Eridan Ampora ♒ chronicAugustus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chronomancer) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-08-15 10:23 pm
chronomancer) wrote in towerofanimus2012-08-15 10:23 pm
Entry tags:
[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.]
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.]
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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.
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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.
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[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!!!
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[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.
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[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.
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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.
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[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?
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[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.]
no subject
He didn't know if it'd work.
But it made sense in his head. It was The Thought - put an end to this, put an end to everything - only not really, because here in the Tower things didn't work that way. But maybe it'd help. It'd distract him.
Most importantly, it'd stop him.
He cared and he hated, but he didn't want to hurt anyone. That wasn't who he was. Whether dying would reset his sanity - it had reset his arm, so why wouldn't it... - the thing that really mattered was that it'd put a stop to the process.
It'd be okay.
And Gamzee would go along with it. Eridan swallowed hard and shifted, reaching out to give the stupid clown a tight hug.]
You're the best bro anyone could dream of.
[It was surreal, and maybe part of his crazy, part of his unraveled sanity. But he was hugging his would-be executioner and he didn't care because he was the best friend anyone could hope for.]
no subject
[One of the people he, under no circumstances, wanted to die, he was going to motherfucking kill.]
[And it was okay.]
[Everything was so okay. Because if it wasn't okay, they would fall apart. And Eridan was falling apart. He was not okay. Gamzee was going to put him right again. He was going to make it so that he was able to pretend to be okay again. This was how it worked. Or, was going to work.]
[How did he want to die?]
[It seemed like a fair enough question. This wasn't just someone he was mindlessly taking his anger out on, after all. He at least deserved to die the way he wanted, right?]
[But, before Gamzee could give that any more thought, there were arms around him.]
I--
[It was like someone hit the "puree" button on his insides. The carefree, blitzed out hornpile cuddle fiasco, the party with the twinkly-lights where he'd dragged Eridan from up against the wall and proclaimed their broship, dumping leaves and bugs on his chest while watching his Time powers go fucking haywire, and then having every subsequent interaction between them dwindle. Get more stiff, more bitter, more weathered. When did it even turn into this? When did they start all of this caustic bullshit? Why did he have to kill one of his best friends?]
[This was hard, when he was this angry. His arms didn't falter, though, slowly finding their way around Eridan's shoulders and pulling him close. Those words.]
...--!
[They were hopefully both going to agree to never recognize whatever that was that just came out of his mouth. It was something like an impossibly short squeak, a reaction to... just, whatever the fuck it was that Eridan had just said to him because it was echoing around in his head an embarrassing number of times.]
[The Tower was falling. They didn't have Time to sit here, but they were going to make Time. Gamzee was not the fucking Time player here, but if Time was going to get in his fucking way, he was going to fuck Time's shit up.]
Keep fucking dreaming, you'll have better luck.
[If he let go of him now, that meant he would have to destroy him.]
I'll do all what's the shit you don't wanna. Give all that motherfucking guiltiness at me, brother, 'cause my proverbial fuckin' plate's all up and full of that noise already. I'll do it all so you don't gotta. I'll fix it, I fuckin' will. Promise.
no subject
[Eridan let out a soft breath, ignoring the way his entire body shook. This wasn't anything new. It made him think of Fef. She... she'd been more sanguine about it, then. Perhaps because at one point she'd honestly, genuinely wanted him dead.
He remembered bleeding out, how long it took. It was no easy feat, no simple thing. He thought this would be more of the same.
He thought, oddly enough, of Equius. That made him smile.]
I was going to ask you, you know. To knock it off about Zahhak. Because he's a stupid dumb fuck, but I'm scared one day he's going to stop putting himself back together properly and then he'll be gone. I thought about this.
[He didn't say how long. Because it'd been long now, for him. It was more than three days, which it should be, but not. Because he'd gone and meddled, even as he'd promised himself not to. He'd gone and looked and seen and now three days were three weeks and he'd thought and thought and thought.]
Thought it'd make sense. Be convenient, you know. You need to kill some fuckers every now and then. I probably need some thorough killing. It'd be efficient and everyone wins. No one gets pissed or starts some ridiculous revenge cycle or bitches about shit. Everyone's okay.
[He shivered in Gamzee's hold, but refused to let go.]
We're okay. I'll make it up to you, somehow. Anything you want, Gamzee, I promise, it'll be yours.
[He used to know where the weight was placed, in a balance. What side it was tilted to. Now all he knew was that he wasn't scared and he should be, but he wasn't. Because dying wasn't the worst horror he'd ever endured. Because he knew what happened when you died, what happened when you came back. It had been such an intrinsic part of his very being for so long, that Eridan legitimately mourned for its loss. That was one fear he might never replace again, but he disliked thinking about the consequences on his personality, much like he disliked thinking about white noise and strips of skin being torn off his arms.]
no subject
[But. ...Still.]
[Hm.]
[Eridan was okay with him. Eridan didn't want to replace him because... he was okay with him. Karkat had said the same thing. "Maybe I just happen to like you the way that you are!"]
[He couldn't think about this now. Not when he had to kill him.]
Zahhak...? You mean, like, Eqbro?
[When had Eridan ever met...?]
Oh.
[GOD WAS HE SO SICK OF ALTERNATE TIMELINES. What the fuck did Eridan care about what he did to that stupid little pissblood, anyway? He all got what he fuckin' deserved for setting him off like that. Trying to stick his nose all up in-- Okay, save that train of thought for just a moment. He could use it to work himself up again. He scoffed.]
I'll see what all I can motherfucking do.
[Hey, if he got to ban Eridan from rattling Karkat's cage, he supposed Eridan got a free shot at keeping him from... well, ruthlessly slaughtering someone. It was the same thing, right!? Wait. Wait, hang on.]
You want me to... keep killin' you?
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[Because it was in his nature to fret and worry about every little thing, and that was the crux of the problem. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't stop caring. He didn't want Gamzee to kill Equius again, he really didn't. But he understood. He understood better than he had, back after the labyrinth mess.
He understood the urge now, to do something violent and hurt someone just because. He hadn't, before he left. Before he left, he would have tried to talk with Gamzee, to make him promise or to try and make him understand why it was wrong. Now the scary part was that Eridan remembered all his reasonings why it was wrong, and still couldn't really say they were right.
Now Eridan wouldn't be as naive as to ask, without offering a substitute in return. And who would he offer, other than himself? It wasn't stupid, selfless naivete anymore. It wasn't his stupid guilt trying to push him to take on every single thing that went wrong with the world and make it right all on his own.
But, as he said, he'd thought about it. He'd thought about it and tried to convince himself thinking about it wasn't the same as indulging The Thought, either. He let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes and trying to keep his breathing from speeding up, as it'd been attempting to.]
I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it. Fits quite nicely. You sometimes feel like killing someone, and you're not sorry about it, but this way... This way you won't get in trouble either. And I.
[And he'd once been so terrified about death. So utterly afraid of his own end. He'd been a fool then. He couldn't end. He wasn't allowed to end. He had too much to atone for to be granted the respite of death. He'd keep going and going, long after everyone else was gone or moved on. And he'd still be paying.]
I won't mind, if it makes you feel better. It'll make me feel better. But maybe it'll help you too. You're not guilty about it, and I won't ask you to feel guilty about it. And no one will get mad about it because it's me.
[And no one gives a flying fuck about me, he didn't say, but it was implied quite strongly in that.]
It makes sense, Gamzee. Does it?
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[Gamzee scowled, pulling back just enough so he could look at Eridan's face. As much as they were both hanging by a thread mentally, their desire to hurt and kill didn't seem to be entirely identical.]
[Where Eridan wanted to mindlessly kill and maim, Gamzee wanted to torture and punish every motherfucker what went and was all to piss him the motherfuck off. He could kill indiscriminately, don't get him wrong. But that was killing for fun. There was that sort of killing, and the killing when you were filled with so much anger from someone that all you wanted in that moment was to reach out and snap their necks in half.]
[But. Eridan was trying. He was trying, dammit. To help himself, and to help Gamzee at the same time. Gamzee had never asked for Eridan's help, but he was offering it anyway. Wasn't that always how it was? Eridan couldn't just do something purely for himself, without having to find some way for it to benefit someone else, too. And so, Gamzee would try, too.]
Yeah. ...Yeah. Makes complete fuckin' sense.
Two things, though.
[He brought an arm up between them, leaving the other one still clinging across the back of Eridan's shoulders. Holding up a finger, he began counting off his points.]
One. I motherfucking hear all one fucking more of that self-deprecating snot roll out your spitchute, I will up and cull your motherfuckin' ass before we all get up and done proper with conversing this shit. Actin' like no one gives a fuck on you be fuckin' insulting after I was all up to be spillin' these greasy guts of mine in front of you just now, motherfucker.
Two. What if... what if it don't work? What if you still be all feelin' them motherfuckin' scratchies in your nug?
[He frowned, the two fingers he held up so confidently now were curling down.]
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If I didn't know you gave a fuck, I wouldn't have asked you.
[He admitted easily, then paused a moment to grind his teeth. He wanted to reassure Gamzee, but the truth was that thinking about it only made the wound bleed a bit more. Sure, Gamzee cared. But Gamzee wasn't the only one Eridan cared about. He took a deep breath.]
And if... if it doesn't work long term, I'll think of something else. But I need to stop, now.
[He pulled away enough to give his friend a searching look. It was no small thing he was asking. But he had no one else to ask. And it weighted on him to ask for it, but he couldn't take it back now. He wouldn't. He swallowed hard.]
I trust you.
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[Oh for fuck's sake he didn't need reassurance he just wanted you to know he cared you stupid fucking bulgemunch!!! Why the fuck do you feel the need to reciprocate every fucking thing!?]
[If it didn't work, he didn't know what he would do. He knew Eridan had no fucking idea what to do, either.]
If this don't work...
[If it doesn't work, then what? What are you going to do about it, Gamzee? Offer him all of your sane, knowledgeable assistance? This is the only thing you could do for him. We've been over this. Only good at busting shit, never good at fixing it. He let that sentence die off. This had to work.]
[Gamzee didn't mind that he was being asked this. Truly. As much as he felt the squirming in his bilesack when he thought too hard on it, he realized that he'd felt that way about a lot of things if he thought too hard about them.]
[When Eridan looked at him, all of the cracks that had busted open in the past few minutes resealed themselves. Gamzee set his jaw. He let everything he was blocking out earlier flood back in to his pan. It felt just like letting circulation back into a blood-starved limb - a rushing relief, a familiar flow.]
Don't.
[With a deep breath, his arms fell from around the boy, back down to his sides, tensing every so often. After a few moments of staring at their jumbled legs between them, Gamzee looked back up at Eridan, hardened, callous grin stitched back on where it rightfully belonged.]
How do you want to die, motherfucker?
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He sat back a little, putting distance between them, and then took the sunglasses off. You know how it goes, bro, it's only serious shit when the sunglasses come off. He didn't remember who'd said that - him, Jade - or to whom it'd been said - him, Jade, Gamzee - he only remembered it was true.
Eridan stared up at Gamzee through blootshot, dilated eyes, every bit of frantic, manic energy buzzing in his expression. He swallowed hard, and grinned back full of teeth and the promise of lots and lots of bloodshed if Gamzee didn't stop him first.]
Painfully.
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[Eridan had told him that once before. If the sunglasses come off, that's how you know shit gets real. What was "real", though? Was this real? This Tower? These people? Had he fallen asleep on that hunk of rock back home and this was some sort of crazy fucking fever-dream? That would explain the weird versions of his friends. Or, enemies? Comrades? ...Acquaintances? It would explain the human infestation, as the buzz of human children had just begun to spread across the lab before he got here.]
[If this was a dream, did he really want to wake up? Would he even be the same if he did!? At least if this was a dream, and he did wake up, they'd be back on that meteor with an actual chance of dying. No coming back, if he went back there. He would die and stay dead and that would be the fucking end of it.]
[Gamzee wasn't really sure if that was a terrifying thought, or a wistful one.]
[Placing one hand on the ground behind him for leverage, clubs in the other, he sprang quickly to his feet. ...Foot. It was going to be interesting beating someone to death while remaining on one leg, but whoever thought it a handicap would be a person that severely underestimated Gamzee Makara's enthusiasm and sadistic fortitude when it came to a good culling. The bloody, scarfed injury was hanging uselessly at the end of his right leg, bent to hold his foot a few inches off of the ground.]
[Come on, come on, come on, stand up!!! Wide, wild eyes roamed over Eridan's every inch - not unlike the token creep you found sitting three seats down from you at any respectable local establishment, although the similarities in intent were definitely questionable. The only thought running through Gamzee's shrunken-swollen pan was how each joint, each bend and plane of his body would sound and feel as it snapped beneath his club. He'd always, always just gotten to watch them fall. Watch them bleed. Watch them hobble in torturous pain, and if he was lucky, oh, if he was lucky, he'd get to see them collapse from the blood loss. Watch the light leave their eyes - with substantially less gore than was completely necessary, but beggars can't be choosers - while the alpha "tch"'d and went on to take care of other business.]
[There was always the alpha. He was always there, the non-expendable, flitting away and calling the shots and orchestrating his own death while simultaneously being around to watch it all go down. At times, Gamzee had caught himself lost in thought. Fantasizing, if you will, of the day he'd see the real one be the one to fall. Have him experience the gruesome fate he had to watch his other selves go through. Not to say that he hadn't lost himself already in this God-forsaken tower, but who ever took the time out to give him the kind of ending he really deserved? You're the best bro anyone could dream of. Yeah. Yeah, he was. He was, wasn't he? He would beat the insanity out of Eridan. Crack it out of his face, rip it from his tendons. Spill it from his veins. He would lay down the healing punishment.]
[because he was a good.]
[MOTHERFUCKING.]
[friend.]
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And then Eridan breathed out a sigh and let go.
It felt so good to let go, to release all the pent up rage and hate. The cynical, mostly-somewhat-token-sane corner of his mind told him this wouldn't happen if he had a moirail. If he still had Fef, he could have talked about it. Except the Tower had taken her from him, and rather than calm him, the thought merely fueled the fire some more. It roared inside his skull like white noise, enough that it drowned out the traitorous thought that even if he'd had Fef, he wouldn't have talked about it. He wasn't the one that needed pacifying, was he? He was the one who pacified. He was supposed to be calm and controlled at all times. That he'd reached breaking point only meant he was defective somehow, not that he needed a moirail, because he had the best moirail in the world.
Eridan didn't stand up so much as roll to his feet. He was graceful as he moved, with the practiced ease of someone who's spent sweeps fighting. His eyes narrowed and his smile widened, and he relished in it. There was a calculative slant to his madness. For all he was willing to spread the violence around, it wasn't rash. Like everything about him, it was methodical and careful and obsessive.
He didn't want to hurt Gamzee, but then the only thing he needed to do was imagine someone else in Gamzee's place. Dualscar came to mind easily. Or with that gaunt, a zombie. Or Karkat. There were many, many options that didn't involve him hurting Gamzee. It made so much sense.
He dropped the gun and the shovel and they clattered on the floor noisily.
He lunged.]
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[It had only taken Gamzee a moment to pick his first target. What did prim, touchy pretty boys like the most about themselves? Their faces. Eridan's face was always something he'd just wanted to fuck up. So, face it was. It was such an easy decision, and it was so easy to smash the side of a club right into the middle of that fucker's face as they collided.]
[The crack and pop of Eridan's nose crumpling under the blow was almost as intoxicating as the instant spurt of jade blood that began to flow from it as a result. Oh, God, the way it splattered off of his club, poured down Eridan's neck and front side. ...How much more there would be if he hit him again. And again. And again. In a desperate attempt to reach this revelation, Gamzee drew his arm back again, as quickly as he could manage, intending to beat all of the blood out of that broken mess of cartilage he'd just created.]
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Or well, he hadn't, until recent times.
The hit to his face and the sick crack made him let out a feral sound, but rather than keep going, he let inertia take him and rolled back, to the ground, where he kept rolling until he was back on his feet. He lunged again, rolling on the balls of his feet to avoid the first incoming blow. Pent up emotion just wanted to tear itself free, and if there was something nearby to tear too, well that was just as good.
He wasn't really seeing Gamzee anymore. Not even the projections to justify this. It was just someone that hurt him and it pissed him off and he was going to tear his throat out with his teeth, for no weightier reason than he wanted to.]
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[Due to his slowed pivot, Eridan caught Gamzee before he could attempt another strike, colliding with his chest and sending him stumbling backwards with a few dozen snarls of displeasure. His face was contorted, twisted in a ferocious, manic determination - an expression that only set it when he was defending himself, when he wanted to rip and tear and destroy. When on the offensive, the corners of his mouth were almost always upturned.]
[Dropping a club, he fisted the front of Eridan's shirt with his free hand, tugging him viciously back with him. If he was going to fall backwards, he was taking this little shit with him.]
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Then he struggled and flailed, trying to pull away, with the desperate air of someone fleeing a nightmare. This was, really, the reason he preferred long-range. He couldn't stand being touched in a fight. Being tugged and pulled.
When you grow up with day terrors about shuffling corpses dragging you down and tearing you apart, you learn very quickly to keep your distance in a fight. It was an old fear, older than the ones the Tower and the Game gave him.
He made a panicked sound, spluttering on his own blood, and tried to scramble away with a wounded cry.]
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[So lost in his momentary ecstasy was he, that he failed to notice Eridan's attempt to scurry away from him. Well, that just wouldn't fucking do. This was his fucking fever-dream. The lowly, flailing midblood never got away. They were going to play.]
[It was easy to get a hand in his hair, curl and twist his fingers around so they'd become just a mess of taut black-and-green. With a useless foot, it was hard to break as many bones as he desperately wanted to, but fuck if he wasn't going to use any alternative method he could to do so.]
[Gamzee drove his pointy, bony knee right in between Eridan's shoulderblades, forcing him against the ground while simultaneously yanking his head back by the hair. It was almost as if he was trying to see how far he had to pull it before his neck snapped in half. A little more, a little more... Let's see how far his head goes before he cries out.]
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