[Hank x 2Bdamned] • A Madness Combat Oneshot Book

≈ I Hate Myself Just As Much. ≈

Hello! I died for like half the month- Woops..
Heavily projecting negative feelings onto 2B because  yeah.
We've seen Hank being sad, now it's Doc's turn!
Hanks a jerk.. Kinda.
I guess hurt no comfort ? There is no comfort I'm pretty sure

[2Bdamned's POV]

That deafening silence.
The whir of the distant fan in the background.
Clicking sounds that I'm not sure are real anymore.
The way I breathe through my mouth, feeling it dry up.
I close it, tasting the aftertaste of coffee still lingering.
The ticking of the clock.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

It only grew louder as I focused on it.
My eyes wondered around the nearly empty room.
Everything was too much.
Yet everything was the same.
The same as it always was, nothing moved, nothing changed.
It's just too much.
Why? Why are they so close? It's as if they're closing in on me.
Trapping me?

Weights settled at the bottom of my heart.
It started to become harder to breathe.
Chest tightened, hot tears wanting to spill out. Sobs wanting to be heard.
Shaking body, wracks of shivers running down my spine.
I ripped off my coat, tossing it across the room.
Hearing the sound of it crash against the floor. The echo left in my mind.

The cold air settled in my skin.
I felt the goosebumps form.
Why did I do that? I want my coat back.
But I can't move.
My body felt glued to the chair.
I could move my hands but not my body.
My breath quickened, I begged to be able to stand up, to feel a sense of reality.

And I shot up.
Tears ran down my face, sobs quivering through my body.
I leaned against the cold metal desk for support.
I looked around again. Everything was normal again.
It always was normal.
Everything seemed farther away.
I could breathe.

[Third POV]

The unlicensed doctor made his way out to the kitchen, picking up the thrown jacket and wrapping it back around him.
He used the wall for support, not trusting his legs to support all his weight just yet.

"You look like shit."

2Bdamned's head shot up at the sound of the voice, being met with the infamous Hank J Wimbleton, who stared down at him with a surprisingly concerned look.
"I look like shit?" Doc snapped, squinting at the merc through his slight fogged up goggles.
In response, Hank scoffed, "Yeah, you do. Did you have a breakdown on your way here or something?"
The doctor shoved pass the other upon hearing that comment, making his way to his original destination, the kitchen.
"Fuck was that for?"

2B found his way eventually, getting a glass of unreasonably warm water.
He sat down on a stool, taking small sips at his cup, now peacefully enjoying the silence.
That was, til a certain assassin barged in.
Hank's words became a mixture in Doc's head.
Though, he became impatient of the constant sound.

"I hate myself just as much," The dissenter grumbled, looking up at the taller.
Silence followed.
"What?"
"I hate myself just as much as you hate me."
Hank sharply inhaled, noticing the bland look on 2B's face.
But to 2B, the others face was the last thing he saw before blacking out.

He woke up in his bed.
He stared blankly at the ceiling.
When did he get here?
When will he leave?
Had it been a dream?
A sad, twisted dream?