#last time I got jumpscared by someone screaming and getting violently stabbed

[boywhoswaiting]

I really need to stop zoning out whilst listening to big finish. When I start paying attention again the most unhinged shit is always happening

[breakingsomething]

"the weapon" could have ended differently and here's how

trigger warnings: murder, blood, suicidal ideation, alcohol and hallucinations

he's still staring at the spot where he'd been two hours later.

anti has gone through the five stages of grief at least three times in those hours, in no particular order and with no rhyme or reason. all he can really do is hug himself and stare, just stare, just stare. his chest is tight and his head hurts and gods, he's absolutely going to be sick. this has to be a nightmare. it has to be.

three hours ago, both dapper and kitten had been under his control. now they're both gone and anti can't do shit. anti is hurting. and anti can't do shit.

he is, for the first time in a while, completely alone.

he keeps replaying the last few moments before they'd left. dapper's eyes narrowing, ice frosting over his pupils. stepping back into kitten's arms. disappearing, running, footsteps echoing, anti crying out after them. don't go, don't go, his mind screams. please, not you too. please not you too.

it takes a long time for him to gather the strength to stand.

when he eventually does, he keeps hold of the wall behind him, staggering away from the train station, stumbling back towards the shopping centre. it's closed. he walks right by it. there's a far too brightly lit convenience store on the other side of the street, and he doesn't bother to look at the road before he limps across, barely keeping his balance. street lights flickers as he passes. shadows grow harsher and soften again once he's gone.

the lights are so unbelievably bright. he winces as he steps inside, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. as he does, his eyes land on the camera screen facing the cash register. anti looks like a drunken zombie. good. it's not like he gives a shit. he doesn't even bother to flash the cashier a smile like he normally would to secure the illusion of politeness before marching to the shelves and grabbing the first bottle of alcohol he sees that appeals to him. it clinks again his bracelet in his hands. when the man behind the counter sees him, his smile freezes, forced onto his face, eyes slightly wider and body tense. anti fucking loves it.

"sir," the cashier says, choosing his words carefully from the slow hesitation of his tone. "are you alright?"

anti hasn't spoken since dapper and kitten left. he's sure the last words he managed were "don't you dare fucking leave me." he clears his throat now and speaks in a hoarse voice, stopping halfway through to cough. "doing fantastic, pal. why, is there a problem?"

the cashier looks even more panicked now. "you're - bleeding," he states, faltering slightly. "your nose and your… eyes? and your - your eyes are, uh… do you have contacts in?"

anti blinks with fully black scleras, giggling slightly hysterically. "nope," he says, popping his cracked lips and baring white fangs. "can you ring up my fucking drink, please?"

"are you drunk?" the cashier blurts out, his dark eyes wild with fear. anti could drink that instead, the panic, the terror, the awareness, the knowing. "sir, i'm afraid i can't let you buy this if -"

the next thing the man knows, there is a knife in his throat.

anti doesn't pay for the drink. the cameras glitch on his way out.

he goes back to the station and walks along the tracks. it's late enough that there will be no other trains coming for hours. at one point he collapses and lays across the ground, gasping in pain as the weak remains of his own magic sting underneath his skin. he spent so much energy keeping the magician under control that he can barely see straight. honestly, he's surprised it took this long for marvin to break free.

the stars can barely be seen with all the light pollution, but he knows what's up there. ursa major, ursa minor, cassiopeia, draco. he wishes he could see them.

he doesn't fall asleep. he gets up and calls a taxi. the woman in the driver's seat is too nice and keeps accidentally calling him "allen." he has to restrain himself from stabbing her.

"so what are you doing out so late, allen?" she asks, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. she's wearing a ridiculous blue hat over white blonde hair that looks like bleached hay. anti winces as she tries to make eye contact with him. "have you not got anyone else to drive you home? not safe to be drinking alone this time of year at this time in the morning, pet. you could be hurt."

he would have laughed if a sob hadn't threatened to catch in his throat. "i had a train to get. my brother fucking… left me."

"oh, that's unfortunate," she says, unfazed, tone dripping with genuine sympathy. "did he have your tickets, aye?"

he shakes his head blearily, stomach rolling. "mm-mm. he just left. he's not allowed to leave me, he's not. he's not. i don't know what to do now."

she sighs quietly, clicking her tongue. "i take it you had a fight or something? well, one thing i can tell ye', pet, is that drinking willn't help. i had that problem myself, and it was awful. you look to still be young, allen. don't hurt yourself like that."

anti laughs, high pitched and angry. "i could kill you. i could fucking kill you."

she still isn't fazed. "so could anyone, dearie. you're not special."

anti holds his knife in his pocket, flicking it open and closed again. by the time the taxi stops, he has cut himself maybe five or so times. he hadn't even meant it. the ten pound note he hands her as he steps out is slick with blood. she looks disgusted, and he finally sees fear in her brown eyes when she looks up. good. good. let someone fear him. let someone go home shaking and expect a monster in every shadowed corner. he laughs at her and walks away. foolish fucking old bat. don't be kind in a world that wants you dead. maybe this will be a lesson to her.

he had almost hoped they'd be home, waiting for him as a surprise. they're not. the house is cold because he left the living room and kitchen windows open and every second of quiet is somehow amplified like it's coming through a speaker, like someone is making all his mistakes louder and louder, laughing, laughing, laughing at him. he stands in the doorway and listens to the dead silence. it feels fake. it feels like the leadup to a jumpscare in a movie. it feels expectant. it feels like it's waiting. it feels like he should know what comes next but it's not in the script. it feels like it's smiling.

"don't," he says hoarsely, wiping away the blood that trails from his lips with his sleeve. "laugh at me."

"it's your own fault," says jack. he's standing at the end of the hallway, facing away from him, bathed in red light that spills down the wooden flooring to touch anti's boots. "you drove them away."

"i didn't," anti pleads. "i didn't. i never did. your fault, for making me like this."

"i made you to be a friend," jack says cooly. his voice is too loud. "you couldn't even do that right. don't blame me for yourself."

anti laughs, pausing to cough loudly. "you never cared. i didn't matter until i was tearing out innocent people's hearts. caught your attention, did i? oh, finally, someone notices something, whether it's to yell at me or not."

"you're not making sense," jack says. he hasn't yet moved. still hasn't looked at anti. "you didn't start killing for attention. you were scared. still are."

"oh, please," anti spits, clutching his own shaking arms to his chest, hugging himself. "you wouldn't care whatever the reason was. i spent bloody years debating killing myself just to see how many days it'd take you to realize i wasn't there. i was a game to you."

"that's right," jack says. he turns, finally, and his face is smooth and empty, flat skin like an unpainted porcelain doll. "and what a fun game you were."

anti wakes up on the hallway floor.

the bottle is smashed, the stench of alcohol thick in the air, soaking his legs and chest. blood still on his hand, blood in his mouth. he's hit his head off the floor.

dapper is still gone.

he doesn't move til morning, just to use the bathroom and drink water so he stops passing out. and even then, dapper is still gone. dapper is - dapper is still fucking gone.

he throws his mug against the wall as hard as he can and screams. the glass shatters on impacts and ricochets across the room. anti doesn't care. anti wails and digs his nails into his arms until his lungs give out and he crumples to the floor next to the fridge. he wants to break everything. the anger is overflowing and burning, burning, his blood feels like pounding fire and he has to move his hands or he'll tear something apart, he'll break everything, everything, he'll act on every violent thought running through his brain and gods, he just wants to hurt. he's tired. lightning cracks against his brain and the silence is fucking deafening so he screams louder to fill it.

dapper is gone. marvin took him away.

anti spends the day looking for them. he finds nothing.

at night, he stares at the blank grayish sky and imagines stars, mouthing words and pointing with bloodstained fingers.