[narrative] as the circle closed
Shmee hadn't made his meeting after all. Things changed, out of his control, and...well, he's just glad Todd's phone could call out of worlds.
Please be careful.
"I'm always fucking careful," he mutters, picking his way through the rubble of these empty streets and the skeletons stuck in myriad nooks and crannies. The good old hometown, alpha and omega, centerpiece of so many fucked up little dramas and sleazes. "We've gotta fucking get this done, Todd."
I know.
So shut up.
The psychic silence is incomplete, but at least it's easier to ignore when Todd's not actively trying to talk to him. The kid just couldn't get a fucking handle on how to work anything in there, really. You'd think he would, owning the original brain and all, but apparently he's helpless everywhere.
But he loves him anyway. But he's his, God bless and amen and fucking praise Jesus.
And there- fragile spider shadow, or trick of the faltering imagination and eyes he forgets to blink?
Okay. Keep moving. Keep moving even though twitching this sack of junk along makes him want to track down whoever designed this system and tear them into tiny screaming pieces over and over and over until he runs out of way to do it in, and then start over with cheese graters.
Keep moving. Go up a sidewalk you've never been on before and knock on a door marked 777.
Give things back to Todd as soon as the door opens.
*
"You SAID you didn't want me to- to- to turn out like you, you SAID!" Todd knows he's wailing, not shouting, but he can't help it. Nny hisses softly, crouched on the back of his ratty, blood-stained couch.
"WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO ME?!" Todd grabs fistfuls of his hair and grits his teeth, pretending the blurring in his eyes is pain, it's just pain, it's not- he doesn't care, this isn't- Nny's just-
Nny still won't talk and it's driving Todd crazy because Nny never, ever shuts up, never ever, and now he won't even yell back, he won't do anything but sit there and hiss and it's just-
"Pleasepleaseplease please be real please talk to me please I need you to tell me how to make it stop." He sinks to his knees, sobs raw and hard in his throat and so much more lucid now than he's been since the flu and hating it, hating every single minute of knowing what he's doing.
He's there for who knows how long- the clocks don't work here. Not much works here. And then he hears the soft clicks of Nny's split-toed boots and starts crying harder.
"You were such a nice little Squee," he murmurs, and Todd waits with snot coming out of his nose for the knife to come down.
And keeps his hand curled around the razor he hid in the sleeve of his jacket.
*
Shmee eventually has to carry everything to the basement, because Todd's too shaky for it. The wall's old and dusty and not very impressive, but oh, oh, yes, it's right.
He smears it on with Todd's hands, dipping them in whenever he runs out. Nny's a skinny little fuck, but he's got enough in him to make it all possible.
Then he steps back, and waits, while Todd stops making any sound at all.
*
"Why did it have to be like that?"
Somebody who deserved it, Todd. I promised it'd be someone who deserved it, and he fucking deserved it. How many people did he kill? He many nightmares did he give you? How many times did he let you down, dreamboy?
You know I'm the only one who really cares about you. You know that.
Todd's mute on that point, and Shmee allows himself some satisfaction as the kid keeps hacking out a bizzarely malleable hunk of wall. He always has to be alert to opportunities to get a word in; to tell him the truth.
*
Nny hadn't fought back. That's what Todd thinks about as he carefully cuts a figure out of the wall, shaping and reshaping with his hands until it takes a crude, plump, humanoid shape, dark and rusty smelling.
He writes what Shmee whispers, what the cockroaches sign in their buggy winged code. He pours out into that wall-thing, and slowly he goes blind, and deaf, and tasteless, and numb, but his hand works and works and Shmee whispers, so Todd knows he's still there.
There and better than ever with every pen stroke.
*
When he can finally see again, it's morning, and there's nothing in his lap but his burning, aching hand and inkstains- not just inkstains. He doesn't need to look up. His empty head tells him everything he needs to know; the soothing giggles of yesyesyesyes are all he needs to hear as Shmee lies still and rigid on his new back.
The lines of his face, the blank eyes and sharp, giant smile, are the words ouroboros repeated hundreds of times in layers, but that's all Todd remember. It's illegible anyway, but he cradles the stiff, hard thing in his arms and stays quiet.
*
Shmee insists he clean up before going home, so Todd goes, in a Philidelphia youth shelter, and he comes home clean, pale, and shivering, Shmee tucked under one arm.
He knew he'd feel better, he just...didn't know he'd feel so lonely, too.
So he knocks on the door and tries to go crazy again in time for it to open.