Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mind’s false heart pounds in his chest. Heart and Soul were outside, they most likely would remain there for some time. Good. He didn’t need either of them to have a chance of walking in on him. Even so, he sequesters himself away in the bathroom, making sure the lock clicks shut.

He sits on the side of the bath, his hair falling over his face as he stares at the blade in his hand. Mind stands up, still clutching tightly onto his knife. He stomps over to the door, unlocking and relocking it. Just to be safe. Two clicks. One to unlock, the other to lock. He’s safe. No one will know.

[If they knew, would they care?]

The ticking from the clock embedded in Mind’s eye socket only grows louder, and faster, seemingly in sync with his false heart.

It's insufferable. Striking through the core of his being, driving every inch of him to shake in frustration.

Mind grabs the battery pack hooked onto the side of his face, ripping it off in an instant. The wires rip and crumple under his mechanical hands. The battery breaks into pieces when it collides with the tiled floor. It briefly sparks, before any vestiges of life disappear.

Mind can still feel his pulse, hear his blood [is it blood? Blood is not supposed to pour out a vivid blue. Logically, it cannot be blood. Logic has little meaning in the grand scheme of his life, or so it seems.] roaring through his head, through his entire body. But it is nowhere near as bad as that damned ticking.

Light glints off the blade as Mind raises the knife, holding his other arm out [for dissection].

[No, this is not a dissection. Mind would like to consider this a whim, but he has put far too much thought into this for that to be true. This is something new. Foreign. Unknowable– at least until he presses the blade into his skin.]

He sucks in air through clenched teeth, lowering the blade, pressing it down, cold seeping into his skin, do it do it do it do it do it–

Slice.

It's nothing, for a moment. Until warmth blooms on his arm, the skin tinting blue where it was irritated. Mind’s arm shakes.

He stares at it. He did that. He did it. He finally…

[Mind can’t count the amount of times he has had to bandage Heart and Soul’s arms– mostly Heart, Soul could get… strange, when it came to touch. That didn’t stop Mind, not when it was necessary. But unlike Heart, Soul was willing to care for his wounds alone; he did, often.

In some strange way, Mind relished the times Soul was too broken to care for himself.

Did he want to be useful? Or did he simply want to feel Soul, be close to him. It doesn’t matter, really. It’s not like he’ll ever be close to Soul again.]

It isn’t enough. He hasn’t even broken skin yet.

Mind breathes, even as his shaking causes him to choke on air. He shifts his arms, lining the blade up against a new patch of skin. He presses down a little harder than he did last time. The cold of the blade mingles with the warmth of his irritated skin, it feels strange, tender.

[Mind runs perpetually cold. Heart always ran hot, far hotter than would be natural were they normal humans.

Mind drinks in the feeling. It's the best he’ll get, now.]

Slice. He can feel the blade carving through his skin.

Blue beads rise to the surface of his arm. He watches it, fascinated with the sight of his own blood. Nausea pounds at his throat.

When he grows bored of staring at the blood on his arm, he raises his knife yet again, aligning it above the previous cut.

Slice. Realign, slice.

Twin wounds weep in sync as Mind’s focus is torn between the blood on his blade and his arm. He can feel his composure slipping [not that he has much, these days], his breathing has grown haggard.

Mind places the blade on the side of the bathtub, holding his wounded arm and simply staring at his handiwork. Unbidden, he thinks of Heart, with fresh wounds far deeper than what he has now inflicted on himself. Briefly, he considers one more cut, deeper, carving through the layers of skin. Something to remind him of Heart.

He disregards the idea. There will be time for that later. Not now. His shaking has grown near unmanageable as it is.

Mind throws the knife into the sink, listening to the grating sound of metal against ceramic as he attempts to school his breathing into something approaching normality. He grips his knees, just a bit harder than is necessary. His arm still throbs, some of the blood has dripped down, forming more lines on his arm.

When he begins to feel somewhat better, Mind staggers to his feet, toppling forward and gripping onto the sink to steady himself. Some of his blood is already smeared on the sink from where the knife collided with it. It doesn’t matter, he can clean it. He can fix it. It will all be just as it was.

Mind shoves his arm under the tap, turning the water on. It comes out harsh, a hard stream that batters against his tender skin. It stings. He gets a rag, douses it in soap, and rubs it against the row of wounds. He doesn’t bother being gentle. He wants this to hurt. The soap stings, he thinks he may have even torn a few of the cuts open wider.

[Mind wiped down Heart’s arms, as carefully as he could possibly manage. Heart barely moved, all of his energy seemingly drained, leaving him along with the blood that wept from the countless cuts on his arms. Once Mind deemed Heart’s arms sufficiently clean, he grabs a roll of bandages, gently wrapping them around the arm closest to him. As he does, he notices Heart’s eyes slipping shut, his posture going slack.

Mind finished one arm, and moved onto the next. Heart barely seemed to notice, beyond a slight hum as Mind touched him.

Mind let out a weary sigh as he finished, looking over Heart once more, just to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. He hadn’t, of course.

“[Artemis? I’m done. I need you to get up,]” Mind kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb Heart more than he had to.

Heart made a small, sleepy noise in the back of his throat. Mind sighed as he placed a hand on Heart’s shoulder, gently shaking him. Heart’s eyes cracked open under the assault, though he immediately leaned into Mind, burying his face against the other’s chest.

“[Heart. I will carry you if you do not get up.]” Despite Mind’s refusal to say so out loud, his threat was clear: I am not as strong as you, there is a good chance I will drop you.

“(Do it, then,)” Heart mumbled.

“[Fine,]” Mind growled, entirely lacking malice.

Mind grabbed Heart, lifting him up by his armpits. Heart did not help whatsoever; he simply went limp, dropping all of his weight onto Mind. Mind fumbled, attempting to get some sort of purchase to carry Heart, though he found himself struggling to properly wrap his arms around Heart with the other’s wings getting in the way.

Somehow, somehow , he managed to stumble from the bathroom to Heart’s bedroom. Silently, he thanked whoever had designed the house for the short distance between the two rooms.

Mind practically threw Heart onto the bed, though he at least took care to throw him stomach down, not wanting to risk damaging his wings. Heart’s wings flap as he falls onto the bed, as though he were attempting to fly. Mind barely manages to suppress a smirk at the sight.

He could be cute, sometimes. Not that Mind would ever admit that.

“(Ow…)” Heart grumbled, though it was clear he was merely saying it for the sake of saying it.

“[You’re fine. I did warn you, you’re lucky we made it this far,]” Mind reassured Heart, though he couldn't help but assert that he had predicted this.

He carefully sat next to Heart, though it wasn’t long before Heart crawled up beside him, wrapping his arms and wings around Mind and pulling him down to the bed so they could lie together. The bandages around Heart’s arms grazed Mind, though he didn’t care.

“(Stay with me,)” Heart whispered, his voice betraying how tired he was.

Mind simply hummed in response. He and Heart both knew he wouldn’t dream of leaving Heart, especially like this.]

Mind stares at his now clean arms. His head feels foggy, he supposes this must be how Heart always felt after his own moments of self-destruction. All of a sudden, it made sense why Heart would always cling to him, lean into every touch. It drains a person, slicing your own skin open.

He steels himself, reaching with his unmarred arm to the bathroom cabinet, quickly finding the roll of bandages right where it always is, at the very front. Easily reached. He quickly wraps the bandages around his arm, pulling it tight. He can already see it staining blue.

Mind grabs the knife next, quickly washing his blood off the blade. Despite everything, it's still pristine. He plans to keep it that way.

Mind could return to his room, but what would be the point? At best, he stumbles his way into bed, where he lays alone clutching his still aching arm until sleep overtakes him– at worst, Heart and Soul have returned, and he runs into them on their way to Soul’s room. Neither of them would notice the bandages, he’s sure, but he would still rather not speak to them.

[He doesn’t trust himself. Not when he feels so… weak. He can’t allow himself to bend, to break, to lean into them. He should never be the one who needs support, but especially not now. He needs to be strong. He needs to be the ruler. He needs to save them.

Them? Who is ‘them’? Does he need to save Heart and Soul? Heart, yes, of course– but Soul? Soul has always been this– no, Soul has always been worse than this. At least now he is happy, at least now he seems to have stopped hurting himself– though Mind knows the reason for that, he sees the halo of bruises around Heart’s neck.

Mind and Heart. He will save them both. He has to.]

Mind leaves the knife on the side of the sink, after carefully drying it. He pulls his sleeve down over the bandages, only slightly wincing as the fabric disturbs the bandages, upsetting the wounds.

He stumbles back to the bath, sitting inside, before curling up. He unties Heart’s hoodie from where it had been wrapped around his waist, pulling it on top of him like a blanket.

He falls asleep with the light still on, buzzing away above him.