Might As Well

MIGHT AS WELL

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH

I seriously can't title anything. Well, I can (hack) but it's always really stupid. So... that's the title for now (and it shall also be known as 'MAW'). Just don't worry about it for now, a'right? Um. So. Please and thank you, poppies.

This will probably end up to be slash in the end. Some pairing between Jimmy or Edgar or Johnny. One combination or other (Edgar/Johnny, for the win). Yep. Whether you like it or not. Whether I like it or not. So... go now or forever hold your peace.
Or however that goes.

There will probably be differences in character personality (because I suck) and plot (because Edgar+ Jimmy need to live) and original characters (like, two, and also because I suck). Also, there will always be epic-long author's rants in the start and finish of my updates (because I rule). Deal with it.

You can point out the character flaws (for Jhonen's characters), but please don't gripe at me for other stuff. I can't handle it (because. I. suck).

Yeah, this whole JtHM thing... it's not mine. It's Jhonen Vasquez's. Beautiful.

ONE
 Isolation

Edgar Vargas might as well not exist.

Edgar Vargas himself agreed with this idea. He fully supported it, really. And, a few weeks ago, he had been brutally murdered. Well, it may have been a month at this point. He couldn't be sure.

Edgar Vargas had stopped existing yet here he sat, crouched in an ill-used guest bedroom. He was not alone; there were about four other people sharing the space with him. Albeit the fact they were all more noisome then he previously believed feasible, Edgar found (to his absolute horror) that he liked being in the rooms with corpses more than he did the empty ones. He felt safer. Less alone.

Perhaps he had become a bit twisted in his isolation.

The room was dark, like the others. Dark and humid. The air smelled of iron and the dust made his eyes itch terribly. He sneezed and his eyes watered and burned. He was starving and he was fairly sure he had a fever. He didn't have anything to throw up. He wondered if there was even any bile in him anymore. He'd thrown up so much over the weeks. All of the corpses. The insects...

There was more than one bug in the house. Contrary to what Nny believed, there was more than one. Many more, as Edgar knew.

He knew the place now. He'd lived there for a long time. He'd found everything there was to find, surely. He had found the room he died in, even. Which was all in all a very strange thing to find. At first he had been calm, but as he'd neared the killing machine he'd become more and more nauseated. Nothing had changed. In fact, Edgar was fairly sure Johnny had stopped using the machine altogether. He didn't quite know what to think of this.

As has been stated, many of the rooms harbored corpses (they'd be moved at a later time) but many more held captives. Edgar hated those rooms the most. Those rooms were the worst.

Edgar stood up and wiped a tear from his cheek. He had not actually been crying, but the air in the room was affecting making his eyes water excessively. At this point, the irritant had become too much to bear, to he stood up and he left the room cautiously. Quickly, he slipped into another not far down the eerie hall.

Now Edgar was in an altered laundry room some three floors down. The walls were cracked and scratched, the white paint faded and discoloring. This was one of his favorite rooms because it smelled less like blood, sweat, and death and more like detergent. Detergent was a good smell. No corpses, though. No company. And there was also the fact that some of the drywall was completely absent, revealing the insulation and structure of the house inside. This made him worry about pests and other things crawling in from somewhere unseen. It might be an unreasonable thing to worry about, but he still didn't like it. Once he dreamt of Johnny C.'s skeletal hand creeping out from the depths of the wall. The rest of him followed, and the maniac was seen there, standing and grinning crazily.

Edgar was not interested in seeing this apparition come to life, and therefore he did not come to this room often. It was there merely for him to clear his head and revive some of the sanity he might have lost in the rooms full of rotting abductees.

Edgar jumped as crumbs of plaster slid down the wall to rest in a pile on the damaged floorboards. Scratched by weapons, fingernails. Something big, heavy... being moved.

Anyway...

A month ago Edgar had stopped existing and this was something he did not object. There couldn't possibly be one person to object. This considering the fact that the only person he had spoken to within months of his termination was Johnny C. And Johnny C. had been the person to terminate him.

As one can surely see, nobody really cared for keeping Edgar Vargas around.

Maybe this was why he was alive again...? He didn't really know. He'd been told the reason (if that had really been what had happened), but it just hadn't made much sense to him at the time. However, it didn't make much sense to him at present, either, and he'd been thinking heavily on it for quite a while now:

"Johnny C. was not supposed to kill you," the angel had stated drearily.

Edgar stared. He didn't really know what he could say to this. Yes, Johnny had acted out of turn, and, yes, Edgar was now officially dead. There wasn't much you could do about that. About being dead.

The angel was young looking and, as one might expect, rather beautiful. The other angels Edgar'd seen were average (in some cases below average) looking people. This angel was the first he found to have a halo and the first he found to have clean white clothes and shining, blonde hair. This angel was quite the epitome of what most people imagined them all to be. A cliché character altogether.

This discluding his rather errant personality.

"I don't think I'm making this hard to understand..." the angel mused to the side. He seemed frustrated and upset, as though Edgar was causing everything to go horribly wrong.

Hell, maybe he was. Edgar would not be surprised. Ruining things was something he could really do. Unfortunately, this had not been something he could be paid to do back when he was living. When he was living. Because he was dead. He was just really finding that to be a hard thing to grasp, no matter how 'ready' he had been there in front of Johnny in those restraints.

"I'm sorry, I just... he wasn't supposed to? So there are things he is supposed to do?" Edgar didn't understand why they needed to be having a conversation about it. He wasn't supposed to kill him? Why? Edgar hadn't been doing anything useful with himself...

The angel, who's nametag read "Erizalem", (also the holiest name Edgar had seen thus far, discounting the rather unattractive fact that the angel was wearing a nametag) spoke again. This time, to Edgar, "Simply put, you're supposed to be alive."

So... what did that mean? Edgar didn't know. He wished the angel would answer the questions fully. Though, he hadn't really asked much to begin with.

"So you're going back."

Panic struck Edgar, but before he could object, Erizalem gave him a rough shove.

By which Edgar had landed in some dark room on his ass.

He had promptly recognized the smell, sounds, the overall atmosphere. Back in Johnny's house, where he had died. The panic hadn't quite left him, and the disheveled Edgar shot to his feet and out of the room. He had continued to move through the rooms periodically, and he had even found the ground level floor, but he had been too nervous to intrude upon it.

So he'd spent the days, hiding in different rooms with the company of corpses and, in few cases, captives. He didn't like talking to the living because it made him guilty, for he did not have the courage to free anyone. Besides, he was fairly sure they would be killed anyway, and he'd be revealed.

He had planned on escaping today (only an entire month after being returned here), but it hadn't happened yet. But… he'd been planning to escape every day for the past week, and he had not once come close. If Johnny found him...

Well, he didn't know what would happen. Maybe that's why the idea seemed too unattractive to him.

But that was stupid, wasn't it? Being afraid of something he didn't know. Something just minimally unpredictable. Technically, that's what it was. He found this absurd. He didn't like it much at all.

With sudden determination and rebellion, Edgar stood up. He left the room without even peering outside and sauntered confidently through the ill-lit halls. Unfortunately, the way was long and he had much too much time to think about what he was doing. His confidence leaked rapidly from him and his posture made evident changes as he went. His pace became heavy and his expression was dreadful. His shoulders drew up to show he was on his defense and his hands came up, too. Edgar was sure he looked pathetic in his nervousness, though he believed this to be justified, considering his situation.

A gunshot.

Edgar looked up as though he might be able to see the source and quickly found himself hurrying along the corridor. Eventually, he found himself running. He had an odd feeling. The atmosphere had changed. For better or for worse he couldn't tell. But he knew this was his chance. Somehow.

So, having plotted a course many weeks ago, Edgar fled and finally found the staircase. He paused for only a second before bounding up the concrete steps. There was much adrenaline in him.

He could hear arguments ahead and behind. The one ahead he couldn't understand at all. The rumbling and explosions not far behind (these had begun not long ago, but he only now registered them), however, kept him going. The voices got closer and Edgar dodged into a conveniently placed torture room so as not to be spotted.

Two startlingly short shadows passed through the room briefly before vanishing. The... beings had passed. The size and shape just hadn't seemed human. Edgar decided he hadn't the time to question it. He went to hurry out, but he stopped himself. He was close to something... he could feel it.

He'd been able to feel an awful lot lately. Maybe he was sharper under pressure.

Erizalem appeared in the doorway, a darker being beside him. Much darker. Not an angel. Thick black locks of hair fell to his ears and pale, sickly skin shined in contrast to the demon's choice of attire. Black jeans. Black boots, much like Nny's only thicker and much more heavy-duty. A black T-shirt and a long, rather nice, black coat. Two horns sprouted from his head and jutted backwards. They were fairly large, and, of course, black. Like Edgar, this demon had a large nose. His, however, seemed a bit more attractive. Less of a bad thing.

He had a nametag, like Erizalem, though the colors were inverted. 'Hamza'.

This Hamza strode forward quickly. There was vicious intent, Edgar could see, but he wasn't able to retaliate and his shirt was grabbed callously. He found himself thrown against the wall. His glasses slid down his nose a bit and he ended up a bit disheveled from the assault. The air had been forced from his lungs; he'd hit the wall hard, apparently.

"Do you know how annoying you are!?" Hamza spoke with a heavy Arab accent. And he was very annoyed. But not very Arab-looking.

Edgar looked at him reluctantly and found that the demon's eyes were mismatched. One red (the left) with a slitted pupil. The other a pleasant blue, much like Erizalem's own. For some reason Edgar was unaffected by this. Though the red eye was vaguely disturbing and very intimidating.

Erizalem stepped forward, out of the background. Folded his arms impatiently.

Hamza recoiled, "Shit," he spat, releasing Edgar with another shove. He moved away, and as he turned Edgar saw that his hair, in actuality, stretched to his shoulder blades. It had been tied back. Weird do this guy had going on.

Erizalem stepped forward to take the demon's place as Hamza stood away, sulking. Erizalem smiled and Edgar turned his attention to him, "Um..."

"You need to hurry. I think it's already too late... but hurry. Go on," Erizalem pointed for the door and Edgar hurried out, confused. He searched for the front door, for the escape. He was already over his meeting with the celestial beings. He didn't even wonder what he was too late for. He vaulted up the stairs, shivering from the adrenaline. From the anticipation of finally being able to get home. As soon as he reached the top, however, he froze. Johnny was close…

"Kck... Rckkkchk... Edgar Vargas."

The Edgar Vargas in question shuddered and a violent wave of nausea swept over him. He swayed before turning to the twitching, bloody Nny.

That explained the change of atmosphere. Edgar thought this was a sufficient explanation, anyway.

And he found that the change had, in fact, been both a good thing and a bad one. Good, Nny could not hurt him (a safe conclusion to come to). Bad, he was bleeding and dying on the floorboards and Edgar couldn't handle it.

Edgar was no weakling.

This is only half a lie.

See, Edgar was not one to keep his anger or frustration contained (this includes most of his other emotions as well, unfortunately) and could, actually, be quite vicious. Quite unforgiving. He could be quite terrible. He could stand up for himself and his beliefs (if he actually had any other than God and Jesus Christ, that is). This was not weak in the slightest. Expression takes a bit of bravery.

However, Edgar had a weak stomach and a weaker heart. Or it could be said that he had a strong heart, it merely depends on one's opinion.

This means that seeing Nny so destroyed there on his cracked, scratched, shoddy floorboards made Edgar want to throw up and pass out. Therefore, a bad change in the atmosphere. Blood on the floor and maybe some vomit depending on how the guy was feeling.

And he was not feeling good.

Besides throwing up whatever might still be in him, Edgar wanted to hurry to the sickly maniac and assist him. He was suffering, surely. Edgar didn't want to see him suffer. Even if he was Johnny C.

He bent and his hands hovered over the corpse-to-be. There wasn't anything he could do.

"I'm... already dead?" Johnny asked the room.

"No..." he didn't feel like explaining his resurrection at the moment.

"Oh..." Johnny twitched and refused to look directly at him.

Edgar didn't much mind, though he did wonder if Johnny could look at him.

"SHIT!" an Arabic voice screamed. Edgar swept the room with blurry eyes and found no one. Hamza was reacting to something else now.

Voices coming up the stairs had him moving again. He doubted the owners posed any threat at all, but he still couldn't help but feel endangered. He moved away from Johnny and behind some furniture to watch something truly peculiar happen.

Krik and Tess hurried into the room.

In any other situation, Edgar would be happy to see Tess. She would probably have been happy, too. However, something was wrong, and neither of them were in the mood for a reunion. Besides, he was preoccupied with being invisible.

Edgar did not see Dillon.

Tess had replaced that jackass with another one. Krik. He'd met Krik a very long time ago, when he was first abducted. He was shocked to see the man still alive, really. Maybe Johnny had really wanted to torture this guy. He appeared rather... alright, though. Edgar decided it didn't really matter why or how Krik was still alive. He just was. He ran through all of their past conversations, and remembered that all of them had been pretty much one-sided. They consisted of nothing but Krik's complaints and what he objected about his situation and whatnot. Oh, and lots of talk about kicking people's asses and how dorky and skinny Nny was.

Edgar had trouble finding Johnny 'dorky' but he supposed that was just him.

But he and Tess. Wow, they'd had some really great conversations on that day a few months ago. He was surprised to see her, too, simply because he didn't know that Johnny kept people around so long.

Edgar was going to save Tess. Because she didn't belong here. Not at all. They'd talked almost all day, and then Edgar told her that he couldn't save her. That he was a coward who could do nothing but try and save himself. The next day, he went to save her, because of the torment he'd felt in those lonely hours. But she was gone. Moved, or killed. He hadn't been able to find her, for she'd been moved deeper in, and there was a certain point where he refused to move lower. It got creepier the farther down one went.

Edgar snapped to attention as the atmosphere in the house (...building) changed again. He could feel Johnny react to their arrival. And the maniac began to move slow and robot-like. One motion at a time. One arm reached then drug his tiny body forward. Slow, yet jerky movements, and Johnny drove himself across the wood, a huge smear of blood trailing behind him. He twitched as he went, for he was definitely not supposed to be moving around. Someone had shot him in the head.

For some reason, Hamza's face came to mind. It went as soon as it came, however, for the idea was completely ridiculous. Besides, Edgar doubted Erizalem would allow that.

No matter how much of a complete shit Johnny was.

And Edgar followed the crippled maniac. He moved from the wardrobe to the end table where the phone sat.

Krik had been screaming a lot, but only now did Edgar tune in. And this only because Johnny had begun to speak, "Hssss... You won't be going anywhere. You're dying too. Kkchh..." Edgar's attention shifted to Krik, who threw a ridiculous fit.

Edgar had always thought his head looked like a potato.

Not a minute later, Nny voiced his identical opinion.

Edgar almost laughed. He might have let out a small chuckle, but Johnny kept talking, and what he said was interesting. Well, weird, really.

So everything was vanishing? Was that because he was dying? Or because of the anomaly Edgar could still sense in the atmosphere? It was crushing, but there was nothing much he could do to escape it quite yet.

The door was mere feet away.

Edgar wouldn't be able to leave until he died, or until Johnny did.

Johnny C. was a horrible person, but Edgar would feel guilty just leaving him to suffer. To die alone on the cheap wood.

Edgar was a fool.

A mention of the "Wall Thing", which Edgar remembered talking about before he died. The reason he died. Maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe Edgar was alive again because of this Wall Thing. But neither Hamza or Erizalem had mentioned anyt-

"That's it!! Say goodbye to what's left of your head!!"

Edgar shot to his feet, "No, don't-!"

Krik did not even pretend to hear him. Nny, half a second before having his skull cave in on him, looked at Edgar with a curious, calculating expression.

He had no expression, then. He had no face that Edgar could see.

His stomach turned and he stumbled backwards. Fell on his ass. Potato Head went on with his business, still unrelenting when Tess swore.

The Wall Thing burst through the floor and Edgar stopped existing for the second time in a month.

"What the fuck, Vargas?!" Hamza stood above him, arms crossed. His clothes had not changed. Nothing about him had.

Erizalem was equally without novelty and they both stood, side-by-side, giving him disapproving looks. It was very unnerving, especially for someone like Edgar, who didn't like having people angry at him without knowing the reason. He supposed not many people did like that, but that wasn't the point.

"Um. I failed..." he guessed, finally. Erizalem shook his head in pity and wandered off. His halo seemed less... glowy, but it could be the fact that they were somewhere white. Everything was white. The ground... the 'sky'... Well, Edgar was not all white. His shirt (which he had been wearing for much too long now) was a faded green with black stripes. His dark jeans were becoming damaged. Worn. They were his good jeans. Not anymore, though. Not after enduring Johnny's basement for so long.

Hamza wasn't all white, either, though the milieu was really hurting his complexion. Shave his hair, he might appear to have no head at all, just two glowing, mismatched eyes.

Hamza in charge. Edgar didn't like Hamza very much. Not as much as Erizalem, but that was to be expected, really.

"Yes, you fucking failed!" Hamza cawed. He threw his hands up in a huff and moved about a bit to divert his energy away from punching Edgar in the face. Erizalem seemed to be offended by the swearing. He shifted uncomfortably and gave Hamza a look.

Edgar dared to ask, "What did I fail at, though?"

Hamza turned to him and gave him a curious look. It soon melted back into hate.

Edgar hated hate very much. Nothing muchly good ever came of it. He knew a lot of bad did. Lots of bad things happened because of hate. He just wanted everything to be nice for everyone. And no matter how impossible he knew this was, he believed in it, and hoped for it.

He wondered briefly if Hamza really did hate him. Maybe it was just frustration. Lots of frustration.

He doubted it.

"He didn't even know..." lots of hate in the demon's voice. But Edgar felt none of it directed towards himself.

Erizalem sensed a change in things and sauntered over casually, much less tense than he had been. He smiled at Edgar, who adjusted his glasses awkwardly in response. Erizalem was as intimidating as ever.

"I'm sorry, Hamza," Erizalem said, still smiling strangely at Edgar, "I was sure he knew."

Somewhere behind Erizalem now, Hamza exploded yet again. His gloved hands were thrown into the air just like before and the angel was forced to move his attention to the unhappy demon.

"You always say that, Erick! You have too much faith in these people!!" Hamza had apparently decided to shorten the angel's name to Erick. It wasn't completely off beam, either. Erizalem was very much an 'Erick'.

He wondered if anyone had ever called Hamza 'Hammy' and what would happen if one were to try. Nothing good, he was sure.

"I have not enough," Erizalem said in some sort of wise, old wizard voice. Hamza snorted, causing Erizalem to realize that he had not said anything insightful or impressive in the least. The angel seemed embarrassed, which was kind of weird. Edgar had been viewing him as strong and prestigious, but his embarrassment was very contrary to this persona. He was not much of an important angel at all. And Hamza was not much of an important demon.

The two were friends.

Edgar took on a calculating look that moved alternatively between them as they bickered colloquially. When they both erupted into sudden mirth, Edgar began to pay attention again.

"Ah, but Azma is such a fool!" Hamza exclaimed, a wide grin set on his pale face.

"Hey, you know I only agree!" Erizalem said, laughing, "And I had even warned Uriz about it, but he went on!"

Hamza laughed again and Edgar realized that he had somehow been forgotten.

Their laughter died down a bit and Edgar spoke before they could get into it again, "Am I dead?"

Hamza pouted at the interruption and Erizalem turned to Edgar. There was no surprise on his face, "Oh, I don't know how to answer that."

Hamza's arms were crossed yet again, and his eyes had hardened a bit. But the hate that Edgar was sure he had detected earlier seemed to be gone. So there had been some sort of misunderstanding. He wanted to know what that was. What had he failed at? Why were demons and angels assigning him jobs? He'd been fired from his last one; he was no great worker.

"What?" How had that been a hard question to answer? 'Am I dead?' 'Kinda...' That was bullshit and Edgar knew.

Erizalem knew that Edgar knew. He sighed and wiped some imaginary substance from his cheek, "Alright..." he said, making eye contact again (he did it a lot, but Edgar often struggled to maintain it), "You don't exist. But you will, soon. As soon as Señor Diablo gets things straightened out. It should be too long. He's done this before."

"You need to be more specific," Edgar dared.

"The universe doesn't exist right now. We have to start it over, in a sorts."

"And why is that?"

Hamza shook his head, "Forget that."

Edgar stared at him for a moment and confirmed that there was no hostility in Hamza's voice, he was just asking the wrong questions. He tried again, "So where are we now...?"

Erizalem looked about a moment, "Hm. Not sure. Suspended, I guess, since we can't take you to Heaven or Hell."

"Oh. We're in a Locker, then," said Hamza, holding up a clawed finger, "In Hell."

Edgar's heartbeat accelerated then regulated.

"No. I think we'd be in a Storage Closet. Edgar belongs to Heaven," Erizalem corrected calmly, "Besides, this place isn't dark like I'd assume a locker would be."

Hamza "hmph'd" upon being corrected, but he didn't disagree.

So they were in a closet. Okay.

It was a really big closet.

How can they know so little about these things and be so comfortable? None of this was normal. Typical. It was all so strange and he didn't like not knowing what was happening to him. It made him nervous.

"I'm pretty sure you're going to end up in Johnny C.'s house again..." Hamza said, sitting down on the... whatever the ground was made of.

Edgar twitched and became a bit incensed, "Why? Why can't I go home?" he didn't find this fair at all. It wasn't fair. He hadn't done anything to anyone. He couldn't have! He barely left his house unless for a job application or an interview and he'd only been on two of those. They were very uneventful (and unsuccessful). He didn't do anything rude to the employers. Nothing.

Erizalem looked like he could see Edgar's train of thought and he waited patiently for him to calm down, "Because Johnny really-" Hamza interrupted and Edgar didn't catch the rest of the sentence, "Time's up!"

Edgar felt something happening to him, and instinctual fear gripped him for the umpteenth time that day. He felt fading... tired.. he couldn't hear so well...

But he did hear Hamza say this, "Don't you dare just sit around for two months this time! Hop to it!"

...It had been two months!?

Edgar was dumped on his ass in the room he had stopped existing mere minutes ago. He felt like more time had passed then he knew, but there was no surefire way of telling. He supposed it didn't matter much, anyway. He had nowhere to be whatsoever.

And, y'know, he might as well not exist.

"Shit..." he did swear. Swearing was important to him.

"Do you know what's going on?" a truly inquisitive voice. Friendly, even.

But it was still intense enough to nearly send Edgar running and screaming out the door. He didn't fear death. Not at all. It wasn't so bad from what he'd seen already. But he did fear Johnny C. Johnny C. was not normal or predictable. He was not something Edgar was used to in his daily routine (slash ritual). Edgar didn't like straying from the usual state of things. It was stressful and he wasn't able to just... he didn't know what he might have to do. How he might handle this. He needed to know these things.

You might just say that Edgar Vargas hated surprises. And this was true. Even of the good variety (and there is a good variety, indeed), Edgar hated surprises.

Edgar finally turned, defeated.

Johnny looked like getting shot in the face had really done him some good. Discounting the fact that the maniac's hair had, for the most part, burned off of his head, Nny looked healthier than before. He'd fleshed out a bit and his complexion was less... gross. He was cleaner, the bags under his eyes had faded some, even. Overall he just seemed less haunted, less troubled. Good. Maybe he wasn't crazy anymore.

"I have no idea, Nny, sorry," he mumbled, surprised he was able to speak at all.

He squinted up at Edgar from his position on the floor (apparently he'd been dumped just as violently as Edgar himself had been), "...You don't know how you're alive? I mean, I was pretty sure you were dead. I remember watching you tear apart-"

Edgar stopped him, "No, no, no, no! I remember that, yeah. No, I remember dying. I don't know why I'm here again." He didn't want to tell Johnny what little he knew. It was nothing, really, but he just couldn't imagine if having any good affects on the killer. Telling him what 'he wasn't supposed to do' just didn't seem to be something he'd go for.

Edgar glanced once quickly at the door he had failed to exit through what seemed to be minutes ago. Funny. He knew Nny left the house. He'd seen it happen. He knew the maniac could be gone for a long time. And, still, Edgar was here. Worrying away in corpse-thick rooms, just trying to work up the nerve to move. His lips twitched at the humor. He was so pathetic, really. Almost comically so.

Johnny stood. He looked around a bit before turning to Edgar, who tensed upon having Johnny's yellowish gaze fixed to him.

Johnny smiled as pleasantly as physically possible for him, "Are you hungry, Edgar Vargas?"

END ONE

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH #2

I'm too impatient to give this chapter a better ending. Hey, I know there's a lot of awkward wording up there. Jes' don't worry about it. Hah, chapter one and I already have two original characters. Just great. (I usually hate OCs in fan-fiction).

Hey, I need your reviews, guys. You don't review, I don't update. I think it makes sense (theoretically).

OVER AND OUT.

-RINGO