Chapter Text
A jagged melody flowed throughout the empty halls of the asylum. Soft piano echoing in the silence as fingers struggled to piece together notes known only by memory.
He had not been trained classically in childhood, but as the saying goes, it is never too late to learn.
"Optimism is key, my darling." Mother had often said to him, and he was the most optimistic person he knew.
The only person he knew really.
It wasn't as if he was completely alone on the property. There were times when a confused soul would wander down his halls, yet he paid them no mind, his past intentions having been put to rest since the 'indecent'.
It was simply because of his own vulgar behavior that karma had come to seek its bitter revenge. A pipe through the chest. Miraculously, the penetration managed to miss any vital organs.
He did, however, lose a substantial amount of blood.
Paramedics arrived on scene not long after the mass evacuation, and upon finding him had rushed to get him down. The moment his body hit the floor a giant invisible wave washed over him, making his vision go black as he gasped wetly.
His rage was gone, along with any thoughts of attacking the men around him. His head spun dizzily at the pain and his gut lurched as he felt the metal shaft slowly being drawn out from behind. Some of them stopped the bleeding the best they could, using a questionable amount of medications in order to numb him from the pain.
They could not stay long, unfortunately enough.
Walrider lurked in the shadows, always awaiting it’s next victim. He was once again left to himself, fading in and out of consciousness while laid out on a too small, filthy cot in the west wing of the women’s ward.
He had stayed there for some time to regain what little strength he could before gathering up any supplies left behind and starting his trek back down to the basement.
For the first time, his walk was undisturbed. The hospital had been eerily quiet in its degrade.
It had taken weeks to manage walking without a sharp pain shooting up his spine at every step. He was strangely thankful then for the extensive experiments doctors had preformed on his body during treatment. Stressed and mutated muscles left him with the unearthly ability to heal fairly quickly.
The silence allowed him to reflect on all that had happened in those few days.
Being released from the engine was like a blessed rebirth, but without the support of his memories and thoughts he had predictably relapsed upon mindless old habits.
The first bird was caught within the hour. She was small and quite ignorant, believed every lie and promise he seduced her with. He simply didn't have the heart to say it to her face. That her repulsive body disgusted him beyond belief.
There was no possible way to let her down easy, so he had killed her.
He killed the next as well, and then the next. Even the next after that. Modeled them to his liking and strung them up like the angels they could've been. But alas, whores will always be whores, and whores do not go to heaven.
In a way, he began to do experiments of his own.
He took pity on the ungrateful sluts that crossed his path by attempting to give them what every woman needs in order to be a mother.
Each experiment, to his disdain, had failed.
Which is why he kept searching, studying, perfecting his creation of the ideal bride to mother his seed. Day after day he was gifted with a new disappointment. The irritation began to wear on him.
That is, until the night before the evacuation.
She had appeared to him like a divine being, sent down to him from above.
Beautiful she was, and quick on her feet too.
She ran even with her numerous injuries, short and lithe legs carrying her small body away from him like a speeding hummingbird.
Oh, how she made his heart soar.
He had wanted- no, needed her forever by his side.
To become his wife.
She had been so nervous and coy when he'd offered to fix her, to rid her of the disgusting mistake slung low below her stomach. What a shame, to be born of the wrong body.
Yet still, her soul was a vibrant one and drew him in like a moth to a light.
He would’ve made an honest woman of her.
If there was one thing he regretted more than anything, it was letting her go.
So now he played to forget. He played until his fingers cramped and could play no more, then kept playing. He would often catch himself humming the long forgotten lyrics of the song.
His phonograph was useless now. Angry and confused, he'd destroyed everything within reach, utterly trashing the dark basement.
Chairs, sewing machines, records... He'd even burned his precious dresses. Creations that took endless hours to perfect for the special day, a day that would never come.
He could not blame those birds for attempting to leave him. A man should not hold affection for another man, such as why the tailor had tried as he did to fix them when it was obvious he couldn't fix himself. He had been given the ability to gift them with the bodies and love that every good woman deserves.
However, the devil is a sick entity that corrupts and drives one to test his own moral standings, using a sweet tongue and honey lips to drive any God fearing man insane. He had faced the horned menace enough to know.
In every expression of each whore he strung up, each slut he tossed out, was either a look of fear or confusion. Sometimes, he'd let the guilt simmer deep within his gut as bile creeped up the back of his throat. The moment he'd taste acid on his tongue was just as quickly forced down with the belief that his own righteous judgement had not been in vain.
Those whores leaving this world had been a service.
Yes, that was the vulgar behavior which had set karma onto him like a rabid dog. While he'd forgotten all the others the moment life had left their eyes, he couldn't seem to erase that sweet hummingbird from his memory.
Oh, how he missed her.
For her he played. Played to forget. Played to remember.
Played to mourn.
Played so loudly that he did not hear the shuffling of chairs being moved from their places behind him, upsetting the invisible audience at his back.
He did not register the soft click of shoes on wood, or the sound of creaking as loose floorboards were stepped on. Simply continued to drown himself with a clunky melody from a song with long forgotten verses.
He did, however, feel the halting ghost of cold metal press against the nape of his neck.
The piano ceased, its strings rang airily until the only thing that could be heard were his own labored breaths. Turning slowly, so not to startle the weapon's owner, his eyes came level with a chest dressed in a plain black t-shirt. His gaze climbed once more until it soon rested upon the face of his unexpected guest.
No.
Perhaps it was simply his disgusting imagination toying with him. Impulsively, he reached out, not paying mind to the way the other visibly tensed at his approach. When his fingertips brushed softly against a firm chest he nearly fell from the bench.
It was impossible.
She came back, but...
Not alone it seemed.
Lined up intimidatingly behind her were men suited in black uniforms. Some held guns while others were brandished with badges and handcuffs.
Curiously, he met the stern green gaze of his beloved. She was stoic and stiff by all means, even as she lowered the gun. His eyes flickered to her lips as she began to speak.
"Eddie Gluskin," He wished she wouldn't say his name like that. Like it brought her pain just by even mentioning him.
"You are under arrest for the crimes you committed while in custody of the Murkoff Corporation. We offer promise of a trial in exchange that you charge against the doctors who tortured and experimented on you in the time of your..."
She paused, taking a deep breath. “Treatment.”
Eddie tilted his head slightly.
"I am giving you this one chance to cooperate, Eddie. This is you getting off easy.” She continued, but the groom still could do nothing but stare up at her unabashedly.
Seeming to resolve herself, she adjusted her grip on the gun and shifted her weight back to put some distance between them.
“It hasn’t been forgotten that you were a dangerous criminal long before all of this. If you come along willingly we will not have to result to using force. However, if you by any means attempt to harm or touch me again, you will be restrained immediately and sedated. Do you understand?"
He had not been listening though, only thinking of a million ways he could possibly make things right with the beautiful creature in front of him.
"Am I understood?" She asked him again through clenched teeth, a metallic click coming from the gun in her hand, which twitched upward in barely contained irritation. A light glisten of sweat had formed above her delicate brow.
Seeing that she was hoping for nothing more than a simple answer to her simple question, he took the chance to voice what he had been wondering since their very last night together in the asylum.
"What is your name?" He croaked, voice gravelly from misuse.
A look of astonishment softened her hardened features. Tentatively, she chanced a confused glance away, making eye contact with one of the men off to her side. Perhaps she was silently asking for permission to share such sensitive information.
The man shrugged in reply.
Eddie grinned.
Satisfied with the answer, she turned back to him. "Park.” She cleared her throat. “Waylon Park, is my name."
Waylon. How fitting. Waylon.
“Now," He watched on dreamily as she continued. "Are you willing to cooperate?"
He gave a curt nod and boldly exclaimed, "Only if it means you will stay by my side."
A few of the men chuckled and her face turned a gentle shade of pink in embarrassment, or maybe anger.
"Man, Waylon. You weren't kidding about this guy." Spoke different man from before.
Waylon glared at him, "No. I wasn't." The man held his hands up in mock surrender, and Walyon turned back to face the tailor once again.
"Eddie."
"Yes?"
"You realize I'm a man, right?"
He blinked at this. Of course he’d realized, Eddie thought back to how Waylon's chest had been flat and firm under his touch. The tailor hunched over, clutching his head in confusion.
He knew he shouldn't say anything, but again, old habits die hard.
And well, he always was the impulsive one.
Eddie turned his face upwards, dropping his hands to reveal a sick and pleasured cheek-splitting grin. "I can fix that for you, darling." He purred.
Waylon flinched. The rate at which her, no, his calm demeanor shifted to one of disgust and horror was instantantaneous. He- she stepped away, eyes clouding over as she stood perfectly still in her spot just out of reach.
"Grab him." Was the last thing Eddie heard before his face met harshly with the black and white keys of the grand piano, causing unpleasant dissonance to echo throughout the room.
He groaned as chipped piano keys jabbed into his cheek and a cold needle was quickly plunged into the side of his neck. Cold metal clasped around his wrists before he was pulled upright from the bench.
It tipped on its side and the seat fell open, contents spilling out onto the grimy floor. Old music books and notes flitted around his feet.
How long had those been there?
Hands urged him away from the pile and through the wooden doors that led to the main staircase. Eddie took in his surroundings the best he could, tilting his neck as much as the grasp on his head would would allow. Waylon was no longer anywhere to be seen.
The light from outside was blinding against his sensitive eyes, and he stumbled to keep up with the men dragging him towards a collection of federal vehicles that surrounded the premises.
As he glanced around, he noticed a small group of patients being hoarded into the back of a large truck. Some were being tended to with food and water, others with medication while the rest slept soundly on the laps of what looked to be nurses.
"Where are we going?" He asked the men as they moved him in the direction of a red jeep parked next to the gates.
"To get you guys the help you need." The one that spoke nodded and his lips upturned slightly. "For real this time."
Eddie stared in disbelief.
To say he was shocked was an understatement. The last time someone had genuinely smiled at him, he'd been gagged by tubes and wires while the morphogenic engine did a number on his brain. Scientists and doctors would tell him what a good boy he was, praised him on how hard he worked for them. They'd smile, and press their palms gently against the glass orb.
It was mockery, he knew.
Some had even said they loved him.
He felt sick.
Eddie hunched over in pain as his body attempted to purge his already empty stomach.
Shit.
What was happening to him?
Nurses rushed to his side, quickly assisting him into the jeep. The back row of seats was separated from the driver and passenger's seats. Almost like a cop car, he remembered vaguely from the first time he was arrested.
For the murder and mutilation of 23 local women.
Old habits, they die hard.
Eddie was soon joined in the jeep by a man in black, who entered to the side of him, one in the passenger's seat, and Waylon taking the wheel. Where had she- he (he was getting a headache) come from? The vehicles began to pull away from the building, their car being the last to leave.
They rode in silence, weaving down and out of the mountain. It wasn't until he saw towering buildings and small shops lining the street that his nerves actually began to subside.
Anywhere was better than the asylum, he realized. It was strange.
While Eddie had loved his basement home, the area he had created as a safe haven for him and his family, he could not deny the weight that was lifted off of him as they grew farther and farther away from the death trap.
As they drove on, Eddie began to grow tired. Very tired actually.
He was never tired in all of his time at Mt. Massive, but now? He felt like he could sleep for days. Weeks even.
Eddie sensed someone watching him, and he slowly turned his attention to the rear view mirror. Green eyes watched him curiously through the glass as he stared back challengingly.
Waylon’s eyes turned away, focusing back on the road.
Eddie sighed, strangely relieved. His lids grew heavy then and he, stranger yet, allowed himself to lull into unconsciousness.
-
Eddie's eyes cracked open, thick with sleep. He felt a tapping against next to temple and reluctantly lifted his head to peer out the window.
Waylon waved to him and gestured to the handle to show that he was going to open the door. The tailor nodded and pulled his weight away from it. A chill breeze rushed into the vehicle as the blond stood out of Eddie's way and waited patiently for him to emerge.
His head felt clear, senses bright with color and a feeling of renewal. He had long forgotten how it felt to breathe before the asylum, but if he had to guess, this must be something similar to how it once was.
The asylum had only succeeded in not curing, but worsening his sickness; Churning it like butter and then leaving it to sit as it aged, solidifying in the damp darkness of his cell. Festering with a rapidly spreading fungus that had slowly and pitifully devoured him from the inside out.
Yes. He felt very much like the old him, or whatever small semblance there was left.
One who had once hoped to fully recognizing his sins.
He felt strange and young again.
Eddie took a moment to relish in the cold against his skin before placing a tingling foot onto the ground outside.
"Where am-" Was unfortunately all the groom could say before his knees immediately gave out beneath him. A guard shoved a firm hand against his shoulder, suspending him from falling any further.
Eddie grunted, the numbness in his limbs was a feeling he had long forgotten.
What was this? Was is the drug? He should've known better than to-
"Hmhm..."
Eddie's eyes snapped up in shock to a poorly hidden smirk from Waylon.
That sound, "Your legs must’ve fallen asleep. Not surprised. It was a pretty long ride. You were dead to the world, didn't move an inch the entire way here." Was most indeed the sound of laughter.
"You're laughing?" Eddie mumbled in disbelief.
Waylon's smirk disappeared. "No." He replied.
Eddie furrowed his brow. "But you were." He insisted.
Waylon crossed his arms in annoyance. "Why does it matter?" He asked.
Eddie shook his head then straightened up to his full height, peering down into the other's eyes. "Aren't you afraid?" He asked.
Waylon looked taken aback, like he was surprised at himself for not having considered that maybe he should be afraid of Eddie. "Well you aren't so dangerous right now, are you?" He asked.
It sounded as if Waylon was asking himself the question.
Eddie took a moment to allow the delusional thoughts and overwhelming urge to murder and maim take over.
He waited, but nothing came.
Surely he’d had moments of clarity before, times he’d questioned what exactly he was trying to accomplish. But nothing like this. No. Not like this. This was beyond unpleasant.
The blond shrugged at his silence before turning on his heel and hopping up the set of cement stairs they had parked in front of.
Left standing in confusion, he couldn't help but think of Waylon’s laugh, a sweet tinkling sound. It had soothed his aching ears.
He wanted to hear it again.
The hand on his shoulder guided him up the steps towards a large pair of dark wooden doors. His eyes landed on a plaque suspended above them that read - St. Mary’s Institute, home to the clinically insane, founded in 1948.
Lovely.
Resisting the urge to sneer, Eddie waited as Waylon placed a card against a scanner imbedded into the door handle. The light beeped red and the small blond pushed the doors open.
He was guided down an exceptionally long, and boringly white hallway. When they reached the end, they took a few more turns before coming to a stop outside of a single black door. Raising a tight fist, Waylon knocked once, twice, three times before stiffly pulling his arm back down against his side.
The heavy door screeched open. Standing in front of them was a petite young lady wearing a rather skimpy maroon pencil skirt and a frilly white blouse that looked very unpleasant to touch. The obnoxious shade of her blue eyeshadow made the woman look like she belonged on a street corner rather than in an office.
Perhaps the bright color was meant to be alluring, but she honestly looked more like a washed up raccoon than anything else.
Slut, Eddie thought. His nose wrinkled up in distaste immediately after the thought, and he quickly pushed down the nasty urge to open his mouth and say exactly what he was thinking.
Frowning, the lady turned her gaze onto Eddie. Her glossy pink lips pinched as she looked him up and down. Begrudgingly, he offered a taunting white grin to her in return. She huffed, then moved back to allow them into her office. “Come in.”
"Not very personable is she?" He muttered.
Waylon huffed and shook his head.
The guard pushed him towards one of the chairs placed in front of a seemingly expensive mahogany desk. The room itself was pristine.
"Forgive me for the mess." She said, turning a sour glare onto Waylon. “This visit was rather unexpected.”
Eddie resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes.
"Phone calls usually do not fit protocol when it comes to admitting a patient at the last minute," The blond stiffened, turning to avoid her gaze. "But an exception has been made due to the extremely unusual circumstances. I'm afraid I'm rather busy so we will have to make this first meeting short." She smiled, sickeningly sweet, and motioned towards a seat absently as she lowered into her own, more comfortable looking chair.
He sat.
”Welcome to St. Mary’s, Mr. Gluskin. I am Dr. Jennifer Adams. I trust you won’t be giving us too much trouble?” She asked.
Straight to the point. Yes, best to be blunt with the crazies then.
If she was going to speak to Eddie like he was an idiot then it would only be fair to offer her the same level of graciousness.
"Don’t you worry. I’ll be sure to play nice with the other children." She scratched something onto a clipboard with her pen, and looked up once again. He smiled.l
"Do you know why you are here Mr. Gluskin?" She asked, voice taking on a mocking tone. Not only did she look like a whore, but she was an unprofessional quack as well.
He lowered his gaze to meet her eyes more steadily. "I do. Do you?" She frowned, seemingly unimpressed.
"Then be made well aware that we will be working together very closely from here on out, Mr. Gluskin.” Her gaze flicked to Walyon once more, as if daring him to stop the patient from snarking back. Waylon swallowed convulsively, then turned his gaze towards the floor in defeat.
Eddie only now took notice of a gold plaque on the desk that read Dr. J. Adams.
Luckily enough for her, Eddie was quick.
"Looking forward to our partnership, Doctor." He knew a washed up psychiatrist when he saw one.
Pausing to write something else down, the woman spoke once again. "Good. Then we should have no problems.” She slowly placed the board in her lap and glared at everyone in the room individually. "Now, if you would please be so kind as to leave me to my work. I really am quite busy. Show Mr. Gluskin to his new room, please. Good day to you all.”
Eddie was pulled out of the seat with a firm tug, and then into the hallway. He stumbled slightly and it took him a moment to register that the hand on his elbow belonged not to a beefy guard, but Waylon. Eddie's eyes widened incredulously.
Waylon clutched his arm tightly, practically vibrating where he stood. "I hate that bitch." He spat. "Christ, no respect for anyone. You'd think being on the same team would be enough to warrant just a little respect, but no."
He sighed and then brought a shaky hand up to card it through his hair, mumbling something to himself.
The guard shut the door behind him then gently pried Eddie's arm out of Waylon's grip, taking it for himself.
Waylon flinched away from the guard's touch as if it had burned him.
And that was it, the tailor could not help himself.
Eddie attempted to quiet his chuckles, but his shoulders shook with every wheeze. Waylon shifted uneasily from foot to foot while Eddie laughed silently next to him.
"What's so funny?" Waylon frowned.
Eddie thought it looked more like a pout.
"She was quite rude, wasn't she." He said, letting out a pleased sigh. "It's amusing."
Refreshing, rather.
Waylon gave him a curious look. "Yes, well, your sense of humor is pretty fucked up." He said, turning to walk down the hallway they originally came from.
He doesn't have to be told to follow, the guard's hand is still gripping his elbow tighty. They move down yet another boringly long hallway before coming to an elevator.
Waylon considers something for a moment, then presses a button to open the doors. "See him to his room now." He says quietly, eyes narrowed at the floor. He and the guard enter the elevator, but Waylon stays behind. The blond reaches a hand inside to press another button, then steps back completely.
The elevator begins to close with a sharp beep, and Waylon’s head snaps up. Their eyes meet one last time. Eddie thinks he notices something unrecognizable there.
He doesn’t look away until the elevator doors shut between them, ending the exchange.
Eddie’s frowns.
-
"Do you smell that?" His child asked.
Sniffing the air, he gave a hum of agreement.
"Mm. Yeah." The boy sighed longingly. "Pizza rolls." Waylon chuckled at his son's seemingly endless appetite. Less than an hour ago he had scarfed down a large bowl of Frosted Flakes.
"Patience young one." Soft brown locks snagged between his fingers as he carded them through the pre-teen's knotted bird's nest. Curls courtesy of his wife.
"Daaad-" his son whined, bony fingers attempting halfheartedly to rid the programmer from his mop of tangles.
"Sonnn-" Waylon returned mockingly, ginning at the pout he received.
"Boys. Do not tease." Out walked Lisa from the kitchen, carrying a large tray topped with a mountain of Totino's pizza rolls.
His stomach let out a growl, and his son hit the floor with a dull thud as he was rolled off of his father's lap. Waylon flinched.
"Owww!" The boy wheezed, favoring his arm.
Waylon chuckled, “Sorry, bud. Walk it off.” Shaking his head with mirth, he reached forward to take a roll off of the tray, popping it into his mouth with a hum. "I did good by marrying you, woman." He said, sending his wife a wink as she turned to smirk at him.
His son made a face and then kissed his teeth in annoyance. "Whatever."
He picked himself up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Waylon flinched again.
Lisa rolled her eyes as she placed their youngest son into his high chair. "You tease him too much."
Waylon hummed, speaking around a mouthful of gooey cheese. "Only 'cause I love him! He’ll get over it. He’s a tough kid."
The tall brunet grinned and reached her hand out cautiously. "Oh, I know." Her touch was soft as she traced along the scar just above his eyebrow. "He knows it too, but you know how he gets when he's being teased. He takes it personally.” She said softly.
She wasn't ever harsh when she scolded him. Never yelled at him or raised her voice above room volume. While he appreciated her concern, he'd rather not be treated like glass on the brink of shatter. He wasn’t weak like before, fresh out of the asylum and constantly on the verge of a panic attack or tears.
Sure, he still had nightmares every night. Maybe felt sick at the thought of ever eating microwaved food again.
Sometimes he checked the front door's locks twice in a row before walking away and then going back to check for a third time.
Sometimes a fourth. Sometimes more.
He was getting better though.
He even took up jogging and maintained a pretty healthy diet, making sure to stay in shape.
Just in case.
Waylon nodded once before shoving a couple more Totino's into his mouth. Lisa peeled a tiny orange before placing the miniature slices in front of their son. "A Cutie for my cutie!" She sang, then pinched the toddler's cheek in loving affection.
He screeched and brought his little chubby fingers up to his face, hiding from the woman's ministrations. "No ma!"
She chuckled sweetly, raising her hands. "Alright, sugar."
Waylon smiled as she took a seat beside him, grabbing a few rolls for herself. "So," She started.
He picked up the tv remote and flipped through channels for a moment before replying. "So?"
His wife turned to him with a look of concern painting her beautiful golden face. "How did the mission go?"
Ah.
He averted his eyes as he sank into the plush couch cushions, hoping that they'd have a heart and swallow him up. Work wasn't exactly something he was comfortable talking about with his loved ones. It only caused trouble, and he'd been trying his hardest to keep them out of the way of any backfire Murkoff may have in store for him. He couldn’t handle that kind of collateral.
Waylon pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow breath before turning to Lisa with a look of what he hoped was indifference. "We scouted the asylum, brought in some witnesses, and turned in the remaining patients that were left behind. Nothing too exciting."
Oh, not to mention he arrested the very man that had been haunting his dreams every night since he returned home 6 months ago.
To his surprise, Gluskin had come along without a fight. Waylon received every look ranging from confusion, to excitement, and lastly something akin to regret from the moment they laid eyes on each other until the elevators doors closed between them. He had been on his way out of the building when a nurse stopped him with questions of whether or not he'd be sticking around to record Eddie's process of recovery for the bureau. Since this was all his idea.
Of course he would. After he got out of the asylum and the footage had been released, Waylon joined an unnamed organization with the sole purpose of bringing Murkoff to its knees. He also had the FBI on his side now, tracking down the law enforcement that overlooked Murkoff’s dirtiest deeds. Those bastards were going to pay for all they'd done, and having the more verbal patients testify against the corporation was going to be his key to opening that door.
Especially Gluskin.
Not only was Eddie a patient just like all of the others they had rescued from the hospital, but he was now Waylon's greatest asset in this battle for his life and the safety of his family.
Yes. It was best to take care of this business on his own.
Waylon turned and Lisa frowned slightly, unable to stop from expressing her disbelief.
Then again, he had never been good at keeping secrets.
"I found him." Waylon said quietly, cringing at the sound of his own voice. Not having to explain who 'him' is.
Lisa fell silent beside to him, so he continued. "I think he’s the key to this case, Lisa. I really do." She wasn't looking at him but at her hands, fidgeting with the gold band that fit snuggly on her left ring finger. "I want to help him."
"Why?" She whispered as her fingers curled against her palm, manicured nails digging into the soft flesh. "I thought he was dead...”
The room swallowed their silence, and Waylon felt his pulse begin to elevate. So much that he could hear the pounding in his ears. They were being cautious with each other right now. This was exactly the situation he had been trying to avoid.
Lisa knew all about what had happened between him and Gluskin, she'd been allowed access to his camcorder after he was taken into custody for a few days for questioning. They didn't speak to each other for about a week after he'd returned home.
They didn't joke like they used to either, didn't hug, kiss...
Waylon couldn't even bring himself to touch his own wife, and she’d just went along with it, obedient as ever. She could've left him. Could've taken the kids and left him behind to rot like the messed up sack of shit that he was, but she didn't. She wouldn't, because loved each other.
Of course they did.
13 years together wasn't worth throwing away just because he was suddenly a mentally unstable wreck. She still loved him even when he slept on the couch every night rather than next to her in their bed.
Lisa always understood. You'd think that he'd find comfort from sleeping safely in a bed with another person, but the nights he woke up with someone beside him sent the techie into a panic, mouth open and ready with the release of a blood curdling scream.
At first Lisa had attempted to soothe him with gentle touches and soft whispers, but he had merely replied with pitiful whimpers and flinched violently away from the harmless comfort. It suddenly became too much when one night his sons burst through the door with looks of terrified concern on their young faces. He couldn't bare them seeing him like that, so he'd managed to distance himself as much as possible from them while still remaining a reliable husband and father figure. He could handle her subtle touches every now and then, though hugs and loving caresses still set him on edge.
He was truly thankful to have her in his life.
Nobody had ever understood him like she did. It explained why he fell in love with her in the first place. He couldn't keep her in the dark like that.
"I did too." He muttered. The surprise Waylon had felt when he spotted Eddie sitting at the piano had almost been enough to send him into shock.
Yes, they all had thought The Groom was dead.
Turns out Eddie was very much alive though, and different too.
Very different.
"He needs help like the rest of them, Lisa. Honest to goodness help from people that will hear him out. He never had the chance to get that, and I want to be the person to makes sure that he does." He finished, bowing his head.
Her fist tightened as he explained. It couldn't be easy to hear that your mentally disturbed husband wants to go gallivanting around with some sicko murdering psychopath. Not to mention this beast is a major part of the reason Waylon is so unwell.
"Lisa, please," Waylon hesitated before rested his hand over her's gently. "I know it’s not fair. But…nobody else can do this but me. Nobody else knows the situation like me." He pleaded.
Lisa relaxed immediately at the touch, and shifted to meet his gaze with a reluctant smile. "I don't like the idea of you being around that lunatic, but..." She took a deep breath.
He tilted his head as she turned her body to face him. "But, I'll support you. If that's what you really want." The look of determination she gave him was all he needed right then.
He really was so lucky to have her. She was so strong. Always so strong.
Waylon smiled and gave his wife's hand a small squeeze. "Thank you."
Her thumb swiped across the rough bumps of his knuckles and she tilted her head up, smiling sweetly even though her eyes betrayed her lips. "Of course, darling."
Waylon swallowed, extracting his hand and offering her a weak smile.
Why did that sound so wrong coming from her mouth?