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Wear Me Out

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He's a big guy. Six foot three at least, not including his unruly mane of hair. You look at him and take in every damning detail like a rabbit that realizes it has nowhere left to run from the fox.

Dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair. Scars over his face. From the way the skin on his arms is discolored in sporadic areas, you can guess that he has scars all over the rest of him, too.

And while he looks menacing, the purple eyes that meet yours are just as dead.

He's as hopeless as you even if he's smiling.

You don't bother to respond to his presence. The fact that he can smile - or even fake one - just makes you angry. At least, it would, if you had enough energy to give a fuck.

"Yo."

"What."

Your voice is flat on your own ears. A harsh discord made worse by how long it's been since you even bothered to speak.

But this guy...this bastard in front of you needs a fucking reality check.

"Look...it ain't like I really...want to do this either, okay bro?"

Like you haven't heard that one before. It practically serves as an introduction in this pit.

Not that you want to know their names.

Not with what they've all done to you.

Not that they ever ask who you are.

"How about you fucking listen to me for a second," You rasp out, forcing your battered body to sit up on what constitutes as your bed. "Like hell am I your 'bro', and like fucking hell do you get to complain about shit. You didn't get the short end of this stick."

He looks a little surprised at your attempted outburst.

A little.

You're losing your touch.

You used to be able to rant and rave and scream until no one could come near you until the Boss beat your ass back down.

But after enough beatings from that guy, anyone would start to give up.

And you were no exception.

So you started to do your best to cope and suffer in silence.

Maybe that's why they sent this guy. By the looks of him, he's been stuck in this business for as long as you have.

Part of you is surprised that you've never met him before. You thought everyone had gotten their fucking grubby hands on you.

"We don't gotta just motherfucking jump into things." The stranger sounds tired as he sits down on the dirty cement floor. "It's not like I'm really up and jumping to go, either."

You watch him distrustfully but relax a fraction when he doesn't do anything else.

"They told me...you're Karkat, right? I've heard about you."

When you hear your name your gaze sharpens. You don't like surprises.

"How the fuck would you know that?"

"You kinda got a reputation." He laughs. Or you think he's laughing, anyway. His bony shoulders have hunched upwards and he's making this quiet noise as he shakes his head. Fucking weirdo.

"For what?"

"Heard about you tryin' to bite a guy's junk off one time."

Oh.

You had gotten good and fucked up for that stunt.

"But..." He sobers up suddenly, looking at you with unreadable eyes. "Heard another thing...that you've been here since you were just a kid." The words hang in the air while he pushes his hair out of his face. "...so I guess that gives us a little somethin' in common."

That's why you recognized the look in his eyes.

He's as fucked up and damaged as you are.