Chapter Text
No matter how much time passes; it appears that the question remains the same.
Do you know who you are? Do you remember why you're doing this?
Every single night. Every single time, you push your own head down, underneath the surface of those turbulent waters. You do not grant yourself space to breathe. You do not allow yourself to come up for air. And yet, you wonder why you no longer know how to calm down.
Do you understand it now? Why don't you understand yet?
You were always a fool.
~oOo~
You wake up with a start, inside a classroom.
You are twelve years old, at school. It seems you've been dozing off in the middle of class, again.
At this point, the teacher's likely given up on reprimanding you, even if he catches you asleep. Your grades don't exactly suffer for it - and it's not like you're causing any more problems than all the other boys in your class. By all means, you're one of the ‘good ones’. A somewhat ironic sentiment, from your young perspective; but you don't exactly complain. Maintaining the status quo like this is convenient, and having the people around you give up on monitoring you just makes everything that much easier to get away with.
You rub your eyes and look around you. You go to a school that technically has students of both genders - but the classes are separate. Girls go to their classes with the other girls, and you're stuck with the boys. As your gaze wanders through the slightly packed room, all you see are the short-haired backs of the heads of other young boys, just like yourself.
You sit in the back of the classroom, on a corner beside the window. The best seat. You rather like it here. There's a lot to see, and nobody cares as much, if your eyes wander away from the chalkboard, the instructor, and the class that he's trying to teach. You can always catch up, afterwards. That's what textbooks are for.
The sun outside is warm. The sky is a clear, piercing blue. It's the beginning of autumn, and the leaves of trees outside are blending together in a vibrant, fiery mix of reds and oranges. A stark contrast from the cold-looking sky.
It's pretty. But only just as much as it's distracting. You know that you shouldn't be allowing your mind to wander, and yet…
Your gaze drifts to the boy sitting in front of you.
He's… different. You're not exactly sure why you feel this way - but it must be his hair, you think. It stands out in your class.
He seems to stand out, in general.
When your father first went away, your mother enrolled you into a new school. A remote location, nestled deep in the countryside mountains, far south of the capital. You live in the borders of your homeland; either near Switzerland, or Austria. You're not exactly sure. You were never the best with maps, or even really at paying attention, for that matter. All you really know is that there's more people like you in this new school.
Most of the boys in your class have darker hair. Shades of auburn browns, and sometimes even a thick, frizzy black. Just like yours; that is, if you ever decided to let go of that damn hair wax you so obsessively applied onto your head, every single day.
Your mother told you it was important to follow her instructions. You've never once questioned her, and so you follow her commands to a T, even when she can't be home, with you.
…Not that it matters much, you suppose.
Although lingering on her absence still makes you upset; your dog, and your caretakers still await you when you get home. Other kids don't seem to understand why you try to equally address the people standing below you - but despite what they think, they are your family. And one shouldn't be cold, to family. That's just cruel.
A shimmer of gold out the corner of your vision, forcefully snaps you back into the present moment. You didn't even notice that you were drifting. It's a bad habit of yours.
You focus on the boy sitting in front of you.
The boy has somewhat longer hair, currently tied up into a short ponytail at the back of his head. Usually just a bit shorter than shoulder length, and wavy when it's let down - it looks soft and graceful. It stands out in the crowd of other boys, and the gentle locks make it look so soft to touch; unlike everyone else's hair, in your class.
People have said that his hair is a ‘dirty blonde’; something that you believe is an inaccurate description. In all actuality, it’s way more pretty than the way that the others say it is. It's just that nobody ever sees it correctly.
Under the gentle rays of the autumn sun, the boy's hair almost seems like it glows. His longer, wavy locks almost seem translucent under the right conditions - a transparent, yet warm gold. It's beautiful.
…Ah, for some reason, the first thing that crosses your mind, after admitting to its beauty, is the word “angelic”. You blink, and shake your head.
You feel a bit embarrassed, even if nobody else notices. But as you sink into your chair, trying to distract yourself from your own idle thoughts, and the tired droning of the teacher's never-ending lecture; you find yourself drifting once again.
Not to a place that you like. Never to a place that you like.
As your own mind escapes your grasp, you find yourself sitting in the worst of everything you've never said. The thoughts you're not proud of. The wishes, fantasies, and animalistic impulses that you keep hidden, only allowed to roam within the deepest recesses of your brain.
As you sit there and stare idly into nothing at all; you conjure up the image of an angel.
His wings are a pure, immaculate white. Golden, wavy hair that flows and gently sways in the dark space that he floats above. And he flies above you, above all of you; in a place much higher than anyone could ever reach, or even dream of getting to. He is above you.
…Is the angel him? The boy that sits in front of you.
You don't really want to know the answer to that question, so you stop asking. You turn your focus away from those creeping doubts in your mind, and for a moment; lost in that fantasy of a soaring angel - you just sit and watch him, in awe.
It's a beautiful sight to behold. Even if it's just made-up.
You watch the angel fly above you, and you follow its movements; tracking its every action, every smile, every noise and sound of joy that it makes. You want to sit there, and see everything. You want to stay there, just to observe - you want to know everything.
…Somewhere in your mind, you wish that you could fly as well, even if it's just to help take you closer to the angel that you've created in your brain. You want to see it more closely. You want to hold onto it, and keep it right beside you. Safe, and warm.
You raise your hand, but you know that you'll never truly reach him. The divide between you two is much too wide. The chasm that separates you two is much too deep. And the distance between you two is much too real.
You are aware, somewhere in the deepest part of your brain - that this distance that separates you both, is the only thing that's real. Despite everything, you almost seem to be aware of what you're doing. But that doesn't fully stop you. It never does.
You look up at the angel flying so far above you, and you know that you will never actually reach him. Because to keep him grounded with you is unrealistic, and if you cannot fly beside him, you have no place in his own world. He has no reason to notice you. He has no reason to care.
You are not special. But to you, he is.
Still, that impulse grows within you, and circles in your mind. Endlessly looping, as those words, and that need, haunts you where you sit. Far, far away from that beautiful thing that's caught your attention.
You want to know more. You want him to be close. You don't want him to fly too far above you, where you can no longer reach - you don't want the angel to leave.
So that's why you reached your hand out. And when the faintest brush against your hand allowed you to curl your fingers around that beautiful thing that forced him to be closer to you; you grabbed it, and yanked him towards you.
You are twelve years old, in the middle of class - and the boy that sits in front of you is screaming.
~oOo~
…What a cruel world we live in, where little boys are excused for the atrocities that we commit. What a sad joke, that we are never once corrected, or even taught how to love.
It's all rather terrible, isn't it? To exist in a world where cruelty is the standard, and gentleness is seen as weak.
Now, Ludwig - do you still remember who you are? Do you still understand why you're doing this?
I need to ask. Do you truly know what you want to achieve? Because I don't know if you are truly aware of yourself, or if you've just been lying to yourself that you are.
When you wake up, will you even dare to remember the monster that you've made, out of yourself? Will you ever look that monster in the eye, and allow it to exist inside of you? Because it's a part of you, too. And you know this, right?
In the same way that I am just one small fragment of you. In the same way that you are just another, incomplete piece of yourself.
You have to face yourself, Ludwig. You have to open your eyes to the truth, one of these days. Because you will never outrun it. The more you try to avoid it, the more obviously the cracks will start to show.
They will find out. Everyone will, eventually. You cannot escape your past. You cannot escape yourself.
You cannot escape me.
The monster is alive, and you can't keep running like this. You can't keep running. You can't keep running. You can't keep-
~oOo~
The BLU Medic awoke with a violent start.
The room was dark, and the doctor exhaled a few shallow, shaky breaths as he rubbed his tired eyes, and looked to his desk, across the room. A small display glowed faintly in the dark - the compact, electronic alarm clock that the BLU Engineer had created and then handed out to all of the BLU mercs, on their first Christmas spent together. It was getting late into 3 am, almost 4.
The Medic sighed. Bad hour to wake up. He didn't know if he could get to sleep again, long enough to get adequate rest for the coming workday. He sat up, and did what he could to steady his heavily erratic breathing.
He must've woken up from some nightmare. That much was obvious, although he couldn't exactly remember what the dream was about.
That's alright. He supposed. If I don't remember it, then I can just ignore it. Nobody needs to know.
My pain is only my responsibility. I have to keep myself under control. The Medic shook his head, and massaged his temples. He had a splitting headache. Nobody needs to know. And as long as it hurts nobody but myself - then I don't need to address it.
Medic rose from his bed, shaking his aching head as he gave up on sleep, for the rest of the night. He could do better things with his time, even if he knew that he probably needed more rest. It wasn't like his nightmares would allow him to fall back asleep, anyways.
…There is a monster that lives within every subconscious action that I take, and every impulse that I fail to ignore. Addressing the problem right now will only make matters worse. Allowing it to exist will only hurt the people that I hold dear. And I can't let that happen. Not again. Not ever.
Alone, afraid, and feeling shaky underneath the polished mask that the Medic hid behind; the tired doctor bit into his tongue, and got ready for work. As he briefly closed his heavy eyes, and his body screamed at him to go back to sleep - he forced himself to leave his bedroom, and shut the door behind him. Comfort would not hold him back, tonight.
I will starve the monster if it dares disobey me. I will kill it, if it even tries to lay a finger on the people that I love. And I don't care if doing that kills me, alongside it.
There is a monster that lives in my mind, in my actions, and in my nature. There is a monster that nobody else needs to know about. There is a monster that is a part of me - just as much as I am a part of it. I can't let it hurt anybody. I don't care what happens to me.
The answer is the same, no matter what question is being asked. I have to remain steady. I have to deal with this alone.
No matter the outcome, no matter what path I choose to follow, or whatever action I decide to take - the final result cannot change.
Whatever happens, the monster dies with me.