Title: Headcase, Chapter 3

Author: digitalruki

Rating: PG

Characters: Glitch, later Glitch/DG

Summary: Somehow, Glitch went from being brainless to being a half-wit. Somehow.

Author's Note & Disclaimer: I don't own Tin Man. Any feedback on this fic would be most welcome.

-0-

Memories come to him like waves, comfortable and soothing. With each thought he completes he feels he can breath easier, hold his head higher, walker straighter. But, like a wave, they then retreat, and the air around him becomes hot and dry, he feels sick, he can't think.

When you're adrift on a current, after a while, you don't feel the waves lift you up and down. Every part of you, even your blood, moves with them, and you don't even notice, because you trust your body.

So in those brief moments of clarity he takes what he can, he kisses Camilla on the cheek, he asks Lionel about what he does as a spy. He tries to remember specific things, like where he was born, what his life used to be like, why he was captured. But for some reason, his past remains in shadow.

He sighs heavily to himself. Again. Camilla throws a wondering look over her shoulder. "It's nothing," he reassures her, and turns his attention to his current task of going through the pile of clothes she's presented him.

"See anything you like, Glitch, dear?" she calls, going back to embroidering something colorful and soft-looking. His knees go all weak and fuzzy when she calls him that. It's not really the most flattering of names, but it just sounds so comforting coming from her. He can't place it, but she reminds him of someone.

He picks through the pile with an uninhibited disdain, which bothers him, because he should be really happy. Sometimes he yearns for things and he can't understand why. He doesn't always make the connection that these are things he could have been fond of in the past. He's doesn't know anything for sure. What he does know is that he can't seem to find anything in this pile appealing. Don't these gypsies have any fine imperial coats? Or regal high-collar shirts? He lifts up a particularly silly-looking striped sweater.

"Well, that's a fine shirt!" says Lionel, bundle of firewood tucked under his arm as he comes through the tent-flap door. Camilla wholeheartedly agrees and they both shove the thing over his shoulders before he can say anything. And, well, it's warm and not full of holes and they're both beaming at him with loving pride, so...

Dry air. Dry throat. A synapse somewhere in a glass jar jolts. He's in a cool, dark place, filled with bubbles, filled with electricity.

Snap out of it. Focus. Camilla. Lionel. Warm, loving smiles. Wait, why are they beaming at him again?

His body tells him to just shut up and smile back and take love where he can get it, so he does. He's learned to trust his body.

-0-

Standing outside the tent that evening, he breathes in the cool eastern wind. The air washes over him like water. Always, it seems, from the east.

Before he fades again, he makes decision. The next time that wave hits him, he's a mile away.

Camilla wanders around the outskirts of the camp the next morning, searching for him, but with no luck. She stops momentarily to rest by a stream, massaging her creased forehead, wondering where he could have gone. Lionel finds her there, and places a hand on her shoulder.

"I picked up his trail on the eastern side of camp," he says. "He's gone."

"I know that," she snaps, brushing off his hand. "He could have stayed for breakfast, at least."

Lionel smirks, snaking his arm around her shoulder. "He won't forget you, Mother. His heart won't let him."

-0-

With each step, it seems, his head becomes clearer. It's remarkable, really. With a bit of focus and a strong resolve, it's really very easy for him to remember where he just was and where he's going. He can even handle doing two things at once, like talking and walking at the same time. It's really quite remarkable. "If only I could show someone," he laments from time to time.

With each mile, he becomes more comfortable. Or, it seems, the world becomes more comfortable with him. His steps, confident and graceful, are accepted by the earth. He doesn't stumble.

At least, not until he comes across Mongo the Amazing and His All-Seeing Lion Man.

Mongo lives out of a caravan, like many carnie travelers, left mostly to themselves since the Tin Men have all but died out. He and his companion, Sin, a bonifide viewer, have fallen on tough times since town carnivals have declined in popularity. They keep mostly to the old forest paths now, hunting and trapping and generally not getting out much.

And pointing guns at anything that comes within ten meters of their camp.

Glitch isn't all that familiar with guns. He's surprised, but not at all alarmed by the hollow steel rod currently pointed at his nose. He is the quintessential figure of calm as he stares down the barrel at its owner, a very hairy man dressed completely in scraggly furs. The man growls. The headcase feels a shiver run down his spine.

"State your name and business, stranger," the man says in a gruff voice.

He blinks. "My name? Well, to be honest, sir, I can't really recall it at the moment. But you can call me Glitch."

The man's brow furrows. He places his thumb on the safety catch. "And your business?"

Something he knows. Giving the man a straight answer fills him with an indescribable pleasure. "I'm traveling to the east."

From the far side of the camp, they hear the sound of shattering glass, and an indignant yelp. A slurred voice bellows, "Sin! Who is it?" The man named Sin sighs, releasing the safety catch and lowering his weapon.

"Where in the east?" he asks in a defeated voice.

Glitch shrugs. "I don't know."

"No?" Sin raises his bushy eyebrows and looks Glitch up and down. Something in the corner of his eye twinkles. "Maybe I can help you there." He slings the gun over his shoulders and turns to walk back toward camp. Glitch follows, fascinated by the shiny firearm currently perched over the man's shoulders.

From behind the caravan stumbles a very slimy-looking man. His hair, wild and greasy, cascades out over his red velvet coat. The coat, tattered at the edges, intertwines around his ring-covered fingers.

He sees Glitch tailing his partner and rushes to greet him.

"Welcome! I'm the Amazing Mongo, maybe you've heard of me!" he exclaims, taking up Glitch's calloused hands in his own. His eyes are inevitably drawn to the bit of silver above his brow, and his mouth cracks a grin, revealing two rows of gleaming yellow teeth. "My, my, aren't you a strange one!" Unbidden, his fingers reach up to touch the clasp, only to be smacked away.

Glitch steps back a little. "Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I seem to not like to be touched."

Mongo laughs. "It's quite alright, sir, quite alright. Say," he says, stepping closer and immediately re-invading Glitch's personal space, "You wouldn't happen to have any platinums on you, would you?"

Glitch shakes his head and steps back a little more. "Sorry," he says nervously, "I seem to not like to be touched."

Sin shoves himself between the two. "Alright, Mongo, leave him be."

Mongo throws up his arms inoffensively. "Okay, beast man, whatever you say."

"Come on," the beast man calls as he stalks off. Glitch follows silently.

He is offered a seat by the fire and a cup of 'grog'. It burns his throat something terrible, and he scrunches his face up in an attempt to squeeze the burn out.

Sin takes a seat beside him, downing his drink in a few swift gulps.

"So," he says, staring into his empty cup. "Would you like to know where you're headed?"

Glitch carefully sets down his near-full mug. "How can you find out?" he asks.

The man, or beast, or whatever he is, taps his temple. "I expect you aren't aware how much memory you still have." He points to the zipper. "There's powerful magic in your head, blocking it."

"A viewer," Glitch says suddenly. "You're a viewer."

Sin nods. "Remember that, do you?"

Glitch gulps. "And you want to--to..." His hand flies to his skull.

Sin reaches forward, and Glitch feels his heart thumping against his throat, fear rising in his chest. He's about the leap backwards, when that solid hand lands firmly on his shoulder, pinning him down. "Relax," the viewer cooes.

White stars fill his vision, he can feel his eyelids flutter for a moment... sparks, bubbles, and he's in the dark room again, floating, cold, numb, faint voices fly through his head, he's flushed down into shadowy memories, incomprehensible and overlapping.

It's suddenly gotten so very cold, when Sin's hand releases him, and he's left shuddering and gasping.

Sin waits for him to look up. Glitch can't remember where he is for a moment. He realizes that he actually forgot how terrifying it was at the beginning, those first few days, when he could barely form a thought. And here it is again, that agonizing blankness. He could scream. He's about to, when Sin says something he'll never, ever be able to forget.

"She's alive."

The wind rushes against his cranium, cool, clear thought returning instantly. He coughs. "Who? Who's...alive?" he manages.

Sin stares at him, and they share a moment of mutual confusion. Sin scratches behind his ear in a very animalistic gesture. "Whoever you're headed to, I figure."

Glitch can't stop the growing sensation to grin as the statement sinks in. He doesn't even know who she is, or why he would think she was dead, but he doesn't have to. He's learned to trust his body. And his body is all but somersaulting with glee at the news. She's alive. Alive.

That night he finds it impossible to close his eyes. He stares into the dancing tree branches that canopy Mongo's campsite, hypnotized by their swaying motions, and he feels he's swaying with them, heart frolicking in the starlight to the most beautiful song he's ever heard, two words echoing themselves over and over again in his ears, she's alive, she's alive, she's alive.

He is momentarily pulled out of his mantra by harsh, argumentative voices coming from the fire pit. His ears float back down to earth to listen, and he recognizes the voices as belonging to Mongo and Sin. Intrigued, he listens harder.

"That coat would fetch a fine penny, and you know it." He identifies this whiny, slithery voice as Mongo's. "It's practically vintage!"

"It's a piece of garbage," comes Sin's deep, gruff voice.

"It's royalty," sneers Mongo, "And it's probably stuffed with platinums."

"Alright, partner. What do you propose we do with the royal backside wrapped in it?"

A silent moment, and then two sets of laughter entertwine in a sickly cackle. Glitch is already on his feet when he begins to feel uneasy. He's already running as fast as he can when he figures out he should probably leave.

-0-

Notes: This is the last chapter that I wrote for this story after i started it last year. I kind of just decided to start it up again recently. I'm currently writing a chapter 4 (and maybe 5?), plus a sequel fic that chronicles Glitch meeting DG. I'm not sure what I will post next, but please let me know what you think of this so far. I would like to know if I should carry the story farther or just quit while I'm ahead. Thanks for reading!