Vargas

by Zarla

What if Johnny had not killed Edgar? How much of a difference does one person make?

16. Down

Author's Note: Again, exclamation point-question mark punctuation is not translating, which is a shame since there are a few of those in here. Again, you can check out the chapter in its original formatting at www ashido com / igtky / in the fanfic section.

---

Edgar had been so distracted taking Johnny to the ER that he hadn't really noticed it was raining. Then again, previously it had only been drizzling. Now the rain was coming down with more force. This made it harder to ignore and harder to drive in general. Navigating the wet streets was not something Edgar was looking forward to.

Johnny hadn't said much to him when they had left the hospital. Edgar apologized for those pushed out of Johnny's way or those who became subject to a litany of epithets and inappropriate similes. He had made a mental note later on to return to the hospital and make sure everything was in order and to apologize more thoroughly for Johnny's behavior and to some extent his own. After all, he had done very little to stop Johnny, only compensating after he had committed the act.

You do have such a gift for describing your "relationship" with Nny.

God, everything's a comparison to our relationship with you. Can't you think of something else?

A minor, temporary victory of silence, but a victory nonetheless.

Edgar had intended on asking Johnny if he wanted his wrist bandaged, considering the blood, but instead he picked up a roll of gauze on their way out and didn't say anything.

That is unbelievably passive. You set the standard, Edgar, I'm not joking.

Most of Johnny's verbal outrage was expressed at helpless patients. No words were directed at Edgar, but many referred to him in passing.

Now free of other people and en route to the parking lot, Johnny was completely silent. He didn't look at Edgar. His thin hands held onto his shoulders tightly and he shivered, though there wasn't enough money in the world that could persuade Edgar to point that out to him in so many words.

Something noncommittal, something general...

"I have a blanket in the trunk." Edgar attempted to phrase his words so that it sounded as if he was just as interested in the blanket as he was sure Johnny would be.

Edgar couldn't stand the next awkward pause for more than a few seconds. "It's for emergencies."

Finally Johnny met his eyes. The two remaining strands of his hair were plastered to his face, thin lines dark enough to be seen in the failing light. Without his hair, he looked frailer somehow. Thinner, if that was possible.

Although he looked anything but pleased, Edgar was almost sure that his displeasure was not his fault.

He unlocked the car and watched as Johnny immediately curled up in the passenger seat and wrapped his arms around his knees. Edgar then turned, popped the trunk, and fetched the emergency blanket from between the bottles of water and a small battery powered radio.

You're prepared for so many things that will never happen.

It was an ugly plaid thing, dark dingy green with streaks of red and yellow that faded as rain dulled their color. Edgar thought back on what could have possessed him to buy such a remarkably hideous blanket, but memories of a sale quickly quieted his distaste.

He shrugged his shoulders as if someone was watching him.

He circled around to his side of the car. Johnny's head immediately turned to follow his motion as he slid into his seat and shut the door. The lights blinked off, leaving them in relative darkness. Before Edgar could think about what he was doing, he shook his head back and forth in an effort to clear away water. Water droplets spattered everywhere.

After realizing that he had potentially done something quite stupid, he turned to Johnny to only find him staring. Whether or not he felt that or cared Edgar couldn't tell with the limited light. At that point, the scratchy fabric against his hand reminded him of what he brought with him.

"Here."

He handed the blanket to Johnny then immediately busied himself getting the car started, hoping he hadn't made a mistake.

Well, the blanket isn't pressed against your face and cutting off your air supply, so I'd say that's pretty positive.

When the engine started the dashboard lights came on, providing a bit more light in the darkness but not a great deal. Edgar turned to glance at Johnny while he was getting ready to back up. At the moment, Johnny was using the blanket to dry himself off as best he could. When he finished the blanket quickly ended up wrapped around most of his body, leaving only Johnny's head visible.

That's a cute visual. Too bad you don't have the time to appreciate it.

When Edgar pulled onto the main streets, he realized he wasn't sure where to go. A glance at Johnny when a car's headlights provided enough illumination showed his eyes were closed. Edgar was sure he wasn't asleep, but he didn't want to bother him anyway.

Truth be told, Edgar wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep in his own bed and try to write off all the bizarre things that had happened. The question was whether or not Johnny wanted to join him or wanted to go home himself.

He's said he's so unhappy at home...

Yes, that's why you want him to stay with you. Of course it is.

They drove in silence, the only sound the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers, the passing rush of air as a car drove by, and the pouring rain. Edgar normally listened to the news when he was driving, but again he didn't want to bother Johnny.

This silence, at least, did not feel as awkward as some of the others. It felt more natural, more tolerable. They were both engaged in their own activity in a way, so this kind of silence was expected. Considering the amount of horrible pauses in their relationship, this was a definite improvement.

He didn't know where to go. He looped the same streets in his neighborhood. If Johnny noticed he made no indication.

Driving in the rain. Is this what you wanted, Edgar? Is this what you were dreaming of when you dragged his corpse to the hospital?

He wasn't dead.

Semantics.

Could just see Johnny out of the corner of his eye.

Why does it matter to you what I want?

A bit more of an aggressive bite there, good for you. However, turning the question back on me won't really work in this situation. I'm sure even you will concede that it's not my fault that you're in your current situation, wasting gas and time while driving with impaired vision.

Look at him.

Edgar wasn't sure who he was talking to as that thought crossed his mind. It wasn't directed at Scriabin, surely. How long had it been since Edgar had actually talked to himself?

Excuse me?

Edgar sighed and let up on the gas as taillights darted in front of his car without warning. He understood that people drove differently in the rain and that some recklessness could be expected, but it felt like nobody had signaled for any of their turns the entire drive. It was frustrating and more thana little nerve-wracking. The multiplication of lights did not particularly help him in this department, although if it got too bad he could look over the top of his glasses. Blurry globs of light were easier to handle at times than jagged pairs of lights.

Movement from the seat next to him grabbed his attention. He opened his mouth to say something, but then decided against it.

A thin arm came from the depths of the blanket and pointed. Edgar squinted through rain and fractured light to see a sign marking a freeway off-ramp.

He looked at Johnny and Johnny looked back at him. He couldn't read his expression.

Why the freeway?

This isn't a question of "will I get on the freeway" is it? Scriabin sighed.

I wonder how long it's been since someone has driven Nny around...

More importantly, will this freeway take him to his house? You just can't focus on the important things, can you?

I don't think this freeway comes near Todd's house. I don't think that's why he wants me to get on here.

Well, you two are spending such quality time together, sitting in a car saying and doing almost nothing. Maybe this is what he wants.

Scriabin intended sarcasm, but Edgar paused.

In a way, I think you're right.

Scriabin sighed again, this time almost in thought. That's a first. How long do you intend to drive in these horrible conditions to satisfy Johnny's vague desires?

Edgar checked his mirrors, turned on his blinker, and looked over his shoulder. Sure that his lane was clear, he carefully moved into it and flicked his signal off. Even if no one else was signaling, he at least could.

A flash of light in the sky. Edgar gave it a glance before returning to the road. Johnny tensed from the corner of Edgar's eye and an ominous rumbling shook the car.

We're going to my house tonight.

---

"Where are all the parking spaces?"

He didn't intend to say that out loud. He had been repeating it to himself mentally with growing agitation much to Scriabin's amusement, but he didn't intend to say it out loud.

Johnny looked at him but didn't say anything.

Edgar took a few seconds to regret giving voice to his frustration, but it was only a few more before it was quickly forgotten. He circled the block around his apartment building for what felt like the millionth time.

It doesn't make any sense. This doesn't make any sense! There's never anyone parked on this street! I always park in the same place! Do I have to have my name written on it? Who are all these people anyway and what are they doing here? Is someone's party so huge that the entire block has to be filled with cars? Can't these people carpool?

Occasionally Scriabin would try to break in with a comment, but Edgar didn't let him talk. His thoughts ran in rapid angry circles, repeating themselves with no resolution. Regardless of how many times he could internally curse everyone who had parked in a one mile radius around his home, it didn't change the fact that there was simply nowhere to park.

Johnny didn't give any indication that he noticed what was going on or Edgar's growing frustration. He stared out the window, although Edgar wasn't sure at what.

You're getting-

I can't believe this-

You're getting awfully tempera-

How many people have to park in this one area-

You're getting angry awfully quickly.

I-

You're normally much more composed than this.

Edgar finally let his thoughts slow. The moment that the repeating thoughts began to cease, his feelings quickly followed. The anger and frustration began to fade as his attention went elsewhere and his grip on the steering wheel loosened. His fingers tingled.

That's better.

I just, I can't believe-

Yes, I think we've established that already. I'm curious though, why exactly does this bother you so much?

Is it so hard to see? Residual anger. He could almost feel Scriabin's surprise at his lack of passivity. I don't want to walk in the rain, but it looks like we're going to have to walk a block or two or three before we can actually get inside!

There was a pause, but before Edgar could resume his internal rant Scriabin spoke again.

How does Nny fit into all of this?

I don't want him to get wet either, it's not convenient-

Oh that's not true.

Edgar stared at the one space that was open three blocks away as he circled again. Driving with his glasses like this had given him a nasty headache.

This would normally be a good opportunity to poke at one of your particular sore spots, but I'm...I must admit I'm a little...well, surprised sounds too strong. I'm intrigued by your emotions right now concerning our maniac. The reason that you don't want Nny to walk in the rain doesn't seem to be that Nny could kill you for it.

What difference does it make? Edgar sighed in frustration. Johnny again turned to look at him, but only for a few seconds before staring out the window again.

A good question. Scriabin didn't sound as sarcastic as he usually did...perhaps he was more surprised by Edgar's attitude than he let on. The motive for so much of your behavior has been your fear of dying. But for once, this isn't it. I don't think Nny's welfare is your primary concern at this point either.

What's your point? He tightened his grip on the steering wheel again as he eyed that same open spot. It was close to a fire hydrant...not close enough, but it was still something he would have to consider. The last thing Edgar wanted to cap this evening was a ticket.

It may come as a shock, but I don't think I had one, not the way you're thinking. I was merely pointing out something I thought was interesting, that's all. Scriabin sounded amused.

He was going to have to park here.

I'm glad you think it's interesting. Edgar's mental voice dripped venom, and for a moment he stopped.

I've never heard you use that tone with me before. Well, except for that one time.

Johnny turned to look at Edgar, but Edgar didn't meet his eyes. He rested his hand on Johnny's headrest and looked over his shoulder.

He'd have to parallel park.

It doesn't really suit you, I'm afraid. He sounded as if he was about to start laughing again.

"This isn't where you live."

Johnny hadn't spoken for what felt like, and could have been, hours. Edgar still didn't look at him, focusing on getting his car into the narrow space without incident.

"I know, I can't find a better parking spot. We're going to have to walk."

He normally would have controlled his voice better, would have removed the edge of frustration and anger that could prove lethal, but he didn't.

"Oh." Johnny stared at him hard.

There was silence, internal and external, as Edgar set his parking break and turned off the engine.

For a few moments, no one said anything. Johnny continued staring at him.

Edgar let out a deep sigh, and familiar processes came and kept his voice neutral again, thought over his words before he spoke.

"I don't have an umbrella."

"That's okay."

Edgar blinked and looked at Johnny.

He seemed so irritated by the rain before.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Johnny turned away and stared at his door. "It's only rain."

Edgar pulled his hands from the steering wheel and winced for a moment as feeling rushed back into his fingers.

Yeah, that's right. It is...what came over me?

Edgar ran a hand through his hair. It felt strange over his fingers.

"Are you ready?"

Johnny nodded.

Edgar unlocked the doors and stepped outside. As if in vengeance for his disparaging mental commentary, the rain was pouring down even harder now. In moments Edgar was soaked and felt miserable. His head pounded, although now thankfully the stress of driving was gone. His eyes felt tired and dry.

He heard a click from the other side of the car, the momentary beeps of warning, and then the slam of the door.

When he joined Johnny on the sidewalk, he noticed that he had brought along the blanket he had been wrapped in. At the moment, he was holding it over his head as makeshift protection. It wasn't particularly effective, considering the strength of the rain.

Edgar began to walk towards his apartment when something caught his sleeve. He turned back in time to see Johnny's hand retreating.

Johnny opened his mouth as if to say something, but then decided his actions would have to do. He took the edge of the blanket and held it out to him.

Edgar stared at Johnny in disbelief.

Is he...is he offering to share the blanket with me?

You know, I think I remember reading a story about this once...but that one involved a cabin in the woods in the snow and one blanket.

Why would he do that?

Actually, I read it more than once-

Pay attention when I'm talking to you!

He could hear Scriabin catch his breath.

Why would he do that!

He didn't answer.

Johnny was still staring at him, and this wasn't the time or place to think. Edgar took the offered edge of the blanket.

It was awkward, the two of them underneath the ineffective scratchy shielding. They brushed against each other constantly and it was difficult to walk. Edgar tended to walk a little faster than Johnny did, or maybe he just had a longer stride. Something. It was uncomfortable and more than a little useless, considering the blanket was quickly soaked and provided no protection.

That didn't really matter, though.

Why would he do this-

"Are you okay?" Johnny had to raise his voice to be heard over the hiss of rain. Edgar turned to look at him for a few seconds before focusing on his feet again.

"Am I okay?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You sounded upset before."

"I..."

He noticed?

"I was just frustrated." The two of them stumbled across a street and a car honked at them. He could feel Johnny tense beside him at the noise and could imagine the gruesome scenario he had planned for the driver.

"Are you okay now?"

"I guess."

Why is he asking me this? He's never asked about me before.

I'm as puzzled by his concern as you are. It's never been his strong suit. He is a sociopath, after all.

Shouldn't that be psychopath?

Is that what's important?

Johnny bumped into his side and then immediately moved away. The blanket prevented him from getting the space he desired, but he didn't attempt to take it away from Edgar.

"You don't get like that."

"Like what?" Only a few buildings away...

"You don't get frustrated like that."

Edgar paused. He wanted to glance over at Johnny to see what he was doing, but he had to focus on where he was walking. "Not usually, I guess."

Silence.

Finally, the two of them reached the small apartment building. Someone in front had managed to crash their car into a telephone pole. How someone could be so careless was beyond Edgar, but he guessed he could blame the rain to some extent. A thick crowd of people and cameras had gathered around the wreckage, all just staring blankly at the ruined car and splintered wood.

Edgar thought about the last time he had seen a broken telephone pole and shuddered before forcing the thought away.

"This is it, isn't it?" It was hard to hear over the rain.

"Yeah." Edgar dug his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Within moments both were inside and the door was shut. The wash of heat was welcome, along with the dryness and sudden quiet.

Edgar shook himself dry and was pretty sure that Johnny did as well, though he didn't see it.

"Glad I'm not going out again in that." Edgar didn't intend the statement for anyone in particular.

Talking to yourself again? It's hard to do that when you have an audience.

"I wonder what those people outside are doing." A statement directed to no one, just as Edgar's had been. Johnny held the sopping wet blanket gingerly in his hands. "What should I do with this?"

Edgar ran a hand through his hair a few times to shake out water. "Um...take it with you, I'll run it through the dryer later and put it back in the car."

They walked the rest of the distance to his apartment in silence. Edgar had just opened his front door when the power went out.

"Damn it!"

Such language, Edgar!

"What's wrong?" Johnny's hands quickly found his arm and then pushed against his face, knocked his glasses off.

"I'm fine, you just- nnh, hold on." Edgar knelt down to try and find where his glasses had went. Again he felt a surge of annoyance that he had hoped to leave outside.

Figures the power would go out. When was the last time we had a storm like this? The power around here is always shoddy anyway, I bet that idiot who hit that pole out front had something to do with it-

Jesus, get over it.

Johnny's hands on his back. "Where are you? What are you doing?"

"You knocked my glasses off, I'm just- aha!" Edgar slid his glasses back on. "There we go."

It wasn't until they were back on that he remembered that they'd be essentially useless in the dark.

"What happened?"

"The power's out...this happens sometimes," he said with a sigh. Edgar walked the rest of the way inside. Johnny latched one hand into the fabric of his coat and followed.

I guess that's as easy a way to keep track of someone in the dark as any.

"The storm..."

"Yeah. I've got a lamp around here somewhere, let's see..."

Whenever Edgar took a step, he had to wait for Johnny to follow along with him. His progress across his living room was jerky and difficult. Halfway across he remembered he hadn't shut the front door.

I'll deal with it later.

"Where's the closet..." Edgar held out his hands in an effort to navigate the room and managed to bark his shins on every single low-slung object in his possession.

"Edgar..."

"Ah, here it is!" Edgar finally found the doorknob.

"Edgar, am I staying here?"

He pulled open the door and a box landed on his foot.

"Ah-, fucking-!"

My goodness, am I going to have to monitor the T.V. shows you watch? Who taught you such language?

"What?"

It was more surprise than pain that prompted his outburst. "Just a box, it's nothing. What did you ask me again?" After moving the box to one side, Edgar began poking through his possessions as best he could. He always ended up putting old things in the closet, and he was sure that he would have put the emergency lantern in there as well.

Edgar, Boy Scout.

"Am I staying here?"

"Oh..." Edgar jerked a bit and knew that Johnny felt that through his coat. "I..."

I'd suggest you tell the truth, but frankly you never did give a good reason for this plan of yours.

"Well, it's raining and I...I remember how you said you didn't like going home, and it's probably still..."

That's right, all the evidence of whatever it was that happened is still there. Speaking of which, I want to talk to you about that-

"I just thought it'd be better if we stayed here, that's all. I probably should have asked you if that was okay first, but you...you didn't look like you wanted to be disturbed."

He could hear rain beating against the windows in his bedroom, and the sound of their clothes dripping water on the floor.

Johnny still held onto his coat.

"I hope it's not too much of a bother or anything." Ah, there it was. Edgar set to work untangling the lantern from the other things he had in his closet. "If you want me to, I'll take you home. But I really want to get some sleep tonight, in my own bed, so I'd just go back home. I hope that's okay."

He didn't ask you if you'd stay with him at his house.

He pulled the lantern free and stood. He turned to where he approximated Johnny to be.

"Is it okay?"

"I...guess." He sounded distracted.

Edgar shrugged. "All right. Let's get this set up..."

He made his way back to the living room again, Johnny stumbling along behind him. He nearly knocked him over a few times before they made it to his coffee table. Once there, Edgar set the lantern down and began to feel along its base.

"I hope this thing still works...it's for emergencies, so I don't check it often..."

There was the switch. A click, and then the double tubes began to flicker to life. Blue light began to build and glow, and Johnny let go.

"Thank God this at least works. I don't want to wander around here in the dark." He rubbed at one of his shins without thought. The lantern's light was strong and looked as though it would last through however long this blackout would be.

Johnny's face appeared across from him.

"Edgar."

There was that serious tone of voice. Edgar adjusted himself so that he was sitting down properly before responding.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any dry clothes?"

Edgar sniffled then laughed softly. "That's right, the dryers won't work...yeah, we should get changed."

Johnny tilted his head when Edgar laughed and studied him for a few seconds.

"Show me where."

"All right." Edgar stood up and picked up the lantern. Johnny followed him into his bedroom, but now kept a respectable distance between them.

At this point Edgar noticed that he was wearing his coat. Had he had it on the whole time? When did he put it on?

He dug a hand into one pocket and felt warm plastic. Scriabin.

You don't remember? Not a good sign.

When did...was it back when...

Edgar didn't actually watch his hand's progress, but as he walked by his desk he put Scriabin back in place. It was a quick motion that was unexplainably natural. A motion he didn't question or think twice about, just as when he shrugged his way out of the sodden trench coat and let it fall to the floor.

Johnny bumped into his back. Edgar glanced back at him, but found that Johnny was looking around Edgar's room again. Maybe he just wasn't paying attention.

As Edgar went to his closet, he heard something clatter on his desk.

"What're you doing?"

"Nothing."

He doubted that, but resumed searching anyway.

I can see this night is going to be anything but pleasant.

He finally pulled out one of his gray shirts. "Will this work?"

Johnny held out his hands, which Edgar took as an affirmative. It didn't take long to find all the required articles of clothing. Johnny didn't refuse any that Edgar offered.

"I'm going to need your light," Johnny said after a few moments of silence. Edgar nodded.

"You should change first I suppose. You can just leave your clothes there, I'll get them dry when the power comes back."

Edgar walked through the darkened hallways of his apartment and noticed how his only indications that he was being followed were the soft dripping noises. Stealth. Maybe that was how Johnny had managed to capture him so long ago...

God, it feels like that happened to someone else now.

He handed him the lantern and opened the bathroom door for Johnny, who walked in and shut it without saying anything. Edgar stared for a few seconds, but then sat down.

It's too bad he's not taking a shower.

What? Edgar raised an eyebrow.

I said, it's too bad he's not taking a shower.

What the-, why not?

Because it would obviously make better fantasy material if he were taking a shower, of course.

Edgar rested his head against one hand. Not this again.

Can't you just see it? Johnny in all his naked glory just standing there. Well, actually, I don't have to picture it for you. You can already see it.

Edgar sighed deeply. I'm not in the mood for this. Really.

What are you in the mood for?

Another sigh. Can't you just be quiet for a few minutes? For tonight? Can't you ever let anything rest?

Why are you asking me?

Are we going to go over that power thing again? I don't feel like this. I don't want to talk about it right now.

How many times have I heard that. You know, he's right there on the other side of that door.

And...? Edgar gestured with one hand, even though no one was watching.

I don't have to fill in the rest, Edgar. You already have. Just those quick seconds of fantasy running through your mind.

I wasn't thinking of anything. Edgar scratched underneath his eyes. He felt cold and clammy and he was starting to shiver. Dry clothes would be wonderful right now. I really wasn't, I'm too tired.

You're really not in the mood for this, are you?

I already said that.

Usually you get a bit more upset. Are you just not listening?

I'm just tired. I feel drained, okay? I just want to get some sleep.

Will Johnny be joining you?

A finger caught painfully on the edge of one of his scars and he gasped and pulled his hand away. He immediately felt closer, but he didn't feel any blood.

Just a matter of finding the right button, isn't it?

Ugh, just leave me alone... Edgar pressed a hand over his eyes.

Wouldn't that be perfect? Wouldn't it?

The bathroom door opened. Johnny looked down at him and Edgar met his eyes for a few seconds. He could see that the clothes he had picked out for Johnny hung awkwardly on his thin frame. He looked out of place and uncomfortable, and Edgar didn't particularly blame him.

Johnny sat down across from him, set the lantern down on the floor, and Edgar got up and went into the bathroom. He eased the door shut almost silently, although in retrospect he wasn't sure why.

Awkward silences are your specialty.

Without the lantern, the bathroom was completely and totally dark. It hadn't occurred to him to ask Johnny if he could take it. He shuffled his feet for a few seconds and soon found Johnny's discarded clothes.

He looked back at the door as if somehow, Johnny could develop x-ray vision and see what he was contemplating.

You haven't really indulged such paranoia in a while. It's refreshing.

Edgar knelt down and felt around carefully. He pulled Johnny's shirt free from the pile. The fabric was thicker than he remembered.

What on earth are you doing.

Edgar stood and felt around for his hamper. I'm not sure how long the power will be out...it could be out for days. They won't dry faster just in a pile on the floor...

For once, Scriabin didn't respond. Edgar got the impression that it was because he was just completely dumbfounded. That was a pleasant thought.

It was a little awkward in the dark, but manageable. He laid the shirt flat across the top of the hamper, arranged the tattered sleeves so they fell to each side.

Makes you wonder where he put his knives, doesn't it? And you're paying an unsettling amount of attention to detail.

Edgar shook his head and picked up the rest of Johnny's clothes. He didn't poke through these as he had for the shirt, considering that Scriabin did have a point. He wasn't sure where Johnny's knives were and he didn't want to cut himself.

Or are you just afraid of your curiosity?

My what? What are you talking about?

Edgar threw the remaining soaked articles of clothing over the bar on the shower door.

What does he keep under his clothes, do you think?

Edgar felt heat come to his face with a familiar stab of anger, and he busied himself pulling off his wet shirt to hide it.

Knives, obviously. Probably other weaponry. It wouldn't surprise me, he does keep that one knife in his boot.

It's a river in Egypt, Edgar.

Shut up.

Once out of his wet clothes, he stood naked for a few seconds. His eyes were acclimating to the dark and he was able to see a little more than before, and he stared at his shirt near his feet. He wanted to set it out to dry, but found that he wasn't moving. He just kept staring. Maybe it was the lack of weight and cold that kept him motionless for those few seconds. He felt a great deal better and the slight warmth was comforting.

Can you just imagine, the heat goes out and the two of you have to huddle together for warmth-

Enough to move. Edgar closed his eyes and began to put on his dry shirt.

"Just stop," he whispered.

Oh, that's not fair. I can't speak to you verbally from where I am currently. Not that it particularly matters.

He had never really appreciated dry fabric until now. He was finally beginning to feel warm again. He laid out his wet clothes on the floor.

How would he ask you, I wonder? Would you just be asleep and he'd just sneak in real quiet? Would he sit and have one of your heart-to-heart chats where you reveal nothing to each other about anything? Or would he just knock you unconscious and go from there? He's done it before.

He didn't do anything to me that time-

He bandaged your head.

That's entirely different.

He's so cold, isn't he? You've noticed. Maybe he'll ask you. What would you say? What would you say if he asked if he could sleep in your arms, Edgar?

"Shut up. Just stop it right now. I can't do this now." Edgar had backed away from the door as much as possible and had his hands to his temples. He was trying not to speak but somehow it wasn't working. He kept hissing between his teeth.

He seemed so affectionate. He shared the blanket with you, even if it didn't do anything. That was just darling, don't you think? Maybe it wouldn't be impossible. Maybe he will ask you. So we return back to my original question, the one you avoided before so well. If it makes him happy, Edgar, how far will you go?

"Stop it!"

A knock at the door caused Edgar to jump.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I'll be right out."

Wow, I hope that wasn't suspicious or anything.

God, I hate you.

Edgar opened the door. Johnny sat beside the lantern in the hallway and stared up at him. He was curled in a loose ball with his arms resting on his knees. The sleeves of Edgar's shirt were way too long and he looked smaller and thinner than he actually was.

Edgar shut the door behind him as silently as before. "What now?"

Johnny still stared at him.

Well, this was your idea, Edgar. You think of something.

"Are you okay?" Johnny's voice was hoarse. Edgar decided that this was as good a place as any and sat down across from him.

"Yes, I'm fine. Why do you keep asking me that?" Edgar hadn't meant to say that. His hand rose to cover his mouth, but instead he scratched at his throat.

There was a long pause. A crack of thunder above made them both jump. Johnny's hand immediately grasped at his side for a knife that wasn't there.

I wonder where he left it.

It took a little while for Johnny to settle back down again.

Another pause. Edgar waited. He was relatively sure that Johnny was going to speak again and that he wasn't just wasting his time.

It's cute that you're almost sure.

He waited. The two of them sat almost perfectly still. Finally, Johnny moved slightly, turned his eyes down to his feet.

"I told you before...I told you before about what I wanted to do to you."

Edgar nodded, then realized that Johnny might not catch that in the dark. "Yeah."

"I'm in...I'm having some trouble. A problem, you might say. A complication. I'm a bit...confused about where I'm going now. About what I should do."

Edgar was silent for a minute as he tried to decide what to say. "I'm listening."

That sounds so trite.

"I want our...well, I explained before. I wanted something in my life to be perfect." Johnny stared hard at his hands. "But I'm worried now that maybe I missed it. Maybe I didn't act fast enough. Maybe that opportunity, that beautiful opportunity passed me by while I was distracted, or during some time when I just...do you understand?" Johnny didn't wait for Edgar to answer. "I'm concerned that everything that I've been working for has fallen apart...that I already reached that peak and I missed it. I faltered, I waited, I missed it...and I ruined the one thing I wanted. I ruined the...I wanted something and I'm not sure...maybe I don't even know what I want anymore."

Edgar sighed softly. His feet were inches away from Johnny's. The hallways here were always too narrow.

"I'm worried that I've done what I always thought was inevitable. I know it, I know I always do this, and that's why I wanted to stop it, but then I...maybe I was just too... Maybe I was too selfish. Broken. Maybe this is all some self-pitying shit so I don't have to take the blame for it. I told you. I told you that I would break things, I told you that's all I could do, and I think I did. I think I did and I don't know how to fix it. I think I ruined everything. I can't do it. I can't freeze this, I can't freeze this guilt and remorse and these endless questions. I can't do that, that's just what I wanted to avoid. That's just what I didn't want, and that's how everything ends..." Johnny lifted a hand and pressed it against one eye. "Everything...everything always..."

"Nny..."

"I've destroyed something beautiful...I keep doing this. I keep breaking things I love. I keep desecrating my own shrines. I keep doing this. I had so many chances, I had so many chances not to ruin things, not to ruin you, and nothing..."

"Johnny, listen..."

"Maybe it was all..."

"Johnny, calm down. It's okay." Edgar didn't hide the concern in his voice. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"No you're not," Johnny said softly. "My actions are finally my own, I finally have complete and total control over my thoughts and my desires and I don't know what to do...I don't know what to do."

"Nny, I'm okay. I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I'm not ruined."

You do know what he's talking about.

Johnny looked at him for a few seconds before returning to studying the fabric of his unfamiliar clothes.

"Nny, I'm not...ruined. I don't consider myself ruined, anyway. I've never thought of myself that way, and I've never thought of our relations- well, our friendship really, I never thought of that as a negative force in my life."

Liar.

Johnny turned his eyes back to him.

"I don't consider you...no, I don't think of you as a negative force. I feel the same as I have before. I still feel...internally consistent I guess you could say. I know that I was frustrated back before, but I've been frustrated before...it's nothing unusual, it was just the first time that you ever saw it. I wasn't angry at you or anything you did, I don't want you to think that. It wasn't your fault by any means...I'm not sure exactly how you think you've ruined things, but in my perspective, I really think...well, I mean in general, I think we're at a good place. In terms of everything, I mean."

That doesn't even mean anything. You're ineloquent.

"How do you feel..." Johnny mumbled. Edgar wasn't sure if that was directed at him or not.

"I feel...what exactly do you mean?"

"I'm just...I'm not sure what to do. This isn't...this isn't perfection. I know it isn't. I know that there are better things than what we have now. I know that there is better, I've seen it. I know it's there. I want it. I want it more than anything. I want perfection. I want you..."

The right way. I want you, but I want you to want me too.

SHUT UP.

"I want you to be...like them. I want it to be beautiful. But I can't do that now. This isn't beautiful, this is..." Johnny picked at the sleeve of his ill-fitting shirt and made an irritated noise. "This isn't it. But if I don't do something now, if I don't do something, it could get worse. Things could get so much worse."

Edgar stared at the lamp's steady glow for a few seconds. "I know that...it doesn't work this way for you, but the way that I understood it was that...that's the risk you have to take." He hoped he didn't sound as stupid as he felt. "I don't know what you mean...I'm not sure what you're talking about. I don't feel ruined. I can't tell you if I will be in the future, although I'm not planning on it. I can't tell you the future...I can't tell you that things will be okay. I can't promise you that because I don't know myself. I don't know if things will get better. I don't know if this is really the best part, if this is really the height of us. I don't know that for sure. I can't say. The only way to know is to play it to the end."

"Does it frighten you?" Johnny's voice was emotionless.

"Does what frighten me?"

"Not knowing."

The only thing that frightens you is what you want.

"I guess so. I don't know. Maybe. I'm willing to try."

"Would you risk that?"

"What am I risking?" Edgar shrugged.

There was a pause.

"What do you want from me, exactly?" Edgar wasn't sure where the question had come from.

Johnny didn't say anything. He stared at his feet.

"What do you want, as in...what exactly is your perfection?"

If it made Johnny happy, how far would you go?

Johnny buried a hand in his hair and then shook his head.

He doesn't even know. That's encouraging.

"I'm...I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"About you."

Edgar was quiet.

"I'm worried you'll..."

Worried?

"I feel so...!" A moment of rage, clenched fists, then Johnny relaxed back against the wall. "I just..."

Edgar crossed his arms over his knees. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know how to help...

Johnny stared at the carpet.

"I don't know what will happen to us or to me or to you." Edgar couldn't let the silence drag on any longer. "I don't know. But I mentioned it before...there's always a possibility for something if you keep going. If you cut something short, you could miss something better later on...something like that."

"I guess that makes sense." Johnny didn't sound like he was paying attention. "I'm cold."

Edgar ran a hand through his drying hair. "Do you want me to get you a blanket or something?"

"I can't even watch T.V. here 'cause the fucking power's out..."

Edgar sighed. Johnny was talking at him again. "I think there's one in the closet. I'll go get it..."

He stood up. Johnny did not react, just stared off into the distance without expression.

You know, you keep avoiding it...

Ugh, what am I avoiding now? It's always something with you, isn't it?

Edgar realized that he hadn't picked up the lantern when he got up and it seemed somewhat awkward to go back and pick it up now. To leave Johnny in the dark like that. This was his apartment after all, at least Edgar knew where everything was. Or that's what he assumed anyway.

You're so passive.

It didn't take too much investigation through touch in the closet to come to a conclusion.

It's not in here...I guess I can get the one off my bed.

He glanced back at Johnny, who hadn't moved. He sat perfectly still, his arms crossed over his knees, staring at something that Edgar couldn't readily determine. He probably wouldn't notice if Edgar wandered a bit further.

He probably doesn't even know you're gone.

Edgar sighed.

He's not that far away.

You wish he wasn't that far away.

God, could you get more juvenile? Edgar rolled his eyes as he entered his bedroom. Normally the streetlights would have provided some illumination through his window. Now all he could hear was the rain pounding against the glass.

In here at least Edgar knew what to avoid. He didn't run into anything as he made his way towards his bed.

I don't know, could I? Scriabin responded in a particularly nasty tone. It's up to you.

Edgar considered continuing the argument, then decided against it. It wasn't as if this was new ground. He pulled back his sheets and felt around for the edge of his fleece blanket. The heat in his apartment was always rather unreliable.

At any rate... Scriabin almost sounded disappointed that Edgar hadn't returned to the argument. That's not what I'm really interested in right now anyway.

Edgar knocked something over when he tugged the blanket free. A pillow he was pretty sure. He gathered the blanket up in his arms and carefully walked back towards the door.

Well then, what? What fabulously telling and sarcastic insight do you have for me now?

Very good, Edgar! You're getting better at this. It's so much more fun when you fight back instead of just locking up.

Now I feel like you're avoiding the question. What is it that you want to ask me already?

Ah yes. My boy, what happened to you after all the time we spent together?

Nothing.

Well, obviously something. How did you come back to life?

I don't know.

Can't exactly fault you there. What's this dreamlike thing you keep trying to hide from me?

A dream, like I said before. Just a dream.

I think you doth protest too much.

It doesn't matter.

What, what kind of response is that. You're not even trying.

Johnny hadn't moved. Edgar stood awkwardly near him for a few seconds holding the blanket before he decided to sit down again. He thought that sitting beside Johnny might have been invading his personal space a little too actively, so he returned to his spot across from him. He sat down and held the blanket out to Johnny, who finally moved again. He stared at it for a few seconds in confusion.

He probably doesn't remember being cold at all.

He eventually did take it, throwing it around his shoulders hesitantly.

"Edgar..." Johnny pulled the blanket tight around himself and didn't meet Edgar's eyes. "I want to know..."

"What?"

"What do you want?"

"...What?"

"I want to know what your perfection is. Maybe I'm not looking at this the right way. What would be your perfection? With us, I mean. With me."

Johnny looked up and stared at Edgar without blinking. A few seconds went by before Edgar realized his mouth was open.

"I...uh..."

Whoa.

I-I didn't think he'd ever...well, I mean, he never has before-

I must say this night has been rather atypical, even by my standards. Either way, you better think of a response. Actually...what would your response be? Now I'm curious myself. What would your perfection be?

Oh God, I can't answer this question. I need to think about this, I can't just answer this right away, I'll say something wrong-

"Edgar?"

"Uh, sorry. I'm just thinking." Frantically trying to say something non-incriminating. "I just, it's not something I thought about a lot. I mean, often. It's not something that crossed my mind often."

"It isn't?" Johnny stared at him in confusion.

Oh shit not good not good

"I didn't mean that it wasn't impor- isn't important or anything, I didn't mean that." Edgar was talking fast. "I don't want you to think that. It's just-"YES that's it, that's what I should have said, I've got it now. "It's just you never asked me that question before." There we go. "I guess I wasn't really prepared."

Johnny did not look soothed. He continued to stare at him critically.

You better think of something to say fast, and hopefully it won't be something so blindingly stupid this time.

"My perfection, um..."

"You don't think about that often?"

Oh God how can I salvage this there's got to be a way "Well...I uh, I don't think of my relationships in terms of perfection I guess...or in terms of goals to be achieved. I hope I'm being clear. It's not so much reaching the end of something, or accomplishing something. I guess you could say that...well, how did that one phrase go...it's not when you get there, but how? I guess that doesn't precisely apply, but I hope that makes sense. It should make sense."

God just STOP TALKING. You sound like an idiot. Calm down.

"I see." Johnny put a hand to his mouth. He looked more curious than critical now, which was an improvement with him by any stretch of the imagination. "You must have wanted something though. That's only natural. I find it hard to believe that you wouldn't have wanted something from me, or wanted something from knowing me." Johnny gave Edgar a familiar twisted smile. "While we do have our own interesting conversations, I don't think that could be your only motivation. I understand what you're saying, but I don't completely believe you. You must want something. You must be getting something from this relationship, otherwise you wouldn't be in it, correct?"

This was a familiar tone. Quickly Johnny's voice was leveling off for a rant.

"It's a necessary part of any kind of relationship for all animals, particularly the glorified human one. We all want something from each other, even if it's just as abstract as happiness." Johnny paused, then tilted his head. "You must want happiness out of this, right? That's a standard. Everyone wants to be happy, right? It would only make sense."

Edgar wasn't sure what to say to get himself out of this predicament. He scratched at his face and looked away. "U-um..."

You know, I'm impressed with our dear homicidal friend. He's backed you masterfully into a corner.

"I'm sure that's what you would want, but that's not what I'm really interested in. That's the default of a relationship, that's what everyone's searching for. I would like to think that as real people, we're looking for something more. Something more substantial, more real. More permanent. More...powerful. You and me, you know it too. That's why you're alive, you know. You're not like the others. You must want something else. You must have a goal, some kind of perfection. Something more than the mess of a relationship that everyone else happily binds themselves to. I know it. I want to know what it is."

"I..." Edgar kept scratching, now staring intently at his feet. "I can see what you mean. I-I guess I didn't think of it that way..."

"You understand what I'm asking you then." Johnny nodded. "Maybe if I know what you really want, that will give me some clarification, some guidance as to what I should do."

Well, you can at least pretend it's for a good cause when you finally tell the truth.

I'm not, I can't. I have to be more careful than ever now.

This is going to be hilarious.

Johnny's foot brushed against Edgar's, and at the contact they both jerked away.

"Uh, my perfection..."

The sound of rain far away.

"What do you want us to be?" Johnny leaned forward and stared at Edgar intently. "What do you want me to be?"

"Hmm..." He hoped that didn't sound as uncomfortable to Johnny as it did to him. "Well, you've said it yourself before...you mention it a lot. But you said something recently that made me think...you said your actions and thoughts were under your control now. Does that mean...you're not insane?"

Johnny stared at Edgar, then grinned. "I'm still quite hideously insane, I'm afraid."

He didn't want to or mean to, but Edgar sighed heavily at that. Johnny's grin faded. "I thought as much. Tell me..."

Uncharacteristically aggressive.

Just a question.

Edgar stared down at his carpet hard. Gray. So much gray. Something hurt but he wasn't sure what it was. "Are you still going to kill me?"

Silence.

"Of course," Johnny whispered. "Why would that change?"

"I see..."

"Edgar." His voice was still soft. "You understand, right? You understood before. You understand what it means. You understand why, don't you? You understand me, you're good at that. You know, right?"

He sounded increasingly panicky. Edgar wanted to say something calming, soothing, reassuring. Instead, his voice stayed emotionless.

"I do understand. But you wanted to know, didn't you?"

I can't believe you actually said that.

Somehow, it seemed Johnny didn't think that Edgar's perfection would be something he didn't want to hear. He nodded reluctantly.

"Nny, I want...I want to see this to the end. I don't want to give up halfway through."

"That's not the point." He seemed desperate to change the subject. Edgar didn't exactly want to argue with him, particularly when he seemed this upset. "You don't want to stay in this relationship just for the sake of being in the relationship, do you?"

"No, of course not." He didn't think it would sound like that. "That's not-"

"I didn't think so. That's not what you really want."

Can't argue with him now. "Not really, I guess."

"But then what? What would be perfect for you?"

I love you so much, Edgar.

Edgar shivered violently and he felt something sharp through his skin. A quick tingling pain beneath...

He pulled his hand away from his face at the realization he had been scratching for god knows how long. Something glinted off his fingers in the blue light.

"Oh God, not again..."

"What?"

"I just...I just, nnn...hold on." Edgar stood up, then turned to look back down at Johnny. "I'm not avoiding the question, I just need to get some bandages for this, it'll take me a few seconds."

Johnny got a good look at Edgar's face.

"Oh."

A pause to make sure there was no further objection, then Edgar went into the bathroom.

This ought to be fun in the dark.

Edgar stumbled through the bathroom and nearly tripped over the clothes he had already forgotten about. He finally felt the sink and pulled open the medicine cabinet.

There was a creak behind him, and blue light lit the small room. He saw his face in the mirror, dark shadows emphasized by the lantern and the smear of blood across his cheekbone. Johnny stood behind him, holding the lantern with two hands.

"Thank you..." Edgar mumbled.

Johnny made a noise to acknowledge him, but didn't say anything.

It took a few minutes for Edgar to find and apply the bandages to his open cut. It wasn't the cleanest or most effective covering possible, but it would work. He turned around and Johnny was still standing in the bathroom doorway, staring at him.

"My perfection..."

I would never hurt you.

Stop it oh god not now not now

You've fixed me.

"I think..." Edgar struggled to ignore Scriabin as he made his way out of the bathroom back to the hallway. "I think it would...I think there...I think there would be no more fear."

He wasn't sure what he would say until he said it, and it didn't register until Johnny spoke.

"Fear?"

Oh God, I hope that wasn't a mistake.

"I think that...well, I think that the most perfect place we could ever be would be when...we're not afraid of each other. Or at least, when I'm not afraid of you."

Liar. Scriabin sang in his head. Liar, liar.

Johnny adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and brushed past Edgar, continuing down the hallway. Edgar saw no choice but to follow him.

"Frightened..."

"Yeah..."

"Do you think...that's possible?" Johnny walked into Edgar's bedroom. Edgar wasn't sure what he wanted, but he followed him inside.

"I think it could be, yes."

"That we could be perfect? Like the others?"

He seems to forget that I don't know who the others were...

"I think it's possible."

Edgar, you do realize that your statement could be interpreted as saying that you could, potentially, fall in love with him?

That's not what I meant.

But that's what it means.

Johnny was at Edgar's window, staring outside at the cloudy sky. Maybe looking for the moon, he wasn't sure.

"You think I can do it?"

"I think we can do it. That's how it works, right?" Edgar slowly walked over and stood beside him. Johnny did not look at him, holding the blanket close with one hand and using the other to support the lantern.

There was a moment of silence, then Johnny turned towards him. Edgar instinctively matched the motion, and the two stared at each other while rain beat down inches away. The sound was much louder here...

Johnny stared at him and Edgar couldn't read the expression on his face. He had the sense that Johnny wanted something from him, but he didn't know what it was. They stood only inches apart and still Edgar couldn't read him.

Couldn't tell what he wanted.

The lantern light flickered and then a flash of lightning lit the room brightly for a second. A rumble of thunder and they didn't move.

Minutes passed. How many Edgar wasn't sure.

Edgar couldn't take his eyes away from Johnny. It was almost as if this was some kind of challenge, some kind of test, to see whether or not he was telling the truth.

And you say I read too much into things.

Edgar would have preferred awkward silence than Scriabin speaking up again.

And god knows, I so often listen to what you want me to do.

I'm...I don't know what he wants. God, how long has he been staring at me?

Are you asking me? Ha.

He must want something. But we've been quiet so long...I don't know how to break the silence. I can't exactly remember the last thing I said...or the last thing he said either...

You know, I've been giving you advice for so long now. And yet somehow, I don't exactly feel inclined to do that right now. I want answers for once.

Edgar was trying to ignore the intruder to his mental deconstruction of his current situation.

It was something about the two of us trying to...well, not exactly. Trying to make this relationship fearless. Is that what he's doing now? Not doing anything to show me that he isn't dangerous?

Do you honestly think he would think that far ahead? Do you honestly think this psychopath could plan that far ahead? Do you really, truly think that if you made Johnny angry for whatever stupid trivial reason, he wouldn't just kill you right now, to hell with his ideal of perfection?

I-

Do you honestly think that he has that much control over himself, Edgar? He makes a big show of being able to control himself now with all that blathering about actions and consequences and what makes a person yap yap yap, but do you think anything has changed?

Do you think anything, anything, has changed, Edgar? Do you? You can't. You can't because I would imagine you're not as stupid of an idealist as you act at times. You know, Edgar. You know as well as I do. He said so himself. He's insane. You're in no better position than before regardless of how fond Nny gets of you. He could still kill you. He will still kill you. And he could potentially try to murder you at any time in any place for any reason. Not just because you two finally exchanged some chaste kiss in an appropriately romantic setting and he put the gun to your chin and you pulled the trigger. Despite the fact that for some horrible, horrible reason you don't find that idea that reprehensible, there's a very slim chance that that will happen.

I...

Edgar wasn't sure what he was staring at anymore. His internal conversation had drained all of his focus. Scriabin's voice was increasing in volume.

There is almost no possibility, no chance that you can survive this Edgar. And yet you still cling to this romantic ideal. God, you even said you'd work for those arsenic-laden candies. You said you wanted to help him. For God's sake, Edgar, you can't! I've told you before, you can't. Unless you can wave your hand and cure whatever sick thing is eating his mind, you will never be happy with Nny. You will never be at ease around Nny and there is no way, no way that any sane person could not be afraid of Nny. Johnny is fear. Johnny is death. He is random, unpredictable, and will come at the worst possible time. You know this Edgar.

...

You are making empty promises that you're covering with even emptier pretenses. You aren't doing this for him. You've never been doing this for him, not since you relegated him to the prestigious role of Experiment in your mind. This is for you, Edgar. This is for your continued existence. This is for your worthless empty life. You can pretend and lie and do everything you want to deny it, but there is no way Edgar. There is no way that you can ever be happy with Nny. You can never be happy with him because he will always hurt you. He will always hurt you, even if you somehow do get past the whole killing you thing. Do you think that if Johnny never intended to kill you that you'd have a better relationship? Do you think that even having Johnny as a boyfriend would be possible? Do you think, do you think for even those few seconds that Johnny is even capable of loving someone at all? That he knows what to do? That he knows how to compromise, that he would ever care about you enough to modify his own behavior for your happiness, like you constantly do with him? Do you think that, Edgar? Do you?

Ah...he's not...

Don't even bother, Edgar. That's not the point and you know it. That's not what I'm talking about. Stop holding onto illusions and listen to me. Even if Johnny doesn't kill you, he will hurt you. He will never care about you. This entire scheme of his, this entire elaborate thing is planned around his perfection, not yours. He asked you for yours because it would help him decide what to do. Johnny will kill you when he feels this relationship is perfect. And he will kill you because it will make him happy. And you haven't even contested this. You dare even entertain thoughts of some semblance of an equal relationship with him, you even try to bargain with him to regain some of yourself and you're losing. He's a maniac, a psychopath, a murderer. He can't understand other human emotions, he never will. Everyone he's ever loved he's killed, and he can't see anything wrong with that. Forgive me if I seem presumptuous, but somehow I don't think you're going to be lucky number eleven, or however many poor victims he's killed. You're not going to change a thing. You can't change him. You never could. You're being dragged along in this abusive illogical charade because you can't stand up for yourself, and you have a bad habit of believing in the impossible. You think you can fix him. You think that it won't be you. You think that just because you managed to get away from him however many times that you'll be able to make it. You'll succeed where others have failed. You'll change Johnny, God Edgar, you think you can change Johnny's entire philosophy of life, because you're that important. How can you be so naive? How can you be so stupid?

I... Edgar's mouth was dry and he felt intensely dizzy. He was staring past Johnny's eyes, through them, but he didn't know at what. Light off his glasses and he was seeing double again. He wanted to lie down. I...I don't...I don't love Johnny, I...I never have-

That's not the point, Edgar, Jesus Christ! If I could fucking slap you across the face right now I would. Have you been paying attention at all tonight? At all? You wanted him to be alive and when Johnny said that his actions were his own and he asked you if that mattered, you said it didn't God Edgar you are buying into your own fantasy. You want to believe that Johnny can change so badly. You're pathetic. Were you paying attention? Do you know what comes out of your mouth? God, you said you wanted to help. That you wanted to try to reach whatever random definition of perfection Johnny has. You're his toy. That's what you are, that's how he treats you, Edgar. You're Johnny's toy. You're something shiny and nice, that listens but never fights back, just pull the string and he'll say whatever you want, and then when Johnny is tired of you, has had all the fun he wants to have, he'll pop your head off, he'll rip you apart like he would before. Pushing back the inevitable. Johnny has never treated you with any kind of respect and he never will. He's completely and totally self-centered. He can think of no one but himself. Maybe it's him personally or maybe it's his own faulty wiring but it doesn't particularly matter either way, because he can never care about you. Just to avoid that favorite shield of yours, even as a friend, Johnny can't care about you. He doesn't care about you. He's using you, Edgar. He's using you as a means to an end. He's using you to make himself happy. You're a toy to him Edgar, you're a plaything. He is using you Edgar, he has always been using you, and every single time he initiates contact with you, it's because he wants to use you.

That...that's not true, nngh... Edgar felt something at the back of his mind. Something spreading like when he snapped his head back too fast, and he wanted to reach out a hand to steady himself. But Johnny was still staring at him, and he couldn't move. He felt sick.

There is nothing for you in this relationship, Edgar. There never will be. You will die, and you will curse yourself for being one of the greatest fools the world has ever known because you just could not listen. You had to believe, you had to trust, and you had to let Johnny pull that string in your back that says "yes of course do whatever you want" and let him put the gun in your mouth. He just wants to hurt you, Edgar. No matter how tenderly he may express his awkward affections, presuming that he can do so at all, he will still hurt you. And he will tell you he loves you, he will touch your arm and kiss you, and maybe someday even fuck you, but it will be because those are the steps to his ultimate end. He will do these things to you, he will buy you things and be nice to you, because that way, he will be able to hurt you. The nicer he acts, the sooner he gets to tear that all-too-often silent windpipe out of your offered throat. Are you listening, Edgar? Tell me. Tell me what I'm saying isn't true. Tell me, tell me that you can look right into Johnny's eyes, now or fifty years from now, and tell me that he won't hurt you. Tell me that he won't snap. Tell me that he won't lose that fragile grip on reality he holds so precious and destroy the anchor he pretends to love.

Spinning. The room was spinning.

Tell me, Edgar! Tell me! Or call me a liar, like you always do! Go ahead! Go ahead and try! Tell me you can trust him!

Was he moving?

Say it, Edgar! Say it!

He hadn't been staring at anything in particular, but movement finally broke through. Edgar immediately tried to focus his attention on Johnny, but found that he couldn't hear anything.

Mouthing words. Johnny was mouthing words.

Edgar couldn't ask Johnny to lift the lamp or enunciate, and in the darkness he couldn't make it out.

He could feel Scriabin's residual resentment and anger in his mind and he knew this was far from over.

Johnny tilted his head at him slightly. "Edgar...how do you solve a problem?"

He moved, and then Edgar found he could move as well. He stumbled forward awkwardly. Johnny stepped back in surprise, the hand holding the lantern moved to one side and the other held forward as if to ward Edgar away.

You can't say it, can you?

At that point Edgar was aware he had made some kind of strange pained noise, though he couldn't exactly pin down what it was. He pulled back from Johnny quickly, barely noticed the look of surprise on his face before he turned towards his bed. His feet dragged on the floor.

"J-just-"

"Edgar, what's wrong?"

He tripped the last few inches and he fell onto his bed heavily. His glasses landed somewhere, but it wasn't like it mattered in the dark anyway. The dizziness was pushing up beneath his eyes and he gripped fabric in his fists as tightly as he could.

You can't tell me I'm wrong, because I'm right, Edgar. At the sound of his voice again Edgar felt everything shift ninety degrees. You know I am. I always have been. You never wanted to listen to me. You never followed my advice. And now look at where you are. Look at what you're doing. Look at yourself. Admit it. Admit it. I'm right. You will never be happy. You can't be happy. You'll never even get close.

"Unnn...shut up..." Was that...was he biting the blanket? When did he start doing that? He felt something touch his back, the clack of something on his desk.

"Edgar, what's wrong? What's happening?"

He's not asking for you.

God, please stop...

He's not asking for you. He's asking because if you got sick, or if you were sad, or if you were unhappy, that might put a damper on his plans. And his plans are all that matter to him. You're unimportant as a person, Edgar, you're important as a concept. You are important as long as he needs you, then you die. You are nothing to him. None of your fears, nothing about you, nothing about your life, nothing about your past or your future matters to him. You are a thing. You are a thing that he can project himself onto, you are a thing he can use for his own satisfaction. You are a wall. You are disposable, expendable, temporary. You will never be anything more to him, Edgar. You will never be anything more than a glorified wind-up doll.

Stop...please...please...

He felt a rapid-fire series of touches across his body. A finger glanced across his arm, hands cupped his face, smoothed back his hair, tugged at the bandage accidentally, pulled at his teeth. No, pulled the blanket out of his teeth. A finger accidentally jabbed him in the eye.

"Edgar! Edgar! Edgar, stop!"

Stop...

Is this what you wanted out of your life, Edgar? Is this what you wanted? Did you want to commit suicide in the most passive-aggressive way possible? God, Edgar, why. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you letting him do this to you? Even the little wide-eyed boy, Bwee or whatever his name was, even he protested. Even he knew enough to stay away, but no. No. You had to change things. You had to be the savior. You had to come in on a white horse, had to come in and look at you now. Look at you. You're a liar. You've lied to yourself and to me and to everyone. You've lied to Johnny because you believed he could change, and he can't. You lied to him because you said we could do this, and we can't. You know what will happen, Edgar? Do you know what will happen the next few days, years, months? You will change. You will edit your life, your speech, your time, you will cater to his every whim and he will throw you away. He will tear the life out of your body and laugh at each moment because he does not care about you. He never has. All of this, all of this was a lie. Johnny can't love. He can't love you. He can't love because to love is to not be selfish once in your life, and Johnny's love is for him. It is not for you. You are a tool. You are his slave.

A rumble of thunder shook the room, and Edgar couldn't remember the lightning flash that accompanied it. He could focus his eyes again, he could see, and Johnny's face hovered above his own. Even with the limited light, Edgar could tell he looked deeply concerned.

"Edgar, are you listening? Are you here? Are you okay? Fuck! Edgar, are you okay?" A constant stream of questions that Edgar just realized had been in the background of Scriabin's tirade the entire time.

Was he dreaming? Did he actually touch him? Edgar was lying on his bed properly now, and he didn't remember doing that himself. The last few minutes were a blur.

The voice in his head was silent for reasons Edgar couldn't understand. He didn't think it would last long.

"Are you okay? Oh shit, shit, I didn't mean to...I didn't think...it was a normal question, I thought it was a normal question. Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

And then Johnny reached out and touched his face. His fingertips touched the bandage beneath his eye, moved down his cheek. He tilted Edgar's head slightly and Edgar's viewpoint changed. He hadn't realized he had been staring fixedly in one direction.

He...touched me...

Edgar coughed sharply and felt as if the back of his throat suffered for it. Johnny immediately pulled back his hand as if he feared he'd get bitten.

Edgar looked back at Johnny and realized he was breathing hard.

"Edgar?" Johnny's voice took on a higher pitch. "Edgar, are you awake?"

Edgar lifted one of his own hands and stared at it for a few seconds. His voice was hoarse. "I...I think so..."

"Fucking...you started...I don't even know what that was. It was like some kind of weird seizure..." Johnny trailed off, moving his eyes from Edgar to stare at something that Edgar could not readily see.

"I...I'm sorry." It was the first thing that came out of his mouth and he instantly regretted it. "I-"

"You're sorry?" Johnny's eyes snapped back to his. "Sorry for what?"

"I..." Edgar slowly levered himself up. He noticed that Johnny raised a hand near him, hovered it above his skin, but did not actually touch him. A precaution. He sat up and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "I...I don't really know what just happened."

When he opened his eyes, Johnny just stared.

You've always lied to him.

Edgar buried a hand in his hair and caught his breath. "I'm not sure...that's never happened before..."

There was a pause. Johnny shifted his position so he was sitting completely on the bed, his legs crossed.

"Never happened before..."

"No..." Edgar wanted to study Johnny's face, wanted to see how Johnny was taking this, but everything was fuzzy and dark. Too far away now.

"Edgar..." He moved, but Edgar couldn't tell how. "Do you think it'll happen again?"

"I don't know...I hope not."

Ha.

He winced.

"What caused it?"

"I'm...not sure. I just started feeling dizzy...had to lie down." Edgar rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe I just need to eat something..."

A short pause this time. "You don't think it was something serious?"

"Not really..." Edgar didn't look at him. "I think I'll...well, I think I can handle it."

Ha. Yeah, you sure handled that well.

Johnny sighed after this news, and it seemed that it wasn't the bad kind. Edgar couldn't say for sure.

"What did you ask me, again?"

"What?"

"You asked me something before..."

Johnny stared down at his hands. "Something, something..."

Edgar waited.

"Ah, I remember. I wanted to know how you solved a problem."

Yes, do tell, Edgar. You're so good at that kind of thing.

This kind of mockery Edgar could at least handle.

"Solving problems..."

"Yeah."

"Well...let's see...I guess I would make sure I understood the problem first..." Edgar leaned back on the pillow. He felt a little less dizzy that way. He noticed that Johnny edged closer to him in the process. "Make sure I knew all the angles...all the possibilities...all the reasons I wanted to solve the problem...information really..." Edgar hoped he wasn't rambling. "Information is really key for that kind of thing."

"So you make sure you know everything..."

"Yeah...then um...I guess you draw up a list of all the possible solutions that problem could have." Edgar felt increasingly disinclined to talk. He kept his mouth moving. "All the possibilities, no matter how silly or stupid...that kind of thing."

He was kind of drifting off. Was he just tired, or was he just emotionally drained? He wasn't sure. He probably shouldn't have lain down, now that he thought about it.

There was a silence, and Edgar could hear the rain. He was beginning to hear things again. He hadn't realized at the time that Scriabin's voice had grown louder and louder until it blocked everything out. It wasn't his lack of attention, it was that he honestly couldn't hear.

At least, that would explain why his ears were ringing. Wouldn't it?

"Edgar..." Johnny's voice was soft and staticy. No, that was just his hearing. "Are you sure...are you sure that you're okay?"

Edgar let out a sigh and rested his arm across his eyes. "I'll...I'll be okay in a few minutes...I'm just tired, really. Feel tired..."

The next words came out haltingly, and it was obvious that Johnny found them hard to say.

"Do you want to keep talking about this...?"

There... Even Edgar's own mental thoughts sounded weak. There, that was some modicum of concern...

Edgar. Scriabin sounded at once both spiteful and condescending. Do you want me to start again? Do you really want me to deconstruct this for you? Do you want me to tell you the truth? Do you want to have another minor seizure because apparently, the truth will make you crazy? Do you really want me to? Because I will. I just think that by now, maybe you can do that on your own.

If I'm just...if I'm just a means to an end... Edgar didn't have the heart to really argue. His voice faltered and he was sure his logic was less than solid, but he felt he had to say something. Then why would he need me at all...? His happiness...it depends on me to some level. Maybe it is selfish, maybe it is all for him in the end but I...I-, he needs me in the process. He kept me alive this long because I have to care for him...because the fact that I have to care about him in return is his perfection. Edgar moved his arm and saw Johnny staring at him. He couldn't make out much without his glasses on, but he could see Johnny brush his hand over his bare head. That's what that motion had to be, it couldn't be much else. Yes...I think that's it...Johnny's perfection would be...it would be my affection.

It would be your love. Scriabin sounded strangely emotionless. Your love. Don't avoid the word.

But that means that my feelings are important to him...

Edgar. Scriabin no longer sounded angry. I told you before. You're still thinking in terms of Johnny's ideal, that ideal of perfection that he wants to hold. But do you think, do you honestly think, that that ideal would still be foremost on his mind if you, say, slapped him? If you yelled at him? If you kicked him out of your house and your life, do you think he could come crawling back for your approval? He wouldn't, Edgar, and you know it. He would kill you. His ideal is a fantasy that makes being near him tolerable, because that way you can pretend that he's not as insane as he is. You can pretend he has control over himself, over his actions. It's fake, Edgar. It's a lie. His concern for you, it's a lie. A pretense. And Nny will shed that pretense when you do the slightest thing to aggravate him. Do you understand?

He shuddered but found he couldn't move otherwise. He shook, his muscles were firing, but he couldn't control himself completely, couldn't raise his arm. Weakness.

Johnny still stared at him. He was more used to these pauses than Edgar was.

"I'm sorry...we were talking about problems, weren't we?"

"Yes..." Johnny nodded.

"Do I want to talk more about this, was that it...?"

Johnny turned towards the window. "I...I understand if you want to sleep. Whatever it was that happened...I understand if you don't want to talk about it anymore."

I have an idea...

Oh, what now?

"Johnny, can I ask you something?"

The flickering blue light made Johnny look like a skeleton for a few frightening seconds. Edgar could feel strength returning to him, he could control his motion again. "A question?"

"Kind of." Edgar pushed himself up onto his elbows. He still couldn't see Johnny clearly. He'd have to find his glasses later. "I want to know...you said you were still going to kill me, right?"

Johnny nodded, although it was a little hesitant. Apparently he remembered that this was not high on Edgar's list of things he wanted.

"Are you sure you'll kill me when that time comes?"

"If...I know when it is." Johnny's voice got softer as the conversation continued. Pulling away.

"Johnny, would you...well, do you think that you would ever break that promise? I know it's not exactly a promise, per se, but...do you think that you would ever...do you think you would lose control, do you think you'd...well, you said you were insane. Do you think that you might kill me before that time, for one reason or another?"

I think he's going to kill you right now for that question.

Johnny looked directly into his eyes. He leaned forward, but Edgar still couldn't read his expression.

The familiar tinges of fear.

"Is that why you're afraid of me?" Johnny's voice was low. "You don't trust me."

Edgar wasn't sure how to respond.

I could lie but...he'd know I was lying. We were just talking about it. But...how can I tell him the truth without...

This is exactly what I was talking about.

"Your perfection..." Johnny seemed to be talking to himself. He was listing to one side.

"I didn't...I didn't mean..." Edgar turned his body, angled himself so he could look and speak with Johnny more directly.

The light from the lantern vanished for a few seconds, and then Johnny hit the pillow. He fell without moving his arms and staring at nothing. Edgar pulled back from him for a few seconds, making sure that he wasn't too close, but Johnny didn't react. He didn't react to Edgar even when he decided that sitting up at this point was pointless and lay back on the pillow himself.

Inches apart again. But this time, Johnny was staring through Edgar.

He's gone. I told you.

"Nny..." Edgar kept his hands close to his chest. He knew how much Johnny hated touch. Even if he got this close on his own, Edgar didn't dare reach out to him. He didn't want to invade his personal space in any kind of way.

That's one of the more honest thoughts you've had all night. Just pure fear there, no ulterior motive. No cover-up. You're scared of making him angry, and that's all there is to it.

"Your perfection is the lack of fear, isn't it?" Johnny's voice was emotionless. "That's what you said before. That means...the most basic solution to that problem would be to remove the source of the fear."

The...the pacing of his words sounds familiar.

"That means you have to trust me." Johnny blinked slowly, but he still didn't look at Edgar. It was like he wasn't there. They were inches apart, face to face on the same pillow, and Edgar couldn't have been further away. "That means I have to make you trust me. Well, not exactly. More like...I have to earn your trust."

Edgar...

What?

Edgar, he's talking like you.

What?

Listen to him. The way he's phrasing his words. The way he's choosing them, even...the pauses. He's talking like you. He's imitating your voice.

That's...no. That's not true, that's ridiculous.

Just listen. No sarcastic comment at his denial. Just listen.

"You don't trust me because I've...well, I am insane for one thing. And there's the fact that I have hurt you in the past." Johnny didn't move, although Edgar knew he was talking about the scars. Johnny's eyes did not move from whatever it was they were staring at. "You told me there are no guarantees in the future. That you could not promise me things could get better. There may be some truth to that, as I can't promise you that I won't hurt you in the future either, although I don't want to. I can't promise you that I'll be sane, as much as I wish that I could. I can't promise you that I'll always have...control. I want control, certainly, but I don't know how long I'll have it. I don't know how long this period will last. I can't hear anything here, I haven't heard anything for a while. But it's a matter of time. I can't remember anything before when it all started. It would only make sense that it may eventually start again."

He sounds just like you. Can't you tell? Listen to that. He's even pronouncing words the same way.

I...I don't understand...why would he do that?

"But on the other hand...you said you thought it was possible." Johnny's voice remained even throughout his entire speech. Without emotion. "You told me that you were willing to try. Or to learn to trust me, I guess the logical conclusion would be. You are willing to put yourself at that risk. You said that you thought it was possible that in the future, things could get better. I don't know for sure that I'll become a slave for the universe again. I don't know for sure if things will get better. I don't know if I'll be able to protect you. I don't know if what's happening to you...ignorance."

Edgar wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

Protect me from what? Himself?

"Do you believe me, Edgar?" Johnny's eyes moved and his voice regained some small amount of emotion. It was almost as if he had awoken from some kind of trance. "Do you trust my words, if not my future actions?"

Edgar maintained eye-contact as he faded back into Johnny's reality. "I think I've always trusted your words. However...as earlier times have shown...sometimes your actions are...independent of your words."

You're lucky he's so...what's the word...robotic right now. I have a feeling he wouldn't have let that pass in one of his other moods.

Johnny's eyes flicked back and forth, and Edgar could guess that Johnny was studying his features. He was still imitating Edgar's speech pattern, although emotion was working its way through. "Do you believe me when I say that wasn't my intention?"

Edgar couldn't nod in his current position. "I do..."

"Do you believe me when I say that I've been under some horrible monster's control for god knows how long, and I haven't been able to make my own choices in my life for as long as I can remember?"

Normally Edgar would have faltered at this question. But he was there, or at least he thought he was, when it all had ended. "I do, yes."

"Do you think that now that that monster's gone, things could change? Do you think that I can become...consistent?"

Edgar ran the edge of the blanket through his fingers and could feel exhaustion creeping up on him again. "I definitely think that will lead to change. I can't say what kind, but things will definitely change. It would only make sense."

"But I'm still crazy."

Edgar wasn't sure if he had to agree to that. He didn't say anything.

"Do you think it's possible..." Johnny was still staring at him, not through him. A good sign. "Do you think it's possible that your fear is because of what I was before...and not what I could become?"

"I'd say it's possible." Edgar blinked longer than he intended, and he snapped back to wakefulness with a mental curse. It was harder to resist falling asleep now that he was lying down again. "Nnf, yeah, it's possible."

Johnny stared at him again, probably because Edgar hadn't been trying particularly hard to hide the fact he was tired. He had no idea what time it was. Did he have work tomorrow? Didn't matter anyway, his alarm clock was shot without power...

"Do you think there's a future for me?"

Not for you, Edgar. For him. Note the lack of "us."

At this point, he was too tired to care.

"Sure..."

"Do you think I can get better?"

"Sure..." Edgar focused hard on keeping his eyes open. He found his attention drifting, and he was planning his words less cautiously than he rightly should.

"Do you think we can be perfect?"

"Sure..." It occurred to him that it might sound suspicious if he just repeated himself. "I mean, yeah...I think it's possible. I said that before, didn't I...?"

"Do you think you'll be okay?" Johnny's voice was getting softer. It sounded like he was whispering.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sure I'll be fine..." Edgar glanced at the lantern on the desk. "I usually make it out of things okay..."

You're not thinking straight.

"Do you trust me? I mean...would you trust me with you?"

"Uh...what?"

"No..." Johnny didn't seem to have heard him. "You already did...never mind. This is up to me now."

"Yeah..." Edgar felt he had to contribute, although he wasn't sure what Johnny was talking about. At the time it seemed a valid contribution, but Edgar was shifting in and out of wakefulness at that point. His eyes were closed.

He wasn't sure if he should leave it at that. Had to say something...

"I think we'll be okay..."

The last thing he remembered saying. After that, he was dimly aware of someone touching him softly, maybe blankets moving, and then nothing else.

---

Author's Note: Quick reference to "I Want You" in here by Madonna. Credit where credit's due!