Øverturning the lies (a twenty one pilots fanfiction)

~Tyler~

He doesn't have bad dreams anymore. But he doesn't have good dreams, either. He doesn't dream anymore at night.

[he used to see dreams at night, but now he's just watching the backs of his eyes...oof. It fits, though]

He doesn't see Josh appear anymore either.

That hurts.

Mostly because Tyler can't help but wonder if he is to blame.

But he tries not to care.

Dema...he doesn't know how he feels about it anymore. He is obviously cared for there. No one has hurt him.

Only himself, and he knows he deserved it.

He doesn't feel alone anymore.

He just doesn't feel like he belongs.

Aside from the slowly healing, self-inflicted wounds on his arm, he doesn't feel pain. But he doesn't feel good, either.

He never has ideas anymore. And he never takes out his notebook, not once. Or his pen.

It feels wrong in so many ways.

He doesn't live in fear of what the bishops will do to him because he knows they won't do anything.

He will.

Now he can see the bishops really did care for him, him and the rest of the inhabitants of the city, the glorious metropololis.

What they were trying to do, all along, was help him and the others understand how they were wrong, and how vialism was right.

He touches the mark on his neck. It doesn't feel like its suffocating him anymore; rather, it feels like it is a part of him.

Tyler doesn't find himself crying anymore. But he doesn't look at anyone and feel sorry for where they have found themselves in life.

And it scares him, just a little bit.

He doesn't know why, even.

The person he was before is already gone.

This new version of him...where would he be if he wasn't right here, in Dema?

With Josh, a tiny voice in his mind whispers.

But does he know that for sure?

No, he realizes. He doesn't.

He doesn't know anything anymore.

Maybe he never did.

Maybe he only ever was consumed by this fear.

Maybe-maybe his life before Dema was worse than it is now. Maybe it was a good thing Nico and the Niners (I kinda had to do that, sorry) helped him to forget.

He'll never know.

And part of him is glad.

Though he realizes what it means: he's resigned himself to his fate.

Tyler closes his eyes. He's sitting alone, once more on the cold, hard ground that he's allowed to call his own.

And its then and there that he admits defeat.

The bishops have won.

Whatever they wish him to do now, he will do.

And he won't be sorry. It is, he knows, for the best.

Honestly a lot of this story is based on depression. Sometimes you just feel numb inside, not caring about anything. But writing this helped me a lot. My advice? Find ways of dealing with things if you ever feel like this, and please don't take it out on yourself. |-/ stay alive you lovelies.