AN: It's been a while, not gonna lie. Sorry. I've been having some awful home problems. Mom didn't make it. We lost her on Halloween of '09. A man with a rifle could come into this computer room right now and point it in my face and I still wouldn't be as upset or scared as I was that night. Nervous breakdown, anyone?

Medication:

Chapter Twelve: The Night

We were about to spend the night here. I decided that I'd take him downstairs tomorrow morning, after he could rest. But it didn't look like he'd be resting any time soon. He was racing around the room organizing everything and sweating profusely. He even found a cloth that he rinsed in rusty water from the faucet in the kitchen and was wiping things down with it.

I see him do this thinking, 'This is the first time most of these things have ever been cleaned, since their creation.'

I find myself constantly trying to keep away the thoughts of what he used to be. If he could be well enough to want to clean stuff, then maybe he could be well adjusted member of society. Well, maybe not well-adjusted, but at least functional.

And definitely not doped up on personality-altering drugs 24 hours a day.

"Nny? Are you ok?" Squee asked, his eyes following Johnny around the room. The energy coming off him was electric. Neither of us could calm him down since his last flashback, so we just sat on the grubby couch.

"Just relax, and come sleep," I asked him. He's going to sleep, or I'm knocking him out because he's driving me nuts.

"I can't sleep, Devi. You don't understand. It's nerve-racking, being here. I don't know where to start. This place is filthy, it's a God-awful abomination." He said. He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"We can HELP you clean it, but later. Maybe tomorrow after everything? And we can get something to eat, and you can take a bath after you're done cleaning. Does that sound good?" I said, trying to sound as convincing as I could. He was so wound up; if he didn't calm down he was going to have a frigging heart attack.

Oh man. If he really does have a heart attack, I could go to jail for taking him away from his regimented living. But this whole thing is just something that has to be done. He spent most of his life getting kicked around and when the actions he takes to get revenge or teach those who wronged him that they were, in fact, wrong, life screws him over and he goes nuts.

I'm not saying the things that he did were righteous or good in any way at all, but I could understand why. He just needed to use his brain to retaliate instead of his sharp stuff. If I can just bring that common sense back, that way of thinking back...I will stay by his side until he can be at least half normal. Well, I don't know if normal is the word, but at least mildly acceptable.

"...A shower? A meal? That all sounds nice, but how am I supposed to sleep if I don't have my medicine?" he asked me.

That was a good question. He probably had a strict regiment of sleeping pills and muscle-relaxers and whatever else they could pump into him to keep him sedated and as monotonous as they could make him.

"Didn't you say you were tired before? Aren't you exhausted? You should start learning to sleep without help from those fucking pills," I said. Remembering those pills sent stinging surges of anger through my chest.

He gave us this pained look and then I scooted over so he had room to sit on the couch with us and go to sleep.

I suddenly felt bad for Squee. He was doing all this, missing school tomorrow. He had a life now, but he wanted to do this for Johnny. I don't know what to say to either of them.

I can't get over why I want to help him so badly. Some part of me caved in when I saw him...The blonde hair, the blue contacts right down to the white shirt and sweater-vest. There's nothing left of him. His beliefs, his will power, and his vision of a world where everyone would just tolerate the way he chose to dress.

It actually makes me want to stab myself in the temple with a butter knife.

...Actually, I'd like to stab his therapist in the temple with a butter knife.

Nny sat down next to me finally, after an eternity of convincing. Sometimes his eyes twitch, I've noticed. I think it might be the meds.

I nudge Squee and discreetly nod towards it, telling him to watch Nny's eyes. He, too, sees the twitch and acknowledges it. He just shrugs.

"Nny, just take a deep breath and calm down, ok? You just need some rest. We can look through the basements tomorrow. It's a delicate and probably very difficult thing to do. You can't just force it all. I know you want to know, and I know your current lifestyle is pulling at you to come back to it, however forced upon you it may be. Just rest before you give yourself a heart attack. You have to let your body find a way to sleep without help if you ever want to be free." I told him, and for whatever reason, I put my hand on his. It's like ice.

I get a shock wave of emotion.

Ice.

Ice cold. That is what he is, deep down. He is an ice cold killer. And for some ridiculous reason I miss him, and want to bring that trait back upon the human race.

The human race.

Humanity.

The people in this city.

But...Before I found out he was an insane murderer...I agreed with him.

I did, didn't I?

I agreed that the people in this city "deserved to be looked down upon." I did.

...What does that make me?

Somewhere, deep down inside of me, I want him to kill his therapist. I can feel it. I deny it, but I want him to have his revenge. I want him to come back to reality, and lose his shit and cut things out of, and off of, that disgrace to human rights.

By saving Nny's freedom to choose how he lives, thinks, and exists, I am ultimately condemning myself to an eternity of repenting for what could possibly be the greatest sin to ever be committed against humanity.

I...Don't know how I should feel right now.

Maybe that's my problem. I don't know how I should feel right now. I don't know if what I'm doing is right or wrong, it's just what I feel needs to be done, regardless of which end of the scale of morality it lands on.

The man tried to kill me, and I'm helping him.

But I'm helping him for more reasons than just the possibility of having some deep, buried feeling for him...

Am I really helping him because he was doing what I wish I could've? He had the gumption to do something that most of us, at one time or another, wished we could. Is it possible that I have as many reasons for doing this as I do logical reasons for why it shouldn't?

I wonder if they'd catch him again. Someone's got to have noticed by now.

The only thing I can do to protect myself as well as Nny, and now probably Squee, is to restore Nny's ability and memory as quickly as possible. If anyone could have the determination to save me for saving him, and at the same time seek revenge, it'd be post-arrest Nny.

But...what if he resents me?

What if he...willingly relinquished his control over himself to the authorities? If he just wanted to stop suffering and be "normal", that's entirely possible...

I'm so tired and I'm not going to be able to sleep.

Too bad life doesn't have "Edit – Undo".