Work Text:
The Winnebago was suffocating William every second that went by without anyone speaking. Mato was sleeping and Vyncent was thankfully at the wheel, meaning William wouldn't have to look at him, but Dakota was just sitting silently on the top bunk, zoned out in the way he got whenever he was thinking about something important. And William was just pressed into the corner of the bottom bunk opposite to Dakota's bed, picking at the dried blood stuck to his hands and ignoring the uncanny silence.
Vyncent slammed the brake and William jolted forward from the momentum, slamming his shoulder into the wall.
"We're here!" he called out, putting the car in park, which he somehow knew how to do. The shitty gas station Vyncent was poorly parked in front of, like William was one to talk, had an outdoor shower that had gained the attention of Dakota who was convinced William needed it as a "mental reset," as he had put it. He didn't think he needed a reset, and even if he needed one he didn't think he had earned it, but he also knew that saying no to Dakota would be a pointless endeavor at this point.
Dakota jumped from the top bunk to the floor in an instant, where he would normally be bouncing on the balls of his feet, but he was more subdued than normal. They all were.
"I'm gonna go inside and get some snacks," he announced, looking in William's direction. He curled into himself on the bed and dug his dull fingernails into his arms to distract him from the direct attention. "Here," Dakota frowned, pulling William's hand away and placing something in it. "A quarter for the shower."
And William took the quarter and bolted out of the Winnebago into the parking lot of the gas station, tripping over the curb and catching himself on the door to the shower that advertised three minutes of cold water for 25¢, shoving the coin into the door and locking himself in, trying to ignore the sick feeling creeping up his stomach. He felt like the prisoner of a goddamn panopticon of his own making, of everyone he cares about staring straight through his half-dead body, of his own stupid mistakes and sins, and the shower was the only safe place away from the eyes of God that wouldn't stop watching him.
He stared at the floor tiles lined with grout and pointedly ignored the dead cockroach in the corner until his breathing had steadied slightly and the persistent thought of being drug to hell had subdued enough for William to tug his socks and sneakers off and have his feet touch the cool floor.
William caught a distorted glimpse of himself in the grimy reflection of the spigot handle; his hair was greasy with sweat and plastered against his forehead, he had streaks of blood around his bottom lips from where he had picked at the skin with his hands, and something looked wrong with his eyes, like they didn't belong to this living body.
"Fuck," he mumbled, slamming his forehead against the wall and digging his elbow into his abdomen. "What did you do, man?"
The mental image of Cantrip's dead body flashed in William's head, a gruesome sight of mangled limbs and so, so much blood. He knew it was irrational, he knew that a heart attack was a far less brutal sight, but that didn't stop the sickening thought from circling around in his brain. He slammed his forehead into the wall again, reveling in the shiver of pain it sent down his spine. It felt like a repentance of some kind, like experiencing a fraction of the suffering he had caused would fix whatever was wrong with him, would make it better.
But a part of him didn't believe he should ever feel better. Atonement for his mistakes could only be done through punishment, punishment he had been sure Dakota was going to give him. He didn't though, and William couldn't even enact the sacrifice he thought he deserved, too cowardly to plunge the knife into his stomach despite his desperate attempts to just get it over with already. He had to atone, then, in other, smaller ways. He was going to eat less than he did already. He was going to deny himself any comfort offered. But William had always been weak, and he had found himself a bag of chips in the cupboard of the Winnebago when the hunger pangs got too deep and he was standing in a shower with Dakota's money for something that would only benefit him. A murderer.
God, it wasn't this hard last time.
William had gotten too soft, too pliable, under the kindness of others. William two years ago would have had no trouble sliding a knife into his stomach. William two years ago would have been able to atone. William two years ago was good at this.
He peeled his shirt from his chest and hung it on one of the metal hooks on the wall, his jacket left somewhere in his bed, before sliding off his sneakers and shoving the socks into the holes. He briefly considered taking his jeans and binder off, but decided he didn't want to deal with his body on top of everything else that day, so he left them on. He tensed his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut, then turned the knob, letting the cold water wash over him.
It dripped down from his forehead to the tip of his nose or down his arms as he watched the dirt and grime from his skin collect into muddy water at his feet. His remaining clothes quickly became soaked, but William couldn't quite find it in himself to care. He probably deserved the discomfort anyway. William didn't bother trying to scrub his skin or comb his hair since he knew he wouldn't have time, so he stood there as the water drip slowly stopped, his three-minute baptism over.
He felt just as sinful as before, but at least he felt slightly cleaner and clearer. The only blood left on him was under his fingernails and he was able to convince himself that when he stepped outside there was no higher being staring at his every move, so he ignored his sopping jeans, yanked his shirt over his chest, slid his sneakers on without bothering with the laces, and pulled the door to the shower open.
No one was waiting for William.
He shoved that feeling he couldn't identify to the bottom of his chest and decided to head into the gas station where Dakota and Vyncent were probably buying... whatever Dakota had said they were going to. William had already forgot.
A bell in the corner of the door rang as William walked in, making him jump slightly before looking around and pretend he wasn't still anxious as hell. It was a regular gas station: rows of cheap chips next to a slushier machine where only two of the four flavors were actually available, a refrigerator case by the bathrooms that held a mix of beer and soda, and two dumbass teens arguing quietly in the back.
"Hey," he called out, wincing at the way his voice cracked. "I'm done."
Vyncent looked up with big doe eyes caught in headlights, while Dakota grabbed a pack of Oreos and started heading towards the counter where a very bored looking cashier sat, another gas station staple. William eyed the cigarettes behind the cashier, imagining how right it would feel to have disappointed looks cast his way and maybe, if he were lucky, another argument with Dakota, but decided against it due to the unfortunate lack of money in his pockets.
"I don't want to talk to you right now," Vyncent frowned, looking straight ahead and avoiding having to look at William at all.
"That's fair," he shrugged, wishing he had his jacket to disappear into.
"But I will later."
He nodded in response then turned away, biting lightly at the palm of his hand, just enough to sting. The thought of going to Deadwood and the paranoia it would bring made William feel sick, which meant it was exactly what he should do.
After all, this suffering was just penance for his sins until he could finally work up the courage to fucking die, once and for all.