OTP Oneshots

Missing You

Ed's apartment is too quiet without the presence of Oswald. It had been two days since the criminal was deemed insane and taken to Arkham. And just two days apart had already been enough for the loneliness to creep up on him and wrap itself around his heart, squeezing it just enough to resonate a constant pain but not enough to kill him quite yet. He missed the little man so much, he didn't think he'd become so attached to him and his odd quirks but he had. And now he wished he'd taken his own advice and remained unencumbered.

He's on his bed, sat on the side that Oswald had slept on. He didn't know why he was there, the straining of his heart had led him to the bed and had caused him to retrieve the pajamas Oswald had worn. And he sat there, feeling lost, longing for something he couldn't quite name. The comfort and familiarity of Oswald's scent, perhaps? He couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that his heart was aching and he couldn't ease the tension.

Ed clutched the articles of clothing in his hands, held them up to his nose, inhaled the fading scent. He tries to conjure up the image of Oswald in his head, tries to think about the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he'd leave dishes and condiments laying out around the kitchen for an annoyed Ed to clean up. He rememberes the random useless calls in the middle of the day that drove Nygma crazy but end up being one of the things he misses most about the Penguin. And he rememberes the quiet nights when the silence was broken only by their shared, heated breathes and low moans. And even the nights when Oswald would cry out in his sleep and Ed would wrap his arms around him in an effort to calm and comfort him.

Ed leans back on the bed, soaking up as much of Oswald's remaining odor on the pillow as he can. He tries not to think about where Oswald is now. Tries so desperately not to think of the dark asylum that he knows will break his bird. He tries not to let the dark thoughts in, but they came anyway, surrounding him and making his chest constrict and his heart ache even more. He can't stop the images of Oswald in stripes from entering his thoughts, can't refrain from envisioning the horrible things that may be done to him. He wonders what secret experiments are happening at Arkham, wonders if any of them are being used on Oswald. Wonders if his Penguin can make it through the night or week or even last a month. His mind thinks of every possibility, every horrible, vicious outcome and his heart nearly crumbles.

He opens his eyes, sets his glasses down next to him, and takes a deep breath. He tries to compose himself, tries to get his emotions under control. But he can't quite seem to stop the thoughts from pouring in. And then the tears come, slipping silently down his face without warning or permission. Ed loses all composer, he's fighting back the urge to scream and tear down his apartment, to light his entire building on fire. He misses Oswald's sarcasm and proper words, misses the soft looks they'd share in intimate moments, misses his arms around him and his lips and the feeling of their bodies pressed together and damn it he just misses him.

The tears streaming down his face are enough to nearly drown him and now he's shaking because the pain in his chest is too much for him to bare and he's losing all sense of direction and he just wants it all to stop, just wants Oswald back with him and safe. He remembers the pain he felt with Kristen and can't help but feel that was nothing compared to what he's feeling now. With her it was a dagger tearing through his skin, but this? This is a bullet in his heart that never found it's way out of his chest. It's the feeling of the metal as it digs deeper into his heart, never letting him go too quickly, but making sure to bleed him, to kill him from the inside out.

Edward is dying inside and he can't keep in his cries any longer. He screams, calling out in pain and sorrow and just wanting to expel his emotions through some sort of physical violence. He wants to lash out at everyone who was a part of putting Oswald in Arkham and effectively destroying all happiness in his life. He almost feels sorry for the poor soul who crosses his path any time soon because at this point, Ed doesn't know if he'll be able to restrain from killing them, doesn't know if he'll even want to.

Oswald was terrified. Two days at Arkham had felt like an eternity and he just wants the safety and security of Ed's arms and comforting voice. The terrible things they'd already done to him had scarred his mind and he didn't want to ever go back, didn't want to face their sadistic eyes ever again. He thought he could handle it, thought he could outsmart anyone and manipulate even the most lost of souls. Oh, how wrong he was. He wishes he'd just thought it through a little bit more, figured out what Arkham was like before throwing himself to the sharks.

He jumps at the slightest sounds, scared that they might mean the approach of another nurse sent to deliver him to that vicious monster they called a man. No one in here is human. Not the staff or the doctors or the inmates. Arkham is full of animals leaping at him with sharp claws instead of tongues and he isn't prepared for it in the slightest. He's being torn to shreds inch by inch, piece by piece, and he can't move.

In his mind it was like being drugged, aware of what was going on around him and yet being powerless to do anything, to protect himself, to fight back. He was metaphorically tied to a table, forced to endure the pan as the monsters tore his skin of and lapped at his blood, forced to only cry out as they broke his bones with their machines and tools and melted his brain. He wanted out, wanted away, wanted to be safe. It had only been two days and yet he'd already imagined Ed saving him over a hundred dozen times.

The nights weren't any better. The screams of the other tortured animals were never ending. Oswald wanted to join in, wanted to see if crying or screaming though the terror, through the hysteria, through the pain, would be enough to help get him through this. But it wasn't the screams that made the night so bad, it was the sounds, the inklings of something better, the tiny rays of hope that would break through his darkness and save him, give him sweet release from this insistent torture. Each day he begs for release, begs to be left alone, and begs for the days before everything went downhill and he ended up in this hell.

And god he just wants Nygma.

He wants his riddles and his tidiness and his sweet words and he just wants to not be scared anymore. He just wants to return to a time when he didn't wake up screaming, when his dreams weren't nearly as bad as they were now. Even when they turned horrible before, he had Ed to hold him and comfort him. He wants the warmth of Ed's bed and the cold of his apartment and he just wants out.

Oswald can't breathe. He's suffocating on the tears he can't manage to produce because he's cried too much for too long and now he's empty. He's choking on the screams that threaten to spill from his mouth and his heart is in his throat and it won't go away and he thinks for a moment that he might die. And he almost welcomes the thought. He longs for the razors he used to scar his skin as a teenager, he wants the sweet release of death. He just wants anything other than the deafening silence and claustrophobic darkness and being left alone in it all with his thoughts.

He doesn't know how long he can last in here, doesn't know if Ed is coming for him, but he knows that if the shock treatments don't kill him, he'll find a way to do it himself.