AN: So, I've been in a real Outlast kick lately and I'm just obsessed with Eddie Gluskin. I found a really cool picture on deviantart that inspired me to write this. This is the the link to said picture: midorieyes . deviantart art/ Outlast-Whistleblower-The-Ex-Wife-469711793. Midori gets credit for the original idea. I'm thinking about maybe writing more in this 'verse of Outlast. I love the idea of Eddie x Waylon so... we'll see. Anyway. Without further ado, I give you:

The Tech and the Groom

Screams. Yelling and screaming and begging for him to stop, using any number of bargains to plead for their life, but Waylon was deaf to them all. He carefully stroked the bare wires before jabbing them into place, seemingly not noticing the sudden spark of electricity that coursed through the body on the table before him. The screams stopped, and he was surrounded in blessed silence, broken only by the pleasant hum of electricity and the occasional ragged gasps from the man below him.

There was a glowing in Waylon's green eyes, that certainly hadn't been there before he'd been forcibly ... "admitted" to Mount Massive Asylum. Light bruises mottled his face, and where once his skin had been smooth on his forearms, there lay a roadmap of scars and scrapes from his journey to his current state. As Waylon swallowed reflexively, he could feel his adam's apple bob gratingly over the old wound on his neck.

The glow died slightly from his eyes as he thought back on how he'd gotten the wound. The sensation of the rope around his neck, the struggles and gasps; and that charming voice -that damned smooth-talking voice that despite Waylon's mental hatred for its owner, still sent shudders of -well, he wasn't sure what they were shudders OF, but it wasn't disgust or fear -down his spine.

"Darling!" For a moment, Waylon thought the voice was just in his memory, but as he was suddenly pushed aside by a screaming man in his haste to get away, Waylon realized it was no memory. He scowled as another man stepped into the light of his workroom. The man was tall, several feet taller than him, and broad shouldered. He wore a stitched vest, splattered in varying stages of dried blood.

A deranged smile lay on the man's face, which was mottled by a reddish-brown rash that was mostly centered around the left side of his face. Waylon noted that the rash seemed less red than the last time he'd seen the face -perhaps it was healing. The man was none other than the Groom, or Eddie Gluskin. When the Groom laid eyes on Waylon, the smile faltered for a moment before curling into a bitter smirk.

Waylon sniffed pointedly, wrinkling his nose at the other man, wondering what the Groom would do now. Waylon had escaped from the Groom before, several times. In fact, Waylon was the only victim of the Groom to have survived, at least that he knew of. They'd developed a sort of grudging respect for each other, neither able to finish off the other, and eventually simply keeping to their own territory, a mutual expectation of 'out of sight, out of mind' mentality. But they'd not met each other face to face in... well, Waylon wasn't sure HOW long, but it'd been a while.

"Ah, my old flame!" Eddie said eventually, stepping forward and laying a hand on Waylon's shoulder. Waylon stiffened and clenched his fists together, a wire still in one hand. He sidestepped and crossed his arms, jerking his head towards the direction the Groom's "bride" had run. "So good to see you again, Darling!" Eddie continued, before his eyes turned slightly cold. "Even if you were a filthy WHORE."

Waylon shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "Your bride is getting away," he said, once again jerking his head in the direction the man had ran.

"Still have the entrance to the third floor blocked off, Darling?" Eddie twirled his long knife in his right hand. It was more of a statement than a question, and Waylon grinned sharply, the glow returning to his eyes and danger in the fierce grin he now sported.

"What do you think? Can't have my programs running amok, can I?" Waylon returned.

Eddie mirrored his "old flame's" grin. "Then I don't have anything to worry about, do I?" He said, removing his left hand from Waylon's shoulder to pull out a rusty key from his pocket, before it disappeared once more. "Let me look at you, Darling; it's been too long."

Waylon rolled his eyes as Eddie's bloodshot ones traveled over his jumpsuited form. He was no longer bothered by any looks Eddie could give him -he had endured too much to be bothered by the sociopath's leering looks.

"Still as unseemly as ever, I see..." Eddie muttered after a moment.

Waylon snorted, but a flash of hurt tickled at the back of his head. He ignored that part of his brain -it was certainly a ridiculous reaction, surely brought on by the madness of this place. "The feeling is mutual, you rotten prick," he replied. He stepped away from Eddie completely, taking a look at his project, who was still moaning softly on the table. "Get going after your bride; I'm too busy for your shit today."

The Groom's smirk fell into a scowl, and he fingered his knife, but was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of his "bride." The man had stumbled back into the room, finally figuring out there was no escape on this floor, only to freeze in horror to find the Groom still here.

Eddie lunged after the man with his knife, and Waylon turned back to his project, ignoring the screams and begs and then the wet slicing as Eddie finished off another "whore."

Waylon began humming a familiar tune as Eddie dragged off the corpse of the man. The Groom paused for a moment at the threshold to Waylon's workroom with a strange expression on his face. Then he disappeared to the lower floor. Soon enough, a voice joined in Waylon's humming, singing the lyrics of the song.

"When I was a boy, my mother often said to me..."