First Published: May 14th 2017

Pairing: none

Genre: angst

Word Count: 1578

Warnings: suicidal thoughts, death mention

Summary: Things are bad. And then they get worse. But maybe it's just Anxiety's out of control thoughts, or perhaps it's the others' insults.

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From the moment he wakes up, groggy and disorientated, he can tell it's going to be a bad day.

Anxiety wants nothing more than to sleep in. He wants to avoid the day entirely. If he could just stay in his safe haven that is his blankets in his dark room, then he can make it through anything. If he leaves this, then Anxiety doesn't exactly know what would happen, but he knows it'll be bad. So he burrows under his blankets, piling stuff over the top of his head in a futile attempt to avoid the thoughts that have already started sniping at him.

You're not needed. Nobody wants you here. Why are you like this? This is why everyone hates you. Grow up. Stop being so annoying. Don't you dare go out there and bother the others. They wouldn't even care anyway. Don't try to lie to yourself. You're nothing but a burden, remember? You have a list of reasons on why that is. Do you honestly need reminding, you pathetic, whining, crybaby? You're good for nothing. Disappear. Go. Leave. I dare you. I bet they wouldn't even notice.

Suddenly the room is swamped in bright, agonising light. "Hey, Anxiety, we're having breakfast. Hurry up and get ready!" Patton's too cheery voice rings out.

It's too loud for Anxiety's liking, but he can't bring himself to hush the father figure. Instead, he allows himself to be dragged out of bed, acting on the misguided belief that perhaps food will make it all better.

It doesn't.

Roman is particularly boisterous this morning. Maybe it's just the dull throb in Anxiety's head, but he can't focus, and Prince is too much. Everything is too much. He briefly looks to Logan for reassurance that someone agrees with him, but the logical side is invested with Morality, making plans for the day.

The metal scraping against metal drives Anxiety insane. "Guys, can you please be quiet?" he tries to ask. Nothing comes out, and he only ends up uselessly mouthing the words. He tries again, with a shorter and less polite sentence. It still doesn't work. He's almost content to just leave it, but something in him snaps. Without realising it, he shushes them.

Prince gives him an annoyed glance. Patton looks disapproving and Logan frowns.

"Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning!" Morality attempts to joke. When Anxiety doesn't reply, it falls flat, leaving an uncomfortable silence. "Well... Anyway, we have a lot on today! No use getting us down, Anxiety. Let's work together to make this the best day possible!" Patton looks at them expectantly.

Anxiety wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die right there, but he grinds his teeth to stop his sarcastic reply and nods anyway. He pretends that Morality's offhand comment isn't swirling around in his head as he leaves to get changed.

No use getting us down. No use getting us down. No use getting us down. See, even Morality hates you. This is further proof that nobody wants you around. Why are you still here? Why are you here? Why are you here?

He digs his nails into the palm of his hand and silently shakes. Anxiety doesn't allow himself to cry. He doesn't allow himself to complain. He doesn't allow himself to tell the others just how bad everything is. Nobody would listen anyway.

He shrugs off his pyjamas and chucks on the first things he can find. It's his jeans, a shirt, and his usual hoodie. Anxiety forces himself to look in the mirror. His hair is a mess. He wants to fix it before he goes outside, but then Roman bangs on his door.

"C'mon, you narcissist pessimist! We've been waiting for ages and I want to leave sometime this century!"

Anxiety bites his cheek to stop himself from asking if that's what he really thinks of him. That would only earn him false pity. He doesn't deserve that, real or not. "Coming," he replies weakly. Maybe some part of him hopes that Prince would hear his voice crack, as when he only huffs and storms off, Anxiety can't help but hate himself a little more. Thus, he decides that fixing his hair and easing his thoughts somewhat isn't worth annoying the others.

By midday, his mood goes from bad to worse.

After three hours of being forced to contribute to the conversation, despite being insulted after everything he says, he's finally allowed to retreat into his cave of isolation. There, Anxiety immediately curls in on himself. This time, he doesn't even bother trying to smother his thoughts.

You were so rude to them, no wonder they hate you. Did you hear what they said? Did you? They called you a downer, a defeatist, a hindrance. There's more. Do you want to hear it again? I bet you do, just so you can feel sorry for yourself. That's what you want, isn't it? Pity. You say you don't but I bet you're secretly longing for someone to pretend to give a shit about you. Oh, you're crying now? Hit a sore spot, did I? Then it must be true. Why are you so weak? Build some walls, you idiot. If you can't take criticism, then you have a problem. I'm just trying to help you change. I'm trying to get you to realise all these fucked up things about yourself so you can change.

"Anxiety." It's Logic.

The darker side hastily wipes his tears, but faces away from the door just in case. "Yeah?" His voice is too high. Logan's bound to know something is wrong now.

"Dinnertime. Morality wants you to make dessert afterwards." He didn't even open the door.

When did it become night? Anxiety spends a moment or two psyching himself up enough to face them, but ultimately, the fear that they'll complain about how long he's taking again drives him out of his room. He isn't ready to see them, but he figures he can just eat a bit and then make the easiest thing he can think of. An hour tops. He swallows down his dread and joins the table.

He doesn't eat anything more than a scoop of salad. And that's just so he doesn't accidentally offend anyone by not eating their food. Nobody says anything about this. In fact, the only thing anyone says to him all dinner is a question about why he's in such a sour mood.

Anxiety quickly gets up, puts away his almost perfectly clean plate, and starts on making some crumble thing he's only made a thousand times. Anxiety notices with horror that his cheeks are wet, and he scrubs away the tears he finds there. Nobody mentions this either.

After the dessert is cooking away in the oven, he flees, avoiding looking anyone in the eye. He ends up back in his room, like always. This time, however, he knows he can stay in there as long as he likes. But that's before Anxiety hears the familiar pit-patting of the rain.

It's slow and barely there, but it's enough. Anxiety pops up next to Thomas outside of the mindscape. His host doesn't notice and seems to have gone to bed early tonight, so Anxiety does what he usually does.

He opens up the bedroom window and dangles himself out of it, then dropping almost soundlessly to the ground. He's used to this by now, so it doesn't scare him anymore.

Once outside, he locates an old swing set and sits down on it, trailing his feet in the mud. The rain drips down on him, but Anxiety doesn't care. If he gets sick, then so what? What does it really matter?

Out there, the events of the day wash over him. The snide comments squeeze out more tears, mingling with the rain. He's free to cry out here, and so he does just that.

You could hop over that fence and run, you know. Do something useful for once. Disappear. Or just sit out here in the rain, alone with your misery, I guess. Do whatever. Although, in my opinion, the others would be relieved. Leave them alone. You do nothing for them anyway. You're a fucking waste of space. Stay out here. Freeze. Catch hypothermia and die, won't you?

Anxiety pulls his legs up on the swing so he can wrap his arms around himself and attempt to stop himself from falling apart. He lies down on the uncomfortable, wet metal, ignoring how it digs into his sides as he's way too big to be doing this, and blankly stares at the darkness surrounding him.

Nobody's going to look for you. Trust me. Hey, you know what? I'll cut you a deal. No more horrible thoughts if they find you and say they're worried about you. Sounds good, doesn't it? Luckily for me, it's unrealistic. I hope you end up staying on this swing until you turn into a damn statue. Maybe then you'd realise how fucking much everyone hates you.

It does sound like a good deal. Besides, they have to look for him eventually, right? It's early in the night, and usually one of the others has something they need Anxiety to do or check up on. So they will come. Anxiety tells himself this, ignoring everything that screams at him that no one will come.

In the rain, cold and sad, he waits.

And he waits.