Author's Note: I blame my brother for this. It is entirely his fault.

That said, there is not enough therapy in the world for Toby, after that last scene of the movie. This is a songfic, of sorts; the story was not inspired by the song, but the song is relevant.

The fanfic muse feeds on reviews, please feed the muse?

I don't own Sweeny Todd or any characters in it. And I don't make money off this. I don't even have money. So, why sue?

"Nothin's gonna harm you..."

The fog was thick tonight. He didn't mind the fog, really. It was comforting, in a way. At least it deadened the ever-present scent of the London smoke.

"Not while I'm around..."

He hated the scent of smoke. Wood fires were tainted by old memories, coupled with the stench of a hundred thousand humans closely packed together it was nearly unbearable. Coal fires had a smell all their own, but at least it didn't carry the same taint.

"Nothin's gonna harm you..."

God, but London was a filthy city. Would he never be rid of the smell of burning flesh?

"No sir, not while I'm around..."

Blood, at least, covered up that smell for a little while. Strange. He thought for a long time that the scent of blood would trouble him more than the smell of smoke. There had been so much blood, the last night. Very nearly his, too.

"Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays..."

He felt the tarnished silver razor in his pocket. It was always in his pocket. At first, he'd kept it for protection. Then he'd thought he could sell it, should he ever need money. But oddly, in a way, he'd grown attatched to it. It meant safety, in a strange way. And in the same strange way, so did the blood.

"I'll send 'em howling..."

He'd been too frightened to work out what was going on, that night. He'd only put things together at the last moment. Mr. Todd's strange, almost violent manner. Some of the things he said, and the way he looked at certain people. And the way his face always twisted whenever he mentioned a judge.

"I don't care, I got ways..."

He'd worked out that Mr. Todd was dangerous. That wasn't too hard. In fact, he'd known that at the back of his mind nearly from the first. He'd never liked being sent up to the barber shop on the second floor to fetch him, or when Mr. Todd asked him to do anything.

"No one's gonna hurt you..."

True, up until that last night, Mr. Todd had never laid so much as a hand on him. In one way, he'd been an improvement over Signor Perelli. Great one for the lashings, Signor Perelli had been. He knew now that Mr. Todd had done him a great favor, by slitting the Italian's throat. And, for the most part, he'd largely been ignored by the barber.

"No one's gonna dare..."

Of course, he hadn't realized in time how dangerous Mr. Todd had been. He'd gone stark raving mad, to the point where he didn't think any more of cutting a throat than he did drowning a cat. Maybe less. That was why the razor made him feel safe. Oh, he knew Mr. Todd was long dead. He'd left the man, with his own throat cut, in the bakehouse in the cellar. But there were still times when he felt like the demon barber of Fleet Street would come at him, out of the smoke...

"Others can desert you..."

He'd never understood what she'd seen in Mr. Todd. He still didn't. Even before he'd realized how dangerous Mr. Todd was, he'd known that she was silly in love with him. It was obvious to nearly every one. Everyone but Mr. Todd himself, who didn't seem to particularly notice, or care. Perhaps he'd have married her, one day, just to hush her up.

"Not to worry, whistle, I'll be there..."

Or he'd have cut her throat. He'd been worried, when he'd started to realize what sort of man Mr. Todd was. She'd been the only person who'd ever been kind to him. If it hadn't been for her, it would have been back to the workhouse with him after Signor Perelli had gone. Or into the cellar, with the rest of Mr. Todd's handywork. She'd been almost a mother to him.

"Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while..."

Only it hadn't been quite that way, had it? He'd thought Mr. Todd evil then. But he really wasn't. He was mad, certainly, but mad wasn't quite the same thing as evil. Mr. Todd couldn't really help himself. He'd heard enough that night, when he was hiding in the sewer, to know that. Even if it had taken him some time to work that out. And he'd heard the truth of it, what she'd done.

"But in time..."

It was one thing to not be able to help doing something, to be mad. But she wasn't mad. She'd known what was going on. She'd known from the first. She'd known what was in the cellar, and where that trap in the ceiling led to, and what went into her fabulous meat pies. She could have stopped him at any time.

"Nothing can harm you..."

The old beggar woman who lurked around the shop had said she was evil. He'd thought her simply a lunatic, and later he'd thought that she was attributing the evil to the wrong source. But the old woman hadn't been wrong at all. She was evil, through and through. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if she had come up with that demented way of disposing of the bodies. It had put him off meat pies altogether, that had. He couldn't even bear the sight or smell of them.

"Not while I'm around..."

She'd known more than even Mr. Todd had. She'd known something and kept it from Mr. Todd, and it had driven him to even greater depravities. At the time all he'd thought of was revenge and self preservation, but now, he couldn't really blame Mr. Todd for throwing her into the oven. He could still see the man sitting there, at the end, cradling one of the bodies as he crept up behind him. And in that moment, he'd ceased to be the boogeyman who would haunt his dreams for years to come. He'd only been a broken, defeated man, an object of pity.

"Not to worry, not to worry..."

There were still some groundless fears that centered around Mr. Todd, but he could pity the poor wretch now. She'd locked Mr. Todd into a path of destruction, as surely as she'd locked him in the bakehouse that night, meaning to have him killed.

"I may not be smart, but I'm not dumb..."

He could pity Mr. Todd now, but he would never pity her. He'd been devoted to her, had loved her like she was his own mother. He'd have died to protect her. But she'd betrayed his trust, and turned on him like the treacherous snake she was. She'd have given him to Mr. Todd to have his throat cut, smiling and saying comforting things all the while.

"I can do it..."

You couldn't trust any woman, they were all treacherous snakes. Even the sweetest and purest smile hid a heart full of pure venom. He'd learned that the hard way. She'd only been the first. He rather thought that Mr. Todd had had the right idea, but the wrong focus.

"Put me to it..."

Again, he felt the razor. Old friend, Mr. Todd had called it. He rather felt like that now. It was always dependable, that razor. Years old now, and the silver handle was dull and tarnished. But the blade never truly lost its edge, just needed a quick strop every now and again. He didn't know where Mr. Todd had got it, but it was a remarkable peice of craftsmanship.

"Show me somethin', I can overcome..."

He could always rely on the blade. It was his old friend, just like it had once been Mr. Todd's. And he was just as scrupulous about keeping it clean as the barber had been, in his day.

"Nothin's gonna harm you..."

He was jerked out of his musings by a drunken woman lurching toward him out of the fog. He nearly recoiled from her. Treacherous snake, he thought. They're all the same. She smiled in what he supposed was meant to be a coy manner. It just looked like an idiotic simper. She murmured at him, a proposal of sorts. He snorted. A whore, simply looking for another drink.

"Not while I'm around..."

He'd have stalked off then, left her to get run down by a carriage as she surely would, drunk as she was. But a sharp gust of wind brought the smell of a burning trash pile with it, and he gagged. Why was Whitechapel so much filthier than the rest of London?! He really couldn't stand it. Anything was better than that smell. And the coppery tang of blood was not only so much more bearable, it was good at covering up the burning smell.

"Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while..."

He smiled back at her, and offered his arm in best gentlemanly fashion. Come a long way, he had, but you couldn't say that Toby didn't take his lessons well! He could play the gentleman better than Signor Perelli ever could. He could play the gentleman better than some of Mr. Todd's clients, and they had been real gentlemen! Though, of course, it was wasted on the drunken whore. She didn't care if he was a gentleman or not, and anyway, wouldn't be around long enough to find out one way or another.

"But in time..."

He led her through the winding maze of streets, to a place he knew would be quiet. She didn't particularly notice. She was giggling a bit, too dazed by cheap sherry to quite know what he was up to. She positively reeked of liquor. He suspected that had he been a seven and a half foot tall savage with a bone in his nose, she still wouldn't have known the difference. She slurred a question at him.

"Nothin's gonna harm you..."

"My name? Oh... it's Jack."

"Not while I'm around..."