Torgo's wasn't as crowded as Edgar expected. He hadn't noticed as they'd pulled up, but this particular store was apparently sharing space with another food chain... an ice cream parlor. Sandwiches and ice cream... well, there were odder combinations.

Nothing else to do but get in line and wait.

Funny... do you think Johnny will be waiting for you when you get outside?

Edgar squinted at the list of sandwiches on the wall. The letters kept blurring and he hoped Johnny kept his glasses somewhere safe.

You know... I'm not sure. I don't know what Nny's going to do now... I pretty much shattered his world into a million pieces.

Marvelously, I might add. You have a real talent for it, my boy.

Oh? Is that where you got it from?

Surprise, and black anger from Scriabin. Edgar smiled slightly.

"Hey, what happened to your shoulder, dude?"

Edgar blinked, then tried to find the source of the voice. Some blond guy in front of him with too many piercings. Edgar coughed, and his voice was still hoarse.

"Excuse me?"

"Your shoulder, man. You got, like... a towel taped to it."

Edgar blinked, then pressed a hand to his forehead. Knife through the shoulder, near death experience, the fact that his right side still ached in a slow, throbbing way. The moments of sleep he'd managed to grab while sprawled out on Johnny's floor had apparently helped a little... he could move his right hand now, although it still hurt.

I wonder, does your invulnerability also help you heal from injuries more quickly? Maybe a visit to the hospital isn't in order after all...

"Oh... yeah, I just had an accident."

"But a towel?"

"I didn't have any bandages on me."

"That sucks." And then it was the man's turn to order, and that was the end of their brief conversation.

Odd that he noticed you, don't you think?

Actually, now that you mention it...

Edgar glanced around the store, and although he wasn't positive without his glasses on, he got the impression that everyone was staring at him.

You don't cut a very elegant figure, my boy. No shoes, clothes too small, bloody towel on your shoulder held on with duct tape...

I've got to get to a hospital...

Maybe you do.

It's weird... most of the time no one ever sees me... people don't notice me.

Things are changing, my boy. Scriabin sounded strangely comfortable, almost at ease. Eventual collapse, and I'm sure the lock will help the world refocus on you, to better drive you to eventually put your head in an oven.

Edgar winced. Doesn't that bother you?

It would if that's what was going to happen. Scriabin still calm. But, like I said before, I'm not going to let that happen to us.

Edgar didn't think that Scriabin would make much of a difference, particularly against a system that the devil himself seemed to answer to, but decided not to mention it. He twitched his right hand, causing a throb to go through his whole body and the memory of Jimmy's death to unpleasantly arise again.

Edgar pressed his fingers against his eyes, hoping that would make it go away and that he'd stop shaking.

"Sir?"

"Mmm?" Looked up to see the lady at the counter staring at him angrily.

"Sir, I've been asking for your order for five minutes. Either give me an order or get out of line."

Those behind Edgar agreed, and embarrassed, Edgar mumbled out a combo order and she got to work.

I didn't... I don't know, I just didn't hear anything...

How awkward. Scriabin sounded almost cheery somehow. Not that their opinion matters, Edgar, simply ignore them. They mean nothing, don't they?

Edgar answered the woman's questions about what kind of bread and meat he wanted. I know what you're insinuating.

What am I insinuating then?

Are we going to go back to the morality argument again?

Well, you never gave me an official answer. So far it seems like I was right in that the only life that really matters to you is your own, since you'll willingly throw others under the rails to save your own hide. So why concern yourself about what these walking targets think of you?

You're oversimplifying... Edgar couldn't really back that up, but he was sure that when he ate something he could think of a better excuse. And Johnny... well, he didn't say for sure that he'd keep killing people...

Oh? Was I just imagining how he threatened to poke out your eye with a car antennae in the car?

...He didn't act on it...

It was still an urge, a natural reaction. Instinctual, almost. Nny's a simple creature, really, and have you ever known him to show clear judgement? To not kill people for stupid petty reasons on the spur of the moment? To think things through, period? How did you two meet again, care to remind me?

"Salt? Pepper?"

"Yeah, sure..."

I...

You don't have an answer, do you? You don't have any explanation for your shameful behavior so far, your moralistic preaching while you pocketed the donation money behind the scenes. You have allowed people to die through your inaction, and if your religion really means something, ANYthing to you, you will stop enabling Johnny and stop indirectly killing people.

"For here or to go?"

"...Here."

I... well, I don't know that he's been killing people recently.

Really. Scriabin did not sound impressed with that answer, and Edgar knew it was weak.

Edgar shook his head, watching his sandwich being wrapped up and tried to think of any logical answer to Scriabin's question, any justification that wouldn't get torn to shreds, and instead...

I just... I told him in the car that this was his decision... that was such a big problem for him, ever since I met him. I wanted to... let him decide if he's changed enough to accept what's going on. If I leave because of the murdering thing... then it really wasn't his decision at all.

And I care... why?

She stared at him in annoyance as he dug through his pockets for more money. The five he was holding wasn't enough... he was going to need a little more. The people behind him were grumbling impatiently, muttering insults and angry comments not quite softly enough, and he hoped that the third time he checked his foreign pockets that he'd magically find a twenty.

"Sir..." Exasperation clear in her voice.

"Um, just a minute... I know I have some more here somewhere..."

He heard the soft sound of paper hitting the counter, and the girl made a short, surprised sound. Edgar looked up and saw the blond man who had talked to him earlier.

"Here, I got it."

"Whatever," the girl muttered, taking the money and ringing up the register. Edgar squinted at the man and sighed in relief.

"Thanks, I forgot my wallet in the car..."

"No problem, dude. Figured you've been through enough already, right?" The man laughed and waved. "See ya."

"Yeah." And then he was gone.

See how much easier this is when the person you're talking to isn't crazy?

You can't choose who you interact with all the time, Edgar thought with some bitterness, and Scriabin laughed humorlessly. He picked up the sandwich bag and made his way to a table, looking out the window for Johnny's car. It was still there, for the moment.

What if Johnny said he wasn't going to kill again?

Do you honestly think he would ever do that? How naive ARE you, Edgar? Do you actually think Johnny has any real control over his impulses? Over that fractured, sparking little broken mind of his? I doubt it. You doubt it. You're clinging to false hopes in hope that it'll defuse the argument, or put it off again so you don't have to deal with it, with the reality of the matter, and this is very real, Edgar. People are dying because of you. You need to do something about that.

He had no idea how much time had passed since Jimmy's untimely death, and the thought of how close he was, how foreign and monstrous Johnny had looked in that moment, gave Scriabin's words heavy weight.

He is a murderer...

You've known that since you met him. That's HOW you met him.

And he's insane... and even if he told me he would stop... could I really trust him?

No. Wait, was that hypothetical? It doesn't matter, the answer is still the same.

Edgar leaned to one side, chewing thoughtfully, and he could make out Johnny through the store windows. He was leaning over the steering wheel, head resting on his arms, staring off to one side with that deeply pensive look Edgar was familiar with.

Thinking about what to say, what to do... leave me or stay with me.

He's not going to stay with you, you know that, right? There's no way he would.

Edgar didn't say anything.

Johnny's entire reality is fractured, broken in a way you'll never be able to understand, as well-meaning and scientific about the process you try to be. You'll never understand how he sees the world, or your place in it. Hints and glimpses, but you know as well as I do that Johnny's entire reality hinges on entirely different anchor points than ours. Than everyone else's. What you've told him, what you've done to his worldview... do you think asking him outright really changed anything? Do you think asking him if he'll leave or not actually made it a possibility? You were his entire world, Edgar, and now you're not. He loved Devi as much as he could love anyone, and he tried to kill her, and then he left her. He shadowed her, cowardly and unable and unwilling to try again, too afraid of real negative consequences to ever reach out to what he really wants. Tell me, Edgar, do you think you offer anything to Johnny right now but negative consequences? A front-row seat to your inevitable self-destruction? Do you think Johnny, who routinely kills people so they don't turn against him, will ever want to watch you do that?

...That was a long time ago... he may have changed now.

He is not fixed, Edgar. And as long as he's broken, as you two so charmingly put it, there is no middle-ground.

We had some... rough patches, but we came through them okay. I'm the only friend he's got, I'm the person he's known for the longest time... that has to mean something.

Maybe it would, if he were sane, Edgar. But he's not. You keep forgetting this crucial point.

You can't predict him anymore than I can.

I'd say I'm a great deal more objective about this than you are, as pathetically entangled in him as you've become.

You? Objective? When have you ever been objective?

Scriabin sighed. You have no idea, do you?

I know that you hate Johnny, that you've made clear many times. You've threatened me into leaving him, you've badgered me endlessly about it, you even took over my body to try and make him leave. Pardon me for believing that your motivations for telling me to stay away from Johnny might be a bit suspect.

Of course, of course. I only hate Johnny because of some personal vendetta, not because he's a real danger and unhealthy drain on what will soon be your strained resources.

I can't die.

Did you enjoy the knife through the shoulder? I didn't.

He can't kill me.

As if that- have you even thought that through all the way, Edgar my boy? Wonder what would happen if Johnny snapped, as he does so often, and chained you up in his basement and forgot about you? Years and years, unable to die, wasting away long after Johnny's dead and everyone's forgotten you exist? Suffering can in some cases be worse than death, Edgar, and all you've ever done since you met Nny is suffer.

I wonder how much of that was his fault, and how much was yours. Edgar brushed off his hands. Johnny was still sitting in his car, staring out the window.

I wonder how much of that you brought upon yourself, Scriabin responded, spiteful, and Edgar shook his head. Around and around in circles, never really getting anywhere, but Scriabin had a point about one problem that faced him. There was something he could no longer avoid, not now that his end was coming. He threw away his sandwich wrapper and walked out to Johnny's car, noticing that Johnny now had his eyes on him the entire time.

He got inside, and Johnny stared at him without saying anything for a few seconds. Although the sandwich had actually helped Edgar feel a lot better, he still didn't feel... much of anything in an emotional sense. He could wait for Johnny to speak.

"What were we talking about?"

Edgar stared back at Johnny, and decided to take a page out of Scriabin's book.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Johnny blinked at this question, then looked back to the store in front of them. He stared, apparently in thought, for a couple more moments.

"Do you want to live, Edgar?

Strange echoes from a time long past that Edgar couldn't clearly remember. Still, his next words felt familiar in a way that was almost uncomfortable, but unchangable regardless. "I'd rather not die... but I don't seem to have much say in the matter."

Johnny blinked at him, and he trembled for a moment before it passed. Some joint memory the two shared, vague and blurred over time.

Who would have thought your memory would be so selective? Maybe some day in the future you won't recall Jimmy's death either...

There probably won't be a future.

"So... you don't care?"

"It's not that, exactly. It's just... there doesn't seem to be a point in fighting anymore. I've been fighting it for so long..." Edgar gestured vaguely, then let his hands fall. "I'm not sure that's what I'm supposed to do anymore."

Johnny paused, digesting this, before speaking again without looking at him. "Doesn't the fact you're going to die bother you? Scare you?"

"Every living thing wants to continue living, and deep down I'm no different. I guess what really makes us different is that we can accept it when the time comes."

Johnny made a skeptical noise, but didn't clarify any further than that.

Deep down? Are you sure?

Acceptance is the first step-

It's more like it's the last.

"So... you don't want to live?"

"No, it's... it's more like whether or not I live or die... it doesn't seem as important to me anymore."

"So what do you want then?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you want, Edgar?"

Edgar knew him well enough to know that this question went deeper than the obvious, and he made a thoughtful sound to let Johnny know he was considering it. The first thing that came to mind didn't seem the best thing to say, but in his current state... there wasn't much more harm he could do to their relationship at this point anyway, and he may as well be honest.

"I want you to stop killing people."

Johnny didn't react at first, then slowly turned to stare at Edgar, his expression fairly unreadable. Edgar wasn't sure if Johnny would unpack that as he intended, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Then we could still be friends."

How adorable.

You're not helpful.

Oh, what a surprise.

"You still want to be friends with me?" It was a strangely simple, unloaded question when it really shouldn't have been.

Edgar paused, tried to find the right words and failed. "I wouldn't mind it."

Johnny seemed to consider this for a few moments. He turned his head away from Edgar, watching some teenagers walking down the sidewalk.

"Sometimes it's not like I mean to... it just happens. I'll be going somewhere, and all of a sudden I just want to get a bow and arrow and-"

"I know, I know. You told me you're crazy."

Johnny nodded slowly. "Even without the monster controlling me... I still get these thoughts, hear these voices... I'm making my own decisions, but I don't know how much that really changed anything."

"It wasn't the monster that made you murder people." Edgar hoped he was following Johnny's train of thought correctly.

Johnny nodded again, slowly.

"I understand what you're talking about." No you don't. "But I just can't... I can't be friends with you if you continue killing people, Nny."

"Why not?"

Edgar sighed. You already know this is pointless, don't you? Are you still going to give it the old college try, my boy? "Because it's wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Killing people is wrong."

You're wasting your breath. You're trying to explain color to a blind man.

That doesn't mean color doesn't exist.

I think that's stretching my analogy a bit far, don't you think?

Johnny was silent, mouth pressed into a tight line, and his eyes narrowed. It took him a while before he spoke again.

"Why?"

Edgar waited a few seconds, watching Johnny and he could see all the muscles tightening in his body. He had a feeling that wasn't all Johnny was going to say, and sure enough, he could see the manic look in his eyes as he was gearing up for a rant.

"It's not like every disgusting excuse for a human being out there deserves to live or even really has a life to begin with, eating and fucking without thought like animals, mindless creatures going through the motions, their own lives worthless but still worth enough so that they can judge anyone that crosses their path..."

Typical Johnny rant, with the martyrish, self-righteous tone. Edgar decided to wait until Johnny wore himself out, since he didn't think there'd be much point in arguing with him until he calmed down.

It did take a while.

"Are you listening, Edgar?"

"I'm listening."

"So...?"

Go ahead, tell him how you really feel.

"Why you do it isn't important to me, or even who you do it to." That's a lie. "It's still something that I just can't... if you kill people, I can't tolerate that. I won't tolerate it."

Johnny didn't expect this response, and he didn't say anything.

"Are you willing to change to try and make our friendship better? So you can stay with me and help me?" Edgar looked at Johnny, who didn't meet his eyes. "Can you do that now, after all this time? See things through to the end, no matter how bad they get?"

Edgar waited for a response that didn't come, and he shook his head and looked away. "It's your decision. If you want to leave, I won't stop you. But if you want to stay with me... I want to have a clear conscience."

For Heaven, isn't that right? Do you really think there's any chance you'll go there, regardless of whether you're implicit in Johnny's murdering?

"Well..." Johnny seemed to be struggling with this concept. "If that's the case, then wouldn't you have to change in some way for me? In return?"

What haven't I changed for you?

Your smug sense of self-righteous superiority?

"What do you want me to do?"

Johnny stared at him, apparently unprepared for Edgar to make the offer. He looked away, staring at his hands on the steering wheel for a few minutes. Edgar waited.

"Can you be honest with me?"

Edgar blinked and made a questioning noise. Johnny turned to look at him. "So I'll know what's going on. Could you do that now?"

Edgar, taken aback, nodded after a few seconds.

"And Scriabin, tell me what he's doing."

Edgar nodded again, hesitantly, although he felt something from Scriabin in response, although he wasn't sure what.

Johnny kept eyecontact for a few more seconds, then looked back at his hands. "Do you really think I could help you?"

Edgar thought about this, and again found that his first thought was not the best, but if he was going to be honest...

"I don't think anyone can really help me now."

Scriabin made an angry dismissive sound in his head, and Johnny turned and stared at Edgar, clearly confused and perhaps a little angry. Edgar smiled weakly.

"But I'd rather not go through it alone."

A stabbing pain along his side, and he winced. He had a feeling that it wasn't from his shoulder.

Johnny stared at him, confused and blinking, then turned and gestured widely at the world outside his car.

"Then what's the point? If I can't stop what's happening, why should I even try? It's not like I want to watch you kill yourself. You're sort of important to me."

"For what reason, Nny?" Edgar asked, mildly.

Johnny didn't expect that, and he paused, trying to think of an appropriate response.

"Lots of reasons," he finally said, lamely, and it was obvious that his heart wasn't in his answer.

"Perfection was one of them, wasn't it?" Edgar didn't want to provoke Johnny, but while he was finally getting things into the open... "If I kill myself, go insane from this system, that's not perfect, is it?"

"No," Johnny said, as if it was a stupid question.

"If I could stop it from happening, I would." Edgar almost shrugged, but stabbing pain through his shoulder stopped that quickly. "But I don't think I can. I don't think anyone can. That can't be one of the reasons you're with me anymore, because I'm almost positive that things will only get worse. What are your other reasons? Why am I important to you?"

What is the point of this discussion?

Sometimes they don't have points.

With normal people, maybe. With you two? You need a shovel to dig through all the double-meanings you shove into everything so you can avoid telling each other how you really feel.

That sounds familiar.

"You're my friend," Johnny said after a long pause, a bit hesitantly.

"Can you be there for me when things go bad? When everything's ruined? Will you still be my friend then, or will that be it?"

Johnny was still struggling with the idea, and Edgar got the unpleasant mental image of cogs in a machine, missing a central piece and clicking endlessly, pointlessly, sparking and grinding, unable to finish their connection.

Lovely image.

You think that was me?

"But why would I be there if you weren't who you are anymore? Why would I be there if you're crazy and miserable and there's nothing I could do to fix it?"

"Sometimes there are things you can't fix." His head, for example. "Friends can't fix everything about each other. Sometimes things get bad."

"Then what's the point of having them!?" Johnny suddenly screamed, slamming the heel of one hand against the steering wheel with a dull thud. Someone walking by outside gave them an odd look. "They're supposed to make your life better, aren't they? What's the fucking point if they just make you feel worse? Like there isn't enough shit in the world to do that already!?"

Poor broken clockwork boy, can't understand how real people work, just plays at the motions but in the end, it's all just as foreign and incomprehensible as always. Trying in vain to climb a ladder it wasn't designed to climb.

He's still a person.

He's insane. He'll never understand you, Edgar. He'll never have the slightest idea what goes on in your pathetic head, all those feelings you have for him that you keep in a whirling turmoil or locked in your emotional dead box, all of it outside his scope of comprehension. He will never understand you, know to react like a sensible human being, think of you as anything other than a toy or a passing footnote in his senseless, murderous life. All he wants are benefits, and now you have none to give.

"People aren't perfect, Nny." Edgar wasn't sure what else to say. "Sometimes when we talk or interact with them things don't go right, or they don't go as planned, and sometimes we get hurt, but that's how things are. That's how we work."

"Not if I don't let myself get hurt. Not if I stop the whole flawed process." Johnny held out one thin hand, like he was grasping the idea itself, and then he turned to Edgar with resentment in his eyes. "Now I can't do that with you, not anymore and I..."

"You don't know what to do," Edgar finished, and Johnny stared at him like he resented him for it.

He'll never understand, Edgar. No matter how pleasingly you phrase it, he will never understand, he will never stop killing, he will never care more about you than he cares about himself. Never, never, never.

Stop it.

Finally.

"I can't make you promises, Nny. I can't promise you that any time we spend together after this will be good. I can't promise you that you won't get hurt, because I can't just stop anymore like you planned. I already hurt you, didn't I?"

"Yes," Johnny said, darkly, although Edgar intended the question to be rhetorical.

"If you stay with me... you will probably be hurt. When I kill myself, I'd like to think that you'll care, and it'll hurt. But we've had good times together, and I've talked and tried to help you work, as you put it, and I'm willing to try to do the same if you do decide to stay with me. It won't be all bad, at least not for a while."

"...But you don't think I can help you."

"Like I said, I don't think anyone can help me."

"Then what's the point!?" Johnny said, again furious. "What's the point of just watching you die and not being able to do anything about it?"

"What makes this so different from what you were planning before? Our perfection?"

Johnny paused for a moment, then looked to Edgar with a pained expression that startled him.

"I would have been happy then," he whined.

It's a wonder you don't punch him in the face sometimes. I know I would.

Edgar sighed, and he pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Look, I've already told you before... I've made every argument I can think for you, and it still comes down to you. This is your decision, Nny. If you want to stay with me, try and keep me sane as long as possible, take whatever happiness you can get from me before I die, then I'll welcome you into my inevitable self-destruction. But if you want to leave, then I won't stop you. It's up to you."

"Would you be happier if I was with you?"

"I can't say. I don't know what'll happen in the future, or what will exactly happen to me. Maybe it won't be so bad, maybe I'll go home and shoot myself right away." Johnny's eyes widened at the thought, and he saw his body tense. "I don't know, and you don't know either. We won't know unless we do it."

Johnny looked outside and glared at the sidewalk for a few seconds. "That sucks."

"Life isn't easy. I guess my death isn't either." I'm sure Heaven is still wound up in all the bureaucratic red tape I left them last time I visited. "But this is your decision."

"What about if I want to stay with you, but keep killing people?"

Edgar winced, and remembered his words to Scriabin not so long ago. I want it to be his decision, and if there are conditions... "...I really wish you wouldn't."

"But what if I do?"

Edgar didn't know what to say, and he struggled for a suitable answer before settling on the one response that wouldn't leave him alone. "Are you saying you will stay with me?"

Johnny looked at him for a few more seconds, then shrugged. "I'm just asking."

A loophole, maybe...

A loophole? My boy, I know loopholes, and that's no loophole. You're just compromising your integrity, as usual. No surprise.

"If you do decide to stay with me... then I guess we can cross that hurdle when we come to it," Edgar said, decidedly awkward. He wasn't sure if Johnny would notice, given his general lack of empathy.

"Edgar..."

"Yes?"

"...I need some time to think about this."

He wasn't sure how he felt about that response. His shoulder again ached horribly, and he sighed under his breath.

"That's fine. Can you take me home?"

Johnny started the car, and he didn't say anything further. Edgar rested his head against the window, and he stared at nothing.

He's going to leave. You know that, don't you?

Edgar wasn't in the mood for talking anymore.

Johnny stayed quiet until they pulled up in front of Edgar's apartment building, and then he started as if someone had poked him. He reached into the pouch of his sweater and pulled out something that shone.

"Here." Edgar looked at him, and Johnny again held the object out to him. "Your glasses. I hung onto them, 'cause I thought they might get broken on the floor."

Edgar took them from Johnny's hand and put them back on, and immediately his headache eased a little. Staring at Johnny in focus brought his features into more clarity, but gave Edgar no further ability to really understand how he felt.

"Thanks."

He waited a bit longer to see if Johnny would say anything further, but instead he just stared at him, unreadable. Edgar finally decided that he'd spent long enough, and he got out of the car slowly.

When he shut the door behind him, Johnny started the car, and he was speeding off before Edgar could even wave goodbye.

You'll never see him again.

He heard something hit the sidewalk up the street. Something from Johnny's car, and it sparkled in the light. He walked to it slowly, and then bent down and picked up his keys.

How did he get these?

I hope you didn't leave anything else important in his house, like your self-respect. Oh wait.

Edgar went up to his apartment, unlocked the door, took a shower, did a poor job of rebandaging his shoulder with an old scarf and cotton balls, and went to sleep.

It would be a month before he'd hear from Johnny again.

He was not the same person by the end of it.

Author's Note: Thank you to those who have stuck with this through long dry periods. I have the rest of this planned out, mostly, and it's generally just a matter of getting it all down. Your support has been very encouraging though, and I'll try to make more timely updates in the future if I can.