Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thoughts swim through your mind as you try to create a coherent sentence.

'Murderer.'

Your head is spinning almost as fast as the world around you.

'You're a murderer.'

Your stomach twists and flips as you continue walking.

'Murderer, murderer, murderer!'

'Hahaha!'

The room swerves sharply to the left and suddenly you're on the ground. You absently wonder where you are. The last clear thing you remember was using the transportalizer in the computer lab. It all seems so far away now...

'You knew what you were doing. You wanted this. WANTED IT! HAHAHAHA!'

It's too much. Your insides clench and you purge the acid in your stomach, bile searing your throat. There is nothing else to get rid of; you haven't eaten anything in a very long time.

'YOU MURDERED THEM! MURDERER!'

You think you might be crying, but you could not possibly care less. Dignity doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. You hear someone coming over. For a fleeting moment, you think of who it could be. For a fleeting moment, a shred of hope worms its way into your body. But it leaves faster than it appeared. Someone grabs your arm. Hard. They pull you into a kneeling position. Slowly, you turn your head to look at the interloper on your spiral into insanity.

"Hey motherfucker. YOU DON'T LOOK SO MOTHERFUCKING HOT."

"Oh... h-hey, Gam..." Gamzee. Didn't he kill people, too? Two at least. That's at least as many as you.

'It doesn't matter. He's insane. You're not. That makes you worse. Much, much worse. Hahahaha!'

In the last rationally working part of your mind, you know that you probably HAVE, in fact, gone shithive maggots insane, but of course, that is only a tiny shrapnel in the back of your head out of the giant towering mound of the shattering glass that is your brain.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME MOTHERFUCKER?" Oh. Right. Gam. He was saying something. You guess the throbbing in your head drowned him out. He makes an irritated noise and pushes you back down. You snap out of your trance and stand up on your shaky legs. Thoughts crash down on you all at once, images of the bloodbath you caused and the looks on your friends' faces burn themselves into your memory, and the wave is so forceful that it nearly knocks you back over. You hear a distant honk. Then you see her. You see her and her pink, bloodstained sash and her glowing white skin and all you can do is stare as she turns, hate-filled, murderous eyes meeting your dazed and confused ones. She stands there for a second, burning holes in your face. Then she breaks eye contact, blood-stained sash flowing behind her as she sprints towards you, chainsaw revving. For a brief moment you can feel her breath in your ear and then all you know is pain, excruciating, searing pain that seems to last a lifetime, and your not sure when you realize that you're dying but as all feeling begins to fade and blackness starts eating at your vision, you almost smile as you think, 'I deservve this. Actually, I might evven deservve wworse. But then again, wwhat could be wworse than the prince of hope dyin wwithout a single hope left?'

Heh. How ironic. That Dave human Ter's always going on about sure would get a kick outa this.

Chapter Text

You stare into the still, black void that is the space between dream bubbles. The deafening silence that forms in the stillness is as suffocating as it is relentless, it's invisible claws wrapping around you like deadly black silk, constricting your lungs and injecting poison into the only sane parts left in your brain. Thoughts of murder and despair slush through your mind like a stormy sea, drowning you in waves of guilt and loneliness as well as sending icy chills up and down your spine. You do not know how long you have been sitting like this. It could be days, months, years... Maybe only minutes. But, to be honest, you don't give a squeak beast's ass about how long it's been. All you know is that you want it to stop. You need it to stop.

You want someone to find you. To save you. To rescue you from this endless shitstorm of isolated torment. But alas... No one is here. They never are, never were, and probably never will be. You haven't been in contact with another living being since you died... Not that anyone would actually want to get anywhere near you if they did stumble across this bubble. But... but maybe, someday, someone will find you. Maybe they'll even stay with you.
Maybe...
So you sit.
And you wait.
And you hope.

Even though it's hopeless, you hope.

---

You don't remember exactly when you went insane. It might've been when you started hearing the voices. Or maybe it was when they left you, just like everybody else. Or perhaps all those times that you would think you saw another bubble coming towards yours, only to wake up and realize it was just a dream, crushing any hope you had into dust, slowly tore through your already delicate brain and wore your remaining sanity away. Maybe it was all three. But whatever it was, here you are, laying on your side in a fetal position, staring vacantly into the vast nothing in front of you. It's all a blur now; you abandoned your glasses long ago, and apparently, even in death, you're still blind as a bat without them. Tears continue streaming down your face, but you haven't actually sobbed in days. You just don't see the point anymore.

---

It has been so long since you've been in anyone's company. So, so long. You can't even remember what it feels like to be anything but alone. Yet you still long for the isolation's end. You just need someone to be here. Just someone. Anyone. As long as they are alive, you don't care. Just please. You can't take it. Whoever is controlling your fate.
Listen.
PLEASE.

...There is no answer.

Chapter Text

You feel a sudden change in your surroundings. And, oddly enough, you can see it as well. This surprises you.
Wait.
You feel a presence. But...
It is not anywhere around you. It's inside you. Inside your head. You don't know how you are so sure of this, how you know for a fact that it is true, but you do. Also, for some reason, you do not think you are in your body right now. Not completely.

You can hear thoughts, but they are not all yours. They... They sound oddly like...
Oh god.
No.
Not him.
Not after what you did, definitely not after that...

He seems to be having similar feelings- not in the way he's remorseful, but in the way he doesn't want to be stuck with you. You can't blame him, really; even you don't want to be stuck with you... You can suddenly feel him trying to rip you in half. Wait. How is that possible? There are no hands on your body... At least, not that you can feel... Your brain is having trouble comprehending this physical impossibility, so you look down at yourself to try and figure it out.

"oh god... Wwhat? wwhat evven...."

You...
You try to help him in his effort. Well... Until you remember the lonely black void of a hell you'd be going back to. So you stop trying to pull away, and you cling to him. You cling to him as hard as you possibly can. You can't go back. You just can't. And then he stops pulling. You just barely hear sol call you a pussy before you sink into your now shared subconscious and give up all basic control.

Chapter Text

When you next wake up, the first thing you notice is that your middle is searing with pain. You hiss loudly and reach your hands to your middle, trying to fend off whatever it is that's hurting you. Then, someone bats away your hands and growls out a venomous "Stay still, you ungrateful little shit." That... Sounds like Kanaya. But... But Kanaya wouldn't curse in such an... inelegant fashion. Would she?

You look up and sure enough, there she is, violently (yet neatly) sewing you back together with a scowl plastered to her face. You cover your mouth in an attempt to stop the pathetic sobs bubbling up in your chest, but to no avail. You sob violently into your hands, telling her that you're sorry, oh god, you're so sorry...

Someone else growls and yells at you to shut up, slapping you hard in the face. You recognize the voice instantly. Fef... This only makes you cry harder. Then, seemingly out of absolutely nowhere, someone hits you over the head with an eight ball.

You black out.

---

When you once again regain consciousness, you are in a little cell, arms and legs chained. You also feel... Well... You feel like you did that one time when you were two and were stupid enough to eat a bowl full of sopor slime. You're shaky and jittery and just not all there, and it feels absolutely terrible. You whine softly for your lusus and curl up on your cot, whimpering and mewling pathetically until you fall asleep.

---

The next time you wake up, you are surrounded by the other trolls and humans. You growl fearfully and scramble away, unsure of what they're planning to do.

"Shut up, Ampora, you're just wasting your energy with that shit."

You look up and see that Karkat has stepped forward. "K-... Kar..?"

"Yes, it's me, you raving sack of douche. Now listen up, and we'll be able to go our separate ways as soon as fucking possible."

You nod and look up at him with big, scared eyes, not sure what to expect.

"So, we need your help to defeat Lord English. Otherwise, we would have just let your body rot. Basically, we need your power. We've found a way for all of us to godteir, but we all decided that you'd do just fine with that fucking awful wand of yours." He throws the wand at you, and you flinch back, growling at him like a cornered animal. Sollux slaps you with his psionics. Oh, hey, his eyes healed. Great. "Get yourself ready. We're attacking tomorrow."

With that, everyone walked out of the room, leaving you to stare down at your wand with a look of disgust even more intense than the looks they were giving you.

Chapter Text

When you had stood before Lord English alongside your teammates, it had almost felt like everything you'd done, everything that had happened... It all meant nothing. The only thing that mattered was that moment, that one, crucial moment when you all attacked as one, a mass of death and destruction, all working together.

The carnage had been devastating.

Lord English had fatally wounded nearly half of you before you could even fire. Luckily, Aranea was on your side, and she healed everyone before they could die and, inevitably, float around in the dream bubbles forever; from experience, you can say that would be... not pleasant.

There was blood everywhere. Blood of all shades, colors, and quantities, bodies piling up by the dozen... It's a good thing Aranea can move fast. After a gruesome battle that seemed as if it would drag on forever, bodies piling up and blood splattering everywhere for all eternity... It was over.

You had won.

You watched in awe as Karkat and John both slowly walked up to the door and opened it up together. Finally, after all this time...

You all had beaten the game.

Chapter Text

Next thing you know, you're standing in front of an apartment building in a world unfamiliar to all of you. You look to the others, confused, but they all seem just as lost as you are. Collectively, they begin to head inside; you follow them as they go, your own steps timid and unsure.

Once you are all in, you watch the others reunite in the common room while you sit in a corner, distancing yourself from everyone. You know they don't want you here. You see how they look at you(disgusted, repulsed looks that make you want to curl up and die), and you're pretty sure that even they don't know why they're keeping you around. You don't know why you're staying, either. But you are...

At least, you are for now.

---

You don't sleep for the next few nights. You don't eat, either. In fact, the only thing you do is sit in your corner, watching people pass by and try their best to ignore your existence. It's horrible, and honestly, you're surprised they haven't done anything about it yet.

Guess you'll just have to wait.

---

They've been talking lately. Talking in a group. They'll huddle up and murmur inaudible words to each other, looking over at you every so often. Looks like it's time, then.

After what seems like years, they walk over to you, all of them sneering and growling. Then, just like that, Gamzee hits you over the head with one of his clubs, and you are out cold.

---

When you come to, it is to find yourself blindfolded, and... In a car, you think. Oh god. Oh god, this is really happening. You begin to hyperventilate, tearing at yourself in a desperate attempt to... Honestly, you don't know what you're trying to do, but you're doing it.

"Calm down, douthefin. Your panic attack ith annoying me." Sollux.

You scowl, but it is half-hearted at best. Fuck, you feel like your chest is about to explode.

"W... w-where are you takin' me..?" Your voice quivers with fear. You can't help it; you're terrified.

"Like fuck we're telling you." Karkat.

You make a small noise and curl up in your spot, frowning deeply.

This is not going to turn out well, is it...

---

Next thing your know, they're taking off your blindfold and dumping you in the middle of a town that... Quite honestly makes you fear for your life even more than you had been. Once that's been done, Sollux walks up and begins to kick you in the stomach. Then, once he's done, he leans down, looks you straight in the eye, and says, "Don't even think about trying to find your way back. Thith ith your official e'g'thile. Don't you forget it, fithdick. And if any of uth ever thee your fathe again..." He scowls, growling a little. "We'll kill you on sight." He gives you a few more kicks, and all you can do is lay there, coughing up blood and wishing you were dead as you hear them drive away.

Chapter Text

The streets are cold and dark. Cold and dark and not forgiving in anyway. Just like the trolls who brought you here.

Everything...

Everything is like the trolls who left you here. Cold, dark, and unforgiving. For now, it's all you know.

Not a day has gone by that you haven't been mugged. Every once in a while, you'll even get... get... get raped-(every quadrant, every possible way from gentle to being torn apart just so they can shoosh and pap it better). It is a sorry existence... A sorry existence that your stupid pride won't allow you to get out of. It's only a matter of time, though... You can feel the little weight you have dropping off of you like water thanks to your seadweller metabolism, and it's only a matter of time before you'll need food and shelter.

Sure enough, within the next few days(beatings and torture, starvation and dehydration), you swallow your pride and end up selling your cape, rings, and sweater(you couldn't bare to part with your scarf; it's the only thing of comfort you have left) in order to get enough money to afford the first month's rent on the cheapest(shittiest) apartment you could find. Plus an energy bar. Aren't you just living it up over here.

Soon after, you go out in search of a job, only to find that you have just enough dignity left to get turned down at every interview you answer. This ends after about a month, though, when you realize that you won't be able to pay next month's rent if this keeps up. So, you go out and let yourself get humiliated on every turn in order to scrape up enough money for rent and the occasional energy bar to keep you going.

You soon find out that you cannot hold a job. You're a good worker, you never slack off, and you always try your best to keep out of the way. You've been fired from every job you've gotten less than a week in. Why? The customers. They always treat you horribly, and not a day goes by that you don't at least make rude gestures at them. More often than not, you lose control and go on a highblood bender, which would more often than not leave you with insane amounts of debt. After a while, you grow so desperate that you begin to try and calm yourself(all clumsy paps to your face, shaky hands rubbing your horns, whimpered croons, sobs, cries, shudders...). It feels horrid, but it works just enough to keep you in check. You begin to hold jobs, keeping them for long periods of time and then lying awake in your awful hiveblock, laying on your couch and using precious food money to treat any wounds you have before they get infected badly enough for you to miss work. It's hard, and it's a daymare to keep up(especially with the work hours; the sun burns your eyes and flesh, and it's near impossible to sleep at night)... But you're alive. Cold, starving, and exhausted, but alive.

It's about a sweep into your new life that you go to the hospital for the first time. You get caught in an alley by a drunken band of humans, and they jump you, stealing the little money you have on you and bashing your head in with their bare fists. They crack one of your horns, too; you can feel the agonizing, otherworldly jolt of discomfort and pain zap through you like lightning, effectively knocking you out and leaving you at the thugs' mercy. When you wake up, you are in a stark-white room with more tubes than you can count stuck in your left arm. Then the doctor comes in.

Hospitals are evil.

Doctors are evil.

(He'd taken his tools and opened your gills wide, watching the opercula flail weakly in destress as he cranks the tool wider, wider... Then he started the torture. You never want to see a sewing kit again)

You leave the place looking worse than you had when you'd arrived.

Your gills are sewn shut. Your sensory frills are torn up beyond recognition, your fins are mutilated.

You begin to wear your scarf again.

You wake up in the hospital twice more after that, each time worse than the last.
It begins to get harder and harder to keep yourself calm enough to work.
You're spiralling.

It only gets worse when the new wage laws are put into place. Trolls now make only one dollar to a human's three.
You starve.
Losing every bit of sleep time you have to search for a job.
Gills infected, new cuts and scars.
Asthma worsening.
Bedridden for a week.
Evicted from apartment.
Barely alive on the sidewalk...

Then, slowly, you get jobs. One by one, bit by bit... Costco, convenience store, gas station, Starbucks, Olive Garden.
New apartment.
Food.
First aid kit.

Your boss at the convenience store eventually offers Vallium in exchange for your pay when he finds you during one of your episodes. Of course, you accept, eager for anything to keep the rages away. And so begins your life as an overworked, pill-popping exile.
Wonderful.

Chapter Text

You slam open the door to your beyond-shitty apartment and drag yourself inside, closing the door behind you.
Finally...
You have been up since 4:15 in the morning, and right now it's... well, you know it has been dark for several hours. You let a small sigh escape your lips as you collapse onto your couch. At least you got off work early today.. And hey, you might even be able to manage a full hour of sleep tonight! That's good, right? ...Oh god, how did you even get in this mess...

"Stupid fuckin' no good piece a shit vvideo game..."

You huddle into the beat-up piece of furniture you are currently residing on, and you are out cold within a few seconds.

Well...

You are until you hear your palmhusk beeping angrily at you about a half an hour later. "mno...." you mumble as you roll over, turning your back to the noisy device sitting on your half-broken coffee table. As always, your palmhusk replies with - what a surprise - more beeping. You groan and move to turn it off, the action causing you to fall onto the floor. You run a hand over your face as you sit up, grab your palmhusk, and turn off the alarm before your neighbors start to complain. So much for getting a full hour of sleep...
Oh well.
It was probably too much to hope for, anyway.

After sitting on the ground for a minute or so, you slowly make your way to your feet and head to the ablution block for a shower. The water feels good on your dehydrated skin; you haven't been able to take a shower lasting longer than five minutes since you arrived on this new planet, and your income is so low that you probably will never get to again. You sigh, almost drifting off under the spray, its calming familiarity lulling you into the bliss of unconsciousness...
Then, of course, right when you are about to fall back asleep, the water shuts off. Ugh... Already? You sigh, exit the shower, dry off, and slip on the clothes you wore yesterday (They are currently the cleanest ones you have; you can't afford to do your laundry very often).

You check the time on your palmhusk and FUCK YOU'RE GONNA BE LATE! You grab your backpack(filled with bottles of Valium, as always. Oh, the joys of being a broke addict) and run out the door, forgoing breakfast yet again. You hope to fucking god you make it there on time; you can't afford to lose another job, you won't be able to pay your fucking RENT if you lose another job... You've already had to skip four days-worth of meals(meals being energy bars or maybe a piece of bread if your lucky) this week because you couldn't scrounge up enough cash to get groceries... You might have to become homeless just to SURVIVE if you blow this...

Luckily, you make it to the coffee shop without a minute to spare. Whew! That was close. Good thing you ran. You mean, sure, you're going to be seeing double for the next hour due to asthma and negligence of eating and sleeping, but at least you'll be able to work another day. You sigh in relief (causing a full-on coughing fit that you REALLY hope no one noticed) as you check in and slip behind the counter to start your shift.

As you work, your thoughts begin to drift to the others. What are they doing? Are they well off? Do they still hate you?

It isn't until about halfway through your shift, when a customer bangs their hands down on the counter, that you realize you had dozed off. Fuck.
Your boss comes out to see what the commotion is, and he is very quick to drag you off by the collar of your shirt, telling the man that he will be taken care of by another Batista, and you will be punished severely.

Once you are in his office, he snarls at you, standing you out of view of the customers. "Catchin' up on your beauty sleep?" You shake your head frantically. "I'm s-sorry sir, it-t was jus-st an accid-de-dent I s-swe-" He slaps you across the face, leaving a bright purple mark on your cheek. "Don't gimme that shit, Ampora. You do this every other day." He punches you twice in the stomach, giving you a kick to the shin for good measure. You sink to your knees, your arms instinctively wrapped around your stomach. " 'm s-... s-sor-...-ry sir I-" He kicks you in the stomach so hard that blood comes out of your mouth. "Shut up. Your voice is annoyin' me." He walks over to his desk. Then, you make the mistake of opening your mouth again(not even to say anything; you were worried the blood would get in your lungs if you didn't spit it out), and he comes running at you, this time aiming for your head, and then you see nothing but black dots and stars. You can faintly hear your boss saying something about taking a nap in his office, and then there is more pain in your stomach, and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck what's going ON YOU DON'T KNOW AND-...

Your vision slowly fades to normal, and you see that you are still in your boss' office, but now, you are laying down, surrounded in a drying puddle of your own blood and vomit.
Oh.
Lovely.

You get up on shaky legs and scurry-stagger out and to the employee's washroom, thankful for the lull in customers. Once inside, you take off your shirt and look in the mirror to survey the damage, running mutilated hands and chipped claws over protruding, misshapen ribs. Looks like he broke one today. Hum... Some internal bleeding, and he'd certainly done a number on your gills... He probably gave you a concussion as well, judging by the lump on the back of your head and your mismatched pupils.
You sigh and clean up, washing off as much blood as you can before picking out one of the spare uniforms(for coffee spills) off the hangers. (Even with it being the smallest size they have, it still /hangs/ off you, your body nearly falling out of the outfit.) Then, you check yourself in the mirror again. Four feet, barely fifty pounds of nearly /rotting/ flesh, all scabs and scars and pale, dry skin with barely a muscle to be found. And then there's your eyes; tired, dead, hazy orbs with bags under them so dark that it seems as if someone painted on bruises. Your nose is crooked, your fangs are as chipped and cracked as your claws, and every breath you take sounds like your last.

This is you on one of your best days.

Ugh, whatever. Your boss only gives you a few minutes to recover after these things, and you'd rather not have to go through it again and risk missing your next job. You reach for your backpack and quickly pull out your bottle of Valium, downing a few before deeming yourself ready to return to your post. That should get you through the next two shifts.

You walk out of the washroom and head back to the counter, sliding behind it and immediately beginning to help customers again.

---

The second the clock strikes 10:30, you're hopping the counter and bolting out the door.

You end up puking on the way to the convenience store(your next job) as well as having a small (serious) coughing fit that may or may not have splattered blood on your borrowed(read: loaned for a ten percent deduction of your pay check until they are returned) pants.
Well shit.

Oh well; worse things have happened. It's not like anyone will actually notice.

You enter the convenience store roughly four minutes late. Damn, you really thought you were gonna make it this time.
You sigh and walk across the building to the supply closet and open the door, grabbing a mop and bucket(not without shuttering visibly at the awful, dirty feeling you have just from seeing it) and getting straight to work.

Of course(because, honestly, why wouldn't it be), the first mess you come across is an enormous puddle of vomit that stretches all the way across isle five, presumably made by some sick child whose mother just wouldn't listen to his or her whining of an upset stomach. God, human children were so disgusting.
Sigh...
You guess you should get to it, lest you risk a beating from *another* boss.

Eventually, some of your coworkers come over to watch what they would consider to be a high form of... "entertainment", knowing that you are a little(incredibly) squeamish around vomit. You think that you even hear them making bets on whether you'll finish the job or add to the mess. You just scowl and continue working, trying your best to ignore them.
Stupid fucking glorified humans with all their money and free time and...
Um...
Thinking they're better than you and...
Shit...

Yeah, you are kind of too busy trying to focus on cleaning while *not* gagging or throwing up to think of proper reasons why all humans are stupid.

Thankfully, your coworkers end up getting board and leaving just before you lose your lunch, the stench and sight of the vomit having become too much for you.

---

You are currently trying not to throw up again.
You are currently *really* trying not to throw up again, but you can already feel more bile rising to your throat. You swallow thickly, swaying a little on your feet before you stumble over to the nearest shelf, gripping it tightly for support.
You're shaking, you know you are, but you honestly don't care. Everything is spinning jerkily around you, and then suddenly you are on your knees.
Oh.
How did you get down here?
Never mind that.
The churning in your stomach is as relentless as the putrid smell of vomit filling the store, and soon enough, you find yourself retching onto the ground, the only things managing to make its way out of your stomach more bile and acid. There is nothing else; the whatever remnants you had had of the protein bar you ate yesterday are either in the parking lot or already on the convenience store floor.

After several excruciating minutes, you finally finish and just... Just stare down at the added vomit, trembling with exertion. God damn it... You're gonna have to clean this up... You sigh shakily and stand, stumbling a little before steadying yourself and getting back to work as if nothing had happened.

---

Luckily, you do manage to keep it together until you have finally finished cleaning the mess, by which time your shift is already half way over. You sigh in relief, slumping a little as you scurry over to the next one, relieved that that's finally over and done with.

The rest of your shift goes by uneventful save for the few small children who decide or are told by their parents to knock things over purposefully or "accidentally" throw something at you. It angers you to no end, but you know for a fact that you couldn't do anything about it if you wanted to(and you really, really want to do something about it); you need this job. If you were to lose it, you would be set back a whole year on your electric bill, and then where would you be? Without the occasional somewhat-substantial piece of bread to keep you going, that's where.
You can't afford to lose a job... You can't even afford to *miss* a job. No matter what... Seadwellers don't get sick leave; a day without work is a day without pay, even if you're on your death bed. You'd probably still be here even if that were the case, anyway. You're kind of worried you might be soon; you've been noticing that you've been feeling weaker and weaker every day, and you know it's only a matter of time before your body gives out(it actually already has a few times, but you don't count those times because they only happened during hard times, times when you had lost a job and had to skip most of your remaining meals to make up the money and lose your only time for sleep in order to have all the time you can possibly have had to look for a new one. You were even worse off than usual, so anything that might have happened then means nothing).

Once you have finished your shift, you head off to your next one at some obscure, shitty restaurant. It starts in ten minutes, and it's only a block away, so you can walk for now. You sigh again, slumping over a little more and trying to rub the stiff ache out of your neck. Fuck, what you wouldn't do for a nap... Your eyes snap open, your body straightening up(more or less) once again. What are you doing?! You have jobs to attend to. Lots of jobs! Jobs from the ass-crack of dawn to... Well, to the ass-crack of dawn. God, you hate your life...

---

You arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early, quickly changing into your uniform and heading out of the changing rooms- only to be met with your manager, who starts screaming at you for some minuscule thing you had done yesterday while you were cleaning up. You do not even flinch, as this happens a lot. As in. Every. Fucking. Day. Needless to say, it gets pretty annoying, but somehow, you completely refrain from yelling back, instead agreeing that, yes, you did, indeed, mess up the whole entire dinner rush with your incompetence, yes, you are a useless piece of shit who can't do anything right, and yes, you will make sure that it doesn't happen again tonight. Finally, ten minutes later, his rant is over, and you get to work, picking up plates and cleaning tables, after-which going into the kitchen to wash the dishes before heading back out and repeating the process. As always, a coworker purposefully trips you almost every time, and you just barely manage to catch the tray with every drop. You could already tell this was gonna be a long night.

---

By the time you're done with this shift, you aren't quite sure you can manage to even get out of the restaurant, let alone to your next job. You groan and slump out of the restaurant, practically falling asleep on your feet as you walk.

Soon enough, though, you arrive at the gas station shop, and you walk in, going straight to your manager's office. This place holds your only nice boss (a troll, of course), and so this is the one time of day you aren't afraid to confront the person running your place of work. When she answers the door, she immediately pulls you in, asking if you're alright and telling you to sit down for a bit, giving you a glass of water.

"Thank you..."

"It's no trouble. Just relax. You need it." She goes off, coming back with a little coffee cake and handing it to you.

"Oh god..." You unwrap it quickly and devour the whole thing in ten seconds flat, sighing contently and washing it down with the water she had given you once you were done. "You're a saint, Garnia. A fuckin' saint..."

"Oh, be quiet, Ampora. Now, tell me what happened. Did that self-righteous brine-sucker from the coffee shop beat you again?"

You sigh. "Yeah. I dozed off in the middle a an order. Broke one a my ribs."

She growls. "Fucking humans... I wish I could do something, but.. Well..."

You scowl. "Yeah, I know. Have you been holdin' up alright?"

She just sighs, showing you the bruises along her arms and stomach.

"You really need to move out a your lusus' hive, ma'am."

"I know, I know. But seriously, Ampora, at least call me by my last name. The whole 'you're my superior' thing is kinda getting old, don't you think?"

You grimace.

"Sorry, Garnia.... Force a habit."

"Yeah, well, just get a little rest before you start, yeah? I'll be right at my desk if you need anything." You sigh and nod, waving her off as she leaves.

After the ten minutes are up, you thank her again and head out, hoping to god you don't get any rough customers.

---

Unfortunately, you have no such luck. Two hours into your work, a couple of rich kids walk in and collect every bit of food they can, placing it all down on the counter once they've cleared the place out. Damn, it's /these/ guys. Every fucking week....

One of them steps forward, a drunken smile on his face. "Hey, fishy boy, how're your fins doin', huh?" He places the sides of his hands on his cheeks to act as fins and makes a fish face, dancing around like an idiot while he does.
"Hey, look at me, I'm a weird-ass mutant, watch me swim around!" He then proceeds to run around the store, arms making swim motions as he does.
"Oh no, I don't have any skills, I gotta work part time shit and whore myself off to strangers!" He shakes his ass around and makes a kissy face in the others' direction, getting a big rise out of all of them. You grit your teeth, claws digging into your palms as they carry on, all drunken laughter and insults.
"I ain't a prostitute," you murmur as you ring them up, barely able to contain your rage.
The guy who'd been making fun of you spins around, a smug look on his face. "What was that, whore?"

"I said..." You squeeze your eyes shut, claws puncturing skin. "I'm not a prostitute. Now buy your shit an' leavve."

His grin turns mischievous as he walks up to you, face so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath. "Oh... But I don't wanna 'leave'. I think I'd rather stay a few rounds..." His lips touch yours, and he's all tongue and teeth and beer breath, and it, makes you want to puke. Then, he brushes your fin, and you push him away with a loud yelp, growling ferally before bolting into the storage closet.

Once inside, you curl up on your makeshift pile and raise a shaky hand to your face, papping it softly and letting out a sad, broken little croon as you try to calm yourself. This goes on for what feels like hours; a tiny shoosh there, a frail pap there.... It's terrible and wrong and it makes you die inside.

Soon, though, you remember your pills, and you quickly fumble for your backpack, taking out the little Valium bottle an removing five pills, swallowing them all dry.

The effects start almost instantly.

You sigh lightly as you feel yourself calm, deciding to wait out the group in favor of facing them again.

In the end, you end up two hours late for your next job.
It isn't worth it.

---

The second you walk into the Costco, your boss is there, eyes cold and face stony.

"You're late."

"I know, s-sir, I'm sor-ry, It's jus-s-" He punches you square in the face, knocking out one of your fangs.

"I don't like stuttering, Ampora. You should know that."

"I... I'm... sorry, ssssir... I... Just... There w-.... there wwwas a little acci... dent... At my lassst job... Annd-" He knees you in the stomach. Hard.
"Enough. Now, I think you need to be taught a lesson, Ampora. Don't you?"
You whimper and nod, bracing yourself for the next blow
"Good... Now, which bones do you need most?"

---

Apparently, you don't need your ribs. Or your fingers. Or your toes. Or your right arm. Or your left shin.

---

By the time your shift is done, the whole entirety of Costco is spotless, and you are past the point of beyond exhausted.

You end up having to crawl home, and of course, you get mugged on the way.

Twice.

Chapter Text

i swear this isnt dead please dont think i forgot i just have writers block and my beta reader/coauthor is a busy lil fucker.