Somewhere within the city of London, an ordinary man was about to turn in for the night. He was a normal man with a normal house and a normal car, and lived an almost completely normal life. Like most people, he took a shower, put on night clothes, brushed his teeth, and headed off to bed, but alas, his job was not "normal", and he received a call in the middle of the night from his employer.

Unfortunately, this man worked for Matthew Westley, a member of the secretive Round Table conference as an assistant, and his employer was not particularly pleased with him. While on the job, the assistant obtained a hairline fracture in his wrist and was admitted to the hospital, where a most unusual event occurred. He fell asleep and could not wake up, experiencing nightmares and wandering through a hell-scape in order to survive. Fortunately for him, he woke up, but he hadn't quite been the same since then.

He put off going to sleep for days it seemed, but on this night, although it was a bit early for it, he had no choice as he was about to collapse. He was stressed, his head and eyes ached, and he was terrified of the dark. The man saw shadows moving out of the corner of his eye, and felt irrationally nervous at times. It was a most unusual condition to be in.

His work began to suffer, and he was essentially tasked with being at the son of his employer's beck and call, which is what happened to him on this particular night, just as he was about to go to sleep. Needless to say, he was less than thrilled, being unimpressed with the Westley's already. Hearing his cellphone vibrate, he reached over to the nightstand and answered it.

"Hello?" he grumbled as he laid on his side. To his surprise, he was met with a voice he did not know.

"Hello?" the voice answered. "Is this Paul Blackwood?"

"Yes, that's me." the assistant groggily said. "Who's speaking?"

"My name is Kristopherson Miles. I'm a… friend of Daniel's." informed the voice on the other line. "Daniel has gotten into a bit of trouble. He went drinking out with a couple of 'friends' from his school, and it would appear that they stole his wallet."

"Of course..." sighed Paul, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. He was well-acquainted with the Westley's wretched "friends", and would love for them to be gone. "Let me guess… He needs a ride home..."

"It would seem so." Kristopherson said with a touch of understanding in his tone. "His phone is dead, but he managed to make it to my apartment. It was nearby. He's out of it, so I had to call Phantomhive for your number."

"Fantastic..." Blackwood replied, reaching over to the nightstand again for his glasses. Placing them on his face, he got up and searched the room for a pen and paper. "Give me the address and I'll be right there to get him… I'm sorry about what mister Westley has put you through..."

"Likewise. I'm really sorry about this." said the Miles before giving him the address.

After the assistant got it written down, both men said there goodbyes, and Blackwood hung up. With another sigh, he stretched for a moment before finding something to wear. Because of his job, he had to dress somewhat professionally, but he wasn't going to wear a tie for a drunk, bratty, college student. It just wasn't happening. He wasn't even going to fix his hair. All he did was vaguely sweep it into a semi-appealing position before grabbing his keys and trudging out the front door.

Paul was not thrilled about driving through London late at night. In fact, he would have taken public transport if he hadn't been picking up a drunk n'er-do-well, but this was the predicament he was in. He put the address into the GPS on his dashboard and took off, grumbling the entire way there in order to keep himself awake.

Fear did him just fine. He was completely on edge at being surrounded by darkness, regardless of how well-lit the area was. Blackwood was absolutely convinced that something was going to latch onto his car, so he drove quickly. It was as though he was still in the nightmare, as places he drove were places in the dream. There were some places he took detours around, making the trip longer, but it helped quell his anxiety somewhat.

Every muscle in his body was on edge as he drove, completely unaware of how fast he was going. Needless to say, Paul was speeding. It was an ordinary offense for an ordinary man. Many people did it, if not most on a daily basis. However, on this particular night, Paul did something that most people frown upon, and ran a stop light right in front of the nose of the London Metropolitan Police. The sight of the flashing blue lights behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin , jerking the wheel before quickly correcting it.

Blackwood slowed his speed, finding a place to stop as his eyes kept darting to the rear-view mirror at the blinding blue lights, sweat accumulating at his brow and neck. Once he stopped, the police car pulled in behind him and the officer stepped out, shivering as he left the warmth of the heated cruiser. As he approached, Paul rolled down the window so that they could converse, and to his surprise, Blackwood almost seemed relieved to see him, despite the fact that a citation was imminent.

The man in the car was blonde, with his hair parted on the left, contrasting his darker eyes that looked up at the officer as he waited to see what the man had to say. Other than that, he looked fairly ordinary for a man in his late twenties, aside from his cleft chin and angular jaw, although he also looked like the sort of man who would snap at work if his boss complained about him getting him the wrong kind of coffee. The officer wasn't far off in this assumption, as Paul hated his job more and more each day. Alas, it was not the policeman's place to speak on such manners, therefore he got straight to business.

"Evening, sir." said the officer, tipping his hat. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Uh… Speeding?" Questioned Paul, but judging by the officer's expression, his answer was incorrect.

"You didn't hear those cars honking at you back there?" the officer questioned. "You ran a red light. It's amazing that no one hit you, to be honest."

"Oh..." answered the assistant. "Right..." Now that it was mentioned, he did hear honking, but the information didn't seem to be processed right then and there.

"Can I see your license, registration, and proof of insurance, sir?" asked to cop, prompting the other to lean over and reach for the glove compartment on the other side of the vehicle.

"Uhm, yes… Just a moment." Blackwood replied, opening the glovebox and retrieving his papers. As he leaned over, hair got in his right eye, forcing him to close it momentarily until he had the hands to fix it. Shutting the box, he sat up again before turning back to the officer.

"Here they ar—AAAH!" Violently, the man recoiled as he saw the officer through his left eye, much to the other man's confusion. Actually, both men were confused, but Paul was horrified, as the policeman no longer looked human. Instead, he looked like a large wolfman in a police getup, peering through his car window. Quickly, Blackwood swept his hair out of his eye and rubbed it before opening it, but now, the officer was completely back to normal. He blinked for a few moments and stared, baffled as to what just happened.

"Sir, are you alright?" the officer questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"Huh? O-oh, yeah. Hair got in my eye and startled me..." the man explained, concocting a fib. "There was a spider in here earlier..."

"I see..." the other said. "I still need to see your liscence."

"Oh..." Quickly, Paul dug in his pockets for it and presented the policeman with his identification .Once everything checked out, he received his ticket and was sent on his merry way, leaving him to ponder what had just occurred.

He held the wheel in a death-grip as he made his way down the road. He was fully awake now. There would be no sleep for him that night after all. The poor man couldn't get the sight of the wolfman out of his mind. It looked so real, but there was no way it could be real. Surely, it was only a hallucination. If that was the case, however, was he losing his mind? Along with canceling all of the young Westley's credit cards tomorrow, it would appear that he would need to arrange a doctor's appointment for himself. This could not persist.

The voice of the GPS startled him as it spoke up again, causing him to jump. The building was close. Once he got there, he didn't want to get out right away, especially out into the empty parking garage. Goodness knows what could be lurking in the shadows beyond the safe confines of his vehicle. Paul sat there for a good three minutes before finally taking a deep breath and making a mad dash toward the elevator.

Now came the part where the man had to find Kristopherson's flat and retrieve his annoying boss' annoying son. The man wanted nothing more than to go home where things were relatively comfortable. He wanted to sleep, but he was too scared. Perhaps the lack of sleep was the cause of that hallucination from before? Probably. Yes, Blackwood could accept this conclusion.

Nodding for a moment, he closed his eyes to rest them, but they became heavy. It was fleeting, but he felt comfortable, even though he was standing up in an elevator. Unfortunately, he reached the floor he needed before he could nap, and he was forced to get out.

After searching for the right door, he found one that looked correct and knocked on it. Paul waited momentarily as someone came to answer it, and was greeted by a slightly muscular man with a beard which colour didn't match the hair on his head. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak, only to be intercepted.

"Mister Blackwood?" the strange blond questioned, prompting a nod.

"Yes. I take it that you're Mister Miles?"

"Yes. Daniel is inside laying on the couch…" Kristopherson said, stepping back inside. "Come on in. He's asleep, I think. Yeah. And his hands are still tied..."

"Tied?" asked Paul, raising a brow.

"He was getting violent." the other explained as the two stepped into the living room. There, Blackwood saw another man sitting in a chair next to the sofa that Daniel was laying on. The man was looking after him as he slept, and sure enough, Daniel's hands were also tied with a dishtowel. Paul couldn't help but rub his forehead and sigh.

"I'm really sorry about all of this..." he said, but the owner of the flat gave off an understanding smile.

"Don't worry about it. At least he has someone who can take him home." Kristopherson answered. "We can help you take him back to your car if he won't get up, if you need us to."

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary." Paul replied, walking over to the Westley and putting a hand on his shoulder. Shaking lightly, he attempted to wake him.

"Mister Westley, it's me, Paul." he said. "I'm here to take you home now. Mister Westley. Mister Westley?"

Slowly, Daniel began to regain consciousness, albeit with great reluctance. The brunet mumbled and scrunched his face in protest, but ultimately opened his eyes, only feel like they were being stabbed by the light in the room. His head ached and felt as though his brains would leak out of his ears at any moment. He didn't want to get up.

"Paul?" he weakly asked, trying to rub his eyes with his bound hands. "Where am I?"

"You're at your friends' house. I'm here to take you home." answered Blackwood. His voice gave the impression of comfort, but his face was stone cold.

Daniel didn't pick up on this, however, and focused on his hands. Grunting, the Westley turned over on his stomach and tried to free himself, only to be aided by Blackwood. It didn't help that he was wiggling so much. Once he was free, he sat up and stretched haphazardly, inadvertently smacking the assistant in the face with his hand and forcing the older man to scrunch his face. While the brunet wobbled and tried to right himself, the other had to take off his glasses and clean the smudge the Westley made by wiping the lens with his shirt, holding his right eye shut, as an eyelash had found its way inside.

"Need help?" asked Kristopherson, prompting Blackwood's attention.

"No, I'll be out of your hair in a minute..." he trailed off as he turned around, making out some odd blurry shapes. One was large and brown and the other had an odd light-blue tint. They were humanoid in shape, but without his glasses, Paul couldn't make anything of them, so he quickly rubbed his eye and put on his glasses, only to find that the other two men, Kristopherson and Logan, were in place of the figures. Once again, the assistant found himself baffled.

"I'll get him out of your hair, then." he said, abruptly changing his own train of thought. He couldn't shake the feeling, however, so as he helped Daniel steady himself and walk toward the door, he decided to perform a little experiment and look over his left shoulder with his right eye closed. In that moment, he almost dropped Daniel altogether and ran.

Two creatures stood in the Miles' living room. One was a wolfman with dark brown fur, and the other looked like a devil with blue skin. The devil looked a lot like Logan, while the wolfman was wearing Kristopherson's clothes. As the wolfman caught Blackwood struggling, however, it spoke.

"Sure you don't want help?" he offered in Kristopherson's voice, prompting the assistant to open both eyes and look at him. Suddenly, all was normal and humans stood in the correct spaces. Needless to say, Blackwood was horrified at his discovery.

"No, no, no! I'm fine..." he insisted as sweat poured down his neck. He quickly ushered Westley out the door, trying to escape before either of the others fully registered that something was severely wrong with him. "I'll the taking him home, then. Thank you for your help!"

And the door was closed, leaving Logan and Kristopherson to simply stare at each other and shrug. Meanwhile, down the hallway, Blackwood was frantically trying to make it to the elevator, Westley in tow. He didn't know what he was seeing or why, but he didn't like it. He didn't like it one single bit. Did he need a doctor? Who knows; Blackwood certainly couldn't think about finding one right there and then. He was far too busy trying to get away. Daniel had no idea what was going on, and was far too groggy to register it. The brunet simply allowed the man to drag him to the elevator, although the movement of the box made him feel sick.

Fortunately, they made it to the car, and the assistant managed to get Daniel inside and buckled in his seat. He then got in himself and locked the doors, panting as sweat trickled down his face and neck. When he tried to buckle his seatbelt, the quickness of his movements made him miss the clasp several times, and when he was finally done, he was left to sit in silence with his hands clenching the steering wheel as tight as humanly possible. His knuckles were white as he stared straight ahead, eyes wide open but not seeing anything. Teeth grit, every muscle on edge, Blackwood sat without uttering a single word. He was frozen, wanting to run away but stuck in a trance.

"Paul?" called the Westley in the passenger seat. "Paul!"

The assistant jumped, head turning to face the brunet as he snapped awake. Blackwood looked down at the slightly younger man, trying to regain his senses and composure. Breathing heavily for a few moments, he was able to speak again.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" Daniel asked, which was an odd thing to ask, considering his own condition.

The assistant paused for a long while, trying to assess the situation. Then a horrifying thought entered his head. What would happen if he looked upon the Westley with only his left eye. It had changed people before, so why could it not again?

Slowly, the man reached up with his right hand and slipped it between his face and his glasses, covering his right eye. And then, nothing. Nothing happened at all. Daniel still looked the same, albeit incredibly confused and slightly concerned.

"What are you doing?" the younger man asked, capturing Paul's attention. The assistant put both hands on the wheel.

"Nothing..." he said. "Nothing at all… Let's get you home..."

Silence loomed in the air about the vehicle for the longest time after that. There wasn't much to say. Each man had a lot on their mind, and there was no mood for small talk. Still, Blackwood felt somewhat safer to have the other around, which was new. Ordinarily, it was the opposite. It was a shame that he would have to go back to his own home by himself after this.

"Hey, Paul?" Daniel spoke up, tearing the other's attention away from the road for a moment.

"Yes?" asked the other, waiting for what the Westley needed to say. Daniel hesitated, however, so it took a few moments.

"Do you think I'm a horrible person?" he questioned, genuinely surprising the assistant. It was an uncomfortable subject, to be frank, so the man stiffened somewhat.

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like shit..." Daniel said. "I'm loud, I'm obnoxious, and I'm insensitive. Worst of all, I'm selfish." He paused for a moment, nodding while staring straight ahead.

"I'm selfish." he reiterated. "I'll do anything to get my way, even if I stomp other people into the dirt. What the fuck is wrong with me?" When the other man didn't answer, he looked up at him briefly before returning his gaze to it's previous position, scoffing to himself and shaking his head with a weak smile.

"Maybe I'm just my dad's kid." Daniel continued, causing the other man to perk up a bit. With a sad laugh, the Westley continued. "I know you hate him. We all do. He's a selfish bastard who never had time for his kids or anyone else. Doesn't do a goddamn thing for anyone else but himself. Gets into all kinds of shit and expects everyone to turn a blind eye. Must've rubbed off on me, though. Or maybe it's genetic. Who knows…"

He was looking out the window now, hiding his face from the other as his eyes began to water. "What I really wanna know, though, is if there's any way to stop it..."

Blackwood simply listened in silence, hearing the brunet cry. Part of him felt bad. Part of him didn't. That second part was the part of him that didn't believe a word the man was saying about changing. He wasn't sure if a Westley was capable of it.

"Are those the friends you were supposed to meet up with this weekend?" questioned Paul, keeping his eyes on the road. Meekly, the other answered.

"Yeah..." he said with a break in his voice. "I've fucked that up now, though..."

"You could just go, you know." Blackwood replied. "Use it as your chance to apologise. From the sounds of things, it could be your last for a while."

"I know..." Daniel stated. Now it was really obvious that he was crying. He sobbed in the passenger seat, pretending to look out the window at the cityscape that passed them. After what seemed like an eternity, Blackwood cut through the sound of quietness and tears.

"Between you and your Dad, if I had to pick one to deal with, it would probably be you." he said, and it was not a lie. He hated Mister Westley. Loathed him. He dreaded going to work in the morning because of him. Most of his staff did, if not all. "You're not that bad."

He felt as though that didn't do much, as he was met with silence from the other for the duration of the trip. It was a while before they made it to Westley's building, and every second of it was agonising for Blackwood. He couldn't wait to go home. When he parked, he waited a moment before unbuckling and getting out. While he knew Daniel was ordinarily capable of doing it himself, he walked over to the other side of the car and opened the door to help the other man out. He was still tipsy, and almost fell as he attempted to stand. The plight to his flat was treacherous due to the man's lack of balance. Thank goodness the elevator was still working, or else they might have never made it at all.

"Alright, Daniel, here we are..." Blackwood said, almost carrying the other by this point. He huffed and puffed as he approached the door with the Westley weakly following along. "Get your keys out."

Daniel handed them to Paul, sing he really didn't trust in his abilities to put the key in the lock. Once inside, Daniel managed to stand by himself for a bit, although he was leaning against a wall. The place wasn't at all tidy. Empty cans adorned the coffeetable and dishes filled the sink. The state of the place had deteriorated further, and the assistant was about to the point of hiring a housekeeper.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked, keen on leaving soon. "I'll be taking care of your wallet situation tomorrow, so you don't need to worry about that right now.

"What if those guys are out there using it tonight?" Daniel questioned.

"Then I'll take care of it." Blackwood said. "Anything else?"

"Why?"

The question actually startled the man for a moment. Blinking, Blackwater asked: "Why what?" The younger one simply scoffed.

"Why do you keep doing this job? Surely you can find work someplace else."

"I don't want to deal with it…" Paul replied.

"But you deal with everything else. Every single silly request… What's the matter with you? Look at you! You're working yourself to death!"

Daniel was right, actually. He was working himself to death. He wasn't eating, he wasn't sleeping- it was all because of that accident. It was a stupid accident that occurred when Blackwater couldn't see where he was going from all the things he was carrying down the stairs. Who had asked him to move those boxes? Mister Westley had, and while he was at the hospital, he was graciously informed that those particular boxes actually did not need moving and that it was a mistake on Mister Westley's part. Despite not eating, or sleeping, and being afraid of his own shadow after leaving the hospital, Mister Westley had him running about as always, working him to the bone. It showed. The man was unhealthy, with bags underneath his eyes and a pale complexion. He could not stop it, however. No, he did not have the nerve to up and quit working for such a powerful man, no matter how badly he would have liked to.

"It's complicated..." Blackwood stated, causing the brunet to nod.

"I bet." Daniel answered, his voice softer now. With a pause, he asked: "What you said in the car, though… Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?" questioned Blackwood.

"That you'd rather deal with me than my dad?"

Paul simply chuckled. "Definitely. I'll probably die within fifteen minutes of going into work tomorrow, if he keeps working me like this."

"Then don't go." Daniel grinned.

"I can't not go. He'll have my ass for that."

"He wishes." the Westley said, wobbling to his feet. "I'm probably gonna be really fucked up tomorrow, so I'll probably need some taking care of. Why don't you just stay here?"

Blackwood arched an eyebrow at the suggestion. Certainly, the place was questionable in cleanliness, but he wasn't alone, here, so it wasn't as frightening as his own empty house. He did feel safer than on his own, but he wasn't sure of what the other was proposing.

"What?" he asked. "Do you mean stay the night?"

"On the couch, yeah." answered Daniel. "Only if you want to, though. If not, I'll just call you tomorrow."

Indeed, this was a tempting offer. If he refrained from returning to work, he would not have to be subjected to his boss' absurd demands and inappropriate conduct. It was all too appealing. All he would have to do is make sure that Daniel was resting off a hangover, and that would be child's play in comparison.

"Alright." Blackwood said. "I'll do it."

"Good." the Westley said. "Extra blankets and stuff are in the hall closet. If you need me, I'll be asleep."

And that was that. It wasn't at all ideal by any means, but it wasn't unpleasant. While Paul did have to clean off the sofa and the surrounding area, it was still the best sleep the man had gotten in weeks.