After Jack had washed you off, you slipped into the state between asleep and awake. You felt like you were awake and aware of time passing, but you knew that if you tried to open your eyes you'd be sorely disappointed by your inability to do so. It didn't help that Jack was still in the room with you, standing completely still in front of one of his shelves of books.

You didn't dare move while he was still there. You feared what he would do if you even chanced to open one eye – would he be able to hear it? What would I see? – and even though you knew it was near impossible for anything to hear you open your eyes, the show from earlier had shown you that you had plenty more to fear than you ever thought you had. Jack's personalities seemed to be at war with one another, and both also seemed to be struggling with the concept of heaven and hell. You already knew that Jack was deeply messed up in the head, but you had no idea of the scale of the issue.

It ate at you, though, that you couldn't know for sure that it was only a split personality issue. Jack was clearly inhuman. The mere memory of his face was enough to send your thoughts into a terrified silence, and you suddenly feared again that Jack would be able to tell you were thinking about him –

"I know you're awake."

You didn't respond, hoping and praying to someone that he would just think he'd made a mistake and that he'd let it go and that you'd be able to get back to silence.

"Your breathing hasn't been regular for the past hour. I figured at first you might be dreaming about something, but after that sweet little inhale just now it sounded like you were scared. And now you're holding your breath because you don't want me to notice that I'm completely right."

You let out the air you hadn't realized you were holding and opened your eyes.

Nothing to lose, I guess.

"There you go, pet. No use pretending if you're just going to get scared of your own thoughts, anyway."

You had to huff a semblance of a laugh at that one. Your thoughts were much safer than the reality of your situation, even though you didn't want much to admit or think about it at all.

"Oh, what's so funny?"

You tempted fate again with not responding.

You turned your eyes to him, and he was still facing the shelf. He hadn't moved from where he was running his fingers over a book about God knows what, even through his albeit one-sided conversation with you.

"Answer me when I speak to you."

"You'd get mad at me either way."

Your response was as quick as it was a bad decision, but you stood by it. Your voice rang sharply in your ears – the loudest thing you'd heard all day, besides the clown's requests – but it lacked the same venom you'd held on to like a spider's thread for so long.

After a few moments' pause from his end, Jack stopped reading and responded in a very careful, controlled voice.

"I suppose you're right. One option makes me angrier, though."

"I know that. Can you feed me?"

He chuckled that raspy, dark cough you hated so much, that heralded so many painful things to come. You closed your eyes again.

"What would you like?"

His reply took you by surprise. You hadn't expected any kind of charity from him in any form – you didn't even think he'd actually feed you. It took you a long moment to actually think to respond.

"...Something warm, if you have anything like that."

You heard him leave the room, and you opened your eyes again to the empty abyss you'd been confined to for what you knew deep down would be the rest of your life. You knew he'd be gone for a substantial amount of time, given the middle-of-nowhere-ness that was his weird basement hospital, but you didn't dare use the time to do much of anything at all.

You tried to prop yourself on your elbows, and while you succeeded, you found it the most painful thing you'd ever had to do, save looking in the mirror when Jack had dragged you over. You held the position for longer than you knew you could handle in an effort to get used to it, but in the end your instinct won and you fell on your back, breathing heavily through the pain that was sharp and bruising at the same time burning through your lower torso.

What could that clown possibly want me to do in this state? I won't be walking for another month, at least, more than that if Jack decided to play any more games like this.

The door opened and effectively derailed your train of thought. You could smell something warm and buttery, and your stomach growled at the first sense of anything in the past day or three.

"It's a grilled cheese and some soup. I don't know how good of a cook Jeff is, but I figure that doesn't matter much."

You shook your head minutely. Your mouth was watering at the smell.

Jack approached your side of the bed and sat cross-legged on the ground. He brought the sandwich to your mouth and nudged it against your lips – more gently than you thought possible.

The bite you took was as close to heaven as you'd ever been.