-Twenty-Five Days-

A Psychonauts Christmas Fanfic by Digitaldreamer

Day Nineteen: An Asylum Carol

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Aiiiee, I'm so sorry everyone! I'm so behind..school has been piling me with work these last few days. Fortunately, tomorrow is the last day...I'm planning to somehow get myself caught up before the day this ends...uweeeh, wish me luck!

I meant for this to be up Tuesday, but obviously due to work and this being a really annoying chapter to write, that didn't happen. I really don't think it was worth the wait...but eh, as long as someone enjoys it. It really doesn't have much of a plot...just the Asylum characters having...er..."Christmas", yeah...it's actually really bad, I'm sorry. I'll try to get the others up soon, I promise!

In the meantime...er...try not to be scarred by my first attempt at writing the asylum characters!

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"Why am I doing this?" Crispin Whytehead muttered under his breath. Bits of ice and snow clung to his long, scraggly blue hair, a slightly beat up winter coat pulled over his small frame. The seemingly permanent scowl upon his face deepened as he reached up to ring the doorbell of the small house yet again.

"Perhaps I have the wrong street." The pale man murmured, sounding oddly hopeful over such a prospect. "I do have quite poor eyesight, it's not as if the old bloke could blame me if I didn't-"

It was at that moment that the door finally swung open, revealing the slightly flushed face of a tall, large-nosed man in his late twenties. "I'm so sorry for the wait!" He panted out, the bell at the end of his fuzzy Santa hat jingling with each small movement. His jovial face became one of surprise, however, as he realized whom he had kept waiting. "Crispin!?"

"Bonaparte." Crispin grunted, somehow able to communicate years of dislike into three syllables.

"What...what are you doing here?" Fred sputtered.

Crispin cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're the one who sent me the bloody invitation, weren't you?" He drawled, flicking his wrist to show a slightly beat-up, festive envelope.

It wasn't as if he wanted to be there or anything. As if he would actually willingly come see Bonaparte! He just...didn't have anywhere else to go...

Fred blinked at the envelope. "W-well, yes, but I didn't think you'd actually..." He then shook his head, a grin coming to his face. "Sorry, I'm just so surprised to see you! Come in, come in!" He ushered the much shorter man through the doorway, calling over his shoulder as he did so.

"GUYS! Crispin's here!" He called out.

Crispin made a face. "'Guys'?" He repeated. "Who else did you invite?"

"Oh, just everyone else from Thorney Towers!" Said Fred jovially as he herded Crispin down the hallway.

Crispin blanched. "Everyone?" He repeated weakly.

"Yup!" With that, Crispin was shoved into Fred's living room.

The place was decked out for the holidays, garlands and lights draped everywhere, the Christmas tree against one wall a true sight to behold. A fire was crackling in the fireplace, creating a warm, soothing atmosphere. Seated on the couch were Edgar and Boyd, Edgar laughing as he helped himself to a glass of eggnog and Boyd twitching as he stared at the reindeer antlers upon the artists head. Gloria was seated across from them in an arm chair and was laughing gaily as well, tinsel and holly weaved through her hair.

Their laughter paused, however, when Crispin stumbled in. In fact, all fell awkwardly silent, save for the crackling fire, as Crispin straightened himself off and glanced around irritably.

"...It's that blue-haired man! He's connected with the talking snowman, I know it!" Boyd sputtered, jumping to his feet and pointing shakily at Crispin. "Well, he can stand there, I'm not fooled by his jolly, happy soul!"

Crispin stared blankly at him.

Gloria blinked, then squinted at Crispin. "Who's that now, another fan? I'm sorry darling, but I'm on vacation now, you'll have to wait until later for an autograph." She drawled, waving a glass of brandy around.

Edgar's eyes narrowed. "No, I do not believe he is a fan, Gloria. If I'm not mistaken, this man is one of our former patrons."

"Hello to you too, Edgar." Crispin said dryly, folding his arms before him. "And may I mention that you all seem no more bloody sane than the last time I was...fortunate enough to be graced with your visages."

"Ah, good old Crispin, cheerful as always." Fred laughed as he came in, ducking so as to not hit his head on the doorframe. Most houses were really just not tall enough for him, but Fred made do.

Crispin rolled his eyes, then slumped into the nearest empty chair, ignoring Boyd's babbling about how that chair had just been sat in and needed to recharge. "Well, now what, Bonaparte?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow at the man.

"Yes, now what?" Gloria asked, beaming, apparently oblivious to the way Edgar was still glaring at Crispin like he wanted nothing better than to cause some serious hurt.

"Um...well...I was thinking...maybe..uh...we could...well, hm, what's Christmas Spirit-y?" Fred frowned thoughtfully.

"Oh, I know!" Gloria chirped. "Christmas Carols!"

Fred snapped his fingers and beamed. "That's a great idea, Gloria!"

"No." Crispin snapped. "No singing. Ever."

Edgar twitched, grinding his teeth together.

Fred's face fell. "Well...um...we could...play a game?"

"I don't like games." Crispin snapped.

"Pumpernickel!" Boyd suddenly shouted. Everyone ignore him.

"Um...okay then..." Fred gave a nervous laugh, scratching his head. "How about...um...a movie?"

"I don't like movies." Crispin snapped yet again.

Edgar let out a loud stream of cursing in Spanish and jumped to his feet. "Oh for the love of...it's Christmas! NAVIDAD! Can't you think of anything you actually like besides sitting there and glaring!?" He snarled.

Crispin stared at him for a moment.

"Well now, I'm sorry Edgar, but I'm afraid I don't bloody like Christmas." He drawled in a false, mockingly polite sort of manner. "Do you have some...ah, anger issues you'd like to work out over this? Perhaps go paint a few bulls?"

Edgar let out a roar, his face turning bright red as he made as if to charge across the room.

Fred yelped and rushed over. "Uh, uh, come on Edgar, I think the food's nearly ready! How about you come help, hm?" He babbled nervously, ushering the burly ex-wrestler out of the living room and hitting his head on the way out.

The two stood in the hallway, Fred rubbing the spot where he'd bonked his head and Edgar panting as he sought control over his anger. "Fred, why did you invite that...man?" Edgar finally asked, his glare still remaining fixated on Crispin. "Need I remind you he caused you more trouble than the rest of us combined?"

Fred winced. "Well...yeah..." He kicked absently at the rug. "But...well...you know...it's Christmas. I kind of figured...you know, he's a bit like us, doesn't have anyone for the holidays. No matter how much of a jerk he was to us, no one should be alone on Christmas."

"Unless they're a nasty little bastard like him." Edgar snarled.

Fred let out a sigh. "Edgar, it's Christmas. Just...come on, deal with it. After everything we all went through, we're all kind of like...y'know, family. Even him. And hey, maybe after awhile he'll...warm up a bit?"

Edgar stared blankly at him for a moment.

"Well, okay, probably not. But just try to get along, alright?" Fred asked.

"...Fine. But I won't like it."

It was then that a loud cry was heard from the living room, followed by a crash. Both Fred and Edgar's eyes widened and they rushed back into the room, Fred once again banging his head against the doorframe. After the stars managed to clear from his vision, Fred beheld an...interesting sight, to say the least.

It was utter pandemonium. Boyd stood upon the coffee table, babbling incoherently as he tossed milk bottles this way and that. Gloria was dancing around them, giggling to herself, apparently too drunk to realize exactly what was going on. Crispin stood watching them both, gaping in bewilderment.

"Gah!" Fred cried, shielding his head as a milk bottle flew past. "What the...what happened!?"

"How should I know!?" Crispin snapped, shielding his head as well. "All I said was something about Santa Clause and the crazy sod just suddenly jumped up and started screaming about how his milk was delicious and it wasn't fortified for dear old saint nick! Then quite suddenly the girl gets up too and starts dancing, babbling about her Aunt Barbara coming to see her for some bloody Christmas play! Last I checked, I was not an aunt."

"THE EGGNOG LIES! FILTHY IMPOSTER! DO NOT LISTEN TO IT, ONLY MILK IS ENRICHED!" Boyd ranted.

"What on earth?" Edgar sputtered, gaping at the scene. He then let out a cry as Gloria quite suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a dance, giggling. "Senorita!?" The artist cried. "What are you--"

"Oh, come now Gregory, don't be shy!" Gloria drawled. "I know I'm famous now, but that doesn't mean we can't have a dance to ourselves once and awhile, hm? Consider it my Christmas present."

Edgar was too flabbergasted to do much but follow her lead.

Meanwhile, Fred was trying his best to calm everyone down. "Alright, come on guys, this is Christmas! Relax, this was just supposed to be-- Boyd, would you stop that!? Where the hell did you get those bottles anyway!?" He demanded.

"THE BRITISH ARE COMING!" Boyd babbled.

Unfortunately, that proved to be the exact wrong choice of words. Upon hearing them Fred suddenly froze, his eye twitching. Then, without warning...

"Zey chivelinistic pigs shall never take me ALIVE!" Fred cried out. With that, he made a dive for the window. Unfortunately, Crispin happened to be in the way, so Fred ended up mowing the snide little British man into the nearest wall with a heavy thud.

The two lay on the floor for a few moments as chaos raged around them. Then Fred sat up, eyes wide and his Santa hat askew. "Oh my God! Crispin!" He cried, leaning over short man. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Crispin lay in silence for a moment. Then, without warning, he started laughing. Fred sat back, blinking in confusion as Crispin began to shake with laughter, a wide, slightly twisted smile coming to his face.

"Oh my...I've always hated the holidays, but this is a Christmas." Crispin cackled, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes, nearly drowning out the sound of a milk bottle shattering in the background. "My God...you are all such bloody idiots...ahahaha...why haven't we all been shoved back into that damn tower yet?"

Fred stared at him for a moment. Then he gave a small chuckle, pulling Crispin up so they were sitting side by side. He then glanced back to his remaining guests.

"The elves! I know they're in this somehow!" Boyd babbled from on top of the coffee table. Edgar went speeding by, trying desprately to shake Gloria off, whom was clinging to his back with one arm in the air as if she were bull-riding.

"GONDALA! GONDALA!" She cackled.

"Uh, I don't think that's the word you want, Gloria..." Fred said weakly, but went ignored. He let out a sigh, then smiled and reached out to grab the miraculously still-to-be-spilled eggnog carton. He took a swig, then offered some to Crispin, whom rolled his eyes and took the carton.

"Well...I can't quite be sure why we all haven't been locked up yet." Fred said with a shrug. "Probably because we don't have any other friends or family or anything to report us..."

Crispin snorted, muttering a quiet agreement under his breath.

"But hey...at least we can all be somewhat sane on the outside together." Fred said, cracking a good-natured grin.

Crispin stared blankly at him a moment. "You're an idiot, Bonaparte." He finally drawled, taking another swig of eggnog before handing it back to Fred.

"And you're an asshole, Crispin, but we deal with you anyway." Fred chuckled.

"Merry Christmas, Crispin."

"...Merry Christmas, Fred."

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To Be Continued...