Lost

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A series of six shorts charting a developing intimacy.

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Onion

Contents

Onion

Author’s Notes: VERY LARGE SPOILER WARNING.

Here be BIG spoilers for The Power of the Crimp, and littler spoiler for Journey to the Centre of the Punk.

Enjoy the show…

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“‘ello Vince… little Vincey Noir… the shiny charlatan…”

The voice echoed strangely in the dimly lit and filthy subway tunnel, but—with a sudden stab of icy fear—Vince recognised it. He stumbled to one side, pressing his back against the tunnel wall, head flicking left and right in panic as he tried to work out from which end the voice was coming. It seemed to surround him, licking at him with menace, vile slimy saliva dripping from its toxic tongue. He could imagine the face, so similar to his own yet so very very different, leering at him…

“Yeah, it’s me, Vincey… I’m back… an’ this time I’m gonna take all of you…”

“AAAAAHHHH!!” Vince jerked bolt upright, hands clenched tightly in the duvet, shaking in sheer, mind-numbing terror. In an instant Howard was at his side, rumpled, pyjama jacket unbuttoned, bags under his half-open eyes, still more than half asleep but there, always there, a bulwark against the harshnesses of reality. Regardless of the circumstances. The maverick laid big, strong, protective hands over Vince’s naked shoulders, his voice rough and mumbling in his half-awake state.

“‘m here, l’il man… ‘ll protect you…”

Without thinking Vince grabbed his partner, wrapping slim arms around the broad chest under the cotton of the pyjama top and burying his face in Howard’s neck. He was so distraught he didn’t notice the hand stroking his hair soothingly.

“Howard… thank god…”

“Wa’s wrong?”

“Bad dream.”

“Yes, I kind of gathered that.” More awake now, Howard tried to push the smaller man back a little, to ease the pressure on his barely-healed ribs if nothing else, but Vince was clinging to him like the proverbial limpet, fingers digging into the skin of his back, eyelashes tickling against his neck. He twisted his head as a half-naked and irate Naboo, closely followed by the growling Bollo, burst in through the door.

“What’re you doin’ to ‘im?” The shaman shouted at Howard. “Gerroff you pervert! Bollo? Sort ‘im out…”

Vince peered over Howard’s shoulder and shook his head hurriedly as Bollo, looking very large and threatening in the muted light, moved forward.

“No, s’awright Naboo. ‘ad a nightmare. Howard’s just… um… checkin’ I’m OK.”

The shaman scowled suspiciously at the maverick, then glanced back at Vince.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, honest.” Vince pulled back from Howard and yanked the duvet up to his chin. Howard, now fully awake with empty arms and silently cursing Naboo and his familiar, didn’t dare risk anything more intimate than laying a hand on the smaller man’s fingers where they held the edge of the cover.

“Want to talk about it, little man?”

Vince glanced up at Naboo and Bollo from under his dishevelled fringe and sighed.

“Lance Dior.”

Howard winced. He’d not forgotten Lance Dior and that oaf Harold Boon—how could he, when between them they’d battered Vince’s self-confidence and sense of worth so severely he’d almost left to go and work in Rumbelows. (Which, a tiny part of Howard’s brain insisted on pointing out, didn’t say a lot for the quality of the company’s personnel department if they’d take on Vince as a junior manager… ) But after the four-way crimp and the Flighty Zeus’ crushing defeat he’d thought that everything was back to normal. Certainly Vince had made no further reference to the impostors, and Howard had gladly consigned the memory to the back of his mind. He squeezed Vince’s fingers.

“Hey, hey now… that’s over, Vince. They’re gone. They won’t be coming back. We trounced them, sir. We came at them like crimping tornadoes of humiliation. They’ll never dare show their faces in Dalston again. Or Shoreditch. In fact, I’ll bet they never even come back to London.”

Vince rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… it was ‘orrible, Howard. Lance said he was back and was goin’ to take all of me. Whatever that means.”

“Now, you don’t think I’d let him anywhere near you, do you?”

“S’pose not.”

“No ‘suppose’ about it, little man. I’ll protect you.”

“In me dreams?”

Howard paused and frowned, considering.

“Well…” he glanced at Naboo. “Is there any way I can do that?”

The shaman eyed him for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah, think I may have somethin’ that’ll do the trick. Wait here. Bollo?” The gorilla grunted affirmatively. Naboo gestured to the door. “We need to whip up a special…”

Vince’s gaze returned to Howard as the mismatched pair left the bedroom, and he managed a somewhat wavering smile.

“Thanks, Howard.”

“Think nothing of it. What are friends for?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Not another word.” Howard plumped up the pillows and pushed Vince back down, pulling the duvet up around his chin, then gently patted his cheek. “I’ll keep the monsters away.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Vince’s eyes slowly closing as exhaustion clawed at him—then Naboo returned, carrying an ornate goblet with exaggerated care. He handed it solemnly to Howard.

“Drink this.”

Howard half-drained the goblet before he thought to ask what it was.

“It’ll let you enter Vince’s dreams.”

Howard paused mid-swallow and nearly choked. Spluttering, he stared at the shaman.

“Vince’s dreams?”

“Yeah.”

“What, like, get inside his brain?” Howard shuddered at the memory of trying to pin down Vince’s braincell to any kind of rational action. Naboo shook his head.

“Nah, this is different. You won’t go physically. The potion lets your astral body travel into another person’s consciousness.”

“That sounds… interesting…”

“S’cool. You can fight his monsters for ‘im.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Naboo raised an eyebrow and nodded at the goblet.

“You’ve got to drink it now. If you don’t finish it, you could get stuck on the astral plane.”

Howard hurriedly gulped down the rest, then handed the goblet back to the shaman.

“What happens now?”

“Lie down next to Vince. On top of the covers. Don’t want you gettin’ too eager.”

Damn said the lecherous part of Howard’s brain. He glanced at Vince, intending to check that his partner didn’t mind, but to his dreamy surprise saw that Vince was outlined in a shimmering silvery nimbus.

“Ooh. Pretty.”

Naboo sighed and gestured for Bollo.

“It’s affectin’ ‘im already. Bollo, get ‘im on the bed.”

The last thing Howard remembered, before he dropped into the weirdness that was Vince’s dreamscape, was a rainbow-coloured gorilla tossing him on the bed…

He was falling, falling, falling through soft sparkling whiteness shot through with tiny silver butterflies and what looked like rainbow-coloured flying saucers. He had no idea how long it took, but he finally landed, very softly, on something pink and yielding. He climbed to his feet, moving slowly to keep his balance on the shifting ground, and gazed at his surroundings…

Which were simultaneously familiar and strikingly odd.

But indisputably Vince. Everything was shiny, or sparkly, and a little out of focus—except where it was a lot out of focus…

Something felt wrong though. Howard glanced down at himself, eyes widening. This body was taller, and a lot more muscular, and currently clad in some sort of light armour the colour of old-gold, a soft, gleaming metal that was nevertheless as close-fitting and flexible as silk. There was what looked like a light-sabre in a holster at his side. He absently brushed a lock of hair back from where it fell over his eyes, realising as he did so that it was a lot longer and thicker than it should be—and a lighter and richer brown, with dark gold streaks…

He swallowed hard. Was this how Vince saw him in dreams? Some sort of knight? He felt simultaneously nervous and pleased… But it was probably just this particular dream—after all, Howard had promised to protect him. It was too much to hope that this was how Vince viewed him normally.

Something nudged his shoulder, and he swung around, dropping into a defensive crouch and drawing the light-sabre. Then falling over in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

Of course, a knight needed a white charger to ride on his quests, even Vince would be aware of that.

But Howard would be prepared to bet that only Vince would think of providing his dream-knight with a pink, My Pretty Pony winged unicorn for a trusty steed…

“I’m not riding you.”

“Aww, pweeese…” wheedled the unicorn, who had blithely informed Howard it was called George, but he could call it Petal as a special favour.

“No. Go away.”

“But Howawd…”

Howard gritted his teeth and trudged on, wobbling as he tried to walk on the spongy ground. The unicorn nudged him in the shoulder again, nearly pushing him over.

“But we’ww get thewe much more quickwier if you wide me.”

Howard halted and frowned at the ground. The animal had a point, he reluctantly admitted: he wasn’t making much headway by himself, and the unicorn did have wings… Gritting his teeth and ignoring the embarrassed flush that felt like it coloured his entire body, he grumpily climbed onto the unicorn’s back, closing his eyes tightly and gripping its fuchsia-pink mane as it bounced twice then took off, wings flapping furiously.

“S’awwight, Howawd. You can look. I pwomise I won’t dwop you.”

Howard preferred to keep his eyes closed. “Take me to Vince.”

The unicorn neighed musically and streaked off across the oddly darkening dreamscape…

After a little while, seeing nothing untoward had happened, Howard risked opening his eyes. To his surprise his ride was actually quite comfortable, and the unicorn was obviously in its element, soaring swiftly and elegantly on pretty twisting pale blue thermals that spiralled up from the dull pink ground far below.

But there were clouds ahead, dark grey and malevolent. Howard frowned. This wasn’t right. There should be—must be—no clouds in his Vince’s life, not in his mind, and absolutely not in his dreams. He pressed his heels to the unicorn’s side, urging it to greater speed, not noticing that the pinks of the animal’s hide and the feathers of its beautiful wings were slowly turning to gold. On the horizon ahead of them the clouds were focussed into a loose funnel shape, the base swirling slowly ten feet or so above the black slag of the ground…

There were two figures there, on the slickly gleaming ground under the unborn tornado. One of them Howard recognised immediately—Vince, the mirrorball suit sparkling incongruously in the darkening air—but the other figure… Drab, dull, lank black hair flopping over its face…

Vince looked up, his face twisted into a sneer of utter evil—and as Howard realised with a jolt of horror that it wasn’t Vince, it was Lance, the unicorn below him screamed in agony, rearing and throwing Howard from its body as it twisted in midair, bent obscenely back on itself as its spine broke and it dropped to the ground in a mangled mess of blood, meat and bone. Howard landed only a little more gently, slamming into the hard ground, able to spare just a moment’s brief, intense surge of grief at the unicorn’s death before dragging himself painfully upright, drawing his light-sabre and facing the pair of figures before him.

The sight was enough to freeze him to the spot. Vince gazed at him from half-closed, pain-filled eyes, his face distorted and his body limp in Lance’s arms as the impostor sneered at Howard over his captive’s thin, bleeding shoulder.

“Well, well, if it ain’t the other loser. Come to join ‘im, ‘ave you?”

Howard raised the light-sabre, eyes narrowed, lips a thin line.

“Let him go.”

“Uh, I don’t think so.” Lance wrapped one arm more securely around Vince’s waist: the other hand sprouted claws and ripped slowly down the front of the ragged black tee-shirt, scoring the pallid skin underneath. Vince cried out as the talons dragged down his chest, leaving bloody runnels behind them—then Lance’s hand moved upwards, his palm covering one pale nipple, fingers spread and claws pressing deeply into thin pectoral muscle. Vince shuddered and forced his eyes open.

“H… Howard…”

It was a desperate gasp from cracked lips: the maverick knight moved forward, fighting the sudden furious wind that sprang up from nowhere and seemed intent on driving him backwards. Lance giggled, the hand around Vince’s waist sliding downwards to cup his groin, claws erupting from the fingertips—then squeezing hard.

Vince screamed and tried to curl in on himself, but the claws embedded in his chest forced him to stay upright.

“Aww, poor li’l Vincey… You gonna rescue ‘im then, Howard? You’d better get a move on. Before I take the rest of ‘im.”

The claws ripped through the front of Vince’s leggings, tearing the thin fabric from him and tossing it carelessly aside. Vince’s hands struggled to cover his genitals—but Lance caught his wrists and dragged his arms to one side.

“Look at ‘im, Howard. Pathetic, in’ ‘e?”

Howard’s breath caught in his throat. No, not pathetic at all. Shapely, rather, and elegant. Quite beautiful, in fact. Perfectly in keeping with the rest of him.

Lance’s face turned ugly at Howard’s expression of reverent awe. He dropped Vince’s hands and slashed downwards with his claws, slicing open sensitive flesh and grinning at the shriek of agony twisting his captive’s mouth.

Rage filled the maverick knight, rage more intense than he had ever believed possible. With a cry of utter fury he flung himself at Lance, shoving Vince out of the way as he sliced upwards with the light-sabre and narrowly avoiding removing Lance’s head as the impostor jerked backwards out of reach.

“Why Howard, never knew you ‘ad it in you!” Lance minced backwards, grinning infuriatingly. “You can’t kill me. You know you can’t. I’m more than half Vincey now, and you can’t kill ‘im…”

And as the maverick watched, Lance’s features blurred, shifting into new planes and angles, becoming frighteningly familiar. Howard glanced quickly backwards, horrified to see Vince’s face slowly becoming more and more like Lance’s…

The impostor giggled, dragging Howard’s attention back to himself.

“What you gonna do, small eyes?”

Think fast, you great northern idiot… what’re you gonna do…

An idea hit him. On an immediate second thought, it seemed hopeless, useless, a waste of time. But it was all he had. He reholstered the light-sabre and mentally grabbed for the track he knew best.

“Doo wop… skiddly doo dee doo…”

“No… no, stop it…” Lance stepped backwards, alarm in his eyes. Howard stepped forwards, advancing on the impostor, shoulders and hands eloquent.

“Skee dee dee… skididly woo bowow…”

“Noooooo…” Howard’s eyes widened as Lance’s face grew plain, then ugly, his body shrinking, the borrowed blue of Vince’s eyes changing back to the original Dior darkness. He began to shrink, his legs dissolving, bubbling on the suddenly red-hot ground. Remorseless, Howard continued scatting.

“… please…” Lance held shrivelling hands pleadingly up to the maverick. “I don’t wanna die…”

Howard paused, gazing down at what was left of the impostor.

“You killed George. You were killing Vince. No, worse than that—you were destroying him, everything he is. Why, exactly, should I stop?”

“‘cause you’re a decent man, Howard. You’re not a killer.”

And the words pierced him, filling him with guilt…

Then he glanced back at Vince, slumped on the sand behind him, ragged and bleeding. He swung back to Lance, glowering.

“What were you going to do with him—afterwards?”

Lance’s gaze dropped to the sizzling stones. He stayed silent, and Howard nodded. “Yeah. No mercy, right? You bastard.” He raised his hands to deliver the final blow, ignoring Lance’s wailing voice. “Doo owww! Chickachicka…”

Vince was slumped in his arms, bleeding, semi-conscious, whimpering with pain. Howard tried to inspect the injuries, but Vince fought him, trying to cover himself. The knight caught his hand gently.

“I’m trying to help, Vince. Let me see what he’s done to you.”

His body was covered with deep, long claw marks; only his face had been spared. There was a lot of blood. And Vince was obviously in agony. But…

Howard frowned. This was a dream, right? Real enough while they were in it, but nevertheless not really real. So they should be able to change their personal reality…

“Vince… you are beautiful. All of you, inside and out.”

“No… he made me ugly…”

Howard cupped his partner’s face in one hand, thumb stroking the high cheekbone.

“You could never be ugly, little man. Filled with sunshine, you are. You brighten everyone’s world. Life would be so dull without you.”

Tired blue eyes gazed up at him.

“You mean that?”

Howard bent to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“With all my heart and soul. You can’t give up, Vince. We need you.”

Suffering blue eyes fluttered closed.

“But I’m so tired…”

“Vince?” But Vince was unconscious again.

Howard regarded him for long minutes, then sighed. This was going to hurt…

He closed his eyes, and pulled at his partner’s injuries, transferring them to his own body, leaving perfectly smooth, unblemished skin behind.

The pain was terrible, worse and worse with each claw-mark and slash, and Howard could feel himself growing faint. He took a shuddering breath and concentrated harder…

Gentle hands on his face, brushing hair back from his forehead.

“Howard… Howard… that’s enough…”

He dragged open aching eyes to find Vince gazing at him in awe. His throat was desert-dry, but he managed a small croak.

“… what…?”

Vince’s smile could have wakened the dead.

“I’m fine, Howard. All healed. You did it.”

“… oh… good…”

“But we gotta go back now. You need to recover.” He glanced down at the maverick’s body, cringing at the blood staining the armour. “Come with me.”

A slim hand took his, and he felt himself drifting upwards…

Cool cotton sheets, a hint of some strange spice in the air, and a hand resting on his chest. Vince’s voice gradually came into focus.

“But he’ll be OK, yeah?”

“Yeah.” That was Naboo. “His physical body is fine—it’s just the psychic one that’s damaged.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes. A lot. But it was worth it—you’re back and Lance is gone forever.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.” A thoughtful silence. “I didn’t want him hurt though. I never want that, not my Howard.”

My Howard? Did Vince really say that?

“So, anythin’ I can do to help him?”

“He needs to drink lots of water. And get some sleep. But he should be back to normal by the morning.”

“Thanks Naboo…”

Howard tried to open his eyes, he really did. But he was completely exhausted. He sighed with relief as something cool and damp was wiped over his face, and managed a tiny smile as Vince took his hand.

“Thanks, Howard. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Mm. Try not to need it too often.”

Vince laughed delightedly, and Howard froze as he felt firm lips against his cheek.

“I promise. Now you should get some sleep, yeah? I’ll stay with you.” Howard felt the bed shift as Vince lay beside him. “In case you need anythin’.”

It took the last of his energy, but Howard managed to slide an arm under Vince’s shoulders and pull him a little closer, resting his head against the smaller man’s chest. He would have been overjoyed to know that a few seconds later Vince snuggled into him, stroking his face and his hair, but Howard was soundly asleep by then, dreaming of carrying Vince off into a glorious sunset on the back of a magnificent golden unicorn…