Another Dyr drabble.
Pairing/fandom: Cyr and Damon Fizzy again.
Warnings: It gets a little dark in some parts. Some thêm mature themes of death, verbal abuse, etc. Oh, and there's some language.
Background: AU, again.
Rating: T. Genre is angst and hurt/comfort.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Damon groaned as he stared into the mirror, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He ran his hand over his jaw, feeling a patch of rough, acne ridden skin that he was sure was smooth yesterday. He must’ve had a breakout overnight. Splashing his face with water, he plodded into the kitchen, where Greg already sat, cradling a mug of coffee in his hands. Yawning, Damon sank down into his seat, where a piece of bánh mì nướng on a plate already sat.
“Thanks,” he muttered, biting into the bánh mì nướng and chewing loudly. Greg did not reply, but took another swig of his coffee. They ate in silence, Damon staring out the window. It looked like they were in for another gloomy day; Damon could hear the rain pounding on the streets, the roof, the glass of the window. He sighed and finished his toast, bringing his empty plate up to the sink.
“How are you doing this fine morning?” he asked jokingly, but Greg did not answer. When Damon sat back down with a glass of trái cam, màu da cam nước ép, nước trái cây and a crumpled newspaper, Greg narrowed his eyes. Damon looked at him quizzically.
“You have something on your face,” Greg stated simply, pointing to the acne covering his cheeks and jaw. Damon looked into his trái cam, màu da cam nước ép, nước trái cây to hide the blush growing on his cheeks.
“What do bạn mean?” he asked, feigning confusion. Greg gave a dry laugh.
“Don’t play stupid with me. bạn must’ve looked in the mirror this morning.”
Damon shuddered at the cold tone in Greg’s voice. It was harsh, grating, cruel, and not at all like the Greg he knew. Damon shook his head slowly.
“You didn’t? No wonder. ‘Cause if bạn did, bạn would’ve gone straight back to bed.”
Damon bit his lip, trying to force down the hot tears that were springing in his eyes. “Why?” he asked, keeping his tone even.
“Anyone can see what a gay-ass ugly fag bạn are.”
The words stung Damon, bringing heat to his cheeks. Yes, Greg teased him often about one thing hoặc another; his relationship with Cyr, his not-so-perfect skin, but this time, it didn’t sound so much like teasing. This time, Greg was dead serious.
Damon just stared at his friend, looking for the smile in his blue eyes, the spark that đã đưa ý kiến he was only joking. But it wasn’t there. Damon felt his face flush, hot tears bubble in the corner of his eyes, but he swallowed hard and turned away. Greg laughed, the sound devoid of all mirth.
“Yeah, that’s right, hide your face. No one deserves to see it anyway, bạn little shit!”
Damon gritted his teeth, pleading for the tears to just fade away, praying they wouldn’t fall.
“Fuck you.” he growled, trying to mask the tremor in his voice.
“Or bạn can fuck me, fag,” Greg laughed. “I know bạn prefer dicks anyway.”
Damon’s face burned, and he shuddered with rage. “I know, and that’s why we’re still friends, asshole,” he practically spat at the other boy.
He gave a barely audible whimper as Greg’s face darkened with rage, and without warning, Greg lunged at him, his foot colliding full-force with Damon’s groin area. Damon shrieked as excruciating pain rippled through his body, and it took all his willpower to remain on his feet. “You retard!” he screeched, his voice high and desperate, and, clutching the sore area, he sprinted out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
Once outside, he was hit full-force bởi the freezing rain, the chill air, the noise of cars on the nearby highway. He froze for a second, unable to think, unable to remember what he had set out to do. Shuddering, he sank to his knees. The pain from Greg’s kick was fading, but the mental pain from his words had not. Greg’s insults echoed in his head.
Gay...
Ugly...
Fag...
Retard...
No one deserves to see bạn anyway, bạn little shit!
Anyone can see what a gay-ass ugly fag bạn are!
I know bạn prefer dicks anyway...
Damon shuddered as the tears began to fall, and he hugged his knees, his wet hair dripping into his lap. He let himself sit there for a few minutes, sodden with his misery and the harsh rain, but finally he rose shakily to his feet. With sudden clarity, he knew what he had to do. He took off running, ignoring the biting cold from his bare feet, his lower legs, his arms where the short sleeves didn’t cover. The rain splashed around him, but he narrowed his eyes, determined. Running, he kept pace with the echoing words in his head. He turned out of the neighborhood and towards the main street. At the corner, he skidded to a stop, overwhelmed bởi the sheer noise, the speeding cars, the honking and the shrieking. He was about to turn around and go back when he heard a small voice in his head. It sounded like Greg’s, hoặc Cyr’s, hoặc his own, hoặc a mixture of the three. No one wants bạn alive anyway.
That hardened his resolve, and, choking out a sob, before he could stop himself, he raced into the street. Everything seemed to fade away: the cars, whose horns were now ringing out through the gloomy day, the pedestrians, eyes widened in shock, even the chilling rain seemed to blur out of his vision. He ran, oblivious to the cars screeching to a stop just inches from him. He looked up briefly at one car, and his blood froze cold. There was Cyr, brown eyes wide and shocked as he gripped the wheel, his foot slamming on the brakes. Cyr was the last person Damon wanted to see right now. So he did the only thing he could think of. He ran towards him.
Cyr tried to stop the car, but it was too late. The red Lamborghini--since when had Cyr driven one of those?--collided with him full force. He crumpled to the ground as pain, far thêm excruciating than if Greg had kicked him one hundred times instead of once, exploded through his body. He couldn’t move, his joints had gone numb, but the pain was their, pounding through his head, his veins, his whole body. He weakly registered the slamming of a car door, and blearily looked up to see Cyr’s kind face peering at him. He coughed loudly, spraying drops of blood in all directions and Cyr looked down at him. Damon tried to decipher the expression on his boyfriend’s face, but was unable. Only one thought coursed through his mind: this is how I’m going to die.
With a sudden rush of fear, he struggled to push himself into a sitting position. Cyr, surprisingly strong, forced him back down. “Cyr--don’t--you--you c-care--you wouldn’t--” he managed to choke out a few disjointed words, but Cyr didn’t seem to hear.
“Greg’s right,” Cyr đã đưa ý kiến simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t deserve me. bạn don’t deserve anyone.”
“C-Cyr!” Damon cried out, his blue eyes wild. “Don’t! P-please!”
But Cyr was reaching for something behind him, pulling out a glinting axe, like one that a lumberjack would use. Damon’s last thought was where the hell did he get that?, but he was cut short as Cyr swung, the sharp silver blade piercing his already-broken skin, the pain began to dull, blackness swirled into his vision, beginning to consume him---
Suddenly, the pain was gone. No light was seeping through his closed eyelids, but he felt something warm gripping him. He gingerly reached for his shoulders, the nguồn of the warmth, and found that it was coming from an object, an arm, probably. The arms were shaking him, a voice crying out. “Damon! Wake up!” Am I dead? Damon thought, and slowly, he opened his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the darkness of the room, but when they did, he saw a face staring at him. Cyr’s face.
“B-b-but you--you killed me--you...” he trailed off, seeing the concern in Cyr’s warm Sô cô la eyes, the gentle smile on his perfect lips. Cyr sighed, running his fingers through Damon’s messy brown hair. Damon looked up at him, puzzled. “W-what happened?” he choked out, a tear beading up in his eye. Cyr stroked his hair gently, his voice calm and soothing. “Damon..it was just a dream...only a dream...”
Damon sighed gently as another tear welled up in his eyes, and his lip trembled slightly. Cyr seemed to understand, and wrapped his other arm around Damon, drawing him close. Damon allowed the tears to trickle down his cheeks as he buried his head in Cyr’s chest. They lay like that for a few minutes, Cyr stroking Damon’s hair as the wetness from Damon’s tears soaked through Cyr’s shirt. Finally, Damon spoke.
“It-it was so real though. The dream. You--Greg--you all hated me. Told me I was ugly, retarded, a faggot, that I didn’t deserve to live. And then bạn had an axe, and bạn hit me with your Lamborghini, and--”
Cyr sighed, lifting Damon’s chin so they were staring eye-to-eye. “Listen to me, Damon. bạn know that’s not true. I don’t hate you, Greg doesn’t hate you, neither does Stefan hoặc Jack hoặc Sean hoặc anyone in the world. You’ll always be worthy to us. And no one would ever want bạn dead.”
Damon nodded slowly, resting his head on Cyr’s chest while the tears poured down his face. Cyr sighed and lay back against the pillows, running his fingers through Damon’s hair. They lay like that for what felt like hours, until Damon’s breathing evened out, he stopped shaking with sobs, and slowly he drifted into sleep.
Pairing/fandom: Cyr and Damon Fizzy again.
Warnings: It gets a little dark in some parts. Some thêm mature themes of death, verbal abuse, etc. Oh, and there's some language.
Background: AU, again.
Rating: T. Genre is angst and hurt/comfort.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Damon groaned as he stared into the mirror, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He ran his hand over his jaw, feeling a patch of rough, acne ridden skin that he was sure was smooth yesterday. He must’ve had a breakout overnight. Splashing his face with water, he plodded into the kitchen, where Greg already sat, cradling a mug of coffee in his hands. Yawning, Damon sank down into his seat, where a piece of bánh mì nướng on a plate already sat.
“Thanks,” he muttered, biting into the bánh mì nướng and chewing loudly. Greg did not reply, but took another swig of his coffee. They ate in silence, Damon staring out the window. It looked like they were in for another gloomy day; Damon could hear the rain pounding on the streets, the roof, the glass of the window. He sighed and finished his toast, bringing his empty plate up to the sink.
“How are you doing this fine morning?” he asked jokingly, but Greg did not answer. When Damon sat back down with a glass of trái cam, màu da cam nước ép, nước trái cây and a crumpled newspaper, Greg narrowed his eyes. Damon looked at him quizzically.
“You have something on your face,” Greg stated simply, pointing to the acne covering his cheeks and jaw. Damon looked into his trái cam, màu da cam nước ép, nước trái cây to hide the blush growing on his cheeks.
“What do bạn mean?” he asked, feigning confusion. Greg gave a dry laugh.
“Don’t play stupid with me. bạn must’ve looked in the mirror this morning.”
Damon shuddered at the cold tone in Greg’s voice. It was harsh, grating, cruel, and not at all like the Greg he knew. Damon shook his head slowly.
“You didn’t? No wonder. ‘Cause if bạn did, bạn would’ve gone straight back to bed.”
Damon bit his lip, trying to force down the hot tears that were springing in his eyes. “Why?” he asked, keeping his tone even.
“Anyone can see what a gay-ass ugly fag bạn are.”
The words stung Damon, bringing heat to his cheeks. Yes, Greg teased him often about one thing hoặc another; his relationship with Cyr, his not-so-perfect skin, but this time, it didn’t sound so much like teasing. This time, Greg was dead serious.
Damon just stared at his friend, looking for the smile in his blue eyes, the spark that đã đưa ý kiến he was only joking. But it wasn’t there. Damon felt his face flush, hot tears bubble in the corner of his eyes, but he swallowed hard and turned away. Greg laughed, the sound devoid of all mirth.
“Yeah, that’s right, hide your face. No one deserves to see it anyway, bạn little shit!”
Damon gritted his teeth, pleading for the tears to just fade away, praying they wouldn’t fall.
“Fuck you.” he growled, trying to mask the tremor in his voice.
“Or bạn can fuck me, fag,” Greg laughed. “I know bạn prefer dicks anyway.”
Damon’s face burned, and he shuddered with rage. “I know, and that’s why we’re still friends, asshole,” he practically spat at the other boy.
He gave a barely audible whimper as Greg’s face darkened with rage, and without warning, Greg lunged at him, his foot colliding full-force with Damon’s groin area. Damon shrieked as excruciating pain rippled through his body, and it took all his willpower to remain on his feet. “You retard!” he screeched, his voice high and desperate, and, clutching the sore area, he sprinted out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
Once outside, he was hit full-force bởi the freezing rain, the chill air, the noise of cars on the nearby highway. He froze for a second, unable to think, unable to remember what he had set out to do. Shuddering, he sank to his knees. The pain from Greg’s kick was fading, but the mental pain from his words had not. Greg’s insults echoed in his head.
Gay...
Ugly...
Fag...
Retard...
No one deserves to see bạn anyway, bạn little shit!
Anyone can see what a gay-ass ugly fag bạn are!
I know bạn prefer dicks anyway...
Damon shuddered as the tears began to fall, and he hugged his knees, his wet hair dripping into his lap. He let himself sit there for a few minutes, sodden with his misery and the harsh rain, but finally he rose shakily to his feet. With sudden clarity, he knew what he had to do. He took off running, ignoring the biting cold from his bare feet, his lower legs, his arms where the short sleeves didn’t cover. The rain splashed around him, but he narrowed his eyes, determined. Running, he kept pace with the echoing words in his head. He turned out of the neighborhood and towards the main street. At the corner, he skidded to a stop, overwhelmed bởi the sheer noise, the speeding cars, the honking and the shrieking. He was about to turn around and go back when he heard a small voice in his head. It sounded like Greg’s, hoặc Cyr’s, hoặc his own, hoặc a mixture of the three. No one wants bạn alive anyway.
That hardened his resolve, and, choking out a sob, before he could stop himself, he raced into the street. Everything seemed to fade away: the cars, whose horns were now ringing out through the gloomy day, the pedestrians, eyes widened in shock, even the chilling rain seemed to blur out of his vision. He ran, oblivious to the cars screeching to a stop just inches from him. He looked up briefly at one car, and his blood froze cold. There was Cyr, brown eyes wide and shocked as he gripped the wheel, his foot slamming on the brakes. Cyr was the last person Damon wanted to see right now. So he did the only thing he could think of. He ran towards him.
Cyr tried to stop the car, but it was too late. The red Lamborghini--since when had Cyr driven one of those?--collided with him full force. He crumpled to the ground as pain, far thêm excruciating than if Greg had kicked him one hundred times instead of once, exploded through his body. He couldn’t move, his joints had gone numb, but the pain was their, pounding through his head, his veins, his whole body. He weakly registered the slamming of a car door, and blearily looked up to see Cyr’s kind face peering at him. He coughed loudly, spraying drops of blood in all directions and Cyr looked down at him. Damon tried to decipher the expression on his boyfriend’s face, but was unable. Only one thought coursed through his mind: this is how I’m going to die.
With a sudden rush of fear, he struggled to push himself into a sitting position. Cyr, surprisingly strong, forced him back down. “Cyr--don’t--you--you c-care--you wouldn’t--” he managed to choke out a few disjointed words, but Cyr didn’t seem to hear.
“Greg’s right,” Cyr đã đưa ý kiến simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t deserve me. bạn don’t deserve anyone.”
“C-Cyr!” Damon cried out, his blue eyes wild. “Don’t! P-please!”
But Cyr was reaching for something behind him, pulling out a glinting axe, like one that a lumberjack would use. Damon’s last thought was where the hell did he get that?, but he was cut short as Cyr swung, the sharp silver blade piercing his already-broken skin, the pain began to dull, blackness swirled into his vision, beginning to consume him---
Suddenly, the pain was gone. No light was seeping through his closed eyelids, but he felt something warm gripping him. He gingerly reached for his shoulders, the nguồn of the warmth, and found that it was coming from an object, an arm, probably. The arms were shaking him, a voice crying out. “Damon! Wake up!” Am I dead? Damon thought, and slowly, he opened his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the darkness of the room, but when they did, he saw a face staring at him. Cyr’s face.
“B-b-but you--you killed me--you...” he trailed off, seeing the concern in Cyr’s warm Sô cô la eyes, the gentle smile on his perfect lips. Cyr sighed, running his fingers through Damon’s messy brown hair. Damon looked up at him, puzzled. “W-what happened?” he choked out, a tear beading up in his eye. Cyr stroked his hair gently, his voice calm and soothing. “Damon..it was just a dream...only a dream...”
Damon sighed gently as another tear welled up in his eyes, and his lip trembled slightly. Cyr seemed to understand, and wrapped his other arm around Damon, drawing him close. Damon allowed the tears to trickle down his cheeks as he buried his head in Cyr’s chest. They lay like that for a few minutes, Cyr stroking Damon’s hair as the wetness from Damon’s tears soaked through Cyr’s shirt. Finally, Damon spoke.
“It-it was so real though. The dream. You--Greg--you all hated me. Told me I was ugly, retarded, a faggot, that I didn’t deserve to live. And then bạn had an axe, and bạn hit me with your Lamborghini, and--”
Cyr sighed, lifting Damon’s chin so they were staring eye-to-eye. “Listen to me, Damon. bạn know that’s not true. I don’t hate you, Greg doesn’t hate you, neither does Stefan hoặc Jack hoặc Sean hoặc anyone in the world. You’ll always be worthy to us. And no one would ever want bạn dead.”
Damon nodded slowly, resting his head on Cyr’s chest while the tears poured down his face. Cyr sighed and lay back against the pillows, running his fingers through Damon’s hair. They lay like that for what felt like hours, until Damon’s breathing evened out, he stopped shaking with sobs, and slowly he drifted into sleep.