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heather1815 · 6 years

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My little test subject: Chapter 11

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, and Chapter 10

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

Warning! This fic contains: Foul language, scenes of torture, use of medical tools, drug use, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, violence, self-neglect, blood, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

Time flew by swiftly, and before long the green foliage of trees have decayed; turning into various shades of brown, yellow, and orange. They fell from their branches, leaving the trees barren, as they fluttered down to scatter among the other dead leaves covering the ground. Summer is gone, and autumn has arrived.

Although the temperature dropped considerably, today was one of those rare days when the rain would cease its rampant assault, and give the townsfolk a moments rest to leave their homes without the worry of getting wet, and enjoy the beautiful, dry sunset that without a doubt wouldn't last for very long.

A hand steadily ran over soft gray tabby fur, low purrs rumbling from the feline curled lazily over her owner's belly. Edd laid down, sprawled out on the sofa as he continued to stare up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face, and petted Ringo for comfort. For weeks, he refused to leave Tom's apartment; anticipating his friend's return every single day. Now he is practically living here. Today, much like the previous ones, went about the same way. He would pace around the room, glancing at the clock every now and then, until the day neared its end and he would space out on the couch for the rest of noon.

So here he was now; doing absolutely nothing while his cat enjoyed the attention. Turns out petting Ringo makes for a good stress reliever. Edd sighed softly, his hand continuing with the motion, making Ringo purr loudly in content before nuzzling into his chest. Edd chuckled at his cat's actions, before his expression turned void again. He was thinking about Tom. He grew the tendency to do that over these past few weeks. Where could the eyeless Brit be? Was he okay? Was he taking good care of himself? When would he come back? Did he ever think of them? What if he is still angry with them?

Edd hoped Tom's okay, wherever he is.

He stretched his arm out to grab the remote control, lying on the table between the couch and the television, and he turned on the TV. The screen flickered to life to show that Professor Why was currently going on. Edd was too lazy to change the channel, and truly he wasn't seeking to distract himself. He merely turned on the TV because he was tired of the silence hanging in the air, and wanted some kind of noise to fill it in. Edd stared at the screen numbly; not paying attention to what was going on in the show, but simply watched stuff happen as his mind jumbled into thoughts.

I remember watching this with Tom. Edd recalled, a faint smile appearing on his face. He remembers when they were sitting on the couch of their old home, watching the show with annoyed expressions. They complained about every little thing wrong with the program, shouting out curses, which then escalated into cracking jokes and making fun of the show. They were hysterical! Laughing their asses off as they could not believe what they were watching! It had been a very entertaining evening for them.

The little smile vanished, being replaced with a frown as his heart clenched at the thought of Tom. Oh, how he wished he could go back to simpler days. To a time where the three of them went on silly adventures almost daily, avoiding near-death experiences at every corner through sheer, dumb luck, and Edd's biggest concern back then was whether there would be sufficient cola waiting for him when they returned home.

But those days came to an end, when he returned.

Everything was great before he showed up again into their lives, spewing smooth lies and deceit from his mouth as it was in his nature. Edd, naïve as he is, had been so easily fooled by him. But not Tom. His eyeless friend ironically managed to see what he couldn't and he fended the Norsk away.

But the damage had already been done, and in more ways than one.

And to think that he nearly replaced Tom with him, was just another hit to his gut. Tom had more than proven himself then, and Edd valued his friendship all the more. Too bad that wasn't enough to stop Tom from leaving though. But Edd had vowed to better himself, and once Tom returns he will make it right with him.

He was so busy with his thoughts that Edd almost failed to acknowledge the sound of keys sliding on the lock of the apartment's front door. Ringo sat up with pricked ears, staring at the door in surprise. Edd followed his cat's instincts and immediately stiffened when he heard shuffling behind the other side of the entrance. Hope soared in his heart, though he kept his expression the same. Could it be-? He longed to see his dear friend in the blue hoodie, spiky hair, and empty eyes stroll in and casually greet him; just so he could hug him tightly, tell him how sorry he is and just how much he missed him.

Needless to say, Edd wasn't at all surprised when it was revealed to be just Matt. Edd frowned and laid his head back down, already used to being disappointed.

Although he was still kind of mad at Matt for saying all those dumb, stupid things about Tom, the ginger haired man insisted in being around him at all costs. Edd avoided and ignored him at first when Matt would go back to saying those ridiculous things. Edd had made abundantly clear to Matt that he would not speak to him, unless he dropped the subject and accepted the way things are. Thankfully, Matt was quick to take the hint for once and never brought up the subject again unless it was to confirm Edd's beliefs. It may not be ideal, but it was better than to listen to Matt ramble on some nonsense about Tom never coming back.

He is coming back. Edd echoed firmly.

"Hey!" Matt greeted him softly. The ginger haired man looked awfully pale, and instead of his usual attire he is wearing a long, dark coat over his purple hoodie. Edd did not greet him directly. Ringo, however, was quick to jump from his lap to welcome Matt by purring loudly while rubbing herself against his knees. Traitor. Edd narrowed his eyes at his cat, watching as Matt bent down to pet her with a chuckle. "Oh, hello there friendly chump! How are you?" He asks, moving to scratch beneath Ringo's chin. She mewed contently and coiled her striped tail around one of Matt's legs.

The ginger haired man glanced up, hoping to meet his friend's gaze but Edd had adverted his attention to the television with his arms crossed; electing to ignore him yet again. Matt tried not to feel hurt by the lack of response. He cleared his throat and stood up. He said nothing as he walked past the couch and made his way deeper into the not-so-abandoned apartment.

Edd's gaze followed Matt as he walked by. He scrunched his eyebrows in a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Just what was the ginger up to this time?

The purple hooded Brit made his way into his late-friend's bedroom. His eyelids felt heavy, and Matt wished he could simply fall over and get some rest; leaving all the problems of the real world behind. It didn't help that Tom's bed looked so tantalizingly appealing to his tired eyes. Matt shook his head, snapping out if his fatigued daze. He cannot rest yet. There is something really important that he must to do; something that he wished he could avoid doing but ultimately knows that it has to happen.

Since his first "confrontation" with Edd and seeing what became of his grief-stricken friend, Matt tried everything to make him see to reason but to no avail. It only caused him to shut Matt out further more. In order to keep himself from being shunned away completely so that he could still have a chance in helping Edd, Matt changed tactics and started to go along with his friend's hopeful rants and beliefs. It was the only way he could remain close to him, but whenever he had to pretend Matt always felt… Awful. He felt like he was using Edd, somehow, or taking advantage of his current condition. It left a bitter taste on Matt's mouth, to say the least.

Now, he will just have to go along for, hopefully, the last time. After this, things can finally run their proper course and they can move on from this overall terrible experience. Unfortunately though, things will never be the same ever again between them.

It's only Edd and him now.

Matt breathed out a sigh and walking into the pristine room. He had to admit, Edd made a great job in cleaning this place up. True, he's never been into Tom's room before… But he'd imagine it wouldn't be in the condition that it is now.

Reaching the foot of the bed, positioned right next to the window, Matt bent forward and grabbed the dishevelled looking plushie that laid with half its body underneath the covers, leaving only the head out and resting against the pillow as if the plushie itself was napping. Matt carefully stuffed it in his coat's pocket, cautious not to damage it any further than it already is.

Hearing footsteps stepping closer, Edd turned his attention back to the TV and pretended to be watching the show as Matt re-entered the living room. Through a quick side glance, Edd noted the way his friend had stuffed both his hands into his coat's pockets, and was shuffling on his feet with clear discomfort.

Edd raised one curious eyebrow at him.

Matt sighed. "Come on, Edd. Let's go out for a bit." He suggests, fumbling with his pockets. "It's the perfect weather right now to get some fresh air, and stretch your legs for a bit before the bloody rain comes back."

Edd shot him another quick glance, but did not turn to acknowledge him. "What for?" He prompted, kicking his leg up to lay it lazily over the coffee table. "I am fine with where I am, and honestly I don't feel like going out right now…"

"We're going to see Tom."

Not even an entire fraction of a second passed by and Edd had already bolted upwards from his position on the couch, and was staring at his friend with huge, wide eyes. Did he hear him right? Edd blinked, feeling confused and shocked at the same time. Surely this must be some sort of joke on him? He searched Matt's gaze, expecting to find humour in them, but was instead surprised to discover his blue eyes staring back at him with something akin to solace and warmth. "Y-you found him?" Edd stammered anxiously, feeling his heart hammering against his chest. "B- bu-but how? W-where? When? I-"

Something flashed within the ginger's eyes, but it came and went by so fast it was hard to even notice it happen to begin with. Matt nodded slightly and gave him a brief, reassuring smile. He extended his hand out towards Edd with a tiny chuckle. "It's alright, Edd." He told him softly once he noticed the brunet's spiralling emotions. "We'll get through this together."

Edd stared at his stretched-out hand, hesitant to take it. Don't get him wrong; Edd wants Tom back more than anything. However, would it really be that easy? There were so many things he wished to ask. And yet, even with doubts being thrown around in his head, Edd still couldn't help keep the joy and hope from swelling up inside of him, to the brink of making his heart burst. Although he felt tears pricking in his eyes, a smile stretched across his features as Edd wiped them away before they could properly form and he grabbed Matt's hand; hauling himself off the sofa.

"W-well what are we waiting for then?!" Edd exclaimed, his voice wavering with barely restrained excitement. "Let's go out and see him already!"

Shoving his shoes on, the brunet hastily got himself ready. He hurriedly re-filled Ringo's bowl of food, turned the TV off, and gave his hair a quick fix before grabbing Matt, and leaving out the door.

Stepping outside of the building they were immediately hit with a cold breeze that chilled their core. Matt shuddered at the bitter sting, and hugged himself for warmth. Puddles of water, formed by the extensive rainstorms, were scattered around the street and pavement. Cars passed by and rolled over the ponds, splashing water as they drove away. Small droplets of water that had gathered on the few remaining leaves, fell on their hair once in a while, as they walked down the street.

"So where is he?" Edd asks with enthusiasm. His green eyes brighter than they have ever been in these last couple of weeks. "Is he at the police station? The hospital? The bar?"

"Tom is, well… he is waiting for us at Winchester park." Matt replied, albeit uneasily, as he led the way.

The name rang familiar in Edd's ears but he could not recognise it. He brushed the sensation off and kept walking, making sure to fall in step with his ginger companion to not lose sight of him.

"Have you seen him? How is he?" Edd bombarded Matt with anxious questions, not noticing him visibly wince.

For reassurance, Matt placed his hand inside his coat's pocket and squeezed the soft plushie he carried. "Yeah, I've seen him a couple of times." He sighs. "I know you'll find selfish of me to bring you to him only now after everything, but-" Matt paused, his words getting choked in his throat as he tried to recover.

A hand was gently placed upon his shoulder, taking him by surprise. Matt glanced behind him to lock gazes with Edd, who stared up at him with a sad smile. "It's okay. I understand." He murmurs softly. "You wanted to talk to Tom on your own, and sort things out between the two of you. It's alright." Matt winced again. He isn't wrong. He thought.

"Y-yeah." He replies; voice wavering for a tiny fraction.

"Matt?" Edd spoke up, adverting his gaze toward the ground. Matt stopped walking and turned to face his friend with a raised eyebrow, beckoning the brunet to go on. "I- I just wanted to tell you th-that I'm sorry." Edd continued. "I'm sorry for the way things have turned out, and for the way I have been… Treating you. You have always looked out for me, and in return I was ungrateful."

Despite his heart clenching even tighter inside his chest, and the cold static growing in the pit of his stomach; the ginger haired Brit still managed to give his friend a small, and yet reassuring grin. Matt bent forward and grabbed a hold of Edd's arm, gently tugging him along as they resumed walking. With every step they took, getting increasingly closer to their destination, the heavier the pressure became upon Matt's chest; to the point that even breathing was getting to be a struggle. But he still pressed on. I don't want to hurt Edd. He kept on insisting over his own contradicting worries. But I have to do this. Sad as this may be, and no matter how hard Edd might take this; this has to happen. And then we can both move on!

Unaware of Matt's troubling thoughts or of his newfound determination, Edd skipped after his friend. He took the time to admire his surroundings. The orange lighting of the setting sun made the town shine in a whole new light in Edd's eyes. Possibly because of his uplift in spirit at the prospect of seeing his dear good friend again.

However, his little excited steps progressively slowed down as they neared a large, open metal gate with the name: Winchester park; engraved on top of it in a morbid font.

Edd stared at the gate dumbfounded. A sick realization beginning to dawn on him as Matt kept on walking, making his way through the decaying grass field. Edd felt an uncomfortable chill crawl up his spine in apprehension as he froze at the very edge of the park's entrance, trembling and clenching his fists tight as sweat ran down his forehead. "M-Matt?" He tried to call out for his friend to come back, but his voice was merely a whisper against the howling wind whipping his hair around in the air.

His legs shook so much beneath his own weight due to weariness that Edd feared he would lose balance and fall over. Yet, he managed to keep himself steady. Swallowing the heavy lump that formed in his throat, Edd realized that Matt had stopped walking and was standing there; glancing over his shoulder and patiently waiting for him to follow. Edd wanted nothing more than to turn back and run away from this place, and never look back. But a tingling sensation in his mind popped up, gently prompting him to go forward. Hope fluttered back into his heart. Maybe… Tom really is waiting for us here.

Feeling slightly confident with his reassuring, and yet deceitful thoughts, Edd stepped through the gate and into the open field; making his way towards Matt, who shot him a sympathetic look.

They walked side by side in silence, trekking along a trail between the tall encrypted stones surrounding them. Edd refused to look directly at any of the slates or statues; holding on tight to his hopeful expectations. But with every step taken, his hopes would diminish away in tiny amounts. Not a lot, but just enough for him to notice that his denial of the whole situation won't save him for what he's about to encounter. Edd's mind is a whirling storm inside his own head. No. Not a storm. But a war. Two sides fighting each other for different outcomes, and only one of them is the true winner as anxious, and dreadful thoughts that are well aware of reality are trying to scream the facts out, but they kept being continuously drowned out by other thoughts of blissful ignorance to calm his ever-worrying mind.

Climbing up the slope of a green hill, a weeping tree came into view. A few more monuments stretched out ahead of them, scattered all over the place in neat files that extend as far as the eye can see. Edd and Matt walked past the tree, weaving their way between the tall slates. Edd kept his head down, his bangs covering most of his eyes as he stared downwards. From the corner of his vision he managed to spot various flowers left at the foot of the stones.

He gulped, a heavy feeling of dread and apprehension rising within him, and completely overpowering whatever's left of his rapidly diminishing positive thoughts. Edd clenched his teeth, his hands curling into tight fists on either side of his body. His legs started to feel like piles of sandbags, and with each step he felt his feet drag across the decaying grass. Suddenly, the thought of turning back now and never return to see this place again made itself known yet again in his mind; and the idea sounded very appealing too. To go back to Tom's apartment, and wait in vain for him to come back just to keep the illusion going for a while longer until he was properly ready to face the harsh reality.

And yet… Edd pressed forward. Despite his resurfacing fears and panicking urges, he kept going. All that… just for a proper sense of closure.

Edd was so involved with his own thoughts, he failed to realize that Matt had stopped walking. Edd turned to look at him, seeing his friend uncharacteristically quiet and solemn looking. Matt's blue eyed gaze stared downwards with an expression of deep sorrow. Edd gulped. He knows what comes next. Trembling, he followed his friend's gaze until his green eyes landed on a single, distinct shape standing right in front of them.

Tears begun to well up in his eyes at the sight before him.

A tall encrypted slab loomed over them. A neatly arranged bouquet of flowers was left at its base; yellow, blue, green and black roses. But it was the words embedded on the stone that made Edd's heart stop and his breath hitch.

In loving memory of…

Thomas Thompson

1990 – 2016

R.I.P.

It felt like an eternity went by with Edd just standing there and staring at the engraved words; memorizing every single detail, no matter how tiny or insignificant, until the image burned in his mind.

This isn't real.

Edd trembled, his vision blurring due to the tears in his eyes.

This can't be real!

Next to him, Matt fumbled around with his coat's pocket. Although Edd did not take his eyes off the tombstone, he managed to see the ginger haired Brit pull something out of his pocket from the corner of his eye.

How could this happen?

Edd's eyes widened at the sight of the teddy bear. But this wasn't any teddy bear… it was Tomee bear.

How could I let this happen?

He watched with quickened breaths as Matt stepped forward, bent down and carefully placed the old battered plushie next to the flowers by the foot of the slate. Taking a step back, Matt turned to face his companion. Edd's eyes are wide, glistening with tears and yet they were devoid of emotion as they kept fixated on their friend's tombstone. His mouth clenched, and his chest heaving rapidly.

I wasn't good enough to save him.

Edd fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The grass and soil was still soggy due to all the rain from these past few days, and drenched his pants. He paid that no mind.

I failed to save my friend!

And with that thought, the heavily constructed dam that had previously been blocking the ever-growing flood of emotions he managed to neglect over the past few weeks; broke down and gave way to a furious torrent. Letting out a heart wrenching sob, Edd lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the tombstone. At last he faced reality and allowed himself to cry, letting go of his bottled-up emotions as he mourned the loss of his dear friend.

Matt stood little ways behind him, watching Edd break down before Tom's grave with great sadness. Despite having already mourn over Tom himself, Matt could not help the tears that pricked his eyes or the sniffles and tiny hiccups that escaped as he tried to swallow them down. In the end, he stood by as quietly as he could and permitted his friend to let it all out.

Little did they know; the two friends weren't the only ones in the graveyard.

From behind the weeping tree that they've passed earlier, a mysterious figure watched the scene play out. He kept his distance, but even from afar he managed to hear the heart-breaking sobs from the brunet. He felt a pang in his heart at the sound, but did not move away from his spot. The figure simply stood there. Hair swaying in the cool breeze, looking down the slope where the two Brits are.

If only they could know the truth about their friend… He shook his head at the silly thought. They'll only get in the way of his plans.

With every sob he let out, Edd's body would wrack with grief and more tears would gush out; trailing down his face until they reached his chin and fell to the ground. I'm sorry! He screamed internally. I never meant for any of this to happen! I should've done more!

A hand gently moved to rest upon his shoulder, momentarily snapping him out of his breakdown. Through teary green eyes, Edd glanced over his shoulder to meet with Matt's sympathetic blue one's. "We must be getting back now." He murmured, motioning towards the darkening sky up above; with clouds already gathering over the horizon, preparing to strike the town with yet another strike of rain. Edd opened his mouth, about to argue, but Matt beat him to it. "We can come visit him again tomorrow if you want. But it's getting late now." He gently added.

Though he wanted to stay longer, or better yet, not leave the grave site at all, Edd slowly nodded in agreement. He turned back to the tombstone. Clenching his eyes shut and tightening his grip around the slab, Edd tried to imagine he was hugging Tom instead. But it didn't have the smell of alcohol Edd grew so fond of over the years knowing Tom, nor could it hug him back awkwardly and reassure him that everything's gonna be okay. Tom is dead. Edd mused sadly. He gave the tombstone one last tight hug before letting go. I miss you. I miss you so much!

Goodbye Tom…

Rising to his feet, Edd cast the grave a wistful look before following Matt. He wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, making a mess of things. Matt silently offered him a tissue, to which Edd gratefully took.

On their way back, when they passed by the weeping tree again, Edd stopped. The hairs of the back of his neck standing as he felt an intense stare burn his back. He knew this feeling; it's the sensation of being watched. Edd looked around, his eyes puffy red from crying so much, and his vision still somewhat blurred. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the graveyard other than him and Matt.

"Edd?"

He turned back when Matt called out to him, gazing at him with curiosity and worry as he waited for him to follow suit.

Edd gave his surroundings another look, still finding nothing. "I'm coming." He sniffled, somewhat suspicious. He was sure he was being watched.

The two walked away, heading for the metal gate. The mysterious figure watched them leave from behind a statue of an angel. When he was sure they were gone, he stepped out from his hiding place. He stood still for a couple of moments, looking at where they had been previously standing.

Bowing his head in defeat and sighing, he slowly made his way over to the grave they were mourning over.

(Meanwhile…)

"Ouch!"

"Hold still!"

Wincing in pain, Tom obeyed Patrick's stern order as the Polish soldier applied an ice bag to his wounded head. After an hour and a half of just light exercises with Paul, Tom's limbs were painfully sore. They didn't do much, thankfully. Just a couple of stretches, jumping jacks, some failed push-ups, and a horrible attempt at the monkey bar that tragically, and yet admittedly comical, ended with him face planted to the ground and left him with the previously mentioned wound on his head.

Seeing the stunned Brit laying on the ground, barely moving, if at all; Paul panicked for a bit and called for Patrick's presence in the situation immediately. He soon arrived at the gym, calmed Paul down, and checked on Tom for any signs of a concussion. Thankfully, he doesn't have it, but the swollen wound on his head is really ugly.

"I can't believe you actually tried to have him do the monkey bar in the current condition that he is in!" Patrick complained, sitting next to Tom as he carefully applied the bag to diminish the nasty swelling.

"I didn't make him do it! I asked if he was up for it, and he said he could handle it!" Paul defended himself, still somewhat freaked out from the ordeal.

"You guys know that I am still here, right?" Tom spoke up dryly.

"Shush." Pat directed his attention back to him, narrowing his eyes slightly. "As for you; how could you have been so foolish to think that you could manage it? You know better!"

"I'm fine! Really, I am!" Tom exclaimed. "You're exaggerating. Besides, I had it perfectly under control!"

"Yeah, I can clearly see it by the tennis ball sized wound atop your head." Pat commented with dry humour in his voice, earning a small grumble of irritation from Tom. He let his eyes wander over the rest of the eyeless man's form.

Overall, Tom's appearance has changed for the better since he first arrived in the facility. His sickly pale skin is finally getting its proper colour back, the dark bags underneath his eyes had disappeared over time since he started using the Dreamcatcher, and Pat checked his weight weekly and was pleased to find that Tom has gained a substantial amount.

At this rate, Pat estimates that Thomas will be back to proper health in two months or so.

"Well, other than this nasty looking swell it appears that you are fine." Patrick deduced. "Are you capable of walking by yourself?"

Tom chuckled. "My head is hurt, not my legs. I can walk just fine." When Patrick shot him a doubtful look, Tom staggered to his feet and walked for a bit to prove his point; still holding the ice bag to his head. "See?"

"Fair enough." Pat crossed his arms. "But don't attempt to do that again, or I might just leave you lying on the floor with a possible concussion next time!" He threatened playfully.

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Pat!"

Across from both of them, Paul cleared his throat and rocked on his feet. "So, what do we do now?"

Patrick looked down at his watch. "I guess we can call it a day." He suggested. "Most of our tasks at the base are completed, the Lieutenants should have everything under control until lights out, and Tom's routine is done for today. So I guess it is one of those days."

Paul's eyes lit up like a child in Christmas eve. "You mean- ?"

Patrick nodded. "That's right."

The bushy eyebrowed soldier did a celebratory fist pump. "Yes!"

"Wait what? What's going on?"

Blurting out in confusion, Tom looked back and forth between the two Red army soldiers; waiting for an explanation.

"Oh forgive us Thomas! Allow me to elaborate." Patrick quickly says. "You see; on rare days such as this, when we complete all of our assignments under the time frame, by the end of the day we are left with a free window till lights out. So Paul and I usually use this time to do whatever we want until then."

"Huh." That was all Tom could say as he processed the new-given information. He blinked, and began to walk away with the ice bag. "Well, have fun you guys! I'm gonna be in my quarters, probably taking a nap or something, if you need me!"

As they watched him leave, Paul and Patrick turned to look at each other. For a couple of moments, they stared at each other in silence, realizing that they got the same idea in mind a smile stretched across their features.

"Hey Tom!" Paul called out, halting the Brit in his tracks. Tom glanced back at him questioningly. "Would you like to join us?"

Taken by surprise by the invitation, Tom reared back in shock and his empty sockets widened. "I- uh- what- I mean? I guess I could? - I mean? Uh…"

Paul and Patrick shared amused expressions as Tom continued to stutter in his attempts to make intelligible words. "Don't you get bored staying in your quarters and do nothing but sleep and shower the rest of the day?" Paul asks, raising one of his eyebrows.

Tom rubbed the back of his neck. He has a point. His daily routine mostly consisted of eating and sleeping, and not much else. Of course there are his sessions with Pat, and the physical workouts with Paul; but they aren't everyday occurrences. And Tom doesn't have much else to do other than simply sleep and shower to pass the time.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Tom admitted. "But, I mean… Am I even allowed?"

"Of course you are!" Paul assures, stepping up to stand in front of him with Patrick by his side. "You behaved the whole time since Tord left! Plus, we believe you could use a break."

"That's right. Regardless of how you may see this chance, a reward or a break, a change of pace would be great for you." Patrick added.

"Well, uh, okay then. I guess I could… Hang out?"

Paul beamed in excitement. "Splendid!" He tugged on one of Tom's bandaged arms and began to lead him out the gym and into the long hallways. Tom nearly stumbled and fell, trying to keep up with Paul's fast strides as he kept his strong grip on him.

"Slow down, Paul." Pat advised, coming up from behind. "He is still recovering from his fall. Not to mention his arms are in a delicate state."

"Ops! Sorry!"

Paul was quick to let go of Tom, and he walked at his own pace; rubbing his sore arm he gave a grateful nod at Patrick. They kept on walking. With Paul on the lead, and Pat at the back, Tom walked between the two of them feeling out of place and maybe even a little bit nervous.

"So, uh, what do you guys usually do when you get free time?" He asks.

"Watch movies or play video games, mostly!" Paul replies, glancing back at him over his shoulder.

"Doesn't Tord get mad at you guys for fooling around?"

He nearly jumped when Pat began to laugh. "Not at all! In fact, on the rarer occasion when he gets free time as well, he usually joins us." He responded. "It's not often that we get the chance to hang out together, so we make the most of the opportunity when it presents itself."

"And if Tord finds out about me hanging out with you guys, won't he be furious then?" The last thing Tom needs right is to cause trouble for them. Not that he cares for to them; they did kidnap him after all. But he much rather be in their company than in Tord's, additionally because they have been nothing but kind since the Norsk left, so Tom would be damned if he brings Tord's wrath down on them just because he was bored.

Bringing him out of his thoughts, Paul wrapped an arm around Tom's shoulder in reassurance. "Trust us; he won't!" He says. "Tord left us in charge of taking care of you and the whole base. As long as you are with us he won't mind at all."

"If you say so…"

They trekked through the long, empty hallways; with Tom occasionally asking them about their daily routine in the base and what it is required for them to do, and they politely answered him as best they could. At last, they reached the familiar looking oak door and turned the knob; entering Patrick's study where he and Tom usually have their sessions. They crossed the room over to the wooden door on the opposite side.

Paul led the way, pushing the door and keeping it open for Tom and Pat to walk through. The white tiled room Tom only caught glimpses of whenever Patrick would go in and out with his special drink, turned out to be a kitchen. A shiny, dark marble balcony on the left that stretched all the way from one wall to the other and curved into a small "L" shape at the end, with cabinets, and a dishwasher beneath it. Cupboards hanging off the wall, a tall ebony fridge standing across from where they entered the room, a glossy silver sink, and an oven in pristine condition. In the centre of the kitchen, a marble island with black cushioned stools, a fruit basket, and a wooden cutting board.

Looking at the fancy kitchen with awe, Tom turned back to the two soldiers. "So now what?"

They exchanged a look between themselves before Patrick clasped his hands together. "Well, usually we would cook up some tasty treat for us to enjoy while we entertain ourselves." He commented, walking over to the cabinet next to the fridge. "Any ideas or preferences?"

"Oh! I know! How about chocolate cake?" Paul suggests.

A hum was emitted from the Polish man and he shook his head. "Sorry Paul, there isn't any chocolate powder left. We're in need of restock." He glanced back at him apologetically. "How about we have apple pie instead? We do have all the ingredients we need for it…"

"Sure!"

"Are you fine with apple pie, Tom?"

For the second time that day, Tom glanced up in surprise. "Yeah, fine by me." He murmured, still somewhat taken back by the situation he was in. "I will eat just about whatever you decide to make."

"You don't have any allergies, do you?"

Tom shook his head.

"It's settled then. Apple pie it is!" Pat exclaims, grabbing the ingredients needed from the cabinet, and then proceeding to grab a bowl from one of the cupboards above. "Hey Paul, while I get things started here why don't you show Tom around our quarters?" He suggested.

"Alright! Come along, Tom!" Carefully tugging on the Brit's bandaged arm, Paul led the way out of the kitchen through the large opening on the right side of the room. "That was the kitchen, obviously. And here's the living room! It's where we usually hang out."

Immediately drawing Tom's attention as he entered the room, a 75-inch flat screen TV hung upon the wall and was connected to several different consoles and other equipment that were placed on the drawer directly beneath the TV. A long, beige couch stretched out in front of the television with burgundy pillows neatly placed over it, and a coffee table standing in the middle of the room over a white, fluffy looking carpet.

Looking around the room in awe, Tom's gaze met Paul's. "I take it your impressed?" He prompted curiously, raising one bushy eyebrow with a small smile; rather amused with Tom's silent astonishment.

"Woah! You guys have a great set up here." The eyeless man states, taking a few steps farther into the room as he observed his surroundings. "Man, I definitely underestimated the perks of being a test subject!" He joked sarcastically.

"Oh well, I'm glad that you liked it." Paul motioned towards a door, little ways behind them. "The bathroom is over here, if you need it." He headed down a small hallway that ended with another door. "And that's our room at the end there." He turned back to face Tom, and casually walked closer to him. "How's your head? Do you need more ice for that?"

"Nah, I think I'm fine." Tom shook his head, gingerly placing down the empty bag that contained nothing but cold water inside.

"Is it hurting at all?" Paul carefully grabbed a hold of his head, and gently tilted it downwards as he took a closer look at the wound on his head. Tom blinked in surprise at the unexpected gesture; more so with how delicately the Red army commander was handling him. For a moment, he thought of pushing the man away, but for some odd reason he couldn't really bring himself to. Tom shrugged, reasoning he was just tired after the long day and didn't want to ruin his chances of doing something fun for once now that he is there, at their invitation. After a few decisive moments checking up on him, Paul stepped back and took the empty bag from him, moving back into the kitchen. Not wanting to be left behind in the strange and cosy environment, Tom followed him.

"Ah Paul, do you mind grabbing some cinnamon from the canteen, please?" Patrick requested politely. Various ingredients laid out across the counter before him. "I have everything else I need except for the cinnamon."

Almost instantly, Paul's shoulders sagged and he frowned. "Is cinnamon absolutely necessary for the pie? I sure can live without it, and I think Tom won't mind either." He complained.

Pat threw him a stern look. "Paul…"

"What? Don't blame me!" The red army commander crossed his arms and pouted. "The cafeteria is so far away, and even when we are free of tasks the other army members keep pestering me about stuff I most likely won't know how to resolve!"

Shooting him a sympathetic glance, Patrick gave him a brief hug and a small pat on the back. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby." He teased. "It's a quick walk if you hurry; you'll be back before you know it. And then you can relax as much as you want!"

Breathing out a sigh, Paul backed away. "I guess I'll just have to use my amazing stealth skills and expertise to manoeuvre my way around the base to go unnoticed!" A cheeky grin stretched across his face, wriggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner towards Pat; who rolled his eyes in response, but a tiny grin formed on his face as he gave Paul's shoulder a light punch. "One packet of cinnamon coming right up!" And with that, Paul walked past Tom, whistling as he left the room.

Tom followed his movements into the living room, where Paul halted in front of a wall and pressed his hand against it. Confused by his actions at first, Tom blinked and emitted a barely audible gasp when the wall opened up to reveal a small elevator; where Paul walked in, pressed one of the buttons and disappeared as the wall closed up again.

"Why do you guys have another elevator here?" Tom asks incredulously. Although he was not allowed to use it, he had taken notice of the lift at the end of one of the immense hallways of the lab he was confined to during his many strolls around the facility.

"It's a short-cut, but it only leads to Red leader's office." Pat's response echoed from the kitchen. "Paul will have to make his way around the base to reach the canteen and back here. But at least the odds of bumping into people lessen this way."

Shifting his gaze back to the wall where the secret elevator resided, Tom's eyebrows quirked upward in surprise. And to think, Tord is usually just a lift away from where he resides. "Let me guess; he likes to be at a close distance to his experiments?" He questions dryly, walking back into the kitchen.

"Certainly! Our leader always holds a keen interest in the development of all his creations." Patrick replied, looking up from his work in separating the ingredients on one side of the counter while he got some apples. "But then again, it is a short-cut to hang out whenever he gets free time without being disturbed by people along the way. So there's that as well." He added, then turned his gaze onto Tom. "Would you mind lending me a hand with this?"

"Huh?"

"While we wait for Paul to return with the cinnamon, we can get started with the rest of what we have here." The Polish man calmly explained to him. "I'll peel and cut the apples, while you mix all of the ingredients together. Think you can manage?" He opened one of the drawers and handed him a whisk. "I've already taken the liberty of taking the right measurements of each of the ingredients, so that leaves you with the easy part."

Somewhat dumbfounded by the sheer scenario he was put in; baking an apple pie with the soldiers who kidnapped him while simultaneously hanging out with them, Tom stretched out his hand to take the kitchen utensil from Pat, but was interrupted when said man cleared his throat. Tom gazed up in confusion. "What?"

Tilting his head sideways, Pat motioned towards the sink and then pointed at his hands. Tom got the message, giving a low grunt of annoyance but complied with the request anyway. It's the least he can do after being invited here.

As he turned on the tap, and washed his hands under the freezing, cold water, Tom felt the sudden urge to burst into laughter. What the hell am I doing? He never could've imagined he would ever find himself in his current situation. Is this for real? Is this really happening? After all the hardships he had to endure thus far; cooking, seems so out of the ordinary from his usual painful routine. It felt like an alien concept being taught to him for the very first time.

He turned off the tap water, and grabbed a hold of a towel next to him; drying off his hands. Tossing the towel away, Tom stepped closer to the balcony where the ingredients were waiting for him. He began to pour them into the empty bowl; starting off with the flour.

"So, how are you holding up thus far?" Cutting the silence short, Patrick shot Tom a brief side-glance.

He shrugged. "I admit, this situation is very odd." Tom replied, pouring sugar into the bowl. "I never got to really cook before. I think the last time I did, I was helping my mom out in the kitchen. And I was like- what? 7 or 8 more or less?" Fond memories of his childhood flooded him. Being a pesky, and excitable little kid standing on his tippy toes as he watched his mom cook before offering to help her out.

"How about everything else?" Pat added, rinsing the apples in the sink.

Now it was Tom's turn to shoot him a quick side-glance, as he added butter into the mixture. "If you're talking about the wound on my head, it stopped hurting a while ago."

"That's not what I meant."

Tom's dark sockets drifted away from his task, and watched Patrick pull out a knife from one of the drawers from the corner of his vision before expertly peeling the apples. "Then what exactly do you mean?" He demands, fixing his gaze on the blade that cut through the fruits with such a masterful precision.

Blinking out of his focus, Tom paid attention to the current discussion as he returned to the task at hand.

"How are you adapting to your new life? You seem to have accepted your fate without too much of a fuss." Patrick elaborates, tossing the peels into the trash before cutting slices out of the apple in his hands.

"What? Are you disappointed I haven't tried to escape, or something?" Tom retorts, his voice all bark but no actual bite to it.

"No- no, of course not. I just mean that in a general term." Pat corrects, dropping the slices of apple into a separate bowl and throwing away the remains. "What you've done wasn't easy. Not for anyone. I am merely concerned with the side-affects that this type of transition; heck, this type of situation could affect you in."

Mixing the last of the ingredients together in the bowl, creating a dry dough, Tom clenched his jaw. I wonder who's fault is that! He wanted to say, but maintained himself quiet. Last thing he needs right now is to get kicked out and have a guilt trip about it later. Patrick is, after all, one of two people he gets along with in this base. Tom scoffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, or anything, but why exactly does it matter to you? If the Red Army gets what they need in the end, my condition shouldn't be important then."

"That may be so." Patrick soothed. "But that does not stop us from caring about you regardless, Tom. It is only natural to grow attached when you spent so much of your time with an individual that was put into your care. Even if it was by orders, and the circumstances are less than ideal."

The words that were forming in Tom's mouth evaporated into thin air right at the tip of his tongue. His black empty sockets are wide with bewilderment. Care? Impossible. The concept was strange to him. Not that Tom was incapable of caring, no, far from it. The truth is that he does care. He cares a lot more than he lets on. However, that isn't the issue here. The real strange thing to him was being in the receiving end of the care spectrum. It's not often, if at all, that Tom is placed in said position. Sure, there were many times that Edd and Matt showed comradery and affection for him. But even so… Tom fears otherwise. He does not blame them either; Tom hates himself too. And now to think, that Pat and additionally Paul, have grown attached to him in the short amount of time- Well, at least Tom hopes it's been a short time, he can't really tell otherwise, since he'd lost all sense of time from the get-go- is just unbelievable.

So how come Tom's heart is fluttering inside his chest with a small, warm, elevating tingle? Doing his best to ignore the fuzzy sensation, Tom suppressed it and turned his overall demeanour back to neutral. "Yeah right." He scoffed softly, padding the dry dough into the dish to create what would later become the pie's crust. "Don't be so dramatic, Pat. Or else I might just start to think you are getting soft on me."

Breathing out a small sigh, Patrick rolled his eyes. "If you're so sure about that." He murmured quietly. "And what about your friends? I'm sure you must miss them a lot even though you have, not once, mentioned them the entire time since you got here."

Grateful his back is turned, Tom flinched slightly at their mention. "Well, of course I-"

"ARGH! Shi- Kurwa!"

The sudden loud sound of a knife clattering against the marble balcony, along with Patrick's spontaneous hissed out curse of pain made Tom jump in alarm. He whipped around, only to freeze and tense up in shock. Blood was leaking and dripping down Pat's hand, as he clutched it tightly to his chest.

"God damnit." Patrick continued to curse, more in annoyance than so in pain, as he inspected his injured hand. He then turned away to the sink to wash out the blood.

With gaze locked on his back as Pat kept muttering to himself, Tom slowly backed away. His black empty eyes wide, and he trembled ever so slightly from head to toe. The copper, tangy smell of blood, hit his nostrils as Tom's breathing quickened, and it began to flood his senses. Tom's eyelids fluttered shut in a dazed state of intoxication, and for a brief moment there, he found himself relishing in the familiar scent.

Snapping out of the trance the smell of blood put him under, Tom slapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and hurried out the kitchen only to run into Paul.

"Oh, hey Tom!" He greeted the panicked looking Brit. "I brought the cinnamon!" He showed the packet in his hand, before his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took a double-take on Tom's facial expression. "What's wrong?"

Gasping for air as he hyperventilated, Tom tried to conjure up proper words and explain the situation. But his mouth is dry and he's having a hard time maintaining focus. "I- pf- Pat- sh- I- uh" Tom shook his head. He suddenly grabbed a hold of Paul's shoulders and started to shake him with exasperation. "Patrick is bleeding!" Was all he managed to say, as he let go of Paul and resumed his struggle to keep calm.

Hearing a gasp from Paul, Tom watched him hurry into the kitchen. He did not stay long to watch what happens next, after that. Tom made his way into the bathroom; slamming the door shut, locking it behind him, and then having his back pressed against it.

He clenched his eyes shut, breaking into cold sweat as he attempted to bring his breathing back to normal. However, no matter how much he breathed his lungs consistently felt depraved of oxygen. Tom stumbled forward, grabbing onto the sink to keep himself steady, and leaning forward as he dry-heaved.

Tom kept remembering the smell. It was just a tiny cut, there wasn't even that much blood flowing out of Pat's hand; and yet, that small bleeding cut was enough to throw Tom off. Lurching forward he retched. Tom clasped a hand over his mouth, trying to contain from being too loud for any prying ears that might be listening out there. He continued to heave and gulp, nothing but drool spilling out from his mouth; sticky saliva coating his fingers.

Gagging and gasping, Tom turned the sink's faucet, and began to frantically splash cold water onto his face repeatedly. Stay calm. Keep cool. Get a hold of yourself! He kept telling himself, panting heavily while also slapping his own face. But in doing so, Tom glanced up and accidentally made eye contact with his reflection. He froze; black sockets staring back at each other through the mirror until Tom could've sworn he saw the flection form a sickening grin, consisting of razor teeth, and the previously aforementioned dark holes for eyes flashing a deep shade of purple for a brief second.

At once, his body shuddered with great intensity and Tom's heart turned cold; freezing it in place, and knocking all the wind out of him before it came back to life, and gave a massive leap into his chest. Moaning with pain, Tom clutched his chest and kneeled down, still holding on to the sink.

Tom panted, his head leaning forward as he stared at the ground wide-eyed. His vision was shaky, getting increasingly blurred with the familiar dark haze taking over his sight. It is one of these moments when Tom wished he was in possession of a sharp object right now…

An abrupt knock on the door brought him out of it.

"Tom? Are you okay in there?"

Tom gasped, feeling the effects cease and allowing him to go back to normal. Tom swallowed, his mouth and throat insanely dry. "I'm fine, Paul!" He replied, his voice hoarse. "It's just the withdrawal acting up again!" He lied, his breathing still ragged. "I'll be out in a moment."

Holding his breath, Tom listened for footsteps distancing themselves away from the bathroom. Once he was sure that Paul was gone, Tom went back to regaining his breath. He felt drained from strength, and when Tom tried to get up his legs buckled beneath his weight and he sat back down. Wincing with effort, he used the sink as support and scrambled to his feet. Tom was careful not to commit the same mistake twice, and he kept his gaze fixed downwards onto the rushing water of the tap.

Tom resumed washing his face, his thoughts troubled with dismay. That was a close call. Too close! Tears pricked the corner of his eyeless sockets, and he fought the urge to sob. I'm such an idiot! He seethed silently. And to think that I had any chance of being normal, even if for just a while! I'm a fool. Tom's heart rate steadied into a slow rhythm, and his breathing fell in a comfortable pace. Turning the faucet off, and dried his face with a towel. I can't do this. Clearly coming here was a mistake! He decided. I will go out there, and tell them that I'm not feeling so good. They'll understand, right? Then they can enjoy their free time without me.

Tom made sure his appearance looked adequate before he unlocked the door and left the bathroom. The excuse he had prepared died on his tongue at the sight he was met with.

Facing toward the TV and away from him, Paul and Patrick are sitting on the couch; awfully close to one another as they conversed quietly. Tom approached them wearily, unsure whether to speak up or not, but decided for the latter. He gulped, and took a tentative whiff of the air surrounding him; relieved to find that the scent of blood has been replaced with a much warmer, and pleasant salty smell.

"Does it hurt still?" Paul whispered worriedly.

Tom focused on the pair of soldiers on the couch, standing like a statue in the corridor as he listened to their conversation.

"Don't be silly. I told, it was just a little cut!" Pat chuckled soothingly. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping, Paul."

Even standing a few feet behind the couch, Tom could see Paul shuffle a little closer to Patrick. "Do you want me to kiss it to make it better?" Next thing he knows, Pat scoffs and throws a light punch at Paul, who giggles in return. "I can give as many kisses as you want, just to make you better!" He teased Pat, who had crossed his arms. For some reason, Tom imagined the dignified Red Army General adverting his gaze away from the Commander, and with a light pink tint flushing in his cheeks.

Paul laughed again, and he enveloped his arms around Pat to cuddle closer, who in turn bent down to give the top of his head a small peck.

Watching them interact this way made Tom's face heat up with embarrassment. He felt like he was intruding in on them. All the more reason to leave them alone. Tom stepped back until he was next to the bathroom door, to which he opened and closed again rather loudly to announce his presence in the room.

The two soldiers looked up at him in surprise.

"Ah Tom! Glad you're alright!" Paul greeted him. "Are you feeling better now?" Tom nodded. He was just about to speak, when Paul beat him to it. "You were looking awfully pale when I came back, so I was kind of worried for you."

"I- uh I'm fine now, thanks. But i-"

"Oh! And don't worry about the pie. Paul and I finished the remaining touches while you were in the bathroom." Patrick added, interrupting him. "It's in the oven right now. It should be done in in a few minutes."

"And we made popcorn!" Paul exclaims, picking up the overflowing bowl and handing it out to him.

Still shaken from the whole ordeal, Tom gingerly accepted the offer and grabbed a little bit in his hand. He turned his gaze onto Patrick, his sight landing on the injured hand. "Are you okay?" He couldn't help but ask.

"No worries. I am good as new! See?" Patrick responded by showcasing his bandaged hand. "Like I said to Paul; it was just a measly little cut. A stupid mistake of mine, if nothing else." He tsked. "Such a nuisance."

Paul clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, don't be so hard on yourself." He comforted. "You were always a bit too cocky with knives anyway, you were bound to cut yourself sooner or later! You were just lucky that it happened while the boss is gone, otherwise you wouldn't hear the end of it." He teased, muffling a giggle as Pat faced him with a deadpanned expression.

"Cloudberg."

Paul snorted with laughter, while Tom simply stood there in confusion, and yet amused by their interaction.

"Anyways, now that you're here we can pick which game to play!" Paul announces, wiping away an invisible tear in his eye.

"Actually guys, I have been thinking and-"

"Here! These are all the games we have." Paul stood up from the sofa, and crouched down beneath the Television to open up the drawer. Peering over his shoulder, Tom was perplexed to find various types of games lined up in a neat roll. "You can take first pick."

"Huh?"

"Usually when we hang out, we sort ourselves to take turns in picking what we're doing. Whether it be watching a film or a game." Patrick explained, still sitting on the couch. "Since this is your first time here, you should get the honors of going first."

Tom looked at him with bewilderment, then turned his gaze down to the pile of games in the drawer. He wanted to tell them no. That he couldn't stay here any longer. For fear of accidentally hurting them. Tom blinked. Now where did that come from? Tom doesn't care about them… Does he? They kidnapped him! And just look at where he is now because of them.

However, with that said, Tom hasn't forgotten how they've shown him plenty of kindness ever since he got here. And in hindsight, there isn't any reason for it. And yet they respect his boundaries, and treat him with patience. They invited him to hang out with them. Surely this must mean something?

After a few more moments of hesitation, Tom analysed the collection of games. There were a few titles that he recognised among the selection, but in the end, he picked a random race game; the cover bright and colourful. He really needed something fun and uplifting after the recent episode he just had.

"I'll pick this one, If that's alright." Tom decided.

Paul nodded, taking the game from him and loading into the console. Tom sat on the far end of the couch, while Pat is on the opposite side. He offered the Brit some more popcorn, to which Tom gladly took. After inserting the game disc in, Paul skipped back to the sofa and sat between the two; handing a controller each. The main menu came on screen and they pressed start, choosing their characters and race track. At first, Tom kept mostly to himself. Staying silent with a few quips here and there. But as the game progressed, he found himself having fun alongside the two soldiers. They joked, laughed, cheered, cursed, and eventually ate the apple pie they made.

I want to pretend to be normal for a while longer. Just this once.

It was a very enjoyable evening overall, despite Tom's earlier issues. For the first time in a long while, Tom had actually found himself having fun.

(Meanwhile…)

It is another cold and rainy night in the English town. The city's residents aren't fazed by the bad weather at this point. They just went about their own, usual way with a shrug of the shoulders; maybe even uttering a curse or two of annoyance at the rampant storms.

Staring out the window, watching the heavy rain splatter the glass and the branches of a nearby tree swaying against the strong wind; a pair of tired green eyes blinked in the dark with only the lighting coming from outside to light the room.

When the duo returned from their trip to the cemetery, Edd had come to accept the fact that Tom is dead and he won't ever come back. Matt comforted him as best he could, even offering to stay the night with him. Edd appreciated the gesture but refused the offer. He wanted to spend one last night in Tom's apartment before going back to his own for good. Like a one last bid of farewell before he was ready and fully committed to move on with his life.

Despite the closure he had earlier, Edd's heart still ached with the loss. It had been weeks, and he could still detect a faint trace of Tom's scent lingering around the apartment.

It won't be long now for it to fade away completely.

Even when all was said and done Edd could not, for the life of him, settle down and go to sleep. He feels tired, and restless and the same time. Edd fears that if he were to close his eyes and sleep now all of his memories of Tom will disappear for good. A childish fear? Perhaps. But one he does not want to risk.

Ringo, his faithful feline companion, was curled up and pressed against his side and snored softly. Edd glanced at his pet with envy. He wished he could have that easy life. Edd stroked Ringo's gray tabby fur, earning a low purr in response.

Once again, Edd tried to close his eyes and go to sleep. He hasn't gotten a proper night's rest for many days now, so in theory this shouldn't be hard to achieve. Edd tossed, fidgeted, and turned around in the bed but nothing seemed to help.

Giving up on his failed attempts of going to sleep, Edd decided to do the next very best thing.

Walk.

He hopped off the bed and got himself dressed, putting on a dark coat over his green hoodie. Since he first received the news about Tom, Edd had taken the habit of taking long walks after dark. Sometimes he would search for Tom, in hopes of finding and bringing him home; but it was mostly to cope.

Ringo sat up, taking notice of her owner's warmth and presence that was previously laying next to her was now absent. She mewed questioningly, tilting her head as she watched her owner dress. Edd patted Ringo's head in a soothing motion, silently reassuring the cat that he'll be back.

With that, Edd grabbed his keys, pulled on the hood over his head, and walked out of the apartment.

(Meanwhile…)

Not far from where the duo resides, a humble looking bar stood in the street's corner. The sign flashing above read "Mustacheos Bar", with a few letters missing due to its cheap lights failing to turn on during the rainstorm.

Suddenly, the bar's doors swung open and a blonde man was tossed out roughly into the streets, being shoved to the ground next to some trash cans and bags. The man wore a dark overcoat and jeans, as he held a bottle of beer in one of his hands.

"And don't come back here again! You hear me?!" The bar manager shouted.

Wincing at the landing, Reagan took a swig of the bottle before throwing the man a glare. "I was just leaving. You didn't kick me out, I left cause' I wanted to!" He shouts drunkenly. "And guess what? I wouldn't want to come back to this sh#t hole anyway cuz the beer ain't all that special! It's too f#ckin' expensive for plain bottled up piss!"

"You drank nearly five bottles!" The manager angrily argues. "That's the sixth one you are holding onto, you slimy little pest!"

"Yeah? Good for me I guess. Hurray!" Reagan slurs, throwing his hands in the air in a lazy cheer. The manager grunts and storms back into the bar, slamming the door shut on the way in. Reagan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Arse hole." He spat, taking another long swig at the bottle.

Next to him, a strange and sinister looking figure rose up from a trash can; wearing a red sweater, a brown trenchcoat, and fedora. The tramp also sports ginger hair, bushy eyebrows and heterochromatic eyes.

Reagan looked up, seemingly unfazed by the man's weird appearance.

"You stink." The beggar bluntly states.

Reagan stared at him. "Well, look who's talking!" He retorts. "As far as I'm concerned you don't smell like a pile of daisies either, so that makes us two stinkers."

The sinister bum blinked. "Got a dollar?"

"… No."

Scrambling clumsily to his feet, Reagan stood up swaying from side to side as he regained his footing. Chuckling and emitting a rather loud burp, he churned the bottle in his hand to take another sip.

He had arrived in town not too long ago to fulfil the designated task assigned to him; find five recruits and persuade them to join the Red Army. Reagan gladly accepted the mission, but he knows that Red Leader just wanted to get rid of him for a while. That's fine, Reagan can't say he blames the boss there.

The recruitment program takes a very long while to complete. From finding the perfect target, to slowly infiltrating into their lives, and then finally the big decisive moment that determines whether they want to join the army or not. However, Reagan may or may not have broken protocol by targeting multiple people at the same time. He detests wasting time and he lacks the patience to spend his efforts on one target at a time. So to hurry things along, Reagan cheated the system a little and already got himself four targets; whom he shadowed for a couple of days to observe their routine and have a better insight in their lives before fully inserting himself in it.

Things were looking up for him. However, he has yet to find the fifth, and final target. Reagan has walked through town from top to bottom, observing the people around him with a keen eye. He had stalked a few potential candidates, but they didn't meet the army's standards. So he kept on searching.

Heck, If the army wasn't so damn picky, Reagan would've offered the position to the creepy looking homeless guy next to him just so he could get the job done; but something told him that the man may not be completely stable.

Tipping the bottle all the way, Reagan drained every last drop of beer that it contained until it was empty. As he did so, Reagan hardly acknowledged a figure walk past him.

When he is in the beer zone, nothing else matters until he's done.

"Hey buddy! Do you got a dollar?" He heard the sinister beggar ask. Next thing Reagan hears is the sound of hands fumbling against pockets before the distinctive noise of wrinkling paper appears. "Oh wowee! This must be my lucky day or somethin'!" The tramp tipped his hat. "Thank yah good hearted fella!"

"You're welcome, I guess?" A soft voice mumbled.

Reagan was looking through the bottle, checking if there was any beer left, when he stiffened at the sound of the voice. It was… familiar. Reagan is sure he heard it somewhere before.

Turning around, Reagan only saw the figure of a man, wearing a dark coat with his hands stuffed inside the pockets as he walked away. Squinting his eyes against the drizzling rain, Reagan spotted a green hood over the guy's head.

The voice… and a green hood…

Reagan snapped his fingers as recognition flashed in his mind. He hasn't forgotten his favourite moment from the last mission he went to! No. Reagan would never forget such amusing reactions so easily!

He watched the man, Mr Gold if his wasted mind is right, walk away. Reagan observed his posture; noting the subtle way his head was slightly bent downwards. That's usually a sign of weakness, or at the very least means that he's deep in thought.

He probably hasn't gotten over it.

An idea popped up in Reagan's head as soon as the thought drifted away. Here he is, in the middle of the street, in the rain, without any beer left and with nothing else to do. Might as well take this opportunity to get back to work. Who knows? Maybe he won't waste his time with this one.

Tossing the bottle away, the glass shattering upon contact with the ground, Reagan adjusted his coat and proceeded to tag along; making sure to stay far enough not to be noticed but still sufficiently close so as to not lose sight of his target.

Edd continued to walk down the street, unaware that he was being followed. After several minutes, he finally arrived at his destination. Edd breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the open gate. For a brief moment there, Edd feared he might've had to break in.

He passed through the gate, and not so far behind, Reagan followed. The Irish man raised one eyebrow with curiosity as he observed the engraved letters on top of the entrance. Winchester park, eh? He mused. Sounds like fun.

Strolling through the cemetery in the dark of the night, Reagan hurried along the rolls of tombstones; reading some of them as he passed by. Looking up he was momentarily worried he lost sight of Edd, but through a quick scout of the area Reagan found him kneeling down in front of a grave.

He moved slightly closer, and quickly hid behind one of the tombstones. From this distance, Reagan could hear faint murmuring coming from the brunet. He peeked over the slate and observed the scene; a hand behind one of his ears to hear him better above the sound of rain.

"Hey Tom." Edd murmured. "I know I came to visit you earlier with Matt, but I couldn't sleep. I… I thought if I were to come and see you again, it would make things better." He paused, taking a wavering breath with a sigh. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without here, to be completely honest. It's only Matt and I now, and none of us are like you. Strong."

This is kind of depressing. Reagan frowned, and then shrugged with indifference. But pretty useful too.

Edd chuckled softly. "Out of all of us, you were always the one who kept calm no matter how dangerous the trouble we got in was." He went on, his eyes starting to water. "You were also the bravest. The way you faced off against… the- that giant robot. I wish I could be half as great as you were." He sniffled, wiping away some of the tears that were threatening to spill. "I want to move on, Tom. I really do. But I don't wanna forget about you either, you know? I promise I'll come visit you, but I don't think I can go on like this. For Matt's sake, I will try my best to get better from here. You understand, right?"

Listening in this rather intimate little moment, the gears inside Reagan's head shifted as he processed all of the given information; learning what he could solely based on the man's grieving words. Reagan grinned maliciously, and his vibrant green eyes glinted.

It would seem he found his fifth candidate at last.

#tomtord #eddsworld #ew tom #ew tord #MLTS #mlts reagan #my little test subject #angst

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