AN- I've never done an author's note. I've also never written an angst/awfully dark thing. But here you go. Keep in mind I'm truly distressed for writing this, and expect a beautiful lovely sweet fluffy fanfiction to come soon after.

"Andy, please, don't do this. We're friends to the end, remember?"

"This is the end, friend."

The heat of the fire melted into his skin. It burned and ate away painfully at the plastic that had become his host. Charles Lee Ray screamed, echoing the pain that was searing away at every bit of his body, this constant torture of burning and burning.

But it didn't burn as badly.

No matter where he went, no matter how he cried, no matter how much he cursed and threw himself against the floor or the sofa, it would not go away. Slowly he watched his flesh peel off and melt away like butter, sliding around and crinkling to the most grotesque shapes and figures. Slowly he watched the skin turn charcoal before his eyes, helpless to do anything against it.

But it didn't burn as badly.

Everything had not gone as planned. He had not been able to transfer his soul, he had been discovered by more than one person, and now he was being burned to death. Like a witch at the stake. The pain was excruciating, and it was not even merciful enough to burn quick. It was slow, slow and lingering, as if it would never end.

But it didn't burn as badly.

This is the end, friend.

Even as he felt the physical burn, the real pain was in that one phrase. Those five little words that he had never thought the boy would say. It wasn't as if he had actually expected them to become friends, hell, he didn't really like the kid. But somehow, seeing the boy look at him with only a searing malice in his eyes was something that burned to the core. Seeing that hate was a pain unimaginable.

This is the end, friend.

Images swept through his mind as he rolled about in his slow torture. The first time Andy held him. How happy he was to see him. The way he clutched him in his sleep. The way he looked to him for comfort from nightmares. The way the boy would look at him with such love. I'm glad you're my friend, Chucky. The way he trusted him so easily with everything. The first time he was framed for a murder. How he still kept him around, still hugged him and loved him, loved him like no one ever really had. The way he grew angry with him at last, asking, Why do you have to lie all the time, Chucky? Say something Chucky!

This is the end, friend.

So he cried aloud. He screamed of pain and anger and frustration, but no one would ever know it's true reasons. The boy had not just burned his body- no, with that one phrase, with that one look of a love no longer there for the doll- Andy Barclay had burned the heart Chucky had neglected to remember he had. He cursed and wailed and howled, but he knew. He knew he deserved this. There was no going back now, and there never would be.

So he let the fire course through his very being.

And he let it burn.