Chapter Text
Death is a funny thing.
It’s like the contents of a snowglobe, you think. Distant, trapped behind a wall of glass. Something that you can look at and observe. Something whose existence you can acknowledge. But ultimately, something that you remain detached from. Separate. Something that you know is there, but remains intangible to you. You can’t see it, you can’t touch it, or taste it or smell it.
Like a world trapped in a snowglobe.
When you were a little girl, you barely knew what death was. You had an island that was full of life, with beautiful flora that never faded or withered, nurtured constantly by the tropical sun. You had a million and one gadgets to cater to your every whim. To feed you when you were hungry, to clothe you when you were cold, to cool you down when you were hot. Every night, you dreamed of a land of gold and white. Of huge reflective clouds that told you where you had to be and when. You floated up, up, and away, and you never had to worry about falling, because you could fly.
It was impossible for you to fall.
The first time you experienced death was when your grandpa collapsed in his chair with a bullet wound in his heart. The splash of red across his suit, the empty eyes, the way his body sagged, and the way his chest no longer rose and fell with breath are burned in your memory.
But it was okay! Because you knew what to do. Just like with the animals that Grandpa had killed, you knew how to make it so that he wasn’t really dead. Just a little quieter! A little more stiff. But still present. Not gone. Never gone.
He didn’t smile at you like he used to, he couldn’t, because the stitches would tear. But he was always by the fireplace, and he was always there for you to talk to, so it didn’t really matter whether he was ‘dead’ or not. You still had him with you, and that was what was important.
Maybe if you had been completely alone, you would have begun to understand what ‘death’ really was. Maybe you would have been able to understand the true finality of it, and not dismissed the its reality so easily. But you weren’t alone. You were never alone for an instant.
You had a dog that could be at your side in the blink of an eye.
A dog that took care of you and was always there, faithfully watching. A dog that would protect you even before you knew that you were in danger. A dog that couldn’t die, even if you shot at it! A dog that could deflect any danger with ease, teleport anything hazardous away, and still be back in time to tuck you into bed.
You never truly knew death. It was always the inside of a snowglobe.
And then you started playing that game.
It never quite hit you, even when you were surrounded by an entirely new landscape, shivering in the cold with nothing living in sight, that your world had changed. You knew what snow was, but feeling it bite at your toes, turning your skin a bright, angry, red, was something entirely different. Your reminders didn’t make sense to you, and your golden dreams were gone. You had memories of a falling boy, a boy who you had feared would-
would-
Die.
And you wake up chilled to the bone, and angry, and frightened, with stupid boys and scary girls screaming in your ears, and your grandpa no longer by the fireplace and your dog nowhere to be found.
You were inside the snowglobe.
But you still didn’t get it.
Because Bec was a floating sprite, but he came back to you, and you knew that John was okay, you remembered seeing it in the clouds. He got your gift. He’s fine. The world was cold, but it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.
You didn’t think about the vacant spot in front of the fireplace, where your grandpa was supposed to stand.
Little by little, cracks started to appear in the glass walls. You saw Rose and John’s parents, splashed with red and motionless. You saw Dave, with blood bubbling up over his lips, and covering his bright green suit. Splashed with red and motionless. And everything was wrong.
But only for a moment.
Because phew! It wasn’t your Dave. It was just- just a mistake. A little mistake that wasn’t all that bad, and didn’t have any real consequences, because your Dave- the Dave that mattered- was still alive.
And you were sad for John and Rose, but you were sure they’d be okay! After all, you grandpa died too, and he was still…he was still…
Your mind flashed to the empty fireplace, and the cold spread through your veins.
You started to get scared. Because there was a dog, a big black mean dog that was like Bec but wrong, and he was hurting everyone. Ruining everything. Smashing through the glass wall and letting the snow swirl into your world of sun and life. Everywhere you looked there were more motionless bodies of red without breath and you started to feel the cold grip around your own neck and you-
could feel it-
for the first time.
The glass was melting underneath your fingers. Melting and cracking and disappearing, and-
You had to stop him.
The Bec that was wrong was the one that was messing everything up. He was the one who was shattering your reality and making it- making, making things not the way they were supposed to be. Making people stop breathing. Making your friends drown in their own blood.
You had to stop him.
He was Bec but stronger, so you just had to make Bec strong enough to defeat him, and then everything would be okay! People would stop being motionless and stained with red, the glass would stop cracking and melting around your fingers, and you- you wouldn’t be cold anymore.
So you prototyped Becsprite with your stuffed Dreamself. The you that wasn’t you anymore.
And it was sad because you wouldn’t get to talk to him anymore. He wouldn’t be able to bark disapprovingly or nudge you into bed. But he was still there! You could see his fluffy white ears and tail, and the familiar sparks of green…
So everything was still okay, and you still had Bec.
No you didn’t.
Even when he/she flew away sobbing, when you couldn’t see him/her. When you didn’t know for sure whether they’d be there to catch you when you fell or tuck you in when you fell asleep, it was still okay. Because you knew that they were out there, somewhere.
And besides! You had much bigger things to worry about. Things were in motion, and you had to coordinate with Karkat and Dave and everyone else to make sure things got done! You were going to win. You were going to steal back the reality that Bec Noir was warping into something horrible. You were going to get out of the snowglobe you fell into, and escape from the world of swirling snow and cold.
You could do it. Even if Grandpa wasn’t at the fireplace, you could do it. Because while Bec wasn’t at your side, you knew he’d be there in an instant when you were in trouble.
And then, Bec didn’t come to protect you.
It was when the wrong Bec, the black one, came at you snarling and spitting with green fire. You were scared, but you were fighting, because it was okay. You wouldn’t get hurt, you wouldn’t become motionless and breathless and stained with red. That couldn’t happen. You wouldn’t let it happen. Your dog would never let it happen. He/she/they would come back before then.
Somehow, Dave didn’t quite factor into that equation.
It wasn’t like Grandpa, with one hole. He had holes all over, and everything was red. And he didn’t move, or breathe, or make a stupid joke when you screamed and picked him up. When you begged him to wake up.
He was-
He was-
But then Karkat contacted you, and told you that Dave would be fine if you kissed him. All you had to do was kiss him, and he’d wake up somewhere else, and be fine.
The glass walls trembled, cracked a little more, but didn’t break. Bec hadn’t come, but it was okay, because no one had died. Not really.
And then you won. You did it! You bred the frog. John was in place to perpetrate the Scratch, and Dave and Rose were on Derse. Still alive.
For now.
There were things you still had to do. Problems you still had to solve. And you had a moment of panic, a moment of uncertainty, when your connection with Karkat was going, and something strange was descending from the sky.
Shaving cream?
It hurt.
It hurt. A lot. And then nothing. A horrible blank spot in your memory that sends chills down your spine and a sick feeling in your stomach.
But it doesn’t matter because you woke up! You woke up strong, and smart, with powers and dog ears and-
Bec was gone-
-everything was going to be okay.
Everything was going to be okay because you could protect yourself now. And all your precious people, all of your friends who you had started to be so scared for- they could protect themselves to. And you’d all be safe, traveling through space to your new destination.
So it was okay if Bec wasn’t with you the way he had been before.
It was okay.
..
..
That was then.
That was in the game.
The game ended, and you lost your powers, and your ears. But you gained a world, and you gained an amazing story to tell, and you regained your dog.
He came back.
He came back.
You knew he would. You knew because something so final as never seeing him again. Something like death was inconceivable. Not something that you could even imagine touching you seriously. You had had scrapes with it. A lot of them. Death’s hands had laid their hands on you, on the people you cared about. But the touch hadn’t lasted, and everything that was supposed to come back did. So it was okay.
It was okay.
It was always supposed to be okay.
You didn’t think much of it, when Bec didn’t spark green anymore. When he didn’t teleport from place to place. It didn’t matter, because the game was over anyways. And you were big enough to know where you should or shouldn’t go without him teleporting you away. And your narcolepsy was no longer a thing (apparently it was caused by a crazy alien spidergirl???), so you didn’t need him to bring you to bed when you unexpectedly fell asleep! It didn’t matter if he didn’t have any space powers anymore, because that was never the reason you loved him anyways. You loved him because he was your dog.
The game ended, and you were happy.
Years pass and nothing changes. Not really. You grow older. You move. Away from the island you grew up on to a place with more people, more interaction. Solitude isn’t an option now that you know what it’s like to be surrounded by friends.
You get a job- not because you have to, but because you want to, and because staying at home isn’t as fun when ‘home’ is no longer a tropical island paradise.
You go and see your friends, and you talk to them online when you can’t make the trip. You chat with Dave about all the same things you used to talk about, for the most apart. Because Dave isn’t as comfortable talking about his collection of dead things anymore, and you think it’s because he was touched more by those cold hands than anyone. That he spent more time in the frigid interior of that stupid snowglobe than all of you combined. He hates still, motionless things more than you do, and his wardrobe consists of a lot less red than it used to.
You talk to John about his prank ideas and about his fast developing career as a comedian. You talk to him about ghosts as well, as he’s even more interested in them now that he’s spent time with actual ones, and you love talking about the scientific aspects of ghost hunting with him.
You talk to Rose about all sorts of things. More girl stuff than you used to, now that you have a better idea of what girl things actually are. You know she used to talk to Roxy about things like that, and you know she misses her a lot. You also know that she’s trying her best to reconcile with her mother, and rebuild the relationship that they never actually had. Rose also seems to be worried about you, living alone as you are, out in the wilderness. Often going on trips to obscure parts of the world to mingle among all sorts of cultures and people. You hate being alone now, but you can’t live anywhere where there’s a lot of people, like a city, or even in the suburbs, because you get claustrophobic if you’re not close to nature. So you live in a house surrounded by nothing but forest, but leave frequently for trips around the globe.
You have enough money to last you for three of your lifetimes, but Rose is still worried about you, and she often asks how you are. She asks how Bec was as well, especially lately. You always tell her that he’s fine of course! But one particular conversation strikes a sharp rap on that old snowglobe that you had thought you’d left behind. Rose asks you how Bec’s doing, and you tell her that of course he’s fine. She replies with, Are you sure? I’d recommend taking him to a vet for a checkup. He’s getting on in his years, isn’t he?
And that
just
doesn’t make any sense to you?
Because Bec’s been around for your entire life and he’s never needed a vet. And something like age has never been an issue. Old? Bec? What does that even mean?
You laugh and stress your words like you’re in one of Dave’s funny comics, because it doesn’t make sense. Bec doesn’t get old. Bec is Bec! He’s a dog, but…not. He sparks green and can catch bullets and-
You pause.
You pause for a second in your thoughts and somewhere you can feel a sharp crack appearing in that snowglobe. Because you remember that Bec doesn’t spark green anymore, and doesn’t teleport from place to place. And you wonder if maybe he is just a dog, and if maybe you should be worried.
But the thought slides away, because that’s ridiculous.
It’s ridiculous!
It’s ridiculous.
Even when Bec’s looks like he’s limping as he follows behind you on the street, and a random passerby comments that it looks like he has arthritis, and when his eyes start to blink too often and look like they’re covered with a white film, and when he doesn’t follow you around anymore, but spends most of his time lying in patches of sunlight, not moving, just lying. Even then, you still think it’s ridiculous. Because it is! Because it’s Bec. And stuff like old age, stuff like dying of old age is silly to even think about.
You’ve never known someone who’s died of old age. You can’t even imagine such a thing occurring, knowing that there are so many worse things to die from, and knowing that you don’t have to worry about any of them! Because something like death isn’t something that can touch you, not anymore. Not now that you’ve left that game.
So when you wake up one morning and don’t find Bec by your bedside, and you call his name and walk all up and down your house and still don’t find him. When you ignore the scratch of worry in your chest and keep pressing on, sure he’s just playing hide and seek like he used to when you were younger, when you were both younger. And then you find him, all curled up under the couch downstairs, not moving, not barking, not breathing and
He’s not covered in red, but
He’s not hurt, not covered in bullet wounds, no slit throat, but
And he hasn’t been blown up by a falling bomb of shaving cream, but
but
But you know, you know, and you can’t make sense of it. At all. Your mind doesn’t believe, your heart doesn’t believe, what your eyes are telling you.
And you don’t
know what
to do.
Death is a funny thing. Death is something you can see and look at, something that has curled its hands around you and your friends. Something that has touched you, and made you cold. But something that has always let you go. Something that has always released you back into the sunlight, into the warmth.
You kneel by Bec’s side and his chest doesn’t rise and his eyes don’t flutter and you know this isn’t the same as the other times. You know.
And you don’t
know what
to do.