Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been damn near a year since you’ve been to the hospital.

“you gon get out that phone long enough to enjoy yourself?”

what? you just stare at bro and go back to being on your phone. Besides, it’s not like anything exciting is going on here anyway, you wanna go home, but home wouldn’t be any better either, nothing to eat so you're basically giving yourself an eating disorder while snacking on chips. then you guess there’s also what could be considered verbal abuse or emotional. He never takes what they diagnosed you with seriously.

“You think im playing?” fuck. not this shit again. “I didn't bring you out here for you to be on your phone the whole time. You've been doing that all day.” Sometimes you wish he’d leave you alone.

there’s some fucking pyromaniacs doing a show. You watch them just long enough to lose sight of bro. or so you thought, the firemen also caught his attention and he’s walking over, you follow him and stand next to him and film about a minute of the show right before it ends. You stop at another booth, all this walking is killing your ankles. Theres toys here, you decide on a blue bubble gun “Don’t have all those bubbles in my house” bro says asking you to hold his previously bought oversized lemonade. you sneak obvious sips not knowing the flavor assuming it to be strawberry flavored due to the taste. you stand awkwardly on your phone as bro talks to the stall owner, eventually taking his drink back. He’s talking about his chosen profession while your legs ache from walking, you see an old lady smoking a cigarette and wish you had one. They wrap up their conversation and you walk off.

“you were talking about that lil child with those bubbles but here you go” bro. please. stop.

you retort that you "weren't going to do anything” with the bubble gun until you got home. Which was true, you weren't going to do anything with the blue and white gun located in the plastic bag around your wrist. you keep walking to the car as best as you can with your ankles and knees giving out every minute, giving you a limp of sorts. Why is there so much wrong with you? anxious, depressive, annoying. god you need to die. Bro questions if the chinese spot down the road was still open. like you’d know. Finally, you're in the car. You couldn’t stand another minute of walking.

you go on your phone for the remainder of the car ride, destination unknown, forgetting to buckle yourself in. not like you needed to anyway as bro whipped around the corner to the closing chinese restaurant leaving you in the car to check something inside the clearly vacant restaurant. What is this dumb thundercunt doing? Apparently walking back to the car to tell you to hurry your ass up as they close in thirty minutes. You guess the restaurant wasnt as vacant as you thought.

at checkout you fidget with the hem of your shirt. your ankles are basically blown at this point, the rubber band on the back of your shoes making the irritation even worse. Back in the car you blast music into your ears so they don’t fall victim to bros horrid music taste. placing the two stacked plates between your feet to keep the contents from spilling out. and of course bro has the windows down so wind keeps smacking you in the face or gliding over your surprisingly aerodynamic forehead. You let your phone absorb most of your attention till you're home.

You take your plate of food to your cluttered dark room and start chowing down on the overstuffed plate of noodles, rice, green beans, crab rangoons, and garlic bread. You fucking love garlic bread. You message your friends, especially your best friend and boyfriend, John. He always makes you feel better, and you need that right now because you feel like shit.

You message back and forth a bit with John before telling him you were going to bed. You weren't. You make your way over to your shelf where you pull back the picture frame hiding your blades, you don't know why you bother hiding them, bro doesnt give a shit. He doesn't even hide the knives from you. The only thing he locked away was his meds after he found out your plan of overdosing on them when the counselor told him. You sit down on your bed and take off your hoodie. Sitting in the cold air of your room, you turn on the lamp on your headrest. You hear a door close. He's gone for the night. You stare at your arm, part of you trying to convince yourself not to do it. But you know it needs to be done. You take the blades out of their container and select four out of the thirteen you have at your disposal. They're all dull as shit. You take the first blade and bring it up to your forearm, you bite the inside of your cheek and cringe, prepping yourself mentally and physically for the pain that's about to come your way.

Chapter Text

You’ve had urges for a while now. Nothing worked, not the old rubber band on your wrist, not the ice thing, not even with food coloring. And listening to music and drawing can only distract you for so long. And you know someone is out there thinking you're okay. And that's fine, as long as they think you're okay. Alright enough fucking around its time. You push the thoughts aside for now.

Pressing the tip made of cold hard metal down on your forearm, you quickly jerk your arm back leaving a long cut that slowly bleeds. It stings for a bit, but soon the endorphins kick in. The fresh cut looks funny next to the tan and whitish scars next to it. You slice again, three more times. It’s starting to hurt a little too much so you stop five cuts deep and take a breather. Your arm stings, but this is how you cope. John would kill you if he knew what you did when everything got a little too hard to handle. He’d do that stupid thing where he jokingly gets onto you, at least the first few times. Then hed start getting serious. Fuck your arm aches. You take a nearby towel and wipe the blood off your arm. You put the blade back and wrap your arm in some bandages and flop on your bed. 

Taking off your shoes and pants and leaving them on the floor next to your bed you slide under the covers. You lay your shades somewhere within a comfortable reach and turn over. You marinate in your thoughts for over a minute before going to bed.

Chapter Text

You wake up around 6AM, like you typically do. You get up, stretch (grip your calf because you got a cramp), lay in your bed for another what? An hour or so? Then you finally get up and decide its time to grace the world with your horrible presence. 

Hopping on your computer, you open Pesterchum and message John. 

“hey dude” 

“oh my GOD dave!! I have to tell you about my dream”

“holy shit another wild ass dream?

“yep!”

“sooooo i hatched a jellyfish (you don’t hatch jellyfish idk WHY that happened in the dream you literally don’t hatch jellyfish) and it was a beautiful jellyfish and it was a spotted lagoon jellyfish (gen was) then i released it in the ocean and tried hatching more jellyfish i went to bed and i woke up the next morning and there was helicopters and shit and they KILLED MY JELLYFISH and stretched it out to make a parachute of sorts???? (idk bro my dreams are weird this isn’t physically possible) and they all were crying as well somehow?? and for some reason i decided “oh yeah let’s go yell at these people who are full grown adults” so i did, i was like “THATS MY JELLYFISH!!! I HATCHED THAT JELLYFISH!!” then this big ass guy came over and tried to say i was an anomaly of sorts like i wasn’t a human and put this pink dust shit in my face and tried to take me away so i ran away and now i don’t remember what happened i realized this is kinda reminding me of sweet tooth in a way”

“holy fucking word vomit dude”

“give me like 40 years to read this shit”

“david elizabeth strider. we BOTH know i didnt type that much”

This little shit. He used your full name against you. Not that it bothers you all that much besides your middle name giving you hella dysphoria but you can ignore it cause it isnt plastered everywhere. 

“well fuck you too john always talking about movies”

“wow i see how it is. i really do! i knew you hated me dave!!”

“man..” 

“whoops dads calling me for breakfast. gotta go dave! talk to you later!!! love you!! <33”

“love you <333”

Fuck. Sometimes you think he's sick of you. Honestly he should be, you are NOT a good boyfriend. And he says you aren't but you don't believe him. You love him. And you’re sorry for being such a piece of shitass partner.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You really are a shitty ass partner. Especially that one time you didnt wanna hang out with him when he was feeling kinda upset and he needed you, but you left him to fend for his own. Fuck. And obviously you've probably objectively got it worse. You mean Bro did choke you that one time but other people go through worse than a semi absent guardian, at least he tries to hangout with you sometimes. Shit. Okay you're freaking out. What did your therapist say? Something about coping mechanisms and listening to music? Yeah okay. Let's try that.

You take your headphones and connect them to your music streaming app on your phone and sit down on your bed. You don't even notice your bouncing leg. You try to take deep breaths to calm yourself. It's kinda working…you guess. You hum along to the lyrics and realize you haven't had anything to eat all day. Not like there's anything in the fridge you can or want to eat. Guess you’re fucking screwed over huh? Thanks, bro. What a helpful piece of shit you are! Leaving your minor kid at home all day with nothing to eat surely isn't gonna stunt growth anywhere.

But like the fatass you are (despite popular belief that you're skinny, you don't believe them. You've got at least a little chub on you.) you head to the fridge in the kitchen anyway, keeping one side of your headphones off just in case bro tries to pull any of that fast step bullshit on you. You open the fridge. Yep. Nothing. Just like you thought. Fucking fantastic! Bro learn to feed me once in a while fucknuts. Well you guess there's the day stale bread on the counter and the mayo in the cabinet. So you grab that and untwist the bread because bro lost the clip so long ago so now he twists the packaging into a knot. There's only two slices left: a regular slice and the butt-end. You take both and spread mayo on both slices. You don't see what's so wrong with the butt-end of the bread. It's just got a bit more crust. You take one slice in your hand and the other in your mouth and walk back to your room. 

You sit down on your bed and eat both slices of the bread. You remember how if you say one thing wrong or something against him, Bro would beat your ass. You honestly dont feel comfortable going to him with any of your issues at all because you know if not yelling at you, he’d beat your ass for sure. But its not like you have any issues anyway. You got the life any boy could ask for. Even if you aren’t even a ‘real boy’ like bro says. Whatever that means. You check the time on your phone; Its 9 AM now. You’re pretty tired and doesnt seem like Johns coming back online any time soon. 

Guess you have two options here. Write another blog or hit the hay as hard as you can. You choose the latter.

You text John goodnight and take off your pants and hop in bed.

Chapter Text

You wake up to banging on your door. What the fuck??

It's bro. 

“Groceries.” He says. That's it? Okay motherfucker.

You go outside your room, there's like ten bags in the kitchen but no sight of bro. Okay maybe he's outside? You scope through the bags. Fuck yes. He got you a shit ton of ramen and ramune (which he's probably gonna snag for himself later, but it's fine for now) and some nutella. Guess he remembered you liking the stuff. No apple juice though. 

You put the groceries up and head back to your room to check your phone to see if anyone message while you were gone. John messaged you. Alright let’s see what’s up.

“oh! night dave!! love youuuu <3333”

Man. Do you love your dumbass boyfriend. Seriously. He’s like the best thing ever. Best person ever. Best boyfriend ever. You’re hungry. Fuck you mean? No You’re not. You ate like right before you slept. Plus, Bro says you eat too much anyway. Gotta lay off the snacks.

Well, you guess you're bored. Time to do your daily world healing hobby like the boss you are.

You open your window and look out and up shielding your eyes from the sun even though you're wearing sunglasses.

You close your window even though it is unnaturally hot today, guess thats what you get for being born in texas. You leave your room and go outside the apartment and upstairs to the roof, bringing your bag of birdseed with you. You open the door and your eyes squint automatically to cope with the sudden light influx. There are a couple of dark feathered birds on the roof with you, as you walk the birds adjust to your presence, but they dont leave the roof. You sit down and cross your legs dipping your hand into the bag and spreading the seeds around you. Time to wait. 

In the meantime, you pull out your phone and message John.

Oh shit. There's like eight birds here. What the shit? You put your phone away and dip your hand back in the bag and hold your hand out for the birds to eat from. You giggle a bit (eugh.) as the birds peck and more of them come to eat the leftover seeds on the ground. You rinse and repeat this process (petting a few of the birds in the process) till your seeds are gone.

You take the empty bag and head inside waving goodbye to the birds. You head back downstairs and back into the house.

Chapter Text

You open the door to bro in the kitchen. Fuck. What is he doing in here? You try to avoid him and head to your room, but he calls your name.

“Yeah?” you respond.

“Yeah? Whatd i tell you about yeahing me?” he says.

“Sorry.” you say walking over to him.

“Whatever, just get your shit off the counter” pointing to like two items that belong to you on the counter.

You grab your items and hope to head back to your room but it's useless.

“Beth come get this.” Bro says.

Fuck you seriously hate that name. You told him. Basically a year ago too. You walk over to him and he's holding out a bag.

“Here. Since you like all that tooth rotting shit.” Hes not even looking at you. Fuck you bro, you seriously suck.. Sometimes.

“Thanks.” You take the bath from him and retreat to your room.

There's your favorites in here and a bunch of other insignificant candies you don't like as much. Honorable rainbow sour strips mention. You LOVE these. Thanks Bro! Maybe you don't suck as much. You rip open the packaging and carefully maneuver one of the long ass strips into your mouth savouring the ever so slightly sour taste. If sour tolerances were a thing, you'd have one. 

You go over to your computer and type in your password and decide you wanna game a bit. You go to Minesweeper. You're still learning, but you're pretty decent at the game (on easy mode that is. Fucking idiot.) After a whole pack of candy down and 10 failed attempts to beat a Minesweeper level, you decide to call it a day since its like 4pm. You'll probably wake up at 10pm or 1am the next morning. Shrug. Not like you have much of a life, all you do is stare at the shit on your shelf, take photos, cut yourself, talk to john, eat like a pig, sleep, dodge “affection” from Bro, Sleep, talk to John, did you mention that you cut yourself? You're basically repeating yourself at this point. Yeah no.. You DON'T have much of a social life. You suck on top of that. And you're pretty sure you and John are going through a rough patch.

 Fuck. Okay. You know what fucking time it is Strider.

 You stride (haha pun lmao okay shut up faggot) over to your shelf, peel back the frame and get the container holding the blades and sit on your bed. You take a few out, look at em for a bit and realize that keeping metal this close together for extended periods of time isn't good. Most of your blades are rusting. Fuck. Okay shit you got this. You sort through them all and pick out the few that aren't on their way to rust city. And put those on your thigh. You put the rest back, You're probably gonna throw those out later right?? Right. And you set the container aside. You peel back your hoodie sleeves and pick a bit at the forming scabs on your arm from last time. You set the other blade on the container on the side. 

You grab the one blade in your hand. Remember Dave, you're a worthless piece of shit and you deserve this. You deserve what's coming to you. You press the blade against your arm. Wincing at the cool feeling. You wish you didn't do that. You. Deserve this. This is what you get.

You drag the blade across your arm. Fuck. Ow. Yeah no shit its gonna hurt genius you just sliced your arm open. Whatever fucking pussy. Again. You press the blade down, harder this time. And stall a bit before swiping quickly. Eugh. Shit. You look down and blood dripped from your arm down to your pants. Fuck. Okay uhm. Its totally just period blood. Thats how youre gonna explain that to bro. Enough. Again. You press down and swipe again. Once more you press and swipe. You stop and actually look at what you're doing to your arm. You're destroying yourself over a few simple feelings. What a fucking wimpass you are. You watch as the blood drips down your arm and falls on your pants over and over and over.

Great. 

You wipe the blood on your pant leg because why not lay in the hole you dug yourself? You slide your sleeve down and head to the bathroom. You wash your arm off in the sink the best you can and wrap your arm in some toilet paper. That should hold till you can get your hands on some legitimate bandaids. Sure Bro still has some lying around. You head back to your room and put the blades away and flop on your bed. Fuck removing anything. You pass the fuck out.

Goodnight world.