Raindrops lightly splattered against the window pane. They weren't heavy drops, just small and weightless. What little mass they actually had had sent them falling towards the ground. Falling...falling...falling...

"Cunningham, Driscoll's coming!"

She was falling again, rushing to meet the ground. He caught her, met with no resistance. Limbs fell limp against his chest and her face held the most peaceful expression he'd ever seen. Then he was falling...falling...falling...

"Hey, can you hear me Cunningham?"

His actions sent him reeling, tumbling head over heels into the painful reality. The girl was dead because of him. What kind of person was he? What made him better than the criminals in jail cells held for committing a similar horror? How could he ever find forgiveness? Would he ever find forgiveness? And he was falling again, hurtling towards the ground at breakneck speeds. He killed a civilian. He was no hero.

"Mr. Cunningham, would you care to answer the second question?" Mrs. Driscoll's voice cut through Randy's thoughts, snapping him back to reality. Startled, he slipped off of the lab stool and was sent crashing to the floor with a surprised yelp. Flesh met linoleum tiles as he slammed face first onto the ground. Pain flared in the afflicted area as his classmates tried to contain their snickers. Randy groaned as a shadow passed over him. Looking up, he met the science teacher's gaze. He mused that it must have been a funny sight: a tall lanky teen sprawled on the floor under a lab bench.

Hilarious.

"Mr. Cunningham," Mrs. Driscoll chastised, "I suggest you start paying attention in my class. You could use the grade boost."

"You could use a boost off the floor too!" Jerry Driscoll chimed in with the help of Mrs. Driscoll's hand and voice. The teacher offered a hand to Randy, noticing the bruise forming on his face. Randy thanked whatever was out there that his nose didn't break or start bleeding.

The gratitude was short lived as he went to take Mrs. Driscoll's offer of help. He extended his dominant hand only to flinch and recoil. His eyes widened as he realized that he landed on it after his fall. Cradling the abused wrist, he gave Mrs. Driscoll what he hoped was an apologetic expression. She scrunched her lips together. The class had stopped stifling their laughter and was now gazing at him with concern.

"Um..." Randy started, "Can I go to the nurse?" Pain radiated from his wrist. He hoped it wasn't broken. That wouldn't be good if a monster decided to attack and he had to go Ninja sometime soon.

"Of course," she said with a nod. Randy picked himself off the floor, right hand pressed to his midsection. This was too familiar. His side and chest tingled from their old wounds. The glint of the claws and the finishing blow-

"Mrs. Driscoll, can I bring him there?" Howard asked. "Y'know, just in case he passes out or something. He's been off all day." On any other day, the science teacher would have said no. One look into her student's blue eyes changed her mind. She saw something beyond physical pain, something she wasn't trained to deal with. Yet she noticed the signs and she knew that the boy really needed a friend right now.

"Alright Mr. Weinerman," Mrs. Driscoll replied with a ghost of a smile. "Just be back before the class ends. It shouldn't take you thirty minutes to escort your friend to the nurse's office." If she was being honest, she was expecting Howard to return just as the bell rang for the next class. She wouldn't protest. She'd rather have Randy with someone he could talk to right now.

As Randy left the room with Howard, she couldn't help but send a worried glance his way. The boy hadn't been himself all week. Instead of cracking jokes and exchanging whispered conversations with his friend, he'd been taking down notes (real notes, not doodles of French narwhals and ninja pirates) and wistfully staring out of the newly repaired window. She confronted him once about his behavior, but he shrugged it off as lack of sleep or high school stress. While she did notice the darkening bags under his eyes, she also noticed how loose his already small clothes were getting and his increased social withdrawal. He used to be the extrovert of the class, the most confident student in her class. He greeted people with a friendly smile and a wave. She didn't believe he had the capacity to hate someone. Now, his eyes darted around the classroom and he sat hunched over the lab bench. He would only talk to people when they talked to him. It was like he was trying to cut himself off from society.

At first, Mrs. Driscoll believed his excuses. It was typical for all freshmen to undergo the six week slump. The work starts to catch up with them and the stress sets in. Whatever was happening to her student was not a result of high school. There was something deeper going on, something she couldn't imagine. This behavior had been developing for the last week and a half. She felt ashamed that she hadn't realized her student's suffering sooner. It was time to do the next best thing.

After assigning the rest of the class to the new lab work (preparing Brassica rapa for the week), she picked up her classroom phone. Her fingers darted over the numbers for the principal's office as she placed the receiver next to her ear. Three rings later, she got a reply.

"Hello, Mr. Slimovitz speaking."

"Hi, it's Marilyn Driscoll," she said quietly. After making sure her class was busy with their assignment, she turned her attention back to the phone.

"Marilyn, what seems to be the problem?"

"My students aren't acting up." She sighed before continuing. Lowering her voice, she explained, "You see, one of my students hasn't been himself for over a week. I didn't notice how bad it was until now. I just think he needs someone to talk to or a visit to the school counselor. I'm worried about him."

"I see," Principal Slimovitz responded after a beat. "Do you suspect child abuse or any serious home issues?"

"I don't think I can give an accurate assumption," she replied. What if Randy was being abused? If so, why had it taken until now for the signs to show? Plus, she had met his parents at parent teacher night and they were some of the nicest people in Norrisville. That couldn't be a possibility, right? Doubts and questions were flying through her head.

" Marilyn?" Slimovitz's voice cut through her musings.

"Sorry, I was thinking," she offered as an explanation. "I think we should have him talk to the school counselor first before contacting his parents. If something is happening at home, it's best to keep it under wraps."

"Ok, I'll call him to the office at the end of the day. What's his name?"

"Randy-"

"Cunningham, what's up?" Howard asked as the two friends made their way down the deserted hallway. "You've been acting really weird lately. You know, like bad weird. As in, you're acting like Bucky without his triangle or Flute Girl without her flute or Julian without his-"

"Ok, I get it Howard!" Randy snapped, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Howard looked at him in shock. Cunningham never talked to him like that! Whatever was bugging his best bro was seriously wonk. "I'm sorry," he continued with a sigh, "I shouldn't have yelled at you." He began walking again, his head facing the ground. It took Howard a few seconds to register the fact that Randy wasn't paying attention to his existence. With a huff, he caught up to the taller boy.

"So, you wanna tell me what's bothering you or are you gonna keep shoobing me off without an explanation?" Irritation seeped into his voice and Randy flinched. Howard raised an eyebrow at his friend's behavior. "Hey," he started calmly, "I'm not mad or anything. I just want to know what's bugging you. You've been like this ever since the last monster fight." Again, Randy flinched. That was all the information Howard needed. He could easily admit that he was a bit of a numbskull at times, but this wasn't one of them. He pieced together the information he had. Randy had been acting weird ever since the fight and worse after the memorial service. This time, he actually figured it out with his mind. This time, he knew what happened. But he still didn't know the details and, with someone like Randy, the details were the important part of the story. "Cunningham…what exactly happened in that fight?"

The wall came falling down. Every carefully laid brick and mortar lining tumbled through the air and shattered upon impact. Randy was out of excuses. He didn't want to remember the burden he carried. He didn't want to think about how easy it was to kill her, how seamlessly his blade went through her head. Black locks of hair floated to the ground soon doused by the never ending red. There had been blood, more blood than Randy had seen in all of his life. It was disturbing, horrifying even, and he was the one who had done it. He was the one to blame.

With an anguished scream, he smashed his already injured hand into a nearby locker. The blue painted metal rattled as another fist connected with its smooth surface. For the first time since the incident, he let the tears fall. He didn't even acknowledge Howard's concerned gaze.

"It told me…I had no choice," Randy sputtered out through his muffled cries. He let himself sink to the floor, sitting up against the locker he previously abused. "The Nomicon, it told me there was no other way…that she would destroy everything." He lifted his head to meet his friend's gaze. "The worst part…the worst part…I looked into her eyes and I could…I could just tell…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence through his choked sobs.

"What?" Howard asked, kneeling beside Randy. In all of his life, he'd never seen his bromigo act this way. He was determined to get to the bottom of it. "Dude, what happened?" There were whispers around the two teenagers. Students from nearby classrooms had gathered in the hall, forming a semicircle in the once empty hall. Murmurs were weaving throughout the crowd. Howard caught some words, mostly "He's insane!" and "What's his name?" Ignoring the growing number of high school students surrounding them, he asked again in a whisper. "Cunningham, what happened?" With a shudder, Randy finally responded.

"She wanted me to kill her," he barely managed to reply, "And I did. And…it was too easy Howard; it was too honkin' easy…" Howard could only watch as his friend shivered in fear. His eyes glazed over, unfocused, and he continued to mutter under his breath. "Does this make me a bad person? Will I have to do it again? I…I don't think I could live through doing it again. I didn't ask for this, didn't ask to be the Ninja. I didn't want this. I…Do you hate me? Does everyone hate me? I think I do, I really think I do…"

The broken sentences rambled on and on. Pleas for help and forgiveness were mixed in with self-loathing and anxiety. Howard didn't have the slightest clue of what to do. Nobody ever taught him how to console someone suffering from mental trauma. He'd just have to try his best.

"Hey Cunningham," he said softly, "don't beat yourself up over it. Look, if you didn't do it then Norrisville would probably be destroyed right now. You did save a lot of people."

"I just…she shouldn't have died," Randy mumbled. Both teens heard some shouts coming from the middle of the student body. Their heads snapped towards the noise and they watched Principal Slimovitz claw his way through the crowd. Once he finally pushed through the final wall of students, he turned his back to Howard and Randy.

"Alright everyone, nothing to see here!" he shouted over the masses. "Get back to class or you will all go to the underground detention rooms!" The upper classmen didn't need to be told twice. Within seconds, the hallway was cleared. The seniors even took pity on the clueless freshman and told them to scram. Various papers floated through the air as the last of the students left. One freshman rushed out of their classroom to grab one of the airborne pages they had left behind in their haste. With a sheepish smile, he shoved it back into his multicolored messenger bag and sprinted back to the safety of their geometry class. Once Slimovitz was satisfied with the results, he turned his attention to the two boys.

"Um…are there really underground detention rooms?" Howard asked with a cringe. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to know the answer. The underground gym was bad enough…

"Oh don't worry, I'm not sending you there!" the principal replied with a grin. This did nothing to help the growing knot in Howard's stomach. "Now, what happened out here? The teachers told me that they heard a bang and saw your friend (he pointed to Randy) punch a locker."

"Yeah, about that…"

"I'm sorry Principal Slimovitz, I didn't mean to disturb anyone," Randy spoke up. His eyes never left the far wall as he talked. "Whatever punishment you have for me, go for it." Howard noted the resignation in his friend's tone. Slimovitz sighed and crouched to Randy's eye level.

"I'm not going to punish you," he stated quietly. "Nobody got hurt and you didn't vandalize the locker. You probably hurt yourself more than anything else." Both Slimovitz and Howard eyed the bruises forming on Randy's knuckles. "What's your name?"

"Randy Cunningham." His voice was dead, void of all emotions. He'd burned them all out in his breakdown. He was numb again. He welcomed it.

Slimovitz's eyes lit up in recognition. He turned to the boy next to Randy. "And you?"

"Howard Weinerman…sir," he replied quickly. Ah, Weinerman…this must be Heidi's brother.

"Howard, could you go tell Mrs. Driscoll that Randy will be with me? I'll make sure he gets to the nurse." With a quick nod, Howard stood up and began walking back the way he came. As much as he wanted to stay with Cunningham, he thought it was best to leave. Randy's outburst scared and worried him beyond reason, especially now that he knew what happened. There had to be some way to help his friend. No sane person could live with the guilt of taking another's life.

Steeling his resolve, Howard promised to help Randy no matter what.

Both student and principal walked through the halls in silence. The high pitched, out of tune bell rang and teens rushed off to their next class. Some spared the purple haired kid a glance, shooting him an "Ouch dude…" expression and pitying his position. Randy simply sighed and looked at the floor. He knew he wasn't in trouble, but guilt was gnawing away at his heart. It had been for a while. Principal Slimovitz noticed the teen's downtrodden expression.

"Randy…can I call you that?" he asked. Over the years, he'd learned that students liked to go by the craziest names (some boy named Alfie liked to be called Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All). After receiving a slight nod, he continued. "Well Randy, I just want you to know that you can talk to any of us. Your teachers are here for you. The school counselor is always willing to lend an ear and if you want to talk to me, go ahead. Whatever's going through your mind, you don't have to face alone."

Randy stayed in his hunched position. He appreciated the offer, he really did, but there were only two people that could help him: Howard and the NinjaNomicon. Nobody else could know his secret and nobody else would understand what it felt like to be a murderer. Howard and the Nomicon probably didn't either, but they were the best for the job. He knew he'd let his depression go too far, but it was hard to come out of it. In order to stop moping around, he would have to forgive himself for what happened.

He knew it was impossible.

Realizing he still owed the principal an answer, he mumbled a quick thank you. The two males stopped outside of a blue painted door with the title of "NURSE". Looking at the principal, Randy offered a small smile. "Thanks...but I'm not sure if you can help with this. It's kinda…" He struggled to find the words. "I guess…weird is the best way to put it. I'll just go now." Without hesitation, he slid into the nurse's office and left his troubled principal behind.

"This is more serious than I thought," Slimovitz said to himself as he began the walk to his office. "I'll call him over the P.A. later. This is starting to sound like child abuse and if so, it's very recent." He stopped mid-stride. Why would the abuse start now? Why were the signs showing up now? Maybe everything went too far and he'd cracked. Perhaps the stress of high school was the final straw. Slimovitz hoped this was the worst case scenario. After shouting at two numbskulls for throwing spitballs on the ceiling, he decided to do some research. Maybe the boy's other teachers had noticed something.

"What's your name?" the nurse asked kindly. Randy had never been to the nurse's office before, but the woman seemed nice enough. She was short with mousy gray hair pulled back into a messy bun. The wrinkles on her face creased just the right way, emphasizing a smile fit for the world's best grandma. Come to think of it, she did remind him of his grandma.

"Randy Cunningham," he replied. She smiled at him before grabbing a clipboard.

"I just need you to write your name and grade here," she said, pointing to an empty grid column with her pen. "Put your medical issue here and the time over here. Ok honey?" That's it; this woman was definitely a grandma! Randy briefly wondered if she made homemade cookies before reaching to take the pen and clipboard.

He instantly regretted it as a burning pain rushed through his hand. Right, that's why he was here. Trying to hide his grimace, he forced another false smile as he saw concern flit across the nurse's features. "I'm ok," he assured her. She shot him a disbelieving expression and began writing on the clipboard herself.

"Randy Cunningham…what grade are you in?" She looked up from the clipboard, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Nine," he responded. The nurse motioned for him to sit in the chair behind him and he slumped into it almost immediately. It wasn't like those uncomfortable chairs attached to the desks in the classrooms; it was one of those cheap armchairs. It wouldn't last more than five years, but it was ten times more comfortable than sitting on hard plastic. Since he was so tall, the desks were even more irritable than for others. He could never get into a good position and his legs were always crammed underneath two inch thick wood…

"9th grade…let's see, it's 12:12 now," the nurse mumbled under her breath. "Now," she stated, addressing Randy, "what seems to be the problem?" The query shook Randy from his musings and he jumped slightly at the direct interaction.

"Um…I kinda fell off my stool in science and landed on it," he explained sheepishly. He wasn't going to say why he fell because it would make everything way more embarrassing. His day was wonk enough. He didn't need to add complete humiliation to it.

"And you knuckles?" Ok, this lady was definitely a grandma. He couldn't hide anything from her!

"I…um…had a bad encounter with a volley ball?" he offered, flashing a somewhat innocent smile. The nurse wasn't amused.

"If you want to lie to someone with over twenty years in the practice, I'd suggest you take acting lessons," she deadpanned, jotting something down on the clipboard. With Randy's luck, it was probably something along the lines of "numbskull accident". Placing the items down, she walked over to the teen. "Let me see your wrist." Relinquishing his limb to her prodding, he tried to ignore the pain throbbing through his arm. His thoughts drifted as she surveyed his knuckles. It would have been cool to get the injuries from a monster fight. He'd be gloating to Howard about how he won, how the robot exploded into millions of tiny pieces or how Bucky was trapped in the girls' locker room naked again. He and his friend would have laughed off the event, created inside jokes and had fun with it, just like always.

None of that had happened after the incident.

Had he been in a different state of mind, he would have realized how odd the week had been. He was too guilt-ridden to notice nobody getting stanked or attacked by McFist robots. He would have sensed the lack of green magic in the air or the urgency of the Nomicon. A lot of things could have happened, but didn't. Instead, he was getting patched up in the nurse's office for some of the stupidest injuries Norrisville has ever known. Instead, he was just some depressed kid trying to cope with something far greater than he could have ever imagined.

He had been Randy Cunningham all week.

The Ninja hadn't appeared once.

Nobody noticed except for one. Currently, he was laughing his head off underneath the foundation of the high school. Licking his dry lips, he feasted on the best meal he'd had in a long time: Randy Cunningham's misery.

In the safety of nurse's office, Randy was getting his wrist bandaged. Simultaneously, the Nomicon screamed.

And just like before, nobody noticed a thing.

A/N: UPDATE! Happy 12/12/12 everyone! Wow, I'm totally gonna make this way longer than I planned. I mean, look at this chapter: 4,000 words! You forgive me? :3

But seriously, this is going in a direction that I hadn't planned for. Originally, this chapter was going to have some Sentient!Nomicon comforting Randy and having the story end there. My imagination decided to turn this in another direction. So yeah, the Sorcerer's gonna show up, Maddie's funeral will be mentioned and hopefully, I can add a tiny bit of humor to lighten the mood. I hope the parts that were supposed to be funny in this chapter came through. Hey, I tried!

Also, sorry for any typos 'cause I'm sure there will be a few scattered here and there. I'm tired, kill me. :P

In other news, I'm gonna start a oneshot series soon for RC9GN, so watch out for that! ;)