Hey there everyone. Fast update huh? Aren't you proud? Haha. Anyway, before I continue on with the review responses and the story, I'd like to mention that there's a poorly hidden easter egg in this chapter for you DC comic fans. Whoever guesses gets…well…um…I'm not really sure. A request maybe. You name what you want when you review with the answer. But you can't just point it out, you have to say HOW said easter egg is from the DC universe.

Kate Maxwell: I fully intend on finishing this story…eventually…--'. My muse hasn't been very active lately. Glad that you're still reading and enjoying, thanks for the review!

RealityBreakGirl: YAY! Alert List! D Haha, sorry, but as you might have noticed, I don't get many reviews. Anyway…I want jello now…I'm gonna go ahead and blame you for that…Well, glad that you liked the last chapter, and I hope you like this one too! Thanks for reviewing!

Trecebo: Thanks, that means a lot. All support is really helpful. Thanks for the review!

Dea puella: Uumm…sorry? Well, I'm glad that you're enjoying the fic, and I hope you keep on reading and reviewing. Thanks for the review!

Chapter 22- Losing Track

Total silence filled the hallway, neither boy moving, eyes locked. They stayed like that for a few never ending seconds before Richie finally broke the trance. Grabbing a towel and cloth, he set to work cleaning up the bathroom, ignoring Virgil's presence. Virgil didn't move, shock at his discovery rooting him to the spot. He didn't know what to say as he watched his best friend mop up his own blood from the sink. It was mesmerizing; such a strange and unfamiliar sight. It kept him staring, knowing that something should be said to this horrific scene but not having the slightest idea to what it should be. The fact that Richie was going on with the routine as if nothing had happened only added to the unreality of the whole thing.

Finally, Virgil's mouth started receiving the please from his shell shocked brain to say something; anything. "Richie." It was intended to come out demanding, the need for knowledge seeping out of the name. Instead, it came out soft; barely above a whisper, pleading for answers that maybe the owner of the name wasn't even sure of.

Richie paused for barely a second, his eyes losing focus, but then the blank look that had recently set in returned. He was almost done cleaning now, his wrist safely covered by bandages. In the back of his mind, Richie knew something was wrong; unfamiliar to this scene, something that didn't belong. He even knew what it was. His mind was screaming at him to stop what he was doing and acknowledge this new presence. Unfortunately, he had long ago stopped listening.

He continued on, grabbing something that looked vaguely like tan play-do. Virgil turned his attention to that as Richie pulled it over his forearm, the scars, bandages and blood instantly looking like it was never there. Virgil's eyes widened as realization dawned on just how far his friend had gone. How much thought and energy had gone into this self-hating act.

Once the material was in place, Richie looked up from his work and into his best friend's shocked face. The silence was even worse than it had been mere moments ago. "Why?" Virgil finally breathed out. What else could he possibly ask? Say? When Richie didn't say anything, and instead stood up and moved past Virgil and toward his room, the dark teen's shock and fear turned to anger. He wheeled himself in front of his friend, demanding that he stop and answer the question. "Why?" This time his voice did not betray him, his eyes glared daggers, and his grip on the wheels tightened.

Richie didn't even flinch, and instead grabbed the handles on Virgil's wheelchair and moved him into his room. Virgil was about to protest, but instead decided to see just where his friend was going with this. What are you doing Richie?

With the door closed safely behind them, Richie sat down on his bed facing Virgil, who was busy not taking his eyes off of Richie. Silence was becoming a standard exchange between the two; moments where they could both think about what was going to happen next.

"Richie, wha…" Virgil tried to speak but was cut off my Richie's quiet words.

"I'm sorry." The tone and the words didn't match up. The words, which were supposed to be apologetic, soft, and maybe even reassuring, were monotonous; emotionless without the slightest trace of sympathy.

Cocking an eyebrow, Virgil didn't like where this was going. "What are you sorry for Richie?"

Richie had to think about it. What am I sorry for? It only took one glance at the wheelchair. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I… "I was useless." Richie sighed depressively, his eyes on his hands, which were currently laced. His shoulder's slumped and his elbow's rested on his knees.

Tears filled Virgil's eyes. Dear God, what's happened to you Richie. "You saved my life. You couldn't have done anything else. I've told you that."

"Everyone's told me that. Doesn't make it true." Richie stated, his voice still low.

Virgil willed the tears away, forcing himself into a more demanding role. "You're going to tell your parents. Right now."

"No." His eyes never left his hands.

"I'll make you. They have a right to know."

"And how do you plan on making me?" Richie suddenly yelled, jumping up, anger burning in his eyes. "Are you going to take me by the wrist, pull me downstairs, and show them? Or zap me down there? Well you can't! You can barely get yourself down! And you know perfectly well why!" He slumped back onto the bed, taking up his previous posture. "Because I wasn't fast enough. Smart enough."

Virgil sat motionless, bewildered by what had just occurred. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, which had skipped a beat before attempting a sprint toward the nearest exit, Virgil decided on a different approach.

"What's that?" He asked, motioning to the cover over Richie's arm.

Richie, having temporarily zoned out, jumped slightly when Virgil spoke. Looking at his arm, he studied it for a second; seemingly forgetting that he wasn't actually looking at his skin.

"Pseudoderm." He finally mumbled. The term sounded strange, and Virgil was sure he had never heard of it before.

"What?" He was confused to say the least. "Never mind. Did you create it?"

"Well…Sort of. I read about it. This," Richie pointed toward his arm, "isn't the real thing, just an amateur duplicate. If I had the real thing, I wouldn't need the bandages."

That's it, I'm officially lost. Virgil examined his friend for a second, noticing a slight change. Well, at least he seems happier. Good.

"Hey, I bet you're starving. I know I am. How about we go down to eat, and you can tell me all about what this pseu...stuff, is, alright?"

Richie contemplated this for a moment, decided that this seemed reasonable enough, nodded, and followed Virgil out of the room.

This chapter felt so…sloppy…--'. (sigh) o well, I did my best...wait...wow...that was just one long scene, wasn't it? damn. ill try to make the next one longer..by my muse isn't being very cooperative, so nugges and hints are happily accepted.