author's note:
hey guys, thanks for sticking through this. i've been getting emails every now and then about this old butchered dog of a story and i just want to say thank you so much for reading and enjoying this. this chapter is intended to be the final chapter (which i know sucks but) this seems better than having no conclusion whatsoever, and i feel that it was the most realistic way for it to end.
this is (i believe) the longest chapter in the series, so hopefully that makes up for the super late ending.
there's too many warnings for me to write, but you've gotten this far, i'm sure you can make it through the rest.
as per usual, let me know what you think and feel. i love hearing from you all.

Some people have said that love keeps them going.

Waking up next to the person they love is enough for them be their best selves; it pulls the evils out of their heart every time they worship the body before them.

If the body is a temple, love must be at the head of the ziggurat: to which your devotion is known when you pray at each step upwards, knees bleeding along an infinite stairway in hopes to be seen by God.

By nature, Johnny has always preferred more raw and aggressive sensations that leave proof of their happening on your body and mind. There is nothing more real or sincere than pain. Your body doesn't lie to you when it starts aching, burning, or bruising. Every ounce of pain is the purest form of honesty that you can receive, tearing you back into life and demanding to be understood. His desire for savagery might be rooted in the Dough Boy's influence on him, but has stuck as a core principle in most aspects of his life. He shakes with impatience otherwise, almost waiting for something to force him into unforgiving action.

It was only natural that Edgar, being in such a bloodied and damage state, may have prodded at his weakness and compelled Johnny into initiating something. When he held Edgar's face between shaking hands, he was overwhelmed with the temptation to worry his cuts: dig his fingers deep into the scar tissue and pull the wounds apart again, wanting Edgar to kneel in silent suffering and allow Johnny to tend to him once more. Wanting Edgar to want the pain, for himself or Johnny.

The boy ravaged Edgar's mouth instead. He gently stroked the lining of his lips with his tongue, doing his best to garner a hundred percent of the man's focus. Johnny shoved Edgar against the wall when he didn't respond, nipping at his lower lip in frustration.

Apparently not everyone is immediately okay after being stabbed.

Out of obligation or adrenaline inspired lust, Edgar comes to life and hums breathily into Johnny's mouth, raising one hand to his head and the other to his back. Johnny can't help but grin in victory and hardly realizes that Edgar is slowly moving them towards the bed. When he stumbles on some of the sheets, Johnny half expects (half fantasizes) to be thrown onto the bed right then with Edgar pining him down, using his size to get his hands and mouth anywhere he desires. Leaving Johnny helpless and bothered, unable and unwilling to stop Edgar's forceful movements.

But that's not what happens.

With great care, Johnny is gently guided down on top of the bed: his back making contact first while his head is slowly lowered onto several exquisite pillows. Edgar rests his head on Johnny's stomach, his knees on the floor and his body between the boy's legs. Feeling uncomfortably stuck in this position, Johnny attempts to sit up and make sure the other man didn't pass out or very suddenly and randomly fall asleep just now, but as he begins to lift his head, he catches Edgar looking up at him. Through swollen lids, Edgar's eyes are wide and piercing, scared and in awe. Johnny opens his mouth to speak, but Edgar beats him to it.

"You saved my life," Edgar says quietly, his eyes leaving Johnny's to stare off into the moonlight. Johnny can't tell if he's being serious or joking about being saved from one murderer by another. What are the protocols for responding to something like that? It's not a question that needs to be answered or a statement that means anything or requires confirmation. In fact, all Johnny did was kill the other guy first. If Edgar was was cut really bad or lost too much blood by the time he got there, wrapping him up in bandages and stitches wouldn't have done anything. The chance of Edgar dying was higher than him not -his only saving grace being that Johnny doesn't have a problem killing people and showed before things got worse.

"I guess," was all Johnny could think to say.

After several moments of silence passed between them, he brought his hands up to his chest and nervously pulled at his fingers, eventually daring a hand to rest on Edgar's head. The man seemed to perk up a bit at this, and smiled lightly up at the boy.

"Sorry," he chuckled, causing Johnny to flinch. He rose off of Johnny's stomach to sit up on the backs of his legs and threaded his hand through his hair, sheepishly looking away.

"I ah… I didn't mean to ruin 'the moment'. Just got a b-bit distracted," Edgar confesses. Johnny raises a confused brow, but doesn't press Edgar for more information. Even though he's smiling at the skinny boy like he's the only thing in the world right now, his eyes have an unusual dark tinge to them. Talking about this right now might dampen 'the mood' even more. Maybe he's still messed up about what happened earlier, or something? Selfishly, Johnny just wanted the atmosphere to lighten up, already feeling his skin itch from the boredom of laying down.

In the silence, Johnny's mind jets back to D-Boy, and how very easily it could have been Edgar on the business end of his blade. If anything, that other boy might have actually been doing Edgar a favour. Johnny's face scrunches up thinking about it, finding it too difficult to swallow past the guilt that was forming like a peach pit in his stomach. He takes his time sitting up and looks down at Edgar, feeling very upset for reasons he can't quite pinpoint.

It was… disgusting. He didn't like Edgar looking so sorry and withdrawn into himself, like he was fighting a war on his own, but didn't want anyone else to know. Johnny placed a bony hand back onto Edgar's head and gave it a gentle rub, trying to atone for more things than he could bring forth in his mind. Saying sorry is out of place. The first thing he did was kill someone as soon as he got here. What is Edgar going to think of that? The young murderer avoids the man's eyes and stares at his chest, still swollen and angry, no doubt surging with pain.

I don't think there's anything I could say to make him try to enjoy this moment…

Johnny's feet dangle over the bed and gently poke at Edgar, who is now bent over with his head down, his hands clasped above his head resting at the edge of the bed between Johnny's legs. This action was far more unsettling than anything the boy had witnessed, and he partially hoped it was a result of stitches being ripped open. He carefully nudged the man's face with his foot.

"Ah… what's wrong with you?" He asked, peering down to try and get a look at Edgar's expression. After a moment without a response, Johnny bent down lower until their heads bopped together with a hollow thud.

Edgar finally looked up and forced laugh, unable to completely disguise his irritation.

"Sorry," he said. Johnny cringed.

"I was just praying." At that, Johnny's legs jetted up and away from Edgar while he scurried over to the other side of the bed, arms clasping his knees closer to his body.

"PRAYING!?" Johnny screeched. "I thought you… you!" He bolted an accusing finger out at the older man, ignoring the annoyed look on his face.

"You're supposed to stop that, aren't you? That whole God deal? I mean… I stopped-"

killing people? that's not quite true…

"ah… I stopped…" Johnny trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Lies always stuck in his throat poorly and he couldn't gulp it down no matter how hard he tried.

"Killing?" Edgar finished for him, his tone monotone and unforgiving. Johnny remained silent, hugging his knees tighter.

"Prayer is a comfort for me," he continued, moving to sit down on the bed. Johnny eyed him cautiously.

"When I feel like I'm losing my way, prayer reminds me where I need to go. It's a way that I can forgive myself and others, even if it's really hard to do so." His eyes lock on to Johnny's for a moment, cutting through his fear and aggression, and diving straight into his guilt.

"I…"

"That boy," Edgar interrupted. "There's no way to save him now, is there?"

Johnny swallowed and shook his head, fully understanding now that Edgar already knew. And is disappointed.

The man looked down and hid his face, rubbing at the back of his neck and occasionally hunching with pain.

"I should probably thank you, right?" Edgar asks. Johnny isn't sure how to respond, but he has a small smile on his face in hopes that Edgar really does express gratitude. Instead, he whips his face back to meet Johnny's, almost startling him to the point of falling off the bed.

"I need you to be okay with me praying." Mild urgency coating Edgar's voice. "I need you to be okay with it because I- I'm not sure what happened, but I… after…" his voice faltered and he choked on the words.

"I think, after he… died. After that I felt… different." Johnny shuffled in his place, wishing this whole incident away.

"I guess you've just been through a-"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN," Edgar yelled suddenly, struggling to catch his breath and calm down. Another moment passes before he's able to quiet himself.

"That's not what I…I'm… sorry." Edgar stutters. Johnny stares at the man with wide eyes.

"You probably should have let him kill me."

The words echoed in Johnny's mind and weighed his heart down to join the guilt in his stomach, swirling them together in a sickening stew. His whole body felt heavy, but his blood was running hot and wiry.

"No." Johnny started. "No Edgar, please, don't ever say that. You're the nicest person I know and-"

"I'm glad he's dead, Johnny!" Edgar sobbed. "I'm glad he died and I… I don't know what's wrong with me. Vile and bitter and…" He threw his hands up to grab his head.
"This splitting headache! and… augh, when did my thoughts get so loud?"

The man's words stung with familiarity, but still left the younger of the two helpless to aid him.

Johnny slowly crawled over to Edgar and reached out to embrace his shaking form, trying to find a way to be useful and comfort Edgar. His wrist was caught midair, causing Johnny to squeak in surprise. The boy trembled when Edgar stared up from behind his blood caked hair, a sort of hatred pulsing in his pupils, before softening into something kinder and more pathetic. His grip on Johnny's wrist softened and he kissed each of his fingertips until he stopped shaking.

"I know a part of you still wants to kill me," he whispered to the boy, his kisses navigating from his fingers to his palm, down his arm, above his elbow.

Johnny gasped as Edgar softly nipped near his collar bone, his other hand grabbing the boy's free wrist before pushing him down and pinning them both above his head. He left a trail of wet kisses along the boy's jawline before finally capturing his lips, holding Johnny's arms harder when he tried to grab Edgar's shoulders.

When his wrists began to ache and Edgar bit down on his lip with uncharacteristic aggression, Johnny couldn't tell if he was being rewarded or punished. He felt the pressure on his arms disappear and began to move them towards Edgar before jetting them back to where they were.

"Keep them up there," Edgar warned, to which Johnny could only whimper and comply. Edgar moved his head lower down the boy's body, lightly biting and kissing as he did so, stopping at the V of his hips and letting the boy grow a bit more restless with anticipation. Johnny's body screamed REWARD while some part of his mind unhindered with lust whispered punishment.

Further blurring good and bad, pain and pleasure, punishment and reward, Edgar did his best to avoid contact with Johnny's obviously aching erection while he removed layer after layer of the handmade attire, leaving nothing but the boxers (which may have been the only article that wasn't a Frakenstein assortment of fabrics sewn together).

When Edgar smiled at how miserable and needy Johnny was, the youth chose not to think about it. He chose not to think about a few things.

Johnny's mind jumped instead to the feeling of one of his shirt sleeves rubbing against hands. When he stared up questioningly at Edgar, Edgar smiled and asked if Johnny trusted him. Without hesitation, Johnny nodded his head and felt his hands slide together in a bundle while Edgar pulled the sleeves to form a tight knot, giving it a quick test pull before moving his hands elsewhere. It was astonishingly well done, and Johnny was sure that Edgar would have to cut him free later -A thought that sent a chill straight down to his cock.

Johnny followed Edgar's hands until they disappeared under the bed and returned with a bottle of lubricant, slightly confused but unwilling to think about it. Edgar smirks, catching the expression of the face below him.

"What, did you really think he… I was a virigin?" Edgar chuckled in a voice not quite like his own. Taken a back slightly by the shift in tone, Johnny reasoned that it didn't make much sense for him to have assumed that; despite that, he still felt a bit upset knowing that he wasn't the only person that Edgar had done this with. He quickly dismissed the weird voice as a symptom of recovering from hearing strange voices of his own.

His concern was roused when Edgar's shaky hands hovered over Johnny's neck, beads of sweat pooling off his face and down his shoulders, eyes clearly torn between the wanting of several conflicting ideas.

"You don't have to," Johnny tried to sound reassuring. He opened his mouth to say more, but could only wheeze when Edgar's hand made a hard impact with his throat, the other steadily coating his own member in lube.

"Why do I want to hurt you?" Edgar sighed, rubbing his member against to Johnny's entrance, the cold lubricant steadily slipping inside of him. Johnny tried to moan, but coughed instead as his lungs burned with the effort of existence and tears specked the corner of his eyes.

"But it's not your fault that you had to kill him." Edgar grunted, prodding the head of his cock into Johnny, responding to a statement that could not be heard.

"Oh, to be alive and wanting," Several voices gasped out of Edgar's mouth viciously as he slipped deep inside of the boy, feeling his walls tug around his member as he slowly pulled out and in. Johnny's vision was blurring around the edges, the lack of air and sudden fullness electrifying his weak body and completely distorting his mind. Edgar quickly loosened his grip, allowing Johnny to greedily choke on his oxygen intake, gasping and coughing while his vision refocused and his lungs heaved.

"Ah, sorry," Edgar absently apologized, sounding more like a single individual again. Johnny just nodded and licked the drool off the side of his mouth, wanting to complain at Edgar's gruelling slow pace, but still enjoying the sensation of his bruised throat too much to say anything.

"You look a bit too chipper," Edgar said in more than one voice, harsh and in despair all at once. He pulled out of Johnny with a wet pop and aggressively flipped him over onto his stomach, leaving the boy slightly winded and gasping. Johnny felt a rough tug on his legs until his ass was hanging over the edge of the bed.

"Far too chipper for someone who honestly believes that they're going to stop killing," two voices, all venom. Johnny could barely peep out a sound of confusion before Edgar's hand was pulling his hair back, pounding his cock in and out of Johnny hard enough for the bed to leave dents against the wall.

"F-f-fuck!" Johnny finally managed to moan out, saliva dripping from his mouth and chin, his fear and confusion being greatly overpowered by his inexperienced body's sensations. The pleasure from his ass still stinging after the rough entrance, stretching and closing too fast for it ever to dissipate, multiplied every time Edgar hit that spot that made him see stars. The hand in his hair pulling so hard that it lifted his chest off of the bed made him swoon, despite wanting to free his hands to alleviate some of the pressure on his scalp.

"Hey Nny," Edgar's voices cooed to him while he slowed his thrusts. Johnny regained just enough composure to answer him with an unsteady "yeah," questioning and exhausted all at once. Diligent with an obedience that Edgar found delightful at this moment.

"Do you know what sound will make the neighbour's call the police?" the older man whispered, many whispers, teetering on hissing. The second Johnny could make sense of the of the question he screamed out in pain. Edgar's teeth were lodged deep into his neck, his canines and molars slowly penetrating his skin while his hand snaked from his hair back around his throat.

"FUCK FUCK AHFUCKE DGAR" Johnny screamed and cried as much as he could with Edgar gripping his esophagus, feeling his blood blossom to the surface and gathering in larger pools the harder Edgar bit down. Edgar pulled his mouth away to admire the red lines dripping down Johnny's back, collecting it on his free hand before wrapping it around the boy's still erect cock, leaking pre all over his bed.

"Oh, Nny, you really are a sick fuck," Edgar laughed in many laughs that weren't his own. He began pumping the swollen member in his hand, slowly at first, but picking up the pace until Johnny was whimpering and moaning, adding his own thrusts into the mix.

"But I guess that's what makes us so perfect for each other," the grin was audible in Edgar's voices. He gave Johnny's ass a few steady pounds while jerking him off, smiling all the more at the boy's sound of disappointment and frustration when he stopped.

"There's still a question of what to do with that kid you killed in my bathroom, Nny," Edgar nearly threatened, giving Johnny's cock a squeeze hard enough to make him yelp. The youth was breathy and garbling his words together, trying to convince Edgar to just let him cum while all the pain was still fresh. Edgar ignored the boy's plea and instead tightened his grip around his throat.

"I don't have a place for bodies and he sure as fuck can't be there the next time I need to piss, so what's it gonna be?" He began thrusting into Johnny once more, pulling out just as he was halfway in, groaning at the torment his was also causing himself.

"ah.. ohh FUCK god fuck i'll do it Edgar just please just please please i'll take care of it fuck just," Johnny sighed and trembled, frustrated at how close his own release was.

"That's right, good boy," Edgar growled. Even though there were multiple tones, the sound of Edgar's voice like that turned Johnny's mind into a puddle. The second his mind turned to goo, his painfully neglected cock was being pumped and squeezed. Knowing his own blood was being used to slick the surface of his sensitive skin made him dizzy. The hand on his neck was ecstasy, the fingers prodding into his searing bite wound was pure bliss, so it only took Edgar slamming him into the bed for a few moments before he finally came, soaking the man's heavenly white sheets in his own blood, sweat, spit and cum.

He felt forgiven and divine, ready to pass out and allow himself some rest, worshipping the pain that lingered all over his body.

"Not so fast Nny," Edgar said, pulling the boy's face up to his crotch. Johnny hadn't realized that Edgar was completely clothed except for the fact that he'd lower his pants slightly, which he found oddly rude. Edgar's member slapped the thoughts out of him while the man beckoned to be sucked off, shoving his wet dick against Johnny's cheek.

"Ah, I've never actually…" Johnny trailed off nervously, not really too keen on participating in this, but equally unwilling to let Edgar down.

"Hey, don't worry about Johnny," Edgar spoke in his own voice while gently stroking the boy's face, alleviating all his worry. Johnny smiled up to him gratefully, but was only acknowledged with the tip of Edgar's cock smearing precum over his lips, his thumbs working their way into his mouth to force it in.

"All you gotta do is take it in and watch those teeth!" Edgar shoved his dick all the way in mercilessly, moaning at the feeling of the back of Johnny's throat gagging around him. The boy tried to move his head away, but was only shoved back; Edgar's grunting and panting bringing a flush to his face. Johnny gave an experimental swirl with his tongue, eventually tracing a pulsing vein along the shaft earning him a satisfied groan from Edgar.

"Oh, Johnny," Edgar uttered out sweetly, sounding so delightfully like himself. He removed his hands from Johnny's mouth and moved them to stroke his hair, not even taking notice that they were covered in drool. "Johnny ahh you're so good…"

Johnny took this moment to free his throat, coughing slightly, and resorted to awkwardly using his bound hands, glancing up at the older man's face and glowing from his reaction. Edgar's eyes were closed and his mouth parted every now and then to release a heady pant, sweat rolling down his neck, fingers threaded and petting Johnny's hair soothingly. The boy brought his face closer and gently sucked on the tip, closely watching as Edgar's eyes fluttered and he bit down on his lower lip. Mischievously, Johnny swirled his tongue along the slit, trying to hold back his grin when Edgar gasped out his name and restrained himself from tugging on the boy's hair. -Restraint which had it's limitations.

Edgar's eyes, very different from how Johnny remembered them, flashed open. He shot Johnny a toothy smirk and thrust into his throat, ignoring his sounds of discomfort. Over and over again he could feel the tip of his cock slide against the walls of Johnny's esophagus, which convulsed in response to the sudden intrusion.

"Ah, fuck. Take it!" Edgar grunted, holding Johnny's face while he released deep inside his mouth. Johnny felt the cum poor down his throat before he tasted it, managing to swallow a decent amount before coughing and gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. Breathing and gagging mixed unpleasantly, and when Edgar refused to loosen his grip when Johnny tried to move his hands, he roughly shoved the man away as hard as he could, coughing and spitting out the remainder of his seed.

"Ah, what the fuck! What was that all about!" Johnny yelled, circling his arms around in Edgar's direction, upset that the man was grinning like he had just won something.

"You can't just.. just! You can't suddenly decide to be a dick and not tell me first!" Johnny seethed, snatching his clothes off the floor and throwing them onto his body, giving up on unbinding his hands and wearing a shirt.

"Hey, don't forget to take care of that guy you gutted," Edgar mocked, motioning to the door.

"Maybe do a bit of painting," Edgar continued quietly, in a much deeper voice. Despite the insidious undertones, the younger of the two was a bit too enraged to make sense of anything. Johnny just huffed, walked through the doorway, flipped Edgar off with both hands and slammed the door as hard as he could.

Johnny went through Edgar's kitchen and grabbed a knife, twisting it around the shirt painfully before freeing his hands. There was some blood spots where the fabric chaffed the most. Johnny quickly began pulling shit out of drawers and adding to the disarray of items on the floor behind him until he found some garbage bags. He stomped over the the bathroom and half-heartedly scooped up the bits of the other young man into the bag. As an after thought, he yanked the knife out from the boy's skul, pocketed the one that was stuck in his death grip, and finally kicked the entire body into his garbage bag. The boy was, thankfully, no very heavy, but Johnny's sour mood made the ordeal seem like so much more effort already.

The bathroom door squeaked open to reveal Edgar on the other side, shuffling miserably. Holding the door open for Johnny to drag the bag through.

"The fuck do you want now?" Johnny barked. He shot a glance at Edgar's face, but immediately looked away. Johnny didn't want the softness of Edgar's brown eyes and frown to deter his rage.

"I… I'm sorry," Edgar said quietly. "I don't know happened."

When there was no response, Edgar sniffled. "I don't know what's happening to me, but I still love you."

Johnny snapped his head around, fully prepared to fling his half-baked apology right back into his face. He was going to need SO MANY waffles and ice-suckies to make up for this, and he definitely shouldn't be expecting Johnny to help clean up the living room! Not now, anyways.

"You know, maybe I do kill people sometimes,"Johnny's rant began. "But at least I-"

Edgar interrupted him (again). Johnny would have stopped him right then and there, but a quick glance at this face made the boy think otherwise. Johnny swallowed with fear, and slowly backed away.

"You do kill people, don't you, Nny?" The voice leaving Edgar's body was much more familiar, and much more singular.

"And you even used to enjoy killing people, and I bet with a little work on old Edgar here we can keep the blood flowing." Edgar laughed a putrid and horrifying laugh, further accentuated by his blank, colourless, pupil-less eyes.

"Now I'd hop to it if I were you, Nny. That wall isn't going to paint itself."

"FUCK YOU!" Johnny shouted. "I told you already I'm not gonna do that shit anymore!"

"Ah ah ah," Edgar scolded, reaching his hand back into the bathroom. "I would lose that shitty attitude if I were you," he continued, razor in hand.

Johnny's heart dropped. "Wait, what are you…"

"You know how it goes right, Nny? Down the road, not across the street?" The razor is held in a vice grip, dangerously close to Edgar's wrist.

"Yes… yes" Edgar pleads in a different voice.

"Psycho Doughboy," Johnny quietly spits out.

"Right, so get back to work!" the first voice chirps out. "and I know you will, because if there's one thing I know about love: it's that love doesn't cure shit. And I'm afraid there just aren't any cures for you, Johnny boy." Edgar starts laughing again, tears involuntarily streaming down his face as he's forced to press the razor against his wrist, drawing out a speck of blood. He's clearly trying to fight back, but his shaking arm presses the blade further and he can't stop laughing or crying.

"Stop! Please, god…" Johnny begs. "Please, I'll… I'll go, okay? Just leave him alone." And just like that, the razor falls to the floor, Edgar stops laughing and starts sobbing, and Johnny is hauling a body bag down the stairs, catching the next bus home.

Of all the things to happen to them, why'd it have to be

"Fuck."