Disclaimer: Dumbledore! No! Er…that's not what I meant to say. Sorry, obsessed. At any rate, I don't own Fairly Oddparents, but I do own Lorenzo and Sophie.

Chapter Nine: Restless

(The treehouse, 8:45 p.m. PST)

When words failed, she merely stared, the amber sunset shimmering in her eyes. Beneath the treehouse and in the streets beyond, children had played merrily. Their voices had ventured upwards, but ended on her ears. The world consisted of her and Cosmo; no one else existed. Hours passed without a flicker of a glance at the time. Time, like the rest of the universe, was immaterial.

At the moment, he lay quite still and limp in her lap. Not even his chest rose. For all extensive purposes, he was nearly dead. Other than his thin sliver of a soul bound by their telepathy, nothing else restrained him. Perhaps Wanda acknowledged this, clutching him all the tighter.

"Wanda…" A voice echoed, but its lure was not sufficient. Her soft, trembling hand stroked his frigid forehead. Already, his body had acquired a semi rigor mortis. Wanda didn't dwell on that thought.

"Wanda, answer me." This time, the voice called stronger, more insistent. Wanda personally failed to see the importance of focusing long enough to respond. Whoever it was, certainly they could wait. Cosmo's soul called to her and if she ignored him…

"Wanda!" The voice lost whatever innate patience it contained and shrieked. Jerked out of her trance, Wanda mentally cursed. Who desired to speak so ardently they persisted? Moreover, how had they managed to sneak in stealthily?

Looming above, peculiar considering the minimal difference in height, stood Sophie. Angry sparks flew from her goddaughter's eyes. In fact, her whole stance communicated fury and Wanda instinctively recoiled. Considering Timmy's recent display, that was the last thing she needed.

"Wanda…" Sophie said, her voice softer now. "You can't hide here for the rest of your life." Not to mention I'm not entirely certain how long fairies live and chances are Timmy and I'll be long dead before you finally leave if you keep this up.

Sighing, relieved, the pink fairy relaxed; her hand, nonetheless, stretched for her wand, close just in case. It struck her suddenly the extent of her inattentiveness. Had Timmy decided to make good on his threat, she might find herself at the receiving end of any number of painful acts. Forgetting her troubles and sliding into an abyss, bereft of emotion, tempted her too much. Still, who could blame her? The only creature she'd ever considered her stronghold lay comatose.

An immature response rose, clamoring for release, but she stifled it. What good would it do to cast her aside? If Sophie cared enough to break her from Cosmo, then maybe there was a possibility she wouldn't revolt like Timmy. The thought sent unpleasant squirms down her stomach.

It hadn't been her fault, damn it! Blame whoever (Jorgen, more than likely) designed Da Rules. Timmy behaved like she'd a choice, like she enjoyed torturing her godson. Why on earth would she deliberately revive the one creature that antagonized him the most?

Lamentably, his creation was her concept. In a moment of foolishness she regretted daily, she'd opened her mouth and inserted her foot. Never before had a wish backfired so spectacularly and consequently been ignored by Jorgen. If Lorenzo hadn't wreaked havoc with everything and everyone he touched, she might be grateful for Jorgen's lack of interference. Now, she deemed it punishment.

Noting her dazed expression, Sophie snapped her fingers, jarring Wanda back to the present. Apparently, she would not take silence instead of a conversation. Sophie's dogmatic nature pleased her, but she really wished she'd leave her alone. Discussing Timmy's reaction to Lorenzo was not at all how she'd planned to spend the rapidly approaching evening.

"I heard Timmy screaming and that creature in the mirror, Lorenzo," Sophie murmured, sitting reluctantly beside her. I suspect most of California overheard that. One of these days, we have to put a muzzle on that kid.

"My godson…" Wanda trailed off, unable to elucidate him diplomatically. The completions springing forth were less than civil. With her current state, only years of experience bit back her tongue.

"Is a dick," another voice completed, climbing adroitly. Seconds later, her pigtailed head appeared above the pink carpet. Mere moments passed and she joined Sophie. Surprised, she shifted over, permitting the older girl more room and Tootie afforded her a friendly smile nervously returned.

"Who only thinks through that. You have to excuse him; his brains are stuck in a very small space." And it's a miracle he hasn't pissed them away yet, Tootie thought savagely.

Unable to control anything else, Wanda sighed at Tootie's word choice. She'd recently scolded the two of them about vulgarity in front of Sophie and here she was, using it again. Sophie was nine, not thirteen. Since her parents were less than competent (unable to remember her and all), she was a surrogate mother. Therefore, she saw no instance for rampant cursing.

To her surprise, Sophie smiled thinly before returning to her godmother. Now two sets of eyes poured attention; she fidgeted absently with Cosmo's languid locks. Precisely what she didn't seek was more witnesses. The next thing, Timmy would stride up the ladder and then accuse her of cajoling Eve to eat the forbidden fruit.

Perturbed, Wanda restarted. "My godson…has a flair for the dramatic. He's at a very difficult time in his life…"

"In other words," Tootie translated, "you don't want to call him a bastard because that'd be out of character. You also hope his hostility is isolated when it isn't. Timmy thinks he owns the house and knows better than everyone. Are you going to tell me that's a typical teenager?"

Defensive, not quite understanding why, Wanda retorted, "It is! Timmy's gone through a lot in the past year; things that normal creatures would not encounter in their whole lives, and-"

"Wanda," Tootie cut in, "I love him and I'm not sticking up for him. Believe it or not, the world won't come to an end if you admit your godson's mistreating you and everyone else within earshot."

"It's completely understandable, considering his past. Anyone would have these feelings after-"

"Stop rationalizing everything!" Tootie snapped.

"That's one of your defense mechanisms," Sophie murmured thoughtfully, chewing her lip. As this was the first comment since Tootie's arrival, Wanda and Tootie both gazed at her. A blush spread furiously across her face. Why do they always argue in this house? Why can't they agree on anything?

"When you feel cornered, you rely on rationalization. When that fails, you flee. You find solace in brainless things, like your husband. Since logic has left you empty, you think its absence will aid you," Sophie said, speaking like she'd known all her life. The lifelines informed her of more than relationships now. They told about lies and automatic triggers. Wanda's line glowed bright pink, flashing with the urgency of a compulsion of concealment.

Wanda stared, stunned. How on earth can she know that? I never…well, of course I wouldn't say it…but she's only nine! How can she know all that?

Tootie, too, gawked. Both, mouths agape, peered at Sophie, unabashed. She wasn't finished; she'd followed the pink line to the pacing blue one.

"Timmy uses anger. When he feels outraged, he lunges out. He'd rather avoid taking the blame than accept it outwardly. However, if left to his own devices, the guilt gnaws him. He can either express it through snapping or berating himself for some fault, imagined or otherwise. In either case, he proves volatile. He too needs someone to keep him anchored and prevent that stray anger from lashing out at the ones he least desires to receive it.

"He may act like he's furious with you, Wanda and go so far to convince himself, but he's not. He's bombarding you with guilt for what he cannot accept. It's easier for him to scream, rant, and rave than internalize. The last time he did…he nearly killed himself. He lets his anger, resentment, and everything else compound until it suffocates him.

"Go to him during a moment of need, particularly when he is in solitude. You might be surprised."

(In the depths of Timmy's haunted subconscious, time unknown

Surrounded by soothing dark, Timmy Turner's feet echoed hollowly in Lorenzo DeMedici's empty mansion. In his hands, he clutched the transistor tightly; its stagnant brown rod dug into his palms. The pain served to remind him sternly of his mission. Lorenzo would not approve failure and he was eager to please. He shuddered, recalling exactly his stance

Tonight, his mission concerned Wanda, not her buffoon husband. According to Lorenzo, the buffoon would be dealt with separately and, despite previous discrepancies, The Other trusted him with his greatest rival's death. Timmy had assured him he would return with her head. After all, given her situation, bound and gagged, it seemed like an easy assignment. He could even torture her beforehand

Weeping ricocheted and he halted, straining. It sprang from everywhere at once. Not only could he hear it externally, but it rang within his mind and in the depths of his soul. Was Wanda crying for Cosmo or his sanity? Was Tootie pleading with him? They blended into one- or were they one? Did they speak for the same things, in different voices

In the eastern wing, the further room was where he found her, perched on the bed. When he arrived, the door was already ajar. He shrugged, supposing this to be Lorenzo's way of communicating this was her location. Lorenzo usually had more cunning than he.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his godmother, pink eyes wide and wary. They were the only things unbound and their gaze, had Timmy any other mindset than Lorenzo's, would have stunned him. They shone with unshed tears. Sheer effort alone prevented her from shedding them

Striding coolly inside, he removed her gag. What purpose did it serve? Who could she possibly warn? The only creatures that could come to her aid were either under Lorenzo's duress or otherwise incapacitated. She was helpless and hopeless

"Timmy…" Wanda whispered. In his hands, the transistor transformed smoothly from its stagnant state into a scythe, large and powerful. Shaking his head, he transformed it to a machete. First torture, then death

"Please, sport…" She whimpered, curling up. "Sweetie, you know this is wrong."

"Shut up!" Timmy roared, yanking her by the hair and dangling her. Unable to shield herself, she peered pleadingly into his ruthless cerulean eyes. Whatever she sought, she discovered nothing. She sagged in his hand

"Timmy…I love you…" she whispered, continuing despite the chill descending her spine. "I would die for you."

"Then you will!" Timmy screamed, shaking and slamming her harshly into the wall. An unpleasant crack rent the air- when he dropped her back onto the bed, blood trailed. Despite the obvious pain, Wanda kept mum. In fact, the only sound escaping was another whimper. She would not give him the satisfaction

"Lorenzo killed Cosmo," Wanda said calmly, agony sparking in her dull pink eyes. Taken aback, he gawked. Lorenzo had said Cosmo still lived…somewhere…where he could not visit

"He snapped his neck after beating him into submission. I heard him in my head. I felt every single bruise, every whip mark, every broken bone. When he died, I longed to follow him

"And do you know what your precious master did when he died, Timmy?" Tears sparkled now, threatening to spill over. Timmy touched his face and stared, stunned to discover his cheeks were wet. Images of Cosmo's broken body lying facedown on the floor flooded his mind

"He laughed. He laughed in my face while I sobbed my heart out. He told me this was the price of being your godmother, loving you unconditionally. I, the creature seeking nothing than to protect and cherish you, had caused his death. He claimed I might as well have killed him myself

"And now, here you are. You've come to finish me off." Again, she raised her head pleadingly, imploring him to find himself in Lorenzo's lies and rejoin her. As long as both lived, she was his godmother, not an enemy. She only wanted what was best for him.

Cold anger swept him. Like the tears, he could not fathom it. When Lorenzo's attention had wavered, murdering Cosmo, he'd a flash of conscience. Cosmo had been his godfather and he didn't deserve Lorenzo's torture before death. At least, that was the logic ere Lorenzo's reasoning superceded. Now, he loathed her again. She was just trying to brainwash him against his master.

"I've come to shut your lying mouth, frach." He spat on her face and it, like her tears, trickled down. Unable to wipe it off, she cringed.

"Can't you feel it?" she whispered. "The ache…"

"Liar!" Timmy screamed, shuddering. Yes, he could sense it. While he and Wanda were not tied as closely as he and Tootie, he occasionally received telepathic feelings from her. Presently, he received her anguish. It throbbed and stole other thoughts away

An uneasy silence descended upon the room and Wanda shifted slightly. For a moment, Lorenzo struggled to recapture his apprentice. Timmy's thoughts swirled with Wanda's pain and his sudden acknowledgement of Cosmo's death's significance. However, he needn't have bothered to stopper it. Another rage ravaged him.

Voices in his subconscious quickly submerged his anger to a more recent event. They urged him to attack her for her inexcusable crimes. They wished she would struggle through the emotions surging through him. And they whispered one death would not matter

"I hate you!" Timmy screamed, slapping her in the face with the machete. Sparkling red blood pooled.

"You brought Lorenzo, you made him rape me, you revived him. You don't give a shit about me!

"No!" Wanda screamed, body wracked with sobs. At her denial, he jabbed her in the stomach; he slid the knife in and out, relishing the energy he extolled. Wanda choked, coughing up blood.

"Timmy…" she whispered, her eyes dazed and unfocused. "I would never hurt you willingly…I love you…Everything I did that I could…I did for you…

"Liar! You like to see me hurt!"

This time, he grabbed the machete and wrenched it in her stomach; he twisted it. Wanda screamed his name, her voice full of panic. With a sudden, despairing clarity, she knew she would die soon.

"Timmy! Timmy, stop! Please! I love you!"

"Bullshit!" Timmy roared in response, pulling it out only to wrench and twist further up. With each stab, he moved upwards. Wanda's breathing became labored; her eyes closed, the exertion to keep them open too costly. Tears spilled down her cheeks

"Timmy…" Wanda whimpered. "Oh, Timmy…"

Hands soaked in her blood, he watched her jerk and then, finally, die. Instead of remorse, a grim satisfaction soothed him. Finally, his master would be pleased. Although a short shower might be in order, he had done what his master asked. There was only one last step…

Turning the machete to a scythe once more, Timmy cut off Wanda's head.

(Timmy Turner's bedroom, 3:30 a.m. PST)

The real Timmy Turner gasped, blankets soaked in sweat. Tears streamed down his cheeks and wet his already soaked collar. His forehead was cold and clammy. What a nightmare…

"Wanda…" he whispered, convalescing with sobs. Pressing his hands to his face, he rocked back and forth. In the darkness, arms encircled him and he leaned against them and the comfort they offered. They felt so familiar…so loving…

"I killed Wanda…"

Bile rose and he separated temporarily to dash to the bathroom. Once there, he vomited until he dry heaved. Knees weak, he collapsed onto the cool bathroom floor and rested his chin against the porcelain bowl. When the room stopped spinning, he would wash his mouth out. For the moment, he was comfortable on the floor. It lessened the sensation of hot blood pouring over his hands.

Sobbing weakly, terribly shaken, Timmy's head nearly fell to the tiles. However, an unseen hand directed it in the proper direction and stroked his locks. He closed his eyes as sickening heat soared traversed his body. If anything remained in his system, he'd have expelled it. All that came out was disgusting tasting spittle.

Tenderly, like a mother, the hand caressed his cheek and then produced a glass of water. It indicated he gargle and spit. All the while, it said nothing. Its cool touch calmed, though.

Regaining enough strength to return to bed, arms guided him back, ensuring he never wavered or stumbled. The presence remained and, in the dim light of the moon, he caught a silhouette. Blinking, he scrutinized it, but could not discern anyone. Yet she seemed so damn familiar.

He sensed her about to leave and grasped her wrist. The figure halted, breathing shallowly. It still had yet to speak. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that was deliberate. It didn't want him to know who.

"Mom?" Timmy whispered eagerly, hoping against hope she'd returned. The figure stiffened, stung. With an effort, it wrenched his hand from its wrist and sought its escape device. Fortunately, the device proved close at hand.

"I'm not your mother," It muttered coldly, preparing to leave. "Good night, Timmy."

A thousand questions and answers soared through his mind; all struggled to be asked immediately. At the moment, he managed to stare blankly. If the shadow wasn't his mother and the voice was so familiar…just like Wanda…but what would Wanda be doing here? He'd told her he hated her. No one in their right mind would return willingly after what had happened.

Just before the pink flash lit his eyes, he realized she would leave if he didn't prevent it. Despite his lingering doubts about her and his previous feelings, the dream surfaced repeatedly. He remembered how swiftly and coldly he'd stabbed her. Horrible rage had been his modus operandi and he'd listened remorselessly. The things he'd snapped at her belonged to the version wanting to hurt her…and that version had shown its desire to kill her…

"Wanda, wait."

Fidgeting, eyes widened in surprise, she analyzed him. There was no hostility or fury. In fact, no trace remained. This alone paused her.

Tentatively, she stroked his clammy forehead. Cold sweat clung to his brown hair and it'd be a while before he fully recovered. In the old days, this meant she'd wait until he fell asleep to depart. He might be thirteen, but he was a child in her eyes. And, after that, he needed his mother.

Which isn't me, she thought sadly. Why else would he have called for her?

"I…I had a nightmare…" he began awkwardly, uncertain what to say. He had a shrewd notion she was only here because she couldn't gracefully exit. Although he scarcely saw her, he deeply appreciated her not shunning him right now. Despite everything he'd said and done, she doted on him. A lump rose in his throat that refused to go down.

"I know, sweetie," Wanda murmured, sitting on the edge of his bed. Soundlessly, he shifted to permit her more room. In the dark, she smiled weakly, her other hand slick with sweat as it struggled for purchase on her wand. Timmy might not be threatening now, but she wasn't convinced for the future. She'd only a glimmer of his dream and therefore, only understood a portion of what upset him. She suspected it had to do with her, hence her caution.

"I heard you call my name."

"Oh." Behind his unsaid words, she caught the rest. Is that the only reason you're here? Did I scare you off? Should I have?

Tensing again, she rose, nearly dropping her wand. She was not keen for alone time, regardless of how vulnerable he looked. (Could she afford to remain until he fell asleep again? Surely he needed someone to look after him…)

"Wanda, please!" Timmy cried, startling her again. "Please don't leave me. I…need you."

"I thought you hated me, sport. Wouldn't you rather I left before you finally paid me back for resurrecting Lorenzo? Tootie might hear you murdering me."

Her tone was light, but it belied her exhaustion. Every day was something new. If she survived to his eighteen birthday, she was swearing off humans. They caused too much strife, not to mention this one alone had shortened her lifespan considerably.

The effect of these three simple sentences astounded her. Timmy gasped, recalling his nightmare, and yanked her by the waist back onto his bed. Once there, he clutched her like a life preserver. The last time she was in such a tight embrace, it'd been with Timmy's ghost parents peering down at her and Cosmo. Timmy had hated her back then too.

"No! I can't…you wouldn't…no!"

He wrapped his arms around her back (she winced when he brushed her wings) and cradled her waist. Bemused, she simply stared; he buried his head in her chest and sobbed again. Tentatively, she resumed stroking his face and hair. Assuming his fit was natural, she released her wand, clattering to the floor. Both hands caressed his back to placate him.

Nonetheless, a blush spread- he was a bit old for this. Thankfully, he ceased soon, although he continued to cradle her. In fact, when she moved away, he only held tighter. Uneasy again, she tensed and wished she hadn't let her wand drop.

"I dreamt I…" He swallowed hard, leery to finish. Dead silence filled the room and, swallowing again, he choked out the rest.

Silence hung again, but not quite the same. Wanda shuddered, remembering when Timmy might have subjected her to that. They lay, mulling it over. It was a very long time before either broke the gloom.

"Does it frighten you?" Wanda murmured. "That your subconscious hates me enough to show you attacking me?" Is that why you vomited?

"No!" Timmy burst out. "It scares me that I want to do something like that! It scares me because I…I love you…

"And I'm sorry…I'm sorry I screamed at you…I'm sorry I threatened you…oh, Wanda…"

He broke off, fighting tearful floods. In the ensuing silence, Wanda merely pressed him against her until he calmed. For once, it was nice to just be a godmother. She didn't have to think about anything, including what lurked in the treehouse, Sophie's uncanny insights, or Vicky's unpleasantness. She was needed here…and he didn't hate her at all. A great weight unknown weight lifted.

"It's all right," she found herself saying, "it's all right. I understand."

Stroking his sweaty locks and clammy forehead, she cradled him until he fell asleep again. Not until much later did it occur to her she'd never said she forgave him.

(The basement, 6:30 a.m. PST

Mark Chang, footsteps echoing, paced the basement floor endlessly. Fortunately, Vicky slept so deeply, he doubted a dragon biting her head off would wake her. This was the first stroke of luck he'd had in days, maybe months. As much as he loved Vicky, her shrill voice ringing with complaints and insults had begun to ebb away what little remained of his patience. An hour without her barking orders at him or demeaning him worked wonders. Silence truly was golden.

Halting abruptly, he gazed over at her, red hair splayed across the pillow. While he acknowledged his irritation, he also acknowledged his deep love. Despite what she shoved in his face, he would never leave her. Regardless of the temperament apparently typical of pregnant human females, he could not stop hoping there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. Or, he thought, shaking his head ruefully, an eye of the storm.

Nestled deep in his faded khaki pants was an item that if Vicky discovered would lead to endless arguing. This was precisely why it rested in a place she would not think to look. Given her mood swings, arousing the teapot anger was a recipe for disaster. Her last threat, to tear his balls off and cram them down his throat, was delivered with such gusto he could only wonder if, in the right mind, she might attempt it. The thought unnerved him.

Through his talks with Wanda, he perceived humans provided for their families through work. Therefore, he sought employment. Although not having a very good idea of what humans did in the workplace, he had instruments to fabricate, alter, or bamboozle humans into enlisting him. While he did not plan to use any, he would if he had to. Living in a basement was no way to start a family.

However, while all his thoughts concurred, he'd yet to communicate that to his new bride. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure when to break it to her. He could never accurately predict a storm and dashing headlong could end in missing genitalia. As much as he loved Vicky, he did enjoy certain things…

Swallowing hard, he paced again and then pivoted. Simply vanishing wordlessly seemed cruel, but it was a mark of how much she irked him to consider it. If she truly missed him, she could contact him via telepathy. He had mental barriers- if she started up, he could block her. Actually, come to think of it, that was quite possibly the best idea he'd had in a while. There were benefits to rising early.

Situated on the countertop beside his hand, a notepad sat. A pen lay close by, both pleading him to attempt explaining. If he didn't, they argued, then she would be worse. At the moment, he wasn't certain that was possible, but he had to try. Anything to soothe those fragile, pulsating nerves…

"Dearest Vicky," the pen scratched.

"I have done what Wanda told me befits an adult human male. Since most males make livings through jobs, I have decided to seek employment. Surely you must admit that dwelling within Timmy Turner's basement cannot be conducive to raising a child. Therefore, I must earn money to ensure we can safely leave this place and have our own life.

"Forever yours,

"Mark Chang."

Smiling softly, not noticing just how many ways his new bride could torture Wanda with that letter, Mark kissed her on the forehead and disappeared for the day.

(Tootie's bedroom, 8:43 a.m. PST)

Breathing shallowly, sweat pouring down, Tootie cried out distressingly. Unconsciously, she reached for anything to nurse and, in a fog, she perceived Timmy. Since he in particular had been assassinated viciously in her dream, she yearned for his comforting touch. Regardless of how they treated each other, her heart stopped when contemplating his death. She knew she would perish the instant he did.

Timmy smirked, but when she opened her eyes to dispel the nightmare, he was all wrong. For one thing, his black hair shone in the sunlight streaming and his red jacket reeked of leather tanning oil. Only one boy had those articles…maybe she still dreamt. Maybe this was a nightmare and she'd wake to discover Gary was not sleeping in her bed.

Pinching herself hard, she shrieked painfully. Gary cursed his creator under his breath and rolled over. Damn, that cemented things. He'd snuck into her bed and then lay down next to her like he found nothing wrong.

But why? Did he revel in making things worse? Did he enjoy Timmy's torture? Did he want to strike a wedge between them?

Breathing through her nose, trying her best not to panic and thus rouse him, she slid out of bed. Lamentably, the sudden movement brought her to his attention and, with fluttering eyelids, he awakened. Dead silence pervaded and, for a split second, she hoped he'd turn over and slumber on. Her heart thundered in her chest.

"Good morning, Toots," Gary called with a toothy grin. Tootie could not help the scream escaping. She'd been hoping he wouldn't speak. She'd been hoping this was a nasty trick.

"Get out!" Tootie shrieked, searching for an object, any would do, to slap him upside the head. If Timmy walked in, how this would look! A surge of anger shot through her. Goddamn him!

Footsteps sounded and, before she could hope to construct a counterargument, Timmy rushed headlong into the room. His cerulean eyes scanned Tootie's sheer purple nightgown and Gary, nestled under the covers with his customary smirk. Seconds ticked passed like hours and she prayed he correctly interrupted the scene. She would have had more luck convincing Jorgen to stop bullying creatures and take up miniature golf instead.

"Timmy, this isn't what it looks like!" Tootie cried, frustrated to no end by the tears assaulting her. By her thighs, fists formed. He'd better believe me…

"Whore," Timmy hissed, both in telepathy and aloud. ((Aren't I enough for you? Or do you have to toy with every boy's head you see?))

Seared by his mental accusation, Tootie stumbled backward. On the table lurked her transistor, but she didn't dare touch it. It took a while for her brain to process what he'd said. Not only did he consider her promiscuous, but he believed it. He thought she wasn't true to him…and nothing could be further from the truth…

"He snuck into my bed!" Tootie snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Bullshit! You're such a slut!"

((I love you! Please believe me!)) She clamored in telepathy, but his eyes narrowed disdainfully. With a curt, cold glance at Gary, he snapped back a reply and, once again, she stumbled. She could not imagine anything more painful than what followed.

"That's funny. I didn't know you could lie in telepathy. You don't deserve to touch me." ((Whore.))

Glaring at the two of them as though they were not fit to lick his shoes, he slammed the door in Tootie's stammering face.

"I hate you, Tootie."

(Same faery place, 9:03 a.m. PST))

"You!" Tootie growled, brandishing the transistor, converting into a butcher knife. One couldn't really blame the lack of ingenuity- she had contended with a perverted imaginary friend and his psychotic creator five seconds ago. She still seethed and did not put effort into weapons. Besides, this would work well.

"I didn't do anythin'!" Gary protested, backing up into her carved wooden headboard. Nonetheless, she jumped, knife poised threateningly over his crotch. Color drained from his face- punching him was one thing, but castrating him? Not cool.

"Timmy thinks I'm sleeping with you!" Tootie shrieked, hand quaking. Once again, he retreated, guarding himself. He'd rather have a stabbed hand than the alternative.

Gathering patience from heaven knew where, Gary placed his hands atop hers and gently pushed the transistor aside. Silence reigned and Tootie fumed, but she kept her mouth firmly shut. As angry as she was with Gary, her true focal point was Timmy. Besides, maybe Gary hadn't meant anything. Maybe all boys weren't dicks like him…

"Look," Gary murmured, managing to avoid holding her longer than necessary. Only by sheer will power he accomplished this feat. It wouldn't work if he behaved like him. He had to earn her trust.

"Ever since Tim-Tim chucked me out, I've lived on the streets. I wanted a nice, cool place to stay insteada sleepin' under a slide. I musta forgotten where I was-sorry.

"But it sounds like you've got worse troubles."

Deflating, she sat on the bed beside him. Because she had to, because she couldn't contend with lies and blind hatred, she nodded weakly. She had to believe him, so she would. It was as simple as that. He couldn't be lying because she didn't want him to be.

Turning her head warily, she murmured, "Why should I tell you anything?"

Every muscle ached to caress her face, yet he maintained his coolness. He'd win her through allying himself, not forcing himself on her. When the time came, more than his words would suffice. When the time came…Timmy would be sorry he'd screwed him over. He'd steal his girl out from under him.

"You don't," he said simply, offering her a weak smile. "But it might make you feel better."

He's Timmy's imaginary friend…he knows everything, including his faults. I won't have to tell him anything because he already knows. That's why he hates Timmy…isn't it? Because he knows him so well?

Desperate, she convinced herself anyone that familiar with Timmy had to despise him too. Of course, the theory bypassed Wanda entirely, but she couldn't think lucidly. Anyone on her side, understanding biased by whatever factors, she could rely on. And they would support her in return.

Sighing in relief, she unloaded. Words, buoyed by the hot steam of anger, floated meaninglessly past them. A quarter of an hour fled, followed by a half hour. Tootie talked herself hoarse, all the while sidestepping details of her disappearances. The only phrase she remembered uttering was, "It's not fair".

Nodding, smirk withheld, Gary comforted and satiated her with everything she wanted to hear. Towards the end, he roped an arm around her waist and rubbed her shoulders. Too engrossed, she continued on, not noticing him coming onto her. He was on her side; therefore, he wasn't trying to take advantage of her.

One hand cupped her chin and the other stroked her face. She shivered, shutting her eyes. This was exactly how Timmy should be acting. He should be inducing wishes to vanquish missions, instead of vanishing from Dimmsdale. He should care.

Smirking since her eyes were closed, Gary's lips lightly brushed hers. One hand intertwined with her right and squeezed. Adrenaline rushed through and she ignored the world surrounding them. Too many conflicting emotions swept her and she chose the kiss, instead of an emotion, to focus on.

Cal and Daniela, floating unseen, muttered ominously. They perched, phantomlike, by her windowsill. While they might have varying opinions on many topics, they agreed now.

"Oh, brother."

(The basement, 9:23 a.m. PST)

Sleep forever eluded Vicky, descending upon her in unsteady drifts. The moment she let it carry her away, it tossed her aside again. This last burst dumped her unceremoniously onto the frigid waters of consciousness. Needless to say, she was extremely displeased. Whoever she saw first would pay dearly.

Easing out from under the cozy covers, she tossed them carelessly aside and frowned, finding herself inexplicably alone. In fact, no traces of Mark lingered. Temper flailing; she wobbled over to the counter. She was in her fifth month and irritable as hell. If Mark had indeed abandoned her, he would be very sorry. She just desired an excuse.

Skimming the contents of the letter, she found one.

(The treehouse, 9:30 a.m. PST)

Wanda, tossing and turning, found herself in a set of nightmares involving Cosmo's horrible death at Juandissimo's hands. Every time one ended, another began, offering no respite. Someone tugged at her telepathy, but she ignored it. The tug was far too weak to recognize asleep, but he could not contact her unless she was unconscious. Pent up frustration clenched his fists and teeth.

Finally, after the sixth varying murder, he'd enough. Shoving his dream self aside with a scowl at Juandissimo, he addressed Wanda. At once, all activity within the dream ceased. At long last, he had her attention.

((Do you mind keeping me alive for about ten seconds? I really have to talk to you.))

A wisp of a fairy, translucent but foggy, floated before her. It possessed Cosmo's stature; his green eyes (dull due to his form); and his voice. Either Remy was playing a trick on her, or the little energy Cosmo clung to he'd utilized to speak with her. Stunned, she collapsed on her knees, smacking the marble floor dully. Apparently, her mind, preoccupied with Cosmo's abrupt arrival, left that particular detail out.

((What-! What are you doing here? Cosmo!)) Relief flooded her; maybe the last few days had been a horrid dream. When she awoke, he'd be lying beside her. He was here to tell that soulful Remy was just a miserable teenager. Sure, another voice in her mind perked up, and Vicky will stop being pregnant and Timmy and Tootie will forgive and forget.

Grinning, she flung herself at him only to pass straight through. Exclaiming in surprise, she jolted around to discover Cosmo, frowning softly. For once, his green eyes somberly regarded her and her heart sank to her stomach. Whatever impelled him to be serious had to be grave indeed. Perhaps, that nagging, hateful voice in her head hissed, he isn't even here for you. Maybe he's here because you're the only fairy who can see him this way.

Despairingly, she peered up into his vast, hollow eyes. Their surroundings melted to nothing and darkness pressed in on all sides. Months ago, she might have embraced this, but a helpless shudder rocked her. Darkness, where Cosmo would fall if she continued stalling for solutions. Darkness, the loss of love eternal.

Picking up on her train of thought, Cosmo nodded gravely. ((You've delayed too long.))

No trace of humor lingered about him. Uncomfortable, she glanced anywhere else, but the void seemingly shoved her eyeballs into her skull. Terrific guilt bore down on her- if she hadn't postponed research and the actual spell, he might be back by now. This was her fault entirely.

((If you don't restore me or discover a spell to contain me in limbo, my soul will be torn apart by Eschcolex, Remy, and Juandissimo. Then I will die.))

Stunned, she merely gawked, her mind working very slowly. It was like Cosmo had dumped a thick broth on her brain and clogged the necessary wheels. However, he waited until she processed everything before continuing. It was imperative she understood.

((I believe in you, Wanda…but…beware Remy's interference…))

Abruptly, his spirit dissolved into smoke, then vanished. In the center of nowhere, Wanda fell to her knees and stared up at nothing.

Well, I had responses to reviews and they were very good. That was before Word quit on me. I have no interest in rewriting them, sorry. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and please continue.

The rant, however, remains, so if you are so inclined, read it.

I thought I'd take a minute out of my "busy" schedule to snap at someone who reviewed chapter five. One might notice it, since it's the topmost review. At any rate, shall we commence?

Since no one at this site (if you notice, they remove their name whenever you place it somewhere) ever mentioned quoting a review in a story, here I go.

This one is from: Shane

God... You seem to be of the incorrect impression I believe in him/her/it.

Sorry, but I think you made a bad move with the Vicky thing. The funny thing is I don't think I did. Despite her pregnancy actually deviating from my original intention, her reactions and everything forthwith have been planned for six months. It was hardly a spur of the moment affair.

You could have let there be alittle sunshine in the story...

Sunshine in The Other Saga? Really? Does this seem to you the type of story where characters would randomly burst into song? Would you like to see Timmy grinning from ear to ear? Would that be normal for a boy having that past?

And have you noticed the pace at which things constantly get worse? In TOS (Part) 1, it was gradual, and by TOS (Part) 4, it's like a freight train going down hill!

Oddly enough, being the author, I might have noticed a thing or two, yes. And in response, TOS Part One has changed drastically since its conception over two years ago. (Incidentally, for those interested, Part Three's dramatic duel scene at the end was composed during Pirates of the Caribbean's theatrical release. That should give you a decent frame of mind). Although I cannot recall much in the way of the original, Wanda and Cosmo served as slaves for longer, Tootie's life was threatened and Vicky was on the run with her…

By the way, Part One would be called (I shall assume you are not familiar with these terms, because you certainly do not seem to be) the rising action and establishment of the basic plot. Each Part has its own rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution, but they work towards the whole series. TOS Part One, being the beginning, would therefore not contain nearly as much darkness as any of its ensuing parts. Part Four, by contrast, would contain the most as it is the climax leading towards falling action and resolution.

Please, bring some happiness...Cus I'm kind of tired of the whole down hill thing, it's overdone.

I changed my mind. I'm not fixing your error because I want it to ring as a reminder of someone who cannot spell " 'cuz", not a word itself.

At any rate, what would you like to happen? Would you like ponies prancing across the treehouse? Unicorns grazing in Timmy Turner's garden? This to all be a wretched dream sequence?

I take great umbrage at your "tired of the…" comment as well. I do not read any other stories in this section (unless penned by a friend) and therefore, have not drawn my story from anywhere else. Not to mention the original concept predates any story here. And if you are so weary of that type, then by all means, read another story. I will not miss you.

Representing the Ever Faithful TOS fanbase (Yet another non word)

Ever faithful? Do not make me laugh. Any true fan of The Other Saga would not have balked at the angst. The only reason I did not remove your review was so others may gaze upon your hypocrisy.

You may deem yourself the representative, but you are much like the politicians who claim to work for the people and work only to line their pockets.