a/n: thanks for the kind reviews so far! i hope this chapter makes sense, because i'm delirious. no, i still don't know where this is going, and yes, i am ashamed of my own sinful hand for writing vague Shelley/Edgar stuff. i'd appreciate it if any and all complaints were written in APA format with works cited, thanks. anyway, on with a chapter, what's point of discussion has probably arisen in literally every other Bat Boy fanfiction on this hellsite.

Chapter Four

With nearly three-quarters of the garage sorted, it had become increasingly apparent that the entire idea of cleaning the garage had backfired almost completely, the effort only invigorating Edgar to the point of restlessness and leaving Shelley feeling particularly spent, as well as vaguely envious of the energetic flourish that now accompanied his every movement.

He'd managed to pry open the swinging hatch to the attic above and could hardly contain his delight as he swung in and out of the opening, packing away heavy boxes tucked beneath his arm as he climbed deftly with the other. Shelley watched him listlessly, an annoyed grimace tugging at her dainty features. She slumped heavily against the drywall, allowing gravity to guide her body to the dusty cement floor, her knees pulled up to her narrow chest, arms fallen limply at her sides. She exhaled loudly, shift her body forward to let her forehead rest between her knees.

"Stop showing off, bat boy, you're making me tired." She hugged her shins and peeked overtop her knees, the lower half of her face hidden as intense, pale eyes glared wearily up at him. He tumbled out of the attic haphazardly, just barely managing to land in a crouched position, facing her.

"We're almost done, though."

"More like, this was a mistake and I wanna take a nap."

The childish pout she was most certainly wearing showed even in her eyes, and he chuckled almost paternally. He moved awkwardly across the floor to sit next to her, upright against the wall, minding his posture and folding his hands in his lap.

"You'll ruin your own sleep schedule if you nap now."

"What about you? Aren't you feeling even a little tired?"

He said nothing because they both knew the answer to that question. She sighed, and he smiled gently, hoping to look reassuring, but knowing his gaunt face, sunken eyes, and thin lips, he probably looked like he was sneering. To his relief, she looked up at him over her shoulder and smiled tiredly, a serene and motherly expression that made her look like a completely different person sometimes. She was beautiful, and he swallowed the pleasant ache in his throat that this smile always seemed to conjure.

Without thinking, he reached forward and tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear, and she did not flinch.

"This was a lost cause from the start, wasn't it?"

He rested his head against the wall, the chill of its surface manifesting a river of goosebumps over his bare scalp and down the back of his neck, coming to a smooth end just under his shirt collar. "On my behalf, yes, it was." She frowned, clamped her eyes shut and buried her face in her knees again, the strands of hair falling forward from behind her ear. Something about the sight of his affectionate gesture coming undone made him sad.

"But there's a silver lining to this, isn't there?" He offered to the back of her head. "The garage is significantly cleaner than it would have been otherwise."

She mumbled gibberish that even he couldn't understand. He patted her back lightly with the tips of his fingers, hoping his touch was inoffensive. "And at least we were able to spend time together."

She moved a little, pressing her lips to her knees. Tilting his head, he could see a rather pensive look gracing her features.

"Nobody talks to me like you do."

He blinked. She turned her head to face him.

"Mom talks to me like a spoiled little brat. Dad talks to me like I'm not worth his time. Rick talks to me like I'm his new puppy. And everybody else, I'm some blond teeny bopper with an annoying voice and opinions that don't matter." She looked so serious, her voice rough and firm, womanly, so different from her cheerful, girlish soprano. He couldn't tell if she was throwing her voice or not. "You and me… actually talk about things. You make me think."

He was unsure of how to respond to such a strange confession.

"Y'know Rick doesn't know anything about me? He never asks. He's cool with the surface, and I hate that. I hate it so much." Her voice cracked.

Oh boy. Rick. His favorite topic.

"Are you in love with him?"

She looked up, wide-eyed, red-faced, and he thought he'd offended her with such a blunt, insensitive question, but she responded, low and calm.

"N-no. No. I'm not." She hugged her knees to her chest.

"Then why do you tolerate his poor treatment of you?"

Immediately, she snapped: "I mean, it's like, what is there else? It's not like I could find anybody else if I left him. Who'd want me, right?" She sniffed, tears welling up in her eyes, he felt uncomfortable. "They'd come for the Surface Shelley, the cute chick from the glee club with the perky boobs and the empty head. And then you dig, and there's the baggage. All my insecurities and my family drama and my mood swings. It's a downer. Even for me."

She inhaled deeply and let it out in a long, shuddering breath that seemed to last a minute. "And if they don't like it, they can walk away. But what if you don't like yourself? What do you do?"

That was something he'd never fully considered, but he knew all too well what she meant. "You and I are very similar, I think."

She sniffed. "Oh, yeah?"

"Looking at it objectively, we both have allowed the opinions and the actions of others to shape our self-images. And perhaps, if I may, offer some observations from an outsider's perspective to ease your mind?"

"I mean, I guess? Are you gonna lecture me or something?"

"Of course not." He shrugged, leaned back against the wall, casting his eyes upward to the ceiling. "People are so multifaceted that it's baffling to me that the concept of personal depth could be anywhere close to repulsive. I suppose it's as you said, judging one by their appearance is instinctual, for defense and breeding alike. The fact that an individual can be put-off by another individual for simply being a person is such a repugnant characteristic to have."

She nodded slowly. He continued.

"But shouldn't the sense of mystery be something attractive as well? Learning to know and understand another being and watching as their history unfolds in every word and action? This is something that draws me to you, and that is that you are a mystery that I thoroughly enjoy unraveling."

A sly grin crept over her lips. "Are you coming onto me?"

"Interpret it how you will, but the depth of your person is fascinating to me, and I enjoy talking to you. There hasn't been a single thing you've told me or that I've learned about you that has made me think any less of you."

She leaned back against the wall, stretched her legs out before her, coming to rest, slouched shoulders brushing his own.

"I'm glad you like me for who I am." She said quite matter-of-factly. "Now that I know you won't think less of me, I thought you should know that I'm a cannibalistic mass-murderer, and my thirst for blood will never be quenched."

She said this so casually, face deadpan, that it caught him entirely off-guard and he burst into hysterics.

Finally, after a few deep breaths, he said: "If you can accept me as a freak of nature, then I can accept your psychopathic tendencies."

"Please, don't even start with that." She scoffed. "If a sweet, intelligent guy like you is a freak of nature, then nature needs to get her priorities straight, and stop making so many jackasses."

"What would you consider me to be, then?"

Shelley shrugged, laid her head on his arm, gazing at nothing in particular. "Human."

a/n thanks for reading. if you like this schlock, then check out my profile for a link to my comic. it's the same damn thing.