~Karkat's POV~
Gamzee gets up furiously; he slams open the bathroom door, successfully scaring the absolute shit out of me.
"If you can't promise me, then I can't promise you." He grabs one of my unused razors. I scramble off my bed, basically falling on my face; I run over to him, trying to grab the blade.
"No, Gamzee, don't!" he pushes me back into the wall; moving away from me, he closes the bathroom door.
He pulls the blades out of the razor. His blood runs down his hands, dripping onto the floor. He throws away the rest of the razor, while wiping the blood off his hands onto his pants. He sets the blades on the floor next to where I sit, dazed from the collision with the wall.
"Y'know what, brother? If you're gonna' hurt yourself more, then you have to do it in front of me," Gamzee looks me in the eye, he's completely serious. "For every single one you cut, I cut. I need to catch up, though."
He yanks my sleeve up, revealing eight long, deep scars on my arm.
All of her favorite numbers added up...
He takes one of the blades into his hands and cuts his arm just as deep and long as mine were when I first cut them. All I can do is stare in horror. My best friend is cutting himself in front of me and all I can do is stare.
I'm so weak.
He finishes up the last cut, grimacing in pain; he looks up at me, eyes sparkling with small tears he doesn't let fall.
"Go on. You can do it if you want."
~Dave's POV~
I run up the steps that lead to the roof, holding my katana close; I know Bro will be there waiting, he always is.
I step out onto the roof, not surprised when I see Bro standing there, ready to fight. I take the first swing at him; since he probably saw right through my masked emotions, he blocked easily.
We went back and forth with attack and defense, until I got so tired he sword simply fell out of my hand when I tired to block his attack.
I could feel his katana slice through my shirt and into my arm. The cut was pretty deep, blood started to flow out of the gash and down my arm, onto the concrete below me. I yell out in pain, dropping to my knees. I grasp the wound with my good arm, feeling the blood ooze down in between and onto my fingers.
"Shit, Dave!" Bro exclaims, dropping down in front of me. "Let me see it."
I move my hand away, revealing my bloody cut. Bro whispers curses to himself; he half picks me up, half drags me down the stairs and into the bathroom. He sets me down on the toilet and grabs the first-aid kit from the cabinet under the sink. He takes out the supplies for stitching, string already laced through the needle.
"FUCK NO. NOPE, I'LL BLEED OUT, I DON'T CARE. YOU WILL NOT PUT THAT THING NEAR MY ARM." I get up and try to run out of the bathroom, but Bro grabs me by the waist and forces me to sit back down.
"Just bite down on this and don't look." He says as he puts a towel into my mouth.
I look away, squeezing my eyes shut. I really HATE needles. The needle digs into my skin, I force myself not to flinch. My screams are muffled by the towel as Bro continues to stitch up my arm; when he finishes, my throat is raw, and my teeth hurt from clenching them so tightly into the towel.
"Sorry, little man, there's some AJ in the fridge if your throat's sore. I'll cook tonight to make it up to you."
"Thanks, Bro, but I know it was an accident."
Ever since I called Bro out on his shit, he's been treating me like I'm actually his little brother. Before, he used to treat me like he was a robot; there was no signs of any kind of emotion on his face, it seemed like he didn't even care about me. He'd leave me on my own, and when he'd come back, he would immediately call for a strife.
"You're the best, Bro."
