A/N: X-posted from AO3. This is an angsty story that takes place just before Phase 5. Contains mature themes of abuse so turn away if you need to...this is about as bad as it gets, really, so in Chapter 3 (Eclipse) watch out for blood, physical abuse, gaslighting, and rape.
Enjoy!
_
You can be happy, if you choose to be.
You can also choose happiness, but fail miserably.
2D tried to choose happiness for the first month on Plastic Beach. He chose to escape, but failed. He chose to forget about Noodle, but failed. He chose to relax and clear his mind from gut-wrenching fear of the cetacean eye that guarded him and unpredictable yet regular pain at Murdoc's hands. It didn't work. So he retreated into a mental shell and figured it wouldn't be so bad if the whale just put him out of his misery already.
But it was so bad.
No matter how many times Stuart stared death in the face, it always terrified him. Coming close to death was always traumatically agonizing, even methods that seemed peaceful from the outside, like asphyxiation and bleeding to death. And he deeply feared what would come after. 2D believed in some sort of afterlife, and he didn't want to spend eternity knowing that his time on earth ended tragically, either because of the climax to a long string of violence, or his own stupidity. So as his room at the bottom of Plastic Beach shook with the thrusts of the whale pounding its head into the island, and as water began to rush into his room, he trembled with such force that he couldn't get up from the corner in which he was huddled. He pictured the inevitable over and over, legs curled up to his body and hands faced palms out, as if that would do anything to defend him from Leviathan.
As the seams in his room split, water poured in, and he imagined suffocating in this dark, unknown corner of hell to which he had been confined. As the water rose, the frigidity made him think he may freeze to death instead. At least this way he wouldn't have to endure being eaten.
One more crash against his room and water tore the walls apart, rushing towards Stuart as he gasped in preparation for his drowning. But as the gaping mouth with white, conical teeth lunged forwards, he plunged into the darkness of the whale's body instead.
He would never forget being trapped in the whale. He would never forget it, but he would always wish to.
The next thing he knew, he was in a pitch-black, hot, moist tube. His surroundings were sticky and squishy to touch, but the narrowness pressed dangerously on his chest, and the smell didn't make breathing any easier. 2D didn't know how long he was in there, but instinct was on its knees, begging to escape the entire time. To survive and live out his life, and find happiness.
Even years later, 2D would hardly ever get past this part in the dream before awakening: sweating, gasping, and shaking violently. If he was lucid enough to remember his housemates, he would bite his forearm to prevent himself from crying out. But this night was different. The dream continued.
In the whale, 2D felt something touch his arm that was not hot, pulsing or soft. It was sharp: most likely a piece of plastic the whale had eaten. In a wild rage, he grasped the object and started slicing through yielding flesh. Through a suffocating mass of blood, sinew, offal, and organs he swam, turning sideways through the whale's ribs and using them as leverage to push himself up. He was nearly certain he would pass out and die there, but his self-preservation instincts were stronger than he thought and he kept pushing.
He made the final slash through the whale's thick, tough skin, emerged into the blinding, blue sky. Overwhelming relief and empowering freedom filled his lungs like the fresh, beloved sea air.
Against all odds, darkness had turned to light.