Øverturning the lies (a twenty one pilots fanfiction)

~Tyler~

TW: self-harm. It's towards the end, but just letting you know.

The only thing Tyler is aware of is the number three. It dances through his mind, weaving between even the few remaining innocent thoughts, the ones that call attention to things like the coldness of the bishop's hand on his arm; the scratchy, uncomfortable feeling of his gray clothes against his skin. 

Third time... 

Why does he feel an almost unreal, sickening feeling of excitement? 

Why is there a vulture circling above the two of them?

He sees it of the corner of his eye and it shakes him out of his thoughts, if only for a second. 

Then another thought drags him back under. 

Why does he feel a horrible sense of...it takes him a moment to name...almost reverence? 

Why does every step forward send the thrill of anticipation through his body? 

He doesn't want this. He knows that, deep down, that this is not the right thing.

But that part of him who does know seems to have been...almost hijacked [trying to keep all Novocaine vibes to a minimum-hijack the hype, hijack the hype!!!! 😊], making his brain accept these few, apprehensive moments towards a terrible fate-something that has been glorified and painted as a wonderful thing to do, a perfect outlet for his rage.

His breathing is ragged.

The number 3 is painted across this chaotic world that he calls his mind.

This will have been the third time.

The one that means he is close to the end. The end of this existence but the beginning of another. The beginning of salvation.

Yes.

Yes.

And suddenly the spell breaks free and he is on the ground sobbing, the taste of salty tears on his lips.

Something brushes against his skin, but he doesn't know what is is. For a moment he recovers a half-remnant of an ealier time, almost a dream at this point.

Of the reassuring touch of a yellow flower against his jacket, reminding him of the cause he fights for. Reminding him that through the darkness and scars, he is still not alone.

But that is just a dream.

Just a dream and this time he feels the unwelcome, cold paint-like substance that lets him know this is one of the bishops and not the welcome reminer of the banditøs and the life he once had with them.

"Tyler," oh, that voice, that voice.

He closes his eyes, of course.

He doesn't want to face the demon that mirrors his own fears yet again.

"It is time," Nico says. "Come. You are almost ready."

Tyler doesn't go. He doesn't move.

Nico lets out a small sigh but he drags Tyler away anyway.

Tyler knows that it doesn't matter anyway. One way or another Nico will convince him to follow his wishes. Somehow he always does.

"Don't fight me," the bishop tells him, almost pleadingly. "Please, child, do not fight me."

More tears run down Tyler's face as he finds himself caught between the same struggle as always.

This time will be different, a voice promises. You have come so far, along this difficult, difficult road. I am proud of you.