Something for Dani-chan's BTR Adoption Forum challenge! Please read if you dare! Disclaimer: I don't own anything else apart from the plot of the one shot!

"Some people think that all serial killers are born."

I took a deep breath as I worked my way pass the guard and into the cell. Even though he didn't enter with me, he stood alert by the now shut door. Sweat made my palms sticky and warm, much too warm.

I could feel my heart racing, jumping erratically against my ribs but I fought to ignore it.

"When that thing...sanity, yeah when that thing snaps in a person it snaps for good."

I walked forward until my toes met the imaginary line; this was as close as he would let me be to him. If I pushed the boundary I had reluctantly agreed to, he'd threaten me.

But he soon started talking again, meaning he hasn't noticed me yet.

He always talked to himself. He said he had voices in his head, so when I didn't visit he had them to keep him company. Even though I visited every day, he'd sometimes ignore me and talk to the voices.

"Maybe I'm wrong there, but I knew that what snapped in me couldn't be put back together. I did all this, a-and butchered countless people, for one thing: a sense of control."

I sat cross legged on the floor, pulling off my blue-and-white to reveal my short, dirty blond hair. Every time I came with a hat or something else on over my head, he'd ask (politely) if I'd take it off. According to him, my hair and eyes were the only bright patches of color he saw in the big, white world he lived in.

He didn't get to experience much nowadays, not since he's been caught.

My eyes soon found his hand, the one not baring such bad burns and scars. He ran that hand over his mouth; it was a mouth I've seen only on monsters, a mouth that was once smooth, soft and smiled.

The right half of his mouth...a huge chunk of flesh was missing. The skin and muscles had hardened, a deep purple that might have suggested decay or severe infection; his teeth were visible, all straight and pearly white but crusted with old blood. Stitches had been done to help seal the wound, but he had torn and torn at it so much that the strings hung from his lower jaw like a broken marionette's. That half of his mouth was cut, carved to droop downwards in a permanent frown.

He told me he had cut his face when he was thirteen, that he got tired of the same, boring face so one night...he took a regular kitchen knife, a can opener and a box cutter and just went slicing away. His mom wasn't home at the time and even if she had been he'd just hide in his room, not bothered at all by the streams of blood that would drain down the sink.

"T-t-that bitch...took my best friend away. She played with his feelings, with his heart until...he shot h-himself in the face. She left him, and that was enough for him to just t-t-throw it all away."

The other half of his mouth was cut to curve upwards like a half smile, dried up blood painting his lips a richer, darker shade of red. He told me that when he got nervous he'd cut more into the curve where his upper and lower lips met; he'd cut and cut until that half of his mouth would meet his only eye in a grotesque smile. His face showed no clear indication of what he was feeling inside because one side frowned, while the other smiled.

Life was too short to not go down smiling, that was what he told me. That was the first thing he ever said to me after a month of visiting; he didn't like talking much, he told me, unless he was a hundred percent certain it was safe to.

He also talked in numbers a lot, too. To me, it was like he was solving several problems in his head all at once. He never asked for help, he had faith in his own intellect.

Which I had to admit, ranged close to that of a child prodigy.

He was still a kid, around my age: sixteen.

Not too young, but not too old. Still, to be known as one of the most infamous mass serial killers at sixteen...he started at thirteen, where he claimed sanity left him only to be gifted with something called "super sanity".

Nothing unnerved him, made him flinch or cry. And if he did cry...it was only for his friend.

His friend...

"I-I-I wanted to throttle her. Who the fuck did she think she was, huh?! To play with him l-l-like that and then break him?! I just...when I fought with him for the gun, he said that life meant nothing without her! He fought with me, knocked m-me down t-t-to the floor and then...shot himself. His blood on my face, his body in my arms; that was the worst day of my life...!"

He cracked his neck and ripped a chunk of his...skin clean off, using his dull but slightly long nails to get the job done. Blood colored his thin, boney fingers and he then stuffed the dripping meat into his mouth.

Vomit bubbled in my stomach but I fought to ignore it. He ate human flesh, but only his own. He had ripped that chunk from the back of his unblemished hand, chewing on the epidermis slowly before swallowing. Saliva and blood dripped down his chin, staining his all-white clothes.

The eye patch he wore over the gaping hole where his right eye use to be, he pulled it off for me to see.

Before I was alarmed by his actions, but later on he told me that he was immune to pain, any pain. When he got here, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, obsessive compulsive disorder and congenital analgesia. Of course he knew about the latter condition, he said he found out when he carved his face at thirteen. How he didn't scream in pain, how he didn't feel the sting of rubbing alcohol when his mom found out and tried to help his cuts scab over. That something a child prodigy could figure out in a heartbeat.

How to mend a broken heart though, he never learned how to do that.

"From there...I, already troubled, grew worse. That's when the voices in my head grew louder. They've always been there, b-b-but after Dak passed away I, I started talking back to them. I figured that after his death, I grew more reclusive; that didn't take away the urges though, the u-u-urge to fuck with her like she fucked with me. She knew, how Dak and I were best friends. She k-knew and still killed him. I was all alone then; I p-put Mom out of her misery and chopped my good-for-nothing father into t-t-tiny little pieces! I cried when I...killed Mommy, she loved me. Even when I was t-t-troubled she called me her little baby boy, her sunshine! Haha, the only person that ever loved me apart from Dak, was my first victim..."

I pulled out the rubbing alcohol and bandages from my pockets. This mental institution seemed pretty legit, but lacked good security, medical attendance and staff. He was the most dangerous patient here, yet he was the last one anyone would think of to cause trouble.

I poured a generous amount of rubbing alcohol into the strip of gauze I had spread out on my knee, he still talking as I wrapped the bleeding, twitching new wound before it could get infected.

"I miss Mommy, and Dak and...who I was, but I don't regret butchering that bitch a-a-alive. Haha, how she screamed, how her blonde hair turned a lovely auburn with her blood...h-h-h-how she called me a sicko, no a psycho and spat in my face but I d-d-didn't let up! I wanted her really dead, so I plucked her eyes out like I did my right one and peeled the skin off her bones. Chopped the meat under it very carefully...and then, ha I burned her corpse in her own house. I butchered her two friends too, since they got in the way and from there...I served my purpose. I was ready to t-t-turn myself in without any regrets. That's how I ended up here..."

I've heard his life story a thousand times before, but I never got tired of hearing it. I finished tending to his wound before starting to wipe away the blood and saliva clinging to his chin, pulling his eye patch back in place.

"Until I found out..she had tricked me. I had k-killed her cousin instead, not her. I-I-I felt sick at hearing the news: the bitch was still alive! All that hard work, all for naught! She was free and I was here, I had failed! Here to rot, while she can kill other people with her deception, h-h-her lies! Justice hasn't been given to D-D-Dak! I had screwed up, a simple purpose given to me and I FAILED!"

Tears streamed down his face and he buried himself away into my right shoulder. I flinched and hugged him back just as tightly, running a hand through his hair.

He told me he use to have his hair long, almost to his shoulders when he was younger. He had shaved half of it off after Dak's death, unable to chop all of it since Dak use to like his brown hair when it was long. He never let his hair grow too long however, or stayed short for too long. He had stolen a pair of scissors from a nurse months ago and only when he was sure he was alone would he cut his hair.

"I need to get out, I have to k-kill her! She killed Dak, she killed me too so she has to pay!"

She ruined him, my beautiful lover.

I pulled away so our faces met, my lips meeting his as best as I could.

He went silent under my lips, hands falling onto my shoulders but lightly, carefully. Our lips remained connected until I had to come up for air, he softly panting against my face.

"I'll get you out of here. And I...will help you kill her."