Chapter Text
Karkat Vantas stopped feeling his ribs somewhere around year two.
Not literally. He wasn’t that lucky. He felt them every time he took a hit that rattled his chest, every time he landed wrong, every time he inhaled too deep and the wrong nerve lit up like a faulty streetlamp. But he stopped registering them. Pain was a constant line of noise under everything else, like the city’s electrical hum. Like traffic. Like the faint, ever present whine of emergency sirens in the distance.
Baseline noise.
Tonight’s baseline noise started in his left shoulder and crawled down his arm in a thin numb thread, the kind that reminded him of too many nights sleeping on concrete roofs because getting back to headquarters felt like admitting he needed a bed. His knuckles ached in that old familiar way. His right knee clicked. His throat burned from breathing too hard in cold air. He rolled his shoulders once and let the joint complain.
The Unyielding didn’t get to complain out loud.
He landed on the lip of a rooftop with a soft crunch of gravel and a whisper of cape fabric against tar paper. Downtown spread in front of him like a living circuit board, windows lit in scattered patterns, neon bleeding into wet streets. It had rained earlier. Everything reflected. Everything looked sharper at night, more honest, like the city couldn’t hide its bruises in the dark.
His comm buzzed.
“Okay,” Dave said, in his ear, voice bright with forced casual. “So I’m just gonna say it. You are still alive. That’s sick. That’s, like, very trendsetting of you.”
Karkat snorted and crouched, one hand resting on the roof ledge as he looked down into an alley where someone was doing something that looked suspiciously like a drug deal. It was always a drug deal. Sometimes it was a guy emptying his pockets because he’d dropped his keys. Most of the time it was a drug deal.
He watched long enough to see the “buyer” look up, eyes flicking to the roofline like the city itself had whispered his name. Karkat didn’t move. He didn’t need to. The rumor of him did the job most nights.
The two figures scattered anyway.
“Yeah,” Karkat said. “I’m alive. Congratulations. You want a medal or do you want to shut up and do your job.”
“My job,” Dave said, “is to watch your vitals like an anxious mom with a baby monitor and then tell you you’re fine while quietly Googling ‘how to fix a broken man’ in another tab.”
Karkat started moving again, a smooth run along the rooftop edge, boots finding purchase without thought. The city was a map he’d memorized through repetition. Where the gaps were. Where the weak fences were. Which buildings had security cameras pointed wrong. Which skylights were reinforced.
He didn’t think about it anymore. His body did what it had been trained to do: move, watch, listen, react.
Pain followed. Always. A tight line at his sternum. A dull ache between his shoulder blades. The old bruise in his hip that never fully went away. A faint pressure behind his eyes that felt like holding back a headache with sheer spite.
He treated all of it the same way he treated Dave’s constant running commentary.
Ignore it unless it becomes relevant.
“You’re not my mom,” Karkat said.
“True,” Dave replied. “Your mom would be more supportive. She would also probably not have a wall of monitors dedicated to your dumbass, but like, who’s to say.”
Karkat heard keys. Clicking. The soft scratch of a pen or maybe a stylus. Dave’s voice always sounded like he was reclining even when he was absolutely not.
It was a comforting lie.
Karkat crossed to the next rooftop with a short leap, cape snapping behind him. His landing sent a jolt up his legs. His knee clicked again.
“Status,” Karkat said. He didn’t bother hiding the impatience. Patrol rhythm meant check ins, and check ins meant Dave giving him information he could use and Karkat pretending he didn’t need it.
It was their entire friendship, basically.
Dave made a sound like he was swallowing a joke. “Status. Uh. You’re normal levels of horrifying.”
“I mean the city.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dave said. “I’m choosing violence.”
Karkat rolled his eyes and kept moving. The wind cut along the rooftops, tugging at his cape, biting at his cheeks. He could smell wet asphalt, distant exhaust, the faint metallic tang that always came with rain.
Dave sighed, then his voice shifted, slipping into something more focused. “Okay. City. Scanner chatter is medium spicy. Nothing huge. Small stuff. Petty crimes, normal creeps, guy tried to steal a scooter, got bodied by an old woman, that’s honestly iconic.”
Karkat huffed. “Good for her.”
“Anyway,” Dave continued, “there’s a pattern forming in the east grid. Power fluctuations. Minor at first, like someone’s testing the water. But the timing is… familiar.”
Karkat’s jaw tightened without him asking it to. His stomach did that thing it always did when a name didn’t need to be said out loud.
“The Helmsman,” he said flatly.
Dave didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to. “Yeah.”
Karkat slowed near a rooftop access door, pausing long enough to peer down at the street. A couple walking too fast. A man with his hood up, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes flicking to every shadow. A patrol car rolled past with headlights sweeping.
The Helmsman’s work didn’t look like a fight until it did. Systems. Infrastructure. A villain that treated the city like something you could steer, redirect, reroute. Like lives were just traffic.
Karkat hated him in a very particular way.
Not because he was the worst villain the city had ever seen. Not because he was the bloodiest. The Helmsman didn’t leave bodies. The Helmsman left consequences. Blackouts. Crashes. Hospitals suddenly running on backup generators. A city panicking because its own bones stopped responding.
Controlled chaos.
Karkat also hated him because every time they fought it felt like trying to punch a concept.
“You have eyes on his location?” Karkat asked.
“Not yet,” Dave said. “He’s a ghost in the wires. You know that. But I’m seeing precursors. He’s ramping up.”
Karkat’s mouth twisted. “Of course he is. He’s bored.”
“He’s bored,” Dave echoed, and Karkat could hear the faint edge under it now, the line of annoyance turning into worry. “Or he’s building to something bigger.”
Karkat straightened, muscles in his back pulling tight. Pain tugged along his spine. He dismissed it instantly.
“Then we stop it before it happens.”
There was a beat of silence, like Dave had leaned back in his chair and stared at the monitors too long.
“Sure,” Dave said. His tone was careful. “That’s one approach.”
“What’s the other approach,” Karkat snapped, already knowing.
“The other approach is you take a night off,” Dave said. “Like a human being. Like someone who doesn’t have to prove he’s The Unyielding every ten minutes by throwing himself at every problem until it stops moving.”
Karkat’s throat tightened with irritation so fast it was almost funny. Almost.
“I don’t take nights off.”
“That’s not a flex.”
“It’s not a choice.”
Dave didn’t answer immediately. Karkat could hear the faint tapping again, faster now. Data being pulled. Calculations being run. Dave did that when he was anxious, when he needed the numbers to say something the universe refused to say out loud.
Karkat watched the street below, eyes scanning the crowd for the kind of movement that didn’t match. He felt his pulse in his wrists. A steady beat, strong. Fine.
Everything was fine.
“Hey,” Dave said, voice lighter again, almost too light. “Speaking of proving you’re a giant angry tank, what’s your pain level right now. Like, on the ‘I’m fine’ scale.”
Karkat scoffed. “I’m fine.”
“That’s not a number.”
“Then put down ‘go to hell’.”
“Copy,” Dave said. “Entering ‘go to hell’ into the medical database. The doctors are gonna love this.”
Karkat smirked despite himself. It was small. It didn’t last. He pushed off from the roof and moved again, heading toward a cluster of buildings where the skyline dipped and the streets narrowed.
A familiar route. His route.
Patrol rhythm meant certain check points. Certain corners that always got hit. Certain rooftops that offered the best view. Certain alleys where the city forgot to pretend it was safe.
He could do this with his eyes closed.
That thought sent an unpleasant flicker through him, quick and sharp. Superstition. He hated superstition. He also hated the way his chest felt for a split second after it, like something inside him had stuttered.
He ignored it.
“Dave,” Karkat said. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Dave made a sound like he’d been caught mid-bite. “What, me? I’m just here vibing with my several screens and my grim sense of responsibility.”
Karkat didn’t respond. He waited. He let the silence stretch. Dave hated silence. Dave filled silence with jokes because silence meant listening to your own thoughts.
Finally, Dave exhaled.
“Your heart rhythm,” Dave said, and the words hit the air like a dropped glass, “has been off for like, twenty minutes.”
Karkat stopped on the edge of a rooftop and went very still. The city moved below him. Cars. People. Distant sirens. The hum of a world that didn’t care if his heart stuttered.
“What,” Karkat said, flat.
Dave tried to laugh it off and failed. “Not like, horror movie off. Not like, you’re about to explode. Just… irregular. It’s doing that thing.”
Karkat’s mouth went dry. “It always does that.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “It always does that after you get punched through a wall. Or after you run too hard. Or after you, like, do the superhero equivalent of sprinting a marathon. Tonight you’re literally just… doing baseline.”
Karkat swallowed. He forced his shoulders loose. He rolled his neck like it was a normal thing to do.
“Maybe your equipment is glitching,” Karkat said, and he hated how defensive it sounded.
“My equipment,” Dave said, “is not glitching. I built it. I’ve been calibrating it. It’s my whole sad hobby.”
“Then it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Dave said, more sharply. Then he pulled it back, voice steadying. “It’s a sign. It’s early, but it’s a sign. Your rhythm is destabilizing faster than expected.”
Karkat stared out at the skyline like if he stared hard enough he could force the city to behave. Like if he stared hard enough he could will his body into compliance.
“You’re being dramatic,” Karkat said.
Dave laughed, once, humorless. “Says the man who literally wears a cape and calls himself The Unyielding.”
Karkat’s fingers curled against the ledge. His gloves creaked. He could feel his heart now, not in a pain way, but in a presence way. Like someone had pointed a flashlight at it and suddenly it was in the room with him.
He hated that. He hated being aware of his own body.
“I’m fine,” he said again, because that was the only acceptable answer. “It’s baseline noise. I’ve had worse.”
Dave paused. The typing stopped. Karkat imagined him staring at the monitors, jaw tight, eyes narrowed behind whatever dumb sunglasses he was wearing indoors for no reason.
Then Dave spoke quietly, and that quiet was more dangerous than shouting.
“The Helmsman is active tonight,” Dave said. “I’m seeing enough precursor activity to call it a build. Not a small one. I’m telling you this because I know what you’re about to do.”
Karkat’s throat tightened. “I’m about to do my job.”
“You’re about to pick a fight with the one guy who drags out engagements until you’re exhausted,” Dave shot back. “He’s not like the others. He doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t brawl. He plays the city like a game board. He’ll keep you moving until your heart does something stupid.”
Karkat’s mouth twisted. “My heart isn’t going to do anything.”
Dave let out a slow breath. “Okay. Cool. Then you won’t mind standing down for a night.”
Karkat barked a laugh, bitter. “Absolutely not.”
Dave’s voice sharpened again. “Karkat.”
Karkat flinched at his own name. It wasn’t that Dave never used it. It was that Dave only used it like that when he was serious enough to be scared.
Karkat hated being scared more than he hated pain.
“What,” Karkat snapped. “What do you want me to do, Dave? Sit in my apartment and wait for the city to go dark? Wait for him to hurt people because I decided to take a bath or whatever the fuck you think ‘rest’ means?”
Dave made a frustrated noise. “I want you to not die.”
Silence.
The words hung there, ugly and plain.
Karkat stared at the street below. A kid laughed as they ran toward a crosswalk, pulling their parent along. A man in a suit checked his watch and looked annoyed. Life, petty and mundane and infuriatingly normal.
Karkat’s heart beat in his chest. He could feel it. He hated that he could feel it.
“I’m not going to die,” Karkat said, and it came out like a vow he wasn’t sure he could keep.
Dave didn’t immediately answer. When he did, his voice was quiet again, controlled, like he was trying not to scare a wild animal.
“I’m watching your rhythm,” Dave said. “It’s not just irregular. It’s trending. It’s doing that thing where the intervals tighten and then loosen and then tighten again. That’s not stress. That’s not adrenaline. That’s your baseline shifting.”
Karkat’s jaw clenched. “And what, you want me to stop being myself? You want me to stop moving? You want me to stop being The Unyielding because my heart is throwing a tantrum?”
Dave’s laugh was soft and ugly. “Your heart isn’t throwing a tantrum. It’s failing.”
Karkat’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t let it show. He didn’t let his voice crack. He didn’t let the cold fear creeping up his spine take up space.
He scoffed. “You’re overreacting.”
“Am I,” Dave said. “Or are you just doing the thing where you pretend if you ignore it hard enough it’ll go away.”
Karkat’s fingers tightened on the ledge until his gloves creaked again. “I can’t afford to go away.”
Dave’s voice softened. “You can afford one night.”
Karkat shook his head, even though Dave couldn’t see it. “No.”
“Why,” Dave demanded, and it wasn’t a rhetorical question. It was raw. “Why are you so hellbent on running yourself into the ground.”
Karkat’s mouth opened and shut. A dozen answers fought each other.
Because he didn’t know how to be anything else.
Because the city expected him to show up.
Because the idea of stopping felt like dying anyway.
Because he was terrified that the second he rested, the second he admitted weakness, the world would move on without him and he would be left behind with nothing but his own body and its failures.
He picked the only answer that didn’t sound like that.
“Because he’s out there,” Karkat said. “And he thinks he owns this city.”
Dave didn’t respond for a long moment. The silence was thick. Karkat could hear his own breathing, too loud in his helmet.
Finally Dave said, “I’m flagging Helmsman activity as a high priority escalation.”
“Good,” Karkat said immediately, relief disguised as aggression. “Send me coordinates when you get them.”
Dave’s voice tightened. “I’m also flagging your vitals as ‘stop being a stubborn idiot.’”
Karkat snorted. “Put it on a sticker.”
“Already did,” Dave said, but the joke didn’t land. His tone was off. He was still watching the numbers.
Karkat pushed away from the ledge and started moving again, faster now. If he moved fast enough, maybe he could outrun the idea of his own heart.
Patrol rhythm meant he knew where to go. It meant he knew where to be. It meant he didn’t have to think.
Thinking was dangerous.
The city slid under him in a blur of rooftops and rain slick surfaces. He vaulted a gap, landed, ran. His lungs burned. His chest tightened.
He told himself it was the cold.
He told himself it was adrenaline.
He told himself it was nothing.
“Your rhythm just spiked,” Dave said suddenly.
Karkat’s breath hitched. “Stop talking about it.”
“I can’t,” Dave said, voice strained. “I literally can’t. It’s my job.”
“My job is to stop him.”
“And my job is to stop you from getting yourself killed in the process,” Dave snapped. Then, softer: “Please.”
Karkat almost missed a step. Almost.
That one word did more damage than any hit.
Please.
Karkat clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. “I’m fine.”
Dave’s laugh was thin. “Cool. Great. Love that for you. Anyway, Helmsman’s doing something in the east grid, like I said. Power reroutes. Traffic system interference. He’s testing emergency service delays. That’s not petty. That’s staging.”
Karkat’s focus snapped outward again, grateful for something to latch onto that wasn’t his chest. “Where.”
“Working on it,” Dave said. “He’s not leaving a signature, but his patterns are consistent. He likes to create choke points. He likes to cut off exits.”
Karkat’s mouth twisted. “He likes to control.”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “He’s a freak.”
Karkat’s lips pulled into a grim smile. “Then we break his hands.”
Dave sighed. “God, you’re so romantic.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” Dave continued, voice trying to regain that half joking tone like he could drag them back to normal by force. “If you guys ever got married, the vows would be like ‘I promise to destroy your infrastructure forever.’”
Karkat barked a laugh despite himself, sharp and brief. “Eat glass.”
Dave made a pleased hum like he’d successfully defused a bomb. “There it is. That’s my guy. The Unyielding, king of verbal abuse.”
Karkat kept running. His body moved like it always did. Muscle memory. Training. Rage.
But underneath it all, the baseline noise had changed.
He could still hear the city’s hum. He could still hear the wind. He could still hear Dave’s voice.
And now, he could hear his own pulse, too.
A little too loud.
A little too uneven.
A little too real.
“Dave,” Karkat said, low. “If you’re wrong about this…”
Dave didn’t let him finish. “I hope I’m wrong. I hope I’m so wrong you get to roast me about it for the next ten years.”
Karkat swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Dave echoed, but his voice didn’t sound convinced.
Karkat reached a rooftop with a clear view of the east grid. The city looked the same as it always did. Lights. Streets. Movement. Nothing screaming danger yet.
And still, Karkat felt it. The sense of something building. A pressure in the air.
Dave’s voice crackled in his ear. “Okay. I’m seeing a spike. East grid, sector twelve. He’s messing with the substation relays. It’s subtle, but it’s consistent. He’s ramping.”
“Send me the route,” Karkat said immediately.
Dave hesitated. It was just a fraction of a second. Karkat felt it anyway.
“Dave,” Karkat warned.
“I’m sending it,” Dave said, and the words came tight. “I’m sending it because you’re going to go no matter what I say and I’d rather you go with information than blind.”
Karkat didn’t thank him. He didn’t soften. He couldn’t. Not tonight. Not with his own body suddenly feeling like an enemy.
“Good,” Karkat said. “Keep eyes on me.”
“I always do,” Dave muttered, and there was something bitter under it.
Karkat’s HUD flickered as Dave pushed coordinates through. A route. Estimated intercept points. Probability spreads. A map laid over the city like a prediction of violence.
Karkat stared at it for a split second, then launched himself into motion again, heading east.
In the safehouse, Dave watched the numbers and tried not to let his hands shake.
He had three monitors dedicated to Karkat’s vitals alone. Heart rhythm. Oxygen. Blood pressure. Stress markers. The little line that represented Karkat’s life in clean, clinical curves.
It wasn’t clean tonight.
The rhythm was jittery. Not enough to trigger emergency protocol. Not enough to justify calling in medical support without Karkat biting his head off. But enough to make Dave’s stomach twist.
Enough to make the trend line tilt in a direction Dave didn’t like.
He pulled up historical data. Compared tonight’s baseline to last week. Last month. Six months ago.
The deviation was small.
But it was accelerating.
Dave ran the numbers again, jaw clenched, eyes stinging from staring too hard.
He ran them again because if he ran them enough times, maybe the outcome would change.
It didn’t.
His screen spit back the same projection with cold certainty.
Risk increasing. Stability decreasing. Time compressing.
Dave leaned back in his chair and dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching on his own hair. His other hand hovered over the keyboard.
He ran the numbers one more time anyway.
The results loaded.
Dave stared.
Then he swore, low and vicious, into the empty safehouse.
“Fuck.”