Rotting Window

A/N: Heeeeeey! I've been thinking about this for a while now, and wanted to get it off my chest. Not necessarily a romance thing, but if that's how you picture it, I won't deny you of your fabulous imaginations. It's a little weird, but I'm gonna try my hand at one-shots, so you might be seeing quite a few of them soon. But, hey, have some fun with this, okay? I'm bored, so if you're sitting at home thinkin, WTF?! , I won't blame you.

I don't own Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. That is Jhonen's job.

Such a lucky guy.

Edgar Vargas lived in a dying house.

Many people would scoff and say, "Houses can't die, they don't live!" but if one were to take a look at the old, beaten-up home on the end of the street, behind the trees, hidden from sight, oh yes, they would agree.

On a happier note, Edgar lived in a beautiful house.

The porch, even with the graying boards, and soggy supports, stood out in glory at least ten feet over flourishing, overgrown rosebushes (He was determined to trim them one day, but until the thorns were under five inches long, he'd have to wait.) The remaining windows glittered in the faint sunlight that barely came through the trees; most of them, if not all, were cracked in many places. Only a single window had remained untouched; it was a circular stained-glass window on the single right tower of the house.

It stuck out like a sore thumb, compared to the decaying Victorian, really.

In reality, the home was huge. If one looked close enough, a suggestion would be that the house was once a frail pigment of yellow, though they would be wrong. Very, very faded orange paint clung to the crumbling boards, peeling away slowly.

So, to sum this up together, Edgar Vargas lived in his mother's old, dying, broken, decaying, HUGE, beautiful, 18th century house.

And he loved it more than anything in the world.

His love for his home was notable today, as he paced down the empty halls, running his thin, nimble hands across every carving, every edge, every crevice in the chipped wood cautiously, like it might splinter away beneath his fingertips.

He wouldn't have been surprised, anyways.

Edgar was careful to step over the drooping floorboards, even the ones underneath the moth-eaten rugs.

"You've lived in this house too long," he chuckled to himself as he avoided another sagging piece of wood, "if you know every flaw by heart."

And Edgar agreed.

Making his way into the main social quarters of the house, the man plopped down in his chair, making himself as comfortable as possible. The walls were lined with books, so many books, from every day and age you could possibly imagine.

Over the gaping, wood rimmed, brick fireplace hung the portrait of a happy family; a father with a toddler in his arms, a young girl by his side (all three with dirty blonde hair) and sitting in front was a beautiful woman with long brown hair, smiling down at a little boy, with matching, shaggy bangs and thick glasses.

They looked so happy, Edgar decided, leaning back into the chair.

Very happy.

Too happy.

He toyed with a fraying corner on the old piece of furniture, smiling softly as he traced the fading velvet seams. The chair had once been an elegant red color, but was now reduced to a scuffed orange-tan shade. He felt his heart sag slightly as his finger caught in an old, crappy hand stitched patch of fabric. He could still remember the incident, faintly, almost distant…

C'mon Edgar, you'll never have any friends if you're so slow!

I'm not slow!

Edgar, watch OUT!

CRASH

RIIIP

I'm so sorry, mama! It was an accident, honest!

Oh, baby, it's just a little tear, look, we can sow it up!

Can I do it, mama?

Of course, baby, like this… there we go…

Edgar gave a small grin. He used to be so clumsy. He laid his head back and dug his nose happily into the thick book that had been sitting on the end table to his left.

He'd been crouched there for hours, flipping pages and scanning words excitedly, when the doorbell rang.

Of course, it was strange; no one was ever at the door to press the scratched up old button that filled the house with the plain, dull chime.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the old door in shock. When the doorbell rang again, he blinked, realizing it was rude to leave even a stranger waiting, and quickly got to his feet.

By the time he was in front of the door, the bell had rang three times. He twisted the rusty handle, pulling it open with a pleasant grin. "Hello, I'm sorry I kept you waiting, I was reading and-"

His smile faltered when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Oh, hello, Johnny."

The man on the porch greeted him with a sinister grin.

"I told you, Edgar. It's just Nny."

Edgar felt his face flush. "I'm sorry, right. I forgot." He stepped aside, making way for the homicidal maniac to come in.

Nearly tripping over a box, Nny spun around to face the taller man. His eyes were dark. "Why are you apologizing? Apologies are for those who have done something wrong."

Edgar suppressed a shudder as the man's eyes focused on him. "I don't know, I guess… I felt like I needed to."

Nny was silent.

Edgar hopped carefully over a pile of old picture frames. "So, um…" he started, making his way over to where the black haired figure stood. "Do you want any tea? I was going to make some for my self before you stopped by." He rubbed the back of his neck, pushing a stray box towards the wall. "I don't know if I have anything you'll like, but it's the least I can do."

Nny blinked at him with owlish eyes. "Just water." He replied. "I don't drink tea."

The taller male nodded. "The main room is over there. Make yourself comfortable and I'll be back with our drinks."

The two continued into separate parts of the house. Edgar reached up into a cabinet, bringing down a cup for his guest and himself. When the tea was finished, and the glass of water full, he walked back into the main quarters of the house in a slightly better mood.

He found Nny standing in front of the fireplace, eying the portrait intently.

"Is this you?" he didn't turn around.

Edgar placed the glass of water on the end table next to the other man's chair.

"My family and I, yes."

Nny looked over his shoulder, eyes cloudy. "Where are they now?"

A lump formed in the Christian's throat. He sipped at his tea, trying to rid himself of the nasty thing, but it refused to go.

"A-ah," he said shakily, setting his cup onto the table. "That's a good question."

He clasped his hands together, resting them in his lap. "Where are they now?" he repeated, staring at the picture on the wall. "Bethany is probably on tour in Europe or something. She's a model, you know. I don't know much about fashion, but I hear she gets the job done."

"Bethany?" Nny inquired.

Edgar laughed softly. "The older girl, with the ribbons. Hmm… Rebeckah, the baby, lives in Australia. She's a massage therapist, I believe. I haven't spoken with her in a long time, now that I think about it."

The homicidal man finally sat down in the seat across from him, eyes still a little foggy. "The man?"

"Brian? Well, he lives somewhere in Florida. I don't keep tabs on him." Edgar furrowed his brow slightly. "We never really got along too well…"

"What about the woman?"

The lump in Edgar's throat had grown five times its size. "My mother?" his voice was soft, almost pained. His eyes glazed over as memories swished through his mind. "She… she died when I was ten."

Nny drank a little of his water. "Oh. I'm sorry, I suppose."

The taller man shook his head, a smile returning to his face.

It looked forced.

"No need to be," he said gently, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. "It was her time. God wanted to bring her to a better place, and she let him." His eyes misted from behind his thick glasses. "S-she's in that better place now."

Johnny grunted. "I'm sure."

Glancing around the room from over the rim of his cup, he muttered, "Your house is gonna be dead soon."

Edgar sighed. "I know."

The shorter man leaned back in his chair, looking comfortable. "How long have you been living here alone?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Edgar narrowed his eyes in thought. "Too long to be healthy, maybe."

"It's huge here." Nny stated, looking out the window. Edgar nodded in agreement, fixing his gaze in the same direction. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and a smile split across his face. He set his tea on the coffee table between them, and sat up straight.

Nny caught the sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to face him. One eyebrow was raised in question.

"Nny, do you want to see something beautiful?"

Climbing up the stairs was a task in itself.

Both men tripped at least twice, over what, it didn't matter. Edgar was ahead, of course, living in the house long enough to find a pathway up the steps.

When they reached the second floor of the house, Nny was out of breath.

"Heh… how do you do that every day?" he rasped out.

Edgar shrugged in response.

The homicidal maniac looked to his right, where hanging from a rusty nail, was an old mirror. He squinted at, trying to make out his reflection.

He couldn't.

"Edgar," he said, gaining the other man's attention. "I don't like your mirror."

"Why not?" was his reply.

Nny wiped his sleeve against the scuffed up glass, trying to clear the surface. "I can't see myself in it." He growled. "As a matter of fact, I can't see anything in it."

Edgar chuckled. "That's the way it's supposed to be."

"What?"

The taller man walked over, and stood next to him. "That's just how my mother made it. It's doesn't show you who you are, like a normal mirror, because that's something you discover on your own." He brushed his fingers across the woodwork around the edges. "The path to realization and eternal pace is clouded with adventure and discovery. Misery, too. If we simply had the image of perfection in front of us, there wouldn't be a reason for us to do anything. And that's the point of life, and death. We have to do something."

Nny cocked his head to the side, trying to process the information. "I still don't like it."

Edgar nodded. "You don't have to, Johnny."

"Nny."

"Right, I forgot again. Sorry."

They continued through the house, stopping every now and then to examine and explain something that had caught Nny's interest.

Taking a few turns, they finally reached an old grandfather clock. It didn't appear to be working, but Edgar assured him that it was. The taller of the two set to work, pushing the heavy thing away from the wall. It looked exhausting, but he refused to let Nny do anything to help.

"You're the guest," Edgar grunted out. "I can't have you doing my work. It's just not hospitable."

When the clock was finally pushed away far enough, Johnny could see a door that had been hidden from sight. Edgar opened it, stepping in, and guiding the shorter man into the secret space.

Again, they were climbing a set of stairs. There wasn't as much of a struggle this time, making their way up the spiraling boards.

Arriving at their destination, Edgar pulled two stools out of a broom closet somewhere at the back of the little room. Sitting down he checked an old wall clock that Johnny was certain hadn't been there before.

"Oh, we're early." the Christian muttered, "Good."

Nny narrowed his eyes. "Early for what?" he demanded. "Where are we?"

Oh, right I forgot. Again. Edgar thought. I'm forgetful today.

He smiled, patting the stool across from him. "We're in the tower. Trust me, you'll like this."

Nny took time to observe the room carefully. He took notice that it was barren of any furniture, aside from a small bed, a dresser, a sink, and the wall clock. A pile of boxes sat in one corner, and the flower wallpaper was peeling rather unhappily from the walls.

"What is this place?" he asked.

Edgar hesitated, but answered anyways. "This was my room."

Nny didn't understand. "What? It's tiny. No one could possibly live in here."

A sigh.

"When my mother died, I lost all the dignity and respect I ever had from my siblings and my father." He explained softly. "They sold all of my things, as many of Mother's things that they could, and hid me from the world. They moved me up here, and told me not to make a sound. For a good eight years, Edgar Vargas didn't exist. Brian did whatever he had to do to erase me from the face of the Earth. He even tried to seal the door. When that didn't work, he re-wallpapered the entire hallway, and stood a huge clock in front of the only exit I had."

Johnny's eyebrows shot up. "How did you eat? Or live? Or pee?!"

Edgar grinned a little. "By the time I was ten, Rebeckah was six, and smart enough to figure out that people needed food to survive. She struck a deal with me; she brought me what I needed, and I read out of 'Mommy's favorite book' for her every night before bed. Before he had locked me away, Brian cut out a square in the wall just big enough to fit things through, and small enough to keep me in. He nailed a shelf to the wall on my side, big enough to set things on, and hung a coat rack over the top to hide it from sight."

"And that's how you got your meals." Nny stated.

"Yeah," Edgar nodded. "It was mostly just leftovers, but it kept me alive."

"What about bathroom breaks?"

"Two words; big bucket." The taller man replied. "Rebeckah took it, dragged it down the hall, and dumped it out the window."

Nny retched. "That's putrid."

Edgar agreed. "I guess she got use to it after eight years."

Johnny was quiet for a moment. He eyed the clock above their heads briefly; it read 5:55.

"What was 'Mommy's favorite book'?" he finally asked.

Edgar grinned. "The same favorite book that I've read front to cover forty-eight times. Want to guess? I'm sure you know."

Nny grumbled. He hated guessing games. "Give me a hint."

Edgar laughed. "Starts with a 'B'…"

Nny's eyes widened. "The Bible!" he shouted, jumping up onto his feet. He looked over to the other man, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. "I'm right, aren't I? Tell me I'm right!"

Edgar regained his posture for a moment. "Yes, you're right, Nny. Mother was always a vey religious woman."

Sitting back down, the homicidal maniac rolled his eyes. "I should have known." he all but ranted. "You people and your precious faith, believing there's something wonderful waiting for all of us at the end of our rope. I've been to heaven, hell, and back, yet you stupid mortals refuse to believe that all you work towards goes on unrewarded."

Edgar nodded slowly. "Everyone's different."

Glancing up at the clock, his demeanor changed. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Ready for what?"

Edgar's smile almost completely covered his face. "Five, four, three, two, one…"

Somewhere below them, the grandfather clock began to chime loudly, the sound vibrating through the huge house.

Nny didn't understand what was happening, that is, until it happened.

Suddenly, the room burst into a rainbow of colors. Gold, red, blue, pink, green, purple, any and every color ever invented was spreading across the walls in squares, rectangles, and many other shapes.

"Wha…"he jumped back into the shadows in surprise. Hesitantly, he reached out towards the light, feeling the warmth of sunlight on his hand. It sparkled heavenly, like magic almost.

That was when he noticed the huge round window that took up most of the wall in front of him. How had he not noticed that? It was a mess of different colored glass, all forms and sizes. They wound around a circle of white in the center, where two graceful red amaryllis blossoms were melded into the steel works.

"Wow." Was the only word he could think of saying.

Edgar beamed as the rainbow of light glowed across his skin. "My mother made it. No matter what time of year, six o'clock every evening, this room lights on fire. Isn't it beautiful?"

"I suppose so, yes. But nothing's ever truly beautiful."

He sighed, tracing the flower shadow against the wall behind him. "I think this was the only thing that kept me sane for all those years."

Nny sat back down, facing the Christian. "You never told me how you got out."

Edgar frowned. "I guess your right." His brow set in concentration, bringing his knees to his chest. "I don't remember much about it, really. One day the food just stopped coming. I tried to call for Rebeckah, but she wouldn't answer. The heater had stopped running, so it was- it was so cold that my hair was frozen. The pipes had frosted over, too, after maybe five days, so I didn't have much access to water. I managed to open the window so I could dump the… you know, out of the bucket. When they found me, I was half frozen, and wrapped around my bible."

He reached up into the collar of his shirt, withdrawing a necklace that was well hidden. It was beautiful, a simple green gem incased in a gold cross, designed with care and specific detail. In the center of the cross was a flower similar to those on the window.

"It was hers," Edgar muttered softly, fingering the pendant. "My mothers, I mean. Just one of a few belongings I could save. It was the only thing that hadn't frozen to my skin." He gave a half-hearted laugh. "I haven't taken it off since."

"I was trying to dump the bucket." he continued. "I was so weak by then, I barely made it to the window. I managed to dump the stuff, and drop the bucket. The neighbors must have seen it fall, and called the police. They searched the house, but they couldn't find a way into the tower. One of them tripped, though, knocking the clock over, and they found the door. I just remember praying. I prayed and prayed that someone would find me, that I wouldn't die alone in a tower that hid me away from everyone. And then, they did."

Johnny blinked. "How long were you there alone?" he asked.

"The doctors said they thought it was two weeks, but I think it was longer than that. Maybe three and a half. They said I was lucky to be alive, and went on about how some of my organs had actually stopped working." Edgar laughed. "It was weird, watching them cut me open and scrape ice off of my kidneys. I was so numb, I didn't feel anything."

"It's almost like your own Rapunzel story. Stuck in a tower, saved by the heroes, and living happily ever after." Nny looked at him funny. "Only, it's not 'Happily Ever After', because you're stuck on this God forsaken planet with all these assholes."

"I suppose you're right."

They were silent, sitting still and watching the light fade, and slowly melting into a dim glow that barely illuminated the room.

It was very quiet.

And very awkward.

"I should go." Nny stated shortly, getting to his feet. "I have… business to attend to."

Edgar nodded. "Can you find your way to the door?"

The homicidal maniac scoffed. "I think I can manage." He walked to the stairs, glancing back at the taller man.

"Edgar?"

He looked up. "Yes, Nny?"

"Thank you, I suppose."

Edgar smiled back, pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You're welcome, I suppose." He replied.

Johnny C. descended the stairs, out of sight, and Edgar leaned his back against the wall behind him, closing his eyes. He listened to the steady sound of footsteps, until they turned into rapid thuds and smacks.

"Shit, fuck, damn and rabid skunk piss!"

Edgar opened one eye. "Are you okay, Johnny?"

"It's Nny!" Came the reply. "And, yes, I think. Well, my spine is bent at an odd angle, and I don't think I can get up, but yes, I am fine."

"Are you really?" the Christian called back.

"…No."

Edgar gave a small smile. Only Nny would fall down the stairs, break multiple bones, and correct someone. "I'll be right there, just as soon as I put these seats away."

"Oh, okay. I'll, um, I'll just lay here. I swear, those stairs are evil."

Silence.

"OH YEAH?! WELL, FUCK YOU TOO, STAIRCASE! YOU KNOW, IF I WASN'T FATALLY WOUNDED, I WOULD TAKE THE BIGGEST HAMMER I COULD GET MY HANDS ON, AND SMASH YOU INTO OBLIVION!"

Edgar sighed. This was gonna be a long night.

A/N: AAAAAAAANNNNDDDD scene. Wow, that was crazy. Sorry if Johnny seemed a little out of character, it is my first time with this. Again, I dunno what you people want from this, if you think it's romantic, then so be it. I don't know anything about Edgar's past, but I think it was probably a little traumatizing, I mean, he was half dead, guys. HALF. DEAD. Well, I hoped you enjoyed it, 'cause I know I did.

Remember to review! I love it when you do!

Heh, that rhymed.

P.S. Look up the meaning of the flowers on the window. I think it's cool, but that's just me.