Archive of Our Own ^beta

He was just sitting there.

Considering his choices.

Considering his life.

Considering what he was doing with his life.

Sitting. Waiting. Biting his lip. Legs pulled close.

And then–

Bonk.

A noise in his silence.

A break from the train of thoughts.

An intermission to the piercing urge.

Bonk.

Giving into the urge. Letting the sneeze loose. Or at least trying to combat the tickling sensation sitting in his veins.

Screaming at him.

Screeching at him.

Scratching at him.

Bonk.

Again and again and again and again.

Bonk bonk bonk bonk.

He wanted to keep doing it.

Almost therapeutic. The repetition. And the dull pain moving across his skull.

It was a nice sound. Maybe nice wasn't the right word but it wasn't not nice either.

It was– there. And it was persistent. And it made his mind shut up. And if they threatened to return in the future he'd just continue this until it shut up and he shut down and his mind crumbled with him.

It was a foolproof plan. If there wasn't his trembling arm around his legs. If there wasn't the occasional shake coming from his aching muscles. If his hand wasn't such a pussy and just started doing what he wanted it to.

It was just one simple movement, really. 

One fluid motion.

And then he'd done it.

So why was he so hesitant?

Why did his hand shake and ache and tremble and hurt but never hurt him? And why did he stop bonking?

He wanted to. He needed to. He had to. He– deserved it.

His body was tingling all over. His toes were itching, crumbled together, compressed in his shoes. His fingers were digging into his palm, desperate for the feeling to vanish vanish vanish vanish vanish and if he could he would want to vanish along them.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up. Is what he wanted. 

His mind should. He should. Everything should.

He should die.

He hadn't thought that. He did not deserve to.

… right?

No one did. Even if he was shit. Even if he was the reason everything went wrong. Even if he's the reason the Narrator was suffering. Even if he was just one massive burden waiting for his sweet demise.

“Stanley?” lowered his fist.

And he cried.

“I'm sorry.”