𝙸𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝙸𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?

|𝟙𝟛| ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕤 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕄𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕚𝕤 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘

Trigger warnings: haha angst (kind-of panic attack, emotionless-ness, hallucinations, ✨inner conflict✨)  

Skeppy didn't know what to do, which was never a good thing. 

It wasn't like he didn't have things to do. He did. Paperwork, as always. Some reports to write. Cases to file and document. Emails to send. Being a hero wasn't always super-hype action, you know. There was a lot of boring stuff behind the scenes. 

With the state he was in, he should've distracted himself with that boring stuff. Thrown himself into work until he fell asleep on his desk. Staring at papers and being semi-productive was better than staring at the 'You have blocked this number.' on his phone screen. 

He made the right decision, didn't he? 

Surely he did. Cutting contact was the best, safest option. Darryl was a villain. For all he knew, he had already hurt people. Killed people. He couldn't let his stupid feelings get the best of him. 

Would Darryl really do that, though? Would he? Would he be able to? In high school, he hadn't been able to hurt a fly. He couldn't even swear, god damn it. He stopped every Friday, after school, to deliver flowers to an old folks home. He used to help at the local orphanage as a volunteer because he knew they needed the extra hands. He tutored younger students— and older— for free. Would someone so unbearably nice be able to hurt? 

People change. 

He was trying to convince himself now. Zak looked at his phone again. 

'You have blocked this number.' 

God, he wanted to let Darryl explain. Explain why he had become a villain, how long he had been lying, who changed his mind about heroes, and if he had been preparing to betray him since they saw each other in that attack. 

Zak almost didn't want the answer to that last question. 

It would hurt both ways. 

He shook his head, an attempt to shake out... well, everything in his head so he could focus. His phone made that quiet click noise when he turned it off. Then it was just echoing silence. Just him in his room. And no past, no future, just infinite present. Kind of like a hotel room, knowing that whatever you do would be cleaned up and put away after you left, the feeling of everything happening not going to change anything, ever. An endless sort of place between time. His phone lit up with a notification. 

Then again, maybe it was just the light from the window. 

Someone was calling him. Was someone calling him? His head felt like it was stuck in jello. Everything looked a little fuzzy. But when he reached out to touch his desk, to see if it actually was fuzzy, his hand slipped through it. 

Oh. 

He probably should've been slightly concerned. He wasn't. It wasn't that he was sad, or that he was angry, and it wasn't anything he physically did, Zak was just... dazed. In a stupor. Feeling past the point of emotions, not drowning anymore, he was at shore and wondering if the sand was really better than sinking again. 

His phone continued ringing. Then again, maybe it was just his ears faking the sound to fill the silence. 

He was seeing double. It was almost funny to him. When he crossed his eyes everything went even more out of focus. If he had tried to stand, Zak would've fell and broken his legs. Good thing he kept sitting, though he felt like he was on clouds. High. He felt very, very high. 

The rings stopped. Was that good or bad? Did he imagine them and break himself out of it just now? 

It couldn't have mattered less to him at that moment. 

He tried to look up. His phone rang again, more urgently this time. Like a car alarm. He wanted it to stop, but he couldn't move, and he didn't know why. Why was he on the floor? Did he fall? Then again, maybe he just fell asleep. 

He looked at the ceiling. It was white. Not much other characteristics, other than the stain when Dream came over and accidentally floated his coffee mug till it splashed on the ceiling. That was funny. Dream wasn't here to remember it though. Where was he again?Memories floated up like worn, frayed photographs. Police investigators. Disappearance. Thought to be from villains.

Villains! 

Darryl. Darryl was a villain. Someone was singing. Wait, was someone singing? 

Then again, maybe it was just the wind. 

 · · ───────·☾· ───────· · 

When Darryl broke down that night to Philip, his brother didn't know what to do. Being the cold person he was and always had been, people expressing emotions to him was a new thing. A subject he hadn't been taught. Darryl crying wasn't exactly new, though. People used to poke fun at him occasionally. Philip knew what to do then. 

Yeah, those kids probably miss having front teeth. 

He couldn't fight someone to solve the tears running down Darryl's face this time. The brunette didn't even explain, just came into his room at 2am, eyes blurry with no sleep, and crumpled to the ground. After checking him for wounds and finding no physical ones, Philip tried to calm him down by rubbing patterns onto his back. It was a method their dad had used. It helped, kind of. Again, he had no idea what he was doing. He also tried hugging Darryl, and that seemed to work; he stopped shaking and exhaled quietly. 

They stayed on the carpet of his room like that for a while, his eyes eventually drying, the sniffles turning into silence. Darryl had apologized after that. Hearing that made Philip sadder than his brother crying, and insisted he never said sorry in these circumstances ever again. 

"It's not your fault, okay?" Darryl nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "If you ever want me to beat someone up..." Philip suggested, shooting him what he meant to be a funny and evil super villain look. Darryl gave a wet chuckle.  

"Please don't." His voice wobbled. He didn't cry again, though. Darryl kept his chin up and eyes devoid of regret, taking Philip's words and carving them into his head. It wasn't his fault. "Thank you." His brother smiled warmly at him. 

"No problem. Now go to bed. You need it." He did need it. His hair was a mess of knots and tangles, the bags under his eyes were darker than the basement, and his legs trembled a bit when he walked away.He only took two steps (two!) when he decided that he wasn't going to get back to his room, so he clumsily spun around and cuddled into Philip's bed. Philip passed him an old stuffed bear. It was brown and worn, frayed at the stitch, had a stain by its left eye, and Darryl absolutely loved it. Philip wasn't trying to sleep, he was at his desk, writing on his computer, so Darryl gladly stole all the blankets and wrapped them around himself. 

"I didn't know you kept this." 

"I wouldn't trade it for the world." Darryl smiled, then, eyelids fluttering shut. "Good night, Dar." 

"Night..." As the word left Darryl's mouth, a single tear dripped down his cheek. He fell asleep before he realized it did.

It would be pog if you voted? :D