Precious

by Higgy

Edward Nigma is kidnapped and has to suffer through a lot of pain and humiliation from The Man. Warning: Dark fic containing sexual assault, kidnapping, violence, non-con, abuse, humiliation, force feeding and both mental and physical torture/abuse. Please do not read if these upset you.

Edward is awoken by the feeling of lips on the back of his neck, soft, gentle kisses being lovingly placed there by his bed partner. Slowly he shifts forward and away, feeling his insides quiver at the other's touch. A hand reaches into his hair and tangles there, fingers tugging a little too harshly as he's pulled back to his previous position. The lips return to the abandoned skin, they begin pressing more kisses to the same spot and swiping out a tongue to lick at the soft skin there. He shudders and draws his knees up to wrap his arms around them and curl in on himself.

Almost immediately there is a strong overly large hand pulling his legs back down so it can press on his chest, the fingers splaying over his ribs. Edward's breathing quickens slightly and he knows the other is getting some sort of pleasure from his quickened heart rate but no matter how hard he tries he can't calm himself down. He's relieved when the kisses stop, letting out a small puff of air in relief and relaxing his death grip on his own arms where he's been hugging himself.

As soon as he thinks he's safe the Man touches him again and the small sense of panic begins anew. He's slowly and carefully rolled over and unwrapped from himself, the meaty hands of his bedfellow slipping underneath his armpits to pull him upright into a sitting position. Gritting his teeth he keeps his gaze averted when the Man begins pressing kisses all over his face whilst still holding him upright. The Man is a monster in size as well as nature.

"Morning Precious." Edward cringes again and wants to struggle in the grip but he still has bruises healing from the last time so he restrains himself. The Man is roughly a foot and a half taller than him and as broad and muscled as Bane is. There was just no point in a man of his size and stature even trying to fight him off, so now he just lets himself be manhandled however the Man wants. He hates the nickname but in a strange way it's better than letting him use his real name, only people he likes can call him Eddie. At least in some strange way he still has his name.

One final kiss is pressed to his cheek before the Man pulls away enough to look at him properly, one rough hand coming up to hold his chin so he'll meet his eyes. He hates having to look him in the eyes. The Man's irises are a harsh dark grey, nothing warm about them as they reflect the colour of cold hard steel. "Does Precious have to go to the bathroom?" Edward shudders when the fingers run through his hair again, petting him none to gently as he nods his reply. They dig in a little harder and he winces. "Use your words Precious." The Man orders, voice growling slightly and eyes narrowing in frustration.

The Man doesn't like it when he doesn't talk, it makes him mad and he sees it as disobeying him. He's shaken slightly as a warning and can feel his teeth knock together. "Yes." His voice is hoarse where he hasn't used it as much since he's been here. Holding back his voice and refusing to talk is something he started as a last ditch attempt to have some control over this new life. Now the man's even trying to take that away from him. He'd tried ignoring him before and just communicating with hand gestures and body language, it hadn't worked out too well for him. He flushes in shame at the memory of being locked in his room until he'd begged through the door to be able to go to the bathroom, only to be ignored repeatedly until he'd wet himself like a child. Since then he'd learned not to push it too far, one warning was all he'd get before punishment and now he didn't push the man any further than just that one warning. "Yes I need to go to the bathroom please."

"Good boy." Another kiss is pressed to his cheek in reward before the Man stands, grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind him as he leads the way to the bathroom. Unlike his room the bathroom is clean, tidy and ordered it reminds him of his old apartment and how his OCD would kick in when he was tired. Now he wasn't allowed to move anything without permission lest he aggravate the Man. "Now do your business."

He thinks one of the worst things about this new life was the lack of privacy. The Man didn't like him being left alone for too long and if he was alone it would only ever be when he was locked in his room. The man leads him in front of the toilet before letting go of his hand but he doesn't move far. Edward lets out a shaky breath and takes himself from his underwear, preparing himself and focussing on a point within the toilet bowl. He refuses to acknowledge the presence next to him, the Man never moves far though Edward's not sure why he feels the need to watch him take care of such basic needs. The knowledge of the other man watching is enough to make his body tense and he grits his teeth in frustration as suddenly despite the fact his bladder is full he can't seem to go.

It's insane that he's feeling this way right now. He's been a patient at Arkham enough times that he's had to go in front of whatever guard was watching him whilst he was in solitary. He's been naked and showered in front of the other male rogues enough times that they could probably tell you the number of freckles he has over his shoulders. Yet having the Man this close to him right now is putting him off enough that he sighs in frustration and closes his eyes to concentrate. Every morning is the same and it's driving him mad that he can't quite get over this stage fright.

The Man sighs beside him, his breath rushing over his shoulder and breezing past his ear in a way that's really not helping him ignore his presence. "Come on Precious." Edward grunts in response, squeezing his eyes a little tighter and desperately trying to ignore the other man and relax enough to go. "You said you had to go." He shuffles in place and takes a deep breath whilst trying to imagine himself anywhere else but here. Feeling the Man shift away he is able to relax for a fraction of a second as his bladder starts to twinge in fullness and discomfort. Then he tenses immediately when arms come around his waist from behind to rest on his lower abdomen.

After the initial shock he manages to find his voice, weak and quiet as it echoes off the tiles. "I…I can't…" He swallows through the now maddening feeling of desperation that's coiling through his body, and tries to calm himself down even though the Man's chest is pressing against his back. "I can't go with you there." He hopes it's not going to put the Man in a bad mood if he's only being honest. He'd managed it the other few times because he hadn't said anything and he'd only ever stood in the doorway, but never this close. Never with him touching him.

"Shh." Edward cringes as a kiss is pressed to his neck again, lips pressing hard against him as he tries to focus on anything else but the touches. His eyes are open now, staring blankly ahead as he tries desperately to just pee and get this over and done with. He knows that the sooner he goes the sooner it's over but his body just won't listen to him. The Man's fingers trail over his swollen abdomen, beneath them his bladder seems to spasm in pain as he tenses up again. It's no good; he's not going to be able to relax enough to go. "Just relax Precious." Suddenly there's an immense pressure on his abdomen as the Man pushes on him hard, squeezing his bladder to the point of complete pain as he gasps in agony. It may not be relaxing but it works and before his mind can process what's happening he's letting out a sigh as finally he relieves himself.

It's shameful and embarrassing but it's also such a relief. When his bladder is finally emptied he comes back to himself and is immediately horrified. Tucking himself back into his underwear he reaches out to flush the toilet, allowing himself to move away from the other man by a few inches and try to regain some dignity back. The Man is smiling at him and pulls him into his chest in a tight crushing embrace before resting his chin on Edward's head. "You're such a good boy." A kiss is pressed there before he's allowed some space to move away and keep his eyes on the floor, shame still sitting in his belly as he's led over to the sink.

The Man runs a hand through his short greasy black hair ruffling it into even more of a mess than it was before. Edward hates him so much that it hurts, but he fears him even more so. Obeying the orders and following the routine was a simple way to keep himself safe, because he knew from experience that a slap with one of those hands, hands with a span the size of a dinner plate, was enough to knock him dizzy for an hour. It was awful but it was easier and safer to do as was wanted. One of those huge hands grabs the side of his face, cupping it and holding him still as a toothpaste coated toothbrush is brought towards him. Obediently he opens his mouth, his fingers clenching in the hem of his sleep shirt as he prepares to be violated in a manner that he was used to.

The bristles rub along his teeth gently at first and he can cope with this better. Sadly he's used to having his teeth brushed for him now, all attempts to help or do it himself are met with a vicious smack to the face and possibly being denied some of his privileges. Since it was coming up to winter he really didn't want to go a day without clothes again. Every so often the brush will be pushed too far and he'll gag, choking and trying to shut his mouth to stop himself. The Man doesn't like it and soon he feels a thumb pushing between his back molars, holding his mouth wide open as he finished cleaning his teeth for him. It's a relief when after a few minutes he's told to rinse and spit, finally able to close his now aching jaw.

He hates himself sometimes, especially in moments like this when he doesn't have to be told what to do. The Man starts to clean his own teeth and he waits patiently at his side like some sorry excuse for a trained dog. The mirror over the sink reflects his bedraggled image but he can't bring himself to look up, he already knows exactly what he'll see. It's been just over a month since he'd woken up here with no clue where he was or how he'd come to wake up in his disgusting cell of a room. His hair is getting too long for his liking, sitting messily atop his head and needing to be washed everyday much to his annoyance. He knows he's lost weight since being here, most likely because he ate when he was allowed and not when he wanted. The lack of food, sunlight and feeling safe was having an awful affect on his skin, causing him to be paler than normal almost sickly in colour. At least the mirror can't show how unhealthy he is inside his head, thank God for small favours.

Without realising what he's doing he follows the Man into the main room of his prison, what some people may call the lounge. There was a small kitchenette at one end and a living area at the other. It wasn't much but it seemed to work well enough for what the man wanted. He moves to stand in front of the couch where he sees his pile of clothes is set but he doesn't reach out to touch them. He's forgotten when was the last time he dressed himself.

"You're such a good boy." Edward flinches as more kisses are pressed to his cheeks and a few sneak onto his lips. He really hates that and refuses to respond in either words or actions. Although he'll obey to stop the punishments he won't respond voluntarily in any positive way. Not if he can help it. "Now is my good boy going to behave himself today for me?"

Edward wants to scream at him. He wants to yell and scream to this beast of a man that he's not his property, he doesn't deserve this and that when he gets free he's going to make him pay. He's the Riddler, an enemy of the Batman himself and one who can get his attention in an instant because he's so dangerous. When he gets free he's going to destroy his mind and his body over a course of hours and watch as he writhes in despair and begs for death. The entire force of Arkham asylum will be on his side because as much as they hated each other they would gladly help him get revenge if he offered them a free victim.

Instead he nods his head and lifts his arms to allow the bigger man to remove his pyjama top.

The Man must be in a good mood today because he's letting him get away with not talking for a while. Strong hands remove his nightshirt, folding it softly before pulling a fresh clean tee shirt over his head and helping him guide his arms into the sleeves. It's humiliating being dressed as if he were a child but the Man is being lenient this morning and he doesn't want to push his luck. He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead when the Man kneels before him and works off the pyjama bottoms and his underwear. Every fibre of his being wants to cover himself with his hands, hide away from the other man who's smiling up at him with a horribly lovely smile. "My lovely precious boy." He really can't help the twitch that runs through his entire body when a kiss is pressed to his hip. His fingers itch to brush the other man away and go clean himself, but soon enough he's having underwear pulled up his thighs and into place before his trousers follow swiftly.

A small sense of calm and security settles over him when he's dressed again. It's a small barrier against the constant touches and kisses of the Man and one that he's very grateful for. The Man stands in front of him and he has to brace himself and try not to back away as his face is peppered with more gentle kisses. "Now would my Precious like some breakfast?" He cringes and tilts his head down so her doesn't have to see the adoring face of the Man.

Large fingers reach up and cradle his face; the thumbs stroking along the top of his cheeks and making him shudder in revulsion. It should be an act of love, something he should be proud and glad to receive from another person, instead it just makes his insides coil in discomfort and unease. The man strokes for a few moments, gentle and soft before one thumb pushes a bit harder, Edward can almost hear the Man's patience wearing thin so he opens his mouth and speaks to the chest in front of him, still too ashamed to meet his eyes. "Yes please." He wonders if he'll ever feel confident and proud enough again to speak in anything other than a whisper.

A harsh kiss is pressed to his lips before the man tears himself away, pushing Edward back to fall onto the sofa as he makes his own way to the kitchenette. He stays where he is obediently though he does scan the room for any signs of change from yesterday. As the smell of pancakes begins to fill the room he's disappointed to find that there's no change. The padlocks still reside on the kitchen cupboards and fridge, even though he sees no point to them since he's always locked in his room if he's by himself. The same movies lay beside the old television and DVD player combination; the books lining the bookshelf are the same as always. He sighs and glances at the desktop computer wistfully. His mind seemed to be rotting away in this place.

If he could find a way to get into the main room when he was alone, he was sure he could get out of this place in ten seconds flat. His genius mind had already completely figured out the basics of the place the moment he'd been introduced to his new home. No windows, all artificial light and when the man goes through the main door he always went upstairs to get to ground level. So he was underground, probably in a converted basement. It made sense, it was private, the neighbours probably had no idea and he was certain it was soundproof. There was only one bedroom, his room, so the Man had to live somewhere nearby, most likely upstairs in the house attached to his prison. The Man also left for work daily, what he assumed was nine to five since there were no clocks down here. It was clever in a way, he was so disorientated by the lack of clocks and calendars that he was dependant on the Man just to have the basic knowledge of when to be awake. His circadian rhythm could only work on natural cues and there were none down here.

The only way in and out was through the main door, but that led to the main house upstairs and all he had was an assumption of the floor space above him. It was probably a townhouse, large enough for everything the man wanted but not so large as to draw attention of only one man living there. There was also the problem of where exactly this house and his prison was located. Was he even in Gotham anymore? Or somewhere else entirely? Was he even in the same state as his previous home? He really couldn't tell and the man made sure he had no knowledge of the outside world; no newspapers, no live television, no internet access. The most he knew was that he'd been here roughly a month and it was turning into a cold winter, probably mid November. Escape would be difficult and so far it had proven impossible.

"Precious breakfast is ready." He sighs and rises from the couch, leaving his thoughts behind him as he makes his way to the kitchen breakfast bar. The plate is stacked full of pancakes smothered in syrup, a small side plate of strawberries next to it. One lone fork sits on the counter beside them. Edward sits in his usual seat, besides the one with the pancakes in front of it. He doesn't reach for the fork but just sits patiently and waits, sitting on his hands so he doesn't fidget and annoy the Man. It's strange that he both looks forward to and dreads meal times.

The food in itself is enjoyable, it always is since the Man is a decent enough cook and he does get so hungry when he's left by himself all day. The Man cuts the pancakes into fork-sized bites, taking one mouthful for himself before scooping up another and holding it out. "One for me, and one for Precious." Edwards leans forward to take it, hating being fed like a child but not willing to ask if he can feed himself. He knows to be grateful for any food at all.

There have been days where he's not been fed at all, instead he's had to sit obediently at the man's side and watch as he stuffed his own face. Hunger he could cope with though, the Man could do much much worse. The problem was that the man didn't have the same relationship with food that he did. For him food is something you take when you can get, or when you have time. In Arkham it was appalling, tasted foul but you had to eat it or starve. When he was free he was usually too busy to have a proper meal so he'd live on snacks here and there with the occasional takeaway. All in all he didn't really eat much, the Man however, ate a lot.

It wasn't surprising really. The Man was so huge that it made sense that he'd have to eat a lot to support his body, let alone the muscles that he obviously works on everyday. Edward opens his mouth to receive his ninth mouthful, already getting a little tired of the sweet sticky batter. The man is still ploughing through, shovelling mouthful after mouthful of syrup-smothered pancake into his own mouth before offering it to Edward. After bite number fifteen he's starting to wish he had a bigger appetite. His stomach is a little over comfortably full, warning him that he's had enough food for now. He opens his mouth a little slower and takes the next forkful; it's unwanted and feels horrible in his mouth. The batter is stodgy and sticks to the roof of his mouth and the syrup makes his teeth slick and sticky. It takes a while longer for him to chew it enough to swallow but he manages it with a little shift of discomfort.

He feels so heavy and full when the next forkful is pressed to his lips that he doesn't open them right away, instead letting out a small noise of distress and turning his head away. Even the smell is making him feel queasy. "Precious." He shudders as his head is turned back to face the Man with a meaty grip, the fork coming up to tap at his lips again for entrance. Slowly he forces himself to open his mouth and take the food, almost gagging at the unwanted pancakes rolling around in his mouth. It takes even longer this time and a lot of mental cajoling from himself but he manages to swallow and even keep it down. His mouth opens in a pant, the small cold mouthfuls of air somehow helping him feel a little better.

His stomach is rolling in discomfort, stretched too far and making him feel tired and lethargic as he wraps his arms gently around it. As he cradles his sore tummy he lets out a small groan, closing his eyes as he tries to think about anything else. All that crosses his mind is the amount of food that's crammed in his body, churning and digesting in a disgusting mass of discomfort and nausea. He doesn't even open his eyes as the next forkful of pancakes is pressed gently against his lips. A small part of him hopes that today will be different, the Man will let him stop now and will finish their breakfast by himself. He tries to suppress the shudder as the syrup is smeared over his lips, a small gloop entering his mouth and feeling tacky on the tip of his tongue. Edward tightens his lips as much as possible and shakes his head, clutching at his belly and silently begging to be left alone.

"Precious, don't make me force you." The Man's voice is low but holds a terrifying chuckle between the words. Edward shivers and is too worried to open his eyes, stomach rolling beneath his fingers. He cringes as the fork presses against his lips again this time a little harder. There's a cold chuckle with every prod, the tines of the instrument sharp against his lips. He's glad the Man can find this funny, because he's really not finding it funny at all, he just feels extremely sick.

His stomach tightens and for just a second he feels brave enough to protest, to stick up for himself and ask for what he wants. He turns his face enough that the Man can't shove the food in at the obvious chance, every fibre of his being hoping to be listened to for once. "Please. No more. I'm full." There's a silence for a moment, and the quiver of hope from before grows. Maybe he's finally being listened to, maybe he's been well behaved enough that the Man will let him off this once. He dares to open his eyes, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips as all the tension in his body leaves for a while. It's been a long enough pause for him to relax, feel relieved and think he's safe for a while.

The Man's fingers whip out in an instant, too quick for him to avoid and grab his chin, bringing him back so they're face to face. Their eyes meet and the tiny ray of hope and relief that he'd felt before is gone, now it's replaced by a sudden urge to panic and struggle in terror. He manages to suppress it into nothing more than a quiet whimper and quickly shuts his eyes, unable to look at the anger in those steel grey pools. "Ssh, now Precious, be quiet." The Man shakes him viciously and carries on the motion until it's nothing more than a gentle rock. He allows his head to be swayed back and forth even though the motion does nothing to soothe his still uneasy stomach. "You need to finish your breakfast." A thumb strokes across his cheek, a little too hard to be reassuring, it feels more like a threat. "Understood?"

He can't open his eyes; he has a feeling that if he does the man will see the hatred he's feeling within. There's a few seconds of rocking back and forth, enough time for him to make a decision. He would rather spend a while feeling ill than lying on the floor with new bruises. Edward can feel his stomach tighten in protest as he slowly opens his mouth. The pancakes are smothered in syrup and it dribbles down out the side of his mouth when he closes it around the food; he daren't reach up to wipe it away.

The fluffy batter is meant to be a treat, something sweet and wonderful to start the day. Instead it's making his stomach clench and ripple inside him, churning in uncomfortable tension as he chews and chews and chews in an effort to make it small enough so it won't hurt so much on the way down. He's barely finished swallowing when there's a new forkful tapping away at his lips.

Edward dares to open his eyes as he takes the next bite, a small amount of relief running through him when he sees only four bites left on the plate. Two for the man, two for him. His fingers clench on his stomach as it twinges worse than before, making him gag a little around the food. He swallows it down forcefully, two more bites, he can manage two more bites and then it'll all be over. He's dealt with worse, he's survived Arkham, Batman and even working with the Joker; he knows he can survive eating a few stupid pancakes.

His mouth feels disgusting, coated in syrup, bits of pancake stuck in his molars, and the feeling of something stuck in the back of his throat. Swallowing his own spit is almost too much to bear now, but he's going to force himself to finish the food no matter what. The Man pushes forward another forkful and he gags at the smell of it, but manages to bite his tongue, swallow down the want to turn away and take the food into his mouth. He tries to think of anything else but it's so difficult to ignore the awful feeling building up inside of him. Just when he thinks he can swallow the foul mix in his mouth, something jerks inside of him and he hiccups, every inch of him feeling sick, full and uncomfortable. He balks a little and moves a hand over his mouth, holding it there as he tries to swallow again, this time managing to keep it down.

Suddenly his stomach really does start to rebel against the awful treatment and he's quivering as a familiar feeling begins to creep up the back of his throat. He opens his mouth and pants a little hoping the cool air will help him feel better, keep him calm and stop the rise he feels within him. Unfortunately the Man sees it as an opportunity to ram the last piece of pancake into his mouth. It pushes him over the edge and he can feel the bile coating his throat as his body tries to solve its discomfort problem.

The man's hand is over his mouth in an instant, cold grey eyes glaring into his as he panics, body shuddering and convulsing as he throws up inside his mouth. His fingers scrabble at the ones closed over his mouth as he breaths desperately through his nose. This is disgusting, wrong and awful. He heaves again and can sense the Man's anger growing. "Don't even think it." Is forced out between clenched teeth, making him shudder and take a few deep steadying breaths as the vomit swirls about his tongue. The taste, scent and feel of it is making him want to throw up even more, he needs to fix this sooner rather than later. His stomach cramps and he squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before swallowing hard.

It's possibly the most disgusting thing he's ever done in his life.

The chewed chunks of batter get stuck at the back of his throat and he has to swallow again, hoping against hope that he can last long enough before gagging and heaving again. His stomach is disgustingly full, hard and heavy in his abdomen as he takes deep breaths through his nose, his lips clenched beneath the Man's fingers as he desperately fights to keep it all down. He can do this. All he has to do is keep this down, not vomit and it's done. After a few moments of just sitting, breathing deeply and praying desperately to himself his stomach calms enough for him to feel safe enough to open his eyes.

The Man is beaming at him; joy and pride clear on his face as his hand is taken away from his face. "Such a good boy." A hand reaches out and he's too exhausted, full and worried about moving too much to flinch away when it comes to rest on the top of his head. The fingers stroke through his hair gently, soothing almost and it's enough to distract his mind from the pain across his midsection. "My perfect boy, I'm so proud of you Precious."

Edward feels a little sicker when he realises he's a little proud too, but he attributes that to the pancakes rolling in his stomach.

"You can have a treat for being such a very good boy." Edward whimpers a little in horror and disgust as the Man reaches for a strawberry off the side plate. He smothers a gag into his palm and focuses on the pattern of the tiles on the breakfast bar they're sat at. His stomach clenches and he shifts a little to try and settle it, wanting to do anything else but open his mouth for more food. As far as he's concerned he need never eat again. He almost cries in relief when the Man presses the fruit to his own lips and doesn't once offer a piece to him.

The fruit being eaten gives him enough time to just sit and try to calm his still warring body. His stomach really is in pain, cramping every so often, rolling inside him and just giving him an overwhelming feeling of discomfort and sickness. Edward lets the constant praises the Man utters wash over him as he breaths slowly and evenly, determined not to do anything that will make him vomit. He's done so well so far; he's not going to lose now.

"Precious is so perfect for me, aren't you?" Another pet on the head, a stroke to the cheek and a thumb reaches out to wipe the syrup away from his chin before having the sticky remains licked off by the Man. "You're such a good boy for me, and good boys get to have rewards." His stomach curls and he nods slowly, trying to look grateful whilst holding back the need to vomit. Every part of him that's not in agony is hoping for the reward to be nice.

When the Man drains his glass of juice and stands up he groans a little, moving isn't really in his best interests at the moment, he'd rather just stay here for a while. He leans on the countertop and supports himself gently as he gets to his feet. The Man hasn't grabbed him yet but he knows he's not allowed to stray too far away, and right now he'd rather move by himself then be forced anywhere. He knows the routine by now and as he slowly shuffles back towards his bedroom a slight sense of relief washes over him.

The Man is pottering about the main room, tidying things away, and muttering to himself as he does so. Edward leans against his bedroom doorway, cradling his stomach and panting a little as a burp works its way out of his throat. At least it wasn't vomit, he can be grateful for that. Still he covers his mouth and lowers his gaze, not wanting to be seen as rude or disobeying the Man.

Instead of yelling, he hears a slight chuckle as the Man approaches him. "Silly Precious." He startles a little at the hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheek gently and so very softly. "You've been so well behaved already today, that you can have this today." A book is pressed into his hands before the Man nudges him into the room properly, letting him wander in and seat himself on the edge of his bed. The book is old, the pages wrinkled and yellowing with age. He flicks through it, glad to have something to take his mind off the discomfort of his stomach.

The Man kneels in front of him, still tall enough and large enough to be an overpowering presence that leans over him. He lets the book sit on his lap; the cover feels cold on his thighs through his jeans. "Now I've got to go to work Precious." Edward swallows down the want to grin in relief and instead sits as passively and blankly as possible. "So you stay in here and behave for me okay? I know you can do that because you're my good boy." A kiss is pressed to his forehead, his cheeks and then one soft one flutters at the corner of his mouth. He feels the need to retch but holds it back as the man smiles at him. "Such a good boy."

A final kiss is pressed to his forehead before the Man leaves, waving over his shoulder and placing two bottles of water and a bucket into the room before closing the door. The three locks on the outside snap into place seconds afterwards. Edward stays still and waits until he's heard all the familiar noises of the Man leaving. Locks snap shut, one, two, three then he moves through the main room, checking the locks on the kitchen cupboards and fridge before unlocking the main door. Then it slams shut and more sounds of bolts sliding into place follow. Finally Edward feels he can breathe.

He leans back onto the bed and gingerly lays himself down, propped up a little on the pillows so his stomach can settle. The book is placed on the mattress beside him as he stares up at the ceiling. He can feel his tummy tense and relax every so often, the food in there not digesting quick enough to give him any relief. Edward sighs and closes his eyes for a while, just letting the constant anxiety ebb away for the moment as he lets his aching tummy slowly work its way through the pain.

His mind hovers for a while in a haze of half awake, half asleep dozing before he feels comfortable enough to roll onto his side and pick up the book he'd earned. Finally his stomach has settled enough for him to move comfortably without the sense of wanting to vomit coming over him every time. He's still a little tender and there's an awful residue of syrup and bile in his mouth but he can't quite build up the courage to walk over, bend down and grab one of the water bottles yet. Instead he opens the book and begins reading for a while just to pass the time.

Time passes a little quicker since he has the book; usually he spends his time staring at the ceiling and being bored. It makes a nice change to have something else to focus on. The words are soothing and give his brilliant mind something to latch onto. As another with a great mind has once said, his 'mind rebels at stagnation'. True Sherlock Holmes was fictional but he'd always been his favourite character when he was a child. He remembers when he'd steal away books from the town library under his mattress so he could read them without his father knowing. Yes, the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes had kept his young brain well nourished and stimulated, making him feel less alone and isolated in his brilliance.

He sighs into the small room and sets the book aside; now that he's thought of the old Sherlock novels he'd squirreled away the boring fact book on engineering through the ages was useless to him. Edward padded slowly across the small room, taking care not to rush himself and risk making himself ill again. He bends enough to snatch up a water bottle, kicking the bucket out of spite before taking a sip. Rinsing his mouth out he spits the vile taste out, trying to not only rid himself of the remaining bile but also the memory of that awful meal. His tummy rolls a little at the thought and he gags in the back of his throat when he imagines eating again. Quickly he takes a gulp of water, hoping to calm his body and make it understand that there's no danger anymore and it doesn't have to rebel. He manages a safe small burp that makes him feel a little better before he moves back to his bed.

In a way this place reminds him a lot of Arkham. Well his room did anyway. The small room held nothing more than his bed, a single that was about as comfortable as the bunks in Arkham. The only other thing he had was his bucket, left there for his more base needs when the Man locked him in here. He hates that thing so much and it was just one of the ways that his previous cell was better than this one, at least there was plumbing there. His mattress is thin and doesn't afford him a good nights sleep, he always finds himself tossing and turning during the night. Sitting down he sighs and wishes, dreams and begs that he could be back in Arkham.

The room does remind him of Arkham, but only how much better the asylum is in comparison. Technically it was an insane asylum yes but inside it was so much more. He screws the cap back on the bottle and rolls it between his hands just for something to do as his mind begins to over think everything. He misses his cell; he misses the openness of the hallways and the knowledge that escape was only a plan away. Here he'd tried to escape, but Arkham was easier to get away from than here. Here he was caged with so much more than just locks and walls.

Arkham shouldn't have been on his list of what he's missing but it is. He knows he's weird and if anything he should be glad that he's not locked up behind those bars being told he is insane daily by the guards and doctors alike. He sighs when he thinks of the staff there. A part of him even misses them.

Well not really them in particular, it was more like he just missed other people in general. He remembers the guards were complete jerks to him at times, he remembers Cash giving him a good smack when he'd talked back and even being put in solitary because he's dared to speak in nothing but riddles to the new boy. No, the guards were not really something he missed having, he was lying to himself if he thought they were. The doctors were something else, annoying, intelligent and always wanting to know more. He shakes the bottle a little harder when he thinks back to his therapy sessions.

He places the bottle down and runs his fingers through his hair as he leans back again, finding the cold wall against his back and holding his still uncomfortable stomach. The doctors had been a difficult part for him to deal with. As a professional criminal he knew he was meant to hate them and revile them for daring to try and assess him. He was offended that they thought he was insane, that they dared to belittle his intelligence and call him crazy. But then there were times that he didn't mind the doctors.

There were some that he would kill on instant, if he were ever able to get them into a death trap he'd leave them there with his hardest riddles and watch as they slowly perished. Especially Dr Young, that bitch only ever wanted to talk about his father and his past issues. He scowled at the thought of her and leant his head back against the wall. Then there were some that he wouldn't test, not that he liked them but they'd made Arkham that much more bearable. Dr Charlie Woley had been one of the more bearable ones.

He remembers when he'd been given to Dr Woley as a patient; he'd been in Arkham little more than a week and had still been angry with Batman when he'd had his first session. The doctor was new, only having seen minimum-security patients before him and he was quite looking forward to breaking this new doctor so easily. He hadn't been prepared for their sessions. Dr Woley had told him to call him Charlie and then he'd proceeded to ask Eddie questions about what he liked, what he didn't like and just normal topics of conversations. There had been nothing too prying or prodding for information from him, if he hadn't been in an office at Arkham he'd have thought he was just getting to know someone at a bar. Charlie was one of those doctors that had wanted to be his friend, and for some silly reason it had worked. Where the other inmates had ridiculed the new Dr and hated him Edward had felt at peace in their sessions. If he wanted to talk about puzzles and riddles he didn't get punished, Charlie knew a lot about engineering and mechanics so they could hold an intelligent conversation. Sad to say it but somehow Charlie had become more of a confidant then a doctor.

The bed creaks beneath him and he hits the mattress in annoyance. He thinks it's acceptable that he misses his intelligent conversations with Charlie. He knows he really shouldn't be thinking of it this way, but somehow over time Arkham had become his home and now that he'd spent so long away from it he longs to be back there. Though it's not really the place, but the people.

They would never admit it but he and the other people who made up Batman's most wanted list were something of a family. Broken, violent and a little dysfunctional but a family nonetheless. After you've spent so many years in the company of the same people you tend to make bonds even if you don't want to. Now he found himself missing them terribly, even if they hadn't always seen eye to eye.

He missed Harley quite a bit. She'd always been nice to him ever since they'd first met on either side of the bars. After she'd become a villain in her own right and not a doctor, he'd liked her even more. The woman had a way of making you smile even on the worst of days. True she wasn't as intelligent as some people, but she certainly wasn't stupid. She could get a few of his easier riddles and would listen when he needed to chat about things that the others would find inane. He'd even taken to chatting idle gossip with her about he other rogues. He smiles at the memory of when she'd been upset during their recreation time and he'd allowed her to put his hair in tiny bunches and plaits to cheer her up. Fingering the greasy mess atop his head he thought that she'd probably enjoy playing with it now since it's gotten so long.

Jervis was a strange one but definitely someone he could call a friend. When the man wasn't completely insane over Alice he was quite pleasant company and always had tea when the occasion called for it. As a gentleman he always enjoyed a good cup of tea and so long as he consented to being called Dormouse for a while he could usually avoid having to cope with mind control. Jervis and he could hold an entire conversation entirely in riddles if they wished and if he had caught him on a sane day then it was a brilliant way to sneak hidden information past the guards. On one of his more Hatter inspired days he's sometimes get nothing but insane ramblings back to him but it was still enjoyable having someone who wouldn't hit him every time he asked them to riddle him something.

His relationship with Ivy was a strange one but one that he missed all the same. She hated him and he hated her, it was even fair and full of bite and excitement. Occasionally they'd worked together and it has worked out well but usually he'll admit he ended up worse off. Either way he still knew she would never intentionally kill him, not if she wanted to avoid Harley's whining. So they put up with each other, spoke civilly and carried on as if they were business partners rather than friends or enemies. Though occasionally inside the asylum they would slip. Especially if all the other rogues are free and there's no audience to play for. He remembers when they'd both been so alone and had sat together and watched a movie on the flea bitten sofa in the recreation room, hands touching on the old cushions and not talking about it when he'd leaned into her warmth. He remembers it was 'The Day of the Triffid's that had been playing, it was strangely perfect.

Ozzy had started out as nothing more than a good person to have as an ally. When he'd first started his life of crime in Gotham he'd made himself known to the other man, offering money, his time and services in return for help and other things he may ever have needed from the businessman. Slowly it had formed into a real friendship. He had his own booth in the Iceberg lounge, a tab that he never needed to pay and the safety net of Ozzy's help should he ever get too out of his depth. The other man had been a lifesaver on more than one occasion, providing information, a safe house and occasionally weapons when he needed them. He misses their times together when they would pretend to be free normal men drinking together and sharing stories of their past glories. Together they could reminisce about the tales of how they'd almost gotten the Batman and he'd chuckle as Ozzy's quacking laughter echoed around the club.

He had a good relationship when it came to Harvey but not so much when it came to Big Bad Harv. Where he and Harvey are able to chat amicably and discuss the small bits of politics they're allowed to watch from the news, Harv really doesn't like him. Harvey was very clever when it came to politics and being persuasive, it's the main reason he enjoys speaking to him, when you really get talking it's easy to see how the man runs one of the biggest gangs in the city. Harvey could convince a man the sky was green and the grass was blue if you gave him long enough. However, when it came to Harv there was some issues, apparently the other half didn't enjoy Harvey having such friendly and normal discussion and he'd had the coin flipped on him plenty of times. He considered himself lucky that it had only come up tails a few times and they'd been in Arkham so a punch was the only punishment. Edward liked Harvey's company but despised Harv's.

When he first met Victor he'd been in complete and utter awe at his suit. Being a complete nerd, and proud of it, he'd immediately wanted to know everything about the suit, the weapons and how it all worked. He remembers Victor ignoring him and pushing him aside for the first few weeks as he'd adjusted but then slowly he'd began answering his questions. They'd meet and he'd study the other man, pointing and poking at parts of the suit, asking what parts did what and did he use some kind of gyroscope to calibrate it properly and did it respond fully to his body functions. Victor didn't smile much and only when he ever thought of his beloved Nora, but once of twice he thinks he saw a twitch in his lip or a glimmer in his eye as he explained his suit and the inner workings. Edward had always appreciated intelligence and Victor's was just as interesting to him as anyone else's. They never spoke of Nora, he didn't think he could ever understand what it would feel like to love anyone more than yourself, so they'd mainly focussed on mechanics and science.

Although he's never tried to seek out the company of the Joker he'll admit that they're not exactly complete enemies. With the clown you had to watch your back constantly and although he admired the other man's persistence at destroying the Bat and his city, he did so hate liars. If nothing else the joker was a liar. He was the most untrustworthy person he'd ever met and after one explosion and double cross too many he'd learned to never turn your back on him. So they may not be friends, but he wasn't an idiot, it didn't make sense to make an enemy of the Joker if you wanted to continue living.

He sighs and pulls his knees to his chest, curling his bare toes into the covers beneath him and feeling a more than a little upset at the memories playing through his mind. The only other person he really misses is Jonathan. He ex-cellmate had probably been the closest thing to a best friend that he'd ever had. His fingers reach out to pick at a loose thread on the knee of his trousers, the fidgeting helping him as suddenly he starts to really feel lost and alone.

At first Jonathan and he had just been cellmates but their relationship had evolved over time to be possibly his closest relationship yet. The other man was brilliant, especially when it came to chemicals and science and having another person to speak to about more advanced topics was a wonderful reprieve whilst in Arkham. He'll admit at first it was a rocky start, he'd been fear gassed a few times and once he had broken Jonathan's nose in a fight but it had become better. They'd agreed on a pact, to help the other out should they be in need of assistance whilst fleeing Arkham or Batman. What had at first been nothing more than a helpful coincidence soon became the two of them living together both inside and out of Arkham. When he sighs next there's a slight hitch to his breath that he tries to ignore.

Jonathan would always fix him up after a fight. When he'd come stumbling in from an encounter with the Bat, hurt all over and aching usually with a broken nose or bruises everywhere. He remembers sitting on his desk so Jonathan could reach, the other man cleaning him up, setting broken bones and doing so gently enough that it didn't hurt as much as he was used to. In return he would build Jonathan computers when he needed them, help him with programs and he'd even helped him secure all his research digitally. He hits his head against the wall lightly, trying to stop the awful emotions that begin to seep through him. If he'd had a best friend he thinks that it would definitely have been Jonathan. The man would answer his riddles, listen to him in the dead of the night when he couldn't sleep and he was a wonderful chess player.

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his knees, digging them into his skull hard to try and stop his over working mind. He really does miss playing chess with Jonathan. It had become so typical of their days that the other members of the asylum had started to accommodate the habit. The chairs at the chess table became their chairs, he remembers once hearing that Harley had sat on the floor rather than disturb his chair. He hadn't even been in the asylum at the time. No one would touch the pieces if a game had to be interrupted halfway through for any reason, they could always rely on coming back to the table with the pieces left in position and awaiting their next turn. He misses the game play most of all, the way Jonathan would push his pieces delicately into play with a long finger where he would pick his up completely from the board, twisting them around and around in his hand before placing them. Once he'd been in a bad mood and told Jonathan how he could defeat him in no less than fourteen moves when taking into consideration their normal game play techniques and Jonathan's own state of mind. Instead of taking the board and beating him about the head with it as he'd expected, Jonathan had watched to board and asked him to explain, sitting with him as he dictated the anticipated moves of each piece and how he eventually would have won.

It's possibly his favourite memory, sitting at a chessboard with no pieces moving and only words flying between them as he yet again defeats his opponent. He remembers how much better it had made him feel to be triumphant with nothing but words and his mind. Only Jonathan could make him feel so much better in such a short time.

Now instead of being allowed to sit and use his wonderful mind to entertain himself he was here, locked away in this shithole of a room with nothing to keep him sane or make him feel better. He really doesn't feel like appreciation the irony that he felt better and saner in Arkham than he ever has here. Edward wipes angrily at his face, trying to bottle away the heartbreaking feelings he can feel hovering inside of him. He cannot break down, not here, not now. He's the Riddler for God's sake, he's meant to be stronger than this, only weaker men would let this place, this life defeat them. He's sure none of the others would let this situation get to them.

The thought makes him laugh a little, they'd probably treat it like Arkham, nothing more than a home away from home until they wanted to play. A smile catches at the corner of his mouth when he remembers the way they'd once put the Batman on trial. He'd been out of town at the time when he'd received a phone call from Jervis. The man had explained the situation to him and he'd been more than happy to join in the fun and games. Arkham really had been their playhouse that day, and having Batman join in the fun just made it even better. Their enemy had been so mad when they'd taken him, put him on trial and made him do whatever they wanted. He remembers sitting in their pretend jury and laughing beside Jonathan and Jervis as that stupid woman tried to question Harley. Joker had been banging his gavel calling for order in the court as Croc wrestled Ivy back into her seat, Harvey flipping his coin in anger at the courtroom being used so badly. It had been the most fun he'd had in a long time.

Now he was here. His fingers tighten in their hold of his trousers and he bites his lip to keep in a sob. He cannot cry it's pathetic and childish and useless. It serves no purpose at all; he really can't understand why the human body does it at all. Edward likes to think he's a strong man, one not easily broken he has been an enemy of Batman for years after all. So why does he feel shattered and so alone? He sniffs back a few tears and tries to stop himself from giving in to such a useless body function, crying never solved anything.

Trying to focus his mind on other things he turns his thoughts to his enemy and how even though he shouldn't he missed the other man. He missed the challenge of facing the Batman, missed long nights spent toiling over new plans, examining every detail just to make the other man think that little bit harder. Many times he'd been face to face with the other man, pinned against a wall or the floor as his timers ticked away, counting down the seconds of life left in his stupid victim as their hero wasted time cuffing him before solving the riddles he left. There was always some small part of him that swelled that the Batman always wanted to restrain him first before saving a life; he revelled in being so important to another. He shivered as another thought crossed his mind.

Obviously he wasn't important enough.

Now there was no denying the tears that were falling down his cheeks, dampening the fabric of the knees of his trousers as he tried to hide away. His fingers bury in his hair, wrapping around the strands and digging into his scalp as he tries to pull himself closer in his misery. He has been Batman's enemy for years and in all that time he'd only ever managed to keep someone hostage for a few hours, at maximum one night before the dark knight came to their rescue. Even those villains who didn't leave riddles to tell him where they were could only keep hidden for so long until they're found. He hiccups and can't keep the stuttered whine from leaving his throat. He's been here an entire month. Over a month. He's had to endure this daily ritual thirty-two times now and he's still here. He still hasn't been rescued after so long.

Why hadn't Batman come to rescue him? In the first few days he'd been strong, angry, vicious and threatening towards the Man as he was forced to endure this new life. The bruises and beatings had shut him up after a while. His genius mind had observed how much safer it was for him to obey and endure and now that was how he survived. He chokes on a sob and cries harder, hating it all.

He hates that he's stuck here; hates that he's given in to this awful life, hates that he's too weak to get out but most of all he hates that Batman hasn't come to his rescue. He never thought he meant so little to the world.

But it's true isn't it?

There isn't a soul in the entire world who would care that he's gone.

Crying hurts, he's forgotten how empty and alone it makes a person feel and now he feels even smaller and lost in his tiny cell of a room. He coughs and snuffles to himself as the tears continue, making him red eyed as he keeps trying to rub them away. No one would ever care that Edward Nigma, the Riddler or even Eddie Nashton is missing. When it came to family, he had none. His mother had left when he was young, he had no siblings, no grandparents and his father… Edward shudders again and tries to ignore when the tears fall a little faster. There were certainly no relatives who would file a report on him.

Instead of focussing on family he instead attempts to think of friends who would miss his presence. The Arkham staff wouldn't care; he's just an empty cell to them when he's not there and just a riddle asking patient when he is. They'd probably be glad that he's finally under control. He shivers when he thinks of them taking tips from the Man. No, they certainly wouldn't find him missing to be anything other than normal behaviour they probably won't even notice should he never come back for another visit.

Surely he could count on the other inmates to have noticed his extended absence? Though he did leave town without a lot of notice sometimes, and they all knew he had various hideouts across the country for when he needed a vacation. They probably just thought he had left for a while. But a month is a long time, surely one of them would have thought it strange that he just left all of a sudden? The shaking gets worse with every breath and sob he utters as he begins to just give up. No one will have noticed he's gone. Who was he trying to fool? They'd all be too busy to notice he was missing, if anything they probably appreciated the silence his absence afforded them.

Breathing was hurting now that he was sobbing so hard, loud keening echoing off the four walls as he hiccups and cries in his misery. Even Jonathan wouldn't notice he was missing. The professor of fear was probably enjoying not having his time wasted, having even more freedom now he didn't have the Riddler hanging onto his attention like a child. He must be an annoyance as an enemy so he must be even more annoying as a friend. His eyes hurt so he shuts them, leaning enough that he falls to his side on the bed and can cry into his arms instead of his knees. Jonathan is probably glad to be rid of him, he's probably enjoying the peace and quiet of not having riddles asked of him every five minutes. He chokes and lets out a whine so pathetic he would cover his ears not to hear it if he could uncover his eyes. He must be so unwanted to be forgotten so easily.

With him gone now the Batman was probably relieved, what a lot of spare time he must have now that his most aggravating enemy was gone. He'd never been liked he knew that, but he'd thought he was at least known enough to be missed by the other man. Batman always kept tabs on his enemies so why hadn't he realised he was missing yet? The only logical explanation was that Batman didn't consider him enough of a danger to bother keeping an eye on his whereabouts. He hiccups at that. How hard would it really have been for the man to have a hidden camera or microphone somewhere in each of his hideouts? Then he would have heard the struggle as he was taken and would have come to his rescue. Instead he was left here alone, crying like a child and sobbing for his old life.

He doesn't know how long he lies there, curled in a ball of misery weeping and howling into his bed sheets like some pathetic child but it's enough time for him to tense as he hears the sound of locks scraping back. His eyes hurt and his entire body is shivering as if he's cold even though he feels hot from all the tears and energy he's been wasting with his cries. Wrapping his arms over his head he hides away further, curling his legs up and trying to make himself invisible as the door finally scrapes open. Every part of his insides squirms in discomfort and unease when he feels the Man's presence enter the room. He doesn't know how but he must have been crying for hours if he's back from work already, the thought makes him feel even more pathetic and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut tightly as he continues to tremble and sob.

"Precious." He flinches when a hand lands heavily on the back of his head and strokes there for a second, petting him gently as he remains curled up. Edward doesn't want to let go of himself, he's too ashamed and feeling so awful that he really doesn't want to face the Man at the moment. There's nothing he can do as large hands grab at him by the tops of his arms, gripping him so tightly he knows there will be bruises as he's lifted upright. Peering through barely opened eyes he can see the Man's concerned face a frown on his large forehead and his lips are turned into a grimace of worry. "Why're you crying Precious?"

Edward wants to laugh at the irony of the Man asking him why he was crying. Wasn't it obvious? He was upset because of this stupid situation he's been put in by the very moron asking him the question. He can't quite stop choking enough to answer and instead lowers his chin to his chest and closes his eyes, wanting to pretend he's anywhere else but here. He feels fully broken now as the Man wraps his arms around him, pulling his smaller body to rest against his chest as he pets his hair a little too heavy handedly and hushes him like a child. The motions make him howl more and sob harder, because it hurts so much that this is the only human contact he's had in so long. Possibly the only human contact he's ever going to receive again, his brain supplies.

The Man cradles him easily and lifts him from the bed, his huge arms easily bearing Edward's weight behind his shoulders and knees as he's carried back out into the main room as their ritual dictates. He coughs and retches a little as he is lowered onto the sofa, the everlasting tears making him feel a little queasy and that in turn reminds him of the food from earlier. Yet again a hand reaches out to pet his hair and pull him into an embrace. He feels smothered and trapped even more so than usual as he's hushed and petted by the other man.

"Shh now Precious there's no need to cry. Daddy's here now." He shudders and whines, the hiccups starting in the aftermath of the tears as he tries uselessly to pull away from the huge chest he's being made to rest against. "I know you don't like being left alone but I'm here. I'm going to take care of you now." A kiss is pressed to the top of his head and he shivers, feeling exhausted and so very very tired of this stupid game now. His mind is still working overtime; reminding him of everything he had and probably will never see again unless he gets out of here. He has to get out of here, he's been so good for the Man surely he deserves a little reprieve?

A small bloom of bravery starts in his chest and he reaches up to wipe his eyes. His chin is still quivering from the wails and there's an ongoing sense of unease and dread about being in the Man's presence but the want to escape quietens it for a moment. "P-please." He whispers ever so quietly, swallowing back the fear and trying to meet his tormentor's eyes even as he gripped at the shirt covering that huge chest. "I want to go home."

The Man's eyes narrow in front of him and he feels the fingers dig into his arms again as they hold him in place. "Shh, you don't mean that Precious." Another kiss is placed to his forehead and he tries to pull back, fingers still tugging on the Man's shirt as he tries to be heard, needs to be heard.

"Please." Another hiccup disrupts him but he carries on anyway, practically begging now as he looks pleadingly into the other man's eyes. "Please. I want to go home. I want to go home now. Please." A small sob bursts from his lips as he remembers Arkham, misses his cell and Jonathan and the feeling of safety and security he felt when locked in its walls. "I've been so good, you said I have, you said I was a good boy. Please let me go home. I want to go home." The tears start up hard again and soon he's wailing and clinging to the Man as he howls his plea. "Please. Home." Eventually, between the sobs and his ever-increasing volume the words all run together until he is just babbling nonsense. Every so often the words 'please' and 'home' are able to be heard.

"Precious you need to calm down." Edward knows he should listen, knows he should sit back and take a few deep breaths to steady himself and keep his mind in check. However, his emotions are so overwhelming right now and all he can think about is wanting to go home and feel safe again. The tears don't stop, even as the Man's voice gets more stern and angry. "I'm warning you Precious, be quiet."

He hiccups and sobs again, wiping furiously at his eyes as he continues mumbling to himself about going home. In his head he can imagine being locked in his cell in Arkham, having the Batman grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw him in where Jonathan will be waiting with a roll of the eyes and a chessboard set up ready. "Home, wanna go home." His voice is nothing more than a whisper through lips, his throat sore from the hours of bawling he's suffered through in misery. Keeping his eyes closed he rests his forehead on the Man's chest, hoping that by giving him the contact he always wants he'll be allowed this one small reward. He really has been so well behaved today, he deserves some kind of reward. "Please, I wanna go home."

The punch is so sudden that it hurts just that much more. Before he's even fully aware of what's happening he's on the floor, holding his aching chin and gasping in pain. All the thoughts of going home have been hit from his mind and all he can feel is the instinctive response of fight or flight. He looks up to see the Man glaring at him, breathing heavily through grit teeth and looking the angriest he's ever seen him as he steps closer, his legs straddling either side of his hips on the floor. Desperately he scrambles backwards, his panicked mind not even considering the fight option before deciding that flight is the best way for their continued survival. A large hand closes about the waistband of his trousers and though his bare feet work against the floor and his hands scramble for purchase on anything to pull him away, Edward finds himself being dragged back closer to danger.

"You want to go where?" Is snarled from above him, he daren't turn to look at the Man in the face, he knows he'll only see pure rage from him. When another fist meets the back of his head he finds his cheek scraping against the carpet, the burn hurting but not as much as the new headache. Whimpering he clutches at his head, trying to shield himself as much as he possibly can from the upcoming punishment. "Home?" He flinches as the Man leans over him, yelling just a few inches from his buried face. "You are home!" A vicious kick meets his ribs and soon he's gasping for air, choking and spluttering into the carpet as he tries to keep himself curled and get more room for air simultaneously.

His ribs ache when he takes a breath deep enough to try and respond. Keeping his gaze to the floor he attempts to sound as sincere and apologetic as possible when he speaks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it." Another kick send him onto his back, laying there and gazing at the ceiling before the Man is standing over him, blocking the light from his view and casting him in shadow as he glares down at him.

"Damn right you didn't!" Edward flinches when the Man's hand reaches down to grab his shirtfront, jerking him up roughly enough that the fabric cuts in under his arms as he flails for support. His fingers grab at the offending arm and he tries to apologise again, ignoring the spittle flying from the Man's mouth in rage as he shouts down at him. "This is your home! You stay here! You live here you ungrateful little shit!" He recoils just in time to probably save a few teeth from being knocked out, but it doesn't stop his lip from splitting from the pressure of the punch.

He feels the blood slide down his chin and the side of his face to drip onto the carpet below his suspended top half. Another punch has him squinting and yelping in pain as his eye is punched hard enough to be bruised. He gasps and lets his hands move up to cover his face, to try and protect it from any more blows even as his ribs also protest in pain. "S-sorry." He stutters out, the blood smearing his teeth a pale pink like red as he talks. "I wasn't…I didn't think." He coughs, his ribs grating in pain as he reaches out to hold them and blood spatters in small specks on his shirt and the man's hand in a fine spray.

Edward lets out a quite noise of protest as he's let go, falling back to the floor in a pile of aches as his head bounces on the carpet. "No you didn't, did you?" He rolls onto his side and blearily looks at the blood he smears onto the back of his hand when he wipes at his mouth. It's sore but nothing he hasn't had before, the same with his black eye. His ribs he's a little more worried about. "Do you know how hard I work to keep you safe?" The Man compliments his statement with another kick to his ribs, making him grunt and curl around them to try and protect himself. Bringing his knees up Edward tries to hide away, hoping and praying for this storm of anger to pass quickly as it usually does. "You are mine Precious, and I will do everything I have to do to keep you safe."

When his hand is pulled away from his side Edward doesn't bother to look up. The Man's fingers are rough over his and stroke against his palm delicately as he pets the smaller hand. "Sorry." He murmurs again, pushing himself gently up from the floor as the Man kneels down beside him, petting and stroking his hand with gentle touches that hold none of the anger still lining his face. Carefully Edward looks up to him, meeting his gaze and pleading with still tear swollen eyes for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry." He knows the way this works.

He stupidly does something to upset the Man, he gets a few punches and kicks in punishment, he begs forgiveness and they return to normal with a few pets and unwanted kisses. As much as he hates it all he understands this behaviour and can cope with it. The alternative of carrying on his begging to leave could get him hurt much worse.

"Me too." Edward frowns at the words and despite his vow of silence he goes to ask what he means. Then it happens. He screams when his little finger is taken in the Man's hand and jerked so hard back it snaps instantly. The pain is intense and white hot throughout his finger as it's released to lay back in its normal position. He whimpers and pants loudly, moaning and whining as the pain fully hits him. Looking up at the Man he tries to jerk his hand back, the look of almost sympathy on his attacker's face making him want to run as far as possible away. The meaty hand tightens on his again, keeping it in the iron grip and squeezing on his broken bone, making him yelp and stay close. Oh God it hurts so much, he's never been in this much pain when here before, it's never been this bad.

When the Man's fingers wrap around his ring finger he shakes his head frantically, unaware of his babbling as he tries to pry himself away with his free uninjured hand. "No please I didn't mean it. You're right this is my home I'll stay here I will I promise please." His second finger snaps easier than the first and he's howling in pain so loudly he's sure that he'll have no voice later. He cries out and begins to cry anew, the pain washing over him in jolts of unrelenting pain as his finger is released next to its injured brother. His sobs are loud and heaving, making him stumble on his words as he tries to plead for forgiveness. "Please no more, I'll be a good boy I swear." He hiccups and weakly tries to pull away, regrets it when his middle finger is enveloped in the Man's large wrap of fingers. "Please I swear."

"Precious needs to learn to behave himself." The Man is looking down on him with a look that wouldn't be strange on that of a stern teacher or parent. Edward hiccups and shakes his head again, trying to search for any kind of mercy to be found within those cold grey eyes. "Precious has to stay here." Before he can begin agreeing and pleading again his third finger is snapped backwards into such an unnatural angle he can feel the nail touching the back of his hand as it's broken.

He screams the loudest then, crying out with all his might in pain as his fingers are released and his hand let go of. Curling against the couch whilst still sitting on the floor he cradles his injured hand to his chest and sobs over it. Opening his eyes he can see the bruises and swelling already starting to affect his poor fingers through the tears falling down his cheeks. They hurt so much he can't stand it. Sobbing to himself he stays curled on the floor, trying his best to ignore the almighty presence still kneeling before him. He closes his eyes and stays there, curled up like a child and feeling sorry for himself as he sobs at the intense pain. He can't believe how much this hurts, his entire hand is throbbing in pain as he cries, jerking his sore ribs and worrying the split lip with his teeth. This punishment is the worst by far.

"Look what I have to do when you won't behave." He cries out and recoils when the Man's hand reaches out to pet at his hair, brushing it away from his tearstained face and trying to tuck the long strands behind his ears. They fall back into place and cling at his damp cheeks. "You made me do this Precious. You need to behave. Understand?" Frantically Edward nods, holding himself tighter and opening his eyes to plead for forgiveness.

"Yes. I understand I promise I'll be good, I'll behave from now on." The Man's hand moves down to stroke at his face, wiping at the tear tracks with his thumb before he stands to tower over him once again. He keeps his gaze on the other man and strokes at his abused hand gently with his other thumb. "I'll stay here, I'll be a good boy."

The Man nods and a small flicker of relief runs through him before his hair is grasped again in thick fingers. He grits his teeth in pain and reaches up with his good hand to try and relieve some of the pressure. "You'll be a good boy for me Precious." Edward struggles when he's kicked in the ribs, the pain taking the wind from him and leaving him sprawled facedown on the floor when the Man releases his head. Before he can even contemplate getting up a flash of white-hot pain radiates from his already injured hand. "Daddy will make sure of it." Edward screeches a sound he's sure is completely unnatural in pain when he already wounded hand is stamped on by his abuser.

He's sure he passes out or at least his brain won't allow him to actually be aware of the immense pain for a moment. When he blinks himself back to the present he's whimpering and crying on the floor, his hand mangled and feeling as if it's on fire as he tries to hold it close yet give it space at the same time. Tears are dribbling their way down his cheeks along with spit and blood from his broken lip as he gasps and pants opened mouthed in pain. His breath keeps hitching and catching in silent sobs as his mouth is frozen in a never ending scream, the pain so intense his body can't quite find a sound ample enough to describe it.

The Man is no longer over him and although he knows he should always be aware of where that monster is he can't bring himself to care. A shudder runs through him and he can't control the slight trembling that takes control of his body. Is it possible to go into shock from a completely broken hand? He pants for air and keeps his eyes closed as he tries to think of anything else but the pain his body is being put through. "Look what you made me do." Is growled close by and he flinches a little, curling tighter and trying to scrabble away one handed. Opening his eyes he sees the Man toeing the carpet where his blood has spilled on it, he whimpers and prays to a God he's never believed in that there will be no more pain.

When a hand reaches out to grab the collar of his shirt and yank up he's quick to get to his knees, trying to use the wall for support as he still tries to protect the burning mass of nerve endings in his hand. He's shoved rather hard into the corner of the room, his elbow jarring against the wall and making him have to bite his split lip to keep from howling in pain as his broken hand jerks harshly. He's nudged into position, sitting cross-legged with his hand curled close to his chest as he faces the corner, the Man pets his hair a few times before moving away.

"Now you stay there and you think about what you made me do." The Man shouts and Edward curls up further, trying his best to become totally invisible as he's left in the corner with a broken hand. His bruised ribs protest at his being made to sit upright, they hurt every time he takes a breath. Edward takes to leaning his head against the wall, still facing the corner in some kind of crude time out session he remembers from when he was a child.

He tries to keep as quiet as possible as the Man moves away, but he can't help the small dry chuckle that escapes his lips, it must sound ridiculous given the situation. A full-grown man crying in the corner with a broken hand and laughing about it. But he's been in this position before and he remembers it so well.

When he had been younger his father seemed to have taken great delight in destroying his only child's self esteem. It had started when he was young, usually words were more his father's style, he couldn't be seen with bruises at school of course. However, soon the cutting comments and snide remarks about his intelligence or lack of it were not enough to keep him down. He had always hated being called a liar, but every so often the brilliant grades he kept receiving and the knowledge of his own intelligence being above others in his age range had made the words of abuse easier to brush off. He remembers the first time his father had hit him.

Edward had been nine years old when he'd received the first punch from his father. It had been so hard it had knocked him out, giving him a black eye and a splitting headache for a few days. His father had taken the time off work to apologise for it, looking after him and caring for him until the bruises had healed. Edward tongues at the split in his lip and can feel it's healing slowly, a thin metallic tasting layer of scab covering it. His teeth rake across the top of it slowly as he absentmindedly listens to the Man move about the flat, sniffing back a few tears that hadn't fallen yet. All the while he thinks of other things, anything else except his poor hand.

After a few times of being hit and then apologised to, his father became annoyed with having to take time off work to care for his weak son. Eventually even the biggest idiot he'd ever known worked out to only hit the places that he could cover with clothing. His worst injury had been a broken rib, it had never set correctly because he'd never been allowed to rest enough for it to heal straight. He remembers that day, being kicked so hard that he couldn't breathe and then being dragged into a corner to sit and think about his mistakes.

He wheezes a little and leans heavily on the wall, his free hand coming up to cradle his chest. His ribs ache terribly but he's fairly certain that none of them are broken, but every shuddering sob and jerk of tears makes him hurt. His father's voice echoes in memory around his head, shouting and spitting at him just how useless he is. Closing his eyes he tries to forget and only hears the Man muttering instead.

"Stupid Precious should learn to do as he's told." His tormentor is fumbling in the kitchen, the smells of food being cooked making Edward wonder if he will be fed this evening. Judging from his position in the corner, he highly doubts it. The thought of waiting until the next morning to be fed again makes him disgustingly grateful for the awful force-feeding of the morning. He may be a little hungry now, but it would have been a lot worse if he hadn't finished everything the Man had offered before. At least he's not sitting here starving with the smell of chicken cooking around him. "Precious needs to learn to behave, I only want what's best for him."

Edward wants to snort in derision but he holds it back, knowing that it's just not worth it. The Man is more like his father than he'd like. It seems that no matter how hard he tries he will always be seen as nothing. Nothing worth saving to Batman. Nothing worth loving to his father. Nothing that can't be broken to the Man.

He's not sure how much time passes as he sits there, his mind whirring and running quickly through too many thoughts and comparisons between the Man and his father. It must have been some time though judging by the movement and sounds of the other presence. Food has been eaten, plates scraped on with cutlery before it's placed in the kitchen afterwards. The Man is currently on the sofa, the small television playing one of the few DVDs that are down here. If Edward listens carefully he knows all the words, it's an old movie and one that he's been forced to watch so many times in the last few weeks that he knows it well. He doesn't even have to look at the screen to know what's happening.

Still he waits in the corner, trying so hard to concentrate on other things so he can move his arm without crying out. Slowly he manages to bring it to hi still aching chest and cradle it there with his other arm to inspect it. His three fingers are sitting in mostly the right place, a little out of joint he's sure but he doesn't have the nerves or the stomach to try and help them back into where they're meant to be. The rest of his hand is no better. Even though the main palm looks fine on the outside he can feel that there's something wrong in there. He can't move anything other than his thumb and even that hurts dramatically, his hand is completely out of commission. A large dark purple almost black bruise covers the entire back of his hand, an awful stain against his pale skin. Carefully he holds it steady against him before closing his eyes and turning back to his thoughts, hoping for refuge from the white hot sears of pain that still travel through his nerves.

Before the punishment today being here was dangerous enough, but this is the first time he's really been afraid for his life. The Man on the sofa watching a children's movie had always been violent yes but nothing more than a few bruises and scratches, he'd gotten worse from Batman before. Now, he was seeing him for the real monster he was. So much like his father it hurt to think about.

He swallows deeply to try and hold back yet more tears, not of pain this time but rather just complete despair. It had taken a few years of unkind words and beatings but he'd learned how to survive his father. He'd started to obey his every order and agree with everything he said. It was probably why he overcompensated as an adult with bragging so much but it had worked. If he agreed that he was a complete moron and a little liar then his father would have nothing to say in return and if he wasn't fighting then it was a lot less likely that a fight would happen. Of course it didn't always work but it had helped. The beatings had become less and less as he grew older, more just verbal wars between them as he would use his quick knowledge to be subtly spiteful before running off out of the way. Agreeing had worked and he choked back a sob as he finally gave in.

It would be safer for him to agree with the Man, to listen to him and obey him at all times. He already behaved himself most of the time; it was only because he'd gotten so emotional that he'd been stupid enough to carry on begging long after he'd been warned. He knew it had been his fault but now he could fix things by behaving for the Man and showing him how sorry he was. His hand twinged in agony and he bit on a yelp, hearing the Man turn in his seat to look over the back of the sofa at him. He bites on his lip, splitting open the cut there and keeping his lip pinned between his teeth to distract himself from the white-hot pain shooting down his hand. Blood dripped down his chin and he uses his other hand to mop it up as best as he can, not wanting to ruin anymore of the carpet.

He'd been an idiot to get so worked up over something so silly anyway. No one was coming to help him so he shouldn't think about them so much, he should just focus on himself and how he can survive. He hiccups a little as the tears start up again and he tries to wipe them away, hide them from the rest of the world and everyone else in it. As long as he was here the rest of the world didn't matter, what mattered was survival.

Thinking back he remembers when he'd first been brought here. He'd fought for a long time, trying to take on the Man before the bruises and restraints taught him not to bother. He'd spent a week with his hands and feet bound, left in his room on his bed screaming to himself in anger. It had taken a while but eventually he'd calmed down and that's when the Man had started feeding him, letting him loose and giving him the freedom to walk. It was like a barter system really. He just had to behave himself and then he'd be looked after. Sniffing back a few tears and wiping the remaining tracks from his cheeks he takes as deep a breath as he can manage with his ribs. Really it's not such a bad deal.

A part of him still wants to keep the vow of silence he's taken upon himself, unless the situation called for it he really didn't want to have to speak. Fortunately the Man seemed to like the sound of his own voice, and so long as he made the right gestures and spoke when it was really needed he didn't think the Man would mind. All he would have to do is behave, he nods a little to himself, he's sure he can do something so simple.

So long as he behaved then the Man wouldn't have to hurt him again.

It was so simple even a moron could do it. His hand feels a little numb now, the edge still tingle in pain and he frowns at is as he lifts it higher with his other more able hand. The only reason he's in this much pain is because of himself. The Man had warned him enough times and he just hadn't listened. Ignoring the flare of pain as he shifts into a more comfortable position against the wall, he can't help but feel angry with himself for letting this happen. No more. He was going to just have to behave and do everything the Man said and then he wouldn't have to put up with things like this in the future. Living here was bad enough without having a broken hand to deal with.

He's so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't realise the Man is above him until he hears a slight cough over his head. It's as if the world comes back into focus and he can hear the ending credits music of the DVD, the creak of the floor beneath him shifting and his heavy still pain filled breathing in the air. He shifts enough to look up at the Man, paying full attention to him as he's stared at. He still has a hard look on his face but at least he's not yelling or muttering to himself anymore. That must be a good sign. Shakily he tries to smile, ignoring the blood that continues to dribble down his chin in thin lazy rivers.

"You're filthy Precious." The Man tells him, bending down to crouch yet still looming over him with his massive height and weight. Edward is oddly proud of himself when he doesn't flinch as the Man reaches out to trace the blood on his chin, using the finger to tilt his head up and stare into his eyes afterwards. He swallows back a whimper of fright and meets his gaze, trying to seem calm and obedient as he nods a little in agreement. "You need a bath."

Inside he quivers but on the outside he nods gently into the hand beneath his chin. His tummy squirms horribly reminding him of earlier but he swallows it down, trying to seem calm and happy to accept his fate. The Man's hand grabs at his collar again and pulls him up to stumble to his feet, he uses his good hand against the wall to steady himself. Silence follows them as they make their way to the bathroom, Edward stumbling over his own feet as he's dragged by his collar. The shirt digs into his skin and he frantically tries to keep his broken hand pinned to his chest instead of letting it flail around and possibly get even more damaged. It hurts to keep it there but in the long run it is safer.

Edward sits where he is placed, on top of the closed toilet seat, and watches as the Man goes about setting everything up. "We'll get you all nice and clean Precious, make you all perfect again." A hard kiss is pressed to his forehead before the Man turns on the taps, keeping his hand under the running water to find the correct temperature before putting in the plug. He watches, already feeling uncomfortable in anticipation of the soon to be bath. But he promised himself he'd behave, bad things only happen when he doesn't behave. Besides it's only a bath, it's really not that bad. "If you behave yourself and do as you're told then we'll fix your hand." Frantically Edward nods, trying to the let the Man know that he'll behave, especially if it gets his hand seen to.

It's swollen and bruised horribly, looking worse and worse by the minute and as the feeling of numbness spreads to the tips of his broken fingers he gets more panicked and worried. The Man swirls the water around in the tub, shaking the few drips off before stopping the taps when he deems it full enough. When the Man turns to beckon him closer he shoots to his feet, stumbling forward and smiling in a way that he hopes makes him look at ease.

"Good Boy." The Man is smiling at him, a genuine grin with a slight show of teeth and he can see that it reaches his eyes. The deep grey doesn't look so cloudy and harsh when he does as he's told. A kiss is pressed to his cheek softly, then another, and another before one hits the corner of his mouth. "Very good boy." The low voice makes him feel even more nervous than the kiss and he feels very proud of himself for not letting it show. He swallows and stays still when the Man's fingers trail down his body, skipping his sore arm and tracing his hips through the loose trousers.

He gulps when the hands begin loosening the ties there and pulling his waistband away and down from where it should be sitting. The Man lets go and his trousers drop to pool around his ankles. Edward shudders a little but stands firm, keeping his eyes focussed on the pattern of the tiles over on the opposite wall. He needs to behave himself or things are only going to get worse.

The fingers trail to his underwear and begin to tug on the waistband there. He can hear the Man's heavy breathing in his ear, it sounds lower, huskier than usual and the nerves get worse. "Such a good boy Precious." Another kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth and he really does have to bite his lip to stop a whimper from escaping. A hand slips into his underwear, stroking at his hip lightly, warm against his skin and making him want to squirm in discomfort. His breath hitches when the rough pads stroke over his abdomen, as much as he wants to shift away he holds firm, more worried about moving away than being touched. Just when he thinks he's going to break his promise to himself and misbehave, the hand moves and his underwear has joined his trousers on the floor.

Edward lets out a small breath he didn't know he'd been holding and steps out from the puddle of clothing, kicking it away and glancing up at the Man for a sign that he's doing well. The smile is still there but there's something else in his eyes, something that he's not sure he wants to see. He feels uncomfortable being half naked in front of the other man but it's just something he has to deal with. Instead of dwelling on it he instead manages to use his good arm to begin tugging at his tee shirt. The Man chuckles lightly and presses another kiss to his cheek before helping. Placing his hands on Edward's sides and sliding them up underneath the tee shirt to remove it. It's a slow process and a little too involved for his liking but Edward lets it happen too focussed on protecting his hand.

A yelp leaves his lips when he moves in such a way that it jerks on his arm, making pain shoot through the fingertips that had been numb before. He whimpers and unintentionally moves away from the Man as he tries to get comfortable again. "Hush baby, I'm sorry Precious. I'll be gentle." To his surprise he's not criticised but instead the Man just pull him back into place gently, helping him remove his good arm and head from their openings. "Now I'll slowly work it off alright? It'll be over soon I swear." Edward whimpers as the Man follows his words and slowly holds the opening for his arm wider, pulling it down gently over his hand. He cradles his arm as much as possible with his free hand until he no longer can. Quickly as he can he whips his arm free, pulling it back to his chest and holding it there to gasp and grit his teeth through the intense pain that the movement caused.

"What a good boy you are." The Man's large hand runs over his head again, stroking and petting him as he tries to bear the final shocks of pain. He nods with grit teeth and allows himself to be stroked, petted and even caressed when the Man's hand trails to his hips again. "Time for Precious to have his bath now."

Edward nods and turns in the Man's arms, looking down at the mass of water and bracing himself for this. He hated being bathed by the Man, it really made him feel so young and incapable of doing it himself. Really he wasn't usually happy with the arrangement but now with his arm, maybe this was for the best. The Man holds his hips gently as he climbs in and holds him under his good arm as he sits down since he can't brace himself safely. The water is too hot, it burns a little as he sits down and he can see his skin blemish pink as the warmth overwhelms it. He lets out a shiver from nothing to do with the cold and readies himself to the ordeal. It's bad enough usually but with a broken hand he's not sure how it's going to work.

The Man begins humming to himself as he kneels beside the tub, at least he seems happy, that's something Edward can be grateful for. He's still holding his wounded arm to his chest in fear of what it will feel like should it touch the water. "Alright Precious, let's get you clean." He nods and keeps his eyes closed when the Man begins their ritual. A hand tilts his chin up before resting on his forehead as a jug of water is tipped over his head, the hand then sweeps through his hair to ensure it's wet before the process is repeated twice more. Edward hates this and the hot water burns at his scalp enough to give him goose bumps, but he dare not complain. He's been so good so far that it would be a shame to give in now. He takes a deep breath through his nose and tries to remain calm, twitching a little when he hears the jug get placed down on the side.

"Precious is so messy, isn't he?" Obediently Edward nods as the shampoo is rubbed into his hair roughly. The fingers pinch and tug uncomfortably and he's sure his scalp will be red raw but he can cope with this, he's fine. "Yes he is." The Man's constant cooing over him is oddly soothing and the words help give him something else to focus on besides the pain and discomfort of having his hair washed.

His chin is tilted back again from where he'd unconsciously hidden it to his chest and he braces himself for more water from the jug. Before this life he would have enjoyed having his head massaged and his hair washed by someone else, now it just feels humiliating. "But we're going to clean him all up and have him squeaky clean." The Man's chuckle of joy is drowned out by the water rushing over his ears as the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair. A few drops manage to get into his eyes and he can't help but flinch and whine a little at that. Terrified of opening them and burning his eyes he instead shakes it from side to side, trying to rid himself of the soap. "Alright, alright shh shh…" A large hand holds his head in place as the other brings a flannel to his face and smothers him with it. He struggles a little, whining as the Man removes the soap from his eyes. The flannel hurts his bruised eyes and he thinks his lip may have opened again. When he's free he blinks to check everything's all right and finds the Man smiling down at him with laughter in his eyes. "Sorry baby, that was my fault."

He's not sure how to react but when the Man gives another chuckle and moves to grab the soap and a sponge he smiles back to him, glad that somehow he's put him in a good mood. Things were so much safer when he was in a good mood. The sponge begins on his back, rubbing in circles against his pale skin and leaving a lather of bubbles behind in its place. He allows it easily and even lets out a small giggle when he hears the Man begin to sing. "Rub a dub dub. Precious in a tub." The hands are gentle when they wash along his bruised ribs and he's surprised how worried he was about this before. It's not so bad, just a bath, he's had worse treatment in the showers at Arkham.

The sponge moves away and when he looks up he finds the Man holding out his hand, awaiting him to place his arm there as he normally does. Gulping Edward carefully places his good arm into his open palm, still holding the bruised one close and hoping he doesn't want that one as well. He's shaking as the Man washes up his arm, along the top and underneath before holding it straight in the air to wash his armpit. When his hand is released it automatically goes to curl around the injured one, trying to hide it from sight as if the Man might not spot it. He's surprised when he's met with a gentle soothing hush and a kiss to his cheek. "It's okay Precious, just lift it enough for me to get your underarm."

Edward can only stare in awe and surprise as the Man speaks so gently to him, keeping his voice low and even and he even lets him take his time moving his body. He gasps a little as he catches himself the wrong way but the Man's soothing lips behind his ear actually helps him forget the pain. "What a good boy." Is breathed into his ear as the sponge moves to clean the area, gently, softly as if he were no more than an infant. The Man even lets him settle himself back into his previous position for comfort before moving on to lift one of his legs and start washing there.

A laugh wriggles free from between his lips as the Man washes his toes, involuntarily he wriggles back but he's just pulled back into place by his leg with a small chuckle from the other's lips. He lets him wash his legs with little complaint as they're under the water and they're probably the only part of his body that's not hurt in anyway. "Such a good boy Precious." The Man is right next to him again, pressing soft kisses to his cheek as his hand continues to scrub circles on his thigh. He doesn't enjoy the kisses, but the praise is nice, he likes to know that he's doing well and that it doesn't look like they'll be anymore broken hands in his future. A swell of pride blooms within him and he closes his eyes in triumph allowing himself to relax in the warm water for a moment.

"My very good boy." The moment is gone when he feels the Man's hand slip from his thigh to between his legs. The water ripples around him as he holds his arm tighter to his chest, bringing a sting of pain with it and whimpering as his mind goes haywire. "My good boy." The Man's voice sounds different now, deeper and darker all of a sudden as he breathes heavily into his ear. Edward gulps and tries to hold still. This has never happened in the bath before and he doesn't know what to do. "Such a perfect boy." Is sighed into his ear as the sponge moves up and down over his crotch, stroking him just a little too roughly and making him want to curl into a ball no matter how much it hurt. "Such a well behaved boy." He shivers as the words drift over his earlobe before kisses are pressed to the side of his mouth again, a tongue coming out to stroke at the corner of his lips as he sits tensed up in the suddenly cold water.

He feels sick, suddenly the awful feeling of discomfort and unwanted touching becoming too much and he wants to push the Man away for some space. Instead he bites his lip, feeling the cut reopen and leak lazily into his mouth. His blood tastes like pennies as the hand continues to wash him before the sponge is suddenly gone and there's bare fingers cupping him under the water. The hitch in his breath is audible and his fingers dig into the skin of his injured arm as he tries his very best to stay still. "You're so very very good." The Man moans hot, dirty and loud in his ear as his fingers stroke lazily over his genitals. Edward shudders and focuses on the sound of the water swirling around in ripples as the Man's hand moves. His eyes are so tightly shut it's hurting his bruised one but he doesn't care, all that matters it that he has to behave himself.

The sounds are something else to focus on as he tries to remain as still as possible. Good behaviour doesn't mean he has to reciprocate, he just has to let the Man have what he wants to the best of his ability and then there won't be any punishment. His stomach rolls at the knowledge of this man being so close to him and touching him in a way that he doesn't like being touched. A small drip echoes in his ears and he's ashamed that he's crying again, the tears falling from his chin to mix with the bath water. "You're mine Precious." The Man hisses before kissing him full on the lips as his hand grasps a little too firmly around its prize.

A sob breaks free of his throat and it breaks whatever spell was controlling the Man's action because suddenly Edward is free, sitting in the tub with cold water around him and a broken hand as the Man washes the suds from his body. He can't bring himself to look up as the last few tears slide free down his cheeks and into the surrounding water. "What a good boy you are."

Edward blinks away the confusion and sick feeling at what just happened and instead focuses on the feeling of triumph. He'd stayed still and now the Man had stopped before it got too bad and because he'd been so good he wouldn't be getting punished. He releases a shaky sigh and looks up to find the Man smiling at him as he stands next to the bath, a large fluffy white towel held in his open arms. Smiling a little he manages to slowly get to his knees in the tub, the water helping keep him upright as he tries to stand without the use of his arms. The Man seems to realise his plight and before he can protest the towel and the arms it was held in have wrapped around his waist to lift him from the tub.

He scrabbles a little for purchase but soon finds his feet on the slippery wet floor. His arm is still held tightly but the Man had been careful enough not to jostle it or touch it as he was lifted so at least he's not doubled over in pain. The Man begins drying him ever so gently, his huge hands being used to mop up the water lying on his skin. He starts with his legs, patting and mopping every last inch of dampness from them before moving up. Edward lets a sigh of relief leave him when the Man lingers no longer than usual on his genitals before moving up to pat across his abdomen. In a way it feels oddly nice being pampered, having his head massaged with the towel only a little too roughly for his liking as the Man dries him off. He can feel his hair sticking in every direction possible and shakes his head to get it to lay flat, just as he reaches up to finger comb it into place he finds a larger hand already doing the job. "Relax Precious, Daddy's looking after you."

The fingers comb through and flatten his hair into a more acceptable condition before reaching for something. Edward had assumed it was simply for his pyjamas that the Man usually insisted he put on after a bath but instead he was presented with a bottle of baby powder. He's never been powdered by the Man before and he looks up to his face questioningly. "Good Boys can have rewards." The Man smiles and kisses his forehead again before shaking some of the white powder into his open palm.

Being powdered is a strange sensation he hasn't felt in a long time. He'd never used the stuff at all as an adult so all he has to fall back on are his childhood memories. Since they are few and far between he really doesn't know what to do when the Man begins slowly stroking the white powder onto every inch of his body. Instead of trying to help and risk being told off he stands the stupidly and hopes this won't take too long. Giant hands smooth down his legs, coating every part of him in the soft powder and making his skin look paler than normal. He counts himself lucky when his genitals are again barely touched and the Man moves on to massage his chest.

There's a moment where he gasps as too much gentle pressure is put onto his aching ribs but then the Man is kissing his cheek and he quietens down. Really he shouldn't be complaining, after all he was getting special treatment for behaving so well and he wouldn't want to ruin that. He lifts his good arm when the Man nudges it and lets that get powdered too. The hands are warm across his skin, the smooth feeling of the powder making him feel nice and soft to the touch. He shudders when his bad arm is carefully manoeuvred out of the way so the Man can get underneath it, stroking at his chest and his thumbs catching on his nipple. Edward isn't sure how he feels about the powdering, but it's not a bad thing so he decides not to dwell upon it.

As soon as his back is patted and feeling just as soft and smooth as the rest of him the Man fetches his pyjamas. Edward is eager to step into his underwear and cover himself from the Man's eyes; they always seem to study him unnecessarily when he's naked. "My good boy is being so well behaved." He tilts his head to the side for another kiss to the cheek as he steps into his pyjama bottoms. They're a faded baby blue and a little too big for his slight frame, the image is probably hilarious to an outsider but he doesn't mind anymore. There had been a time, a few weeks ago, that he had been stupid enough to complain about the clothing. He didn't like having to walk around the house naked.

The Man leaves his top half off for a moment as he steers him to sit on the closed toilet lid before going to fetch something from the bathroom cabinet. His stomach tightens in worry as various pieces of medical equipment are placed on the counter besides him. Bandages, needles, thread for stitches, rubbing alcohol, scissors and a long board he doesn't like the look of. He gulps and holds his arm a little closer to himself, hoping against hope that he hasn't done something wrong. He's sure he hasn't, the Man has done nothing but sing his praises since they got into the bathroom.

He flinches a little and tries to stop the nervous jiggling of his legs when the Man comes to stand in front of him, hand outstretched and one white pill sitting on his palm. Glancing up he raises and eyebrow and the Man is generous enough not to slap him for being cocky. "Precious needs painkillers because this isn't going to be very nice for him." Before he can reach out to take the pill it's been shoved into his mouth, the thin coating on it doing nothing to divert the awful taste of medication from his tongue. He gags a little and tries to swallow, the awful little pill getting stuck at the back of his throat and fizzing there making him cough and splutter. His teeth are rattled when a glass is pressed quickly to them, the water brushing against his lips as the Man tries to get him to drink. He swallows gratefully, tilting his head back and gulping noisily at the water as it washes down the pill and cleans the vile taste from his mouth.

It's almost impossible to help someone else drink so he can't help a few drops that slip down his throat and chest after the Man's pulled away. He swallows a few times to check his mouth is back to its normal flavour before smiling shakily to the Man, trying to show how grateful he is for the soon to be pain relief. His mouth no longer tastes of pennies from the blood from his split lip either. A pat on the head is his reward before the Man holds out something else, a long thin piece of metal with a bar at one end. It's quite thick, sturdy, about the length of his forearm. He stares at it in confusion before the Man takes pity on him and crouches before him. "I made it. It will act as a brace for your poorly hand until it's better." Edward isn't entirely sure how this piece of metal is going to help fix a few broken bones but he nods and sits a little straighter.

"Let me show you." The Man reaches out a hand as before, palm side up and looking so unassuming, almost inviting. He tenses a little, his brain telling him that it was not a good idea to give his damaged hand back to the person who hurt it in the first place. "Precious it's not going to get better on its own." He's right, it's only going to get worse and more painful if he doesn't get some kind of help. Everything's getting a little out of focus around the edges when it comes to the pain though and he supposes that's good. Maybe it won't hurt as much to get it fixed. Slowly he holds out his damaged hand, feeling it waver before it rests delicately on the Man's palm.

The metal sits underneath his arm, cold to the touch against his skin and he's not too keen on the feel of it against his palm but he can see the logic behind it. "Alright baby now we need to get your fingers through here." Edward feels something flutter with panic within him at the thought of bending his fingers to get them through the gap between the bar and the rest of the metal. He swallows it down and tentatively tries to twitch his middle finger. It moves in the Man's hand and he's surprised when it hurts but not as badly as before. Feeling a little braver he does as he is instructed and manages to slip his index finger and middle finger into the gap. It painful enough for him to gasp and bite on his lip again, the fingers of his free hand moving to grip at his knee to transfer the pain elsewhere.

"What a good boy, such a good boy." The Man coos to him and pets his hair, coaxing and rewarding him with praises every second of the way. Focussing on the words makes it easier to bear and although he has a few tears of pain rolling down his cheeks and his fingernails are cutting through the fabric of his pyjama pants into his knee, he still manages to get all his fingers through the gap. He's panting as the residue pain echoes away, the painkillers helping to rob his mind of its presence and making him feel more relaxed. The Man's hand rubs at his scalp again, his words praising him in a constant stream of rewards. He feels immensely proud of himself as he looks down at his bruised and swollen hand. The bar had a small padding of foam across it so that it sits across his knuckles not too uncomfortably and holds them steady as the rest of the metal runs underneath his hand and forearm.

"This is going to make my baby feel so much better." The Man presses another kiss to his cheek and Edward finds himself smiling, feeling a little dazed and out of sorts. Whatever painkiller he'd been given has made him a little drowsy and it's hard to focus on the pain of his hand. He supposes that's a good thing, the Man had made sure this wouldn't hurt as much by drugging him and that was nice of him. He still flinches a little when bandages start to be wrapped around his hand and forearm.

They are not painful but it's definitely uncomfortable to have something tighten around his skin and hold everything in place. He knows that he needs to have this splint to help him heal, if he didn't then the bones would just continue to grate against each other and make everything worse. Really he should be thankful for this treatment, not complaining. So he sits as still as possible and watches as the Man wraps him up, covering his wounded arm with the crisp white bandages until it feels stiff but better than before.

He can still feel the cold metal holding his hand flat as the bandages scratch on the back of his skin and he wonders if this is going to be enough to help him. When he was younger a boy at school had broken his hand falling out of a tree and he'd had to have surgery, metal pins to hold his hand together and a full cast to help him mend properly. He frowns and pokes experimentally at the bandages. He's not sure if this is enough.

"Does that feel better baby?" A hand reaches out to stroke his face and Edward finds the Man crouched before him, a hopeful look on his face as he smiles to him, his thumb petting and stroking along his cheeks so softly. It would probably upset the Man if he raised doubts about his medical skills and he really should be grateful for even getting this much. He's mad at himself for a moment for even debating being rude to the Man for something so silly, if he doesn't want to be punished then he has to keep the Man happy. So instead he smiles back and nods, titling his cheek and allowing more kissing even if he didn't like them very much. So long as it kept the Man happy then it was fine. Everything was fine.

"Such a good boy." Is whispered into his ear and he shivers at the feel of heavy breathing on his skin. He doesn't know if he'll ever get used to that feeling. The Man moves back enough to kneel in front f him again and Eddie finds that his vision is a little bit fuzzy around the edges. He shakes his head a bit and blinks to try and clear it. When he focuses again the Man is chuckling at his actions, the smile still split across his face as he traces gentle fingers over his now bandages hand. "Alright Precious, just have to fix your fingers and then you can relax." Edward nods and watches as the Man reaches for some sterile padding and medical tape.

A small voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he's sensitive to the adhesive used on that brand of medical tape. Not allergic but just sensitive, it tends to bring him out in an itchy red rash. Whenever he'd needed fixing up before Jonathan always had a special roll of tape just for him so it didn't aggravate him. He bites his lip and holds his broken hand steady on the Man's palm, trying not to gasp in pain as his fingers are pinched together with the padding between them to stop them rubbing.

Edward chews on his lower lip as he gazes at the side, seeing the two rolls of tape there are separate brands but the one being used is the one he's sensitive to. He would ask the Man to use the other brand of tape he can see on the side but really it's not such a big deal and he doesn't want to bother him. He'll just have itchy fingers for a while and a small rash that will go away after a few days. There was no reason to bother the Man with such a small problem so he doesn't. Instead he sits as still as he can whilst the Man wraps his fingers together, tight enough to hold them all straight but loose enough that the circulation isn't compromised.

"There we go. What a good boy you are Precious." Edward can feel a flush of pride run through him and his cheeks swell a little pink as he's praised again. Really he didn't do anything except not cry out in pain. It had hurt a lot having to move his fingers but the painkillers had helped and now he was just feeling a little buzzy. Was buzzy a good word to describe it? He wasn't sure but he knew he felt a lot better now his arm was supported properly. "Now what does Precious say?"

He looks up to the Man as he's pulled to his feet again, stumbling a little on the spot as everything moves a little too fast around him. Soon he's steady and letting the Man help him into his pyjama top, working his wrapped arm through the sleeve carefully before his other arm joins it in place. He lifts them up as the Man grabs the bottom hem of the shirt and pulls it down over his head to settle properly, leaving him fully dressed in the too large baby blue pyjamas. When he's steady again and he's blinked a few times to knock away the grey haze around the edge of his vision he smiles as gratefully as he can manage, looking into the Man's eyes as he answers. "Thank you." His voice may be small and weak from disuse and all the crying earlier but at least he responded quickly enough and the Man isn't angry with him.

"Good Precious." He stays still as yet more kisses are pressed to his cheek and the Man pets him yet again, stroking his slowly drying hair back and out of his face before it falls back. Edward remains there as the Man moves away, cleaning up the medical supplies and draining the bath water before coming back over to him. He finds his hand being grasped in a large one as he's pulled back into the main room of the basement, his feet tripping over themselves as he tries to get his drug addled mind to tell his body to keep up.

The Man sits at one end of the sofa, his legs up on the cushions as he leans against the back corner and holds his arms out for him. Edward isn't sure what to do so his chews on his lip and holds his bandaged arm close to his chest, worried of what will happen to it should this be seen as disobeying. He shuffles from foot to foot, anxiety building up within him as he tries to decide if he should sit on the floor, on the other end of the sofa or where? The decision is taken from his hands as the Man reaches out to grab him by his good wrist and pull him close. Edward closes his eyes and keeps his arm close, expecting repercussions for not doing as he's told quickly enough. Instead he's simply manhandled into position between the Man's legs, leaning back onto his chest as an arm holds him in place around his tummy. He gulps and stays as still as possible, feeling himself shake and tremble in worry as he doesn't know what to do with the unfamiliar position.

He's never been this close to the Man before, usually he just has to sit next to him with their legs touching but this is so much more intimate. Edward swallows down his fear and tries to calm himself; getting worked up really isn't going to help anybody. The Man seems to be paying more attention to the DVD he's just started over from the beginning anyway, listening to the music that plays over the title sequence. It's the same children's movie from before, cartoon animals falling in love or something equally stupid, yet he still finds himself able to anticipate every single word. The arm about his waist tightens and he finds himself being pulled back to rest fully on the other man, his head coming to rest on his chest sideways so he can see the television and hear the Man's heartbeat.

They stay that way for a while until Edward is no longer tense but is instead almost comfortable. The painkillers he'd taken earlier have kicked in fully and he finds himself feeling drowsy to the point where he's struggling to keep his eyes open. The Man's heartbeat is loud in his ear and dependable, he listens to the beats, counting the 'lub' noises of the atriums contracting followed by the 'dub' sound of the ventricles contracting soon after. Every 0.8 seconds is the heart rate of the average human, the Man's is a little faster but Edward thinks that can be attributed to his sheer size. He doesn't realise he's falling asleep until his body lets out a small sigh of relaxation and he jerks awake, pulling away from the Man and feeling panicked as he wasn't told he could sleep yet.

"Hush Precious it's alright." Large hands reach out, one cups the back of his head and pulls him back into place, the other releases his waist and taps at his side, indicating for him to roll onto his front. He's quick to comply, using his good hand to brace himself against the Man's chest as his injured one is still held close. He thinks he's been coping very well with being this close to the Man, but now they're pressed front to front and he feels himself shaking again. He feels bad for having started to fall asleep but the Man is watching him softly as the cartoon plays in the background. "It's okay Precious." Another kiss is pressed to his forehead and he relaxes slightly, laying down on the Man's chest and listening to his steady heartbeat again as large arms are wrapped around him, one on his hip and the other stroking his damp hair.

Laying still he half closes his eyes, letting the cartoon blur in front of him as he gets used to the new position and closeness. It's a little uncomfortable being this close to another person, he'd never even hugged Jonathan and he was his best friend, but he could get used to it. The Man is being surprisingly gentle and he knows it must be because he's been so well behaved. He settles into the embrace, keeping his aching arm to the side so it won't be crushed as he lies on the Man's chest. Each beat of his heart calms him down and makes him grateful that he's here with his arm bandaged rather than in his room, cold, alone and in pain.

When he'd first arrived here he'd spent a lot of time in his room. He hated being ignored so easily but the Man wouldn't give in no matter how hard he screamed, kicked the door or hurt himself. His hands and feet had been tied together after his first attempt to use the bucket as a weapon. The Man had come in and he'd been behind the door, he shudders when he remembers how he'd hit the Man around the head with it so hard it had left a dent in the metal pail, a hand strokes through his hair until he stops shaking. The Man had been so mad after that, smacking him around the face and tying him so tightly that he had bruises and broken skin across his wrists for weeks. The memory is awful and he can't believe he would ever think of doing that.

At first he'd hated being called Precious but now he saw it as just another thing he's gotten used to. He still has his real name, hidden deep within himself and locked away where the Man can't reach it, it's a dirty little secret but one he's allowed to keep. The Man prefers to call him Precious anyway and so long as he responded then he didn't get hit. He remembers when he'd spat in the Man's face and been punched so hard he didn't remember the rest of that entire day even though he's sure he was awake for most of it. That had been within the first week of being here.

The first week had been the hardest, after that he'd started to see sense. There had been a few times where he'd fought back, kicking, scratching and on one occasion biting. He focuses on the Man's heartbeat and tries not to remember the punishment for that. The pliers had felt horrible wrapped around his back molar until he'd begged, pleaded and cried for forgiveness. Why hadn't he seen how much better things would be if he just behaved? Sometimes he doubted he really was a complete genius as he was supposed to be.

His first few weeks here had been awful; bruises, being tied up, being humiliated into begging for the bathroom before losing control of himself like a child. He hated that memory the most. At least now the Man let him use the bathroom twice a day like a normal human being and at least he had his bucket when needed during the day. Really it wasn't so bad having him there when he had to go, it was just another thing to get used to.

He remembers getting used to having someone else feed him had been difficult. When he'd been allowed to eat in those first few weeks he'd been kept tied up, his wrists pulled tightly behind his back so he couldn't even think of using something as a weapon. He'd been kept in his room when the Man had come in, a bowl of oatmeal in one hand and a spoon in the other, automatically his stomach had begged for food by rumbling loudly. It had been three days since he'd eaten and he was desperate for sustenance. At first he'd thought he was going to be untied but that had changed when the Man had taken a spoonful of food and blown on it as you would for a child before pressing it to his lips. He remembers wanting to knock the spoon from his hand, kick him away in disgust at being treated like nothing more than an infant. But he'd been so hungry, instead it had been the first time he'd given in and let the Man do what he wanted.

Things had become better after that point; he'd been untied and allowed into the other areas of the basement. After learning his place at the Man's side he'd been allowed to follow him around, watch the television and read a few books on occasion. He presses his cheek a little closer to the Man's chest and lets the noise of his heartbeat soothe him a little as he thinks back to how stupid he'd been back then. If he'd have just been well behaved earlier he could have avoided a lot of beatings and punishments.

The hand in his hair helps him to relax as he takes in the Man's scent, a mixture of warm musk and a metallic flavour from where he's been at work. He breathes deeply and feels himself begin to lull to sleep again as the hand on his hip slips to stroke at the skin of his lower back. The Man's heartbeat has gotten a little quicker. He startles awake a little more as the hand's move to hold him under his armpits, shifting him upwards so he's face to face with the Man, his smaller body cradled to the larger man's chest as he's held there.

He finds it difficult to meet the Man's eyes when lips are pressed to his cheek again, the large hands holding him there so he can be kissed and licked. It's strange but not exactly bad, he's not getting anything good from it but it's not hurting either so he doesn't struggle, he just lets it happen. The Man's lips are chapped and scrape against his skin a little, he's not sure if it's that or the kisses that make him shudder. He can feel the Man's heartbeat increase where there chests meet and he wonders why, is it because he's getting angry again? Anger does make the heart rate increase. He panics and clasps his bandaged hand close as he wracks his brain for an answer, all he has to do is behave and he's not even able to do that very well. The Man grunts beneath him and he can feel the fear really build now as he tries to think of a way to appease the anger.

"Precious…" The Man moans quietly into his cheek, more kisses being pressed there as the fingers tighten underneath his arms, making him flinch. Obviously he's waiting for something, but he just doesn't know what, his whole body is shaking in anxiety as he races through trying to think of what he can do to keep the Man happy and keep himself safe. "My Precious." Is murmured in a low voice, rumbling deep in the Man's chest as his lips move to kiss at the corner of his mouth, licking and kissing there every few seconds.

He has to take a deep breath to calm himself but he finally settles on what to do to keep him safe, to make the Man happy. Carefully and ever so slowly he turns his head a little to the side, allowing the next few kisses to be peppered fully onto his lips. It's a little different but not too terrible when his lips meet the Man's. He's so much smaller that his lips are really lost as the Man's closes over his, softly and gently kissing him on his closed mouth. Edward doesn't really do much at first, scared that anything more will make the Man angry and just hoping he's not crossed the line. "Good boy Precious." Is muttered against his lips and he smiles a little as the lips press down upon his again. He is making the Man happy, that's good that's very good. "Such a good boy, my very good boy. Aren't you Precious?"

"Yes." Edward's not sure if he meant to talk or not but he finds himself responding to the praise all the same. He blames it on the medication making him a little fuzzy around the edges. But the Man gasps a little and pulls him closer, the kisses becoming harder and he feels trapped and afraid again so he tries to make it better. Carefully he puckers his lips and when the Man presses down for another kiss he presses back ever so slightly, letting his lips pinch together in a kiss of his own before he pulls away.

The Man lets him and when he dares to look he can see happiness and pride shining in the Man's deep grey eyes back at him. "Good boy. What a good boy you are Precious." He feels himself lowered again to rest against the Man, his head coming back to rest on his chest so he can hear his heartbeat again, loud and fast as it thumps away. Edward can't help but smile to himself as the Man wraps his arms around him, kissing the top of his head and petting his hair softly as he holds him close. "Aren't you baby?"

He feels pride swell within him and he can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips as he pushes further into the embrace. He's done it, he's kept the Man happy and now he was safe and comfortable and warm in his arms instead of crying in the corner with a broken arm. He'd done so well. He could do this; it was easy. He could keep the Man happy and therefore keep himself safe. He could do this; he was a genius.

The Man's hands stroke at him and a constant stream of coos and praise meet his ears as he begins to fully relax again. He's safe here so long as he keeps the Man happy and that was easy enough. He just had to behave and do as he's told. That was easy enough, even an idiot could do it and he was a genius so he could do it better. Everything was good. Everything was fine. He nods to himself as he lays there in the Man's arms, safe and secure. "Yes, Precious is a good boy." He closes his eyes and curls into the embrace, hugging his broken hand close to himself as the medication helps him begin to drift off.

He's such a good boy. He's so very good at behaving himself and keeping the Man happy. He can do this. He needs to do this. If doing as he's told will keep him alive then yes he can do it. He is a good boy. Such a good boy. A hand strokes through his hair slowly and soothingly as he feels himself finally begin to fall into a deep, comfortable sleep.

Everything is fine.