Vince sat in silence, teeth clenched tightly together at the cage of medication that trapped him. He hated waiting, but he could manage.

Those children. Their screams were my favorite. The taste of blood was intoxicating.

The new guy, Scott, would ruin everything. He had scared the kid off a long time ago for a reason! Vincent was his! No one else could have him! He already got rid of that Mikey kid, but now he was back too! Would anything go his way? An idea sprang into his mind.

I'll let them fix Vincent up, let them put their guard down…

What would he use? Would it still be knives, or maybe a taser on Mikey so the kid knew how it felt. Knives would of course be used on the girl again, though he might use some other torture, like branding. Vincent would be watching, and he wanted to give him a good show.

Then I'll kill them all! Their blood will fall like rain!

The blood would pour, like a beautiful painting. Red, his favorite color, with purple a close second, something he and Vincent both shared.

Vincent would run out of pills one day. Or, he would forget. Vince was the one who gave him a bad memory, after all. It was only a matter of time, and despite his impatience, Vince would wait.

Little Vincent will break all over again. Then, he will be mine!

Vince chuckled, before throwing his head back in maniacal laughter, envisioning the deaths of all the people in his way. The cackles echoed in the silent prison, and he grinned wide.

I hope you can hear me, my little puppet.

You will always be mine.

Vincent woke up with a gasp, sweat covering his brow. Vince had woke him up with his laughter, and he got up, getting out a pair of clothes. His outfit was dirty anyway. Putting on a light blue turtleneck(all of his shirts were turtlenecks), he took out some tan slacks and put those on too.

My little puppet.

Vincent shivered at the words. He hadn't heard everything, just the last bits, but he knew Vince was up to something. He walked out to see Scott, hair frazzled, sitting at the small table in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes were half lidded as he mechanically drank from his cup.

"Mornin' Scott," Vincent chuckled, and he got a grunt in response. He looked through the cupboards, frowning.

Right, we still don't have bread. Well, no breakfast for me.

He sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee, before slumping into a chair. Scott, now fully awake, noticed his behavior, and frowned.

"Yo, what's wrong? Aren'tcha going to have breakfast?" He asked, and Vincent sighed.

"We don't have bread, so I can't have toast. I want toast," He responded angrily. Scott smiled, getting up.

"Well, then let's go get some," He replied, and Vincent jumped up, running out the door.

Scott walked into the store with a sigh, looking at Vincent with a bemused expression. He had insisted on sitting in the cart, and had somehow fit, making him look oddly like a toddler. Vincent looked up at him with a childish smile.

"Run down the aisle and let the cart go!" He begged, eyes wide and playful. Scott laughed, shaking his head, and went down the bread aisle. Vincent grabbed every brand of bread on the shelf, hugging them to his chest. The loaves covered him, and Scott grabbed a few more things they needed, like cream, pasta noodles and sauce, instant ramen, coffee, milk, ect.

Jeez, Vincent must be rich to have the government give me a credit card.

Of course, he didn't know how he was being paid, but it didn't really matter. Vincent was happy and playing around, building little pyramids with the food, and sometimes they would fall over on him, burying him until you could only see his hair and eyes.

Well, some patients do regress into childlike states. Though, Vincent is pretty adorable like this.

He finally made it to check-out, buying all the food and getting Vincent out of the cart. Vincent whined as Scott told him he had to get out, but obliged. He fiddled with the radio all the way home, and Scott was glad he bought ear-plugs.

He figured he'd be using them a lot from now on.

Vincent smiled as the smell of fresh toast filled the apartment. He loved toast. He took out the two steaming pieces from the toaster, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his hands at how hot they were. He set them down on a plate on the table.

Now all I need is butter.

He took out some, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers.

The cool metal blade, glistening and sharp.

He shook his head out of the memory, though his hand quivered in the slightest, and put some butter on the knife, reaching towards the pieces of toast on the table.

The silver edge stained red with blood, reaching for a terrified child.

The knife fell to the floor with a clatter, and Vincent held his shaking hand to his chest, trying to slow his fast breaths and rapidly beating heart. "Vincent, you okay?" Scott asked from the living room. Vincent didn't reply, the room growing darker as images flashed through his head.

Screaming children, blades piercing skin, drowning in blood.

"Daddy, stop!"

Vince's laughter growing louder, purple security guard outfit drenched in red liquid, knives strewn carelessly around the room.

"Vincent!"

Scott's arms wrapped their way around his shoulders, pushing the memories away from Vincent's eyes. His hands still shook, and they felt sticky. He was afraid to look at them, afraid to see how red they were, how impure.

You will always be mine.

"Hey, don't think about that night, okay? Want me to butter your toast for you?" Scott's voice was soothing, and Vincent sighed and nodded. The thoughts were fading quicker as he focused on the toast and how the way Scott was holding the knife was wrong, but the way he was holding it made more images disappear.

He's not holding it the way I did.

Somehow, that was a welcome comfort. He took a bite of his toast and smiled, the rest of the memories long gone.

After all, nothing could ruin toast.

Mike sat in a chair in the security office, eyes sharp and alert, looking for any signs of another abduction. It would be a long time until he would be able to relax, even during the day, since he had taken over for Vincent. Double shifts took a toll on his mind, and he rubbed his scars with a sigh. There was a knock on the door, and a kid, about nineteen, walked in, wearing a green sweater that reminded Mike of Vincent's attire.

Is it the same sweater?

His vision flickered, and he saw that his aura was light green, much more innocent than Scott's, but a lot colder.

"Umm, Hello? I'm here for the night watch job. The boss told me to come here for training," The kid began, and Mike raised an eyebrow in surprise. Another sigh escaped him as he got up, sticking out his hand.

"Mike, nice to meet you," He said gruffly, and the kid quickly took his hand, shaking it softly, before letting go and cradling both hands at his chest.

"Jeremy," he replied, shaking slightly. Mike rubbed his face with yet another sigh.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Vincent walked into the shower and sighed contentedly at the warm water that washed over him. Scrubbing himself clean, his mind wandered to Scott.

Maybe...maybe I can forgive him. For leaving. Maybe we can be friends again.

Friendship was such a foreign feeling to him, since that night, but Scott is...different from the other doctors. Scott cared. He payed attention to how he felt, and understood. Scott remembered what he preferred, and listened.

Scott...Scott is a good man.

A good friend.

He shook his thoughts away, washing his messy hair. He froze when the water turned red, covering his body.

Their blood will fall like rain!

Vince's voice rang through his head, and his jumped out of the shower with a yelp, putting on a towel and wrapping it around his waist as quick as possible and running out of the bathroom. He shook in his room, and heard footsteps.

N...No! Scott can't see me like this!

Regardless of his thoughts, the door opened.

Scott had heard the bathroom door slam open, and then Vincent's door slam close. Walking to Vincent's room, he opened the door to see his half naked friend-patient-shivering on the floor.

"Vincent, you alright?" He asked gently, walking slowly towards him, like he would a frightened animal.

Vincent would be a type of cat. Maybe~...a puma?

He set those thoughts aside and went back to the shaking Vincent who was backing ever so slowly away from him.

"T...the w...wa...water t...tu...turned red!" He stuttered, and Scott took notice of the redish water that dripped off Vincent's hair. He sighed, looking over the skinny form of his patient, cringing slightly at the ribs visible through his skin, and the scars on his chest, and the slash marks on his neck.

No wonder he prefered turtlenecks.

He picked Vincent up off the floor walking him to the bathroom and opened the door, recoiling at the sight of red water pouring out of the showerhead. He looked it over, giving out an aggravated sigh.

"It's just rust. The stupid owners didn't get the right showerhead, he grumbled, showing the red flakes on the metal. Vincent's face flushed red in embarrassment.

"Sorry," He mumbled, and Scott gave him a small smile.

"Hey, don't worry about it. Why don't you dry yourself off, put on some clothes, and I'll run to the hardware store to get a new showerhead," He replied, and Vincent nodded. Scott sighed again, walking to his car.

The picture of Vincent's scars never left him, even when he got to the store.

Mike sighed and walked the few steps from his apartment to Scott's, knocking on the door. He didn't know why, per say, that he was introducing Jeremy and Doll to the two men living next to them, but he felt they should know who was living there. At least Doll should. The agreement of fostering Violet came with the restriction that Violet could not be in the same room as Vincent until a psychologist gave the okay, so he left her in the apartment with a phone for her to call them if something was wrong. He realized Vincent hadn't seen his daughter in three months.

Somehow, despite what he'd seen, his mind thought this was unfair.

The door opened, revealing Vincent, who was in the process of putting on a shirt, his scars and ribs shown for all to see. As soon as he saw it was them, he jumped, putting on the shirt much faster than before.

"H..hello!" He squeaked out, blushing bright red as he looked between the three of them. "C'mon in," He said kindly, all previous nervousness gone. Looking over to Jeremy and Doll, he smiled warmly. "And who might you two be?" He asked.

"Oh, I'm Doll!" Doll replied enthusiastically.

"J..Jeremy," Jeremy stuttered slightly. Mike looked around the apartment confusedly.

"Hey, why isn't Scott here? I thought he was monitoring you at all times, or some shit like that," He asked, and Vincent stiffened slightly at the question.

"Oh, he's out to get a new showerhead. The old one was rusty and turned the water red when I was in the shower," He replied, but there was an edge to his voice only Mike could hear, one that spoke of terror.

Thinking that blood is falling on you isn't good for someone who is still getting over the fact that he hurt people.

Shaking those thoughts aside, he watched as Vincent turned his attention to Doll. "So, um, how is my Violet flower doing?" He asked, and Doll seemed confused at the question, before her eyes widened.

"You're Vincent?" She exclaimed, not noticing how Vincent shrunk away from her glare, or how his eyes set into a sort of resignation, like he was used to this.

"Yes," He said sadly, like it was bad to be himself, and Mike didn't care that Vincent hurt people, because no one should hate themselves that much.

"You monster! Do you have any idea on what you did to Violet?! She's had nightmares for months!" Doll yelled, and even though Vincent was taller than her, he was incredibly small under her angry shrieks, eyes filled with hurt and regret and self loathing, so much of it that Mike didn't want to look anymore.

"I suppose I deserve your insults. Would you like some toast? It's the only thing I can make well, besides pizza, but I'm sure you've had your fair share of that. Pizza is Violet's favorite," he said softly, eyes shining when he talked about his daughter. He turned on the toaster before she could reply, sitting down in a chair at the small table with a cup of coffee. Jeremy spoke up.

"Um, Mr. Vincent, where did you get those scars, and why could I see your ribs?" He asked, and Vincent flinched.

"Well, most of them were self inflicted," He admitted quietly, ignoring the small gasps coming from the three of them. "The first month after the courts case, I tried slitting my throat, but I was so shaky with the knife that I was caught. The second month I tried starvation, refusing to eat anything, even medication, but when Vince took over he forced me to eat, since I was too weak to do anything else," He gave a bitter laugh at that. "Gotta keep his little puppet healthy!" The words were harsh and cold, nothing like the warm, soft tone Mike was used to hearing. He saw Doll's glaring eyes soften into confusion.

"Mike, what's wrong with him?" She asked, and Mike explained Vincent's situation as best as he could, even if he didn't understand it much. Doll's expression went from confused to pitying, and Jeremy seemed frozen in indifference. Vincent sighed with a smile as the toast popped up.

Guy must really like toast.

He reached for the butter, taking out a knife to spread, when his hand shook. His expression screwed into frustration as he tried to stop, and he was sweating. He dropped the knife on the table and clenched his hands at his sides, face burning red in embarrassment.

"Mike, could you please butter my toast for me?" He asked through clenched teeth, staring firmly at the ground. At Mike's confused expression, he elaborated. "I don't like touching knives. Not after…" He trailed, and Mike gave him a kind smile, quickly buttering the toast. "Would you three like some?" He asked, and they shook their heads. Mike scratched the back of his neck.

"It's getting late, and Jeremy here has to get to work, so we better be going," He said, and Vincent nodded. They walked towards the door.

"Wait," Mike turned to look at Vincent, who was making himself as small as possible under his gaze. "Umm, I know it's only summer, but seeing as you'll probably be with Violet for a while, help her out with math. She's the worst at that," He fiddled with his hands nervously. "Oh, and she loves pirates and pizza, and singing," His voice was getting stronger. "Umm, and Mike," His silver eyes bore through him as he stared, and Mike found himself frozen under the gaze. "Keep her safe from...everyone," There was an unspoken sentence that Mike could still hear, one that weighed on his heart like a stone.

"Keep her safe, from me."

He closed the door behind him, not looking back.

Scott walked up the steps and nearly ran into Mike, who was just exiting the apartment.

"Hey Mike!" He greeted, and Mike nodded in reply. Scott watched as Mike took a piece of paper from his back pocket out and handed to him. It contained a phone number.

"Call that number if you have any problems," He said gruffly, before going to his apartment.

Weird.

He stuffed the number into his pocket, figuring he'd just input it into his phone later, opening the door to see Vincent sitting at the table, silently eating a slice of toast.

"Hey, Vincent! I got the showerhead!" He calls, and Vincent gave him a shaky smile, setting his toast down. Scott walks over, sitting down next to him.

"Soo~, those scars…" He trailed off, afraid that he'd said something wrong, but Vincent simply changes his smile to a slight grimace, his eyes still kind and understanding. When he explained what happened the three months after the incident, Scott was shocked. Another thought hit him. "What about the ones on your chest?" He asked, and Vincent winced.

"Those were from mean foster parents," He replied, and Scott sighed, hugging him.

"We ought to be getting to bed. Goodnight," He said, and Vincent nodded, walking to his room.

Unconsciously, Scott stopped referring himself as Vincent's doctor, but instead as his friend.

He didn't know it yet, but Vincent had done the same.

Vincent's eyes snapped open as the sound of shuffling came from the kitchen.

Is Scott up?

He sighed, getting up and walking over to his door, opening it and peeking out, before proceeding to leave his room.

"Scott? He asked, tentatively taking a few more steps out into the living room/kitchen.

Something hit him in the back of the head, and everything went black.