#dicky posts

It wasn't detectable in any kind of bloodwork test, X-Rays, mental evaluations or any other kind of prick-and-prod tests he had been subjected to. It was almost as if it someone - or something - had ingrained itself deep inside Chase's head and was just playing some kind of sick joke on him. It had a mind of its own and it fucking knew when to go back into its dormant state and hide away like a coward.

He had hoped after the first few weeks that it would fade on its own. Patience pays, Henrik always says.

However, at five weeks in, things were becoming worse. He went from headaches that ruined his entire day, panic attacks that never seemed to end and multiple scratches and bruises that were littered all over his body. Shadows of what once were lurked just outside his field of view and mocked him relentlessly with their barely audible murmurs.

Six weeks after the first "incident" and he became Henrik's test subject. He knew he'd be in good hands. Hell, he'd give the man his life if he needed to.

Eight weeks brought upon narcolepsy and constant sleep paralysis.

Thirteen and he's stared down the barrel of a loaded .45 more times than he'd like to admit.

Eighteen presented a half-assed "Depression" diagnose. He's spent disgusting amounts on therapy and antidepressants that only seemed to make him worse.

Twenty-four landed him in ICU.

Here he was, four days shy of thirty weeks deep in this hell of his, looking for any goddamn way to solve his pain.

"Again." Chase pulled open the medicine cabinet and rubbed his temple harshly, hoping that it would ease his headache. Henrik had always said that pressure helped the pain. He couldn't be wrong, could he?

Chase took a step away from the sink, catching a handful of bottles that fell towards him when he opened the medicine cabinet. He had meant to clean the cabinet a while ago but he couldn't find it in himself to waste energy on it. Maybe now would be a good time to clean, get his mind off of his current situation.

He grabbed the nearest bag and tossed the empty bottles into it, checking each label before doing so. He was never able to stick to one prescription for more than a month before they changed him again. Dozens of bottles, all from a different kind of doctor, yet all having the same useless effects. It was if they were just handing him nothing but sugar pills in hopes to placate him. Or maybe they had decided to wring out every filthy cent from him that they could.

It wasn't long before he had the bag in his hand full to the brim from bottles and post-its on who he should let dissect him this time around. He closed the now barren cabinet and tiptoed through his house, towards the kitchen. Even after not seeing his kids in months, he still had the habit of being as quiet as possible.

As he placed his foot on the final step, he heard what he could've only assumed to be a small cry for help. He wasn't sure exactly where it had come from, but it seemed to have been from behind him. He turned around slowly and peered up the steps, nails digging through the plastic bag and embedding it into his skin. He tried desperately to recall if he had heard something while he was cleaning, but all his mind gave him was fuzz.

Having decided that it was nothing more than just a neighbor playing a movie far too loudly, he backed away from the landing and made his way into the kitchen. He felt his way along the smooth wall for the light switch, growing more uncomfortable in the darkness with every passing second. "Goddamn it." Chase pushed himself away from the wall and carefully moved through the darkness.

He set the bag down beside him and leaned against the counter, resting his head in his hands. "How'd I sink so low?" His voice was nearly deafening in the silent room. He hadn't expected anything more than a low groan from the barren home; after all, it didn't hurt to toss your problems to the void sometimes.

He let his head sink between his hands and onto the cold counter-top, marble stinging at his skin. It'd been a long time since he had been like this, slumped over in the kitchen with his face hidden. So long, that he could barely remember the laughter from his kids as they hid away from him, waiting for him to admit that they were masters at hide and seek.

Of course, he had let them think he didn't find them, it was the least he could have done for them. They trotted around the house with their heads held high and poorly made "Hide and Seek Champion" banners. They were so proud of their victory that Chase framed the banners and hung them above their door frames.

"You're a pitiful sight. Filling in the gaps with false memories are we?" The voice pierced Chase's spine and left him paralyzed, as if he were a deer that had finally been caught. "You know that's not what really happened, is it? There's no need to lie to yourself any longer, we're all friends here, aren't we?"

Chase let out an unsteady breath and closed his eyes tightly, trying to convince himself this was just another hallucination of his. This was nothing more than his subconscious fucking with him, or maybe he had simply passed out from exhaustion?

Either way, he didn't want to stick around to find out. He dug his fingernails into his hands and pushed himself away from the counter and stumbled backwards into the fridge. Even in the dark, he was able to make out a figure lounging on the couch, twirling something between their fingers.

They stood up slowly and limped towards Chase. "You meant to hurt her, didn't you? You knew she was running up the stairs and yet," The figure stopped before the patch of moonlight shining into the kitchen. "You're truly are a sick man." The figure dropped what they had been holding and charged at Chase, causing him to cower and cover himself with his arms.

When nothing had struck him, he unraveled himself to find an empty house once more.

Chase fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he knew all too well with shaky hands, not even allowing his friend to get a word in.

He shook his head and closed all of the programs he figured would be used in one of Jack’s normal recording sessions. He hadn’t been wrong yet and hoped today wouldn’t be the day he fucks everything up again.

Chase looked at the small clock and ran a hand through his hair, sigh escaping him. It was only 11pm and yet he didn’t feel tired - Who knew Jack’s fucked up sleep schedule would have carried over to Chase and his friends? - something that wasn’t too unusual for him.

Whenever Jack needed to kill time, he’d interact with the community. Even if he wasn’t replying to people or liking things or reblogging their fanart, he was always watching them. Chase wondered deep down if his friend used the fans as his own getaway for whatever problems he was dealing with.

It hurt to know that his oldest, and best, friend could have been struggling with his own demons, demons so draining he felt as if he had to deal with it alone. It hurt to know that Jack could have felt so low he-

Chase stopped those thoughts before they could worsen and send him into another fit - it’d be his fifth one today - and opened Tumblr.

He was immediately greeted with the blogs of active community members and friends. His entire dashboard was full of nothing but love and fanart for the other egos. Countless upon countless drawings of Marvin and Jameson teaching other their magic tricks, stories of Jackieboy Man becoming the big hero he wanted, theories on where Schneep had been on vacation, so much praise for “Jack” and Robin on the amazing editing for Anti. (He tried to avoid those posts as often as he could but it was hard when everyone thought this was nothing but an act and wouldn’t stop praising the two men.))

There was nothing for Chase of course. He was overlooked in all of this madness, but he was fine with that. When you’ve been forgotten for so long, it becomes second nature to not want to be wanted.

He didn’t let it get him down and kept scrolling through, liking random posts and adding harmless comments he knew his friend would have said. Whenever a post came up talking about “Jack” has been acting weird lately or how “Jack” looked “so cute in this new video”, he wanted to breakdown and scream.

He was tired of having to pretend like Jack. They didn’t know how much Chase despised having to act like him, how he hated seeing his reflection in the mirror after, how he drank himself damn well near to death every night. They didn’t know how much Chase felt like an imposter and just wanted to rip this sickening mask off.

He’d never let them know something was wrong. He would never put the fans in such a helpless state.

He went like that until one particular post had stopped him his tracks, one that had sparked something deep inside of him that he thought were long dead.

It was only a simple post. Yet the words stared back at him with such…love. The notes on the post were in the thousands. Thousands of people who agreed.

He scrolled through them and began to sob.

There were thousands of people saying they loved him. Not Jack. Him. Chase. Thousands of people who had poured their whole heart into their messages, who felt Chase’s pain, who sympathized, who wanted nothing more than his happiness.

He quickly left the post, not wanting to believe that many people cared, scrolling down some more. Surely they had made a typo in the post. There was no way on Earth that he could feel so cared for by so many strangers that have only seen him and heard his tragic story once.

But as he continued down each post, all he was met with was love.

“Reblog if you want Chase Brody to be your dad,”

“Reblog if you want to hug Chase Brody,”

“Reblog if you want Chase Brody to know you care about his well being,”

Nothing but meaningless posts to any other passerby, the words being haphazardly strung together to fill some random guy’s ego. Words that wouldn’t invoke even the slightest of reactions inside of them, words that they’d quickly skim over only to be forgotten a few moments later.

He sat there in shock. His mind wouldn’t let him believe this. His heart yearned for this. His would needed it.

Each post had ended with a phrase that had been overused to the point of losing it’s meaning. A phrase that was practically spit out at every chance someone got. A phrase which the broken man never thought he’d see directed at him.

“We love you, Chase.”

He covered his mouth with a shaky hand and stared at the kind words through teary eyes. He suddenly understood why Jack spent so much time on here.

These people, their words, their art, their feelings, everything about them was like a warm hug to Chase. A hug he never knew he needed until now. A hug that could have possibly saved his life. A hug that would stick with him.

A number had gone up by one in the corner of the screen. Something he couldn’t have normally noticed but had managed to grab his attention this time.

He clicked on the ask box, seeing first hand just how hectic Jack had it. There were hundreds of asks pouring in by the second, never seeming to slow down. All of them asking how meeting Ryan Reynolds went, how he’s doing, just harmless asks.

But the newest ones had stuck out to him. It was more support from the fans. More kinds words.

He spent hours answering all of them, thanking everyone for how generous they were being. He didn’t want anyone to feel as if they were being left out. Even if it meant it took him until the crack dawn to answer everyone who was being so nice to him, he’d do it.

Once he finally answered everything he could, he opened the text feature on the godforsaken website and simply typed out: “Thank you for your kind words. It means a lot. :)” He knew that he had to hold on, not only for his kids, but for them now as well.

As soon as he pressed published he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Chase smiled to himself as he closed everything. He wanted this high to last forever. He went to sleep repeating the all too kind stranger’s words.

It was a pipe dream to even imagine that Stacy would want him back in her miserable life. She had left him for a good reason. He was a “danger” to the kids she’d say. God knows she didn’t shut the hell up about it. Courts favor the crying mother who fears for her life more than the desperate father anyway. It was rigged for Chase from the moment he put the ring on her finger.

Chase’s hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched tightly at the memory. It was all a fucking lie and she knew it. She knows how much the kids meant mean to him. She knew how much he depended on them for his own mental sanity. She knew damn good and well that leaving would have only pushed him to have another one of his “spells”.

His mind conjured up the last time he saw his family happily together, without officers and agents surrounding them. It felt as if it had been a decade since then, and it wouldn’t be wrong to say it wasn’t nearing that long either. Life begins to drag on by when you’ve lost everything you’ve ever cared for.

Chase bolted up right in his seat and opened his mouth to scream, half expecting for a large black cloud to leave his body. However, all that left was a gut-wrenching cry that would have sent shivers down even the strongest person’s body.

“Goddamn it!” He smacked his hands down roughly on the table and launched himself up from the chair, letting it hit the dry wall behind him. He turned towards the dull “thud” and threw the chair to the ground, making sure to give it a few good kicks once it had landed. Chase’s hand collided with the painting and cracked the glass, splitting the skin between his knuckles. “I hate you!” He doubled over and ripped at his hair wanting nothing more than to make this stop. He just wanted everything to cease existing for a single fucking moment.

A small chuckle rang throughout the room, only adding fuel to his inexplicable rage. Chase let out a low growl, pulled himself up with the help of the table and let his gaze settle on the puppet sitting haphazardly across from him. Chad’s stringy hair covered his eyes, sequined silver bowtie inches away from his lifeless body, shirt crumpled at the back at if he had been tossed onto the table with reckless abandon.

He could feel the doll’s hateful gaze on him. This one stare from a fucking children’s puppet felt a thousand times more harmful than that of his friend’s. It didn’t make sense to him how an inanimate object made feel him so uneasy.

He bent over the table and grabbed Chad by his small hand, holding him a few mere inches from his face. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? How about you try focusing on your own damn life instead of mine for a change!” The doll swayed from side to side in Chase’s grasp and stared at him with hollow eyes.

Chase quickly flung the poor puppet to the opposite side of the room causing it’s small body to land with a loud and sickening crunch. The room grew incredibly cold causing Chase’s breath to come out in visible wisps of smoke.

All of the rage previously bottled inside the man had disappeared, soon replaced with regret and fear. He moved towards the lump on shaky legs -careful to keep his distance in case Chad suddenly sprung to life and attacked him- and moved a strand of yarn to the side. “Chad?” His voice came out in a broken whisper, clearly on the cusp of a breakdown. “Chad, you okay? Come on buddy, say something…”

Chase’s vision had grown steadily darker, leaving nothing but him and the bloodied mess of skin and bones in front of him. His brow furrowed in confusion at the sight. It didn’t make sense for there be a puddle of blood under Chad. He was a doll, full of stuffing and stitches for god’s sake! The worst that could have happened to him would be for an arm to tear off, but not…not this.

His breath hitched in his throat as he realized what was actually in front of him. Of course it wasn’t Chad. “N-no! I didn’t mean to!” Chase scrambled over to the child’s body, not caring that his hands were now covered in crimson. He rocked the body gently in his arms -as if it would heal the bones sticking out at various angles and the large gash in its’ forehead- muttering to himself.

Sobs racked throughout Chase’s body causing his throat to close up tightly and his chest burning as though he was being stabbed repeatedly between his shoulder blades. He could feel the blade slowly twist and turn inside of him, fucking his lungs.

The little breath he still had left his body in one fell whoosh. Chase gripped tightly at his clothes with one hand and gritted his teeth. He knew he deserved this pain but it’s not say it still didn’t hurt like hell to him.

He pushed himself up -nearly falling down face first into the table- and shook his head, pushing his own problems to the side. Chase hugged the figure tightly to his chest and looked around the room frantically. He had to get help. Even if it was a passerby who heard him screaming, he still needed someone to hear.

He stumbled towards the door and flung it open, being greeted with an impenetrable void. Before he could so much as mentally form a sentence, he was knocked back into the wall. His head lolled to the side like a broken puppet thrown to the side by it’s puppeteer.

“Now now, do you really think I’d let you get away that easily Chasey?” A laugh echoed throughout the room, changing frequency with each bounce off wall. Chase attempted to tilt his head towards the voice, only to fall back down at the sudden jolt of pain. He was sure he had pinched a nerve in his neck, at least, if not fractured his skull. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting help for this thing?”

Chase frowned and looked down at his lap to see that the child had gone, now in Anti’s possession. The demon twirled his knife and smirked down at the lump, before throwing it towards the large window. Chase watched helplessly as it bounced off the glass and landed at his feet. He half expected to see a puddle of mush in front of him.

Anti crossed his arms and snapped his fingers, hoping to get the other man’s attention. “Earth to Chase.” The demon growled out, growing frustrated with the silence. He kneeled down in front of the man and grabbed a handful of stuffing. “It’s fake. Stuffing. Chad.” The young man in front of Anti seemed to tense up at the name and then relax once he had understood the context. It was just a doll. It wasn’t real.

The demon huffed and crossed his arms again. “It’s no fun tormenting you when you’re stuck thinking about your bitch of an ex wife. You know she left you for good reason. Get over it or do something about it.” Chase pushed himself into a sitting upright position and stared at the demon confused. What did he mean by “do something about it”? Of course he had tried doing something about it! He spent months after months in couples therapy trying to make her happy, he let her go out and meet new guys in hopes she would come back and realize that Chase was the only man for her. He’d give his fucking life for her if he had to. So of course he tried doing something about it.

The demon leaned on the table, smirking down at Chase, his knife idly twirling in one hand and Chase’s phone in the other. The words rung loudly in the other man’s mind, trying so desperately to find a connection to what he was seeing.

Get over it or do something about it.

Chase swallowed hardly as he came to the realization of what the demon meant. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to put two and two together earlier if he wasn’t in this current state.

“It’s up to you. Your fate, your choice.” Anti continued to absentmindedly play with his knife, careful not to cut his hand open. “I’m just here to help give you nice little nudge in the right direction. But I should let you know that you’re on a timer here, Chase. And if you don’t pick soon, your dear family will end up like your old friend Henrik.”

Chase pushed himself up slowly and braced himself, trying to find another way out of this situation. All he needed was time. Time for someone to come in or call or something.

“Anti, can’t you find it in yourself just once to feel pity? I know it’s hard for someone as ancient as you but,” Chase shrugged his shoulders, unsure of where this would end up going. Anti just rolled his eyes and unlocked Chase’s phone with ease, scrolling through the countless photos of his family that were still on the device.

Anti landed on a photo of what seemed to be Chase and Stacy’s first date and he felt his heart sting at the sight. He really had fallen madly for this girl. Fuck, it was clear in his smile from all the pictures that he had really wanted the relationship to last. It was sickening to Anti.

The demon’s thumb hovered over the “delete” button. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this to anger Chase or help him. Anything had to be better than watching the poor soul going through memories and crying at them all the time. Just as the demon was about to press the button, he heard a poorly choked back cry from the man across from him.

Chase pointed towards Anti’s hand with an open palm, inviting the demon to hand something over. Anti held the phone above his head between two fingers, not letting it slip from him just yet. “Is this what you want? It’s pathetic that you’re still so obsessed with them when they so clearly despise you. There’s a reason nobody enjoys your company for long, you know.” Anti let out a huff when Chase hadn’t so much as blinked at his taunt.

Chase shook his head slowly and pointed behind Anti’s head, at the upper section of the cabinet. A single key hung to the side, with a note that read Keep from Chase during his episodes. Anti glanced between the note and Chase’s open palm before putting the puzzle pieces together. Chase was finally going to do something about all of this for once and Anti had the pleasure of front row.

The demon’s heart fluttered slightly as he made his way towards the lock and key, trying not to let his excitement show. Anti let out a short laugh as he pulled the oddly heavy toy gun down. Were they really concerned about him killing himself with a NERF foam dart? They must have been as crazy as Chase if they believed it would actually hurt him.

Anit slid the toy across the table to Chase, eagerly wanting to see if would do some actual damage or just bounce off Chase’s thick skull. The demon would never admit it, but, he secretly hoped for the latter. As nice as it would be to know you helped someone make the right choice, it was even more satisfying to know you had done it yourself.

Chase stumbled over the table, his fingers gripping the round edge tightly, and let out quick, shaky breaths. He mulled over his two options, silently weighing the outcomes. Either way, someone would get hurt -more than likely to be Chase in both scenarios- and he had wanted to avoid that as much as possible. However, if his own demise meant that there was a chance his family would be safe, it was a chance he was more than willing to take.

After all, he had said he would die for them.

He didn’t have all day to waste waiting for an outcome, he had other things to do. More pressing matters that watching this wreck of a man. Anti snapped his fingers impatiently in front of Chase’s face. Chase jumped slightly and placed a shaky hand on the toy gun. It was now or never.

Anti couldn’t hide his glee as Chase raised it to his head, finger so close to the trigger. “It’s about time you listened to my advice, Chase. You know, I’m gonna miss this when you’re gone. All good things must come to an end, right? You of all people should know the best, considering your extensive track record.” Anti chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t tell anyone -or else I’ll have to kill you my damned self- but you were always my favorite. Maybe if ‘Ze Good Doctah’ is back in good working condition when I return, we can have this fun again.”

Chase figured that now would have been the perfect time to tell Anti off, to tell him everything he thought about him. But, he found it quite difficult to think clearly with a gun pressed into his temple. His unspoken words will just have to be lost to the wind this time around.

He knew when to pick his battles -which ones he would have a chance at winning and which he would majorly fail at- and he knew that this wasn’t one he could end up winning. Not unless he had a miracle of some sort happen and Lord knows he was out of luck now. Chase just hoped that Anti would keep his word and leave everyone else alone, but it’s hard to know just when the evil deity in front of you is going to keep their word.

“You win this time round. I hope you’re happy to know just how much damage you’ve caused.”

A deafening bang rang throughout the room, causing even Anti to flinch to cover his eyes. He didn’t really think Chase would have gone through with this, he half hoped that he would have tried to turn the gun towards himself. He always thought that Chase would have gone out like a hero -just like his old friend Jackaboyman- but endings aren’t always set in stone.