Can't Say

Alternate Ending - Part 2

       When all was said and done, the bedlam of war drifted away, replaced by equally thick tranquility. No one cheered for the Slender Family victory; instead, a collective sigh of alleviation rolled through the air. The network of Slender-vision was soon disconnected, and most everyone involved suffered migraines from the mental strain. The Slender-beings returned their Proxies and residents to their respective homes for recovery, holding a meeting with the Wanderers and Watchers. Slenderman mentioned that it dealt with "the Council", but refrained from any clarification. You had only heard this term used one other time: when Slenderman and his brothers gathered with you in the briefing room. This Council was most likely comprised of many other Slender-beings above even your master. Had any of them been on the battleground during the war?
       Your broken shoulder was put into a firm sling until Slenderman could perform surgery. He determined that some bones would require bolts and plates to hold them back together. You paled at the idea, but knew that your master's fine-tuned skills would result in the best-possible outcome. At least that was the worst of your ailments. The migraine was fighting for first place, though.
       Whilst left alone with your Proxy brothers and the residents, you were bombarded with questions from everyone. They had seen what you did to Zalgo, from all perspectives, and were left with a newfound respect for you. Jeff wanted to see just how wide you could stretch your jowls, but you didn't want to risk further injury. "Maybe another time," you nervously chuckled in response, not even sure if you wanted to find out the limits of your strange body. BEN and Laughing Jack were mostly curious about your venom, joking how Jeff had gotten a taste of it during the quarrel on movie night. Eyeless Jack brought up the question on everyone's mind, however, "How the hell did you inhale Zalgo like that?"
       To this, you shrugged, trying to explain it away with a jumble of thoughts. "I just knew that I had to experiment. Zalgo was getting the best of us. And snakes have flexible skin and all that. Oh! And I thought maybe there was a chance that the old fairy tale of the Big Bad Wolf would be of some use, so it just kind of went that way." Again, you forced an apprehensive laugh, worried that it all sounded crazy. In truth, it really was far-fetched, but you had obviously performed the feat in succession. Everyone closed their eyes in thought, imagining what they had witnessed with what you had described. For a moment, you were sure that you'd become a laughing stock for it, but then all eight of your audience members nodded in affirmation.
       "Yeah, that makes sense," Hoodie grunted.
       Jeff scratched his chin, "That's some top-tier thinking."
       "Can you ma-make your boobs and b-b-butt stretch huge, too," Toby's distasteful, yet sincerely curious, query broke the more serious tone in the living room.
       In response, you gave him a loud thwack! on the head with your good hand. You couldn't help but smirk at least a little as you verbally replied, "I don't know, can snakes or wolves inflate those areas?"
       "Yeah, f-fair enough," Toby chuckled and rubbed the new addition to his collection of bruises. Masky and Hoodie each gave their Proxy brother light punches to the shoulders, laughing and teasing at Toby's ridiculous question. You all knew that it was out of good fun.
       Quickly, things settled down again, and your eyes wandered to an empty place on the carpeted flooring, "At one point, I was sure that Zalgo was going to change form again and just pierce through my chest, but he never did. I wonder if he can't shift under certain circumstances." Everyone shrugged with nescience washed over their faces. "Oh well," you sighed. "He's gone now, so no point in mulling over it, right?" They all agreed.
       For the next few hours, there was laughter, horseplay, and the merry indulgence of booze and snacks. The booze didn't last too long, as all of you quickly felt the effects of your pain medications catalyzed by the intoxicating liquids. By the time Slenderman returned from his Council meeting, he found all eight of his exasperating (some more than others) housemates scattered in unconscious stupors around the living room. The residents, he didn't bother caring for; his Proxies, though, were each brought to their respective rooms to sleep off the drunken slumber. You all heard his lectures the next mornings. It was somewhat precious to see Slenderman dote over his Proxies, and you couldn't resist the smirk that tugged at one corner of your lips.
       "____," Slenderman digressed, allowing everyone else to finish getting breakfast. "The Council wants to," he paused, hesitating what word to use for the situation, "meet you." He didn't seem satisfied with it, the sounds rolling off his invisible tongue with discomforting force. It was an unnerving thing to hear, and you weren't sure how welcoming this Council was going to be.
       You held up a quirking brow, watching your master for any hint of what was really going on that he couldn't say aloud, "Why me?" That was a stupid question. You knew exactly why.
       A gentle hand rested on your good shoulder; its bony structure was a fallacy to the strength it was capable of. Slenderman squeezed his fingers against your flesh with a reassuring grip, "When I explained your situation to you before, I had mentioned how unfathomable it was for a being like you to exist. The Council is understandably curious, and with your capabilities, they want to see for themselves how stable you are."
       "They're going to test me," you scowled, not in the slightest interested in more physical torture.
       Slenderman shook his head and removed his hand, "You forget that my kind is capable of delving into another's mind quite effortlessly. If they choose to take such actions, it'll be as painful as when I searched your mind for knowledge on Zalgo. This, I know you can withstand."
       "Okay," your eyes wavered to the kitchen counters that had been cluttered with open breakfast items. The sight set your stomach rumbling, and you returned your eyes to plead for a meal before leaving. Nodding, your master allowed it, and you instantly darted to the goodies awaiting.
       During the breakfast, Slenderman stuck around, inspecting his Proxies for any medical necessities. He adjusted bandages and straps here and there, but all seemed well. Your busted shoulder was fidgeted with the most, which irked you quite a bit; the pain and irritation, combined with the headache that was either the lingering migraine or a hangover, boiled your blood. You fought the urge to lash out at Slenderman, subdued only by the satisfying flavors of thick, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The medical attention did remind of you Slenderman's gaping abdominal wound. The fresh attire covered up his body, but seeing your master moving around without the aid of his tendrils told you that he was at least solidified again. There was probably a massive scar where the hole once was; it, too, like the rest of his markings of the past, would heal away and be forgotten. At least you knew that Slenderman was well again. Most anyone else would have known death from such damage.
       Slenderman mentioned that after the two of you returned from the Council, he would bolt and plate your shoulder back together. "I would have done so last night, but my Proxies thought it wise to combine alcohol and narcotics, thus severely thinning their blood." His voice sounded more chaff than badgerous. The joy of victory was probably still soothing his nerves, which gave everyone loads more leniency to act up - not that anyone wanted to test it on purpose.
       You and your Proxy brothers flinched at the mention of last night's short-lived party. Still, the four of you exchanged smirks, knowing that it was all well deserved.
       After filling yourself to satisfaction, you waved farewell to Hoodie, Masky, and Toby. It was a shame that they couldn't join you to see this mysterious Council, but they seemed content enough to remain home. I'm sure they feared the Council, for good reason, considering their low status as Proxies. Slenderman rested a hand on your shoulder again, and within milliseconds the scenery shifted to a pristine room fashioned similar to a court of law.
       Rows of seats inclined away from the center of the floor from which you stood. They encircled you, not a single gap open between them for which to exit. The lighting was surprisingly modern; a crystalline chandelier suspended directly above your head some several feet up. The ceiling was unnecessarily high, at first, but you remembered just what sort of beings you were surrounded by: Slenders. The lower seats straight in front of you were filled by five Slender-beings, who's gravity of influence weighed heavy by appearance alone. The other wooden seats were filled to the brim with others of their kind, save for the freckle of various other Creepypastas who looked to be powerful; you even spotted familiar ones, such as Judge Angels and Kitteh in the audience. With so many faceless beings, you never felt more eyes upon you than this very moment.
       The cool air pricked at your skin, and you adjusted your mask, feeling self-conscious. Slenderman's hand, which hadn't left your shoulder since coming here, gave you a quick squeeze for courage.
       "So, then," the Slender-being in the center of the main five finally broke the silence, "this is your Savage Creepypasta that you were able to tame." His voice was deep like your master's. He wore a frilly, white cravat tucked into his black, shawled trench coat. The tall collar of the coat stood flared around his bald head. The lack of hair seemed to be a common theme in the Slender race. The females, oddly, not so much.
       Slenderman took a step forward, then bowed to the one who had spoken, before replying, "This is her. As you can see, she is completely stable. The war was sure to test that."
       "And you say the success was merely by accident?"
       "Unfortunately, that is so; however, I've deduced the cause and feel that the event could be replicated." Slenderman stood straight; slowly, cautiously. He reached a hand back to you, tenderly ushering you to be at his side again. You obeyed, unable to remove your eyes from those you suspected were of the Council.
       The tall-collared Slender-being leaned forward, lacing his fingers together, "Remove your mask, half-feral."
       You cracked open your lips to correct this being of your name, but months of training screamed that this wasn't the time to step out of line. Instead, you lifted the mask to rest atop your head. Now, the audience could have a clear look at your face. There was soon a low rumble of exchanging commentary.
       "Open your mouth. Show us your fangs."
       Again, you complied without a word. Extending your fangs, you stretched open your jaws to show that they, too, were changed from a human's single hinge. The rumbling of voices increased, fueled by aw and excitement. It was an odd scenario, for a former human to witness Creepypastas gawk at her inhuman qualities. Weren't they used to strange beings existing? Surely, you weren't that much of an oddity. Even Jeff was once a human, and he hasn't gotten this sort of attention, has he?
       "Yes, but you were to become feral, ____," Slenderman tilted his head in your direction. "You are a marvel to hold witness to; the very first of your kind."
       "Because," you smacked your lips as your fangs nestled back in the roof of your mouth, then let your eyes search the glossy stone flooring at your feet, "I still have the abilities and traits of my feral side, but remained sentient?"
       "Precisely."
       Without a sound, the patriarchal Slender-being appeared closer to you, standing but a couple feet away. "Its venom is Zalgo's bane, correct?" Slenderman gave an affirmative response; short and simple. "What is its effect on us?" Somehow, this Slender-being was taller even more so than Slenderman. He slowly paced a crescent around you, inspecting your form with intrigue.
       With a shift of discomfort, Slenderman adjusted the weight on his heels before answering, "While not immediately potent via topical administration, her venom does debilitate our race when delivered via injection or open wound. I had suffered this first hand, though I was also under the effects of a disruptor at the time. The venom still seemed to have the equivalence of moderate potency to humans."
       "Is there a cure?"
       "Yes. Used successfully on myself and Jeff the Killer, who had accidentally ingested a smidgen of ____'s venom during a quarrel."
       The patriarch stepped closer, leaning down and gripping your chin without concern for your comfort. He used another hand to pull open your eyelids, examining the contracting pupils and irises in the bright light. "How obedient is it?" He leaned back, not bothering to give you regard or ask for you to answer. As far as anyone was concerned here, you were a new pet brought in for inspection before Slenderman was given permission to keep you.
       "She still has some training to endure, but I have seen much promise. As you can see, ____ has held her composure thus far." Slenderman gave you a single pat of gratitude on your back. He was doing his best to respect both you and his dignitary.
       Once again, the tall-collared one Slender-walked, returning to his seat. He remained poised; still and observant. "I have voiced my concerns, and find myself satisfied with the answers," he stated.
       "Thank you, Cabadath," Slenderman bowed deeply, seeming to ease a bit of his tensed muscles. As soon as he rose his head, another Slender-being stood from one of the five seats.
       This new Tall One held a quirky demeanor, similar to Trenderman. He was dressed with a green, medieval-style tunic, trimmed in gold silk. This top was partially tucked into the front of his brown pants, which were held up by a leather and gold belt. Already, you had a feeling you knew this one, but you were certain as soon as he spoke, "Though I trusteth our lief Slend'rman, I might not but voice the conc'rns of all possibilities." This was the Slender-Knight who appeared behind you during the war. He continued, "What wast thy planeth with the taming of a f'ral? Didst thee intendeth to maketh a p'rsonal army?" He enjoyed using his hands in accordance with his words, waving them about in dramatic fluidity.
       Slenderman straightened, if that were even possible at this point, seeming insulted by the inquiry. He quickly replied, "Absolutely not. I held this experiment out of curiosity, at first. When I began to see results, I realized the possibility of eradicating future SCPs without extinguishing them. Perhaps, in time, we could use this information to reverse those who have become full feral, allowing them to live in sentience with the rest of us."
       Narrowing your eyes up to your master, the words sank into your ears like some sort of complex language. Slowly, it began to make sense, and you were able to absorb what Slenderman had said. You realized that this was the most noble motive you had ever heard from him. He always seemed like a ruthless tyrant who wanted subjects to rule over. Sure, the mighty Slenderman had a softer side, at times, but for him to think of a better life for beings of a lower intellectuality wasn't exactly on your checklist. Of course, you could be reading far too much into it.
       The Shakespearean Slender-being lowered back into his seat, "I findeth myself did satisfy with thy answ'r."
       Again, Slenderman bowed deeply, "Thank you, Lancerman." He raised his head, only to find another of his kind standing from the main five.
       This time, it was a female Slender-being. Her hair was equally as stark as her skin, straight as a board, and dangled just above her shoulders. She wore an ivory dress of lace and ribbons that draped around her tiny frame. Her body, from what you could tell, was more straight and flat than you would expect in feminine curves. Perhaps the Slender-being anatomy didn't require humanly physique. "Tell me, Slenderman," her voice was silky smooth, yet an eerie sensation ran through your ears at the sound. It was like a cold glass of water on a hot summer's day; refreshing, invigorating, chilling. "What do you plan to do with this one?" The female gestured a hand in your direction. "Your experiment is over, so will you set it free or will you continue trying to domesticate a wild animal?"
       "Does she appear wild to you?" Slenderman held firm, refusing to show any discomfort in the queries. "Must I have her caged at all times as the humans display their zoo and circus animals?"
       "Even the humans know that at the core of a tiger is a threat to their life. No matter if they've raised it from a babe, there will always come a time when the animal hears the call."
       "And yet the humans continue their efforts to befriend such creatures. They have gained positive results."
       "The humans are the ones who become trained. They learned to keep their distance and show submission so not to enrage the beast."
       "That's simply be-" Slenderman tried to continue the argument, but you finally broke your silence.
       "But I'm not a beast!" You gulped, heart sinking into your stomach as you awaited instant backlash to your outburst. A few seconds went by without a reaction, so you took a deep breath and continued, "If you want to compare me to the relationship between humans and animals, then here's why my case is different: I can actually clearly communicate with you, my 'trainer'," your eyes looked up to Slenderman, emphasizing the meaning to your words. "You can even read my thoughts when I can't find the words to express myself. That's not so easy with humans and animals. Sure, they've come a long way in understanding each other, but there's still that key barrier they haven't cleared away. I'm not a feral without a sense of reason. I mean, sure I can lose my temper here and there, but if that's what you're worried about then every other Creepypasta I've seen is guilty of that. I'm not some thing to be poked and prodded and gawked at. I have a name, and I have a mind capable of conversation." Back to the five judges, you stared at them, unsure if you should continue rambling on or if you had made your point clear enough. It was a difficult decision, and your anxiety of the situation continued to dump words and arguments into your mouth, but you held it shut. You had already spoken out of turn. Continuing would only get you into trouble, if you weren't in such a spot now.
       The air hung heavy. Slenderman hadn't placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. The female Slender-being hadn't sat down in satisfaction. This was a clear sign that your punishment was being decided.
       Someone stood from the audience, catching your attention, her voice caught the room's attention, "She's right. If you're afraid of a Creepypasta with bloodlust, then you'll have to condemn me, too." It was Kitteh; she gave a smile and nod in your direction before returning her stare-down at the five Council members.
       Another stood from the stadium seating, "You'll have to add me to the row, as well." This time, it was Judge Angels. She, too, flashed you a smile before challenging the Council with her hardened, black eyes.
       "Same here," came Jeff the Killer's gravelly voice. He, Laughing Jack, Eyeless Jack, and BEN were also standing in the audience.
       Other Creepypastas of the non-Slender type had also stood up, exclaiming their similar opinions on the matter.
       "I mean, shit," Sexual-Offenderman stood from behind the Council, "even I've had my little rampage here and there. Us Slender-beings ain't innocent, either." With him stood his women residents, Cata Wumpas, Isadora Deves, and Bridget the Midget.
       Finally, the female Slender-being lowered herself into her seat, defeated by rationality. "Very well," she held her composure, able to accept her mistake. "I find myself satisfied with these answers." Sexual-Offenderman gave you a smirk and a thumbs-up; if he could wink, you were sure he'd have done that, too. Everyone else politely clapped and returned to their respective seats.
       "Thank you, Pale Madam," Slenderman bowed deeply, placing a hand behind your head and pressing you down to do the same. You stumbled at the force, but obeyed, knowing the importance of such courtesies. Hell, you'd just been defended by the room, and you weren't punished for speaking out of turn. The least you could do was bow in respect.
       "Are there any further inquests from our last two members?" The one named Cabadath looked to either side of him to acknowledge the remaining two Slender-beings who had yet to voice their concerns.
       One shook their head, saying, "I find myself satisfied."
       The other shook their head, also stating, "I find myself satisfied."
Cabadath rose to his feet, "The Council has found itself satisfied with your answers. The half-feral may remain, but under one condition: she is to never lose her status as your Proxy." He aimed a commanding finger at Slenderman.
       "It will be so," your master replied with little hesitation. You weren't sure if he was truly acceptant of the condition. You weren't sure if you were content with it, either. Still, it was better than the other options that had cackled in the back of your mind.
       "This meeting is adjourned," said Cabadath. At that, the other four Council members rose to their feet, followed by the audience surrounding you and Slenderman. Most everyone Slender-walked away by themselves or with Creepypastas in tow. Slenderman's residents met the two of you at the bottom seating, to which your master made contact with the group, bringing them back to the mansion foyer.
       Before the four men could return to their regular schedules, you stopped with a shy call, "Guys, wait." They turned back, some only looking over their shoulders expectantly. You continued, "Thank you for sticking up for me." At your waist, your fingers danced together with nervous fidgeting, picking away any built-up dirt or old skin.
       Jeff just flipped you off, walking away, though you thought you saw him flash a smile; maybe you were just mistaking his scars for one. Laughing Jack giggled softly, waving to you as he continued walking down the hallway to the patio. BEN snorted, brushing off your appreciation, and went to hop onto his place on the living room couch. Eyeless Jack grumbled something under his breath, looking irritated that he had to do something nice for you at all; he ascended the staircase, grumbling the whole way. Despite the less-than-friendly responses, you were still thankful. You had a feeling that the Council was looking for a reason to end you while it was easiest.
       As for Slenderman, he strode past you without a word, heading for the staircase. You stopped him before he got too far, gripping his sleeve. Your master halted mid-step, waiting.
       Still, you held on to his sleeve, feeling the fine fabric between your fingers. "Are you really going to keep me around?"
       Slenderman was silent for a time, and you worried that he feared telling you that he would end your life, himself. Why he would hesitate giving that information, you weren't sure, but it was the only thing you could suspect. He was typically blunt with his words, but these days, he tip-toed around your feelings - sometimes. Finally, he spoke, "My experiment isn't over. I still need you to study long-term effects of your condition."
       "Oh," you held in a sigh, lowering your eyes in mild relief. Releasing his sleeve, you let him be on his way. Slenderman climbed the stairs with casual stride, and you considered chasing after him. The Council situation seemed like such a big deal, considering how tense your master had been, but now it was just water under the bridge?
       In the end, you decided to go find your Proxy brothers. They would surely want to know about the meeting they weren't invited to.
       Toby, Hoodie, and Masky were outside, doing what physical activity they could, considering the war's aftermath. They teased you for showing up late, although they knew why. You joined them in stretches and yoga, or what you could do in your Proxy uniform, and chatted about the Council meeting.
       "It was more of an interrogation," you complained. "And they acted like I was mute, always directing their questions to master. And they kept calling me 'it', even though he'd passively correct them." Some of the blood-pressure build-up ached your shoulder, and you grunted in discomfort. "They seemed pretty scared of me, but they also seemed way more powerful than master, y'know?"
       "Uh, ____," Masky sat up from his leg raises, "you're a half-feral, the most dangerous kind of Creepypasta."
       Hoodie held his legs in the air, not bothering to get up just yet, "Yeah, and you're the first half-feral, so they haven't a damn clue how to handle you."
       "The C-c-council's scared of ____," Toby cackled. "It's funny how Slender. .. .Slender-be. . .ings. . . are shaken by the uh-unknown." True. Your brothers had a point.
       "Hey!" Hoodie abruptly sat up and pointed an accusing finger in your direction, "We never got to berate you for abandoning us during the war!"
       "Yeah! ____'s a ditch bitch!" Masky stood up, also aiming a finger at you.
       "Ditch b-bitch ditch. . .di. . .left us for dead!" Toby, too, pointed at you.
       Again, they had a point. You laughed, knowing those three were just doing whatever they could to tease you about something. "Yeah, well, we'd all be dead if I didn't go for Zalgo," you stuck out your tongue.
       "Still ditched us," Masky flipped you off.
       "Well, maybe I did it because i thought you guys were good enough without me, ever think about that?" Stomping over to Masky, you put your one good fist on your hip and leaned over his sitting form, taunting him with a sneer. Hoodie and Toby cooed in the background.
       Masky punched your knee, causing it to bend the wrong way and lose your balance, "You're still a bitch." He caught you as you yelped, making sure to aid your fall so not to land on your busted shoulder. Now, he sat atop you stomach, messing your hair with his hands and giving you noogies. You tried to fight back with your one hand, swatting at him with minimal results.
       "Half-assed dog pile!" Someone yelled, and soon, Toby and Hoodie hand carefully laid themselves over you and Masky, making sure not to re-break bones or tear stitches. You couldn't help but laugh, sometimes even releasing an unintended squeal with all the excitement.
       Eventually, everyone got back to business. There were probably a couple new bruises, but that was a good trade-off for light-hearted wrastling with your Proxy brothers. No hard feelings over, supposedly, rogue actions, and plenty of normal bantering.
       Later that day, Slenderman called you to the medical room. It was time to repair your shoulder, though you dreaded the inevitable. Why couldn't you have been conveniently unconscious for this?
       Oh, right. You wasted that opportunity with celebration and alcohol.
       Before you laid on the metal table, Slenderman helped to remove the arm sling, your coat, your shirt, and your bra. The cold metal bit the skin of your back, but it quickly absorbed your warmth. Slenderman was polite enough to spread a towel over your bare chest, though you had long lost concern for nudity in front of your master. It wasn't out of sexual reasons, but more based on the fact that this would be a common occurrence for medical purposes - and the occasional near-drowning in bathtubs. The tall being removed his suit jacket and hung it on the rack that was already burdened with your articles of clothing. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, securing them with built-in clasps, and filled a syringe with some type of liquid. He had yet to say much else to you, save for the occasional order to further prepare for the procedure. You were given a numbing injection near the wound, which you were thankful for. At least your master wouldn't force you to endure bolts and plates being drilled into your bones. He remarked how he should have you go through it, but he didn't feel patient enough to listen to your screams.
       The surgery went smoothly, though tedious. To take your mind off the stomach-churning sensations of crunching bone and unnatural movement beneath your skin, you conversed with Slenderman. He couldn't escape you queries so easily now. "I'm okay with staying as your Proxy, you know," you began, wincing at a small pinch of your flesh.
       Slenderman wiped off a pair of tweezers, emitting a low growl as he realized that the surgery wouldn't be entirely silent. He was probably regretting not putting you to sleep now.
With no other response, you continued, "I mean, I think Masky, Hoodie, and Toby are happier since I joined them. And everyone seems to get along a little better." Still no response. "I think you've eased up a bit, too-OW!" You exclaimed in time with the sharp jab to your shoulder. When you cast a deep scowl up to Slenderman, you found him returning it two-fold. The pain had you sweating, but that was about it. You felt it best not to egg him on, though you were heavily tempted to.
       After a few more seconds, Slenderman returned to his delicate ways; lining up bits of bone and screwing plates to hold them together. "I won't deny that the overall morale of the mansion has improved, but I refuse to believe that I have softened in the least bit."
       "That's fine," you relaxed your neck and stared at the ceiling, only having to tolerate minute vibrations and pressures in your shoulder. "Even if you don't think so, I think something's changed. At least I don't hate being your Proxy anymore." To this, you heard Slenderman emit a sigh. He didn't stop his work, though. "Even so," you gathered the words that swirled in your head, trying to piece them together so to best express your thoughts, "were you planning to keep me as your Proxy, even after I became a Creepypasta?"
       "That isn't an option up for discussion, now."
       "I'm not asking if you can change it, I'm just wondering if-"
       "No, I wasn't," Slenderman barked. He began to work faster on you, obviously wanting to escape you before the conversation could go much further.
       "Am I that powerful?"
       "Yes."
       "Will I still be able to fight alongside you?"
       Slenderman froze, instruments rattling as his hands and tendrils shook with an anxiety you didn't understand. He quickly gathered himself and finished twisting down the screw, "Perhaps when necessary."
        A smile curled over your lips, "So you do enjoy my company."
       "I tolerate it, yes."
       "Would you ever like to just hang out sometimes?"
       "Are we not doing such at this moment?"
       "This is the weirdest form of hanging out I've ever experienced, but at least you'll talk to me," you smiled up to him, trying to urge your master to enjoy the time you were spending together.
       A long strand of thread fluttered by your face, steered by a tendril delicately curled around a hook-shaped needle. Slenderman began sewing up the first hole in your shoulder. His other appendages got to work on slicing open your shoulder from a lower angle, preparing to set another plate. "What would you have preferred," he surprisingly carried on the conversation.
       "On whether staying as your Proxy or not?" You glanced up at your master, who gave a quick, confirming grunt. "Well, I mean," you began thinking about Masky, Hoodie, and Toby, wondering if it would be betrayal to lose your Proxy status, "while it'd be cool to be considered something more than a slave, I'd hate to leave my brothers. I guess, in the end, as long as I get to be near you, it doesn't matter." Again, you flashed a smile at your master.
       Slenderman paused, though swiftly recovered, "You shouldn't say things like that."
       "Why?"
       "Someone might get the wrong idea."
       "And what idea would that be?"
       A growl rumbled from Slenderman chest. It started low and barely audible, but shortly grew louder and burst from his mouth as it ripped open. Slenderman hunched over you, removing his surgical instruments to focus on your irksome behavior. "Ideas of romance and unrequited love," he spat. "Ideas that there could be some sort of relationship between you and I, more than just master and slave! They could think that we were in some sort of scandalous affair, and I certainly don't need that sort of rumor spread to my superiors." He straightened up, sealing his mouth, and continued working on you. "A Slender-being to fall in love with his own Proxy is the weakest image that could befall me," his voice still held a rumble, but he had settled to a generally calm demeanor.
       "So then," a lump built up in your throat, and your voice cracked, "it would've been best if I could have lost my Proxy status. Would we have had a chance then?"
      Without a word, Slenderman, for the umpteenth time, paused and returned to repairing your shoulder. He listened to your failing attempts to hold back tears; sharp inhales and shaky exhales. He watched your lips quiver, and your throat fight down the tense lump. After some time, he finished the procedure and sewed the wounds closed. He wiped it all clean, sanitizing the area, and wrapped it with gauze. "The numbing agent should wear off in another hour or so. If it is still affected after four hours, call for me," he said, refusing to give you the expression of eye contact.
       You grabbed his sleeve, stopping him from putting away the surgical instruments for cleaning, "Please don't leave my question unanswered. At least do me the courtesy of an honest reply."
       "Perhaps," your master let the words emit slowly, "in another world, in another time, when things worked out differently." He neglected to look over his shoulder at you, "There could have been a blossoming chemistry between you and I." At that, he stepped over to the sink and began cleaning his tools. They clinked together in the tense silence, accompanied by gently streaming water.
       There was an urge to reply, though you fought a blend of various emotions all trying to voice their opinions at once. Instead, at least until you could settle on one thing to say, you slipped off the side of the table, leaving the towel behind, and went to grab your clothing. All you really wanted was your shirt. Everything else would risk ripping open your stitches. Unfortunately, putting on a shirt with one arm was a difficult task. You had struggled with it this morning, but this time, you had to worry about new wounds.
       "Here," Slenderman said, barely audible, despite his telepathy. He held out a silken robe as you reluctantly turned to see why he spoke. "This will be easier to wear until you've healed," he said. When did he leave to get that? There weren't any robes in the room before. Hell, you didn't even notice when the sounds of washing instruments had gone silent. Your master was fast, no doubt.
       "Thanks," your voice cracked, practically whispering the word. You slipped off what little of the shirt you had worked onto your shoulders, and with Slenderman's help, the robe was wrapped around your otherwise nude upper body. Your master knelt before you to snugly tie the sash, his long fingers diligent and precise. You watched him, still unsure if you should say anything more about this miserable heart of your's, or if the discussion was long over.
      Once finished with the robe, Slenderman tilted his head to meet your gaze. He cupped your cheeks within his large hands, running a thumb over the first set of scars you earned as his Proxy: the three slashes on your cheek from Edea Carter. You could see the muscles under his lacking face adjust here and there, telling a story of emotions he had endured through his time in your presence. Then, Slenderman rose up, only a little, and moved his hands to comb back your hair. He leaned forward and pressed the equivalent of his lips to your forehead, holding it there for a moment, and then completed his ascension to upright stature. At that, he returned to cleaning the surgical instruments, rinsing them and setting them into a prepared cylinder of sterilizing liquids.
       Your heart raced, all the more confused of how to react to your master. Part of you wanted to rush over and embrace him, and part of you wanted to hate him for playing with your feelings. The more you thought it over, the more you realized that he was hurting, too. The kiss was a gesture of mourning, because Slenderman knew that anything more between the two of you could never be. He had said that a romantic relationship between a master and his Proxy was a sign of weakness. He would be the laughing stock of the Creepypasta world. Slenderman was far too proud of a being to risk such embarrassment. Even an affair behind closed doors was a liability he couldn't accept; if anyone were to catch on, he'd be ruined. The best thing for both of you was to keep your relationship professional, regardless of the emotional pain that followed.
       And so you did. Some nights, you slept alone in your bed. Other nights, Slenderman would visit, sitting at the edge of your mattress as you would converse over miscellaneous topics; the Creepypasta world and its workings, the Council, Slenderman's family, and even preferences in music and literature. Both of you found it more difficult to avoid the subject of your growing relationship, causing awkward moments of silence when it accidentally reared its taboo head. Out of respect, you did your best to hold it all back. You knew that Slenderman couldn't admit his feelings, no matter how obvious they would become over the years. It would break, sometimes; your damn, delicate heart. He would be there to console you. At least, you told yourself, you could see his small actions of love. Slenderman refused to say it, knowing that verbal admittance would be the final ingredient to make it all real. If that were to happen, neither of you would be able to respect the wishes of the Council.