towerofanimus | [CLOSED] Torn apart at the seams and my dreams turn to tears, I'm not feeling this situation

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[CLOSED] Torn apart at the seams and my dreams turn to tears, I'm not feeling this situation

Characters: Jade!Eridan Ampora and OU!Gamzee Makara.
Setting: Floor 8 - the maze. Backdated to August 15th, sometime early in the morning.
Format: tl;dr.
Summary: Eridan has been trying to keep a lid on the crazy since he came back, but whale shenanigans and all aren't helping. Lucky, Gamzee is such a bro. Especially when he's sober. Best murderbro, you wish he was yours.
Warnings: Violent, potentially gory character death. Lots and lots of jade. And all of it consensual.

[Eridan can't really break the habit, not when the Tower reinforces it, so he's up and running way before the sun goes up. He doesn't really sleep, in the wake of disaster. Or maybe he did. He doesn't remember. He remembers going back and back to catch maybe a nap, before coming back and getting the ball rolling. He was really, really careful about the cuts and the coming and going, and he thinks he maybe got ten doomed selves out of the past three weeks he's been reliving the tower under attack. That's as closest to flawless he's ever gotten, and he'd be proud if he weren't having a meltdown. With luck, no one noticed him much. Which is good, he's not supposed to care. He doesn't really care, who died and who didn't, all he wanted was to sate his own curiosity. That's all. No fucks given anymore, that's what he'd decided and so far it's... it's working. Somehow. Kind of.

He forces himself to stop snarling at nothing in particular, carefully smoothing his expression one muscle at the time. Very carefully, he tries to fold back the ball of seething anger coiling under the surface of his mind, gnawing at his sanity all the time. It doesn't want to go. He breathes deeply and berates himself for it. This is what happens when he cares. If he cares - and he always did, before, he cared about everyone he met, because everyone was important everyone had to survive, everything had to be made right - then when he invariably fucks up and fails - and he'll always fail, always, he should be the fucking Lord of Failure or something - it'll just hurt. It hurts real fucking bad. He'd never known he could feel hurt enough to distill it all into hatred.

He'd never hated anything before in his life. He's not a hateful troll, he's never been. Enough that the few moments of vanity before the game, he was sure he would get culled the moment the drones came about, because rareblood or not, he was a failure if he couldn't muster up to hate someone black enough. He gets annoyed or irritated or bitchy or defensive or bitter or scared. On very few occasions, he gets mad. He never gets hateful. Not before going back there. Not before sitting down in the middle of jack fucking nowhere and having his nose rubbed all over the sheer fucking uselessness of it all, like some misbehaving barkbeast that shat the carpet.

Eridan is pretty sure he went shithive maggots at some point. He doesn't remember when, which only drives him further up the proverbial wall, but he remembers the hollow click in the back of his head and then screaming until his throat went raw when all those feelings always fluttering uselessly inside his skull abruptly melted into hatred and swarmed him until he couldn't tell up from down. When he got his voice back, after a few days, the hate wasn't gone. It just... it just seeped deep and made itself comfortable and started to dug out every single thing that he could hate. There was such a long list of things he could hate.

He'd never been Paradox Space's favorite child.

He'd decided not to care, in a moment of lucid clarity, between two ragefits that left him tearing welts down his own arms just for the sake of hurting something. Anything. Hating was, in a way, caring about something, just turned on its head. Maybe that was why he could hate so much, because he'd always cared too much. So maybe... maybe... he could stop himself, if he stopped caring. He didn't really remember why he wanted to stop, except he thought he should. The next episode lasted more than three days, when he realized it didn't matter if he stopped or not, because the world was gone and he'd fucked up and now he was here and no one gave a single solitary fuck about it.

And Feferi was not here.

He'd looked for her, desperately, hoping against all hope that she would be here, after what he'd been told about those who left the Tower. When he couldn't find her, he'd gone off the deep end in the first time. It made sense, he supposed, in that fucked up, assbackwards way everything about him did, that he'd end up finding something resembling sanity by thinking about her. He wasn't a hateful troll. Feferi would be so disappointed in him, if he turned into a hateful thing. So he found it in himself to care enough about Fef to stop caring about everything else. It was bitter and distant and somewhat a constant effort, but it was better than spending however long he was fated to live on in that wasteland reduced to a snarling ball of hatred. It worked fine enough.

Except he came back.

And there were so many feelings about coming back, so many chances for them to melt back into hate. People he talked to. People who bizarrely enough wanted to talk to him. And the voice in the back of his head, hissing that they didn't care so he shouldn't. That's how they didn't go mad, the whole lot, not giving a shit. No one honestly gave a shit about him, he'd always known that. He'd make it that way, being a distant, snobbish asshole who kept everyone at a distance. And then there was Gamzee. Being stupid and silly and sober and violent and threatening and still the best friend he's ever had and that was just fucking sad. And he's an asshole for thinking that, but it might just be the truth. But he couldn't bring himself to hate Gamzee and that was a small relief. And there's Equius. Equius was nice and funny and made Eridan feel odd things that refused to melt into hate. He liked him a lot, just for that, too. Before all this started, with the Tower crumbling and monsters and people dying and screaming, it had been nice. Why couldn't things stick to that? Because if something could go wrong, it would.

Because everything hates him.

Eridan grinds his teeth and remembers he doesn't care, because if he does, he'll hate everything right the fuck back. He walks briskly along the floors still clear from monsters, going up the stairs swiftly. He's ready to avoid anyone who gets in his way. He's ready to disappear and not let anyone see him. He needs... he needs something. Somewhere quiet. Something to hurt. Fuck, there are monsters out there, he could hurt those and no one would care. But they'd notice, wouldn't they? And then, he might actually care about putting an end to the horrors pouring from above. And if he cared he was going to--

He stops in front of the maze, staring at it without seeing it. It's building up. It's building up and it's ugly and mean and it's forcing its way up his throat, bitter and burning and making his eyes water. He tightens his hold onto his weapons and stares at the maze. He doesn't like mazes. Fuck mazes. But... But it could work. It could help. Maybe if he gets lost and he loses it there, it'll be lost enough that no one will notice. Or care. Or get hurt.

So he's left standing there, shaking ever so slightly, staring at the entrance of the maze, ever so quietly coming undone. He needs to make up his mind, but it's nearly impossible when it's getting hard to breathe.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The stairs were getting so hard to navigate with the relentless tremors. Each step those tattered, purple sneakers took was not as steady as Gamzee would have liked. Not at all. He'd already fallen down the stairs at least three times now, and it was getting hard to distinguish between the Tower's shakes and his own. At least he'd found Tavros. This was the whole reason he was still trying to make his way to the lower levels instead of staying with his moirail, keeping him safe. Ugh, he didn't want to think about that. Telling him to stay put while Gamzee ran off and fucked around on every floor. Without Jade, none of this would have been possible. Without Jade, they'd all probably be dead. Dead with Karkat sitting down there, not descending into the safer parts of the Tower because he was waiting for his purple pulp of a moirail, crushed to death under rubble without telling him to forget about waiting.]

[F U C K !]

[He didn't just skid down a step or two. His shoelaces, those perpetually-undone bastards, had managed to work themselves up between his feet while he was spacing out about how much of a fuckup he was. Coupled with a quake from a crumbling Tower, it pulled his foot back and sent his body forward, ankle cracking grossly as the entire force of the stumble was thrown on it at once.]

[He was on his face again. Laying there like a stupid asshole for the-- oh, fuck it, he didn't feel like keeping track any more. This time was worse than any other, though. He could feel it, shooting and stabbing and throbbing from the bottom of his leg all the way up through his bones. The pain was so intense, it made his vision blur, twitching in and out of focus like it used to do in times when he was much, much happier. ...They'd stopped. They'd stopped and there were people around him, trying to hoist him up. He wanted to get up, just as soon as he stopped feeling so tired. As soon as his body would listen to him, he'd get up again. He would.]

[Except, he'd always been this tired. His body hardly listened to him anymore. It listened to... well, whatever was in his head. Whether all of them were him or not was something he still hadn't decided. There were voices screaming at him now, but they weren't the ones that were inside, he didn't think. They were outside. Okay.]

[Okay.]

[He was getting up. He was going to get up.]

[Did you ever go sledding when you were a kid? Down a big, steep hill, right after a snowstorm? What was the hardest part about sledding? It was always, always the end. When you reached the bottom of the hill, sometimes you'd take a nasty spill, rolling over and over, finally landing in a crumpled heap in the snow. It would get in your gloves, right on your wrists, soak your clothes. You'd be cold and tired and it was all you could do to just lay there, trying to forget everything and just be for a moment.]

[Gamzee couldn't appreciate that analogy, however, because he'd never had snow. He'd never been sledding and so he couldn't really relate this feeling to anything he'd ever had before. Every time he didn't want to move or get up, it was always because he was so tranquil.]

[The jostling brought him back. Sharpened his vision a little. ...Was he hallucinating? Was that...]

[Eridan?]

[Standing there, by himself. Just... staring. At nothing. ...What the fuck was he doing!? It was all he could focus on, with his face pressed sharply against the edge of one of the stairs. He was coming back, everything was coming back into focus, now. And Eridan wasn't going away, so it was a pretty safe bet that he wasn't just dreaming up the back of his head off in the distance for no good reason at all. Which was actually a pretty reassuring thought.]

Go. GO.

[More words were coming out of his mouth, but his head was pounding and his ankle was screaming at him, so he didn't quite catch everything he was saying. It was hard to get them to go. It was hard, and he was getting angry. Really. Angry. That they wouldn't just fucking listen to him. But he's pretty sure that's what got them to go. The anger always got him what he wanted. Always.]

[It was probably not a wise idea to step off - gingerly - on the eighth floor with all of this rage, now. He was also probably not very intimidating limping like this, either. Gamzee really had no fucking clue what he was doing. The only plan of action he'd managed to formulate was punching the jadeblood somewhere (hadn't picked a spot, yet) and telling him to get his ass to the lower level because this fucking place is taking a gigantic motherfucking shit all over itself and every sorry motherfucker what's up inside it. But, as he got closer? All intentions of doing the aforementioned things slowly vanished.]

[Something was wrong.]

[Something was always wrong with Eridan. Sure. That's just what kept him in existence, Gamzee had come to figure. Something being wrong was like perpetual motion for him. But even that dumbass knew when he was in danger! He'd always ran, scurried off when things were too much for him. Unless he was being stubborn again. But would he really try and take a stand against a fucking monster-filled whale currently hell-bent on engulfing the entire structure where they'd been forced to spend the last few months of their miserable lives? Apparently so???]

Eridan.

[...]

[He hobbled some more, trying to close the distance between them as fast as he could with one leg. Stupid fucking idiot was probably deaf as hell.]

Eridan!

[God fucking dammit.]

[He was getting worked up again. He could feel the wave rolling in the back of his mouth, tasting bitter and strong and--

And then Gamzee was yelling at him. It took a moment for the voice to sink in. There was a flash of sincere irritation that scared the shit out of him, because Gamzee wasn't supposed to irritate him. Gamzee was of the few people he didn't casually think about killing every now and then. He'd threatened Eridan upon arrival, and it'd felt so fucking good. He was scared his irritation was escalating. Because it was getting more and more easier to think that he could do something like that. What if he went around killing everyone who irritated him. What if--

Eridan pulled out the rifle and aimed in Gamzee's general direction, all expression washing off his face. He shot, once, and caught the monster aiming for the wobbling highblood, not caring if he was showering said highblood in guts in the process. It was Gamzee, he probably enjoyed it.]

Hey.

[And it was quiet and slow and deliberate, that word, because he needed to keep his shit together. Of course, now that he had no target to focus on, his hands went back to shaking ever so slightly, and the smile he offered was terse and taunt. He wanted to run and scream and hurt something, and it scared him, the feeling he wouldn't be able to stop if he started.]

[For a moment there, Gamzee was seriously questioning his sanity. Not that he hadn't been up until this point, but the last time he'd been seeing things was back in the experiments. He'd already been dealing with the side-effects from that - he didn't need any more.]

[But Eridan turned. Finally, he turned, aiming his gun right the fuck at Gamzee's face. And Gamzee stopped. Normally, he wouldn't have. Would have kept walking, incredulous and condescending look tattooed on his face, staring straight down the barrel the entire time. But he couldn't die here. He could have died moments earlier, when he was sure Tavros was safe, when he was sure they were going to get Karkat and go to the lowest level. Everyone he needed to see rescued was in safe hands, now. Except for now, there was the kid standing in front of him.]

[That was a stupid thought. Eridan didn't need rescuing as much as Gamzee was anything but a rescuer. He destroyed things, he did not save them. What was it that drove him, then? Curiosity? Maybe the only thing that brought him here was not a sense of responsibility, but a recognition. A recognition of the way Eridan's hands were so sure on that trigger, but so hesitant at the same time. He knew the hesitation was not the uncertainty of the kill. It was a preoccupation with something else, having nothing to do with whether the thing in front of you lived or died. Eridan was battling himself, and it showed.]

[When the shot rang out, and the guts spilled - he was right. Gamzee didn't show any signs of displeasure at all about being covered with entrails.]

[He laughed.]

[It was almost forced, yet not quite. He'd found it humorous, but not enough to laugh with the bravado that he was. Dripping with blood, he dragged his useless foot behind him to stop a few feet away from the jadeblood, ignoring the gun that was still held at the ready.]

What the fuck are you doing.

[Eridan stared at Gamzee for a moment, as if he were trying to understand what was going on. What was going on was easy enough: he was going insane. He knew that, he knew what an... episode felt like, and what part of him was still in control was struggling to keep it from happening because... because. There was a reason, he couldn't really remember why, but it was there.]

I don't know. About to go on a murderous rampage, maybe.

[He sounded a little hoarse, but he didn't notice. He looked down at Gamzee's ankle. He wasn't afraid of Gamzee. Not really. Maybe he'd been once, when he watched him kill the others. Maybe. He couldn't remember. He needed something to focus on. Focus. Keep in control, ignore the roaring in the back of his mind, the soothing white noise and the urge to hurt. Someone. Something. Anything. He swallowed hard.]

You're hurt.

[He remembered the slick crack of bone shattering and the wet sound of a head exploding and the feel of blood in his hands and the adrenaline rushing and the all consuming hatred. He swallowed again, his throat felt parched.]

Sit down, let me have a look at that.

[Focus on Gamzee. He had to focus on Gamzee. Gamzee was his friend, it'd be okay. He didn't want to kill Gamzee. He didn't want to hurt Gamzee. It was okay. Okay.]

Hahahahahaha!

[Oh, that was rich. Even if Gamzee would have minded having a half-crazed lunatic try to MacGyver his twisted, nasty ankle, now was certainly not the time to do it.]

The motherfuck you all plannin' on doin', Jadebro? STICKIN' A MOTHERFUCKING BULLET ALL UP BETWEEN MY GANDER BULBS TO PUT ME RIGHT OUT MY MOTHER FUCKING MISERY?

[His arms were flung up at each side of him in disbelief. And he couldn't. Stop. Laughing.]

'Sides, you're all hurt just what's as fuckin' much as I all am.

'm not hurt.

[He sounded sullen and a little breathless. He found himself chuckling a little, hollowly. He grabbed one of Gamzee's arms and tried to tug him down, because he needed to do something or he was going to have A Moment.]

And of course I'm not going to shoot you.

[He said that a bit more forcefully than necessary. As if he were talking to someone other than Gamzee. Maybe the roll of boundless violence choking in his veins.]

You know that.

[And then quietly.]

Let me fret, Gamzee, please.

[See, he would have resisted, too. Put up quite a dramatic effort in doing so, in fact. But doing that would have required putting a firm weight on his foot, which happened to be preoccupied at that moment with being turned grotesquely away from Gamzee's body.]

[He stumbled at the tug, growling an irritated protest before trying to catch himself with his bad leg and-- well, that was the end of that. The instant he tried planting that bloody shoe on the ground was the instant the white-hot vision overtook him again, blinding him with knives shooting up his tendons until he was awkwardly hunched over on the ground.]

YOU MOTHERFUCKER! WHAT THE FUCK IS WR--

[Oh, that anger felt so good when it came back. He was beginning to get weirded out, coming down the Tower. Talking to Karkat, finding Tavros. It had all felt so... dull. So bland. Trying to deal with himself coming apart at the seams, and then being handed a Big Fucking Whale destroying everything sort of just made him numb. The rage was diluted, the confusion, even the voices, for Christ's sake. Somehow, it was even more unnerving than having the chaotic whirlwind of emotions ripping through him every minute of the day. It was like being dead from the inside-out.]

[The flash of overwhelming rage that flared up as he was pulled off balance - what Gamzee had once regarded as something so unlike himself, something terrifying and unfamiliar, was now welcomed with almost a sense of relief. But it died away shortly, because Eridan was... pleading with him.]

...wrong with you...

[He finished his exclamation not nearly as forcefully as it had begun. The frustration was still tearing away at his face, however, and he scratched his claws against the hard ground of floor eight to keep himself from digging them in to Eridan's face.]

Shhh.

[Eridan flinched a little at the yell, more at the volume of it, than anything else. It was familiar enough, though. In a minuscule corner of his mind, he knew he should be terrified. That's what the yelling meant. It was Gamzee, in full highblood fury, about to get violent. If he had an ounce of good sense, he should be shaking and running away. But it was Gamzee. You couldn't really be afraid of Gamzee, no matter what Equius said. Maybe if he killed you before you got to know him, but really. Even now, those were his own glasses and his own scarf, tangled up in the boy. It was just Gamzee. Eridan couldn't be afraid of him, simply couldn't.]

Everything's wrong with me, Gam.

[He answered truthfully, trying to help the other boy sit in place. His hands were shaking still, because even as he focused on Gamzee, this wasn't the practiced, well known headspace of shooting something dead. But Gamzee was hurt and needed help, and he would hold his shit together until that was done.]

Just. Work with me here, let me see what's wrong with your foot.

[He offered a bit of a hopeless smile, fingers twitching nervously.]

Please.

I know.

[Gamzee scoffed, trying to maneuver his leg to a more accessible position without looking like the biggest, wincing pussy to ever grace this motherfucking Tower. His endeavor was met with moderate results.]

...Don't shoosh me.

[Still desperately clinging to any retort that would hold up the feeble image of animosity they had going, Gamzee lifted the bloodied edge of his pant leg. Eridan was about to have a fucking breakdown. It was written all over his face, all over his actions, and if one couldn't tell by the nonverbal cues, the way he was asking for a distraction from having a fucking breakdown would be the nail in the coffin.]

[His ankle was, well, fucked. When he'd fallen on the stairs, his foot had gotten pressed to its side, thrown backward while Gamzee's body lurched forward. The subsequent pressure resulting from the fall had snapped it like a stick. This was not helping. Looking at this thing was not making the pain go away. It was already hard to fucking breathe, every time even air touched the damn thing.]

[This was the worst decision he'd ever made, agreeing to this. He could feel the lightheadedness coming in waves from the adrenaline that had begun to surge through him. It hurt, oh fuck did it hurt, and he was really trying hard to make it sound like he was breathing normally. This was stupid. This was stupid and he looked stupid and he just wanted to run away but-- HA.]

[Beneath the pant leg was his stupid purple shoe, dirty and tattered and beat to hell, only it wasn't quite facing the right way. Feet were... feet were supposed to point forward, weren't they? Not... to the side...? And he was pretty sure there wasn't supposed to be blood pooling in them, either.]

[Have I mentioned how stupid he felt? Sitting on his ass and putting a crippling wound on display like this? Right now, fuck animosity. Fuck stupid fakey fake bullshit fronts and the make-believe tough kid act they both had been putting on, he had to save his fucking pride.]

The only mother fucking reason I'm all doing this, IS FOR YOU.

[Eridan winced at the sight of Gamzee's ankle. It wasn't the worse he'd ever seen, though. It wasn't even the worse he'd ever delivered. He closed his eyes, however, recoiling from the slideshow his traitorous brain had thrown together, broadcasting all the scenes of gore he'd participated and witnessed in his life. He'd stopped being ill at the sight of blood and bone and brainmatter a long time ago. He took a deep breath and reopened his eyes.]

I know.

[He offered Gamzee a thin, bloodless smile.]

Thank you.

[He tugged at the scarf around his neck, loosening it up and inwardly amused at the fact this would be the second one that would go on to belong to Gamzee.]

But I should tie it up at least, help... help keep it firm so we can make our way back down. Okay?

[Ugh. UGH. This didn't sound fun at all. Gamzee had never, ever taken very good care of any injury he'd sustained, ever since he was a kid. You hurt yourself, it was painful, you ate sopor, you forgot about it, it went away. That was the healing process from the beginning of time.]

Don't be all wasting to fucking gratitudes on my ass.

[He eyed Eridan's scarf in terror. He... he wouldn't...]

You ain't fucking touching this, brother. It'll fucking fall off, I know it's gonna fall the motherfuck off if you touch it, it will.

[Holy fuck could he shut up!? The pain and adrenaline were making him slightly delirious. It was irritating. Everything was so fucking irritating.]

Let's just go. Come on. We gotta go.

I'll waste my fucking gratitude on anyone's ass I damn well want.

[Eridan managed to make it sound prim, despite the words. He shook his head and looked up at Gamzee with a thin smile.]

It'll be worse, if I don't. Trust me on this, it'll be worse and you'll hate life and everything that lives, if I don't.

[He paused, taking a deep breath. Letting it out. Calming himself. Slowing down. Stop projecting, Eridan.]

It's going to hurt. I know it is, but it's broken, Gamzee. Tying it up will make it feel better.

[Was it really projecting if you were projecting on to something that was the same as the projection?]

Fuck. Whatever is all gonna be up and making you get your calm down on, motherfucker. Just...

Just, we ain't gonna be around to up and feel better if we don't all get to gettin' our motherfuckin' asses in gear, bro. Tower Shitstain be makin' it's fuckin' way down the load gaper, you know.

I know. I was up there already.

[And he'd shoot and shoot and then left before anyone saw him. He thinned his lips. He didn't know if he could manage it. He had an idea and then. Then. Fuck.]

It'll take them hours before they definitely cross into here.

[He chewed his lower lip.]

I chose this spot because it's mostly peaceful for a while. Just... just hold still and let me. Let me help.

...Do what you gotta fucking do.

[Whatever. The pain... it didn't matter. Whatever. If it meant Eridan got to keep his hands busy and distract himself, whatever. WHATEVER. He could fucking smell the insanity on him, okay!? Even though his powers were suppressed for God-knows-what reason (add that to the pile of shit that made no sense but who really gave a fuck because nothing made sense anymore), he could still practically taste the manic apprehension bubbling up inside the kid. It was sour on his tongue, buzzed in his ears over the roaring, white noise of his throbbing pulse.]

Talk at me, though. 'Cause fuckin' honestly, brother, there ain't no motherfucking way you be all makin' it outta here with your nug screwed on right if you ain't lettin' that nasty-ass, bubbly crazybile dribble outta your speakhole first.

What would you like me to talk about?

[Eridan smiled cheerlessly at that, reaching a hand to grasp Gamzee's knee, feeling the sinew and muscle and taking deep breaths to keep himself steady.]

We don't--we don't talk about things. I don't talk about things. Even when I should. And the only thing I can really think of to tell you is stupid and childish and not the time for it. So. What do you want me to say?

[His free hand grabbed the scarf and began wrapping it around Gamzee's foot and ankle, trying to secure it in place as tight as he could.]

That if I weren't doing this I'd probably be out there hurting someone? That doing this on someone else is way easier than doing it on myself? That you better find someone with magic healing powers, because broken ankles take forever to heal?

[He swallowed hard, baring his teeth.]

You don't want me going crazy. No one wants me going crazy.

[Gamzee ground his teeth. This couldn't. WORK. This fucking feelings jam bullshit couldn't work because they were both the type of person to just go and BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF SOMETHING INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY TRYING TO TALK ABOUT THIS WHICH IS WHY--]

I KNOW!!!

[Oh, God damnit.]

I AIN'T KNOWING WHAT THE MOTHERFUCK I BE WANTING YOU TO SAY! I AIN'T ALL NO FUCKING GOOD AT THIS, AND NEITHER ARE YOU. I. KNOW.

[Why the fuck was this happening!? Why the fuck couldn't he just have a friend that shit didn't get fucked up with!? I mean, their relationship was founded on fuckups. Forged on them, from the beginning. Their first encounter was a fuckup of gigantic proportions, but it wasn't one that hurt. Eridan was shaken when they'd first met, but at least he'd drugged him to the point of being happy. Even artificially-induced happiness is still fucking happiness!]

[WHY COULDN'T HE FUCKING FIX ANYTHING, EVER!?]

OH, MOTHERFUCK!!!

[That scarf had been cranked around his ankle. Tight. All of the breath left him at once, his head fell back, and his teeth cracked on each other with enough force to hurt his jaw. His arms were shaking, now. Was his whole body shaking? Who the fuck knew. Who the fuck knew anything!? His entire world right now was what felt like his entire foot being ripped off of his body. And what did pain translate into? More anger, of course. If he kept yelling at Eridan, he'd forget about this ice pick he'd gotten shoved right up his leg.]

I DON'T WANT YOU TO SAY MOTHERFUCKING NOTHING! I WANT TO-- [Oh, hell.] I WANT TO FUCKING HELP YOU, BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW. I AIN'T GONNA WATCH YOU FLIP YOUR FUCKING SHIT. I MOTHER FUCKING CAN'T. I WON'T.

[Eridan didn't flinch at the screaming anymore. He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Gamzee's shirt.]

You're helping.

[His voice was soft, even as he finish tying up the knot and absently patted Gamzee's ankle as he let go.]

You're helping, and it's not your fault I just want to--

[Watch the world burn.]

Flip my shit. I never thought I'd go crazy this way. Never. It. It didn't seem my style.

[He swallowed hard.]

But it's okay, you're helping. You really are. I'm sorry I'm fucking this up.

SHUT UP!

[Gamzee was loud, and Eridan was quiet. Gamzee broke things, and Eridan fixed them. Gamzee was aggressive, Eridan was passive. Gamzee felt zero remorse for anything ever, and Eridan always FUCKING APOLOGIZED. Even though they both had their own slew of fuckups, they'd always been so different. So why. WHY. WHY DID ERIDAN HAVE TO GO CRAZY, TOO!? It wasn't fair! ERIDAN WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE FUNCTIONAL ONE.]

SHUT UP, ERIDAN!!!

[He was so livid, he couldn't think straight. If he heard the word "sorry" one more fucking time, he was going to chew this stupid motherfucking foot of his right off and be done with it. His claws were scratching into the ground again, so hard he was about to crack them all in two.]

What do you want me to do, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO MOTHERFUCKING DO!?

TELL ME WHAT TO DO TO MAKE YOU BETTER!!!

I don't know!

[Eridan recoiled from the rage, but not in fear. He still wasn't afraid, if nothing else because the sentiment got to him. He understood. Gamzee was his friend, they were friends. After all that had happened, they would probably be friends forever.]

I just want them to go the fuck away!

[He hadn't meant to say that. He wasn't talking about his demons anymore. He rolled the rifle into his hand again, and shot the shadow in a corner without a second thought. His entire body shook as the monster collapsed into a pile of guts and blood. He ground his teeth and tried to think about things that didn't make him murderously angry. He was breathing hard, but he made an effort to calm down.

And then, The Thought occurred him. It was the same sneaky thought that tormented him in the wasteland he'd been stranded in. The same one that caught him unaware, while he fingered Equius hair.

It wasn't just that he wanted to hurt something, it was that he needed hurt.

He swallowed hard.]

I don't know... I don't know if I can ask you what I want.

Edited 2012-08-17 09:03 (UTC)

Who.

[He didn't need to ask. He almost felt he was insulting Eridan by asking. "Them" was the blanket word for everything that fucking plagued a psychotic mind. Gamzee's voices, Eridan's incessant thoughts and urges - them. Them, them, them. And how cruel and unrelenting "they" were.]

[The shot startled him. Made him realize there was still a gun here and there were still loud noises that could happen that weren't him screaming at the top of his lungs like a fucking wiggler throwing a tantrum. Eridan was slipping, slipping just a little bit more.]

[It was easy to observe Eridan losing it. What he meant was, it was very obvious that it was happening, but was it difficult as fuck to watch. He wanted to punch it out of him. That was the only thing Gamzee was good for. The only thing his stupid pan knew how to do. But he'd try. Whatever the fuck it was that Eridan wanted to ask of him, he'd try his best to do. Because that's what friends did. And they were friends. He might have forgotten how to be a friend since he fucking cracked, but this was. Different, somehow. He knew what it felt like to be ripped apart and have your pan rattled around your skull and lose yourself and realize quite belatedly that you were never, ever going to find you again. He wouldn't-- he wouldn't let that happen to Eridan. He'd do anything.]

I'll do. Fucking. Anything. Just motherfucking tell me, you stupid piece of shit.

[The Thought stirred some more. It was an odd thing, The Thought. In retrospect, it was odd, how it hadn't ever come to him before. He was an optimistic creature by nature, for all paradox space had gone out of its way to shit on him in all possible forms. There was always a way to fix things, always a new angle. He would try and try again, until he got it right. The arrival of The Thought made Eridan realize why he was a Time player in the first place.

Coming to the Tower, he realized, had delayed The Thought quite a bit. Life in the Tower was miserable and wretched and with no small amount of painful, horrifying moments. But it repaid his optimism. Things got... not better, but different. Bearable. There were people he loved in the Tower. There was Kan and Eq and Gam. Fef had been there too. And even if she was gone, he would continue to hold onto the hope, because people came and went. If someone died, in the Tower, they came back. If someone got hurt, they could be healed.

And then he landed in that wasteland

That was what his eternity should have been like. That was his Ever After. He knew that. He was an optimistic creature, though, he'd looked for Fef. He'd look for anyone. He'd gone back and forth, trying to find someone that wasn't there. This was what his life was meant to be. Not the Tower and it's carefully selected choice of horrors, no. This. Empty, grey, desolated, dead nothingness. The world ravaged by his own hand, and his own chance at something else, forsaken as atonement.

He'd been lying on the ground somewhere, optimism finally drained out entirely and absently wondering if the Tower hadn't been just a stupid hallucination, when The Thought came.

He ignored it. He was good at ignoring things and pretending that made them go away, even though he knew it didn't. The Thought sat quietly in the back of his head and watched as the rest of it splintered under the sheer, burning hate. Eridan would scream himself hoarse and hate everything, everywhere, everyime, but still The Thought would remain in place. Before, during and after, unruffled.

It was staring down at him now, impassive and certain that he would give in. Eridan shivered. His brand of madness was obsessive, much like everything else about him. He was obsessed with fixing things, with helping others, with being useful, with doing the right thing, with atoning for his mistakes, with watching movies from beginning to end. He was obsessive about everything, why would he have thought madness would change that? He knew his obsessions, they didn't stop until they were over or until someone or something got in the way and put a stop to them.

When Eridan gave in to the hatred, the... the episodes never stopped until he bled himself into unconsciousness. And then when he woke up, miraculously not dead, it would start all over again.

The tiny wisp of himself that was struggling so bravely to keep his shit together was terrified of what his anger would do, if unleashed on the Tower. Obsessive, methodical anger with a sadistic streak and a powered weapon. He didn't want to know how many he'd kill before they killed him. He didn't want to think how many people would never look at him the same way ever again.

But Gamzee would understand. Gamzee went through it, didn't he. But it was so selfish. The Thought was the single most selfish thing in the world. Eridan shivered at the sound of Gamzee's words and reached to hold his wrists in his hands, letting the rifle rest on the floor by their side.]

I am a hair-width away from a murderous rampage. A big one, I've never really gone on one, but that was only because there wasn't anyone there to kill, not even myself.

[He licked his lips, tightening his hold on Gamzee's wrists.]

We're friends, aren't we, Gamzee? You're my friend. Friends don't let friends do crazy stupid shit they will regret later.

Edited 2012-08-17 09:37 (UTC)

[Eridan had sat there, quieted, for so long. Gamzee knew he was lost, somewhere inside himself. He used to get lost, too, sometimes. Only, it wasn't musing about suffering, or bleak, desolate outcomes, the end of days, the purpose and consequence of your actions - when he'd lost himself, it was always mindless. Always blissfully ignorant. The only times he'd lost himself now were when he succumbed to his fits.]

[Watching Eridan, it suddenly dawned on him that he was the one experienced in this. The one that had gone through this already. Gone fucking off the deep-end, killed people, destroyed friendships, screamed and murdered and beaten and wrecked until he'd just wrecked himself. He had never, ever. Thought that this would happen. Thinking about it now made whatever scraps were in his stomach edge their way up his throat. Dwelling on it for even a second was going to send him into a panic attack. Never acknowledge. Never look back. That was how he'd flown off the handle the last time, spewed all his crazy all over the fucking network.]

[There was no way Gamzee could know what Eridan was thinking at this moment. He could relate, oh, how he could relate, but as much as their minds were on the same track, there were just some parts that veered drastically. So, he would wait. He was good at waiting. Waiting was what he knew. It was weird, looking at the fit-throwing hothead and imagining him having oceans of patience. But there he sat, ankle tied up with a now-purple scarf, just waiting until he got his answer.]

[The answer happened to be a sudden grip on his wrists. He certainly wasn't expecting the touch, but it did the job of getting his attention.]

[He'd already known what Eridan was saying. He also knew that the only reason he was saying it was to validate it for himself. Gamzee need not acknowledge this observation.]

[The second question, however, got a response. You wouldn't know it, from the lack of expression on Gamzee's face - but usually, that was the best indicator that he was there.]

We be more than motherfucking friends, shithead. We're bros. One-way street and all that motherfucking convoluted bullshit, remember? I sure all up and was to be spouting that noise my fucking self, once upon a time. Unless you motherfuckin' forgot.

[Talking like this was the only way he was going to get through this. He just couldn't do it any other way.]

As your bro, my motherfucking ass will be to do what's any fuckin' thing to all make sure you ain't fuckin' shit up on yourself. IT AIN'T MOTHERFUCKING NICE, FUCKIN' UP EVERYTHING WHAT'S RIGHT. It sure fuckin' ain't.

What the fuck do you need, brother?

...I need you to kill me.

Okay.

[As long as it took for Eridan to blurt it out was as long as it took for Gamzee to agree. There was no gigantic, internal moral battle. There was no shock, no horror, no reeling back in disbelief. Just desperation. He was desperate to do anything to not have to see him like this. If Eridan thought dying was what was going to help, it was something Gamzee was more than capable of doing. He'd told him he would do whatever he needed, and he meant it. He wasn't going to flail around after he'd made that promise.]

[He was trying very hard, however, to squash whatever doubts were attempting to claw their way into his pan. They were playing devil's advocate. His pan was not on his side. It hadn't been for a fucking while. The fact that it was trying to dissuade him from going through with it was just further proof that it was what he needed to do.]

[And it wasn't just Eridan that needed it. Gamzee was sitting there, in pain (so much fucking pain), lost in every fucking sense of the word, tired, completely enraged to the point of calm, that he knew, once he started this, there was no way he was going to be able to stop.]

[But I don't want you to die.]

[But I don't want you to feel like this anymore.]

[But what if you don't come back again?]

[This shit didn't need to be said. It was utterly pointless and counter-productive.]

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