Gamzee sobers up. Without murdering anyone. Further detailed on the awesome page.
And just like a miracle, you can feel your brother all up and around you now, warm like a cooking oven, his bony legs under your head and his fingers carding through your hair and scritching with those blunt rounded nails what couldn't put the hurt on a wiggler's silky little cocoon. You can hear his voice far above your head, words all tumbling down like the little lost snatches of old conversations, when your thinkpan was up and showing you how easy you could choke a brother in a turtleneck and he was staring straight down into the Dark Carnival inside your eyes, smiling with blunt teeth and not a trace of fear.
And all of a sudden your blood pusher’s swelling up and pumping out pie oven warmth by the gallons, washing away the ants in your veins in one big gushing happy flood. Your whole body gives out this big surprise shudder from a soft chill, a good kind of one that comes out together with this purring noise you can’t remember when you last made, making you tremble all over and squeeze your eyes shut from the good of it. You raise a heavy uncertain hand and pat your mess of hair in search of those sweet dreamed up scritching fingers, and you can think of nothing other than how much you desperately want to kiss every single one of those knuckles, bury your face into his warm oven chest and kiss every single miraculous beat you hear—
All your worries and fears go poof.
"I want to see your eyes."
And then the Grand Elder takes off his glasses and raises them where its silhouette will be clear to those on the back. His eyes glitter from the shadows under his hood, refracting like a meowbeast's under the dim light; seeing their color makes you want to laugh — in surprise or hysteria — as a hundred hints coalesce in your mind into a sudden bubble of understanding.
The other Elders raise their glasses as well, not to be outdone, and as you glance at each of them in turn you can't help thinking I would have never pegged you as olive, I could swear you didn't have fins, you're the mildest purple ever, holy shit, you're brown!, another blueblood?, how are you still alive if you're rust, you being jade explains a lot, you're the opposite of sollux, and so are you, why is there another fucking violet what do violets stand to gain—
Your train of thought is derailed as the darkness behind the Elders wavers, dances, and starts to fill with multicolored stars.
You stare dumbly at the blinking spectacle in front of you; perhaps because of the fading drugs, or maybe because of the severity of your wound, you forget the stone under your feet and for a moment are utterly convinced that you are floating, waiting half-asleep on the edge of infinity, and the shivering lights of the universe are laid down at your feet, a billion thousand wigglers for you to defend and nurture.
Then you slip back into the cave, and ahead of you is not a magnificent cluster of stars but merely a gathering of very scared, very brave people, some staring stiffly ahead, others turning their heads shyly to their neighbors. Yet the intense joy you carried from that vision doesn't diminish in the least; instead, it overflows and runs down your cheek in an embarrassing display.