Disclaimer: Still not mine. And the chapter title's a Flaming Lips song.

Persecutory Delusions
Chapter Six: What is the Light?

Skittery's eyes are closed, but the darkness behind his eyelids is far different from that which dances around him. He worries distantly as he falls about the broken glass on the ground and the ill effect it will have on his clothes.

He lies there, for a few moments, trying not to think. His brain has been thrown into chaos and he can't tell one sense from another. The world has distanced itself from him, so that he doesn't realize, at first, that his name is being called.

Skittery opens his eyes, and stares up at Snitch, whose face has turned a whiter shade of pale.

"Oh God, Skitts I didn't mean it, it wasn't supposed to do that, you have to be alright, because, and oh God that's never happened before—" Skittery is having trouble focusing on Snitch's voice, and it doesn't help that Snitch himself is far from coherent.

"You have to believe me, I didn't mean to, I would never, couldn't, and you believe me, right? 'Cause I wouldn't do that on purpose, I swear—"

Skittery tries to say, "Shut up, Snitch." It doesn't quite work as planned, but at least it gets Snitch's attention.

"You're alright. Oh, thank God, I thought—but you're alright," Snitch says. He reaches down and lightly touches Skittery's face as though he thinks it might break.

When he tries to sit up, Skittery almost manages it without Snitch's help. Almost.

"Yeah," he says once he's in a close-to-upright position that involves him being mostly supported by Snitch, "I'm alright."

"It's just that we have to show that place to everyone, before they can… But usually it's safe, nothing like that's ever happened, I didn't know it could."

If Skittery weren't coherent, he'd wonder what Snitch meant by "we". As it is, he's busy trying to remember where all of his appendages are. It's easier said than done.

He tunes Snitch out and works on making sure he still has the right number of fingers. Snitch is still babbling, still apologizing, and his apologies blend with the world around Skittery to create a dampening white haze. It's like a foggy day at sea, except that he can still see more than a foot in front of his face. He just can't process it that well.

"Snitch," Skittery says in a cotton-ball voice, "Snitch, what's going on?"

He is staring dazedly into Snitch's face, still in shock over what just happened.

"It's okay," Snitch says, "I'm here now, Skitts."

Skittery buries his face in Snitch's shirt and tries not to think too hard. Then he feels Snitch's fingers shift through his hair and he jerks his head up to face his friend once again.

"What are you doing here?" Skittery demands. His head is clear now, the impact of this moment has pushed the fog away.

"I'm here for you, Skitts," Snitch murmurs, "After all, you're one of ours."

Skittery shivers at the words that mirror those spoken by the black and shadowy apparitions days ago. Snitch doesn't notice, and continues to speak.

"Follow me, Skitts," he says, "I can show you the world. I can show you everything you want, everything you need."

With his eyes locked on his friend's, Skittery is certain that something has gone wrong.

This Snitch is not like any Snitch he has known. He's not supposed to be this way.

Then, in a flash, it's gone.

"This won't happen again, Skitts. I swear, I'd never hurt you. Just trust me."

Skittery looks away. Staring at the dusty gravel is easier than looking Snitch in the face.

"You know I won't hurt you, right? Right?"

The gravel is naturally so light gray it's almost white, but in places it has been discolored a dark red that Skittery knows is his blood.

"Listen to me, Skitts."

Splinters of glass lie scattered across the ground and reflect the sunlight. There are painfully beautiful. A pool of them fill a footprint off to his left. Skittery is not sure if it is his or Snitch's.

Then, suddenly, Skittery's view of the ground is disrupted as Snitch thrusts his hand in front of Skittery's face.

"Look at me, Alex."

"I am," Skittery mutters as he looks past Snitch's shoulder.

"No, you're not," Snitch says, and leans forward. Their faces are sudden much closer than Skittery thinks should be allowed. It's like there's an electric field around Snitch's skin, because Skittery is sure he can feel him even though they aren't touching.

"You know me."

Skittery sighs and longs for his dream where everything was simple and he could trust the voice of a friend to make the danger go away.

"I used to." His voice is barely audible, but he feels his own breath reflect back off Snitch's cheek, disturbing the air that grows humid between them.

"You know me," Snitch says again. Skittery closes his eyes.

"I can't," he says. Even he isn't sure what he means.

Abruptly, Snitch stands up and extends a hand down to Skittery.

"Come on," he says, "We have to get you cleaned up."

Skittery has forgotten about not following people. He has forgotten everything but Snitch.

Less than ten minutes later, Skittery walks toward the bathroom of a nearby McDonald's wearing a shirt that is not his own. Snitch, whose shirt Skittery is wearing, is currently outside

somewhere. Apparently, the no shirt no shoes no service policy extends to bathroom use as well.

The bathroom, fortunately, has space only for a single person. When he enters, Skittery locks the door behind him and leans on the sink, face down-turned. He needs to breathe for a minute, and take in the silence.

The air around him is cool and dry and smells of cleaning fluid. The bathroom is simultaneously sanitized and grimy, in the way that only fast food restaurants can be. Skittery welcomes its normalcy.

He pulls off the shirt he is wearing and runs it under the faucet. The water is cold; he doesn't think he could stand hot. The hand soap in the dispenser on the wall foams a pale lavender as Skittery drips it on the shirt.

As he runs the shirt-turned-rag over his blood-coated back, Skittery winces. Maybe there are a few little pieces of broken glass still embedded in his cuts. He wonders if he should seek medical treatment.

He dismisses the idea again very quickly.

Skittery works carefully over his wounds, trying to cause as little pain as possible. He has never been pain's biggest fan, and at the moment it's looking even worse than usual.

The door begins to vibrate with a sudden knocking. Skittery jumps and causes himself all the undue pain he was avoiding.

"There's someone in here," he calls roughly, and the door laughs.

"I know, Skitts," it says, "It's me."

Skittery unlocks the door to let Snitch in. He locks it behind him again.

"Where did you get the shirt?" Skittery asks him.

Snitch looks down at the orange fabric spread across his torso. Skittery has never seen it before in his life, and he doesn't like the smile on Snitch's face. It's happy in a way that most people would describe as "demented".

Without responding to Skittery's question, Snitch walks over to him and takes hold of the shirt that's balled up in his hands.

"Want some help?" He asks.

"No," Skittery says, and snatches the shirt back. Snitch shrugs, and sits on the counter next to the sink. He stares at Skittery. Skittery tries very hard not to stare at him.

For a while, the only sound in the bathroom is the water running continuously out of the tap. Normally, Skittery would be against wasting water like that, but he thinks it's worth it to get rid of the blood.

When he is finished, his back is skin-colored rather than scarlet and a staccato series of shallow cuts has been revealed across it.

Skittery looks at Snitch.

"What are the plans for getting me out of here fully clothed?" He says, holding up the wet, bloody shirt. It's not exactly inconspicuous.

Snitch's smile grows even broader. He reaches a hand into his pocket and pulls out another shirt Skittery has never seen before. Wordlessly, Skittery takes it. As the scratchy, sweat-scented fabric slides across the cuts on his back, he decides that he doesn't really want to know where Snitch got the clothing.

Together, they exit the bathroom.

Crossing the restaurant with a different shirt than he was wearing on the way into the bathroom and with a broadly grinning Snitch at his side, Skittery can't help but wonder what the customers think.

Outside, the sun is beginning to go down, so it is a little less hot than it was earlier. Skittery and Snitch walk aimlessly through the city.

"So," Skittery says, "How did you do it?"

They both know exactly what he means.

"I… well, I didn't escape exactly. If that's what you're thinking. It's more that… it's kind of a long story." Snitch breaks off for a moment and stops looking at Skittery. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Skittery is going to make him talk.

"Okay," he says.

Or not.

Snitch slings an arm around Skittery's shoulder, and Skittery pushes it off. The silence around them is not heavy or taught with tension, though Skittery thinks it should be. Things aren't supposed to be easy between him and Snitch. That ended a long time ago. He doesn't want to act like it's just the same as always, but it's so easy to let it slip away, and Snitch was his best friend and he doesn't want to let that go…

"So what do we do now?" Skittery says, if only to stave off the quiet.

"Hm? Oh. You'll see." Snitch glances at him absentmindedly. "We'll get there soon."

"Snitch. We've been walking in circles for almost an hour."

"Yeah, I know."

They fall silent again, and Skittery shakes his head. He was hoping Snitch was at least a little closer to the sane side these days, but it seems it is not to be.

That's when Snitch stops abruptly in front of a building Skittery swears was not there last time they passed this way. Now, Skittery starts worrying about his own sanity again.

Dove gray marble rises up toward the sky, windowless and faceless. It is built the way existentialism would be if it were an architectural style. The door holds itself tightly against the wall, its reddish wood seemingly giving off an interior glow. The whole building personifies unearthly beauty, yet somehow it manages to blend in perfectly with the complexes on either side of it.

Snitch raps smartly on the wood of the door. There is a second's pause, and then a voice from within says,

"The gates open only for one who knows the truth."

"I am such a one," Snitch says, unfazed by the formality of the language.

"From whence comes the light?"

"The hearts of its bearers know."

"And wherefore do they bear it?"

"Against the shadows, to illuminate truth."

"But on this day, even a thousand stars cannot light the darkest sea."

Snitch pauses, and his brow furrows. "Are you sure?" He asks.

"I am."

"But… not now."

"On this day."

"Oh God."

There is a sigh. "Come in, brother."

The door swings open, and Snitch gestures for Skittery to go inside. As they walk in, Snitch's arm falls around Skittery's shoulder once more.

This time, he does not shrug it off.

A/N: The guy playing MacB in the show I was in deprived Faulkner of the title of a novel. Stupid idjit. That was my favorite line in the whole show. That, in case you're wondering, is the reason this chapter was late. The stupid idjits in my show, that is, not Faulkner.

Ellaeternity- Oh my God, a batman teddybear? The awesome.

Madmbutterfly- That's okay, I'm close to the same age. Bet you don't believe me…

Volatile.virgin- Oh yes, it's all part of my evil plan to keep you reading as long as possible. Muahahahaha!1!one1! Er… I mean… yeah.

Kid Blink's Dreamer- Heh. I tend to have that effect on people.

Thumbsucker Snitch- It so does! And now I'm trying to figure out how it is that I suddenly have two OTPs, even though that means, y'know, one true pairing. Yeah.