Chapter Text
All you can think of is that it is cold. It is so very, very cold.
It takes several minutes for you to remember where you are; for some reason you do not want to open your eyes. You thought at first that perhaps you had wandered into the kitchen in your sleep again. You were sure that the others would scold you for standing in front of the open refrigerator, like they always do. But then you feel the pressure around you tighten and you remember that you are not back at the mansion anymore. You are outside.
You are outside in the middle of what is probably a blizzard of epic proportions, with one ratty blanket wrapped around your slender shoulders and a shelter made up of thin logs and some twine. Those things, and two trolls attempting to share what little body heat they have with you, are what are keeping you alive. For the time being, anyway.
Suddenly you realize that you really, really want to open your eyes. You want to see their faces again (one last time). How funny that your luck and your time would run out simultaneously. You release a small chuckle at that thought, but it turns into a hacking, retching sort of cough halfway through. This does, however, have the small bonus of causing your eyelids to suddenly fly open.
Not surprisingly, there is a face peering at your own with a vaguely concerned expression. It would be a handsome face, you think- provided that the one wearing it eventually got regular meals and filled out a little. At the moment, it was almost like looking at a skull. A skull with high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, and the most captivating eyes that ever existed on a person. You stare into those eyes far more often than you would like to admit, and far longer than you probably even realize.
Then your eyes are drifting shut again, and you just do not have the strength left to wrestle them open. You had hoped to see all of them one last time, but this particular one will have to do. After all, he is your reason for existing. He seemed to have always been there, whenever anything important happened. You had no doubt he would continue being there long after you were dead and gone.
* * * * *
The very first time you saw him, he was a gangly young troll made completely out of elbows and long, wavy horns, and you were still just a child. You sat on the knee of your companion (indeed, you were so tiny that you could use almost anything as a perch) and gaped openly at the troll. Coming from where you did, you had never seen one before and did not much expect to, no matter how good your luck was. You took in the gray skin, the yellow claws, and even the fangs without much surprise; but it was the horns that your eyes kept getting drawn back to.
They were rather long for someone so small, you had thought to yourself. If they had been straight instead of slightly wavy they would have been even longer. You remember comparing them to those of an antelope you had heard of (never seen), but somehow that did not sit right with you. You found them entrancing. Worse still were those purple-on-yellow eyes that drew you in and made you forget that you even had thoughts to have in the first place.
The giant you are seated on jiggled his knee to get your attention, “You never seen a troll before, kid?” You could not even bring yourself to answer him aloud, simply giving a small little shake of bewilderment.
“Well you’ll be seeing more of them,” he continued on. “Boss likes to keep them around as guard dogs. They’re excellent to have around if you need some extra muscle. He don’t look like much now, but he’ll fill out in time. We’ve got a cousin or brother or however the Hell that works of his. Growing up to be a huge motherfucker. A bit nasty, too. I wouldn’t let him catch you alone.”
“I’m too lucky for that,” you quipped, readjusting the purple bowler on your head so that it would slip across your other eye instead. It was the smallest headwear the entire group could find, and yet it was still too large for you. Perhaps one day you would do some filling out yourself and the thing would stay up.
“Right you are, kiddo,” he snorted in a somewhat amused way as he attempted to straighten your tie. “You look good in those duds.” You personally thought that the garish shade of green was somewhat painful to look at for long periods of time, but you had to admit that it made your ridiculously-red hair seem less so. More than one person had commented on your suit (most notably was the one who had scoffed at the little leprechaun sitting at his spot at the table), but that was the first time anyone had complemented it.
The tips of your ears were turning as red as your hair by the time you stubbornly averted your gaze. Immediately it was drawn back to the troll in question, although you were not sure that staring at him was any more advisable. Even though the man teased you more than you were admittedly comfortable with, he at least had already proven better company than the rest of the gang. There was only one other member you could manage spending large amounts of time with, and he was not one to talk much. (Well, then there was that guy who liked to talk too much, but you were not really sure if he was a member of the crew or not.)
Then the troll looked right at you and you found yourself frozen in a weird mixture of terror and fascination that did not bode well for your mental health. He waltzed straight up to the two of you, placed a quarter in your hand and then stepped back. You inspected the coin and were delighted to discover that both sides were heads. However, your grin faltered when you looked back up at his overly-serious face.
“Luck,” he carefully stated in a sort of lilting voice, “has motherfucking nothing to do with anything. You’re straight up made of miracles, lil’ bro.”
“Gamzee!” reprimanded the mammoth man. “Don’t scare the kid with your miracle bullshit. Go on, now. Shoo!” A hand that was almost as big as your torso waved dismissively at the troll. As he leisurely loped away, he hesitated briefly at the door to throw a glance over his shoulder at you.
You would have sworn that he was smirking.
* * * * *
It was some time later before you saw the troll again. You had learned that there were four other trolls on the grounds, but three of those were highly unadvisable to spend any time with- especially alone. So instead you would keep the friendly deaf troll company. She taught you how to sign fairly early on, and you quickly found that much preferable to her eardrum-shattering yelling. Between her and the more subdued of your peers (it was awkward to think of the older men like that), you never were very lonely. Of course, life was not completely sunshine and daisies for you. There were lots of issues.
Unfortunately, everyone in the group had some sort of addictive vice. The ones you were closer with had the least noticeable vices. Cans, for example, liked to drink. Luckily he was not a violent drunk, but he still would pass out on the couch after binge drinking about once a week. Your partner Quarters spent a little too much time and money at the slots. Of course, he seemed to always do better when he dragged you along, but most casinos had policies against underage customers. The Boss simply went into rages and destroyed things, often injuring anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity.
But it was Itchy who got you into the drugs. You could not even remember what he gave you or how exactly it started. Then one day you knew why he was always so twitchy and scratching at himself all the time because you were suddenly living it. And as much as you hated every second of losing control, you dreaded the detoxing and painful need more. Scoring the next hit had become your life, and more than one member had taken note of your sudden change in demeanor. Only none of them could or would do anything about it unless the Boss himself ordered them to.
Realistically you knew that you had to stop. Even Meulin started to get overbearingly concerned and nosy about it. The problem was that you just could not help yourself. Between Itchy and Damara, you always found more drugs being pushed at you. Then one day you were sure that your luck was finally running out. By the time Gamzee found you again, you were strung out and barely breathing.
There was a lot of slipping in and out of consciousness on your part, but one thing you would never be able to forget was the infuriated look on his face. You were certain that if the overdose did not kill you, he would. Surprisingly enough, he never raised his hand towards you. Instead, he locked you in one of the interrogation rooms and cared for you as the drugs were slowly purged from your system. He brought food and water, and carefully sponged away the accumulated sweat and grime from your useless thrashing about. Anytime he could not make it, his larger copy, Kurloz, was there with his creepy smile and tongue-less mouth.
It took the better part of a month for the crew to wonder where exactly you had run off to and then find you. Although they pestered and prodded, you never did say who had locked you into the room or had been taking care of you. Instead, you simply requested a hot bath and some real food, insisting that you had never been in any real danger. You were simply too lucky for anything permanently bad to happen to you.
Within three weeks you were back on the drugs.