It's amazing what a good night's sleep can get you.

With the Eyelander by his side, things were so much better now. Life never got too much, and he was able to tear through Jane and the other BLUs with more efficiency than he'd ever felt under his own powers. He didn't even need the bottle anymore to aim straight, becoming a terror to the entire enemy team overnight.

They feared him. As they should. He was vicious now, and something else he'd noticed during his onslaught was that the more he gave the Eyelander what it wanted, the stronger he became. It demanded heads, and Tavish obliged, feeding the sword throat after BLU throat as the respawn machine just spit out more for it to gobble up. Each time he became faster, stronger, able to stand within a torrent of a Heavy's bullets or any number of egregious flesh wounds.

Point by point he pulled ahead. There was no moment when he and the sword were apart, waking or not. He no longer kept it under his pillow, instead resting it against his side while he slept so he could feel the glowing comfort against his skin. Meals were the worst, when he needed both hands to get food in his mouth, but even that he was able to circumnavigate by placing the blade across his thighs while he ate.

Things were getting better. Until, once again, they weren't.

He'd cornered Jane, the third time that day already. The Soldier was bleeding profusely, the victim of RED Heavy's ambush, but that was fine. The only thing Tavish wanted was the final blow.

He got it, blade flashing as it caught winter sun. Then Jane was dead, his head rolling to Tavish's feet.

Without thinking Tavish reached down and grabbed it, the pathetic remains of Jane's neck splattering over his hand as he lifted it to eye level. He laughed, loud and joyous, screaming, "ANOTHER POINT FOR ME, LADDIE."

And then, he caught a glimpse of Soldier's face.

Because Jane didn't look quite dead. Of course, he was dead, completely and one hundred percent, but something still in pain in the back of Tavish's mind made him think different just for a second. Jane looked scared, and if Tavish thought about it, he realized that he had seen that look a brief moment before he'd whisked the Soldier's head off. It was aggrieved, but more than that it was…heartbroken.

In a brief flash of humanity, Tavish realized what the fuck he was doing. He dropped the severed head in disgust, the helmeted ball rolling away like the chunk of human flesh it was. He dropped the sword too, scrabbling as he tried to get the blood off his hand.

What the fuck was he doing? He just held up a disembodied head and laughed like some sort of psychopath! The blood was all over him now and he kept scraping, trying to get it of get if offgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff-

But it just got everywhere and his heart was pounding wondering what the hell was wrong with him-

All the while something worse was happening. There was a pressure, more agonizing than any hangover he'd ever experienced, instead burning like the withdrawal symptoms he'd had the week they'd been snowed in without resupply. It crawled from the base of his skull all the way into his empty eye socket, and in a gasp of pain he had to stop wiping at blood to claw at his face.

With a groan, he fell to his knees, getting blood on his skin as he tried to make it stop-

You need the sword.

Sword. Sword. He needed it now, where was it? Where had he dropped it? He scrabbled in the snow wishing that they'd stayed stationed in Dustbowl just a bit longer if it meant he could see-

There!

His hand knocked against it, and the mere touch of his favorite weapon calmed him. It numbed the panic, and he was able to take a few shuddering breaths and assess himself. He was knee deep in snow, coated in blood, but okay. He hung his head.

"What the hell am I doing?" he asked the blowing snow.

There's nothing wrong with enjoying a little revenge, Tavish. You've earned this.

Tavish laughed bitterly. "Bloody doesn't feel like it." Great, now he was talking to himself. How much more insane could he get?

After everything he's done to you, you want to just let it go?

"No…" Tavish muttered, wondering why he was even bothering to keep up this solo conversation. "But he was good man, even with everything…"

No. He wasn't. If he ever cared about you, he wouldn't have taken a hit out on you. Some people are born scum, and there's no way around it.

Tavish stayed silent.

Why do you keep defending him?

"He was my only friend…" Tavish whispered.

You don't need a friend like that. You're strong Tavish, so much stronger than you know. Once you find what gives you power, you won't need anyone.

Tavish didn't have a reply to that. He wiped his eye with his hand, the back of which was relatively clean. He felt pathetic sniveling in the snow a little longer, but finally his self-consciousness got him to stand. The sound of battle drew him away, and he made a promise to himself he would never be so careless with his weapon again.


Things after that spiraled out of control. The sadness on Jane's face was a domino effect, tearing open the stitches of Tavish's mental wounds one by one. The more it hurt, the more he needed the sword, but the more he needed the sword, the more savagely he killed. The carnage only aggravated the hurt, and he found himself in a vicious cycle.

He was protective of the Eyelander. Once, he thought he saw Scout trying to touch it, and almost killed him right there for the slight.

"I KNOW HE WAS GOING FOR IT," Tavish screamed, brandishing the sword as Heavy barely held him back. "HE FUCKING WANTS IT FOR HIMSELF, I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM!"

"I don't want your fucking sword jackass!" Scout screamed right back. "I was just going for the damn salt shaker!"

Tavish lunged, trying to break Heavy's grip. "You try that again you bloody jackrabbit! Just you try!"

"Demoman!" Heavy warned him. "Stop this. Now."

The rest of the team stared, caught in indecision, and Tavish managed to gain a small amount of self-control under their scrutiny. He concentrated, his breaths slowing until they were ragged yet even. Finally Heavy loosened, and Tavish shook him off with a snarl.

He turned, retreating from the common room without a word. Before he was out of earshot, he could make out the discussion he left behind. "This is getting bad."

"You're telling me!" Scout yelled. "Did you see that? The whole half of his face was on fire!"

Tavish ignored it all the way to his room when he couldn't anymore. He collapsed on his bed, the sword shifting into his hands and he bowed his head over it. His fists clenched so tightly around the Eyelander, it left cuts in the palms of his hand.

"I can't keep doing this," he admitted quietly.

It's getting worse.

Tavish closed his eye.

You need to fix this.

"How?" he demanded to no one. At that point he didn't even think that winning the War would change anything anymore. No revenge could make the regret go away.

He's the problem.

"He's the problem," Tavish said.

It won't stop until he's gone.

"It won't stop until he's gone." Tavish ran a thumb over the blade. It drew blood.

He didn't feel conviction, or even understanding at that statement. It was merely something written on the inside of his skull, a declaration not questioned anymore than the fact that he needed to breathe.

"You need to finish him," he said at the exact moment he thought You need to finish him.

Tavish opened his eye. It swirled, emerald and blazing.


It was good they were out of the badlands. If he wanted to catch Jane out of respawn range, this was the only way to force him to leave both his home and his base. The apartment was heavily fortified, locked down tightly and nigh impossible to breach thanks to the Soldier's paranoia. Tavish knew that, the knowledge floating in the back of his mind like dust in morning's light.

Nothing else mattered much. Unless it pertained to his goal, it was siphoned away, drifting off like so many flakes of snow.

No distractions. He'd never felt stronger. More in control.

There can't be too man places where he'd be able to stay. You should look.

Jane never stayed on base. Not when he could help it. He'd get a room somewhere in town, and there he'd be vulnerable.

There was only one motel. Tavish found it easily enough.

Up front. They'll have records.

Tavish kept to the shadows as he staked out the motel. It was small, shabby, fitting perfectly with Jane's aesthetic. As Tavish looked at the entrance, the only part of the building still illuminated, he spied a woman reading a book on the counter. It only took a large rock thrown at some trashcans to get her up and moving, and Tavish slipped his foot in the door as she ran to see his distraction.

Doe, Doe, Doe…Nothing. Tavish glared at the guestbook in disappointment. But he searched his mind again, and he realized Jane's mistrust wouldn't let him put down his own name. There: Thomas Jefferson, room 47. Tavish grabbed the spare key and slipped out just as the woman returned to her post.

Tavish walked up to the second floor. A warmth burned inside, the concrete knowledge that was all going to end soon.

43…44…

Each step rocked his insides, the thought of total control just within his grasp.

45…46…

With Jane gone, there would be no one controlling him.

47.

Tavish stood in front of the room, hands moving like he'd already done this a hundred times before. The key fit into the lock without a sound, and he pushed the door inward.

The motel room was completely dark, the light from the door polluting its solitude. Once Tavish closed it behind him, the only illumination came from the balcony, disturbed by full-length shades that turned the light into vertical slats. A cigar was put out in the ashtray, still smoking, accompanied by a half-dozen beer bottles on the nightstand.

Jane was on the bed.

His form moved heavily, steady breathing from what appeared to be an alcohol educed sleep. He was on top of the covers, not even out of his day clothes.

Tavish knew what to do. He moved methodically, quietly treading forward as the Eyelander came to rest in both hands. He was ready to strike, to split Jane open, to coat the motel bed sheets in the red of his blood. But when he raised his blade to give the killing blow, his foot knocked against an empty strewn across the floor.

Jane's eyes snapped open. The blade arced down, but it was too late, the Soldier already springing off the mattress and rolling from the immediately recognized danger. Tavish stepped forward and swung again, but Jane reacted too fast, years of paranoia readying him for midnight battles that came at a moment's notice. The Soldier lunged, grabbing his shovel from the side of the mattress and snapping it open.

Tavish followed him, already accepting his failures. This would end here and now, sneak attack or no.

It was difficult to see in the half-light of the shades, but Tavish didn't need details. He leaped forward, a growl on his lips that simply said, "heads."

Jane reacted on pure instinct, the old weapon meeting the new sword for the first time. It was fitting really. To best Jane, once and for all, showing him exactly who had the power here.

Jane met each blow, the dimension of him lost in the night. It was fighting a shadow, each time the weapons met was a clang in the dark followed by a grunt from Jane. Tavish was strong. Too strong, engorged on the full facilities of this body he now controlled.

There! Now!

Tavish saw the opening, sliding his blade under the shovel's flat and ripping it from its owner's grasp. It went sailing, landing on the motel room floor with a clatter, and Tavish wasted no time pinning Jane to the wall behind him.

The sword was at his throat in an instant. He was beaten. Completely at Tavish's mercy.

Finish him. End it.

At this distance, the glow from Tavish's eye bathed Jane in a green light. Tavish could see his face for the first time and it looked…

Terrified.

Maybe it was because he realized he was about to die. Or maybe it was because the sight of an intruder with a sword and a single glowing eye is enough to make any grown man wet himself. But regardless, on Jane's face the fear looked…strange. Alien. Jane wasn't supposed to be scared. He wasn't supposed to be scared of Tavish.

What are you doing? Kill him!

Jane swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against the blade and deepening the cut along his throat, sending a small dribble of blood slid along the Eyelander's steel. He looked so much like he had in the dream, eyes pleading for Tavish stop this. And he'd been like this once before, that one night so long ago, sitting on his couch and looking so small, so vulnerable…

Fucking kill him already!

"Shut up…" Tavish muttered, his words muddied by the fog in his mind. "I'm thinking…"

If you don't kill him then I will!

And then it came together. He was able to scrape through the muck in his brain long enough to realize the voice wasn't his own.

The sword was moving, pressing forward against Jane's unprotected throat. The Soldier was pinned, helpless thanks to Tavish, and this had to stop…had to stop this…

He didn't quite grasp it all yet, didn't understand exactly what was wrong with him. But he knew one thing: he didn't want to hurt Jane any more than he already had. He forced all his strength into his arms, every last drop of willpower he hadn't surrendered to the festering inside his head. One hand wrapped around the blade and pulled it back, and with a surge of effort he flung the Eyelander across the room.

It landed with a clatter. He staggered under the force of throwing it, following its trajectory with his body.

He was turned away from his victim, and, because of it, he didn't see when Jane took the bedside lamp and thumped him in the back of the head.