EridanXReaderXKarkat- CASTLE: Chapter 1

You are shoved into a small, dank room, and the cell door is slammed shut. You stumble, the momentum behind the push sending you crashing down to the floor. You land on your shoulder with such force that, despite gritting your teeth in anticipation, you yelp at the pain. Your hands bound behind your back, you retreat to the far corner as footsteps fade away behind you. Hissing in pain and humiliation, you try to make yourself as comfortable as physically possible, curled up with your knees to your chest and your back against bars.

Your name is (F/N) (L/N), and your success is very limited.

You inhale, breathing in air that tastes like mildew, disease, and carries the same chill that everything else here seems to hold. This... dungeon. You don't know how else to describe it. You've never seen one before, nor has one ever appeared in any of the books you've read, but the gut-wrenching feeling in your stomach makes the word surface in your mind. The floor is nothing more than hard-packed dirt, and the walls of your cell are nothing more than iron bars. If you pushed your hand through those bars, you may be able to reach... something. But the rest of you would be unable to fit. The cruel taste of freedom would be just that; a faint taste, disappearing like a sinking moon.

Oh, the moon. You wish you had watched it rise. It was probably your last opportunity to see it.

You are once again reminded of the fact that, soon, you are going to die. The thought that this cell will be your last home makes the chill just a little bit more unbearable. Coupled with the fact that your lusus is gone, permanently, your indifferently acceptant facade crumbles. Wrapping your arms around your own trembling body, tucked away in the corner of a jail cell you've been thrown into, you start to cry.

The death of your lusus was a tragic one; crushed under mounds of earth, rock, and rubble after a landslide occured not far from your hive. You had found her, mostly hidden by dirt and debris, only minutes before she died. There was nothing you could do but look on and sob. You seem to find yourself doing that more and more recently; crying. While you have never considered yourself tomboyish, you can hardly be described as sweet or gentle. You are more prone to sporadic, energetic outbursts, separated by long nights of reading or going out to socialize with the other townsfolk, pulling out the most creatively vulgar insults you can from your arsenal of words to use on any who happens to get on your bad side.

Where all of that confidence and boldness went is absolutely beyond you. To have been so quickly reduced to nothing more than a shaking mass of sorrow and anxiety is almost more shocking than anything else. After your lusus died, you had returned to your hive in a daze. Sat down in your front room. Watched the candle that sat upon the table as it flickered and then was drowned out in a puddle of its own melted wax. It wasn't long before they came.

They did not knock on the door. They simply punched through the wood as if it were nothing more than paper and unlatched the lock, then pushed the door politely open. They shuffled in as if doing nothing more casual than entering a shop, faces cast in shadow by the hoods they wore. Your arms were twisted around behind your back and your wrists were roughly tied together, and one proceeded to pound you over the head with something like a sack of potatoes– actually, now that you think about it, you think it was a sack of potatoes. You had gone black.

When you awoke, they were already carrying you down the spiral staircase that led to where you are now; the Dungeon. And now, you wait to be culled. That's what they do to orphaned trolls. Everyone knows it, even you.

You don't know how long your tears fall, or how many times you can't stop a small whimper of self-pity escaping your mouth, but when they cease, you become suddenly aware of the sound of someone sighing softly.

"Stop crying. You're wasting your time." Despite being hoarse and slightly muffled, the voice is still unnaturally loud after what seemed like an eternity of silence. You aren't entirely sure, but you think it sounds almost... sympathetic. "They aren't going to come back and let you out."

You raise your head from where it lay buried in your arms as slowly as you can, fearing the worst– but when you look through your cell door, nobody is on the other side. You allow yourself a confused frown, uncurling yourself from the corner and crawling across the floor to the bars, craning your neck to try and see the source of the voice. Another sigh, slightly less sympathetic-sounding this time, breaks the newfound silence. "I'm over here."

You jump, realizing the speaker is... in the cell directly beside yours. He, similar to when you first entered, is huddled in the far corner of his cell. His wrists, unlike yours, are untied, and he sits with his knees bent and arms crossed, lower half of his face buried in the crooks of his elbows. A blanket is wrapped around his shoulders, obscuring most of his actual body from your sight. The only part of him you can clearly make out in the dim light are his eyes, which reflect the flames from torches set in brackets in the walls. He watches you, unblinking, looking more like a statue frozen in time than anything else.

Suddenly unsure of yourself, you scoot back, retreating to the opposite corner, placing yourself as far from him as possible. You don't know why he's here. They group prisoners together, no matter the crime. After a few uncomfortable moments, you find it within yourself to speak. "Who are you?" Even a whisper sounds like a scream.

"I'm a prisoner. Like you. A lowly criminal, hardly worth the scum-covered shit they call food we're fed around here." He pauses, narrowing his eyes in hesitant confusion, and you force down a sudden spark of irritation at him dodging your question. "What are you doing here? You don't exactly look like the 'Plan an uprising, death to nobles' type– I saw those tears, you're practically a noble yourself." Any irritation you may or may not have been feeling is instantly doused as the reality of why you're here rushes cruelly back to you.

"They took me from my hive," is the most words you can mumble out before your voice comes dangerously close to cracking. You don't want to start sobbing again, especially not in front of the other troll. His jawline stiffens, and his eyebrows come together slightly, but he says nothing. You compose yourself, deciding to change the subject. "Why are you here? What's your name?"

The boy seems to relax slightly; he still wears the same nearly unreadable expression you can only assume is silent fuming, but he's no longer sitting as rigidly still as he was before. "My name is Karkat– and I'm not going to repeat it again, it's an easy enough name to remember. They caught me stealing."

You blink, confused. "They locked you up for nicking fruit off a stand?" Theft was an offense, but, to the extent of your knowledge, not an offense worthy of a private cell underground.

"Actually, I was stealing carrots. And they carted me off here because I tried to fight my way through the sorry fuckers that noticed me stealing. I punched one in the eye and bit another, but they overpowered me." His voice sounds weighted, like he's trying to hold in some emotion or another. For some reason, you don't believe you're being told the entire story, but you don't press him for details. It doesn't feel like the appropriate thing to do. You just nod sympathetically, wincing at the pain such a simple action causes your shoulders.

Karkat seems to notice your discomfort, and he uncrosses his arms, using one hand to hold the blanket in place on his shoulders as he gets to his feet. Once standing, he pulls up the blanket as if it's a bandana, once again hiding the lower half of his face. "Put your back to the bars." You open your mouth to ask why, but he rolls his eyes and cuts you off. "Just do it, okay?"

With some difficulty, you manage to turn yourself around and scoot so that your back and arms are resting the iron bars that separate your cell from Karkat. There is a moment of silence, then you feel hands on your wrists, and the rope goes taunt twisting and rubbing into your skin, making your uncomfortable position even less enjoyable. As you start to pull yourself away, about to ask that the Hell he's doing, Karkat grabs one of your forearms, keeping you in place. "Don't move, I'm trying not to slice the shit out of you. Give me a minute, God."

You freeze, albiet somewhat begrudgingly, and the pressure on your wrists increases until your teeth are gritted and your hands are going numb. Then, suddenly, the rope snaps, and you immediately pull your hands in front of you, rubbing your sore shoulders. The skin on your wrists has been rubbed raw in some places, causing small patches of (B/C) to appear, but you gingerly wipe them away on your shirt. "Thank you–" As you start to speak, Karkat swears, and there's a clinking sound as something is dropped on the floor. You turn, somewhat alarmed at the outburst, but Karkat has retreated to his corner, back to you this time.

On the floor is a shard of glass. Karkat must have stuffed it between the ropes and twisted it until the ropes cut. You notice, however, as you start to ask him if he's okay, that the glass is tinted with red. Blood. Burgundy, surely, but in the orange and yellow glow from the torches, it looks almost unnaturally bright. "Oh, shit– you cut your hand, didn't you? Here, let me see, maybe I can–"

"No."

No? You stare at Karkat's back, puzzled. "What?"

"I just fucking told you, no. Now shut up, before you make the guards come. Go to fucking sleep, idiot." What? What the Hell did you do wrong? His shift from concern to anger was so swift and unexpected that it's almost given you goosebumps.

You move away from the bars, positioning yourself against the far wall, turning your back on Karkat as well. You lie down, deciding to at least pretend to sleep, despite knowing that dreaming will likely give you no comfort. If you can even manage to sleep at all, you have no sopor slime to ward off nightmares.

Your heart is pounding for a reason you can't explain, and every time you close your eyes, all you can see are Karkat's eyes, reflecting the light of the torches.