Chapter Text
It happened during a Let’s play.
They were almost done recording a new Minecraft video when it happened.
The thing Gavin feared most, the thing he hated most about himself — it came back.
It started out with a shadow. He told himself it was nothing, just a trick of the light. He continued on with his game.
Then it was a sound. A low scratching noise that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
And then, after finishing up the Let’s Play, he realized what was happening. His worst nightmare had come true. He figured it out when he had turned to ask Michael something, and saw a terrifying, demonic, screech-inducing face.
He screamed, toppled over his chair, blinking rapidly to will the illusion away.
After a second it had dissapeared, replaced by a startled, confused, and overall worried face that belonged to Michael. Everyone in the room was staring at Gavin as he clutched the fabric over his heart, taking deep breathes from his position on the floor.
"What the fuck…? Are you fuckin’ okay, Gavin?" Michael said slowely, filling the tense silence.
Gavin gulped, standing up shakily and nodded. He refused to make eye contact with anyone, head turned slighty downwards, trying to hide his blush.
"What the hell just happened?" Geoff said quietly from his spot in the far corner.
Gavin stuttered out a response, eyes slightly wide and paniced. “N-nothing! Sorry about that, um, I just got startled is all… S-sorry, guys!”
The other four Achievement Hunters aside from Michael and Gavin, exchanged glances briefly before shrugging and turning back to whatever they were doing before. Michael stayed still, observing Gavin with furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips that were pushing forward the tiniest bit.
Gavin, immediately distracted, turned and left the room quietly, leaving Michael to stare at the door suspiciously.
No no no no no. This isn’t happening, no, not now, it can’t! I was p-propably just imagining it, right? It couldn’t be what I think it is, it went away years ago!
Gavin’s thoughts raced with panic as he made his was to the kitchen for a bottle of water.
"You idiot. You honestly though you could get rid of it? Hah! Wow, you really are crazy. Stop kidding yourself; you can’t get rid of it. You never will."
Gavin jerked upwards, banging his head on the top of the open fridge he was searching through. Swearing, he clutched his head in his hands.
Oh no. No no no nonononononoNO! Bloody hell, I am NOT doing this again!!! I am NOT hearing voices again, damn it! No, I got rid of them like seven bloody years ago, I’m not doing this shit again!!!
Gavin whimpered, angry and scared tears threatening at the back of his eyes.
"Oh, but you are. You can’t escape it, Gavin. Stop being such a coward. Just except it —
You’re a schizophrenic freak, and nobody wants crazy people like you around."
The voice practically sneered.
He had to get out of there.
Pushing through the front door of the Roosterteeth building, he began to really feel the panic that was washing over him.
Gavin clenched his fists tightly, speeding up as he walked all the way to his apartment. He was surrounded by sounds of claws scratching at doors; viscious whispers overlapping each other; a heart beating rapidly; and a few unidentifiable, but still terrifying and obnoxious, noises.
Running up the stairs to apartment 9B on the second floor, he tried his best to hold back the tears that were forming in his eyes. Gavin unlocked the door after a few unsuccessful attempts due to his trembling hands, and swung the door open then closed as he entered.
His heart was racing, his lungs were burning for air, his throat felt tight, and his eyes stung with tears. He slowly sunk to the floor, clutching his throbbing head in his hands and the noises grew louder.
And he broke down.
———————-
How Gavin ended up in his bed, he didn’t remember. He woke up with a major headache, a sore throat, and an aching body.
After checking the time, Gavin determined that for about seven hours now, he has been crying, screaming, and — judging by the scratches all over his skin, and the disaster that has become of his once-cleanish room — probably rampaging through his apartment and breaking things.
The floor of his bedroom was littered with items. Two of his pillows were thrown on the floor, a bunch of crumpled papers over by his desk, and the sheets on his bed were just.. Yeah.
Rolling out of bed with shaky knees, Gavin stood and made his way to the bathroom that was just outside his bedroom.
The light was on already, the mirror had slightly-bloody handprints on it, and there was vomit in the toilet.
Sighing, Gavin began to clean up.
He flushed the toilet, picked up anything he had knocked over during his break down, and grabbed a washcloth to wipe off the mirror.
As he cleaned up the handprints on the mirror, Gavin noticed several bruises and cuts littering his skin.
That’s probably where the blood came from.
His hair was even messier than usual, bunched up in certain places where he had grabbed at it in attempts to calm down or get rid of the voices or something.
His eyes looked almost lifeless, the emerald color fading to a dull shade.
Turning away from the mirror, the Brit threw the washcloth in the bathtub and exited the bathroom.
Gavin prepared himself to see the rest of his apartment, knowing that it would probably be even worse than the other two rooms he just observed.
Lucky enough, he apparently didn’t storm through the kitchen when he got home. The livingroom however, was a completely different story.
The lamp next to the door was knocked over, the opaque glass cone around the lightbulb now cracked and chipped.
The bookshelves on the wall near his TV had a few books missing, finding a spot on the floor near the opposite wall where he most likely threw them in a fit of rage.
There was a dent or two in the cream colored walls surrounding him, along with some scratches and a few spots of blood here and there.
Good thing I don’t have many neighbores. They probably would’ve called the cops by now.
He thought to himself.
Since the building his apartment was in was pretty new, not many of the other apartments were being occupied yet. As far as he knew, the only people that are in this building that were relatively close are: two college girls that were in apartment 11B, on the same floor as Gavin; an old lady that can’t hear worth a shit in 2B on the first floor; a family of three living on the first floor in 5B; and an alcoholic that spent of his time at the bar or somewhere else, in the apartment right above Gavin’s, 15B.
So he’s pretty sure no one heard him.
Hopefully.
Giving up on fixing the mess at the moment, Gavin dragged himself to the kitchen.
He really needed a fucking beer.
He also needed to figure out what the fuck he should do about his ‘problem’ showing up again.
Begrudgingly, he plopped down on the couch with his beer bottle in hand and brought the blanket on the couch to wrap around him like a barrier.
He took a few sips of his drink and stared at the wall.
He stared for about twenty minutes before he noticed he was out of beer.
And so far, he could think of nothing. It was like he was in shock. No, it wasn’t shock — It’s depression.
That all-too-familiar feeling of numbness, hopelessness, and worthlessness — It all was bundled up under the name of another problem that his doctor had diagnosed him with all those years ago: Major Depressive Disorder.
During his childhood, Gavin was diagnosed with Chronic Depression. He struggled with it for years, up until about seven years ago, when he thought he had gotten rid of his schizophrenia. Key word: thought.
After being put on several different medications, frequent therapy sessions, and a lot of self-control, Gavin had managed to surpress his illness into the back of his mind, freeing him from it for years.
He had gotten used to the mental and emotional breakdowns, along with panic attacks and such.
What he had not gotten used to though, was the dissapointment and fear that followed a relapse.
“Gawd damn it. I am so fucked.”