"Whoa-ho! Careful there, Walter!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir," breathed Walter, tentatively recovering his footing from the near crash. "Wasn't watching—"

"Ahh, that's fine," laughed the much-larger Cortie, halfway out of a classroom (the last class of that Monday had just been let out). "No harm done! Why the hustle?"

"I was just looking for Master Edwin, have you seen him?"

Cortie tilted his head in thought. "Hmm, don't think so. Not since the play, anyway."

Walter grimaced slightly. That's what I was afraid of. "Neither have I. That's why I'm looking for him."

"Yeah? Well, here, if you do see ol' Eddie, make sure to tell him not to be late for the drama club Halloween party!"

He nodded rapidly. "I will remember to mention it, sir, thank you."

"Thanks, Walter!" And Cortie ruffled the boy's blond hair good-naturedly and lumbered off.

"Goodbye, sir!" Walter called after him faintly. Then, with a glance from side to side, he scurried off down the slowly-emptying halls.

There's no reason to worry, Walter told himself, continuing to glance around rapidly. Just because no one's seen him doesn't mean anything's happened. I'm sure I've just missed him, that's all. Yes. I've missed him in the crowd. All… day… long.

Now, it wasn't that they were in the same classes—in fact, he was a few grades younger than Master Edwin. However, since that night, he'd hoped to at least check on him. The young actor had passed through some very dark places in his mind, and Walter knew it couldn't be easy coming back from any of them. He'd seen the dark in other eyes.

But now he couldn't even find the fellow! Much as he looked, or asked, he simply couldn't catch a glimpse of him. He might as well have been chasing the voice of Puck, for all the good it did. Yet his worry for Master Edwin might not have been half so great, if he'd not also seen his mirror that same day.

"Oh! There you are, sir!" he had said cheerily as he'd come up then, having spotted him across the hall. "I've been looking for you all o—" The Blackgaard turned his gaze upon Walter, and in it was made clear a shocking truth: that was not Edwin. "O-oh."

Regis had nodded slowly and deliberately, eying him closely. "Yes, tell me who it was you were looking for. My," and he said the words with dripping disdain, "dear brother, perhaps?"

Walter cleared his throat, eyes lowered. "Well, er, yes, sir, I was hoping to speak with him."

"A high privilege," he sneered. "But why should you seek it?"

"Well, to check up on him, sir!" Walter responded eagerly, though without a smile, looking up. Then he found the dark eyes again, studying him very closely. He took a single step back and shrank. "Th-that is, I wanted to make sure he was doing well after the… er, performance, sir. All the, all the stress, you know," he added quickly, remembering that he stood before the one who had orchestrated the terrible thing, the very reason he had wanted to check on Master Edwin. And, too, remembering the cruel gleam in his eyes that he was certain now had been real. "The stress of the production—he never wanted to do the play, as I understand. I'm sure you know what I mean, sir."

At that, Regis lifted his eyebrows as realization spread across his face. "Oh!" he said, in the lightest way, as if he had suddenly understood what a child was trying to say to him.

It meant that he knew. Walter was sure of it. Walter could read people well enough, and he could tell. Somehow, Regis had realized that he was aware of what he had planned, what had been the intention behind it. And the tone was chilling to his bones.

"Well," Regis had said, smiling genially for the first time, and perhaps too genially, "I think I do know what you mean now."

The rest of the conversation, which had happened rather earlier in the day, Walter now tried to ignore. However, he could not help but recall the very end of it. For when he asked Regis if he knew where his brother was, Regis had only flashed him a dark little smile, and turned away. A smile just like the one that had so petrified him from the stage.

That was why he felt so urgently now that he had to find Master Edwin. Before, he'd only wanted to check, see he was recovering well. He hadn't been too worried. But now… well, now he wanted to make sure things had not worsened. Make sure something more had not happened, mentally… or even physically.

If I can only find him, Walter thought, and see myself that he's in good health and spirit, I can stop worrying about… about anything his brother might have done. He shook the thought from his head the moment it appeared. No. No, I can't jump to such conclusions. Surely even he wouldn't go so far as that.

Walter quickly folded these fears away and stuffed them at the back of his mind (though he couldn't quite throw them away). It doesn't matter. I'm sure I must have just missed him. Perhaps he's having a sick day. Of course, that might have meant anything if it were true. Anything. Good, or—

He frowned. Now, that's enough of that. Let me see, he thought, going along the halls in a hurry. I could ask one of his teachers if they might know. That could be helpful.

Walter almost ran right into one of the students (he didn't know which one, he was so wrapped in thought), but he narrowly avoided the crash. With a murmured "Sorry, sir", he went on. Which teacher? Mr. Elm, of course, might be a good one to talk to, especially since he was the only one I talked to about what happened. He might understand about—

"Good heavens, Walter!"

The cry came from behind him, and Walter stopped dead at it. He turned round so quick his head might've gone flying. And he found his recognition of the voice was not false. Standing there before him was none other than Edwin Blackgaard.

"Wh—sir?"

"Well, don't seem so surprised," he laughed. "I've not resolved myself into a dew, after all. But," and he started to stride over, "why on earth did you simply walk past? I've been hoping to speak with you, young Walter."

This, perhaps, was a greater shock than his sudden appearance. "You… wanted to speak… with me?"

"Well, of course, Walter! After everything that occurred two nights past, why should I not?"

He let out a breath in stunned surprise and shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I-it's just that… well, most people I help don't." Oh, now, why did I say that? he chided himself immediately. Not that it wasn't true, of course. But there was no reason to say it aloud. At least he did not add that he rarely had reason to expect anyone—especially someone like Edwin Blackgaard—to actually care to remember his name.

"Well, my good man, I am not most people." Walter suppressed a smile and wondered if he knew what he'd almost quoted from exactly. "Besides, I don't think a single detail of that night will ever leave my memory. That includes the less unsavoury ones." And he smiled down at the boy.

Walter deciphered this last as a compliment. "I'm glad there were some like that, sir."

"Not nearly so glad as I am, I assure you. But come, I must fetch some things from my locker, we can converse as we go."

"Yes, sir."

As they started to walk, Walter looked at him. The actor certainly seemed in high spirits. Though he could still see the white of the bandages peeping out from beneath his sleeves, there seemed to be no other physical harm. Perhaps it was all right after all. But then, what about Master Regis?

Well, he decided to put it to a test. "Are you… all right?"

Edwin gave him a confused look. "All right? What on earth do you mean?"

"Are you all right, sir?" he repeated, as if to make himself clearer.

He smiled with brow furrowed. "Well, yes, of course I'm all right! In fact, I might say I was doing uncommonly well, why?"

Walter could believe it. He breathed a slight sigh of relief. "I was only making sure, sir, that's all." At a further inquisitive glance, he gave in. "Well, after the events of the night of the performance, I wanted to check on you and," (he chose words carefully when referring to those events or their aftermath), "see how well things were going."

"Ah," Edwin nodded, seeming to catch his meaning, "I see. Well, you needn't have worried—things have gone over splendidly! The rest of the night went quite well for myself, and that young snake Henton now faces suspension for what they're calling his little 'prank'." Walter breathed another, silent sigh of relief: the "young snake" often made a habit of harrying anyone around his size, which included Walter himself more often than not. "My brother, of course, has not been accused, nor will he be. He always gets out of these things unscathed. However, his victory was thwarted, and I am content with that."

"Then…" Walter ventured his hopes for a further assurance. "Then he hasn't done anything else? I-I mean, after you, er, thwarted him, sir, he hasn't tried to…"

"No, no, my brother has not tried to revenge himself at all!"

This answer sprouted skepticism in him. He had been perhaps a little too worried of Regis doing worse things, yes, and he could well accept that they had not happened. But to find not even a mean trick or unkind word? Walter frowned. "Not at all, sir?"

"Not in the slightest! In fact, he's been as quiet as a mouse! He's hardly spoken a word to me since the play's end—no small loss on my part, either." Edwin nearly sneered as his steps finally turned toward his locker. Then he sighed. "Well, busy with his college preparations, no doubt. He took some sort of class for extra credit, you know, and now he's heading off to it a year earlier than I. To the pleasure of all! That's why he stayed home today, to pack for his trip this evening."

Walter furrowed his brow at this, finding a whole new reason for skepticism, but said nothing.

"Do you know, he's so busy at home," Edwin continued, perhaps not noticing the skeptical furrows, "we rarely came face to face even before the play, except at supper. I never can see him, but I am heartburned an hour after!" He half-chuckled at his own borrowed joke.

Walter also twitched up a smile against his will. "But things have gone well?"

"Things have gone perfectly! With Regis, with Henton, with everyone else—"

"And with you as well?"

Edwin looked at him curiously as he took out his locker key, then side-nodded. "Well, yes, I suppose so. My, er, 'Mortimer' went over quite well with everyone, though I hardly remember a moment of it after a point. After a point," he repeated, perhaps unintentionally. He quickly shook his head. "Yes, well, nevertheless, I'm quite certain that my performance after the play at least was one of the greatest of my career!" And he smiled briefly before turning to his locker again.

"I believe I might say the same, sir," Walter nodded, though something in the tone and words still told him to be concerned. "But I wasn't asking about the performance."

Edwin reached for the padlock, key in hand. "My good man, what else is there to ask about?"

"Well, you, sir. How you're doing after… everything."

"Me? Everything?"

Walter's words were firm. "Yes, sir."

At last, Edwin slowed to a stop, both in act and word, his hand lingering on the lock. He stared bleakly at the reflection in the metal locker. Then, he sighed heavily.

"I do think the performance I gave after the play was better than the one I gave in it. The play, past a point, was not acting. The after-performance was."

Walter nodded, trying hard to grasp which part was troubling him. "True, sir, but—"

"But," added Edwin, voice lowered and grim, eyes now shut, "keeping up such a façade as mine to that face was hard to do. Very hard. If it was the best, then it was also the most difficult performance, perhaps that I will ever have. And I don't think I'll be able to do it again. At least," and his knuckles on the padlock whitened, "not to him."

Walter took a step nearer and settled one hand on his upper arm. If he could do nothing else for the moment, he could be present.

So that's it. Not what happened onstage now, but the stand he decided to make. No, not even that—it's Regis. It's his brother. That's what's really affecting him, at the moment at least. And he's not healed yet. Much as Edwin's attitude in easy conversation had already recovered, his soul had only begun the process. Perhaps some of the scars on it would never leave him.

And yet…

As he stared at him, aching to help, to do something more, Walter came to notice something. Not a presence, but an absence. Search as he might, he could find neither the black fear (though there were still traces of it) nor the black hatred of that night. Those dark things did not seem to have a place in him anymore.

…Those scars are beginning to mend, at least a little. And that means healing is possible. God knows, it's always possible, however much time it may take. Oh, please, let it be so here!

All these thoughts passed in a matter of seconds. Before another could go by, Walter tightened his hold just a little and stepped forward, catching Edwin's attention. Then, he smiled slightly—though he didn't realize it, it was the smile he always gave to comfort a person in distress. The small, bright, kind smile of a helper.

"Perhaps you won't have to."

At the words, at the smile, though he did not completely brighten up, something slipped back into place behind Edwin's eyes. "Indeed, Walter?"

He nodded. "Indeed."

Edwin stared a moment longer, then nodded in return, releasing the padlock and the breath he'd been holding. "Indeed." After a moment, he glanced away, as if slightly annoyed at something (perhaps himself). "I-I'm sorry, Walter, I shouldn't have let myself—"

"That's all right, sir. There's nothing for which to apologize."

"But I've been quite all right with it so far! It's only when I see Regis or really think of it that I—"

"Well, then, I'll try to help you not to think of it."

Edwin looked at him once more, seemingly considering it. Then, he managed a smile. None too wide, but a genuine smile. "Very well, then. If you think it will work, then I'm willing to try it."

"Good," he sighed, truly a little relieved.

"And," added Edwin, quietly, "well, thank you."

"You're most welcome, sir."

A moment of peace passed. Then, Edwin's fingers jolted back to life, noticing the locked locker before them once more. As he turned the key, he tilted his head slightly, as if curious. "Do you know something, Walter?"

"That is a distinct possibility, sir. What specifically?"

"Well, I don't believe I know your name. Your full name, that is."

Walter nodded. "Oh, yes. I only told you my first name that night."

"That's right. Though I partly recognized you, I didn't know your name." His face shifted, and he almost looked guilty, even past the locker door. "I didn't remember your name. And yet you knew mine easily."

"Oh, you needn't feel bad, sir," he interrupted quickly. "I know most people's names. It's a form of habit for me."

"I see. Then, what is your full name?"

"Walter Shakespeare, sir."

"Walter Shakes—" Edwin stood up straight. He suddenly slammed the locker door and whirled on him, his eyes starting out of his head. "Your last name is Shakespeare?!"

"Well, yes, sir—"

"Do you mean to say that your name is quite literally Shakespeare and you never spoke up about it?!"

Walter blinked confusedly, a little uncertain of how to react. "D-did I do something wrong, sir?"

At this, Edwin turned his stare to the ceiling and let out an incredulous breath. "Wrong?" He shook his head, at a loss. "No, not strictly speaking, but—but good lord! If you had said something, we might have started speaking sooner! Shakespeare!" he repeated, in wonder. "Have you any idea if you're…"

"My grandfather looked into the family heritage some years ago, but didn't find much, I'm afraid."

"Still, of all names to have! Is that why you knew so much about Hamlet that night?"

Walter half-laughed, perhaps a little bewildered. He wasn't used to the attention. "Actually, yes, sir! The name was something of an inspiration for me. It's not every day you discover someone famous with your surname, particularly a famous writer. So I read nearly all of the original Shakespeare's plays over and over—a family we served under for a long time had quite a collection. I have some of them nearly memorized."

"Which ones?"

"Well, I would say—"

All of a sudden, he was cut short, by his own doubt. To his confusion, something in him held him back. What doubt, though? It can't be some sort of stage fright, can it? Or is it something different?

"You'd say what? Go on!"

Walter was about to reply with a polite "well, I'm sure you don't want to hear me natter on," complete with a "sir" and an excuse tacked on. But a sudden thought overshadowed him, almost a sudden fear. It made him draw back a little. For even as he saw eagerness in the face before him, Walter recalled a very different look in a very similar face, and the cold derision that accompanied it.

Do you really think, because you saw him weak and whimpering, that he would want you as a friend once his pride has returned?

Walter tried to block the cruel words from his mind, but they came on too sudden and strong, like a flash flood. They tore down something inside him. But then, they were meant to do so.

My brother is not a person who has such things, or wants them. He has too much self-confidence to confide in anyone else, and any care given him will not be returned. But I'm sure you know that. You know a lot of things, don't you, boy?

A concerned voice cut through the remembered one. "Walter, is something wrong?"

Walter glanced up, shaken from the unpleasant reverie. Edwin was looking at him with brow furrowed, perhaps more confused than concerned just yet. The expression seemed genuine. But doubts darkened it in the eye of the beholder. What if he were only playing now? What if he meant to lead him on, only to snub and mock, to…

No. No, no, no, I won't distrust him now. I refuse. It's just Master Regis trying to hurt people, that's all those words mean. And yet, they would not leave his mind. Worse, they took a different tack now.

"It's nothing, sir. I-I was only going to check on you, and I'm sure I've taken up too much of your time already."

"Too much of my time? What on earth are you talking about?" he chuckled, a little uncertainly. "I've noplace to be for a half-hour, and won't be missed for another after that at least!"

Walter grimaced slightly, and looked away. One excuse gone.

Concern turned to alarm, and Edwin tried urgently to catch his gaze. "Walter, what is the matter?"

"It's really nothing import—"

"Then why are you grown so pale? It must be important!" He put one hand on his shoulder and finally looked him straight in the eye. "Please, Walter, tell me what's wrong!"

This seeming-sudden worry over him put Walter at a gaping loss. He's not lying. If Edwin Blackgaard were lying, it would be obvious. He's really and truly worried—about me. Unable to withhold one from such genuine solicitude, staring him in the face, he let an answer fall honestly from him.

"I just… didn't want to pull you into something you might not want. That is," he qualified, "I thought you might perhaps only have in mind a sort of chat about a few common interests, not something much longer and more complicated, as would be this…" Friendship, said his mind. His tongue formed instead the word "…conversation."

Edwin seemed a little confused by this at first, shaking his head with furrowed brow. "What? Why, we—" Before he could finish, however, something else struck him, or seemed to. Some stark realization, or startling idea. Whatever it was, it froze him in place, staring a little away from Walter. Then, the dawning idea quickly devolved into something else as he glanced back up. It seemed to be a subset at least of panic.

This confused Walter as much as it concerned him. Now what's wrong? What did I say? Or was it even connected? A discouraging idea came to him: Is it because he suddenly realized what I meant to say? And he's panicked because he doesn't want it, and didn't mean to lead me on? He frowned slightly at the thought. I could be wrong. I can't tell for sure. Walter tried to study his expression, to find out what all this could really mean.

That soon ceased: Edwin suddenly seemed to notice that Walter was looking at him, and, removing his hand, fumbled to recover himself. "Er, I'm sorry."

Walter furrowed his brow. Sorry for what?

"Uh, that is," he corrected hurriedly, "I'm sorry that you feel that way."

He blinked a few times. Which way? That I wanted something more complicated, or that I'm apologizing for it?

"I-I mean to say," Edwin jumped back in, seemingly in a further panic, "if you prefer to chat, we certainly might do so—not that it's necessary, of course! I would like to have just such a longer and more complicated fr—CONVERSATION!" His eyes had widened and he nearly shouted the corrected word. "I meant conversation!"

Walter stared at him stunned and bewildered. He nearly said it too. He nearly said friendship. He forced the hint of a smile to stay back inside him. Could it really be he meant it? He would like to be friends? A doubt ran to catch up with his whirling mind: It could also mean he realized what I hoped for, and wanted to pacify it before it got any stronger.

At the stare Walter gave him, Edwin grimaced, as if a mess had been made of things. He sighed and hung his head. "I-I'm sorry, Walter, I'm afraid I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

He tilted his head. "What sort of thing, sir?"

Edwin's eyes widened and he stiffened immediately. "Nothing!" That seemed to come out wrong. "That is, I—" The stiffness wore off, and he practically slumped as he facepalmed, grimacing again. "Ohh…"

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir." Not strictly true: he was starting to catch on. Or thought he might be. But he needed to be sure.

"I'm trying to say that…" Edwin paused, looking at him a moment. Then, whatever else he had been about to say, he seemed to give up on it. "Well, that you needn't worry, that's all! I'd quite like to… to hear what you have to say." (This time it was he who had chosen words carefully.) "Truly, I would! You may speak as long and with as much complexity as you wish!"

Walter looked down, considering everything. It was becoming more and more possible that Master Edwin really did want to be friends with him, and was simply fumbling the attempt. But why the fumble? He wasn't so awkward earlier in the conversation. In fact, he'd been quite at ease talking with Walter when he first came up. Why the drastic change?

Unless he realized that we weren't officially friends, he suddenly thought. Unless he'd assumed we already were, up until that point. Then when he realized, he panicked, and that's why he's been fumbling so much. He almost smiled. I suppose he's not very used to making friends. I suppose I'm not, either. Maybe there's something I should have picked up on much earlier either way, I don't know.

He restored his gaze to the other, and found him looking down worriedly. Worried, perhaps, that he'd ruined it all?

There's still one thing to make sure of before jumping to any conclusions, Walter thought. Then, he cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not much of a speaker, sir."

Edwin glanced back up at him, seeming surprised. "What?"

"That is, I can talk at length on occasion, but I mostly prefer listening myself." He gave him a somewhat hopeful look. "I hope that doesn't… bar further conversations?"

Now it was the other who looked stunned, and happily so, it seemed. "Further conv—well, of course it doesn't bar them! I'm pleased to oblige your listening tendencies! Though at the moment, I would be more pleased if you might oblige mine, and tell me more about the things you've read!" And he winced uncertainly.

Walter's potential smile grew beneath the surface. "Well… if you're certain, sir…"

"Certain?" he interrupted, speaking more eagerly for the first time in several minutes. "Why, I could hardly stop thinking of what you said of Hamlet and his revenge all the way home! In fact, I spent most of the afternoon yesterday rereading the play to pick up on the theme as you had spoken of it!" He bit his lip—it seemed he second-guessed everything he said now.

This last struck him deeper than any other thing yet, and his eyes widened slightly. "You reread the entire play… just to find more of what I meant?" You spent your own free time thinking through the things I said?

"Well…" Edwin glanced down, then sighed. "…Well, yes! I've never met anyone like you before!" His eyes widened much more than slightly, and he stammered a revision. "A-anyone who speaks like you, that is! Especially about Shakespeare! Even if you don't prefer to speak as much." His consecutive corrections nearly blurred over each other. Walter's smile almost broke open. Poor fellow, he's trying so hard. "Which—which is certainly quite all right, you know! Not everyone must needs be an orator! I'm only saying that—"

At last, Walter stopped him, almost laughingly. "Don't worry, sir, I quite understand!"

Edwin stopped stone still. He blinked blankly. "You do?"

"I do."

"I don't." He threw a hand up to his brow and shook his head, looking completely baffled. "I thought I communicated uncommonly poorly."

"Well, I believe you got your meaning across anyhow, sir." And he smiled at him understandingly—I'm glad to be friends if you are. That seemed to do the trick, for Edwin eased a little, breathing a quiet sigh of (apparent) relief. His plan may not have worked out the way he meant it to, but it worked out anyway. It seemed a common occurrence with him.

Walter sighed resolutely. He hoped he was ready. "Now, would you like me to continue where we left off before, sir?"

Edwin groaned wearily. "Please. I'm exhausted."

"Very well, sir," he replied, stifling a grin. "I'll try hard to speak."

And so he did. He talked about Hamlet, and how he'd come by these themes, and thereafter delved into other plays and other characters and other themes. Edwin spoke up occasionally, to ask a question or make an observation. But he mostly listened this time. Though their positions were often reversed in the future, the speaker and listener were still sometimes the same as in that conversation.

So there they stood until the halls were practically empty, talking about hatred and vengeance as if they were far-off fiction they had never met in walking life, not realizing just how near those things stood. But those near things were defeated simply by being talked about. For as that happened, their chance to act passed. And once the two departed to the theatre club Halloween party, the shadow that had watched them banged a fist on the wall it had hidden behind, and slunk away to undo what it had prepared. It had been thwarted a second time.

Edwin and Walter would arrive at the party without incident. They took their costumes (as had a few others) from the school wardrobe—though not, of course, from their "Arsenic and Old Lace" production. The party was enjoyable, more so than either had expected. Edwin got into a "discussion" with Nella Hudkins over the point and theme of "A Midsummer Night's Dream", both of which things he often did, but this time bringing up ideas Walter had told him in their conversation. Walter had not planned on coming, being only a stagehand in the production, but several people recognized him and spoke to him. Though they each did separate things, they still stuck fairly by each other throughout.

They would leave the event just in time for Edwin to go home and see Regis off. For all anyone knew, he had been at home packing for college all day, and had not left the house once. Their mumsy had been running errands for most of it, and could not attest to it. But Regis was in a mood most foul when he left, and no one could say why. Luckily, Edwin and his twin did not see each other again for quite a long time.

But none of that had happened yet. Years lay between now and then. In fact, not even the party had quite commenced. For now, Edwin Blackgaard and Walter Shakespeare only wandered the halls, talking of plays, and practicing the art of becoming friends.

Well, thank you to all those who have read along this little story! And I'm sorry for not getting it done sooner - most of this was written already (including the ridiculously hard part wherein these two absolutely refused to just be FRIENDS ALREADY), and I could've finished it with the smallest bit of effort. But I'm glad to have it complete anyway!

Also, I'm just gonna say, there may be a few other fics set in this... well, I might almost say storyworld. With this particular cast of characters. I accidentally started really liking the OCs I made for this, even though they were supposed to just be background characters. So I may do some more with it in the future. Let me know what y'all think!

Thanks for reading!