Chapter Text
It didn’t take long for the peace to unravel.
Two days, maybe three. Long enough for Murdoc to stop looking like death, but not long enough for him to learn how to function without lashing out.
The band had gone back to the usual chaos—half-finished tracks, unwashed dishes, 2D’s weird smoothies fermenting in the fridge. Noodle practiced guitar in her room, Russel handled production, and Murdoc… well, Murdoc mostly drifted. Hungover but quieter, hovering around the edges like a ghost that didn’t know whether to haunt or hide.
Russel had been watching him out of the corner of his eye. The man was off. Snappish one second, silent the next. Every noise seemed to set him off—a slammed door, a laugh too loud, the scrape of 2D’s chair across tile. Each small thing chipped away at him until he was coiled tight as a wire.
It broke midafternoon, over nothing.
“Who finished me fags?!” Murdoc’s voice ripped down the hall, raw and furious.
2D flinched from where he was perched on the couch, controller in hand. “Uh—I dunno, mate, didn’t touch ’em—”
“Don’t lie to me, you slack-jawed imbecile!” Murdoc stormed in, hair wild, boots half-done. He slammed the empty cigarette box down on the coffee table, scattering ash. “They were here! I had one left!”
Russel looked up from the soundboard, slow and measured. “You probably smoked it last night.”
“Did not!” Murdoc’s voice cracked sharp, petulant. His face was flushed, eyes too bright. “I’d remember!”
Russel raised a brow. “Would you, though?”
That did it. Murdoc’s fists clenched, shoulders trembling. “Don’t—don’t talk to me like that!” he barked, but the words came out high, thin, almost childlike.
2D glanced nervously between them. “Uh, I can, like… go get some more?”
“Don’t need your charity!” Murdoc snapped, kicking the coffee table leg. The impact rattled a glass, sent it tipping, shattering across the floor. He froze, chest heaving.
Russel exhaled, long and steady. “Alright. That’s enough.”
Murdoc spun on him, eyes blazing. “Enough?! You don’t get to tell me what’s enough!” His voice broke again, wobbling on the edge of a sob. “You’re not my bloody keeper!”
“Sure feel like it lately,” Russel muttered.
Murdoc’s lip curled, but it wasn’t anger now—it was panic. His hands shook, his breathing went ragged. He looked ready to bolt or break.
“Get outta my face,” he hissed. “Just—leave me alone.”
Russel stood slowly, keeping his voice level. “Go cool off in the Winnebago. I’ll clean up the mess.”
“I said leave me alone!” Murdoc’s shout hit a pitch that startled even him. He stumbled back a step, hands clutching his hair. “Can’t—can’t bloody breathe in here!”
2D stood frozen, wide-eyed, as Murdoc shoved past and bolted down the hall, nearly tripping over his own boots. The Winnebago door slammed a second later, echoing through the studio.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Russel ran a hand down his face. “He’s gonna break somethin’ in there if I don’t go.”
2D nodded quickly. “Yeh, uh… maybe bring him some water?”
Russel gave him a look. “Stay put, 2D. Don’t make it worse.”
Then he headed out into the rain.
Murdoc was pacing when he got there. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the Winnebago despite the cracked window. His hands trembled as he dug through cluttered drawers, muttering under his breath.
“Come on, come on, where’s the rest of it—”
Russel knocked once before stepping in. “You lookin’ for your lighter or your sanity?”
“Piss off.” Murdoc’s voice was a snarl, but it wavered. “I don’t need a damn babysitter.”
Russel took one look around—the bottle on the counter, the trembling hands, the dark circles under his eyes—and sighed. “You been drinking?”
Murdoc’s jaw twitched. “…Little.”
“Right.” Russel closed the door behind him. “Sit down before you fall down.”
“I said I’m fine!” Murdoc spun toward him, fury sparking again. His movements were wild, graceless. “You think you can just—just barge in here an’ tell me what to do?!”
Russel didn’t rise to it. He just stood there, calm as stone.
Murdoc’s breath came fast, chest heaving. “You don’t get it! You don’t know what it’s like in my head!” He slammed his hand on the counter, rattling the bottles. “All of you—always starin’, always expectin’—”
The words tangled up in his throat. He swallowed hard, shaking. “Just—leave me. Please. I can’t—”
Russel moved forward slowly, like approaching a skittish animal. “You’re not alone, man.”
Murdoc let out a noise that was half laugh, half sob. “Don’t say that! Every time someone says that, they leave anyway.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Russel’s expression softened. “I’m still here, ain’t I?”
Murdoc shook his head, tears welling. “You’ll get sick of me too.”
“Not my style.” Russel’s tone stayed steady. “Now sit. You’re spiralin’.”
Murdoc hesitated. His lip trembled. Then, almost in defiance of himself, he dropped onto the couch, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. His whole body shook.
Russel sat beside him, giving him a moment. The sound of rain filled the silence, tapping the metal roof like a lullaby.
Finally, Murdoc lifted his head—eyes red, breath unsteady. “I hate this,” he rasped. “I hate bein’ like this. Feels like I’m… trapped. In my own head. Every little thing sets me off.”
Russel nodded slowly. “That’s ‘cause you’re still raw, man. You been runnin’ from yourself too long. You gotta let yourself feel it without blowin’ up.”
Murdoc laughed bitterly. “Yeah? Tell me how, Buddha.”
Russel smirked faintly. “Start by not breakin’ furniture when you’re pissed off.”
Murdoc sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “You’re not funny.”
“Didn’t say I was.” Russel leaned back. “But I’m serious, Murdoc. This—what you’re doin’? Throwin’ tantrums, hidin’ after? It’s a pattern. One you can’t keep.”
Murdoc froze. The word tantrum stung like a slap. “Don’t—don’t call it that.”
“Why not? That’s what it is.”
“I’m not a bloody kid!” Murdoc snapped, but the force was gone from his voice.
Russel’s gaze softened. “No. You’re not. But part of you still feels like one. The part that didn’t get what he needed when he should’ve.”
Murdoc blinked hard, fighting tears again. “…You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.” Russel’s tone left no room for argument. “And from now on, I’m steppin’ in when that part shows up. You got me?”
Murdoc frowned, defensive even through the tremor in his voice. “You think you can manage me, like some bratty child?”
Russel shrugged. “If that’s what it takes to keep you from destroyin’ yourself, yeah. I’ll take that job.”
Murdoc stared at him, stunned. Then his face crumpled. “You can’t—don’t do that. Don’t make me your responsibility.”
“I already did,” Russel said simply. “And you ain’t talkin’ me out of it.”
The silence after that was thick. Murdoc’s breath hitched again, but the fight was draining out of him fast. He looked small, lost, trembling.
“I don’t… know how to stop,” he whispered. “It just happens.”
“Then we deal with it when it does,” Russel said. “You melt down, you come to me. You throw a fit, I set you straight. You don’t get to spiral alone anymore.”
Murdoc let out a broken laugh. “You’re bloody mad.”
“Maybe,” Russel said, a small smile tugging his lips. “But I’m not leavin’ you behind.”
Murdoc looked away, biting his lip hard. His eyes brimmed again. “You’ll hate me,” he said, soft and certain.
Russel shook his head. “Nah. I’ll just keep draggin’ you back ‘til you stop thinkin’ that.”
That undid him all over again. Murdoc pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, shaking. “God, you don’t know what you’re signin’ up for.”
Russel stood, grabbed the blanket draped over the couch, and tossed it around Murdoc’s shoulders. “Yeah, I do. Bedtime, tantrum, whatever else you throw at me—I can handle it.”
Murdoc’s breath hitched, the fight gone. He sank into the couch, head dropping against the back. “You’re… annoyin’ as hell.”
Russel chuckled, moving to the door. “Good. Means I’m doin’ it right.”