Hello, again! Sorry this story's taking so long. School, you know? Yeesh.

Anyway, if you see any mistakes, please let me know. I wrote a good majority of this chapter just today. I am very tired, as well X3 I've cleaned up my use of language in this chapter. I don't believe there's any f-bombs in here or anything. Just 'damn' and 'crap' and minor stuff like that. Swearing's a part of the real world, so I'm not giving up everything XD I realize though that in the previous chapter I had gone a bit overboard. My apologies.

If this chapter seems to go a bit too fast, let me know. I'll edit it so the pace flows better. Thank you.

Chapter 2: Break-In

December 8th, 1995

"You cannot grasp the true form of Giygas' attack!"

A powerful beam of pink light flashed on the television screen, followed closely behind by a sharp burst of static. Marceline flinched, sitting upright in her chair and clutching the controller tight as she watched her entire party's health, after a long and treacherous fight, finally dwindle down to zero. Surprise quickly gave way to frustration though, as this had been the fifth time she had failed to destroy this final boss, and she tossed the controller at the ground.

Geez. She wasn't very good at these types of games.

"Stupid fetus ghost." She bent down and took her soda from the ground and chugged the remaining liquid from the can. It was the fifth can tonight. She tossed the cylindrical piece of aluminum aside. "One more try…then sleep," the empty promise came involuntarily, as if there was someone around to hear it.

The clock read '3:38am'. She was dreadfully tired, but she didn't want to go to sleep yet. The nightmares were coming too frequently now, and Marceline could just barely handle it anymore. It had been three days (four, since midnight), and they had still neglected to unpack the boxes yet, but Marceline had dug out her Super Nintendo and all the games that came with it. For the first few hours, she had powered through Super Mario Bros. and Donkey Kong Country. Relatively easy games for her to complete, and she was pretty much a pro at them by now.

So she moved on. Now, for the past hour, she had been trying to finally beat her newest game, but her long in-waiting victory was prolonged by her inability to actually prepare for these final battles. It was easier to get things done when you didn't have to prepare for it.

Thirty minutes later, the screen flashed and once more the life essence of her team members hit zero in an instant. She growled loudly and chucked the controller at the ground. "Screw this! Where's Doom, I'll just play that instead." Her voice boomed in the silent room, though she spoke in a low tone. The game ejected from the port with a loud 'pop!' and she tossed the cartridge aside and reached for her game.

She jumped as a loud 'CRASH!' like a bunch of plates shattering on the ground, reverberated into her bedroom from somewhere down in the kitchen. Her fingers had barely brushed underneath the plastic cartridge, and when she flinched at the noise, her hand shot up and sent the game flying across the room and sliding beneath her bed, rolling and clattering.

"Ah…geez." Marceline yawned. She stood up, scrubbing her hand down her face. Her first thought was that the sound had come from Simon; it was common for him to be up this early just for food. And since his apparent sickness (as diagnosed by Bonnibel and Uncle Peppy—swell guy, a little on the short side) had really kicked in, he had been a lot clumsier. She thought going down to check on him was a bad idea, but then thought he would need help picking up the shattered glass. After all, he was slowly going insane and wouldn't think to use a dustpan.

The door pushed open slowly and she sluggishly shifted downstairs. Disoriented from her lack of sleep, she didn't think twice about calling out, "Simon, s'at you? You need help?" She turned into the kitchen and froze.

It wasn't Simon making all that noise down here, but three men clad in black from head to toe. They were rummaging through all the unpacked boxes, looking for easy loot. Around their feet was shattered glass from the fine china that used to belong to her mother, along with wine glasses and mugs, crunching beneath heavy boots as the men continued raiding the kitchen. One of the men had tore open a box labeled 'books', and had been frantically searching through it when Marceline entered the room, and suddenly their attention was on her.

"Oh…crap," she murmured, and one man, the hugest out of all of them, bellowed loudly:

"GRAB HER!"

She didn't give them the chance. Fully awake now, Marceline ran back upstairs. It was the first thing she thought to do. She dove into her room and slammed the door behind her and began looking for something to defend herself with.

There was hardly anything. Most of her possessions were still in boxes downstairs. But there was an old guitar standing up against the wall, too large to be packed away and with no case to go in. It was beat up, damn near ancient, and looked about to crumble. It was also a gift from her father, many years ago. But it would have to do. She grabbed it, holding it up over her shoulder like a club.

Her door swung open, violently slamming against the wall as two of the three men came barreling inside. Marceline yelped and swung the guitar; it connected with the shorter man's head, a loud 'CRACK' as the neck of the guitar snapped at the force, sending him tumbling into the wall and knocking him out cold. The second man tackled her, his fingers gripping hard at her neck as they slammed onto the ground. The now very useless remnants of her guitar were knocked from her hands and slid across the floor.

An arm was pressed tight onto her throat, keeping her still and barely breathing as the large man growled at her, "You better not scream, girlie."

Through his mask, she could smell his breath. Hot, oniony, and rotten meat, it was stomach churning. Marceline gagged and gasped for breath, trying to turn away. The arm pressed deeper, his pointed elbow digging into her throat. If she had ever planned on screaming, she wouldn't have been able to do it anyway.

Thudding footsteps were almost clouded in her eardrums as the third man stepped into her room. He had a book in his hand that seemed familiar to Marceline, but she couldn't focus enough on it to recognize what it was. The elbow in her neck was distracted her far too much.

The third man spoke, his voice a familiar squeeze of fear on her heart. "It would have been better if you'd have just stayed up here. No trouble at all." He started flipping through the book as he spoke. "Oh well. I suppose you would have figured us out at some point anyway," he chuckled. Looking up from the book, he waved his free hand at the large man pinning her down, "Knock her out, would you? We got what we need."

The pressure eased from her throat, and Marceline gasped huge gulps of hair as the arm was removed from her throat. It was short-lived, however, as the arm cocked back, hand balled into a fist, and slammed into the side of her head. She saw stars for a few seconds, and passed out.

She was woken by someone violently shaking her. Groggily, her head lolled from side to side as she tried to gather herself. In the distance, she could hear sirens wailing blearily. She could see lights, red and blue, flashing everywhere. Marceline felt herself being lifted up, a warm wetness dripping down her face.

"Marceline! Marcie, wake up, sweetie! Please!"

"Mmm…" Marceline groaned, blinking, "Simon?"

He was kneeling right in front of her, panicked, one arm on her cheek and the other against the small of her back, holding her up. He spoke, but his words seemed almost silent. Muffled, like he was speaking through the wall. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you? I've called the police. They're looking for the guys now."

"Police? Why'd you…?" She couldn't understand why, her mind too foggy to remember anything.

The room became clearer; pale grey of predawn light was starting to seep through the window, but not nearly bright enough to outshine the flashing lights of the police cruisers. Her head ached. She leaned back, holding her head.

"Are you all right, Marceline?" Simon asked. He touched the blood gushing down her face.

Marceline shook her head, pulling away from his touch. "Fine…'m fine…" she mumbled and tried to stand up. Her knees were wobbly, and when she walked she got as far as her bed before having to sit down on the mattress. It squeaked loudly under her weight, and she held her wounded skull in pain. "Oh…I'm not fine…"

"The ambulance is coming too, sweetie. They'll be here soon," Simon reassured, talking fast and loud. His panicking was making her headache worse. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the dried, crusty blood marring the black tresses. She brought her hands out of her hair and looked, the once tan skin now stained in dark blood.

"How long was I out?" she looked at her alarm clock. It was five-thirty. "Oh…man…"

Her TV was still on, displaying green letters spelling VIDEO at the top right corner of the screen. The annoying whiny pitch coming from the television was almost too much for her to handle. She stood up and stumbled over to the picture box, falling to her knees once reaching it and fingering around until her finger hit the power button, switching it off.

"I'm not sure," said Simon. He kneeled down next to her, "We need to get you to a hospital, sweetie. You have a concussion."

She shook him off. "I'm fine." She had been leaning against the television as leverage so she wouldn't fall. When she tried to shy away from Simon, her vision blurred and she slid off of the TV, nearly pulling it down on top of her when she hit the floor. Simon grabbed it held it in place so it wouldn't crush her.

Immediately she scrambled back up onto her hands and knees. The sounds of the approaching ambulance reached her, and she looked up. The sun was just peaking over the mountains. The new light burned her eyes and had her head throbbing painfully. She held her head and fell onto her back.

Quickly, the paramedics were in her room and surrounding her. One was checking her pulse and blood pressure while the other cleaned her head wound, wiping blood from her face and bandaging her head. Then the police came in, finished sweeping the area and coming up with absolutely nothing about the men that attacked her. They started asking her questions, and eventually came to the conclusion that Marceline had been struck with brass knuckles. It was around that time that she finally was able to remember the three men. Unfortunately, she didn't see their faces, so there was nothing useful she could tell the officers. Those guys were dressed like ninjas. They confiscated her broken guitar as evidence—there were tiny flecks of blood on it.

"Hopefully, it's the suspect's." said the sheriff, after Marceline told him exactly what she had used the guitar for. "We can identify one of them this way. After that it shouldn't be too much trouble to get him to rat out his friends."

She was taken to the hospital. As she brought into the ambulance, she saw Bonnibel and Uncle Peppy talking to Simon. They both seemed very cool in demeanor, though Bonnibel looked much more worried than Peppy. Simon stepped into the ambulance with her before they left.

The stay at the hospital wasn't very long. It was just to confirm what they already knew. Marceline had a concussion. No fractures or anything, just needed a few stitches. Not a very big deal. They gave her painkillers for it, which she dreaded because she never had a good reaction to them. When they returned home, all the glass Marceline had found on the ground the night before was swept clean. Not a shard left. Marceline felt glad because even with her head trauma, she would have been the one to eventually clean it because of Simon's ever growing incompetence, though he seemed to be doing fine at the moment.

Marceline lay in her bed, feeling queasy from her medication, and stared at the ceiling. Very soon, the throbbing pain of the stitches in her head dulled down to nothing. Her thoughts drifted many times, though she tried to remain focused on the ceiling, picking out random patterns out of the paneling to pass the time. The light shining through her window seemed to shift each time she blinked, each closing of her eyes bringing odd images of this morning's awful experience.

She even had visions of Jason McCreary. Though bleary and hard to make out, she knew it was him. Visions of a dark room with the stench of decay often startled her almost into sitting up in her bed, but she was either able to calm herself down or too weak from her medication to get very far.

Each time the visions would go, she would go back to picking out patterns on her ceiling. She didn't notice when her bedroom door opened; only when Bonnibel sat down on her bed.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she said fondly, smiling.

She looked blearily up at the girl, not startled by her sudden appearance, "Oh…hey, Bonni," she drawled out. Bonnibel chuckled lightly at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm checking up on you," the younger girl replied, "Simon stepped out for a while and asked me to stay and watch you. I've been here for half an hour. You were asleep when I was last in here."

Marceline blinked. She fell asleep? That explains those weird visions; they were actually dreams. Oh, the joy of being doped up on pain medication.

"Are you feeling okay?"

Marceline rolled onto her side, hand cradling her head. "Not really…I feel really sick…how long have I been sleeping?"

"I don't know. You were awake when I got here, but you were pretty delirious." She giggled, "You're not one of those people who have good reactions to painkillers, are you? You were saying some pretty funny things."

Marceline sighed. "I…am glad I could entertain you so much."

Bonnibel kept giggling. Eventually she stopped, the look on her face slowly transforming from a giddy smile into a worried frown. "You…also said some weird stuff while you were sleeping." The tone of her voice was grim. "You kept talking about…things…and you kept calling for your mom, and Simon."

"I did?" Marceline pushed herself up, leaning back against the headboard to brace herself.

She nodded, "You kept complaining about the room smelling bad, too. I looked everywhere, but this place is pretty clean. I found this under your bed, by the way," she held up the game cartridge Marceline had accidentally flung under the bed last night. "Marceline, is everything okay? Are you, erm, bothered by anything?" It seemed like an awkward question for her to ask. How much had Marceline talked about while she was sleeping? While she was awake? How much did Bonnibel already know?

With her mouth pressed into a straight light, Marceline settled further back into her covers, glaring, "I don't want to talk about it."

Grimacing, Bonnibel looked away from Marceline, as if ashamed of herself for asking such a question. "I'm sorry; it was rude of me to pry. You just…seemed so restless while you were sleeping."

"It's okay." Marceline sank back down into her pillow, "What time is it?"

The younger girl glanced over at the clock, "It's six-thirty in the evening. Do you want anything to eat?"

"Not sure if I can stomach anything." Marceline answered truthfully. "Don't think I can get up, even. I'm so tired."

"Go back to sleep, then."

Marceline grimaced. No, no more sleep, she thought and groaned loudly. "I don't want to," The nightmares. Even during the day, they haunted her, and now she had a new trauma to contend with. "I don't want to sleep anymore. Talk to me. Keep me awake."

The way her voice sounded mustn't have been very good, because there was a worried look on Bonnibel's face. Nervously, she tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, "What should I talk about?"

"I don't know…" Marceline strained and craned her neck forward, "Have any hobbies?"

Instantly Bonnibel's face brightened, as if Marceline had hit some kind of switch and made the mood instantly better. "Oh! Well, I like to study chemistry and biology, and I like solving complex math equations and—"

Marceline abruptly broke into a fit of laughter, and Bonnibel stopped and looked at her, looking slightly offended, "Sheesh! What kind of kid are you?" Marceline said, turning onto her side again. "Who does all that in their free time? Haven't you ever heard of videogames?"

Bonnibel blew air through pursed lips, her cheeks puffing out, "I'm sorry if my interests aren't the same as yours, Marceline." There was a small smile on her face though. Where it came from, Marceline couldn't be sure, and she didn't dwell on it.

For a while longer, they talked. Marceline allowed Bonnibel to finish talking about the other hobbies she had, none of them sounding at all fun to the dark-skinned girl. But still she listened, captivated by what the girl was saying although she'd have no interest if it were anyone else talking about it. They talked about other things, expertly avoiding all conversations regarding the break in and anything involving what Marceline had said while delirious. All the while, it kept Marceline from falling asleep at least for a little while. Eventually though, after she had taken more of her medicine, she began to nod off again. It was midnight when she woke again, and Bonnibel had gone.

It had been a dreamless sleep though. The first one she had had in a long while. Marceline actually felt a bit rested, but she was sad that Bonnibel had gone, though the girl lived just next door.

A few days later, Marceline was finally going through the boxes to unpack what the robbers hadn't taken. She was very surprised that all the jewelry and other valuables had remained untouched in the raid. She didn't think much about it though as she put things in their proper place, feeling a bit saddened that her mother's precious dinnerware had been shattered by the brutes.

Finally, she got to the books. She brought the entire box over to the bookcase, and put everything away and kept as organized as she could. At around that time, Bonnibel came over and decided she wanted to help.

"Where's Simon?" Bonnibel asked, picking up an old war book with a green mushroom cloud on the cover. She placed it with the other war books, and reached for another.

"Eh, I dunno. Somewhere. Where's your uncle?"

"He's gone too."

"They've been gone a lot lately, haven't they?"

"Yeah…"

"Eh, adults, huh?"

"I guess. But Uncle Peppy hasn't really been out of the house this often before. Has Simon ever gone out when you were back in the city?"

Marceline shrugged. Looking down into the box and finding it empty, her jaw set, teeth grinding together slightly, she bent down and looked in, reaching her hand down and feeling all around the box as if there were an invisible book inside, hiding from her.

"Is something wrong?" Bonnibel asked, "What are you looking for?"

Marceline went to scratch her head, but paused as her fingertips brushed over her stitches. Damn brute, she growled, "I dunno…there's supposed to be another book in here. I can't find it."

"What is it? I can help you look. Maybe you misplaced it."

She shook her head, "No, I shouldn't have. I made sure I put it at the bottom of this box before we left the city." Marceline flipped the box upside down and started shaking it, like that would help. "Where is it?!"

"Where's what?" Bonnibel said, irritated now, "Marceline, what are you looking for?"

"My diary!" she shouted, chucking the box aside, "My diary's gone!"