The Blood I Spill for You

There Is No Peace When It's Quiet

There is something about silence that Dave just couldn't stand, even though it was technically the absence of a more common fear. Silence means something lurking does not want to be noticed. Not until it's too late. When there is nothing to hear, his brain fills the gaps with nonsense. Whether in an effort to distract or protect him, he doesn't know, but that's why he's here, quietly rambling to himself about breakfast foods at one in the morning.

There is something else much more important to think about, but the sick feeling in his stomach was enough to keep him focused on not throwing up the last thing he ate. Dave stopped talking and opened his eyes. Even without the shades, his room was still pitch black. "When was the last time I had breakfast?"

The window was shut, blocking out the sound of wailing sirens and pattering rain. Dave's hands twitched to open it, but the last thing he needed was rain getting in and soaking everything. He let his hands drift from his shoulders to his ribs, holding them tightly and pretending the arms weren't his.

"Just close your eyes," he whispered. The silence kept him awake, alert. Dave couldn't help it: he thought of Dirk. When was the last time he thought of his bro's name?

"Names are funny that way," he said, searching his desk for the half eaten bag of Doritos that awaited his shaking hands. "Your mama just goes on and decides what combination of noises will be used to identify you as an individual. And then some sets of noises are common, uncommon. Dave is common, but I've never met another Dave before. Some are meant for only boys or girls, but you might still be stuck with that one anyways. Middle names, who ever thought those were a good idea? And then you need a last name." Dave paused, shuffling to press his back firmly against the wall. The name burned his tongue, "Strider."
He brought his knees up to his chest, careless for the mess of crushed chips underneath him. "Dirk Strider."

He healed quickly, as all trolls did, and Karkat faced the ceiling once again. Thanks to Dr. Lalonde's impulsive surgery, his ribs did their job properly, and there was no need to restrain him any longer. When Ms. Paint finally undid the black Velcro cuffs, Karkat lunged for the letter. He unfolded it carefully, and just like every other time, he read it over:

"Dear Karkat,

I'm pretty bad at writing letters, so cut me some slack, would you? I guess I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. I promised you the day I brought you home with me that I'd keep you safe and nothing bad would happen to you ever again. I didn't mean to lie to you, but I'm still so sorry. I swear, Karkat, nothing will stop me from bringing you home again. Ok? I'm gonna come get you. In the mean time, get better soon.

Dave."

The writing was messy and some words where scribbled over so badly, they were illegible. The paper was crumpled, lined with uneven creases in an attempt to fit it in the envelope, and half erased words. Still, Karkat found himself reading it over and over, hoping to hear the sound of Dave's voice again.

The worst spot was right next to Dave's name, where it must have been erased a million times. Karkat could barely make out the end of "sincerely," but he guessed Dave had decided his name would be good enough.

Sighing, he pressed the letter against his chest and closed his eyes. Dave is coming for him. He doesn't remember the apparent promise made to him, but it hardly mattered. Guilt ate away at him for yelling the first time they met. Well, the first time he remembers.

He stood up and walked over to the window, which couldn't open without a key. Not that he knew if a key for the gold lock even existed.

He was placed in a different room, again, but it looked almost identical to the first one. This room was on the third floor, but it also had a little, red disk, ticking away. He looked at it again, but had no idea how to interpret the three, moving sticks. There were no numbers or marking on it, just red, silver and black. Karkat dreamed of being tall enough to take it off the wall and tearing the power source out. He growled at it, then turned away sharply.