A/N: You all thought she was dead, didn't you? Silly rabbit, thinking Elliot was of sound mind and able to make a clear judgment...
I'm used to waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of Elliot screaming. I'm even more used to him hurting himself in his sleep and am glad that by the time I get down the stairs and make it to the couch that the gouging hasn't yet commenced. He's curled up in a ball, drenched in a cold sweat and the couch cushions are all over the floor. His arms are up over his head, and his wrists are bleeding again – a reminder of his early days here when I thought it was okay to leave him alone.
It's always dangerous to approach Elliot in his sleep, because if he doesn't flat out backhand you, he'll use demonic means of defending himself, and neither method is all that appealing to be on the receiving end of, even if he does look like he weighs less than two pounds. I assume the normal routine, and grab hold of him so I'm half standing over him and half lying on him. I start calling out to him and try to tell him that he needs to wake up. I can only pry his arms away from his head if he really wants me to, but as he begins to wake up and realize that nothing (that I can see, anyway) is going to destroy him, he sits up and looks at me like a little kid whose favorite blanket has been taken away. Nope, his eyes are still black. Nothing new there.
Now I have to find out if this is just his every day crazy or if he's actually seeing something that we need to look out for in the near future. I just wish the demonic visions would make up their mind – I don't like to see Elliot like this any hours of the day or night, but if he has to have episodes, I wish he'd do it when we're supposed to be awake. I can already see getting up to go to work tomorrow is going to be a battle between the need to get up and the desire to sleep until noon. I sigh as Elliot weakly leans into me, drawing me into what seems to be a hug, but it isn't quite that either, since he only hugs, albeit awkwardly when you spring it on him. I guess he's just British like that – I don't know, I don't know that many other British guys to compare him to.
I ask him what's wrong and about what he's seen and all he can do is speak incoherent words at me, as usual. Something about some chick named Kirsty betraying us and how he doesn't want to lose me. He talks about a new cenobite, and how excited he got when he saw the chain with its hook on the end rip through my back and come out through my chest, covering him in my blood (Way to flatter a girl there, Elliot) and how disgusted he was that he let himself get excited. I don't know who the fuck Kirsty is, and if she's that stupid slut down at the grocery store that keeps propositioning Elliot because she thinks his fucked up behavior is "cute," then I've apparently got a body to hide. His behavior isn't cute, hon, that's just Elliot trying to reassert his human personality over the demonic one. The demonic personality would probably kill her for even suggesting the word "cute" as an adjective concerning his behavior.
Once I get Elliot to calm down, I go into the kitchen and bring him a glass of water, which isn't really made of glass because I've just recently learned that his powers aren't limited to chains and wire. I ask him to tell me again what exactly it was he saw, and he tells me in great detail, which I'd rather forget since the prime subject of the dream/vision happens to be my death. Now that he reminds me, I do know who Kirsty is. She was the girl on that tape – the same one I saw Elliot on years ago. She's the reason why he's split into two beings, and the more he talks about her the more uncomfortable I get. Elliot has never mentioned Kirsty to me once since he came back, and I guess I can see why considering what his other half wants to do to her. I'm all right with the fact that his other half is obsessed with her, but I can't help but think a part of Elliot shares that obsession. They seem to share just about every other quality I can think of, except I can't see dumbass Pinhead sitting under a table for safety while eating out of a jar of peanut butter. Don't ask, because even I'm not sure about the answer to that one.
Either way, it looks like we'll be Google-ing Ms. Kirsty in the morning, if only to make Elliot feel better. What I'm not going to tell him however, is that I want to feel better just as badly as he does. He probably already knows, but if Hell really is going to open up again and Kirsty's gonna go all leather queen on us, then I really can't afford to be afraid. Elliot needs me too much, and I'm reminded of that as I lead him back up the stairs to my room with me since I don't like the idea of him being alone.
He rarely sleeps in the same bed as me, and for obvious reasons, but even though he weakly protests, I'm not letting him stay downstairs with the knives and TV remote (you'd be surprised what Elliot can turn into a deadly weapon if left to his own devices long enough). I lie down on the bed with him and curl his arm around my waist, holding it there firmly so I can keep track of him for the rest of the night. I'm not gonna let him try to kill himself again – especially not when he's holding onto critical, need-to-know information. He's lucky I love him too. Not many other women would let their…okay, so I don't know what to call him, but I'm gonna let him find his ex-girlfriend, aren't I?