[Complete] One day, Mr Burns wonders what it would be like if he and Smithers were closer in age; if he, Burns, were younger. The next morning is as usual until Waylon discovers Burns has undergone a drastic change overnight- one that affects them b...
Though they didn't say explicitly, both Waylon and Burns were avoiding the inevitable burning, neither ready to initiate it. But as time went on, the attacks from Mirror-Burns grew, as if pushing them towards the edge.
Burns slept in bed with Waylon again that night, which Waylon was grateful for, though he still was unwell. Waylon woke sometime early in the morning to a disturbance next to him; blearily he slid his glasses on, and examined the situation.
Burns groaned, thrashing about every few minutes, his face drawn in distress. "Monty? Monty!" Waylon rubbed Burns' shoulder, gently, in alarm.
Burns' eyes were wet; laying on his back now, awake, he glanced at Waylon, and lunged at him in an embrace. Waylon gasped, returning the gesture, wondering what had constituted the reaction. Burns was silent, his eyes closed. He only touched his head to Waylon's chest, his body shaking.
"What happened?" Waylon asked quietly, stroking his hair.
Burns coughed. "The dream I had, the one with Eloise... do you recall?"
"The... the one you told me about a while ago, over dinner?" Waylon frowned. "Where it was you if you'd stayed with her...?"
"Precisely." Hollow, Burns continued, "I've now had a similar dream, but... this was worse. In the first, I was an observer to myself, to him, I was on the outside. I was still me." He shivered. "In the second, this dream, I... I was him." He cleared his throat. "It was terribly lucid, too."
"Oh, Monty..." Despite his aching joints, Waylon held Burns tighter. "You're alright now."
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"I... I was trapped," Burns went on, "I thought it was real. I despise who I would've become with her. I wasn't myself anymore. I couldn't look at myself, because I... I didn't feel confident or... pleased with my appearance, after she... she made me get my hair cut. I... I wished for you to come, to help me, rescue me, but I was alone... And then, I spent much time in this house, trying to distract myself with maudlin entertainment, when she wasn't there. I stopped eating, and she took to the task of monitoring my meals. I... I even had sold the plant-"
"What?"
"Yes," Burns whispered, "my plant, too. I gave up myself to her will, and lived unhappily." He lifted his head to Waylon. "Thank you, for making sure I didn't tread that path. I... I hated my life there, in the dream. And it could have been my real life..." "I didn't want to lose you to her." Waylon remembered well what had happened between them, how much he'd despised her, how he tried to convince Burns... "I knew she wasn't good for you. For anyone." "No," Burns agreed. "She wasn't." He yawned, nestled himself under Waylon's head again. "Hold me until the morning," he murmured, drowsy, "I like being here." "I like you being here, too," Waylon said, too quiet for Burns to hear. He took off his glasses, closed his eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep.
