*Looks at planned upload schedule*

Haha :) That's funny

Word: Addiction

Death, alcohol abuse, dark(?) thoughts?

1k words

Smoking is addictive.

So is alcohol.

'Course, everyone knew that.

Oooo, can't forget drugs. They're especially addictive. Sugar, too, though it's not mentioned as much as the other three.

Of course, there's other addictive things in the world, some just as bad as smoking, drugs, alcohol, and sugar. They just aren't mentioned as much.

Dakota dragged in another puff from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl its way back out. It looked oddly charming.

He glanced down next to him, at a body morbidly propped against the wall. A shard of glass, the length of his forearm, stuck out from his partner. Not the fanciest or fastest of deaths, but Dakota knew that it wasn't like they could pick and choose the deaths. Oooh, if he could, that would be uncomfortably fun. Though, he supposes it would simply be a different version of Russian Roulette. Just with more death options.

He sighed, bringing the cigarette up to his lips yet again, tapping it gently in mid air and watching as flakes drifted to the ground, until he couldn't see them anymore.

Vinnie Dakota rarely smoked. Actually, he'd go as far as to say he practically never smoked. Same with drugs. Alcohol, well, that was a bit of a different story.

But he rarely, if ever, smoked.

So much so, that he practically choked on the first puff, having not had a cigarette in he didn't even know how long.

But it felt strangely good.

He let his hand rest against his knee, dropping his head back and resting it against the building. The smoke tasted and smelled absolutely disgusting, but it calmed him. Just enough, it calmed him.

Oddly enough, it felt better than the bitter taste of beer that he'd usually grab after a rough night of travelling back, or some other type of alcohol that he'd grab to ease the stress and anxiety.

He wouldn't say that he was addicted to alcohol, exactly, it just...helped.

He snorted.

Yeah, that's probably what all the other addicts say, huh?

He dragged in another puff.

It felt good.

He jangled the keys for the time vehicle in his other hand.

It felt even better.

If Dakota didn't know better, he'd say he was addicted to going back for Cavendish.

…

If Dakota didn't know better, he'd say Cavendish was addicted to Death.

Oh, who's to say? Not him. Definitely not him. He could barely admit that he was addicted to a stupid drink in a bottle, that tasted so horrible, smelled so revolting, burned a nasty trailed down his throat, to his stomach. It barely even gave him a buzz anymore. He needed more, to get even a small buzz, something to get his mind off things.

And he still couldn't admit he was addicted to the stuff.

And definitely not to the reason. He didn't like alcohol. How it tasted, how it made him feel, what it did. And he especially hated how it made Cavendish talk to him, and vice versa. He hated listening to Cavendish reprimand him for drinking the foul liquid, hating hearing his worry and stress.

But that was kind of hypocritical of him at the same time. Cause, like, he was the one that was causing Dakota to drink.

Of course, Dakota wouldn't ever tell him that, at least not directly, but, well…

Dakota sighed, placing the cigarette between his lips. He puffed.

He wasn't addicted to the alcohol.

He was addicted to Cavendish's deaths. Wasn't he?

The taste of the burning alcohol, a nauseating addiction that he took a swig of after a mentally taxing death rescue.

The feeling of the key fob in his palm, a cold addiction that he could never let go, ready to travel back if he needed to.

The sound of his laughter, echoing in the air, a warming addiction that he never wanted to stop listening to.

The vision of cold turquoise eyes, staring up at him with fear, an addiction he never wanted to leave until he was sure life left them first.

The smell of ever metallic blood, that splattered all around them, an psychotic addiction that he wasn't sure he could ever abandon.

He breathed out the smoke.

Every single thing. It was a horrifying addiction that was now a part of him, something he took with him every single step, that he couldn't let go no matter what, that would hurt more than help if he let go.

The only difference between him and those crack addicts was that he couldn't tell anyone in an AA meeting his addiction. He'll likely get sent to prison with a death sentence for screwing with the timeline for well over a hundred and thirty times now.

He wonders if he'll ever quit this addiction. All of it.

He sighed, taking one last deep breath of the cigarette, before stomping it out with his foot, letting the final cloud escape his lips into the air. He watched it until it completely disappeared, then turned to the now cold body besides him.

"Right. Guess we'll just take another route home. Maybe you'll survive if we go down Maple Street. Scenic route, in the nighttime."

The still body didn't move nor answer him, but it wasn't like Dakota was expecting it to. If it did, he would be extremely freaked out.

"Right. See you soon, Cav."

He turned from the body, checking off two addictions.

Cold turquoise eyes.

Horribly metallic blood.

He walked towards the time vehicle, wondering which bottle he'll upturn tonight, rolling the car keys fob between his fingers.

Cold plastic car fob.

Burning liquid gold.

He opened the door, turning the car on, and setting his destination.

Final completion to his addiction; hearing his warm laughter.

Cavendish might be his addiction, but Dakota would be damned if he ever tried to get rid of it.

Hope you enjoyed! If you did, maybe leave a review, or piece of constructive criticism? Take care, and have an extravagant morning/afternoon/evening/night, and make sure to drink some water and hug someone!