AN: I must confess I don't like this chapter very much, but I have a time gap that to fill, and it's too short to justify the use of a time skip. So… this chapter, then one more, than interesting stuff starts happening. If you want you can skip both this one and the next. It might make is bearable for you.

Answering Reviews:

Autoleaves

Thank you for telling me. I fixed it.

Dest123G

He's not all bad, and he finally seems to have a purpose in chapter 13, which I finished the rough of a few days ago.

Everyone else:

Thank you for the compliments and such! It means a lot to me that so many people enjoy my writing.

Chapter 11: Lea

The bad thing about trancing is that it takes a lot to wake you up. You can wait to resurface yourself, which can sometimes take days or even weeks. Or someone can wake you up, which usually means shaking your shoulders, or even slapping you if you're under too deep. Slender just shocks me mentally, which is preferable to the alternatives.

After you wake up, it's also very hard to pinpoint exactly woke you.

As wander back into consciousness, before I open my eyes, I become aware of two things; it feels like my guts are twisting around inside of me, and there's someone holding me with one arm around my waist.

For one second I'm absolutely terrified, and twist to be free from the person's grip. They let go almost reflexively, moving away.

I blink in the gloom, shifting. I swallow down the echoes of fear, which are drowned by an overwhelming wave of pain. In that moment everything comes back to me. Despite myself I let out a small whimpering cry, letting my head rest on my knees. I have to focus to contain the pain to my own mind, but I won't allow it to bleed over to Slender.

I wait for the pain to become bearable before raising my head again. I look beside me a little guiltily, knowing I just hurt Slender. I send him an apology his way. He doesn't move, but patterns of thoughts and emotions tell me it's okay.

Someone knocks on the door. "Proxy-girl," Jack's voice, soothing, "something's here."

I sigh in relief, pushing myself to my feet. It's here. I shudder in pain for a moment. "I'm fine," I reply to an unspoken question. The pain is making it difficult to understand his thoughts.

He might say something else, but I can't hear anymore. Now a kind of boxed-in feeling is creeping up on me. I shake my head helplessly, hoping he understands.

I open the door to the room just wide enough to slip out. I ignore Jack, gritting my teeth, and walk down the stairs.

There's an old-fashioned wooden crate on the counter. I remove the lid with some difficulty, my fingers clumsy.

The sight that meets my eyes is rows of small bottles filled with translucent pinkish liquid.

Without hesitation I pull out one of them, pop the cap on it, and drink the salty-sweet liquid. I try not to think about what exactly it is I'm ingesting. I pause and wait half a minute for the fast-acting substance to go to work. I feel a little better, the pain fading slightly.

It's not enough.

I set the empty bottle down, snatching another from the crate. That helps a lot; my head stops spinning and my insides resume their normal positions. I still can't concentrate and my body is operating almost without eyesight, my vision grayish and unfocused.

A third bottle sharpens my senses to a fine point. I close my eyes, feeling my regular rhythms reassert themselves.

"Better?" Slender asks.

I nod, relishing the feeling of his mind. I open my eyes, looking into the box again. There's plenty in here, enough for at least a month. Good. I gather up the empty bottles and set them back in their places.

I turn around to see Mitch staring at me. For a moment I don't remember who he is, then I look away and sigh.

I need to think before I act. I could explain away the action due to my medicine, but it's really my fault. I turn back to the man, pulling another bottle from the crate.

"Here," I hold it out to him. The man walks forward slowly to take the object. He looks from it to me, confused. I make a gesture for him to drink it.

It won't hurt him. In fact it's an apology for dragging him into this.

He looks at me dubiously, then slowly pops the cap on the bottle. He raises it and takes a swallow. He squints, gagging at the flavor. He removes the bottle from his mouth, still half full, and looks at me like I'm insane.

I hold up one finger, "wait." I watch as his eyes suddenly go wide and he presses against the ground, hopping slightly in place.

"Wow," He says, "I feel great. What is this stuff?"

I stare at the liquid, watching it slowly darken in the bottle, "You don't want to know."

That shuts him up.

"Here," I hold a second bottle out to him, which he takes almost eagerly. "that will speed up healing, sharpen your senses, cure any contagious disease or most conventional poisons."

"Seriously?" He asks.

I shrug, "Think of it as a special item in a videogame. Hold onto that one for the boss battle, whatever that may be for you."

He nods.

"Where's my 'thank you'?" Jack asks, "I was the one who had to explain things to him."

I wince, "Sorry about that. It was my fault."

"Well at least you own up to it. Someday that's going to get you killed."

"You would know," I say, completely serious.

Jack nods, not replying. Silence for a moment while we let that sink in, then I hop off the stool I'm sitting on and follow the reversed Song of Healing into the next room.

Ben turns away from the keyboard as I enter the room. He grins as he sees me.

"Hey Lea," He says. He's not using his child-like form, instead of settling on a muscular teenager a year or two older than I am. One positive thing about being a spirit inside a videogame is you can re-write your own code.

I pause, turning to look at Mitch, then back at Ben, then at Mitch. "You used his body as a template," I say to Ben, pointing behind me at the man.

"So?" He grins at me, "You like it?"

I run my eyes along the version. I feel no attraction towards Ben, no matter what skin he tries on. "I prefer the dark hair," I say finally.

"Well excuse me for being blonde," He whines.

"You're excused."

Mitch makes a sound behind me, somewhere between surprise and fear. That's normal. Maybe I should just throw him out now and be done with it.

"Wanna play?" Ben asks, gesturing towards the television.

I frown, taking a step towards the electronic. Immediately the frequency of the hum of electricity changes, becoming more screeching. Statics crackles from the circuits.

"No thanks," I step away again, eyeing the screen warily.

Ben shrugs, "What about you?" He turns to Mitch.

The man looks surprised, "Uh…"

"Good idea," I grin, "Go on Mitch; entertain yourself." Maybe he'll stop following me around like a puppy.

The Proxy steps forward hesitantly. Ben tosses him a remote underhand, he catches it. I can tell he games a lot by the way his hands settle on the device.

I smile, leaving the room. Next I track down Jeffery.

He's sitting at the table in the other room; I didn't even notice him earlier, staring at his knife on the bare wood. He's holding a bottle in both hands, pretty zoned-out.

I frown. He doesn't look good. The compulsion may be returning in a destructive and possibly deadly wave. If that's the case I'll need to make sure Mitch isn't in the line of fire later.

I make sure make noise as I approach so I don't startle him. I sit in one of the other chairs at the table. "Jeffery," I say.

He looks at me, shaking his head as if he didn't notice I was there. "Oh, hey Proxy-girl."

"Hey."

"Feeling better?"

"A little, how about you?"

He rubs his head, "The voice is back."

I grimace, "How long?"

"Couple days?"

I nod, holding out my hands to him, "Arms."

He holds out his arms to me, palms up. I reach out and push up the sleeves of his jacket, exposing his forearms. They're crisscrossed with scars, only just beginning to fade. I run a hand over them, feeling the raised skin under my fingers. There are no new cuts.

This always makes me sad. I sigh, "Jeff, why would you ever do this?"

"It helped,"

"No it didn't. Don't say otherwise."

"Would you rather I kill other people?"

I look into his eyes, completely serious, "Yes."

He looks away, eyes twitching nervously.

I pull his sleeves back up, covering the scars. I squeeze his pale hand. I don't know if what I'm doing is right. I don't know if I should do anything at all, but at least I'm trying. He's getting better.

I see Jeff's eyes start to un-focus, and a crazy grin spreads across his face. My stomach twists in apprehension.

"Jeffery," I say, still holding his hands, "Hey, Jeff."

He doesn't respond.

I release one of his hands, snapping my fingers in front of his face. Jeff's eyes snap into focus.

"You'll be alright." I promise him, "just keep it together until dusk."

Jeff looks at me again, his eyes black, deep black. He nods, his grip on my hand tightening for a moment before we both let go.

I almost linger there, but I can feel Slender's mind humming at a frequency so high it would hurt to listen to. I turn away after a moment, leaving the scarred man to his own devices.

I might talk to Jack, if it's necessary, but it's not. It never is. Jack keeps just a close a watch on them as I do, probably closer. He's known them for longer after all. He's probably well aware of how everything is going, including my own state of mind.

I poke my head back into the room where Ben and Mitch are. They're sitting side-by-side, like they're good friends. Ben doesn't have a controller, but on-screen his character moves with more accuracy and grace than Mitch's. I observe as he does a neat flip, landing squarely on top of an enemy, and dispatches him with a shot to the head.

I'm going to remember that one.

Mitch hisses in frustration, fully aware that player one is not in any way obeying the in-game physics. There's a reason why I never play PVP with Ben.

I smile, deciding not to interrupt them.

I slip back up the stairs, leaving the crate where it is for the moment. I'll move it later. I probably won't be leaving this house until after dark, not with Mitch here and Jeffery needing a shove. Jack and Ben will probably clear out too, to take part in the extremely eventful night life for all nonhumans. Whether they come back the next day will be largely up to chance.

Well at least I don't have to deal with Laughing Jack. I've never been particularly afraid of clowns, but that is one Pasta I hope to never meet.

I close the door behind me, leaning for a moment against the wood. Slender is standing, gazing out the window. The light is cast so that, while the street below is lit, he's hidden in shadow. It would probably be eerie for anyone else to see that, but for me it's not surprising.

I peer around him to see what he's looking at. A group of kids, probably no older than I am is below us. They look like they just got out of school for the day, but are goofing around in the street. A couple of the boys are scuffling, one has the other caught in a headlock, and is punching him playfully. The boy whose head is caught is shouting, pushing against his captor. A group of other kids is nearby, watching. Some of them are yelling encouragements, some laughing.

It's an interesting and slightly alien scene. I don't recall one time in my life that I'd been involved in such activities.

I spot one girl farther down the street. Her straight brown hair falling to cover her face. She's clutching her books to her chest, head low.

As she approaches the group her head comes up, and she takes in the scene with a blank look on her face. Then she tucks her head back down and keeps walking.

I point to her out the window, "See that girl?"

Slender nods slightly.

"That was me," I state, still following her with my eyes.

He shifts, possibly to see me, and I feel the rhythm of his thoughts change slightly. A strange humming comes from him, a different frequency from his normal presence.

All the students pause, in unison turning their heads towards us. They look up into the window. I can feel it affecting me too, my eyes being tugged up towards him.

It's like the energy is forcing me to examine his appearance again, for the millionth time.

The girl with the brown hair stops, looking up. She might see me through the window or she might see the faint shape of Slender. Either way I see her face shift to a look of fear. She almost drops her textbooks, practically running past the building.

Slender and I watch her go.

"She's not you," He says.

The rest of the students continue on, glancing around warily. They group together like a herd of spooked sheep. I watch them move off.

"She's not," I agree with Slender.

I turn my head to look at him, giving in to the frequency. It's not easy to describe any Slenderman, but my master has always been particularly difficult.

I suddenly want to curl up against him, but I push down the desire. Control over that kind of thing is important. Proxies do not grow attached to their masters. Slendermen do not care about their Proxies.

Ordinarily.

Slender looks down at me, making me look away. He cocks his head to the side slightly, then sets one hand on my head.

I duck playfully, reaching up to push at his hand. Our fingers intertwine, and stay that way for a moment before we let go. We both freeze for one beat, two, and then the tension dissolves and I can breathe again.

This kind of situation is becoming increasingly common. Sometimes they drive me crazy, and sometimes I enjoy them. I always come away from them with the push-pull straining within me, harder and harder to resist.

I reach out and take his hand again, giving in to that emotion. It's not the same as holding Jeff's hand; that's more difficult in a way. Slender is more natural, more in-tune.

Jeff has so much strength too; it hurts sometimes to have him squeeze your hand. I know with certainly that if he were to suddenly to lose control he would snap all my fingers.

Slender squeezes my hand gently, causing a shot of warmth to go through me. His fingers tremble slightly, then he drops my hand, concentrating on containing a feeling.

I slide easily through his mental defenses, partly out of curiosity, and immediately my mind is nearly blasted away by light so bright it leaves my every thought and emotion exposed for a moment.

I slam my own mentality back into place forcefully, momentarily receiving a view of my own personality and being thoroughly unnerved by it.

I am a sick person deep down.

Slender reaches over and rubs my head again in way of both an apology and a temporary farewell. He flickers out of existence, leaving me to carefully construct the limits of my mind.

I hurriedly cast them up, preferring not to stare to stare t my animalistic desire to kill for longer than 30 sec. if I can help it.

Below that there's something else, but I've never been able to see what it is.

I sit and stare out the window, watching what is becoming a steady flow of people moving up and down the street. I'll wait here until Slender gets back. He won't be gone long anyway.

AN: Eh… I still don't like it. I need to go easy on the fluff.

Please review, blah, blah, blah. Ya.

Oh, ya, if you're reading this; I'm thinking about starting to take requests for short one-shot stories on this or on any other subject I'm familiar with. Please review or PM me, and I'll toss all the requests into a hat and chose one a month or so, depending on my moods and boredom. I'll write just about anything.