A/N: Ah, yes… My darlings, if you learn something about life, please let this be it: Nothing brightens your day as some sweet Adam-angst! AND reviews, of course, so I owe big thanks to those who's reviewed this far!

2: Insomnia

Adam knows it was his fault.

He knows that if he hadn't taken those pictures, those fucking goddamn pictures that he's torn up and burned and cursed even after that, Lawrence hadn't wound up in that bathroom.

But he usually escapes the dreams about it.

He's usually empty of those thoughts when he wakes up in the morning, too.

But life still isn't kind to him.

When he slides into a new nightmare the following night, he realizes that it's only tried to lull him into a false sense of security.

Adam doesn't know what's going on.

Most of the time, his nightmares are fairly connected to the reality. Most of the times, they're tiny flashes of what now days is his reality and his past.

He's usually carried away from Lawrence's dead body.

He usually sees the blood seeping down Lawrence's ankle when the saw eats away at his skin.

He usually sees that toilet lid flying up under his hands, and then down, crushing bones, drawing blood, as that throbbing, red, hot fury brandishes in him like the string of a violin and sends those terrible thoughts jolting through him.

Hurt. Hurt. Strike. Kill. Kill. Kill him.

And then, Lawrence's hand, cold and comforting, that pulls him down to the ground, plants itself on his cheek, sooths him, insurances him. Loves him.

That's what his nightmares usually are about. But he rarely gets to the moment when Lawrence is there. He's too kind to fit into his nightmares.

That's not how life treats him.

But not even his nightmares are this cruel otherwise.

Because now, he's kneeling next to Lawrence. Adam is out of his chain, but Lawrence is still in his, and his eyes aren't filled with insanity and determination, he doesn't bites down into his shirt. He looks up at Adam, and those blue eyes are full of fear and confusion, his mouth hangs open in silent surprise.

"What are you doing, Adam?"

That voice. That voice that's usually so calm, so softly, beautifully vibrating, but that right now is shrill with horror. Horror that Adam entices.

Because Lawrence doesn't hold the saw himself.

Now, Adam is sitting there. And he's holding the saw, that awful, awful saw, and he doesn't want to use it, he wants to snuggle up next to Lawrence, sob into his warm, safe chest and whisper that he loves him, he wants Lawrence to put his arms around him and whisper that he loves him, too. But Adam brings the blade down to Lawrence's bare ankle and pulls it back and forth, back and forth, he kills Lawrence slowly, bit by bit, and there's nothing he can do about it.

Lawrence's screams rattles against the mirrors in the bathroom. Adam still doesn't know what's going on, he just knows blood, shrieks of pain, his own fear and anguished wish to die, and that the corpse on the middle of the room suddenly gets up, and that his hissing, rumbling voice apparently can drown both Lawrence and the blood that roars in his own ears.

"It was your fault, you little piece of shit. Your fault he did it, your fault that he died, your fault that he died, YOUR FAULT THAT HE DIED…."

When he wakes up, Adam screams, too.

The screams are louder than Lawrence's were in his nightmare, and they echo against the walls that seem to close down around him, the room is too small, he can't breath in here…

"Lawrence…"

The name comes out as a miserable howl, a desperate prayer on his lips.

Lawrence…

You killed him, a cold voice in his head says.

Jigsaw's voice.

You killed him.

Adam sits up. His whole body is shaking, the cold sweat makes the t-shirt stick to his skin, and he sits up on his pillow, rocks back and forth like a mental person, while the tears are streaming down his face. Not silent and elegantly like in movies, no, but in a gush that makes him cringe, and that makes his sobs turning into incoherent, hollow squeals.

He's so scared.

So scared that Lawrence will limp back into his bedroom, not to comfort him this time, but to punish him. To take the life that he was supposed to keep.

Once again, Adam doesn't know what's happening. He doesn't even know how he found the card, maybe it's the desperation for another voice that helps him out, but after a while, he's still sitting with that in one hand and the phone in the other and listens to the empty beeping from the signal going through. And all the while, he's cautious about pressing his back to the wall and look around.

He's so scared. God, he's so scared.

"Hello?"

Jake's voice, hoarse from sleep, crackles in the receiver, and Adam answers with a shaky sob.

"I killed him…"

"What?"

"I killed him, Jake… I…"

"Who is this?"

"He can come here… Any time… He's mad at me…"

"Adam?"

"He can come here… And I'm scared… I'm so scared, Jake, I…"

"Adam, what's happened?"

"He said… He said it was my fault… It was… It was…"

Jake sighs into the phone.

"Adam, for God's sake, breath. Take a deep breath and listen to me."

Adam tries to do as he says, but it just comes out as a jagged, pathetic attempt to respiration. He's still crying, the tears are pouring, and his apartment is way too dark to give him any comfort.

"Where are you?"

"Home," Adam whispers pitiably, and Jake seems to be satisfied with that answer.

"Do you want me to come there?"

Adam makes a sound that appears to be a mix of another sob and approval, and feels how the phone slips around in his grip.

"Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? Try to stay calm, Adam. Turn some lights on."

Adam whimpers and puts the phone down.

Ten minutes. Jake said ten minutes.

If Adam had been in his ironic mood, he would've laughed about it.

Ten minutes.

It might as well have been ten years.

Now, Adam is a kid again.

When his sitting with his back against the wall, too scared to fall asleep, too scared to even get up and put on a light, he's a kid again. He's a kid that afraid that the bogeyman will crawl out from under his bed, a kid that temporarily has thrown all his pride aside and needs, craves another person's closure.

A kid that's afraid of the first man he's ever loved.

He doesn't know how long he sits like that. He just knows that while he's alone, all his furniture turn into hovering killers, every gust of wind that sweeps over his window turn into a monster's breath and every gaping, black doorway into its mouth.

But after a while, Jake is still there.

A lamp is switched on. Steps come into Adam's bedroom.

Adam thought he'd locked the door. But he's still happy he was wrong, because if the door had been locked, he'd been forced to get up, walk through the apartment and open it, and he wouldn't have the guts to do that. No way.

"Adam?"

Once again, Adam just whimpers for an answer and sweeps his hand over his face to wipe away what can be either tears or sweat.

"Adam? Jesus Christ…"

Jake's eyes are widened when he sees Adam on the bed, pale and sweaty, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head pressed down between his shoulders.

"Jake…" Adam croaks out, and the tears well up again.

Jake kicks off his shoes, which is the result of years of indoctrination from his mom, before he gets up on Adam's bed, hesitates for a moment before he realizes that the fact that he's talked to the man once doesn't matter, before he wraps his arms around the sobbing little bundle.

Around the inhumanly proud young man that Adam Faulkner once was.

Adam sniffles dejectedly against Jake's chest, because he doesn't think about the fact that he doesn't really know Jake, either. Doesn't think about the fact that his pride has controlled his entire life up until now, or that he'll hate himself for this when it's daytime again.

"Jake…" He repeats in a whisper and clutches to Jake's pajamas. "I'm so… So scared…"

"Adam," Jake says steadily and rakes his hand through Adam's damp hair. "For the love of God, tell me what happened. Was it a nightmare?"

"He… He died… I killed him… I…"

The words are hammered out between Adam's chattering teeth. He doesn't know if he's crying or if he's cold, but either way, Jake presses him closer to his chest, and he's oddly grateful for that.

"Who?" Jake asks worriedly. "Doctor Gordon?"

Adam nods slowly.

"You didn't kill him, Adam," Jake says firmly, almost angrily, and moves his hand down to Adam's cheek. "Jigsaw did. You didn't. You just helped him."

Adam doesn't answer. He's not sure if he had if his teeth hadn't been rattling, or if he'd had the energy to talk, or if he hadn't actually felt tired for the first time in six months, completely wringed out with crying and fear, but either way, he's quiet, aside from his occasional, jittery sobs.

A few minutes later, when Adam is asleep, Jake lays him down under his worn blanket.

And even though Adam finds that hard to believe, Jake probably knows that he won't have any more bad dreams tonight.

See? Angst! I love angst… But I also love romance, so don't think you're safe from that! And one last thing: REVIEW!