Author's Note: "Fucking firefly, have you lost your light? Now I hate your ways 'cuz they're just like mine…"

I've been rewriting TOS P2 very slowly. I'm up to chapter seven. Starting from chapter four, the fic got overhauled. If anyone is curious. 3

Chapter Three: Firefly

Dawn broke over the city of Dimmsdale and with it, birds twittered and Timmy pressed a pillow tightly over his head. The world, quiet in its rousing, nonetheless remained too loud to his delicate head. Every sound drilled into his head; every light blinded him; and his head ached like someone had slammed a sledgehammer into it last night. He tasted vomit in his mouth, groaned, and rolled over onto his back. What had he done last night? Moreover, why did he have to deal with Lorenzo's hangover when the rotten anti faerie had managed to escape its effects completely? The world was infinitesimally unfair.

He ignored the bright sunlit hues decorating the sky and buried his face in the pillow. Taking deep, calming breaths, he detected another presence in the room. It flitted, creating a light breeze that ruffled his chestnut hair. Cautious, Timmy lowered the pillow to discover Wanda hovering a few inches above his chest. She did not look well. Bags under her eyes and the general pallor of her face suggested she'd not slept well, if at all.

"How are you feeling?" she asked and clutched her wand tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. Cosmo folded his arms across his chest and remained in the far corner of the room. Wanda had decided to visit Timmy of her own accord; Cosmo had tagged along to ensure Timmy didn't strangle her or otherwise maim his fairy godmother.

It's nice to see, Timmy thought sardonically, that my godparents completely and totally trust me after dealing with Lorenzo. I mean, The Other.

"My head's killing me," he answered honestly and Wanda inclined her head in a slight nod. Timmy glanced at Cosmo, but he provided no cutting remark. Rather, the green faerie focused his attention elsewhere. Timmy pretended that didn't sting. Still, Wanda's attention was better than none at all.

"I suspected as much," she responded, sighing. Squeezing her wand, she produced a couple magically altered pills that would alleviate his hangover. She then procured a glass of milk, handed the items to Timmy, and watched him down them. After a brief pause in which Timmy stared at Wanda through the glass and Cosmo gazed at Wanda out of the corner of his eye, she descended to the bed. Cosmo's expression darkened, but he, again, said nothing. Cosmo's lack of speech disconcerted Timmy. It was unnerving for Cosmo to be quiet for half a minute, much less give Timmy the cold shoulder.

"Why are you guys here?" Timmy inquired in his typical blunt manner. Wanda sat Indian style on his bed and extended a trembling hand to caress her godson's cheek. After a second, she rescinded it and Timmy resisted the temptation to finger the area she'd brushed. That was the most physical contact she'd initiated in a while. And, for her attempt, Cosmo's glare kicked up a notch.

"We need to talk," Wanda stated and Timmy's heart sunk. How often had he heard those four words uttered together? They had to be the world's worst concoction devised. He glanced away, unwilling to converse once more about his mistakes and how much they mistrusted and disliked him because of it. He hated the way his stomach flip flopped when he contemplated how close he'd gotten to killing his only family. He detested the way Wanda quaked when she described what Timmy had done to the dummies that represented them. And, above all, he loathed how much their relationship had deteriorated as a result. He just wanted them to love and care for him again, the way things used to be.

"Can we just..." Timmy scrambled for the words and swallowed hard, a lump surfacing in his throat. He glanced at Cosmo, who wouldn't look at him. He glanced at the boy once, out of the corner of his eye, and then shifted so his gaze swept Wanda instead. Timmy's stomach somersaulted. He hated this. He hated feeling responsible for everything.

"Cosmo," Wanda called and he jerked, glancing at her. His eyes flickered to Timmy and then, scowling, settled on his wife. The tension was thick enough to cut with a butcher knife.

"Do you feel like enlightening Timmy? It was your hunch."

Cosmo's cold look brought Wanda's sputtering attempt to a halt and she sighed. Through their link, he sent, ((I don't want to give him any more weapons.))

He didn't have to clarify. She knew what he meant.

"'I'm going to kill you guys by sunset and you're going to kick me out of the house before it happens'?" Timmy snapped. "Or 'Cosmo can prove I'm going to strangle you in my sleep, Wanda, so you'd better not be sneaking into my room to hug me'?"

The look on Cosmo's face told Timmy that Wanda had not been informing her husband of her late night visits. Timmy was sorry he'd even brought it up, because Wanda retreated on the bed. She folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself. Her eyes lingered on Timmy, who shivered. Hostility practically radiated off of Cosmo.

"You...knew?" Wanda said. Her face tightened and she gnawed her lip. She wasn't doing a good job concealing her fear and Timmy fought disgust. She did believe he'd strangle her in his sleep. What kind of crap was that? Did she mean to say she didn't even trust him when he was asleep in bed? She didn't...trust him at all. Period.

God that hurt.

"Yeah," Timmy said and Wanda stared, downcast, at the covers. She responded flatly with an 'oh'.

"You lied to me," Cosmo snapped and Wanda shivered. She wouldn't meet her husband's gaze and he violently cut through the air to her side. He was livid. She was meek, for once. And Timmy wanted to be anywhere but here.

"You told me you were stepping out for a minute!"

"I never said where I was going," Wanda shot back, raising her head. Her eyes were defiant. She rose to her insubstantial three feet height and glared daggers at Cosmo.

"I didn't know I had to ask your permission first!"

"It would have been nice," Cosmo snarled. "If you'd consulted me before visiting the murderer!"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Timmy snapped, jumping to his feet as well. He was ignored. The argument was, after all, between Cosmo and Wanda. It just happened to involve him, as all their arguments nowadays did.

"He's my godson!" Wanda retorted. "I have an obligation to him-"

"It ended when he tried to kill us!" Cosmo snapped back. "If Jorgen knew what was going on here, we'd be removed so fast-"

"Then why don't you tell him?" Timmy interjected, voice trembling and menacing. "If I'm such a burden, why don't you tell him how much you hate me and how I've ruined your lives? You can get reassigned. It would obviously make you two happier."

The comment tore Wanda's attention from Cosmo and onto Timmy. She ascended into the air and swallowed hard. The effort to compose herself and reply without an indictment further reduced the color of her cheeks. Timmy pitied her. She tried too hard.

"But, Timmy...we're your only parents now," Wanda said, subdued.

"Yeah, Timmy, you're an orphan," Cosmo said, glancing at his godson for once. Timmy shrugged, cerulean eyes cold and piercing.

"You don't care. You hate me," Timmy said, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the wall. "You'd rather be reassigned than deal with me."

"We don't hate you. We..." Wanda trailed off. There was no way for her to complete that sentence and the three parties knew that. They lapsed into an awkward silence. Timmy felt unwelcome in his own room. He had to leave, get away from Cosmo and Wanda. So, shooting them a dirty look, he strode to the door.

"I'm going to see Tootie," he snapped before stepping out and slamming it.

"He thinks we hate him," Wanda said in the silence that followed. She was stung. She didn't hate Timmy. She could never hate him.

Cosmo had no response.

Timmy locked himself in the bathroom, his bathroom, and stared at the medicine cabinet. A normal person would have pills, elixirs, what have you. Timmy had razors. Dozens of sharp, indented blades contained in small boxes littered his shelves. They varied in size, acuity, and precision. Some were simple linoleum razors with the tiny u-shaped curve that created rivulets in his skin. Others, ones he'd pirated from the art teacher, were straighter and more deadly. Needless to say, the art teacher had noticed their absence. He just hadn't noticed Timmy stealing them from the art supply room or the teacher's private office.

Timmy recalled the first time he'd cut. It'd been by accident, making a sandwich for lunch (since neither godparent answered his summons). It hadn't been a deep cut, but the blood flow and its simultaneous emotional release, improved his mood. He could hurt himself. He could control the pain. Unlike the recent past and its stigma, he could manipulate his physical state. If he wanted to maim himself, no one would stop him.

It wasn't like anyone noticed, either. The cuts on his wrists were concealed easily thanks to the time of year. People expected others to wear long sleeved shirts. No one saw the slashes, the bruises, or anything else Timmy had done to himself. And, in his heart of hearts, Timmy wasn't certain anyone particularly cared, either.

Biting his lip, he suppressed the misery that arose at the sentiment. Wanda had proved it herself today. Cosmo and Wanda hated him. They wouldn't concern themselves if he accidentally slit his wrists. It'd give them one less thing to argue about. And then they could return to Fairy World and their nightmare would be over, for the most part.

Yet, in the back of his mind, something argued against that. It was that something that frequently prevented Timmy from going overboard and actually attempting suicide. It was the frail, fragile telepathy link Timmy had to Wanda through his connection with Tootie. It warned him that Wanda would care if Timmy killed himself. She might even care that Timmy was cutting himself, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

Unless it did, but that was another story entirely.

Opening the cabinet, he surveyed his collection. He selected one box, slid it off the shelf, and perched atop the toilet. This particular razor cut linoleum mats and little else. It was fairly dull, but it'd produce a decent cut. Timmy had a certain sentimental attachment to it. It was the first blade he'd used to cut himself.

He fingered it lovingly and was about to extract the blade from its case when an unwanted intruder spoke into his mind.

((What are you doing?)) The Other snapped, prompting Timmy to drop the blade in surprise. Timmy's eyes narrowed and he glared at the wall, since he couldn't fixate his eyes upon the true source of his irritation. Who gave The Other permission to speak whenever he so chose? He was interrupting, damn it.

((Why do you want to know?)) Timmy countered and retrieved the blade. He accidentally sliced his finger and winced, shaking it and then finally grinning. Unfortunately, slashing his fingers to ribbons would not go unnoticed. Thus, seizing the blade by its handle, he ignored Lorenzo and dug it into his skin. Blood, beautiful blood, arched from his wrist, down his arm, and onto the floor. He was free. So free.

((What are you doing?)) The Other's concern kicked up a notch and Timmy grinned, no longer troubled by his presence. Would one suffice for tonight? Or should he do two? Glancing at the item, he slid it across his wrist below the first incision. Dear God, this was heaven. The euphoria it produced caused Timmy to ease off the toilet seat and onto the floor. He was on cloud nine.

((Why are you hurting yourself?)) The Other spat and Timmy lifted his head. Hurting himself? Well, yes, technically he was. But this wasn't pain. This was power. This was a high he couldn't get anywhere else. This lifted his spirits, elevated his soul, and removed the horrible feelings of guilt and remorse. And the knowledge that if Cosmo and Wanda had their druthers, he'd be living on the street.

He ought to strike back while the iron was hot. He ought to confront Lorenzo and tear his head off for inebriating him. But he was too pleased right now. He'd coast the pleasure until it faded into oblivion. And then, maybe, he'd go watch "It's a Wonderful Life" with Cosmo, Wanda, and Tootie.

"Wanda," Tootie said suddenly while the faeries prepared snacks before the movie. "How can you tell if your soul mate is hurting himself?"

"Hmm?" Wanda replied, distracted by Cosmo attempting to squirrel away the cheese and eat it behind her back. She held up her wand; it shone and the cheese disappeared from the guilty party's hands and back into the bowl where it belonged. He grinned sheepishly and she rolled her eyes.

"I think..." she halted herself and swallowed hard. Her wrists itched. And, beyond that, there was the indefinable sensation that something was very wrong with Timmy.

"I don't know," Tootie finished. She didn't. The feelings she received from Timmy were vague at best. They hadn't been together long enough to strength their bond and the mistrust she harbored toward him only harmed that. Besides, if something was wrong with Timmy, was it her prerogative to mention it? Timmy was the one suffering. And if he told Cosmo and Wanda he was hurting himself, she knew they'd care enough to listen. Anger and mistrust aside, they loved him. She wished he'd realize that.

"Whee!" Cosmo cried, stringing together a popcorn necklace and brandishing it in front of Wanda. "Junk food!"

Tootie's stomach flip flopped. She received happiness through Timmy now, but it still turned her stomach. It was happiness with malevolence inherent. It was joy for the wrong reasons and Tootie's wrist itched all the more for it. What was Timmy doing to himself?

"You don't think Timmy's hurting himself, do you?" Wanda said sharply and Cosmo, whipping the popcorn necklace through the air, stopped hastily. Popcorn kernels flew onto the floor.

"I...don't know," Tootie answered truthfully and Wanda sighed. She glanced at the ceiling as if, with her naked eye, she could see Timmy upstairs.

"Why would he do that?" Cosmo asked and there was an odd edge to his voice. Cosmo was worried. If this were different circumstances, Tootie would have smirked. Cosmo did care. He just never displayed it. He'd rather make Timmy think he hated him than admit that, beneath the barrier Timmy had fostered between himself and his godparents, Cosmo was anxious. Maybe he thought it a sign of weakness that Cosmo would care about his godson regardless of what he'd nearly done.

"I don't know!" Tootie snapped, anxiety squirming her insides. She started toward the stairs only to find Timmy, beaming, walking down. His expression didn't improve her mood. Rather, it detracted further. The smile was eerie and unnatural.

"What's going on?" Timmy inquired and Tootie glanced away. She didn't like this. She didn't know what 'this' was, but she didn't like it. Timmy was too happy.

"Nothing," Tootie lied. "Nothing at all."

During their viewing, Wanda settled into Timmy's lap. Cosmo glared and berated her via telepathy for that, but Wanda wanted to have a better look at Timmy. Tootie's words disquieted her. She needed to ensure her godson's health and longevity. After all, he'd undergone an ordeal himself recently.

"Sweetie?" Wanda murmured so as to not disturb Tootie and Cosmo, the latter of whom was sitting in the former's lap and stealing her popcorn. Wanda trembled, frightened despite herself. She was wary of this proximity to Timmy and painfully aware of how quickly he could harm her in her current position.

"Wanda?" Timmy murmured back and glanced down at her. His head rested on her swirly pink hair.

"You're not hurting yourself, are you?"

Timmy jumped, grin fading, and stared at her. He'd paled slightly, but due to the darkness of the room, she couldn't tell. There was a tense moment before Timmy spoke again.

"Why would you think that?" Timmy asked cautiously and Wanda's stomach knotted. That was an odd answer for someone who was innocent.

"Please, Timmy, don't do anything stupid," she half whispered, half pleaded. Was it just her or did Timmy's eyes dart about the room?

"I..." Timmy paused and gulped. Her piercing pink eyes sought his cerulean blue and he glanced at the TV rather than meeting her gaze.

"I won't."