Archive of Our Own ^beta

If I had a heart, I could love you
If I had a voice, I'd sing
After the night when I wake up
I'll see what tomorrow brings

--"If I Had a Heart" by Fever Ray

They'd killed him.

At least, that's probably what they thought. Dennis had no way of knowing if the others actually knew that he was actually still here, conscious and thinking, in the dark. Could they sense his thoughts, which dwelt on his egregious wrong doings? What about his regret?

No one checked on him. He just crouched in the dark, unable to hear or see. Time passed, and he had only his memories for company.

He remembered every slap, burn, and cut that Penelope Crumb had ever etched into his skin, thinking that he was her son.

The memories of the others coming into existence, edging him from the light, ridiculing him for his cleaning habits followed. How they had mocked him, gently at first, but with increasing exasperation as they started having to come up with cover stories for something he had cleaned or overreacted to during his time in the light. He never felt accepted by them; Jade, Barry, and somehow Orwell had all gotten along famously, but he, the protector, Kevin's oldest friend, had been shunned as someone who was too brusque to deal with society... the society that had ridiculed them while allowing Penelope to keep Kevin under her terrible thumb.

Of course, the mild disdain had turned into shocked outrage when the others learned about his other habit... the one that involved young girls. Barry had been horrified when he had come into the light unexpectedly, seeing the two teens that Dennis had found. It was a seedy strip joint, so dirty that Dennis knew his skin would be pink and raw from the heat of the shower that he would need, but it was the only place with the young girls... so he had gritted his teeth and endured, ashamed and aroused. 

Barry had jumped up and run out of the building, berating Dennis in the back of his mind as he did so. He had confronted Dennis, not just the two of them, but in front of everyone, and the hostile gazes from around the circle of chairs in Kevin's head had burned, though not as hotly as his shame. He knew it was wrong... but he couldn't help what he liked.

Dennis, stoic as ever, had crossed his arms and scowled, refusing to verbally retaliate. Though his blood boiled as Jade began to lash him with her sharp tongue, it was nothing worse than what he had been through before. He would just have to try harder to control himself. Clean more. Distract himself so that they wouldn't grow further away from him than they already were.

And yet, through all of this, Patricia never spoke up. She stayed in the back, eyes glittering thoughtfully as she watched him.

Months later, Patricia had seated herself next to him. The biggest alter had been seated, pointedly ignoring Jade and Barry's loud laughter that seemed to echo ominously. They always seemed to be having fun, as if they had forgotten that life wasn't fair or kind. Jade had sent a glance in his direction, rolled her eyes at his stern face, and made another comment about his habits (it seemed that she couldn't go a day without bringing one of his flaws up; there was no chance of the others forgetting with her flapping her mouth all of the time). Patricia had hummed gently, pursing her lips, and then had begun to talk in a low voice.

She told him about the Beast, and how the Beast would understand and help him. Help all of them, for Kevin. And God help him, he had listened. It was the first time in years that he wasn't being scolded for some basic part of his personality, and his internal need for some sort of acceptance had gotten drunk on the wine of her words.

Sitting in the dark, blind and deaf, Dennis wondered if Patricia was somewhere in this dark, or another dark... or had they actually killed her? Was the Beast here somewhere with him, waiting to see if he was strong enough to help himself?

He'd gotten the light again, what would turn out to be the last time, and found that the zoo volunteer that had been assigned to Maintenance was a lithe girl, young and coltish, and all that he wanted. He tried to drive her from his mind, to talk to her as little as possible while showing her the basics of his job... and her eyes had been on him like glue. 

She'd accidentally touch his hands when he handed her a tool, and she walked too close to him. When a song playing from overhead had more of a beat to it, she stopped her work to dance, and had smirked at him when she caught him staring. The sight of her biting her lip, looking at him through lowered eye lashes, was too much, and he flung himself from the light.

Dennis had called to Barry, asking for help, and had received a verbal slap from the outgoing alter that had sent him reeling. He'd needed help, and Barry was disgusted with him for his lusts. Barry had finished training the girl without incident, and then the witch hunt had begun.

Dennis found himself backed into a corner with Patricia, who was yelling about the impure, and how the Beast was the next evolution, designed to protect them from girls like that. Dennis, never one with many words, had echoed her hollowly, trying to explain that he was trying to be good, but his protests fell on deaf ears.

The others decided that Dennis was dangerous; that he'd lose them a job. They decided that Patricia was insane, and was gearing to get them thrown in prison.

Hands had grabbed him, too many hands too fueled by rage and disgust for him to be able to fight them all, and he had been shoved and thrown into the black, banished from the light.

Time and misery became one for him, and still he was alone in the dark. He tried to be patient, waiting for a chance to escape.

Nothing happened... 

...And then something did.

He heard his name. "Dennis." It was just Barry saying his name, and he had the feeling that it wasn't directed at him; more likely Barry was talking about him to someone... but it was the first time he'd heard anything in what felt like years, though maybe it had only been months.

It happened again, and this time his name had been accompanied by muffled conversation. Dennis crawled through the dark until he felt himself run into a barrier in the dark, a wall. Pressing his ear to it, he could hear Barry talking to a woman that he addressed as Dr. Fletcher, explaining why Dennis and Patricia had been banished. As the conversation had drifted from the subject, the voices had faded, and Dennis was alone again, shame renewed by Barry's recounting of his existence, mottled as it had been with pain and obsessions.

This would happen from time to time, and Dennis grew to crave those brief moments, even if they were far and few between, and never flattering to listen to. At least it was someone else's voice, talking in real time, not just echoed down the halls of memory.

"Who's Dennis?" A new voice asked, and her voice sounded like a radio tuned to a station that was nearly out of reception. Dennis didn't recognize the voice, and marveled silently that someone new was asking about him; he normally only got to hear conversations that Barry had initiated.

"No one to worry about, doll." 

The distant voice had disappeared, and Dennis puzzled over it, wondering who the newcomer was.

"I wish you'd tell me about Dennis." The voice came again, some immeasurable amount of time later. She sounded closer. At her words, a light suddenly pierced into his darkness, and Dennis found that a shape like a keyhole had appeared in the wall.

Blinking and squinting, he had brought his eye to the keyhole, and saw that he was looking out of Barry's eyes. Barry either didn't notice him, or didn't acknowledge his presence, so Dennis took a moment, breath held, to just enjoy seeing anything after the blackness that had been his world for so long.

Barry was seated outside at a cafe, leaning on one elbow as he poked a fork at some overly crumbly cake. "Barry?" came the voice, and now Barry looked up.

She was young (though not as young as some of the girls that had caught Dennis's eye, or maybe that was just because there was something mature about her posture and expression), and Dennis thought immediately that she was beautiful. She had long brown hair, brown eyes that were large and serious, rosebud lips, and alabaster skin. She appeared to be wearing at least four layers of shirts, despite the sun shining high in the sky. Judging from what Barry had clad their body in (a short sleeved shirt and khakis), it was too warm out for everything that she had on. 

Their hand floated into view as Barry reached across the table, taking her small hand in his own. He ran his thumb absently over her knuckles as he repeated his earlier sentiment: "You really don't want to hear about Dennis, Casey. He's from a rough part of Kevin's past."

"But he's a part of you... of all of you." Her eyes were glued to their own, and Dennis wondered briefly if she could see anything of him, an intruder on her luncheon. He knew that she couldn't; it was impossible,  but she seemed to peering into his wounded heart.

Sighing, Barry brought her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. "I'll tell you about him... but not today, doll. It's too nice out, and thinking about Dennis always makes me gloomy."

"But--"

"Another time." Barry said, and his voice was gentle, but firm.

Dennis's view narrowed, and he realized that the keyhole that he was looking out of was shrinking... but it didn't entirely disappear. It remained as a pinhole, almost too small to see anything.

Hungry for the outside world, Dennis remained at the tiny hole, drinking up the sights that Barry beheld, no matter how mundane. Anything was better than the blackness, even if some of Barry's relaxed habits made Dennis long to punch through to the other side just so he could straighten up the stack of papers or give the dishes a proper wash. He watched as Barry made friends with coworkers and outsiders, and briefly joined a trivia team (Dennis assumed that Orwell was whispering the answers to the history questions; Barry rarely paid attention to anything outside of fashion or current trends in social media). He listened in on counseling sessions with Dr. Fletcher, who seemed to be the mother figure that Barry had always wanted for Kevin. He even got to watch as Barry was promoted at work to become the head of maintenance.

As time passed, the hole began to expand whenever Barry was with Casey. At first, it only expanded when Casey asked about Dennis (she was so curious about the banished alter that she asked about him with moderate frequency), but eventually the size of the hole became fixed, and Dennis could watch everything easily.

He saw the dates, the times that they spent together as friends, and the times that they spent together as lovers. Dennis came to know everything about her without exchanging a word with her, and he hoped that Barry wasn't taking anything for granted. The way her hair cascaded down the back of the armchair when she sat nestled in it, reading one of Orwell's books. How she twisted her mouth when she was trying not to laugh at something the charming alter had said while she was trying to be annoyed at Barry. The small gasp that parted her lips as Barry's fingers caressed her most sensitive areas. And the scars... he was silently fascinated by the story of pain that was written on her flesh. Dennis saw all of this, a ghost that haunted their relationship, and forgot about himself. 

Dennis was just some lonely thing, watching someone else live his life.

The man in the dark had drifted towards what resembled sleep as Barry had gone to sleep one evening, when more light drew his attention. He saw that more than just the keyhole was illuminated... there was the now outline of a door where there had never been one before. He stood, trembling slightly, scarcely breathing as he reached through the darkness to feel the edge of the door. He applied a little pressure, and the crack grew. 

He stepped forward, and opened his eyes.

It took him a moment to realize that he had done that. He was feeling the soft sheets against his bare side. He blinked experimentally, and the world flickered in and out of darkness based on his command. 

He was in the light... he was in control.

Dennis rolled over, and there was Casey, sleeping peacefully beside him. The man watched her for a moment before reaching out hesitantly, grasping a lock of her hair and lifting it briefly to his nose. Her hair smelled of apple blossoms, and it was heaven to his senses. As was the silky softness of her hair in his fingers.

Regretfully, he gently lay the lock of hair back down, and sat up slowly, marveling at the feel of his muscles flexing. The blanket pooling in his lap was almost too soft to handle after being in the dark feeling nothing for so long. He could hear Casey's breaths beside him, slow and regular, as she slept on, oblivious to the stranger beside her. Carefully, slowly, he stood, squinting. His vision was worse than Barry's, so things that were further away became fuzzy. 

Trying to be quiet, he pulled open the bedside drawer, but his glasses weren't there. This didn't really surprise him, though a wave of depression drifted across his heart when he realized that the glasses may have been thrown out. After all, they thought that he was gone for good.

Turning, he walked towards the door of the bedroom, meaning to slip quietly out and peruse the room with the gathered wardrobes, but someone had reorganized the room since he had been out of the light. His knee connected solidly with the edge of a coffee table that had been placed at the end of the bed, apparently as extra storage.

The pain was enormous after going so long without any physical sensations, and a grunt of pain escaped his lips. Either the thud or the small exclamation of pain roused Casey, who murmured as she clicked the bedside light on.

Dennis stood there, blinking, and she sat up, rubbing tiredly at her eyes with one hand as she did so. "Bear-bear?" she asked, stifling a yawn. "Can't sleep?"

Bear-bear? Dennis thought, cringing internally at the overly cute pet name. How had he missed that little gem in all of his observation?

Being a passenger in life had slowed his train of thought, and he realized that she had been expecting a response, and instead he had just stood there, staring at her through the fog of his vision.

"Sorry, you were Barry when we went to bed... who are you now? I thought I was getting good at guessing you guys, but maybe I'm too tired..." she said finally, breaking the silence and smiling sheepishly. Though she was clad in her usual bedtime attire (a tank top and an old pair of shorts), she pulled the blanket up, protecting her modesty. 

Nonplussed, at a loss for how to handle the situation, he continued to stand there awkwardly, clad only in pajama bottoms. Dennis ran a hand over his head as he thought, the feeling of the short bristles of his hair a minor ecstasy on his palm. All these small sensations were distracting him -  he wanted to just experience everything individually, so that he could relish being alive again. She was still watching him carefully, and he cleared his throat. "It's... it's okay. Go back to sleep." His deeply accented voice sounded flat to his own ears. The first words he had said aloud in years.

God help him, now she was getting out of bed. She walked over to him, standing only a foot or so away, regarding him curiously. "Who am I speaking to?" She asked, and her voice was warm with curiosity. She stepped forward, and now she was inches away, and he could feel the heat of her. His nose filled with the scent of apples, and stepped back, his heart hammering.

"C'mon, just tell me... I know most of you pretty well, but I don't think that I know you." She was still smiling cautiously, and it was disarming. When was the last time anyone had smiled at him?

He crossed his arms, then dropped them to his sides, not wanting to look confrontational. "Dennis." He answered at last, and braced himself to watch the smile erase itself from her lovely features.

She surprised him then, when her smile didn't disappear. Her eyes softened, and she extended a hand. "Hi, I'm Casey... it's so nice to meet you." He shook her hand carefully, knowing that he was much stronger than she was. Her hand was small, warm, and pleasant in his own. As he grasped her hand, her eyes widened. "Oh! You must be looking for these."

Elegant as a dancer, she spun away from him, reaching up to the top of a bookshelf that hadn't been here last time Dennis was. She brought down a small box, and opened it before offering it to him. 

Inside were his glasses and his yellow kerchief. 

He picked the glasses up with hands that weren't quite steady, and put them gently onto his face. The edges of the world swam into focus. "Thank you." he was proud that his voice was steady; apparently he hadn't lost his ability to put up a good front. It felt like the world was spinning out of his control, but he seemed to be holding onto that.

"I'm so glad that Barry let you come out." 

Dennis blinked at her and frowned for a moment. There wasn't really anything good to say to that, so he chose not to say anything. Instead, he grabbed a discarded shirt, pulled it on to cover his naked chest, and turned from her, leaving the room without a word. Memory took over, and he let his feet take him to where he needed to go.

Through the doors, past the big cats, up the stairs... 

The breeze kissed his skin like a promise as he stepped outside. There was rain on the air, but it hadn't arrived yet. He walked, barefoot, across the pavement, relishing the feel of the pebbles on the soles of his feet, and sat on a bench under a curved lamp. He leaned his head back and stared at the roiling night sky, catching the occasional glimpse of the moon, and eavesdropped on the whisper of the trees on the branches.

The forgotten man breathed the air in big gulps, and tried to memorize every scent and taste on it.

He didn't flinch as Casey approached him, but he was grateful for the blanket that she draped over his shoulders. She sat down next to him, cocooned in her own blanket. She followed his eyes to watch the path of the clouds in the sky. "Barry didn't actually invite you out, did he." it wasn't a question.

"No."

Casey sighed, and looked at him. "I'm sorry. I told him... it can't be good to keep any part of himself... or of Kevin... locked away. People aren't meant to suppress themselves. I told him to keep your things in case he changed his mind. I hoped, when I saw you, that he had..."

He tore his gaze from the heavens to meet her doe eyes. "You know what I've done. What I do."

She shifted uncomfortably, but she didn't drop his gaze. "You're human."

"Without me... the others have gotten promoted. Made friends... met you. They're better off without me." She started to protest, but he raised a hand to shush her. "Please. I'm not sure how I got the light, but I'm sure they'll come running for it soon. I just want to remember all of this," he gestured to the trees, "before I go back to the dark."

Nodding, she looked crestfallen. "Can I stay with you? Until they take the light away again?"

For the first time since regaining the light, he smiled. "Please do."

They sat, side by side, wrapped in blankets to protect against the night's breath, waiting for dawn, which would surely bring a different alter to the light, and send Dennis back to the black.