Sinking Deeper and Deeper

     Fang felt trapped. And whenever he felt trapped, he fled. He had felt trapped at home. He left. He felt trapped in a band. He left. He felt trapped in his addiction. He was actively running away from that part of him. And now he felt that cold prickle roll down the back of his neck as a thought started to bleed into his mind. He could feel that tight sensation in his chest as the anxiety crept in, making it easy to exhale but so much harder to take another breath. What if he was trapped in this place?

     Obviously, he wasn't physically trapped anywhere. Durant had made it very clear multiple times that he could come and go as he pleased. The only one keeping Fang here was Fang. He knew what was outside of Pemberley gates. Drugs, first and foremost. Sweet, mind-numbing, pain-ending, reality-bending drugs. More sober than ever before, Fang knew that was the first thing he'd hit without a question. And he'd spiral from there without a path to walk on. Hit up the concerts. Maybe his bad reputation hadn't made it this far yet. Run into people he knew. Start fights. That was inevitable. More drugs. More booze. More pain. More dumbass pointless existence.

     Fang was fighting against that. He knew he wasn't ready to go back to that just yet. He knew he'd give into it too fast, too hard. It was easier to pretend he was a prisoner here. He could fool himself into believing this was the consequence of his actions. At least while he was here, he didn't have to constantly berate himself for snorting another line or huffing another cloud.

     He could keep avoiding Chris but he knew it was inevitable that one day they'd crash into each other. And then what? The final straw was Tequila. She just couldn't leave him the fuck alone. She didn't know how to keep her nose out of anyone's business. He had zero interest in rekindling any sense of the word family. He was not her little science project.

     All of these reasons to stay and go compounded in a tug of war in Fang's gut. Leave. Stay. Get the fuck away. Don't step foot outside. Just die. Don't lose to that. Honestly, the only thing keeping his feet steady was Durant. He was the only constant thus far. Unyielding support. Did he know he was practically holding Fang together? All of his pieces and rags. He didn't ask for it, he just did it. And it was terrifying. Being in someone's hands and then leaning into it. Because what if they let go? How far would he fall?

     Fang had handled his addictions before. But he had never just cut them out totally. He just replaced one with another. Bounce between a few, including alcohol. But here, all of it was cut back. Three cigarettes a day and if he was good, maybe two joints. That was it. He had to balance his whole day on those five sticks of bliss. He kept a better track of that than meals. Some days were easy. Other days he couldn't get out of his own path of destruction. Couple withdrawals, irritability, and mood swings with depression and aggression and you got Fang on a “bad day”.

     He could feel the collapse coming. When he really felt like losing his shit. When he couldn't take it anymore, just for being mad at everything because he was mad and couldn't stop being mad. How everything got a little darker, a little heavier, a little harder to breathe. His heart rate didn't accelerate but it beat harder and slower in his chest. It was throbbing.

     Drugs.

     That would cure it. Drown out the feeling of drowning. It only made sense in the moment. And maybe it never would make sense. But sobriety wasn't going to help a damn thing. Fang sighed hard and heavy, desperately. He scanned across the area, picking out how many trash cans he still had left to go and how far away he was from Durant's place. If he just kept his head down and worked, he should be-

     Fang heard his personal two-way come on. Durant was saying something to him. Fang had a good idea what it might be. He was staring right at him. Blah, blah, blah, “don't this” blah, blah, blah, “avoid that”. Fang flipped it off, dropping his trash sack right where he had stood.

     Drugs were good. Drugs were great. But there was one other addiction he had stronger than any hold drugs had on him and that was self-destruction. Chris Burton. Sweet, sweet addiction to trouble. Once an addict, always an addict. There was no cure. Always just wondering when and how bad the next hit would be.

     He didn't feel like running anymore. He was sick and tired of having to tiptoe around everyone. He was sick and tired fighting against himself. Just one thing after the next and finally, Fang stepped off the ledge. Sweet destruction right at his fingertips when he craved it the most. There was only one thing he wanted out of this: just one answer. No matter what it was, that's all it would take.

     If anyone was going to bring him to absolute ruin, it was Chris.

     Chris had finally waved his white flag and surrendered to painkillers. The ache in his leg had not subsided. It was going to take longer to heal up: nothing major. The impact caused micro splits in what had been pieced together nearly a decade ago. Just unfortunate circumstances. More annoying was that it had to be on his medical file now that he had been officially checked over.

     Not even a year here and Chris was already showing a flaw. No one else knew the previous injury ever caused problems because he never had to report it before and Dave never spoke of it to anyone else. It had all been managed in secrecy. Sure, anyone that knew Dave knew his son had broken a leg when he was very little. That was common knowledge. But no one knew the years it took to fully recover from it. Now it was all tucked away in a small file complete with x-rays and a small note claiming patient had “no prior interference; new development”. A lie to save any face he could. It was all he could do to salvage the situation before it became something it wasn't. It'd heal up again and that would be it. Nothing more. Until the next freak accident.

     That meant getting right back to work. So Chris took the easy way out. He gingerly walked his ass to the infirmary and got himself sorted in the dead of night. The less eyes, the better. It was bad enough William Darcy would get a whiff of his weakness. He didn't need any more than that.

     Chris wasn't the type to act like he was “better” than the overnight staff by ignoring them. It was more like it was half past midnight and it would be really weird to stop for any kind of chat with people he didn't even know. They had shit to do and he was keen to get back to his bed too. So, yea, he purposefully sidestepped one of them coming right at him.

     Fang collided right into Chris, barring him with one arm and shoving him back, “Alright, dick head. Stop pretending you haven't fucking seen me.”

     Chris's heart about jumped out of his throat! He fumbled and dropped his phone first and then staggered backwards at the force of the assailant pulling him back. And then- instant recognition. Chris staggered back one more step, truly shell shocked and not able to hide it well. “Holy shit…” was all he could manage to mutter. So the rumors of some tatted loudmouth on staff came to fruition, the worst possible outcome: it was Fang. How? His mouth hung open, taking in that it really was him…a version of him. He looked…off. "Fang? What the-"

     "Why did you call me?" Fang wasted no time and got straight to the point, anticipating security would be on their way to come separate them any moment now. Maybe Durant would come get him himself. Fuck it. There would be consequences. Fang didn't care. Perhaps this was a bit unfair since Fang knew Chris had been here for a few weeks now. He had gone through the whole process of how they could have both possibly landed at the same place over time, absolutely unintentionally on both of their parts. Chris was just going to have to catch up quickly based on his shocked expression. 

     Chris couldn't shake the shock fast enough. How!? How did he even know he was here!? How did he find him!? Chris mentally reprimanded himself. How could he forget the spotlight that followed him? The "Golden Boy" transferring stables all on his own, separating from the "Jump Father" hadn't gone over quietly in the press, nor did William Darcy let Chris skimp out on media hour. It was part of the deal for joining Pemberley Stud. 

     So it should be no surprise that with a few good searches on the web, Fang could track him down again, just as he could before. What did he want? Chris first unapologetically glanced at Fang's hands, making sure he wasn't armed or something (never knew with someone like Fang…) and then to his phone on the ground. There was a security feature on it that would call for security if he could get to it. The last time Chris tried to call Fang one last time was forever ago. Three months? Four? He scoffed, just unable to fathom what was happening. "What? Why are you here, exactly? Just to ask that? You're not, like, stalking me-" 

     Fang groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Chris was smarter than this. Catch up, Ponyboy. "I'm not here for you, okay? I mean, right this very second, yes, but not here…here. I work here,” he flashed his park badge all too quickly. “I have connections here. It's bad luck coincidence for both of us, okay? I didn’t celebrate either. Fuck off about yourself for just a goddamn minute. Why did you call me? Answer that and I'll gladly fuck off again.” 

     “What??” Work!? Connections? Now the situation was even harder to believe, not easier! In what world did the human trash can have connections to a horse park of the highest esteem owned by a very wealthy businessman? And Fang did rock- music- kind of- nothing related to Pemberley! Chris sighed again, shaking the confusion from his head as best he could. "Well, uh, why didn't you answer?" He deflected to buy more time while he was in a state of shock and desperately trying to catch up. He didn't exactly want to talk to an aggressor anyway, feeling the urge to grab his phone and split. Not that Fang ever did anything to him but who could blame Chris being uneasy when met with this attitude? 

     "I didn't answer because I was pissed off at you," Fang answered bluntly and honestly. He wasn't going to play beat around the bush with Chris anymore. They had done that in the past and it sank the ship faster than the sails could pull air. He held his ground firm, continuing on with a hard expression, "You made me feel like a piece of trash. I went on a bender to drown out your fucking voice reminding me what a piece of shit I am. Not that I didn't know that already but, fuck, you were a real bag of asshole and not the kind I'd like to play with. So I'm tweaked out of my fucking brains and whose name comes up on my phone, calling my ass? Christofuckin' Burton. I threw that shit into the river because it was going to be that phone or your corpse, bitch. So, that's why I didn't answer. Why did you call? Didn't finish scraping me off your shoe? Had more to add to the list of shit I'm not worth?" He asked again. "Because sure as fuck it wasn't to beg me to come rim your asshole." He could tell by the look on Chris's face that he didn't know how to respond. Good. It was about time something didn't go how he planned. Deal with it. Fang wasn't running from it. He had to crash his face right through it. Either Chris would eviscerate what was left of his esteem or he'd chase Chris off for good but either way, Fang had to hope this would give him the self-mutilation he desired. Just say it, Chris. 

     Chris felt his face get warmer by the second, scowling at Fang. He looked all around them, hoping to dear God no one was around to hear this shit. “Shut the fuck up, for fuck's sake,” Chris hissed, lowering his voice. Chris was over airing his dirty laundry to the public. Turned out to be more annoying than funny. He bent down to pick up his phone only to have Fang pull it away with his foot. His glare met Fang's as he straightened up again. “Do shit like that again and I will call security on you.”

     Fang leaned over, unafraid of the threat, “Bitch, I don't give a fuck. They're already on their way.” Fang backed off slightly after a brief staredown, letting Chris snatch his phone back. He tipped his head to the side, gesturing they go into the building nearby. It was just a shed of staff equipment: cleaning supplies, landscaping tools, extra bins, first aid kits, etc. Chris had every chance to refuse. He hesitated to follow, pulling up the security app anyway. All he had to do was press the screen three times and it would alert any security nearby to his position. Maybe it was his ego or his pride that made Chris groan and follow Fang. He never had any intention to say things like Fang claimed. Fuck him for thinking such.

     Fang's card gave him access, proving to Chris he wasn't lying about that, at least. It also sent out another ping to security that he was still in a permitted area. Durant would be the one who knew he was with someone he shouldn't be with. That would buy him a little extra time. Durant wouldn't call the hound squad (literal squad of dogs) on him the first time. No way. Probably. Fang was banking on that. He wouldn't be so lucky the next time, he reckoned. This was a chance encounter that should have never happened. 

     As Fang flipped on the light, he turned the two-way back on that had gone quiet now. He sent one message back to Durant, “We're just talking. I told you he'd start shit. Don't be a dick.” And then he immediately shut it off again. 

     “What the fuck was that for?” Chris asked, reluctant to come in. “You came to me. I didn't-”

     “My parole officer,” Fang grumbled, waving Chris's bitching off. “Who is on his way to kick my ass for talking to you, precious prince. But it's fucking worth it to me. I'm just buying time. Are you coming in or do you prefer me to shout?” 

     Chris scoffed, taking a step back to weigh his options. He could honestly just walk away from all of this. The light shone down on a shell of Fang and that was saying something because he never looked all that healthy before but now… he looked like he had been hung out to dry. He was so irritating. This was how he always was! Just did whatever he wanted! Just show up and start chewing his ass like it was all Chris's fault. No “hey”. No “hi”. Just, fuck you, Chris. Bastard. But Chris wasn't going to take the slander, stepping into the shed and partially shutting the door behind him, keeping a hand on the knob. "You fucked off the face of the planet. Guess I know why you didn't bother returning the call either. Who throws their phone into a river!?” 

     "And that's your problem, how?" Fang snapped back. Excuses. Chris always had excuses. Nothing changed. "Is that not exactly what you fucking wanted me to do? Fuck off out of your life. Was I not fucking doing what you wanted? So you were calling to make sure I was still fucked completely off? Seriously, what the fuck did you want, Chris? You. Called. Me. Not the other way around.” Fang huffed, forcing himself to breathe easier. He convinced himself he could get through this without putting a fist through anyone's face. “This is me picking up the phone. Hi, Chris, what do you want?” 

     Chris scoffed, leaning against the door, "Stop being such an asshole.”

     "Stop being such a bitch," Fang retaliated, his hackles clearly raised. He didn't have to play nice with Chris anymore. Fang was nothing to him anymore. He wasn't enough, he wasn't right, what did it matter if he hurt his feelings now? Did he want to? Not necessarily. But, fuck, why couldn't he just say something!? Just say the words! Did he have to beg!?

     Chris's eyes didn't move from Fang's but otherwise would have rolled. “If you didn't want to talk to me then and you're not supposed to now then why are you asking?” Was he seriously looking for a fight? Chris wouldn't put it past him. While he didn't ever get physically aggressive with Chris before, this was a side he always assumed lay underneath the drugs and alcohol. Well, Chris was probably due for his very first crazy ex. Everyone had one, right? Joy. 

     Fang tipped his head to one side, sizing Chris up while he considered the question. “Well, for one, I'm more sober now than I have been in fuckin’ years and it sucks. And that means I've got nothing to keep your shit out of my head while we're sharing the vicinity of this hell hole. And for two…fuck. No, that's it. That's why. You didn't have a damn problem telling my ass off before you left me there like an idiot. So you call me, I don't fucking answer, and now you get choked up? Can't say it to my fucking face? You didn't mean to? Just a fucking joke? What!? Anything!” 

     "I-..." Chris cut himself off and quietly groaned, caught on his own tongue, just like Fang said. Fuck him for being right. He knew this feeling well from carrying it for years after his riding accident: guilt. He distinctly remembered how heavy and suffocating it felt. He didn't want to bring it up all over again. How would someone like Fang handle it? How many times could someone bring up old wounds until they became new ones? When did the new ones get to be too destructive on top of the old ones? He didn't want to do this again. 

     Fang waited as long as he was willing. Chris still wasn't going to let Fang into his thoughts. Still shoving Fang away even when he was directly involved with whatever was going on. "So, no reason at all?" Fang snapped harder than he intended. He didn't want to be mad at Chris. Even looking at him, even though he knew Chris did not have the same feelings he had in the past, Fang couldn't deny his own feelings. It just made it worse. That pain of not knowing what he would have said if he had picked up the damn phone. The pathetic hope that listed into the deep waters that maybe… just maybe he would have said something different. The fact that it was something he couldn't just fucking say to his face! Why was he so unimportant to him!? 

     "What the fuck did you want from me, Chris!?" Fang demanded, flinging his arms open. "I told you my end. That's what you said you didn't ever get from me. My fucking life, not knowing who the hell I was. I'm the guy that blew all my money on coke, weed, and booze to forget the shit you said to me and how I fucked it all up. How I fucked you up! I didn't mean to! How I didn't fucking care but- that's not fucking true! Sure, I've heard worse shit from more people than you'll ever know but when someone you gave a fuck about and thought maybe they gave a fuck about you says I never fucking cared!? That I couldn't ever be worth a fuck!? And then you- you just fuck off!? It fucking hurts, dickhead! I'm the fucking repeat addict that had to crawl my pathetic ass to some nightclub where one person on this fucking planet was going to get my ass right before I died under a bench from snorting the shit I had. I ditched my band to clean up my shit because I wasn't going to survive this and I fucking knew that.” Raising his voice, Fang was forced to hack through a couple heavy coughs before swallowing hard so he could continue. 

     “I've fucked my body up so much, I had to be put in a medical fucking coma just so I could stop trashing my body for a few fucking days. I'm working my ass off around here because, now, I've got two people, the only two people ever, they've asked me to fucking try harder to better my stupid ass life. Not because people haven't said the same shit before but because they actually fucking mean it. Not like you. Not like you that told me I couldn't ever fucking change after stabbing my fucking heart out that maybe, just maybe, you gave the smallest sliver of shit about me. After you drag my ass around your bullshit fantasy world where I'm supposed to act like some fucking nobody so you got your fucking fame and fortune. Does your fucking daddy love you now that I'm gone? Is that it? Don't be something you can't be, fucking shitty ass Fang. You're right- this is what I am, asshole. Why the fuck-"

     "I was worried about you." Chris let go of the words like dropping pebbles into rapids at the same time he let the door handle go. His voice cracked from the strain on his emotions, hearing the same in Fang's voice. The shock of Fang showing up transferred to the shock of everything Fang dropped on him. Everything Chris had thought might have happened to Fang had happened apart from him actually still being alive. He had survived it. He grit his teeth, hearing his own words spat back at him. And then to drag his dad into it? He knew at the time how much he had hurt Fang but… that's what people did when they were scared and wanted to get away. They hurt whatever it was that was scary so they could escape without further injury. "I thought you killed yourself and it was my fault. I couldn't find-"

     "Oh, poor fucking you," Fang growled, scowling hard at Chris. He could tell that rocked Chris back, not expecting that kind of backlash like it was the first time someone didn't fall into the palm of his hands like they always did. Even Fang wished he would have just caved and took Chris's good intentions, just let this all settle. But Fang couldn't stop. He didn't owe him a goddamn bit of mercy. A rational mind would understand he was just thinking about him. But he was just making it about himself. Misplaced concern that didn't do a damn bit of good. Fucking guilt-fueled pity. He wasn't concerned about Fang at all. Never was. It was always whatever Chris fucking wanted. "Sorry that really brought your fucking day down.” He loomed over Chris even if they were the same height. “And if I had answered? What the fuck would you have said? Or would you just have hung up? Oh, he's alive, my ass is off the hook. Yay me, privileged-ass Christopher. Didn't make some sewer rat empty his veins today. Life is fucking great. All you've ever been is your fucking ego,” Fang spat, jabbing a finger to Chris's chest. 

     "Just stop," Chris muttered quietly, taking another step back, slightly pushing the door open. His face was hot and his eyes stung, angry and embarrassed or ashamed, it was hard to tell at this point. This was not a side of Fang that Chris knew how to deal with; he didn't know who this was anymore. Their arguments in the past were generally just annoyed chewing at each other; fun almost. This was genuine spite from Fang injected right into Chris's bloodstream. He didn't feel threatened but he didn't feel like anything he said would go unchallenged either. What he had thought was caring…well, maybe Fang was right. Chris felt stupid not even realizing. He was spiraling into a world he didn't fit into: second-guessing everything he thought or felt. Maybe it was just wanting off the hook for the guilt he felt. It felt so good when he and Dave mended bridges, maybe he had just been seeking that feeling. Now he just felt regret and it was all thrown back in his face. This is what he got for actually expressing genuine emotion. "I don't know what I was going to say. I wasn't calling with some kind of plan. I was just-"

     "Really?" Fang interjected sharply, unrelenting. "Because you sure seem to think out all your moves that don't fucking involve me in them." He gestured to the house and then a grand sweep, referring to all of Pemberley Park. 

     Chris held his glare firm even if the ground he stood on was shaky. He did care. He had cared. That was the problem. Fang never cared. Even as Chris thought that, he felt himself already start to change the narrative. He did care about himself. That was the problem. He never cared about Fang. Right? Or was it the other way around? What…was happening? "I'm not doing this with you,” Chris said quietly as they could both hear a vehicle pulling up to the building quickly.

Time was up.

     Fang glared back for a beat longer. Fang could put on a mean scowl, void of any feeling other than anger and resentment. Even so, even as angry as he was at Chris, he could tell there was so much more he wanted to say. Whatever it was was welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. Those fucking blue eyes against the red rims, filled with agony: eat his fucking heart out. The most fucked up feeling was wanting Chris to say something hateful, spiteful, degrading. Just to feel that chill. But Chris wouldn't let the words go. Chris knew exactly what he was going to say. He just didn't want to say them out loud. Fuck. And it was tearing Fang's sanity all to pieces. "Sure, whatever you fucking want, Chris" he said plainly, sagging his shoulders. "When you figure out what you wanted to say," he brushed his shoulder against Chris's, pushing the door open and meeting his eyes, "Grow up and say it to my face." 

[Dras feels like giving a reward for anyone that clicks these things because you're the real ones here reading through all this garbage. If you want some free pony art, comment on the dA piece "I'm a real one" and I'll do ya doodle <3 First come, first served for the first one; I only got one in me <''3 and thank you <''3] - claimed! You are appreciated <3

     Chris heard Fang string a line of profanity at whoever it was that just came to get him. A quick glance made Chris think it was Durant after all. Good. Chris declined any offer of a ride or apologies for Fang's erratic behavior. He couldn't believe his eyes, seeing Fang sit on the back of the four-wheeler with his back to him, looking like a sullen child all hunched over and pissed off. If the head of security had a handle on him… no, if he was involved with the head of security… Chris was so confused. He just left without further need of explanation. 

     After all that, the painkiller had kicked in. His leg felt totally fine. Good for it. That was the point, right? No, the point was to kill pain. These weren't working all that great then. He inhaled sharply, angrily wiping the tears off his cheeks, more than he expected to come rolling down. It was everything from angry that Fang had said such aggressive claims, scared he just showed up out of nowhere, embarrassed he had been so taken off guard, disappointed at the things Fang did to himself, relieved he was alive, anxious seeing him again, relieved to see him again… angry that he was relieved… confused. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. Why did he have a vision of how it should have gone? Because he had that drifting hope all along, sinking deeper and deeper that maybe he'd see Fang again and…say something. 

      What was he supposed to say… how was he supposed to feel? When would this happen again? Would it? Should it? What was it that he had wanted to say? Why did it feel like he'd never be able to say the right thing? Why did he care that he should? Why did he want to? Chris hurt and these painkillers weren't doing shit to take it away.