Chapter Text
—- chapter 3 ——
“7 of august 07.02
I think I'm broken.”
Pac struggles to write anything in his diary about yesterday. He writes some sentences, deletes even more. He struggles to put anything that happened into words let alone complete sentences that actually makes sense. Not that they have to, its only a diary after all, but he wants this to be a place of order and sporadic venting is not an organized diary. “I was woken up-“ no…. “yesterday i started the day-“ no no that's too repetitive already. After almost 20 minutes of going back and forth. He's left with five words in the document. “I think im broken”. No explanation. No real taught behind it either. Its not like it's purely him being self deprecating, it's kind of true honestly. His mind is broken. His self is. His soul is broken to the very core! It was even before he and Mike ever met Cell. But back then it wasn't beyond repair. It is now. Trying to fix stuff now would be like putting a paw patrol bandaid on an infected flesh wound. It's not even worth trying anymore is it? It's not like anything's gonna change for the better-. Yeah no, enough of that for now. Lets keep that for later. He closes the book and tucks it down in his already overflowing backpack. He goes back to bed. Its 8am and hes back in bed. He calls Mike- or tries too atleast. No answer again. Fuck where is he, i hope hes okay.
He feels like he should do more, search land and sea. And honestly he has looked for mike everywhere. So there is one one possibility left. One place Mike even the extra trackers wouldn't find him. But that's a scary possibility, a possibility Pac doesn't want to unravel right now. Right now he wants nothing more than going back to sleep.
It's 8 pm. Pac is in bed alone looking up at the ceiling. He's in his actual room for once in his actual apartment. Not the lab. The room looks uncanny. It doesn't look lived in, it's cleaner than anything touched by him has ever been. He's almost exclusively here when he's hanging out with other people, because this room is presentable. This house is an apartment you show people and they say that they're proud you got your life together. This apartment is the place you invite your friends and their kids to come have playdates at. This is the house that acts as your facade. Your real life is your cramped dirty lab room. Your overfilled with stuff- never cleaned- isolated lab room. You let your kid play there once in a blue moon once you work. but you always make sure to tidy it up first.
It's 10 pm. Some messages have appeared on his screen the last few hours.
Etolies: “hey man, you ok havent seen you in a while”
Roier: “I think you left your headphones, come by to get them”
Fit: *a string of vacation pictures of ramon and him making hearts with their hands*
Mike: “hey man you never came home yeasterday” *read. 7+ days ago*
“Im sick, ill reply when im better”
Great excuse.
Pac isnt sick, at least not physically. I don't know if it's fair to say he isn't sick when he spends all day in bed because doing anything else would drain him.
He stands up, wobbles around a bit but falls back onto the bed, head spinning from standing up too quickly. One deep breath, stands up again, deep breath again. He leans against the bedside table trying not to fall again. He has so much to do today, he needs to clean, finish up a billion reports, get a birthday present for richas..
His mind spins around again. Deep breaths. He stands up and walks quickly towards the kitchen towards the medicine cabinet and starts riving everything out.
What. No? Why? He's been clean for so long. Why ruin it now? Does he even care? This isn't like that. This is just a little pickup.. nothing major. Just a little something to help him through the day.
He keeps riving out literally everything. Until the only thing left is an old pill bottle branded with the federal agency's logo with the cute stupid bear. It seems like it's always there grinning at him at his lowest. It was branded on the trays of the prison cafe, it's on every little sign in the city, cameras are everywhere, it's just everywhere.
It's probably watching right now just so happy that he's miserable. His life going downhill from the moment it started can't have been a councidense- it's all planned. Everyone is against him and-
He twists open the bottle. No child proof cap. Like they wanted him to relapse because this isn't his fault and this is necessary and its the fault of the stupid bear. He swallows a few pills.
One pill for the government to stop digging through his life even AFTER he was released from prison.
Two pills for the pepole who follow him from his darkest moments who still end up with better lifes than him, better boyfreinds than him, better mental health then him. Two pills for Cellbit.
Three pills for himself. For his inabilaty to take care of his fucking kid. For his amazing ability to push away anything good in life.
Four pills because why stop now.
Five bcasue four wnt do enugh.
Six
Seven
More
More.
Everything is so great. Life is amazing again, why did he ever quit this? He needs to do everything he hadnt had the energy to do before. Everything he hadn't done lately needed to be done now! He needs to call Fit and Felps and Mike and mike and mike, visit richarlyson, finish the essay and report and lab and cleaning and-
In a matter of hours the lab is clean, so is his apprtment, the essay is done. And oh isnt it amazing, the lab and the report are both done and he didnt even fuck up once. And now there is one thing left.
—
“Heey Forver! Is richarlyson here? I haven't seen you and him and you in so long right? Isn't this amazing? Im outside again and im better and i can meet both of you again?! Isnt it amazing”
Forever just looks at him with a worried expression. Luckily Richas isn't there right now. This would be one time too much he's traumatized by one of his parents' drug induced manic episodes. The expression on Forever's face is not rubbed in the slightest by Pac trying to force himself inside the house. He knows exactly what's going on.
“Pac. No, youre not seeing anyone like this and absolutely not a kid.”
“But wont he be happy to se me happy for once?!”
“He won't be happy like this, he can tell the difference between happy and manic. So can all of us.”
Quick pause
“You don't need pills to be happy”
“You don't get it! I do need them! without them I can do nothing of worth and that's a fact we both know..”
Pac starts to slow down, which would be good on any other drug. This wears off tough, bad. It means immediate extreme withdrawal. And it's bad, it's always bad, it was bad for Forever those summers ago and it's bad for Pac now.
“I need them Forever I really do, maybe you need one too eh? Like old times?”
“You dont pac. Please just sit-“
“Oh says you.. like you havent needed a pickup-“
Pac slurs, his voice slowing down as his energy runs out of him. Happiness exchanged for literally everything else as soon as forever hints at him not being clean or sober, when forever even mentions not everything being amazing.
The edges of his reality are burning. Quickly. He needs to fill them in with something before they turn to nothingness that turns to loneliness who you can wallow in forever and spiral and spiral and suddenly the space is filled with another pill and another and another.
He feels a hand around his arm. A few more pills enter his mouth. Most spill. Forever jerks Pac’s arm away from his face. Forever gets met with the most intense glare since. Since what? Since they both looked at each other like this and decided to both never do it again? No just-
“PAC. Quit, I'm calling somone. I'm calling Phil."
“Okay man, he'll be happy to see me outside of my home this amazing day!?”
Pac stares at Forever, unphased with this clean overly high smile. Youre always so focused on the mouth you dont see the dead fucking eyes. Was Forever really like this way back when?
Maybe Phil wasn't enough of a threat. Forever knows he shouldn't go there. He knows calling Cellbit as a threat is… not good. But what else is there to get Pac to listen to him?
“Im getting cell here”
”Great! Tell him to bring Rich-“
“No you know he wont so just stop”
Thats insanity, Pac not minding having to have a talk with Cellbit was as unheard of as hell freezing over or him sharing a nice coffee with a federal agency worker.
—-
A couple minutes later Forever has managed to calm Pac down. Or at least he's calm enough to the point that he can sit down without shaking to the point of knocking stuff over. Pac’s going on and on about all the productive stuff he did today and how excited he was with meeting Richas again and how Mike will probably answer his calls soon. He sits in Forever's kitchen. A table in front of him decorated with an untouched cup of tea and a stack of salty crackers. One in a line of many is now being broken into smaller and smaller pieces crumbling down on the flooring.
A foot is quickly tapping onto the ground offbeat. Please please let Cell and forever understand that he is happy. Cellbit will understand that this isn't a bad thing! He will see how happy Pac is and he will say nice things and take him to Richarlyson and let him truly be himself unlike Forever and Phil and everyone else.
Because he is right! He just is and everyone who cant see that this is an improvement is WRONG AND WANTS NOTHING MORE THAN HIS DOWNFALL.
He crumbles another cracker under the table. And another one. He tries bringing one up to his mouth but his arms are beyond control, his whole body shakes his arms jerking uncontrollably hitting himself on accident multiple times while bringing the crackers to his mouth.
He finally finds a way to shove the cracker into his mouth. And oh isn't it the best cracker- no isn't it the best food he's ever had!
So good.
It is so good. He struggles to eat another with his shaking body and compromises by swallowing a whole hand of them instead.
So good, amazing. Truly..
He is torn out of his wonderful meal way too early when he feels a hand falling onto his shoulder. Cellbit is here, he is here to take him- to make him go back to being sad and all… like that unmotivated uncreative sad sack of shit.
The hand grips him tight not enough to hurt but enough for Pac to understand he isn't in control here.
“Morning everything alright?”
Pac twitches and turns around in the chair looking up at Cellbit with an intensivity in his expression cell had not seen since last time Pac had one of these “episodes” or what to call them.
“Why are you here!?”
Cellbit sighs already fed up with his mates behaviour. He leans his head back, takes a few deep breaths and puts on a slightly more neutral facial expression.
“Well forever called and not without reason I see. How about we go back to my place and rest for a bit?”
“Hah no fucking way- i am not getting into your house. Never”
“Pac youre acting like ill murder you or something”
“Well I don't know! You've come pretty damn close multiple times!”
Cellbit tries to not lose it over this comment, if he did it would just prove Pac’s point but it's hard. That's insulting, he's not even close to being that psychotic anymore.
Cell stops in his thoughts;
Why is he so pissed? He doesn't act like this anymore? What the fuck is going on? Is it always around Pac that this happens? Never the others who saw him grow and change. What's the problem? Is it himself? Is it Pac? He can swear Pac isn't as defensive and scared around their other friends?
They change each other's personalities so much, it's like they both regress to who they were years ago. But theyre not those people anymore? They shouldn't be?
“Stop it, just come with me and let me help you for once! Let me make up with you god damnit!”
The room falls quiet for a second before hell breaks loose again.