Delirium (Creepypasta x reader)

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Weapons of all sorts sat in a pile on the wooden table in front of you – some short, some long, some blunt and some sharp – and you slowly worked on cleaning them. Running the cloth along the sides, wiping off the dirt and grime.

Dust tickled your nose. You resisted the urge to sneeze, pressing your nose into the crook of your elbow. You squeezed your eyes shut as a sharp tingle cut through your sinuses.

The barn was worse than usual for being musty, and you were afraid that letting the sneeze loose would break the uneasy truce you and Goggles had created.

Training with the hatchet man did not cease even after the last session that ended in disaster and blooming bruises. Angry, intimidated, and more than a little wary, the first meeting after all that occurred was strained. Even with that Hooded guy supervising. You gave Goggles a wide berth and, interestingly, he gave you space as well. Didn't seem to want to repeat the altercation, it seemed. At most he mumbled that you could do whatever you wanted and left you alone to twiddle your thumbs.

But you didn't want to twiddle your thumbs. You didn't want to be there at all. Since you were there, however, you decided to vent your frustrations against the burlap dummies stationed around the barn. Fabric ripped and straw spilled out onto the floor, reducing the targets to shapeless mounds of hay.

You wanted to send a message. Though you don't think they cared, it felt good to exercise the hate out.

As it was soon made clear that neither you nor Goggles would make good on the promises of violence against each other, the Hooded guy stopped showing up. This led back to being given instructions, but no criticism arose from Goggles. He told you what weapon to use each session and... that was it.

Goggles seemed more stable. The bags under his eyes had lessened, and he didn't shake with a near invisible tremor. He no longer seemed like a pot about to overflow. And as time drew on, you stopped being as curt to him. You didn't let your guard down completely, of course, but you weren't as blatantly hostile.

Which led up to the now.

The training period tonight consisted of you disassembling a microwave with a hand axe. The plastic bits shaved off and the metal exposed, sliced into. The wiring left specks of red and blue along the sides. Goggles had been shuffling around behind you, but you had mostly ignored it.

As you stood and wiped the sweat off your forehead, he called out to you.

"Hey."

You turned to look. He held two brooms in his hand, the kind you'd find at a hardware store. Wooden handles and long horizontal heads, black and red bristles.

He tossed one your way- you reached out to grab it, mostly confused by the action. It was almost insulting, but his expression was as sour as you felt.

"As much as it sucks, I've got to clean this place and you have to help me."

"Do I?" you set the hand axe down on the demolished microwave and stood up straight once more. Leisurely you used your now free hand to stretch your neck, bringing your ear to your shoulder. It cracked in a satisfying way.

He hummed, raising his eyebrows. A pause.

"Yep! Get to work!"

And he turned his back on you.

You would've laughed at the abrupt order if you weren't left mildly perturbed with how lightly he joked with you. Or what you thought was an attempt at joking.

You almost threw the broom at him. It was nice to imagine how he'd react; but then the memories of your last fight renewed themselves and you swallowed heavily. Nah, better to keep your teeth. Instead, you leaned against the wall and watched as Goggles swept, slowly working in a circle. It was like he knew how to clean a floor, theoretically, and had trouble applying it in real life. It was kind of funny to watch.