Synesthesia 3A/? (NC-17)(Horrible/Hammer/Penny)(Horrible/Snow One-Sided)
Title: Synesthesia
Part: 3A/?
By: Lilithisbitter
Rating: MA (Lemon/Disturbing Themes/Darkfic)
Word Count: 13,000 (Post I and II combined)
Pairing: Horrible/Penny/Hammer, Horrible/Johnny Snow (One-sided), Horrible/Bait/Switch
Spoiler: For All Three Acts of Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, Comic Book Backstory Not Used
Summary: One part continuation, one part alternate universe, shake and stir. A bounced Wonderflonium accident disrupts events in not one but two parallel timelines and forces Billy to pony up to his inner demons.
Previous Chapters
I. The Reign of Dr. Horrible
II. Warning: Don't Bounce
Because of LJ Post Restrictions, Part III is in 2 Parts...
III. Penny for Your Thoughts, Hopes, and Dreams Part I
Timeline A -
“Up my basement dwelling ass, he said… I… fucking… ow… don’t even have a basement…” Dr. Horrible tried to swat all forty Johnny Snows away from him with their stupid ice bags. They soon resolved into only one parka-wearing douche bag with a chipped front tooth and he was annoying enough.
“I could always kiss it better, you know,” Johnny said as he applied the ice bag to Dr. Horrible’s rapidly swelling cheek. He could feel it throb in time with his broken nose. With his luck, his cheekbone was broken. It wouldn’t be the first time this year. “We could throw a party. Captain Hammer is dead again. Aside from him destroying the known universe, that’s some reason to celebrate. Kiss?”
At this hour, the lab was silent, except for the sweeps, beeps, and creeps of the sound dampeners. He did love his privacy after all, valued it above all else. Dr. Horrible tried his best evil scowl and felt it pull at the edge of his bruise. “I’d rather you didn’t. You apply too much tongue.”
Johnny looked rather scornful, he couldn’t tell. In the scuffle, he had lost a contact… delightful. “Oh, how would the former virgin know?” He pulled away as if he was peering at something. “Hold that tightly. I’ll get some packing for your nose.”
Horrible leaned into the ice as best as he could, a goliath task since he could hear his own cheekbone shift. Yep, it was broken. Like that one time that Hammer wanted a perfect photo of him beating up Dr. Horrible, but the cameraman kept screwing up the shot, so the oaf just kept slamming him into the side of the safe over and over until his molars on the right side crumbled into nothing and the side of his face swelled to the size of a volleyball. It took three thousand dollars to get his teeth grown back and in the mean time he lost forty pounds and tasted blood in his food for two weeks. “Too much tongue,” he sing-songed again and giggled to himself, despite the pain and how it sounded like a goddamned wind tunnel.
How won.. what was that word? Wonder-flo-ful. Oh, he just made up a new one. He liked that word. When he saved the world and they turned it over to him because they were so grateful and they would be forced to anyway, it would be a new official word. Yeah. The parka-clad super-hero/henchman in his own mind went back to pawing through Horrible’s seven-layer first aid kit. He was also talking through that wind tunnel. “But you said you were a virgin. Your kisses were all over the places.”
Dr. Horrible clung to the bag of ice like a lifeline or as he called it, his cold little pillow of happiness. “Hey, I have kissed my fair share of girls and boys,” he said, feeling the nostril that wasn’t crusted shut with blood, beginning to flare. “I may be shy, but Moist did set me up on dates even when I wanted to stay home and watch Extreme Engineering. And I did to go to college, which should tell you something. Maybe I was too shy for anything more, but a face this cute doesn’t get this old without getting some offers and there was an episode of heavy petting with Bait and Switch. So let me tell you something.”
“Tell me what?” He still didn’t get it? Maybe he had kicked him in the head a bit hard and reduced him to Captain Half-a-torso’s level of intelligence. Half-a-torso… heh, heh, heh. Although his face looked a tad on the concerned side. “Wait… hold on a second… how many fingers am I holding up?”
“What does it matter? You have too many fingers.” Here it comes. Just lay it on him flat. Bam, wham, thank you ma’am. “I was coming in for a courtesy kiss when you, like the parka clad mor-on that you are, pried my jaws open and started sticking that tongue anywhere you could. I mean, before I knew it, your tongue was up my nostril, trying to puncture my eardrum, and trying to mate with my hair,” Horrible punctuated all of this with wild gestures at said body parts. “For someone with a lot of ‘experience’, you suck. Stop tilting the floor. You know what they used to say… they used to say ‘Billy, you were such a nice guy. What happened?’ And life happened. I didn’t even know about the whole resurrection half of Stopped Clock until Normal told me. Real kick in the-”
“Could you stop talking for a second?” Johnny was by his side in a second, still tilting the floor, prick. “I think you have a concussion. A pretty bad one.” And when had he developed flashlight fingers? Only made him more annoying and douchey. “I need you to get into some casual clothes. Pretend to be Billy for a few hours while we get you checked out.”
“I’m not going to… I’m Dr. Horrible.” The words came slowly but surely.
“I think you should,” Billy’s voice came not from the back of his mind, but from the perch of the big chair. He was dressed in an oversized denim shirt and khaki pants, knees drawn up beneath his chin, wiggling his bare toes. “I-I know I w-would, but you w-wouldn’t. You’re going to black out-”
No, I’m not.
But he didn’t say the words out loud.
---
Timeline B -
Moist had almost gotten away with it too.
It had been five in the morning, when he moistly got out of bed, dressed, and squelched across the moldy remain of his carpet to the door. Billy was still asleep; it wouldn’t kill the doc to know that his kitchen domain had been breeched. It wasn’t like Moist was using the lab to make Shrinky Dinks… again for the third time this month.
He padded out the door past the hall with its creaky floorboards and various damp socks and assorted tennis balls. Right. He, Moist, could do this, even if it was just cereal and milk in a bowl. It would be a small victory for henchmen everywhere if he could command the kitchen if just for one day.
The next part would be the most challenging. He had to figure out where Billy was. The first time Moist had tried to cook, the Doc had swooped down from the exhaust hood and landed right on his back. The second time, he was “testing” his antigravity gun and just happened to “innocently walk into Moist upside down in the hallway”. Or rather Moist had walked into Billy’s forehead. They both ended up with massive goose eggs for a week, which Moist was sure weren’t part of Billy’s original scheme. Plus it was most Billy’s fault for having a large forehead. Billy had mumbled that Moist’s skull was way too hard and why did he need to cook away when he way willing to do all of the cooking?
Billy was a genius in the kitchen as much with a skillet as with a test tube. He had spent so much time in the Mistovich household that Moist’s mom had taught the little blond boy with the stuck-out oversized ears, blue eyes, and shy sweet smile how to cook. Soon he had all her secret recipees and as Billy termed them “mad cooking skillz”.
That wasn’t the problem. The problem Billy’s was control freak habits. He refused to share recipes. Oh, he would promise, but would find reasons to delay. He never let you get a snack for yourself. Not even with a little dinky thing like potato chips. Everybody remembered the superbowl party freakout. Not a pretty picture.
Automatically, Moist checked the ceiling for Billy and his trademark lab coat. He then pried up the hidden trapdoor in case Billy was trying a new trick out this time. Aside from Billy’s personal interocitor and explodium stash, there was no Dr. Horrible hidden within. Actually, there wasn’t much room in there anyway, but Moist wouldn’t put it past Billy to squeeze in considering the Doc’s bad habit of falling asleep in weird places. He could only pray that Billy was in his bed and not curled up on the top shelf of the linen closet for the third time this week. Moist chalked it up to the sleeping pills.
Right, he’d just check on Billy and it was off to pour a nice bowl of Captain Crunch and enjoy all of his taped cartoons before he and the Purple Pimp went down to check out Conflict Diamond’s new Night Club Opening. Just to make sure, Moist pulled open the linen closet and looked for any trace of the Doc’s bony ankles and even called out, “Hey, Doc, you in there?” just in case he was in the fetal position as usual.
All that was in there was a few moldy cardboard boxes, a plastic box of Chanukah stuff with a slightly rusted menorah on top, a hand-made bong that his last roommate Conflict Diamond had left (before he had left to double up with Pink Pummeler), and a few blankets, but no gangly scientist who sleepclimbed his way to the top shelf.
Moist finally wrapped his hand around the doorknob to Billy’s room. Like all of the knobs in the apartment, it was wrapped in sandpaper. Too many moist fumbling when he was trying to bring a date home was a little embarrassing, so good ole’ Conflict had rigged the whole thing up. Plus fumbling would have woken the Doc up. He gripped it as lightly as he could, pulled it open, and slipped through, thankful for overactive sweat glands.
Billy was a barely visible tuff of messy blond hair at one end and bare feet at the other. Moist padded over the cheap shag carpeting the Doc had installed, turning it quickly into a cheap orange shag carpet swamp. He just needed to make sure it was the actual Doc and not a blond wig and some fake legs stuck in there. Moist quickly checked Trogdor’s cage as a precaution in case the little bugger ratted him out. The ferret wasn’t in his hammock, but a quick check of the five levels, revealed Trodgor three levels down, neatly coiled around the cordless mouse from Billy’s computer, dark eyes blinking. “God, you’re as big a kleptomaniac as he is,” he whispered. “And he won’t punish you, the softie.”
He squelched-padded in his cheap sneakers over to what Billy called a bed and Moist called “not really trying”. The self-proclaimed conqueror of the world was still asleep, mumbling the GlaDOS’s cake recipe in his sleep, hand moving along with the beat of his words. “Don’t such garnishes as: fish shaped crackers, fish shaped candies, fish shaped solid waste, fish shape dirt, fish shaped ethyl benzene, pull and peel licorice-“
Moist leaned in close and waved his hand in front of Billy’s face just to make sure that no one was home. “EUREKA!” Billy’s eyes shot open and at the same moment, his hand shot out and grabbed Moist’s wrist with a slushy squishing sound. “Ewww,” he paused to say. “All of those scientists were right… you can come up with a solution in your sleep. Moist… I have solved the kickback issue with the freeze ray that kept popping up in the 3D simulation run through thingie-ma-gig… a stand.”
Moist felt none of Billy’s excitement, only the feeling that Billy was about to kill him and bury him in the backyard if they had one. The doc’s eyes were narrowed into a squint and his brows were furrowed giving him a godly amount of deep furrows on his forehead. “Please stop glaring at me.”
Billy kept that glare on his face. That horrible narrow-eyed glare. “I’m not glaring at you. I can barely see… everything’s a blur.”
“You’re glaring.”
“No, I’m not. You know I’m pretty much blind without them.” Much to his relief, Billy closed his eyes before sliding on his glasses. “How about I make you breakfast?”
“Umm… er… actually…I’m going to brunch with Bait. Since you make breakfast all the time?”
Billy didn’t even blink an eyelash, which was his given response for everything. “Hope you don’t get switched around with her transvestite surprise Switch.” And there was the little shudder that anyone gave once given the Bait/Switch treatment. “I mean I wouldn’t mind if Switch hadn’t been wearing a dress and a push up bra. I mean… I like boys and girls, but I think I like the surprise free version. Heh-heh-ahem.” The last part was him clearing his throat. “So can you tell the group to meet me outside The Big Box of Tools at around noon tomorrow? It’s the one place Hammer never will save anyone from.”
Moist committed it to memory since there was no way he could commit to paper. “Okay, The Big Box of Tools… noon, tomorrow. Heist, right?”
Billy paused in untangling himself from his sheets. “Well, yeah… I did I say need a stand for the freeze ray. And Captain Hammer never sets foot inside a hardware store since he thinks the only tools you need are your fists and he thinks nails are naturally provided for when he snaps his gloved fingers which I have no idea how he does it.” He paused and in a wistful voice said, “I wish I could snap with gloved fingers.” He waved his hands in a flourish. “It’s perfect. I can just stroll in and it will be taking candy from a baby… a bloated corporate baby… ahahhahaha…” He inhaled sharply and hopped out of bed. “Wow, nothing like an evil round of laughter and jazz hands to start your day.”
“I guess so,” Moist said as Billy padded over to Trogdor’s cage to greet the ferret good morning. “Vocal coach lessons are paying off.” He still thought the laugh sounded like something out of a cheesy 50s era sci-fi movie, but didn’t want to hurt Billy’s feelings. He also wished Billy wore underwear with the whole nightgown thing, but apparently his sensibility went bye-bye.
“Morning, Trogdor,” Billy said, his voice reaching a rather high note on the Trogdor part. The ferret looked up from his bathing of Billy’s wireless mouse. “Wha’cha got there? Show daddy, Trogdor? Show daddy what you have?” His voice was on the edge of cutesy. Billy’s hands reached in and pulled out the bundle of ferret and stolen object. “Oh, I see. Cute.”
“Your ferret is a klepto, Doc,” Moist muttered, realizing once again Dr. Horrible had struck again and it was so much for cereal.
“He wants to blog too.” And that was Billy’s conclusion. “That’s awesome. Kisses, Trogdor?” He brought the ferret up to his nose to get a few ferret kisses before tickling Trogdor’s furry belly and setting him on the floor. “No harm done. He’s the cutest ferret in the world.” He held up the cordless mouse. “See? Just like his daddy.” There was a bit of pride in his voice and Moist almost expected him to wipe away a tear. He laid the mouse down on the bookshelf.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Moist had to admit, thinking of all those experiments that went wrong. Like the time he managed to get exposed to the Doc’s homemade LSD and spent the next few hours tripping balls while Billy hunted up the sofa change to buy a gallon of milk. He was sure they would end up much worse in ferret hands. Better change the subject. “Don’t spend all day inside, you’ve got an appointment with Dr. Grossbard at two today.”
As soon as Billy’s happiness had appeared, it disappeared. He drew back into himself, into the withdrawn person that everybody outside the apartment as. “Oh, b-b-b-b-balls, M-m-m-moist, you k-k-know I d-don’t want t-to go.” Even the stutter and blinking was back in spades when they had met. Moist had been five and Billy was eight and in middle school already. Even then, he remembered thinking that Billy was just much, much too young to be doing what he was doing. Still thought it now too. As in going into the ELE before you were sixty and Pre-Stopped Clock, Doc are you insane? Not that he would say it to Billy’s face… not to when he looked like this, not ever for that matter. That little horrified blank face. “I-” He did this odd little thing where he slumped against the wall and stood on the tips of his toes.
Even though he was over half a foot smaller than Billy, Moist managed to somehow put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. Sure, there that nightshirt would have to go in the laundry soon after or wind up moldy, but Billy seemed to enjoy such a boring task for whatever reason stirred in his addled mind. “Look… I know you hate it, but if you skip a session, Grossbard could have you committed. He’s on the edge of it. I think he’s figured out all those times you’ve dropped acid.”
Billy smiled slightly at the last part. Odd reason for anyone to cheer up, but if it worked, it worked. “Tasted m-m-music. D-d-dark S-s-side of the R-rainbow. W-w-w-was amazing.”
“You did that on acid? Wow that explained your ‘Taste the rainbow’ ramblings that one week.” Moist continued patting Billy’s shoulder. It seemed to comfort him. “Let’s face it, Doc. We’ve been friends since we’ve had baby teeth… I worry about you.” The nightshirt’s shoulder was translucent now, bur at least Billy wasn’t on his tiptoes anymore.
“We’re best bros, right? You and me, Moist?” Billy asked, stutter finally out of his voice. Crisis averted, just barely. “William and Rudolph.” He smiled at little more.
Moist nodded. Even if he didn’t get to make breakfast, he did get one victory. “Right….” Even if it was awkward. “I’ve got to go… can’t keep her or him/her waiting.” And he was out the door before Billy could add anything to the conversation.
---
Billy leaned against the door and removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, smile rapidly inverting. He didn’t really want to go to Dr. Grossbard’s office and hear him talk about how pills were the only option left at this point or how he was concerned about all of these injuries like all of these dislocated shoulders, broken bones, and all of the times he had come in without front teeth because the evil dentists hadn’t opened for the night yet.
He didn’t ever tell Grossbard about being Dr. Horrible, only that Moist was part of the Henchmen’s Union and that he got appointments by proxy thanks to him and he really didn’t need to talk about it like ever. He was just clumsy and no he wasn’t into meth or anything like that. Plus he was sure his shrink wouldn’t believe him.
Tch, he was so sure there were better things to do. “Like now,” he said out loud. “I would rather be working on the freeze ray or watching Penny make lovey dovey eyes at Captain Tight Pants than spend all of that appointment time wasting my time.” He flung his nightshirt over his head into the laundry basket. “And speaking of Hammer… ahhh!”
The door to the apartment slammed meaning Moist had taken off for the day. Billy ignored and continued ranting. “He’s just going to leave her chewed up and dried up like all of his one night stands just because he can.”
He blinked in his contacts to get the world into better focus. “She wants the world to be a better place… I can give her that if she asks in for that in spades. All he can do is flex his pecs. His stupid, stupid pecs. I bet he had tons of plastic surgery over his long stupid life. All I had done was have my ears pinned.”
Trogdor shifted near his feet making angry ferret noise to shift Billy out of Dr. Horrible rant mode. “Yeah, I suppose so. I really should get dressed and get us food or at least you food, right?” Billy bent down and tickled the ferret’s chin. “Good boy.”
He slipped into a pair of briefs and jeans, the ferret making this rather hard by trying to climb up his bare leg. “One second, Trogdor. I’ll play with you once I get dressed.”
Billy wanted to huddle in one of his hoodies so he could pull the hood part over his head whenever Grossbard asked about all of those knocked out teeth. But instead, he found himself in the grey long-sleeved shirt and mulberry-colored shirt combo he had worn the day he had almost talked to Penny. Okay, so he’d wear his jacket over that since he felt cold practically all of the time. Plus his jacket had a hood, so it was like a triple layer of armor. And he had his Doc Martens even if he had to hot glue the sole back together on the left one and replace the laces more than once.
He had to think for a few minutes of what he had to do next. “Right… we’ll do ferret play time for a few minutes and then I’ve got to get to the bus stop.” He bent down to pop on his socks and shoes. “Trogdor, go get your toys. Get your toys.”
Trogdor took off down the hallway, sliding here and there on the hardwood thanks to the puddles Moist always left behind. He hoped they were puddles of water. Billy padded behind, thankful for the treads on his shoes and that he didn’t put a dime into the security deposit. He wound up getting himself a Red Bull and Trogdor few treats. The ferret already on the couch with Billy’s laser pointer in his mouth. “Okay, that’s not a ferret toy, but it has possibilities. Awesometeen points for creativeity,” Billy said and offered Trogdor a little meaty snack.
Trogdor was a laugh riot as always. That was the one thing you could count on when your moisture buddy Moist betrayed you when he really should have said, “You’re right, Dr. Grossbard is a hack.”
Billy realized he was saying it out loud. He picked up Trogdor. “I mean I don’t ask much. I really didn’t mean to have a nervous breakdown… but it’s not I could tell him that the ELE cut down applications to one per year and I got turned down for tenure again. But… noooo… they see one diagnosis made when I was fourteen and I have to see a shrink. What kind of mad scientist sees a shrink?”
He paced back and forth, one of the first things he had gotten down in Mad Science 101: The Pace. It was a bit harder to do since the proper pace meant one hand on your chin and the other on the small of your back. Billy found that hard when he wasn’t: A) in his Dr. Horrible lab coat and B) his arms were full of ferret. “Of course I get broken bones and lose teeth on a regular basis. It’s part of being a super-villain. But look at me. I am in my final months in my countdown to age lock-in and I’ve got nothing but a dead-end job, an apartment that isn’t mine, a sweaty henchmen, and a ferret!” He thought about it and decided to was being a little to hard on himself.
“Maybe I am being doubtful,” Billy considered, petting the drowsy ferret. “I mean you are the world’s cutest ferret, I have an IQ of 195, and when I rule the world, Grossbard will see that you don’t drug the likes of Dr. Horrible.”
The room echoed with his pseudo-evil laughter.
---
The only good thing about Dr. Grossbard’s office was that it was right in front of the best fish taco stand in LA. Billy had only gotten off his bus route with every intention of turning around and stepping back on, when the smell of grilled tilapia made his mouth water. It made him feel guilty. He didn’t know Penny’s degree of vegetarianism. She ate frozen yogurt, so maybe she could eat fish. But that would involve stalking her and he only closely followed her.
The guilt involved was immense. He was hungry, he had enough money this time, and he liked fish tacos. On the other hand, Penny would be sad. Sad, sad, sad.
The thing he knew, he was on Grossbard’s front steps, sack of fish tacos in his hands, wallet several dollars lighter. Oh, he was aware of he had done. He had gone over, asked for his fish tacos, gotten his fish tacos, and now…
“Oh, hi, Billy-buddy,” Penny’s shadow fell over him.
She had caught him in all of his flesh-eaten ways. But his heart skipped a beat. She’d given him a nickname, because she didn’t know his last name. Probably for the best. His last name Crandall sounded snooty. “Hi,” he muffled around a bite of fish. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Billy tilted his head up, blinks at full force. She was smiling. Penny was smiling and that was good. “I sometimes eat fish now and then. Not always. Are those good?”
He didn’t know what to say, so he stuffed his mouth full of another bite. Finally he chewed and swallowed. “They’re nummy.”
Penny sat beside him and smoothed down the lines of her cardigan and dress. “I was just visiting Captain Hammer… he’s working on the final plans for the dedication for the bridge.” Her hands worked open another container of her frozen yogurt, strawberry sauce on it this time. “He puts his all into it.”
No, he doesn’t… Billy once hacked into the cameras of Hammer’s mansion. He didn’t even let them sleep in his bed. He just had his way with them and they were out the door. To do that to Penny. To poor sweet Penny. It made his blood boil. The next bite of his taco seemed to catch in his throat on the way down. The texture seemed to be made of sandpaper instead of soft flaky fish and crispy cabbage. “I hope you’re happy,” Billy said and didn’t add with him, because that way he didn’t promise anything. It was safe that way and he was tempted to add with me.
“I hope your thigh is okay,” Penny said. She peered at his thigh, draped as it was with his shirttail and coat.
“Qweh?” It took Billy by surprise.
“When you stabbed your thigh with the spork,” Penny said, pointing a little with her spork. She ate her frozen yogurt with one. It was her thing. Penny’s thing. “You bled a little and your eyes misted.”
“I’m fine,” he said, pasting a big smile on his face just to make her feel happy and swallowing the lump in his throat down. “I just have an…”
And Heroes’ Clock Rang Two o’ Clock.
That infernal machine had Captain Hammer’s likeness engraved in it, his hands, sweeping across, beating it into his head that he didn’t like this part of town. Billy wasn’t sure why they called it Heroes’ Clock if Captain Hammer’s face was the only on it. He closed his eyes and imagined his world conquest, his Destroying Ray of Destroying by his side… he would raise it up and burn off the face of the Heroes’ Clock. As Dr. Grossbard said, “Happy Thoughts.”
“Billy?”
He jumped a foot in the air. “Gaah! I have an appointment… I have to get to… so…” His taco had crumbled in his hand, a sticky mess of fish, corn tortilla, and cabbage. “You can have the rest… so here.” He shoved them into her hands, feeling awkward. What if she didn’t eat them and was just lying?
“Thank you, Billy.” She had such nice hands, such nice nails. His were always dry, split, chewed on, and black in spots, with crescents of dirt under the tips. “Thanks a lot.”
Or she might give them to the homeless, which was just like Penny. Okay, Billy, speak. Say something. “….” Balls.
Billy, tongue-tied and late for his appointment again, trudged up the stairs to Grossbard’s office. And he turned to see Hammer walk up and talk to Penny, chatting in her ear, the cad. She giggled and he pulled her closer. They walked off in their own little world, Hammer’s hand on her butt. Billy’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. Up you go, Billy-buddy, this is your walk of shame. Enjoy every step, step step. Head down, never look back, never look up, just keep on walking as slow as you can go, as slow as you can.
“Enjoying your sulk, Billy?” Dr. Grossbard was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. His arms were crossed and a frown creased his face. “I understand that you don’t like these appointments, but twenty minutes late?”
Billy snapped his head up so fast that he nearly beaned himself in the eye with one of the laces to the hood of his jacket. “My b-bus was l-late in getting here.” He shuffled his feet. “You k-know I d-don’t own a c-c-c-“ He continued stuttering for several seconds, “car so…” the next words came out in a rush, “letsmakethisquickaspossible.”
He bowed his head back down and shuffled past his shrink into the office past the waiting room, aware that Grossbard was studying him, trying to catch him in a lie. Billy wanted to be Dr. Horrible then and there, more then and anything, and use the Doctor’s evil, charm, wit, and occasional magic trick to convince Dr. “I have an MD so that Makes me Better Than Your Double PhD” that these sessions were no longer needed. And the stun ray would help. Billy didn’t have any of these; he didn’t even have his goggles to pull over his eyes.
“You’re looking well,” Dr. Grossbard said, after getting behind his large oak desk and pulling out his steno pad. “Cold?”
Billy nodded as he chewed on a thumbnail, staring out the window. Captain Hammer and Penny were both eating containers of frozen yogurt. Well, Penny was, Hammer wasn’t… he was pointing out of the bells and whistles of the stupid bridge. “I’m cold all the time… no change there.” He settled onto the couch nearest the window and slammed his eyes closed, trying to forget Hammer and Penny, Hammer and Penny… Hammer and Penny in bed, her tiny figure dwarfed by his, her legs barely able to reach around his back… no, no, no, no, bad thoughts, bad. “I t-think mayb-b-be my b-body t-temperature is l-l-lower or something. It’s no big deal. I j-just d-d-don’t t-think that people should go around with their bodies hanging out… toasting themselves to a crisp… I pride myself on being a nice even paleish peachy color.” He also prided himself on finishing the last bit without a stutter. Vocal lessons for evil laughter did pay off. He opened his eyes and peered out the window. Captain Hammer and Penny had moved on their way.
Grossbard was staring right with him when he looked up. His glasses were shining so bright that Billy couldn’t see the old shrink’s eyes, but he could hear the pride in the man’s voice. “People are things of wonder, are they not? Even when life brings them down, the spark of spirit, the drive of creativeness brings them back up.”
There was a note of awe in the old shrink’s voice as he took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. That awe was something that apparently couldn’t be taken away by age or by experience. Well, he hadn’t experienced Billy’s childhood, so how would he know the non-love of mother who reminded you that you were a child who didn’t live up to their hopes and dreams. All those afternoons of his father reminding him of how long he had until his aging stopped and his potential with it. “Singing? Magic lessons? Tightrope walking?” He could still hear his father’s scornful voice in the back of his head even now. “You’re supposed to be a man… act like one at least while you’re in this house.”
Billy pushed the voice of his father to the back of his mind. “Surviving despite all of this turmoil, they become the best that they can,” the Doctor said, echoing Penny’s words rather spookily.
He tried to agree with Grossbard, but any fool with half a brain could see that humankind had gone insane. He couldn’t nod and finally managed a dry “I guess so.”
Dr. Grossbard moved back to his desk and went back to filling out forms. Billy watched the motion of the pen for several seconds before it made him dizzy. “I hate to see defeatism in someone as young as you, Billy, I really do. Stopped Clocks have all the potential and all the time in the world.”
Billy decided to study the floor, since it with all its scratches and pits made a better companion than the voices in his head that occasionally popped their whispering heads up with, “Hey, Billy… let’s go kill a few tourists. Just mow them down. They’re out of towners so no one would really mind, in fact in few hours time, they would be forgotten in favor of the next celebrity divorce, but that’s Hollywood. So what do you say, Dr. Horrible?” even though killing wasn’t Dr. Horrible’s way.
“Not the way I see it. Final countdown. I figured maybe I had something going for me. Not in cards,” he said in a slight singsong tone to get the point across without a plethora of stutters. “S-s-so… h-how d-do you t-think I’m d-doing, Doc?”
Dr. Grossbard’s pencil stopped in mid-sentence. “To be perfectly honest,” he said, peering over his glasses and the pad, “I feel I have been putting your sanity at great risk by not prescribing you the needed antipsychotic medications to keep your schizophrenia under control.”
“I’m f-fine.” Billy said. Maybe if he repeated it enough times Dr. Grossbard would leave him alone and he could conquer the world in peace. “T-th-here is no n-need to d-d-rug me.”
Billy met Dr. Grossbard’s eyes with what he hoped was his own challenging stare, but he had a good idea what he thought was Dr. Horrible’s evil glare was his own watery gaze. A few seconds later, he felt moisture on his nose and upper lip. He felt lame and a bit like hanging himself in the office. Here he was on the crime of the century, on the doorstep (or bridgestep or what whatever the hell they called the area before a bridge) of Dr. Horrible’s greatest crime, about to blubber like a baby. “You’re not fine or you wouldn’t be here,” a voice chided him and it almost sounded like Penny. “Keep your head up and strong.”
Grossbard was silent for the longest time and Billy was almost sure the man would fill out a 5150 form right on him there. Visions of Bad Horse’s Cowboy Chorus gleefully singing out “Or he’ll make you his mare” filled his mind. If Bad Horse was gleeful somewhat, he took human form and you could live the rest of your live with a colon. He was pretty sure missing his crime due to being looked in a Mental Hospital away warranted becoming Bad Horse’s mare without human Bad Horse. The least that could happen was that the Bad Horse Chorus could just show up to point and laugh. Billy chewed at his lower lip until Grossbard walked over with a box of tissues. “You all right?”
“N-not r-really,” he admitted, being honest for once, “B-but e-everything s-s-hould t-turn up s-steak s-s-s-sauce soon.” He blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes, careful not to knock his contacts out. “P-please n-no d-d-drugs?”
He hoped that Bad Horse only meant they were watching his actions as Dr. Horrible. Otherwise he would have a lot to explain. Following Penny (“It’s not stalking if you don’t hide in her closet and jerk off into her panties.”), the drug use (“I’ll share… LSD on me, guys!”), the creative sexual positions during masturbation (“I did the yoga for the flexibility… and then my dick was right in front of me, but I’m not the only guy who tried it, I’m just the only guy who succeeded, I’ll just shut up now.’) He also hoped Dr. Grossbard was convinced by puppy dog eyes and runny noses. The therapist gave a long sigh. “I don’t know what you get into half the time that make you come in with either missing teeth, a cast, a sling, or some combination of the three. But I will give you a chance.”
Billy blew his nose again and handed the used tissue back. “’Tanks.” It was a weight off his chest. Soon he would be standing in the ELE room, a full member and this would be a thing of the past. No Grossbard and his therapy, just everything he ever hoped for. “’Tanks a lot.”
“Just like last week, eh, Billy?” his most cynical darkest voice whispered from the deepest darkest corner of his mind, “Let’s kill him now.”
“Why?”
“No reason. Just kill him. Fillet the bastard like a fish. You’ve a got a pocketknife, it’s enough… enjoy his suffering like the villain you are. The ELE will bring you in for sure. He’s in our way. He’d just lock us up and how will the world ever change for Penny?”
He couldn’t. Dr. Grossbard had a wife and kids at home. What right did Billy have to kill him just because he was pissed at the man? Plus he was sure it had been done before and copycats never got into the ELE ever. Besides they usually got brought down in a hail of gunfire. “Fuck,” the voice cursed and was thankfully silent.
Dr. Grossbard went back to his paperwork. “Well, I’ll see you back here same time next week.” He typed in something on the phone next to him. “And try not to be late next time.”
Billy paused before raising his sweat-slick hand to the doorknob. His fingertips scrambled over it for few minutes before he had the sense of mind to dry it on his jeans. At least he knew how Moist felt all the time. “Of course not, Dr. Grossbard. I will be right on time.”
It was the best lie he had ever told.
Part: 3A/?
By: Lilithisbitter
Rating: MA (Lemon/Disturbing Themes/Darkfic)
Word Count: 13,000 (Post I and II combined)
Pairing: Horrible/Penny/Hammer, Horrible/Johnny Snow (One-sided), Horrible/Bait/Switch
Spoiler: For All Three Acts of Doctor Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, Comic Book Backstory Not Used
Summary: One part continuation, one part alternate universe, shake and stir. A bounced Wonderflonium accident disrupts events in not one but two parallel timelines and forces Billy to pony up to his inner demons.
Previous Chapters
I. The Reign of Dr. Horrible
II. Warning: Don't Bounce
Because of LJ Post Restrictions, Part III is in 2 Parts...
III. Penny for Your Thoughts, Hopes, and Dreams Part I
Timeline A -
“Up my basement dwelling ass, he said… I… fucking… ow… don’t even have a basement…” Dr. Horrible tried to swat all forty Johnny Snows away from him with their stupid ice bags. They soon resolved into only one parka-wearing douche bag with a chipped front tooth and he was annoying enough.
“I could always kiss it better, you know,” Johnny said as he applied the ice bag to Dr. Horrible’s rapidly swelling cheek. He could feel it throb in time with his broken nose. With his luck, his cheekbone was broken. It wouldn’t be the first time this year. “We could throw a party. Captain Hammer is dead again. Aside from him destroying the known universe, that’s some reason to celebrate. Kiss?”
At this hour, the lab was silent, except for the sweeps, beeps, and creeps of the sound dampeners. He did love his privacy after all, valued it above all else. Dr. Horrible tried his best evil scowl and felt it pull at the edge of his bruise. “I’d rather you didn’t. You apply too much tongue.”
Johnny looked rather scornful, he couldn’t tell. In the scuffle, he had lost a contact… delightful. “Oh, how would the former virgin know?” He pulled away as if he was peering at something. “Hold that tightly. I’ll get some packing for your nose.”
Horrible leaned into the ice as best as he could, a goliath task since he could hear his own cheekbone shift. Yep, it was broken. Like that one time that Hammer wanted a perfect photo of him beating up Dr. Horrible, but the cameraman kept screwing up the shot, so the oaf just kept slamming him into the side of the safe over and over until his molars on the right side crumbled into nothing and the side of his face swelled to the size of a volleyball. It took three thousand dollars to get his teeth grown back and in the mean time he lost forty pounds and tasted blood in his food for two weeks. “Too much tongue,” he sing-songed again and giggled to himself, despite the pain and how it sounded like a goddamned wind tunnel.
How won.. what was that word? Wonder-flo-ful. Oh, he just made up a new one. He liked that word. When he saved the world and they turned it over to him because they were so grateful and they would be forced to anyway, it would be a new official word. Yeah. The parka-clad super-hero/henchman in his own mind went back to pawing through Horrible’s seven-layer first aid kit. He was also talking through that wind tunnel. “But you said you were a virgin. Your kisses were all over the places.”
Dr. Horrible clung to the bag of ice like a lifeline or as he called it, his cold little pillow of happiness. “Hey, I have kissed my fair share of girls and boys,” he said, feeling the nostril that wasn’t crusted shut with blood, beginning to flare. “I may be shy, but Moist did set me up on dates even when I wanted to stay home and watch Extreme Engineering. And I did to go to college, which should tell you something. Maybe I was too shy for anything more, but a face this cute doesn’t get this old without getting some offers and there was an episode of heavy petting with Bait and Switch. So let me tell you something.”
“Tell me what?” He still didn’t get it? Maybe he had kicked him in the head a bit hard and reduced him to Captain Half-a-torso’s level of intelligence. Half-a-torso… heh, heh, heh. Although his face looked a tad on the concerned side. “Wait… hold on a second… how many fingers am I holding up?”
“What does it matter? You have too many fingers.” Here it comes. Just lay it on him flat. Bam, wham, thank you ma’am. “I was coming in for a courtesy kiss when you, like the parka clad mor-on that you are, pried my jaws open and started sticking that tongue anywhere you could. I mean, before I knew it, your tongue was up my nostril, trying to puncture my eardrum, and trying to mate with my hair,” Horrible punctuated all of this with wild gestures at said body parts. “For someone with a lot of ‘experience’, you suck. Stop tilting the floor. You know what they used to say… they used to say ‘Billy, you were such a nice guy. What happened?’ And life happened. I didn’t even know about the whole resurrection half of Stopped Clock until Normal told me. Real kick in the-”
“Could you stop talking for a second?” Johnny was by his side in a second, still tilting the floor, prick. “I think you have a concussion. A pretty bad one.” And when had he developed flashlight fingers? Only made him more annoying and douchey. “I need you to get into some casual clothes. Pretend to be Billy for a few hours while we get you checked out.”
“I’m not going to… I’m Dr. Horrible.” The words came slowly but surely.
“I think you should,” Billy’s voice came not from the back of his mind, but from the perch of the big chair. He was dressed in an oversized denim shirt and khaki pants, knees drawn up beneath his chin, wiggling his bare toes. “I-I know I w-would, but you w-wouldn’t. You’re going to black out-”
No, I’m not.
But he didn’t say the words out loud.
---
Timeline B -
Moist had almost gotten away with it too.
It had been five in the morning, when he moistly got out of bed, dressed, and squelched across the moldy remain of his carpet to the door. Billy was still asleep; it wouldn’t kill the doc to know that his kitchen domain had been breeched. It wasn’t like Moist was using the lab to make Shrinky Dinks… again for the third time this month.
He padded out the door past the hall with its creaky floorboards and various damp socks and assorted tennis balls. Right. He, Moist, could do this, even if it was just cereal and milk in a bowl. It would be a small victory for henchmen everywhere if he could command the kitchen if just for one day.
The next part would be the most challenging. He had to figure out where Billy was. The first time Moist had tried to cook, the Doc had swooped down from the exhaust hood and landed right on his back. The second time, he was “testing” his antigravity gun and just happened to “innocently walk into Moist upside down in the hallway”. Or rather Moist had walked into Billy’s forehead. They both ended up with massive goose eggs for a week, which Moist was sure weren’t part of Billy’s original scheme. Plus it was most Billy’s fault for having a large forehead. Billy had mumbled that Moist’s skull was way too hard and why did he need to cook away when he way willing to do all of the cooking?
Billy was a genius in the kitchen as much with a skillet as with a test tube. He had spent so much time in the Mistovich household that Moist’s mom had taught the little blond boy with the stuck-out oversized ears, blue eyes, and shy sweet smile how to cook. Soon he had all her secret recipees and as Billy termed them “mad cooking skillz”.
That wasn’t the problem. The problem Billy’s was control freak habits. He refused to share recipes. Oh, he would promise, but would find reasons to delay. He never let you get a snack for yourself. Not even with a little dinky thing like potato chips. Everybody remembered the superbowl party freakout. Not a pretty picture.
Automatically, Moist checked the ceiling for Billy and his trademark lab coat. He then pried up the hidden trapdoor in case Billy was trying a new trick out this time. Aside from Billy’s personal interocitor and explodium stash, there was no Dr. Horrible hidden within. Actually, there wasn’t much room in there anyway, but Moist wouldn’t put it past Billy to squeeze in considering the Doc’s bad habit of falling asleep in weird places. He could only pray that Billy was in his bed and not curled up on the top shelf of the linen closet for the third time this week. Moist chalked it up to the sleeping pills.
Right, he’d just check on Billy and it was off to pour a nice bowl of Captain Crunch and enjoy all of his taped cartoons before he and the Purple Pimp went down to check out Conflict Diamond’s new Night Club Opening. Just to make sure, Moist pulled open the linen closet and looked for any trace of the Doc’s bony ankles and even called out, “Hey, Doc, you in there?” just in case he was in the fetal position as usual.
All that was in there was a few moldy cardboard boxes, a plastic box of Chanukah stuff with a slightly rusted menorah on top, a hand-made bong that his last roommate Conflict Diamond had left (before he had left to double up with Pink Pummeler), and a few blankets, but no gangly scientist who sleepclimbed his way to the top shelf.
Moist finally wrapped his hand around the doorknob to Billy’s room. Like all of the knobs in the apartment, it was wrapped in sandpaper. Too many moist fumbling when he was trying to bring a date home was a little embarrassing, so good ole’ Conflict had rigged the whole thing up. Plus fumbling would have woken the Doc up. He gripped it as lightly as he could, pulled it open, and slipped through, thankful for overactive sweat glands.
Billy was a barely visible tuff of messy blond hair at one end and bare feet at the other. Moist padded over the cheap shag carpeting the Doc had installed, turning it quickly into a cheap orange shag carpet swamp. He just needed to make sure it was the actual Doc and not a blond wig and some fake legs stuck in there. Moist quickly checked Trogdor’s cage as a precaution in case the little bugger ratted him out. The ferret wasn’t in his hammock, but a quick check of the five levels, revealed Trodgor three levels down, neatly coiled around the cordless mouse from Billy’s computer, dark eyes blinking. “God, you’re as big a kleptomaniac as he is,” he whispered. “And he won’t punish you, the softie.”
He squelched-padded in his cheap sneakers over to what Billy called a bed and Moist called “not really trying”. The self-proclaimed conqueror of the world was still asleep, mumbling the GlaDOS’s cake recipe in his sleep, hand moving along with the beat of his words. “Don’t such garnishes as: fish shaped crackers, fish shaped candies, fish shaped solid waste, fish shape dirt, fish shaped ethyl benzene, pull and peel licorice-“
Moist leaned in close and waved his hand in front of Billy’s face just to make sure that no one was home. “EUREKA!” Billy’s eyes shot open and at the same moment, his hand shot out and grabbed Moist’s wrist with a slushy squishing sound. “Ewww,” he paused to say. “All of those scientists were right… you can come up with a solution in your sleep. Moist… I have solved the kickback issue with the freeze ray that kept popping up in the 3D simulation run through thingie-ma-gig… a stand.”
Moist felt none of Billy’s excitement, only the feeling that Billy was about to kill him and bury him in the backyard if they had one. The doc’s eyes were narrowed into a squint and his brows were furrowed giving him a godly amount of deep furrows on his forehead. “Please stop glaring at me.”
Billy kept that glare on his face. That horrible narrow-eyed glare. “I’m not glaring at you. I can barely see… everything’s a blur.”
“You’re glaring.”
“No, I’m not. You know I’m pretty much blind without them.” Much to his relief, Billy closed his eyes before sliding on his glasses. “How about I make you breakfast?”
“Umm… er… actually…I’m going to brunch with Bait. Since you make breakfast all the time?”
Billy didn’t even blink an eyelash, which was his given response for everything. “Hope you don’t get switched around with her transvestite surprise Switch.” And there was the little shudder that anyone gave once given the Bait/Switch treatment. “I mean I wouldn’t mind if Switch hadn’t been wearing a dress and a push up bra. I mean… I like boys and girls, but I think I like the surprise free version. Heh-heh-ahem.” The last part was him clearing his throat. “So can you tell the group to meet me outside The Big Box of Tools at around noon tomorrow? It’s the one place Hammer never will save anyone from.”
Moist committed it to memory since there was no way he could commit to paper. “Okay, The Big Box of Tools… noon, tomorrow. Heist, right?”
Billy paused in untangling himself from his sheets. “Well, yeah… I did I say need a stand for the freeze ray. And Captain Hammer never sets foot inside a hardware store since he thinks the only tools you need are your fists and he thinks nails are naturally provided for when he snaps his gloved fingers which I have no idea how he does it.” He paused and in a wistful voice said, “I wish I could snap with gloved fingers.” He waved his hands in a flourish. “It’s perfect. I can just stroll in and it will be taking candy from a baby… a bloated corporate baby… ahahhahaha…” He inhaled sharply and hopped out of bed. “Wow, nothing like an evil round of laughter and jazz hands to start your day.”
“I guess so,” Moist said as Billy padded over to Trogdor’s cage to greet the ferret good morning. “Vocal coach lessons are paying off.” He still thought the laugh sounded like something out of a cheesy 50s era sci-fi movie, but didn’t want to hurt Billy’s feelings. He also wished Billy wore underwear with the whole nightgown thing, but apparently his sensibility went bye-bye.
“Morning, Trogdor,” Billy said, his voice reaching a rather high note on the Trogdor part. The ferret looked up from his bathing of Billy’s wireless mouse. “Wha’cha got there? Show daddy, Trogdor? Show daddy what you have?” His voice was on the edge of cutesy. Billy’s hands reached in and pulled out the bundle of ferret and stolen object. “Oh, I see. Cute.”
“Your ferret is a klepto, Doc,” Moist muttered, realizing once again Dr. Horrible had struck again and it was so much for cereal.
“He wants to blog too.” And that was Billy’s conclusion. “That’s awesome. Kisses, Trogdor?” He brought the ferret up to his nose to get a few ferret kisses before tickling Trogdor’s furry belly and setting him on the floor. “No harm done. He’s the cutest ferret in the world.” He held up the cordless mouse. “See? Just like his daddy.” There was a bit of pride in his voice and Moist almost expected him to wipe away a tear. He laid the mouse down on the bookshelf.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Moist had to admit, thinking of all those experiments that went wrong. Like the time he managed to get exposed to the Doc’s homemade LSD and spent the next few hours tripping balls while Billy hunted up the sofa change to buy a gallon of milk. He was sure they would end up much worse in ferret hands. Better change the subject. “Don’t spend all day inside, you’ve got an appointment with Dr. Grossbard at two today.”
As soon as Billy’s happiness had appeared, it disappeared. He drew back into himself, into the withdrawn person that everybody outside the apartment as. “Oh, b-b-b-b-balls, M-m-m-moist, you k-k-know I d-don’t want t-to go.” Even the stutter and blinking was back in spades when they had met. Moist had been five and Billy was eight and in middle school already. Even then, he remembered thinking that Billy was just much, much too young to be doing what he was doing. Still thought it now too. As in going into the ELE before you were sixty and Pre-Stopped Clock, Doc are you insane? Not that he would say it to Billy’s face… not to when he looked like this, not ever for that matter. That little horrified blank face. “I-” He did this odd little thing where he slumped against the wall and stood on the tips of his toes.
Even though he was over half a foot smaller than Billy, Moist managed to somehow put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. Sure, there that nightshirt would have to go in the laundry soon after or wind up moldy, but Billy seemed to enjoy such a boring task for whatever reason stirred in his addled mind. “Look… I know you hate it, but if you skip a session, Grossbard could have you committed. He’s on the edge of it. I think he’s figured out all those times you’ve dropped acid.”
Billy smiled slightly at the last part. Odd reason for anyone to cheer up, but if it worked, it worked. “Tasted m-m-music. D-d-dark S-s-side of the R-rainbow. W-w-w-was amazing.”
“You did that on acid? Wow that explained your ‘Taste the rainbow’ ramblings that one week.” Moist continued patting Billy’s shoulder. It seemed to comfort him. “Let’s face it, Doc. We’ve been friends since we’ve had baby teeth… I worry about you.” The nightshirt’s shoulder was translucent now, bur at least Billy wasn’t on his tiptoes anymore.
“We’re best bros, right? You and me, Moist?” Billy asked, stutter finally out of his voice. Crisis averted, just barely. “William and Rudolph.” He smiled at little more.
Moist nodded. Even if he didn’t get to make breakfast, he did get one victory. “Right….” Even if it was awkward. “I’ve got to go… can’t keep her or him/her waiting.” And he was out the door before Billy could add anything to the conversation.
---
Billy leaned against the door and removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, smile rapidly inverting. He didn’t really want to go to Dr. Grossbard’s office and hear him talk about how pills were the only option left at this point or how he was concerned about all of these injuries like all of these dislocated shoulders, broken bones, and all of the times he had come in without front teeth because the evil dentists hadn’t opened for the night yet.
He didn’t ever tell Grossbard about being Dr. Horrible, only that Moist was part of the Henchmen’s Union and that he got appointments by proxy thanks to him and he really didn’t need to talk about it like ever. He was just clumsy and no he wasn’t into meth or anything like that. Plus he was sure his shrink wouldn’t believe him.
Tch, he was so sure there were better things to do. “Like now,” he said out loud. “I would rather be working on the freeze ray or watching Penny make lovey dovey eyes at Captain Tight Pants than spend all of that appointment time wasting my time.” He flung his nightshirt over his head into the laundry basket. “And speaking of Hammer… ahhh!”
The door to the apartment slammed meaning Moist had taken off for the day. Billy ignored and continued ranting. “He’s just going to leave her chewed up and dried up like all of his one night stands just because he can.”
He blinked in his contacts to get the world into better focus. “She wants the world to be a better place… I can give her that if she asks in for that in spades. All he can do is flex his pecs. His stupid, stupid pecs. I bet he had tons of plastic surgery over his long stupid life. All I had done was have my ears pinned.”
Trogdor shifted near his feet making angry ferret noise to shift Billy out of Dr. Horrible rant mode. “Yeah, I suppose so. I really should get dressed and get us food or at least you food, right?” Billy bent down and tickled the ferret’s chin. “Good boy.”
He slipped into a pair of briefs and jeans, the ferret making this rather hard by trying to climb up his bare leg. “One second, Trogdor. I’ll play with you once I get dressed.”
Billy wanted to huddle in one of his hoodies so he could pull the hood part over his head whenever Grossbard asked about all of those knocked out teeth. But instead, he found himself in the grey long-sleeved shirt and mulberry-colored shirt combo he had worn the day he had almost talked to Penny. Okay, so he’d wear his jacket over that since he felt cold practically all of the time. Plus his jacket had a hood, so it was like a triple layer of armor. And he had his Doc Martens even if he had to hot glue the sole back together on the left one and replace the laces more than once.
He had to think for a few minutes of what he had to do next. “Right… we’ll do ferret play time for a few minutes and then I’ve got to get to the bus stop.” He bent down to pop on his socks and shoes. “Trogdor, go get your toys. Get your toys.”
Trogdor took off down the hallway, sliding here and there on the hardwood thanks to the puddles Moist always left behind. He hoped they were puddles of water. Billy padded behind, thankful for the treads on his shoes and that he didn’t put a dime into the security deposit. He wound up getting himself a Red Bull and Trogdor few treats. The ferret already on the couch with Billy’s laser pointer in his mouth. “Okay, that’s not a ferret toy, but it has possibilities. Awesometeen points for creativeity,” Billy said and offered Trogdor a little meaty snack.
Trogdor was a laugh riot as always. That was the one thing you could count on when your moisture buddy Moist betrayed you when he really should have said, “You’re right, Dr. Grossbard is a hack.”
Billy realized he was saying it out loud. He picked up Trogdor. “I mean I don’t ask much. I really didn’t mean to have a nervous breakdown… but it’s not I could tell him that the ELE cut down applications to one per year and I got turned down for tenure again. But… noooo… they see one diagnosis made when I was fourteen and I have to see a shrink. What kind of mad scientist sees a shrink?”
He paced back and forth, one of the first things he had gotten down in Mad Science 101: The Pace. It was a bit harder to do since the proper pace meant one hand on your chin and the other on the small of your back. Billy found that hard when he wasn’t: A) in his Dr. Horrible lab coat and B) his arms were full of ferret. “Of course I get broken bones and lose teeth on a regular basis. It’s part of being a super-villain. But look at me. I am in my final months in my countdown to age lock-in and I’ve got nothing but a dead-end job, an apartment that isn’t mine, a sweaty henchmen, and a ferret!” He thought about it and decided to was being a little to hard on himself.
“Maybe I am being doubtful,” Billy considered, petting the drowsy ferret. “I mean you are the world’s cutest ferret, I have an IQ of 195, and when I rule the world, Grossbard will see that you don’t drug the likes of Dr. Horrible.”
The room echoed with his pseudo-evil laughter.
---
The only good thing about Dr. Grossbard’s office was that it was right in front of the best fish taco stand in LA. Billy had only gotten off his bus route with every intention of turning around and stepping back on, when the smell of grilled tilapia made his mouth water. It made him feel guilty. He didn’t know Penny’s degree of vegetarianism. She ate frozen yogurt, so maybe she could eat fish. But that would involve stalking her and he only closely followed her.
The guilt involved was immense. He was hungry, he had enough money this time, and he liked fish tacos. On the other hand, Penny would be sad. Sad, sad, sad.
The thing he knew, he was on Grossbard’s front steps, sack of fish tacos in his hands, wallet several dollars lighter. Oh, he was aware of he had done. He had gone over, asked for his fish tacos, gotten his fish tacos, and now…
“Oh, hi, Billy-buddy,” Penny’s shadow fell over him.
She had caught him in all of his flesh-eaten ways. But his heart skipped a beat. She’d given him a nickname, because she didn’t know his last name. Probably for the best. His last name Crandall sounded snooty. “Hi,” he muffled around a bite of fish. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Billy tilted his head up, blinks at full force. She was smiling. Penny was smiling and that was good. “I sometimes eat fish now and then. Not always. Are those good?”
He didn’t know what to say, so he stuffed his mouth full of another bite. Finally he chewed and swallowed. “They’re nummy.”
Penny sat beside him and smoothed down the lines of her cardigan and dress. “I was just visiting Captain Hammer… he’s working on the final plans for the dedication for the bridge.” Her hands worked open another container of her frozen yogurt, strawberry sauce on it this time. “He puts his all into it.”
No, he doesn’t… Billy once hacked into the cameras of Hammer’s mansion. He didn’t even let them sleep in his bed. He just had his way with them and they were out the door. To do that to Penny. To poor sweet Penny. It made his blood boil. The next bite of his taco seemed to catch in his throat on the way down. The texture seemed to be made of sandpaper instead of soft flaky fish and crispy cabbage. “I hope you’re happy,” Billy said and didn’t add with him, because that way he didn’t promise anything. It was safe that way and he was tempted to add with me.
“I hope your thigh is okay,” Penny said. She peered at his thigh, draped as it was with his shirttail and coat.
“Qweh?” It took Billy by surprise.
“When you stabbed your thigh with the spork,” Penny said, pointing a little with her spork. She ate her frozen yogurt with one. It was her thing. Penny’s thing. “You bled a little and your eyes misted.”
“I’m fine,” he said, pasting a big smile on his face just to make her feel happy and swallowing the lump in his throat down. “I just have an…”
And Heroes’ Clock Rang Two o’ Clock.
That infernal machine had Captain Hammer’s likeness engraved in it, his hands, sweeping across, beating it into his head that he didn’t like this part of town. Billy wasn’t sure why they called it Heroes’ Clock if Captain Hammer’s face was the only on it. He closed his eyes and imagined his world conquest, his Destroying Ray of Destroying by his side… he would raise it up and burn off the face of the Heroes’ Clock. As Dr. Grossbard said, “Happy Thoughts.”
“Billy?”
He jumped a foot in the air. “Gaah! I have an appointment… I have to get to… so…” His taco had crumbled in his hand, a sticky mess of fish, corn tortilla, and cabbage. “You can have the rest… so here.” He shoved them into her hands, feeling awkward. What if she didn’t eat them and was just lying?
“Thank you, Billy.” She had such nice hands, such nice nails. His were always dry, split, chewed on, and black in spots, with crescents of dirt under the tips. “Thanks a lot.”
Or she might give them to the homeless, which was just like Penny. Okay, Billy, speak. Say something. “….” Balls.
Billy, tongue-tied and late for his appointment again, trudged up the stairs to Grossbard’s office. And he turned to see Hammer walk up and talk to Penny, chatting in her ear, the cad. She giggled and he pulled her closer. They walked off in their own little world, Hammer’s hand on her butt. Billy’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. Up you go, Billy-buddy, this is your walk of shame. Enjoy every step, step step. Head down, never look back, never look up, just keep on walking as slow as you can go, as slow as you can.
“Enjoying your sulk, Billy?” Dr. Grossbard was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. His arms were crossed and a frown creased his face. “I understand that you don’t like these appointments, but twenty minutes late?”
Billy snapped his head up so fast that he nearly beaned himself in the eye with one of the laces to the hood of his jacket. “My b-bus was l-late in getting here.” He shuffled his feet. “You k-know I d-don’t own a c-c-c-“ He continued stuttering for several seconds, “car so…” the next words came out in a rush, “letsmakethisquickaspossible.”
He bowed his head back down and shuffled past his shrink into the office past the waiting room, aware that Grossbard was studying him, trying to catch him in a lie. Billy wanted to be Dr. Horrible then and there, more then and anything, and use the Doctor’s evil, charm, wit, and occasional magic trick to convince Dr. “I have an MD so that Makes me Better Than Your Double PhD” that these sessions were no longer needed. And the stun ray would help. Billy didn’t have any of these; he didn’t even have his goggles to pull over his eyes.
“You’re looking well,” Dr. Grossbard said, after getting behind his large oak desk and pulling out his steno pad. “Cold?”
Billy nodded as he chewed on a thumbnail, staring out the window. Captain Hammer and Penny were both eating containers of frozen yogurt. Well, Penny was, Hammer wasn’t… he was pointing out of the bells and whistles of the stupid bridge. “I’m cold all the time… no change there.” He settled onto the couch nearest the window and slammed his eyes closed, trying to forget Hammer and Penny, Hammer and Penny… Hammer and Penny in bed, her tiny figure dwarfed by his, her legs barely able to reach around his back… no, no, no, no, bad thoughts, bad. “I t-think mayb-b-be my b-body t-temperature is l-l-lower or something. It’s no big deal. I j-just d-d-don’t t-think that people should go around with their bodies hanging out… toasting themselves to a crisp… I pride myself on being a nice even paleish peachy color.” He also prided himself on finishing the last bit without a stutter. Vocal lessons for evil laughter did pay off. He opened his eyes and peered out the window. Captain Hammer and Penny had moved on their way.
Grossbard was staring right with him when he looked up. His glasses were shining so bright that Billy couldn’t see the old shrink’s eyes, but he could hear the pride in the man’s voice. “People are things of wonder, are they not? Even when life brings them down, the spark of spirit, the drive of creativeness brings them back up.”
There was a note of awe in the old shrink’s voice as he took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. That awe was something that apparently couldn’t be taken away by age or by experience. Well, he hadn’t experienced Billy’s childhood, so how would he know the non-love of mother who reminded you that you were a child who didn’t live up to their hopes and dreams. All those afternoons of his father reminding him of how long he had until his aging stopped and his potential with it. “Singing? Magic lessons? Tightrope walking?” He could still hear his father’s scornful voice in the back of his head even now. “You’re supposed to be a man… act like one at least while you’re in this house.”
Billy pushed the voice of his father to the back of his mind. “Surviving despite all of this turmoil, they become the best that they can,” the Doctor said, echoing Penny’s words rather spookily.
He tried to agree with Grossbard, but any fool with half a brain could see that humankind had gone insane. He couldn’t nod and finally managed a dry “I guess so.”
Dr. Grossbard moved back to his desk and went back to filling out forms. Billy watched the motion of the pen for several seconds before it made him dizzy. “I hate to see defeatism in someone as young as you, Billy, I really do. Stopped Clocks have all the potential and all the time in the world.”
Billy decided to study the floor, since it with all its scratches and pits made a better companion than the voices in his head that occasionally popped their whispering heads up with, “Hey, Billy… let’s go kill a few tourists. Just mow them down. They’re out of towners so no one would really mind, in fact in few hours time, they would be forgotten in favor of the next celebrity divorce, but that’s Hollywood. So what do you say, Dr. Horrible?” even though killing wasn’t Dr. Horrible’s way.
“Not the way I see it. Final countdown. I figured maybe I had something going for me. Not in cards,” he said in a slight singsong tone to get the point across without a plethora of stutters. “S-s-so… h-how d-do you t-think I’m d-doing, Doc?”
Dr. Grossbard’s pencil stopped in mid-sentence. “To be perfectly honest,” he said, peering over his glasses and the pad, “I feel I have been putting your sanity at great risk by not prescribing you the needed antipsychotic medications to keep your schizophrenia under control.”
“I’m f-fine.” Billy said. Maybe if he repeated it enough times Dr. Grossbard would leave him alone and he could conquer the world in peace. “T-th-here is no n-need to d-d-rug me.”
Billy met Dr. Grossbard’s eyes with what he hoped was his own challenging stare, but he had a good idea what he thought was Dr. Horrible’s evil glare was his own watery gaze. A few seconds later, he felt moisture on his nose and upper lip. He felt lame and a bit like hanging himself in the office. Here he was on the crime of the century, on the doorstep (or bridgestep or what whatever the hell they called the area before a bridge) of Dr. Horrible’s greatest crime, about to blubber like a baby. “You’re not fine or you wouldn’t be here,” a voice chided him and it almost sounded like Penny. “Keep your head up and strong.”
Grossbard was silent for the longest time and Billy was almost sure the man would fill out a 5150 form right on him there. Visions of Bad Horse’s Cowboy Chorus gleefully singing out “Or he’ll make you his mare” filled his mind. If Bad Horse was gleeful somewhat, he took human form and you could live the rest of your live with a colon. He was pretty sure missing his crime due to being looked in a Mental Hospital away warranted becoming Bad Horse’s mare without human Bad Horse. The least that could happen was that the Bad Horse Chorus could just show up to point and laugh. Billy chewed at his lower lip until Grossbard walked over with a box of tissues. “You all right?”
“N-not r-really,” he admitted, being honest for once, “B-but e-everything s-s-hould t-turn up s-steak s-s-s-sauce soon.” He blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes, careful not to knock his contacts out. “P-please n-no d-d-drugs?”
He hoped that Bad Horse only meant they were watching his actions as Dr. Horrible. Otherwise he would have a lot to explain. Following Penny (“It’s not stalking if you don’t hide in her closet and jerk off into her panties.”), the drug use (“I’ll share… LSD on me, guys!”), the creative sexual positions during masturbation (“I did the yoga for the flexibility… and then my dick was right in front of me, but I’m not the only guy who tried it, I’m just the only guy who succeeded, I’ll just shut up now.’) He also hoped Dr. Grossbard was convinced by puppy dog eyes and runny noses. The therapist gave a long sigh. “I don’t know what you get into half the time that make you come in with either missing teeth, a cast, a sling, or some combination of the three. But I will give you a chance.”
Billy blew his nose again and handed the used tissue back. “’Tanks.” It was a weight off his chest. Soon he would be standing in the ELE room, a full member and this would be a thing of the past. No Grossbard and his therapy, just everything he ever hoped for. “’Tanks a lot.”
“Just like last week, eh, Billy?” his most cynical darkest voice whispered from the deepest darkest corner of his mind, “Let’s kill him now.”
“Why?”
“No reason. Just kill him. Fillet the bastard like a fish. You’ve a got a pocketknife, it’s enough… enjoy his suffering like the villain you are. The ELE will bring you in for sure. He’s in our way. He’d just lock us up and how will the world ever change for Penny?”
He couldn’t. Dr. Grossbard had a wife and kids at home. What right did Billy have to kill him just because he was pissed at the man? Plus he was sure it had been done before and copycats never got into the ELE ever. Besides they usually got brought down in a hail of gunfire. “Fuck,” the voice cursed and was thankfully silent.
Dr. Grossbard went back to his paperwork. “Well, I’ll see you back here same time next week.” He typed in something on the phone next to him. “And try not to be late next time.”
Billy paused before raising his sweat-slick hand to the doorknob. His fingertips scrambled over it for few minutes before he had the sense of mind to dry it on his jeans. At least he knew how Moist felt all the time. “Of course not, Dr. Grossbard. I will be right on time.”
It was the best lie he had ever told.