AN: I just want to point out that this is supposed to be flowing neatly between each of the three people; Wash, Leonard and Epsilon. They're supposed to all be one in this moment, even though Wash is fighting to get control of his body back.
It wasn't meant to be anything serious, just a small drabble trying to grab a certain voice.
"Leonard, come on!" An exasperated voice told him to cease what he doing; only… his name wasn't Leonard. "Stop it; you're going to make me late!" There was a smile behind those words, where ever they came from. It was just him, lying in bed. He was Leonard after…wait, no, his name was Wash; everyone called him Wash. "But don't say goodbye," that voice didn't seem to stop, it echoed in the chambers of his mind, never being able to escape, taking over his thoughts and leaving him with nothing to think of but the sound of that voice.
He really, really missed her, Allison never did say 'goodbyes' after all, she never liked them, I hate goodbyes, no, she hated them. But he didn't know this girl; there was no reason for Wash to miss this blonde. He had never met her. There was a light, uniform pounding in his skull, throbbing near his temples.
Wash couldn't sleep; he was having trouble with his head again, getting more and more headaches. Allison always used to give him a light kiss where it was worst, her lips lingering as though they could lift the pain away. No, that wasn't right; his mother had always done that for him, not some blonde by the name of Allison. How could forget something like that about his own mother? The tenderness of the actions, all of her love and concern?
He didn't even know a girl called Allison, and yet she was there, sat in David's mind, as though life couldn't go on without her. She infected his mind with the mere thought of her, and spread throughout, much, much faster than wildfire. Who was he trying to kid? She was his world, his everything; life couldn't ever go on without her. Everything started and stopped with this one girl, and if she were ever to be hurt, the wrath of a god would be unleashed unto he who caused her pain. Wash didn't recognize this blonde though, she wasn't real, was never real, couldn't, in fact, be real.
He didn't know that cold, unmoving face, couldn't understand why or how it hurt his poor heart so much to see her eyes empty of that vibrant life they once clung onto. Those lips David could never again feel pressed against his own, moving in perfect synchronization with his mouth, were now cold and weighted with the burden of death.
Wash's head didn't simply throb anymore; he was now sat on the edge of his bed, clutching it tightly and tiny tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It held a caged animal, roaring for the freedom it had lost. His memories seemed to fade into a ghost, pining for the blonde lover he had lost.
Allison was dead, she had died, left him to face this vile, cold world alone and without hope. He needed her for this, needed her to survive, to free the animal that he had wrongly captured. Somehow Leonard had ended up on the floor, gasping at the severity of the desperate creatures enraged swipes.
Now there were people crowding him, supporting Wash's trembling limbs and muttering unheard words from their lips. Leonard was on his knees, sobbing for the one he lost. No, she left him, not even a 'goodbye' on her lips, even though he needed her.
Someone was screaming. Was it a funeral guest, or a medic trying to help him? The screams weren't real though, they echoed in his head, stuck with him and never moved, never became real or tangible. Those were screams of pain, screams that were naught but a memory, taking the form of Wash's voice and his agony.
There was a third tone to that scream, a new one that shouldn't be there. It was an intruder on the moment that they were sharing. He shouldn't be there, Epsilon wasn't welcome. Even if he was the link, he was invading in the intimacy of the moment with his own needy little screeches of pain. It was his own fault, the pain Epsilon felt was self-inflicted, needed, desperation, a cry for attention; attention that he, they, David wouldn't give him. He didn't care what threats the third voice made, why should he? It was an intruder, an invader of his mind.
Suicide seemed like a welcome thing when she was gone. The pain of losing his only ally in life was far worse than that of a bullet to the head. This pain went on and on.
The beast inside him screamed with raw fury, not knowing where to direct it. The animal tore at his heart, shredding it to ribbons with his claws. Wash didn't know who he was any more, Leonard had lost himself in his blind sorrow, Epsilon, he knew better than anyone, just for a moment, precisely who he was.
He was the caged beast. He was a murderer.