The Better Pill (2D X Murdoc)

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*This story does not correlate with actual Gorillaz's lore concerning characters, location, or backstory (for the most part). In addition, this book is already finished and will not affect my other stories.*

Young, sixteen-year-old Murdoc Niccals came tumbling out the doorway of his ramshackle 'home', landing squarely on his arse on the wet, cold cement. His brother, Hannibal had just finished off a particularly bad beating; one that resulted in a bloody (possibly broken) nose, swollen left eye, multiple scattered bruises already turning to ugly shades of purple and blue, and a particularly bad limp. 

Once again, Hannibal had been out drinking. And once again, he took out his pent up rage and fury on the poor bloke who happened to be snoozing peacefully on the couch- his brother. 

As much as he hated to say it, Murdoc was used to this treatment from both his brother and his father. The two used him for nothing more a punching bag and or quick laugh when they needed it. There was a time when Murdoc had a plan to cut all ties with Crawley and run away from his trash-heap of a life, but once Hannibal caught him packing his bags, he beat the poor child to a point where he couldn't move for three days. 

In those three days, nobody cared to check up on him. No one cared to feed him or see if he was even breathing. And in those three days, he hardened himself to the point where he was nearly soulless. That third day when he finally rose from the bloody trash pile he'd been rotting in, Murdoc Faust Niccals decided that he no longer had the need (let alone the space) to let anyone else into his heart from there on out. 

He no longer begged for mercy when he was hit with a cane or had empty beer bottles thrown at him; and he no longer spent nights sobbing over his excruciatingly painful bruises and cuts. 

So when he was thrown to the street this time, all the while his brother was shouting profanities at him from the doorway; he stood up, dusted himself off, and limped his way towards the empty streets of his home town hoping to escape reality for a little bit. 

. . .

The few people who Murdoc passed on street kept their distance from him. Not a surprise, and although it killed him to even think it- somewhere deep, deep, DEEP down it actually hurt a little bit. Some would just stare, others would point and whisper, but no one actually approached the beaten boy. 

He was all alone- as usual.

Murdoc slowly limped down the streets, wiping away the blood from his nose with the palm of his hand and smearing it into his jeans afterwards. He was disgusted with himself. He was at a point in his life where he was strong enough to fight back against Hannibal and maybe even his father, but his fear of repercussion far outweighed his dignity. Surprisingly, as bad as his life might've been, he valued it. He thought eventually, he would have a reason to look forward to it. 

All he was looking for was a reason.

After a while of contemplating, hobbling, and spitting, the wandering teenager had finally come across his little hideout. It was one he found and claimed back in his early teen years when wondering around Crawley; he had even tagged it as his own with black spray paint. His little slice of paradise was located in the very back of a narrow alleyway between two rundown shops. The space let him escape from the crowd, hidden to anyone who didn't care to look.

In his back corner was where he did drugs he often stole from his father (who was a drug dealer), listened to music, or sometimes slept depending on if he wanted to go home or not. While the place was a little less than sanitary considering it was right next to a dumpster, it was a place he felt safe. His own little kingdom of solitude. 

But today, however, something was different when he arrived.

Back by the dumpster, where his drugs and radio lied untouched; there was a dark, navy blue blanket with a small piece of folded notebook paper lying on top. 

Murdoc nervously reached towards the paper and unfolded it, scanning it before actually processing the words. 

-----

Hey there! It's nice to finally meet you... kind of. I guess I'm not really MEETING you because I'm writing this right now and you may have just totally thrown out my gift or maybe someone stole it or maybe you totally ditched this place and here I am just putting this letter here or- I'm sorry. Lost track there. Back to the purpose of this letter that you may or may not have received. I live nearby this place, and I've seen you come here all screwed up and bloody- not to be mean, you're actually quite nice looking- but not like that, but you're not bad looking? Sorry again. 

Anyway, I don't know what's going on, or how you end up looking like that, but I felt like I should do something for you. If you're totally creeped out by this or something you can burn it! But don't hurt yourself, fire is really dangerous. Forrest fires are especially dangerous because sometimes they- I'm sorry times three. 

I hope you keep warm. But not by like, burning yourself or something. Be safe. 

-----

That's where the letter ended and a very confused Murdoc began.

He bent down to pick up the blanket, immediately growing accustomed to its warm and fuzzy texture. The teen threw the blanket back on the floor and slid down on the wall to sit beside it. His eyes scanned the letter once more, the penmanship wasn't especially feminine or masculine; for all he knew, some fifty-year-old pedo could be trying to get him. Doubtful however.

As off as the note may have seemed between the random tangents and strange caring tone it held, Murdoc Niccals couldn't help but smile at it.

Maybe this could be his reason.