angry. You really don't get why, but whatever, you can figure that shit out later, when he's got his strength back.
"Figures the power would come back on now," you answer. He cocks an eyebrow. You just laugh and pull him in a little tighter, just glad he's breathing steadily now. Right then, his face splits open in the biggest motherfuckin yawn you have ever seen. Not surprising, really, after that coughing fit, that he'd be worn out. You're pretty damn tired yourself, now that you think about it, but you can sleep later. You ask him if he needs to rest some more, and when he nods, you scoot away from him, letting him pull the covers back up. You're pretty sure he's out before his head hits the pillow.
And then you finally remember that John's still standing in the corner. It's probably a good thing you aren't the motherfucking type to get embarrassed, or else you'd be pink right up to your ears that he was there the whole time. You just wave to him instead, because you really can't think of anything else to do right now.
He waves back awkwardly, and then talks quietly, so Karkat can rest. "So, uh, do we still need an ambulance?"
You glance sideways at Karkat. "Nah, bro, I think he'll be alright now."
You don't think so, not really. It's more of a knowing than a thinking. Yeah. You know that both of you are gonna be alright.
I don't really have much to say, after all that. Partially because I kept forgetting to wrap this up, and I don't really remember what my thoughts were when I finished it. I will say thanks a TON to everyone who stuck with me through this little experiment with second person, and for every supportive comment I got. You guys were great readers! For future reference, one last time, I'm on tumblr with the url blatherkatt, and whenever I have time to write a fanfic again, that'll be where it shows up first! Hope to hear from you again! It was a blast!