Blame it on your karmic curse, oh shame upon the universe
Who: Claudio thecrowingtobe and Trauma mademyhell
When: Friday night/Saturday morning.
Where: Apartment of Emo in Sector Four.
Summary: Nightmares are a bitch.
Warnings: Talk of suicidal behavior. Trauma curses a lot? ....Is excessive emo a warning? Cause it probably should be? excessive tl;dr oh my god why is it so long
It had been a hellish couple of days.
And he felt like shit.
There had been the whole thing with Jinx (which wasn't over. God, what a fucking mess.) and he felt they'd been walking on glass since then, the three of them. That…was probably being nice about it, if he was really honest with himself.
Then, He'd come in on Tuesday to everyone buzzing about some new guy in charge. All he'd seen of this mythical jackass was a notation on his desk about his 'family emergencies' and how he needed to shape up for evaluations. He'd flipped the note off and continued on his business, but the guy was actually supposed to come in and take over in the next few days. Trauma was of the opinion that, not only could a monkey do his job so there was no need to evaluate anything, but that the other guy who ran the shift with him half the time was one. The chick who was there the other half the time wasn't too bad. Texted freaking constantly but who gave a shit.
Either way, it meant he was probably in for a lot of bullshit at work.
Then, there had been the holiday. Now, he could fully admit that it had him feeling worse than normal. About a lot. But that was probably to be expected, and even if he was back in his own world, it wouldn't fucking matter. Or maybe that was the fact that sucked the worst. He wasn't sure.
To top off the week of suck, there was the lack of sleep. He'd been trying to catch sleep during the day in short bursts, hoping to not be stuck with the nightmares he knew were coming. Trauma was expecting them. Had been for days. Finally he'd had to give up the day before and had crashed ridiculously, but all that did was remind him how little sleep he'd been getting otherwise.
So that was what had led him to actually sleeping friday night. And it had been as bad as he expected, worse, even.
It had started how he'd expected, filtering through various mashes of things from the week, bits and moments of fears and voices shrieking in his mind. Normal. Drowning, Voids, Blood, Needles, Death, Pain, Heights….Just normal. Stuff he saw every day. He knew his brain had to process it somehow. Dani had explained it that way when they were training.
Then it had begun to warp and shift and it was what he'd been seeing every moment in the back of his mind since the other night, every time she walked in the room it was like he wanted to change into any number of creative ways to die, some less creative, some more, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he could feel the terror and it ended with a corpse where his friend had been. He'd thought that might be where the dream would stay, rotations of watching her die over and over again to a chorus of indifference from the sidelines was bad enough.
Then came the hospital and it stopped being a way to process and became a nightmare all his own.
This time he was in a hallway, and the lights were all too fucking bright, everything too goddamn clean. Sterile and blank. All along the halls were rows and rows of doors. He wanted to leave, but he kept walking to the doors, because the worst fucking part of all of it, was just the bad part about dreams.
They seem pretty fucking real while you're standing there, and can see, and smell, and touch everything. Even if some part of your head knows it isn't real, it's fucking hard to wake up.
In the dream, Terry reached out and picked up the clipboard hanging on the door, words like hebephrenic schizophrenia made his vision tunnel and the name attached made him panic before head heard the screams.
(She'd always screamed when she saw him after that, except that time that she'd laughed and laughed and wouldn't fucking stop and it made him sick to think about.)
Something hit the door and the screams were closer, fists visible through the tiny window. He backed away from it until he hit the door opposite and the clipboard crashed to the floor.
('It's possible for the disease to be late onset' they'd said, and Jerry had given him a look when he'd had to tell them the diagnosis that made him feel worse than he ever had in his entire life.)
Something hit the door behind him too, and he could see flashes of violet in the dark of the cell when he turned to look at the window.
(It would be so easy to just lose control one of these days again, and he knew who the first victim would be. He'd thought it was safe-She was safe-but it wasn't.)
More screaming, just… It didn't fucking stop. Terry tried to get away, get down the hallway, anywhere, but each time he passed a door the screaming got louder until he was running. Just trying as fast as he could to get away. Then he fell. Probably over his own goddamn feet or something he assumed, but no. It was the goddamn clipboard. That's when he realized it. He was running in circles.
(He really was just a fucking danger to society, wasn't he? Sure, he didn't have it in him to kill anyone, but he'd already taken his mom's life, which counted the same.)
Then he heard the sound of doors opening, they echoed in the sterile hallway, and the screaming got louder. He saw the reflections of the doors opening in the tiles and knew what was coming next.
(He really deserved whatever he got from them now, especially if he'd done this. It had to be his fault, had to be.)
He woke with a strangled, cut off shout and he sat up, covering his face with his hands as he tried to calm himself.
It was just a fucking nightmare. That's all it was. Just…..
Fuck.
When: Friday night/Saturday morning.
Where: Apartment of Emo in Sector Four.
Summary: Nightmares are a bitch.
Warnings: Talk of suicidal behavior. Trauma curses a lot? ....Is excessive emo a warning? Cause it probably should be? excessive tl;dr oh my god why is it so long
It had been a hellish couple of days.
And he felt like shit.
There had been the whole thing with Jinx (which wasn't over. God, what a fucking mess.) and he felt they'd been walking on glass since then, the three of them. That…was probably being nice about it, if he was really honest with himself.
Then, He'd come in on Tuesday to everyone buzzing about some new guy in charge. All he'd seen of this mythical jackass was a notation on his desk about his 'family emergencies' and how he needed to shape up for evaluations. He'd flipped the note off and continued on his business, but the guy was actually supposed to come in and take over in the next few days. Trauma was of the opinion that, not only could a monkey do his job so there was no need to evaluate anything, but that the other guy who ran the shift with him half the time was one. The chick who was there the other half the time wasn't too bad. Texted freaking constantly but who gave a shit.
Either way, it meant he was probably in for a lot of bullshit at work.
Then, there had been the holiday. Now, he could fully admit that it had him feeling worse than normal. About a lot. But that was probably to be expected, and even if he was back in his own world, it wouldn't fucking matter. Or maybe that was the fact that sucked the worst. He wasn't sure.
To top off the week of suck, there was the lack of sleep. He'd been trying to catch sleep during the day in short bursts, hoping to not be stuck with the nightmares he knew were coming. Trauma was expecting them. Had been for days. Finally he'd had to give up the day before and had crashed ridiculously, but all that did was remind him how little sleep he'd been getting otherwise.
So that was what had led him to actually sleeping friday night. And it had been as bad as he expected, worse, even.
It had started how he'd expected, filtering through various mashes of things from the week, bits and moments of fears and voices shrieking in his mind. Normal. Drowning, Voids, Blood, Needles, Death, Pain, Heights….Just normal. Stuff he saw every day. He knew his brain had to process it somehow. Dani had explained it that way when they were training.
Then it had begun to warp and shift and it was what he'd been seeing every moment in the back of his mind since the other night, every time she walked in the room it was like he wanted to change into any number of creative ways to die, some less creative, some more, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he could feel the terror and it ended with a corpse where his friend had been. He'd thought that might be where the dream would stay, rotations of watching her die over and over again to a chorus of indifference from the sidelines was bad enough.
Then came the hospital and it stopped being a way to process and became a nightmare all his own.
This time he was in a hallway, and the lights were all too fucking bright, everything too goddamn clean. Sterile and blank. All along the halls were rows and rows of doors. He wanted to leave, but he kept walking to the doors, because the worst fucking part of all of it, was just the bad part about dreams.
They seem pretty fucking real while you're standing there, and can see, and smell, and touch everything. Even if some part of your head knows it isn't real, it's fucking hard to wake up.
In the dream, Terry reached out and picked up the clipboard hanging on the door, words like hebephrenic schizophrenia made his vision tunnel and the name attached made him panic before head heard the screams.
(She'd always screamed when she saw him after that, except that time that she'd laughed and laughed and wouldn't fucking stop and it made him sick to think about.)
Something hit the door and the screams were closer, fists visible through the tiny window. He backed away from it until he hit the door opposite and the clipboard crashed to the floor.
('It's possible for the disease to be late onset' they'd said, and Jerry had given him a look when he'd had to tell them the diagnosis that made him feel worse than he ever had in his entire life.)
Something hit the door behind him too, and he could see flashes of violet in the dark of the cell when he turned to look at the window.
(It would be so easy to just lose control one of these days again, and he knew who the first victim would be. He'd thought it was safe-She was safe-but it wasn't.)
More screaming, just… It didn't fucking stop. Terry tried to get away, get down the hallway, anywhere, but each time he passed a door the screaming got louder until he was running. Just trying as fast as he could to get away. Then he fell. Probably over his own goddamn feet or something he assumed, but no. It was the goddamn clipboard. That's when he realized it. He was running in circles.
(He really was just a fucking danger to society, wasn't he? Sure, he didn't have it in him to kill anyone, but he'd already taken his mom's life, which counted the same.)
Then he heard the sound of doors opening, they echoed in the sterile hallway, and the screaming got louder. He saw the reflections of the doors opening in the tiles and knew what was coming next.
(He really deserved whatever he got from them now, especially if he'd done this. It had to be his fault, had to be.)
He woke with a strangled, cut off shout and he sat up, covering his face with his hands as he tried to calm himself.
It was just a fucking nightmare. That's all it was. Just…..
Fuck.