#offline action;

> The third thing is unrelenting fear, as you jolt upright, double over, and spend a few very blurry seconds trying to focus your eyes enough to look around you. At least you know you're not dead anymore.

>It's dark, you can't make out much of anything in the room around you, since the only light in the room seems to be a dim yellow, creeping in from loose patches along the edges of pinned down curtains. Street lights. Alternian light would be pink or green- meteor light cold and florescent white.

> A red gleam beside you catches your eye and leaves you squinting and teary until you can look at it directly. It's a digital clock. Who still has those? The faint light of the display shows you your broken glasses, and you try to breathe steady as you slip them on. One lense is cracked and completely useless. Your pulse is top volume in your ears and your skin is burning where it's dragged against the sheets. You're trying to ignore that this is about to be panic attack.

> You spot a phone next to where your glasses had been- you must assume it’s yours because the screen is cracked to shit and the case is pinstriped your signature colors. A quick examination reveals that it's quite dead. You're trying harder to ignore that this is quickly becoming a panic attack. You’re not sweating because of that. Clearly it’s just hot in this room.

> You hear something outside your door, down a hall? Down a hall. A sink turning off- a coffee machine turning on. You clamp your hands over your mouth and think of who you might know that would be up at- you glance at the clock again- 2:48 AM. You look again. 2:48 AM. You recognize that. Earth time- crazy early Earth time.

> You know precisely who is down that hall.

The scenery didn’t change. The people didn’t change. The motions and routines didn’t change.

The outcome should have changed by now. But it didn’t.

There was no sense of clarity, no sense of stability; as much as it seemed like things were back to normal, there was only a sterile hollowness in the wake of what you had done.

Not even any of the conversations with Karkat, Avi, Johnny, Misha, Dirk, none of them managed to rouse any emotion from you. Only an empty stare, flatly stated responses, and just... a lack of everything that made you, you.

Everything just felt like the muted hum of static.

You look up at him, his brows knitting in confusion and concern that goes entirely over your head.

“Karkat,” you say simply.

He tries to keep his voice down, but he’s speaking in rapid-fire Russian, unable to even be bothered with English for this argument.

“...What did you do?” “What he asked for.” “You fucking know what I mean!!”

There’s a beat of silence that makes you pause and look up from your phone. You’re sat cross-legged by the closed door, half-straining to hear what they were saying over the soft, worried whine of one of your dogs that goes by ignored.

When Dirk finally replies, he’s also switched to speaking your mother tongue, quiet, and with only the slightest traces of guilt in his tone.

“I had to.” “No, you didn’t!” “I did. You know what happened last time.” “...” “He would’ve done it again--” “No, he can’t. That Vantas kid is safe, Dave knows where he is; if anything, he’d have just run to his place, found him there safe, and come home.” “No, that’s not it-- Dave was-- He was angry. Misha, he’s never asked me to treat him any more than what I give him. And. You didn’t feel what I did when it was done.”

Another lapse of silence.

“There’s something wrong. It’s not the same old usual shit.” “What are you talking about?” “It’s... I can’t explain; it’s buried in there real deep. I can’t touch it without hurting him more than I already did.” “...”

That’s when you stood and walked away.

Johnny sees you from his seat on the couch, gesturing for you to come sit with him. You walk past like no one was there, and sit at your usual spot on the back porch.

Footsteps follow after you, arms winding around your middle, Johnny’s forehead coming to a rest on your shoulder.

Dirk had given you a doubtful look. He was tired, and so were you; if he were to do as you requested, there was no guarantee that he could still afford to be careful.

You’re swiping the angry tears still streaming down your face when you choke out, “just do it. Please. Dirk. For me.”

He sighs, the glance at his closed door not escaping your notice. He’s debating whether or not he should tell Misha about this, but it’s resolved quickly. If you came to him directly, what you wanted must’ve been dire enough that you entirely skipped consulting your eldest brother about it.

“Okay... Just. Brace yourself.”

Dirk holds out his hands, palms up for yours, vivid purple tendrils coiling around your interwoven hands the moment you touch him. Normally it would just feel warm, then hot, then slowly cooling down as the emotions drained, and your head was cleared.

This time it burned.

Where the tendrils touched, it seared your skin, white-hot needles pushing into you, quickly pulling a wave of nausea up your throat. Still, you hold on. You hold on tight, and struggle to breathe, fight to keep steady until he was done.

You hear him swearing under his breath, voice straining as he concentrated, willing the bolts of light in deeper, reaching for what was deeply intertwined in your very being, your very heart and soul.

Then he pulls.

It feels like fabric tearing, every single thread stretching unwillingly before snapping under the force. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and it hurts. A choked cry escapes your lips in between heaved breaths.

Your nails are digging into Dirk’s skin, knuckles white, hands shaking as black spots danced in your vision.

“Dave? ...Dave. Fuck.”

His voice sounds like it’s coming from a ways off, muffled, before slowly gaining clarity.

“...I’m alright.”

When you turn your gaze to Dirk, he’s frowning, beads of sweat running down his temples. You can’t read his expression, nor could you tell that he was frowning because of how flatly you’d answered. Entirely devoid of emotion.

Empty.

Just like what you asked for.

[Unsent] TG: hey can i come hang out on your rooftop i can go up myself no need to get up or whatever just wanted to give a heads up

What's the point, you think to yourself, staring out at the city lights that remained on, despite it being about four in the morning by now. I’m already here now anyway. He can’t be bothered if he doesn’t know.