I'm reposting this with some more things. Hopefully, more than one person will review seeing as I use reviews to improve my stories…

Title: Out in the Rain

Rating: T

AU: Yes

Summary: Alex and Bobby's friendship while in an asylum grows as Alex's therapy takes a dangerous turn.

Spoilers: Maybe, but sense it's AU

Disclaimer: No.

His fingers slid down her arms, and with each breath he whispered to her the fate of her body and soul. He was touching her again. Oh God, he was touching her, and she couldn't scream; he would touch her more if she screamed. They wouldn't come, and they couldn't help her. He was one of them. His hands slid farther and she died more. Not again, not again. He couldn't hurt her again, but he was touching her legs.

She couldn't scream. He would keep her longer. She couldn't scream. He scratched his nails down left calf. She couldn't scream. His fingers slid farther up her thigh. She couldn't scream. One of his hands caressed her shoulder. She couldn't scream. His fingers undid the buttons of her shirt. She couldn't scream…

…How long? Bobby's fingers slid down the window pane in his room. The last streaks of the sun were slanted on the glass. A cloud cut across the sky separating the pinks from the darker hues of purple and magenta. Lower in the sky oranges and reds broke out across the tops of trees, and at the lowest point to the ground yellows touched the dirt. He sighed.

The last streaks of the sun were finally giving way to the darker blues of night when Alex stumbled blearily into his room. Her glance was brief as she settled into his bed. His fingers traced the last sun streak, and he slowly moved next to her. His hand stopped inches away from her hand as he spoke.

"You're late." The statement was clear. It was not a demand for an explanation, but just simply what happened. His voice was soft and gentle, and she nodded. He wasn't like Him. He was safe, but he was still one of them. She nodded again, and slid under the blankets of his bed. His ears picked up the soft whimper from under the covers. "Stay there. He won't find you here." He stayed on the edge of the bed with one hand hovering over her back. He was hurting her, and Bobby couldn't save her. He could never do anything right.

Her breathing slowed as the sky's colors deepened into black. His hand remained steady over her back and with each breath the light in the room diminished. The only light was cast by what little moon there was outside the window. The yellow crescent caused her skin to look a sickly hue in the semidarkness, and her muscles tightened in her sleep. He had to help her; one way or another he would help her. But now she needed comfort. His fingers finally reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was cool against his hand and soft under his fingers. She pulled away from the touch. What comfort he could offer would not come by touch. He lay down next to her and slept through the storm.

She woke up thrashing. His body reacted on its own, and grabbed her. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist trapping her against his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that he was called her name and trying to get her to calm down. Her left hand managed to break free. Alex's nails left a thin red trail down his cheek. He didn't feel the pain. It took ten minutes to get her to calm down.

He had his face buried in the curve of her neck with one hand around her shoulders and stroking her hair. His other arm was snug around her waist. "Alex. It's me. I'skay. It's me." Her breathing was still erratic, and her fingers were still fluttering against his arms. She kept her head down, but Bobby could hear her over the noise in the room. She was whimpering. Alex was afraid, she was afraid-

-His arms were off of her in an instant. He stared down at her were a full minute before she bolted for the door. Alex scrambled for the handle and was out of the door before Bobby could try to stop her.

When Alex was little she used to hide in her closet during storms. Her closet was small and extended on one side a little farther than the other. She would hide behind her clothes and shoes curled up in a ball. Every time the lightening flashed her body would twitch and recoil from the slashes of light coming through the closet doors. Then, seconds later, the thunder would assault ears. Her tiny six year old barely visible when pressed her body against the wall. The questions the next morning were the worst. Alex's mother questioning where she got the tiny cuts on her left arm, and why she looked so tired. Some of those days she was allowed to stay home sick. On those days her mother would stay with her and cook chicken noodle soup. Not the stuff from a can, but the homemade kind. Alex longed for those days.

And then she hated those days. That night; the flashes; the cuts; the splinters and the day after. It was one of the days that she got to stay home. No school. The storm had scared off her homework and her sleep. Sixth grade could wait for one day. She had her head buried under the sheets of her bed, and one arm hugging her pillow when she heard the soft tinkle of glass on wood. The sound that should have saved her.

Bobby's fist hit the wall with enough force to crack his knuckles. He didn't notice the slow pool of blood that began to settle on the ground by the wall, or the splattering of red in the way of his fist. His anger fueled his hands and he pounded the wall again and again. The cold air flew past his curled fingers as he struck the wall again, and the rain softened the blow. He growled in frustration. He didn't want this. He needed to be punished. He needed-

-His left fist hit his right forearm with enough force to bruise. He repeated the action again. The rain slid down his arms and mixed with the blood sliding down his hands and arms. The puddle under his feet turned a dull pink. He continued the mutilation of his arm until the rain began to pour harder onto his back, and the puddle beneath his feet began to mix with a newer, saltier liquid. And so he cried as his blood and tears pooled beneath him. His shirt clung to his body, and his bare feet began to take on the slight symptoms of cold exposure. He didn't notice. His bloody hands stained the roof and his skin. He didn't notice. His voice was lost in the wind and rain. He didn't notice.

"Why can't I do anything right? Why? I don't know what to do anymore! I don't know what you want! I'm sorry, Alex. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Bobby's body curled in on itself as he fell to the roof. A small whimper escaped his lips. "Why can't I help her? I want to make it better. I want to make it go away."

"You useless piece of shit! I come home every day after work, and what the fuck have you done today, you little shit? You can't do anything right! All you do is sit around and do nothing. Why the fuck can't you be like Richard? He does something after school besides read those god damn books! Fucking pansy boy!"

Bobby's body shivered-not from the cold, but from fear and anger. "I d-did. I did e-ev-everything you a-asked." His body recoiled from the blows. In his mind they were from his father; on the roof they were the result of his guilt and self. "I'm sorry…"

I don't know if I'll continue…