Septiceye/Iplier/Sides One-Shots

Not Like You Pt.2 (Host/Author)

Part 2 requested by Quietmyth Sorry in advance if it sucks.

Host sat on the hospital bed, allowing Dr. Iplier to study the holes where his eyes were no longer.

Dr. Iplier shone a light on Host's face, "Can you see this light?"

Host turned his head toward Iplier's, as if to say, Are you serious right now?

Iplier laughed, "I'm kidding.... However, you are dying."

Host turned his head away. Dark spoke up, "Host.... What happened? You were there alone. You stopped narrating. Even if we couldn't hear it, we all could sense something different."

Host paused, thinking of what Author had said. They were truly one in the same. Host couldn't answer Dark's question. Instead he remained speechless.

Dark put a hand on Host's shoulder, who flinched in response. Dark sighed, "You need to tell us. Was somebody there?"

There was a deep chuckle, causing Host to clench the bed sheets tightly with his hands. Dark and Iplier stayed quiet, causing the laughter to build up, echoing through Host's brain.

"Stop," Host finally managed to mumble.

Dark took his hand off the narrator's shoulder, "What's wrong?"

Host shook his head, ignoring blood beggining to pour down his face. Iplier began to speak, but Dark shushed him.

"What, leaving me to die, Host? Tried to ignore me? You've done that before. And look what happened to us."

Host didn't speak as he felt Author breathing in his ear, whispering to him.

Obviously he was fake. He couldn't really hurt Host....right? The wounds seemed to prove otherwise, but maybe the pain was just reoccurring.

Then again, Author is manipulative. He could have changed this time. Maybe Dark and Iplier were gone. Host couldn't tell. He was blind, after all.

"If you'd only listen to everybody, hm? They said Host was different. Host wasn't the bad guy. Host wasn't to blame. But tell me, Hosty~ who killed those people? Who still kills people? Rule the world, Hosty. Make them all kneel. You're still blind."

Host tried to ignore Author's words. But even Host knew he was telling the truth. He did kill- he still does, sometimes.

Host pulled his trenchcoat around him tightly, pretending as if Author wasn't there.

Author sat down beside him on the bed, "Well? At least acknowledge my presence."

Host finally spoke quietly, "The Host would not stand for this kind of torture any longer."

Author laughed, "Oh yeah? Well the Author would continue to tell Host the real truth for the rest of his being."

Host shook his head, "No. The Host refuses to believe he is anything like Author."

He could feel Author's smirk, "Well then. Let's think back to how you lost your eyes, hm?"

Host swallowed, fear washing over his body. He heard a pen scratching against paper, and suddenly he was able to see again.

He was sitting at his desk, the wood covered in papers, which bore scribbled out stories. He was wearing Author's usual clothing, and he scowled at that fact.

Host rubbed his eyes. Eyes. He was glad at the new sight, but quickly realized what was going to happen.

The sound of pen scratching echoed through the empty space, followed by Author's voice, "Hm... Let's see.... The man found himself in a horrid situation. Being chased down and blamed for murder, the man could hear a loud knocking on the door."

Host growled, but looked to the door, where a loud pounding occurred. Host shook his head, "Let. Me. Go."

More writing, then, "Nobody would care if the man returned or not. Now the man felt himself almost glued to his rickety chair. He shuffled through the piles of papers."

Host felt himself brushing papers and other things aside, and tried to stand, but was also unable to do that.

"He found a blade. He enjoyed the look of it. Solid steel. Beautiful. He would admire every little detail about it." The Author's voice said as he scratched faster and faster.

Host spoke up, looking away, "The Host would not look at the knife, for he knew what the Author was planning."

The Author growled, "He found himself being forced to turn his gaze upon the weapon."

Host whined under his breath as his eyes flickered back to it, "The Host would look at the knife. But Host would never ever harm himself with it. For it would cause more pain than he'd ever imagined."

"THE MAN WOULD DIG THE KNIFE THROUGH HIS EYES AND SKULL!" Author screamed, his scratching ringing through Host's ears.

Host suddenly stood, slamming his hands and the knife onto the desk, "THE HOST WOULD NOT LISTEN TO AUTHOR EVER AGAIN!!!"

Host felt a jolt, and his eyesight was gone. His breathing quickened, and he raised his hands to the holes in his face with pure terror. Iplier had already left the room, maybe Dark did too-

"Woah, woah! Host. Calm down..."

"The-The Host was soothed by Dark's voice... And he began to slowly calm d-down." Host narrated, taking deep, shaky breaths.

Dark gently rubbed the Host's back, "What happened?"

The Host merely shook his head, memories resurfacing, "Author t-tried t-to bring me b-back..."

"The Author?" Dark wondered, "He's been gone for a long time, Host. You know that."

Host nodded slightly, "Yes... I- Host... Knows Author is gone."

Dark cleared his throat, "Then we'll celebrate your overcoming with the others."

Dark stood, about to leave, before Host stopped him, "Dark?"

Dark turned around, "Yes, Host?"

"The Host thanks Dark for his kindness, but turns down the offer of a party." The Host narrated.

Dark nodded, "As you wish. Goodbye, Host."

As Dark left the room, Host smiled and walked back to his room.

He sat down at the desk, picking up a pen, ignoring the splotches of blood falling from beneath the bandages.

"The Host had gotten over his worst fear..." The Host narrated as he scribbled out the apology letter.

He smirked, leaning back as he put the letter in an envelope, smoothing out the crinkles, "Guess you weren't so tough after all, Author."

A/N-

Worse than the first, but whatevs.

Hope y'all enjoyed it somewhat.