Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He's not sad when he does it. There are no feelings when he takes the small blade to his skin, feels his pulse under his fingers. He doesn't shake; barely even blinks as he watches the beads of blood bubble up to the surface under the cold metal.

It gives him a sort of thrill when he does this. It's nothing like the feeling of narrowly escaping death but it's something close to it. He's hurting, yes, but he feels something. He can watch himself do something dangerous, something he knows he'll survive but has the possibility of being permanent if done wrong, something that will give him that feeling that he craves so much.

It only lasts for a couple of minutes but that's enough for Lockwood. He watches the blood run down his wrist, drop by drop falling into the sink that he's leaning over. He doesn't even think about putting his wrist under running water; he wouldn't be able to stand not feeling this pain because it's the most alive he's felt in days.

“What the hell are you doing?” George's panicked voice says from the doorway. Lockwood is slow to look at his friend. By the time he lays eyes on him, George has already grabbed his arm to assess the damage. “Jesus, Lockwood. What have you done to yourself?”

Lockwood watches his arm get examined and George mutters something under his breath that Lockwood doesn't quite catch. He doesn't look up at his friend. Now that the feeling is wearing off, he feels terribly ashamed that George has caught him in the act. He wasn't supposed to know about this. Lockwood was supposed to have been doing better after all; just the right amount of recklessness was what he had promised Lucy, and he knew she'd told George about that conversation.

George turns on the faucet and puts Lockwood's wrist under the running water. It stings a little but that was to be expected with a cut like this. Lockwood didn't exactly go easy on his wrist. He had wanted to feel something, not just see a little nick of blood pop out of his skin. It seems that by George's reaction, he succeeded.

“Anthony, you of all people should know how dangerous this is! I don't…” The first name doesn't escape Lockwood's notice but he feels that at this moment, it is appropriate. George lets go of Lockwood and Lockwood holds his arm to his chest, practically cradling it. A smear of blood appears on his t-shirt. Lockwood sits down on the toilet lid, wanting nothing more to rest after this whole ordeal. George fishes around the cabinets, looking for gauze and bandages. He finds them and gently brings Lockwood's arm towards him. He takes a knee to be more level with Lockwood. George sighs. “I don't want to lose one of my only friends. Certainly not to himself because I know he's stronger than that.”

“I'm not suicidal if that's what you're implying,” Lockwood says, all too calm. That's all he can say. The only other option is to address the fact of why he decided to do this.

“If not, then what are you?” George looks him right in the eyes as he disinfects his friend's cut. Lockwood doesn't know whether to look back at him or not, so he watches George wrap his wrist. He watches the white bandage go round and round, blood soaking through the first layer. “Because the Lockwood I know does things for the thrill and, to be honest, I don’t think this would count as one. At least with the other things we can pretend it was an accident.”

“You don't get it,” Lockwood mutters.

George scoffs. “Well then, enlighten me.”

Lockwood doesn't respond. He doesn't know how to respond. He's so used to having the upper hand, always having a witty remark at the ready, but nothing was coming to mind. He doesn't have an answer for George. It's hard to explain, really, how this gives him the same effect as a case might do. His friends already don't understand what to do when he feels numb; God forbid he would try to explain what he does to feel things.

He does, however, say, “I'm sorry.” Lockwood owes George that much. The other boy doesn't respond and Lockwood is grateful for that. He doesn't know what he'd do if the other teen had a remark about his apology. He'd probably cry if he's being honest, and he doesn't know how George will react to that. A crying Anthony Lockwood was a rare sight to behold, one that George had seen exactly once a few months prior, and Lockwood would like to keep it that way.

“I think it's time for bed,” George murmurs. Lockwood nods his head. He knows it's late at night; he could hear Lucy's soft snores from the loft above them and if that wasn't an indicator of the time, he doesn't know what is. It had to be that time between early morning and extremely late at night, as he and George know that Lucy doesn't sleep until it's well past one in the morning.

George helps the other boy up and follows him out of the bathroom to Lockwood's bedroom.

Lockwood stands in the doorway and raises an eyebrow as George tries to follow him into the room. He found the action odd of his friend. The other boy typically avoided Lockwood's bedroom, as it was one of those sanctums he went to to get away from everything. Lockwood doesn't particularly like the idea of someone going into his safe place, invading the only room in which he could be himself.

“May I ask what you're doing?” Lockwood says.

“I believe I'm going to look after my friend,” George replies, “so he doesn't make any more stupid or rash decisions tonight. I'd rather not have to deal with a corpse in the morning.” Those words irritate Lockwood but he doesn't show it. Instead, he smiles at his friend. He is, of course, touched that George cares about him but a large part just wanted to be alone.

“I'm entirely out of energy, George. Plus…” Lockwood looks down, gesturing to his friend's missing trousers. He's lucky that George is even wearing pants this late at night. George makes a face. They may be friends but if Lockwood was being honest, he didn't want to see any more of George's anatomy by accident. There were some lines that you simply were not meant to cross. “I'll be fine, I promise.”

George takes a long moment to scan over Lockwood's face. “If you say so.”

Awkwardly, Lockwood turns away to walk into his room and George turns to walk down the hallway. Lockwood stays in the doorway and turns back around. Before George goes into the bathroom- probably his original mission before Lockwood put a wrench in that plan -Lockwood calls out to him. He fiddles with the drawstrings of his pants.

“Thank you!” George gives him a look as he waits for his friend to stop fumbling with his words.”I- um- for, um.” Lockwood is embarrassed that he can't properly find the words he's looking for. He can feel his cheeks heating up and he prays that the darkness of the hallway prevents George from seeing it. He's shown enough emotion around George for one night. “For caring, I mean.”

George smiles at him. He feels warmth in his chest and it's nothing like the feeling of when he had the blade to his arm. This feeling was much better. Much safer, too. “See you in the morning, Lockwood.” Lockwood smiles back before closing his door, being careful not to make too much noise. He didn't want to deal with a tired Lucy Carlyle in the morning due to his bad decisions. This night ends up bringing him the best sleep he's had in weeks.

Chapter Text

The next morning, he wakes up hours later than usual. He stays there in the darkness for a few minutes, staring at his ceiling with his hands interlaced over his chest. He focuses on his breathing, trying to ignore the fact that he feels numb and has no particular opinion on the fact that he was able to survive another day. It's just another one of those mornings.

It takes him longer than he'll ever admit to drag himself up and out of his bed. He doesn't bother with getting dressed. He doesn't feel like it today. He doesn't have the energy to be Lockwood of Lockwood and Co, a recklessly brilliant young man. Today he is more Anthony, title unknown and significance unimportant.

He does, however, throw on a hoodie both for comfort and to hide his arm. He can't stand to see the bandages on his wrist from what happened the previous night. It's a reminder of his stupidity and arrogance; he should have known better than to leave the door open knowing full well that his flatmates have horrible sleeping schedules

Lockwood tries to ignore his thoughts as he leaves the room. He knows George will be worried about him if he stays hidden in there any longer. As would Lucy, because he highly doubts that George would keep the incident to himself. George is normally very good with privacy but recently, he and Lucy have been working together to make sure Lockwood hasn't gone off the rails, and have been telling each other when he gets close. Lockwood doesn't want to risk making the pair more worried now that they're paying his actions any mind.

The two of them look to Lockwood when he enters the kitchen and he fights hard to smile for them. It hurts his cheeks and it's hard, but he manages to plaster a smile on his face. He needs to make them believe that he's okay now. They absolutely won't leave him alone unless he proves that he's okay. “Pleasant weather we’re having, yeah?”

George raises an eyebrow but he plays along with Lockwood. “Morning. Had a good sleep, I hope."

Lucy is reading the papers as she pipes up, “Morning, Lockwood.”

Lockwood goes to make himself tea and George sets his sandwich down on the table. He sits down and moves some of the things on the table to make space for his elbows because George is the type of person who doesn't care for stupid manners when he's around his friends. He starts eating and Lockwood wonders how long it's been since he's been properly hungry. It's been a very long time since then. He's not exactly sure when he stopped feeling hunger but he assumes it came when things started getting slower and there was less danger.

“How are you feeling, by the way?” George asks innocently. Lockwood stops stirring his tea and stares down at his cup. He refuses to look at his friends as he lies to them. George stares at him and Lucy puts down the paper she was reading.

“I'm fine, thank you.” Not a stiff reply but close. Very, very close to tethering the edge of making it obvious that he's not as okay as he says he is. Nonetheless, George doesn't say anything akin to calling him out of his bullshit.

“Well…” He eyes Lockwood's wrist. Lockwood forces himself to go back to making his tea, stirring for longer than necessary to avoid the analyzing gaze of George and the worried looks from Lucy. George seems to take a second to make a decision, because he continues with, “Are you sure you want to work today? We could take the day off. I don't mind having a-”

Lockwood cuts him off as he takes his tea over to the table and sits down. He doesn't want to know what George is about to say. “Of course, I want to work today. Why wouldn't I?” Absent-mindedly, Lockwood fiddles with his sleeve under the table. He doesn't want to think about what was hidden under the fabric, what they all know is there. He wants to forget it ever happened because he believes that is what a good boss would do. A good boss would put his employees first and ignore whatever is happening in his own tortured mind.

George clearly doesn't agree with the sentiment. Lucy picks up where the other boy left off, albeit in a kinder way. “Lockwood, we-” Because of course they talked about this together and planned out what to say “-want you to be happy and healthy. And honestly, you don't exactly look like you are. You look like shit right now.”

“Thanks,” Lockwood says dryly. Lucy continues.

“Maybe you should take a day or two off to recover. We could watch TV or something. Play a board game. I'm sure we have some lying around here.” They do but Lockwood isn't about to tell her where he stores them. “Just as long as you take a break and get some sleep.” Lockwood takes a sip of his tea and winces at the temperature. It's hot, scalding so, but he doesn't care enough to stop drinking. The burn feels good, in some weird way. He takes another sip and George gives him a look, noticing Lockwood's slight wincing.

“Jesus, Lockwood,” George says. Lockwood feels ashamed of himself, really. He’s done it now; George is using his Mom Friend tone. “Set that thing down and let it cool for a bit more.” George reaches across the table to lower Lockwood's hands and Lockwood stares at him. He's currently trying to process what happened because George wasn't one to interfere with Lockwood's eating/drinking habits whether they were harming him or not.

Maybe George has a point about the whole ‘taking a day off’ business. Lockwood doesn't want them to reach past any more boundaries in their worry about him. And maybe it might be nice to spend a day in the library. Perhaps George or Lucy would get bored and decide to bother him there; due to the fact it's a library, he wouldn't be obligated to speak to his friends, either.

“Maybe…” Lockwood hesitates, a small chink in his well-crafted armor showing through. “Perhaps a day of rest would be… well earned.” He's completely bullshiting right now. All he wants is to go back to his room and stay there for the rest of the day now that they've put the idea of rest in his head. He honestly doesn't care what the others have done that he's claiming led to their day off. Lockwood's pretty sure they can see through his facade, anyhow.

Whatever the reason, George and Lucy play along, as they are relieved that Lockwood won't put himself into any situation in which he could gamble his life. At least, any ghost-related situations.

“Alright-y, then,” George says. He changes the subject. Lockwood’s relieved that he does; he’s content to watch the world pass. He doesn’t particularly feel like participating in society today. “Find anything interesting in today’s paper, Lucy?”

“Weirdly enough, yeah,” she responds. “Listen to this…”