Work Header

Tears, Red as Blood

Work Text:

The tears, they fall to the ground.


Fall isn’t a strong enough word. They plummet. They cascade from your cheeks, crumbling the tile below them as they collide with the cheap, white floor of your hive.


The stark white shows the truth of the matter oh, so well.




As red as blood.


Your blood.


Your grief is enwrapped with fear as you observe your tears run along the white. The color stabs your eyes, a hard color you wish to never see, a color you have learned to fear. You hate it.


Your eyebrows furrow. Your agony, your pain, it all only drains into your anger.


Screaming, you punch the tile with your fists.


But it does not crack. You’re not strong enough. The tears do not disappear. They’ve already been lain. They only smudge, spreading wider across the tile.


It is irreversible. It is you .


You are different.


Different, you think, as your teeth are gritted and barren. You snarl.


The tears still fall.


Oh, how the tears fall.





You wish you didn’t cry. But here you are, yet again. You’ve lost them. You’ve lost your friends. You’re to blame. They hate you. It was all up to you. It’s your fault.


They’re gone.


The lack of sopor slime on the meteor only helps to remind you of this. Their ghosts haunt your dreams, torturing you.


Who are you kidding? It’s good you finally understand this. You’re glad you know. That shit was motherfucking poison, anyways.


A sound escapes you. He’s gone too. Maybe not gone , but… gone.


The tears roll down your face. You can only feel them. Your room is so dark that even you can’t see anything, but at least you can’t see yourself like this.


You’re glad you can’t see yourself like this.


All of a sudden, a beam of light in your room reveals the red on your hands. It looks as if it’s soaked in and stained.


You look towards the source in alarm. Your door has been slightly opened, and a figure stands outside of it. A voice sounds, quiet, yet concerned.


“Hey, man, are you okay?”


The door opens wider. You hastily wipe the tears from your face, knowing from experience that it will only smudge them. They will remain like a mark, like a sign. Like a blood stain.


You order him to go away. He doesn’t listen. Of course he doesn’t. He only advances. You hide your face in your hands.


You are startled by the feeling of a hand on your wrist. You almost lash out with your claws, but refrain as soon as you notice how gentle he is being.


It’s unfortunate that you don’t have your voice to defend you. It is your only defense, but now, it is barred by the tightness of your throat.


You let your hands drop, but immediately regret it.


You see your own reflection in the shades: so, so weak. Red streaks your face, and you feel somehow worse than you did a moment ago. It hurts you. You hate it. You hate Dave. You hate everything.


But then, Dave seems to realize what’s going on. He reaches up and removes his shades.


You still see yourself, but…


It’s different.


You see yourself reflected by his own mirror.


His eyes bear the color of your very same blood.


Red. So, so red, against the whites of his eyes.


You feel like you’re staring a hole into his soul, and he likely feels victim to this when he asks, “can you tell me what’s up?”


You feel the anger bubbling in your chest, but then you deflate. You’ve never experienced this much sincerity from anyone in your whole life.


You break the eye contact you’ve been keeping for minutes.


You nod, wiping the tears away.


You fucking hate this.


You hopped into battle to take on an adversary you knew you could kill. You didn’t want to do nothing to help. You’re a warrior. A knight. You can do this.


You saw the little small fry, felty green and so, so awful.


He was going to die. But here you are, having gone at least ten minutes with no luck. Not for you, anyways.


You’re so worthless.


So weak. You deserve to die.


The little guy can’t even kill you. You hate him so, so much.


His foot comes out from underneath him, tripping you straight onto your face. You’re so upset. The dirt gets in your mouth. Tears begin forming. Your world is washed in a blur of red.


But then, a light out of the corner of your eyes. The red tears clouded your vision, the wells of the red liquid giving little room for sight. But the wells did not stop the light, and through the tears shone the telltale sign of hope: a firefly.


You look back at your enemy with newfound confidence. You’re still crying, but now you’re crying with a different reason.


I can do this.


They’re counting on me. I can do this.


The little bastard was so lucky. He had dodged every single one of your hits before now. He had escaped harm completely every single time.


But you’ve got a little fact up your sleeve he wouldn’t know.


Luck doesn’t actually matter.


Fumbling after fumbling. It’s like fumbling is the only thing you’ve ever known. You and he fumble for each other, grabbing for victory, straining for it.


With a scream, you pin him down on his front. He struggles, but does not escape. He’s not strong. You’re able to wrap his limbs up in a rope behind his back. Lifting him up, you tie off the knot as fast as you can, grinning like you’ve never grinned before.


You slam him to the ground.


You shout in victory, fists pumping in the air, and it feels so, so good.


You’ve never felt more proud of yourself in your entire life.



You’re home.


It’s on a Saturday, and you’re brushing your teeth. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s only been two months since the game, and you’re just getting settled into your new Can Town home.


Dave had mirrors put in. You didn’t have them in your hive, and it scares the hell out of you to see yourself sometimes.


Only out of the surprise factor, though.


You turn on the sink to wash out your mouth, when your eyes catch a flash of color.


You freeze.


It’s red.


It’s only a flake of red, just to the left of the pupil on your right eye, but it’s enough. Your eyes are filling in.


Soon, they’re going to look just like Dave’s.


The corner of your mouth twitches up ever so slightly. But then, the door to your ablution block swings open, and whoops, there goes your toothbrush, flying away. A shriek erupts from your mouth.


Dave looks at you in surprise, then smiles. “Holy shit, Karkat, you scream like a girl.”


You tell him to shut the fuck up and to look at your eyes.


He does. His mouth goes slack, mouthing the word “wow.”


You reach up to take his shades off. His red eyes are staring right into yours, appreciation clearly written on his face.


“So they’re going to be red for good, soon, huh?”


You nod your head.


He embraces you all of a sudden, and you feel so grateful to have him. The gratitude and the sudden affection makes your eyes a little bit misty.


“I love you, Karkat.”


You swallow. The red tear falls onto his shoulder.


“I love you too.”