Author's Notes: Oh dammit. I got soooo many reviews (ookay, not that many) that said that Squee and Nny seemed OOC, that I went and read the fic over again, and found myself agreeing. So here it is: the REVISED and SOMEWHAT IMPROVED version of "Desires Of The Mind." Just a recap: This fic has absolutely nothing to do with any of the other fics, so you don't need to read any of them to understand this (Although I wouldn't mind if you read them anyway ^_^. Please do? No one reviews 'Crawling'.).
Okay, just to remind you: Squee's seventeen, Nny and Devi are, hmmmm, let's say, in their early thirties (real grownups!), and Angel is sixteen.
P.S. Thanks to Maniacal Dragon for the tip on Nny and Devi's ages, that helped me a lot. I couldn't tell if they were still teenagers, or in college, or what.
Desires Of The Mind
Nny'sFallenAngel
Chapter 1: Remembrance and Other Such Expository Nonsense
It was six o'clock, in the dead of winter. He looked around at the lightly falling snow, his big eyes reflected as he trudged under a streetlamp. It had been a long time since it had been cold enough to snow, he thought, a couple of years, at the least. He liked the snow, thought that it was pretty, and didn't understand why the rest of the world didn't stop to appreciate things like he did. It wasn't like it happened every day.
Thanks to the lovely miracle of Daylight Savings Time, it was already dark outside by the time he got home. Squee kicked the door of his now dilapidated, rickety house open and walked in, slinging his black backpack at the couch and walking through the gloom and shadows.
"I'm home," he said, passing the wall where Shmee was nailed to the wall in a manner not unlike Nailbunny, except the stuffed bear also had nails through both of his eyes. He paused momentarily, his head cocking to the side, much as he used to do when he was a child. He studied Squee for a moment appraisingly, then turned away.
"You can get your own damn self off that nail, for all I care. You know how I feel about pity- especially for something that tried to eat my _imagination_ for longer than I can remember."
He stopped at the door of his parents' bedroom, leaning in the doorway, and turned on the light. The room was a mess. The floor was covered with several large bloodstains, the walls were chipped and cracked, and several torture instruments were scattered here and there. Under the harsh electric glare, Squee blinked a few times and looked at the far wall. Mr. and Mrs. Casil were there, chained to the ceiling, blindfolded and gagged. He smiled slowly at the sight of them. He was a tall, thin boy, just a little more solid than Nny, wearing black jeans and a white - slightly bloodspotted- undershirt with a short sleeved black open button-down shirt over it, and steel-toed combat boots. He wore leather fingerless gloves and his black hair was short and spiky on top, long and hung into his eyes in the front, and streaked erratically with electric blue and blood red dye. He had several old scratches still evident on his face, and one scar just under and running parallel to both eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they were deceptively naive looking, as large as they were when he was a child, and dark blue. They had an unsettling habit of seeming to look into your soul.
"I'm home, mom and dad." His parents stiffened in fear at the sound of his eerily cold yet childishly innocent voice. "Oh, don't worry," he continued. "I'm just here to talk. It's such a nice cold night, I don't think I could bear to stay in. It's snowing, did you know that? It's been so long since it's snowed... " he sighed contentedly. "Today's a special day. Do you know what today is? Oh, of course not. What am I thinking? You never remembered before. Well, seeing as that you still don't know, I'll tell you."
He drew closer to his parents as he spoke, pulling a knife out of the wall as he walked and studying the blade intently. He spit on the knife and polished it with his shirttail, examined it again, then turned his attention back to his parents.
"Today's my birthday..." he mused quietly. His parents pulled away on their chains, startled by the closeness of his voice. He tossed the knife onto the nearby nightstand, chuckling. "I'm seventeen this year. Only one more year," he paused, growing serious, looking at them both. "One more year, and then I won't need to keep you alive anymore. Won't it be nice to finally die? Especially after all you've been through?" His eyes grew cold, and his mouth hardened. " 'All _you've_ been through'," he mocked himself. "All the things you did to me as a child. Everything you said. The cigarette burns. The beatings. The little 'accidents'. The verbal degradation. Just simply not giving a damn about me!" His voice was starting to tremble in rage. "You're lucky you didn't get worse than you got! You _do_ realize this is all your fault, don't you? 'What goes around comes around'," he quoted. "I didn't have to hate you. I didn't hate you. You _made_ me hate you. You didn't give me a reason to give a _damn_ about you. And now look at me!"
He strode over to his parents and ripped their blindfolds off. "_Look_ at me! Look at what _you_ helped create!"
They blinked, unused to the light and terrified out of their wits. They stared at their son, whom they hadn't actually seen with their eyes in three weeks, since he very rarely took the blindfolds off, and their son looked back at them, hate shining out of his eyes. Mrs. Casil was shaking. He noticed this as she let out a small sob. Squee sidled up to his mother and embraced her in a mock hug, even as she tried to get away from him.
"Don't cry, mom. It'll all be over sooner than you think. A year'll fly by in no time," Squee murmured soothingly, and then shoved her away from him, knocking her into his father in his sudden violence.
"No more fucking around this time next year," he said, pacing back and forth, an insane grin spreading across his face. "No more pretending to be serious, none of this torture shit. None of it!" he yelled suddenly, making his parents jump. "You'll be gone... and I'll be _free_."
Squee shoved their blindfolds back on and stalked out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. He was about to rummage through the fridge when a bloodcurdling scream started up next door only to fade into gurgling, wet noises. Squee glanced out the window and smiled, a real genuine smile.
"Nny must be home."
Working his way through the tunnel that Johnny had reopened when he had come back, Squee remembered that fateful day when he had returned. It had been on his tenth birthday...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Daddy, stop! You're hurting me!"
"You little bastard! You ruined my life! I'll show you what pain is!" *THWACK* "I don't know why-" *THWACK* "you don't understand-" *THWACK* "such a simple concept! You were a mistake! We should have killed you at birth!" *THWACK* "Pain is knowing that you'll never get ahead in life," *THWACK* "because of one mistake," *THWACK* "that I made ten years ago!"
Squee collapsed onto the floor as his father continued to beat him. His mother wandered into the room, a vacant, blissed-out look on her face, clearly either high, drunk, or most likely both.
"Mommy, help me!"
She looked at him dimly. "Who are you?"
Squee started to cry, sobbing into the carpet as his father continued to curse and occasionally kick him in the side. He looked up at his father through eyes full of tears, watched as he raised his arm to hit him especially hard. Suddenly someone grabbed Squee's father's arm from behind and twisted it violently backward. Mr. Casil screamed as it snapped, the bone ripped through his muscles and skin, blood gushed everywhere, and he promptly passed out from the pain. Squee's mom fainted at the sight of the blood. Johnny switched from his grip on Squee's dad's now useless arm to his neck, pulled a knife from his boot, and cocked it back to gut Mr. Casil.
Squee recovered from his initial shock of seeing 'the scary neighbor man' back, and about to kill his father, and yelled, "Stop!"
Johnny looked at Squee like *he* was the crazy one. "What the- Squeegee, why?! You don't have to take this shit from them. I should've done this a long time ago, and not let them get to this extreme."
Squee got up, wincing slightly. "They're my parents. And no matter how horrible they are, I can't live without them."
He walked toward Johnny painfully, trying not to cry from both relief and pain. Somehow he knew that now, with Johnny back, things were going to change for him. Squee stood in front of him as Johnny let his father fall to the floor, one of his hands and most of his shirtfront splattered with blood. Looking down on his father's prone form bleeding all over the hardwood floor, Squee felt such a surge of rage he nearly growled. Like hitting the rewind button on a movie, his brain went back, back, back over the years, all the abuse his parents had heaped on him, both physically and emotionally. Hardly thinking, he picked up a shard of broken glass that was lying on the floor and stared at his face reflected in it. He remembered how the mirror had broken, his father had gotten drunk and thrown Squee into it one night a few weeks ago. His eyes narrowed, and his hand went automatically to the long thin scar that ran under his eyes and across his nose, remembering the pain. One smaller shard had _rolled_ over his face with the momentum of his fall, nearly cutting his face open. It had hurt so _badly_.
Johnny stood by quietly, just looking at the young boy. By the sudden play of emotions across Squee's face, he could tell something was happening inside his head at that time. The screws were coming undone, Johnny could tell.
Still gazing at the sharp piece of glass, Squee saw a skinny, undernourished boy with bruises and scars on his face, but with some new awareness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Squee allowed himself a small smile, the beginnings of the insane grin he would later acquire, and threw the glass on the floor, shattering it even further. His father twitched.
Squee looked up at Johnny. "Like I said, I can't live without them. At least, not until I turn eighteen."
Johnny smiled and ruffled his hair in an almost paternal fashion, smearing blood through Squee's black hair. It dripped slowly over his scalp and down his forehead, over his cheeks in thin red streams, into the scar, over his lips and chin to form little pools of red on the shoulders and neck of his t-shirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Squee smiled as the memory faded. Since that day, Nny had been his father figure, his constant companion, and his only friend. It wasn't Johnny's fault Squee had become so angry, Squee knew. Nny had tried to keep him as sane as possible, but by that time, it was too little, too late. Squee had already snapped somewhere on the inside. So, knowing that Squee was determined to share his pain with the world and not wanting him to get caught at it, Nny taught him everything he knew, so that by now, Squee was almost as ruthless and efficient a killer, and only a little less insane. They were so similar in their techniques and methods, the police thought it was the same killer. The police were constantly confused by horrible murders that happened almost simultaneously in opposite parts of the city. Then again, their police weren't hard to confuse.
Squee shoved aside a body that was blocking the entrance to Nny's house, and emerged into the tenth level basement; a room where people were hung from the ceiling to await their respective fates. He looked up at the crowd, grinning his most insane grin. Squee loved this idea of this room, even though he didn't much like it when the victims looked him in the eyes. He still had problems with guilt, the only reason why he didn't keep victims alive for extended periods of time, or take them home with him. His parents were the only live-in victims he'd ever had. Squee paused by a teenage girl hanging upside down, her mascara running up her face into her long blond hair, which was also hanging straight down. She looked vaguely familiar to him, he thought, and a few moments later he made the connection. She was one of the cheerleaders at his high school. She was the one who had called him and a few of the other nonsocial boys 'eighth grade, greasy haired, stuck in the eighties, D&D spewing, jacking off to taped Spice Girls concerts Goth wannabes' and had specified him as a 'deformed freak-geek'. Leaning over, he smiled warmly at her.
"That's a good look for you. Although, _I_ think you would look better crying blood tears out of empty eye sockets. Maybe I'll make a suggestion to the management," he whispered to her. She turned her face to the side and started crying softly.
"Squee? That you?"
Straightening up, he called back sarcastically, "No, it's the incredibly inept police. We've removed our heads from our asses long enough to drool over some scantily clad twelve year old prostitute crossing the street, and then happened to look up as you committed some horrendous act in front of our fucking faces. We found some dead people a few _days_ later, and then after a few *months* of detective work, the psychic network said to check here, so here we are!"
Nny came out of the adjoining room, blood dripping from his hands and leaving a trail of red drops behind him. "Really, Squee, such a mind in such a young boy. I didn't raise you to be like that."
Squee arched an eyebrow. "Yes, you did," he replied bluntly.
"Hm. Well, at least you're good at it.." Nny shook his hands off, splattering blood everywhere. "So what's new with you?"
Squee lifted both eyebrows this time. "I thought you of all people would remember what day it was," he said, collapsing onto a big brown couch Johnny had in this room for some reason.
"Hmmm..." Johnny trailed off, eyes rolling upwards as he thought. "Friday?" he offered, a grin snaking it's way across his face. "I'm just teasing, Squee. I wouldn't forget your birthday. I even got you something."
"Really?! What?" Squee said, his eyes lighting up and wiggling happily in his seat.
Johnny chuckled. "Hold on, let me go get it." He walked into the next room, and Squee heard him go upstairs. A few moments later, he walked back down and back into the room, handed Squee a box with a black bow on it, and perched himself on the arm of the couch.
"How festive," Squee remarked, looking at the bow, then untying it and opening the box. He lifted out a black button down shirt that had 'Gone The Way Of My Sanity' on the back in white letters. "Oh, thanks, Nny!"
"I knew you liked the T-shirt I have, so I went to the copy place and had them screen it on an actual 'shirt' shirt, since I know you like those better than T-shirts," Nny said, pleased with the reception his present got. Squee pulled off his black button down that he was wearing at the moment and cast it to the side. Johnny's eyes narrowed as this action revealed some of the multiple scars that criss-crossed his teenage friend's arms and back. He had always felt guilty that he had been gone while Squee had had to undergo so much pain.
Squee noticed the look on Nny's face as he shrugged on his new shirt. "Johnny," he said, and Nny looked up at him. "It's okay. You didn't know, and beating yourself up about it now won't do anyone any good. Hey, at least you came back when you did."
Johnny shrugged and replied, "Yeah, I know. Doesn't keep me from feeling shitty about it, though." Changing the subject, he said, "Hey, you should meet this new girl that works down at the copy place. She's our type o'people."
Squee leaned back. "Is she cute?"
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Why is it that I could never get that need for outward attractiveness out of your system? Yeah, I guess you would consider her cute. Kind of like..." Johnny looked up at the hanging people, and pointed to one hanging up in the corner. "Like that kind of cute."
Squee looked up at the girl, and made a face. "Not really my type, then."
"Squee, you've never dated *anyone*. How can you have a type?"
He rolled his eyes. "A technicality."
"Just meet this girl before you make any snap decisions about her, would you?" Nny said.
"Yeah, sure, since nothing else will please you. What's her name?"
"Angel."
End part 1
Yay! See, I think that was a bit better than the first- or second- version. I put in a little more background info as to why Squee hates his parents so much, and I'll get into that some more later. Angel was actually mentioned in this chapter, yayers, and next chapter will contain a little Johnny+Devi, a little more Squee+Angel, and some insights into Nny's past, I hope. Please review!! I don't know what to write if you don't review my stuff.
Okay, just to remind you: Squee's seventeen, Nny and Devi are, hmmmm, let's say, in their early thirties (real grownups!), and Angel is sixteen.
P.S. Thanks to Maniacal Dragon for the tip on Nny and Devi's ages, that helped me a lot. I couldn't tell if they were still teenagers, or in college, or what.
Desires Of The Mind
Nny'sFallenAngel
Chapter 1: Remembrance and Other Such Expository Nonsense
It was six o'clock, in the dead of winter. He looked around at the lightly falling snow, his big eyes reflected as he trudged under a streetlamp. It had been a long time since it had been cold enough to snow, he thought, a couple of years, at the least. He liked the snow, thought that it was pretty, and didn't understand why the rest of the world didn't stop to appreciate things like he did. It wasn't like it happened every day.
Thanks to the lovely miracle of Daylight Savings Time, it was already dark outside by the time he got home. Squee kicked the door of his now dilapidated, rickety house open and walked in, slinging his black backpack at the couch and walking through the gloom and shadows.
"I'm home," he said, passing the wall where Shmee was nailed to the wall in a manner not unlike Nailbunny, except the stuffed bear also had nails through both of his eyes. He paused momentarily, his head cocking to the side, much as he used to do when he was a child. He studied Squee for a moment appraisingly, then turned away.
"You can get your own damn self off that nail, for all I care. You know how I feel about pity- especially for something that tried to eat my _imagination_ for longer than I can remember."
He stopped at the door of his parents' bedroom, leaning in the doorway, and turned on the light. The room was a mess. The floor was covered with several large bloodstains, the walls were chipped and cracked, and several torture instruments were scattered here and there. Under the harsh electric glare, Squee blinked a few times and looked at the far wall. Mr. and Mrs. Casil were there, chained to the ceiling, blindfolded and gagged. He smiled slowly at the sight of them. He was a tall, thin boy, just a little more solid than Nny, wearing black jeans and a white - slightly bloodspotted- undershirt with a short sleeved black open button-down shirt over it, and steel-toed combat boots. He wore leather fingerless gloves and his black hair was short and spiky on top, long and hung into his eyes in the front, and streaked erratically with electric blue and blood red dye. He had several old scratches still evident on his face, and one scar just under and running parallel to both eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they were deceptively naive looking, as large as they were when he was a child, and dark blue. They had an unsettling habit of seeming to look into your soul.
"I'm home, mom and dad." His parents stiffened in fear at the sound of his eerily cold yet childishly innocent voice. "Oh, don't worry," he continued. "I'm just here to talk. It's such a nice cold night, I don't think I could bear to stay in. It's snowing, did you know that? It's been so long since it's snowed... " he sighed contentedly. "Today's a special day. Do you know what today is? Oh, of course not. What am I thinking? You never remembered before. Well, seeing as that you still don't know, I'll tell you."
He drew closer to his parents as he spoke, pulling a knife out of the wall as he walked and studying the blade intently. He spit on the knife and polished it with his shirttail, examined it again, then turned his attention back to his parents.
"Today's my birthday..." he mused quietly. His parents pulled away on their chains, startled by the closeness of his voice. He tossed the knife onto the nearby nightstand, chuckling. "I'm seventeen this year. Only one more year," he paused, growing serious, looking at them both. "One more year, and then I won't need to keep you alive anymore. Won't it be nice to finally die? Especially after all you've been through?" His eyes grew cold, and his mouth hardened. " 'All _you've_ been through'," he mocked himself. "All the things you did to me as a child. Everything you said. The cigarette burns. The beatings. The little 'accidents'. The verbal degradation. Just simply not giving a damn about me!" His voice was starting to tremble in rage. "You're lucky you didn't get worse than you got! You _do_ realize this is all your fault, don't you? 'What goes around comes around'," he quoted. "I didn't have to hate you. I didn't hate you. You _made_ me hate you. You didn't give me a reason to give a _damn_ about you. And now look at me!"
He strode over to his parents and ripped their blindfolds off. "_Look_ at me! Look at what _you_ helped create!"
They blinked, unused to the light and terrified out of their wits. They stared at their son, whom they hadn't actually seen with their eyes in three weeks, since he very rarely took the blindfolds off, and their son looked back at them, hate shining out of his eyes. Mrs. Casil was shaking. He noticed this as she let out a small sob. Squee sidled up to his mother and embraced her in a mock hug, even as she tried to get away from him.
"Don't cry, mom. It'll all be over sooner than you think. A year'll fly by in no time," Squee murmured soothingly, and then shoved her away from him, knocking her into his father in his sudden violence.
"No more fucking around this time next year," he said, pacing back and forth, an insane grin spreading across his face. "No more pretending to be serious, none of this torture shit. None of it!" he yelled suddenly, making his parents jump. "You'll be gone... and I'll be _free_."
Squee shoved their blindfolds back on and stalked out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. He was about to rummage through the fridge when a bloodcurdling scream started up next door only to fade into gurgling, wet noises. Squee glanced out the window and smiled, a real genuine smile.
"Nny must be home."
Working his way through the tunnel that Johnny had reopened when he had come back, Squee remembered that fateful day when he had returned. It had been on his tenth birthday...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Daddy, stop! You're hurting me!"
"You little bastard! You ruined my life! I'll show you what pain is!" *THWACK* "I don't know why-" *THWACK* "you don't understand-" *THWACK* "such a simple concept! You were a mistake! We should have killed you at birth!" *THWACK* "Pain is knowing that you'll never get ahead in life," *THWACK* "because of one mistake," *THWACK* "that I made ten years ago!"
Squee collapsed onto the floor as his father continued to beat him. His mother wandered into the room, a vacant, blissed-out look on her face, clearly either high, drunk, or most likely both.
"Mommy, help me!"
She looked at him dimly. "Who are you?"
Squee started to cry, sobbing into the carpet as his father continued to curse and occasionally kick him in the side. He looked up at his father through eyes full of tears, watched as he raised his arm to hit him especially hard. Suddenly someone grabbed Squee's father's arm from behind and twisted it violently backward. Mr. Casil screamed as it snapped, the bone ripped through his muscles and skin, blood gushed everywhere, and he promptly passed out from the pain. Squee's mom fainted at the sight of the blood. Johnny switched from his grip on Squee's dad's now useless arm to his neck, pulled a knife from his boot, and cocked it back to gut Mr. Casil.
Squee recovered from his initial shock of seeing 'the scary neighbor man' back, and about to kill his father, and yelled, "Stop!"
Johnny looked at Squee like *he* was the crazy one. "What the- Squeegee, why?! You don't have to take this shit from them. I should've done this a long time ago, and not let them get to this extreme."
Squee got up, wincing slightly. "They're my parents. And no matter how horrible they are, I can't live without them."
He walked toward Johnny painfully, trying not to cry from both relief and pain. Somehow he knew that now, with Johnny back, things were going to change for him. Squee stood in front of him as Johnny let his father fall to the floor, one of his hands and most of his shirtfront splattered with blood. Looking down on his father's prone form bleeding all over the hardwood floor, Squee felt such a surge of rage he nearly growled. Like hitting the rewind button on a movie, his brain went back, back, back over the years, all the abuse his parents had heaped on him, both physically and emotionally. Hardly thinking, he picked up a shard of broken glass that was lying on the floor and stared at his face reflected in it. He remembered how the mirror had broken, his father had gotten drunk and thrown Squee into it one night a few weeks ago. His eyes narrowed, and his hand went automatically to the long thin scar that ran under his eyes and across his nose, remembering the pain. One smaller shard had _rolled_ over his face with the momentum of his fall, nearly cutting his face open. It had hurt so _badly_.
Johnny stood by quietly, just looking at the young boy. By the sudden play of emotions across Squee's face, he could tell something was happening inside his head at that time. The screws were coming undone, Johnny could tell.
Still gazing at the sharp piece of glass, Squee saw a skinny, undernourished boy with bruises and scars on his face, but with some new awareness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Squee allowed himself a small smile, the beginnings of the insane grin he would later acquire, and threw the glass on the floor, shattering it even further. His father twitched.
Squee looked up at Johnny. "Like I said, I can't live without them. At least, not until I turn eighteen."
Johnny smiled and ruffled his hair in an almost paternal fashion, smearing blood through Squee's black hair. It dripped slowly over his scalp and down his forehead, over his cheeks in thin red streams, into the scar, over his lips and chin to form little pools of red on the shoulders and neck of his t-shirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Squee smiled as the memory faded. Since that day, Nny had been his father figure, his constant companion, and his only friend. It wasn't Johnny's fault Squee had become so angry, Squee knew. Nny had tried to keep him as sane as possible, but by that time, it was too little, too late. Squee had already snapped somewhere on the inside. So, knowing that Squee was determined to share his pain with the world and not wanting him to get caught at it, Nny taught him everything he knew, so that by now, Squee was almost as ruthless and efficient a killer, and only a little less insane. They were so similar in their techniques and methods, the police thought it was the same killer. The police were constantly confused by horrible murders that happened almost simultaneously in opposite parts of the city. Then again, their police weren't hard to confuse.
Squee shoved aside a body that was blocking the entrance to Nny's house, and emerged into the tenth level basement; a room where people were hung from the ceiling to await their respective fates. He looked up at the crowd, grinning his most insane grin. Squee loved this idea of this room, even though he didn't much like it when the victims looked him in the eyes. He still had problems with guilt, the only reason why he didn't keep victims alive for extended periods of time, or take them home with him. His parents were the only live-in victims he'd ever had. Squee paused by a teenage girl hanging upside down, her mascara running up her face into her long blond hair, which was also hanging straight down. She looked vaguely familiar to him, he thought, and a few moments later he made the connection. She was one of the cheerleaders at his high school. She was the one who had called him and a few of the other nonsocial boys 'eighth grade, greasy haired, stuck in the eighties, D&D spewing, jacking off to taped Spice Girls concerts Goth wannabes' and had specified him as a 'deformed freak-geek'. Leaning over, he smiled warmly at her.
"That's a good look for you. Although, _I_ think you would look better crying blood tears out of empty eye sockets. Maybe I'll make a suggestion to the management," he whispered to her. She turned her face to the side and started crying softly.
"Squee? That you?"
Straightening up, he called back sarcastically, "No, it's the incredibly inept police. We've removed our heads from our asses long enough to drool over some scantily clad twelve year old prostitute crossing the street, and then happened to look up as you committed some horrendous act in front of our fucking faces. We found some dead people a few _days_ later, and then after a few *months* of detective work, the psychic network said to check here, so here we are!"
Nny came out of the adjoining room, blood dripping from his hands and leaving a trail of red drops behind him. "Really, Squee, such a mind in such a young boy. I didn't raise you to be like that."
Squee arched an eyebrow. "Yes, you did," he replied bluntly.
"Hm. Well, at least you're good at it.." Nny shook his hands off, splattering blood everywhere. "So what's new with you?"
Squee lifted both eyebrows this time. "I thought you of all people would remember what day it was," he said, collapsing onto a big brown couch Johnny had in this room for some reason.
"Hmmm..." Johnny trailed off, eyes rolling upwards as he thought. "Friday?" he offered, a grin snaking it's way across his face. "I'm just teasing, Squee. I wouldn't forget your birthday. I even got you something."
"Really?! What?" Squee said, his eyes lighting up and wiggling happily in his seat.
Johnny chuckled. "Hold on, let me go get it." He walked into the next room, and Squee heard him go upstairs. A few moments later, he walked back down and back into the room, handed Squee a box with a black bow on it, and perched himself on the arm of the couch.
"How festive," Squee remarked, looking at the bow, then untying it and opening the box. He lifted out a black button down shirt that had 'Gone The Way Of My Sanity' on the back in white letters. "Oh, thanks, Nny!"
"I knew you liked the T-shirt I have, so I went to the copy place and had them screen it on an actual 'shirt' shirt, since I know you like those better than T-shirts," Nny said, pleased with the reception his present got. Squee pulled off his black button down that he was wearing at the moment and cast it to the side. Johnny's eyes narrowed as this action revealed some of the multiple scars that criss-crossed his teenage friend's arms and back. He had always felt guilty that he had been gone while Squee had had to undergo so much pain.
Squee noticed the look on Nny's face as he shrugged on his new shirt. "Johnny," he said, and Nny looked up at him. "It's okay. You didn't know, and beating yourself up about it now won't do anyone any good. Hey, at least you came back when you did."
Johnny shrugged and replied, "Yeah, I know. Doesn't keep me from feeling shitty about it, though." Changing the subject, he said, "Hey, you should meet this new girl that works down at the copy place. She's our type o'people."
Squee leaned back. "Is she cute?"
Johnny rolled his eyes. "Why is it that I could never get that need for outward attractiveness out of your system? Yeah, I guess you would consider her cute. Kind of like..." Johnny looked up at the hanging people, and pointed to one hanging up in the corner. "Like that kind of cute."
Squee looked up at the girl, and made a face. "Not really my type, then."
"Squee, you've never dated *anyone*. How can you have a type?"
He rolled his eyes. "A technicality."
"Just meet this girl before you make any snap decisions about her, would you?" Nny said.
"Yeah, sure, since nothing else will please you. What's her name?"
"Angel."
End part 1
Yay! See, I think that was a bit better than the first- or second- version. I put in a little more background info as to why Squee hates his parents so much, and I'll get into that some more later. Angel was actually mentioned in this chapter, yayers, and next chapter will contain a little Johnny+Devi, a little more Squee+Angel, and some insights into Nny's past, I hope. Please review!! I don't know what to write if you don't review my stuff.