[ Flipside - A DSaF Fanfic ]

[ Chapter 14 | Blood on His Hands ]

[ sorry for the repost, i forgot to tag TW ]

[ also, sorry for any grammar/writing mistakes. i didn't have the energy to edit this one ]

[ TW: Hearing Voices, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Almost Dying ]

    Jack stared at the scene in front of him. A dead corpse of a child laid at his feet, it being littered with stab wounds. A blood of blood had formed around the lifeless body of the kid. Jack shuttered. The sight felt familiar, deja vu. He felt a knife handle in his hand. Of course, it was kind of hard to feel it, as he had something sticky and warm on his hands, a liquid. His fingers, that weren't holding the handle, crossed, hoping it wasn't a white liquid. He looked at his palm. Blood. He yelped, although slightly relieved, stumbling back. He almost fell to the floor, but something, or someone caught him. He turned up, to see the face of...a purple, rotting corpse. Dave. He yelped, turning to him. It wasn't the moldy rabbit he had seen before, but more like the flipside Dave, his Dave. He stared for a moment. His Dave...what the fuck was he doing here?

    "Shit Dave, y-you need to get outta here-"

    Dave chuckled. "Why? I mean, we just finished our first kill, sportsy! We should party!"

    Jack blinked. "First...kill....?" He looked around him, his eyes widening. There was four other kids, frightened and shaking as they stared at the corpse. They were in the safe room from his second location. His heart stopped. Shit. Not again.

    "Uh...you good, old sport?" Dave's eyebrows knitted together. He put a hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack flinched, the world seemed to spin.

    "G-get away from me-"

    "Sportsy, ya acting weird as hell, bitch."

    He turned to him. "I SAID GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME-"

.  .  .

    Thump!

    Oh. He was on the floor. He must've fell off his bed, or something. God, how many times had he had this dream? Maybe the 14th time? He pushed himself from the floor, and rubbed his eyes with one of his hands. Swaying, he lost balance and flopped onto the floor again. Shit, what did he need to do today? Ah right, fix the arcade machine. He stumbled up, feeling himself shake. The memory of the dream was still fresh in his head. He swore he could still feel the blood on his hands.

.  .  .

   Lumbering to the workshop, Jack stared at the floor. Exhaustion clawed at him, dragging him down. He could barely walk at this point from the fact he hadn't been able to sleep much. 

    God fucking damnit...why can't these memories just fucking go away?!? He thought, his eyes burning with what he could only assume were tears. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He was sure that if his Dave was there, he'd comfort him. He longed just to be held, to be embraced, even for a fleeting second. But, he couldn't.

    Jack had been stuck in his own thoughts for so long, that he hadn't even noticed himself already working on the arcade. He wondered how he got there. Had his brain been on auto pilot again? He sighed. This had happened so often, that the days blurred together. He wasn't sure if today was a Sunday, Thursday or Tuesday. Whatever day it was, he probably needed to work at his pizzeria. Jack flipped a wrench in his hand, twisting a few bolts and rewiring some parts. He needed to do something important, but he couldn't remember what. Something with Harry...?