Goodbye 3
Greetings and hello to all of you obsessed digimon fans out there. This fic is the second in what I intend to make a series. The first fic was, of course, between TK and Yamato, and the second fic wasn't really a fic at all, it was a correction, but keeping in the spirit of series everywhere, this is titled "Goodbye 3". So anyway, if you're here, but you haven't read "Goodbye", THEN GO READ IT! But if you've already read it, then continue......
Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me, it is the property of some rich, Japanese cartoon maker that I have never met, nor ever want to meet, blah blah blah blah blah.
Perhaps this time, they were not going to complete the task before them. It had been three-and-a-half years since they had defeated the Dark Masters, and yet, they had still not found a route home. It was beginning to seem futile to actually go on anymore, because they weren't going to find anything. Oh yes, he had tried to be helpful, he suggested that they use Myotismon's gate but when they arrived, what had happened you ask? Well the whole thing was destroyed. Another by-product of the evil that the Dark Masters had spread. Then the routine of name-calling had started. Though for Izzy, it was old news, he had heard all of it before and didn't even bother to listen to the group as they yelled at him for wasting their time. What time? They had all the time in the world. The various threats and insults fell upon deaf ears, for Izzy had lived through six years of hell in school for being a nerd, a geek, and these times were no different from those times. And yet, Izzy thought, they hurt a little bit more, coming from friends. Well, former friends. So they wandered for a little bit longer, and a little longer, and a little longer, until it had gotten to the point where you could almost taste the tension in the air. Up until that point, everyone's complaints and insults had gone straight to Izzy, not even caring that they were hurting his feelings anymore, just wanting someone to vent their frustrations at. Well, they had gotten their scapegoat at least, so the rest of the group felt happy, but not Izzy. Izzy had just gotten worse.
Izzy had never really been very good in the first place. The fact that he was adopted didn't hurt as much as say, the times that his father would get drunk and yell at Izzy for being such a lousy son, and an adopted one at that, but it still hurt. So, Izzy wasn't very good to start out with. Then again, if he couldn't find the love that he needed from his "parents" why couldn't his computer give his solace? Because I'm a pathetic human being. Look at me, all that I'm good for is analyzing the digimon that we fight. If it wasn't for that, they'd ditch me in a second. No one needs a second-rate, parent-less wimp hanging around. What would be the point? What's the point of anything anymore? Why bother going on? We just wander and I get yelled at, nothing more. It seems pointless to go on.
By the time Izzy had figured this out, the entire group had exploded into a huge fight. Everyone was insulting everyone else, and general chaos ruled the group. The only thing that really kept them together was the simple fact that they had been together for such a long time. After a long period of this, however, Izzy was just sick of it and made a suggestion. It was late one night, after a standard day of wandering, yelling, and wandering and yelling some more. "Perhaps we should split up the group." Izzy said, sitting by the fire, poking it with a stick. Tai heard him and seconded the motion. Joe said that maybe it would be good to spend some time apart. Sora said that as long as everyone knew that they were going to be all right, they should do it. So it was decided, and they split up the next day. No one knew, however, that Izzy had his own motivations for doing this.
He was sitting on a rock, not really paying attention to anything, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop, deciphering some hieroglyphs he had overlooked earlier. It had been two years since the group split up, and Izzy was, - well, Izzy was bored. His mind was not on what he was doing; however, it was on all of the good times that the group had shared together. Like the time Patamon had digivolved for the first time and saved them from Devimon. The time that he and Megakabuterimon had defeated that freak of nature with the alternate universe, the one that had taken his curiosity, Vademon. The time that Megakabuterimon had protected Angewomon from Lady Devimon's Black Wing attack. They were all good memories, but then of course, the bad ones overshadowed them all. Izzy remembered all the names, all the insults, all the put-downs his former "friends" had spit at him, and well, they hurt. They hurt more than just about anything else had hurt before. And although it was a close call, Izzy figured that the insults hurt worse than his wrists, the night he attempted suicide. It had been after a particularly rough session when his father had come home as drunk as he would ever get. It had been the last time his father had touched a drop of alcohol, and also the first and last time that his father had beaten him. But, Izzy supposed, it wasn't so much the beating itself, it was the fact that my fath- no, my legal guardian, hit me. If one was to look closely, you could probably still see the scar from that encounter. It was just above the hairline on the side of his head. His "guardian" had hit him with a socket wrench, resulting in stitches and lies to friends, (if he'd had any friends) for Izzy, and a support group for his father. The following night, Izzy had tried to kill himself.
Izzy sighed and closed the laptop. Sometimes memories were too painful, even for him, Mr. Perfect, who could solve any problem, fix any bug, and impress everyone he met with his intelligence and charm. Izzy slipped off his gloves and looked at them in the pale moonlight, noting how well they concealed the truth. Two white lines, both at about the same spot on each of his wrists, both filled with memories of that night. But those memories, even he refused to remember. He sighed again, and put the gloves back on. Some memories, he thought, you just have to say goodbye to. He lay down for the night, thinking that tomorrow, he would go off in the direction he had heard voices that day, maybe he would meet one of his old friends.
Izzy walking towards where he had heard the voices the other day, but already he was beginning to regret it. Memories of all of the digidestined yelling at him were flooding back to him and he was getting depressed. He was thinking that perhaps he should turn around when he heard screaming. He changed his mind about turning around, but the screams were far-off, so he might not reach there until tomorrow. He was wondering if he should just set up camp right now, or continue walking when he heard another scream. This time, though, it was words, which sounded something like "TK NO" and as the echo died away, Izzy was sure that TK was dead, and Yamato had found him. "TK, Yamato..." Izzy whispered. If what Izzy had heard was as bad as he thought it was, TK was probably dead by now, and because of that, Yamato would probably be dead as well soon. Izzy decided that it was about time to try and find TK and Yamato and offer Yamato a shoulder to cry on. But unfortunately, before he could reach them, night fell and Izzy was taken over by sleep. He rose the next morning and set off again, but only to be assaulted by yet another yell. This one was also words, saying; "I'M SO SORRY TK!" Izzy knew what that meant. Yamato had just taken his own life, as if to try and make up for TK losing his. Izzy started running, hoping blindly that maybe, just maybe he could find Yamato and stop whatever he was doing to himself. He came to a clearing though, and he knew he was too late. Twin pools of crimson lay next to each other in the clearing, one containing the body of a young man, his chest covered in blood. The other was of an older man, with his wrist's slashed. Izzy saw this and something inside him snapped, and he started to cry. After years of abuse, after so many names and insults and put-downs, after the separation of the group, and now, after the deaths of two of his best friends, the dam that Izzy had so carefully built within his own mind shattered.
Izzy had never really been very good in the first place. He had dealt with much, and now, like he had all those years ago, he got much worse. He ripped the laptop out of his backpack and, screaming, smashed it against the ground. It shattered into thousands of shards of plastic and circuitry, littering the ground. He grabbed one of the larger ones, and with one fluid movement, ripped off the gloves that he had worn for so long and slashed both of his wrists again, along the other cut lines, painting his forearms crimson. As Izzy began to lose consciousness, he smiled, and wondered: Am I going to be a memory that you can say goodbye to?
And perhaps, it would be better if you could just say Goodbye.
Greetings and hello to all of you obsessed digimon fans out there. This fic is the second in what I intend to make a series. The first fic was, of course, between TK and Yamato, and the second fic wasn't really a fic at all, it was a correction, but keeping in the spirit of series everywhere, this is titled "Goodbye 3". So anyway, if you're here, but you haven't read "Goodbye", THEN GO READ IT! But if you've already read it, then continue......
Disclaimer: Digimon does not belong to me, it is the property of some rich, Japanese cartoon maker that I have never met, nor ever want to meet, blah blah blah blah blah.
Perhaps this time, they were not going to complete the task before them. It had been three-and-a-half years since they had defeated the Dark Masters, and yet, they had still not found a route home. It was beginning to seem futile to actually go on anymore, because they weren't going to find anything. Oh yes, he had tried to be helpful, he suggested that they use Myotismon's gate but when they arrived, what had happened you ask? Well the whole thing was destroyed. Another by-product of the evil that the Dark Masters had spread. Then the routine of name-calling had started. Though for Izzy, it was old news, he had heard all of it before and didn't even bother to listen to the group as they yelled at him for wasting their time. What time? They had all the time in the world. The various threats and insults fell upon deaf ears, for Izzy had lived through six years of hell in school for being a nerd, a geek, and these times were no different from those times. And yet, Izzy thought, they hurt a little bit more, coming from friends. Well, former friends. So they wandered for a little bit longer, and a little longer, and a little longer, until it had gotten to the point where you could almost taste the tension in the air. Up until that point, everyone's complaints and insults had gone straight to Izzy, not even caring that they were hurting his feelings anymore, just wanting someone to vent their frustrations at. Well, they had gotten their scapegoat at least, so the rest of the group felt happy, but not Izzy. Izzy had just gotten worse.
Izzy had never really been very good in the first place. The fact that he was adopted didn't hurt as much as say, the times that his father would get drunk and yell at Izzy for being such a lousy son, and an adopted one at that, but it still hurt. So, Izzy wasn't very good to start out with. Then again, if he couldn't find the love that he needed from his "parents" why couldn't his computer give his solace? Because I'm a pathetic human being. Look at me, all that I'm good for is analyzing the digimon that we fight. If it wasn't for that, they'd ditch me in a second. No one needs a second-rate, parent-less wimp hanging around. What would be the point? What's the point of anything anymore? Why bother going on? We just wander and I get yelled at, nothing more. It seems pointless to go on.
By the time Izzy had figured this out, the entire group had exploded into a huge fight. Everyone was insulting everyone else, and general chaos ruled the group. The only thing that really kept them together was the simple fact that they had been together for such a long time. After a long period of this, however, Izzy was just sick of it and made a suggestion. It was late one night, after a standard day of wandering, yelling, and wandering and yelling some more. "Perhaps we should split up the group." Izzy said, sitting by the fire, poking it with a stick. Tai heard him and seconded the motion. Joe said that maybe it would be good to spend some time apart. Sora said that as long as everyone knew that they were going to be all right, they should do it. So it was decided, and they split up the next day. No one knew, however, that Izzy had his own motivations for doing this.
He was sitting on a rock, not really paying attention to anything, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop, deciphering some hieroglyphs he had overlooked earlier. It had been two years since the group split up, and Izzy was, - well, Izzy was bored. His mind was not on what he was doing; however, it was on all of the good times that the group had shared together. Like the time Patamon had digivolved for the first time and saved them from Devimon. The time that he and Megakabuterimon had defeated that freak of nature with the alternate universe, the one that had taken his curiosity, Vademon. The time that Megakabuterimon had protected Angewomon from Lady Devimon's Black Wing attack. They were all good memories, but then of course, the bad ones overshadowed them all. Izzy remembered all the names, all the insults, all the put-downs his former "friends" had spit at him, and well, they hurt. They hurt more than just about anything else had hurt before. And although it was a close call, Izzy figured that the insults hurt worse than his wrists, the night he attempted suicide. It had been after a particularly rough session when his father had come home as drunk as he would ever get. It had been the last time his father had touched a drop of alcohol, and also the first and last time that his father had beaten him. But, Izzy supposed, it wasn't so much the beating itself, it was the fact that my fath- no, my legal guardian, hit me. If one was to look closely, you could probably still see the scar from that encounter. It was just above the hairline on the side of his head. His "guardian" had hit him with a socket wrench, resulting in stitches and lies to friends, (if he'd had any friends) for Izzy, and a support group for his father. The following night, Izzy had tried to kill himself.
Izzy sighed and closed the laptop. Sometimes memories were too painful, even for him, Mr. Perfect, who could solve any problem, fix any bug, and impress everyone he met with his intelligence and charm. Izzy slipped off his gloves and looked at them in the pale moonlight, noting how well they concealed the truth. Two white lines, both at about the same spot on each of his wrists, both filled with memories of that night. But those memories, even he refused to remember. He sighed again, and put the gloves back on. Some memories, he thought, you just have to say goodbye to. He lay down for the night, thinking that tomorrow, he would go off in the direction he had heard voices that day, maybe he would meet one of his old friends.
Izzy walking towards where he had heard the voices the other day, but already he was beginning to regret it. Memories of all of the digidestined yelling at him were flooding back to him and he was getting depressed. He was thinking that perhaps he should turn around when he heard screaming. He changed his mind about turning around, but the screams were far-off, so he might not reach there until tomorrow. He was wondering if he should just set up camp right now, or continue walking when he heard another scream. This time, though, it was words, which sounded something like "TK NO" and as the echo died away, Izzy was sure that TK was dead, and Yamato had found him. "TK, Yamato..." Izzy whispered. If what Izzy had heard was as bad as he thought it was, TK was probably dead by now, and because of that, Yamato would probably be dead as well soon. Izzy decided that it was about time to try and find TK and Yamato and offer Yamato a shoulder to cry on. But unfortunately, before he could reach them, night fell and Izzy was taken over by sleep. He rose the next morning and set off again, but only to be assaulted by yet another yell. This one was also words, saying; "I'M SO SORRY TK!" Izzy knew what that meant. Yamato had just taken his own life, as if to try and make up for TK losing his. Izzy started running, hoping blindly that maybe, just maybe he could find Yamato and stop whatever he was doing to himself. He came to a clearing though, and he knew he was too late. Twin pools of crimson lay next to each other in the clearing, one containing the body of a young man, his chest covered in blood. The other was of an older man, with his wrist's slashed. Izzy saw this and something inside him snapped, and he started to cry. After years of abuse, after so many names and insults and put-downs, after the separation of the group, and now, after the deaths of two of his best friends, the dam that Izzy had so carefully built within his own mind shattered.
Izzy had never really been very good in the first place. He had dealt with much, and now, like he had all those years ago, he got much worse. He ripped the laptop out of his backpack and, screaming, smashed it against the ground. It shattered into thousands of shards of plastic and circuitry, littering the ground. He grabbed one of the larger ones, and with one fluid movement, ripped off the gloves that he had worn for so long and slashed both of his wrists again, along the other cut lines, painting his forearms crimson. As Izzy began to lose consciousness, he smiled, and wondered: Am I going to be a memory that you can say goodbye to?
And perhaps, it would be better if you could just say Goodbye.