Chapter Text
Trigger warning: Vague mentions of S/A. Not descriptive but might be disturbing.
Mentions of suicide, blood, throwing up, etc may be mentioned.
Ivan was once a joyful child. A beautiful, cute child.
But at 3, his foster parents had an incident happen, and he had to become an orphan, eventually getting into a religious home.
It was strict, but he managed. Until church started.
"Be quiet." The pastor whispered sweetly into his ears for years. "God wants this, you know that. Don't pull away." He added. And the young Ivan at 8 had to nod.
His mental and physical state was ruined. And then, he became afraid. Afraid to leave to go to church. Afraid to leave his mothers side. But she was oblivious. And his father? He wouldn't care. He never did. He begged, trying to explain in the best way he could, but his young brain shut down before he could say anything concerning. Despite it, he was desperate for church. The touch the pastor gave him- Despite inappropriate and morally wrong, legally as well, his family never gave him that attention he craved.
But after stopping church due to concerns of where he went to and who he was with, his young mind forgot the actions, but the feeling stayed. It messed with his mind, and the words. The words that God wanted this. Used against his impressionable mind.
He was a butterfly when he was young. Then, back into a caterpillar. And all he wants is to be a butterfly again. Blood pooled under his body as the tears flowed silently. The wings he begged to have back, white and pure, were torn and scratched, frozen in place. He ruined everyone. He ruined Andrew's life, he was a burden. Not even Jesus could save him.
Something like bile rised in his throat. He closed his eyes, hoping it'd go away, but—
His body shot up as he threw up blood onto his torso, leather straps from the bed keeping him restrained, forcing said blood to blend into the light blue gown- Or white? He couldn't see.
Yes. Yes, Andrew visited him. Yes, Andrew saw his coma-state after his attempt. But, he didn't stay. He left, not wanting to remember the memories the man brought. And yes, Ivan got therapy at one point in the hospital, but was it enough? Was he enough? He tried to kill himself as soon as he got back to his apartment. A failed attempt, just slipping off the rope easily. He stayed in his apartment for a while, then he tried it again. Nearly succeeded until a neighbor called in concern. He tied it loosely. He was unconscious but not dead. Fuck.
Doctor's came shortly, stabilizing him and noting that it was a mental stress reaction. Therapy needed to increase after this.
His mother found him dead to the family.
His grandparents.. dead, probably. Foster grandparents? No idea. His bio parents didn't even know where he was. Andrew... and... drew...
Days passed like nothing. Therapy helped shed more light of why he was like this; explaining the assault that happened from when he was so young it forced his mind to forget. But it never truly did. But after learning it again, he felt..
Empty.
Maybe he was missing something. Depression? No idea. He felt.. like he needed something, or someone? Or maybe he was overthinking his life. He couldn't tell- He didn't know. Who was he? Maybe he was a person in someone else's skin. Was this body his? Please.
I just want to be a butterfly. I just want to be a butterfly. I just wantwhyto be a butterfly. Why. Why did you take it from me. I hate you. I hate myself. I hope you see my kill myself in front of you. I'll rip my throat to shreds in front of you. I hate you.
I hate me.
Ivan snapped out of his spiral once his phone buzzed. a message.
Andrew.
Andrew.
ANdrew.
ANDRE.W.
"It's been a while since we talked. I heard you got out of a coma. Not sure if it's true, and maybe I'm texting a ghost, but if you wake up and see this, I'd like to maybe meet again. Just let me know." The text said. Ivan's breathing picked up, and desperately, he reached out for the pills he forgot to take today, downing it immediately, nearly choking as he stood up. "yeys,plesa. asnyere I don carae." He typed out desperately, ignoring the misspells as he typed. "old park.whesar we hungoiut." He hoped it was readable, and quickly,he showered and put on his outside clothing, wincing as he went too fast with his weak knees and broken ankle. He put on the cast easily and immediately went out of the house. Looking at his message that he sent, it was marked as "read".
Without waiting for a response, he limped his way to the old park the two used to go to, eventually grabbing one of the trees as a sort of crutches, whimpering. Eventually, he sat on the grass, and laid down, looking at the sky as his thoughts drifted. The pills kicked in already. It made him fuzzy and tired, but he stayed awake.
And he heard footsteps approach.
"Ivan."
He looked up, seeing the pink sweater and green pants man with the same snaggle tooth in kindergarten. He struggled to sit up. ".. anddrew." He said, a bit slurred. Andrew's concern rose, but he eventually sat next to Ivan. The two were silent. Too silent. Andrew spoke, noting of how the usually energetic man or panicked.. wasn't, either. ".. are you ok?" He questioned. One hand clenched into a fist, concern raising for his life incase Ivan tried anything. The last time- The last time.
Ivan had an axe.
Sitting there, nearly straddling Andrew in the middle of the night, nearly thinking to do something, but didn't. It scared the shit out of Andrew, and he had to leave after it.
Ivan dazily looked over and just nodded, his droopy eye looking.. More droopy. Andrew sighed, his fist releasing a bit, but still balled. ".. I was gonna have a talk about.. You know what... But now you're just scaring me." Ivan didn't respond, thoughts swarming but no end to it, and his voice.. he felt like he lost it a while ago. Did he go mute? Did he get traumatized and stop talking? He. He couldn't remember. What's wrong? What's wrong.
"Ivan-" Andrew asked again, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder, but a word peeped through Ivan's mouth. ".. tired." He mumbled out, and forcing out the next batch of words. "Tired and recovering." Andrew stared. But he shifted closer. ".. do you want to talk?" The question lingered. Ivan sighed, the only humane thing from him in months. ".. no.. I-... I just need a moment.. mmmoment... " He quietly repeated himself, and Andrew nodded, letting the man's head rest on his shoulder. "Seriously. If you need help, just ask me." But Ivan didn't respond. Too drowsy. Too guilty, too dead inside. He slowly nodded. ".. i feel sick to myself."
"I feel horrible."
I feel- I I feel. I feel.icanf.
"Ivan, you're panicking." Andrew's voice cut in, and Ivan took a shaky breath, leaning more onto the yellow skinned robloxian. ".. sorry.. still.. still not doing good.. at all.. alllll... keep repeating myself.. Just.. empty a bit. I dont know how to feel." He mumbled out, the words on a drowsy and sleepy auto pilot, drugged by medication and a repeating voice. Andrew nodded. "It's alright. We can- We can talk about this another time. I just.. I was concerned about you. I wanted to see you again- Despite. What you did.. It's just.. natural concern." He grumbled out the words, but looked down at the dazy man who wasn't listening, and gently picked him up. ".. alright then. I'll take you home. Don't think you can listen anyway."
I can.
I just want to be a butterfly, Andrew.