Work Text:
Tango placed down another repeater, shaking his head to clear the sudden fuzzy feeling in his mind. He had woken up tired, and gotten ready for the day tired, but he was going to get this redstone done, goddamnit, if it was the last thing he did.
He reached into his inventory for a dispenser, going still when he realized he had none left. For some odd reason, the thought of going back up to the surface of the factory made his head throb and his eyes burn with unshed tears. He was already relying heavily on the familiar steps of redstone to make it through the day, and the thought of having even a chance at human interaction made his chest tight.
Tango sighed, dusting off his hands and stepping back towards the ladder leading up to the ground floor. A spike of pain shot through his head with each clang of his boots on metal rungs, only adding to the slurry of overwhelming sensations cocooning his brain. His arms trembled slightly as he pulled himself up onto the ground floor of the factory, and he quickened his steps as he grabbed the needed dispensers out from their barrel.
On his way back, something shiny and yellow caught Tango's eye. His boxcutter. Oh. He really shouldn't, but… wouldn't it clear his mind, if only for a little while? Tango spoke out loud, trying to reason with his thoughts, “...No, I shouldn't. Skizz and Impulse would be disappointed in me.”
‘But wouldn't it feel so nice? Just a few little slices, nothing too deep. An easy way to clear my head.'
Tango ran his tongue over his teeth, internally weighing the pros and cons. After a long moment, he sighed, reaching out and grabbing the box cutter off his desk. He easily reasoned with himself, diverting the blame anywhere but where it was due. “Just a few cuts, nothing too deep. To clear my head.”
Tango walked over to the bathroom with the calm of someone who had done this far too many times before. He sat down on the edge of his bathtub, carefully rolling up his sleeve so as to not get any blood on it. (it would blend in well anyway, but that's not the point) The box cutter was carefully placed against his pale skin, and his tail flicked in anxiety. It had been a while since he'd last done this, but he continued to let muscle memory guide the tool along his skin, painting it with an angry red line.
Once he started, it was as if Tango couldn't stop. He just kept going and going, slicing his skin like paper. Blood welled up slowly, drawing dark red lines along his arm that slowly began to dry. Tango eventually dropped the tool, simply sitting there and staring at his irritated flesh. He unrolled some toilet paper, wadding it up to wipe off the trails of blood leading down his arms.
Tango sighed, rolling his sleeves down again. He slowly stood up, grabbing an empty shulker out of his inventory. He'd go gather some materials, anything to keep his mind off the endless droning in his head.