Dante (unfortunately) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foreverphantom) wrote2023-10-19 09:21 pm
foreverphantom) wrote2023-10-19 09:21 pm
HOT SAUCE: PICANTE
Content warning: suicidal ideation, minor gore
---
You pace back and forth on the sidewalk across from the Nasty Burger, anxiety roiling in your gut. Your parents are in there with Mr. Lancer, discussing your little bout of cheating on the all-important CATs. What kind of punishment can you expect to face for this stunt? Surely this moves out of detention territory and into...what, suspension? Hopefully not getting expelled. Can you even retake the test? Do they offer retakes of the CATs? Oh, god, what if you screwed up and you can't graduate high school because you cheated on this test? And if you can't get a high school diploma, you can't go to college, or get a job, or....
You're spiraling. Snap out of it, Fenton.
Your friends are in the Nasty Burger too, hanging out. And Jazz offered to be there in a corner for moral support. They've invited you there too, to get your mind off the parent-teacher conference they don't know is taking place right there. They're expecting you, even, but you don't think you can stomach being in your parents' or Mr. Lancer's line of sight. Seeing them, and even trying desperately to hear snatches of their conversation through the chatter of the restaurant, just makes you feel sick.
So. Here you are outside. Spiraling and trying to convince yourself you aren't.
You're not sure how long you've been out here, wearing out the bottoms of your shoes, when it all blows up.
Literally.
The Nasty Burger erupts. Where a building once stood is now nothing but rubble, blown clean across the block by a massive fireball. In the wake of the explosion, it's deafeningly silent. No more chatter amongst diners, no more sizzling of food in the fryers. Just the crackle of fire in the wreckage.
When your brain catches up with what your eyes just saw, you run haphazardly into the wreckage, screaming. You scream for your parents, your sister, your friends, digging through the rubble desperately. You use your intangibility to move the chunks of concrete around as you search for your loved ones. Surely--surely someone survived, right?! You just have to dig them out, get them help! That's all! This is what you do--you help people, you save people, you can do this--
You can't do this. Your mother's head is covered in sticky red. You don't even want to think about the state of your sister's face. Or the angle of Sam's and Tucker's limbs. Or--
The next thing you know, there's a hand on your shoulder. It's a fireman. Lights are shining red and blue in the background. And your hands are scraped up, with blood smeared all the way up your forearms.
He has to physically drag you away from the rubble, from your family and friends, from everything you've ever cared about. And then...well, time seems to slip away from you then.
---
You blink, and suddenly you're in a garishly decorated mansion. Vlad Masters sits across the room, watching you worriedly. Yes, that's right. After the explosion...Vlad took you in. It's not like any of your relatives were any closer, and in the end he was right. The both of you understand each other better than anyone else could.
Soon enough, the shock wears off and you are left to deal with the fallout. The grief. Sure, Vlad is grieving too, but he didn't lose everything. He still has his home, his fortune. You don't even get to keep your hometown. Your old room, your old bed, the smell of the laundry detergent that Mom used--
You think maybe you should've died in the blast, too. The only reason they were all there in the first place is because of you, it's the least you deserve, and sometimes, you think everything that you were died with them anyway. You're not Danny Fenton anymore, you're just an empty husk. A bad omen.
Months pass, and you spend most of your time in bed staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes you cry and ache for everything you've lost and that's never coming back--not even as ghosts. It's just you, now, and there's no fixing this. Sometimes you want to crawl out of your skin, scream and set yourself on fire, try to get away from your own disgusting wretchedness. The only thing that stops you from actually doing it is lack of energy. And sometimes...sometimes you drift. As if your mind wants to get as far away from yourself as possible. Those are the nicest, you suppose--when you can just lose time without having to be there and experience your own blighted life.
When you stop coming down to eat, Vlad starts bringing meals up to your room and stays until you've finished all of the food, and then some. He tries to talk to you, but what is there to talk about? He makes you get up and take showers when you stop doing that too. It's aggravating. One day, when he comes in to rouse you out of bed, you finally confront him about it.
"Why are you even bothering?"
"Daniel?"
"Why bother with all this? With--making sure I eat, and take showers, and get out of bed. What's the point?"
Silence. For a moment, you think you've won, that Vlad has seen the futility of all of this and will leave you alone.
But then--
"Because, Daniel, that's what it takes to live." He says it so softly, like if he's not careful, the fragile words could shatter between his teeth as he says them. Something about it causes an ache to flair in your chest.
"Well, I'm tired, Vlad. I'm tired of living."
It's almost freeing to say it. But the air is sucked out of the room. Time seems to stretch thin like taffy between the two of you. You're curled up in bed with your back to Vlad, so you can't see his face, and you're just too tired to roll over and find out. That's fine. What does it matter?
"You don't mean that, Daniel." Vlad has never sounded older and more fragile than in this moment. Brittle. Scared.
You sigh. "I do, Vlad." Life now is just...an endless chore. The lead that permanently lives in your bones and the lump in your throat that never goes away. You are so tired of crying and hating yourself and missing people you have no right to miss. An endless cycle with no purpose. "I just...want all the hurting to stop."
You hunch under the blanket even tighter. Eventually, Vlad sighs and walks out of the room, leaving you to languish. Good. It's what you deserve.
---
You thought that was the end of that, but then a week later Vlad determines that you have to start school again, lest you fall too far behind. And, you know, he's hoping that school will get you back in the swing of being a person again. Not that you understand why, after your last conversation--you thought he'd understood the pointlessness to all this.
At least he lets you be homeschooled--you don't think you could stomach being around people anymore. But none of the effort matters. The schoolwork makes you feel filthier than ever, because isn't that how you ruined everything in the first place?
"Daniel." Vlad, in the doorway. You look up from the trigonometry worksheet you were supposed to be doing, but were actually just staring through. "Listen, little badger, I've been...thinking. About what you told me." He approaches, softly, gently, and sits down beside you. He looks you in the eyes. "About making the hurt go away. What if it was possible? What if you could just...leave this behind and move on with your life?"
"What?"
"I did some research. And I think I have a procedure that can...remove all these painful emotions and help you recover."
You don't want to "move on and recover," not when your loved ones can't. But...if this really does put an end to all the misery, that solves the problem, right? Even if it feels selfish. You can't keep going like this much longer; it has to stop, one way or the other.
So you sigh and say, "Yeah, okay."
It's not like anything can get any worse anyway.
But you're wrong. Because the one thing you're good at is making everything worse.
---
You pace back and forth on the sidewalk across from the Nasty Burger, anxiety roiling in your gut. Your parents are in there with Mr. Lancer, discussing your little bout of cheating on the all-important CATs. What kind of punishment can you expect to face for this stunt? Surely this moves out of detention territory and into...what, suspension? Hopefully not getting expelled. Can you even retake the test? Do they offer retakes of the CATs? Oh, god, what if you screwed up and you can't graduate high school because you cheated on this test? And if you can't get a high school diploma, you can't go to college, or get a job, or....
You're spiraling. Snap out of it, Fenton.
Your friends are in the Nasty Burger too, hanging out. And Jazz offered to be there in a corner for moral support. They've invited you there too, to get your mind off the parent-teacher conference they don't know is taking place right there. They're expecting you, even, but you don't think you can stomach being in your parents' or Mr. Lancer's line of sight. Seeing them, and even trying desperately to hear snatches of their conversation through the chatter of the restaurant, just makes you feel sick.
So. Here you are outside. Spiraling and trying to convince yourself you aren't.
You're not sure how long you've been out here, wearing out the bottoms of your shoes, when it all blows up.
Literally.
The Nasty Burger erupts. Where a building once stood is now nothing but rubble, blown clean across the block by a massive fireball. In the wake of the explosion, it's deafeningly silent. No more chatter amongst diners, no more sizzling of food in the fryers. Just the crackle of fire in the wreckage.
When your brain catches up with what your eyes just saw, you run haphazardly into the wreckage, screaming. You scream for your parents, your sister, your friends, digging through the rubble desperately. You use your intangibility to move the chunks of concrete around as you search for your loved ones. Surely--surely someone survived, right?! You just have to dig them out, get them help! That's all! This is what you do--you help people, you save people, you can do this--
You can't do this. Your mother's head is covered in sticky red. You don't even want to think about the state of your sister's face. Or the angle of Sam's and Tucker's limbs. Or--
The next thing you know, there's a hand on your shoulder. It's a fireman. Lights are shining red and blue in the background. And your hands are scraped up, with blood smeared all the way up your forearms.
He has to physically drag you away from the rubble, from your family and friends, from everything you've ever cared about. And then...well, time seems to slip away from you then.
---
You blink, and suddenly you're in a garishly decorated mansion. Vlad Masters sits across the room, watching you worriedly. Yes, that's right. After the explosion...Vlad took you in. It's not like any of your relatives were any closer, and in the end he was right. The both of you understand each other better than anyone else could.
Soon enough, the shock wears off and you are left to deal with the fallout. The grief. Sure, Vlad is grieving too, but he didn't lose everything. He still has his home, his fortune. You don't even get to keep your hometown. Your old room, your old bed, the smell of the laundry detergent that Mom used--
You think maybe you should've died in the blast, too. The only reason they were all there in the first place is because of you, it's the least you deserve, and sometimes, you think everything that you were died with them anyway. You're not Danny Fenton anymore, you're just an empty husk. A bad omen.
Months pass, and you spend most of your time in bed staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes you cry and ache for everything you've lost and that's never coming back--not even as ghosts. It's just you, now, and there's no fixing this. Sometimes you want to crawl out of your skin, scream and set yourself on fire, try to get away from your own disgusting wretchedness. The only thing that stops you from actually doing it is lack of energy. And sometimes...sometimes you drift. As if your mind wants to get as far away from yourself as possible. Those are the nicest, you suppose--when you can just lose time without having to be there and experience your own blighted life.
When you stop coming down to eat, Vlad starts bringing meals up to your room and stays until you've finished all of the food, and then some. He tries to talk to you, but what is there to talk about? He makes you get up and take showers when you stop doing that too. It's aggravating. One day, when he comes in to rouse you out of bed, you finally confront him about it.
"Why are you even bothering?"
"Daniel?"
"Why bother with all this? With--making sure I eat, and take showers, and get out of bed. What's the point?"
Silence. For a moment, you think you've won, that Vlad has seen the futility of all of this and will leave you alone.
But then--
"Because, Daniel, that's what it takes to live." He says it so softly, like if he's not careful, the fragile words could shatter between his teeth as he says them. Something about it causes an ache to flair in your chest.
"Well, I'm tired, Vlad. I'm tired of living."
It's almost freeing to say it. But the air is sucked out of the room. Time seems to stretch thin like taffy between the two of you. You're curled up in bed with your back to Vlad, so you can't see his face, and you're just too tired to roll over and find out. That's fine. What does it matter?
"You don't mean that, Daniel." Vlad has never sounded older and more fragile than in this moment. Brittle. Scared.
You sigh. "I do, Vlad." Life now is just...an endless chore. The lead that permanently lives in your bones and the lump in your throat that never goes away. You are so tired of crying and hating yourself and missing people you have no right to miss. An endless cycle with no purpose. "I just...want all the hurting to stop."
You hunch under the blanket even tighter. Eventually, Vlad sighs and walks out of the room, leaving you to languish. Good. It's what you deserve.
---
You thought that was the end of that, but then a week later Vlad determines that you have to start school again, lest you fall too far behind. And, you know, he's hoping that school will get you back in the swing of being a person again. Not that you understand why, after your last conversation--you thought he'd understood the pointlessness to all this.
At least he lets you be homeschooled--you don't think you could stomach being around people anymore. But none of the effort matters. The schoolwork makes you feel filthier than ever, because isn't that how you ruined everything in the first place?
"Daniel." Vlad, in the doorway. You look up from the trigonometry worksheet you were supposed to be doing, but were actually just staring through. "Listen, little badger, I've been...thinking. About what you told me." He approaches, softly, gently, and sits down beside you. He looks you in the eyes. "About making the hurt go away. What if it was possible? What if you could just...leave this behind and move on with your life?"
"What?"
"I did some research. And I think I have a procedure that can...remove all these painful emotions and help you recover."
You don't want to "move on and recover," not when your loved ones can't. But...if this really does put an end to all the misery, that solves the problem, right? Even if it feels selfish. You can't keep going like this much longer; it has to stop, one way or the other.
So you sigh and say, "Yeah, okay."
It's not like anything can get any worse anyway.
But you're wrong. Because the one thing you're good at is making everything worse.