Iteration:

I don't think anyone's tried something like this before…

DISCLAIMER!: Blah blah blah, I stole ideas from Higarashi: When They Cry, one of the creepiest animes I think in existence… Ideas only, like how I swiped/ kidnapped characters from JtHM and Invader Zim. Hopefully this will start to make sense before the twentieth episode, unlike Higarashi… (I had to Wiki it to get it, FTW.) I make no monies off any of this, just my own twisted amusement.

Prologue:

He's dressed in the clothes he died in, a black and gray long-sleeved shirt that seems far too large on his skinny frame, and black pants, the 'outfit' a standard since he was a teenager. His dark eyes are hidden by his long hair, the back pulled into a loose ponytail, a look that wouldn't work for just anybody, but somehow suits him. He used to wear glasses, I remember absently. He looks a bit odd without them.

I know his name- I should, after all, he's the first and only host I've had so much trouble with. Karma, I'd expect, if I believed in such a thing… Its not even really his fault this keeps happening, and despite the eternal loop of horrifying failure we are both faced with, I'm still not sure who is actually responsible. I doubt it really matters, I haven't left this prison of minds in eons, forced to watch but never actively take part. Watch from afar while my host destroys himself again and again and again…

Maybe it's me, I wonder for the umpteenth time. Wouldn't be the first time Micheal decided I wasn't suffering enough on my own, the bastard… I had already paid once for getting too close, in his words, 'getting attached' to a fallen soul. And Micheal had destroyed him utterly for my alleged impertinence, without even letting me explain…

I audibly sigh, a flicker of annoyance at the faintest trace of laughter in the back of my mind. I still have no idea why I bother, really. On the other hand, what I do have is a record with this one of just under a hundred or so iterations of terror, insanity, and most frustratingly, repetitive, soulcrushing failure- The last one ended with his death, this time accidentally. Or at least as accidental as forgetting the automatic rifle trap youset up for the front door and shooting yourself in the head got. But at least he had avoided actively killing people, this time. For the most part, anyway.

I could appreciate the kid's sometimes morbid sense of humor more than most of my kind, but... This had gotten to the point where he would be able to recall things from the iterations, and that wasn't good. It meant one or the both of us were losing strength… Soon, I feared, I wouldn't be able to reset the universe, reset his life.

Try to save him. That's what it had come down to, after all.

No wonder he wasn't so hot on talking to me.

"We've got to stop meeting like this." I try for a bit of strained humor, but the kid, annoyingly, doesn't so much as twitch in response. My face falls after a long moment; dammit, I know he can hear me. In this place, it's not like he's got much else to compete for his attention, after all...

I force myself to stop, take a breath, neverminding the almost complete pointlessness of the gesture. I'm one of the 'petty' types of Fallen, I suppose. 'Impatient' runs a close second, which I always thought was ironic since I've existed for three or four thousand times the average lifespan of my current host. I don't understand the fascination humans have with the idea of immortality, in my experience, age doesn't mean you become more intelligent or wise- it just gives you longer to fuck things up.

I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. As a Watcher, I don't have a physical body; that was stripped from me eons ago, after… Well, it's not really important this late in the game. Just the same, the kid thinks of me, and his perceptions give me substantiality- simply put, my appearance is basically how he wants me to look. I really don't know how it works, or for that matter care one way or the other; it's more a convenience for the soul, I think.

It kills me, though. If I let myself think about it, I have been the closest thing to a guardian he's had. And I can't even touch him, tell him it's alright, or even apolegise: I'm not his friend or even his ally, I'm his warden. Because of what we both are, in more ways then one.

That doesn't mean I like the situation any more than he does. It's the kind of thing that would make you scream at nothing and everything for days on end, just out of the sheer unfairness of the whole thing. I tried that for a while, and that was when I met him: Micheal's idea of a fucking pity date with a dead homicidal maniac.

He only goes that way if he actually lives long enough, I remind no one, and, as per typical, get no response. Fortunately.

I'm a really shitty guardian angel. "Seriously." My voice trails off and I watch him closely for a second, trying to feel out his aura. It's still difficult to do after all this time, and I don't like thinking about possible reasons...

You're getting attached. There's a barely-veiled threat somewhere in the thought that wonders in the back of my mind. A reminder of the alleged ancient sin.

Bugger off, I snap, grumpy.

"Is…" His voice is so soft, but it immediately gets my attention, a welcome respite from Micheal or Pepito, or whoever the fuck it is who has been messing with us for how long's mocking. "Is there an end, Murphy?"

Murphy… His nickname for me, I recall. It started off as a joke, when he noticed I never showed up unless it was to call him back: Murphy's Law.

"What does this make? Sixty, seventy, ninety? ," he asks in a disinterested tone- and then he explodes in a magnificent display of maleviolent reds and dark blues of frustration; I flinch more at his aura than the actual words: "When the hell is enough? What the HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO, MURPHY." He throws out his arms in an aggressive gesture of frustration. Anger is the emotion that doesn't seem to suit him at all; ironic, considering the Other that sometimes took over, even here…

Anyway, I understood it wasn't so much a question as a rhetorical statement, and, not having a response, just took my turn staring down wordlessly, angry that I didn't have an answer, angry that I had a soul with a valid reason to yell at me, angry at the senseless situation we both found ourselves in...

I heave a sigh, flicking my wrist so I unearth the fractal, a window into another perception of his world. It shimmers for a second, and then indistinct forms skitter across its surface.

"I think I found one that will give you a better chance of success this go around." I look up at him, noticing he's withdrawn again so I'm forced to actually look at him. His hands are held at his sides, curled into fists and his whole body is tense, like he's holding something in that he doesn't want to.

He looks up at me before I can speak again, his eyes lit up with a fire I've only seen once before. He's as frustrated as I am, of course he's going to be angry, I consider. He can't give up, though, he can't or more than just him or I will disappear…

I snort inwardly with sudden, out-of-place laughter. Right, like my intentions are really that pure, I'm just a guide. Even if my energy is depleted, he can continue so long as his desire is strong enough… But faced with this, was he finally at his limit?

"Would you give up?," I ask simply, trying to hide my disappointment. Would you rather disappear and take all of these worlds with you, all their memories, fond or not… It's his turn to flinch now; so I guessed right.

"That's not it," he snaps, and I smile, I believe him. "It's not that I don't trust you, either... I want this to work, Murphy, I do. I just need to know what I'm supposed to do different." He jerks out an arm out as if too prove how serious he is towards the fractal memory, the broken perception of the world, and we nearly but not quite touch- not because I was the objective, but just because I was more in the way. I just happened to be there, not the objective, not the focus. But still important, made that way.

Like him.

What to do different…

I watch him disintegrate slowly, falling into the world that is but isn't, and for the first time in a long while I actually smile. He can't hear me now, but I still whisper it, a prayer from a Fallen angel to her human:

"Dib… Maybe nothing."

A/ N: Alternate chapter title: 'The First of 51 Reasons Why Sick Is Going to Hell'. Enjoy, with a little luck, it might not take two years to see an update. (Sorries 'bout that, by the way... Totally had a valid reason. Have to kill you if i tell ya, though.)

I think I like this one, I *should* have another update in a few days depending on external factors. Like lack of the Interwebs. PRAY FOR ME, MY MINIONS.