A/N: For some reason, I don't get email notifications of Private Messages anymore. I can only see them on the fanfiction site itself. Is that the same for you guys?
IMPORTANT: This is the last warning. This is where the T rating really comes in. Starting here, it can get very triggering. If you are triggered by self harm and suicidal thoughts and things of that nature, please stop reading. It's a happy ending, but the journey there won't be.
His emotions had been out of control, flaring up, as of late.
He growled. How were they supposed to know how he felt?! He hated everything at this point. Things started to irritate him when they usually wouldn't. The loud noises from the engine (when they weren't actually that loud, before. At least, they never bothered him). The crew asking him advice all the time. Why couldn't they just figure it out?
Of course, he never revealed his anger. Of course, he stuffed them down. Why did he feel this way? It's not ok to be so angry. They hadn't done anything wrong. It was all him.
It always was.
The anger flared again, but he breathed it out.
Then he would see Peso's eyes, and shame grew within him.
Peso always looked up to him, ever since he helped the medic make that first aid presentation. He saw the innocence, the reliance and dependence on him. In Peso, he saw everyone else counting on him.
Barnacles felt like he was going to be sick.
He suddenly felt stuck. Like he wanted something else.
He took in a sharp breath, realizing what it was.
He wanted freedom.
But then he furrowed his brow.
With the Octopod, they could go wherever they wanted. (Again, it was with they). He could go out and travel anywhere.
He couldn't show his real emotions, though...
He couldn't show who he really was, now.
He clenched his fist. This isn't who you are, he thought. I just... I'm just having a setback, that's all. I'll feel better. I'll feel better...
He kept telling himself that.
Codish skipped down the hall, humming a tune that the elders would sing around the campfire. He was happy, happy that the Captain was ok. That everyone was together. That the last batch of fish biscuits were cooked really well. And that Grouber hadn't eaten them all.
Yep, all was right with the world.
He heard the music of Captain Barnacles' accordion waft in the air as he walked down the hallways. As much as Kwazii hated it, the pink Vegimal loved it when the Captain played. It was the few moments when he was really free and happy. Codish wasn't sure why the polar bear wasn't like that all the time, but he guessed he had his reasons.
The accordion gave an out-of-tune note, but Codish ignored it. He kept going, but another Scree! went through, followed by low growling. Codish covered his inner ears that time. That was really loud!
There was more playing, a few more broken notes; but then a roar rang out, followed by a crash.
Codish stood still. What was...?
His heart quickening, he ran towards the Captain's door. Did the Captain get hurt again? Did he need to get Peso?
He skidded to a stop in front of the door, and they automatically opened. It revealed the Captain, unhurt, standing with his back partially turned towards the door. He was panting, looking down at...
Codish looked down and gasped.
The accordion- Captain Barnacles' prized accordion- was on the floor, broken into pieces.
"What…?" Codish couldn't help but say in surprise. It came out in his native tongue, not only because it was out of reflex, but because it was easier. Out of all the Vegimals, understanding English was the hardest for him. He had the growing suspicion it was because he was dumb, but he didn't like to think about that.
The Captain's face snapped towards him at his voice, and they both stopped. Codish could see fear in his eyes. Why?
Codish couldn't find his voice, so he just pointed at the accordion.
"Yes, it's broken. Sorry about that, Codish. I tripped and dropped it." His voice sounded so normal; the Captain was so calm.
The Captain came up to Codish and knelt in front of him. Codish backed away one step, but he didn't know why. He wasn't scared, but he noticed something more empty in the Captain's eyes, even though he was smiling softly. "Could you please not tell anyone else about this, Codish?"
What was Codish supposed to do? The Captain was giving mixed messages. Oh, how he wished he was smart! His brothers would have known how to react.
The Captain kept looking at him, that gentleness still there. If... If the Captain was truly going through something, he would have told them about this, right? Maybe he did just drop it on accident, and the roar was out of reflex.
That must have been what happened, right?
Codish nodded, smiling a bit hesitantly. Captain Barnacles smiled back, more reassuringly, and got up, "Thanks, Codish."
The Vegimal chirped a response and went back to the hallway. He still had a feeling of dread in his heart, but he pushed it away. Because he was the Captain, and Codish could always trust him, right?
The dread did not go away.
His heart had practically jumped out of his skin when the automatic doors opened (he had forgot to lock them) and Codish appeared. He was trying to get used to the windows, playing the accordion to calm down. It obviously didn't work; he kept messing up with the keys, just like he kept messing up with everything else-
And now Codish was gone, and he was numb.
Codish saw enough. Barnacles was ruined.
It finally happened. The others were starting to notice. This was getting too big, too out of control.
He couldn't seem to stop it.
You're not worth being a Captain.
That thought hurt, it hurt so much...
His chest was tight, sinking like a ship, sinking and choking like he would in his dreams, like he had in real life. It was like ever since then, he was always sinking. He never got to safety, not really.
You're not worth being a Captain.
He found himself breathing quickly.
You're not worth being a Captain.
It was like a mantra, going over and over again in his head. His whole body felt like he was on fire, pressure boiling, erupting.
You're not worth being a Captain.
He snapped.
I hate you! Why can't you be normal?! Why can't you be how you used to be?! You're failing everyone!
The anger and frustration surged up again. He wanted to destroy something else, anything else. The accordion wasn't enough. He wanted-
A pain struck him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the back of his paw.
Curious, he thought, not really there. The numbness returned in an instant, almost like a whiplash. His head seemed to become full, like cotton.
If he moved the fur apart, he could see scratch marks there. Very superficial; no where near enough to bleed. But it stung. He felt relieved, the thoughts seeming to scatter away like butterflies.
This was really bad, but he forced himself not to think about it.
The marks were a bit pink, but with the white fur covering it, it was not noticeable.
No, you're not really thinking...
But that feeling, of almost not being there, of this morbid fascination, was still in him. Because this, this physical pain, was way better. Because anything was better than what he was going through, the turmoil in his mind, the feelings running rampant everywhere, hurting so much.
He was at a crossroads, and he knew it. He felt horrible, with a bit of horror. Yet...
You stupid, worthless-
He pulled up his sleeve, the arm feeling warm in the air. And swiped. The arm stung; it felt even warmer from the scratches, but no blood came out, and he felt better. The thoughts stopped. But he knew it was only for a while.
The rational part of his mind knew, somehow, that his irrational part had gone to the point of no return. The scratches hurt, but it felt like a breath of fresh air. He wouldn't be able to let this go, to stop.
Ok, he thought, trying to be rational, trying not to let this go too out of hand, because in actuality, he was a bit scared. You can do this, he told himself, But I'm not going to make myself bleed.
And that was how it was, the new reality. He hated it, and cherished it, and wanted to change, but seemed like he couldn't.
"No, no," he whispered, lightly touching his arm.
Over the next month or so of constantly hurting himself, unexpected consequences came about. It had also spread not to just scratching arms, but to also hitting his head. He didn't do the latter as often, but it still happened. When he was alone, when he couldn't take it anymore, he would smack his head against the wall, or hit it with his paw, several times in quick succession. Sometimes his head would still hurt five to ten minutes afterwards. That would scare him. What if I went to far? Could I get a concussion with this? But then the pain would go away, and he would never in his wildest dreams talk to the medic about it. He also wondered if the other Octonauts could hear it- the bam bam coming from the metal wall, but no one came and asked about it, so he highly doubted it.
He looked at his arm again, silently panicking.
Over this period, he also scratched his arms, and sometimes his legs, several times a day. At first, the scratches would disappear in a couple hours. But then, his skin seemed to wear down over time or something, because the scratches lasted longer and longer, for about a day and a half, now. And they would become redder quicker.
There was one time- he didn't even know how he did it. His claw must have gotten jagged somehow, or maybe he did it in a different angle, or did it too hard, but it was deeper than ever before. One long, straight line, at a diagonal from about his elbow to his wrist. It was on the inside of the arm. It turned red, and he could tell that, if he pressed down even a little bit, it would start to bleed.
He stopped scratching for the rest of that day. He was afraid that he got scarred, because that mark wouldn't go away. One day turned to two, two turned into seven. It only faded away completely after a week and a half. During that time, he made sure to scratch on the other arm and legs, and to leave that deeper scratch alone. And from then on, he tried to be more careful.
(Though, in the back of his mind, among the fear, he also enjoyed that pain, and wondered what would happen if he did it again. What would have happened if he bled. But then he would shut himself up, because that was the wrong type of thinking. He was engaging in a destructive-enough habit as it was. He couldn't make it worse).
But sometimes, that desire did linger...
His fur also started to suffer; some was coming off. At first, not that much, but with the continuing scratching, clumps started to fall off his arms. Sometimes, in emotional turmoil, he would pull some of those hairs off, but that was not the norm. Usually, he hated seeing his arms in such a state. He was insanely glad that he always had to wear the cold suit, and that it was normal for him to wear long sleeves and pants. If he had to suddenly change his wardrobe now, to accommodate for these… changes, then the others would become suspicious. They could never find out. He was ashamed and guilt ridden as it was; he couldn't handle them knowing on top of that. He never brought himself to think about what they would do if they ever found out. It was just too painful.
He was not ok. He knew that he wasn't going to be ok; that this wasn't just going to magically change. That things weren't going to go back to the way they were. That he was now defective; that he was not what he should be, not what he used to be. But he kept trying to steer the train wreck, because what else could he do?