oVErDosE, a scooby doo fanfic

Hello again, Wolfy here. During a spell of writer's block for another story, I came up with an idea for a new one. You know how everyone makes those comments about a certain skinny fellow being on drugs? Well, what if he didn't know that he was being drugged? And, what if one day, someone gave him enough to OD? Hence the title. This is a songfic, my first, with The Used, "The Bird and the Worm." In order to really get this songfic, you have to either see the music video, or hear the actual song. I don't own Scooby & the gang, or The Used (but I'd like to, that band is so hot!), but, hopefully, I will one day. This plot is the only thing of mine. Oh, and you are allowed to flame me, just not too harshly, please. A warning however; this story is extremely dark, and what you read of is what people actually experience when they overdose on some of these drugs. R&R and enjoy!

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oVErDosE

r. M. wOLfE

tHe uSed

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This story begins like any other, but ends in so much more then a mask, a trip to the Malt Shop, and a "Scooby Dooby Doo!" It ends with pain, a distorted reality, and a heart, which slowly, so, so, slowly, starts to stop…

And so much more. Before you read on, I must warn you of what you will see. You will see into a disturbing world, where pain is life, and life is death, and nothing is familiar, and nothing is right, but wrong, wrong, so very, very wrong. A world in which love does not exist, only hate, malice, and misery.

You have been warned.

Now read on.

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The brightly colored Mystery Machine rumbled down the street, headed off to a mystery which would be more dangerous then anyone there ever thought; especially for one beatnik, who sat in the back, nursing one of the worst migraines in history.

"Hey, Fred, could you like, try and slow down a bit, please? Every time you hit a pothole or a speed bump, it makes my migraine worse."

"Oh. Sure," the blond man said; then, seeing a pothole up ahead, sped up, and flew over it, throwing Shaggy forward. "Sorry," he 'apologized', earning a harsh glare from the hippie.

He sat back up, and leaned against the wall. He didn't know what was causing this. Every time he hung out with gang, every mystery they solved, he always acted so stupidly, and he didn't know why. He tried to understand what had made his life like this, but…he just didn't know.

As he massaged his temples, Velma rubbed his back. "Are you alright, Shag?"

"Yeah, just a bad headache, that's all."

"Hey Daphne," Fred 'asked' her. "Do we have any 'Advil'?" He snickered a bit, knowing what was really in the bottle.

"Yeah, sure. Here ya go, Shag, maybe this will help. Oh, and here's some water to wash it down with. Scooby, could you pass it back to him? I can't reach."

"Rokay." Scooby handed the bottle of pills back to his owner. He was really very concerned about him. He looked really sick.

"Thanks," he moaned. He dumped out about a dozen pills, and popped them into his mouth, chasing it down with the water. As he was doing this, Fred was having a conversation with Daphne about the true contents of the bottle.

"So what drugs were in there this time?" He asked the redhead.

"Oh, well, I couldn't find the guy who we usually buy them from, so I just got together all the ones that were at the bottom of some of the other bottles."

"Which means that what drugs are in that bottle?"

"A little bit of everything. Heroin, LSD, crystal meth, normal meth, cocaine, and some of that really hard acid we had from the werewolf case."

"So he's getting a bit of everything?"

"Basically, yeah."

Fred grinned sadistically. "Oh, this mystery's gonna be fun."

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The van screeched to a stop about an hour later. Shaggy's migraine was worse then before. He dumped out some more pills, and swallowed them quickly. His stomach felt like it had been pierced with a dozen rusty steel spikes, and so did his head. Maybe it was because he hadn't eaten in a while, and didn't eat any food when he took the medicine. That was it, he told himself.

Right?

"Well gang, we're here." Fred's voice sounded distant, and distorted. He opened his eyes to find the van spinning a little, and strange, blank eyes staring out of the walls. The gang's faces were different. They were stretching and bending, their eyes so cruel, so harsh, so unreal. They started to cry, tears of blood pouring from them like an open wound, and their faces stayed hard and unforgiving. A strange, eerie tune filled the air. He shook his head. What was happening to him?

He wears his heart safety-pinned to his backpack

His backpack is all that he knows.

Shot down by strangers whose glances can cripple

The heart and devour the soul.

Shaggy stepped out of the van wearily, unsteadily, weaving a bit as the ground seemed to rise and fall, like the waves of a hard, tar-black ocean.

"Shaggy? You okay?" Velma's voice rose and fell, like the tarmac was doing. The eyes stared at him, and arms were appearing out of nowhere, pulling at his hands, his arms, his legs. They were reaching for his eyes, wanting his to join their collection, which surrounded him, unblinking, uncaring, unknowing.

They were his family's eyes.

The fingers of the arms were stretching forward, and crawling over his skin, the nails piercing through his flesh as they climbed higher up. The world seemed so far away. Blood seemed to flow from the earth into the black sky. A crack was opening up beneath his feet. He had to run. He couldn't fall in. He had to run. He couldn't fall in. The arms were pulling at his flesh. The eyes still stared.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Shaggy screamed at them. He pulled away, and ran into the dark mansion ahead. He ripped open the door, which was slowly pulling off his skin, one molecule at a time. He ran forward into the hall, and felt the ground give away beneath him. He struggled to hold on to the edge, the real world hanging by a thread. The dark water below rose, and the arms came back. He felt his skin being torn away, and a thousand gaping mouths appeared, their teeth as sharp as knives. He heard a scream echo throughout the vast darkness that was swallowing him. Then he realized: it was him.

He felt so tired, so heavy. The shadows were trying to get into his head. He held his breath, trying to keep them out, but he didn't succeed. They crawled into his head, and squeezed his brain. His stomach was full of spiders. They were trying to crawl out. He couldn't see. His eyes were being pulled out. He couldn't hold on. He couldn't see. He couldn't hold on…

All alone he turns to stone

While holding his breath half to death.

Terrified of what's inside

To save his life,

He crawls like a worm from a bird.

Crawls like a worm from a bird.

Something started to pull him up. Shaggy looked up, and saw a distorted skull, with flesh hanging off of its grotesque body, obsidian eyes glaring. He yelled and ran up the stairs, which were melting under his feet, screaming at every step he took. The dark colored tapestries began to whisper, and tried to smother him with their powerful perfumes. He could hear his heart shrieking as the spiders started to rip it apart, slowly tearing away his last ties to the world. The music moaned eerily in his ears, its colors staring to shred itself into the gaping mouths of the worms that were coming out of his own.

Out of his mind

The weight pushes him, whispering

Must've been out of his mind.

Mid-day delusions

Stop pushing this out of his head

Maybe out of his mind

Out of his mind.

He had come to a dead end. The creatures were fast approaching from four other hallways. They were groping along, calling his name, the pitches far off. He could feel himself harden; he couldn't move.

All alone he turns to stone

While holding his breath half to death.

Terrified of what's inside

To save his life

He crawls like a worm

Crawls like a worm from a bird

Their faces were stretching, the shadows slithering in and out of their hollow eye sockets. The eyes stared blankly, worms sliding over their unblinking obsidian irises.

Crawls like a worm from a bird.

They were getting closer, their arms stretching out to strangle him.

Crawls like a worm…

Their fingers reached out towards his eyes. They grabbed him by his arms, and forced him towards the floor. He saw the lake nearby. He pushed past the figures, hearing one of them cry out as the sky turned upside-down. He leapt into the water, feeling it embrace him, his flesh growing back again.

Crawls like a worm from a bird.

A soft, peaceful music floated throughout the air. Shaggy felt a soft euphoria ripple throughout his entire body. He breathed in, and opened his eyes.

The creatures' arms tore through the glass, its shards slicing open his skin, the euphoria fast fading away. They tore at his clothes, the shreds of material floating into the abyss below him. His worry flowed from his mouth as he struggled to breathe, the water no longer like air. A creature formed below him, the arms reaching towards him from below, the eyes staring blankly. He let the hands from above pull him up, into the blood red sky, from which worms were falling, squirming, spreading a numb feeling throughout the ground. It slithered up his legs, and throughout his entire body. Nausea gripped his stomach, and spiders poured from his mouth, exploding into a thousand eyes as they hit the ground, staring lifelessly into his battered soul.

All he knows

If he can't relieve it, it grows

And so it goes

He crawls like a worm

Crawls like a worm from a bird

He threw back his head and screamed. He could feel his head stretch back, and his jaw pull forward. He collapsed to the ground, writhing, twisting, like the worms alongside him. The arms swarmed over his bruised body, and he struggled past them, running into the woods. The wind shrieked through the branches as they tore at his skin, his muscles ripping apart.

Out of his mind

The weight pushes him, whispering

Must have been out of his mind.

Shaggy skidded to a stop. He was in the middle of a clearing, with dark trees all around. In the center stood a mirror, covered with a sheet. He ripped it off, and gasped at what he saw.

It was himself.

But he was so…different. He had longer, scruffier black hair that was matted with dirt. His clothes were torn and bloody, his thin, gaunt face scratched and bruised, and his skin was pale and sallow. He was like a skeleton. But the thing that startled the beatnik most were the eyes.

They were obsidian black, and as cold as ice.

All alone, he turns to stone

While holding his breath half to death.

Terrified of what's inside

To save his life

He crawls like a worm from a bird.

He reached out to touch his reflection. He couldn't believe that this was who he really was. Was it really him? His fingers grazed the glass, feeling it ripple beneath his scarred, feverish skin, as cool as the water in the lake had been. The eyes stared at him, a sharp awareness glinting in them. They knew what would happen to him. But would they tell him? The beatnik stared at himself, and collapsed to the ground. He looked at himself. What was he turning into? What was happening to him?

He reached into the glass, and the reflection reached back. It placed something into his hand, and took something from around his neck: a peace symbol. He looked down into his hand, and, as he gazed at the symbol, he felt himself being, slowly and softly, pulled into the mirror. The pain faded away as the last string that kept him tied to reality snapped, leaving the young man to fall into the endless abyss that was of a soothing Death and a harsh, cold Dream.

The world turned around.

The sky became the earth.

Peace became war.

And reflection and delusion became one.

All alone, he's

Holding his breath half to death,

(holding his breath half to death).

Terrified

To save his life,

He crawls like a worm…

Pain became love.

Malice became sorrow.

Affliction became blessing.

And the pulse became still.

Crawls like a worm…

Crawls like a worm from a bird.

The eyes were back, but they stared in sorrow, a new pain within them, a sharp, unforgiving knowledge upon them.

The arms reached into the glass, gently, and lifted the young man's limp, lifeless body from the shards that were left from the mirror.

The reflection was gone.

But so was the kind soul which had resided there only moments before.

Crawls like a worm from a bird…

His heart was still; there was no chance of life left for him.

Crawls like a worm…

Death's soft, gentle grasp had taken his heart in her hand, and she pondered over him. Should she let him live? Was there any life still to live within him? Only he could decide.

Crawls like a worm…

His heart beat weakly.

He would live to see another day.

And at that, Death released her cold grasp on his heart, leaving only the necklace from the mirror behind, hanging in his trembling hand, its cord wrapped tightly around his fingers.

A pulse tremulously ran through his heart.

He would live.

But would it be worth it?

Would it be worth it?

Would it be worth…this?

Only time and a well-worn pen could tell.

Crawls like a worm from a bird.

Only time will tell…

But will it?

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R&R, please. Everything will be explained in the sequel, Aftermath. Coming soon to SD fanfics.