Chapter Twelve: Sleep My Dear Bart

Bob was doing pretty well for himself all things considered. Money was tight, but he was still getting paid residuals from Chianti di Salsiccia, the winery he'd worked for while in Italy since his likeness was still being used commercially. While he wasn't making a killing with those payments, he still supplemented it with the occasional television appearances and part-time jobs. He was doing well enough to survive.

He'd finally managed to move out of Krusty's place and he had his own small apartment in Springfield. It was still sparsely furnished and not very big and it wasn't the life of luxury he'd imagined for himself, but as long as he had a soft bed and some free space to move around that wasn't a six by eight prison cell, he was satisfied. Ah, the luxury of having a private bathroom.

Bob had just entered the apartment, throwing his keys and wallet onto the coffee table when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and answered.

"Hello?" Bob answered, raising a brow at the name displayed on the screen.

"Yo Bob, I just got word that the Simpson kid is lying out by the street like road kill," answered Louis, an old acquaintance of Bob's from the bad part of town. Bob had told a couple of people around town to keep an eye out on Bart for him just in case. He couldn't risk spying on Bart for himself since that rarely ended well, but he never expected to hear such news and he didn't quite know how to react as he felt a sudden flash of concern.

"What? Why didn't someone call an ambulance? Is he... is he still alive?" asked Bob. He swallowed as he felt the foreboding sense of dread building at the news; even with Bart being such a burr in his side for the past seven years, the thought that the kid might possibly be dead and tossed out on a roadside somewhere was simply unthinkable. Insufferable brats like him were the kind that would never die.

"Antoine said that he still had a pulse. I think he must have found that out when he swiped the kid's wallet or something," Louis snickered. "He said the kid reeked of alcohol."

"Okay, where? What street?" asked Bob letting out the breath he'd been holding as he gathered a mental image of the situation and strangely, he felt this unexplainable sense of relief to know that Bart's life wasn't in immediate danger. Though, that relief was short lived considering what he heard next.

"Mt. Auburn Street, the Lower Eastside," Louis replied.

"Damn..." Bob muttered to himself. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and rubbed his forehead tiredly for a second. It was a dangerous situation for the immature and foolhardy young man, lying out there at night in one of the most dangerous, seedy, rundown areas of the whole city. Bob shook his head at the utter stupidity of the boy and quickly grabbed his wallet and keys before exiting his apartment.

It wasn't long before he spotted Bart in the distance, lying next to the street just like he'd imagined, stars barely visible through the smog veiled night sky. The crisp spring air was colder that usual as he stepped out of the car and came to stand next to the pitiful heap that was Bart Simpson. He was lucky to have only his wallet stolen as he looked so utterly rape-able to the right depraved individual that Bob knew to frequent the area. It was inevitable that one of them would have crossed his path sooner or later if not for Bob's intervention.

Bob smirked with amusement upon seeing the Hooters logo on the back of Bart's coat as he leaned down, placing a hand on Bart's shoulder and turning him onto his back. The Simpson boy was filthy, his clothes stained with mud and vomit and the smell of alcohol on him was strong. Bob brushed his fingers across the boy's neck and felt that he did indeed have a pulse and that his skin was rather cool to the touch from the cool night air. He must have consumed quite a lot of something to make him totally black out like that thought Bob, wondering what might have triggered such a bad choice for someone still so young.

"Heh... lightweight," Bob muttered, though deep down he knew the risk that Bart had taken, playing Russian Roulette with his life so easily. Bob briefly debated with himself whether to drop the boy off at home, to the nearest hospital or to keep him over night at his apartment to sober up. Of course, where Bart was concerned, Bob rarely made the wisest of choices.

"Don't say I never did you any favors kid," whispered Bob as he carefully hoisted Bart up into his arms and took him over to the car, lying him down carefully onto the back seat.

It was nearly 9pm when Bob arrived back at his apartment and placed the still unconscious Bart down onto his bed, the boy making a slight sound of protest in his sleep which was a good sign. It harkened back to memories long since past when Bart was still a child and Bob had sneaked into his room, lying the boy safely back into his bed after deciding against killing him; Bart had grown a lot since then.

He looked down at the mess that was Bart Simpson. For a boy of seventeen, he had been rather easy to lift; it was a wonder he hadn't ended up as hefty as his father. He reeked terribly and he had large grass stains and mud caked onto the front of his clothes. Beneath his black jacket, he wore an orange t-shirt and ripped, baggy jeans.

Upon closer inspection, Bob also noticed that Bart had both of his ears pierced which actually sort of suited his rebellious ways rather well, but what was really amusing was that one ear had a skull and the other a holy cross. It was like the eternal struggle of good vs evil; the symbolism was amusing. A bad boy that slept as peacefully as an angel. Bob could only imagine what Marge's reaction to it had been.

It wasn't like Bart would ever find out so Bob felt safe to indulge himself a bit, leaning down and reaching a hand out, running his fingers curiously through the tufts of spiky blond hair that were rough, yet so deceptively pliable to the touch every time he had felt them. A smile crept onto Bart's face as he lay there shifting slightly in his sleep and leaning in to the touch, obviously taking comfort in Bob's fingers through his hair as well as his new soft resting place which was considerably more comfy that the cold wet ground had been.

"Sleep my dear Bart..." Bob spoke softly, lost in his own thoughts as he played with Bart's hair, "Sleep until you waken. When you wake you'll see the world... if I'm not mistaken," Bob hummed in a rather cryptic, sing-song way. In the times when he was thinking clearly, his heart not overcome with rage and the thirst for revenge, it was actually surprising to himself that he'd ever even consider something as heinous as revenge killing. Bart seemed to just bring out the animal in him like no other, not even Krusty. It was inevitable that Bart would trigger that rage again wasn't it?

"Mmm... Bob," Bart muttered languidly in his sleep at Bob's fingers through his hair. Curious. Somehow, he knew Bob was there even in his sleep and he actively encouraged his physical touch which was something Bob would have never expected even from a sleeping Bart, a kid that, no... a young man, Bob reminded himself... a young man that normally hated his guts, and with good reason. What did it all mean? He was still asleep wasn't he?

Bob, suddenly realizing his indiscretion, withdrew his hand from Bart's hair and took a step back. He felt a cold draft in the room coming from the open window so he crossed the room and shut it, yet the apartment still felt cold. It always felt cold in there no matter how much Bob turned up the heat, but since the rent was so cheap, he simply dealt with it. He looked back over to Bart who was shivering slightly. Of course he was, still wearing his dirty, wet clothing. He couldn't have the boy catching his death in his apartment in such a pathetically anticlimactic way as freezing to death.

Bob swallowed, preparing himself for the task at hand and knowing that even the slightest movement could likely awaken the boy since he had no idea how deep Bart's level of awareness really was, though he had been pretty out of it so far.

He first took off Bart's shoes, leaving on his socks since they appeared to be dry and clean. Then, he stealthfully unzipped Bart's black jacket and slowly eased his arms out of it which was rather difficult as he had to lift him up a bit to get his arms out of the sleeves. His nose wrinkled with disgust at the filthy garment, tossing it in the clothes basket near the door. Next came his orange t-shirt and jeans which Bob took off with little difficulty until Bart was left in nothing but his white, and noticeably snug fitting, boxer-briefs and white socks.

Quite rape-able indeed to the right depraved individual. It was the same thought he'd had from earlier echoing through his mind, but luckily for Bart, Bob wasn't quite that depraved at the moment and certainly not filled with the right amount of rage to let something like that occur. Though, no matter how deep he tried to suppress it, deep down the voyeuristic side of him was irrepressible and fully aware of just how much Bart had matured.

Bob ran the tips of his fingers softy down Bart's lightly toned chest and abdomen before he even realized what he was doing or why. His fingers skimmed down past the navel and over the slightly darker blond hair that invitingly... wait, 'invitingly'? Yes, invitingly trailed down beneath the teen's waistband indicating his almost-adulthood. Bob let his fingers skim down further still, over the front of those formfitting underwear and over the obvious and quite impressive bulge, somehow convincing himself that it was just to check to see if the rain had soaked through. He swallowed even harder when he realized that it had. Of course. Bob quickly pulled his hand away.

He took a deep breath, inching down the waistband and carefully sliding the article of clothing down Bart's legs and past his ankles, hoping that he wouldn't awaken just yet since it would be rather difficult to explain. The boy muttered unintelligibly in his sleep and Bob only dared to steal a glance at what had been hiding beneath when he was certain that Bart wasn't waking up.

He could appreciate the male form all he wanted, but this was Bart Simpson, in the flesh and there in his bed. It was insane. Even being the notorious 'Sideshow Bob', he knew it was wrong to so blatantly watch the completely unaware young man, but he allowed himself a brief once-over of the youthful physique, knowing he'd likely never be granted the privilege again. Privilege? Since when had seeing Bart, any part of him much less him in his entirety, become a privilege?

Bob took another deep breath as he attempted to shake off all those ridiculous thoughts before carefully nudging the dark blue, silken sheets from beneath the boy and biting his lip as his fingers came into contact with Bart's warm skin. Certainly warmer than it had been before which he took as a good sign. A little startled by his own reaction, Bob quickly pulled the covers over Bart, reminding himself yet again that this was Bart Simpson.

Bob laughed quietly at himself for being so ridiculous and so accommodating of the boy he'd so often tried to inflict bodily harm upon. Yes, it was only a matter of time before Bart set off yet another firestorm in his life, but for now, he would simply enjoy the ride while it was at a full stop.

Bob gathered Bart's clothes in his arms and took them off to wash, in the meantime, he would wait. He pulled up a black, wheeled desk chair and sat down on the other side of the room and he was prepared to stay there for at least a little while in case Bart was close to waking up. Not all night... just a while, otherwise it would be incredibly obsessive and a little bit too 'Edward Cullen' even for him; however, there was no way Bob would be able to sleep now since Bart had the only bed in the house and just knowing that he had Bart there, in his clutches really, as he would have said long ago, was enough to keep him wide awake, probably all night. It was an indescribable mixture of nervous excitement and anticipation and it was perplexing.

He refused to acknowledge any feelings of affection for the Simpson boy, but his mind uncontrollably kept going to some pretty dark places just by having Bart so vulnerable and at his mercy. Though, this was nothing new to Bob. His imagination had always ventured into the darker side of things whenever Bart was concerned.

- o - o - o -

Bart slowly found himself awakening into the doldrums of reality, wincing at the intense pain shooting through his head and the irritating light that drilled through his eyelids as soon as they cracked open. To make things worse, he had no idea where he was or how he'd ended up there since looking up and staring at an unfamiliar ceiling was very disorienting. He could see a figure moving across the room and before he knew it his eyes were attacked with the most blinding light as he heard the rustle of curtains being pulled back.

He heard soft laughter from the direction of the window; laughter that set off an instant recognition that still struck terror into him. His heart sped faster as his eyes began to focus and Bob came into view. It was like his worst nightmare had suddenly become a reality and he became submerged within a sea of fear and uncertainty.

"Ah, hello Bart. Nice to see that you're still amongst the living," said Bob smoothly. His calmness contrasting greatly to the turmoil and confusion that Bart was facing.

"Hey... what gives? Are you trying to blind me?" Bart stammered, blinking his eyes at the blinding light from the window as if trying to force himself to see more clearly. Bob merely laughed and walked around to the other side of the bed.

Bart leaned up onto his elbows feeling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Was this just another crazy dream or was he really in a strange, unfamiliar room with Sideshow Bob standing across from him as if he'd watched him sleep all night? The whole thing just had this creepy, 'Edward Cullen' vibe to it, not that he'd read any of the books of course. It felt like there was a knot in his stomach that kept getting tighter and tighter the more his anxiety began to build to the point where he felt it was inevitable that he was about to be sick and just sitting up seemed to make it worse.

The fiery red-head moved to Bart's bedside and quickly offered him a bucket, sensing that Bart was about to throw up. Bart yanked the bucket away from him and quickly emptied his stomach in it, hoping that he would feel a lot better afterwords because he was really at a disadvantage sitting there in what appeared to be Bob's house, on his bed and as weak as a sick dog. Bob took the bucket and sat it on the floor when it looked like Bart had finished.

"You deserved every bit of that Bart," said Bob with a satisfied smirk. "For doing something so foolish," Bob pulled over the desk chair and took a seat near the bed.

"Yeah, whatever," Bart sneered, still unsure what was happening until he remembered stumbling and falling onto the grass the previous night before everything went black. Bart rubbed his sore eyes that now stung with the unforgiving light and probably dehydration. Though, he was beginning to feel a little better after a minute or two.

"It's only true. You're just lucky I saved your sorry hide out there before the wolves picked up on your scent," said Bob.

"Wolves?" asked Bart, looking up at Bob with confusion. As far as he knew, there were no wolves in Springfield, not in the residential areas anyway.

"Predators, pickpockets, rapists, murderers, all those 'Good-time Johnny's out hunting for some fresh meat," Bob answered calmly, locks of his wild, burgundy hair swaying as he turned his head to the side.

"Oh, so you mean people like you?" said Bart, relaxing slightly at the joke. Bob's amused smirk was so contagious that, despite himself, Bart smiled back. Bart took a deep breath, relieved that it appeared Bob wouldn't be murdering him, at least not today. Despite the adrenalin rush he felt when ever Bob was chasing after him, he liked Bob a lot better when he didn't have a knife or an intense, blood-thirsty look in his eyes.

"Well... I suppose I should get you a glass of water at least? Something to eat maybe... to lessen the hangover?" Bob offered. Bart shook his head no; he just wanted to get out of there and go home.

"Well, suit yourself," Bob stood up and crossed his arms behind his back, standing next to the bed. "Anyway, thankfully you're awake now since I have somewhere to be in about thirty minutes and I can't be late," Bob tossed Bart a set of keys. "You can let yourself out, but please," Bob stepped a little closer, flicking Bart's hair in a very patronizing way to which Bart quickly pushed his hands away and shot him an annoyed glare, "do lock the doors on the way out, alright? And place the key beneath the ceramic snail in the yard."

"Wait Bob... how exactly did I end up here and why are you letting me go so easily? You have me right where you've always wanted me, completely vulnerable to your attack yet..." Bart's sentence was cut off by Bob's hand over his mouth.

"Don't provoke me Bart. And don't question it," Bob breathed close to his ear, sending unwarranted chills through him at that dark, almost threatening tone to that silky voice and to the heat of his mouth so close to his ear. Bart gasped.

"Just be grateful," Bob answered, placing a hand on Bart's chest briefly, directly over his heart and lingering a moment longer before pulling away and walking towards the door to leave. "Oh... and someone swiped your wallet last night so you're going to need either some money for a taxi, the bus or I'll have to drive you," said Bob from the doorway in a complete about face before exiting. Bart could hear the sink running in the next room.

"What? I had thirty bucks in there!" Bart protested, suddenly snapping out of the melted pile of unwanted attraction and desire that Bob had reduced him too. Suddenly, more questions came to mind and he had the feeling that he'd never have enough time for Bob to answer them all. Questions like why was Bob trusting him with his keys? Was it a trick to gain his trust? And why had Bob even bothered to help him and why hadn't anyone called? He did have his phone with him after all and he just knew his parents would be furious that he'd stayed out all night.

"You don't have your license yet do you?" asked Bob from the bathroom.

"I've got my driver's permit, but what good is it doing me right now without a car?" Bart yelled back, annoyed.

"No need for misguided hostility," came Bob's muffled voice.

Bart got up, preparing for his long journey home since he was not about to let Bob drive him around like some chauffeur and the last thing he wanted to do was to borrow money from Bob. Bart pulled the covers off and prepared to leave only to find that he'd been completely naked under there and he was completely mortified by the fact! This was beyond creepy even by Bob's standards!

"Bob! What the hell? What did you..." Bart yelled, completely horrified and embarrassed, his face glowing red at the realization. Bob suddenly peeked in from the doorway, a toothbrush in his mouth. The man nearly choked at the site of Bart standing there in the nude, but before Bart could even react or find some way to cover himself, Bob had already went back into the bathroom, followed by the sound of his cackling laughter. Bart was humiliated, but mostly angry. Who did Bob think he was stripping him of his clothing, of his dignity while he was out cold and why would he even attempt such a thing if it wasn't to humiliate him in some way, though perhaps Bob really was just a sick voyeur.

"Bob! What did you do with my clothes?" Bart yelled.

"They're on the table by the window. I took the liberty of throwing them in the wash for you since I couldn't let you sleep in your own filth all night. No need to thank me," Bob yelled from the bathroom followed by more laughter, though this time, slightly less riotous.

Bart growled with anger, his face hot with embarrassment as he yanked his underwear off of the table and put them on first. He was pretty sure Bob hadn't done anything to him besides washing his clothes since he didn't feel any differently than before, not that he would know what being violated would feel like afterwords, but he assumed he would have bruises or something which he didn't.

Besides, Bob had never shown any signs of such perversion in the past, at least not towards him besides the occasional intense hatred in his eyes, a lust for revenge which strikingly resembled sexual lust. It's like Bob got his rocks off more with the fear and intimidation he inflicted, which to Bart, actually seemed more scary than sexual lust.

Bart picked up his jeans and smelled them before putting them on, noticing that they smelled cleaner than ever, even cleaner than his mother could get them which was impressive. Now that he thought about it, besides the initial embarrassment of Bob seeing him naked, the man had been really thoughtful taking him there, washing his clothes, watching over him all night and making sure that his parents never found out that he'd slept off a hangover. He wouldn't actually call his parents would he?

Bob came in just as Bart had fastened his jeans. Bart still didn't have his shirt on, but Bob had already seen the full package anyway and he had no qualms being shirtless so it didn't really matter. Yet, having that much exposed skin showing in front of a man that was so quick with the knife was quite unsettling.

"Hey Bob, where's my phone?" Bart asked, attempting to draw attention away from his state of undress. He found himself unable to look at Bob, all things considered.

"Your phone is on the bedside table. I turned it off so that you could sleep," said Bob, answering Bart's the next question as to why no one had called since he had been out all night. Surely his family would wonder where he was.

"Just for the record..." Bob began. Bart looked up at him finally, noting the hesitancy in Bob's voice as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor. "I did a do a bit of pointing and laughing... but other than that... you have nothing to worry about..." the slight red tinge on Bob's face was unexpected and it caught Bart off guard, making him blush even harder.

"Worry? What do you mean? Why would I worry?" stammered Bart, picking up his shirt and distractingly attempting to flip it from being inside-outwards.

Phht..." Bob snorted in disbelief. "Don't pretend it didn't cross your mind. That... that I may have... taken advantage of your... incapacitation. I may be a lot of things Bart... but I'll have you know that I'm certainly not that depraved... even when it comes to you," Bob closed his eyes as he ran his fingers through his own hair rather vainly. Bart couldn't help the lingering stare as he stood mesmerized by Bob's natural regality, the way he held himself in even the most embarrassing of situations. Bart admired the quality that not many people actually possessed.

He shook his head at the ridiculous detour his mind had taken and laughed before tossing his shirt onto the foot of the bed and crossing the room to grab his phone, feeling a little more relaxed than he probably should have, being in Bob's apartment. Or was it a house? He still wasn't sure since he had only seen it from the inside of that one room.

Bart turned on his phone and was unsurprised to see that it was overflowing with missed calls and texts. How the hell was he supposed to explain himself and why he'd stayed out without calling? However, there was one text in particular that caught his attention as he scrolled through his messages and he felt as if he'd been shot straight in the heart when he read the word's 'car accident' and 'Milhouse' in the same sentence on his screen.

"Oh... oh my God!" Bart stared at his phone, completely mortified and frozen in place for a moment as his mind tried to process the fact that Milhouse had been in an accident. That he might possibly be... no. He couldn't even fathom it because then it would be far too real; Far too concrete when right now, it was just a vague text. He barely registered it when Bob stepped closer to him from behind, placing a hand on his naked shoulder.

"Bart?" asked Bob, his voice steady and uncertain. Bart took a deep breath, finding it almost too difficult to speak.

"Milhouse... I think he's... been in an accident," said Bart numbly, the words seemingly cementing it in his mind. It was suddenly real and he could barely breath.

"You mean a car accident? Last night?" asked Bob. Bart looked up at Bob, a brief moment of suspicion crossing his mind that Bob would even know it was a car accident, much less last night, though he supposed it was only the most likely assumption. Surely Bob wasn't involved?

"Yeah," answered Bart, the phone shaking in his weary hand. Finally snapping back into reality he quickly dialed his home number, hoping that his mother would answer, yet holding his breath and praying, for the first time in quite a while, that Milhouse wasn't injured too badly.

A.N. - I know, I know... another cliff hanger. I just can't help it! I guess my writing abilities are just predisposed to cliffhangers. So here we see the struggle that Bart faces which is 'to trust Bob, or not to trust' and frankly, I don't think Bob can really trust himself most of the time...

Yeah, I know Bob isn't the cruel, demented creature that we all know and love... yet, but he always has to have a reason to hate Bart enough to want murder and revenge. All it takes is one wrong move to get on Bob's bad side and I assure you that Bart will overstep that line sooner or later in this fic.

Consequently, the street mentioned is an actual street in Springfield based on a map of the city and the place Bart was on the side of the road appeared to be the bad part of town. I'm assuming that's also near Nelson's house.

The quote from Bob in it's original form is:

"Sleep my little baby-oh

Sleep until you waken

When you wake you'll see the world

If I'm not mistaken...

– Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book.