CJ awoke sprawled on his couch. As the fog cleared from his mind, his train of thought went to recollecting what had happened the night before. He glanced over his shoulder and, sure enough, his TV lay in a shattered pile on the floor. He groaned and rolled his head back over, and his eyes bore holes into the backrest.
What *did* happen?
He forgot his cigarettes and watched the news... saw that awful report about him... burnt himself, and then...
Vaughn.
Why had he come, again?
To bring back his cigarettes, of course.
His heart squeezed and a weird feeling cast over his mind. Did he dream it all? Vaughn somehow healing his scar - he checked, it was still not there - and his "commands", if you could even call it that. They were spoken soft, but firm. Solid and clear, but with no malice or authority behind them. A strong suggestion, perhaps, but it didn't seem to work. He *did* remember this incident, after all.
It had been extremely uncomfortable to look him in the eyes, but they had almost seemed to glow and he couldn't tear himself away. But Vaughn's aflame violet eyes didn't hold a candle to what had followed. CJ couldn't see well in the dark, but it did definitely look like he bit his own finger hard enough to draw blood. Blood, that had erased his burn mark from his skin, then similarly disappeared itself. He *had* to have dreamt that, but his scar was undoubtedly gone. It had been a scar he put years into making. There was no way it could be erased as easily as it did.
CJ picked himself up off his couch and groaned as his back screamed in protest. He had to go to the Comptons'. He had to get answers.

CJ pushed open the door to the animal store as cautiously as his racing heart could manage and stepped in. Mirabelle stopped unboxing stock onto a shelf and turned around to greet her customer, to be met with CJ.
"Well howdy there, hun, how are ya doin' today?"
"M'fine," He replied quietly as he stood in the doorway.
"Hey, hun, could you do me a big favor and close that door?"
CJ looked at the door frame before rushing himself in and closing it. "Sorry."
"It's alright hun, don't worry. Now what can I do for ya?" She brushed off her hands on her dress and walked towards the shop counter.
"I... I actually wanted to talk to Vaughn, is he... uh... in?"
"Oh no, I'm afraid not. He'll be back Monday."
"I... okay."
"Why? What did ya need to see him about?"
"I wanted to... uh... ask him something, I guess."
"I'm really sorry, then. You just missed him, he left last night."
"He'll be back Monday?"
"Yup."
CJ bit his tongue for a moment, then looked back at her. "Where... where did he go?"
"Oh, he's an animal trader, honey. Every week he has to head out for two or three days and arrange shipments of animals to different places, things like that."
"Oh, okay."
Mirabelle put a hand on her hip. "You sure it's nothing I could help with? Vaughn ain't much for talkin' to folks."
CJ threw his hands into his jeans' pockets and looked at the floor. "It's... hard to explain. I'd probably sound like a nutcase."
"I've been around for a long time, hun. I've seen some shit."
"Um... well, I forgot my cigarettes here last night and Vaughn came to drop them off. And uh... he kind of caught me in the middle of... a situation. I wanted to clear the air."
Mirabelle raised an eyebrow. "A situation?"
"No, no, no. I mean like. I was kind of freaking out over something."
"Ah, I see. I'm pretty sure Vaughn didn't even notice."
*Oh, he noticed*, CJ thought, but kept his mouth closed. Mirabelle picked up a rag and began wiping down the front counter and register.
"Well, did you need anythin' else, honey?"
"No, I guess not."
"Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like."
CJ nodded politely, then walked back out the door, making sure to fully shut it.

CJ shoved open the door to his shack with his shoulder and wiggled in his few bags he had forced himself to pick up at the small grocery store in town. It was nothing more than some packs of ramen and some eggs, but it was food. He began unpacking them onto his counter when the setting sun glinted off the broken glass screen of the TV caught his eye. It had been sitting there all day, waiting for someone to deal with it. He looked back to his groceries, his eyes low and dark. Having to touch it meant having to directly face the fact he was the one that destroyed it in the first place; as if shattering the electronic with his boot would make the runaway report disappear from the airwaves. He clenched one hand into a fist and repeatedly banged it on the counter until his blood ran warm with relief.
Soon his meager supplies were sorted and stashed, and he collapsed into a pile on the couch. He slipped one last cigarette between his lips and struck his lighter. His thick cloud wafted close to the slightly ajar window and his sullen eyes followed it. His mind raced through worries of what to do when his dwindling funds ran out, if he should try speaking to Mark again, getting so drunk he couldn't breathe, when Vaughn would be back. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and set a reminder for Monday.