A/N: Guys. Ohmygod. It's my first fic on this site. So. Hum. Hi?

I really wanted to write a story focusing on how Gamzee would have gotten to be a druggie if he was a human. So cue the Sadstuck. Also, I plan on making the story alternate between present-day and flashbacks, so I'm warning you now to avoid any confusion :o)

Please review it if you can; it helps me to write better and encourages me to update 'cause then I'll know people actually give a shit about this. Plus it's really super nice to do so~

So without further ado, hope you guys like this!

Chapter 1: Don't Look Into the Light

Gamzee Makara couldn't remember when he fell asleep, just the moments leading up to his collapse upon the overstuffed couch taking up residence in the middle of his living room. He remembered a few drinks with his friends, more than a few puffs with his other friends, and a long and painful journey home after a fight over something. He remembered the concerned looks he received from a passerby and the disgusted looks he received from almost everyone else. He remembered vomiting painfully over the bridge connecting downtown from the neighborhood where he lived, an upper-class dwelling separated by a small river. He remembered passing no one on those streets and having to sneak into his apartment in order to evade any cops enforcing the strict curfew. He remembered a blur of endless flights of stairs and a long search for the spare key he may or may not have left outside. He must have passed out somewhere in between finding the key and now, or perhaps he fell unconscious outside and someone had took pity on him and carried him inside.

Gamzee shook his head and winced as a sharp pain reverberated throughout his skull. No, the latter wasn't likely. He was the neighborhood drug addict whom no one had any idea why he stayed there, in the area with the perfect families with the perfect children and the perfect parents with their perfect jobs. No one would dare do anything nice for him; he wasn't worth it.

"Mother fuck," he groaned, somehow summoning the strength to slide off the sofa into an upside down pose, his gangly legs bending over his head. Why the fuck was he so flexible, anyways. Reaching out, he dragged himself to his small, messy kitchen where he pulled open a cabinet under the sink. Gamzee's half-lidded eyes looked around in the darkness for a moment before he grabbed a bottle of pills he kept hidden behind a box of trash bags. Rolling over to his back and sitting up, he popped the top off and tilted a few capsules into his palm. His stared at them for a moment, then threw his head back and swallowed the pills dry. His headache soon faded away into a blissful peace, where nothing disturbed him and he could hardly remember what he'd been doing earlier.

In his haze, he was not aware of the phone ringing until he heard a familiar ornery voice spewing tinny curses over the answering machine. Gamzee only had one friend who could hurl a profanity-laden dictionary of words at something in a single breath: Karkat. A lazy smile drifted over his face as he dragged himself up and slouched over to the phone.

Picking it up, he drawled, "Yo, what the mother fuck is up with my motherfuckin' punch line-blooded motherfucker?"

Karkat's anger seemed to increase exponentially when he heard the exaggerated slur in his voice, a telltale sign Gamzee was much higher than he normally was. "God fucking DAMMIT, Gamzee! How high are you to possess the ability to use all forms of 'mother fuck' in the same sentence within three words of each other? Where are you? Oh, let me guess: Ass-fuck deep in merry bliss miracle land spinning around in asshole rainbow flowers while fountains of that damned Faygo spew from the mouths of kittens shitting mountains of glitter. You goddamned FUCKASS, Gamzee, why do I even bother with you? Is my constant worry a result of some idiotic mistake I've made or am going to make at some point in the foreseeable future? Because if so, I'm time traveling to this mistake to give myself some much-needed advice before I have a chance to ruin my life forever." There was a pause. Gamzee heard heavy breathing on the other end before Karkat began speaking again, this time in a calmer voice. "Is your key in the same place it usually is? I'm coming over."

"Yeah, I motherfuckin' be all thinkin' it is. Want me to get my check on?"

"No. Just fucking… stay there. I'll just knock if I can't find it."

Gamzee's features split into an even wider smile. "I can get my agreement on with that. I'll be seein' you soon, best friend?"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up and maybe get into some semblance of sobriety by the time I get over there. Your hyperactive metabolism should be able to burn through whatever you're on by then."

Gamzee heard the gentle beep on the other end; a poor substitute for how hard Karkat must have slammed the phone down. He stared at the receiver for a moment, then gently set it down and leaned against the wall next to it. The happy fuzz over everything had begun to dissipate already, leaving his world cold and hard and sharp, cutting into the palms of his callused hands and his over-sensitive eyes. The rising sun peeking from behind the curtains did not help his condition in any way. Karkat was right; his metabolism was working overtime, and Gamzee hated it.

Gamzee, a voice said on the edges of his hearing. Fuck, had the voices begun already? He looked longingly at the cabinet where his bottle of miracles were, the kind of miracles that chased the bad dreams away and the voices and the overwhelming desire to fucking kill everyone…

GAMZEE, another said with more urgency and more venom. He hated it when they began yelling at him. Tearing his eyes away, he shoved the thought of taking more painkillers into a place where he would not think about it for a while. What he needed was his medicine. Gamzee's mouth twisted into a grim smile. Yeah, the various mood stabilizers and antipsychotics and anti-depressants the nice doctors gave him, promising it would make the voices go away. They worked sometimes, but it gave him a good reason to smoke another bowl or pop a few more pills whenever they didn't. He was sure this was not what the doctor meant by self-medication, but it worked well enough for him to continue on.

Poison, they're poisoning you, Gamzee. Those little pills are rotting you from the inside out, the gentler voice said in a singsong manner as Gamzee blearily made his way to the tiny bathroom next to the kitchen where he kept his legal medicine.

MOTHERFUCKING POISON, MOTHERFUCKER. CAN YOU NOT SEE IT? THEY'RE RUSTING YOUR MOTHERFUCKING HEAD SO EVERYTHING LEAKS OUT FROM THE GOD DAMNED HOLE. YOU'LL FORGET EVERYTHING, MOTHERFUCKER. He pulled open the cabinet and began sifting through the various anti-psychotics the doctor had given him. Was it too late for the nighttime meds, or did he have to take the morning meds now? He checked his pockets for his phone on reflex and cursed when he didn't find it.

Gamzee, we're trying to help you… we love you, Gamzee. His voices spoke lies to him, that's what all the doctors and psychiatrists said. They lied and made everything worse. He repeated this statement over and over to himself as he stumbled down the hallway to his room, sometimes aloud, sometimes internally. Poking his head inside the darkness, he read the face on the digital clock beside his bed. 7:43. Fuck, so it was later than he thought. Gamzee returned to the bathroom to fetch the pills he took in the morning. Turning on the faucet, he fished out two small tablets and caught a bit of water in his palm. He could swallow them dry, of course, but the aftertaste was too bitter for him to take without washing it down with something nearby. Grimacing, Gamzee tilted his head back and swallowed the two pills, waiting for the taste of chalk and chemicals to hit the back of his tongue. He gagged once the flavor hit him, almost causing him to throw the tablets back up. He resisted the urge by hunching over the sink and remaining deathly still until the feeling passed.

GAMZEE. MOTHER FUCK. LISTEN TO US. The voice still yelled, but lost some of its strength. Gamzee straightened up and rolled his neck.

We only want the best…

ONE DAY, YOU'LL RUN ALL OUT OF THOSE POISON PILLS. AND THEN YOU'LL THANK US.

You'll see the world harsher than you like, but you'll see reality.

AND REALITY MOTHERFUCKING SUCKS.

But you'll take control of reality.

YOU'LL CONTROL ALL OF IT.

You'll understand who you are and who you're meant to be, and you will.

KILL.

Anyone.

WHO.

Gets.

IN.

Your.

MOTHERFUCKING.

Way.

The voices continued on in this fashion until they faded into silence, just in time for Gamzee to hear a rapid pounding on the door and a loud, angry voice. Karkat must have really been worried about him to reach his apartment so quickly; it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since he had hung up. He jogged to the door and pulled it open, rewarded with a few knocks in thin air from Karkat's slow reaction time.

Karkat Vantas was about five feet five inches of tightly wound, high-strung, pulse pounding fury; able to focus his prodigious anger into a narrow laser beam of hatred at whatever he wanted, such as the young man standing in front of him. Gamzee took a step back on reflex under his friend's intense glare, but regained his composure in time to beam happily at Karkat's scowl.

"Hey, best friend! You motherfuckin' found your way here pretty fast."

Karkat's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Move the fuck away from the door, assmunch. I'm coming in."

Gamzee moved away to make room for Karkat's entrance. The smaller surveyed the room with his nose wrinkled and turned to Gamzee.

"When's the last time you cleaned up or at least sprayed some fucking air freshener in here?"

Gamzee ran a hand through his messy curls. "I think… it was when Tav last came over."

Karkat let out a quick bark of incredulous laughter and motioned towards the larger bathroom near his bedroom.

"Get yourself clean and change into something other than the rags you stole from a pregnant pig. I'll attempt to clean this shit up so you can make me some goddamned breakfast."

"Shouldn't you be all offerin' to motherfuckin' cook me some grub since I'm up to be all taken care of?"

"No, because this is your fucking house. And also because you never let me near your pantry out of fear I'll 'motherfuckin' screw your shit the mother fuck up.'"

Gamzee grinned in amusement and nodded, slipping off into the bathroom while pulling his shirt over his head. His friend was right; Gamzee never let anyone near his ingredients.

Closing the door, he flicked on the light and turned to look at himself in the mirror. His sleepy reflection stared back at him, all six feet two inches of pale skin, wiry muscle, and gangly limbs. His natural dark circles were accentuated by his lack of sleep and the dark makeup smudged around his eyes, and along with his angular face, he had a slightly insane and threatening look that generally scared the shit out of anyone who did not know him. His messy, inky black curls only added to the escaped psychiatric patient appearance. Gamzee couldn't help but laugh at the thought. Anyone who assumed he was an escapee from the psych ward wouldn't be that far off.

His friends worried about his drug addiction and mental problems, of course, but after an accident when he was sixteen, none were too enthusiastic about taking him off his medication. Gamzee couldn't say he was enthusiastic either. If his voices were right about anything, it was that being sober left things much too real than he liked. As much as he hated it, he had grown comfortable with the cushy world of magic he lived in when he was high.

Preoccupied with his thoughts, Gamzee's long fingers twisted the shower knob too far, causing a spray of warm water to douse his unsuspecting head. Too lazy to shake the water off, he merely grunted, pulled his bottoms off, and slid into the tub to sit cross-legged under the water. Once it had warmed up sufficiently, he stood up and grabbed the nearby bar of soap, working it into a lather and quickly washing off the grime and his makeup from the previous night. He groped for his shampoo and poured it onto his head, paying no attention to the amount until some got into his eyes.

"God motherfucking dammit," Gamzee cursed as he washed his hair one-handed and tried to flush out his eyes with the other. The burn eventually evened out to where he could open bloodshot eyes and finish taking his shower. Karkat was going to definitely flip his shit once he laid eyes on him. Gamzee was already preparing an apology, albeit a weak one.

Gamzee wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. Karkat heard the noise and called to him from somewhere in the kitchen, "Gamzee, get your clown ass in here."

Fuck. "Could you hold your shit for a motherfuckin' sec, Karbro?"

"Why." It was more of a statement than a question.

"'Cause you see, I'm all motherfuckin' indecent, and I don't want this towel shit to all up and decide it doesn't wanna get its hold onto my waist anymore."

There was a long sigh. "You have thirty seconds to change into some pants and get yourself in here."

Gamzee saluted, then gave a quick thanks when he realized there was no way Karkat could have seen it. He hurried into his room, dumped the towel on the floor, then blindly rummaged around in his closet for a pair of boxers and some pants, not bothering to turn a light on. He pulled his boxers on in his room and halfway skipped down the hallway trying to put on his pants, managing to appear in front of Karkat with them almost pulled up and his still-wet hair in his face.

His best friend directed a withering look towards him and tapped his fingers on the countertop. "Gamzee, what the fuck. That was not meant to be taken literally, though I will commend you on speed."

"Well I didn't all want you to motherfuckin' burst a blood vessel all screamin' at me to hurry the mother fuck up," Gamzee said, grinning as he pulled his pants the rest of the way up. They were dark gray and slim-fitting, not like the normal polka-dot pajama pants he usually wore.

"Whatever. Anyways. Mind explaining what the hell these are doing under your sink?"

Karkat held up the bottle, the bottle that kept Gamzee functioning when his medicine refused to work, the bottle that allowed him to dream nice dreams and not the blood-filled nightmares showcasing his mirthful slaughter of his friends, the bottle that allowed him to be normal, or at least as normal as he could be without posing a threat to everyone around him or being a complete vegetable.

Why the mother fuck did Karkat have that motherfucking bottle.

Gamzee was not entirely conscious of when he lunged at Karkat, but he was aware of pushing him into the counter, his face inches from the other's terrified expression.

"Give me the bottle, Karbro," he said in a hissing whisper.

"Gamzee, calm the hell down, alright? I'm not gonna take it away-"

"GIVE ME THE MOTHERFUCKIN' BOTTLE, KARKAT FUCKING VANTAS."

Karkat winced and held the bottle up. "Here," he said as meekly as he was capable of.

Gamzee snatched the bottle out of Karkat's fingers and slammed it on the counter, glaring angrily at him. From the way Karkat shrank back, he could tell he was terrifying. Good. Gamzee was suddenly aware of how he had to stand to make sure the light reflected off his unusual dark purple eyes in the most disconcerting way possible and strike the most fear in Karkat's heart.

"You done getting your snoop on with my stuff, best friend?"

Karkat's eyes closed and he let out the breath he had been holding. "Yeah, if you'll just tell me what the hell those are and why you're so fucking attached to them."

Gamzee glanced over at the small, innocent-looking bottle sitting about a foot from them. "They're…" He ran his fingers through his hair, swearing when he remembered it was still wet and it dripped all over the two. Karkat gave no sign of caring about the water dripping on his face.

"They're my motherfuckin' fuel, man. Like when the meds and shit don't work anymore and everything seems all too harsh for me to be dealin' with."

"What are they, Gamzee?"

"MOTHERFUCKIN' PAINKILLERS, MAN. To keep all the hurts of the entire motherfuckin' world off my fuckin' shoulders."

Karkat did not speak for a while, then cleared his throat and squirmed slightly. Gamzee took the hint and moved off Karkat, allowing the smaller to stretch and pat invisible specks of dust off him.

"Hey, Gamz, as much as I don't want you messing with those…" Gamzee bared his teeth, but Karkat held up a hand and shooshed him. "I'll let you if it works for you."

Karkat moved past Gamzee towards the door. "I'm gonna let you calm down for a bit. Call me when you do and maybe we can go hang out somewhere. Go get some breakfast or some shit."

He twisted the knob gave his friend one last look, a look filled with an emotion Gamzee felt too tired to try and decipher. After a few moments, Karkat closed the door and Gamzee was left alone.