high rise hearts ☆ lifesteal smp au

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ✦ ✫

𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗲: hurt/comfort
𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀: swagdoons
𝘁𝘄: trauma/depression? + panic attack (not sure if this qualifies but it's best to be safe)
𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆: n/a
𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁: ash's been having trouble sleeping lately, so redd invites him over to work things out

─── ⋅☆⋅ ───

𝐏𝐎𝐕: ash

Ash couldn't sleep.
Every time he got into his bed and closed his eyes, the memories he didn't want to remember came flooding back to him, rushing past the dam gate that was his conscious mind and spilling into his thoughts.
It felt like he was in free fall from a thousand meters above, spinning and flailing for any sort of support, anything to keep him steady, if only for a second, but finding nothing, dragged against his will to a place he did not want to go and had no right to be in, color surrounding him in ribbons that spoke, that whispered to him his doubts. It felt so wrong.
He might have said he regretted the day it all happened, were it not for what he received in the end.
He sat up, breathing heavily as he tried to calm himself, having experienced yet another nightmare. He checked the digital clock sitting by his bedside. 2:35 AM. He'd slept only half an hour. He could feel his glitches mess with his hair, already matted and frizzy from lack of proper care, and he could see them cloud his vision with cubic particles he tried his best to swat away. They only returned again, buzzing around him like flies around a corpse.
He looked down at his hands. His hands which could now decide who lived and who died. His hands, which could now direct power indescribable, as he had so often wished they could. His hands which didn't feel as real, as intact, as whole, as they had before. He tried to convince himself- so often, he forced himself to think- he had finally attained his goal of becoming a god.
Yet something didn't feel right. Something was missing, he was so sure of it. That must be what his brain was trying to tell him, every time it sent him spiraling through psychedelic dreams full of feverishly vivid visions that made him sick. The reason why he always felt like he hadn't done enough, could never do enough, never will do enough. But what could be missing? He already had all that he needed, all that he wanted... didn't he?
If he truly had everything, why, then, did the wormhole continue to appear in the confines of his mind, eating away at his conscience, at his memory, at every part of him? Why, then, did he still remember the feeling, the awful, guilty, unwelcome feeling, of being ripped through reality, the feeling of being in a place you were barred from entering?
A true god would know the answer. A true god wouldn't even be so weak as to feel things like this. The only answer, then, could be that Ash was not truly a god. He pushed that thought away, away with the feelings he did not want to feel and the experiences he did not want to relive.
So, what was he missing? Something within him told him to ask someone. Perhaps Reddoons would know.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, scrolling through his recents for the familiar number. It must have said something that the last time he'd actually called anyone was months ago. Most of his newer recent callers were all labeled in red, signifying he'd missed their calls. He didn't have the energy to call them back, so he just dialed Redd and waited.

𝐏𝐎𝐕: redd

Redd awoke to a ringing from his phone. It buzzed once, twice, three times. With a groan of effort, he rolled over and reached for it, but the call had already gone to voicemail. He was about to go back to sleep again when the phone buzzed once more. Once, twice. He managed to pick it up and click the answer button. It was Ash.
Ever since the wormhole incident, as it was commonly referred to, Ash hadn't been the same. To be fair, nobody had, but he supposed he noticed Ash the most. So unlike the old Ash, he always seemed to doubt his capabilities, despite already having the ultimate power he'd aspired to get. His condition had slowly deteriorated since, with him mainly staying at home and doing who knows what. Every time Redd saw him, he somehow managed to look more depressingly shabby than before.
"Redd." came the flat, dejected voice from the other end of the call. "Hey, Ash-" started Redd, pausing to yawn. "What's up?" He'd been about to question why Ash had called at such a late hour, but with his current state, he figured he'd be better off entertaining the poor fellow.
"Redd, do you know what's wrong with me?" The question was unexpected, to say the least. "I-" Before he could speak any more, Ash interjected, "Do you know what I'm missing? Why I feel this way?" There was a pause, as Redd tried to make sense of the statement and Ash waited.
"Well, I- I really don't know what exactly is wrong with you- what you're feeling, whatever. I haven't talked to you in- how long was it?" He paused again. Something felt off about this conversation- Ash had never discussed anything this personal with Redd before, and he felt awkward. He wanted to help, he just didn't know how... "Like at least a month. I- are you okay?" Silence from the end of the line, then: "I don't know. I don't know, Redd. And that really bothers me."
Redd sighs. "Y'know what, Ash? Do you wanna stop by my place for a bit? It might be easier to talk in person about... this." A pause. "Okay." Ash hangs up with no further explanation, leaving Redd to sit on his bed and think about what had gone so wrong. Could it have been the wormhole? It couldn't be. Ash had the power he'd always wanted, and Redd thought he'd be happy about that fact. Right?