Credits to Rangto
Link to Ao3 Version - https://archiveofourown.org/works/32007964

Chapter 3: Judgement - Part One

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One Week Later

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“Hey... lucy…?” Anon asked, his voice smooth and devoid of any harsh apathy borne of years of hardships and regrets. His eyes are set to the sky first, his sight set on the light of the stars above, their eons-old radiance ever-present and luminous.

   Next to the human stood a pterodactyl of beautiful light cyan skin and plumage and shining silver hair. Her presence, unlike his, was warm and reassuring even in the cold night air. So long as she stood next to him, everything would be right with the world. Lucy's brilliance would dispel any and all fears he may have carried in his heart.

   “I got a contract here with a studio here. I’m thinking…” Anon said, hesitating for a second. In that momentary pause, he took a fast yet deep breath of air to steel himself before continuing his words. “...Since I’ll be here for a good while, how about we get some dinner sometime. Y’know… together.”

   Anon, soon as he finishes speaking his words, turns his gaze towards Lucy. Lucy, for her part, has her eyes set to the night sky as well, but as the seconds pass by, a dusting of pink crosses her cheeks.

   “I would… I totally would, Anon…” Lucy answers as she brings her eyes to meet mine. “But I’ve got work like you wouldn’t believe!” she adds, all the while letting a slight sight escape her lips.

   Anon feels slightly deflated by Lucy’s response. “O-oh. Well, if it’s too much—” 

   “HOWEVER!” Lucy interjects, cutting off whatever words Anon was about to say. She then places her hands over Anon’s, all the while her eyes remain fixed on those of the human. “I’ve got time in the morning. So how about breakfast?”

   Anon’s lips rise. “Is that a date then?” he asks cheekily.

   Lucy gives Anon a mischievous little simper. “Oh, I don’t know. Is it?”

   “It is then,” Anon reaffirms to Lucy.

   Lucy lets out a giggle, her cheeks growing ever pinker in the process. “You’re such a dweeb,” Lucy said as she shuffled closer towards Anon until their legs pressed together.

   “I know,” Anon replied to Lucy as he moves his chest ever closer towards Lucy. Lucy, in turn, leaned her head on Anon’s shoulder, who in turn wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

   ‘Feels like old times,’ Anon thought as he allowed Lucy’s warmth to fill his being. ‘Like no time’s passed since I left Volcadera Bluffs.’ He looked up to the sky, his gaze falling on the bright almost full moon. ‘I guess I never did say goodbye to Volcano High,’ he mused to himself.

   A short snort and a tiny giggle left Lucy’s nose and lips as she turned her eyes back on Anon. “Thanks, now my face is forever stuck in a cringe.”

   Anon rolled his eyes. “ Way to ruin the moment,” he said, the grin on his lips only growing wider by the second.

   “You ruined it first with you mumbling,” Fang retorted with a matter-of-factly look.

   “Fix it then,” Anon riposted.

   “You ruined it. You fix it,” Fang countered.

   Anon shift Lucy in his arms and brought her up within inches of his face. “Fine. I will,” he said, his hand cupping Lucy’s cheek. Lucy, in turn, softly smiled and leaned in for a well-earned kiss…

 

Anon jolted awake. 

   With a groan of pain and a whimper of sorrow, Anon forced himself upright. His body refused to move for a full ten seconds before he forced himself to sit. As he did, he felt wrapped in something he hadn’t felt in what to him felt like decades: warmth and comfort. 

   Anon breathed through his mouth. His mind struggled both to process what he had seen in his dream all the while fighting to preserve any memory of it before the cold uncaring oblivion of wakefulness claimed them. 

   Anon brought a hand up to his face, wiping away sweat from his face. Except that what he was wiping from his eyes and cheek wasn’t sweat...

   It had been a full week now that Anon had been experiencing the dreams. They always started the same, with him relieving the most important days of his high school life. The dreams would then go into wildly different directions than what his life had taken. Regardless of how they played out, all lead him to some happily ever after with Fang and Trish and Naser and Reed and Rosa and Stella. 

   For a whole week, Anon had seen events that were far too good for an apathetic caveman like himself. Each dream resulted in happiness and joy for all his old friends… as well as for himself... 

   ...Even though he knew deep down that he didn’t deserve happiness of any kind...

   Anon picked himself up from bed and raced for his fridge. Tossing out old food containers and empty bottles of juice, he found what he had been searching for. Another bottle of high-proof vodka, this one 120. Without equivocation, he chugged down what might as well have been rubbing alcohol. As the liquid traveled down his esophagus, he let out a hiss as the liquid burned his throat. He then walked to his desk and pulled out a blunt of weed from a homemade cigarette pack. Looking down, Anon realized that it was his last roll. With some hesitation—and a trembling hand—he lit a match and set the cigarette alight. A second later, he almost inhaled the whole blunt of weed, holding the smoke in his lungs for almost half a minute before exhaling. Within ten seconds, his mind became abuzz once again with memories of the various dreams he had experienced over the week. Memories in which he saw his friends joyfully living lives they deserved. Memories in which he saw Lu—Fang, working a job she loved, following her dreams without compromise, and loving him as deeply as any woman can love a man…

   Anon once again brought his head to his hands, sweat once more pouring from his face and staining his hands, body, and floor. He tried to wipe the sweat away, but the more he rubbed his face, the harder the sweat flowed. 

   Anon did his best to try and calm down, but as the minutes ticked by, he began to feel a strange sensation on his being. Little by little, his apartment began feeling far too small and far too hot for him to bear. The memories also returned in full force, sending his mind reeling with confusion and chaos. The memories of a happier home he would never have. Clean walls devoid of cracks and blemishes. Portraits of a happy family without a worry in the world...

   Anon stood on his feet and began glancing around his apartment in a panic. The very walls judged him for his failures. They jeered and laughed and reminded him how much of a real fuck-up he was....

   Anon had to get away; find a place that was wide open, one where he could escape. One where the walls couldn't find him in.

   Wasting no time, Anon snuffed his blunt and slipped on his usual drab attire. After sliding on his black turtleneck and putting on the black and worn wool beanie he brought back from his time as a seaman, Anon headed for his apartment's exit. 

   Right before he exited his home, Anon took another look at his bottle of vodka near his fridge. With a grimace, he snatches the bottle. Hesitating for a second, he downed another large swig. After yet another hard grunt, he placed the bottle in one of his pant's pockets and stepped into the hallway.

     Already feeling lightheaded, Anon struggled a bit with locking his door. After some fumbling with his keys, he successfully worked the door’s mechanism. 

   With that small victory under his belt, Anon took off like a man on a mission. His pace was on the normal side for an ex-navy member. It was practically a jog when compared to the average person out on the street though. Within a matter of only ten minutes, he was more than halfway done with walking a mile.

   As Anon aimlessly moved down the streets of Skin Row,  Anon's booze-addled mind couldn't fathom where his body was going. In the few instances where he had some form of lucidity, he course-corrected. By the time he had exited Skin Row, he was well on his way towards the shore. 

   Anon wasn’t sure why his body moved towards the beach. Maybe it was because some part of him actually missed the smell of the ocean. Maybe it was because his body felt hot and he wanted—needed—to cool off. Whatever the case, it seemed like his lizard brain had settled on the course. Gradually, his pace became faster. First a powerwalk, then a full-on sprint.

  Anon’s legs pushed his body forward at a pace that could have matched Naser during his track and field prime. To any observer, the human looked like some kind of stereotypical robber. With the bottle of vodka in his hand though, he could pass for some kind of Gopnik after hearing the words ‘free vodka’ echoed in the distance. To further add to his Gopnik appearance, he took a swig of his vodka every few minutes. In his drunkenness, he had confused the bottle in his hand for water. While the human thought he was hydrating, he was in reality only getting drunker... on top of already being high.

   When Anon reached Volcadera Bluffs’ shores, he was well beyond drunk. The world was a spinning swirl in his eyes. What little of the beach he could see mixed together with bitter memories. Memories that were his and memories that he was sure couldn’t be his. In those memories, or hallucinations—Anon couldn't tell anymore—everyone he had once known was happy… something he was pretty sure he had destroyed with a nuclear bomb.

   In a brief moment of lucidity, Anon took in his surroundings. As he did, what little hold he still had on his sanity began to slip as he realized where his legs had carried him…

  ...The beach where he had fucked everything up... 

   The exact same spot, even.

     Anon frantically glanced around, his addled and swirling vision doing him no favors. What his eyes couldn’t rationalize as an image, his brain filled in with repressed memories. Little by little, past and present mixed together. He could see Fang’s face of rage and sorrow as clear as if it happened yesterday. He could see her body language as he tore down everything the two had built together. He could feel the two teen's booze-addled minds loosening their lips and removing any and all inhibitors. 

   Anon heard himself screaming all the horrible things that night as clear as if they were happening in the present...

   *“Probably couldn’t fix you if I tried…”*

   Anon felt ill. Like his very innards wanted to become his outwards...

   *“You should be glad I’ve put up with your shit as long as I have!”*

   ‘Please, no more!’ Anon demanded of his brain.

   *“I deserve a fuckin’ prize or something!”*

   ‘No. Please. That’s enough!’ Anon pleaded as he fell on his knees, his head feeling like it was getting squeezed by a vice.

   *“Not like anyone else would put up with a mentally ill schizo like you!”*

   ‘NO! NO! NOO!’ Anon squirmed out, unsure of if it was a mumble or in his head. In response to his confusion and all the self-loathing he felt in that instant, he began to punch himself in the face like some kind of lunatic.

   *“YOU DON’T EVEN MAKE A PASSABLE FAGGOT!!”*

   “NOOOOOOO!” Anon shouted as hard as his lungs would allow. His shout echoed in the empty streets behind him, but it carried out well out into the empty ocean and the cold uncaring sky. Sweat once again saturated his face and outfit as his body began to shiver.

   No. Not sweat. Tears. Tears long-suppressed flowed unhindered by any of the human’s many self inhibitions. 

   Bitter tears that felt like acid upon his skin.

   Without wasting another second, Anon once more began to beat himself. While doing a poor job of actually doing damage due to the haphazard nature of his blows, they at least served to rattle his mind. Each successful punch brought him closer to the sweet embrace of oblivion. 

   When Anon felt that his self-harm was failing to knock him out, he dragged himself towards the nearest hard surface he could spot. In that case, it was what looked like a cement bench. 

   With no hesitation left in him, Anon began beating his head against the cold hard concrete. With every strike to his head, he cursed himself for his mistakes; the many, MANY mistakes he had made over the years:

   How he had been so cruel toFang when she had been the only person to care for his sorry ass.

   How he had been the catalyst for Fang cutting ties with all her old friends and family.

   How he had never bothered to bury the hatchet with Trish, which resulted in Fang falling out with her.

   How he hadn’t bothered to apologize—or even care—about Fang after their fight.

   How he had cut himself off from the world like some cowards.

   How he had run away from his mistake like a little bitch.

   How he had grown cold and detached from the world at large, to the point that he stopped caring about living.

   How he had again failed to do the right thing and apology to Fang in that restaurant.

   How he had let his apathy once again ruin his chance at starting the healing process between himself and Fang.

   How he had tried to drink and smoke the dreams away instead of manning up and accepting the message they were trying to tell him...

   By the time Anon hit his head one final time, he could feel his awareness slipping from away. But right before the last of his consciousness left him, he raised a hand up towards the night sky.

   “Fuck… I… I’m not a religious man… b-but Raptor Jesus… if… if you are f-fucking hearing my w-words…” 

   Anon’s eyes once more welled with tears, what little vision he had becoming distorted by the veritable dam. 

   “Please… I’m s-so... so... fucking...sorry… for my f-fuck ups!” 

   Anon took a deep breath and steeled himself for words that he never thought he would say out loud…

   “Please! G-give me... ano-another... chance! L-let me… l-let me set this f-fucking mess right! F-for their sakes a-and… not m-mine…” 

   Anon again breathed soft, his vision becoming consumed by the dawning embrace of unconsciousness. 

   “P-please…” Anon whispered one final time before the last bit of his consciousness left him. 

   "P-plea..."

   "..."

 

Anon’s body went as still as a corpse...