Edgar was silent for a long time after that, and so was Scriabin. There was little noise at all, except the faint sound of the television from somewhere nearby. He couldn't hear Johnny, but he was fairly sure that he wouldn't want to talk to him right now anyway.
Edgar didn't know what to say, and Scriabin was either doing something or felt likewise, so Edgar stayed curled on his side on the floor, calming his breathing and trying to think about anything other than the numerous crises that faced him at current.
Eventually, Edgar found himself again falling asleep, his exhausted body and mind giving in. He didn't know for how long, and he couldn't recall anything from his dreams except a sense of danger, unhappiness, and conflict. Nightmares.
He almost woke up several times as his body began to ache from the hard floor, but he couldn't find the energy or motivation to get up and move somewhere else, so he stayed where he was. He flitted in and out of consciousness until the ache in his stomach became too much and, after trying to fall back asleep for some time without success, he decided he had to eat something.
It took effort to get his body to move at all, his right shoulder still throbbed painfully and his neck and back were sore. His arms shook and almost refused to follow his directions, but somehow he managed to get up. He felt something slide off his shoulders, and a sudden lack of heat. A blanket?
He turned and looked. His blanket again. Johnny. Maybe Johnny had forgiven him for his comment...or just didn't want to see him cold.
I don't even know how he feels about me now... Edgar thought to himself, struggling to bring words out of his mind's sleepy haze. I don't think saying I wish we never became friends was a good idea...but I guess if he got me this blanket he's not holding it against me. But who knows? This is Nny we're talking about...maybe he hates and likes me at the same time, I don't know...
His mental voice sounded thick and slow, and strangely unfamiliar...no, that wasn't right. It sounded familiar, but it didn't sound...accurate. There was something off, something strange, but he was too tired and hungry to think about it. He had to find something to eat...his stomach was cramping and it felt like it was tightening in on itself.
Where can I find something to eat?
Edgar forced himself to his feet, his head swimming, and tried to navigate the house to find the kitchen. This took him longer than he expected, since he hadn't spent a great deal of time in Johnny's house and hadn't exactly acquainted himself with the layout. He had to stop every few feet to regain his breath, and at some points he had to sit to make sure he wouldn't become completely dizzy and pass out, or just get sick again. He'd thrown up enough in recent memory for his tastes, and he was sure that throwing up any more would not do him any good.
Made his way through the house, vision blurry and thoughts still muddled, his mind in the comfortable numb zone of someone just waking up, when most worries had yet to be consciously recognized and all that mattered were his physical needs. That was all he could focus on now, that was all he had the energy to focus on.
There, he found the kitchen. He sat at the table for a few minutes to catch his breath and stop the dizziness, then went to the fridge and opened it. There was nothing inside, which didn't exactly surprise him. He knelt down, his legs still too weak to keep him standing for long, and looked in the drawers, hoping he'd get lucky and find something.
There, at the bottom of the crisper drawer. A plastic bag of mini-carrots, dry and old. Under other circumstances Edgar wouldn't have even considered it, but as it was he pulled the bag open and immediately began eating. It was food, that was all that mattered. The carrots, probably remnants from some shopping trip that Johnny had completely forgotten God knows how long ago, had an unpleasant texture and taste, but they slowly eased the cramps away and helped thought return. It was possible that the carrots would make him sick, or even give him food poisoning given his current luck, but at the moment Edgar just had to eat and he had to eat now.
He finished the bag off in silence, his eyes closed as he leaned against the closed fridge and focused on chewing and swallowing. He was still hungry when he was done, but at least it wasn't quite as bad.
Think Nny will like the fact you ate his carrots? Scriabin said, the first thing in what felt like hours, and he sounded almost tentative.
At this point I don't even care. Edgar kept his eyes closed as he leaned against the fridge door.
Is that so?
Edgar didn't think that needed a response, so he again focused on his breathing, wondering if there was anything else he'd missed and if he could find the energy to get up and walk somewhere else without collapsing.
So, where to begin?
Edgar paused to think about that. Scriabin probably hadn't intended for his question to be anything more than a lead-up to whatever insult he had planned next, but Edgar found that it was a valid question. Where to begin? Of all the problems facing him now...where should he begin?
Perhaps it was his exhaustion or simply his body giving up after running on pure adrenaline for so long, but he found he felt almost nothing as he sat on the floor, empty bag of carrots on his lap. It was a deep, strong sense of apathy, of quiet acceptance of the situation. He just wanted to consider what he had to do, and he was fairly sure that given how little he felt, he didn't think he'd lapse into emotional hysteria as he'd had a tendency to do lately. He'd been too emotional lately in general.
Drained. Emotionally drained, completely, and Edgar recalled his words to Johnny some time ago. Taken everything he had, and now he had nothing. Edgar found the words particularly apt concerning his current mood. He felt empty, hollow, exhausted. Not a bad time to think, at least, given there was no action immediately required.
Where to begin...I should make a list.
A list? Scriabin said with disbelief. You want to make a list? How pedantic are you?
Nothing wrong with a list. Edgar couldn't muster up any emotion to even feel annoyed at Scriabin at this point. Makes things easier to sort through. One, I can't die.
...You actually want to talk about this? Scriabin now sounded confused.
Edgar ignored him. Nny's not going to like that...not sure how he'll react, but I'll tell him eventually. He might have guessed from his own experience with the lock system by now, but probably not. He seemed fairly confident that he'd kill me when I asked him about it before. I have to tell him so he can adjust his plans accordingly. I'll take care of that the next time I see him. Two, Scriabin can and will possess me from now on...he's way more powerful than I thought he was.
What the f- I'm right here! Scriabin sounded outraged. Don't you ignore me! I can hear everything you're doing, all your thoughts, you can't pretend I'm not here-
He could possibly be working against me with the system, to weaken me for the collapse. I didn't think he was before but given that he lied about everything, it seems likely enough now. It could have usurped him...or maybe that was his goal all along, to weaken me for this. I'll have to tell Devi about that...kind of changes things.
Edgar, I swear to god, if you don't start talking to me instead of at me I am going to-
Three, Nny doesn't trust me anymore since I lied, and the whole perfection thing is probably a bust...since he doesn't think it's possible anymore, and I think his feelings for me now are probably ambivalent at best. Not to mention that I can't in good conscience stay with him if he's killing people...and he says he won't stop. I'm not going to compromise my own moral values for a relationship he already thinks has failed...
Scriabin didn't say anything, most likely shocked into silence at what Edgar was saying. Despite the fact that the words, the concept should have been emotionally charged with something at the least, Edgar felt nothing. Simply words and concepts and facts, being stated and sorted. Just sitting and thinking and nothing, nothing was coming through, it was all gone, all spent.
On the other hand, I don't know if Nny really wants to get rid of me...he kept me alive, after all, got me that blanket, fixed my shoulder, changed my clothes...he cares about me somewhere, so I don't know if he could drop me completely. I'm not sure what he wants from me now, but given that he's insane, I probably won't get anywhere hypothesizing about him.
Edgar, are you really going to leave? After all this time, have you finally realized, understood what I've been telling you about him, are you actually going to stop this before it goes any further?
I've got too many responsibilities and promises to just leave him. He heard Scriabin's disappointed sigh. He's my friend and I do care about him...it wouldn't be right to just abandon him like that, but I can't stay with him if he...I've got to make it more clear how I feel, what I want him to do. Things I want to change...got to set out ideas, compromises, see if we both can't achieve something if we talk things through first...
This...sounds familiar... Scriabin's tone matched Edgar's, somewhat distant and almost distracted.
Again, I can do that when I meet him again. Hopefully we can discuss the future and what we want, what we can do. Maybe come to a compromise, or take a break for a while, something. I don't think this is the end or we'll drop each other completely...but things have changed, and we both have to adapt.
Something...far away...
Four...I'm probably going to die eventually because of the system, not Nny. Collapse, whatever that is. Don't know how, but I'm pretty sure it'll happen.
Hey, I- I told you that I was going to find a way around that, I won't let that happen-
If there's nothing to be done about that, then the best thing to do would be to make my peace before I go. Edgar scratched his chest, eyes still closed. His fingers moved slowly, hesitantly, and he still felt vaguely sick. Hungry, but he'd find nothing else here. When he found the strength... I've been out of touch with my Lord for a while...I should renew my faith while I have my chance on earth so I can die with no regrets.
We're not going to die, Edgar! Scriabin's voice had a strained edge to it. I told you, I won't let us die! I'm...I'm working on a way around it, finding a way to protect you-...
If I'm going to lose my mind soon, gradually, I should warn Devi and Nny before it happens...Todd too, so they know what to expect. Or at least, warn them that I might change before I go. I need to make some preparations...
We aren't going to die-
Five, I need to find my glasses...and my clothes. I need to get home, take a shower, eat something, then go to sleep in a real bed. When I'm more awake I can go over things in more detail, but as it is I need to take care of myself before I can really take care of anyone else...
Stop ignoring me! I'm trying to tell you, you just won't trust me and that's why-
Take care of the simpler things first-
Edgar, what's wrong with you? He hadn't heard him this irritated in a while.
What do you mean?
You're acting like some kind of carrot-eating zombie. The carrots weren't that bad, were they? Are you just in that half-asleep state like before? What is with you?
You sound kind of frightened.
I am not, that's ridiculous. This is just strange for you. Need I remind you that ...however many hours ago you were basically having a conniption over the hand that life dealt you?
Edgar would have shrugged, but didn't feel the urge to really move.
You can't scream and cry all the time. It doesn't accomplish anything. You just have to calm down and think things through.
I can understand you being drained, given all that you've been through, but this doesn't seem right, there's something...strange about this. I don't like this. And since when have you ever ignored me like that?
It's true that this situation is not good...I have a lot of difficult decisions to make, and my current situation is less than ideal. However, I do have to take some responsibility...I did make decisions that contributed to me being here, but at no point did I ever think this would happen. I didn't decide to end up here, but I did make mistakes. We all do. There's no point in blaming myself for everything, and it's no good pretending that I'm innocent in all of this either...at this point, the healthiest option is to just make plans and do what I can to fix it.
I'm going to assume you're talking to me...
I'll take responsibility for what I can and make plans to fix what I can. I'll change my path the best I'm able, or at least accept the path I'm on with grace. It's time for control, for logic again. I've been too emotional recently...probably because of the waste lock system filtering all that emotion through me. Scriabin warned me about something like that, if I remember right. Regardless, the best way to handle this situation, and future ones, is to keep a calm head and keep in mind what has to be done...
I don't like this... Scriabin mumbled. This doesn't...feel right. There's something familiar about it, but it's...not complete, not all the way through...I'm not sure...
Six, you...you can possess me now.
Scriabin was silent.
This is another factor to take into consideration... Edgar felt another hunger pang, and he tried to force himself to move but found his body wouldn't respond. It'll probably happen again in the future, won't it? From what I can remember, you seem to be able to do it when you're extremely angry...I don't think you can do it whenever you want, can you? At least, not yet...
...Why aren't you freaking out about this? Scriabin sounded confused. I'd at least expect a few insults or epithets from you about something like this.
I think I got them all out earlier. At least, for now. I'm just...I'm just trying to think. Edgar finally got his arm to move, and he pushed himself off the floor and leaned heavily on one of the counters. He looked up at one of the cabinets above the sink. I can get angry about the reality later. Did you really lie to me about it so you could do it again?
He felt something not his...a tinge of something...wariness, perhaps. That's what I said.
That means nothing, really, but I'm going to assume you're telling the truth because that sounds like something you would do. Edgar opened the cabinet. Empty bags and debris, nothing useful. He closed it and moved to the next. Taking my body gets you one step closer to having your own, doesn't it?
Again, wariness and confusion from Scriabin, but no response.
It doesn't matter if you confirm or deny it, I'm just theorizing. I don't really care either way now... Edgar opened another cabinet and found a box of cookies that looked like it might have something in it. He pulled it down, then slumped down to the floor, his legs again too weak and shivery to hold him up. If you can't possess me at will just yet, then all I have to do is not provoke you. You're probably gaining power all the time though, maybe from the lock system, so even that won't be enough to protect me...
I'm not a part of that-
I don't know that for sure. Edgar looked in the box. Crumbs. Some of them looked big enough to be something at least, and Edgar licked a fingertip and tried to pick up a few. You could be lying to me. Either way...I'll have to get used to that, or the fact you'll be able to do that. I black out when it happens...but I come back pretty suddenly, from what I can remember. You don't seem to expect me coming back when I do...I guess it's a drain on you to take me over like that and eventually you let me back from wherever you put me.
Small pulses of confusion from Scriabin. Where I put you...
You're too powerful... Edgar got a few crumbs stuck to his finger and licked them off. Not much. He tried to dump the box out into his hand and got more. That was my mistake, I shouldn't have let that happen. I shouldn't have believed you when you manipulated me to further your own growth...all those lies you told me to get me on your side...that was my fault, for believing you. I should have known better. He downed the handful of crumbs. There was a faint tinge of chocolate...not a lot. It's too late now though, so we're just going to have to learn how to tolerate each other.
...Tolerate you?
Neither of us is leaving this body, I don't think. Still not enough. Edgar dropped the box on the floor and again tried to muster the energy to move. I have no intention of doing so, and I know now that you don't either. We need to reach a compromise.
Are you saying that you're willing to share this body with me? Not think of me as a parasite?
You are a parasite...we both know that. He felt Scriabin recoil with a tinge of anger, disappointment, but it wasn't that strong. The fact is I can't get rid of you. You can't leave on your own. I can get angry about the fact you exist all I want...I can try and force you out or yell at you or fight with you, but it won't get rid of you. You're too deep in me now...I can't get rid of you, so fighting against you seems...pointless at the moment.
...You'd never willingly accept me here.
Perhaps not, but why not make the effort? At least I'm considering it. Edgar again managed to get up and resumed searching through the cabinets. If I was more awake or less tired, maybe I wouldn't be so accepting of it, but at the moment...what else can I do? I can either fight you pointlessly or just accept the fact you're there. Denying you exist won't make you go away. I can't force you out of my mind...my main problem isn't that you exist, it's that I don't know if you want to hurt me or help me.
I want to help you-
That would have had a lot more weight if you hadn't lied to me about everything. Another empty cabinet. Particularly about something as malevolent as forcibly taking control of my body to try and rile Nny up. I don't trust you, and if you're trying to hurt me, I can't trust you anymore. I can accept that you exist, not fight against your presence, but I don't have to trust you and I don't have to like you.
Still confused. I don't have to like you either.
I don't expect you to, not after everything that's happened. How could Johnny have so little food in his house? A bag of flour, but Edgar wasn't that desperate just yet. I don't think you've ever liked me, have you?
...It depends on the situation.
Ah, when I was doing what you wanted. That makes sense. Your love is very conditional...thinking about it, that only seems natural. Edgar stared at the bag of flour and for a moment, a brief moment, almost considered it. Nah. He closed the cabinet and his stomach gave another sharp twist. He had to find something. What would you gain from loving me that you couldn't gain from hating me? And why pretend to love something you hate? When was the last time you ever said you loved me, anyway? Or...well no, you've never done that, but did something similar...the dream, wasn't it? That fantasy of ours┘
...I've done things...
Supposedly protected me, right? I remember when you fought off something...or at least, made it look like you did. Another empty cabinet. His legs were shaking again...he was going to have to sit down soon. If it was a lie to gain my sympathy, it was very well done...I did care for you, then. I felt responsible. But who's to say it was real?
You don't believe me? Believe in that anymore? Don't you remember what being a lock entails? The flow of negative emotion? How can you deny the possibility that something came into your mind via that passage?
I'm not saying it's not possible. And nothing. Edgar sat down and rested his head on his knees, feeling almost sick. I'm just not sure that's what happened that time.
You saw what it did to me, how can you say I faked that? Scriabin had a touch of indignation in his voice, of anger. His emotions felt clear and easy to read to Edgar, who had yet to really feel any of his own during the conversation.
I believed you when you said you didn't know what happened when you possessed me that first time. You were quite convincing...sounded confused, said that you wanted to know what happened just like I did. How far would you go to propagate one of your lies? I don't know. I can't say for sure anymore. Like I said before, I can't trust you. You lied to me about something incredibly major and life-changing...it throws all your past actions into an unflattering light. I might have believed you then, but knowing what I do now...I don't know if I believe anything you ever said or did.
And what do you want me to say? Familiar spite beginning to edge its way in. Do you want me to apologize? Promise I'll never do it again? Would you have me kneel in front of you in penitent supplication, like you will in front of your God for forgiveness you don't deserve? Please.
That's more like the Scriabin I know. Edgar kept his eyes closed, Scriabin's words passing over him without a reaction. You sound more like yourself now.
A bright snap of surprise which was quickly muffled. You still don't sound like yourself just yet. What's with you? I've never seen you act this way before...it's unnatural.
It's old, that's what it is. Look back and you'll find it, I'm sure. Look at a crisis with a clear eye, and the solution will become obvious...I'm not sure where I heard that. As it is...if you are trying to hurt me, I'll have to fight you or protect myself, at least until we both die or perhaps you take me over for the last time.
I'm not trying to hurt you, you moron. Scriabin's voice still didn't sound as angry as it should have. I've been trying to protect you, that's all I've ever tried to do. From Nny, from the system, from everything that would gladly rape your mind and make it its bitch, I've stood in its way.
That sounds very noble. Not at all like you, though. Do you think I'd believe that?
Scriabin paused for words. The truth is still the truth, whether or not you believe in it.
I simply cannot run the risk of being hurt by you again. Do you understand? You've done it to me too many times, trying to manipulate me to gain power. I can't allow that to continue. I'm willing to coexist, but I cannot trust you again. It would be a stupid thing to do, given your track record.
What if you didn't have a choice?
Edgar raised his head, then looked over at the box of cookies.
Is that a threat?
What if it was?
You're so cute when you redirect. Edgar almost smiled at Scriabin's shocked sputtering. He reached out and picked up the box again, hoping that maybe he'd missed a cookie or something through some miracle. If it's a threat, then...well, I'm not sure what you mean by that to begin with. How could I not have a choice in trusting you?
If your life was at stake.
How could you save me, if I was in danger? Would you possess me again?
Not that kind of danger.
How do I know that there's really a threat at all?
It exists, whether you believe it does or not. When it comes, you'll have to trust me. You won't have a choice.
I don't think I'll ever trust you again.
...You will if you have to.
Or do you mean, I will if you make me?
Edgar fished around in the empty box, still no cookies no matter how hard he searched. Figures. God, his stomach hurt and he felt lightheaded. He wanted something substantial to eat, not just half a bag of carrots and some cookie crumbs. He'd have to get out of here and find something...
Did you mean what you said back there?
What? Scriabin again sounded as if he'd been caught off-guard. He was probably readying a retort to Edgar's previous comment.
About how I was just your puppet. That you were my god and all that. You remember? Is that how you'll make me trust you?
Scriabin didn't say anything, and Edgar tried to find his emotions somewhere, but could only catch brief tinges that he couldn't easily associate to any one feeling. Scriabin could have been trying to hide from him, or he just...didn't care enough to really try. Either seemed likely...Edgar still felt nearly nothing except a desire to eat and sleep.
"What are you doing?"
Edgar looked up slowly and saw Johnny standing in the doorway. He was staring at Edgar with what he guessed was confusion, given the distance and Edgar's lack of glasses.
He had the time to think of an excuse, as Johnny just kept staring at him, but not the motivation. Or perhaps even the ability at the moment. Edgar took his hand out of the box slowly.
"I was hungry."
Johnny didn't respond, so Edgar put the box to one side. It was empty anyway.
"Oh."
Edgar leaned his head back against the cabinet and looked at Johnny, his eyes tired and sore.
"I want to talk to you about some things, but I'd really like to eat something first. I haven't eaten in..." How long had it been? "A long time."
"...Okay." Johnny sounded slightly disconcerted by Edgar's statement and shifted uncomfortably. "I have some things I want to tell you, too."
"As it is...I can't really stand up very easily on my own right now. I don't suppose you'd like to give me a hand?"
Johnny kept staring at him for a few more seconds, shifting from foot to foot and he eventually took a step towards him.
"...Okay. What's wrong with you anyway?"
"I'm just exhausted." Edgar reached out his hand for Johnny's without thinking about it, any ramifications in the gesture totally lost. "I'm starving and I've been running on adrenaline for too long. My body's finally decided it's had enough." He tried to smile because he felt like he should.
Johnny hesitated in front of him, and Edgar was able to make out a vaguely disbelieving, almost dismayed look on his face.
"I guess that makes sense, with what's happened around here lately." Johnny reluctantly extended a hand towards Edgar, who took it quickly. Johnny's hand felt cold and skeletal in his grip, and Edgar tugged on it without thinking, nearly sending Johnny off-balance. Earlier this would have terrified him, but instead Edgar just waited for Johnny to readjust himself before pulling on his hand again. This time, Johnny hauled him up without too much trouble.
"There, that's better. My legs feel like Jell-O." Edgar found his balance, waited for the head rush to fade and his vision to return, then put an arm around Johnny's shoulders to keep himself up. He felt Johnny shudder underneath his arm.
"Sorry, I know you don't like being touched. Is this okay?"
Johnny made a displeased sound, but didn't move Edgar away. "Yeah, I can handle it. What do you want?"
"To eat? I don't know...anything sounds good right now. I didn't see anything in your house." Johnny's support made him feel ten times more grounded, and this time Edgar at least felt he could stand for at least fifteen minutes without getting sick.
"We could get some chips at the 24-7."
"...I was thinking of something a little more solid."
Johnny made an annoyed noise.
"Then what?"
Edgar tried to think of something, and the first thing that came to mind was, "Do you know if there's a place around here that sells a good sub?"
"A sub?" Johnny stared at him as best he could. "...I never took you for a sub guy, Edgar."
Hearing his name almost roused up some emotion in him, but not quite. "How about Torgo's? Is there one nearby?"
"...I think so, but I've never been there."
"It's good, you should try it."
The two of them made their way awkwardly to Johnny's car, footsteps mismatching and jostling against the other, and Edgar was reminded of when he and Johnny had shared that blanket beneath the rain. They didn't quite match, and supporting someone like this or sharing an umbrella was not as easy as the movies made it seem. He stepped on Johnny's toes more than once, and when Johnny returned the favor, Edgar remembered that he wasn't wearing any shoes.
"Are you going to order?"
"Yeah, if you're like this."
"Just checking..."
"Edgar..." Johnny opened the car door for him. "Did you mean what you said? About wishing you hung up?"
Edgar sat down and buckled his seat belt, leaning back against the seat's cushions with a sigh. This felt worlds more comfortable than the floor. "At the time, I think I did."
Johnny circled around and got in, still pinning Edgar down with his stare. "Do you now?"
"Hmm...a little." Johnny made something of a surprised sound at the statement. "There are things I regret doing, or being a part of...but there are things I'm glad I experienced too." Although at the moment, he couldn't think of any.
"What about Scriabin? Are you glad for him?"
Scriabin's name woke something up, but he wasn't sure what it was, and just as swiftly it died down again.
"It depends on how he's treating me."
Johnny was silent for a while, and he stared at his hands on the steering wheel.
"I didn't mean to do this to you. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid."
"Yes, you said that in the hallway. It's not your fault."
"It IS my fault, Edgar!" Johnny's voice suddenly rose and Edgar winced, a headache flaring up at the sudden volume. "It's because of me you've got something in your head! It's because of me you're a lock now! This is my fault! This is exactly what-"
"Did you think this would happen?"
Johnny stopped, surprised at being interrupted, and blinked a few times.
"No, if I did I wouldn't have-"
"Then it's not your fault." Edgar closed his eyes, fairly sure that he could fall asleep in the car seat with no trouble if he tried. "You didn't try to do those things to me, they were unfortunate side-effects of being friends with you. I didn't expect them, you didn't expect them. It seems kind of pointless to lay the blame on one or the other."
"But you can't deny that those things happened because I was involved." Johnny seemed almost confused by Edgar's quiet tone.
"That's not the point...it was an accident. A lot of this was accidental...so many things we didn't intend to do at one point or another. It's hard to blame you for an accident."
"...You...you forgive me?" Johnny sounded completely baffled.
"I didn't say that. I haven't really thought about that...I'm kind of tired, you understand."
"So...what did you mean?"
"Nny, there are certain things that...we have to talk about. That may have to change now. I've told you something you didn't expect...are you going to kill me now?"
Johnny didn't say anything for a while, staring at the steering wheel again.
"I meant to, but...I don't know."
"So let's assume that we'll stay friends, at least until the next crisis occurs or the next step down, and you decide to put me out of my misery, or just leave, or something like that. There are a few things you should know."
Johnny didn't seem comfortable with the conversation, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Like what?"
Here goes.
Scriabin's voice was quiet. Go for it, my boy.
"Do you remember when you asked me to conduct that experiment for you? To see if you could die?"
"...A little."
"Do you remember how it turned out?"
"I fell asleep-"
"No, before that. You didn't die."
Johnny didn't say anything, apparently mulling this over in his head. Edgar decided that he might as well make it perfectly clear.
"I'm assuming you didn't die because you were a lock, and you only...well, if you did at all, but you only died later on when you tried to kill yourself. I'm a lock now, I'm almost positive. That means..."
"You can't die..." Johnny said slowly.
"That's right. Which means that even if we do reach that perfection, if we still can, whatever it is, you couldn't preserve me anyway. You could hurt me...but you can't kill me. If you want to stay with me...you'll have to accept the fact that you can't stop our friendship when you want to anymore...you're stuck with me until we decide to part ways the normal way."
Johnny still had yet to say anything, staring straight forward with a blank look in his eyes.
"Our relationship has already changed, Johnny, and it will probably continue to change in the future. Especially since I'm probably going to go through that inevitable mental collapse that Satan mentioned. Being a lock will eventually destroy me from the inside...but you can't do anything about that until it's over. So the choice is yours...you can leave me now, with what memories you have of me currently, or you can stick with me and see if we can't make something better with the time we have."
Edgar took a deep breath, ignored an angry growl from his stomach, and looked at Johnny with a wan smile.
"Can we go now? I'm still hungry."
In response, Johnny slammed his hand down on the horn of his car, then screamed "FUCK!" as loud and long as possible along with the sound.
I kind of expected something like that.
After what seemed like ages, Johnny finally let go of the horn and turned to Edgar, breathing hard and with a wild look in his eyes.
"How long have you known?! How long did you keep that from me?"
"Would that change anything?" Edgar said softly, still staring at Johnny without the least bit of emotion. "Would it make any kind of difference? You know now. What are you going to do?"
Johnny made several halting motions towards him, to take hold of his throat and crush the life out of him as far as he could guess, but in the end he returned to staring at the steering wheel, alternately gripping it with a creak of leather and then gesturing wildly to try and articulate his thoughts. Apparently, the hand motions didn't help very much, since all that Johnny seemed able to say or think at the moment was a long stream of obscenities mixed in various ways; some directed at nothing, some at himself, and some at Edgar.
Edgar closed his eyes and decided to wait until Johnny asked him something again.
"You."
"Yes?" Edgar opened his eyes and found Johnny inches away, leaning towards him with a strange expression. He wasn't quite sure how to classify it.
"What are you going to do?"
"I haven't thought it all through just yet..." Edgar tried to ignore another loud gurgle from his stomach. "But I want to go home and take a shower after we eat something."
"And?"
"Then I want to make peace with my God." Edgar's voice was breathy, and he struggled to keep focused. The world around him was shifting, moving and he'd been running too long and his body was suffering for it. He had to find something to eat and get some decent rest.
"Your god..." Johnny said with contempt.
"While I still have a chance..." Edgar mumbled. "Then I want to let everyone know what's happening to me...what will happen to me...make my peace with them before I'm lost."
"...Lost..."
"Collapsed...whatever that means. Probably won't even recognize myself then...just a shell of who I was. I'll probably commit suicide..." Edgar sounded as distant as he felt. "But I want to take care of things before I go..."
"Aren't you going to fight it?"
Edgar attempted a shrug. "I don't think I can. When there are no options left...make a graceful exit. I've always tried to do that...you saw me do it, when we first met." Prepared to meet his death then, but then again he had also been well prepared to go to Heaven as well.
"So you're just giving up?"
"What else can I do?"
"I don't know...something, Edgar!" Johnny clenched a fist. "Don't let them do this to you! They shouldn't have done this to you in the first place, their system is all fucked up and they don't know what they're doing and you shouldn't have to fight it, this shouldn't be happening to you!"
"So it's not your fault this happened to me, but their fault for choosing such a shoddy candidate in me. Don't you think?"
Johnny stopped mid-word, his mouth open, and Edgar gave him another weak smile.
"We can throw a lot of blame around but what good does it do...and we can talk of fighting but unless we know how, there's nothing we can do."
"We..."
"Yeah..."
"So you think I'll be with you?"
"I don't know that." Edgar's body twitched as his stomach cramped again, painful and sharp. "Maybe if you were it'd make things easier, maybe you'd know how to fight it...or maybe you'd make everything worse, make it all go faster. It's your decision."
"Why is it my decision?"
"I'll go with whatever you decide..." Edgar turned his head away from Johnny towards the window. "It doesn't really matter anymore, and I'll adapt to whatever path I have to take. I'm just tired and I'm so hungry, Nny, can we go now? Please?"
There was a silence, and then he heard Johnny start the car.
"Why don't you decide instead? Why don't you decide if you want me or don't want me?"
"It's not my decision, not really."
"What do you mean?"
"It's your decision because you can ki-...well, severely injure me as you proved. You're insane, a homicidal psychopath, and I'm...just a guy. I can't say no to you, not really."
"Yes you can."
"You say that but it's not true." Edgar closed his eyes.
"What- fuck you, of course it's true-"
"If I slapped you right now, what would you do?"
"What?"
"If I slapped you, what would you do?"
Johnny paused.
"There, you see...you're trying to think of something other than the first thing that came to mind...be honest with me, what was the first thing you thought of?"
Johnny didn't say anything for a while, and when he did his voice was soft. "I'd snap off the car antennae and shove it in your eye, then twist-"
"That's enough, but that's what I mean. You told me yourself...you're crazy, and you're still crazy, aren't you? Sometimes you work, but sometimes you don't, and because of the times you don't, I can't make you angry. Does that make sense?"
"...How long have you felt that way about me?" Johnny's voice was still quiet. "That you had to be so careful around me?"
Edgar kept his eyes closed. "Probably as far back as I can remember..."
Johnny didn't say anything for a while. Edgar eventually felt obligated to at least say something, if only because the silence had gone on so long.
"You told me yourself you were dangerous, unpredictable, broken. I was afraid of you."
"Are you afraid of me now?"
"Right now...I don't feel anything. I'm just...empty."
"Edgar..."
"Hmm?"
"What about Scriabin? What does he want?"
A twinge of surprise, and Edgar was sure he knew where it came from this time.
"I told you before, he doesn't affect my decisions. I'm still the dominant...person in this body." He couldn't think of a better way to phrase it. He heard Johnny tighten his grip on the steering wheel with a creak.
"I'm curious." Johnny's voice was completely deadpan.
"Scriabin...wants to stay away from you."
He expected him to say something, but he was strangely silent. Odd. Scriabin usually didn't give up chances like that.
"Why?
"He thinks you'll kill me."
Johnny paused to think about this for a few seconds. "So really, he thinks I'll kill him, doesn't he? That's what he's really afraid of, isn't it?"
"You're probably right." Edgar closed his eyes. He could feel a flare of indignation from Scriabin, but it was so expected that he barely reacted to it. "He wanted to keep me away from you."
Most of the time. Other times he was trying to convince me I was gay to try and put a wedge in the only other relationship in my life.
What, with your god? Surely you jest.
You've never given me a good reason for why you pushed at me so hard to admit something that wasn't true.
I just...I just don't even want to deal with this right now. With you doing this. It is so old it's not even funny, and I am not in the mood. Scriabin sounded fairly surly.
"To keep himself alive...didn't he have some other form?"
"What?"
"Some...other thing. That action figure, didn't he move that? Or inhabit it, or talk to you through it? Why didn't he just go into that instead of staying with you? He'd be alive and in his own body then."
Well?
Scriabin made a scoffing, hateful sound and remained stubbornly silent.
Why didn't you?
Oh la dee da, it's just so easy- you have no idea what you're talking about. Neither of you do. You have no idea what it's- just, ugh. Please, do me a favor and burst into flames.
Sensitive area?
Imagine, Edgar, if you will, that your ability to understand me or my position or the motives for what I do is something like a grain of sand on a beach. You don't even comprehend the magnitude of how much it is about me you don't know or understand, and there are things about me that you could never understand. It's insulting to think that either of you could dictate to me what I should do, as if you have any idea what my existence is like.
So your defensiveness is telling me that we're on the right track.
Scriabin made a "pfft" noise and again returned to silence.
"I'm not sure..."
"Has he ever moved the toy?"
"No...but he's talked through it."
Only when you talk to me first, you may have noticed.
"Maybe he's not strong enough to do it yet..." Johnny sounded kind of thoughtful. "My voices were able to move their bodies around after a while, when they were strong enough...they separated completely from me and just ended up in the styrofoam. Do you think that'll happen with yours?"
"If it happened to you, then probably," Edgar said, with little emotion. The hungry gnawed at him, vicious and maybe that was what was making him feel so apathetic. Desperately trying to conserve energy. "Maybe Scriabin will end up in his toy, I don't know."
Unless I'm not a voice like them.
"But Scriabin doesn't want to be with me..."
"No."
"And you...you don't care either way."
That didn't seem accurate somehow, but on closer inspection Edgar couldn't decide on why. "I care, it's just..."
"Aren't you scared of dying? Where's your fear? Where's...anything, Edgar? You're just...nothing. Like some kind of..." Johnny's voice trailed off in a strange way.
"I'd rather not die...but I don't have a choice. I'd rather just accept it and go as gracefully as I can." This all seemed familiar somehow...
"So it doesn't matter to you if I kill you or the system kills you now, does it..."
"Not particularly...I'll be dead either way."
"And me...what do you care about me?"
Edgar paused and thought. "I told you, I'm not sure what help you could be for me...but I don't know if you'd want to stay with me in the first place. You told me before about how you couldn't trust me, that things were ruined. I'm pretty sure they aren't going to get better."
Johnny didn't say anything.
"And from what you've told me...what you usually do before things go bad is stop them, freeze them. And it's too late now...how long ago was that, Nny? When you told me that? When you first decided to do that?" Edgar opened his eyes to look at Johnny, who kept his eyes focused on the road. "Months? Years? Do you remember how long ago that was? Are you still the same person you were back then?"
Johnny still didn't say anything.
Edgar stared at him a little longer, then turned and looked back out the car window.
"I know I'm not."
Neither am I, Scriabin added, although somehow his heart didn't seem to be in it.
"You said that you thought you could change, or that I could change you, fix you. You told me that you want to be fixed, that things can change...and I've told you that I believe in you, in you being able to do that. The question now is...have you changed?"
"What do you mean?" Johnny's voice was flat.
"Are you willing to go through an entire relationship, good and bad, and let it end naturally? Are you able to devote the time to helping me at your own expense while I'm still alive? Are you able to think about me as a person, not a thing?" He shouldn't be saying this out loud, he wouldn't but right now he just didn't care, he was so tired and his stomach hurt so much. "Am I a concept or your friend? Which is more important to you? Have you changed enough for your goals to change?"
Johnny stayed quiet.
"I don't know...that's really your decision. If you've changed or not, or if you trust yourself enough to try. I can't make that decision for you. I just wasn't sure if you thought of it before...but that's another factor we can add into this, if you want. Whatever decision you make, I'll go with it. I'll try and make the most of the time I have left...whether or not you'll be there is up to you." Edgar sighed. "It's gotten to the point where nothing really matters either way..." He didn't really mean that, and he probably would have taken it back but...he just stayed quiet instead.
The car slowly came to a stop.
"Edgar."
"Yes?"
Johnny's voice was halting. "We're here."
Edgar sat up properly and looked out the windshield. Torgo's, finally. "Thank god. I feel like I'm going to implode if I don't eat something soon."
At Johnny's silence, he turned to look at him and found him staring at the steering wheel, his face expressionless. Edgar waited for a few seconds, trying his best to let Johnny think quietly to himself, but in the end his hunger got the better of him. He began rummaging through the car for change.
"I'm going to get something to eat. You can stay here if you want...up to you." A dollar bill crumpled under the seat. "Everything is your decision, nothing is controlling you." He was exhausted and hungry and could barely think straight as it was, but he remembered that being a concern of Johnny's, something he mentioned before he died and came back. If that's what happened, anyway.
There, that should be enough for a sandwich. Edgar opened the car door and stuck one leg out.
"Edgar."
"Hmm?" He was so close. He was salivating already.
"What would you have done if I said yes?"
"What?"
"If I said yes." Johnny turned and looked at him, and Edgar couldn't read his expression. "When you asked me if you wanted me to love you, or you to love me, or...whatever it was. Us in love." The distaste dripped from his words, obvious even if it didn't show on his face. "What would you have done if I said yes?"
Edgar stared at Johnny for a few seconds, hovering in and out of the car, then got all the way out.
"Just let me eat something, and I'll talk about it as much as you want. I can't think straight right now, Nny, it's a miracle I'm still talking to you at all. Just let me get a sandwich and come back and I'll tell you."
"Give me a word."
"What?"
"Give me a word. One word to describe what you would have done. Quick." Something dark in his tone. Edgar struggled to think and said the first word that came to mind.
"Nothing."
Johnny stared at him, and Edgar stared for a few more seconds before he took hold of the door. "I'm going to get a sandwich now. Okay?"
Johnny didn't say anything. Edgar waited as long as he could, which only turned out to be a few seconds, before he shut the door and headed into Torgo's.
Should I have said that? He thought to himself. Probably not...
Scriabin's voice was faint. This should be interesting.