Even with the cap on, the smell was almost overpowering.

And yet, Vincent’s shaking arm still clutched the bottle of cleaner.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

He couldn’t do it.

He didn’t really want to die. Did he?

But there wasn’t any other option. He couldn’t keep doing this.

He was constantly sent home from fear he wasn’t ready yet. He didn’t want to be treated like a baby. He didn’t want every tiny thing earning him a expulsion. He didn’t want to lie around the house all day. He wanted to work; he wanted to help. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to prove to everybody that he could still do things.

But he was stuck here. There were only so many times one could wash the dishes, vacuum, and only so much television someone could stand.

And he had to be watched. No one trusted him by himself. He couldn’t be left alone. Someone always had to take time out from their day to keep an eye on him.

He was so useless.

He was such a burden.

He took Shera and Cid from their jobs because he couldn’t do his own. And what this all had to cost them. They could only pretend for so long. When the bill came he’d have to leave. Or they’d have to cut back on expenses, maybe even sell something, but all they had was the house… and the airplanes. He couldn’t deprive Cid of the airplanes or the rockets; he couldn’t take them from their jobs anymore.

Cid loved him, though. He knew Cid loved him. He didn’t want to leave Cid for anything, but even more he wanted to hurt him as little as possible. What if Jenova got some idea and decided to go after the others? What if she had found way of spreading? Even if Cloud destroyed Lucrecia, he’d still be in danger. He’d even be a danger to the others.

Then… then there was Lucrecia. He thought he’d gotten over her. How many times was this going to happen? Every time he thought he was over her, every time he thought he could put her behind him and get on with the rest of his life, she came back. He finally thought he was getting used to living again, without fearing everything and everyone and they had to find the waterfall. She wasn’t dead and it turned his world upside down. He was tortured for her death that never happened. He found happiness with Cid. Everything was going to be perfect and nice to him again and then he was in the snow and all he could think about was her.

It wasn’t mind control when he pulled the trigger. How could he be so stupid? How many times would he fall for everyone’s stupid tricks? How many times was he going to think those that hated him were sincere, that they thought of him as something other than a toy?

He had left Cid for Lucrecia. How the hell could he have done that? He loved Cid. He loved him so much and now… and now he had finally buried Lucrecia and even when she came back, he wanted to be with Cid on the couch, not in her arms, frozen or not. And yet, he still ditched Cid for her. He ditched Cid for the one person Cid hated most. Cid was always mad when he even heard her name; Cid had even said he’d strangle her next time he saw her a few times.

Even if Cid could forget it all, Lucrecia, the money, the job, the attacks, Jenova, there was still something wrong. There was something wrong with him and Vincent knew it.

He was still scared at night, and he didn’t know why. The dreams had stopped. The doctors had prescribed something to prevent nightmares, but all the dreams had stopped. There was nothing there. Nothing but blankness, it was just black, no picture. It was like a TV that was on, but couldn’t show anything. He constantly felt like something was watching him and felt anxious about it, but there was nothing there. There was just Shera going over numbers or Cid snoring next to him. He would have odd episodes of split-second blackness. His eyes would be wide open and yet, everything would disappear for a fraction of a second. He called them migraines to reassure the others. But they weren’t migraines. They never hurt. They were gone immediately. It wasn’t his Vision that was going, he knew that.

The episodes were getting harder to contain. He started losing control over himself. At first, he just stopped. He caught his breath slightly afterwards and went back to what he was doing. But a few days ago he’d dropped a wrench on his foot and was sent home and yesterday he fell over and crashed into the fridge.

He was going insane. He knew it. He had to be. That was the only explanation for it, and he couldn’t tell the others. They’d never believe him and he’d just get worse and worse. He didn’t want to be insane. He was afraid of being insane, but he was. He had to be.

He couldn’t tell Dr. Hayes or call the hospital. They’d just put him in another room with more needles and machines and he’d be alone and afraid and probably vomiting out more drugs.

The only thing worse than being inane, was being locked away for being insane.

He couldn’t do that to Cid. He couldn’t stay with Cid while his mind slowly fell apart and he became some sort of gibbering wreck.

It’d be quick. It was the quickest way to end it that he could think of. It would also be quiet. A gunshot would alert the entire house, if not the entire neighborhood. It’d leave a mess everywhere and the stain would never come out. He wanted Shera and Cid to forget about him, not leave them with a dark, gruesome stain to remind them, or scar them with his head blasted off. Besides, he couldn’t find his gun. It was probably hidden. They probably thought he was being stupid.

It would taste horrible for a few seconds, but if he could manage to swallow, he’d be dead. He’d be unconscious by the time the chlorine and other chemicals hit his throat. Cid would be upset, but only for a while. He wouldn’t hurt them. He wouldn’t torture them or be a burden any longer. It would cost far less in the long run. Funerals weren’t that expensive. They could even use his last coffin; it was still in the basement in Nibelheim.

He took the cap off and the smell hit him like someone punched him in the nose. He lifted the container an inch and then couldn’t go any further. He shook the carton, the liquid sloshed in it, half-promising and half terrifying.

He didn’t really want to die. He didn’t want any more pain. He didn’t want to hurt Cid anymore.

He half threw, half dropped the cleaner, which tumbled down the stairs, spraying all over them. So much for not leaving a stain.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t have Cid mad at him, no matter what. He’d rather Cid threw him out of the house than was angry with him.

He couldn’t have Cid angry with him.

He stood up, shakily. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to tell the others about the mess.

His vision was blurring, and he wondered if he were crying. The stairs in front of him started moving back and forth, swirling together slightly.

He grabbed onto the railing and put his metal hand on his head. Something was happening and had no idea what. His pain pills had been thrown in the trash, so it couldn’t be them. He wasn’t having a panic attack, it wasn’t a flashback, he wasn’t feeling light headed and it didn’t hurt. But it was obvious something was wrong.

Was this what it was like going insane?

Vincent closed his eyes.

Someone else opened them.

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