Blues - Chapter Four

Dad’s gone to bed and left you with your cousin, Jane, to sit at the dinner table in comfortable silence. For an infamous pair of pranksters, it never ceases to amaze you that you can sit in total silence. You’re holding a cup of coffee in your hands, and your cousin is doing the same, though neither of you are actually drinking it. Coffee was never really a drink you enjoyed, and instead it’s more of a means to an end: you need to stay awake to make sure Dad is okay.

“Times have really changed, eh?” You say quietly after a moment, and your cousin looks at you for a moment, a little surprised you spoke, before nodding and looking off to the side. She’s normally such a happy-go-lucky young woman, and frankly you’d rather see her baking than like this; she’s quiet and the look in her eyes is something you don’t want to see. “He took care of us for so long on his own and now we’re staying up to make sure he doesn’t need to be taken to the hospital like…” You trail off, a cold shudder reverberating through your body. You can still remember the terror that gripped your entire person that night.

You’re sound asleep when a violent coughing sounds from across the hall. Your groggy mind tries to push it away, rationalising it as your father just clearing his throat, but as your bleary eyes open, you know something’s awry: even when sick, he’s never woken you up by clearing his throat. You turn onto your side, staring at your closed door. You want to check on him, but you don’t want to embarrass him by worrying too much; he still has his pride.

Still, you feel as though you’re obligated to check on him; he’s your dad and you love him, even if his obsession with baking and shaving cream borders on the insane. You push your warm covers off you and fumble for your glasses on the nightstand. You didn’t like the nightstand your father bought after you moved out; it was too tall and you always hit your elbow on it.

Regardless, tonight you’re slightly less clumsy and you find your glasses before the blasted piece of furniture falls to the ground. Ignoring it, you make your way to your door, finding the other room across the way to be eerily quiet. You want to go back to bed; you’re tired and your dad is probably fine. Probably. But you don’t know, so you open your door, dearly hoping you find him sound asleep.

You open your door, the cool air of the hallway assaulting your boxers and t-shirt clad body, and you shiver a bit; the winter’s always been cold, and though you love the snow, there’s no fun to be had so late at night when dad’s unwell. Thus you step across the hall and knock on the door, offering a meek “Dad…? Everything alright?” You wait a minute, but receive no response. Your heart is beginning to pound in your chest, and your hands are becoming clammy with a cold sweat.

You hate this; you hate that dad’s sick; it makes you worry and you don’t want to imagine him dead, but you know it could happen. With a clammy hand, you turn the knob and open his door. ‘Please be okay,’ you plead silently looking directly at the floor. The curtains are half drawn, allowing the moonlight into the spacious room, on one side of the entrance a wardrobe sits and the other a safe. On the far side of the room, you see it.

It’s dark and you can’t fully make out what you’re looking at, but you quickly realise the horrors of the situation at hand. Halfway fallen out of bed and collapsed in a puddle of blood and vomit, your father wheezes weakly, his eyes, full of panic and fear as he sees you, growing all the wider. He tries to whisper something, but it only comes out as indistinguishable gibberish. “DAD!” You scream miserably as you hurry to his side, pulling his head out of the disgusting pile. Vomit-stained blood has matted half his head, and his black haired, streaked with grey, is slick to the touch. “Jane!” You call out, “JANE!”

You can hear a door being thrown open down the hall and the hurried footsteps of your cousin, though you feel as though you’re already too late. He’s so cold in your arms, and so still too. You’re shaking with your own panic as your mind flashes with the scene of dad’s funeral. You try to push it out of your head as you slowly pull him out of bed, dragging him away from the mess on the floor. Jane is behind you, her black hair tangled and messy from sleep as she puts her phone to her ear: “Hi, 911? I need an ambulance right now! My uncle… Please!” You can hear her voice crack as she gives them his address.

All you can do is wait for the paramedics to come as your father slips away in your hands.

It was a close call that night; the doctors at the hospital had explained to you that, had you waited any longer, he likely would have died. “Hey,” Jane says quietly, breaking you out of your morose memory, “Don’t beat yourself up over it, he’s okay now, right?” She places a hand on yours, and you smile at her. She really was your confidant; she never judged and always listened.

The silence that falls in the room is once more interrupted, however this time by the vibration of your phone in your pocket. Removing the device, you see the name ‘Karkat Vantas’ with the options to accept or deny the call below. You figure it’s probably about work and that’s the last thing you want to talk about, but Karkat’s an old friend, so you give him the benefit of the doubt, “Sorry Jane, one second here,” you say bashfully as your rise and answer the call: “Hello?”

“John, you bulge sniffing fuck, get your ass to my apartment ASAP, your god commands it!” Karkat always loved calling himself a god, mostly because you called him cute the first time you met. You couldn’t help it! You hadn’t seen anything more adorable than a guy so angry and loud be so… small! You were no giant yourself, but damn, he was small back then! At least he’s grown since then, but you and he are only the same height and he’s a year older than you.

He’s already rambling about how you can’t leave him alone with Gamzee, but you’ve already made up your mind: “I’m sorry, Karkat!” You say as animatedly as possible, though you know he can tell when you’re faking positivity, “Dad had a rough day and I just want to make sure he’s okay…” You fumbled with the hem of your shirt, and you can see Jane rising to her feet, slowly walking over to you.

He’s grumbling to someone else, though you’re pretty sure it’s Gamzee, “John I am not giving you an option! You are running yourself into your grave with all this working and worrying!” Karkat pauses for a moment, “I’m not burying another friend, okay? So get your ass here!” You feel your throat clench up at that. It was so easy to forget that other people lost loved ones too, but you know your place is here, keeping tabs on your family.

“John,” Jane says, suddenly next to you, and you jump in surprise, “Go see Karkat, I’ll make sure Dad’s okay.” You’re already opening your mouth to dispute her point, but she’s grabbed your phone and is now holding you away with one arm as she speaks to your irritable friend: “Hey Karkat! It’s Jane, long time, eh?” She pauses for a moment, examining the nails on the hand she’s holding you back with, “Oh you know it!” Jane laughs lightly, slowly lowering her hand and letting you stand there, “You got it, he’ll be there right away! Bye!” With that she’s ended the call and left your decision entirely ignored.

~*~

“FEFERI GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY APARTMENT BEFORE I SHOVE A-“ The furious voice of Karkat is abruptly overpowered by one with an overbearing loud lisp.

The new voice seems just as angry, but somehow much more pathetic and the owner subsequently appears to be harder to like, “You will not speak to her like that, you wapscallion!”

“Y’all motherfuckers need to just calm down and slam a-“

“NO MORE FAYGO TALK YOU PIECE OF JUGGALO SHIT.”

“Harsh, bro.”

“What’s the glubbin’ matter, Carpkat?! I just wanted to play with your fishies!” A female voice whines. She seems adorable, but in a manner that implies she may die in a very unjust fashion.

You’re John Egbert, and you’re quickly remembering why you don’t hang out with Karkat. He has strange friends with very strange demeanors that just weird you out half the time. “You were fondling my shower curtain! Out! Both of you!” Karkat screams like the hysteric little shrew he can be. You can’t deny that you, and likely the rest of your shared friend circle, find it hilarious.

As you go to ring the doorbell, the door before you swings open, and before you is a furious looking, though dapperly dressed loser. Garbed in a pair of black dress slacks, an equally dark dress shirt and a violet vest, he could almost pass for having a great sense of style, if not for the atrociously hipster-esque frames that sat on his pointed nose. “Eridan?” You question, feigning ignorance to the little spat he, Feferi and Karkat were having.

As if on cue, Feferi appears at his side, her tall figure garbed in what appeared to be a dress made up of pastel ones long since shredded up. You had always liked the weird fish-obsessed girl, if only because her puns never stopped. “John!” She practically glubs. Whatever that is. “Karkat is being a whale of a tool! I think it’s because he’s trying to make a good impression on his new friend.”

Eridan snorts derisively, “The guy’s a douche, wave of conceit, I’m telling you!” His female companion paps him lightly on the shoulder before ushering him out the door, “See you around, Egbert,” he says passively, though you receive an eager and adorable wave from Feferi, which you return to your best degree, though Eridan’s leering daggers at you for your equally dweeby send off.

“Glub- I mean, bye John! We’ll shorely see each other soon!” With that, the two of them are practically prancing down the stairs, arms linked. Eridan seems to loathe the experience, but you and he both know quite well he can’t ever say no to Feferi.

Deciding to just… walk into Karkat’s apartment instead of calling out for him and calling down a storm of haranguing questions with relation to why you haven’t been around recently. Quietly closing it behind you, you can hear your angry friend and another voice as well, one that you don’t immediately recognise.

Karkat’s apartment has a strange layout; you enter into the kitchen, and the living room’s in another closed room. You’re pretty sure he bought it for the sheer fact to spite anyone who came over to visit; he’s a bit of a weird guy, but you still like it. Still, being his boss is tough, and you feel as though you’ve drifted apart. In fact, you’re sure that’s the case for all your work friends; you’ve been so busy working and getting promoted you’ve put yourself above everyone like Jade and Karkat.

It’s not fair, but you know you have no one to blame but yourself: you did this, it’s your fault you’re not close to your friends anymore. You did it. Sucking in a sharp breath of anger, you expel it after a pause and move through the filthy kitchen before placing yourself in front of another closed door. You could still leave, go home, maybe even to your own apartment, but you don’t spend a lot of time there anymore. You’re mostly between work and your dad’s house, and even though it’s selfish of you, you could use a friend to help you unwind.

Placing your hand on the brass doorknob, you turn it slowly before pushing the door inward, revealing the dark, crowded interior of Karkat’s living room. An oversized couch was placed in the centre, facing a fifty inch television you had sold him at work that he also used as a computer monitor. Scattered across its stand were gaming consoles, energy drink cans, emptied Dorito bags and other unhealthy gaming supplies to keep the wiry rascal up for hours.

On the left side of the room was a desk with his laptop, which was currently closed, placed atop its dirty surface. He only used it for writing what you suspected were romantic stories of the most shamefully hilarious degree, though you could never be sure since he’s never let you see.

Taking a look around the room, you’re finally noticed by one of its three inhabitants. This specific individual was sprawled across a desk chair, which had been pulled up to the couch, and his lanky body was awkwardly slung over both arms. He looked a bit like some sort of macabre clown due to the absurd makeup he wore. However anyone who knew Gamzee would know better than to call it makeup, it was clearly ‘war makeup of the most righteous of subjugglators,’ whatever the hell that meant. “Oh my motherfuckin’ subjugglating gods,” he says in a hushed, ominous whisper as he stares at you with wide eyes, “It’s that motherfucker John!”

It’s only then that you notice the pungent smell of marijuana, and though you’re not exactly surprised, you are when you see who the ‘most pure of buds’ is being shared with. Lounging on the couch with his arms folded behind his head and a leg loosely crossed over the other. A pair of aviators sits upon his face as he eyes you with an inscrutably impressive poker face before offering a casual wave with a hand under his head, “Yo John, fancy seeing you here.”

“About fucking god damned time you got here!” A third, though strangely amused sounding voice resonates from the space between the TV stand and the couch. Karkat sits up, looking at you with a strangely downplayed anger in his visage. You know that look, even if you’ve only rarely seen it: he feels hurt, though he’ll never say it around anyone else. “Had I known you were going to take this long I wouldn’t have let Gamzee break in. Do you know what kind of a nook-swaddling bulge sniffer he is when you’re alone with him!?”

Your lips turn upward in a tired and embarrassed grin, closing the door behind you. “You need to calm yourself down best friend, you’re all in my face about nooks and bulges, it’s harshin’ my mellow!” Gamzee soothes his best friend expertly, handing him an obscenely shaped bong. You’ve always hated that thing; it makes you uncomfortable just to hold, let alone touch.

“Sorry guys, dad wasn’t feeling too good and I-“ You’re abruptly cut off by Karkat who’s swaying on his feet, bong held in hand. If not for the twofold inebriation and foul mouth, you’d say he was cute, but alas, he was drunk, high and a jerk, so you won’t say that.

He shakes his head, “Don’t start on it man, we all got shit family. Kankri’s a piece of shit so wretched not even Gamzee can say nice things about him-“ The aforementioned juggalo goes to contend the point, though he’s silenced with a smack upside the head as Karkat rounds the edge of the couch to stand across from you. “Chill, Egbert. I’m ordering you to sit your ass next to this piece of human garbage in sunglasses and fucking chill,” he drags you by the wrist, plops you down next to dave’s feet, and forces the bong into your hands, which you look at with worry and trepidation.

It’s not as though you’ve never smoked before; being friends with Gamzee pretty much guarantees elicit activities to eventually include you, but you’ve never been fond of the activity. Still… it does help everyone de-stress, and right now that sounds dandy. Bringing the device up to your mouth, you wipe off the makeup – war paint – and inhale. The world around you goes blurry and you feel your lungs sting against the strength of the weird clown’s stash, but you keep your cool, the still silent Strider to your right making you woefully uncomfortable.

You don’t know the guy at all, but here you are doing drugs with him? The things you’ll do to bandage your friendship with a foulmouthed jerk! Nevertheless, the acrid smoke fills your system and you can immediately feel the side effects of the smoke, slowing your breathing after a brief stifling of coughing. You offer the device to the man who’s still sprawled out on two thirds of the couch, awkwardly passing it to him between his spread legs.

‘You awkward twit!’ You scold yourself, angry you’re even doing this with an employee like this. It’s so unprofessional! But… You just don’t really care, right now. “Thanks bro,” his low, melodic voice drifts out from between his parted lips after he inhales. He leans forward, sitting up in the process, growing eerily close to you. You slowly lean away from the encroaching Dave, finding his proximity, scent and stare to be just a little too much as Gamzee’s stash quickly sets in. “So John,” he begins, still sitting far too close for comfort, “How do you know Karkitty?”

You go to answer him, but the rolling of an office chair distracts you as Gamzee comes to hovers next to you in his languid plastic throne, “Ooh, ooh! Can I tell the motherfuckin’ story? It’s so cute man, makes a heart warm.” You merely nod at the weird juggalo who grins widely as he takes the bong from Dave’s hand, inhaling for an absurdly long time before beginning one of your favourite stories. Karkat’s seated against the TV stand, legs stretched out before him as he regards Gamzee suspiciously, his eyes narrowed in mistrust.

“So, back when these little motherfuckers were all up in that bitch middle school,” he begins, spinning his chair and only barely missing you with his feet as he turns, “Best friend here was being himself and decided that he needed to tell his motherfuckin’ teacher how it was.” You groan, loathing the story more and more as the king of stoner regales it to the amused looking Dave. Well, you’re not sure he’s amused… You think the corner of his mouth is turned upward into a smirk? It’s very hard to tell, and it’s very frustrating!

Spinning once more, he hands the bong to Karkat, and you quickly remember their strange way of using it like a talking stick. After taking a healthy hit, the angry man coughs hoarsely for a moment, “Fuck, Gamzee, what is IN this, fibreglass?!” He calms himself with a drink of water from a nearby bottle of water before continuing the story. Dave cants his gaze to the foulmouthed individual, though you can almost feel his heavy gaze flipping to you from time to time. “So I’m telling our bitch teacher how Nepeta’s shipping wall is totally art, and that she’s just too old and fat to realise anything differently. For some reason she took that as an insult and sent me to the principal’s office.”

You slowly start to grin mischievously, quickly not caring how embarrassing the story was about to become, “So I go to the principal’s office, and I take a seat RIGHT ON A GOD DAMNED WHOOPIE CUSHION. Naturally I’m so pissed I swear I was going to shit out blood and slip off the seat like some cuttlefish or whatever the hell Feferi calls them.” Gamzee’s laughing and Dave’s visage is now cracked by a smirk as he looks at you, quickly realising that was your handiwork. You flush with pride, puffing out your chest at the fond memory, “I figure it really couldn’t be anyone else than this dumb dork next to me, and so I start shouting at him that a man as important as I doesn’t have time for his stupid bullshit, but he’s not having it!”

“Karkat up and thought it’d be cool if he decked the prankster, and so he punches him right in the face! Poor dude’s on the ground crying with a bloody nose, and it’s then that his heart grows three times!” Gamzee says in pure awe of the tale. Dave is sitting upright once more, eyeing the juggalo with quirked brows as he continues his story, “Our little angry dude here was all “oh no motherfuckers, I done and decked this cutie!” So he swoops down to console him before he gets all personal and shit with his teen hormones and-“

You grin widely as you stare at Dave, “He kisses me, right as the principal comes out of his office!” You and Gamzee are guffawing with such fervor that you snort, and when hearing such, even Karkat chuckles a bit as he covers his immense blush. Your clown friend tumbles from his spasming perch and is now still laughing on the ground, and for a few minutes the room is engulfed by the deranged laughter of all, even Karkat who silently admits to the hilarity of his actions. “You should’ve seen it Dave! Principal’s standing there while KK here puts the moves on me!”

However your tiny angry friend – well, you call him tiny, even though you two are now the same height as adults- is still covering his face, his blush so prominent that crimson has tinged the tips of his ears. “Oh relax Karkat, we all did embarrassing stuff as kids! Remember when Gam and Tav-“ You feel a hand clamp over your mouth, and it smells suspiciously like cool. Dave is leaning over you with his lanky form half covering you as he shakes his head, still laughing his subdued, cool kid chuckle.

“No more stories or I’m gonna piss myself, Egbert!” He collapses forward as Gamzee tries to get up off the floor, only to bring his former perch, the desk chair, crashing down on his back, causing a random ‘HONK’ to sound from nowhere. “What the fuck, why did no one tell me fuckin’ juggalos exist!?” He’s laughing in earnest, uncaring of the fact that he’s sprawled out on your lap as he watches the stoned clown fail to stand up from under his prison, flailing like a trapped locust.

Evidently they had been hitting up for some time before you arrived, since by the time Karkat has recovered from his embarrassment and hands you the bong, you see its reservoir is dangerously low. Deciding to say ‘fuck it’ to logic, you take three long hits, coughing wildly afterward. Dave’s ceased his uncool laughing as has his arms behind his head, using your thighs as a pillow as he stares up at you coughing, his brows creased. You wave him off, trying to assure him you’re fine.

After your coughing subsides, you lazily pass the phallic bong off to Gamzee who… You’re not sure what he’s doing with it, but admittedly you’re very distracted. The aviator wearing coolkid in your lap, whom you barely know, is just… staring at you. You stare back, and you can hear Karkat make some sort of snide remark, but you can’t seem to shake this uncomfortable feeling. What is it you’re feeling? Why is he so warm?!

You twitch, “I-I have to pee, I’ll be back!” You blurt out quickly and slide out from under Dave before stumbling out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You hurry down the hall toward the washroom, the warmth on your legs never leaving you. It’s comfortable, but at the same time so terrifying.

You’re not sure you’re ready for this.