Chapter Text
Bad is happy.
He laughs, he sings, he smiles, and acts annoyed when Skeppy trolls him.
Bad is happy.
He tells stories, he makes childish jokes, builds tree houses and creates a world in which there is nothing truly wrong.
Bad is happy.
He smiles, laughs, makes dumb jokes and for a little while makes his viewers feel a little less alone. He appears as if everything is constantly alright and provides an escape from the world and all its struggles.
Bad’s job is to be happy.
-
He doesn’t know when the emptiness truly started. He supposes it had always been there. But now the waves of sadness seemed all consuming as they washed over him until he could no longer leave his bed. Eating became a chore and showering a fleeting thought. The only reason he rose each day was for Rat.
He used to not be this bad. Before his laughs were, for the most part, real. His smiles were genuine. Now his laughs were stale and his smiles never quite reached his eyes.
He wonders if his viewers notice. He wonders if they see through their screen, through his mask of smiles and laughter.
He doubts it.
-
For all he feels inside he hardly ever cries. The pressure builds at his eyes but never comes out. It just builds and builds and builds constantly piling but never spilling.
It’s no surprise when he finally snaps.
In actuality it was just a tipping point. The words never cut deeply before. They were the same but on that day they hurt oh so much more. And it all flows out; all his tears fall in an untamable torrent. He chokes and wheezes as he cries unused to the sensation.
He tries to smile, tries to laugh, but try as he might the tears do not stop.
-
“I love you” He says with a smile. And he means it from the bottom of his heart. He loves all his fans. All of them, even the ones who ruthlessly spam his chat. He cares so deeply for these people he’ll never meet it hurts.
In the donations they pour their hearts out to him. They say how he’s helped them. They say how he makes them smile when everything goes wrong. His heart aches for their pain and wishes he could take it all away.
The least he can do is say those three short words. The three words that make you feel like you aren’t alone in the world.
Three words he wishes someone would say to him.
“I love you” he smiles and hopes it makes them feel a little less empty.
-
In a burst of energy, he cleans his house. He manically sweeps and scrubs everything in sight. He organizes stuff to give the charity, stuff to give to friends, and stuff that no one would want but him. Stuff that only belongs in the trash.
He digs through a pile of trophies and awards, relics from the time when he actually cared about shooting, placing each and every one into a black garbage bag. His hand hovers hesitantly over the barrel of his old shotgun.
He moves it to the small pile of things he actually keeps.
He gives almost everything away, he won't need it. All he’s left with was stuff for Rat, his mattress, his computer and the shotgun.
People ask why he stopped facecamming. With a laugh he says his house is a mess.
-
He lays on his mattress and stares up at the ceiling and comes to the realization he doesn’t know who he is. He smiles and laughs on camera. He tells stories and jokes.
But when alone he’s like this.
He hasn’t showered in days. He’s only left the house to walk Rat and buy groceries that he hardly eats. Most days he lays on the mattress and stares at the ceiling quietly wasting away. Day after day, he is filled with an unending emptiness which only disappears in sleep.
Bad turns over and tries to sleep once again.
-
He finds a nice old lady willing to adopt Rat. She has a big yard for Rat to play in and plenty of dog toys. She’ll make a wonderful home for the little dog.
A week later, he rings her doorbell Rat in his arms. Bad burrows his face into the little dog’s fur. With a sad smile, he tells Rat that he’s going away for a bit and to not worry. This lady would take good care of her. He tells her he loves her and that he’ll miss her so much. Rat licks the tears from his cheeks and Bad squeezes her close one last time.
The old lady finally opens the door. With a false smile Bad puts Rat into the old lady’s waiting arms.
-
He stares at the ceiling, body as still as a corpse. His head is spinning, thinking of everything and nothing at all. He feels the need to cry but still nothing comes out. It’s all too much and not enough.
He turns slightly, glancing at the computer he hardly uses. He hasn’t been online on days. Everyone probably forgot him by now. That’s how the internet was. He smiles softly. Good. He didn’t want to be remembered.
He glances at the shotgun in the corner.
-
He picks up one the few pens he has and brings its tip to paper. He hesitates. Despite how much he’s imagined this in his mind, no words seem to come. He writes slowly and carefully, reading and rereading, crumpling up pages and starting again. It takes him hours to find the right words to convey how he feels. Hours more to make sure that it’s free of grammatical errors and tear stains. He needs to make sure people know it was no one’s fault but his own. It was nothing anyone did, it was just the monsters of his mind.
-
Bad folds the note in half and places it besides him.
He takes his shotgun and presses the muzzle gently to the roof of his mouth. His hands tremble slightly before steadying as his finger hovers over the trigger.
Bad is happy.